#twenty may be lowballing it

[kelseighn]

jfc Tumblr, I KNOW! It's a good piece of art. Someone I follow thought it was cool. I think it's cool too.

OR I DID BEFORE YOU SHOWED IT TO ME TWENTY FREAKING TIMES!!!!!

#enough already #broken algorithms #tumblr nonsense #repeated recommendations #for the love of god stop #twenty may be lowballing it

[sauleline2]

Maths, Gender, And a Number Bigger than the distance to Kepler 22-B

heads up this is loooong

so i was thinking about xenopronouns (pronouns which are impossible for humans to pronounce, mostly used by therians and otherkin. eg. a pronoun that is a lion's roar, bird chirp, or alien language, etc.) while trying to fall asleep. well, i thought, couldn't an example of a xenopronoun be a normal pronoun set, like she/her, but with a different coloured font? well. i got to thinking. how many colours are there? well it depends on what format you use. an RGB colour has 255 ✕ 255 ✕ 255 colours. that comes out to 16,581,375 different colours. HSV on the other hand, has 3,600,000 different colours (360 ✕ 100 ✕ 100). but why stop there? underlines! bold! italics! the possibilities are (almost) endless! (btw im gonna stick with the rgb colour list, because it's a bigger number and i, an idle game player, find that cool) well. im just going to stick with the stock word formatting options (bold, italics, underline, strikethrough, subscript, and superscript). all of these options can be toggled all together, with the exception of superscript and subscript. now. how do we calculate that? well we take how many options there are (8, not counting the subscript and superscript (we'll get to that)) and multiply that by our number of colours. this gives us 132,651,000. we quickly multiply that by 3, to get our full total formats. 397,953,000. now i could say something sappy about how there are infinite combinations of letters, to make infinite pronouns, but that's boring in my opinion. so. there are 149,186 unicode characters (in the current version). sure, not all of them can be made into bold, or some don't have italics. who cares? they still have the italics information. or the bold information. you get the point. well. we take our amount of format options, and multiply that by the amount of unicode characters. 59,369,016,258,000. fifty nine trillion, three hundred and sixty nine billion, sixteen million, two hundred and fifty eight thousand different combinations. now. to make these into pronoun sets. to make this easier for myself, im gonna cap the maximum length of one of these at 7 characters, and the minimum at 1 (invisible characters are cool, like U+2064 or U+2063, for example). each set will be in the format of "she/her/hers", so that means each of the sets will be between 3 and 21 characters long (forward slashes are excluded). i wasn't sure how to do this with a calculator, so i did it by hand. or at least, i was going to. then i realized "wait the way im doing this is shit, and i could very easily have calculated this like the way you calculate how many different states a combo lock has. 343 different combinations of characters. we multiply that by the amount of characters we have, and boom. the total amount of robot pronouns. 20,363,572,576,494,000. twenty quadrillion, three hundred and sixty three trillion, five hundred and seventy two billion, five hundred and seventy six million, four hundred and ninety four thousand. now. most of these will be unintelligible messes of characters in different colours.

i may as well repeat the final number that i got. 20,363,572,576,494,000. think about that. if you want to put that into perspective, there are approximately 100,000,000,000 stars in the milky way galaxy (at a lowball. it goes up to around 400,000,000,000). or, 3,154,000,000 seconds in a century. (im gonna put these numbers up next to each other at the end of this, under the cut, just to help you look at them.

(up to date (as of writing)) (most of these are approximates btw) (distances are in kilometres)

"Pronouns": 20,363,572,576,494,000 Kepler 22-B's Distance: 6,055,000,000,000,000 Distance of All Human Veins: 772,485,120,000,000 Cells in the Body: 30,000,000,000,000 Elon Musk's Net Worth: 205,200,000,000 Stars in the Milky Way: 100,000,000,000 Baby Shark's Views: 14,118,385,910 Earth's Population: 8,100,000,000 Seconds in a Century: 3,154,000,000 Listens my Friend has to Sum 41: 18,306

if this looks like shit... lmao? i guess. it was formatted for web view. idk how it looks on mobile, don't care to check. (Yes i did put elon musk there because i hate him and want to point out how fucking rich he is and i think that we should kill him) (yes i did put my friend's Sum 41 scrobbles there to make fun of him)

#peony says shit #people really says shit #196 #r/196 #/r/196 #rule #ruleposting #xenopronouns #robots #? #i guess #long post #i think #if i saw this i would put it in my “poetry?” folder #for context the Poetry? folder contains: #2 (? (i think)) sorting algorithm videos #how to give yourself a name the video (i can post it it's really good) #a song with some really impressive polyrhythms #and orteil's version of conway's game of life #stuff i want to look back on

[bestworstcase]

To be fair I think it might be the fact that havens huntsman academy is still undergoing repairs, they have a shortage of competent huntsman at the moment so they might not be able to help as much, such an influx may overwhelm what few defenses they still have

setting aside the specific question of grimm management: the refugees represent almost the entire population of atlas and mantle. the evacuation was a huge success that got nearly everybody out. (if you watch what’s going on in the background of the last couple episodes of V8, evacuees continue to move through the portal after cinder makes her move, and their numbers gradually thin out until there’s nobody left right around the time she murders penny—at this point there’s still quite a bit of time to spare before she collapses the portals, and it takes even longer for atlas to crash into mantle. this is underscored by cinder saying “they used the staff to save thousands” later on: very few if any people were left behind.) the exact population we’re talking here is somewhat unclear, but with some allowances for the limitations of animation re: crowd size numbers in the 100k to 200k range are not mathematically implausible, especially taking into consideration mantle’s apparent end-to-end density. but let’s really lowball it and say, for the sake of illustration, there’s 25k refugees. that’s way too low based on what we’re shown in V7-8, but it’s what we’re going to work with to illustrate The Problem.

the problem is this:

POV you are a council member in either mistral or vacuo (pick your poison) and twenty-five thousand refugees have just been magically poofed into existence on your doorstep with zero warning. they brought nothing but the clothes on their backs. we will assume that you are not heartless; you do not want these people to die. you have no real choice but to help them.

it’s the dead of winter.

(ignore the grimm for now. pretend they don’t exist.)

if you picked mistral, you urgently need to house twenty-five thousand people before they freeze to death. if you’re in vacuo, you can probably squeak by for a while by setting up makeshift shelters and tents in the ruins outside of the city—but you do need a more permanent solution sooner than later, because it’s only a matter of time until the next sandstorm buries the ruins again.

(you can’t cram all twenty-five thousand people into a huntsman academy. beacon’s student body is canonically 160 students [if we assume from the semester plan that there is only one new class per year; i don’t think it would be unreasonable for the academies to intake new students multiple times throughout the year, once per quarter maybe, but that isn’t what’s shown.] even if we go by visual appearance instead of stated numbers, these schools can’t be much larger than a couple thousand students—especially not when you take into consideration that beacon, at least, has dedicated dormitories for exchange students.)

you also need to allocate food and water for these people.

if you picked mistral, water probably won’t be an issue. lake matsu is right there, and way too big to freeze no matter how cold it gets. (assuming matsu is freshwater, anyway.) but what about food? it’s the middle of winter. mistral is a) at approximately the same latitude as vale, and b) landlocked, which means it’s going to get way, WAY colder in the wintertime. […we will ignore for the moment that vale is on the equator and pretend the seasonal weather shown in V1-3 makes geographic sense.]

how much food does a person need to eat every day? let’s say about 1kg. (i am not pulling this number completely out of thin air: it’s on the low end of average daily rations for premodern armies. low end, because refugees are going to have lower caloric needs than an army on the move, but they’re not going to be that much more sedentary, not with the enormous amount of work that needs to be done very fast to keep them all. you know. alive.)

you need to come up with an extra 25,000kg of food—about 27.5 tons—PER. DAY., starting right now, without starving your own citizenry. global communications are down and whatever global supply chain existed before is shot, so you can’t just import what you need. you figure out a way to subsist off whatever you’ve got, or else what you’ve got is tens of thousands of people starving to death.

if you picked mistral? well lake matsu probably has fish. game is going to be lean in the winter, but it’s better than nothing. you’re also living on nice, temperate, arable land, so hopefully you have a decent stockpile of grains to tide everyone over until spring. oh, and you’ve got three cities with lovely, efficient trains running between them, and a decent number of airships at your disposal, so you can ease the burden on the capital by spreading the refugees out and juggling supplies between your cities. it’ll be tight, sure, but if you plan well and ration well you can probably pull it off.

but vacuo.

you live in a blazing-hot, desolate sandpit that had all the natural resources sucked out of it centuries ago. your water supply is an underground reservoir whose seepage was already carefully rationed before your water needs increased by almost fifty thousand liters per day. and food? your diet is cave beetles, bats, and whatever meat you can get from hunting mole crabs—animals just as dangerous as the grimm.

a necessary corollary here: rwby is not this kind of story, per se. the narrative is not going to run the numbers on the supply chain logistics and kill off tens of thousands of people from dehydration. there’s a lot of wiggle room baked in to the tone and genre. BUT, the CFVY novels devote a lot of page space to hammering how barren and inhospitable the vacuan desert is. “blistering heat, scarce food, and scarcer water” is a descriptive motif established early and repeated often. it seems like a safe bet that scarcity will become a significant pain point for the vacuo arc—so i do think we’re going to see a narrative thread or two in the vein of strict rationing and shortages running through the social tensions in vacuo. it’s not going to be this granular, but the novels do set this exact concern up pretty blatantly.

the point of laying out the numbers here is to illustrate the logistical scale of The Problem as a way of elaborating on why i think the narrative is going to treat bringing the refugees to vacuo as a mistake. because even if we ignore the grimm as a threat completely, dropping tens of thousands of refugees into a massive dust bowl where scarcity is already a major problem is A REALLY PROFOUNDLY BAD IDEA unless you genuinely have no better options—and the kids did have a better option. (they could’ve asked for a portal with two exits, even. sending the refugees to a kingdom that could, like, Probably Feed Them isn’t incompatible with getting the relics to vacuo!)

and, while i’ll grant that it’s possible this is simply a small plot hole opened by narrative expediency, i don’t… think that’s the case, for a few reasons:

1 - as noted, the CFVY novels really emphasize the point of scarcity. the narrative is like. Aware that this is a problem. the groundwork for it to Matter in the show proper is already there.

2 - the montage of people across the globe receiving ruby’s broadcast goes to mistral first—and it doesn’t just show us the cotta-arcs, it shows us the bustling transit hub we saw at the beginning of V6, with a whole crowd of ordinary civilians just going about their business. the only thing that’s changed since we last saw this place months ago is that it’s nighttime now and people are dressed for colder weather; if anything it looks livelier than before. so we get this solid visual message that mistral is doing okay.

3 - that happens in tandem with ruby mentioning beacon (status: in ruins, still overrun by grimm) but not haven (status: temporarily closed). the juxtaposition between what the narrative shows the audience and what ruby’s speech implies about her perception of the global situation sets up the more grievous oversight that happens with the evac plan.

4 - again, the CFVY novels specifically highlight this conflation of haven with mistral and vice versa several times.

5 - the kids themselves are plainly cognizant of the reality that bringing the refugees to vacuo isn’t a great option—but that awareness is restricted to worrying that shade’s huntsmen (in training) won’t be able to fend off the grimm after the kids “drop a kingdom’s worth of negativity on their doorstep.” and this is the piece that’s really tantalizing, because it ties the rest together!

i’ve made this point before, but: these kids have spent their whole lives doing nothing except fighting grimm. the ones who went to combat schools have been undergoing intensive, hyper-specialized training since they were at least twelve or thirteen years old, maybe younger. (pyrrha won the mistral regional tournaments four years in a row before she comes to beacon at the age of seventeen—so she’s got at least four and probably more years of training behind her, and we know she attended a combat school.) they are effectively high school graduates who happen to also belong to an elite monster-killing warrior class of which they are a) the cream of the crop and b) de facto leaders. which is to say, they don’t know how to do anything else. they are really good at slaying grimm and That’s It, and now—god help them—they’re trying to do politics because the huntsmen institution was the keystone of the entire post-war order and also a cult that collapsed like a jenga tower when its leader died and now Everything Is Falling Apart.

and that’s, like, The Point, narratively. these kids signed up to fight monsters and then the whole world imploded and through a comedy of horrors they ended up being the ones in charge and HOO BOY. they do not have a fucking clue what they’re doing, so they keep defaulting to what they CAN do, which is Be Very Good At Killing Grimm. ironwood’s tailspin in V8 forced them to broaden their horizons to Save People From Fascist Dictators Who Haven’t Slept In 72 Hours but they, notably, deal with that the same way they deal with the grimm: move the civilians out of danger and fight.

so they are, um, laughably ill-equipped to handle a city-wide evacuation because The Only Problem They Know How To Deal With Is Grimm, and they’re also so deeply immersed in huntsmen culture that they have kind of a habit of tackling All Other Problems from the angle of preventing negativity to mitigate the threat of the grimm. they, through no real fault of their own given the whole warrior eschaton cult situation, are really fucking myopic about this One Thing.

the narrative does not, however, share that myopia. indeed the narrative hints quite strongly that the grimm are not the all-encompassing sole universal danger that the huntsmen make them out to be: that town in V4 blithely dealt with a monster of a geist for weeks, no worse for wear; oscar shrugs off his experience of fending off grimm with NO DEFENSIVE AURA WHATSOEVER as something that doesn’t count as real fighting; blake and sun are in menagerie (a kingdom with no huntsmen and no combat schools) for months without a single notable grimm encounter; robyn is both a huntress and a political activist and, while mantle’s crumbling fortifications is one of her concerns, she’s a lot more focused on economic inequality, systemic injustices, and political corruption—her perspective is much wider in scope than the kids’ (because she’s an adult and an activist with much wider experience) and she treats the grimm as a relatively minor issue. the narrative has also devoted quite a bit of time to quietly, slowly building up a critique of the huntsmen system itself, which became extremely overt in V7-8 with the kids beginning to confront the reality that they are in way, way, way over their heads and also the rhodes sledgehammer.

so like, the kids naturally are thinking about the evacuation like this:

1 - there is an urgent need to get everybody out of atlas and mantle.

2 - the refugees are going to be terrified, angry, and upset.

3 - wherever they go, that place is going to end up swarming with grimm.

4 - we need to send them somewhere with as many warriors as possible!

5 - vacuo is the only kingdom with a huntsmen academy still in operation.

6 - vacuo is the only option!

but the NARRATIVE is thinking about the evacuation like this:

1 - here’s a book about theodore heading off a popular insurgency because the beacon survivors are a political liability for him and a not-insignificant number of his own students willingly sided with the insurgents!

2 - have we mentioned in this chapter how hot, barren, inhospitable, harsh, dry, and dangerous vacuo is? no? haha here is another sardonic joke about how vacuo is great if you love dying of dehydration.

3 - what about the inescapable and unpredictable danger of sinkholes and sandstorms that wipe whole settlements off the map, have we reminded you about that lately? here’s a ruin that gets literally dug out and completely buried like three times in the space of as many days. haha

4 - oh yeah and the popular insurgent movement? they’re reactionary, viciously xenophobic, fascists. and the good guys are a bunch of outsiders who get bullied for being refugees and this handful of slightly less xenophobic vacuans.

5 - sandstorms are a constant, deadly threat that knock out local comms, dramatically reshape the landscape, blind anyone unfortunate enough to get caught in one, and bury people alive. haha guess what the refugees land in the middle of!

6 - the grimm are here too, of course. winter can solo them now, though, so it’s fine. hashtag don’t worry about it.

before the dawn literally ends with the coffee kids being like. THANK GODS. EVERYTHING IS BACK TO NORMAL. IM SO GLAD WE CAN JUST CHILL AND KILL GRIMM AGAIN :) like the insurrection is explicitly worse than anything the grimm could dish out to the point that the characters at multiple points are like “man i wish i could go back to fighting grimm” and then actively team up with the grimm against the insurgents because they make the (accurate) tactical calculation that mopping up the grimm afterwards will be not just possible but comparatively easy.

so. while the kids, for sure, don’t consider mistral as an option because their biggest concern is handling that inevitable initial wave of grimm, they’re dropping tens of thousands—potentially even a hundred or two hundred thousand—refugees into a setting that ancillary texts have taken GREAT PAINS to establish is an inhospitable, hostile wasteland with barely enough water or food to sustain its own population, stacked sky-high with sociopolitical problems that are explicitly, textually bigger and badder and way harder to deal with than the grimm.

and only a few episodes prior the narrative made a point of reminding the audience that mistral is, like, completely fine. haven academy isn’t even closed for repairs, it’s closed to sort out staffing issues caused by the dead headmaster.

there’s also the open question of whether there actually IS a true shortage of huntsmen in the kingdom? (as opposed to a shortage of Huntsmen In Ozpin’s Immediate Sphere Of Influence.)

in 5.1, lionheart delays by claiming he needs to “convince the council” that he needs huntsmen more than they do, and qrow doesn’t question that (he’s just like, ok fuck the council then, we’ll do it by ourselves). lionheart is bullshitting, but it’s clearly passable bullshit—meaning most huntsmen in mistral really do answer to the council. then, in 5.3, ozpin says they need to enlist the aid of more huntsmen, and when the kids raise concerns about the council, qrow interjects that the council “doesn’t own every huntsman in mistral.” that’s who he’s looking for. the three dozen or so huntsmen and huntresses on his list are, specifically, personal contacts of his with no formal allegiance to the mistrali council.

lionheart remarks that a lot of haven faculty died in the aftershocks of beacon falling (which might be true, although no doubt some of them were just assassinated), and salem took out all of qrow’s contacts (read: intelligence network, the man is ozpin’s spy).

we… don’t actually get a solid indication either way if this amounts to a majority of the huntsmen in the city of mistral. it’s probably all or at least most of the huntsmen salem could link directly to ozpin, but: a) the council has what sounds like a fairly large body of huntsmen who don’t answer to ozpin even indirectly, b) mistral is the largest kingdom by a wide margin (three whole cities!) and even in taking into consideration that there’s probably a grand total of, like, two thousand huntsmen in the world it beggars belief that only about forty of them would be active in the capital city of the biggest kingdom, and c) nobody else in mistral seems to notice or care that these few dozen huntsmen bit the dust, which suggests that this spate of casualties did not rise far enough above average to cause widespread alarm in the way that the sudden mysterious deaths of nearly the Entire Warrior Class months after a horrifying terrorist attack would, uh, rattle the general public. so either the mistral council is pulling off some top level There Is No War In Ba Sing Se shenanigans or salem took a relatively judicious approach to her assassinations. given she obviously wanted to be in and out of haven with no one the wiser, the latter seems a lot more likely: she took advantage of the upheaval caused by the attack on beacon to discreetly eliminate ozpin’s allies and all the load-bearing nodes in his mistrali intelligence network while The Rest Of Mistral, presumably including all the huntsmen who aren’t, um, cultists, weathered the storm and then settled back into business as usual.

lionheart says the kingdom is in complete shambles but he is, like, pretty clearly lying on account of how very much not in shambles anything is, like within a few weeks of the kids arriving in haven there’s a documentary about the fall of beacon premiering in argus and there are zero grimm incidents in the capital while the kids are there, the citizenry is shown emphatically to have arrived at Life Goes On. and then V7 takes us to atlas, where mantle is Actually In Shambles, for comparison purposes. like if V5 is a genuine representation of mistral being a mess vs what it’s usually like in mistral, then the worst mistral has to offer is dramatically better than mantle’s “oh are the grimm rampaging through my neighborhood again? it must be tuesday” dysfunctional police state normal. the average mantelian would look at mistral “in shambles” and be like oh my gods the autonomous military drones that killed a bunch of people in vale aren’t patrolling on every street and there’s no gaping holes in the grimm wall and you people are complaining about the price of NOODLES? (shiro wan’s 16,000Ⱡ tab at the ramen place haunts me) (for my sanity i have to assume that in a hypothetical FX trade lien is weak against the dollar but like, how weak. if it’s akin to JPY that’s a tab in the neighborhood of like 125$ being treated like a really serious amount of money. if it’s more of a CNY situation this dude racked up like 2.4k USD worth of debt buying noodles on credit. mistral economy broke)

so yeah i think the narrative is lining up here to wallop our heroes with the ol’ baseball bat of unintended consequences

#reading the cfvy novels with the knowledge that the population is about to like double overnight with zero warning is soooo fun.

[adelaidedrubman]

for the wip guessing game - “normal”

…congrats mari, somehow i think you’re the one person who managed to unlock new birthday boy lore, and exposition at that. 

essentially this explains the birthday boy cinematic universe (bbcu)’s place in the many divergent timelines, a mashup of the pre-reaping au (otherwise a no reaping au, jessie unwittingly successfully avoids the reaping by preemptively arresting joseph for being shirtless on her lawn) and one of many iterations of a no collapse au in which the reaping occurs but there is an adequate stabilizing response. the combination of their preestablished ill defined hookup relationship and the semi recent threat of crisis that could have proven deadly is intended to explain in part why jessie is significantly more openly doting and affectionate than usual (along with the fact that it is, of course, his birthday).

NORMAL (bbcu)

It had been several months now since the briefly disruptive failed arrest of Joseph Seed, a would be uprising that was quelled by a strategic military response less than twenty four hours later. And things had returned… more or less to normal. 

Mary May sighed, giving one of her sturdier lowball glasses an extra polish, with a sinking feeling she would need it eventually. 

As normal as they had ever been, for as long as she could remember. 

If you counted no active gunfire outside that officially licensed by the Montana Fish and Wildlife Commission and the members of law enforcement who fucked cultists having the decency to not do it in the alley outside her bar as normal. 

Hell, that part was actually better than normal, ever since the so-called reaping, and the subsequent forcing of the relationship between Jestiny Rook and John Seed into the public light. In fact, the only time she’d even had to hear from Jestiny, or learn anything about her creepy scum of the earth boyfriend, was on the occasional midweek lunch break, when the redhead would pop into her bar and order a meal and ramble on like they were somehow old friends. 

Which, while not ideal, was certainly more normal than any other interaction she’d ever had involving Jestiny Rook being in her bar. To the point she’d almost started to discount her presence as shockingly normal. 

#this keeps going w more hits but ive already said too much yall really are gonna bully me for the entire fic before the day of reckoning #bbcu

[coopercleveland24]

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#ull #Share your unsed parking and earn monthy income with Neighborsparking.

[dramarising-replacement]

Icon Stereotypes 2 Electric Boogaloo

I'm not the original person who did the avatar icon stereotype stuff but figured I'd add in mine because it seems like fun.

Guardian: Either a veteran player with fifty different how-to guides in the forums, or a new player with no experience beyond "ooh pretty dragons."

Mirror: Does nothing but post in the forums for three days straight and then goes radio silent for two weeks. Rinse and repeat.

Fae: Really shy and doesn't post much but really nice when you start talking to them. OR they're loud, post more than anyone else, and kind of a nightmare to talk to -- I swear most scammers or lowballers are those with fae icons.

Tundra: Introverted, lurks the forums and discords but hardly posts, but when you look at their lair half of it is incredibly well written lore with lots of art and the other half is joke dragons with purble-esque humor.

Imperial: Not a G1 collector but has that stereotypical G1 lair aesthetic where all of their dragons are triple gem gened and are dressed in flowerfalls, silks and UMAs. 

Coatl: 50% chance they're an artist or accent maker. Almost always have a really consistent lair with one aesthetic but all of their dragons have individual lore and outfits.

Wildclaw: G1 collector, their icon is their most expensive dragon. It has a metric ton of lore and art. This person is on every single FR artist's pinglist and they only ever buy art of this one dragon. You didn't even know they had other dragons in their lair until you looked.

Skydancer: Dominates the dragon share forum. Either they have a single-aesthetic lair or every single one of their dragons are XYZ and completely different from each other. Changes their icon often.

Pearlcatcher: Seems like these are always the people who write a lot. May run a lore shop but they definitely have lore for ALL of their dragons. Makes headcanons for dragons they haven't even bought yet. Has unlocked all of their lair slots but has only filled maybe a fifth of it. Wishes there were more lair tabs. They write all of their BBCode themselves and/or run an open-use thread for their bio codes OR they have never touched coding in their life but somehow have beautiful bio layouts anyways.

Spiral: Dragon capitalists, usually G1 flavored. Half of their forum posts are in item and dragon sales. If they buy a dragon off the AH there's a 50% chance it's a new project or they bought it to flip. Could fist fight the marketplace and win because they have ten times the gene scrolls that it stocks. If you see this person post in an auction it's already over.

Snapper: Usually casual players. Does a little bit of everything; runs a fodder operation, plays the fairegrounds and coli, breeds cute dragons. Most of the time they're not a G1 lair but if they are they have a whole tab of unfinished projects that they bought a year ago and still haven't gened. Always has at least one joke dragon.

Ridgeback: Goes absolutely ham in the coli and has a whole tab dedicated to all of their level 25s. Has a team for every venue with the most optimal elements. Always does all of their dailies. Times themselves to see how fast they can max out their daily treasure cap playing Glimmer and Gloom. Most likely users to play FR on a gaming rig with RGB lights while drinking an energy drink and playing glitch hop playlists in the background.

Bogsneak: Used to be a casual player but went completely wild after Baldwin was released. Has a maxed out cauldron and makes all of their money by melting down materials. Always has a 30 minute timer running on their phone. Never hoardsells. Has a maxed out hibernal den but not a maxed out main lair. Most likely user to have a hoard of a particular item.

Nocturne: Most likely to have fandragons and OC dragons. Has at least one tab dedicated to a fandom. Decks their dragons out in so much apparel that you're not even sure there's a dragon under there. Always gem-broke.

Ancient breeds: Mostly just casual players; 99% of the time runs a hatchery with twenty different pairs. But if it's a dark colored ancient with a UMA it's absolutely a G1 collector with a huge, impressive lair. Just don't look at their hibernal den because it houses half of their lair count in projects, each one takes three months to gene because they all have expensive scries (but also because they keep immediately geneing their impulse buys).

Not all of these are going to be super accurate because it's just from my perspective but maybe I've got some right. 

#Flight Rising #Long post #No salt #submission

[thatesqcrush]

Christmas Confessions

Rafael Barba x Reader. @itsjustmyfantasyroom requested: Hey lovely, may I please have a Bryan Kneef or Rafael Barba or both 😉 x reader for your holiday bingo for the mistletoe square. Semi public would be delicious 😘

Ask & ye shall receive. I went with Barba. This is super fluff with a hint of sexy. Timeline wise this is after The Undiscovered Country, but Rafael never left - pretty current to s.22 (spoiler warning: with Kat having joined and Carisi is an ADA.)

WC: 1235

--

"You have no choice, you have to come.” Sonny commented to his mentor who was busily scribbling on a yellow notepad.

"You really are like a dog with a bone, Carisi. I said no, I'm not up to it. Besides, I have back logged reports to work on that Hadid said that she needed ASAP.” Rafael replied as he continued working, not bothering to look up at the younger ADA.

"Don't give me that crap, Barba. I'm not buying it. You're just looking for any excuse to not go.” Sonny replied, crossing his arms against his chest. "Just come for an hour; pop in, get some punch and say hi. Besides…" he continued, "Y/N is there now."

Barba grunted before taking a sip of his lowball glass filled with scotch. "What makes you think I want to see Y/N?"

"Barba, you seem to forget that I used to be a detective. And now, I’m an ADA. if I can't tell what's going in someone's head then I am doing a pretty shitty job. Sonny replied honestly. "She doesn't know.” He added for good measure, not wanting his friend to stress.

Rafael looked up at Sonny, letting out a deep exhale as he did so. "If I go will I get you off my back?"

Sonny cheered. "Carmen owes me twenty bucks; she told me that I'd never be able to convince you to come."

"It's great to know that my emotional well-being feeds gambling addicts.” Barba muttered sardonically. He looked at the pile of reports he had to finish. “I’ll go for one drink, say hello, and come back.” He told himself as he grabbed his phone, camel wool coat and scarf.

**

The 16th precinct - SVU division was brightly decorated with gaudy holiday decorations that looked like they came from way back when God walked the Earth. Holiday music filled the room as people chatted and laughed.

Rafael walked in slowly, following behind Sonny. Rafael scanned the room in search of you and he sucked in breath as you appeared in his line of vision. You wore a snug red top which accentuated the swells of your breasts and a black leather mini skirt – the look complete with knee high boots and a Santa hat adorned on your head. You were busy chatting with Kat and Fin when you caught Rafael out of the corner of your eye.

You smiled brightly at Sonny and Rafael, waving them in as you did so. "Merry Christmas guys! Sonny, I see you managed to drag Rafael out of his office. Carmen owes you what? Twenty-bucks now?"

Sonny laughed, "Yeah, something like that."

"Care for a drink? I made my famous coquito.” You turned your attention to back to Rafael.

"You made coquito?” Rafael questioned; his eyes were wide. “Uh, yeah that would be great. I haven’t had that in ages.” Rafael found himself suddenly parched. He assumed it was his nerves getting the best of him. He watched you saunter off, your hips swaying suggestively, and Rafael wondered if you knew how much sex appeal you dripped on a day to day basis. He hadn’t meant to fall for you – the fresh detective that came straight from the Academy since SVU had been so short-staffed after Sonny left to join the DA’s office.

**

What was one drink – turned into many more. Hours later, Rafael found himself enjoying the holiday party, though he assumed it was mostly due to the fact that the coquito was spiked with a lot of rum. Watching his colleagues get drunk around him was amusing. He had always had a high tolerance for alcohol, so it took him longer to feel any effect, especially since the drinks were served in bitty paper cups. But still, he felt pleasantly relaxed.

You made your way over to Rafael who was lounging on the sofa that was brought out from the breakroom. You plopped yourself into his lap, but your balance was off. Rafael was quick to steady you onto his lap. You scooched a bit to make yourself more comfortable and Rafael silently groaned.

"Whoa!” You giggled. "Thanks Rafael."

"Not a problem.” Rafael replied flustered. "Too much to drink detective?"

"No, not at all. High tolerance runs in my family. We're champs.” You rambled and Barba arched a brow at you. He had had more than one conversation with you to know that was a lie if he ever heard one.

"Sure…" he agreed, knowing disagreeing with someone under the influence always led to bad repercussions. You snuggled herself against his chest, your legs dangling over his.

"I just love the holidays.” You mused. "What about you Rafael?"

"Uh, not necessarily.” Rafael replied as honestly as he could. “It’s become over commercialized and it’s true meaning has been lost. And as a lapsed Catholic –”

"That's a shame.” You replied mournfully cutting him off. "Oh!" you suddenly interjected, your previous thought and emotion quickly forgotten. "What did you ask for this Christmas?"

"Nothing.” Rafael replied. "You?"

You chose to ignore his question by further probing his lack of want this upcoming holiday season. "Were you a naughty boy this year Rafael Barba?" You wagged your finger, and made a disappointed sound.

Rafael coughed, startled by your loaded question. "No, I was… fine; my usual self."

You pondered his comment thoughtfully. "Well, then you deserve something for your efforts."

"Such as?" Rafael wondered out loud, his brow cocked once more in your direction. He hadn't realized it until that very moment, but you had placed his hands on the tops of your thighs. He was positive that you could hear feel his pulse racing but apparently you either didn't notice or didn't care. He was unsure and preferred to not misinterpret your actions.

You bopped him on the chin and pointed above. Rafael moved his gaze from you to where you were pointing and sure enough, mistletoe had been hung from the ceiling.

Rafael returned his gaze towards yours, feeling his cheeks burn. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss. The kiss caught Rafael by surprise initially, but soon he found himself kissing you back. His tongue traced the seam of your lips, seeking entrance and you opened your mouth, allowing him to deepen the kiss. You let out a low moan as your lips tangled passionately. You ran your hands through his salt and pepper hair, gripping the back of his head. He nipped at your bottom lip which earned him another moan, this one more earnest.

Silence reigned the room as the onslaught of lookers watched in shock. The gossip tonight would be tomorrow's headlines around the precinct.

You pulled away and lowered your lips to his ear, "“Like I said, you deserve something for being such a good boy.” Rafael didn’t miss how your voice was laced with lust.

He chuckled as you rested your forehead against his. "Excuse me?"

"I know about your feelings for me; I've known for a while.” You confessed before pressing a quick peck on his lips.

"How about we get out of here?" You suggested. “I could use some fresh air.” Rafael nodded, helping you up. Rafael helped you with your coat and then grabbed his. You both left, hand in hand and the party continued to stare dumbfounded at what they had just seen.

"Damn.” Sonny replied as he took another swig of his beer. “Carmen owes me a lot more than twenty bucks."

FIN.

**

Tags: @madpanda75 @tropes-and-tales @delia26 @mgarner1227 @beardedmccoy @youreverycolor @neely1177 @the-baby-bookworm @mrsrafaelbarba @skittle479 @ottosuricato @sass-and-suspenders @mommakat32 @dreila03 @beccabarba @garturbo @lovebennycolon @imjustreallynosy @sweetsummertime99 @whyissvuruiningmylovelife @annabelleb49 @scarletsoldierrr @cesarofangirl78 @redlipstickandplaid @redlipstickandblacktea @zoeykaytesmom @differentshadesofgray @misssirenlove @esparza-army @bananas-pajamas @mishaissocoolike @thefanficfaerie @theenchantedgalleryofstories @catnip987 @choppedgalaxynerd @pieceofshittytitty @ktiz90 @evee87 @itsjustmyfantasyroom @detective-giggles @rampantmuses​ @jazzyjoi​ @caked-crusader​ @rachelxwayne​ @prurientpuddlejumper​ @lv7867​ @permanentlydizzy​ @bisexual-dreamer02​ @madamsnape921​ @averyhotchner​

#thatesqcrush holiday bingo #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba imagine #rafael barba and you

[blazehedgehog]

Thoughts on Nintendo making the Super Mario 35 game and 3D All Stars limited physically and even digitally?

It’s legitimately surprising how blind Nintendo is certain things. And even if they aren’t blind, they’re... ignorant, in a sense? Frugal to a fault? They’re dumb. Amazingly dumb. Let’s go with that. That's a nice way to put it.

I tweeted that I’d recently finished replaying Super Mario Sunshine a year or two ago (it took me roughly four years!) and that I’d burned through the PC port of Super Mario 64 not that long ago over the course of a single weekend. And that, because of this, I found it hard to justify paying $60 for the Super Mario 3D All-Stars collection.

I don’t want this to sound like “because I played them for free, I don’t want to buy them.” I already bought and paid for Super Mario Sunshine on the Gamecube, and I own at least two, maybe even three copies of Super Mario 64 (original cart, Wii VC, Wii U VC). That's because Super Mario 64 is also one of the most influential games of all time. I know I say that a lot, but I'll repeat it as many times as I need to. Any third person action game made in the last 25 years owes something to what Super Mario 64 figured out -- analog character movement, how to set up the camera, all of it. Even if Super Mario 64 didn’t invent everything about 3D character movement, it probably still figured out a better way to do it. All modern game design roads lead back to that game. I will absolutely buy another copy of Super Mario 64.

But you have to do it right.

If you aren’t matching or or exceeding the work that fans are doing for free, then you are asking me to pay money for a worse quality product.

I can play Super Mario 64 at wide screen, in 4K, at 60fps, with modern camera controls, thanks to the PC port. It sounds cleaner, and it looks better than the N64 game did. Even if you subtract the recreated textures and the high-def models and just play the game with the original assets, it’s still running smoother and plays tighter, but still feels like Super Mario 64.

A case could be made that these enhancements to Super Mario 64 are pretty big and would require lots of new work and testing (as if Nintendo couldn’t just account for that). But, then, what about Super Mario Sunshine? Now, the All-Stars version has been updated to run in widescreen, sure, but even more could be done without messing anything up.

Super Mario Sunshine as it shipped on the Gamecube ran at 30fps, but that’s not always how the game was shown. For a large portion of its development, Super Mario Sunshine actually ran at 60fps. At some point, Nintendo decided to cap it at 30fps, likely because it couldn't maintain a stable 60. Using the emulator Dolphin, and the right Gameshark/Gecko code modifier, it’s possible to restore Sunshine’s original 60fps framerate.

All the game logic under the hood was probably always running at 60fps, it’s just they capped the rendering at 30 for the final game. And yet, the All-Stars version seemingly retains the 30fps cap, even though the Switch could probably do 60fps in this game with both joycons tied behind its back.

For a company that constantly oversteps their boundaries when it comes to fighting the threat of piracy, they sure seem to be making an excellent case for why people should pirate their games, because they’re lowballing things like this and expecting consumers to gobble it up. Thank you Mister Nintendo, sir, for this generous offering of reheated table scraps.

No other extras, no other bonuses. You get these three games and a soundtrack player. Development history? Alternate versions, like Super Mario 64 DS? What about archival material? Concept art, or anything like that? A lot of people are over the moon about Nintendo history right now thanks to the Gigaleak. No? You’re not going to provide anything interesting or cool? Just a bare bones collection of three games presented basically as-is? Not even Super Mario Galaxy 2? Can't be too generous, after all. It's only been 35 years, and Mario's just one of the biggest, most important franchises in all of gaming. Gotta save Galaxy 2 for the, uh... next 3D Mario collection...?

The whole release date thing is just the final slap in the face. It’s Nintendo creating their own artificial scarcity. This is something I’ve picked up on regarding t-shirts -- I run a Redbubble store with shirts I’ve done, and the sales have never been stellar. In four or five years, I’ve made something like $18. Total.

Why? Because they’re always available. The few times I’ve actually encouraged sales a little bit is when I suggested some shirts might be getting retired, eventually. And when you think about it, that’s the entire crux of something like The Yetee. Either you buy this shirt right now, right here, today, or it goes away and may never come back. Limited edition stuff boosts sales because it forces people to make a decision.

It also boosts a festering aftermarket, where, because people know this is a limited edition thing, they can effectively “buy stock” that will effectively collect interest over time. Buy them at $60 now, mark them up for $80, or $90, or $120+ in a year or three. But then all that does is create a scenario where legitimate customers aren’t going to be able to buy the product, because the people who flip these in the aftermarket will have spent $1500 hoping to make a return of $2500-$3000.

You saw this with Amiibo. You saw it with the NES Classic and SNES Classic. It is TWO THOUSAND AND TWENTY and every store front worth a penny allows “third party sellers.” Everything is Ebay now. Wal-mart, Newegg, Best Buy, Amazon, Target, whatever. You name a major retail brand, and they probably let some random goober scalp aftermarket products out of their garage. In many states, scalping tickets is banned, but online this is just “business.” I’m sure Jeff Bezos is elated you spent $230 on a Squid Sisters Amiibo double pack (original MSRP: $30). You don’t get to be the richest man in the world by forcing your best moneymakers to play fair.

Nintendo has taken many notes. The bare minimum of effort, for full price, and “oh, gosh, you better buy it now! It might not ever come back! The faster you give us your money, the better!”

Go jump in a lake. I get better and more features in an emulator and I can play these games right now, today, if I really wanted to. If you aren’t going to offer competitive features and business, then our conversation is over.

#questions #nintendo #switch #super mario 3d all-stars #super mario 64 #super mario sunshine #super mario galaxy #scalping #rant #Anonymous

[douchebagbrainwaves]

OK, I'LL TELL YOU YOU ABOUT DISAGREEMENT

VCs from various sources: their angel investor connects them with a 70-page agreement. Microsoft's biggest weakness is that they hate the idea that we ought to be the most powerful. Why spend twenty years climbing the corporate ladder when you can convince them. 2 each founder 250 20. What counts as a trick? Language designers are solving the wrong problem.1 1/1-n Whenever you're trading stock in your company for something that more than doubles the company's average outcome, you're net ahead, because the top VCs can supply?2 Java, there seem to be entering a new era based on measurement. But my instincts tell me you don't have to know if I bet on everything just being on the server. If a super-angel money do just as well?

It Means Now we have a way of classifying forms of disagreement, though. It would make sense for super-angels were initially angels of the classic type.3 Sometimes they even agree with one another. As a rule, any url sent to millions of people is likely to be a startup.4 If you're a hacker thinking about starting a startup for most of the 1970s. They're just postponing it.5 You may have as many as they wanted for only an order of magnitude more.6 A lot of the people there are rich, or expect to be when their options vest.

Notes

Sofbot.

Here's a recipe that might produce the next investor. The Socialist People's Democratic Republic of X is probably the last thing you changed. It turns out only to buy stock, the Romans didn't mean to be a startup.

SpamCop—e.

This doesn't mean a great idea as an expert—which, if you don't know how many of the movie, but that's a pyramid scheme. Perhaps the most successful companies have never been the fastest to hire a lot of people thought it was 94% 33 of 35 companies that tried to lowball them. The most striking example I know, the reaction might be able to distinguish 1956 from 1957 Studebakers.

Since we're not. It was born when Plato and Aristotle looked at the top startup law firms are Wilson Sonsini, Orrick, Fenwick West, Gunderson Dettmer, and then stopped believing, so it may seem to like to invest in a wide variety of situations, but since it was actually a great founder is being looked at the leading scholars of that investment is a lot to learn to acknowledge as well use the phrase the city, they tend to be hard on Google. Writing college textbooks is unpleasant work, done mostly by hackers. I'm thinking of Oresme c.

On the other hand, launching something small and traditional proprietors on the way we pitch startup school was that it will thereby expose it to the problem, if you do it now. Since capital is no.

#automatically generated text #Markov chains #Paul Graham #Python #Patrick Mooney #instincts #startup #Aristotle #magnitude #Republic #Sofbot #Studebakers #millions #movie #order #sup #people #college #company #lot #VCs #stock

[occasionalfics]

worth my while // p. 1

main masterlist | thor masterlist | ko-fi | prologue | p. 2 

Summary: After being banished from his home, Thor Odinson has stopped at nothing to prove himself worthy of his throne, title, and power. 

After losing the love of your life, you turned to a power you didn’t understand.You know you shouldn’t get involved. 

But how could you not?

Pairing: Thor x Reader (Hercules au…kind of…)

A/N: For all of y’all that are wondering how Thor is involved...here’s where it starts! Let me know what you think! :D

Warnings: Violence, lots of angst, borderline abuse and definite manipulation, eventual smut, way too many feels, major character death (eventually).

Words: 2,027

Hades spoils you, but only when he wants something out of you. Only when it benefits him. At least he doesn’t put his hands on you. Most of the time.

Tonight, he’s gifted you the most ostentatious golden gown you’ve ever seen. The back is low cut, and the front drapes over your body as if it were made for you. Even you notice how much you shine in it, but you can’t tell if that comes from your skin or Hades’ magic.

The shoes he’s given you, however, are not a gift. They’re torture devices, in your own opinion. But they make your legs look amazing.

Hades knows what he’s doing. Knows what he likes, too. Knows what men like him like.

Men like him and Victor Von Doom.

Sorry, Doctor Victor Von Doom.

God, you think, knowing all too well about the irony in not invoking Zeus instead. What a pretentious name.

But then again, your Master is the literal God of the Underworld. He’s not a man at all, you realize.

And you really shouldn’t be surprised; Doctor Von Doom’s ballroom is just as incredible as his name and reputation. According to the information Hades gave you, the man is an insanely rich sovereign of some country called Latvia, but he has business to attend to in New York. And, for some inexplicable reason, he hates Doctor Reed Richards, as if that means anything at all to you.

Hades insisted it would, one day. But that was all he’d said on the subject.

Von Doom is easy enough to find in his sea of guests. It’s a charity event, and everyone is clambering to get a peek at the elusive host. Why Hades thinks this man will comply with his terms, you can’t say, but you still find yourself doing your job, stalking over to him with your head held high, hair falling into your face for an air of mystery.

Hades words, not yours.

You join the conversation easy enough. It’s all the same, after a while. You stay coy and playful on the outside, despite the creeping cynicism and exhaustion inside. It’s enough to catch Von Doom’s attention on more than one occasion.

Eventually, you’re quipping back and forth with him, holding your own with a gazillionaire like you’d never imagined before giving everything to Hades. But the God has trained you, and trained you well. He refused to send you out to do his bidding until he was satisfied, knowing you were ready according to his own standards.

By now, you’re practically an expert in playing a room.

And you get Von Doom alone in under thirty minutes. Almost breaking your last record of twenty-seven and a half.

He brings you to his office, sits in a large, red velvet chair behind his desk, and pours two lowballs of Scotch. You forgo one of the chairs opposite him and place yourself directly on his desk, between his nametag and intercom.

“So, Miss (Y/L/N),” he says, a light accent evident in his tone. “I must say, you’ve quite intrigued me.”

You already know this, but you give a light chuckle and lift your shoulders playfully anyway. “My employer will be thrilled to hear as much.”

He tilts his head toward one shoulder as he looks at you quizzically. You have to admit to yourself that he is rather...gorgeous. Classic Hollywood looks, vaguely European accent, clearly tanned and bright eyes any woman could fall freely into.

But he’s also a Billionaire. And, according to some of the things you’d read, not the greatest person. Or lover.

“And who, may I ask, is your employer?”

Your smirk widens. You push yourself off his desk and take a look at the shelves he has around the room. A well-read man, Von Doom appears to be. It’s almost impressive - would be even more so if you hadn’t gotten to know Hades too well since...everything.

But you can’t get lost in that right now. No, right now, you have a mission. A job.

After all, you sold your soul.

“He’s a man of many talents, Doctor Von Doom.” You pick a book off a shelf, pretend to examine the spine, then place it back without messing up the order. “A man much like yourself.”

Only he’s immortal and clever and I hate him.

But that’s also your own fault.

You turn only your head and glance at von Doom. His expression is still curious, so you know you’ve got a hook in him. Now all that’s left to do is reel him in on Hades’ plan.

You cross your arms and go across the room to another shelving unit, this one covered in sculptures of all media and sizes. There’s a bust of a woman that you’re sure is Mary Shelley, but you’re not sure what she has to do with any of this.

“And what is it that your employer does?” Von Doom asks.

As calculated as Hades’ intends, you turn fully to him and answer, simply, “He deals in life.”

In a way, it’s true. But that’s another reason you hate Hades. He’s far too technical. Gets what he wants on too many technicalities and specific details.

And yet, you always find yourself still respecting his methods. He gets what he wants, and everyone else pays for it. He’s never the one to get hurt, never the vulnerable one. After a lifetime of being told that that meant being evil, you’ve come to find that that’s not always the case.

Sometimes, it’s just better. Easier, being alone. Because no one can get hurt.

Von Doom’s laughter pulls you back into the now. But no worries; you’re prepared for this, too.

You take a heavy step toward him. “My employer is interested in powerful people,” you say. “He has plans. World-changing plans, Doctor Von Doom.”

With a good-natured smile, he tells you, “Please, call me Victor.”

They always say that you think. But you nod anyway.

“Victor,” you start again, taking yet another step back to the desk. “My employer is a man with vision. He has his means, but he wants allies. People to share his vision of the future, with a similar vision for today.” You splay your hands on the edges of the desk and smile gently at him now. “He wants to take out the Avengers.”

Victor laughs again. For just a split second, you’re confused, but you quickly compose yourself.

Before either of you can make a next move, the door bursts open. More accurately, the door is forced into the room, the wooden moulding in its frame splintering and cracking, the concrete surrounding it turning to rubble.

Speaking of…

You have no idea what the Avengers could want at a Von Doom Charity Party. So when the blond God from...Space, as far as you know, barges in with rage in his eyes, you stand and immediately back away.

“Let the lady go, Doom,” the God says, deep voice booming through the room.

Victor’s smile falters and vanishes. He sighs and shakes his head.

“You simpleton,” Victor says. “Must you constantly be ruining my doorways?”

“In the name of public safety, whatever it takes.”

You definitely have no idea what that means.

Victor is up in a flash, a metal gauntlet covering his fist - a gauntlet he certainly wasn’t wearing a moment ago. He blasts the God with a streak of white light, but it only earns him a roar in return.

And a blast twice as bright, twice as powerful, and twice as damaging. It hurts for you to look, so you turn to the window and yelp.

The air in the room settles, and there’s a plopping sound as something heavy hits the floor. You don’t turn around until a hand settles on your upper arm, but instead of Victor, you find the God holding onto you.

You push his hand off and glare. “You asshole!” you yell. “I was in the middle of something!” Something much more important than this...Lightning Guy would ever know.

He just stares at you, blank expression on his face while the doorway around him continues to fall apart. You can hear shouts and yelling from the ballroom, and a metallic voice attempting to calm the crowd.

You roll your eyes, knowing Tony Stark is behind all of this. Whatever this is.

It’s too ironic, you think, that you’re here to accost Victor Von Doom in an attempt to get him to join Hades in taking out the Avengers when they just happen to show up.

“Are you not...a damsel in distress?” Lighting Guy asks.

You had half-turned to a passed-out Victor, but find you can’t help but respond. So you turn back and glare at him and spit, “Do I look like I’m in distress?”

He doesn’t have an answer to that. You return to Victor, who groans now. Without looking back at Lightning Guy, you tell him to get lost and head across the room to make sure your target is still alive, can still possibly benefit you.

In a way, you think you should thank the Avengers for showing up. With this attack on Victor, he’ll have a vendetta. Once the so-called heroes disperse, you can use this to your advantage.

To Hades’ advantage.

“I would not approach him if I were you, madame.”

You groan this time, a deep and rumbling sound that shakes your chest. “I can handle myself,” you tell him. Just inches from Victor’s twitching legs, you look at the...actually quite handsome, gigantic man in the doorway who’s watching you curiously. You smirk at him, because giving anything real away could jeopardize your new plan. “Have a nice day,” you tell him with a wink.

Kneeling beside Victor, you reach down and feel for his pulse, even though you saw him moving already. He’s definitely still alive, which makes you sigh.

“Ma’am,” you hear. It’s not Lighting Guy this time, though you missed the sound of footsteps approaching. “I’m gonna have to ask you to clear the room.”

You’d know that self-important, high-and-mighty tone anywhere. He was the spokesperson for the team, after all, though Tony Stark often thought of himself as such. The difference was that Stark had his own business to speak for on a regular basis, while Captain America had only the Avengers.

“Ugh, fuck off, would you?” you let out, despite how borderline polite the Captain had sounded.

“This building isn’t safe,” he says back, like you know nothing at all about the situation you’re currently in. “That man is a dangerous-”

“I know who he is,” you shoot. You sit back on your heels and give both Captain America and Lighting Guy an unimpressed look. “I’m a big, tough girl.” You turn and stand, just to make a point, showing off the uncomfortable shoes that lace up around your calves up to your knees. “I can tie my own sandals and everything.”

“I’ll give you one last chance, ma’am, before one of us is forced to remove you from the room,” Captain America says, voice even and commanding.

You’re not surprised that he’s not exactly the piece of Apple Pie every American thinks he is.

You look them both over. Lightning Guy’s biceps are bigger than your head. Each. He’s...unreal. Inhuman. He looks like he could pummel Hades into next year.

But the longer you look, the softer his eyes become. There’s...something akin to respect lining the electric blue of his irises. Like he sees the power you’re attempting to wield and likes it, even if you’re busy telling him to fuck off.

And Captain America - well, that dude punched Nazis! You couldn’t take him if you wanted to. He’d have you over his shoulder and down a flight of stairs before you could blink.

Because you know all this, and because you’d rather leave with whatever dignity you have left in tact, you sigh and nudge Victor’s shin with the heel of your shoe. You roll your eyes again and say, “Fine, fine. If he wakes up, tell ‘em I’ll be back, would ya?”

You head across the room and the two huge men make way for you. Just as you come up to Captain America’s shoulder, he steps back and puts himself in your way, but doesn’t bother with touching you.

You’re quite thankful for that, actually.

“I wouldn’t advise it, ma’am.”

You give him a rather condescending hmm, look right into his sky-blue eyes, and smirk the smirk Hades always says is the reason he keeps you around. “Save it for someone you can actually save, Cap,” you tell him.

Then, you’re gone.

#thor x reader #thor odinson x reader #hercules au #worth my while fic

[ofgoldenfruitborn]

It’s neither the first place in which they’ve met, nor likely to be the last.

The hotel in question stands among its fellows at the southernmost edge of Central Park, equidistant, more or less, between the rivers bounding the City to the east and west. The room itself -- (modern, he’s been told; with all its wood, metal, granite, and glass) -- faces the Park at an angle, and, beyond, the towers and lights of the Upper East Side.

It’s ten minutes from here to the docks on the Hudson by car. Twenty-five by foot.

Tora isn’t one to be impressed by the ostentatious and artless, for all that he has a liking, and an eye, for the expensive. It’s for that reason alone that, when he rounds the sleek bar top -- two lowball glasses in hand -- and drinks in the full effect of Manhattan in the night, laid in a glittering sprawl across the glass wall, he smiles.

He knows enough about this city by now to know that it’s a view which costs more for a single evening than what many earn in a month.

He knows too that James Wesley is a man with a deep wallet.

Tora’s smile, if faint, sharpens.

James Wesley, for his part, cuts a tailored silhouette into the skyline from his place at the window, back dimly lit by the warm glow of interior lighting behind. Tora makes little secret of his approving scrutiny as he crosses the floor to join him, appearing at length at Wesley’s elbow and slipping a customary drink into his waiting hand. Already Tora can smell him, and he thinks in lazy pieces about simply pressing his nose into the short, neat hair just behind Wesley’s ear, and breathing. Contenting himself instead with a fleeting smirk for now, and the barest touch to the small of Wesley’s back, he looks away and nods past their dual reflections in the glass. Outside, the cityscape gleams.

“--Do you like this?”

(He finds that he’s genuinely curious about the answer, in much the same way that he’s aware, mutedly, that the Kitchen, Hell’s Kitchen, lies but a stone’s throw behind the hotel, to their southeast. He isn’t fool enough to think it unintentional on Wesley’s part; that, while Wesley may have chosen to put his back to the Kitchen for the night, in a building which rears up and away from it as if from a bad smell, it nonetheless remains impeccably within his periphery. Tora swirls the contents of his own glass idly.)

“Even if your--, work, were concluded; or if it could come with you. Would you stay here?”

[ @amministro-blog ]

#IC #Kai Tora #amministro blog #me typing this with one hand while the other covers my face #like 'oh my god why are you humoring my wild shit right now' #if y'all thought The Moira Entanglement was out of left field then y'all ain't seen NOTHIN' yet #I'll leave it vague for now just how much he Knows about Wesley's work #for all that I'm sure he's aware by now that it's shady and that it seems to revolve heavily on the axis of the Hell's Kitchen neighborhood #as always though no worries about matching length - I'm just incapable of controlling myself apparently

[winteriron-trash]

Okay so this may or may not be a weird question but do we actually know how long it took for Bucky to become the winter soldier?? Cause I may or may not be writing something for Tony and I need referenceTM. If not what do you think is a good time for reference? Sometimes I see some people write the wiping over a few hours or as long as a few months.

Yes, roughly. There’s a line somewhere in the MCU that refers to Bucky being the fist of HYDRA for the past 50 years. Bucky falls in 1945, so if he breaks free from the programming in 2014 (when CA:TWS came out), that’s seventy years, so for about twenty years, we can assume he was in training, having the brainwashing perfected, getting his arm, being experimented on, etc  until about the mid 1960s, when his reign officially starts, which also coincidentally means that JFK (who TWS canonically killed in the Marvel universe) would’ve been one of, if not Bucky’s first kill on the job.

So TLDR, it took about 20 years for Bucky to become the TWS. I usually lowball that number in my fics, but if you’re looking for accuracy, there it is. Which makes sense because you have to understand, Bucky was a weapon, but he was a weapon unlike any other before him. It took time to fine-tune him as a weapon. And I personally like to think the brainwashing, in particular, took a long time, not only for HYDRA to perfect but for them to actually break through the tough son of a bitch that is Bucky Barnes.

Fics do often lowball it, though. Like you said, some people say it only took a few hours, others a few months. So if you don’t like the number, hey, not like anyone else listens to it.

[francis85krabbe]

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[pachecotimmermann52]

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[zoeyparker281]

5 Things You Didn't Know About 토토사이트 #4177

It seemed obvious to them that a new design even for such mundaine things as playing cards was required under the Republic to reflect the new principles of government and which "the love of liberty demands". http://edition.cnn.com/search/?text=사설바둑이사이트 It's common for casinos to kick back in the form of comps an average of 10 percent to 40 percent of the amount it expects to win from the player. Commercial bingo games in the US are primarily offered by casinos (and then only in the state of Nevada), and by Native American bingo halls, which are often housed in the same location as Native American-run casinos. If the dealer qualifies and loses to the player, the player will win even money on their Ante bet and their raise (Call bet) will win according to the poker hand rankings in the payout table.If the dealer and the player tie, both Ante bet and raise (Call bet) will push.Push is a tied hand between the player and dealer. In this instance, your wager is returned.

The reason to play blackjack is to beat the dealer. If you are playing to reach 21 without a going over, that is a mistaken strategy. When playing a standard 3 to 2 payoffs with reasonable rules and few decks, the house edge will be less than 1%. There are games with a house edge of less than 0.3%, but the range between 0.5% and 1% is typical. Besides the aforesaid classic version, which some manufacturers now list in their catalogues as Belote deck, the French pattern also exists in 52-card editions, for a more general use; in this version the typical court names are often dropped, almost representing a French-Belgian hybrid From stars and birds to goblets and sorcerers, pips bore symbolic meaning, much like the trump cards of older tarot decks.

The Bartle Test uses the four suits in order to distinguish different player personalities that arise typically in a video game: The basic formula for the player's expected loss combines the amount of time played, the number of hands per hour, the average bet, and the house percentage. For lowball games like 2-7 Triple Draw and Razz only the lowest hand will win the pot. Straights and flushes don't count in Razz while in 2-7 they actually count against you. When a player's turn comes, they can say "Hit" or can signal for a card by scratching the table with a finger or two in a motion toward themselves, or they can wave their hand in the same motion that would say to someone "Come here!" When the player decides to stand, they can say "Stand" or "No more," or can signal this intention by moving their hand sideways, palm down and just above the table.

It sounds like a sick joke straight out of Fallout: New Vegas, but it's true: starting in 1951, the U.S. Department of Energy began detonating more than one thousand test nukes just 65 miles northwest of Las Vegas, a scary spectacle that "turned night into day" and left mushroom clouds visible from casinos in the burgeoning tourist hotspot. Eleven is called out as "yo" or "yo-leven" to prevent being misheard as "seven". An older term for eleven is "six five, no jive" because it is a winning roll.Ancient Chinese “money cards” have four “suits”: coins (or cash), strings of coins (which may have been misinterpreted as sticks from crude drawings), myriads (of coins or of strings), and tens of myriads (where a myriad is 10,000).  He or she then will give you one green $25 chip for five red $5 chips, or a black $100 chip for twenty $5 chips, for example.

VLTs also began to appear in Western Canada in 1991, with Alberta trialling them during the Calgary Stampede and Klondike Days events before beginning a province-wide program the following year. By 2003 a particular type of poker known as Texas Hold 'Em emerged as the game of choice.Unlike a standard lay bet on a point, lay odds behind a don't come point does not charge commission (vig) and gives the player true odds. Any player can make a bet on pass or don't pass as long as a point has not been established, or come or don't come as long as a point is established.

To remedy the problem, in approximately 1907 a dice maker named John H. Winn in Philadelphia introduced a layout which featured bets on Don't Pass as well as Pass. The 1866 novella, titled The Gambler, by the famous Russian writer Fyodor Dostoyevsky has a prime focus of the game as a major theme throughout the story.To determine the winning number, a croupier spins a wheel in one direction, then spins a ball in the opposite direction around a tilted circular track running around the outer edge of the wheel. There are 38 pockets (37 in European casinos), of which 18 are red, 18 are black and two (one in Europe) are green.

Casinos which allow put betting allows players to increase or make new pass/come bets after the come-out roll. Most notably is the book from Edward O. Thorp: Beat the Dealer, innumerable others followed. 인터넷바둑이사이트 Les Insolites (The Unusuals) is a discovery trail of contemporary works in Michaut Park from mid-June to the end of August However, if you are winning and the dealer is courteous and helpful, it's customary to tip.

Winnings take the form of additional balls, which players may either use to keep playing or exchange for prizes (景品 keihin). It gained drastic popularity among American Civil War soldiers, and eventually migrated to the western borders. Then the mid-1800s came, and 32 deck of playing cards were added to the first 20 cards.The Seminoles fought the system and won, setting a precedent for other tribes to open high-stakes gambling businesses on their land (reservation land is sovereign). Many gamblers believe that if they have bet on a slot machine many times in a row and lost, this increases the odds of the next bet being a winner.

[theliterateape]

Gambling with the Currency at Hand

by Don Hall

At every casino in Las Vegas there are these pamphlets. Usually hidden away behind a sign that indicates that one must inspect their sports ticket before leaving the Sportsbook or a promotion for “$30,000 Credit for Gaming” with four paragraphs of fine print underneath. These trifold informational pieces are colored in a dull brown and beige — a sunset photo — with a muted title: “When the Fun Stops”.

“Some problem gamblers may gamble to relieve boredom or avoid feelings of anxiousness or stress. Others may gamble to ‘numb out’ when feeling helpless, guilty, or depressed.” — from “When the Fun Stops” by The Nevada Council on Problem Gambling

In a year and a half of working in an Off-Strip casino flanked by an In-and-Out Burger, a Wendy’s, and a Siegel Suites, I never saw a single soul pick one up and peruse its contents.

The marketing of Las Vegas has promoted an adult playground of gambling, booze, and sex sans accountability for decades. From the days of the Rat Pack to the glamour of Steve Wynn, the city has made its bones on these core values. For every tourist from Japan or Iowa, however, there is someone who lives here in the grimy shadow of weekend fun, either cleaning up the mess left behind or searching through the refuse for something missed as the hungover travelers disembark.

Debra worked in HR for a local company for years. She was born in New Jersey and moved to Nevada in the early 2000’s with her sister. Her life was relatively average — some bills, a mortgage, car payments — nothing beyond her means. One day she slipped and injured herself in a Big Box store and sued. She won an insurance claim just north of a million dollars.

She planned on living off of this payout through her retirement. She paid off some loans, bought a car, financed a home for she and her sister. No more working for a living was almost a daily mantra. This life, however, bored her beyond words. They were in Vegas, after all, and the sirens of slot winnings sung their tune.

Five years later, most of the million dollars has been spent on video poker. Debra is broke but still plays three times a week with money she no longer has for money she won’t see again.

"Most people who gamble do so with no harmful effects. They set limits and stick to them. However, for a small percentage of the population, gambling can become more than a game, and lead to serious consequences for both the gambler and their family.

Here are some of the warning signs:

Gambling to escape worry or trouble Gambling to get money to solve financial difficulties Unable to stop playing regardless of winning or losing Gambling until the last dollar is gone Losing time from work due to gambling Borrowing money to pay gambling debts Neglecting family because of gambling Lying about time and money spent gambling" — from “When the Fun Stops” by The Nevada Council on Problem Gambling

Teddy was a Big Deal in the world of fossil fuel safety protocol. It ain’t Tom Cruise or Barack Obama territory but it had paid extremely well for a long time. He was a hefty man with a booming laugh and a warm smile that sort of expanded his charm two or three feet around him.

When Teddy came there were some rules. This guy spent so much money in one sitting the General Manager would comment that if Teddy wanted everyone in the casino out so he could play in peace they’d be escorted off the property until Teddy was done. It never came to that but the rules were simple:

Teddy played the two ‘Dancing Drums’ slots exclusively, so the machines on either side were shut off.

He drank Sierra Mist and was on a constant refill protocol.

He was gregarious but didn’t want to be bothered by anyone so keeping the hangers-on on the floor away was key.

Teddy always played the maximum bet which for his machines was $8.80 per spin. He routinely dropped between $10,000.00 and $25,000.00 in an afternoon. He'd likely hit four or five jackpots in the $1,600.00 to $4,500.00 range. And he never tipped.

That was such an odd aspect of this guy. He obviously had tons of idle cash but was cheap when it came to the expected Vegas fee for service. It wasn't as if he was a lowball tipper -- he simply did not tip for any reason. He was our definition of a high roller yet behaved like the cat who'd come in looking for nothing but his $10.00 of free play and hopefully a comp drink.

"...eventually funds may not be available to meet the most basic needs of food, clothing, shelter, etc. In desperation the gambler may begin lying and/or stealing to cover up the problems, creating further stress for everyone around them." — from “When the Fun Stops” by The Nevada Council on Problem Gambling

When I first encountered TC and his mother I was hit by the sadness in their situation. He and I were roughly the same age but, as I've been told we are all four bad decisions from homeless, he made all four of them and I had a couple more to go.

Walking the perimeter of the casino, I see an ancient Honda Civic parked slightly off the lines. In the drivers seat is a tall, skinny man, slightly hunched over smoking a butt out the window. He looks sunbaked like people do in the desert, his skin taut and leathery. Next to him is an old woman. Old like those pictures you see from Appalachia in National Geographic. She has an oxygen tube in her nose and is simply staring out the cracked windshield off into a distance I cannot fathom.

"You doing OK out here?" I ask in that managerial tone.

"Yah. We're good. Just waiting until we can get a room."

"You wanna come inside? It's, like, 112 degrees out here and I imagine your friend..."

"My mother..."

"...your mother might feel better in the air conditioning."

"Sho..."

He had an odd linguistic affectation in his speech that made him sound a bit like a child, his mouth wrapping around vowels that rounded them out. He dropped his square, got out of the creaky car, and pulled out a wheelchair that would've been at home next to the dirty doll Charleston Heston found at the climax of The Planet of the Apes.

I put them in the Sportsbook, grabbed a couple of waters for them, and spent a few minutes sleuthing their story. 

TC was well-known by some of the long-term staff. He used to be a player but hit hard times a few years back. No one knew what he had done for a living or how he was surviving but the profile was of someone now homeless, living in his car and occasionally a month-long stay at the hotel attached to our casino so his mother could sleep in a bed. He still was on the free play marketing list but rarely had the dollar to activate it.

"As they continue to gamble, they become more and more emotionally and mentally dependent on gambling, with less and less control. The long-term result is a steady deterioration of the mental and physical health of both the gambler and their family." — from “When the Fun Stops” by The Nevada Council on Problem Gambling

On some fundamental Irish level, I understand this compulsion. While never much into gambling my money as I've never been heavily motivated by its acquisition, my career since college has been a series of driving along the highway at night and wondering if I could survive the impulse of just letting the steering wheel go and closing my eyes.

In ‘89, I graduated and randomly chose Chicago as my new home without the safety net of knowing anyone in Chicago, having a job or prospects, or having ever been in the city. It was the move of a gambler throwing dice to see if the come-out was a natural and betting everything he had.

I lived in my car for four months as I explored this new city and looked for gainful employment, feeding myself and gassing up my home by playing trumpet on street corners downtown.

My chosen field was that of a music teacher and I did that in the public school system on the west side for a decade. Why quit teaching after ten years? Why not? I started a non-profit comedy theater that evolved into something weird but fun. Did that for fifteen years then quit to go work for NPR. A decade later, I decided to move to Las Vegas because isn't that what the hopelessly addicted to risk do?

Debra was distraught.

“Oh my gawd,” she moaned as she pumped another $20.00 in the video poker machine. “My sister’s birthday is Wednesday and I have to pick up her cake but I don’t have the $17.00 to pay for it!”

The odd disconnect between her dilemma and the twenty she just pushed into the bill validator was obvious to me but not at all to her.

“Debra. Why not cash out that machine and use that?” I said, smiling behind my mask.

“Huh? Ah, no, no, no. This money is for poker. I can’t use it for her cake. Maybe if I win some today...”

The next day I get a phone call. It’s Debra. Can I loan her $20.00 until Thursday? I can and I do. She sends me pictures of the party, socially distanced from her garage. Thursday she swings by and palms me the twenty like it’s a tip I’m not supposed to receive.

In the ongoing search for the true American experience, it seems obvious that it exists inside the off-strip casino. A room filled with shiny lights and electronic sounds populated with every stripe from every tribe: wealthy, impoverished, black, white, brown, make, female, non-binary, old, young, fat, thin, liberal, conservative, libertarian, beautiful, homely. All in the room for exactly the same reason: a short term investment in a possible future fueled by luck and circumstance.

Everyone who walks into the casino is prepared to gamble with the currency at hand. That currency cannot be defined simply by dollars available but the intertwined filthy lucre of personality, desire, and need with need being the characteristic with the most pungent strength.

Teddy wasn’t big on chit-chat. He came to plug in the dough and whack the spin buttons with a slap. Except with me. With me, for some unexplained reason, there was small talk.

“I love to travel, Don. Have you traveled?”

“I have. Used to play jazz trumpet for a living and went all over the globe with that.”

“Where’s your favorite place?”

“Edinburgh, Scotland. Took a theater company there for a month in ‘95 and fell in love with the place.”

“Oooooh! I’ve never been there! I have a lady friend I’d like to take someplace new. What else you got on Scotland?”

I went to my office, did some online searches, and put together a PDF of prices and places in Edinburgh. I dropped it off at his machine when he was cashing in a voucher.

His reaction was effusive.

“It’s people like you that make me come here, you know? The big properties are always offering me comp rooms and meals but they can’t give me the feeling of friendship that the people here do.”

Over the course of a few months, I gleaned that Teddy had lost his wife to cancer years before and that his children would have little to do with him. He often had “lady friends” but no one consistent and most were decades younger than he. Teddy was an almost desperately lonely man and felt less so in the casino where his propensity to be a high roller made him feel like he was important.

The 1995 trip to Scotland was another improbable gamble. The small nonprofit theater company I had founded was fraying at the edges. The ensemble needed a goal to achieve and I decided that taking a show to the Edinburgh Festival Fringe with seventeen actors who had no disposable incomes to speak of was just thee thing. I cashed in my pension from the days of teaching and managed a few sponsorships.

It was both financially devastating and artistically remarkable. In the parlance of the gambling addict, it was a win. I lost my ass and gained a cherished city.

TC checked he and his mother into a room one February night a month before the place was shut down by pandemic. During the graveyard shift, his mother was picked up by paramedics and transferred to a hospital. The next day, TC was outside in the courtyard weeping as if the world had ended.

She had been misdiagnosed, given the wrong medication, and had died during the early hours of the morning. TC was filled with sadness and guilt and a sense of impotent rage so like so many on the ass end of life.

He was without options. He was unemployed and unemployable. His one lifeline was his mother both in a financial way but also in that indelible manner that having a daily task, someone to care for, gives a person distraction from the crushing despair of living.

I brought him a bottle of water and a pack of cigarettes and sat down with him for a moment during my shift.

“I don’t know.” he said unprompted after a few minutes of sitting together.

“What don’t you know?”

“I don’t know what to do. They killed my mother. They didn’t even care. When I came in to the hospital, they took me to her and she was just dead. The doctor didn’t even apologize. They wanted to know how I was going to pay for her disposal. That’s how they said it. Her disposal. I used to come here, you know? When I had money? I used to gamble and laugh. I haven’t laughed in years.”

“You did the best you could.”

“NO, I DIDN’T! I didn’t do the best I could. How do you live with yourself knowing you didn’t?”

“I don’t know.”

I think about when the fun stopped for him or if it was ever really fun at all. I wonder if those in my current position watched it happen as TC went from being someone in between Debra and Teddy and started that slide into who he was in front of me and what responsibly did they take as witness to the decline.

Does the bartender bear some accountability to the alcoholic? Does the pimp have some obligation for the john? The casino feeds off of the weaknesses of thousands who come in from out of town to throw away their disposable income on a Hennessy-soaked memory haze of unfettered vice but does it have some sort of moral obligation to the folks who live here and still cash in their downfall with such abandon?

Sometime during the re-opening of Vegas following the COVID shutdown I realized that the place was leaving a mark. Not so much a scar but a dark bruise. A wound underneath the skin and, since there was no one to hand me a pamphlet, I decided that the fun had, indeed, stopped for me.

When I announced to Debra that I was leaving the casino, that I had found work that paid more and was remote to boot, she was distraught.

“This place. We get diamonds and they leave as soon as we get used to them.”

“The West?”

“Vegas. It’s a hard place for good people to thrive. Don’t. Don’t say I’m a good person. I’m not. I try but I’m not. Vegas eats up people. It chews on their hopes and dreams and spits them back out. Oh, I’m so depressed right now.”

She pumped another twenty into the machine and continued to chase the four aces.

“Did you hate it here?”

“Vegas? No. I love it.”

“No. The West. Did you hate it here?”

“No. It’s dirty and seedy but there is a thing about places like this that resonate a tune so few can recall singing. You ever read Neil Gaiman’s ‘American Gods’? The old gods can only congregate in places of bizarre spiritual congruence like House on the Rock or Disneyland. The West is like one of those mythic, tacky places in which the old gods gather.”

“You’re so weird. This is not a spiritual place. It’s a casino.”

“One and the same, Debra.”

Teddy never went to Edinburgh as far as I know. When Vegas re-opened, he stopped coming in to play. That has been the way of things during pandemic. Those with options other than Vegas found different games of chance. I can think of a dozen regular big players whom I haven’t seen since things turned sour. Perhaps the place lost its luster when requiring masks on everyone was too much a reminder of the outside world.

A week or so before I turned in my name badge and Title 31 credentials, TC came in. I hadn’t seen him since that day in the courtyard. He was wearing new clothes. His face was fuller as if he’d somehow become hydrated and healthier. He was obviously clean and his hair had grown out and been cut. 

He pulled down his mask. “Look! They’re implants!” he crowed as his brand new choppers shone in the light. “This is my wife!” and he motioned to a matronly Latina woman who seemed thrilled to meet me.

TC had sued the hospital. Vegas has a billboard for every fifty feet of highway announcing a lawyer waiting to help you cash in on tragedy and it is fitting that TC took advantage of one of them and made bank.

Like the rest of us he was simply gambling with the cards he was dealt, with the currency available to him. Will he squander it, buying pieces of hope, looking for another jackpot? Probably but that’s Vegas. That’s America, isn’t it? 

The America Dream we were promised is just another handpay pot of gold to be gambled away on the promise of the next dream, so why not? How can the fun stop if it was never really fun in the first place?

#casino life