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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 month

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The true post-cyberpunk hero is a noir forensic accountant

I'm touring my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me in TOMORROW (Apr 17) in CHICAGO, then Torino (Apr 21) Marin County (Apr 27), Winnipeg (May 2), Calgary (May 3), Vancouver (May 4), and beyond!

I was reared on cyberpunk fiction, I ended up spending 25 years at my EFF day-job working at the weird edge of tech and human rights, even as I wrote sf that tried to fuse my love of cyberpunk with my urgent, lifelong struggle over who computers do things for and who they do them to.

That makes me an official "post-cyberpunk" writer (TM). Don't take my word for it: I'm in the canon:

https://tachyonpublications.com/product/rewired-the-post-cyberpunk-anthology-2/

One of the editors of that "post-cyberpunk" anthology was John Kessel, who is, not coincidentally, the first writer to expose me to the power of literary criticism to change the way I felt about a novel, both as a writer and a reader:

https://locusmag.com/2012/05/cory-doctorow-a-prose-by-any-other-name/

It was Kessel's 2004 Foundation essay, "Creating the Innocent Killer: Ender's Game, Intention, and Morality," that helped me understand litcrit. Kessel expertly surfaces the subtext of Card's Ender's Game and connects it to Card's politics. In so doing, he completely reframed how I felt about a book I'd read several times and had considered a favorite:

https://johnjosephkessel.wixsite.com/kessel-website/creating-the-innocent-killer

This is a head-spinning experience for a reader, but it's even wilder to experience it as a writer. Thankfully, the majority of literary criticism about my work has been positive, but even then, discovering something that's clearly present in one of my novels, but which I didn't consciously include, is a (very pleasant!) mind-fuck.

A recent example: Blair Fix's review of my 2023 novel Red Team Blues which he calls "an anti-finance finance thriller":

https://economicsfromthetopdown.com/2023/05/13/red-team-blues-cory-doctorows-anti-finance-thriller/

Fix – a radical economist – perfectly captures the correspondence between my hero, the forensic accountant Martin Hench, and the heroes of noir detective novels. Namely, that a noir detective is a kind of unlicensed policeman, going to the places the cops can't go, asking the questions the cops can't ask, and thus solving the crimes the cops can't solve. What makes this noir is what happens next: the private dick realizes that these were places the cops didn't want to go, questions the cops didn't want to ask and crimes the cops didn't want to solve ("It's Chinatown, Jake").

Marty Hench – a forensic accountant who finds the money that has been disappeared through the cells in cleverly constructed spreadsheets – is an unlicensed tax inspector. He's finding the money the IRS can't find – only to be reminded, time and again, that this is money the IRS chooses not to find.

This is how the tax authorities work, after all. Anyone who followed the coverage of the big finance leaks knows that the most shocking revelation they contain is how stupid the ruses of the ultra-wealthy are. The IRS could prevent that tax-fraud, they just choose not to. Not for nothing, I call the Martin Hench books "Panama Papers fanfic."

I've read plenty of noir fiction and I'm a long-term finance-leaks obsessive, but until I read Fix's article, it never occurred to me that a forensic accountant was actually squarely within the noir tradition. Hench's perfect noir fit is either a happy accident or the result of a subconscious intuition that I didn't know I had until Fix put his finger on it.

The second Hench novel is The Bezzle. It's been out since February, and I'm still touring with it (Chicago tonight! Then Turin, Marin County, Winnipeg, Calgary, Vancouver, etc). It's paying off – the book's a national bestseller.

Writing in his newsletter, Henry Farrell connects Fix's observation to one of his own, about the nature of "hackers" and their role in cyberpunk (and post-cyberpunk) fiction:

https://www.programmablemutter.com/p/the-accountant-as-cyberpunk-hero

Farrell cites Bruce Schneier's 2023 book, A Hacker’s Mind: How the Powerful Bend Society’s Rules and How to Bend Them Back:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/06/trickster-makes-the-world/

Schneier, a security expert, broadens the category of "hacker" to include anyone who studies systems with an eye to finding and exploiting their defects. Under this definition, the more fearsome hackers are "working for a hedge fund, finding a loophole in financial regulations that lets her siphon extra profits out of the system." Hackers work in corporate offices, or as government lobbyists.

As Henry says, hacking isn't intrinsically countercultural ("Most of the hacking you might care about is done by boring seeming people in boring seeming clothes"). Hacking reinforces – rather than undermining power asymmetries ("The rich have far more resources to figure out how to gimmick the rules"). We are mostly not the hackers – we are the hacked.

For Henry, Marty Hench is a hacker (the rare hacker that works for the good guys), even though "he doesn’t wear mirrorshades or get wasted chatting to bartenders with Soviet military-surplus mechanical arms." He's a gun for hire, that most traditional of cyberpunk heroes, and while he doesn't stand against the system, he's not for it, either.

Henry's pinning down something I've been circling around for nearly 30 years: the idea that though "the street finds its own use for things," Wall Street and Madison Avenue are among the streets that might find those uses:

https://craphound.com/nonfic/street.html

Henry also connects Martin Hench to Marcus Yallow, the hero of my YA Little Brother series. I have tried to make this connection myself, opining that while Marcus is a character who is fighting to save an internet that he loves, Marty is living in the ashes of the internet he lost:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/07/dont-curb-your-enthusiasm/

But Henry's Marty-as-hacker notion surfaces a far more interesting connection between the two characters. Marcus is a vehicle for conveying the excitement and power of hacking to young readers, while Marty is a vessel for older readers who know the stark terror of being hacked, by the sadistic wolves who're coming for all of us:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I44L1pzi4gk

Both Marcus and Marty are explainers, as am I. Some people say that exposition makes for bad narrative. Those people are wrong:

https://maryrobinettekowal.com/journal/my-favorite-bit/my-favorite-bit-cory-doctorow-talks-about-the-bezzle/

"Explaining" makes for great fiction. As Maria Farrell writes in her Crooked Timber review of The Bezzle, the secret sauce of some of the best novels is "information about how things work. Things like locks, rifles, security systems":

https://crookedtimber.org/2024/03/06/the-bezzle/

Where these things are integrated into the story's "reason and urgency," they become "specialist knowledge [that] cuts new paths to move through the world." Hacking, in other words.

This is a theme Paul Di Filippo picked up on in his review of The Bezzle for Locus:

https://locusmag.com/2024/04/paul-di-filippo-reviews-the-bezzle-by-cory-doctorow/

Heinlein was always known—and always came across in his writings—as The Man Who Knew How the World Worked. Doctorow delivers the same sense of putting yourself in the hands of a fellow who has peered behind Oz’s curtain. When he fills you in lucidly about some arcane bit of economics or computer tech or social media scam, you feel, first, that you understand it completely and, second, that you can trust Doctorow’s analysis and insights.

Knowledge is power, and so expository fiction that delivers news you can use is novel that makes you more powerful – powerful enough to resist the hackers who want to hack you.

Henry and I were both friends of Aaron Swartz, and the Little Brother books are closely connected to Aaron, who helped me with Homeland, the second volume, and wrote a great afterword for it (Schneier wrote an afterword for the first book). That book – and Aaron's afterword – has radicalized a gratifying number of principled technologists. I know, because I meet them when I tour, and because they send me emails. I like to think that these hackers are part of Aaron's legacy.

Henry argues that the Hench books are "purpose-designed to inspire a thousand Max Schrems – people who are probably past their teenage years, have some grounding in the relevant professions, and really want to see things change."

(Schrems is the Austrian privacy activist who, as a law student, set in motion the events that led to the passage of the EU's General Data Privacy Regulation:)

https://pluralistic.net/2020/05/15/out-here-everything-hurts/#noyb

Henry points out that William Gibson's Neuromancer doesn't mention the word "internet" – rather, Gibson coined the term cyberspace, which, as Henry says, is "more ‘capitalism’ than ‘computerized information'… If you really want to penetrate the system, you need to really grasp what money is and what it does."

Maria also wrote one of my all-time favorite reviews of Red Team Blues, also for Crooked Timber:

https://crookedtimber.org/2023/05/11/when-crypto-meant-cryptography/

In it, she compares Hench to Dickens' Bleak House, but for the modern tech world:

You put the book down feeling it’s not just a fascinating, enjoyable novel, but a document of how Silicon Valley’s very own 1% live and a teeming, energy-emitting snapshot of a critical moment on Earth.

All my life, I've written to find out what's going on in my own head. It's a remarkably effective technique. But it's only recently that I've come to appreciate that reading what other people write about my writing can reveal things that I can't see.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/17/panama-papers-fanfic/#the-1337est-h4x0rs

Image: Frédéric Poirot (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/fredarmitage/1057613629 CC BY-SA 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/

#pluralistic #science fiction #cyberpunk #literary criticism #maria farrell #henry farrell #noir #martin hench #marty hench #red team blues #the bezzle #forensic accountants #hackers #bruce schneier #post-cyberpunk #blair fix

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birrdies · 5 months

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going home

780 words, secret life finale spoilers

The air snaps and bends around him as his pearl strikes the earth. The world tilts upside down. His legs fold beneath the panicked pitch of his weight, his body rolling in the grass and dirt. Every bump and bruise aches, his lungs burn down to their bases. He grabs fistfuls of dirt to pull himself up. A mess of limbs rushing under him to haul across the open grasslands. The armor on his shoulders might as well weigh a thousand pounds, as if his boots themselves are full of leadened water threatening to drag him back down.

Etho’s given plenty of thought to how he would die. In a game that deals its bidding in deaths and hearts and borrowed time, there leaves room for little else to ponder. The simplest misstep, an error in redstone wiring, a careless back turned to an open cave. These are all it takes to lose it all, and Etho’s always tried to be careful about every single one.

He’s died a lot of ways across these games. He’s burned, he’s fallen, he’s fought himself bloody, he’s dug himself down into his own grave, riddled with arrows. Every time he’s died, it’s been with some semblance of dignity. His heels dug into the ground, his sword in his hand, some naive yet flickering hope that he might just make it.

An arrow skims his leg, striking the dirt to his side. He staggers to the side, his breath hot and jagged as fractured glass in his throat. Every breath hurts, every step reverberates through his spine like each clap of thunder— each death of a friend turned enemy turned fallen. Green, yellow, red, and gray.

He’s never been hunted down. Not like this. Hounded, the teeth gnashing at his heels as he throws himself towards the house embedded in the hill. He can see the greens from here, walls fading into the trampled grass of their sheep farms and the soft hills that come over the roof. Gentle slopes, warm torch light, the idle sounds of sheep out front behind the fencing.

Home. A weird name for a weird place for a weird group of people. But it’s the first time Etho’s been willing to die for a place; if this is how he has to go out, he wants to be in the comfort of his own yard. The half-finished staircase, the portal without proper corners, the paintings hung on the wall, the scuff marks from where bookshelves were placed and moved and placed and moved over and over again— the heralds of a place well-weathered. A place built for living rather than surviving.

“I’m going home,” he forces between pants, speaking onto the night air and the sleeping hills ahead of him. He can almost reach out. He can almost touch it. “I’m dying in my home.”

Because he’s known since the day began, since before night faded, since before Cleo looked him in the eyes and they both knew. Since she told him, You’re my favorite, you know. You always have been.

He’s not going to win. He’s never really wanted to.

“He sounds like a wild animal that’s been wounded,” a voice jeers behind him, as he’s reaching the steps, familiar wood under his boots. “Let’s put him out of his misery.”

The hot breath is on the back of his neck. The air pops with the force of another ender pearl, and he’s not alone anymore. Scar cracks through thin air with a sword reared over his head; Etho can’t notch an arrow before the blade’s run straight through him, blood gushing from the split in his chest and staining golden stalks of wheat crimson. It happens so quickly he hardly feels the pain of it, only an immense pressure crushing his ribs.

Etho’s died a lot of different ways. Some more painful than the rest. And he’s almost always died alone. He’s used to dying alone. But he’s never died an animal: completely cornered, hopeless from the start. Dead before his feet even hit the ground, before he peered over the ledge of the tower and lost his footing. But he’s home. He made it home. The smell of the sheep’s wool tickles his nose. Before his vision starts to blur, blankets of green lying over the hilltops, the lights left on in a living room he’ll never come home to. The heat of a nearby torch prickles his cold fingertips as he grabs onto Scar’s wrists. A final attempt at making a stand. But Scar’s eyes are impartial and cold.

It’s not the first time Scar’s killed him, but Etho thinks it might be the worst.

#secret life spoilers #secret life #ethoslab #etho #gtws #secret life fic #life series fic

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treasure-mimic · 10 months

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Felt like messing around in photoshop today, so, what started as a want to create some franchise icons for Smash turned into full character mockups, so I put together my 10 most wanted characters for Smash Bros., whatever the next game looks like, and I’d like to post them and talk about them a bit.

Quote is I think my most wanted newcomer to Smash, I really like and appreciate everything Cave Story has done, and I think if you’re talking about indie games, Cave Story has probably had the most influence on the industry. Kids today probably don’t know much of anything about this game, but trust me when I say there’d be no Hollow Knight, no Ori, no Celeste, without Quote.

This one might be a little obvious nowadays, but I am fully behind the Waluigi train. Just one point of contention, I think people undersell his potential by just having him reference different sports games and spin-offs. I think the real play is to come up with a wholly original kit based around being a dirty cheater and trickster with a penchant for explosives.

I’d much rather have Paper Mario than Dr. Mario if I’m being entirely honest with you.

This one’s a bit weird, because I don’t have a huge fondness for Excitebike the game or Excitebiker the character, I’m just enamored with this concept of a fighting game character who fights entirely from the back of a motorcycle. I just think that’s wicked as hell. I’ll take it in whatever form I can.

Metroid Dread is in strong contention for my favorite Metroid game ever, and it did finally give us a character with a body plan and toolkit that lends itself to Smash, outside of Sylux and the Hunters, whom I’m not the biggest fans of. I’ve had some contentious history with the way Smash fans talk about Metroid, so I guess I’ll put it out now that I think if, at this point, you’re not vouching for Raven Beak, you don’t know what you’re talking about.

Love me some DS VNs, Professor Layton I think at this point has the strongest ties to Nintendo and, since Phoenix Wright got to play in Marvel 3, it should be his time to shine, though I wouldn’t be opposed to any of them.

Honestly, every generation of Pokemon there’s a couple of new mons that I think would make sick Smash characters, and will inevitably get passed up for a lame starter. Nihilego deserves a spot, dammit, she’s more plot important than any number of fire/fighting muscleheads. But if we’re shilling for the most recent gen, you can’t go wrong with a giant hammer.

The Heavy is commonly in talks around Smash Bros. wishlists, especially here in the West, but the obvious problem rears its head pretty quickly. He’s a giant, lumbering, immobile mass whose main weapon takes several seconds to start up and then chews through anything it hits. This is my counterproposal, I think the Scout is just as iconic as the Heavy, comes with a lot of fun weapons and abilities, and actually has some mobility. Imagine using a downward Force-A-Nature shot to recover while spiking someone into the blast zone!

This is for sure a weird one, but once the idea came to me I started getting really attached to it. The number of Enderman variants from Minecraft Dungeons gives the Enderman a surprising amount of variance to pull from, and the Ender Dragon could be its Final Smash.

For the final suggestion, this is for sure a “there’s no chance in hell” but also “it would be really funny”. Scorpion, I think, best represents the aesthetics of Mortal Kombat, a ninja with fire, bladed weapons, and the ability to teleport, which centers him more than Sub-Zero who uses ice, Raiden who uses lightning, and Liu Kang who’s just a martial artist. Leaning heavy on the fire aspect is also a good way to nerf MK’s hypergore for a Rated E10+ game, though that really is the central appeal of Scorpion, trying to shove this edgelord into a kiddy cartoon beat-em-up.

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autitm · 9 days

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I see a tesla driver in my rear view mirror. I slam my foot on the break, causing a rear end. It is always the fault of the rear ender. Direct action. Take out all teslas now!

#0w0.txt

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iamfitzwilliamdarcy · 4 months

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it’s wild to read people on Instagram complain about brake checkers when tailgating is also illegal and 99% of the time the rear ender is the person at fault

#I also see ppl complain about them on dash cams that clearly show the person braking for something in the road or trafficn

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puella-peanut · 1 year

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Hot Rod Angel

Written for the @allvalley100 Word Drabble Challenge. This time it was “Ocean Deep.”

This is a sequel to Hot Rod which you can read on my tumblr, or on my a03.

This is my third fill

...

Mondays were great, bad drivers greater still.

A sentiment not shared with the majority of his fellow Americans, but, as an opportunist, and moreso a mechanic—Daniel sided with the minority.

(Especially when the payoff was so very tall, dark, and handsome.) Swoon.

He was still swooning as he examined Mr. Silver’s Cadillac, noting the color (Ocean Deep, 1958) rather matched the shade of its owners eyes—

—which had lingered on his while a hand tucked a business-card with a handwritten private number into his pocket.

Daniel grinned.

Really, he should send that rear-ender flowers for getting him a date.

#silverusso #daniel larusso #terry silver #cobra kai #the karate kid #in which i chase paper cuts #allvalley100 #sweep the leg

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dep0rtedt0mat0 · 2 years

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*Tw: blood, slight gore, fluff*

Voices

Techno had been on an expedition with Philza that morning to go find netherite. The journey had been long, the snowy tundra cold, and the hellish nether hot. It took them a few hours and a couple stacks of TNT, but they managed to get quite an impressive stash of ancient debris. They were walking back to the portal, gloating and comparing their stashes, when they saw a pack of piglins running towards them, angrily snorting and baring their large tusks and flashing their golden swords and crossbows.

Techno groaned in annoyance and put his netherite stash back in his inventory, taking out his netherite sword that was glowing with power. Phil did them same, stashing his (slightly larger) stash of netherite, and unsheathing his own glowing sword.

The piglins with swords charged first, swinging their swords wildly hoping to hit the hybrids. Techno backed up, the voices screaming for blood, and caught the enchanted sword a large piglin had swung at him. Techno yanked the sword out of its hand, before swinging around and slashing down the piglins chest. It cried in pain, before collapsing to the ground.

Another came at him quick, it’s glowing axe striking Techno’s glowing armour. He grunted in mild surprise, but swung his leg right at the piglin’s head, knocking it the the ground. He raised his sword and struck it down.

He shouted in pain as an arrow pierced his shoulder piece, a piglin with a crossbow reloading to fire again. Techno hurled an ender pearl beside it, and teleported on its right side. His sword came down on its outstretched arm and sliced it clean off. The piglin screamed in agony, grasping the nub of his arm and scrambling away from Techno. Techno pulled out his own crossbow and shot an arrow right in between the piglin’s eyes.

It turned to dust infront of him, and he turned around to face the next opponent. Which of course was a hoglin. “Great.” He mumbled softly as the beast charged at him, its large tusks threatening and sharp. It slammed right into his torso and pinned him against a tree. He squirmed in its hold, kicking out against its chest in an attempt to push it off, but failing. It suddenly backed up, Techno dropping to the ground, and charged him again. He raised his arms as it smashed him into the side of the warped tree. He groaned as he felt his armor creak under the pressure of the hoglin, pushing him farther into the side of the tree.

The creature backed up again and charged again, except this time Techno pulled out his netherite hoe and slammed it into its head. A sickening crack was heard as the hoglin squealed in pain, the hoe sticking out of its head as blood gushed from the wound. Techno pushed himself up with the help of the battered tree. Watching the hoglin writhing in pain, he panted, finally able to catch his breath. He stood straighter and glanced to his side, where he watched Phil taking on a piglin brute, catching the axe it swung in his direction. “Fuck!” He heard Phil curse, a fireball colliding with his back, burning him and the piglin.

“Poor Phil.” He grimaced, pulling out his bow and arrow and shooting at the ghast, killing it in a single shot. “Thanks mate!” Phil shouted to him, struggling against the raw power of the brute. Techno nodded in Phil’s direction and turned back to face the wounded hoglin. He lifted his bow, pulling the arrow back getting ready to fire, when the hoglin reared onto its back legs, squealing loudly, before taking off.

Techno stood still for a second, before his eyes widened. “Heh?! Come here! GIMME MY HOE BACK!!” He screamed, chasing the fleeing hoglin. It twisted and turned through the warped forest, trying to lose the piglin hybrid chasing it. Techno was right on its tail, shouting at it to give him his hoe back, and it only ran faster.

It broke through the tree line, sprinting along the netherack with Techno right behind it. Techno pulled out his fishing rod, swinging and hooking it onto the hoglin, pulling himself onto it’s back. It squealed and bucked wildly in a desperate attempt to get the hybrid off its back, but failing. In a last ditch effort it charged towards the edge, right to where Phil and the piglin brute were struggling to overpower one another. Techno’s eyes widen and he screamed, “PHIL WATCH OUT!!”

But it was too late.

The hoglin charged right into the piglin and Philza. Techno jumped off the hoglin just in time, as it’s heavy body fell over the edge, and the piglin followed. He quickly recovered from the fall and searched frantically for Phil, but he could see no sign of him. He felt his heart stutter, and then the feelings of guilt and pain filled his heart. He could feel his chest tighten and his eyes grow cloudy with tears. He stood and turned, looking around in a panic for Phil.

“Phil!” He shouted in a desperate attempt to find him. “PHIL! Please! Where are you?!” He could feel the panic build when he didn’t get a response, and he turned to the edge, walking over to it.

“Techno…” he heard a weak voice call, and his eyes widened, rushing to the edge and looking over, seeing Phil holding onto his pickaxe wedged into the netherack. Techno collapsed to his knees and reached out for Phil, grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him up into his chest. “Oh thank god.” He whispered softly into Phil’s hat, his grip on him tightening. “Techno, my ribs…” Phil whispered softly, and Techno loosened his grip, pulling away from him and inspecting the damage.

“Phil, can you tell me where it hurts?” Phil hummed softly before speaking up.

“My ribs…one of my wings…a-and my arm…”

Techno sucked in a deep breath through his nose. “Do you have a regen potion?” He questioned Phil softly. “Mmh no, I didn’t think we’d need any.” Phil admitted quietly. Techno sighed in disappointment, but it was just a minor setback. “Can you stand?” He hesitantly asked, his arms supporting most of Philza’s weight.

“I think I can, but I’m not sure if I’ll be able to walk with my ribs like this…” He trailer off, glancing up at Techno. “That’s fine, I can help you walk, we just need to get out of here and get you a regen potion.”

He helped Phil stand, balancing the smaller man’s weight on him, and they slowly made their way towards the nether portal, Techno picking up his forgotten sword on the way. He balanced Phil on the obsidian and jogged back over to the edge of the netherack, grabbing Philza’s pickaxe still wedged in the blood red rock.

He trotted back to Phil’s side and helped him step through the portal. Carl nickered in greeting towards them, his tail flicking and his head bobbing, shaking out his mane. Techno and Phil stumbled over to him, Techno helping Phil slide onto Carl’s saddle. Techno himself got onto Carl’s saddle, kicking his sides with the stirrup to get him running towards the tundra. Phil was infront of him, so he wouldn’t fall off if he lost consciousness. Carl galloped through the different biomes, until the familiar tundra biome was visible, and they headed straight for their house. They both slide off once they reached the front door and Techno knocked frantically.

He heard some bustling and shuffling from the other side, and a groggy looking Y/n answered the door. He immediately perked up once he noticed both their conditions, and rushed them both inside.

He ran to a chest and opened it, searching through the many glass bottles with multicoloured liquids splashing around inside them. He let out a triumphant, “Aha!” As he found the regen potion and popped the cork off, handing it to Philza to drink. He could hear the bones rearranging themselves and snapping back into place. Phil gagged at the foul taste of the potion, but was grateful for the effects none the less.

Y/n turned to Techno after searching through the chest a second time, and glanced at the arrow that was partially snapped, no doubt because of the fall he took when riding the hoglin. Techno huffed as he knew what was coming, and Phil took that as his sign to leave. “Thanks mate.” He smiled to Y/n. He placed his hand on Techno’s hood shoulder and nodded, before walking out the door, probably going to tie up Carl so he doesn’t run away. Y/n looked Techno in the eyes. “This is gonna hurt, like a lot.” Techno hummed in agreement before gesturing for Y/n to get it over with.

He sighed softly and grabbed the arrow, causing Techno to squint in pain. He placed his hand in Techno’s and squeezed in reassurance. Without any warning he ripped the arrow from Techno’s shoulder, causing Techno to make a broken noise of pain and squeeze his hand, his strong legs kicking against the table. Y/n quickly rushed to bring the potion up to Techno’s lips, guiding him and helping him drink it. His wound slowly closed up and the pain was gone. Techno took a shaky breath, but his head was a mess. Voices screaming over each other demanding blood from the once who hurt Techno and Phil. They were already dead, but the voices weren’t thinking clearly.

His hands shook and bloodlust consumed him entirely, the want for blood to be spilt growing stronger each passing second.

He felt another strong hand join his, both his hands being squeezed by Y/n, who was trying to ground him.

“You’re ok,” he hummed softly, “they can’t hurt you here. I’ve got you, I’ll protect you.” Techno’s breathing evened out, he never even noticed it had started to pick up, and looked lovingly into Y/n’s eyes. The bloodlust slipped from his mind, and he tackled Y/n in a tight hug. Y/n smiled softly and reciprocated the hug. “Thank you.” He heard Techno mumble, and he pulled away so he could bump their heads together.

“Anything for you, my love…”

#technoblade #techno mcyt #fanfiction #ph1lza #technoblade x male reader #dsmp techno

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enriquemzn262 · 1 year

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Hey! we're all goin on a ridey ride to hell! Hey! Upside down and a roundy round to hell! Hey! Gonna jump the track! Gonna crash into a wall! Rear ender fender bender crash into a wall!

youtube

Hoho, a cultured fellow!

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lilyminer · 2 years

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I’m writing down all my personal ideas about minecraft lore somewhere else for a reason but this is to cute to not share.

So in my head Endermen are like bees, the ender dragon is their mom, some leave the nest, others don’t. But they are just absolute sweethearts when it comes to raising young. Basically those that do teleport to other realms often take an egg with them to raise while they’re there. So they raise the kid in a parent - child relationship but biologically they are siblings. And they adore raising little ones, it’s a lot of responsibility but it’s one of the few stages in their life they get to experience a strong emotional connection to another creature.

As a consequence of this they are very confused about other species and their child rearing strategies. But even more then that they struggle with the concept of cheating on a partner and stressing over the parentage of a child. Even the idea of having a kid with your partner when there are children nearby in need of an adoptive families is totally unacceptable for them. All they care about is guiding a young one to adulthood, they find other species cruel and stupid for letting anything keep them from that special gift.

#minecraft #minecraft lore #minecraft headcanon #endermen #the ender dragon

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ask-yaiya · 1 year

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༺Behold my Grand Appearance!༻

(Don't mind me gonna clean up for a moment, felt like wanting to post this on the right time but I'll edit with some lore and stuffs later!)

Behold Reshii, a daughter of Celestial Enders with higher understanding of the Universe set on the path of cosmic destiny and discovery beyond the bright stars.

Full Name | Reshii Estrella Nueva

Pronouns | She/They Her/Them

Sexuality | Demisexual

Height | 3 Blocks Tall/9 Feet

Origin/Birth | ???/February

Alignment | Celestials

Capabilities | Healing Flames/Potent Fire

Preferences | Sweet Sakura Blossom Mochi/Lanterns/Festivals/Valentine's

Biology | Body is very smooth and has a lush softness. Hair/rear cloud shimmers and shifts on its own, the ends of the hair/cloud are warm to the touch and capable of intensifying depending on Reshii's emotions. Eyes change color based on emotion too.

Design/Song Theme | Zedd-Clarity featuring Foxes/I went with a character design base from the shiny variant of Reshiram, it's flames have a nice purple to it along with the gold it has, plus it's one of my favorite legendary mons!

Story

Born as a descendant of an ancient deity, Reshii was raised to have a better understanding of the cosmos and stars while being both civil and firm, yet she still inhibits a rebellious behavior as she's not as serious as people thought she ought to be.

She, and along with her companions, set out to experience life in the Island of Arco Iris, vibrant with cultures, events and stories from across the world.

But something else seems to be rising slowly beyond the horizon...

Daughter of the Stars/Home of yours truly

#minecraft #mc #enderwoman #celestialenderman #celestialenderwoman #reference #oc #ocs #enderman

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johnschneiderblog · 2 years

Photo

Gotta love ‘em

The Lord Huron fan club is called The World Enders (after LH’s song, ‘World Ender’).

(This photo shows those - among the 5,000-plus members - who followed Lord Huron to the Red Rocks Ampitheatre. I borrowed it from the WE website; I don’t think they’ll mind).

I’ve met some of them at shows going back to LH’s early days and have talked to, and shaken hands with, many more of them over the past two nights because they’re friendly people and Red Rocks is that kind of place.

Generally they’re in the best seats, as are we, and now and then the word leaks out regarding my affiliation to the band. Who am I to deny it ..? OK, I’ll admit it; sometimes, under the right circumstances, I’ll volunteer that information.

Is that a crime ...?

They approach me respectfully, sometimes bearing gifts - buttons, stickers, Boot Hill bourbon koozies. They say nice things about the band and about the kid I helped rear, then go back to the business of singing and dancing.

It’s no copy of the set list, or a guitar pick flung from the stage, but it’s a story to tell their fellow fans.

#John Schneider #Lord Huron #World Enders #fan club #Red Rocks Ampitheatre

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hoooooooooot · 2 years

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So upset no one has made a Minecraft fanfiction. I don't mean a MCYT fic, no I want a full blownook describing how Steve wakes up and himbos his way across the world until he builds a house on the edge of a jungle biome which is simply gorgeous and is just far enough from a nearby village to defend it. In comes Alex, hypercompetent as they are basically living off of a hole in the ground with a bunch of double chests. Alex ends up dragging Steve along in adventures and then they finally enter the nether together. Also at some point a villager does this is plot relevant. So ends act 1

Act two follows them rearing to fight the dragon. Experimenting with potions, enchants and even getting a scrap or two of netherite. Mostly just the two figuring out their relationship to one another. They maybe date until they don't and they're happier for it. Platonic soulmates ftw the win. Anyway, as they hunt down wither skulls as dictated by a bunch of stuff Alex dies and Steve is heartbroken and blames himself only to see 'em asleep on their bed when they go back to base.

Act three is a road trip to stab the ender dragon. They build and Minecraft along the way. They run into a mushroom island and stuff. All cool things. Anyway, they get to the end, fight the dragon and the fic closes with the author talking to the characters and the audience in their own end poem

Epilogue. A month or six later, Steve and Alex come back and raid the end cities after climbing through the holes in the edge of the end island. When they both finally have wings they hold hands, look down and jump into the void. Now they exist outside the story, going from world to world simply enjoying themselves mining and crafting. Anyway they meet like dream or stampylongnose or someone in one of these worlds. It's like all episodic and stuff. Post canon content

#Minecraft #fanfic #fanfiction #not mcyt #just... Minecraft

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devilsgatewayhq · 21 days

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Name: Celal Yilmaz Age: 33 Time living in Tonopah: 1 Day Occupation: ATF Special Agent Gang Affiliation: ATF Neighborhood: Springate Crossings. Face Claim: Berk Cankat

Biography (TW: depression, adultery):

Celal had always dreamed of becoming more. Their family had been born with a fight in their blood, unable to settle with the hand that was dealt. Instead of waiting for things to change, the Yilmaz family did what others would not, and changed it for themselves. Celal Yilmaz, just like his mother and father, had always wanted to achieve the impossible, unable to settle unless he bested those around him. From chess, to mathematics and a keen interest in politics—he’d been a picture perfect son on the surface.

But no matter how much Celal achieved, it was never enough. His parents, always proud, encouraging, couldn’t understand the strain that he put on himself. Even as young as fourteen, there’d been a dark shroud that followed the boy around. His own worst critic, and the reason for his consistent dwindling happiness.

His parents having fought their way through Turkey, to give them a better life: For their sacrifice, Celal had always felt a deep need to do right by his parents. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t have done, even if it meant never chasing his genuine passions in life. Celal did everything by the book: he never spoke out of turn, never drank, or tried drugs. His focus was his studies, and living by his means. Celal had never felt a pull towards many people, often referred to as somewhat of an introvert in his younger years. With his awareness that depression had made him a lonely person, he often gravitated towards two people in particular: his older brother, Ender, and his younger sister, Selin.

School seemed to be over in a flash. One minute he was trying to decide what to do with his life, and the next, he was graduating with honours. Celal, amazingly, received multiple offers from different universities around the country. But when a full-ride scholarship offer came from Georgetown University to study Political Science and psychology, it was an offer he couldn’t refuse.

Although he wasn’t top of his class, and it was something that Celal had to come to terms with (and didn’t like one bit.) he still excelled. And his professors often noted the extra work and time that he put in. His extra-curricular activities were packed from the paper to political debate—he felt unstoppable.

But even he couldn’t outrun that dark cloud that followed him around: his depression, always waiting to rear its ugly head at any given time. And every time Celal felt like he was clear, it found him again. Still, as always, just like a Yilmaz would: he persisted.

In his second year, he met Afet, a beautiful Turkish woman whom he met on the political university paper, Truth Speaks. All it took was one look, and he was quick to fall in love, and not too soon after, proposed to round off the achievement under his belt. And while he loved Afet, deep down, he’d always known there was something missing. It’d been more out of duty than anything else. Did he feel guilty that as years passed, looking at her made him feel somewhat bitter? Celal knew it was unfair to blame her, but he couldn’t help it.

Nothing was perfect, something he’d later learn. Himself, included.

In all honesty, he often wondered if he’d missed out on the younger years of his life trying to maintain a perfect image. In that, he’d lost himself along the way. But once he graduated from Georgetown, married and settled into a house was when the real crash in his life came.

Post graduation, job hunting hadn’t been as easy as he’d first thought. In fact, for the first time in his life, Celal understood that his education wasn't as significant in the real world as when he had a thousand other people vying for the same job. And his initial thoughts of going into politics, without connections, seemed almost impossible. Even for a Georgetown graduate.

During his initial first two years, he filled his time with frivolous internships for political campaigns that never propelled him forward, and he had a brief stint with a paper where he wrote more nonsense pieces about politics than anything of value. Celal felt like he was failing, himself, his wife, his life...and in his eyes, it was unacceptable.

Nowhere near where he’d wanted to be at that point in his life, Celal had no idea where to turn. Barely three years into his marriage, and their conversations had almost ceased to exist. Affection had all but dried up and evaporated into nothing. And he felt like he could do nothing right, that dark cloud finding him more and more as each day went by.

He’d been job scrolling when he came across the role of Special Agent. In all honesty, he’d never thought about his career taking him in the direction of the ATF. Especially because that had been the direction that his older brother, Ender, had taken. Even when he filled out the application, he hadn’t been certain. With his life so on the rocks, it almost felt like a copout to give up now.

Politics had been his love, his passion. What he knew, and was good at.

But was he that good if he hadn’t excelled yet? He was so far behind those who he’d graduated with.

However, Celal found himself surprised when he received an email inviting him to attend an interview. He doubted if they would consider him at all, given his credentials. So being invited was a boost that he hadn’t quite felt in some time. Even Afet seemed happy for him, and she hadn’t shown an ounce of emotion in a good six months at that stage.

After the initial interview came the exams: written and physical. Which he passed with flying colours. For the first time since he’d graduated University, Celal felt like he was on the right path. Finally, doing something worthwhile with himself. And just as he’d always been his entire life, he threw himself at the job with a hundred percent every single time.

Through his initial on-the-job training, to beginning his specialisation in his career, his best friend Cera had been the highlight of most days. Also, a fellow agent-in-training, the two had bonded over the course of, as they liked to call it, hell's asshole (the training). They’d developed a very close, very personal relationship.

When Afet started a conversation about wanting children, which baffled Celal beyond belief because the two could barely stand each other, a string of arguments began, and unfortunately, descended to every minute they spent with each other. Being in the same room felt almost impossible. The two had once loved each other, but now it was as cold as ice. No warmth remained.

When an assignment came, he was glad for the time away, and she was glad he was gone. It was there, in a shoddy motel, working on a case with Cera, that the affair started. A late night, paper work scattered and playful words that had led to heated stares and later, when he’d woken up in tangled sheets and hair sprawled out across his chest—Celal realised that he didn’t feel guilty. He knew he should, but he didn’t.

For once, he felt like he was doing something solely for himself. And no matter how selfish that was, he couldn’t help himself. But, once again, nothing stayed perfect forever. The affair continued. One year turned into two, and by the fifth (yes, she’d truly waited that long for a married man) she was leaving him with an ultimatum: leave Afet, or Cera would leave. There was one problem, for everything he was, he knew he was an asshole for this…

He didn’t want to divorce Afet because of how it would affect his image to the public. Divorce meant failure, and Celal didn’t do failure. So when she walked away from him, he felt like there was a gaping hole that could never be fixed. And the only person he had to blame was himself.

Working alongside Cera after that became unbearable. Just being in close vicinity was like having his skin set on fire because he wanted to ask her for more. But he knew he couldn’t offer it in return. Even when a year passed, he still felt it in his core.

So he threw himself into work, doing what he always did best and attempting to best everyone around him. Vying for jobs that were bigger, better, and more complex. It was then that he began to make a name for himself. He’d see Cera from time to time, and his heart felt like it stopped in his chest every time he did. So, when they offered him the job in Tonopah, Nevada, he jumped, not caring that a job like this might not be exactly the kind of path he’d initially been wanting to take. Ender was there, and that was all that mattered to him. It’d been a long while since he’d seen his older brother.

Celal had always been careful to keep his family out of his marital problems. But when he announced the change to Afet, she’d served him with divorce papers. Advising that she’d known about the affair, and had been waiting for the right time to leave him. In that moment, the perfect image he’d spent his whole life crafting came crashing down around him at his own hand. Once again.

Packing his life up, leaving Afet behind at her request, Celal headed to Nevada to focus on specialising in a new pathway while focusing on a new case that was drawing him in deeper and deeper as he read the files on the flight over. This was a challenge, but the most challenging thing for him was going to be explaining to his family that his life was a sham.

Headcanons:

Celal dislikes most animals that are not domesticated and he has an irrational fear of pigeons.

Celal’s interests & hobbies: reading, violin, chess, tennis, lacrosse and airsoft. Political genre styled fictional novels, as well as non-fiction books, always seem to keep his interest the longest. Celal is particularly fond of common drama or comedy sitcoms alongside intellectual documentaries on crime. Tennis is his sport of choice if he needs to process thoughts. And airsoft is something he does with his boys to get away from his life from time to time.

Celal when it comes to dressing, his sense is always keeping it smart. Jumpers with shirts, blue jeans when he’s not working. Inside of business, it’s always the best he can afford. Which, unfortunately, is not what Celal had been hoping to earn at this point.

Celal’s based on the characters: Neal Sampat & Jim Harper from The Newsroom / Penelope Garcia from Criminal Minds / Seth Cohen from The O.C / Donald Ressler from The Blacklist.

Celal speaks three languages: Turkish, English & German.

Celal often looks after his parents by returning home, and showering them with gifts. He’s a bit of a mommy’s boy, and women often find him…attached. He might look the part, but his personality sometimes falls flat due to being tied to her apron strings.

#tv character.#gender: man.#affiliation: task force.#affiliation: government.#affiliation: criminal justice.

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