#hank: can i roll savvy?

[fearbehere]

the thing about mentopolis that compels me so much is that brennan is CLEARLY a huge hank green fan and hank is CLEARLY a huge brennan lee mulligan fan. and it makes for the most interesting dm-pc dynamic

#hank: can i roll savvy? #brennan with no hesitation: yes of course #but also hank just staring in awe at brennan for most of the ep #it’s so sweet #BRENNAN SHAKING HANK IN THE ADVENTURING PARTY #EXCITED BC HE KNOWS A FUN FACT THAT HANK DOESNT #they’re so cute!!! #hank green #brennan lee mulligan #d20 #dimension 20 #dimension twenty #mentopolis #feariginals

[fillingthescrapbook]

Let's Talk About: Mentopolis and The Big Guy

Gonna be honest: while I loved the trailer of Mentopolis and have seen it more times that I can count with both hands and feet, the premiere of the latest Dimension 20 season wasn't as attention-grabbing as I was expecting it to be. Which is probably because this is the first time I'm seeing Brennan Lee Mulligan be a game-master for a non-D&D actual play and I'm just not used to it.

It does pick up as the episode rolls along though, and by mid-way I was in for the ride. It just… It took a while to get there.

But I'm not here to gripe about the show. I don't actually have anything to gripe about. Because although Brennan didn't have a hundred percent of my attention, he still had around ninety-five percent. (Which is still a lot considering I'm not great at focusing these days.) I do, however, want to talk about all the things I loved--

The puns! I was like Mike Trapp with every new name Brennan uttered, trying to figure out what the wordplay is. And we really have to talk about how Brennan is so great at capturing a personality with just a name.

The mystery and the noir of it all! We start the episode with a murder, and before we're done with the introduction of the characters, we already get the table-setting of the mystery. The projections and the lighting are really doing some heavy lifting this episode, creating such an amazing atmosphere that transports you faster into the goings on of the city. But it's also a testament to Brennan's brilliant brain that there's no question which genre we're playing in: with his movement, the character voices he employed, and the way he unfolded the story and the relationships of the characters.

And finally: the players! I already knew Siobhan Thompson was gonna deliver the goods, and Mike Trapp is established to be just as smart and funny as Brennan--but this is my first time to watch the other players in a role-playing game and they are all amazing. Danielle Radford swings strongly with her (trailer-used) "a body! a body?" delivery and then goes all-out when she starts lobbing with Trapp.

Freddie Wong and Hank Green are fun, fantastic, and fearsome. Hank delivers one of the most solid intimidation scenes in all of the Dimension 20 content I've consumed so far--and he does it with a factoid concerning snakes and their dicks. It is exhilerating. But the episode's mvp for me has to be Alex Song-Xia. I'm not familiar with their body of work, but the way they played their character was just top-notch. You just want to hold them and hug them and tell them that everything's gonna be all right--even though you know things are about to get bad.

I'm already looking forward to next week's episode. Hopefully, whatever jitters Brennan had felt at the beginning of this episode won't be there--'cause he has nothing to worry about. He is good at this. I have no background with the system they're using this season and I didn't have a problem quickly grasping the concept of slick, sturdy, savvy, etc. And, after this season ends, I might actually start watching the non-D&D seasons on Dimension 20.

#let's talk about #dimension 20 #mentopolis #mentopolis spoilers #dimension 20 spoilers

[lockdownuk]

Lockdown Diary Part 8

A personal account during the lockdown in the UK due to the Covid-19 outbreak.

23/03/2020 8:30pm Boris Johnson, UK Prime Minister, gives a live address to the nation to, effectively, put the country on lockdown to stem the spread of the deadly coronavirus strain, Covid-19.

Many of us have been self-isolating for days but this latest development within the UK in reaction to the pandemic feels very serious and very scary. I decided to keep a simple diary and where better but online.

Day 211: I stayed up till 5am last night. The last thing I watched was Ronny Chieng, a Malaysian comic in the states. It was a Netflix comedy special and bloody funny. Other than that, a quiet night, nowhere near as fucked as Friday night. As I type, I am about to finish off spicy af sausage cassserole for tea and watch a film - all quite sedate. I’ve work tomorrow, after all!

Day 212: Every time I try and watch something on Amazon Prime, it errors or doesn’t load so I have to uninstall and reinstall, which is a pain the fucking arse. Glad I don’t pay for it. I watched half of the Tom Hanks film last night, A Beautiful Day in the Neighbourhood, based on a real life children’s TV actor. It’s good but weird. I’ll finish it tonight. Jo Broom called and told me (well, reminded me of, actually) some good info, especially about insulin lasting 4 hours and the liver producing sugar for when you wake up). Day 213: I didn’t watch the rest of that Tom Hanks film last night, doing so right now. I got a call @5.30pm from Tall Tom asking to pop round which he did (social-distancing at the front door). He dropped of a canvas print he’d ordered of on eof my pictures from FB. Fucking gobsmacked! That’s how much he likes them. I am still in shock. What a brilliant thing to do! Day 214: Finished  A Beautiful Day in the Neighbourhood last night, I enjoyed it. Today has been standard. Half way through the third week back from furlough and, while I am still very glad to be working, I now also relish pasrt of being paid 80% for fuck all! My walks have been tentative today, I have done something to my right ankle, it feels sore but OK when walking at pace. My phone and Google Fit are playing up - I am suddenly walking 8km/h! Day 215: Phoned Dad - Rita sent an email a couple of days ago telling of a lump in his ear which he had removed and they are going to check for cancer. When I spoke with him it was usual dad - nothing to worry about. He spoke very highly of the staff at Stamford Hospital where he had it done. They took skin from his nesxk to put on his ear lobe where they performed the op.  I had pie and veg tonight. It’s a real change and I am stuffed as I type this. SB pee-ed me off at work big time late this afternoon. Diary updated! Day 216: Dan’s in court today for his drink driving escapade. I think he’s pleading not guilty - I’m not sure, neither has he been each time I have talked to him about it. It was scheduled at 4pm and he’s meant to let me know how it went. As I type, it’s just gone 9pm. Fuck knows what’s happening. I guess he’ll let me know in his own time. Meanwhile, work was OK, nothing hectic, I am on my first Friday beer, just about to eat meatballs and pasta and watch Taxi, a film written by Luc Besson. End of my 3rd week back and it’s a bit like I wasn’t furloughed for 6 months!

Day 217: I switched off that Taxi film after 30 minutes. It was bollocks. Dan got a 20 month ban (reduced to 15, if he does a course, which he says he will) and £1100 fine. At least it’s over and done with now. I got up at gone 2pm today. I have to cut this late sleeping habit out at the weekends. That being said, it’s 8.40pm, just about to dive in the shower, eat and then get on it. Clocks go back later so I’ve an extra hour to play with!

Day 218: Still managed to stay up stupidly late last night, up at before 1pm (but in real terms, that’s just before 2pm!)  Had a video chat with Fog - I was meant to go up to his yesterday to listen to the footy but, ‘cos I was up so late, I didn’t. Anyway, during our chat, we’ve decidied to go to Honolulu when it’s safe, specifically to go to McDs. It was a bizarre conversation - I can’t actually remember the details!

Day 219: The lady (I think it’s a lady) from the Oundle Chronicle emailed to say she didn’t think William (the student) has contacted me (he has but is fucking useless), so she’s found some questions for me to answer and wants me to pick my favourite 4 (hi-res) photos. I’ve written a couple of paragraphs that answer her questions and I was to pick photos that have had the most likes on FB - finding that info out, without trawling back over my posts, is easier said than done! Got the car tyres sorted today - an advisory from the MOT that Julian did last week.. I do like Oundle Tyre and Exhaust centre. Work was fine. Marke had to deal with Eileen Baxter and chatted to me about it. I had it all the week before last. She’s delightful but the least IT savvy person I have ever known in a workplace whereby a computer is integral to the role!

Day 220: I’ve been doing press-ups and toe tocuhes after each exercise for a little while now. 7 press-ups, doesn’t sound much but when I did it before and rapidly increased the numbers (up to 22), it played havoc with my shoulder which I thought was becoming frozen. So, I will icrease the amount slowly. I can just about touch my toes now. When I started, I barely got past my fucking knees! Work was standard today and I had an interesting chat with a recruiter about a job at Jagex, a computer game firm responsible for Runescape which is, apparently, a big deal. Posh playing tonight. At one point, when leading at home to Burton we were top. Now it’s 2-2 with minutes to go and we’re third with fucking Lincoln top. Day 221: I sent an email to Shirley from HR (re) asking about the salary discrepancy between mine and Mark’s. She’s going to talk to me tomorrow about it. I had a lomng chat with Barrzy tonight, always good to catch up and reminisce. I’ve just had two sausage rolls (on the cheap shelf from Co-Op, Dauphinoise dotatoes (ditto), mixed green veg and onion gravy for tea and I am fucking stuffed.

Day 222: Typing at gone 4pm on day 223! Had a meet with Shirley. No dice on the pay until it can be reviewed next year. All pay reviews are on hold. She explained that the salary offer was based on available budget rather than a pay grade or bench mark. Day 223: Typing this very late on day 224. Usual Friday. Work, beers, bed at 5am. went up Fog’s for a couple and watched Train to Busan. Day 224: I swore blind, when I woke and got up (2.24pm) I would have a day off from exercise. Stair climb and 10km walk done! Leigh from Oundle Chronicle messaged chasing my answers for the article. Last night, someone posted such great pics on the Oundle Chatter group that it makes me think twice about posting my photos. I tell everyone I just point and snap with my phone camera and, while it is the phone camera, I do so much pissing about with Google photos I feel like a con, it doesn’t sit well with me. Made lasagne for tea. Fucking lush - lardons, scothc bonnet and an Oxo cube really helped, I think. It’s 11:44pm as I type, 15 mins and I’ll deliver K’s birthday card. Not sure what I am hoping to come out of that, really. Just can’t let go! Day 225: Stupidly late one again last night. Up at 2pm. I’ve responded to Leigh at the Oundle Chronicle - why I make it so hard, I do not know, I really overthink some things.  Eye appointment tomorrow, 9.50am, which Sam, Mr. Minos’s secretary offered me when she called on friday. Sueanne was very cool about it when I checked it was OK. So, now I am fretful of what will happen! More lasering, I reckon.

Day 226: Eye clinic was not great. I need lasering in my right eye, so that will be both eyes. Mr. Hussain, the consultant that ive seen loads including today, explained that the field of vision is affected that it can mean I am not allowed to drive. In one eye it doesn’t matter, in both the DVLA will order a test and, if the field isn’t wide enough, means I won’t get a license to drive. Shit! K WhatsApp to thank me for the card plus some ‘chat’ which ended uninvitingly (i.e., end of conversation!). I just replied that I was glad she liked it (the card),

Something is up with my left thumb, it’s sore by the nail, as if it’s ingrowing, but it isn’t. Fuck knows what it is and it’s really bothering me, very painful. Pretty shit day, all in all. Day 227: Called the surgery about my thumb and Dr. leijsen called me back, asked some questions about the photo (I had to take a pic and send it in), including whether there’s any pus, and then said she’ll prescribed anti-biotics. Later today, it started to leak pus, and feel better! But, it’s still not right so I’‘l take the course. Looks like I have got an interview for the IT support job at Jagex, got a call from the recruiter today, just need confirmation. Spoke with Shirley from HR about the fact I might not be able to drive in the future. She was pretty cool about it in a kind of cross-that-bridge way and suggested I run it past Sueanne.

Day 228: Spoke with Sueanne about my impending eye lasering which is on Friday ay 3.30pm, the hospital called to let me know, she was very cool about it and even suggested I take Monday off! More importantly, she spoke of the non-driving as no factor to worry about job wise, especially as we are all WfH nowadays. I have an interview at Jagex, well, Zoom, but it is on Friday, 1pm.

Day 229: Told Mark at work about the lasering adn potential non-driving. I think it shocked him a little. I am worried about tomorrow, big time, although it’s just lasering - I’ve had it done before. I cannot wait for this time tomorrow (9.40pm). I have been trying to concentrate on preparing for the interview but it’s all too easy to get distracted. Day 230: Interview went OK. Eye appointment was horrible but bearable. The doc wants me to book in for more laser but, only so it can be reviewed and ‘topped up’ if need be. Better than a going for a check up and having to book another laser appointment thereafter. It’s near enough 9.00pm and I am going to enjoy a bear or two.

Day 231: No after affects to speak of from the eye appointment but I know lasering has occurred. It’s like I haven’t got the full set of cells recieve information from yje pupil. It’s intangible but still perceptible. Great walk today, took some cracking photos - very pleasing. More booze and draw tonight and, hopefully, up tomorrow before the 2.20pm wake up time of today. Posh beat Oxford away (1-2) in the FA Cup 1st round.

Day 232: 2pm by the time I got out of bed. I’ve got to curb this habit. Missed calls from Dad but answered one from Rita just before going for a walk when I promised to phone tomorrow. Day 233: I think SB wa surprised was at work today. I ordered two rugs (from irugs.co.uk). They are 8x5″ and were 75% off, £58 ea. One for under the table (desk) and I put one in the spare room. Hopefully keep the house a tad warmer. Getting into Barry on Sky Comedy. Barry’s a hit man. It’s darkly intriguing. I took a couple of pics of a solitary poppy today, icuding a couple of macros. They turned out OK so will post one on Wednesday (11/11).  Talking of photos, two people (one is Alison Brighty) asked for a jpeg of one of the photos I posted on Saturday so they can get it printed. 

Day 234: Spoke with dad today, let him know the situation with my eyes which, I think worries him, so I hate to do it but, also, he needs to know, just in case.

Day 235: The poppy pic I posted was very well received, over 160 likes on the Oundle chatter page and Jo Langford wants the original (why she can’t take it of FB?) to print off, which is nice. I am working on Saturday - gotta attend a meeting at 8am. FFS! SB also agreed for me to back on call, cool!

Day 236: Average sort of day. I really wish I wasn’t working on Saturday! OH, Dan messaged...first I’ve heard from him for over two weeks...he’s got two days of so he can watch all the US Masters which started today, and was good watching. So, not that average a day afterall, now that I think back on it. Day 237: Woke up at 9.14am today, yikes! Messaged with Dan a lot as he is home watching the US Masters...told him abbout my eye issues and the fact there’s a chance of losing my driving license. Also, in a silly facebook post and comments, about me not being able to drink tonight ‘cos of work tomorrow, Scottish Ricky asked if I was OK. I replied, not really, meaning that I’m pissed off I can’t get pissed. He messaged to say if I ever need to chat. Fucking great bloke. I rang him to let him know I was not being serious on FB and we chatted for 30 mins or so. Top man. still, it does remian that I am missing a beer this Friday - roll on tomorrow night!

Day 238: Work thsi morning was OK, finished at midday. Watchung golf, having abeer or two right now (just gone 8pm). Posh lost away to Crewe 0-2. Day 239: Up at 2pm after a good few drinks last night (and some silly video posting on FB of me  trying shit lager - Corrs Light - with hot sauce). Just settling down to watch Dustin Johnson win the Masters - he’s -20 with 2 to play, no one near him.

Day 240: I ordered some slippers from Amazon that arrived today. They were also returned today. I’m destined to never find a decent, non-expensive pair.

DJ did win the golf.

I watched Jojo Rabbit this evening. A first class film.

#diary #Tumblr diary #lockdown #COVID19 #lockdownuk

[haloud]

E - sharing a drink. Pairing of coice!

@partsofthesamecosmicbeing has been killing it with the camluca lately & so i chose to continue on the tradition with this little thing!

Set dressing is that after a couple months in Roswell, Jenna got sick of sharing bar space with tourists and asked Max for a better place to drink, and he pointed her to the Pony. His name got her in the door (and wouldn’t max get a kick out of being a benchmark for who qualifies as a townie?) even though she was still on probation until the first time she threatened to slap racist hank with a harassment charge. Then, over the course of a few months, Jenna started staying later and later to drink and unwind and talk to Maria, they had a fling, Jenna got cold feet and ran away from emotional commitment.

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

“Officer Cameron,” Maria DeLuca says, propping her hip on herbar. She has three empty glasses held in each hand. It’s past four in themorning, long gone last call, but the sign up top on the Wild Pony always stayslit, and Jenna just…

Well.

“DeLuca,” she says. Her hands glance awkwardly off her hips whenshe goes to hook them where her belt should be, but she’s already changed backinto civvies because even before she started heading home she knew, somewherein the back of her mind, where she was going to end up instead.

“Been a while since you darkened my doorstep. I was startingto consider getting a wig and going undercover to see what Saturn’s Rings hadthat I didn’t. Gotta keep on top of these things, y’know.”

Jenna arches one brow and feels the corner of her mouth curlup at the oppose corner. DeLuca’s face stays neutral, but there’s an…anunderstanding somewhere in there that tells Jenna maybe there isn’t too far togo to get forgiven. Or maybe it’s just something in her aura. Which isn’tsomething Jenna ever would’ve thought before Maria DeLuca.

“Corporate espionage,huh?”

“I prefer to think of it as savvy business sense.”

It’s past four in the morning. Maria’s probably been on herfeet for twelve hours keeping this place running, and Jenna’s just intruded,taken advantage of a light left on that wasn’t even for her. Sweat shimmers onher temples; her lipstick is half bitten off. It’s everything Jenna came tosee, but the words to fix what she thinks she might have broken are nowhere tobe found in her mouth. She’s got Charlie in her head saying just say sorry,dipshit, but if she starts listening to her sister now she won’t be able tostop.

DeLuca sighs real heavy. Her eyes roll, but the softening aroundher mouth says she doesn’t really mean it.

“Pull up a stool, Cameron,” she says. “Pouring one more drinkwon’t kill me.”

That gets Jenna moving. Towards the bar, around it, not soclose she can smell the scent lingering in the hollow of Maria’s throat, but closeenough Maria goes to take a step back before stopping herself.

“Won’t kill me either,” Jenna says. She has to clear herthroat halfway through, but the words come out just fine. “You pull up a stool,DeLuca. Tell me what stuff can get done sitting, and I’ll do the rest.”

Maria just stares for a couple long seconds, long enough forJenna to start sweating under the cool blue lights behind the bar.

Then, finally, she says, “You know your way around awhiskey, Officer?”

“You know it.”

“Okay.” And then she says, so much softer, “Okay.”

#camluca #my fic #thanks for prompting! #el-gilliath

[bastionkeeper]

I know I left Become Deviant off on a cliffhanger and haven’t updated since plz take this peace offering drabble thank

As it turns out, Jimmy was only too happy to lift the “no androids” policy on his bar after the revolution. Not out of any sense of compassion or tolerance, but out of the knowledge that some models of android could and would drink. What kind of savvy businessman passes up a whole new demographic?

With the bar already being a favorite among some of Detroit’s officers, Anderson himself included, it wasn’t strange to see the lieutenant’s protegee and his friends hunkered down in a booth. Even if some of Jimmy’s original human customers didn’t like the sight.

Nathan sat stiffly in the booth, looking the classic automaton with his preference to not put useless organic material into his body (skipping on the drinks as it were) and a constant running surveillance of the bar. Whereas North and Connor, were having a couple of beers and sharing stories with relaxed postures and open laughter. Nathan had often been told his brother had been very much like him before he deviated, a fact he often found hard to believe. While Connor was still considered “stiff” by most standards, to Nathan he would always be ridiculously expressive. Almost embarrassingly so.

“... needless to say, I informed him of where he could stick his coffee,” Connor said, rolling a coin over his knuckles and then catching it in the palm of his hand. North laughed, slapping a hand down on the table in mirth.

“Good!” she said. “That’ll wake him up.”

Nathan watched the pair converse, not at all sorry to be left out of the conversation. He didn’t mind the companionable silence, and he knew when he found need to speak the other two would listen attentively. He quite liked socializing with North and Connor.

A human passed by, navigating the close quarters of the bar with a sort of inebriated swaying. As he passed by their booth he misjudged his step, tripping and falling to the ground. The man was quick to sit up, casting a foul gaze over Nathan.

“Fuckin’ asshole tripped me!” he accused.

“I did not trip you,” Nathan informed him politely. The man was clearly intoxicated and mistaken. “Do you require help?”

“Do I ‘require help’?” the man mimicked in a mocking tone. “Yeah, dumbass, what did you forget you’re supposed to help humans not be a pain in the ass to ‘em?”

“Leave him,” North said, voice dripping with contempt. “He matches the rest of the vomit on the floor.”

Nathan ignored North, finding it favorable to garner goodwill instead of instigating further disagreement. He helped the man up, and steadied him. The man fixed North with a glare before turning back to Nathan.

“Least one of you knows your place,” he said. “I think you owe me an apology, dickhead.”

“Why would I owe you an apology?” Nathan asked, squinting in confusion.

“For tripping me!” the man insisted. “What, run out of memory?”

“Why don’t you return to your seat, and we can all go back to our business?” Connor said helpfully, running the same negotiation programs as Nathan was in that moment.

“This is a new shirt, ya know,” the man said to Nathan, ignoring Connor’s remark. “Now it’s got floor beer all over it. Why don’t I make us even, huh?”

The man lifted his drink, and then splashed it at Nathan dousing him in the contents. Nathan, who could have lifted the man and crushed him in one hand, just stood there passively. His only show of emotion a slight wrinkle of his nose.

Connor and North on the other hand, were on their feet in seconds. Connor had the man by the collar, almost lifting him off the ground.

“You’d be wise to return to your seat,” Connor said. “Before I remove you from the premises.”

“Hey, those plastics are roughing up Kev!” a voice called out from another table, and soon the man’s three friends were surrounding the scene. Kev, as it turned out he was called, smirked at Connor.

“Whatcha gonna do now, bitch-boy?” he laughed. “C’mon, put me down. Doesn’t even look like your idiot friend there even cares he’s got beer running down his shirt. Yo, anyone home in there? They forget to install your brain?”

“Connor, let’s just-” Nathan was beginning to say, but Connor was already throwing the man onto their table and delivering a nose breaking punch.

Kev’s friends were quick into the fray, only to meet North and her wild grin. She cracked her knuckles, an unnecessary show of dominance for an android with impeccable joints, and hit the closest man.

Nathan sighed wearily as one of the humans took a running start at him, grabbing them by the collar and gently dragging them aside.

Connor seemed to be done pummeling Kev into a bloody pulp, and was assisting North with the two men rounding on her. They fought back to back, Connor earning a slash from a broken beer bottle and North with a trickle of thirium dripping from her nose. Nathan doubted the humans were holding back lethal force, considering their dismal opinion on androids. However, the fight was still unfairly balanced in android favor so it hardly made a difference.

“What the fuck is going on?” the bartender, Miguel, shouted, as Connor threw a man against the bar and North kicked the feet out from another. The fight froze, neither party wishing to tussle with the gun Miguel kept behind the counter for cases such as these.

The humans, humiliated and bloody spat out loose teeth or stretched and groaned as Connor and North begrudgingly relinquished their hold on them. Miguel rolled his eyes and jerked a thumb at the door. “All of you! Out! And you three, Hank’s gonna hear about this, don’t you come back till you can pay for that table Connor smashed. Jesus Christ.”

North spared a moment to spit on Kev’s unconscious form, before the three made their retreat from the bar.

“A fight?” Markus asked, unimpressed and exasperated.

Nathan nodded seriously. The four androids were gathered in the New Jericho medical wing, Connor and North needing some minor repairs from the scrape. It hadn’t taken long for Nathan to ‘tattle’ to Markus as North and Connor had put it.

“The humans started it!” North hissed.

Markus raised an eyebrow at her, and the trio could sense the sage wisdom incoming. “And we decide how we finish it,” he said.

“I quite liked how I finished it,” Connor said, earning a glare his boyfriend reserved just for him.

“You were technically the one who engaged,” Nathan said. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“He threw his drink at you and called you mindless!” Connor protested.

“And neither would bother me as much as the chaos you caused,” Nathan pointed out. “I can handle myself, and I prefer not to start senseless fights.”

“Well, at least one Anderson has some sense,” Markus said in that ‘someone’s sleeping on the couch’ voice.

“You can’t take his side!” Connor pouted.

“There’s no sides!” Markus groaned. “We have to be on our best behavior right now, every android action is under scrutiny you two know that!”

North and Connor fell into a sullen silence, one Markus took as understanding. He sighed, taking in their injuries and ripped clothes.

“I’ll go get some tools,” he said.

“The technician said she could see to them shortly,” Nathan said.

“I don’t mind, I’m used to patching up these two,” Markus said with a smirk. North flipped him off, but she was grinning despite herself.

While they waited for Markus, Nathan took a seat next to Connor. He was silent for a moment, hands curling in the fabric of his pants, before he spoke.

“Thank you, for defending me,” he said.

Connor looked surprised, but he smiled. “Of course.”

“Never do it again. Please. You’re far too advanced to be behaving in such an idiotic manner.”

Connor rolled his eyes.

#blatantbalderdash #dbh #dbh connor #dbh north #nines #dbh markus #rk brothers #rk1k #rk1000

[angelofrainfrogs]

Heatstroke

Fandom: Detroit: Become Human

Pairing: None (Father-Son Relationship w/Dad Hank and Son Connor)

Description: Connor suffers a system malfunction while on a case and finds out that he's more similar to humans than he originally anticipated.

Rating: T

Genre: Family/Hurt/Comfort

WARNING: UNSAFE TEMPERATURE INCREASE

BIOCOMPONENT INSTABILITY

INITIATE COOL-DOWN?

YES                NO

Connor jerked his head to the right, selecting "NO" on the holographic display currently blocking his vision and kept running. He knew he should stop- the large red letters painting themselves directly in his eyesight made that extremely clear. However, he'd been trying to catch this perpetrator for two weeks straight and, now that she'd finally been found, Connor wasn't going to give up the chase that easily.

So what if it happened to be an unnaturally blistering 102 degrees outside? The android's advanced biocomponents should be able to handle the strain long enough for Connor to catch the criminal. He and Hank had worked too many long, tireless hours for Connor to fail now.

The warning began to flash again, repeatedly blocking the android's clear line of sight. His body did feel warm, extremely so, but he would soon find the nearest air-conditioned building and sit there for a few hours, and everything would be okay.

He just had to catch that criminal first.

The obnoxious alert is what Connor attributed to making him knock his foot on a loose brick and stumble. Connor reached towards the perpetrator running further away with every second, as if he could catch her from this distance, eyes locked onto her receding form as the telltale beeping sound of a FULL SYSTEM SHUTDOWN echoed through his head.

"Connor!"

Hank's scream was the last thing Connor heard before he hit the pavement with a sickening thud.

***

SYSTEM REBOOTING: STANDBY

Slowly, sounds began to fade back in. Save for the increased speed of basic life functions, which never truly stopped unless an android was broken, the hearing organs were always the first component to reactivate when an android awoke from a full system shutdown. Ambient sounds of a restaurant faded in: the clattering of plates, employees talking and barking orders, the noise of food sizzling on the stove. However, these sounds were uncomfortably muffled.

Through the fog in his brain, Connor wondered if he'd damaged his hearing organs in the fall. Carefully, allowing time to adjust to the dim lighting, he opened his eyes and took in his surroundings. Beginning an internal scan to assure that all systems and biocomponents were functioning as they should, Connor turned his head to the right and found the reason the sounds were subdued: he was in a large storage pantry at the back of the restaurant, separated from the main kitchen by a closed, partially-insulated door.

Connor shut his eyes briefly, relieved that nothing appeared to be damaged. He had no time to locate a new compatible part; he needed to find that perpetrator and apprehend her before-

"Connor! Oh, thank fucking god!"

Hank's relieved tone prompted Connor to turn his head to the left, just in time to see the detective kneel down next to him and place a hand on his forehead.

"Hank, I'm sorry, I... I overheated," Connor explained, vaguely noting that the pressure on his forehead seemed calming, somehow, though he couldn't quite place why.

"Yeah, so the android-savvy guy on our team told me," Hank responded, the worry lines on his face deepening. "He said as long as I got you somewhere cool so your system could reboot, you'd be alright. This restaurant was the closest building with decent AC."

"Thank you, Hank." Connor offered the briefest of smiles. "You did the right thing; I'll be fine. My system scan is almost complete, and once I've assured that nothing is damaged I can go back out and-"

"Aw, Jesus, shut up," Hank snapped, lifting his hand away only to give Connor's forehead a light flick. "You're staying in here until it stops feelin' like the Sahara Desert outside."

"But-"

"Don't worry, we've got other people on the case; last I heard, they still had eyes on the perp. Just relax, Connor."

The android's lips pursed into a tight line, forehead creasing. He had failed yet another mission due to his inability to listen, this time to his own system regulators. He should have taken the time to cool down before rushing straight out into the heat; he should have known that there was no way he could make it out there more than ten minutes without a break, running at that speed. Androids could withstand a lot, but excessive heat or cold was still one of their weaknesses.

"...I'm sorry, Hank," Connor said, face still crinkled frustration.

"Stop fuckin' apologizing, kid, it's not your fault," Hank replied with the air of an exhausted parent.

"You should go help with the investigation; I'll be okay, really."

Hank let out a barking laugh. "Bullshit! You're gonna sneak out the back door the second I take my eyes off you." Connor's mouth twisted into a brief scowl, at which Hank rolled his eyes. "I'm staying right here until it's cool enough to get you back home."

"...Alright," Connor said after a brief pause. Hank was an extremely stubborn person, especially when it came to others' safety, and Connor didn't have the strength to pick a fight with him in his current state. With a grunt of oncoming age, Hank shifted off his knees into an actual sitting position, back against the wall near Connor's head and legs stretched out in front of him. The pair lapsed into silence for a few minutes, both mulling over their own thoughts.

"...You scared the hell outta me, you know," Hank eventually said, in a rare, quiet tone. Connor tilted his head back, essentially having to look at Hank upside-down because of the angle in which he laid. The detective was staring hard at the ground, refusing to meet Connor's eyes. "Just seeing you go down like that... I didn't know what the fuck was wrong with you."

"It was a system overload," Connor answered simply, "-caused by excessive heat." At that moment, a small ding in his right ear announced that his full-system scan was complete. The blue holographic display flashed in front of his eyes, causing him to smile. "There are no anomalies detected in any of my systems or biocomponents."

"Thank fucking god." Hank sounded relieved. "You hit that sidewalk pretty damn hard."

Connor slowly sat up, allowing his body to fully readjust to the reboot, and then maneuvered himself so that he leaned against the wall next to Hank. The detective glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, his expression difficult to read.

"Your heartbeat is slightly elevated," Connor said, cocking his head. "You still seem distressed, even though I've assured you that I'm fine; what's wrong?"

"I just told you, idiot." Hank gave Connor a light shove. Whether this was meant to be a gesture of camaraderie or annoyance was unclear. "It was really... disconcerting to see you just fucking drop like that. You're always so poised and proper..."

"Even if something did happen to me, I'll come back, remember?" Connor's mouth briefly flipped into a tight-lipped smile that he hoped was at least mildly reassuring. "I don't want to shut down, but if I do, my memory will be uploaded and CyberLife will send another Connor to take my place, just as before."

A grimace of unfiltered terror clouded Hank's face. Then, suddenly, he grabbed Connor by the front of his shirt and gave the android a light shake, speaking through clenched teeth. "Do not fucking think like that anymore, you hear me?!"

"Hank, what-?"

"Do you hear me, Connor?!"

The android nodded, LED flashing red, a tingling at the base of his neck signaling an unfamiliar emotion: fear. It wasn't a fear of Hank himself, for Connor knew that the detective would never truly harm him. It was fear of what could possibly be going on in Hank's mind to make him react this way. Connor understood that Hank had an issue with him "dying," even though it only occurred one time during their first few days together, when a deviant had gotten too stressed and put a bullet through Connor's forehead before shooting himself. However, Connor had been extremely careful to keep from losing his life during the rest of their investigation, mainly for Hank's sake.

Still, the true reality was that Connor's body could easily be replaced. He was a machine, after all, and part of his ability as a prototype was the capacity to upload his memory into a new version of himself to be deployed when the previous body failed.

“…You haven’t had any contact with CyberLife in a while, have you?” Hank said eventually, gently releasing Connor’s shirt. The android shook his head.

“No.” Connor blinked a few times, his LED settling to yellow. “Well, I’ve spoken to a CyberLife representative once during the early relocation efforts, but that was only to put the company in direct contact with Markus. I haven’t been in communication with them myself since the day androids gained freedom, when…”

Connor trailed off, locking gazes with Hank for a brief moment, who nodded in understanding. The android had confided in his friend about what happened that night on the platform when a remnant of his old programming nearly gained control of his system, and Hank had agreed to keep an eye out for “anomalies” ever since. Thankfully, up to that point nothing had been amiss; it seemed as though Connor’s deviancy had completely severed his connection with whoever or whatever was behind the detrimental Amanda program.

Hank heaved a sigh, pulling his legs towards his chest and resting his arms atop his knees.

“I went to CyberLife a few weeks after you started living with me,” he admitted. “I’d never had an android, especially one as… unique as you, so I wanted to make sure there wasn’t anything special you’d need to function. You didn’t come with the usual package of essentials when I took you in, y'know. When I told the guy I had an RK800 model, he gave me this funny look and said that…”

Hank trailed off, exhaustedly massaging the bridge of his nose before continuing. “He told me that on that night in November, about the time Markus was making his speech, all the RK800 models they had in storage just… deactivated.” Connor’s eyes widened, but he made no move to stop Hank’s recounting of events. “There were only nine of them, the guy said, and they were in standby mode just in case… you know. But they all suddenly stopped working at the same time and no one’s been able to activate them since.”

Connor remained silent for a long time, processing what Hank said. That would explain why he was no longer able to feel a connection with CyberLife. His virtual link had been through the next version of himself, and if that android was gone then there was nothing to keep him connected with whatever electronic storage bank kept his memory alive.

That dark tingle appeared at the base of Connor’s neck again as he understood the full ramification of Hank’s words.

“If I shut down now… there’s nowhere to upload my memory to,” the android said slowly, staring hard at the ground.

“Yeah,” Hank agreed with a grunt, trying to remain as emotionless as possible, though he was doing a bad job of it based on his increasing stress level. “So stop with that ‘I’ll always come back’ shit, okay? You’ve gotta take care of yourself from now on and not be so fucking reckless.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?” Connor questioned with a frown, mimicking Hank’s sitting position with arms resting atop his knees.

“You seemed… calmer, recently.” Hank made a vague hand gesture, as if searching for the words. “More… settled; I dunno. Less hell-bent on ‘accomplishing the mission’ while ignoring everything else.” The detective let out a snort, his mouth momentarily breaking into a half-smirk. “I didn’t expect you to take off like a fucking rocket and go after that perp earlier.”

“I thought I could catch her…” Connor sounded apologetic; he felt guilty about making Hank worry. He was also still mad at himself for yet again refusing to listen to what his own systems were telling him. Now, he could no longer afford to be so careless.

“Yeah, well, you didn’t, and it wasn’t worth the risk.” Hank reached over to give Connor a hard pat on the shoulder. “Just keep that in mind next time you decide to run off like a fucking idiot in hundred-degree weather.”

Connor nodded, still staring at the ground. It was a weird sensation to suddenly find out that he was no longer “immortal,” in the sense that if he died now, he was gone for good. Though this obviously wasn’t a good thing, in a way, it made him feel more… human.

“Hey,” Hank spoke up, placing his hand on Connor’s forearm. This time he left it there, gripping the android with tight sincerity. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you when I found out. I… I dunno why I didn’t. Guess I was scared of how you’d react- like you might have an existential crisis or something.”

Connor gave a tired sort of smile. “I don’t think I’ve been a deviant long enough for that sort of thought process.” He rested his hand over Hank’s and reciprocated the pressure. “But thank you. I understand that you were trying to protect me.”

“I guess.” With a roll of his eyes, Hank took his arm back. “Don’t start gettin' sappy; you know I hate that shit. You’re so fucking blunt.”

“Because you are so in denial about your emotions,” Connor responded without missing a beat, cracking a smile. “I’m trying to help you become a better person by allowing you the opportunity to understand your own feelings.”

“Fuck off, Connor, you just realized what ‘emotions’ were seven months ago!”

“Seven months and nine days, to be exact.”

“Whatever.”

Connor let out a small chuckle, and Hank did the same, catching the android’s eyes for a brief second before turning away and shaking his head. After a moment, Hank reached over and coarsely ruffled Connor’s hair, causing the android to blink rapidly in surprise. He’d never received that gesture of affection before.

“I’m gonna go check the temperature outside,” Hank announced, pushing himself off the ground. Connor followed suit, standing up as well, but Hank held up a hand signaling for him to stop. “Nuh-uh- you’re staying right here.”

“But Hank, I can detect the temperature within half a second at an accuracy of-”

Hank shoved his open palm closer into Connor’s face, effectively cutting him off.

“Stay.”

Connor knew he didn’t have to listen. Hank was not his owner, and there was no reason for Connor to obey any commands the detective gave. However, as Hank walked through the back door, pausing before he opened it to make sure that he wasn’t being followed by a curious android, Connor felt no need to go against him.

It wasn’t really an order, anyway; it was more of a request intended to keep Connor safe, the sort of thing a parent would tell a child so they wouldn’t get hurt. Hank thought he knew the best course of action to keep Connor from harm, so he acted based on that personal judgment.

And Connor was finally starting to believe that Hank might, sometimes, be right.

This Oneshot is part of a series that takes place during the Post-Pacifist Ending of Detroit: Become Human.

Read Reunited. 

Read Family.

Read Health.

Read Heatstroke. (You are here.)

Read Fear.

Read Nightmare.

Read Forgiveness.

Read MEMORY_CORRUPTED [Part 1/4].

Read MEMORY_RESET [Part 2/4].

Read MEMORY_RECONSTRUCTING [Part 3/4].

#detroit become human #detroit: become human #dbh #connor #rk800 #hank anderson #found family #oneshot #heatstroke #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 #phantomhivemast3r #midna3452 #hurt/comfort

[prompt-master]

A DBH fic where Connor gets whumped up an electrocuted! The worst part about Hank's job was when they're a deviant and they ran away. Do you have ANY idea how hard it is to be a human dude and run after a God Damn robot? Sure, Connor always charged after the android without any hesitation and was more than capable of keeping up with them, but that didn't help Hank at all emotionally. It just stressed him out, if his hair wasn't gray before it would be now. Any time Connor runs after those things he always thinks he's gonna end up dead somehow. And now there's no Cyberlife to trust with relating Connor let alone getting the kid an entire new body.

This case was no different from his fears. In fact it'd completely shocked Hank down to his bones. This time instead of the usual schitque, the deviant was hacked by another human at an attempt for a no energy, no risk break in. The owner of the android had called in asking for help, as the android was acting weird and taking everything, only to be cut off with a bullet to the back of her head.

Connor and Hank, yeah Hank can help too ok they're a DUO, quickly figured out after a search of the Android's room that there was someone else controlling him. Using the signal, Connor narrowed down the location of the hacker to an apartment down the block. But the second they were in the apartment? The Android greeted them. Out of shock Hank had shot him in the arm when it attacked, but he quickly recovered and shoved them both, jumping off the damn second floor balcony and booking it.

"Mother fucker-" He cut his upset rant off when Connor perched himself over the rails of the balcony, "You're not going after him are ya?!"

Connor looked down to where Hank had grabbed his arm, LED yellow and red. He looked back to where the deviant was running, "No time. I can't let him get away. Find the hacker" and with that he shoved Hank off of him and jumped down, giving way to the rush of chase.

Hank continued to swear. There was no way he'd be able to follow them, so he supposed Connor was right just...look for the hacker. Well except that the entire apartment was abandoned. Figures a top notch hacker like that was too smart to hack in their actual house. But...just dumb enough to leave their laptop on. Or rushed out too quickly...

The laptop blinked to life when he poked it, it was an old thing, one Hank used in his college days when androids were just starting to be designed. Now yeah Hank wasn't exactly...tech savvy. That was Connor's job. But he could at least tell that this wasn't the hacking computer...BUT it DID have a tracker for the deviant on it...

And if he followed it by car...he could help Connor!

Hank hopped into his old ass car, laptop down in the middle of his dashboard, and popped up his handy dandy police siren. He just needed a point in which he could cut them off, or even better block their path.

Soon the deviant was running up the street ahead of Hank, he stepped flat down on the gas. If he waited for just the the right moment...he could cut it off in a place where Connor would block it from the turn behind it.

He skidded sideways, blocking off the road. The android was running near him, but stumbled to a stop when he saw the car. The android was shocked, scared, LED bright red. And even worse his chest was open, wires bright and sparking in his face.

He looked at Hank, hands shaking as they fumbled with the chest plate, "please- please help me I'm not doing any of this please I-" he was cut off as his voice sparked off like an old tv.

Connor must be right behind the deviant as planned, because next he heard "Give it up! You're corned, let the android go!"

Hank stepped out the car with his gun, because sure the android wasn't doing anything on his own freewill but you never knew what could happen next in this line of work. He stepped into the dirty mud that reminded him just how much he hated this side of town. Connor had chased the android all the way into the bad side of town, the road they stood on wasn't paved, trash was thrown askew all over the place and his shoes just felt gross as they sunk into the sticky mud.

Hank aimed his gun, "stand down"

The android looked at Hank, then at Connor. It looked like he was trying to talk, but nothing, not even a little bit of static, sounded out. His hand rose shakily, causing Hank to step closer and unlock the safety on his gun, "Don't reach for a weapon scumbag!"

But the android didn't stop, instead he ripped out the wires from under his open chest, the android now beginning to cry.

Hank stumbled back in shock from the sparks that rose and snapped at his legs "oh my god!"

Connor now rounded over to the front, now that the android was too compromised to run far, "the hacker is destroying the evidence! We have to stop it!" Connor grabbed at the Androids hands which were still trying to rip itself apart. But the deviant still had some struggle in it, and despite Hank wanting to help, the sparks prevented him from helping. Connor could withstand smaller shocks like these.

Hank could only keep yelling at Connor to stop as he fought the dying android. The thing was still strong, a lot of its connections were completely broken so it could only use one arm, but the other arm that stayed in tact had a mean punch to it, it split open Connor's jaw, a blue bruising already flushing across his cheek. Hank didn't even know androids could bruise. The blue blood must be leaking in his face. But it was getting weaker, and Connor threw it to the ground.

Connor briefly looked at the colorful array of bruises and cuts patterned blue up his face and arms with a frown. Even his abdomen was sliced open from the chest board that the android had ripped off of itself and stabbed him with. Pain was still a new foreign feeling to him. But damn everything stung now that he had a chance to think about it. He shouldn't have gotten this hurt in a fight against a DYING android, but he wanted to save him. He didn't deserve to die because he was being controlled. Connor held his bleeding abdomen with one hand, and went to help him to his feet, hoping to fix up it's wires somehow.

"Connor no!! Don't move!"

"What?"

But it was too late, Connor stepped into the puddle that the android was laying in, exposed wires down. It had just looked like another muddy spot but it was so much worse. Connor braced himself against the wall of a house next to him as electricity ran up and down his body, his vision black and static and panicked. He had to run the course until the android ran out of its last bits of electricity. His body stiff, and his mouth open in a loud broken scream.

Hank covered his ears when he heard the noise his partner was emitting. Gurgling, scraping, grinding, grating, sharp and mechanical. He looked over to see the Android leaning on a wall with on arm, another that was moving from its place resting on his abdomen to hold onto his neck in an attempt soothe his now burning trachea. A globby puddle of Thirium was at the Android's feet, and saline dripped from his lips and nose. Hank felt his eyes widen at the sight. Connor visibly shook and in his vision displayed a low Thirium warning, he felt like he was about to heave again... but that would bring him too close to having none of the blue substance that kept him alive.

"Connor..." Hank mumbled in shock, slowly uncovering his ears and unable to stop looking at the way Connor's eyes were twitching and fluttering. Unable to stay open like a broken toy, eyes rolling around strangly under the glitching lids. "Connor oh my god!!"

Connor stumbled stiffly out of the the puddle and collapsed onto the ground with a grunt. He was still twitching and shaking, hands shaking over his face in shock at how much was dripping out of his body. Just all fading away. His vision was somehow black and white and mixed with all the wrong colors at the same time. Things fading in and out. He was losing feeling in his right leg.

Hank was suddenly in his face, dragging him closer to the car. But Connor couldn't focus on him, all he could do was focus on how he could still feel the over load of electricity inside him, how his eyes twitched way too much to even look at Hank correctly. He was breathing weirdly and strangly, he felt sick to his stomach. Was he dying? Oh god. It hurt every where, pins and needles up his body, his broken jaw felt like it was gonna fall off.

"H.....h-hank...."

Hank winced at how helpless Connor sounded, "it's ok son, you're gonna be ok, we're gonna get you help you hear?" He was grabbing his phone, to call the police station for back up and a mechanic.

"Just breathe Connor you're ok"

"I-i don't...don't need to breathe."

"Then what's that weird ass noise you're making?"

Connor licked his lips where saline was running from his nose, "I'm- I believe I am going to be sick"

"Oh shit" Hank grabbed Connor and lifted him into a half sitting position, leaning him over so he didn't get all sick over himself. But Connor continued to make the pained breathy noise, "c'mon Connor just get it over with dammit"

"I-I I cannot" he shook. Oh god everything hurt. He's gonna die here. Oh god. He can't die like this not when he jist started to feel like what it was like to feel whay it was like to love a father.

"Why the fuck not Connor?!" Hank was freaking out. He knew nothing about this shit. He should really read up on am android manual or something.

Connor felt thick thirium trying to run up his throat and forced it back down, nearly choking on it. His lips stained blue from the force of it. "I-if I expel that amount of thirium t-then I won't..." He couldn't finish talking, feeling too weak. He leaned into Hank and tried to grab his hand but he was too shaky and uncoordinated.

Hank grabbed his hand and squeezed tightly, "shit." He laid Connor on his back, "ok so don't throw up. But don't- yknow don't choke on thirium either. Fuck. Fucking shit. It's ok help is on the way, kid. How can I help you I don't know what to do"

Connor shook his head, "I have 8 minuetes until shut down, 1 if I throw u-up" Connor cringed, closing his mouth at the wave of nausea that rushed over him. He groaned, leaning further and heavier into Hank's lap.

His eyes were starting to focus again, he could see the panic in his eyes. "The...the deviant?"

"...dead."

Connor closed his eyes, but it wasn't peaceful at all. He tried to hold himself back from crying with all this pain. He let out pained gasps.

"It's ok. It's ok. It's ok." Hank smoothed over the hair on his forehead and rested it there, "please Connor buddy you gotta be ok"

Connor nodded, but felt rest mode taking over. His eyes fluttered again, the strange array of greens and reds he saw in Hank's face fading away.

"No. No no no Connor stay with me you gotta stay awake I don't know what to do!" Hank shook his shoulders.

"I-i. Can't. Forced sleep mode- i-i will be fine just...ngh....Hank......" His head rolled off to the side limply, broken chunk of jaw moving in the wrong direction as it fell against Hank's knee.

"Connor?...oh god...fuck...no"

All he could now was sit and wait for help with his son in his lap, watching over him best he could. The amount of blue all over Connor was freaking him out, bruised bloody beaten and electrocuted. Why him. But...Connor trusts him to keep him safe. He knew that. So he could and he would.

He just wondered why Connor only used his first name when he was dying.

#dbh #detroit become human #connor #connor whump #injury #electrocution #hank anderson #fanfic #fan fic

[graffjamie]

Sweet Baby James cover James Taylor tribute James Graff Takamine 12 string  "Sweet Baby James" is a song written and recorded by James Taylor that serves as the opening and title track from his 1970 breakthrough album Sweet Baby James. Taylor considers it his best song. Now the First of December was covered with snow And so was the Turnpike from Stockbridge to Boston Lord, the Berkshires seemed dream-like on account of that frostin' With ten miles behind me and ten thousand more to go The song is composed as a waltz, in 3/4 time. The chorus echoes the lullaby sentiment, with a reference to "Rock-a-bye Baby". "Sweet Baby James" was included on Taylor's diamond-selling Greatest Hits 1976 compilation. Invariably, the second verse mentions of the Massachusetts Turnpike, Stockbridge, The Berkshires, and Boston bring cheers from people in the audience who had lived in Massachusetts...concert in Tanglewood or Great Woods... He performed the song as part of his set on the first episode of Saturday Night Live's second season, which aired 1976. 15 years later, Taylor performed the song again on the Christmas episode of Saturday Night Live 1991. In the "Four Together" benefit concert arranged by Harry Chapin in 1977, John Denver sang the harmony part of the chorus on this song. Jay Leno requested Taylor's live performance of the song on his final The Tonight Show... Taylor performed the song when campaigning for Deval Patrick's re-election... Tom Rush, who made a practice of recording material from the best new singer songwriters of the era, put it on his October 1970 album Wrong End of the Rainbow. The Seldom Scene added harmony on their bluegrass version, released on their debut album Act 1 in 1972. Highway 101 closed their 1989 album Paint the Town with it. Daniel Greaves of The Watchmen often performs it a cappella during concerts. The song is sung by Hank Heywood (Thomas F. Wilson) in the season four episode "Tender Is the Nate" of Legends of Tomorrow, to lull a minotaur to sleep. It is later reprised in the season finale "Hey, World!" as "Sweet Baby Nate" to inspire enough love to revive the deceased Nate Heywood. Browne, D. . Fire and Rain. Da Capo. White, T. Long Ago and Far Away. Omnibus Press Morse, Steve "Sweet savvy James After 20 years, Taylor is still a New England favorite". Boston Globe "James Taylor: My Life in 15 Songs". Rolling Stone. White, T. "James Taylor Looks Back on His Classics". Classic Oldies Wmid. Easy 93.1 FM. James Taylor talks about Sweet Baby James 2007. JamesTaylor.com. Edgers, Geoff  "Sweet benefactor James". Boston Globe. Berger, Joseph  "When the Face in the Crowd Is Grandmotherly". The New York Times. Janovitz, B. "Sweet Baby James". AllMusic. Perrone, J.E., eThe Album: A Guide to Pop Music's Most Provocative, Influential, and Important Creations. Smith, Andy  "Sweet Baby James finds constituency". The Providence Journal. White, Timothy Long Ago and Far Away: James Taylor, His Life and Music. London: Omnibus Press. Poniewozik, James"Leno to America: Goodbye! I'm Not Going Anywhere!". Time. Finucane, Martin . "Patrick finds he's got a friend in singer James Taylor". Boston Globe. "Under the 'Covers' With James Taylor". Good Morning America. ABC. Shoemaker, Allison . "The Heywoods meet Hemingway in a rambunctious, slightly scattered Legends Of Tomorrow". The A.V. Club. Mitovich, Matt Webb  "Legends of Tomorrow Boss Confirms [Spoiler]'s Exit, Breaks Down Crossover Tease and Season 5's Big Bad". TVLine James Taylor Studio albums James TaylorSweet Baby JamesMud Slide Slim and the Blue HorizonOne Man DogWalking ManGorillaIn the PocketJTFlagDad Loves His WorkThat's Why I'm HereNever Die YoungNew Moon ShineHourglassOctober RoadCoversBefore This WorldAmerican Standard Live albums Live/Best LiveOne Man BandAmchitkaLive at the Troubadour Holiday albums A Christmas AlbumJames Taylor at Christmas Compilation albums Greatest HitsClassic SongsGreatest Hits Volume 2The Best of James Taylor Extended plays Other Covers Singles "Carolina in My Mind""Knocking 'Round the Zoo""Sweet Baby James""Fire and Rain""Country Road""You've Got a Friend""Long Ago and Far Away""Don't Let Me Be Lonely Tonight""One Man Parade""Hymn""Mockingbird" (with Carly Simon)"How Sweet It Is (To Be Loved by You)""Mexico""Shower the People""Woman's Gotta Have It""Handy Man""Your Smiling Face""Honey Don't Leave L.A.""Devoted to You" (with Carly Simon)"Up on the Roof""Her Town Too""Hard Times""Everyday""It's Growing""Change" Other songs "Night Owl""Something in the Way She Moves""Sunny Skies""Steamroller Blues""You Can Close Your Eyes""Highway Song""I Was a Fool to Care""Bartender's Blues""Secret O' Life""Millworker""Summer's Here" Related articles DiscographyJames Taylor and the Original Flying MachineWorkingVote for Change TourTroubadour Reunion TourCarly SimonSally TaylorKate TaylorLivingston TaylorAlex TaylorIsaac M. TaylorTwo-Lane Blacktop Categories: Songs about Boston1970 songsSongs written by James TaylorJames Taylor songsSong recordings produced by Ashwar

[conversationswithhank]

(Image Credit: Actual 1813 literary reenactment of ten year old, Hank, rejecting the 8th grade girls advances.)

Me: (opening the front door) He’s home!

Hank: (defeated, exhausted) Hi mom.

Me: How was your day?

Hank: (slumping into the house, shedding his coat, backpack, pulling his sweater over his head) Long.

Me: Today was your first full day; 8:30-5:30 is a rough schedule.

Hank: Like an adult at work, but we had three 15 breaks and lunch was an hour and a half. I really like lunch at my school and I found there is a supply store.

Me: Oh yah?

Hank: It’s so good mom. I went ahead and got my sheet music note book and another notebook I found out I needed today for only €0.40 each.

Me: Whoa, savvy shopper!

Hank: Right! From now on I will get my stationary (school supplies) there except for my pens because you know I have brand loyalty.

Me: Word. Can I get you a snack? Dinner isn’t for another hour and a half.

Hank: I would love a fresh (cold) glass of water. I am dehydrated.

Me: Coming right up.

Hank: (slumping on the kitchen step stool) Mama, something weird happened when I was buying my notebooks.

Me: Oh?

Hank: When I was at the counter talking to the funcionária (school assistant) these 8th grade girls walk in and came up to me and said I was cute.

Me: Oh, honey that can happen when you get to your new school because now you are the little kids and not the big kids anymore.

Hank: No, mom, you don’t understand. They didn’t call me fofinho (cute, fluffy) or engraçado (sweet) they saw me and said tão giro (very cute, as in hot, as in kissable).

Me: Well… that’s new. (handing him his water) Is this the first time anyone has ever called you giro (hot).

Hank: Yes.

Me: How did that make you feel?

Hank: Weird. It was all very weird. I was like trying to buy notebooks and they were all, “Olha para ele! Olha!”(Look at him! Look!) Now I know how girls feel when men um… how do you say it when a man flirts, but like when he does it and it is too strong or not wanted or gross?

Me: Objectify, to be Objectified.

Hank: Yes! I get that feeling now because they were, like, looking at me. You know?

Me: I know the feeling. What did you do? Did you say anything?

Hank: (taking a long drink of his water) Yah, of course. I didn’t say anything funny or anything. I mean life isn’t a show on Fox Comedy, but I rolled my eyes because I thought it was the right occasion for it and said, “Deixa-me en pax, se faz favor.” (Leave me in peace, please)

Me: (slapping my hand over my mouth to stifle riots of laughter)

Hank: What?! MOM!

Me: (shaking my head no, swallowing all emotion, failing miserably)

Hank: Was that the wrong thing to say? (suddenly awash in worry) Oh gawd.

Me: No, Hank. Ignore me. Seriously, I wasn’t prepared for this conversation quite yet. (gaining my composure) That was the absolute perfect thing to say.

Hank: Well, it worked. They didn’t bother me again for the rest of the day and my friends, who happen to be girls, said it was the right thing to do.

Me: I agree. Well played.

Hank: I am just not into all the drama of dating an older girl, ya’ know? (jumping off the step stool, handing me his glass, inspecting the fruit bowl, selecting an apple, taking a large bite and walking out of the kitchen)

Me: HA! Don’t rule out that Fox Comedy gig, buddy. (chuckling) Your timing is impeccable. (taking his glass to the sink, shaking my head) On point!

#modern day darcy #fitzwilliam darcy #tolerable i suppose #giro #bilingual #feminist #older girls #drama #hot #not into the drama #objectified #conversations with hank #funny #boymom #ten years old #5th grade #portugal #life in two languages

[jacobsvoice]

Ruminations on Writing

                      Writing Ruminations

 “New Project.docx” on my computer screen has enabled me to become the writer – if not the sportswriter - that I yearned to be as a teenager. Ever since I warily ventured into the computer world two decades ago it has served as my gateway to writing. It was not an easy transition. By then I had written the first draft of five books and dozens of articles in scrawling script before transferring final copy to my venerable Remington typewriter.

I warily confronted the perils of modern “writing.” No longer were there pages to turn; only a battery of ominous commands: Edit, File, Format and a list of Tools whose utility I could not begin to comprehend. Touch the wrong key, as I often did, and what I had written suddenly vanished. I had no clue how to find it. In time, with emergency guidance from family members and friends, I managed (more or less competently) the basic requirements of the relationship with my new electronic companion. But it was obvious which of us was truly in command.

Never was it more frustratingly evident than when I confronted the necessity of transferring seven hundred typed footnotes into their electronic twins (a six-step process for each footnote) to comply with my publisher’s requirement. After a week of numbing repetition, guided by my computer-savvy son, I sent the completed manuscript to my editor and succumbed to ten-hour night sleeps to restore my mental equilibrium.

I had been researching, writing and rewriting this book for five years. It required seemingly endless days, weeks, months and eventually years of on-line scrolling, trolling and (by hand) note-taking. There were dozens of books to explore and archives in New York and Jerusalem for research. To be sure, I had already spent decades reading its daily print pages, ever since the October morning in 1945 when my father, pointing to the New York Times photo of an exultant baseball player greeted by jubilant teammates after hitting the game-winning grand-slam home run that clinched the pennant for his team, excitedly told me: “He’s our cousin”! So Hank Greenberg was - and so I became a daily reader of the Times.

I long ago realized, albeit reluctantly, that there was more to life than baseball. And, to be sure, there was far more to the Times than its sports coverage. After living in Jerusalem for two years, many visits to Israel and decades of breakfast encounters with Thomas Friedman, Anthony Lewis and a bevy of editors, columnists and op-ed contributors united in their disapproval of Israel, I realized that the Times had a Jewish problem worth exploring. So I became the explorer.

The Times provides on-line access to every article it has ever published. I needed only to enter two words: Zionism (between 1896 and 1948) and Israel (from 1948 to 2016). Why those years? Because Adolph Ochs purchased the newspaper in 1896, launching the enduring Ochs-Sulzberger dynasty that gave the Times its distinctive Reform Jewish identity, comprising anti-Zionism and relentless criticism of Israel. And 2016 marked its Biblical life span: 120 years (Genesis 6:3). To be sure, it was intended for people, not newspapers.

There were tedious moments when I imagined that I might need to live to 120 to finish my project. I was mercifully spared, but I confronted an unexpected obstacle. As the author of eleven previous books (one of which, with pleasing irony, had received front-page praise in the Times Sunday Book Review and was selected that year as a “Noteworthy” book), I was reasonably familiar with the mysterious ways of publishers. But encountering unresponsive silence, occasionally punctuated by explicit rejection of my manuscript, I began to wonder.

Was my manuscript unworthy? Or were publishers unwilling to publish a book critical of the Times lest they earn its bad graces and lose coveted review attention? Only one editor (out of twenty-eight recipients) sent my manuscript to readers, one of whom suggested that I do a comparative study with other newspapers. That would have taken at least another decade.

Finally rescued by a responsive and enthusiastic editor at a small academic press, I was finally launched on my delayed journey into print. My reward came when Print to Fit: The New York Times, Zionism and Israel, 1896-2016 was selected by Ruth Wisse and Martin Kramer for Mosaic as a Best Book for 2019.

I knew that my book writing had ended. Scanning eleven titles atop my majestic 19th century oak roll-top desk, I can trace my protracted journey between covers. Their subjects included unequal justice in the legal profession; the leadership of rabbis and lawyers in American Jewish life; Hebron Jews; the Jewish refugee ship Altalena; The New York Times, Zionism and Israel; and – in my memoir Jacob’s Voice – myself. I was the explorer, the discoverer, the judge of who and what would be remembered and why.

I continue to enjoy the perverse pleasure of breakfast reading The New York Times for its innovative ways to express relentless fault-finding with Israel. (I read The Wall Street Journal for journalistic sanity). My mornings are for writing, with eager anticipation of on-line appearance a day or two later on Jewish opinion sites. So the journey of discovery continues.

Jerold S. Auerbach is a frequent contributor to The Algemeiner.

[docayin-blog]

Old-School Tactics For Modern Hunters

While it's true hunters today are taking more and bigger bucks than ever, it's also true there are more big bucks around. Certainly, technology has revolutionized the way we hunt and, to some extent, made it easier to be successful, but don't let it lure you into thinking you can kick back, watch trailcam images roll into your smartphone, and then know exactly what's going on in the woods.

Fact is, the most successful whitetail hunters combine proven tactics with modern technology to augment their knowledge. They use woodsmanship to determine if there's a mature buck on their property, where deer feed, and how bucks move; trailcams just let them actually see racks. Here are some old-school tactics to enhance your quiver of new tricks.

Boots on the Ground

Google Earth and apps like OnX are wonderful for seeing the general lay of the land, but nothing beats boots on the ground to learn what's happening below the treetops. But don't just barge in anytime. During fall, you'll spook deer and spread scent; in spring and summer, deer display vastly different behavior than during the hunting season. Therefore, the best time to scout is the day after deer season ends.

At this time the woods are an open book with a story to tell. It's also one that's easier to read because the foliage is gone so you can see the bigger picture. If there's snow on the ground, even better. This is when you should walk ground to learn subtle ridge trails, draws, hidden pockets of cover, and any contours that dictate deer travel patterns. You'll find obvious signs, like trails, tracks, scrapes, and rub lines from the past rut. This intel will help you determine stand locations for the coming season.

Rub Lines

Hank Tassitano has been killing big bucks on public land since the 1960s. Back then, hunters had only their wits and a weapon to take a buck, which was a rare sight in itself. Tassitano has killed many mature bucks by hunting near rub lines, especially if he can find where two rub lines converge. While there is debate about the value of a rub, Tassitano feels strongly about them. "The size of the rub is generally indicative of the size of a buck," he says. "And while one rub just means that one buck was there once, a rub line usually means a buck routinely works that area."

Trails

Understanding how deer traverse your property is vital. But don't think bucks just wander down trails like does. In October, when bucks transition into breeding mode, mature bucks walk perpendicular to major trails so they can maximize their chances of winding a doe. So even if your trail cam that's placed on a major trail reveals no mature bucks, it doesn't mean none are around. Rather, think like a buck and trust sign. Find places where bucks cruise so they're somewhat hidden yet can cross as many deer trails as possible.

Food Sources

In fall, food sources alone are probably overrated for attracting big bucks. That's because most years there are so many food sources around, including mast, forbes, browse, crops, and fruit, that betting on one carries lower odds than betting on does to attract bucks. Nonetheless, deer must eat. So, you should be an expert on deer food.

Old-school hunters know what specific trees perennially produce mast and when deer hit them heaviest. If you know that a white oak is raining acorns — something a trailcam can't reveal — strongly consider hunting there immediately. Learn the trees in your area, nearby crops, and what food is most palatable when. This is best learned by spending time in the woods and by observing from a distant vantage point. If you can place trail cams on various food sources, great! Because if you can find the hot food source — especially those in cover — you'll find does and, likely, mature bucks.

Tracks

Tracks are the trailcams of yesteryear. A track made in dirt records when a deer was there and, to an extent, its size. In general, the tracks of mature buck are bigger than all other deer tracks in that area. In my area, for example, a track that measures three inches long is undoubtedly a mature buck, so I notice them. Tracks reveal where a buck has been and where he went.

Rangefinder Trap

Old-school bowhunters were not dependent on laser rangefinders. While rangefinders are revolutionary for long-range shooting, they're also responsible for saving many bucks annually. That's because hunters who have become overly dependent on them often range a close-by buck when they should be shooting. Savvy hunters are accurate to 40 yards or better by using their natural depth perception. All it takes is practice.

Sneakiness

Many modern hunters drive too close to their stands. Some are afraid of the dark; others are just lazy. Fact is, if a big buck is near your treestand — where you'd expect him — and he hears an ATV announce the presence of a human, he's gone. And then you'll wonder why you didn't see him that morning.

Old-schoolers ninja in. Unless you know that deer are absolutely conditioned to living with trucks, say, on a busy ranch, this means parking a half-mile or more from your stand and sneaking in. Use cover and available natural features like creeks or rock ridges to disguise your entry.

Sun and Silhouette

Old-school hunters always factor in the sun before setting a stand. They also avoid silhouetting themselves. While you never want the sun beaming directly in your eyes, just as important is concealing your silhouette as the sun sets at your back. View your stand from a deer's perspective and consider adding foliage behind you.

Wind

"Scent control is huge," says Tassitano. "I'm often surprised to learn that the wind at my stand is doing something different from the predominant wind in the area. So I tie a small feather on a thread and hang it from my bow so I can see how the breeze shifts when I hunt. This teaches me how winds affect certain stand locations so I can more wisely choose where to sit in the future."

[josephkitchen0]

How to Keep Hawks Away from Chickens

Top 5 Ways to Thwart Aerial Chicken Predators

Have you been experiencing a problem with flying predators like hawks and owls? This can be heartbreaking and frustrating and can make you feel helpless, but you're not. There are ways to help keep hawks away from backyard chickens. On a personal note, this subject is near and dear to my heart. I have experienced one confirmed loss and a couple of close calls with hawks harassing my backyard chickens. Winter in my backyard is high season for hawk attacks. To be fair, before we got chickens, we had been toying with naming our farm something like Hawk Ridge since we have so many hawks in the area on a regular basis. It's not uncommon to look up in the skies and see three or four hawks overhead. We also have nesting hawks each mating season. At the same time, for numerous reasons, I firmly believe my chickens are better off free ranging during the day. I work from home and can keep a close eye on my flock, but I'm not with them every second. Free ranging chickens are savvy and if you use some different protection methods, you're likely to reduce or eliminate losses from hawks.

Do Hawks Attack Chickens?

Yes. I have personally seen a hawk attack and kill a chicken, but in my experience, the onslaught of ground-dwelling predators like raccoons and foxes is much worse and takes a greater toll on a flock. 

REMINDER: It is illegal to kill or harass birds of prey, including hawks and owls. 

Real-Life Example — When I walked out to the chicken coop and looked up, I was horrified to see a red-tailed hawk calmly eating one of my White Leghorns. When the hawk spotted me, it flew off and dropped the Leghorn's body. As a lifelong birdwatcher, I was thrilled at the hawk sighting. But, as a backyard chicken owner, I hated to see my chicken killed. The red-tailed hawk is one of three species in the United States known as a chicken hawk. The other two are sharp-shinned and Cooper's hawks. Fast forward a few months later, and I came across the scene in the snow pictured below. It's clear that a hawk or owl tried to attack one of my Leghorns. Lucky for the Leghorn, the hawk missed; all were accounted for after I took a quick headcount.

Here are my top five ways to thwart aerial backyard chicken predators.

1. Roosters Make Great Hen Protectors

My hens were always pretty good at protecting themselves. But adding a rooster stepped up the protection. Many times I've watched our rooster, Hank, scanning the skies for flying predators. If he sees something, he's quick to let out his alarm call and gather the hens in a protected spot. Then he'll walk back and forth in front of them, keeping them together until the danger has passed. Now I know that not every rooster is great at protecting his flock. But if you find a good one, keep him! Real-Life Example — I heard a huge commotion coming from the backyard. From the intensity of squawking, I knew something was wrong and ran outside quickly. I found a hawk rolling down my hill with one of my Buff Brahmas tucked in its talons. They were in a mighty struggle! Luckily, my yelling and running at the hawk scared the hawk away and my Buff Brahma wasn't hurt. When I looked up from checking my Buff Brahma, I realized, my rooster had the rest of the flock backed up against the house under an overhang. He had his wings spread over the hens and was poised to fight. He had acted quickly to save as many hens as he could.

2.Get a Watchdog

Our dog, Sophie, was great with our chickens and when she was out with them, she was a wonderful deterrent. I would let her out at various times throughout the day so predators wouldn't catch onto her schedule. If they didn't know when she'd be out, then they were extra cautious.

3. Make a Scarecrow and Hang Shiny Objects

I like to put my Halloween scarecrows to good use year-round by mounting them around the chicken yard. Just make sure to move them every few days so the hawks don’t figure out your tricks. Also, shiny, hanging objects can confuse flying predators. I like to use pie tins. I punch a hole in each tin and tie them from random tree branches.

4. Predator vs. Predator

Hawks don’t like owls and vice versa. So head to your local farm supply store and pick up a fake owl. (Mine has been around for a while, so please excuse his missing eye!) Mount him in your chicken yard and watch the hawks scatter. Just make sure to move him around to get the full effect. One word of advice, this has worked well for me, but I’ve seen reports where it didn’t work well for others. So don’t make this your only form of defense.

5. Plant for Cover

When chickens spot an aerial predator, they need a place to hide. Our chicken coop is off the ground so our chickens often hide underneath it. Plus, they love to go under our deck and the overhang of the house. In addition, I have lots of shrubs and bushes planted throughout my yard that are favorite hangouts for my birds.

How to Keep Hawks Away from Chickens was originally posted by All About Chickens

[mindthump]

How Big Is the Alt Right? Inside My Futile Quest to Count https://ift.tt/2vTchfH

How many white nationalists live in the United States? It’s a question I’ve been trying to answer on and off for years. In particular, I’ve tried to quantify the group’s web-based wing—the slippery, meme-slinging trolls who call themselves the alt-right. I’ve worked a lot of angles: totaling the populations of subreddits, counting up the unique visitors to various websites, comparing the number of times Twitter users invoked alt-right hashtags to the times they had more wholesome things to tweet about. (For the record, #dogs beat out #cuck and #whitegenocide every time.) I have squinted at blurry aerial photos of far-right rallies, trying to separate protestor from counterprotester.

None of this produced satisfying answers.

But as we approach the anniversary of the far-right protest that introduced this group to the national conversation, the Unite the Right rally in Charlottesville, Virginia, which led to the death of anti-racist counterprotester Heather Heyer, it’s again become a question worth asking. This weekend, Washington, DC, will host a second Unite the Right rally, this one nominally in protest of the alleged abuses suffered by far-right activists in Charlottesville. The organizers can call it whatever they like, but in reality this anniversary rally is one thing only: a public exhibition of the state of the movement.

It’s important that we gain a sense of this group’s scale. So much of the alt-right movement takes place online, where a handful of aggressive netizens can have the impact of an army. The alt-right has been been consistently successful in drumming up media attention for its online activity, so when they venture off the web to protests like the Unite the Right rally, it’s easy to project online might onto whatever crowd gathers. But numerically, those offline crowds have been small, and when it comes to voting and purposeful activism—the kind of activities that transform a group of heinous trolls into a political movement, capable of inserting their ideology into laws and elected officials—real-life size matters.

And so I began to count.

Alt-Right Ambiguity

When trying to quantify the members of a movement, the first question is: Who counts? Where the alt-right is concerned, there is no easy answer. So I sat down with a piece of paper and tried to diagram it out. The alt-right includes white supremacists, white nationalists (basically, white supremacists who think white people deserve their own country), neo-Nazis, neo-Confederates, neo-reactionaries (who are anti-democracy), neo-fascists, nativists, men’s rights activists and anti-feminists, fundamentalist Christians, nativists and Islamophobes, homophobes, Holocaust deniers and other anti-Semites...the list goes on. But identifying with the alt-right doesn’t necessarily mean you identify with any of those groups, and vice versa. And within the alt-right, there are micro-communities like the alt-lite (who love trolling and hate being called racist). So my diagram—which was starting to look like a Final Fantasy bracket from hell—wasn’t very useful.

I needed a new way to capture what made the alt-right the alt-right, and it couldn’t be these fuzzy ideologies. “These are the same ideas the extremist right has been kicking around for the last 150 years or so,” says Phyllis Gerstenfeld, who teaches courses on online hate crimes and criminology at Cal State Stanislaus. “It’s the methodology that’s changed.” A few decades ago, extremists had to rely on IRL word of mouth to spread their ideas, and some incumbent extremist groups (like militias or the KKK) often still do. Maybe I could get some sense of the alt-right’s scale from measuring their twist on the far-right recruitment strategy: digital savvy.

But the dynamics of the internet make traffic data, tweet impressions, and subscriber counts meaningless. The alt-right has been on the receiving end of a years-long signal boost, even as the media—myself included—struggle to figure out how to cover the activities of these groups without amplifying their message. Yet traffic metrics don’t differentiate between the die-hards, the joiners, the hate-readers, and lurkers like me. Tweets might be coming from bots, or a single human helming dozens of accounts, or a small coordinated group of humans who may or may not be tweeting in earnest. And in our polarized digital culture, all hashtag campaigns are destined to be co-opted by the opposite side, for mockery purposes.

Traffic metrics don’t differentiate between the die-hards, the joiners, the hate-readers, and lurkers like me.

Some researchers overcome these opaque numbers by turning to an unlikely group: anti-fascists, whose databases are brimming with names they’ve hacked or tricked out of white nationalists But that’s hardly a representative (or neutral and unbiased) sample. Back in the day, KKK-style self-reported memberships allowed researchers to roughly track these groups as they would with a voting roll, but today those lists are as outmoded as David Duke. These days, groups form loosely organized local chapters, or stick to private servers: much harder to track, and much harder to quantify. According to Gerstenfeld, your best chance of a solid estimate would be to take a random survey of a representative sample of people and hope they answer your questions honestly. Which is basically setting yourself up to get trolled.

Your best chance at a meaningful sense of scale is at rallies. Meaningful, but not conclusive: Real life gatherings tend to draw out more paramilitary types than meme lords, and because these rallies often turn into riots, crowd estimates are hard to come by. Still, the point of protest is to show your numbers to the world, a kind of head count of those you can count on to support a movement in the open air. In Charlottesville, the best estimates put rally participant numbers between 500 and 600 people. For context, that’s five times as big as any far-right rally in the last decade, but is still only a tiny fraction of what you’d expect from their (inflated) digital footprint.

It’s also two hundred times smaller than 2017’s March for Science, and a thousand times smaller than 2017’s Women’s March. All signs point to an even lower turnout for Unite the Right in DC.

Perhaps Bigger, But Not Bolder

So what’s going on here? Well, there’s little indication that Charlottesville helped recruitment at all. Two major groups involved in the original rally no longer exist: the organizers, Vanguard America, and the Traditionalist Workers Party, which collapsed after some spectacularly silly internal battles. Keegan Hankes, a senior research analyst at the Southern Poverty Law Center, says that surviving groups like Identity Evropa and Patriot Front may have increased their numbers when the others collapse, but that’s overflow, not growth.

And that’s big, according to Hankes, because those still left are not down with the rally. Many posts about DC’s Unite the Right rally call it a “lawsuit trap.” Remember, there was a civil rights suit brought against the organizers of Unite the Right, and the has judge issued an opinion that the organizers had conspired to violate the civil rights of Charlottesville citizens, a conspiracy that could legally be tied to the death of Heather Heyer. “If I were the folks thinking about participating, I could be quite worried that my participation could link me to violent activity that violates civil rights,” says Richard Schragger, who specializes in Constitutional and local government law at the University of Virginia School of Law. “Even if you’re exercising your First Amendment rights, you’re responsible for the outcomes.”

The DC Unite the Right rally is shaping up to be a public announcement of a new, more cautious alt-right zeitgeist. It’s fuchsia and teal website looks like an ‘80s video game. The organizer, Jason Kessler—who, according to Hanke, is now something of a pariah—has banned the swastikas and the other symbols of white supremacy that so many objected to at the last rally. Kessler is trying to massage the movement into something (somewhat) more palatable, similar to the surviving organizations Identity Evropa and Patriot Front. Identity Evropa claims to protect cultural heritage, Patriot Front claims their prejudice is patriotism, and Kessler claims to be a civil rights advocate for white people.

All of which are lies that tell the truth: the open racism we all saw at Charlottesville is being slowly pushed underground.

More Great WIRED Stories

#IFTTT #Feedly