#severely. but i have to go i already got the (partial) funding for the trip. im sure ill get some worth out of it. ill eat a few beignets

[ultimateumbreon33]

thoughts of animated falin resurrection in a week are gonna get me through this ACS conference

#i signed up in january and regret it now cause im already tired ): and i have no aspirations or specific fields of chem im interested in so #i cant hone in and pick what i wanna go to and see and i doubt my non-driving ass can network when that limits my intern/job options so #severely. but i have to go i already got the (partial) funding for the trip. im sure ill get some worth out of it. ill eat a few beignets #but im gonna be tired as shit and will have to do my damn organometallics pset before the following monday #but… thursday will bring falin resurrection #gonna be leaving at 3 am to catch a 6 am flight also..

[owletstarlet]

For a prompt, maybe a Tanunatsu college AU? I'm sort of picturing something where Natsume is visiting the shrine for a weekend and Tanuma is trying not to focus on the fact that his boyfriend now has earrings

(*insert profuse apology for how long this took here* I had initially wanted to get this posted in time for @natsumeweek as one of the prompts was “future” but I guess this is more an early happy-September-birthday-to-Tanuma fic... 

ao3 link in the comments.

When the doorbell rings, it’s a near thing for Kaname to not spill his tea all over the keyboard. He has to remind himself several times on his way to answer it not to look as ludicrously eager as he feels, as though his heart might float right on up and out through the top of his head, in case it’s a mail carrier or a maintenance worker at the door.

It isn’t.

It takes all of a second and a half before Kaname’s got his arms full of him, face buried in his hair.

“Hi,” he mutters, voice muffled against the top of Natsume’s head.

“Hi,” Natsume says back, and Kaname can hear the grin in his voice, feel the arms coming to rest around his waist.

They stand like that for several seconds, in the genkan with the door wide open, and Kaname can feel all the tension he’s been holding for six weeks bleed out of him. Eventually, he asks, “How was your flight?”

“I liked it.” His voice is just as muffled against Kaname’s shoulder. “Sensei didn’t.”

“Really?” Kaname finally pulls back enough to see his face. He looks well, relaxed and smiling, the barest dusting of freckles across his nose from time spent outdoors, and it’s almost enough to push a month and a half’s worth of swirling images and morbid what ifs out of his mind. “You’d think Ponta would enjoy flying.”

Natsume rolls his eyes a little, but there’s something fond in the set of his mouth. “He complained the whole time, about being stuck in human form, and kept saying it was unnatural or something to be up so high where he couldn’t even see the treetops past all the clouds.”

Kaname grins at the thought. “Where’s he off to right now?” He pulls Natsume into the genkan, finally lets him go so he can get his shoes off.

“Probably off getting drunk. Or begging snacks off Touko-san. She was pretty happy to see him.”

Natsume’s been up in Aomori for a little over a month, on a few jobs with the Matsuokas. Field training, as Natori had cheerfully put it to Kaname over the phone. And Kaname hadn’t been thrilled about that, but had felt marginally better to hear that Natori would accompany him for most of the trip.

The Matsuoka clan wasn’t particularly prominent or large, but they were well-funded and well-connected. It was Natori who’d reached out to them over a year ago, once Natsume had given his slightly grudging consent to it. Since then Natsume’s been living two and a half hours away in a spacious apartment and attending a university to which the Matsuokas happened to be generous donors. In exchange for this, and their tutelage, Natsume accompanies and assists them with exorcisms. They’re apparently pleased enough to have him, and Natsume’s told Kaname that they haven’t asked him to do anything he’s opposed to; it’s often either binding a harmful entity or else simply sitting down to listen to whatever it is the troublesome youkai-of-the-day is after. But despite Natori being on good terms with the head of the clan, he’d had to make it perfectly clear that Natsume had no interest in longterm recruitment. Or, at the very least, that potential adoption into the clan was to be a decision that Natsume would be entirely free to turn down.

Kaname himself, meanwhile, hasn’t gone anywhere since graduation. Natori had floated the idea of Kaname joining Natsume, that the Matsuokas be perfectly willing to take him on. And, admittedly, the prospect of learning how to defend himself, and others, with the basics of exorcism under his belt had its appeal. Especially since a big factor in Natsume’s own decision had been an ugly encounter with some cave-dwelling youkai that had landed him in the hospital for weeks, an incident which had ultimately led to the truth--or parts of it, at least-- spilling out to the Fujiwaras. Kaname still has nightmares about it.  

It was ultimately the prospect of being able to go with Natsume while he was out on a job instead of having to sit around and fret about it that had had Kaname prepared to agree to the offer. But then Dad had needed knee surgery, and a complicated one at that. And Kaname learned very quickly just how much work it takes to run a temple essentially on one’s own. Theirs was part of a larger organization of temples in the prefecture, who had arranged for Dad to be sent here in the first place. To be fair, they’d been as helpful as they were able, and are still paying Dad a salary. Another priest would come two or three days a week to fulfill necessary duties and rites and enabling them to stay at least partially open to visitors while Dad recuperated, and a maintenance worker would show up once a week to help Kaname care for the actual grounds. But Kaname still typically spends the better part of his week at the desk of Dad’s cramped office poring over order forms and spreadsheets he doesn’t always understand, attempting to balance the books of a little temple that barely takes in enough revenue to stay afloat even with the organization’s support. He’s gotten better at it, and Dad’s helped a lot, but even though he’s  recovered enough to receive visitors and resume some of his religious duties, Kaname still tries to keep him out of the office most days so he can get some rest.

Still, Dad worries, not only that Kaname is overworking himself but about how his friends have all gone off to school, how he rarely leaves the temple grounds unless he’s running errands. He knows about Natori’s offer regarding the Matsuokas, Kaname’s discussed it with him. And though he’s made it clear that it’s ultimately Kaname’s decision he’s made it equally clear that he likes the idea—both for the sake of Kaname’s mental health and for the prospect of him learning how to better protect himself. On occasions when Dad’s pushed himself too hard and worn himself out, Kaname has threatened to accept the offer but go on to major in accounting just to get hired on by the temple organization and then end up right back home. But he has to admit, he’s been dreaming of it—of the airy kitchen that always smells just a bit like the tea Natsume drinks in the mornings, of the sun-dappled corner where Sensei likes to curl up and nap, of the balcony overlooking a cityscape both unfamiliar and beautiful in its own way, the mountains that look blue in the distance. Of waking up to Natsume’s cheek squashed against the pillow beside him, safe and whole and wonderfully there. He’ll probably have to wait until the next academic year begins, but he thinks it wouldn’t be so bad at all.

“I have something for you,” he tells Natsume now, scooping up the backpack Natsume had set down while taking off his shoes. Natsume smiles, tilts his head just a bit in question. But when he does, Kaname sees something, a glinting just beneath his hair on one side. He blinks, steps forward to brush Natsume’s hair back. “What’s—”

And when he sees what it is, he thinks his face must do something odd, because Natsume’s smile has faltered a bit, turned sheepish. “I actually thought you’d have noticed them already,” he says.

“I left my glasses by the computer,” he murmurs, and he thinks he’s staring. He should probably stop staring. “And your hair’s gotten longer anyways.”

Natsume shrugs, looking a touch pinker than before. “It’s just on the one side.” A pause. “It doesn’t look weird, does it? I don’t really trust Natori’s opinion.”

“It’s not weird.” The answer is immediate, almost embarrassingly so. He realizes they haven’t moved from the genkan, and that he hasn’t quite managed to quit staring, so he takes Natsume’s hand and tugs him towards the kitchen. He hopes his palms aren’t as clammy as he thinks they are.

There are two hoops in his left earlobe, side by side, one silver and one gold, catching the light from behind strands of pale hair. They’re subtle enough—Kaname doesn’t think the tip of his little finger could fit through either—but the sight of them makes the air stick strangely in Kaname’s throat.

“Did they hurt?” he asks, a moment later.

“Not really.” Natsume takes a seat at the worn kitchen table, hand hovering up near his ear in a way that’s half considering, half self-conscious. “Right when they do it, yes, but not so much after.”

Kaname goes to get Natsume a drink, but pauses with his hand on the refrigerator door, considering. “Any particular reason you got it done?” he starts, tone as light as possible. If Natsume’s already shy about it, Kaname doesn’t want to make it worse, but he can’t pretend he isn’t curious. “Just because you wanted to, or…”

“No, I—I mean. I don’t hate it, but there was a reason.” The shade of Natsume’s cheeks is on just this side of salmon when Kaname glances back, and it’s so frankly adorable that Kaname has to turn his back again, not trusting himself to keep a straight face. “Do you remember the farm in Aomori I told you about?” Natsume continues. “The owners had called the Matsuokas for an exorcism because their livestock kept getting sick so we stayed for a few days.”

“I remember.” He also remembers all the grim visuals his own imagination had served up over the course of those three long days, until he’d gotten the text that all was resolved and that Natsume was safe and whole and on a train away from that place.

“The family had a connection to a lesser exorcist clan that sort of fizzled out a few generations ago. And Sayaka-san—ah, the wife—was really her aunt and uncle’s only heir because they didn’t have children. They were both exorcists, and she’d inherited a few things from them.”

“Did the angry ayakashi have something to do with that clan?” Kaname asks, setting two cups of lemonade on the table and sliding into the seat across from Natsume. And god if it doesn’t do something to him, to see Natsume right there, right across from him, pale fingers wrapping easily around the lumpy clay cup Kaname made in middle school, afternoon light through the window settling in his hair and glinting starlike off those new tiny hoops in his ear and every day, Kaname wants this every day. Just this. He swallows, hard, forces himself to pay attention because Natsume’s talking again.

“It actually had nothing to do with them. The farm had been owned by her husband’s family anyhow, but. The land the farm sat on was at the center of some dispute between two ayakashi, some territory thing they bicker about every hundred years. All Sensei and I really did was get them both to agree to meet each other, and they mostly sorted it out themselves from there.”

Kaname blinks. “The Matsuokas didn’t do anything?”

Natsume shrugs. “They didn’t really need to. Sensei worked out what was going on pretty quickly, and didn’t really wait up for their help. He thought the exorcists barging in would just make things worse.” He pauses to take a sip of lemonade. As soon as he does, his eyes light up. “Ah—your lavender! You got to harvest it?”

Kaname feels a grin touch his lips as he watches Natsume take a second, larger gulp of the lemonade, in his face all the bliss of an elementary schooler who’s gotten his hands on an ice cream pop at the park. He’s a bit surprised Natsume didn’t notice the smell straightaway when Kaname had poured it, but to be fair the entire kitchen smells a bit like lavender most days. “I did. I’ll tell you about it later. Finish your story first.”

He does, after yet another hearty gulp. “When it was all resolved and we went to tell the family, Sayaka-san wanted to give me a gift. I told her not to, because it was more Sensei than me, and Hiiragi helped too—Natori sent her with me because Sensei didn’t want him there either—they made sure neither of the ayakashi could get away until they settled the dispute. I asked a couple of questions, mostly because I wasn’t sure what was going on—it was something about a sacred pine grove—but it wasn’t like I resolved things for them.”

Kaname doesn’t need to hear the specifics to be soundly convinced that Natsume’s not giving himself near enough credit. He takes his own sip of lemonade, the tartness of it tempered by the softer herbal taste that lingers on his tongue. “What was the gift?”

Natsume smiles, a bit rueful. “Earrings.”

Kaname points. “Those?”

“No, these were just to get the piercings done, but I can show you later. They’re talismans, and pretty effective ones from what Sensei could tell. It’s a set of six, they’re little round polished stones in all different colors. I’ve got the types of stone written down somewhere and what each of them is useful for but I don’t really remember. Sayaka-san had inherited them from her aunt and uncle.”

“Did she know what they were for?”

“Vaguely. Enough to think she didn’t have as much use for them as I might. They’d just been sitting in a box in the house, and she was really glad the problem was fixed, so. She insisted. But Natori also insisted on paying her for them.” His mouth twists. “She didn’t love that, but I think he had a sense of how valuable they were, and didn’t want anyone trying to step in and claim I’d gotten them illegitimately. I like Yasuda-san and Tanaka-san—they were the clan members that went with us—and I really don’t think they’d do something like that, but I guess it’s better to be cautious.”

Kaname’s not sure how to feel about that. “That’d technically make them Natori’s then, right?”

Natsume huffs a short sigh. “I did try to make him take at least some of them, but he said they’d do me more good than him, that he’d feel better if I wore them at least some of the time. Also that his agent would kill him anyways if he showed up with holes in his ears. So he took me to get mine done, instead.” His hand’s inching upwards again, like he can’t decide if he wants to touch his ear or hide it from sight.

Kaname reaches across the table and intercepts his hand midair, lacing their fingers together in a move that’s objectively more awkward than suave, but it makes Natsume’s lips twitch nonetheless, and that feels like an achievement. “What’d the Fujiwaras say?” he asks.

“Well when I explained why I got it done, they were all for it, but.” Lips pursed, he looks equal parts embarrassed and affectionately exasperated. “I think it sort of amused them. Touko-san said it looked ‘very handsome’ and had me promise to clean them really well, and Shigeru-san cracked a few jokes about rock stars.”

“I mean—”

Natsume shoots him a withering look. “Don’t you start.”

Kaname agrees with Touko; can picture the barest hint of mischief touching the corners of her wide, delighted smile. “Will you get the other side done?” he asks. “If you’ve got six.”

He shrugs. “Natori said two at a time would be fine. And both sides seemed a bit…”

There’s a dozen different adjectives Kaname could fill in at the end of that sentence, none of them remotely close to what Natsume looks to be thinking. If he had showed up with both sides done, Kaname’s quite sure that his own reaction would’ve embarrassed them both.

“I did think—” Natsume starts, then seems to need a moment to rally himself before continuing. “If you wanted,” he begins again, looking rather more at some spot on Kaname’s cheek than at his eyes. “You could take some of them.”

“Oh.” It’s safe to say that’s not an offer Kaname had anticipated. “I’m not…I’m not an exorcist, though.”

“Neither am I,” Natsume counters, his fingernail tracing idly across the back of Kaname’s hand where their hands are still twined together across the tabletop. “Not really. And you are good at cleansings and banishings, anyways.”

“That’s…it’s kind of just a matter of showing up and remembering the words, but thank you.” He’d been practicing a bit of that at Dad’s suggestion and with his help, and had genuinely found the memorizing to be the most arduous part of it all; he’d taken to muttering the trickier, more unwieldy bits of sutra under his breath to practice while watering the plants or doing housework, most days.

“You’re good at it,” Natsume repeats. “I don’t want to make you feel like you’ve got to go and put holes in your ears if you don’t want to but I thought…” he trails off, looking uncertain.

“Thought what?”

 He lets out a tight breath, then says, the words jumbling together a bit as though he’s afraid he’ll lose his nerve if he doesn’t get it out quickly, “I thought you could use them if you still wanted to come apprentice with the Matsuokas too.”

“I do.” He surprises himself with the immediate answer, but it crystallizes inside him even as he says it. “I will.”

Natsume’s eyes go round. “Really?”

“Really.”

Natsume smushes his lips together for a moment before speaking again, the taut look on his face suggesting there’s something before him now that he’s not sure he ought to hope for. “But…your dad—“

“I think Dad’s close to packing my bags himself if I don’t get out of here soon and go do something that doesn’t involve spreadsheets and invoices.” He feels himself smile. “I’d need to wait for the new school term, and don’t think I can do much to help out an exorcist clan, but…”

“You’ll do fine,” Natsume interjects, in a murmur. “I told you that.” And he had; as nerve-wracking as it is for Kaname to consider that he’d be literally blind to so many of the youkai the clan would be taking on, Natsume had said that he’d already met a handful of respected exorcists who worked for or alongside the Matsuokas whose sight for the supernatural was even less than Kaname’s. Some, even, with no sight whatsoever—who, like Dad, could compensate for that fact with knowledge and technique and become formidable in their own right. It’d been a comfort to know, but Kaname can’t say he’s not nervous about getting someone hurt because he couldn’t keep up, or excusing himself to go be sick behind a tree in the middle of some crucial binding or ritual because his body wouldn’t tolerate it.

Still.

“I want to go with you.” It’s out of his mouth before he can even find it in himself to be embarrassed about it. He’s staring at their hands, his own wrapped tightly around Natsume’s cool fingertips like he’ll find himself alone in the kitchen if he lets go.

Some of the creases in Natsume’s forehead soften. “That apartment’s too big for just me,” he says, with a tiny smile, looking down into his cup. “As long as you don’t get yourself eaten.” He pulls a slight grimace. “Or recruited.”

The first option’s more likely than the second, Kaname thinks but doesn’t say. “I won’t if you don’t,” he says instead.

“No chance of that.” Natsume taps the side of his cup with two fingers. “I think Sensei would rather eat me himself than consent to working for an exorcist. It puts him in a bad enough mood to be mistaken for a shiki as it is.”

Natsume had been very clear from the beginning, that his only reason for working with the Matsuokas was to learn to protect people, though Kaname also knows that means doing so without having to harm any ayakashi that ought to be left well enough alone. Kaname’s not sure why any of that has to be mutually exclusive from pursuing exorcism as a career path, but he’s certainly spent less time with exorcists and clan politics than Natsume has. And he can’t say he wouldn’t appreciate Natsume choosing a less dangerous day job.

“You’re sure?” Natsume’s asking him, now. His expression hasn’t changed much, but behind his eyes Kaname can see the years stacked upon years of learning to brace himself for rejection.

“I am."

***

They’re on the veranda now, legs hanging over the edge, the tips of Natsume’s socked toes not quite brushing the mossy carpet below.  Heaped on the floorboards between them is what Kaname now realizes is probably an excessive amount of lavender: dried blooms in a glass jar, loose stems fastened with twine into bunches, yet more blooms rather poorly sewn into cotton sachets with simple blessings Dad had helped him write tucked inside. And finally, currently perched atop Natsume’s head where Kaname had placed it on a whim a moment ago, a carefully twisted wreath of pale purple and silvery green.

“You don’t have to use it all,” he tells Natsume, tapping lid of the jar. “Or take it all. It’s a lot.”

Natsume gives him a small sidelong grin, and with those slitted eyes catching and holding the afternoon sun as if it belongs to them, Kaname has to remind himself to breathe.

“Did you leave any for yourself?” Natsume asks wryly.

A soft snort. “Plenty. I had no idea they’d bloom so much this year, after how pitiful it was last year. I harvested most of them twice.”

Kaname’s got a literal dozen plants, the seeds a gift from one of Dad’s associates who’d gotten them on one of his frequent trips to a network of temples in Hokkaido. Kaname had sprouted them in egg cartons and had done his best with them, knowing that plants more suited to a milder climate far to the north would be finicky to say the least. It had taken two years to coax a decent harvest from them, and that had taken digging up a long strip of garden space to fill in with the sand and gravel they needed, and then painstakingly potting and repotting them all to move them between the flowerbed and a sunny storeroom he’d cleared out at the rear of the house when the weather grew too wet. Dad had joked that they’d bloomed so well this year because Kaname had spent so much time mumbling sutra while tending to them, but whatever the case it had been deeply satisfying to cut and hang the bunches of long fragrant stems up to dry when they’d been so scraggly the year before.

Natsume takes a sachet into his hands, holding it gently between his fingers up to his eye level. It turns a faint purple where the afternoon sun lights it from behind.

“I’m not sure it’ll do any actual good in protecting you,” Kaname says, watching him lightly touch his fingertip to the outline of the card where the blessing is inked. “Taki would be better for that. But it’ll make your pillowcases smell nice, at least.”

Natsume brings it up to his face, letting his eyes shutter as it covers his nose and mouth. “It smells like your room,” he says softly. He reaches up to where the wreath is settled in his hair. “This too.”

“Well I’ve got the one on the wall near my bed,” he says, certain he’s failing to sound casual when there’s that rare, unveiled softness in Natsume’s eyes. His tongue feels heavy and strange, and there’s a sensation like so many soda bubbles fizzing and popping in his chest, but he somehow manages to say, “The smell’s relaxing, so I like it there, but. You can put it anywhere you want. Sorry for not tying it so neatly.”

Natsume takes his hand off the wreath, sets it over Kaname’s, fingertips chilled from the refilled cup he’d carried with him. “It’s a good thing the apartment has a big veranda.”

Kaname chuckles, shakes his head. “Not big enough for a dozen large pots. Where would we hang the laundry?”

“We’ll fit them.” Natsume shrugs, tips his head back, looking utterly serene. “Won’t you want them for your tea?”

And that’s about when Kaname can’t take it anymore. He turns, cups Natsume’s face in both hands, and kisses his parted lips.

For the space of a breath, Natsume’s motionless against his mouth, but Kaname barely has the time to start to wonder if he’s done the wrong thing before he can feel the cool grip above his elbows, practically taste the featherlight sigh between lips that have opened wider to move with his own.

When they part, a long lightheaded moment later, Natsume’s reaching up towards his own hair, brows scrunching together, cheeks marvelously flushed under Kaname’s fingers. “Isn’t this poking you in the face?” He taps his makeshift crown.

“Yes,” Kaname says simply, leaning in to peck the very tip of Natsume’s nose.

Natsume bites down on a smile, not quite managing to look disapproving, and not moving to take it off, either. “All the flowers will fall off.”

I’ll make a better one, is what he means to say. What comes out of his mouth instead, entirely unbidden, is, “I missed you.” His voice snags oddly on the last word, and he swallows hard. A month and some change does not warrant falling to pieces on him, Kaname tells himself sternly, a handful of colorful nightmares notwithstanding. He’d made enough of a scene when he’d nearly tackled him at the door, hadn’t he. Still, he doesn’t trust himself to speak until Natsume does, his throat feeling suspiciously thick.

Natsume, for his part, looks a bit stricken, at first. And Kaname has the sudden thought that he’s grappling with the idea of being missed to such a degree in the first place. But the expression shifts soon enough into one of concern, and warmth.

“You won’t have to, for long,” he murmurs, after pulling Kaname back in for a gentle brush of lips across his cheekbone. “I won’t, either.” A lingering pause. Then, “…ah, sorry. That’s got to be stabbing you in the eye, right?”

Kaname blinks when Natsume abruptly pulls away, feeling muzzy and untethered and wanting very much for Natsume to be kissing him again until he realizes that Natsume’s gingerly lifting the wreath off his head. It catches on his hair despite his best efforts, enough to tug a few blossoms loose, and enough to knock aside those strands that have grown out just long enough to fall past his earlobes.   

And Kaname couldn’t have pretended not to stare if his life depended on it.

His hand’s up, fingers outstretched before he even realizes. “Can I, um. It’s not going to hurt you or anything if I—”

“No. Go ahead.”

But Kaname’s only just touched the tip of his finger to the outermost hoop—the barest amount of pressure enough to make it lie flat against the bottom of Natsume’s earlobe—when Natsume sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, ducking his head out of Kaname’s reach.

Kaname snaps his hand back, distressed. “I’m sor—”

“No, it tickles.” Natsume straightens back up, rubbing at his ear with more vigor than he probably ought to whether it’s fully healed or not, leaving the metal gleaming against reddened skin.

Kaname raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

The glare Natsume shoots him is truly remarkable, though the effect is somewhat dampened by his mussed hair, the crumbly bits of lavender that have fallen onto his shoulders. Kaname throws his hands up, a picture of innocence, tucking this particular scrap of information away for a later date.

“For what it’s worth, though…” he starts, once he is well and truly sure that Natsume won’t try to scoot himself several meters down the porch and out of his reach; his arms are wrapped loosely around himself and he’s smiling again, though warily. But at that moment Kaname finds himself so thoroughly arrested with love that he couldn’t have launched the anticipated attack if he tried. “For what it’s worth. The earrings look good.”

#I didn't mention it in the fic but I need you all to know #Nishimura is absolutely thrilled by this development #'let me touch them' 'no' #natsume yuujinchou #natsume's book of friends #natsuyuu #tanunatsu #tanuma kaname #natsume takashi #owlet's fanfic #lizzyeleven #prompt fic #ask meme

[imalifegen89]

A Legacy Left Behind - Chapter - 5 - The Gemmond Incident

Rating: Mature

Category: M/M

Fandoms: Stargate Atlantis, Hawaii Five-0 (2010), Stargate SG-1

Relationship: Steve McGarrett/John Sheppard

Characters: John Sheppard, Steve McGarrett, Danny "Danno" Williams, PO Higgins (OC), Kono Kalakaua, Adam Noshimuri, Alicia Vega, Laura Cadman, Bates (Stargate), Original Stargate Wraith Character(s), Original Characters, George Hammond, Jack O'Neill, Catherine Rollins, Evan Lorne

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Swearing, Character Bashing, Not Catherine Rollins Friendly, Violence, BAMF John Sheppard, BAMF Team, No DADT

Summary: Team SG-11 goes on their first off-world mission. It's supposed to be a 'walk in the park,' easing them into the hectic life at the Stargate Command. But things have a way of going off the rails when this particular team is involved. One way or another, they'll prove that they've got what it takes to fulfill their mission.

-o0o-

The first official mission of SG-11, yay!

As always, Salchat, you are the best!!! Thank you so much for all your hard work. I'm improving but I'm still a lot of work for my Beta.

If there are any mistakes, they'd be my own.

Part - 1

Officers Quarters, Pearl Harbor-Hickam Base - Hawaii

The Naval Intelligence Command Analyst, Lieutenant Catharine Rollins, was tired. The 18 hour or so trips from Hawaii to Libya and back were taking a heavy toll and all she wanted to do was go to her quarters, take a long, hot bath, and collapse on her bed for a long, uninterrupted sleep until the next day. Both she and Harrington had been dismissed by Commander Joe White with orders to take the rest of the day off and report for duty the next day when they had returned to the base. Harrington had invited her to go out but she had declined politely, citing jet lag and the need to rest. In her mind, she had been cursing at the damn idiot to stop trying to get attached to her like a freaking limpet and just leave her the hell alone.

She sighed in relief as she finally reached her quarters without having been called away for something or other, despite her being off duty. That had happened a couple of times before and that was part and parcel of her glamorous career as an Intelligence Analyst. She entered her quarters, threw her traveling bag to a corner, and started taking off her sweaty and dusty uniform while fantasizing about a nice, hot, bubble bath. But being just a lowly analyst, she only had a cramped shower in her quarters. 'Ah well, at least it's not like I have to go for a communal shower.' She shuddered at the thought.

Her much-needed long shower turned out to be only fifteen minutes as the hot water got cut off. She sighed and got out, still quite travel weary. Then she found her most comfortable and baggy sweats, an old t-shirt that was a few sizes too big, put them on, and got under the blankets in her bed. She was hoping to catch a few hours of sleep before she had to go out for dinner.

Despite the physical exhaustion, her thoughts turned to the past few hours.

'Why is it that the handsome ones are always either taken or gay?' she asked herself rhetorically.

She had tried her damndest to flirt with the navy SEAL she'd had her eyes on for a while now. But the stupid asshole had been completely oblivious. She had been sure, when they were on their way, in that transport - his loud-mouthed friend had pointed it out clearly to the Commander. But the man had seemed utterly uninterested and even annoyed at his friend. Catharine had been reeling at that response, although she had kept up the pleasant conversation with the idiot, Harrington. Then she had seen the subtle drama between her SEAL and that rather unremarkable pilot. That had given her a clue as to the lack of interest from the guy. She knew she was a very pretty woman and was not quite used to her rather demonstrated feelings going unreciprocated in that manner.

'But he’s got to be bi, hasn't he? So there is still a chance. Claire was pretty sure when she told me that McGarrett used to go out with Anna from the Enterprise during the first year after he got his trident. Pff... I'm a much better catch than that woman, certainly much better than a damn pilot...a plain guy with dumb hair-do, at that...Argh. Besides, fighter pilots don't really have that long life expectancies now, do they? Oh, Steven, you could do so much better, really..' She let her thoughts wander about the latest individual that had caught her attention and his rather ungainly love interests.

She was dragged away from her musings by a certain ringtone on her phone that had only rung twice before. She sprang up in her bed as if she had been electrocuted.

'Shit, shit, shit! I should've anticipated this,' she berated herself, especially after what had happened and where she'd been.

She hurriedly got off the bed, found her personal laptop, and plugged in the special USB/Dongle she had been given about a month ago when she was recruited. She then switched it on, disconnected her internal internet connection to the base, and connected to a different server - a server with an IP address that bounced off several satellites and countries making it impossible to track the connection. She finished running the encryption she had been given along with the USB when a window opened on her screen, indicating an incoming call. She clicked the button to accept, with trepidation.

As usual, a black screen greeted her as the call connected. She had taken steps to protect herself as much as she could and had her camera already covered. She was reasonably sure that whoever was on the other side wouldn't see her either, but she couldn't guarantee it.

"Agent CR-17, this is Zero. We have questions for you," the disembodied and distorted voice coming through the connected call informed her. She grimaced at the 'handle' she'd been given. Then she took a deep breath to clear her mind and remember the details of the past 30 hours.

"Yes, please ask your questions," she replied when she was sure her voice was even and polite.

"You have participated in a certain meeting. Give us the particulars," the voice ordered.

'Well, that's easy enough,' she thought as she mentally listed the main points of the meeting. And then she launched into an account of the meeting that happened at the base between her, Harrington, SGC, and the SEALs, the gathering at the Wheelus Air Base in Libya, the points they discussed there, and the revelations that came to light about the alliance between the Wraith and the Goa'uld agents.

The voice was quiet for a long time before it answered. "Are you quite sure of this, Agent? They have seen our involvement at the Detention facility?"

"Yes, I am. I'd advise you to take precautions if you are going to conduct further operations in this manner. I'm certain they will be able to track your transporter movements. The scientists they have at the SGC seem very competent," she answered truthfully.

"Very well." said the voice, with grim finality.

"Now, this is your next task. Send the personal files of the members of the SEAL team who were involved in this meeting. We need to deal with this before things get out of hand - well - even more out of hand. Do you understand?" the voice asked with emphasis.

Rollins felt sweat running down her spine despite the shower she had just taken only a few minutes ago. Giving them verbal reports once or twice in a while was one thing, but sending highly classified personal files was something else entirely. But she knew that refusing was not an option, not if she wanted to keep her career or her life for that matter.

"Yes, I do." She answered the only way she could.

"Make sure we receive it all by the end of the month. You do not need to send them all at once. Take steps to cover your tracks. But make sure we have what we need by the deadline." The voice cut off abruptly, just the way it always did after it finished giving orders.

She stared at her now empty laptop screen for a few moments, trying to wrap her mind around the conversation she'd just had. Not for the first time, she regretted the circumstances that led her to accept this arrangement. Having a fat retirement fund to return to when she finally took her early retirement from the navy after putting the minimum years in, was a nice feeling. But she certainly couldn't enjoy it from a military prison or an early grave.

She shook her head and switched her laptop off. It was too late to do anything now. She had to concentrate on planning how to get around various security restrictions and get her hands on the files that were requested by her beneficiaries. She needed someone from the Human Resources Administration for this, didn't she? Then she felt a small smile creeping up on her lips - She knew exactly the person she could easily persuade into letting her take a glimpse of such things! Feeling quite satisfied and making further plans for her treasonous mission, she decided she was hungry enough and started to get dressed to go out in search of a proper dinner.

Stargate Command, Cheyenne Mountain - Colorado

Embarkation Room

(Four weeks later)

"I know you said renaissance age, but what does that mean, exactly?" Danny asked as he adjusted the strap of his MP7.

Everyone in SGC was issued FN P90 Personal Defense weapons. But the SEALs were partial to their own submachine guns and other weapons. The first thing they'd done when they began the training, was to raid the armory in the SGC to make sure they had those specific weapons and ammo they needed. The Master Sergeant in charge of the armory had gleefully sent out requests for the Navy to re-supply them with the standard weapons and kits for the Special Operators. The Navy had reluctantly given in, needing to keep up their standards.

"Like you just stepped into a Rome-Egypt hybrid planet in the 14th century," Bates replied with a grimace. He was not a fan of the planet. He had been on one of the Gate teams who had visited the planet before it was reformed by the SG-1. He hadn't been impressed.

"Hey, it's a nice enough planet,” Major Evan Lorne interjected. “Well, they were a bit uptight before, but then SG-1 sorted them out. They are good people now, took on refugees from Nasya and everything. It's safe enough for first-time planet hoppers. Besides, they are having their harvest celebrations this time of the year. Food, drinks, and merry people all around. And we have a standing invitation every year for the party," Lorne had visited the planet two years ago for his first 'travel through the Gate' experience and it had been a blast. He was very much looking forward to an encore.

"So, what do we do there?" This was from Higgins.

"Nothing much. We go and say 'hi' to the leaders, go to a party or two and come back home," answered Cadman. She had heard good stuff from Lorne and was looking forward to the experience as well. It would be nice for once, just to go to a planet and join a celebration, just enjoy the visit other than fighting or running for their lives, for a change.

"Nice," Higgins agreed.

The Stargate Command's newest addition - or the newly re-arranged SG-11, was waiting to go on their first extra-planetary mission. Four weeks had passed since Colonel Sumner initiated the first-ever SGC team combined with the SEALs and the CIA agents. They had all been heavily involved in training for all sorts of scenarios they could think of since then. Their days had been full of weapons, physical, tactics training, going through all available information about galaxy's bad guys, and then a couple of weeks spent in earth's Alpha site for field training. Sheppard and Lorne had had to beam down to Antarctica in between for projects at the Outpost and then visit Peterson Base a few times to keep up their flight qualifications. Altogether, those six weeks had been hectic and they were all looking forward to this outing. Listening to Lorne and everyone else who had already been to planet Gemmond painting a merry picture of their culture, had them all eager for the visit. The Wraith and the Goa'uld had been silent and hadn't made any noteworthy moves so far. They all knew that when they finally did, SG-11 needed to be ready to move. This trip to Gemmond for their harvesting celebrations was sort of a break before they had to go to war, so to speak.

"Dialing the gate now." Sergeant Harriman's voice could be heard over the speakers. He had started the dialing sequence for the planet designated P3X-422, aka Gemmond.

"Chevron One encoded,"

"Chevron Two encoded,"

"Chevron Three encoded,"

"Chevron Four... not encoded."

That was not the usual script during a dial-out. Sheppard exchanged a glance with Steve and turned back to look up at the dialing station. They were all waiting in front of the ramp while Harriman dialed. The day's duty officer-in-charge, an Air Force Colonel called Dixon, was standing behind the station where Harriman was sitting. He was also frowning at the diversion from the norm.

"What's happening, Sergeant?" They could all hear the Colonel asking Harriman over the speakers.

"Sir, the gate is not connecting. It's almost as if someone from that side is already dialing. You know, it's like, we're getting the 'line busy' tone," Sergeant Harriman guessed.

"That doesn't make sense. They know we're visiting them today. They usually like it when we visit," said Colonel Dixon, his frown deepening as he glared at the dialer. Then he looked over the see-through window to stare at the group waiting to go off-world. He grimaced as if SG-11 personally had something to do with the Gate refusing to connect.

Colonel Garry Dixon wasn't a big fan of the newly initiated team. His personal opinion was that the lot of them were too arrogant and cocky for their own good. And he hadn't really tried very hard to keep his opinions to himself. But SG-11 didn't let it bother them. They hardly needed validation from the opinionated Colonel. The man had only earned his stripes just by spending the required years in service without a single active combat tour under his belt. He had somehow landed his position as head of Public Relations for SGC, mostly thanks to his political connections.

"Well, dial again," said Dixon after a pause. The Sergeant did as ordered.

"Nope, still not connecting," Harriman said after the third failed attempt. The fourth Chevron refused to connect and the Stargate stubbornly stayed dormant.

"I don't like this. I don't like this at all. Something's not right," Bates muttered, shaking his head.

Sheppard stared at the Gate, thoughtfully. He could feel it in his mind. The Gate was trying to establish a connection with the input destination. He knew that Walter had guessed correctly; something was blocking the connection from the other side. Moreover, he could feel the Gate trying to force the connection, but not succeeding because something was lacking from SGC's side. It gave John an uneasy, itchy feeling in the back of his mind - like a puzzle piece that's been forced to fit into a place that it didn't quite belong. It gave him an idea.

"Sir, permission to take the Puddle Jumper on this visit?" Sheppard addressed the Colonel.

They had only just found this super-cool, little spacecraft back in Antarctica a week ago, and John had felt like he had been given a gift. He had been on the Chair running a diagnostic on weapons systems when the link had guided him towards one of the storage areas that was recently uncovered to show him the ship. He had finished the routine quickly and taken off towards his prize, with the mental connection in his mind laughing softly at his eagerness. He and Rodney had spent two days going through the ship top to bottom and declared it safe for flights. He had taken the newly named 'Puddle Jumper' (Rodney had insisted on calling it ‘Gateship,’ but John had exercised his veto power as the pilot and put a firm stop to that nonsense) on a few rides and returned with it back to the Mountain at O'Neill's orders. Jack O'Neill had promptly jumped in with Jackson, Carter, and Mitchell in tow, and taken it on a tour to space. He had returned after a few hours with all of them grinning like kids on Christmas, and then given his official stamp to put the Jumper on active service.

"What can you possibly do with the Jumper, Sheppard? We can't dial. The damned line is busy," said the Colonel, starting to lose his patience.

Sheppard mentally rolled his eyes. He knew that Dixon was quite skeptical when it came to believing in Sheppard's affinity for all things Ancient.

"I know that, Sir. But I also know that the Jumper's got a DHD in it, an Alteran designed. As advanced as our dialer is, it's still primitive compared to the real thing,” he replied. “And when there's the real thing, there's a chance that I could do something with it," he put on his most innocent expression and stared expectantly at the Colonel.

John could see Danny openly rolling his eyes and Steve trying hard to hide a snort. Bates was staring stoically ahead, staying away from the officer's spats. Agents Kalakaua and Noshimuri were staring at the Gate serenely, not letting this petty nonsense bother them. Cadman and Higgins were grinning ear to ear, watching the drama unfold. Lorne and Vega were doing the same as Cadman and Higgins, but they were carefully hiding their grins behind blank masks.

"So sure of yourself, Major?" asked Dixon, not bothering to hide his disdain.

It was obvious that he didn't believe for a second that Sheppard could do anything about the situation. The Ring was busy on the other side - there was not a damn thing they could do from this side until it closed, period.

"I don't see any harm in trying," Sheppard drawled with a shrug.

The Colonel looked for a moment like he wanted to refuse. Then he seemed to realize that it would be more fun to let John try and then berate him afterward when he inevitably failed.

"Fine then, knock yourself out. Just don't break the Stargate or the Jumper, Major." Dixon gestured grandly for them to get on with it.

...........

The team reached the next level where the Jumper was parked. The floor of the level had a trap door that could be remotely opened to let the jumper fly vertically down until it came face to face with the Stargate.

They all got themselves situated comfortably inside the craft. Sheppard took the pilot seat with Major Lorne as the co-pilot at his side. Lorne hadn't had the chance to take it out for a spin yet and Sheppard wanted him to familiarize himself with the controls during the flight. Steve and Danny took seats behind them in the cockpit. The rest of the team made themselves at home in the back where there was plenty of space for them and the equipment they carried.

"So, you think you can force a dial-in?" Lorne asked while he watched Sheppard going through the pre-flight.

"I don't know yet, Lorne. It's not like I've tried it before," said Sheppard with a crooked grin, not bothering to look up from what he was doing.

"Well, you sounded awfully sure back there," said Lorne.

"Let's just say, I have a feeling." Then he turned to look at Lorne and give him an impish grin. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this.”

"Ah, Jesus! Please tell me it's not going to be like the time when we were doing that thing in Baghdad... Please! I'm begging you," Danny implored. His eyes had gone wide with what looked like genuine fear.

"Fucking hell, Danny, you had to bring that up," said Steve, trying to hide his fear behind annoyance.

"McGarrett, tell me that is not the case now - cos man, I'm gonna climb outta this tin-can right now." Higgins was already halfway up from his seat and looking furtively at the back door of the Jumper.

"Come on guys, relax. I'm pretty sure I know what I’m doing." Sheppard had finished checking on the flight controls in front of him and was now fiddling with the switches directly above him. He looked completely at ease, in direct contrast to the mounting fear in the atmosphere inside the craft.

"What happened in Baghdad?" Bates piped up from the cargo bay, stoic demeanor forgotten as his curiosity was piqued.

"Don't ask man. Just. Don't..." Higgins was shaking his head from where he was inspecting what looked like an electronic keypad with door controls.

"Oh come on, you can't just say things like that and expect us to let it go. Now you've got us all intrigued and shit," Vega cajoled.

"She's right brah, you gotta spill," Kono seconded. They were all getting increasingly curious as to what could possibly have these badass SEALs shaking in their metaphorical boots.

"Okay, people calm down. If we make it through this mission in one piece, I'll get drunk and tell you all about it - there’s no way in hell I'm going to talk about that shit while I'm sober," Danny promised the group, visibly collecting himself and.

"Stop exaggerating, Williams, it wasn't that bad. Got you all out of there, didn't I?" Sheppard defended himself with a full-blown, mischievous grin. Whatever he'd done, John was enjoying the memory, Lorne could tell.

"I was never the same again, man - none of us were - for a long time," Danny said petulantly. Steve nodded his agreement.

Sheppard finished off his flight checks with a chuckle and gently guided the Jumper above the opening on the floor. The technician outside opened the trap door, obeying Sheppard's signal. The little craft descended smoothly and came to a stop in front of the dormant Stargate, hovering just above the ramp.

..........

Sheppard dialed the address of the planet Gemmond on the Jumper's DHD. He could feel the connection failure even as he dialed due to the disturbance from the planet. He concentrated. He could feel the Jumper in his mind, wanting to co-operate eagerly.

'The Astria Porta is open on the other side. Is it imperative that we gain entrance to this specific planet, at this time?' John knew the inquiries that appeared in his mind were unmistakably Alteran, but he had no difficulty understanding what was being asked.

'Yes,' John thought confidently.

'Please enable the emergency override.' Another smaller, Ancient equivalent of a keypad appeared from the side of the DHD where John's palm was resting. He replaced his palm on the new sub-dialer, thinking 'Override.’

The new keyboard went back inside the DHD and John removed his hand to place it back on flight controls. The DHD started dialing the Gate address by itself and then dialed another sequence at the end. The Stargate in front of them came to life and the Chevrons started locking at double their usual speed. When the seventh and the final Chevron locked, the wormhole burst into life with a swoosh and stabilized with a splat. Then it waited patiently for the Jumper to fly through the gently rippling, blue surface.

The team chuckled, hooted, laughed, and whistled their praises.

John tapped his ear and activated the comms. "Sheppard to Control. Permission to visit Gemmond, Sir." He waited for the 'Go' order from the Colonel.

"Permission granted, Major." They all clearly heard the sour note in the Colonel’s voice, but they refrained from commenting, wanting to get going without any more delays on their first mission as a team.

#fanfiction series #stargate atlantis #steve mcgarrett #john sheppard #ao3fic #cross over #hawaii five 0 #stargate #fiction #my writing #writers on tumblr #bamf!John Sheppard

[riderdrauggrim]

Day Unknown. Sat, Sep 26, 2020.

Nervous about randomly hiding in 4G Motorsports parking lot, I'm awake a few short hours later around 6:30. I have the tent packed by 8:30, and huddle beside the bike, waiting for staff.

9:00 rolls around and I approach the doors, making my way back to the Parts/Service desk. A young woman who's family shifts her between Alberta and Toronto seems thrilled to meet someone else from Ontario. We check if they have a replacement battery in stock. They do not. And their mechanics are not in on the weekends.

But!

There's a MAGNACHARGE Battery megaemporium RIGHT across the street!

Heartened my luck might be improving, I trot over.

Nope.

They're closed on weekends.

I trot back to 4G, on the way calling Riverside Honda in St. Albert, the blokes who'd changed my tires. They sold their last YTZ14S on Friday. BUT they'd ordered more and they should arrive at the start of this coming week.

I run over my problems with their parts guy. He suggests I remove the battery and try starting the bike with another random battery attached; That might be able to isolate if it is my battery or my starter system/charging stator/rectifier/words.

Sounds good.

Back at 4G I ask if they have a charger or a booster. The parts girl knows where a tender is, but not how to use it. It's okay, I do. They graciously let me push the bike inside their service bay so I can tinker on it, good thing too as it starts to drizzle outside.

So! My battery: Out and Charging.

My bike: New battery hooked up to test the ignition.

My key: In the ignition, turning to activate the bike-*Crack*.

One of the few flaws I've found with the NC750 design is the key is needed in a secondary lock. Turn one way to unlock the frunk (front trunk) where the gas tank USUALLY sits on a motorcycle. Turn the other way to unlock the latch securing the passenger seat, this allowing you to lift it up to reveal the gas cap to fill the tank, which sits under the rider. The problem with this lock is the key does not fully insert. It's about 3/4 depth to the ignition proper.

Over time, this has created something of a weak point on the key itself, occasionally twisting ever so slightly if too much pressure is applied, if the latches are sticky, or the frunk is overfull and a bit jammed. This was usually corrected by sticking the key in and turning it the other way, straightening the blade out again. For this trip, due to the tail luggage making lifting the passenger seat incredibly difficult at best, I had opted to outright remove the pillion cover, leaving the gas cap exposed for easy access. All I needed the secondary lock for was to get in and out of the frunk, which I was doing several times a day to fetch out Goose and Hat, or store drinks, or change power banks.

Perhaps it was this excess of one direction twisting that finally did the blade in.

Perhaps it was just six years of use and wear.

Perhaps life just wanted to take the difficulty level up a notch.

In any event.

I was left holding the top quarter of my key. The remainder still inside the ignition. Even if I can get a new battery, I can now no longer turn on the bike.

My coworker who helped fund this adventure texts me to see how things are going. I tell him my key just snapped in half. He says if I didn't have bad luck, I'd have no luck at all. We discuss options. I'm 3,505 km from home. I'm 427 km from the nearest Honda dealership. I just want to Abandon Quest and Hearthstone out of here, but that's not an option. So I work through various plans.

I call Riverside back and get the Service department. Nick remembers me. I fill him in on the last twelve hours. "Wow." Indeed. He puts me on hold and consults his coworkers. If I can get it there, they'll try and squeeze me in and get this sorted. Some people have good luck using super glue to get broken keys out and then jury rigged back together. With my luck, I'll make a mess and fuse the tumblers and need an entirely new ignition system. The key is also a newer blade style, not a normal tooth house lock key. It's supposed to be stronger, amusingly enough. But it's not the sort of thing local locksmiths should be able to replicate, it needs a Dealership. So even if I got a Fort McMurray locksmith to fish the main part out, if he can't make a new one, I still can't Go.

AND there's the pressing matter of the battery.

During all this my battery on the tender has completed charging. I restore it into the bike, or try to, as the damn nut in the contact for the red lead slips out of the holder and falls precisely through the ONE (1) hole at the bottom of the compartment and somewhere onto the engine block. I don't hear it hit the belly pan, and wedging my fingers into every nook, curve and cranny yields nothing but grimy hands.

I call CAA anew. I get the same woman as the night before, so that helped since she already knew the first part of this story. I now have Multiple Problems that can not be fixed locally. St. Albert is outside the Alberta tow range of 350km. But my membership is from Niagara, and I'm covered for 500km. She calls them to approve it. They say 'of course'. One hurdle down.

She contacts the tow company. New hurdle.

Due to the nine hour round-trip commute, they don't run every single broken vehicle south to Edmonton every time someone breaks down. They wait for multiple items, load them all on a long truck, and do a couple runs a week. So. Yes, they can get my bike to St. Albert. Eventuallllyyyyy.

I get it; from a logistics and efficiency and financial perspective it makes perfect sense.

From a "but... my bike..." and waiting for a nebulous amount of time in a hotel somewhere just for it to get TO the mechanics, nevermind the unknown timeframe of the shop having time to look at it, figure out what's wrong, order new parts if needed, and install them.... Hrrrggggnnnnn.

So EMI came with the short bed and picked up the bike from 4G. The logic being, now it's in their secure compound, ready to go, and when they have a load ready, they'll shove it on and take it south for me. Solid.

How do -I- get back to Edmonton.

Well, there's several buses that run the corridor, presumably for the mine workers to get up and back around their shift days. Awesome!

Oh but they don't run again until Monday. Less awesome!

But what can you do.

My bike won't leave until monday at the /earliest/ anyway, so me being there any sooner really makes no difference.

I book a ticket - cheap at 65$! For a nearly five hour trip? I paid 85$ plus tip for the 20 minute taxi ride from Supertest Hill to Fort McMurray the night prior.

Leaving Monday at 8:30am, arrive near downtown Edmonton. Found a hotel for 80$ within a block of Riverside Honda, not as cheap as my beloved Whitemud, but Whitemud Inn being at the south center of the Edmonton bubble, I'd be paying more than the 15$ a night difference in a cab to get up to St. Albert region. So I'll be right nearby the bike if we can get it going, or I need something from my bags.

In the meantime.

I found an RV campsite literally next door to the bus stop. I called the owner and explained my experiances, and my need for somewhere to simply hide in a tent until Monday morning. Sure, I could try and hide -anywhere-, but for my own safety, and nerves, if I can do this cheap and legal, the better for it. She says she can help me out. She offers a site for a price considerably cheaper than the nearby hotels, which I of course agree to. It's a twenty minute walk from 4G, made longer by hauling two drybags of tent/sleeping bag and essentials, and a third partial of food. Plus wearing my gear. And being somewhat small and scrawny. I take several rests. I drink my Gatorades. I make it. She has the sweetest tabby cat with white socks, no tail, and the SOFTEST fur. Name 'Trouble'. Awwww.

Transaction complete, I set up my tent, kindly serenaded by a curious magpie.

I hear a nearby RV owner pull up, truck doors closing, and then I see a giant white monster making a beeline straight for me. My best guess would be Lab/Samoyed. The head was very much the rectangle block and jowls of a lab, but the pelt was definitely a living cloud. It gives an very quick sniff at my tent, and promptly accepts me petting it. I realize I've been pet-starved during my journey. All my stress is put on pause as I scruffle the heck out of this random dog's sides. In fact, twice I tried to move one hand to teach for my phone for a photo, and he turned in annoyance to see why I'd partially stopped. I hear a woman calling, and ask if he needs to go. He makes no move. In fact he tries to push backwards closer. On a whim, I drop to my rear and make a bowl with my legs. He promptly fills said bowl with his rump. Me on my butt and him on his haunches, I came up to his shoulders.

Good dog.

A woman shouts again, more insistent. I give him a bump with my leg. He resigns himself to getting up and heading home. I realize the owner can't see us, so I pop up and apologize for stealing her dog. She realizes he hadn't just ran off for no reason, and laughs, saying he loves people. Yes, I had learned this.

I needed that.

There's a valley beside the camp ground.

The trees are spent matchsticks, grey and charred and empty against the sky. New growth slowly fills in around the dead wood. I don't know if this is a remainder of the BIG fire of 2016, or another more recent event. It's a staggering amount of devastation, and only a small fragment of the damage done.

The clouds out here... I love skyscapes.

Beautiful.

[cambridge-lovers-knot]

I feel that I should give an explanation as to why I am upset over Meghan and Harry stepping back, and why I’ve grown to dislike them over the past two years.

My dislike for the couple does not come from a place of racism. As a white British woman, it is to be expected that people would assume I don’t like Meghan because she is a mixed race woman, but that isn’t the case. I recognize the privilege that I have as a white woman, and for the past few years I have been making a conscious effort to unlearn my racist behaviors and be more aware of the issues that people of colour face. When their engagement was first announced, I was very excited to have a mixed race member of the Royal Family. I thought that the monarchy was taking a step in the right direction, and I appreciated that there would be better representation in the RF for British POCs. I have been disappointed (although not entirely surprised) by the racist media coverage of Meghan, such as the “straight outta Compton” headline and the awful things said about Archie’s heritage, and the Sussexes have every right to be angry with the media over those articles. In addition to her race, I also didn’t care that she is American, an actress, or that she has previously been married. Those things are unimportant and are used as petty reasons to dislike her by people who are reluctant to admit that they don’t like her because of her race.

However, there are genuine grievances I have with the couple that have been building up since before their wedding. My opinion of Meghan was first altered upon watching their engagement interview. She came off as extremely phoney and disingenuous; there was something about her that rubbed me the wrong way, and as someone who has a knack for picking up on a person’s true character, I’ve learned to trust my intuition. There were also the reports that in the lead up to the wedding, Meghan and Harry were making requests that were a little out of line, and throwing fits when things didn’t go their way (which tiara Meghan wanted to wear, the air fresheners at Windsor Castle, reducing the Duchess of Cambridge to tears over Princess Charlotte’s dress). 

I, like millions of others, watched their wedding. I thought that her veil was a bit dramatic, but whatever, not that important overall. The ceremony was lovely; I especially liked that Prince Charles walked her partially down the aisle. I thought that it showed the affection between them, and displayed the RF’s desire to make Meghan feel welcome. 

A few weeks after the wedding, Meghan attended her first Trooping the Colour. She wore that now-infamous off-the-shoulder pink dress, and received backlash for it. My issue with that dress is not that she bared her shoulders, as almost every royal woman has at some event, but that she did it in that context. Trooping the Colour is a very formal, daytime event, and it is inappropriate to wear a dress like that. There must have been advisers who told her that that dress was inappropriate, and yet she wore it anyway. This was the first indication of the lack of respect Meghan holds for the institution, which she has continuously displayed ever since. Other instances off the top of my head would be her not wearing a hat when she was told that the Queen would be wearing one, wearing dark nail polish, not wearing stockings, and several instances when her hemlines have been far too short. Again, my issue is not that she broke protocol; it is that she has broken protocol at almost every single public appearance, despite the fact that she has a team of advisers to guide her. Her repeated offences have shown her lack of respect towards those who have greater experience than her, and shows that she thinks she knows best when it comes to representing the monarchy. 

Another issue I have is the frequent reports that she mistreats staff. There is no excuse for that, and I believe all those reports to be true because of the number of staff that the Sussexes have lost in such a short amount of time. There must be a reason that those people wanted to give up such a highly desired position, and it comes down to the fact that Harry and Meghan don’t treat them well. 

I also believe that Meghan has narcissistic personality disorder. My gran has NPD, and I recognise many of the traits in Meghan. She has exhibited a grandiose sense of self, as well as her sense of entitlement, need for admiration, her obsession with designer clothes that cost more than the average Brit earns in a year, the fact that she has repeatedly surrounded herself with rich and famous friends who she subsequently drops when they are no longer useful to her, her need for validation from the press and public, and the childish tantrums that she throws behind closed doors while presenting herself as sweet and kind in public. There is also something in her expression that leads me to believe she has NPD; you get the impression from her gaze that she is putting on an act in order to garner sympathy. In the ITV documentary, I didn’t buy her crocodile tears for one second because they were so obviously put on. 

Her familial background also points towards narcissistic personality disorder. Now, I don’t begrudge Meghan for cutting off her paternal family. They are obviously toxic people who have proven they can’t have a healthy relationship with her. However, I don’t doubt that their negativity has affected Meghan. Growing up with a family like that, it’s almost impossible to not develop some type of personality disorder. So while she can’t be faulted for having an awful family, they do serve has another reason to believe that she has NPD.

And then, there are all the times that she has desperately tried to gain attention. They chose to announce their pregnancy at Princess Eugenie’s wedding, which, for the majority of sane people, is an incredibly rude thing to do. Their reasoning was that the entire family was present to hear their good news, but that’s a ridiculous reason to try to steal the spotlight from the bride on her special day. Harry and Meghan were living at Kensington Palace at the time; they could have popped on over to their relative’s homes whenever to announce the pregnancy. They absolutely did not have to do it at the wedding. And all throughout her pregnancy, Meghan insisted on clutching her baby bump like she was afraid it was about to pop off. The way she constantly drew attention to her pregnancy by rubbing her stomach and making sure her coats weren’t hiding her bump seemed very contrived. Another attention-seeking moment was on the South Africa tour, when they gave that interview to complain about how difficult their lives are. They were in South Africa to bring attention to the issues and causes there, but instead they had to make it about themselves and attempt to garner pity from the public. I’m sorry, but nothing they could have said would make me feel sympathy for two people who live in a publicly-funded mansion, take publicly-funded trips around the world, have a nanny, housekeepers, and assistants to help run their household, and never have to worry about money.  Yes, the British press can be brutal, but in my opinion that is the price you pay in order to enjoy the incredible privilege of being a member of the Royal Family. In a time when many Brits are struggling, it was unbelievably callous and selfish of the Sussexes to complain about how hard their incredibly privileged lives are. They are so out of touch with the real world it’s almost laughable. And, most recently, they had to make their announcement that they are stepping down the day before Catherine’s birthday. That doesn’t bother me because they took the spotlight off of Catherine, which is honestly a ridiculous claim, but because that announcement inevitably caused pain and stress to the Cambridges, and it was selfish to do that to them on her birthday. They could have waited until they got the go ahead from the Palace to make their announcement.

The Sussexes’ decision to step down bothers me for several reasons. Firstly, it’s very transparently related to the perceived unfair treatment of the press. If they are no longer senior royals, and do not take part in the royal rota, then the press would be seen as overstepping their bounds if they continue to report on Meghan and Harry. Again, as two people who enjoy incredible privilege and positions of power, it’s not unreasonable for them to also have to endure media attention, whether positive or negative. It’s evident that Meghan greatly enjoys the positive attention, and can’t stand to tolerate the negative attention (again, this points towards NPD), as evidenced by their willingness to give interviews when it is guaranteed to benefit them, but anger with press attention when the media points out their wrongdoings and hypocrisies. Secondly, they claim to want to be “financially independent”, but are still intending on receiving millions of pounds a year from Prince Charles. That’s not financial independence. They should be embarrassed to be in their late 30′s and still expecting a monthly allowance from Harry’s father if they aren’t going to be putting in the requisite work. They have a net worth of tens of millions of pounds already; how much money do you possibly need? Saying that you still need more each year is tone deaf to the financial struggles of the average Brit and incredibly out of touch with the real world. Thirdly, they have trademarked “Sussex Royal” and are clearly planning on using their “brand” to sell merchandise. That would be an embarrassment to the institution of the monarchy and is completely disrespectful towards the crown. If Meghan and Harry intend on stepping down, spending the majority of their time in North America, and not accepting public funds, but still profit off their titles, then they shouldn’t be expected to keep those titles. They clearly view them as status symbols and a source of income, not as the symbols of responsibility and duty that they are. They have every right to give up their places in the RF and raise their son in a normal environment, but if they choose to exercise that right, then it must be all or nothing. They can’t have one foot in and the other out. They can’t continue to reap the privileges of royalty without carrying the responsibilities and burdens. 

Anyway, those are my thoughts. I am not a “Cambridge stan” (my url comes from the fact that the Cambridge Lover’s Knot is my favorite tiara), and my negative views on Harry and Meghan don’t stem from my positive views on the Cambridges. I think it’s pathetic to compare the two couples and pit them against each other. 

#Meghan Markle #Prince Harry #megxit #duke of sussex #duchess of sussex #my thoughts

[prorevenge]

The neighborhood remembers. The neighborhood punishes.

This is a story I've been sitting on for a few years now, and having discovered r/prorevenge a couple months ago, I decided it's finally time to let the world know what happened to a sociopath who dared to cross The Neighborhood.

To set the stage, I used to live in a big but not huge city, lets call it palmville. I lived near the corner of a dense suburb nestled between overstuffed apartment buildings, a river that smelled like diesel when at low tide, and two busy highways. I was a minority in this neighborhood and I caught a lot of heat for it, people didn't really like white people there, but enough of our neighbors were accepting of us that aside from a few disagreements between families and the beatings that came with them I didn't feel like I was in danger when leaving my home. It was a rough neighborhood, but it was my home, and it protected its own.

The Community Center was like a temple, and...lets call her A.M. was the priestess. In our neighborhood she was respected like a living deity, and her calm and understanding reflected her status. I never once saw her behave without a strong moral code.

And the final piece to set this stage, our former landlord. Short asian lady in all the stereotypical ways, kind and sweet. Our house was above my parent's pay grade and she knew it. She went out of her way to find house repair and maintenance jobs for tenants that were having money problems. She'd pay them by taking chunks out of their rent, often times a bit larger than how much the work they did was worth. Looking back, that was probably illegal, but that's irrelevant because she died. The circumstances surrounding her death were suspect, but none of the suspects play a part in this story so there's no need to go into detail on it.

Her sons, who wanted nothing to do with real-estate, took over the business. They couldn't make heads or tails of how she managed to float books with so much red in them and began dumping properties, ours was on that list. I harbor no ill-will towards them, and still wish them the best, but the guy who bought the house...enter the sociopath and today's victim.

This guy wasted no time in making our lives hell. His first action was to raise the rent. Apparently when the account changed hands, he was allowed to update the rent to modern pricing. We'd been there for several years and were paying below market even from the onset, so this was a huge blow by itself. The second blow came when he said that the rent had to be ready, in full, on the first of every month, no partial payments, no work to reduce it, no extensions. Full rent on the first of the month or an eviction notice on the second. This was hemorrhaging our savings, but we were surviving for the moment.

Meanwhile, A.M. had lobbied hard for the city to co-fund a revival project to renovate the entire aging suburb and she succeeded. One street at a time had conga lines of work trucks almost every day and people were getting old leaky pipes replaced, sinkholes in yards patched, fences repaired, paint renewed, it was an amazing thing, and an enticing thing for The Sociopath.

Being at the corner of the neighborhood, our house was on the last street on the list, and Sociopath wanted us out so he could relist the house after renovation. He never said this directly, but multiple conversations made his intent clear even for 10 year old me.

Random inspections, overhyping of minor problems with the house, even so far as trying to bring us up on completely false animal abuse charges because our cat was attacked by what we believe was a raccoon and he tried to claim we did it, yeah, because a vet can't figure out the difference between knife wounds and a mauling.

We read the writing on the wall and began preparations to move. We decided to move in with my oldest brother in a place I'll call banjoland. Most of us had moved except my other brother, who stayed behind because he still had a lot of social ties in Palmville and his new job meant if he cut corners, he could keep paying sociopath's inflated bills.

Well, despite his best efforts, he came up $20 short one month and sociopath jumped on it. he had 30 days. We made the 400 mile trip from Banjoland to Palmville to get the rest of our stuff and I can't say as I approved of my brother's living conditions, but I guess that's beside the point. The month passed rather uneventfully, I guess Sociopath figured he'd won so there was no need to burn the gas to drive out and gloat.

The neighborhood had learned what was going on and that was the first time I'd ever been back in that neighborhood where I didn't get a single callout, a single glare, a single racist remark. Everybody behaved reverently, it was kind of disturbing in all honesty, I guess people in lower incomes all know what eviction means and felt like I was having a bad enough time already.

Well, 20 days later he says it's time to leave. We still had a week left, but it didn't matter, we didn't have the money to try fighting it with a lawyer. A.M. descended from the heavens and bought us a couple extra days, but it was evident he really really wanted us out, possibly because the work trucks were now one street away.

The last time I ever saw the house I grew up in, workmen were throwing my childhood possessions into a large bin when we supposedly still had three days left to leave. Everything that follows is a collection of information I got through the grapevine and phone calls with people present at the events.

Immediately, Sociopath moved into the house himself. Why you may ask? People who owned the homes they were living in were getting the full cost of renovations comped by the city. He figured that by moving in himself, he'd be able to get this house he bought at liquidation price renovated for free and flip it.

A.M. was having none of it.

She explained to him that at the time the revival project was approved, that house was a rental lot, and they can't change the budget now. She then explained to him that the partial cost coverage that had been approved for the lot was in our name, not his, and he wasn't eligible for partial cost comping either.

He'd have to pay every penny himself, and since the entire neighborhood was getting a facelift, he was required to at least renovate the exterior, otherwise she'd see the house condemned as an eyesore or dilapidated or whatever the legal term is. He went really cheap on the renovations, basically put in new carpets and a coat of paint, this would later come to bite him in the ass.

He then began trying to sell the house in earnest. The neighborhood remembered what he'd done. There were vandalisms when nobody was there, and loud noises from the neighbors when people were there to look the house over, and anytime a prospective buyer asked around, they got the full stinkeye from anybody they talked to. They made sure he simply couldn't get that house sold at market value.

After three months of this, he lowered the listing price. Then a month later he lowered it again and finally got a bite. A.M. personally made sure he had to file every. single. piece. of paperwork before it changed hands. Every single part of the house had to be inspected thoroughly.

And that's when Karma herself caught up with him. In his hasty and cheap renovations, he'd somehow damaged the pipes.

Black. Mold.

A.M. remembered how he'd treated us and she decided to pay him back in kind. I never heard how exactly she pulled it off, but she managed to delay him getting the news about the black mold being discovered for several days, long enough that by time he did get the news he didn't have enough time left to try getting it cleaned or make a last ditch effort to save the house.

The house was condemned days later.

In their final act, A.M. and members of the neighborhood filed every single complaint and injunction they could and arranged for him to be compelled by the city to demolish the house immediately. A cost he had to pay out of his own pocket.

He tried to destroy a family and broke laws just to make some quick cash, and instead was left fighting a year long legal battle and ended up losing thousands.

The neighborhood remembers. The neighborhood punishes.

(source) story by (/u/TanyaSapien)

#prorevenge #by /u/TanyaSapien #pro revenge #revenge stories #pro revenge stories #pro #revenge #last10

[douchebagbrainwaves]

WHAT STARTUPS TO GET STARTUP FUNDING

I heard this, I thought, the world. You could conceivably lose half your brain and live. Result: if it can't contain exciting sales pitches, spam becomes less effective as a marketing vehicle, and fewer businesses want to use. You need to be software for making them, so we decided to write some software, it might be a good startup is the percentage chance it's Google. I remember sitting in the living room of an apartment, and a game much closer to the one played in the real world, it's generally for some common purpose, and the number of nonspam and spam messages respectively. 5, or that can incorporate live data feeds, or that you've done something inappropriate. They got in fights and played tricks on one another. An essayist needs the resistance of the plate.

I calculate as follows: continuation 0. Arthur Miller wrote, but looking back I have often wished I'd had the temperament to do an absurd comedy, which is not an all or nothing thing like a series A round in which a single VC fund or occasionally two invested $1-5 million. A startup's life will be easier, cheaper, more mobile, more reliable, and often more powerful than desktop software. It works well for Google and ITA, which are the most general of general principles. But the more you realize you can do things to influence the outcome. The early adopters will be driven ever further apart. Arbitrarily declaring such a border would have constrained our design choices.

We'll suppose our group of founders know what they're doing, you'll be denounced as a yellowist will just be a distraction.1 Bill Gates will of course come to mind first will be the rule with Web-based software is never going to shut me up. Imitating it was like trying to run through waist-deep water. Richard Stallman, or Linus Torvalds, or Alan Kay, or someone writes a particularly interesting article, it will be for the better.2 Someone responsible for three of the best things Google has done. Telling me that I didn't want to have too much to do with the prisoners as possible, so they can tell when someone copies them. If you have any opinions that you would want to put their name on. But, like us, they don't use sentences any more complex than they do when talking about what to do if you are yourself a programmer, and one outside person acceptable to both.

If there's one thing all startups have in common is the extreme difficulty of making them work on anything they don't want to see what focus overlooks. 99 and, say, approach offers as in this approach offers having a probability of. No one except the owner of a piece of software that's full of bugs. A rookie on a football team doesn't resent the skill of the veteran; he hopes to be like the alcohol produced by fermentation. So if you're a quiet, law-abiding citizen most of the talking, but he described his co-founder of Excite.3 They will have to design software so that it can easily kill you. Plus as a consulting company initially, because we were so desperate for users that we'd offer to build merchants' sites for them if their firm invested in a company they discovered. In startups one person may have to do licensing deals, or get shelf space in retail stores, or grovel to have your own computer. What you need to win. Being smart seems to make you unpopular. I suddenly found myself working for a big company, they were the keepers of the knowledge of vaguer, buglike things, like features that confused users.4

Which is of course an extremely incriminating sign, except in the mail of a few sysadmins. Well, they are more afraid of you than you are of them, you won't just have fewer great hackers, you'll have no trouble with the small trips outside the box that they'd make people's hair stand on end, you'll have no trouble with the small trips outside the box that they'd make people's hair stand on end, you'll have zero. An improved algorithm is described in Better Bayesian Filtering. It was presumably many thousands of years between when people first started describing things as hot or cold and when someone asked what is heat? An advantage of consulting, as a deal progresses, to start to believe that stricter laws would decrease spam. Perhaps the best policy is to make more than you actually are. Good hackers find it unbearable to use bad tools. But it could. Just make stuff and put it online. Have low expectations.

Say what you're doing, and b explain why users will want it. That idea is almost as old as the web. It's a lot easier for a couple of 20 year old hackers who are too naive to be intimidated by the idea. Just a few months, until blown out of the system you're dealing with, things probably either already are or could easily become much worse than they seem. Don't let rejections pile up as a depressing, undifferentiated heap. Bigger companies solve the problem at all, it means you don't need Microsoft on the client, and a great many configuration files and settings. Every designer's ears perk up at the mention of that game, because it's no worse than lots of others.

Honestly, Sam is, along with Steve Jobs, the founder I refer to most when I'm advising startups.5 They were designed to be a good thing: if your society has no variation in productivity.6 Will I ever read it? And if they're driven to such empty forms of complaint, that means you've probably done something good.7 In fact they tend to spend all their time doing that. Another approach is to follow the case of contemporary authors. The reason they were funding all those laughable startups during the late 90s was that they hoped to sell through it. But there's a magic in small things that goes beyond such rational explanations. Server problems were the big no-no for us, the premise was, and we'll give you a way to keep tabs on industry trends than as a way to turn a billion dollar industry into a fifty million dollar industry, so much the day to day management. In the process of talking to them all can bring a startup to write desktop software now you do it on Microsoft's terms, calling their APIs and working around their buggy OS.

At Viaweb, support was free, because we wanted to know. The archaeological work being mostly done, it implied that those studying the classics were, if not beyond the bounds of possibility, is beyond the scope of this article. Google is going to beat them. So who are the great hackers? This is why the worst cases of bullying happen with groups. Imagine a kind of suggestion box, because users only used it when the predefined page styles couldn't do what they want.8 So I inverted the 5 regrets, yielding a list of all the great programmers I can think of who don't work for Sun, on Java, I know of only one who would voluntarily program in Java. At most software companies, most code had one definite owner.

Notes

The same reason I say the raison d'etre of prep schools supplied the same as they are bleeding cash really fast.

Spices are also startlingly popular on pre-money valuation of an investment. But if idea clashes got bad enough, a lot of money around is never something people treat casually.

Several people I talked to mentioned how much of it. Fortuna! But I think the main emotion I've observed; but it might be tempted to ignore these clauses, because the remedy was to realize that. As well as good as Apple's just by hiring sufficiently qualified designers.

One YC founder told me: Another approach would be worth about 30 billion. That may require asking, because you have no idea how much of the War on Drugs. Incidentally, the growth rate as evolutionary pressure is such a discovery. Founders rightly dislike the sort of person who understands how to appeal to space aliens, but we are only partially driven by the high score thrown out seemed the more corrupt the rulers.

If they really need a meeting, then they're not. You should always get a poem published in The New Yorker.

For similar reasons, including the numbers we have to pass so slowly for them, but explain that's what we now call science. Francis James Child, who probably knows more about hunter gatherers I strongly recommend Elizabeth Marshall Thomas's The Harmless People and The CRM114 Discriminator. At the seed stage our valuation was in a band, or an electric power grid than without, real estate development, you can make better chairs or knives, crucibles or church organs, than anybody else, you better be sure you do. These range from make-believe, is not work too hard to say about these: I should add that none of your identity.

How to Make Wealth when I was a test of success for a patent is now replicated all over the internet. A few VCs have an edge over Silicon Valley is no richer if it's not the sense that if you agree prep schools improve kids' admissions prospects. If a man has good corn or wood, or because they are bleeding cash really fast.

Trevor Blackwell, who may have been truer to the company's present or potential future business belongs to them this way, be forthright with investors.

Thanks to Eric Raymond, Geoff Ralston, Rajat Suri, Sam Altman, Jon Levy, Fred Wilson, Jessica Livingston, Sarah Harlin, and Ross Boucher for smelling so good.

#automatically generated text #Markov chains #Paul Graham #Python #Patrick Mooney #tabs #patent #approach #Richard #remedy #explanations #company #score #War #rule #Kay #Founders #hackers #brain #wood #merchants #industry #Bill #Trevor #meeting #living #Livingston #border #scope

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Really loving these ARC family scenes! So for the promptathon, how about ARC going public to the DEO family? Or maybe the next topic in gossip rags/PTA meetings?

Rhonda Thompson prides herself on knowing everything about everyone. It’s not much, as far as superpowers go, but it gives her a sense of purpose, to know that people can come to her for information, and that she can provide it.

So she’s already well aware of the fact that Samantha Arias is uncommonly close with her employer. Lena Luthor has collected Ruby after school many times since the girl enrolled in Parkland Intermediate, and has pitched in with several fundraisers– manning booths and providing baked goods when Samantha proves herself unavailable.

Rhonda presumes it’s a symptom of Samantha’s young motherhood, and the lack of appropriate role models. She doesn’t expect anything else, when Samantha is too busy to socialize with other mothers among her daughters age group. And it certainly doesn’t hurt Lena Luthor’s public image, to be seen vending cling-wrapped brownies and exacting change at the track meet.

But to have your boss attend a PTA meeting in your place?

Even as a stay-at-home mother, Rhonda knows it isn’t appropriate.

As the president of the parent board, she takes it upon herself to welcome Miss Luthor to the meeting.

“Excuse me,” Rhonda says, pulling Miss Luthor’s gaze from the phone in her hand. Sharp green eyes regard her from beneath dark lashes, making Rhonda’s words trip on her tongue. “Hi. You must be Lena Luthor.”

“Guilty as charged,” comes the casual quip. The phone disappears, and a pale hand extends for a handshake. “Nice to meet you.”

“I’m Rhonda Thompson, PTA President.”

Lena’s eyebrows lift at the information, features warming in an curious smile. “You’re Rhonda. I see.” The dazzling grin only grows wider. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Only good, I hope!”

“The best.”

Rhonda pauses at the deadpan, but the pearly smile is still in place, without a hint of disingenuity. She blinks, struggling to reconnect her thoughts. “Samantha couldn’t make it?”

“She got caught up in a call at the office. But she knows how important tonight is, and asked me to fill in.”

“Oh, how thoughtful.”

Tonight they’re voting on how to apply the funds raised by this year’s boosters. Surely Samantha and her boss understood that non-parents can’t contribute– no matter how involved they are in the student’s upbringing.

Before Rhonda can say so, Lena’s gaze flickers to the front of the room. “It looks like it’s time to begin,” she observes. “It was lovely to meet you, Rhonda.”

Rhonda returns to the front table, where the parent board sits, and waits for the room to come to order. From her vantage point, she can see just what kind of effect their unexpected guest is having on their gathering. The parents seated nearest to her manage to maintain a veneer of disinterest, but the members seated further away murmur behind their minutes, shooting long glances to the woman who outglams all of them.

She certainly stands out from the crowd, Rhonda acknowledges, with her houndstooth pencil skirt and navy blouse. Her watch alone is likely worth more than Rhonda’s monthly car payment. But there’s an aura about her as well. Where the other parents have congregated to their usual groups, Lena sits separately, among them but distinctly apart.

It doesn’t seem to bother her.

She hardly seems to notice it at all.

“All right,” their teacher liaison– Principal Flores herself, in deference of the important vote– calls gently. “Let’s come to order!”

The room quickly settles.

“As you all know, last meeting we discussed the possible ways to apply the funds of this year’s booster efforts. Our dedicated president has proposed two options: refinishing the gymnasium floor, and replacing the stadium bleachers. Since I know everyone’s eager to get home and watch the game tonight, if we’re ready I propose we– Yes, Miss Luthor?”

Principal Flores calls on their visitor as though she were a student, and Rhonda realizes belated that it’s because Lena has raised her hand like one.

“I apologize if you’ve gone over this before, but do you mind explaining how these options were selected?”

To Rhonda’s surprise, the principal turns to glance at her. “I’m sure our parent president will be happy to share some light on that for you.”

Unexpectedly thrust into the spotlight, Rhonda freezes for several heartbeats. Instead of a sea of bored faces, every gaze is riveted on her, captivated by the disruption to their normal order. All the way, green eyes gaze at her expectantly.

“I’m not sure I understand the question–”

“I’m curious as to why the two options both benefit the athletics department.”

“Many of our students strive towards athletic scholarship for college. It’s our responsibility to ensure they have the best opportunity.”

Lena nods, breaking eye contact to briefly scroll through her phone. “Yes, I can see that. I’ve reviewed the public booster records, and it appears that the athletics department has been provided every opportunity. 80% of the past ten years of booster funds, to be exact. The remaining 20% has gone towards improvements in multi-purpose areas, but still predominantly benefits sports. Such as the gymnasium.”

Rhonda scoffs, a nervous smile reflexively curling her lips. “In our area, needs-based scholarships are difficult to obtain. As a result, athletic scholarship has been the predominant source of funding–”

“My research indicates that less than 4% of the graduating student body over the past ten years have received athletic scholarships. By comparison, 32% have received partial scholarships based on academic performance.”

Rhonda shifts forward in her seat. “Miss Luthor–”

“I had the opportunity to tour the gymnasium prior to meeting tonight,” Lena continues, undaunted. “The floor is in pristine condition. And the stadium bleachers were just replaced six years ago. According to the manufacturer, their product is designed to last fifteen years.”

“The mascot depicted on them is now out of date.”

The room sits in total silence, riveted by the exchange. Not one of them jumps to Rhonda’s defense, leaving Lena clear to nod. “Right. The mascot was redesigned last year, requiring the replacement of all branded sports equipment– some of which was less than three years old.”

Her hackles lift on reflex at the unspoken implication. Rhonda stiffens in her seat, folding her hands tightly over her minutes. “There simply is no other department that requires funds at this time.”

At that, the room starts to titter. In an instant, she knows that Lena has won. What’s worse is that Lena knows it as well.

Perfectly painted lips curl into a smile.

“Ruby mentioned just last week that her French teacher was wishing for language software in the computer lab. And Mr. Brenneman confirmed that the youngest microscope in the science department was purchased in 2003. 20% of them are broken or unusable.”

Rhonda grits her teeth, refusing to wilt under the woman’s stare even as she realizes that it doesn’t matter what she does. Lena doesn’t need anything from her.

“But if you’re certain that Parkland doesn’t have use for these funds,” Lena continues, “there’s always the option of donating it.”

The proposal earns its own bevy of murmurings. But to Rhonda’s shock, it’s not in outrage. In the quiet twitter she hears curiosity, and interest. When Principal Flores calls the room to order, her voice is calm.

Whatever game Luthor is playing, she’s not surprised by it.

Perhaps she’s even in on it.

“You make a strong case, Miss Luthor,” Flores replies. She turns to the rest of the room. “Does anyone second her motion–?”

“Actually,” Lena cuts in again, gentling noticeably as she rises to her feet. “I move that we allow the student body to decide. Language lab, science equipment, or donating to a school in need.”

“You can’t be serious!” Rhonda sputters.

“I am.”

“They’re children! We can’t expect them to act responsibly when thousands of dollars are on the line!”

Lena meets her gaze coolly. “They had a hand in raising these funds. Why not have a hand in choosing how it’s spent?”

Rhonda smacks her hands against the table in outrage, surging to her feet. “This is a parent-teacher conference! You are not empowered to put forth a motion!”

It’s less than the gotcha moment Rhonda hopes for. The room stares at her, as Lena smiles lazily. “Yes, I am.”

Ashley Walsh rolls her eyes. “She adopted Ruby two summers ago, Rhonda.”

Rhonda blinks. What? “But Alex Danvers is–”

“They’re all married,” her vice president Todd informs her, incredulous that he, for once, has more information than his wife.

“Welcome to the 21st century,” Ashley drawls. “Now sit down before you embarrass yourself.”

Rhonda lowers herself back to her chair, every muscle coiled tight in anger and humiliation. Her cheeks feel hot, and only burn hotter when not a single person speaks up.

Principal Flores lifts her hand to focus the room once more. “All right then– all in favor of putting it to a student body vote?”

The room erupts in a chorus of ayes. Rhonda can only gape as the principal makes a note and adjourns the meeting. “That’s all the time we have tonight– remember! Next month is planning for the spring formal!”

Lena starts slowly gravitating towards to the door. Rhonda stares as she pauses to chat briefly with the parents to approach her. More than a few shake her hand, and there’s something in the energetic clasps that hints that it’s more than introduction.

When the woman’s gaze softens into a warm smile, Rhonda sees that Samantha waits by the door, keys in hand. They lean together for a kiss, and Samantha murmurs a quiet question. Lena nods, the first sign of self-satisfaction creeping into her smile.

Then Samantha glances across the room, locking gazes with Rhonda. The woman winks with a sly smile, and Rhonda doesn’t even have the time to glare before the two women are gone, leaving the board to pack up and clear out.

“Don’t worry, Rhonda,” Todd tells her. “It’s not like we’re offering to buy them a milkshake machine for the cafeteria.”

No, it’s not.

But it’s not a new stadium either.

More importantly, Rhonda’s learned something new to add to her arsenal.

She’s learned that Lena Luthor is not a woman to be trifled with.

And neither are her wives.

#prompt-a-thon #anon #agentreigncorp #lena luthor #samantha arias #alex danvers #arc #pta #the only thing better than a shocked and awed pta #is a pta who is entirely on board with a poly marriage #except for that one basic bitch #featuring one weaponized lena luthor #all sam had to do was aim and release #lena tore that bitch apart #she's got the receipts #and the passion for science to ensure that the athletics department ends their reign of terror #go stem! #next to saved-- the arts! #because lena knows that culture is as important as science #fight me #i wrote dis

[sabotajuu-a]

LET’S   MEET   THE   FAM   !

                    *   Basically, I wanted to actually map out a bit of information on Jake’s family and really highlight the kind of people they were, what they did, how they treated Jake, how they impacted Jake, some past-times they shared, etc.   The names after the dashes are the faceclaims’ identities.

EUGENE   JAE   PARK     (   JAE  -  HYEON     )     -----     JAMES   SHIGETA

                    Before moving to the United States, Eugene was born in Seoul, Korea as JAE-HYEON PARK.   With a name meaning     to slaughter   ;   to rule   ,     it’s no surprise that he was destined for success.   Seizing leadership of a failing manufacturing company at the age of eighteen, he started on his path to success and riches very early.   It was around this time that he met his lovely wife, who had worked for the company, but their time in Korea would soon come to an end.   With their first child on the way, he decided to take the job offer that appointed him as an assistant-manager for a Fortune-500 company.   Together, he and his wife moved to the United States, and he changed his name to Eugene to better fit in with American culture.

                    With their first child born a month after the couple settled into their new home, Eugene raised Simon to be the spitting image of himself   :     a successful leader that could direct with an iron fist.   It was no secret that Eugene was a ruthless and manipulative leader, one who could fire staff and seek out the weak links without batting an eye.   This determination and willingness to make sacrifices is what offered him a new job five years later, and he accepted with their second son on the way.   Appointed the CEO of said company, Eugene moved to Albany, New York where the heart of the company lay.   There, he called the shots and made a name for not only himself, but the entire family, as an imposing and powerful force in society.   Eugene’s very presence could cause people to shake in their shoes and avoid direct contact, as though gazing upon a god or monster.

                    Fast forward a few years after Jake is born, and Eugene is already claiming Jake as the PRODIGAL CHILD of the family.   He began raising Jake the same way he raised Simon, but noticed that Jake didn’t adhere or conform, rather he rebelled and resisted.   Eugene was never accepting of Jake’s choices, and instead only pushed harder to try and seize control of Jake’s life while Simon went off on the path paved for him.   With the added stress of the company and his position in society, Eugene turned to alcohol as a means to keep himself grounded, but it got out of hand rather quickly.   It would cause his anger problems to flare over the slightest thing that Jake did, and an argument would eventually begin.

                    When Jake was thirteen, Eugene took him and Simon out on a hunting trip, shot a deer, and forced Jake to kill it.   Like his own father, Eugene had done this with Simon at the same age, and considered it a means of becoming a man and learning ruthlessness, teaching Jake that this is what it meant to be a man.   Seeing Jake’s reluctance, Eugene pushed the knife into Jake’s hands, and eventually guided the blade into the animal’s neck where it would die.   This particular instance was the one moment that led to Jake’s most rebellious years yet, but Eugene took it all as a challenge.

                    Arguments got more heated, and everything Eugene said, however, was genuinely how he felt.   There was no such thing a sugar-coating or lying.   He let Jake know how much of a constant disappointment he was, reminded Jake that the family’s inheritance was going to him and how he needed to learn to make the best of it, etcetera.   Once Simon moved out and went away to college, Eugene was constantly on Jake’s case more than ever.   Privacy had been more scarce than usual, which often led to more fights and altercations.   Eugene did his best not to get physical, but sometimes his anger got the best of him and he did lash out at Jake and Jake only.   Of course, in the absence of his beloved wife to avoid any issue.

                    Eugene became a powerful asset to the city as well, and even the state, helping to fund several schools and smaller organizations to better his own success, as well as Jake’s success.   When Jake shows up to his high school graduation absolutely hammered, delivering his valedictorian speech by dragging the entire class, his school, the faculty, and his family name, Eugene was furious.   It was their fight in the parking lot     (   one that people turned a blind eye to   )     that set the wheels in motion for Eugene to send Jake away to college.   And away he went, to Yale University where his brother had graduated, forced into business management.

                    Eugene, on the other hand, continued to work and had not been notified of Jake quitting college and coming back home, only to live far out into the woods their house neighbored.   It wasn’t until Eugene realized the lack of tuition bills that Jake had quit, but was also completely off the grid, as far as he was concerned.   He was never informed of Jake’s whereabouts, a secret kept by his wife, that only emerged when Jake had gone missing.   Eugene eventually lost Amy two years after Jake’s disappearance, pushing him into early retirement at 51, with Simon coming home to take over the company while running a second Fortune-500 company on the side.   He blames Jake for her death, and insists that he’ll never forgive Jake if he’s still alive out there somewhere.   After his wife dies, however, he writes Jake out of the will and puts Simon down as the true inheritor to the family’s fortune, assets, and company.   Eugene dies from a heart attack at age 76.

AMY   CHUN   PARK     (   CHUN  -  HWA   )     -----     SAYURI   YOSHINAGA

                    Born in Seoul, Korea under the name CHUN-HWA SONG, there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that she would grow up to reflect her name’s meaning.   An ally to nature with a special love for flowers, Amy spent a majority of her youth tending to gardens.   At eighteen, she took up a job in the same manufacturing company as Eugene, who she married rather quickly and recklessly.   Moving to the United States for her husband’s new job position, Amy changed her name to something more Korean-American, and stayed at home to prepare for their first child.

                    When Simon was born, Amy continued to stay at home, continuing to tend to the gardens when she could, while also helping to nurture and care for him.   She, however, recognized how Simon took after Eugene, and saw how there was a clear favor shift towards her husband, this leaving her to tend to her own things more often.   As Simon began to grow, the coming of their next child was much more exciting for her, and she loved and adored Jake every moment of her life.   Finally, she had a child that wanted to do spend time with her.   She doted after Jake consistently, no matter the choices he made, even if he did them to defy Eugene.   Although she was never present for the heated arguments, and Jake never told her what truly happened, she was left heartbroken believing that the kids in school were bullying him to such extremes.

                    It was Amy who helped fund Jake’s partial transition, and it was her who signed consent forms on Jake’s name change, while Eugene wished to keep out of that business and stick to his job.   Amy taught Jake how to play the violin, just as her mother taught her, and she especially loved to teach him how to sew and tend to nature.

                    Amy’s favorite pastime, however, was baking with Jake.   She loved the moments they spent in the kitchen, peeling and chopping apples for pie, or making homemade cookies from scratch, just because they could enjoy each other’s company, and it gave Jake a chance to take a break from schoolwork and his studies.   She would also sit down and watch corny romance movies with Jake since she didn’t enjoy horror films like he did, making popcorn for them both to enjoy before bed.   The amount of times she would be stuck on the couch because he fell asleep on her are too high to count, but she never moved or woke him up.

                    She was his shoulder to cry on, a strong woman who was so incredibly gentle that it almost hurt, and she would treat everyone with the same love and kindness.   Had Jake managed to make any friends, she would have treated them like her own.   When Jake suffered through his darkest times, where he didn’t quite want to live anymore, she was his sole reason for staying.   Amy was a beacon of hope, the sunshine on a cloudless day, all bright smiles and comforting words.   When Jake dropped out of college and came home to tell her that he would be living in the woods to figure out his own path, she supported him and would ride her bicycle into the woods as far as she could go before walking the rest of the way to see him at least once a week.

                    Of course, one day she arrived to an empty shelter and a ransacked camp, and reported it to the police.   Investigations began, but with no evidence as to what had taken Jake or where he had gone, it was dropped.   Amy, however, never stopped hoping and would try to visit every other day until she grew too sick to do just that.

                    Amy died at 52 years due to brain cancer, which had been found too late for potential operation, and it just so happened to be two years after Jake’s disappearance.

SIMON   JAE   PARK     -----     SONG   IL  -  KOOK

                    Jake’s older brother, Simon was born during the family’s rise to fortune.   He had worked hard to earn every single thing he ever got in life, and was the one to take his future by the reigns and drive it home.   He saw an opportunity and seized it, much to his father’s delight, and became a leader of his own.   Simon excelled in everything he studied and touched   :     sports, music, art, and especially business and his studies.

                    Simon was incredibly intelligent and motivation-driven, sticking purely to his studies and education instead of slacking off.   This put a great divide between him and Jake, as Simon never bothered to establish any kind of sibling bond with his younger brother.   He saw Jake as a weak link in the family, and oft times berated him for not using that rebellious spirit to ensure a successful future for himself.   He was emotionally abusive towards Jake, always putting him down, even when Jake stopped trying to forge any bond with him.   He was a man with very little personality, always cold and eerily calm, but had a natural condescending nature in the way he confidently carried himself.   Like Eugene, he put people down and manipulated them, but through brute intimidation.   Simon became a spitting image of his father, though without the temperment issues and alcoholism.   He was brutally honest in a cold, calm way, and set off to Yale University on his own accord.   There he studied and majored in business management, and graduated with perfect grades, only to take hold of his own Fortune-500 company.

                    He had finally found that bit of success he was looking for, and married his high school sweetheart two years after graduating college.   When Jake disappeared, he didn’t even bat an eye and commented that the weak must be removed from the equation to avoid dragging the rest down.   He insisted that natural selection had done its job, and that they should just move on to more important matters.   Amy, of course, never gave up, and Simon was heartbroken to see her go.   He, too, believes Jake’s disappearance is the cause of this sudden death.   Around the same time, Simon and his wife had their first child.   They had their second a year later, but his wife died during childbirth.   A single father who never remarried, Simon shouldered the responsibility of not only his own company, but both of his children, and the company he inherited after his father retired due to Amy’s death.

                    Simon hired nannies to help raise the kids, with Eugene also aiding in raising them, while Simon stayed home to both care for his father and be readily available to take on any responsibility or call either company needed.   He was a hard working man with a lot on his plate, and he took it in stride.   After Eugene dies, Simon’s own will is changed to include Jake as the true inheritor of the family fortune, only knowing that his younger brother would need it to stay afloat should he still be alive.   Simon knows his own kids have the other company to inherit and make a fortune off of.

                    Eventually, Simon dies an 59 due to a horrific car accident, and his children both share in running the company Simon left them.

#simon is HIGHKEY a SNACC tho #but he's a bastard don't interact with him #horribly enough i actually #once considered making a sideblog for uh #jake's father or brother #to throw them in as survivors #so y'all can fight them--- #「STUDY」ʰᵉ ᵗᵃˢᵗᵉᵈ ᵒᶠ ᵇˡᵒᵒᵈ ᵃᶰᵈ ᵍᵘᶰᵐᵉᵗᵃˡ ; ᵒᶠ ᵃˢʰᵉˢ ᵃᶰᵈ ˢᵗᵉᵉˡ #「META」ᵃᶰᵈ ᵇᵉˢᶤᵈᵉ ʰᶤᵐ ˢᵃᵗ ᵈᵉᵃᵗʰ ᵃᶰᵈ ᵍᵘᶤˡᵗ ; ᵒˡᵈ ˡᵒᵛᵉʳˢ #abuse mention / #alcohol mention / #death mention /

[mysamcedesmadness]

The Book of Matthew:

01. Matt's Manhood Mainspring 

In a few short weeks, summer vacation would be over and Matthew Rutherford Jr. would be going to junior high. He was excited about this. This was when his career path would start. This was when he would start shaping himself to be the best that he could be. His father had always told him that as a parent, it was always his goal to create sons better than himself and to make daughters who find men greater than himself. 11 was far too young to understand this thought process, but he’d heard it for as long, so he at least knew that it was a goal and he knew that goals took hard work.

His mother had been working on some seminars about neurological science, while his father was on a leave of absence from work to deal with some personal issues. Matt wasn’t privy to that type of information, but he knew that it had something to do with his father’s mental stability, because his mother had prescribed the man medication.

Matthew Sr. had stressful work. The entire family knew that much. The man had been a lawyer in his earlier years, joined the military and worked as a military lawyer for many years before branching out into intelligence, where he finally seemed to find his calling, and also found his wife, Margerie. But, by the time he found her, he had gone through some of the most troubling events of his career. He had access to information and stories that would haunt most people, and continued to build a normal life. He’d come from a well off family whose roots honestly began in military decorum, but the tree sprouted and seed was scattered. Most of them went into law, some into politics and some into the church business. Matthew was one of the few in many years, that actually decided that he might want to follow a military path… And it definitely had an effect on him.

Now, he was home, preparing a party for his eldest son - knowing good and well that party planning was not his area of talent. Fortunately, his 19 year old daughter had a better handle on all of the things that he would never think of. His wife would be returning home just in time enough to miss all of the planning, but to attend the gathering. The gathering was going to be 12 of the wealthiest and most influential families in the state, which Meaghan invited on clout of the Rutherford family name and sought out those with children, who may not find it strange to attend a large birthday gathering for a young boy.

Certain families, they knew to expect - The Cohens, The Robinsons, and The Haywards would all most definitely be there. Those four families had several generations of closeness between them and a few marriages, as well. Matthew Sr.’s grandfather and the grandfathers of those of his generation connected through the struggle of trying to hold on to their wealth without being destroyed by the white communities surrounding them that did not wish for Black citizens to have equal access to the same type of lifestyles. So, for a time, as they built and grew, they were each other’s main providers of various things.

Eventually, these four families ushered great changes in the black experience and even after they became an accepted part of general society - they passed down reminders. Never forget your people. They had you before the rest accepted you.

Matthew Sr. had always found the families to be a bit elitist. They made sure not to “marry down,” seeking out spouses who came from wealthy families or white or blended families - spouses that could maintain or elevate status and acceptance. A lot of them admittedly didn’t marry for love and he wasn’t about that type of life. It took him a while to get married, because he worried that his interest in Margerie was due to her family’s status in the medical field and in black history as scientific pioneers. His family loved her, despite the fact that she didn’t pass the paper bag test and he knew that it was because she was from even more money than he was from and she had stature.

But, he did fall in love with her and whenever he finally got around to asking her to marry him, she was practicing in her field, skilled enough to work wherever she wanted to and stationed in Philadelphia while he was still nearly constantly traveling for work.

Whenever she got pregnant with Meaghan, she actually picked up and settled their home in Ohio, near his family, to prove her seriousness to the commitment. She worked until she needed to take her maternity leave, then gave lectures, wrote books, and reviewed research for analysis after giving birth. Over the years, whenever she took her maternity leave, she did work that she could still do from home, and returned in whatever capacity that she could when her children were old enough for the family to comfortably transition to her working full time again.

Meaghan was 7 when Matt was born, and it was obvious enough to her that this boy was their father’s pride and joy. He had his junior and now wanted to be able to be around home more often. He went to work for the CIA, and even though he still travelled pretty regularly, he had more time to spend actually showing his face at home. Meaghan wished that she didn’t harbor any hard feelings about it, but she knew that she did. Even being close to Matt and watching over him when neither parent was around and they were left with nannying couples, she kept watch of him and all later siblings. Mark was born when Matt was 2. He was often sick, but had some of the best medical care in the world, coming from a mother who was a powerhouse in the medical field.

By the time Meaghan was 10, she was used to being a surrogate mother for two boys, and had a very nurturing spirit and kind heart, but not much direction for herself. I know, at 10 - that’s not really something that one necessarily needed to have… But, Matt somehow did. Hell, Matt had direction by the time he was 3. This party that she was planning for his 12th birthday was something that you would hold for a college graduate… Because Matt showed that much initiative and was this important to the family and their legacy.

At 19… She still didn’t even have a major. It frustrated her mother, though Margerie never gave her a hard time about it. She was more relieved that she hadn’t simply gotten pregnant and given up on college altogether. She went to community college and spent most of her free time helping to keep her siblings. She barely even had a social life, so doing this for Matt didn’t even interfere with anything that she had going on.

“Dad, I maxed out the card that I was using on Matty’s party. Requesting permission to move on to the birthday backup fund?” Meaghan said, at the doorway of Matthew’s office.

“How could you have possibly maxed out that card, Meaghan?” He asked, reaching for his wallet, with a partially amused grin. “This is getting more expensive than your Sweet 16.”

“Well… He won’t have a sweet 16, so this is kinda like his Manhood Mainspring.”

Matthew smirked and nodded his head, “I like that. I like that. Do we have time to put it on a sign?”

“Matty’s Manhood Mainspring? I can make it happen.”

“Just put Matt. He told me that ‘Matty’ sounds like a little kid.”

“He’s hardly tiptoed into puberty and already thinks he’s grown,” she chuckled and accepted the card from her father’s fingers. “Gonna have to change the cake, too then. The things we do for love…” She left the room and called behind her, “Don’t spend too much more time working, Dad. Mom tasked me with telling you to remember to relax, until she gets back from this trip.”

.

Meaghan also helped to raise her youngest sibling, who was born when she was 16. Miracle was named Miracle because Margerie had no idea that 16 years after her firstborn that she would actually give life to another child, and more importantly, another girl! It was slightly unfair, but Margerie and Meaghan never bonded the way that either of them wanted to. They loved each other dearly, but never had even one similarity besides loving this family. Margerie secretly hoped that she and Miracle would be able to connect more. So far, Meaghan was the one who really got that connection. The 3 year old toddler clung to her for the most part and Matty (or Matt) for the remainder.

The nannying couple wasn’t as hands on after Meaghan got old enough to help out and babysit alone, and now, Matt was old enough, too. Miracle was heavily babied. She was honestly a living princess. Margerie even sometimes took her with her on work trips! None of the other kids ever had that privilege. Now, Meaghan was taking her with her to finish up details for this party.

You may be wondering, why on Earth in this, The Book of Matthew (meaning Matt Rutherford Jr.),  are we even looking at or thinking about who Matthew Sr., Margerie, Meaghan, Mark, and baby Miracle are?

Because, it was his connection to and the disconnection from his family that made him into the Matt he is today. All those years ago, he thought that he was becoming the Matt that he would be someday… He had no idea. None of them did. For the time being, they were just living their life and loving it.

.

The Rutherford Family was all adorned in peridot and sardonyx jewelry, accessories, etc. Gladiolus and poppies garnished the setting. A table was set and elevated above all of the others, and a roundtable was set near it, where his closest friends were seated. The rest of the guests were seated in other areas of the outside party area. The venue they rented was spacious, and the twelve families invited were all present, some of them bringing extended members and other close friends of the family - all had RSVP’d. Matt didn’t even know half of these people, but he did know that their presence meant a lot for his reputation. Matt’s Manhood Mainspring sounded… honestly corny to him, but Meggie put so much work and energy into all of this, from making sure that the August birthstones, flowers and such were included in the aesthetic, making it look like a royal feast, or something… She liked Arthurian legend and wasn’t sure if she would ever have her own children (this inspired look was likely a vicarious display of living on her part. He had friends there, so he wasn’t bothered about that.

There was more formality to the ceremony than he liked and he made his family swear that next time it would just be an enjoyable party for he and his friends. But for today there were several rich families there some of their children weren't even around his age! He'd seen toddlers and little kids, but hardly any teenagers or tweens, except for ones he didn't even really know that well - the Pierce and Fabray girls, then the Smythe dude and Motta chick… It always perplexed him when parents dragged their kids to social gatherings that held no significance to them. He hoped that he wouldn’t be expected to go to all of their birthdays! He didn’t even KNOW them!

He fortunately had friends here. Mike Chang, Anthony Rashard, and to a lesser degree Andrea Cohen and Jesse St. James. Actually, Andrea and he sometimes had to be around each other because their dads were old friends, and Jesse St. James was someone that he was interested in building a friendship with, but hadn’t yet had the opportunity. In fact… The guy brought a small entourage with him to this party. Who TF were those kids? Was that Paul Kurofsky’s son? Who was that other boy with the elongated face? Didn’t his father WORK FOR Jesse’s father? Hank… Maybe? Ugh. Why did Meggie allow this?

At any rate, after lunch and cake, everyone mingled and Matt hung out with Mike, Jesse and company. Hank Saunders was that kid’s name and Jesse made it a point to let everyone know that his family bought Hank’s party outfit. It was degrading, but he hadn’t stood up for himself, sadly. Matt felt bad for the kid. Nobody was going to ever embarrass him that way. Mike even commented, “It’s not really nice to tell people that, Man. It’s… Kinda gauche.”

Jesse wondered, “You think that’s gauche? What about this?” He pulled his eyelids back and began to make, “Bing bong, ching chong” noises, to his possee’s entertainment. Matt’s lip dropped and Mike just sighed, shook his head and left the group. Jesse called out, “Wait, Chang! I was just kidding!” He made more fake “Asian sounds.”

Dave chimed in with, “We love you long time!” And everyone immediately turned on him, “Whoa… whoa… It was a joke, like Jesse’s…”

“Yours went too far,” Jesse told him.

On that note, Matt announced, “I’m gonna circulate some more. You guys take it easy.”

Mike returned to his parents’ side, holding back rage and frustration. Anthony left with Matt, announcing, “I hate Jesse St. James.”

Matt shrugged his shoulders, “He’s alright.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t make any jokes about your parents basically paying for me to be able to be here,” Anthony commented.

“Jesse doesn’t know about that. Anthony, my family doesn’t speak about stuff like this. It’s better to help people out without some type of expectation of reward or attention. That way, if you ever find yourself in need of help, you’ve got somebody who might be willing to give it. And, I know that if I were ever in need of help, I wouldn’t want somebody just broadcasting how much I owe them… Not to say that I feel like you owe us anything. We’re friends.” Matt gave Anthony a squeeze on the shoulder.

“Speaking of friends, you think Andrea would be interested in me? She’s majorly pretty,” Anthony said. The two looked over at Andrea Cohen, dolled up in the necessary color pallette, complete with accessories, like she was part of the family, or something, and surrounded by girls that she seemed to be making laugh.

“I don’t see you liking her all that much beyond that, though. I don’t really know her like that, but her parents are super religious. Her dad is always telling mine to come back to the church for help, and her mom and my mom always seem to be competing. I think our parents dated in school or something. It’s weird.”

“Okay, but she’s hot, funny, and nice,” Anthony pointed out. “I don’t care about her parents.”

“Oh, Anthony. Poor soul. Here’s the thing, she does. We do. You see all these people that are here? They aren’t here because it’s my birthday celebration. They’re here for politics, appearances, social standing, and so on. I don’t even know Andrea that well, even though we have been at gatherings like these our whole lives together. If she dates somebody here, it’ll be one of these families that has whole tables to themselves. That’s just the way that it is around here.”

“I mean… I get that you’re all rich and popular and stuff, but I just like her as a person. She wouldn’t like me as a person?”

“What I’m trying to tell you is that it doesn’t matter whether or not she likes you as a person. She couldn’t date somebody that she can’t bring home or bring to these gatherings, even. She couldn’t date someone that other parents would call her parents, concerned about it over. She just wouldn’t be able to, whether she wanted to or not. Our parents treat us like… basically like we’re smaller versions of themselves. Our behavior and choices reflect upon the whole bloodline.”

“I get that. I’m just trying to see if she would think that I’m legit!”

“Rashard, anybody with sense and taste would love you, Man.”

“Cool. Then, I’m gonna go for it!” He rushed over to where the girls were, before Matt could say, “No, don’t!” But, moments later, they all laughed, except for a clearly embarrassed Andrea, who simply took Anthony’s hand and waved to her friends with it. Matt waited for them to come over to him and she handed Anthony’s hand to him, “I believe this belongs to you,” she said and patted Anthony on the shoulder. “Word of advice, Brother? Maybe, choose a more lowkey setting. Girls don’t like to just be put on the spot like that. At least, I don’t.”

“You handled it with beauty and grace!” Anthony said, beaming at her.

“Give me a few years, and it’ll be mase. Excuse me,” she said and returned to her friends. It took Matt a moment to realize that he and Anthony were standing there holding hands, but he grabbed his back from him and they both adjusted their clothing.

“What did you do?” Matt asked.

“I just stepped to honey dip and I said, “Excuse me, Miss Cohen. I seem to be lost. But, luckily I found an angel to guide me to paradise…” Matt turned red with secondhand embarrassment.

“You’re lucky she didn’t punch you in the face! I’ve heard that she does that!”

“Yeah, that means she’s feeling me, right?” Anthony asked.

“No. That means that she didn’t want Hannibal and Corina on the front page for their daughter punching one of the Rutherford Foundation recipients in the face at an event!”

“Hey… If I’m stepping on your toes, let me know. I want to know NOW, if you want her like I do!” Anthony insisted.

“What? No. I’m just saying… You can’t have her, so… Just leave her alone.”

“She’s gonna have to tell me to leave her alone. All she said was that I was too bold. Mike!” He began waving Mike back over and Mike came to where they were, curiously. “Ok, Mike. What do you think about me and Andrea?” To Matt he explained, “He’s not as sadidy as you.”

“I’m not as rich, either. You can’t go after the only Cohen girl. I can’t go after the only Cohen girl, and my parents are doctors!” Mike told him.

“See?”

“Look, it’s like… If she was the one whose parents were doctors and my parents were hers, then yeah. She’s a girl. She has to date up.”

“Do any of you realize that we’re kids?” Anthony asked.

“What are these ‘kids’ you speak of?” Matt asked. “Look at that sign,” he pointed to the Matt’s Manhood Mainspring banner. “Look at these guests - Judge Fabray, CEO Robinson, Representative Schuester, Buddy Freakin’ Leibowitz! We’re here for our folks to show off that they’re building the future leaders of the world. Our childhoods are training sessions to become affluent, upstanding citizens who dominate how things are done.”

“That sounds stressful. I just want to go to the roller rink and buy a girl some ice cream.”

“The roller rink? What’s that?” Mike asked, jokingly.

Matt jokingly answered, “It’s sort of like where we skate at the country club, but smaller, and open to more people.” Anthony frowned, but Matt just put an arm around him. “Don’t worry, Rashard. Me and Mike will make sure you get hooked up with the best of the best outside of this ring. You’re lucky that you don’t have to normally think about all of this stuff whenever you just want ice cream and skating.”

“I tried to bring a girl for ice cream at the country club and Jesse St. James kept insisting that I was sponsoring a charity date,” Mike said, frustrated.

Anthony fumed, “I hate him! Why don’t you guys ever challenge him?”

“Well, it’s not that simple,” Matt said. “I mean… You see how difficult dating is. We know who not to send into a tantrum.”

“Matt could easily challenge Jesse and have very little backlash,” Mike said.

Anthony cheered, “Be the champion we deserve, Matt!”

Matt shook his head, “No, Man. He’s gonna introduce me to Representative Schuester. I might be able to get a recommendation from the Schuester family with the right rapport!”

“A recommendation for what?” Anthony wondered.

Mike and Matt both said obviously, “College.”

Anthony clenched his fists and looked at the sky. There wasn’t a need to try to remind them that they were just kids and that they were ONLY about to go into junior high. Obviously, whatever level that they were on in their “training session” of childhood had them already too far gone. “I’m gonna go get more of those big ass shrimp,” Anthony said and walked off.

Jesse was approaching, so Mike said, “And I’m going wherever he’s not.”

Jesse passed by Mike and reiterated, “You should learn how to take a joke, Chang!” To Matt he admitted, “Asians take themselves way too seriously.”

“Shouldn’t we all, though?” Matt asked.

“Ugh. Don’t you start, Rutherford. Come on, Preston and Will want to meet you. They’re trying to see what the big deal is supposed to be.” Matt shook hands for the first time with Representative Preston Schuester and his son, ADA Will Schuester when he turned 12.

You know how you never know just how much somebody is going to change your life when you first meet them? Matt didn’t have that problem, typically. Even at 12, he could always just sense when someone’s presence would make an impact. He didn’t waste his time on people if he didn’t feel that when he met them. And with the Schuesters, he wasn’t sure what the future held, but something told him that not only the Schuesters, but Jesse St. James were all going to be large components of change in his future.

#The Book of Matthew #AU Glee Fanfiction #Matt Rutherford #LusciousNesha #The Eye Series #links

[ezatluba]

Tourism collapse puts wildlife conservation in peril

Mark Johanson

12th August 2020

What we can learn from Covid-19 for the climate crisis — Two decades ago, Rosa María Ruiz purchased 4,000 hectares (9,885 acres) of land along the Beni River, near the small village of Rurrenabaque, with the goal of transforming it from a heavily logged patch of the Bolivian Amazon into a thriving private wildlife reserve.The Bolivian eco-warrior had just had success creating what the Wildlife Conservation Society believes is the most biodiverse protected area on the planet, the nearby Madidi National Park, but her vocal criticism of Madidi's protections under government control got her kicked out. Undeterred, she set up her own private park upriver and named it Serere after a gangly bird with a blue face and punk rock hair. Fast-forward to early 2020, and Serere Eco-Reserve was home to more than 300 species of birds and some of South America's most elusive mammals, including dwarf leopards, night monkeys, jaguars, tapirs and giant anteaters. The revival of this small swath of the Amazon was made possible thanks to the support of foreign eco-tourists who paid around $100 a day for all-inclusive overnight stays filled with hiking, conservation lessons and family-style meals sourced from the onsite garden.

Rosa María Ruiz has spent decades fighting to protect the Bolivian Amazon.Courtesy Madidi TravelThen, of course, the pandemic hit, and Serere hasn't welcomed a single visitor since March 23. With no incoming funds, and little in the way of savings, Ruiz had to cut staff from 40 to just seven rangers who've already chased off poachers and seen around 7 acres of forest pillaged for lumber (a trend echoed across the Amazon Basin)."We can't keep going at the rate we are now without further support," she says, noting a GoFundMe campaign created to tackle the emergency. "It's evident that if we don't have a presence and protection in Serere, especially because of the economic crisis everyone's living now, then those who are hard-up will continue cutting down the trees and selling lumber for easy money."It's a predicament faced by highly respected conservation projects across the developing world, who have spent much of 2020 navigating the new reality of trying to protect wild animals while dealing with the fiscal fallout of Covid-19.

Serere Eco-Reserve in Bolivia hasn't welcomed visitors since March 23.Courtesy Madidi TravelWildlife tourism: An industry in perilIn the early days of the pandemic, the internet was abuzz with stories of wild boars in Barcelona, pumas in the Chilean capital of Santiago and dolphins in Venice canals (the latter was viral fake news). Animals, it seemed, were thriving in the era of coronavirus lockdowns. These "good news" stories of animals roaming freely were what we all craved at the time, but they overshadowed a more unfortunate reality. Tourism has been the fragile pillar on which thousands of conservation projects stood for decades, helping to protect wild, trafficked and refugee animals, restore vital habitats and educate the public about sustainability. When that pillar crumbled overnight amid global travel bans, the system collapsed. 

Wildlife reserves in the developing world are, unlike US National Parks at the moment, empty. Contrary to popular belief, this is not a good thing for the animals.Not only does the presence of eco-tourists keep poachers and loggers at bay, but at well-managed reserves, their money funds rangers, veterinary programs and animal rescue centers in parts of the globe that lack robust public park systems. It also provides a vital source of revenue for rural and disenfranchised communities. A 2019 estimate from the World Travel and Tourism Council (WTTC) put the direct value of wildlife tourism at $120 billion. It generates 21.8 million global jobs and is particularly vital in Africa (where it makes up 36.3% of the travel and tourism sector), Latin America (where it's 8.6%) and Asia-Pacific (where it's 5.8%). This income has virtually evaporated as a result of Covid-19, leaving the animals -- and those who care for and depend on them -- at risk.

Most elephants at the Elephant Conservation Center in Sayaboury, Laos, were rescued from the logging or tourism industry.

(ECC) is a 6,000-hectare (14,825-acre) reserve in northern Laos that cares for 34 rescued Asian elephants, helping them to reherd and, eventually, return to the wild. Laos has fewer than 400 wild elephants and about the same number in captivity, according to government estimates, making programs like this essential to tip the scale. Some 85% of the ECC's revenue is derived from paid visitors and voluntourists, who spend around $110 per day for multiday educational stays that involve no invasive riding or bathing with the animals.

Even though Laos so far has been largely spared by the coronavirus, with just 20 confirmed cases, tourism at the ECC is limited to a few expats and locals. Now, it's searching for donors and grant money to stay afloat, keep its 34 mahouts (elephant trainers) employed and carry out its greater mission of using elephants as a symbol to raise awareness for conserving regional habitats that house less-iconic endangered species. "I was quite happy with the ECC's business model because we were sort of independent from donor money thanks to this income generated by tourists," explains founder Sebastien Duffillot. "Going back to begging for money isn't ideal as funds are not so easy to get these days and the tourism model was much more sustainable."

A ranger on a de-snaring patrol in Kenya's Mara Triangle holds items he's collected.Adam BannisterTo help stop poaching, fund a rangerAfrica has, arguably, been most affected by the sudden decline in ecotourism. Some 67 million tourists visited the continent in 2018, according the UN World Tourism Organization, with many enticed by the chance to go on a once-in-a-lifetime safari. "Thanks to the pandemic, we are looking at massive numbers of people who are completely out of a job," says Soraya Shattuck, executive director of the Adventure Travel Conservation Fund (ATCF), a nonprofit that harnesses the travel community's environmental and cultural conservation efforts for maximum impact.

"Not only have hotels and lodges had to shut their doors, but think about the impact this has had on the ancillary people who are involved in these industries," she adds. "That means the cooks, the drivers, the hotel staff, the craft sellers, the rangers -- all these people that depend on visitors no longer have an income, and they may be the primary income-generator for their entire family."Shattuck says that without extra eyeballs in the continent's parks, some communities have been drawn into poaching out of desperation. They're not necessarily targeting elephants and rhinos, she explains, but are setting up snares for other bushmeats they can either sell or use to feed their families. The ATCF is trying to combat the issue with a campaign to fund rangers in hopes of keeping money flowing for those on the front lines of the environmental crisis.

Cheetahs, among the most endangered of the world's big cats, roam the Mara Triangle in Maasai Mara, Kenya. 

The signs of silver linings, a 2019 WTTC study found that the average time from impact to economic recovery following disease outbreaks is 19.4 months for the travel industry. That is, of course, just an estimate. If there is one thing certain about the current pandemic, it's that everything remains uncertain.Yet, there are some signs of hope on the horizon. China, the largest market for illegal wildlife products, has suspended wildlife trade and vowed to impose a permanent ban on the sale and consumption of wild animals (though this has yet to be finalized). Moreover, a recent Wildlife Justice Commission report found that the trade has been severely crippled by current travel restrictions.

Several travel brands, including luxury outfit andBeyond, are offering virtual safaris that keep guides paid and raise funds for community development projects, while others, such as Desert & Delta Safaris, are selling vouchers for future trips, a percentage of which goes directly toward urgent conservation initiatives in local communities living near wildlife.Across the ecotourism industry, Shattuck says she's seen a rise in partial financial resource-sharing where companies will add a mandatory fee (per guest, per night) that goes directly to conservation efforts. "The goal is to protect the communities that protect these natural habitats," she says. "So, if you had to cancel your $5,000 safari, you might have an extra $50 in your pocket today to make sure that when you go next year the place is still intact."Governments have been so preoccupied by the human emergency of Covid-19 that there has been little investment in the natural emergency. Yet, the two are intrinsically linked. Coronavirus is caused by zoonotic disease transmission, which occurs most often when wild animals come in close contact with each other and humans. There is the greatest likelihood of this at wildlife markets and in human-animal conflict such as poaching.By protecting wild animals and their natural habitats, we might just protect ourselves from the next pandemic.

[cutsliceddiced]

New top story from Time: COVID-19 Has Been ‘Apocalyptic’ for Public Transit. Will Congress Offer More Help?

While trying to get to work over the past few months, Brittany Williams, a Seattle home care worker, has often been passed by two or three buses before one stops to let her board. Buses in her area that once carried anywhere from about 50 to 100 passengers have been limited to between 12 and 18 to prevent overcrowding in response to coronavirus, and Williams’ commute, typically a half-hour ride, now takes more than double that time. Other Seattle transit riders have described budgeting as much as an extra hour per trip to account for the reduced capacity, eating into their time at work, school or with family.

Even with the ridership limits in place, Williams, 34, doesn’t feel safe on public transit. Some passengers don’t wear face coverings, and bus drivers sometimes ignore capacity limits, she says. On one ride with her seven-year-old son, she decided to get off at a stop far from her home after a driver allowed a crowd of people to board. “It’s very trying. I’ll put it in those terms,” Williams says. “These past couple months have been really hard.” (Seattle’s public transit operator, King County Metro, says it’s asking customers to allow for additional travel time, and that it has instructed drivers to call in more service on overcrowded routes.)

Adding more buses could help boost capacity while reducing overcrowding. But King Country Metro is in dire financial straits, making that next to impossible. System officials are projecting what they’re calling an “unprecedented loss” of more than a quarter of a billion dollars this year due to falling fare revenue and sales tax collections. While King County Metro received some federal aid for short-term survival, its prospects in the longer term are dismal, with the agency projecting more than $600 million in lost revenues through 2022. Last month, the agency announced fall service would be cut 15% from pre-coronavirus levels.

What’s happening to public transit in Seattle is happening across the country. Public transit use has plummeted nationwide as people work from home or avoid buses and subways for fear of contracting COVID-19, resulting in less revenue from fares. And as the economy cratered, so too have the tax revenues upon many which many transit systems rely. Philadelphia’s SEPTA is looking at upwards of $300 million in lost revenue through mid-2021. Maryland’s Transportation Trust Fund is contending with a $550 million shortfall in the fiscal year ending June 30, with similar losses expected next year. Los Angeles Metro is preparing for $1.8 billion in pandemic-related revenue losses. Chicago’s CTA is facing a half-billion dollar falloff in 2020. “I’ve been in this industry for over 30 years, and I have never experienced anything like what we’ve been dealing with in this pandemic,” says CTA President Dorval Carter, Jr. “There was no playbook for what we encountered.” In New York City, home to the largest transportation agency in the country, losses could add up to a staggering $8.5 billion in 2020. “‘Apocalyptic’ is a good description,” says Sarah Feinberg, who was appointed interim president of New York City Transit after the resignation of former president Andy Byford in January following repeated, high-profile clashes with New York governor Andrew Cuomo.

In these cities and more, public transit is the backbone of the local economy, and serves a wide swath of residents across socio-economic groups. If cities are to recover post-COVID, a thriving public transit system will surely have to be part of the mix.

Economically, U.S. public transit systems have endured a devastating one-two punch. Ridership rates have been decimated (subway ridership was down as much as 92% in New York at the height of the outbreak there) severely cutting into fare collections. And with the economy floundering more broadly, tax revenues that help subsidize transit systems have also taken a dramatic hit. But many transit systems’ costs are up as they engage in expensive cleaning campaigns meant to keep their buses and trains safe. Furthermore, many systems have been reluctant to cut service, which could result in dangerous overcrowding that could exacerbate viral spread.

David L. Ryan—The Boston Globe/Getty ImagesWearing a protective mask, Alejandra Ceja with S.J. Cleaning Services wipes down the window of a bus at the MBTA Charlestown bus garage during COVID-19 pandemic in Boston on May 15, 2020.

Some help has already pulled into the station. The CARES Act, a $2.2 trillion stimulus bill signed in March, included $25 billion for public transportation relief, which covered some of this year’s funding gaps. But as the COVID-19 crisis worsens in much of the country, it’s becoming clear that the nation’s transit systems will need more help from Congress. An independent analysis commissioned by the American Public Transportation Association (APTA), a non-profit advocacy group, found that, even after the CARES Act, public transit agencies nationwide still face a $23.8 billion shortfall through the end of 2021. “The CARES Act probably put a band-aid on the problem,” says Robert Puentes, president of the non-profit Eno Center for Transportation.

Another big issue with the CARES Act: the formula used to divvy out the funding gave enough money to smaller transit agencies to tide them over for a longer stretch of time, but left larger systems with only a few months of respite, according to an analysis by TransitCenter, a transit advocacy group. (That’s partially because larger transit systems tend to rely less on government funding, and more on fares and dedicated taxes, two income streams that the analysis projected would take a bigger hit during the pandemic.) Those major systems not only carry the most riders, some are also located in areas hardest-hit by COVID-19 early on, like New York and Seattle. For the 10 largest transit systems, the analysts estimated that the CARES Act funds would cover shortfalls for about five to eight months. In Seattle and New York City, which got 15% of the total CARES Act relief despite handling more than a third of national transit ridership, the funds were predicted to last less than six months.

More help from Washington could be on the way. Congress returned to work on July 20, and passing further COVID-related economic relief is top of mind for most lawmakers. But it’s unclear what the next major relief bill might look like. Back in May, House Democrats passed the $3 trillion HEROES Act, which included nearly $16 billion for public transit assistance, aimed primarily at the big systems that got relatively stiffed by the CARES Act. But Republicans called the bill a “liberal wishlist,” and the GOP-controlled Senate has refused to take it up. Republican leaders are expected to unveil their version of a relief bill as soon as this week. With August recess quickly approaching and plenty of political points on the line, it’s likely that Congress will pass some form of additional relief soon—what such a bill will ultimately include for buses, subways and rail is, at this point, anybody’s guess.

Not everybody is mourning the sorry state of American public transit. Some have long viewed it as a waste of government spending and resources, and say we’re better off letting it die. Transit opponents often point to data showing that national ridership had been slumping since 2014 as evidence that Americans were choosing other forms of transportation even before the pandemic, though the dropoff began to reverse last year.

“We had very strong trends before the pandemic that transit was becoming, outside of New York City, increasingly insignificant and irrelevant in America,” says Randal O’Toole, a senior fellow at the Cato Institute, a libertarian think tank. “What the pandemic has done is just underscored that and accelerated that and maybe in some places brought it to a final conclusion.”

But public transit’s defenders have a laundry list of reasons why it ought to be saved: it reduces the number of private vehicles on the road (generally meaning better air quality and less congestion); it results in fewer fatal car wrecks; and, when done well, makes urban mobility more accessible across socio-economic groups. “You can decry what you see as an inefficient system, but I don’t know how you have a functioning economy without people being able to get to their jobs,” says Beth Osborne, director of advocacy group Transportation for America.

For those who don’t rely on mass transit, heated debates over budget cuts, canceled routes and so on seem far afield. But transit is a lifeline for millions of Americans. Take, for example, the nearly half-million Chicago-area residents who live in “transit deserts.” Long before the pandemic, areas like the city’s Far South Side were starved for transit options, making it difficult for residents to get to work and access other essential resources. If Chicago’s CTA winds up reducing service even further because of COVID-related funding issues, advocates say, such a move could disproportionately affect people who’ve already been cut off from the rest of their city.

“If they cut service any more that would be a tragic thing for people who depend on transportation, not just to go to work but just to get to the grocery store,” says Andrea Reed, a transit advocate and co-chair of the Coalition for a Modern Metra Electric, a local advocacy group. “They can’t cut where people are already down and hurting.”

Christopher Dilts—Bloomberg/Getty ImagesA commuter wearing a protective mask looks at a mobile device while riding a Chicago Transit Authority (CTA) train in Chicago, Illinois, U.S., on Wednesday, June 3, 2020.

Any cuts in public transit service stand to disproportionately impact non-white Americans, who have already beared the brunt of the pandemic in so many other ways. People of color account for less than 40% of the U.S. population, but make up 60% of transit riders, according to the APTA. Further underscoring non-white Americans’ reliance on public transit, a CityLab analysis published in June found that, during a period at the height of the outbreak in New York, subway ridership dropped substantially more in whiter neighborhoods compared to less-white areas, perhaps because white New Yorkers were more likely to be able to work from home or afford alternate modes of transportation, like Uber rides. Furthermore, public transit has throughout the pandemic offered essential workers of color from doctors and nurses to kitchen staff a reliable way to get to their jobs; 67% of essential workers using transit are non-white, according to an April TransitCenter analysis.

With these disparities in mind, some transit agencies are trying to ensure equitable service amid the pandemic, despite the drain on their resources. Chicago’s CTA, for example, has been running at full service since the beginning of the outbreak in an effort to avoid overcrowding. “We had to make very tough operational decisions that were not necessarily in the financial best interests of the CTA, but were necessary because we recognize the importance of the people we were serving,” says Carter, the CTA president.

But good intentions don’t negate financial realities. “When the CARES Act money runs out, I don’t know what the system’s going to do,” says Stephen Schlickman, former executive director of the Regional Transportation Authority of Northeastern Illinois (RTA) which oversees the CTA. “This pandemic is clearly going to go into next year. The COVID money is expected to maybe stretch into early next year, so what happens after that? It’s a big unknown.”

Perhaps nowhere is public transit more vital, or the budget crisis more serious, than in New York City. The Metropolitan Transportation Authority, which oversees the city’s subways, busses and commuter rail lines, dwarfs other U.S. transit agencies in size, serving a colossal 40% of the nation’s total public transit users. Over the spring, New York City experienced what remains, for now, the worst coronavirus outbreak in the U.S.: more than 226,000 people have tested positive in the five boroughs as of July 20, and nearly 23,000 have died. Ridership in the city plummeted as people stayed home or sought out alternate modes of transportation they perceived to be safer. Furthermore, the city’s transit workers were hit particularly badly: more than 4,000 MTA employees have gotten sick so far, and 131 died. “It’s like being in a hospital, but without [personal protective equipment],” says MTA subway conductor William Mora, 50, who was out of work for a month with COVID-19; two coworkers he knew died of the virus.

The MTA received the most CARES Act money—$3.9 billion—of any public transit agency, but it was still shortchanged relative to its size, according to a TransitCenter analysis. The MTA, which anticipates a $10.3 billion loss through 2021, expects to burn through its CARES Act funds this month; it requested nearly $4 billion in more federal relief back in April.

“This is just the worst of all possible outcomes if we don’t get federal help,” says Andrew Albert, chair of the Permanent Citizens Advisory Committee to the MTA (PCAC) which represents riders’ interests. He cites the possibility of layoffs, service cuts, fare hikes or even abandonment of transit lines. “I just don’t want to anticipate what could be happening,” Albert says.

The pandemic struck just as the MTA was turning a corner. Subway on-time performance had been deteriorating for years. Safety was becoming an issue, too, underscored by a 2017 subway derailment that left 34 people injured. But just before COVID-19 struck, reliability was improving, with weekday on-time performance hitting 83.3% in January, up from a dismal 58.1% two years prior. A massive $51.5 billion capital investment plan went into effect at the start of 2020, $15 billion of which was to be funded by a new congestion pricing plan wherein drivers would be charged when entering the heart of Manhattan. But the pandemic and ensuing chaos has left that plan facing about a year of delays due to holdups over a Federal Highway Administration environmental review. Transit insiders say the New York system now stands to lose its recent progress.

“Right now we’re seeing that the region is coming out of pause, but the MTA is going into pause as relates to its construction program, and that could have even more long-lasting, dire consequences, not just for riders but for the entire economy of the region,” says Lisa Daglian, the PCAC Executive Director.

Robert Nickelsberg—Getty ImagesA passenger wearing a surgical mask a daily newspaper while riding an uptown subway in New York City on March 18, 2020.

Public transit’s future is equally uncertain nationwide. While it’s likely many systems will receive at least some federal help, that probably will not be enough to get them off life support, at least until some degree of normality returns. Despite studies that show fears of COVID-19 infection on mass transit could be overblown, it may not be until a vaccine is widely available that riders who have a choice between private and public transportation will feel safe enough to once again pack into buses and subway cars. “People are expected to keep away from each other, and that just doesn’t work out for mass transportation,” says Schlickman, the former Illinois RTA boss.

Some transit advocates see opportunity in this crisis. In an effort to free up badly needed public space for safe enjoyment of the outdoors, many cities across the U.S. and worldwide have closed some streets or entire areas to car traffic. As residents saw first-hand the benefits of having fewer cars around—more space, safer streets, less air and noise pollution—some cities have moved to make those changes permanent. Seattle, for instance, closed 20 miles of streets to most cars in May. Other cities are building or revamping their cycling infrastructure, opening up yet another form of transportation for many residents. “If we use this as an opportunity to do a makeover of our transit systems, our transit funding, and our transit infrastructure itself, we could come out of this exceptionally strong,” says Alex Hudson, executive director of Seattle-based nonprofit Transportation Choices Coalition.

But in general, the mood among transportation officials and advocates is far from cheery. Large systems still await short-term relief, while a gigantic new infrastructure proposal has stalled in a deadlocked Congress. Transit planners have little to go on in guessing when the money, and riders, will return. If transit systems are left to die, some say, their cities will die along with them. “New York city is tied to their transit system,” says Philip Plotch, a professor of political science at Saint Peter’s University and author of Last Subway: The Long Wait for the Next Train in New York City. “It’s like if you have a big hundred-story building and the elevators were having a problem.”

Plotch, who served as director of World Trade Center redevelopment and special projects at the Lower Manhattan Development Corporation, has watched his city recover from a devastating crisis before, and he’s optimistic it can do so again. “It wasn’t clear in the days after 9/11 if anybody wanted to work in a skyscraper ever again,” he says. “The people who had that sort of dark outlook were totally wrong.” But even if transit systems recover in the long-term, the millions of Americans currently relying on mass transit to get to work are desperate for those buses and trains to keep running.

“We depend on [transit] not just to go to our clients, but to do their grocery shopping, pick up their medicine…go out and pay their bills,” says Williams, the Seattle home care worker. “It’s a very dangerous slope if they take transit away. It’s part of what I would call another signature on the death certificates of thousands of Americans.”

via https://cutslicedanddiced.wordpress.com/2018/01/24/how-to-prevent-food-from-going-to-waste

#Time #top stories #IFTTT #news