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There are 6 inmates on death row in a secret prison and I've been tasked with eating their sins. If we let it, Greed will consume us all.
I am The Last Sin Eater Nelle Lockwood and i'm already feeling the effects of this job after just the first inmate. Before continuing, you should start with our previous sin: LUST. - A quick aside; thank you all for your words of support, encouragement and requests to have your sin discovered. I will do my best, but there is a plethora of requests and I am but woman with a monumental task ahead of me. In the moments following our tumultuous affair with Tallulah, the woman representing “Lust”, I forced down the broth of Mellified man and felt my entire body caked in that sickly sensation you get after downing cod liver oil. It made every facet of my being wretch and try its damnedest to pull the liquid back up from my stomach. But any good sin eater worth their training knows better than to ruin a good ritual. Buck saw me struggling and took my hand as the guards funnelled in, rushing onto both sides of the plexiglass; one to check on us and the other to hoist the gargantuan form of Tallulah off of the floor and onto a makeshift stretcher. Though it was obvious even from here that it would not be enough to hold her frame. “Hey, Nellie. Look at me.” He spoke softly, and I felt the bile rise in my stomach, but I did as he told me. I stared at him for what felt like minutes, his calm demeanour putting me at ease, the acid in my chest fighting to stay up but rapidly dissipating as he put his hands on my shoulders and kissed my forehead. When he pulled away, his breath was hot, and he looked pained, but settled down quickly. “Any time you get like that, you just lean on me, kay? I’m your safeguard. That’s what I’m here for. Well…” he side-eyes the compendium on the desk, the page flipped open to a news report about “The Mellified Woman of Utah” and turned back, a sly grin on his face that made me melt. “That and building on this ol’ book. Mama McGraw won’t be happy if I don’t complete it soon!” I got up and gazed over at the book. His mother was the matriarch of the McGraw clan, an old and powerful group of cryptozoologists who for centuries had safeguarded the shores of the UK from threats both outside and inside the nation, creatures older than any structure and more powerful than any king and wiser than any elder. Buck’s job was to ensure that more was catalogued, and the pages filled before his ascension to the elder status. I wonder if he knew what that book would come to be. What it would represent. The guards escorted us out and an expectant Warden stood between us and the break room, his hands outstretched and his smile wide. “Wunderbar! You did excellently, mein devourer of sins! I was most impressed, though a little surprised with the aftermath… did you intend to have such an encounter?” “No. But I never know how these things will occur when I start. I simply let the conversation flow and like a breeze in the sails, carry me to wherever it leads. But, right now, I just wanna sleep. I’d have appreciated knowing who she was before I went in there. What I’d need to… consume.” If the Warden recognised my not-so-subtle plea to move, he ignored it with expertise. “Now, you have some 12 hours until your next appointment with Prisoner #6572, but I must warn you… this one’s tale is more unpleasant than the last. They’re young, but do not mistake that youth for naivete. They make Prisoner #4822 seem tame in comparison.” “Why do I feel like you’re gonna say that for every interview we have?” Nestor’s eyes narrowed and Edgar croaked away, flapping his wings as the Warden paced near him. “CORPSE HOARDER. CORPSE HOARDER. FLEE.” The Warden looked closely at him before smiling wide; the warmth returning to his jubilant face. “Because I will. This is not an easy task, and I would be wasting a most valuable resource if I sent you to der wolf’s right off the bat. Instead, you are going with what I feel is sie most appropriate difficulty curve. That just so happens to be #6752. I’ll forward you some papers to take an eye over, but I would prefer if only you & the bird man knew the information. The less the Sin Eater knows, the better.” “Why? Think I can’t handle it? YOU called ME here, Warden Leichenberg.” I spat. I was tired and now insulted. He shook his head and sighed. “It is because you clearly empathise too much. A sin eater carries the burdens of their sinner for all time. I wish to see you live through this, not be crushed by it. You ARE the last sin eater, we must be mindful of that. Besides, what kind of Warden would ein be if I let a guest die in my prison?” With that, he clicked his fingers, and the men followed at his heel, pushing the partially obscured body of Tallulah along the hall and out of sight. We filed into the break room and I collapsed in a heap onto the bed, exhaustion taking me over. Between the trip and the thoughts of what she had done, my entire body was wracked with fatigue. I hadn’t been this worn out since my first sin eating session some 10 years prior. Drifting in and out of sleep, I heard the muffled voices of Buck, Nestor and occasionally Edgar discussing the papers in front of them. Their voices were steeped in disgust, concern and anxious strategies. I heard them pinning things to the board and keywords like “stitched”, “malformed” and “freak”, but nothing more as deep sleep took me. It was there I had my recurring dream. The night I was taken from my home and put into the care of my grandparents. The night I realised I was a sin eater. Mum had cooked a pot roast and was watching a nature programme with David Attenborough. I loved his voice, still do. His soothing cadences and love of nature resonated with a young me, who spent her time cataloguing bugs in the back garden and dreaming of one day going on grand adventures to find untold secrets and creatures. I remember looking out on our driveway, towards the main road which bordered on the new forest. Mum was a forest ranger and routinely had to go out for calls. Sometimes there would be an animal incident where a Deer ran into a car, other times there could be a small forest fire or some dickhead teenagers setting off fireworks. This time was different. Her voice was panicked, and she grabbed her keys, telling me to lock up and not touch the oven as she’d be back in 30 minutes. There’s a gap after this. There always is. But I recall the purple glow from the clearing, the loud booming sound and the searing hot pain filling my lungs. Then, I would see a face leering over me, upside down and features contorted as it leaned closer, before waking up in a cold sweat. But this time, I saw something new. That creature from the airport. Features even more horrifying as they pressed up close to my own, the smell of its sin overbearing my nose and making my eyes water. The smell of a rotting corpse. It smiled and held out those gnarled fingers again, this time dropping one digit slowly into its grotesque fist; 7. - Waking up, the lights were dimmed and Buck was nowhere to be seen, nor was his book. Nestor sat in the seat facing opposite, keeping a watchful eye while cradling a sleeping Edgar. When he wasn’t screeching out expletives or being a smartass, he was downright adorable. A small black furry baby at peace in his arms. “You know I found him the day I lost everything? I stood amid the smoulders of my home and found a small black egg that I assumed was seared from the flames. But no, it was just that. An obsidian egg, untouched by the surrounding destruction. I felt a desire to protect him, especially considering I couldn’t protect them. He bonded with me immediately and picked up words far quicker than any corvid should. Hell, sometimes I think he was brought to me by Lady Death, but that’d be too convenient…” He stroked Edgars feathers softly as he made faint cooing sounds. “I trust you know my sin, Nelle?” He said, breaking the silence and adding a weight to the room that I didn’t realise was there. He was smiling, but the guilt hung over him like a deluge of emotional weight. “Yeah. Lesser wrath. You made a bad call, and it cost you everything. Your partner, your two boys, your livelihood. Lady Death made a deal, and here you are. Your sin is in several small parts that cling to you wherever you roam. They smell of sulphur and brimstone, but taste of apples and tears.” I got up and walked to him, kneeling in front of his tired face, and took his hands in mine. “You are not a bad person, Nestor. I don’t sense it, and neither does Buck. You are a protector. If you’ve got my back, I’ve got yours.” Edgar stirred in his arms and mumbled “Papa. Safety. Papa. Love.” before ruffling his feathers. Nestor’s eyes glazed over and he sniffed, nodding with thanks as I stretched and made myself something to eat, desperate to get the taste of honey out of my mouth. “Do you think the next sin will really be as bad as the Warden claims?” He asked, looking up at the clock, 3 hours to go until we were due to interview them. “I think if the Warden wanted to lie to us, he’d try something a bit more complex. So yeah, I’m not ruling anything out.” I sighed and took a long sip from my chamomile tea, the aroma helping to eradicate mellified man, my tastebuds grateful as it passed my tongue. “But you gotta think; a guy with the name “corpses on a mountain” isn’t to be trusted. ----- We sat and waited for the prisoner, having followed the same procedures as before. This time, a sense of anticipation and dread hung in the air. Not only because of how the last one had gone, but because both Nestor and Buck knew something I didn’t. Something they desperately wanted to reveal from under the watchful eye of The Warden. And it was killing them to hide it. I rolled up my sleeves and took a deep breath in. The sound of someone being wheeled in from the other side of the plexiglass. Unlike the gurney our previous inmate was removed on, this was a wheelchair with restraints. The person hidden behind the low lighting once more. “May I ask your name before we begin? It’s far too informal in comparison to your assigned number.” The form cocked its head to the side and held up its hand in a conversational form, whispering to it before responding to us. “Names are powerful things. For now, you may address us as Emarosa. We contain all things beautiful.” They leaned forward, wiry brown hair poking through the shadows and giving us a glimpse at the owner. “And you are our sin eater. Most good. We have a sin that we want excised from us. It is the one thing we do not want.” “Very well, that’s what I’m here for, Emarosa. Tell me how your sin came to be. What formed it?” “We realised early on that we craved more than our means provided. Birth givers did their best with meagre offerings, passing fancies and trinkets that ultimately meant nothing to us. We sought greater things, lesser things. ALL things. But we were young, weak and unable to do such things on our own. We listened and waited until we matured enough to progress.” “Listened? To whom?” I pressed, their third person schtick already wearing on me, even if it was fascinating. They leaned back in the chair, their body shaking with excitement. No different to Tallulah. “Our saviour. One of our guiding lights; Moloch.” The room rumbled. A soft heat flowed in from the corners and I saw the red haze begin permeating around the back of Emarosa’s chair. “The Canaanite god? THAT Moloch?” Buck scanned his book, putting a finger on the article and sliding it towards me. Depictions of children thrown into his belly, screaming and reaching out for despondent parents as they’re cast into the flames, his nose billowing smoke. I felt sick. “Yes. Though he did not request such acts in his name. He came to us in a dream on our18th birthday, informing us we were a vessel for him to inhabit one day. But in order to do so, we had to take from everyone else around us. We had to… expand our horizons and our skills. So, we set off to being a doctor and learning the tools of the trade. It was imperative for our metamorphosis. I trust when you spoke to Makepeace, she informed you of something similar?” I recalled her discussion over growing larger, less clean and eschewing hygiene. Ignoring the desire to shiver, I nodded. “We had a similar one. Do you not think that it is right for people to grow and change? To desire more than their position offers? Perhaps to aspire for greater things. Things that others have. We do not think it such a strange concept, people take from others all the time in order to survive.” Buck interjected, Nestor staring daggers at Emarosa. “That ain’t what you did though, is it? You didn’t just take to survive. In fact, you NEVER took to survive. You simply ransacked. A thief in the lowest sense of the word.” His fists clenched and his teeth gritted, I held up a hand to stop him. “It’s alright, we’re fine. I promise.” Before he could protest, I put on my firmest voice to ensure I didn’t lose Emarosa’s respect. “Not another word.” He sat back, shoulders falling under the weight of his words and focusing instead on the compendium and the haze. “Organs count as vital survival items, you know. We simply required more of them than the usual person.” Emarosa quipped and for the first time, I sensed something other than neutrality in their tone. “I need you to sit forward so I can see you, Emarosa. I don’t believe we can conduct this properly if you are hidden. There was a murmuring, the form shifted, and another voice spoke, this one gruff and masculine, sounding like they’d swallowed an ashtray and washed it down with bourbon. “The fuck is this? You think you can take from ME? I. Own. You. I own all of this. I do what I want because the money in my bank account and the status I covet makes it so. Fuck you. I ain’t moving for shit!” I was taken aback. This was coming out of nowhere and it certainly didn’t match the aloof tone they’d displayed before. What was this? “To whom am I speaking now?” I asked, trying to get a handle on the situation, but the form shifted and became elegant, draping one leg over the other and hands folded on their knee. “Oh, dear. You feel you have the status to address ME? I’m a queen in my own home and I do not speak to the lowly dregs such as you. I can buy and sell you in the blink of an eye, bitch.” The form argued with itself until settling down and shaking its head. It sighed and leaned forward, into the light and displaying its true horror. It took everything in me not to scream. Modern day Prometheus. It was the only thing that came to mind in that moment as the haze split off into two patterns on the sides of their containment chamber. The hair was wiry on one side, slicked back on the other. The head filled with stitched and sutured segments of discoloured flesh, extra eyes drooping in places they shouldn’t be, two distinct faces leering at us as several smaller pain addled faces on their neck and cheeks groaned in protest. One barely masculine face to the left and a slightly more feminine to the right, one all-encompassing mouth at the centre. Innumerable teeth and thick black lips parted for speech. They were an amalgamation of other human beings. Even when they spoke, the tongue was forked and split into two directions. “We were once two. Our names no longer matter to anyone but you, it seems. Donnel and Millicent Cartwright. We knew our callings were unique, but we had no idea that there would be two. One for each greedy twin. Where Donnel had Moloch crooning in their ear, Millicent heard from Mammon, the representer of ill-gotten wealth. Though, to us, any wealth acquired by our form means it was always ours. Alas, we wanted more…” Buck scanned for a newspaper article, but wouldn’t show it to me. I could make out the words “organ thief” and my suspicions were confirmed. The mists were almost complete. “Why did you steal people’s identities? Why take from them in this way? I know greed to be about food, money, power… but why this?” Emarosa pondered for a moment, both faces looking to each other before responding. “The greatest power is that of domination of the soul. Own a person’s flesh, own their entire being. Mammon and Moloch had different ways of saying such things to us, but we knew that in order for us to ascend to the next level, we had to acquire a set amount of souls. Our greed would need to be tested.” They stopped for a moment, hesitant. “WE would need to be tested. Before we came in front of you. The greediest woman of all time in equally avaricious company.” I felt the hot flash of anger rise in me at that statement. To be called such a thing by a monstrous killer… well, it was enough to set me off. But I tried to maintain my composure as Nestor and Edgar leaned forward, perhaps expecting trouble. “I consume sins to absolve the person. To set them free. That does NOT make me greedy. Nor is Buck or Nestor in such company of yours.” I breathed, trying to keep things on track. “You’re leading up to the sin you wish to tell, what is it?” But Emarosa was not done. They tapped their heads with a spindly finger each in tandem. “But you carry all those sins. Such a beautiful method for absorbing others that we could never wish to acquire. Mr. McGraw is attempting to acquire all the knowledge on beasts and people like us for his own self gain. Mr. Holden over there lost everything through greed and STILL wants more…” They smiled, those white pillars shimmering from their jaws. “I am fed as much information as I wish. We are not so different.” “The sin. If you could. I am a busy woman.” I replied curtly, I didn’t like my own character being brought into question. Nestor and Buck both holding their nerve, as best they could.] The soft, feminine voice returned. “I began acquiring the souls necessary for ascension. It was not easy work, but my brother and I are remarkably efficient with our hands. We would make sure the subject was someone who had something we wanted. It started out as money, food, status. A reason to justify our cause, in those earlier days…” Donnel butted in. “But, you eventually realise that it doesn’t matter. None of it matters. It was our destiny to take and take we did. Every single one served a greater purpose, stitched into our fabric and becoming a part of us. Burning what we didn’t need in service to Lord Moloch.” “And Lord Mammon, yes.” Millicent remarked, her voice quivering with emotion. “But, we knew there would be a greater sacrifice needed. Especially upon our 18th birthday and our loving family discovered our secret. One of our playthings had woken up and managed to escape from the basement. Before Papa could even question it, Donnel bludgeoned him to death. I set upon Mother and used the boiling water from the stove to burn her flesh and cave her soft skull in with a frying pan.” The mists were almost complete, the shapes of a large bull with the legs of a man and the tail of a scorpion on the left, a heavyset man with a golden crown and a slew of jewelry, his gut exposed and a smile across his wide face on the right. “We made sure the siblings didn’t suffer much. But we were pressed for time, and both voices rang in our ears. We could not stand to be apart from the family or each other. So, with what time we had, we put our skills to the test one last time.” Food had begun filling up my table. Plates upon plates of meat cooked to perfection stacked themselves in front of me. The aroma of bacon and eggs filled the air. But I was not hungry. “They screamed so much that our ears bled. We worked diligently to scrap them as best we could before bringing them into ourselves and joining us together in the beautiful form you see here. Emarosa is the nirvana state we hoped to reach before we met with you, our god of greed.” As the mists filled, Emarosa rose from their seat on extremely fragile legs, four knees threatening to buckle as this towering mass of flesh and limbs took tentative steps towards the plexiglass, placing one of its hands up against it. Those hands had strangled, cut, ripped and torn apart innocent people. Harvesting their organs, their bones, their flesh. Taking what they want. Those truly were the hands of greed. “Our sole regret is that we couldn’t take more of them. For it is our birthright. But, we were instructed to tell our deeds and lay our sins bare. That we have done. Now, we move to the final stage of consumption.” They took their hand away as the meat continued to pile, Nestor stepping forward to stop it tumbling over. But I shook my head. This was the final moment. “This ascension… what is it? What does it mean?” I knew this may be my last chance to ask them, I was already becoming eerily familiar with what the end brought these interviews. They smiled as the heads displayed individual expressions of joy. “It means we will consume everything. Not a single shard of light will be out of our grasp. So it is written. Good luck, my lady. You will need it for the road ahead. I can’t imagine how hard it will be for someone as greedy as you to sacrifice anything… but you will need to before this task is complete.” As the mist had finished, both figures walked towards Emarosa, somehow towering over even them. Moloch put a pair of huge anvil-like fists on Donnels face, Mammon placing bright red and muscled hands on Millicents. Then, without warning, they pulled. The screaming was unholy, each face and patchwork person shrieking at the top of their lungs, but neither one relented. Slowly, the skin separated from the body and partially intact people were pulled away into their corners, the remains of Emarosa simply falling to the floor in a flesh pile with a sickening wet squelch. Donnel was pushed into the open, fiery belly of Moloch, the screams rippling through his face and nose as red eyes gleamed from him. Millicent was put on her knees in front of Mammon, who opened his monstrously large jaws, picking her up by her waist and biting down hard on the top half of her, a spurt of blood staining the plexiglass as he continued to devour the rest of her, kicking in protest and perhaps even in joy. Buck and Nestor sprung forward to stop me, but I knew I had to eat the food. The ritual was useless without it. I’d closed my eyes and simply taken a bite. The surrounding commotion largely blocked out. The first bite was soft, some blood dribbled out and stained my chin, the meat was tender and it melted in my mouth as it began to run down my throat. After Mellified Man, this was ambrosia. I began biting down harder, quicker and more voraciously, trying to clear my plate as quick as I could, my stomach expanding to accommodate the extra contents… yet I never felt full or even remotely bloated. As if the food was simply evaporating when I swallowed. I was enjoying it, but only after I gave pause to breathe did I realise that not only was this not true food, but I was choking. Tough, coarse meat filling my throat and burning my nostrils. Thick unyielding fatty was staining my teeth and entrenching itself in my throat, filling my sinuses and even making my eyes water. The taste… it was horrifying. But not as much as the feeling of thumping in my throat as I pushed hard to swallow, it resisted and felt like it was a small egg I’d elected to attempt eating in one go. I swear I felt it push against me as my body writhed and desperately tried to push it down. I was determined to finish, I couldn’t fail here. It was only when Buck pulled me away and Edgar swooped down to stare at me, crowing "MEAT. MEAT. TASTY MEAT." that I realised what was going on. The plate of meat wasn’t steaks. It wasn’t chicken or anything even close. As Buck thumped my back in an effort to help me throw it up, I instead swallowed and felt something iron-tasting fall into my stomach. What lay left on the plate was a single human heart, still beating faintly, and a small congealed pool of blood around it. I’d just eaten what remained of the entire family. Inmate #6527: Donnel and Millicent Cartwright. Known collectively as “Emarosa”. Sin: Greed. Food: Steak…The Cartwright Family. - NEXT SIN: ENVY.
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Dilemma doorstroom hbo naar master: Erasmus universiteit of Radboud universiteit?
Hoi, Ik zit met een dilemma en ben benieuwd naar jullie meningen/kijk hierop zodat ik die mee kan nemen in mijn uiteindelijke keuze. Ik ben een laatstejaars hbo-student in de richting van Business IT & Management. Hiervoor heb ik een mbo opleiding tot applicatieontwikkelaar versneld (niet in drie, maar binnen twee jaar) afgerond. Momenteel sta ik gemiddeld een 7,32 en heb ik, op een enkele herkansing na, alles in één keer gehaald. Als vervolg wil ik mij verdiepen in het business-domein door een Strategic Management master te halen aan een universiteit. Mijn dilemma zit hem voornamelijk in het 'waar': Erasmus in Rotterdam of Radboud in Nijmegen. Dit zijn de enige twee uni's die ik in overweging neem, omdat andere óf de master Strategic Management niet aanbieden, óf eind vwo wiskunde niveau als vereiste stellen wat ik niet heb en niet als een optie zie om met een cursus te halen. Een aantal zaken die mij aantrekken voor Erasmus (op basis van open dagen, online informatie sessies, mailcontact en mijn (stief)ouders):
De naam is internationaal erkend waardoor het goed op je cv staat;
Het maximale uit jezelf halen staat centraal, daardoor doe je op Erasmus 'net dat stapje extra';
Ik voel me erg thuis bij de sfeeuistraling van de campus en de mindset en uitstraling van de studenten/professors die ik gesproken heb.
De eisen die Erasmus aan mij (als hbo doorstromer met mijn profiel) stelt:
Een GPA van 7,5 over alle jaren van mijn hbo-opleiding (dit heb ik nog niet);
Een aanvullend vak in een gebied zoals accounting of strategie.
Zaken die mij aantrekken voor Radboud (op basis van een open dag en de website):
Meer begeleiding vanuit de uni: "als je inzet toont, en je hebt er behoeft aan, doen wij er alles aan om je te helpen met je studie" (een professor op een open dag);
Het is (naar mijn inschatting, vergeleken met Erasmus) net een klein tandje relaxter wat betreft de dingen die van je gevraagd worden.
Eisen van Radboud aan mij:
Een ongewogen gemiddelde eindcijfer (over de laatste twee jaar) van 7,5 (dit heb ik al), óf 7+ met een motivatiebrief
Mijn voorkeur gaat uit naar Erasmus omdat de algemene sfeer en mindset die daar aanwezig is mij meer motiveert dan bij de Radboud universiteit. Daarnaast staat Erasmus (zeker in het management vakgebied) beter op mijn cv. Echter zijn er nog meer bijkomende zaken: Ik had het aanstaande semester op internationale uitwisseling gegaan als invulling van mijn minorruimte. Dit is natuurlijk geannuleerd wegens COVID-19 (waar ik volkomen achter sta maar wat ik natuurlijk wel jammer vind). Omdat ik toch graag op uitwisseling zou gaan, is het een mogelijkheid om mijn studie met een jaar te verlengen in de hoop dat het volgend jaar september wel door kan gaan. Dit geeft mij dan ook direct ruimte om aanvullende vakken te volgen zodat ik aan de inhoudelijke toelatingseisen van Erasmus voldoe en heb ik extra tijd om mijn gemiddelde (7,32) naar een 7,5 op te schroeven. Daarbij komt natuurlijk wel het risico dat ook in september 2021 de kans aanwezig is dat de uitwisseling wegens COVID wederom niet door kan gaan. Als de uitwisseling inderdaad tegen die tijd weer niet door kan gaan, zou ik liever dit extra jaar niet doen. Dat maakt het weer moeilijker. Een extra jaar betekend namelijk dat mijn eindstage (en scriptie) ook verplaatst wordt omdat extra vakken alleen meetellen op de cijferlijst wanneer ze voor [emphasis] het afronden van de eindstage afgerond worden. Als ik dus zo'n extra jaar wil doen, betekend dat dat ik niet dit kalenderjaar al op zoek hoef naar een eindstage, maar dat ik dat moet uitstellen tot volgend jaar. In dat geval zou ik mij dit aanstaand blok in moeten schrijven bij een geschikte minor voor het tweede semester van schooljaar 2020 - 2021, waardoor er druk staat achter het maken van deze keuze. Momenteel woon ik nog thuis. Mijn thuissituatie is goed omdat de relatie met mijn moeder en broers uitstekend is en ik heb mijn eigen kamer waar ik rustig kan werken. Toch wil ik zo snel mogelijk op kamers zodat ik leer om volledig zelfstandig te zijn en meer kan genieten van mijn leven als 21+'er (ik denk aan bijvoorbeeld een studenten/studievereniging en voornamelijk gewoon mijn eigen ding kunnen doen). Als ik aan een universiteit ga studeren, ga ik dus op kamers. Ik heb al vreden met het feit dat ik dan moet gaan lenen en dus een studieschuld opbouw, omdat ik dit het waard vind in vergelijking tot wat ik er voor terug kan krijgen (en ik qua salaris later ook wel goed zit). Wat mij nog meer motiveert om voor Erasmus te gaan, is het feit dat Rotterdam een moderne stad is waar veel internationale bedrijven gevestigd zijn. Om daar te wonen, te studeren en een sociaal en professioneel netwerk op te bouwen trekt mij enrom aan. Nijmegen komt in deze opzichten niet in de buurt van Rotterdam (als ik er naast zit hoor ik dit heel graag :)). Ik sta nu voor een moeilijke keuze, die ik in ieder geval voor november aanstaande definitief gemaakt moet hebben:
Inzetten op de mogelijkheid dat ik in schooljaar 2021 - 2022 kan starten aan het premaster programma van Erasmus voor de master Strategic Management. Als ik dat wil halen, betekend dat dat ik nu volle bak aan de slag moet gaan voor het laatste jaar in de hoop dat ik minimaal 8'en haal voor de minoren, mijn eindstage en het extra vak die ik ergens tussendoor moet volgen. Als ik het vereiste GPA van 7,5 voor Erasmus niet haal waardoor ik daar niet kan beginnen, kan ik altijd nog de keuze maken om bij Radboud te beginnen (eventueel met een motivatiebrief).
Inzetten op de mogelijkheid dat ik in 2022 - 2023 kan starten aan het premaster programma van Erasmus. Dit zou betekenen dat ik nogsteeds flink aan het werk moet, omdat ik in dit geval minimaal 7,8'en moet halen omdat ik dan een extra jaar hbo zou doen (dus meer punten waarmee ik kan compenseren) waar ik ruimte heb voor een extra minor en uitwisseling. Ook hier kan ik uiteindelijk ook nog voor Radboud kiezen als mijn GPA onvoldoende blijkt te zijn voor Erasmus, maar heb ik wel kans dat ik op uitwisseling kan en verrijk ik mijn kennis in management door een extra minor te volgen. Echter woon ik dan wel nog een jaar extra thuis.
Definitief kiezen voor Radboud zonder uitwisseling. Op deze manier kan ik in 2021 - 2022 starten aan het premaster programma van Radboud, heb ik sowieso geen uitwisseling maar hoef ik ook geen extra vak te volgen tijdens mijn minor of eindstage. Daarbij hoef ik mij ook niet extreem in te zetten om 8'en (of 7,8'en) te halen, omdat Radboud alleen naar de laatste twee studiejaren kijkt qua cijfers. Hierdoor hoef ik minder te compenseren, waardoor ik door minimaal 7,5'en te halen in mijn laatste jaar ook toegelaten kan worden.
Als iemand hun mening/suggestie/kijk hierop wilt geven of vragen wilt stellen, stel ik dat zeer op prijs. Zoals ik al zei is dit voor mij een lastige keuze, maar wel een keuze die veel voor mij betekent. Ik ben iemand die graag zo veel mogelijk mogelijkheden overweegt, om vervolgens een weloverwogen eindbeslissing te kunnen maken. In ieder geval bedankt voor het lezen en een fijne dag!
It is absolutely unreal how fucking bad pokemon shit and stupid are. I have been playing pokemon since 1965, and have played every pokemon game ever made. where do i even begin with this horrible fucking excuse for a "game": -it's way too fucking easy. It is so stupid how fucking easy this piss poor game is. The trainers are objectively not difficult enough. You dont even need to go online, find a strategy guide, and then still spend the whole night fighting just one trainer to beat them. These fucking millennial kids these days don't know jack SHIT about playing an actually hard video game like ME! -the experience. It is way too fucking easy to make your goddamn pokemon better in this game. In the olden days, there was no exp share. You had to beat pokemon to death with your magikarp while only using splash and tackle to level it up. And dont even get me started on the fucking hms. You dont have to worry about having to use all 15 hms between your 6 pokemon to go down literally any route. Fucking atrocious! This shit is a travesty. Back in MY day, we had to fight cynthia's (literal fucking godess) level 10,000 pokemon with op moves with a level 15 rattatta with only scratch and leer -the region. Galar is shit. I fucking want to strangle hop to death with my bare hands. He is such a shitty fucking rival. Character development? Fuck THAT shit! I hate his fucking pussy ass bitch ass so much! There isnt literally 10,000 towns and routes in galar. So fucking small. Back in wholesome 100 hidden gem perfect wholesome epic keanu chungus region unova, there were lots of epic towns. And dont even get me fucking started on the evil team in galar. Team yell is so bad. Team plasma is objectively better because they weren't that bad. What? They bombed a town into the ground and wanted to turn unova into a sheet of ice? Well, they were still ok. No, i'm not explaining why! The champions. Ok, now this is the worst part of pokemon shit and stupid. Leon is a terrible champion. I fucking hate him so much. He is so fucking dumb. What? He has an actual personality? FUCK YOU! He is so fucking dumb i hate him. Now how about we talk about an actually GOOD champion! The wholesome keanu chungus reddit 100 epic gamer dank meme pewdiepie queen herself cynthia is literally the best champion. Like literally. She is an incredible champion. What? Just because you want to suck on her toes doesnt mean she is a good champion? FUCK YOU! She is the best champion ever. Plus, she appeared as a side character in the wholesome epic keanu chungus game itself, pokemon black and white. Get fucking owned, libtard! In conclusion. Pokemon shit and stupid are terrible fucking games. I want to have a threesome with cynthia and big chungus. Fuck you all. Edit: thanks for the silver, kind stranger! That was very keanu chungus 100 of you!
I just want to say that Caves of Qud is really refreshing to me in that it honestly doesn't feel like it's trying to be balanced and that's not a bad thing. As someone who plays and homebrews for RPGs a lot I constantly strive to make things as balanced as possible, but a lot of the time it results in a meta, or making a lot of things feel really samey. Caves of Qud is a wonderful, beautiful beast where there are six thousand different ways to become an unstoppable force of destruction. To some extent, to engage in a lot of lategame content, you need to take advantage of these idiosyncrasies. But which ones you take advantage of can change. You can make an eight-armed chimera with axes and absurd quickness who just cuts almost everything apart. You can make a riposting swordmaster who can somehow disarm a chrome pyramid of its swarm missile rack. You can tame a fucking gorilla, clone it thirty times, and let your train of furious gorillas dismantle all life on every map. It's GLORIOUS and the world is so weird that all these bizarre, exploity seeming strategies make perfect sense in the canon. In Fallout New Vegas if I caused extradimensional evil twins of myself to appear so I could steal their items people would just be like "oh, you're cheating with extra steps." In Caves of Qud that's not even that odd and could easily fit into the lore of the game. You're goddamn right I summoned a conclave of my fucking clones from other dimensions so I could kill them and consume their strength. That'll be in my history as the seventh sultan of Qud. Qud lets you be powerful without making you bored. Because the roads to power are so numerous and flavorful that there's always some new way to break reality, and the whole time it feels like the game is encouraging you to break it even harder. In fact I always feel some level of drive towards ridiculous cheese because otherwise, you know, how the hell are you going to fight a leering stalker or a chrome pyramid? They aren't balanced for shit if you play the game "normally". They're balanced around you being a weirdo and doing weird meme shit which sometimes works. It makes the game feel alive and real. Anyway I guess I just wanted to gush.
Weekly Novel Discussion Series: The Authors: Josh Reynolds
The series is intended to give all you readers an opportunity to discuss each author and their works in detail. Please post any thoughts, opinions, and questions you have about this week's author. We’re reading through the authors listed here and going in alphabetical order. Only authors who have written at least one full length novel will covered. If they’ve only gotten short stories or comics published they won’t be included. Each weekly post will include up 10 novels so some of the heavyweights will get a few weeks of coverage. If they have more than 10 I’ll divide their posts into equal parts, never exceeding 10 entries per post. We’ll combine all their short stories and novellas as a single entry, so ∞ short stories/novellas = 1 novel. Also, if an author has penned an entire series or omnibus like Dan Abnett and Gaunt’s Ghosts or Ben Counter and the Soul Drinkers, that entire series will be condensed into one entry. Every post will be filled with Spoilers from the novels so if you haven't read this week's book then proceed with caution.
The Authors: Josh Reynolds
Bio: Many tales are told of Josh Reynolds, and not even he knows if they are true or not. What is true is that he is a prolific writer who brings pulp sensibilities to his work. He has written Gotrek & Felix, Fabius Bile, numerous tales on the Age of Sigmar and many more. He also resurrected Nagash and ended the world in the End Times series. Works: Fabius Bile: Primogenitor He is known by many names — Clonelord, Manflayer, Primogenitor. He is the epitome of deceit and perversion, and feared by man and monster alike. Once the Chief Apothecary of the Emperor's Children, the madman known as Fabius Bile possesses a knowledge of genetic manipulation second to none. Now a renegade among renegades, he is loathed by those he once called brother, and even the most degraded of Chaos Space Marines fear his name. Exiled for his dark experiments, Bile has retreated deep into the Eye of Terror, leaving a trail of twisted abominations in his wake. But when a former student brings word of the ultimate prize for the taking, Bile is unable to resist being drawn once more into the cauldron of war. For in seizing this prize, Fabius Bile might yet discover the one secret his has been unable to unlock... the secret which will prevent his inevitable doom. Fabius Bile: Clonelord Once a loyal son of the Emperor’s Children, Fabius Bile now loathes those he once called brother. But when a former comrade requests his aid on a mission he cannot refuse, Bile is drawn once more into the sinister machinations of his former Legion. Now, accompanied by new allies and old enemies alike, Fabius Bile must travel deep into the wilds of the Eastern Fringe, in search of a world unlike any other. A world which might hold the key to his very survival. A world called Solemnace. Fulgrim: The Palatine Pheonix Lord of Chemos and bearer of the Palatine Aquila, Fulgrim, primarch of the Emperor's Children, is determined to take his rightful place in the Great Crusade, whatever the cost. A swordsman without equal, the Phoenician has long studied the art of war and grows impatient to put his skills, and those of his loyal followers, to a true test. Now, accompanied by only seven of his finest warriors, he seeks to bring a rebellious world into compliance, by any means necessary. But Fulgrim soon learns that no victory come without cost, and the greater the triumph, the greater the price one must pay. Lukas the Trickster Among the Space Wolves there are as many sagas as there are warriors. Though none quite like that of Lukas the Trickster. Renowned and reviled in equal measure, the Jackalwolf has ever stood apart from his brothers, passed from pack to pack by embittered Wolf Lords. But as a new enemy invades the icy reaches of Fenris at the height of the Helwinter, Lukas finds himself facing a foe who may rival even his legendary cunning – the drukhari corsair, Duke Sliscus. In the battle between wolf and serpent, who will emerge triumphant, and who will lay on red snow? Kal Jericho: Sinner’s Bounty With a Guilder armoury looted, and the culprit racing downhive in a mining hauler bristling with stolen weaponry, Kal Jericho chases the bounty...but with a prize like this, every other Venator worth the name will be after it too. Apocalypse Forces from several Space Marine Chapters mobilise to defend the cardinal world of Almace from an invasion by the twisted traitors of the Word Bearers. But unbeknownst to the forces of the Imperium, conquest is not the enemy’s sole aim. Lieutenant Heyd Calder is a Primaris Marine whose mastery of warfare is matched only by his diplomatic prowess. Under the orders of Roboute Guilliman, he is deployed to Almace, a minor seat of the Ecclesiarchy, to protect the world at whatever cost. Yet even as diabolical forces leer from the system's edge, Calder discovers that the capital's Cardinal-Governor, a sharp, inscrutable figure of spiritual and material authority, is hiding something. When it becomes clear that conquest is not the enemy’s sole aim, Calder resolves to uncover the secret of Almace. As the system is set ablaze, clashes of faith, strategy and politics ensue in the capital, and it becomes clear that the forces of the Ecclesiarchy and the Adeptus Astartes must fight together if they are to have any hope of victory. Shield of Baal: Deathstorm The sons of Sanguinius land upon Phodia, commanded by First Captain Karlaen, the Shield of Baal. Their mission is to find and secure the planetary governor, whose blood may hold the key to curing the twin curses of the Chapter: the Red Thirst and the Black Rage. But the Spawn of Cryptus, a sinister tyranid creature, is also seeking the governor, and Karlaen stands in its way. Short stories/novellas by Josh Reynolds: Cadre, Hunter’s Snare, Sanctus Reach: The Fall of Hive Jensen, Dante’s Canyon, Enyalius – In Memorium, Shadow of the Leviathan, Adeptus Mechanicus: The Zheng Cypher, Fabius Bile: Light of a Crystal Sun, Death’s Head, Prodigal, Remorseless, A Trick of the Light, Red Salvage Lexicanum link: https://wh40k.lexicanum.com/wiki/Josh_Reynolds Josh’s website: https://joshuamreynolds.co.uk/
A small continuance of my We Are Coming For You series. I hope you enjoy it. Standing in front of a platoon of soldiers General Drulle gave his men an appraising look before turning to the tall Praxian standing beside me. “What do you think Captain? These are the finest soldiers in the Praxian military.” he boasted proudly. “More than a match for the humans you’ve been working for, eh?” “I’m sure they’re a credit to the Conglomeration, General.” he replied diplomatically, his bright golden eyes gleaming as he examined the soldiers before them. Puffing out his chest Drulle turned back to his men and loudly said “As you all know we are here as part of a Joint Training Exercise proposed by our human allies. The purpose of this exercise is for us to learn from one another; we aim foster a deeper understanding of each others strengths, share our strategies and tactics. The humans believe that developing coordination between our two militaries will strengthen both our nations.” he paused for a moment before continuing “You are the pride of the Praxian army and as such your performance represents that of our entire species. The humans undoubtedly feel they have the superior military after the incident in the Niol system but you all shall show them that the Praxian military is second to none!” he declared. “Yes Sir!” the Praxian soldiers shouted in response. Satisfied with their fervour Drulle gestured to the Praxian standing beside him “This is Captain Artum, the first non-human to join the United Terran Army. He has more experience working with humans than any Praxian alive and so he will be in charge of your unit for the duration of the exercise. You are to show him every respect and follow his orders as if they came from my own lips, is that clear?” “Yes Sir!” they repeated. Giving them an approving nod Drulle turned back to Artum and said “I’ll leave them in your hands Captain.” “Thank you General.” he nodded as the general walked away leaving Artum alone in front of the troops. Looking out over the stonefaced soldiers he started “As General Drulle said, I am Captain Artum of the United Terran Army. I enlisted in the humans army almost two years ago and in that time I’ve learned a great many things from them, chief among them is that their soldiers are unmatched in the entire galaxy.” he declared making even the most disciplined soldier bristle with agitation. Smirking at their reaction Artum continued “How many of you have seen a human before?” getting a few affirmations Artum pointed to one of the soldiers and asked “And what was your impression of them?” Thinking for a moment the Praxian replied “Small.” he grunted out “Don’t see why the Lizards had such a hard time with them.” Letting out a laugh Artum replied “Yes they don’t seem very impressive at first glance do they? And yet they stood against the full might of the Union armada and did not waver, a feat which has never been accomplished since the founding of the Union. Could the Conglomeration do the same?” he asked. Getting silence in response Artum smirked and said “I though not. I have fought along side many humans in my time with them and I can personally attest to their military prowess. You will all learn a lot from them.” “I’ve certainly taught him a few things over the years.” a familiar voice called out behind him. Turning, Artums golden eyes glowed as he spied the woman sauntering towards him. “Asami! What are you doing here?!” “The guys and I just finished a job a few systems over and I heard you were out here so I decided to take some shore leave and pay my favourite kittycat a visit.” she said as she peered up at him over the dark sunglasses she wore with a playful smile on her face. Drinking in the sight of his lover Artum let out a hungry growl. She was wearing a dark green tank top which fit snugly enough to show off the contours of her chest and a pair of shorts which ended mid-thigh showing off her slender, toned legs. “Are the others here too?” he asked as his eyes roamed her body. “Just me I’m afraid.” she said huskily as she pressed herself against him and ran her hand over his chest “mmm, have I mentioned how good you look in our uniform?” she asked as she reached up to scratch him beneath his chin. Letting out a throaty purr Artum wrapped his arms around her body and pulled her into a kiss, one hand sliding down to grasp her shapely rear and lift her higher as their tongues played together. As the platoon of soldiers watched their new commanding officer reacquaint himself with his lover one of the soldiers muttered under his breath “If that’s what the humans are offering, it’s no wonder he joined up with them.” setting off a series of poorly suppressed laughs from his cohorts. Breaking the kiss Arum rounded on them with a snarl and stalked over to them to glare into the eyes of the soldier who spoke. “Care to say that again?” he growled. When the soldier remained silent and stared ahead blankly Artum sneered and said “You see that human there?” he said gesturing to Asami who gave a cheery wave “She could tear her way through the lot of you without even breaking a sweat. They are the best warriors in the galaxy which is why we are doing this exercise; so that You can learn from Them.” he said as he poked the soldier in the chest causing him to frown slightly but otherwise not react. “When the Niol system was overrun with pirates what did the Praxian military do? Went running to the Union for help. And who answered their call? The humans.” seeing a scowl start to form on the soldiers face Artum smirked and continued “The Conglomeration threw their entire fleet at Niol and were beaten back by a bunch of self proclaimed Pirate Lords. A squad of four humans could retake an entire system-” “Ahem.” Asami cleared her throat with a pointed look cutting him off. Quickly discarding that line of thought Artum instead said “If I had to choose between having an entire battalion of Praxia’s finest at my back or her I wouldn’t hesitate to choose her.” “You’re so sweet.” Asami smiled as she wrapped her arms around his. Finally having enough of Artum disparaging him and his fellow soldiers, the Praxian Artum had been haranguing spat out “Then perhaps she should give us a demonstration of her prowess.” “With you? Sure, sounds like fun.” Asami grinned before Artum could say anything. “You sure?” Artum asked, giving his lover a sidelong glance. “Don’t worry, I won’t rough up her pretty face.” the Praxian smirked. “See, there’s nothing to worry about. He’s going to go easy on little old me.” Asami smiled innocently up at Artum. Holding up his hands in defeat Artum said “Just don’t cause too much damage.” “If she’s as good as you say she is that shouldn’t be a problem.” The soldier retorted. “He wasn’t talking to you.” Asami smiled “How about we make this interesting?” she suggested. “What did you have in mind?” he asked. “If you win I’ll let you take me out for dinner tonight.” she said with a sultry smile. Looking her up and down the soldiers lips curled up in a smirking leer as he eyed her slender body “Never had a human before, usually prefer females with more fur but I suppose I could make an exception this once.” “Lucky me.” Asami said dryly before looking up at Artum. “Are all you Praxians such Lotharios?” “I have no idea what that means.” Artum replied. “I’ll explain it to you later.” she said with a wink. “And what do you get if you win?” the soldier interrupted their conversation. “Then Artum will buying me dinner.” she said nudging her lover in the side with her elbow. “Seems like I’ve got nothing to lose then.” he said as he agreed to her bet. “We’ll see if you still feel that way in a few minutes.” Asami smiled sweetly. Snorting at her bravado the Praxian soldier said “I am Captain Mendril, commander of this cohort.” he declared pompously. “You are?” “You can just call me Asami.” the woman replied with an easy smile. “What is your rank?” Mendril asked with a frown. “Oh, I don’t really exist within the command structure but it’s probably best if you assume that I outrank you.” she said pleasantly making Mendril scowl at her “So how do you want to do this? Unarmed or with weapons?” “You can use whatever you want, I’ll use my own claws.” he replied as he held out his hand with his sharp claws extended. “You sure? I can use anything?” Asami asked. “Anything you want.” he smirked condescendingly at her. “Alright, if you’re sure.” she said as she grabbed the gun holstered at Artums waist and shot the soldier in the foot. As Mendril fell to the floor screaming in pain and clutching at his bleeding foot Asami smiled brightly and said “Well, that was fun. I guess you’re going to treating me to dinner tonight.” she said to Artum as she leaned in close to him and rested her hand against his chest. “By the way I’ll be wearing my leather coat and boots tonight so you’ll have that to look forward to.” she purred breathily as she scratched him beneath his chin causing him to let out a throaty growl. “Will you be wearing anything else?” he asked with a grin. “You’ll just have to wait and find out.” she said teasingly as she stepped away from him. “You boys have fun playing soldier.” she said with a lazy wave as she sauntered away without returning his gun. Staring hungrily after her for a moment Artum turned back to the assembled soldiers who were in such a state of shock that they hadn’t even moved to help their injured comrade yet. Stepping towards them Artum squatted next to the still wailing soldier and said “You got off lucky. I’ve seen that woman kill a Draastrekian with her bare hands. Snapped his neck like a twig.” he smirked at the horrified look on Mendril’s face. Getting to his feet Artum addressed the other soldiers “I’m sure you’ve all heard the stories about what the humans did during the war and I’m sure you’ve discounted most of them as exaggerations. I thought so as well, after all Praxian space was far from the front lines and the humans never penetrated deep enough into Union space for us to experience the brunt of their wrath but let me assure you; every rumour, every horror story you’ve heard whispered, they’re all true.” he said making the Praxian soldiers gulp. “Humans soldiers are the most deadly fighters in the galaxy, even the Lizards fear getting into another scrap with them because they know they wouldn’t survive another war. You wouldn’t know it just by looking at them; they don’t have any claws or any other manner of natural defence but what they do have is a willingness to go to any lengths to achieve victory.” Seeing the troubled looks on their faces Artum smirked as he pulled a small, thick book from his pocket and held it out to them “Any of you know what this is?” getting blank looks from them Artum continued “This is the humans ‘Rules of War’ that they made every Union member agree to follow. I trust that as a prominent member of the Union the Conglomeration requires its soldiers to know these rules, correct? No? I imagine most of you laughed at the thought of rules for warfare; I don’t blame you. The idea seems ludicrous doesn’t it? After all the point of war is to defeat your enemies through any mean necessary. Why should we care how they are treated?” “Well to humans these rules are doctrine, they are sacrosanct. Their military and their soldiers won’t break these rules so long as they are fighting against someone who also abides by them. They will operate within these bounds but do not believe they will be constrained by them. If something is not expressly covered by these laws the humans won’t hesitate to do it. Take our friend here.” he said gesturing to the still groaning Mendril on the ground. “He picked a fight with a human but didn’t have the forethought to restrict the use of firearms. And so she chose the most efficient way to beat him completely within the rules that he set.” he smirked and waved the book in the air. “When I joined the human military these rules were drilled into me and every other recruit. The same shall happen to you during the course of this joint training exercise and as you’re memorising them I want you to all to remember something. Every rule in this book was put in place to protect the humans from themselves, every rule was written in direct response to the horrors that they at some point in their history unleashed upon one another. And I want you all to realise how lucky the galaxy is that the humans are allowing us to be protected by their rules.” he said gravely before clapping his hands together. “Well, what are you waiting for? Get him to the infirmary before he bleeds to death! I don’t care if they end up amputating your foot, I expect you to be ready to start your training first thing tomorrow morning is that clear?” he said looking down at the injured Praxian. “Yes Sir.” Mendril said through gritted teeth. “Good. You’re all dismissed. I’ve got a date to get ready for.” he grinned.
The Run option during Trainer Battles is no longer a useless appendix to your menu like it used to be: now, this command is a universal Dodge mechanic, where for the next turn, your Pokemon has a highly incereased chance of dodging the enemy's attack. However, if used more than once, it keeps losing its effectiveness. It's basically like a universal, less reliable Protect. This would encourage the players to sometimes play a bit more defensively, to make use of multi-turn moves and status ailments, to wait for the enemy to mess up or wait for poison or burn to take hold. Still, because it's an accuracy-based mechanic, it wouldn't be perfect, since highly accurate or non-attacking moves can still hit you. Just an additional bit of strategy added to a command that was otherwise useless for literal decades
1.5 Alternatively, the Run option could be a forefeit option that basically does the same as if you lost the match, teleporting you back to the nearest PKMN Centre. Just a way to get a losing battle over with more quickly.
Battle animations and text popups are sped up even more than ever. The messages for super effective, not very effective, critical hits and any other effects will appear as little comic book-like graphics near the enemy. When weather or some other universal hazard is in play, the animations for the healthbars decereasing are fast, maybe even all lowering at once. When you use a buff or debuff, the energy animation plays alongside the move's own animation and the flavor text. Generally, the idea should be not to waste the player's time. Take some notes from how Persona 5 does it's UI, though of course its battle engine could never work for a Pokemon game.
3.At the beggining of a battle, when the trainers stand against each other, they can actually both choose which Pokemon they want to send out first in battle. The effects of Abilities dependant on the Pokemon being first in a party are still there, but the Trainer doesn't need to switch their party around every time a new enemy shows up.
If a Pokemon has lost all PP for a certain attack, they can use Struggle even when the other moves still have PP.
Certain damaging attacks have a hidden contextual prompt, where if the player presses A at the very moment that the animation has the attack connecting, it either raises accuracy and critical hit chance if you're the one attacking, or lowers it for the enemy if they're the ones attacking. This would be like a basic implementation of the Mario and Luigi-styled interactive combat, but here the QTE wouldn't fully determine the outcome of the move, only slightly affect its chances. This would make misses and critical hits feel more fair even if they still weren't. Plus, I remember doing this as a kid even though I knew it wouldn't do anything. This mechanic might also need to be banned or locked in competitive play.
Certain stat moves and non-attacking moves actually make a Pokemon easier to catch. Using Howl instead of Tackle will actually raise the catch rate a slight amount, up to a certain cap. Maybe it could even be determined by the type of Pokemon it is: if they're doggies, Growling helps, if it's birds then Leer helps etc. Maybe it could be that using the same move as the ones the Pokemon already has will make it friendlier? I'd def want to see something akin to a more non-violent persuasion method for catching Pokemon. Maybe some rare Pokemon would need specific moves and strategies to catch them? What if to catch a recycling-obsessed Pokemon, you needed to use Recycle, for example?
Introduce an item called the Ability Pill. It basically allows you to change a Pokemon's Ability into another one. In the lore, these wouldn't be illegal but heavily frowned upon by most people because they'd be basically you removing a Pokemon's individuality for the sake of combat performance. They'd be an option, but disencouraged for most players.
8.Rework Natures. Make it so that a Nature can only boost one of the three of a Pokemon's best stats, and lower one of three of their worst stats. If their stats are equal, then it would be randomized too. This would mean that Pokemon still have unique Natures, but they wouldn't be clashing with the Pokemon's existing stats.
To make Baby Pokemon have a purpose, have them be able to know useful moves which their fully evolved counterparts cannot learn. Eg. allow Pichu to learn Volt Tackle while Pikachu cannot.
Make TMs one-time use, but allow the player to refresh a TM at Pokemarts, for a small fee. I don't like the TMs being infinitely usable with no cost, it takes away interesting, tough choices, but all TMs being one-use is pretty annoying as well. So, a good compromise would be to have the TM have to be refreshed per use, with maybe the ability to buy multiple cartridges of a single TM. These refreshes should also be pretty expensive, so that a player has to think about what moves they want and need to buy. This would help with the overabundance of money the player gets in the modern games, too.
Allow for mid-combat evolution. Maybe even holding an evolution stone could trigger one. It would just be super cool to have your Pokemon evolve in a crucial moment during a battle and gain a new move that changes the tide of the battle. This idea is just straight out of the anime.
Have held items be shown on the Pokemon sprite/model. You could do it back in Black and White in Super Contests, you can do it now. Customization is a big thing for this series and being able to make your party look like their own unique people (or monsters) would be tantamount to you growing closer to them. This feature might also need to be banned for comp., although there's an argument for keeping it, too.
Wenn ich koche bleibt oftmals etwas übrig, das keine ganze Mahlzeit/Portion mehr ist sondern nur ein paar Löffel. Oder auch bei nicht gekochten Mahlzeiten: der angerissene Becher Creme Fraiche, die halbe Semmel, etc., vieles Angerissene verdirbt ja bevor man dazu kommt es zu verwenden. Was macht ihr mit solchen Resten? Meine bisherige Strategie "Ach was, passt noch rein!". Das ist einer der Faktoren die zu meinem Übergewicht geführt haben. Ich esse immer auf, ich leere Packungen immer. Da ich mich entschlossen endlich abzunehmen, gehört diese Gewohnheit jetzt eliminiert. Aber wohin dann mit den ganzen Miniresten? Regelmäßige Restemahlzeigen aus 4 verschiedenen nicht zusammenpassenden einzelnen Hapsen klingen nicht gerade verlockend. Zum Entsorgen finde ich Essensreste auch unfassbar ekelhaft: Ungeziefer, Gerüche, oft halbflüssige Komponenten... Ich verpacke das immer in Zeitung oder Küchenpapier und haue es in den Restmüll... würde aber gern vermeiden da zunehmend Lebensmittel in der Tonne zu haben, bin besorgt wegen Mäusen etc. Was ist ein vernünftiger Umgang mit Essensresten, wie vermeidet bzw verwendet ihr sie?
Issue 2: Billy Batson's Name Arc: A Boy Named Shazam Written by TreStormArt Edited by Adamantace and BoiledInk The sun is the ceiling for Kahndaq, the houses roofless. This country has fallen to filth, famine, and poverty in the ages since he was exiled beneath the earth. He'd left it in such foolish hands, if only he'd been harder on the boy… "The ground troops are well fed, King Osiris," a fat, hairy general points to an ornate soldier figure on a map table littered with them. "Have the survivors of the last hit turned on their water?" his golden crown contrasts his silver accents. "What survivors?" an older general chuckles to then wink at his colleagues. "Raise the local tax in the North, they seem too prosperous," Osiris was not pointing to any enemy's map. He was, in fact, pointing at Kahndaq. The candles are hushed out as the room gets dark and smoke slashes the air. The war council drops into tense tranquility. King Osiris finds himself above the rest of the room with his father's grip around his windpipe. "Boy, you'd dare starve my people?" His eyes glow and crackle as arcs of light streak through the room. A bright shadow looms over them all. "Ah. Welcome back, father," he squeezes his voice between that indomitable grip, twitching between fear, confusion, and anger. "You have some answering to do, boy," a rolling thunderous voice growls from his throat. Osiris flicks a bolt into his father's eye, triggering a boiling shout. Adam squeezes his son's neck and throws him through a well decorated wall. He rises in the smoke and rubble. They both are dressed in black. They both have metal bracers, boots, and the lightning symbol of the Wizard glowing with the power of Amon. Adam is shrouded beneath a tattered black hood. These two champions face each other; one golden elder, and one silver heir. "I see you've been abusing my greatest gift to you. Tell me, boy. How many hungry moons have risen in Kahndaq?" spheres of lightning spark to life and orbit him. "How many of our people died for your glory again?" The war room is evacuated. They scramble and shutter, whimpering and stumbling. They trip over themselves, their colleagues, their seats, and their wealth. Buzzing air chases them to the exit, where they find no reprieve. Doctor Sivana stares into them with a glowing eye. The general looks to him with a crazed indignation. "Stand aside!" "Stand down," as calm as ever. Lightning wraps around and lifts the general. It snakes through every crack and between the molecules he's made of. Flames consume and his screech is cut short as his throat shrivels and his muscles vibrate. Crumbling into a scorched corpse. A boom shatters everyone's ear drums as the champions clash. Warriors and kings of divine right smite one another with thunderous blows that threaten the architecture around them. Osiris has been King longer than anyone. He's worshipped and feared as a God. His plump generals shake in awe as their Godking is battered helplessly by an ancient shadow. A firm heel pinning a sore throat and Osiris raises his hands. "M-m-may I speak?" his breath fighting the pressure of a small mountain. "Squeeze out your wind, or address me properly." "S-sir…" "TRY HARDER!" the bark rattling the walls and floors; the pebbles beneath scattering as the floor develops cracks. "Your highness!" a desperate wheeze at most. "Who am I?" "Father…" the lights in his eyes fade a moment. "SAY IT!" "My King!" a final cry and a howling gasp as his father lifts the foot from his neck. To then kick the crown from his head. "You've proven unworthy. As long as you can keep yourself useful, you may keep your heart. Am I clear, boy?" his strut brings him to the symbol he once gave his son, and now has taken. He gently kneels and claims his crown once more. A fondness and an air of reverence clings to it. At last, with its true rest. "Doctor Sivana," the proper king of Kahndaq addresses his liberator. He's much more befitting of the golden crown. "Yes, your Highness?" his threatening stare locked on the creatures running this military state. "Assuming my idiot child hasn't found and desecrated it yet, there's a secret library with your name on it." His hand twirls in the direction of the ingrates. "Once this business is done, of course. I have no need for obese cowards in my military," he marches out of the room and down the gilded corridor, dragging Osiris behind him. The doctor closes his left eye as his right begins to crack sharply with jagged strands of light. The generals quiver. "A generous king is a good king. Long live Black Adam."
"You know what guys? I think I'll walk today," confused looks hover over bowls of cereal. Rosa pours milk into Darla's bowl, "And you won't be late?" "Nah, we usually show up pretty early," he shovels something colorful and sugary into his mouth. "Billy, I'm not comfortable with that, not in this neighborhood," Victor never sounds stern or upset but here, his laid back and goofy tone gives way to fatherly concern. "I'd like the exercise and I can't think of a better way to get used to Fawcett City," he forgot he was eating. "I'm sorry, but I agree with Vick, you don't know who's out there," Rosa kisses her husband's cheek. The car ride isn't fun. Everything feels too slow now. He feels too weak now. All it takes is one word to be a better Billy. Why ever change back? He shouldn't be stuck here. snapsnapsnap "It's Bill and Fred's unfocused adventure! You just spending some time in Neverland?" Freddy had been talking about something on the news, wait what was it? "I live there, man. What were we talking about?" "You gotta earn the we in that sentence. I wanted to know if you heard about the Red Strike from the news?" "The Red What now?" Why would people call him that? "That's a ridiculous name, what is it?" no more ridiculous than 'Shazam!'. "He's like red Superman with lightning powers. Saw him pick up an armored truck while it was being jacked." his crutches switch direction first, "See you later, check him out on ViewTube." They don't see each other again until lunch. Billy would be sitting comfortably in solitude if not for Freddy. He's going on about some team of younger heroes around their age. Doesn't sound possible, but nothing better to do than humor him. Someone steals a crutch. Snapping to his feet, Billy brings his nose to a tall blond kid, "Sit down, cripple crusader. This one's not worth protecting." "Try somethin'," a tone he had to learn in juvie grips him. The bully winds the crutch back, aiming for the head. The swing is interrupted by a fast series of solid jabs. Billy underestimated this guy, his hits didn't do much more than stun. crack His rib is met with a sturdy aluminum crutch. He doesn't stop there. He batters Billy with it for a few minutes, Freddy yelling all the while. He keeps trying to dodge but he's not fast enough. Teachers intervene. The bully laughs and Billy replies with a blood clot projectile. A golden ticket straight to the Dean's office. Photos of well behaved children mock the group sitting beneath them as a secretary answers the phone. Some pale bald kid with an ankle monitor leans over, "You smoke?" "You sellin' something?" Billy knows this type. Wannabe drug dealers who don't know what they're doing in life. This kid will be lucky to stay free-ish. "I got whatever you need. Name’s Lester," his hushed tone emphasizes the room they're in. "I'm good," Billy's seen what drugs can do, "and this might not be a great place to sell." The kid scoffs, "All my favorite customers come here." He's called in to speak to the Dean. Billy is tired of sitting here, "Ma'am, can I use the bathroom?" She lazily points to the door, her eyes don't lift from her computer. He doesn't hesitate. Out the door, through the halls, down the stairs, and into the parking lot. "SHAZAM!" He streaks down the road. The wind gently runs through his hair. He outruns cars, takes selfies with cyclists, and does a few big super jumps for the cameras. This is the true Billy. An old woman is trying to cross but none of the cars stop. Everyone stops for Shazam. She makes it across safely. A cat is in a tree and won't let itself be saved. Shazam can take care of that, and the cat dulls it's claws on his skin. He runs around town, helping anyone he can find. This is how he can feel important, alive, and in control. He runs into his first emergency as Shazam. Flames touch the sky, and push the clouds away as if to view the sun. There's a trickle of soot coated survivors stumbling out from dense smoke. He speeds down every hallway, through every door. He's not as fast as he thought and some people get injured. Everyone survives. Now to deal with the flames. The top level is the most engulfed so he goes there. First he takes a deep breath, swaying the fire toward him. There's isn't so much as a drop of sweat on his brow and he exhales a huge gust. The new rush of oxygen only feeds the inferno as it expands and spreads. Then he has an interesting idea. He sucks in all the air in the room. Most of the fire is pulled into his lungs and what isn't is snuffed as he drains the oxygen. Now, it's dangerous to exhale in the building. While he's trying to figure out how to breathe safely, a man with a flamethrower appears. "Looks like we got a cape in town," he seems oddly unconcerned. This guy's lucky Billy's mouth is full. He totally has a great comeback, for sure. His eyes stop darting around when he has a realization. "What's wrong freak? Too spicy?" his heart rate stays solid. A finger held high buys him a moment as he makes his way to the window. The frame creaks lose as he leans out, eyes to the clouds and releases his fire like a belching dragon. Wiping his mouth, "Buddy, you don't seem to know me. The attitude is cute, but you can drop the tough guy routine. It gets stale fast." The spark lights the tip of the nozzle and he hovers on the trigger, "Professional fucking comedian, huh? Some people got jobs, man. Get your tights outta mine!" "Does this gig come with dental benefits? Because you might need it soon." Billy stands, engulfed in flame for thirty seconds before he runs out of fuel. Shazam stands above him with the empty weapon in hand before the thirty-first second. The blood pressure doesn't spike. Nothing changed. This guy is too calm. "Remarkably chill for an arsonist whose fire got burped out," Billy mastered the smug grin in elementary school. It's the kind of grin he's seen on every bully since kindergarten. The offender bolts for the stairs only to find a hand on his chest, "You can't outrun this." He pulls a gun. A moment of scared confusion, Billy's only seen a few guns and they always brought horror with them. His hands rise. "Let's not do anything we'll re-" BOOM The arsonist's ears ring as he realizes the bullet was caught. The gun was snatched. Billy is holding him up by the collar, not ready for more nonsense. Yet he is still too calm. The police, the press, and firefighters arrive as Shazam drags the fiend from the singed building. He's surrounded by guns, cameras, and stunned faces. He wears his brightest smile, and lifts a gentle hand, "The Fawcett City Police Department is going to find some compelling evidence on the fifth floor, that this is our arsonist!" cameras flash and guns cock. "Sir this is a Police matter, you're not allowed to-" "What gave you the courage to-" "Stand down! Get down on the ground!" "Now, I'm not an officer, so obviously I can only place this man under um, citizen's arrest." "Pal, we gotta bring you in for qu-" "Did you breathe fire up there?" "W-w-well uh technically, but it was the flames from the hallway, not um, not like internal." "Does the hero of Fawcett City have a name?" "Sha-" wait, he can't, he'll reveal himself. What's the name? Think fast, Billy, what's your name? "Shucks, ma'am. I'm uhh, just a concerned citizen, passing by." "Are you here to stop crime, or mostly just the small stuff you've been doing?" "I'm…. I uh, I'm just trying to help, is all…." The questions choke him as the authorities collect one George Tweedle from him. They're intimidated, hateful glares would've added to Billy's confidence moments ago, but the flood of curiosity seemingly transforms him into a kid again. He's drowning. He can't swim. Run. "Okay, welp, I've done what I can today, okay, buh-bye, y'all uh, y'all take care, stay safe, bye!!" Before an officer can take him for questioning he rockets down the street.
"Everyone is baffled here, as our very own, nameless hero shoots down the street, probably to save another life. That's all for me, back to you," the television clicks off. Freddy hobbles to the door as thunder claps outside. As the lights flicker, the door swings open to find Billy. Freeze, "Oh… Hey, Freddy," it's a cold night, but he's sweating. "We need to talk out here real quick," he closes the door like a whisper and plops down on a porch swing. Billy hesitates, "Um… what's up?" "Thank you, for standing up for me at lunch." "No issue, that guy sucked." "You know what? After that, while you were in the dean's office, I swear lightning struck in the parking lot. Isn't that insane? Definitely didn't see any rain," his gaze breaches Billy's thoughts, seizing his secrets and clenching a fist around them. "I thought I heard, like a gunshot or something," he takes a seat. "Nope, saw the bolt. Saw someone running too but I wasn't sure. Until I just heard thunder again. Had Eugene look into some articles and reports online. This red lightning guy was seen a lot today, but only between those two cracks of thunder." "I don't know wh-" "I actually had him look into every sighting, he wasn't suspicious because this isn't weird for me to ask, but the sightings go all the way back to the day after you came here." "That sounds accusat-" "I need an honest answer, I swear I'll keep my big trap locked tight on this, my new brother is a frickin' superhero?!" he has a strange hushed yell of energy. "I hate to pop that little geek bubble, but he's like 30…" "Dude. Magic exists. I heard Wonder Woman had a rope that won't let you lie AND a frickin' invisible plane. Anything is possible, especially since Coast City," his smile is the only steady part of him. Damn it… Not a mean cell in this kid. Or maybe he’s a great actor, “ Yeah, man…” he lets out the smallest mutter. “I didn’t catch that, Lightning Lad.” “SHUSH! Geez, less discreet than Darla…” A whisper about the volume of a normal speaking voice travels a distance of twelve inches, “Why would we be discreet? You’re the thundering dumbass, are you?” “I’ll step on you dude, yes I’m…” he still doesn’t have a name that doesn’t summon lightning. “You know, when you’re put on the spot, your eyes dart in like a zigzag pattern.” “No, I improvise,” his gaze jumps to the side looking for a better line. “When you lie you shutter a little.” “Why are you analysing me, man?” “I study your kind, for I shall one day become the greatest villain this world has yet seen!” he abandons the hushed tone. “It’s rude.” “You analyse everyone you meet. I’m just better at it,” he grabs his crutches and heads to the door, “Oh, and by the way: you’re super grounded.” When Billy gets to his room, Victor is waiting at the door, “What’s up, bud? How was your evening? Do anything interesting at all?” “I guess I’ll tackle those one by one,” people seem to get annoyed by the truth, “Darla’s general excitement. Not too bad, pretty tuckered out. I did do interesting things, like getting a cat out of a tree, and helping an old lady cross the street.” “Ok, smart ass, why’d you start a fight and ditch school? Come on, you know that’s not okay.” “He was bullying Freddy, he swung first. He got what we asked for.” “Wait, he hit you?” “Yeah, like twenty times. I hocked a bloody loogie down his throat.” “God, DAMN! Brutal, kid. Screw it, I got your back on that. Freddy said that earlier but he always says crazy shit. You’re still grounded for ditching, but I doubt Rosa will even be mad. Dinner in thirty,” he pats Billy’s shoulder on his way down the hall. Freddy pokes his head out of the dark bathroom, “What the hell? Do I say crazy shit?” “Constantly.”
He doesn’t change out of his pajamas when he slips out the window at an abyssal hour. Sprinting about a block before he yells, “SHAZAM!” He shoots down the road and leaps to the peak of a crazy tall ComVast building. He scans the city from a thousand feet up, and sees a swerving mack truck. A jump from the tower causes a knotted stomach but the broken asphalt feels almost cushiony. He runs ahead of the truck and sees a car about to cross it’s path. Grabs the back bumper and forces the car past the truck just in time to catch it to the back. Yanked beneath the wheels and snags the front axle, dragging his chest and knees on the ground. He kicks up to his feet, shattering a long line of road until he stops. Trying his best to set it down gently, the truck tips to the right. It teeters on four tires till Shazam can get to the other side. It lands on eight wheels with a bounce that jolts the sleeping driver awake. The bottle drops. Billy reaches in, snatches the key from the ignition, and tosses it down the street, “Come on man, this would be bad even if this wasn’t the biggest truck ever.” He runs down every street. Nothing makes you feel more alive than one hundred miles per hour with wind in your hair. He does take a fly to the face, which is like a brick at this speed. Is that a crowbar? He halts in the middle of the street staring at a group quietly wrenching the door of a drug store, “Evening, losers!” They jolt. A split second of shock. One of them bounces off the wall and another finds himself across the street. He spends the next thirty seconds locking them in their own van. He makes an anonymous report with one of their phones and a speeding car shoots by. Someone's in a rush, maybe he should stop them and ask them to drive safely. Six squad cars follow half a block behind. He wastes no time approaching the license plate. The driver luckily has chosen to drive straight, which is certainly less annoying. He sprints to the driver's side and knocks on the window. The annoyed bald guy rolls the window down, "What's up man?" What is going on with these nonchalant criminals? "You're like twenty miles over, dude. This is a residential area." "Oh, I'm sorry. Here, I'll just drop it into second gear," he reaches over and puts a revolver in Billy's mouth and fires. Hot lead bounces between his teeth and he spits it into the front tire. The large driver tries to intimidate the vehicle into driving correctly despite its injury. It swerves into Shazam and like a hammer to the knee, there's a destructive reflex. The fiberglass box with people in it careens into a local deli. All this power. All the good intentions. All the snark and smug sense of satisfaction in the world can't stop you from being a dumb kid, playing fast and loose with the lives of others. It finally dawns on Billy the level of importance he's stumbled into. No grand wizardly lecture can teach the gravity of strength better than a mistake. He pulls the criminals from the wreck, tears welling up in his eyes. One tries to fight him. One isn't responding. One doesn't have a pulse. Going to administer CPR the thought lands. He doesn't know his own strength. The only way to make this any worse would be pushing someone's rib cage to tiny pieces. "Freeze!" he's frozen alright, "Hands up!" He doesn't know what to do, so he defaults to a tactic that always works when he's scared, alone, and confused. He just runs away.
Billy is in a tree in the park in his pajamas, shaking and crying. It's cold, he's drained, and it's 2am. He's not Superman, or the Flash, or anything like that. He's never been a hero. He'll never be a hero. Unless the police did their job well, he killed someone. It's very possible he took a father from this world. This was all a stupid farce. He transforms long enough to get home. He sits on the porch swing for an hour. Tears dry and he switches from freezing to numbness. The hour gets even hazier as the sky gets deeper. Victor pokes his head out. "Hey, bud. You doin' alright? It's almost morning. You're kinda just sittin' in the dark out here." "This was supposed to be my chance…" He's a statue. "Clarification needed." "This was my shot to be good... or better at least." Victor kneels, bringing his huge stature down to meet Billy eye to eye, "You will be a good man, and you never get just one shot to be better. You don't become good, you choose every single day to do good. You're young, this is your chance to make mistakes and learn from them." Billy searches within himself a moment and locks eyes with his foster father, "I can't think of a way to argue or even mock that." "Billy I've only known you for a few weeks, but I'm certain you'll think of a way to mock my advice about two minutes after I go back to bed," he heads inside, "Don't stay out here, you'll catch a cold."
"I have a big aptitude!" Her energy level is consistently comparable to nuclear fusion. "Darla, aptitude doesn't refer to size, you know how you are so good at drawing?" Mary was probably a big sister way before she ended up here. "I'm okay I guess…" "Shut up, silly. You have an aptitude for illustration, but saying you have a large aptitude is functionally meaningless." "You are a aptitude for judgey-ness." "'Have an', not 'are a', but grammar aside, I think you got it." Eugene and Pedro stroll into the dining room, "So then, the guy crashed a big spaceship into another spaceship!" "Cool." "This a book or a game, Eugene?" Rosa sets plates of French toast and eggs in front of the girls. "A trailer for a new game next year, Pedro won't get freaking excited!" She shoots back, “Pedro, get excited! If Eugene gets straight A’s, he might get a cool game.” "It's not the same dev team from the first game, the publisher is usually cruel to their fanbase, and the graphics actually look worse than the first one." "The first one was in 2010!" Eugene feels a disrespectful jab to the new consoles. "Yeah," Pedro slides a chair out and sits. Mary lifts her head from her sister's assignment, "What kind of business strategy is 'make fans hate me'? Like, just do stuff you know your customers are into, and you get more customers. Simple." Victor and Freddy show up with a couple more plates. The huge bro of a man mumbles, "The stupid kind." Fred sets himself down and starts eating, "Pedro is right, what's cheap isn't always popular, and it's cheaper to dissolve a small development company, cut everyone's pay and scatter them to larger teams to work on a bunch of games. In that environment, passion can't thrive and you're a cog in a money printing press." Eugene seems to remember a beautiful thing, "Indie all the way." They all yell, "Indie all the way!" "Chicanery!" Darla likes some of these new words. "I'll check that off too," Mary's smirk has the power to fill the home with satisfaction. Billy shuffles to his chair, where Victor has already set a plate. He's pale, and his eyes are half closed. Victor places a cup of steamy, tan, sweet joe next to Billy's plate. "Baby, he's half your size, he's not drinking the same kind of coffee as you," Rosa lifts her eyebrow to her hairline, "¡No puede soportarlo!" "He had some trouble sleeping last night, hun, trust me." "Thanks, I'm a coffee fan already," he takes a gulp that nearly chokes him to death. Then, a second that was just too hot. His poker face, in his mind, impenetrable. Everyone else disagrees. "Marvelous!" "That one needs work, it's just coffee." "Y'all hear about that red lightning dude, last night?" Freddy chimes between chews. "Precocious!" "What?" Victor with an air of genuine confusion. "Don't worry, this context doesn't fit," she goes back to Darla's vocabulary sheet. Eugene grabs his phone, "He stopped a car from getting flattened." "He killed a guy last night," Rosa seems sad with her tea raised, ready for refreshment. Billy shrinks into his breakfast. They all begin, laughing and telling rumors and stories the internet has conjured in only a few hours. Apparently, he was witnessed fighting Hal Jordan over the city last night. Not to mention his super secret one on one with Superman. Apparently Shazam did a ton of things he doesn't remember, like punching a meteor out of the sky, riding a dinosaur, and eating dinner with the 'president'. Freddy finally, "I honestly don't think most of that stuff is true though." "He still killed a guy," Rosa says plainly. She sections off her remaining toast. "Accidents happen, people die in those situations. It isn't one person's fault," Pedro remains empathetic at the worst of times. "The super people need to be held to a higher standard, man. Normal firefighters have to consider their own safety," Victor's mouth is full. “God, Victor. You sound like Victoria Cale on the debate last night,” Freddy rolls his eyes. Billy looks up from his plate for the first time during this meal, "He's just a guy. People make mistakes." "He's a super guy. If you possess the physical capability to do better, I expect you to do better," Mary always thinks she knows best. "He's pretty new as far as anyone can tell, the guy doesn't even have a name to give," Freddy is a persuasive guy, maybe he can sway the consensus. "Manslaughter is a crime. He is not an official civil servant, he’s not Justice Legion, so he either can't intervene, or can't let anyone get hurt," Mary shifts her focus to a book of her own. Billy quietly leaves the table and sits in the living room. The family exchanges worried glances. Freddy pulls himself along to sit with Billy, and he turns the television on. "Last thing I remember was choking on smoke, then suddenly my whole family was outside. I don't know your name, but whoever you are, thank you so much!" she smiles and waves as the camera cuts back to the anchors. "Just another touching account from another Fawcett citizen helped by our local hero. Mayor Morris has called a press conference early this morning, addressing a high speed pursuit in the dead of the night. I'll let him speak on the matter further." A thumb of a man with a snow capped scalp, pencil thin white mustache, and round frames addresses the public, "Last night at approximately 1:30 am. our finest were in pursuit with a small group of criminals through a residential neighborhood. This new, powerful face of this great Fawcett City decided our men and women in blue need not risk their lives to stop this high speed vehicle, and he intervened himself. “He ran them down on foot and was witnessed attempting to calmly persuade them to comply, when they popped a tire and rammed him. They rebounded off of him and into a local deli, the repairs of which will be covered by the city. He pulled them from the wreck but unfortunately, one culprit did not survive. Unfortunate because he can never see justice for his crimes, as he had chosen to spend last night robbing the people of this city." He turns to a stern man in his early thirties. His uniform is adorned in medals, and his left arm is missing. "My advisor here, Lance Corporal Reid holds the belief that this man is an unknown element. He thinks, regardless of his recent efforts, we should prosecute him for vigilante justice and manslaughter, despite his apprehension of the Fiend, George Tweedle. I personally believe this incident is heavily overshadowed by the lives he's saved. If he is willing to meet with me on this stage at noon tomorrow, he will be pardoned of all potential charges, and he'll receive my seal of approval to administer fair justice so that the people of this city can feel safer than ever!" The crowd cheers as reporters shout questions and don't get answers. The camera cuts back. "A marvelous move from the mayor shows he's willing to give his position as the most powerful man in the city up for the sake of our safety, I'm Eleanor Lang with Whiz News, and up next is weathe-" The picture goes dark as Freddy turns to Billy, "Someone just became the new face of Morris' reelection campaign next year." "Let me think, dude." "Aye aye, Captain!" Freddy's eyes go wide, "I just thought of the best name for you." "I swear if it's something lame like 'Shockwave' or 'Crackler' I'm gonna hide your crutches while you sleep." "It's lame in a good way. Let’s say your brand is hope and inspiration-" "What are you my PR manager?" "Yes. I just thought of something cheesy, yet strong and inspiring." "Spit it out." "Captain Marvel." "That's gonna be a fresh no from me, chief."
He shuffles through the yard. The gangs here all seem to segregate by skin tone. The chain link enclosure is filled with mildly suspicious activity in every corner. George pays no one any mind until a short, sagging, Hispanic man covered in tattoos jogs up. "Hola, pescado! Two cheeks and a hole for a pack of cigarettes, sound fun?" "Fuck off," he shoves the man away. "¡Eso fue un jodidamente bueno, gringo ingrato!" he gets in George's face, shouting and leering. The Fiend smacks him with his cranium and knees his stomach. As he coughs on the ground, two groups of large men rush at him. One group is Hispanic, the other is Caucasian, and apart from that there's little difference. As a fight breaks out George finds himself with an old man walking to a table filled with Nazis, "Kid, you haven't been to the House yet, but Fernando is not a spick worth hittin'. He blows half of these guys, including guards. Next time, he might do it for a favor. One that gets you killed. It's difficult, but some of the lesser beings are worth avoiding, or at least skipping on cruelty." "You my contact?" "Indeed, Mr. Fiend. I own this joint, and my name is Mr. Phoul. You will address me accordingly," his words have a slight Gotham accent on them, "Welcome to the House of Corrections branch of the American Supremacist Party."
The Adventure Continues in the Next Issue: Banjo and the Boys - Coming November 4th
Just tryna learn bc my crush like chess lol (tips for learning plz)
She’s a lot into chess , and she’s really good , Leering is something I have always wanted to do but I always putted it off Bc people told me”you are so smart you must love chess” But I never found the time, it is hard to learn and slow Nit like cubing that you see you are making progress But now I have a motive ,might as well give it a try So any clue for learning and getting better ? (Ik the rules just not the strategy’s ) Or just straight up practice?
Lenora is known for being beyond difficult for Nuzlockes and sadly my run found the same fate. Titan the Servine, was going to power up against her Herdier and easily take it out. The fight was close and required both of us healing our Pokémon. However, the RNG fell into Lenora's hand when her Herdier landed a critical Take Down upon Titan, leading to our first loss. I sent in Zappy, who avenged his friend's death by speeding up in flames to take our her first Pokémon. I knew that Lenora was going to send out her Watchog, so I swapped out Zappy to Max. Max intimidated her Watchog and took the Retaliate head on. Max lived and was sadly then put to sleep with Hypnosis. I then swapped in Zappy to paralyze the rodent, but the rodent was faster and landed another Hypnosis. I was frustrated and switched to the main wall, Audio. He growled and growled, tanking every hit Lenora could dish out. Sadly, he too fell asleep when Watchog landed another Hypnosis. This battle eventually dragged on and on to where Watchog was likely around -5 Attack, due to me switching in Herdier and Growling him with Audio, when he was awake. Eventually, she missed a Hypnosis, which allowed for Zappy to paralyze her demon. We then took it out with Zappy's quick charge in flames. We won our badge, avenged Titan's death, and prepared to assist this woman in getting her Dragon Skull back. After trailing Team Plasma, we found ourselves a new team mate in Frogger, the Tympole. He was a pain to catch and almost took out a few of us out. He was welcomed with open arms, but sadly for Tigris she was boxed. We knocked out the rest of the trainers outside the Forest in our quest to find the people who stole the skull, but sadly we only found innocent bystanders. So we healed up with a nurse and traveled into the forest. There we found Quilts the Cottonee, who was greeted by Tigris in the PC box. We beat down Plasma and the Rangers in the forest to help Lenora and show our talent to Burgh, our next challenge. In Castelia, we were able to get Quilts out of the box and train him up a bit. He was deemed worthy of a miracle seed and seemed tanky, as Titan. From getting a dance troop back together, being startled by a man in an alleyway and getting Bianca's Munna back, the team became quite close. We were able to get Countessa a massage, which she loved and soon evolved into a Swoobat. With the well rounded team, I devised a strategy to use Countessa, Zappy, and Frogger in the upcoming battle. We got everyone, but Quilts and Tigris trained up to level 20, with our three main counters up to level 21. However, the fates would hit us hard again. While we dove head first into sticky honey doors, we found a clown worse than IT. This clown's Dwebble decided to take out Frogger with a critical hit rock blast. Not only did I loose by guarantee Dwebble counter, I lost my future counter to Elesa. The team had to regroup and Audio decided to lead the charge in the fight. Audio had just learned Nature Power and with his bulk, the move work up, and his ability to regain health we all believed he would be able to help take down Burgh's first two Pokémon. Audio did great work against Whirlipede, but Dwebble's rock typing proved tough compared to our +3 Work Ups. Not only did Dwebble combat our attack, but Whirlipede's Leer allowed Dwebble to crit Audio from more than 80% HP with a Smack Down. With that, Zappy came in to help defeat Dwebble in a long and grueling battle. Eventually Countessa stepped in and cut through both the Dwebble and Leavanny with her Scope Len's Air Cutter. We returned to the Pokémon Center to heal up and get our team back up to full. We knew about challenging Bianca, which I believed would be an easy morale boost for the team. I was mistaken. Her Herdier was not problem and fell easily. Her Dewott came out and Quilts was able to seed it as it went for Focus Energy. I took the opportunity for a growth, while she aimed a Razor Shell, cutting Quilts defense. The next turn, Bianca critically hit my Quilts and he laid on the floor lifeless. I was enraged at myself and utterly crushed. Zappy came in to take down the Dewott, but it would not bring back Quilts from my foolishness. Bianca was hard on herself for her loss, despite killing my Pokémon. I healed up the team and went out to find a familiar figure on Route 4. I avoided contact directly and stumbled upon my new friend Juicy, the Scraggy. She joined the team instantly and soon after Tigris was able to level up into a Liepard. After making our way back to the route, I realized that figure was Cheren and I was nervous to fight him. The team boosted my confidence and we smoked him easily with our great moves. From there I decided to explore the Desert Ruins and the large Castle there. These two areas gifted me Cleopatra the Sandile, who I was elated by, and Rosa the Yamask. I know had a full team again and a counter to Elesa. I also met a traveler with a Cover Fossil, which I was able to revive at Lenora's to gain Ripple the Tirtouga. Sadly during our training session to combat Elesa and any other challenges that come our way in Nimbassa City, two different encounters with what I assume to be the same damn Darumaka took out Zappy and Cleopatra. I lost my two counters to the next gym. I am sore from these wounds and I am looking at the team to figure out a strategy for any shenanigans that exist in Nimbassa City. Any tips or tricks will be much appreciated. The current team is in the second image, all level 24 except for Ripple. Til next time, keep the team in your thoughts. The team right after Burgh. The current team as we arrive in Nimbassa City. Everyone is level 24, except for Ripple.
OUR STEELED SOULS ‘Anger’s my meat; I sup upon myself, and so shall starve with feeding.’ I Judicar Kell’s helm contorted grotesquely, the ceremonial skull-plate warping as green light overwhelmed the sensors. For a moment he was blind, his skin prickling painfully where hot ceramite pressed. Where metal met augmetics, there was no feeling at all. Kell did not pause to wrestle with his wargear. He did not slow, nor did his measured pace increase. Though his optics were shorted, the awareness of the battle-brothers at his side remained. He walked on. That was how wars were won. From the time of the phalanx on ancient Terran battlefields. To the march of god-machines on worlds at the galaxy’s edge. To the grim darkness of the far future - and beyond. Step by step. The roar of bolters entwined with the sinister hiss of gauss flayers. Neither the advancing strike force of Iron Hands nor the Necron warrior-constructs guarding Objective Kappa-Mu-Eighteen were hurried as they engaged. Machine-spirits in Imperial weapons and armour fed target data to their transhuman wielders, warring against the implacable xenos. Rather than a clash of spirit and skill, the engagement resembled a tactical simulation between opposing cogitators rather than rival civilisations. Where did that put a man who was sworn to safeguard the souls of his fellows? Was there room in the hard calculus of war for that consideration? The Primarch had believed so. And though the Iron Hands had spent ten thousand years shriving themselves of all they considered weakness, their souls had remained. That was, perhaps, the only difference between the two forces. But it was a crucial one. Static crackled across Kell’s vision and a deep thrum shuddered through his wargear as power rerouted around damaged pathways. In a moment, he had a hazy, washed-out picture of the battlefield, as though seeing through a thick fog. A moment beyond that, proper threat-assessment data and fire matrices, added and sequenced within the strike team’s collective. ‘Are you hit, Judicar?’ came the flat voice of Sergeant Maun over the vox. ‘Combat inload was reduced.’ ‘A glancing blow,’ Kell replied, using his own voice rather than a binaric shunt or acknowledgement rune to prove it. ‘Blisters at worst.’ ‘The flesh is weak.’ A note of disapproval. Maun was Firstborn - heavily augmented, long-indoctrinated in Medusa’s creed, and a survivor of Clan Borggos’ purges. ‘Your recovery time is beyond acceptable parameters. Remember your duty.’ Though the chastisement was deserved, it stung. Weakness was abhorrent on harsh Medusa, was rightfully mocked by all among the Iron Hands. A Judicar embodied that disdain for mortal trivialities such as pain or mortal wounds. Kell’s position demanded that he stood at the forefront of every attack, to disdain the weapons of their foes and inspire his brothers by example. To deliver contemptuous death to the greatest of enemies, to strike down their champions and spark fear in their hearts. For a moment, Kell saw himself through the veteran Sergeant’s eyes. The heavy robes over menacing black armour, the single white hand of their Chapter emblazoned on one pauldron. The mangled faceplate. The burning embers of shattered helm-lenses. A vision of strength outside - but hesitant within. In step, but not ahead. One of many. A cog. Replaceable. ‘When the mind hesitates, overcome it,’ Maun growled, his bolter roaring, Necron Warriors collapsing as mass-reactives shattered their skeletal forms. ‘When the body fails, replace it.’ His meaning was obvious, his recitation of the Iron Creed perfect. But there was a reason Kell wore the black and Maun did not. ‘Only the spirit is pure,’ the Judicar replied and broke step with his battle-brothers, executioner’s blade snarling from its sheath. The thick, flat-headed sword should have been wielded in a twin grip, by rights, but the bionic augmentation that was every Iron Hand’s birthright enabled the Judicar to leave his other arm free. Chained to it was the mystic tempormortis, an arcane device wrought in the shape of an hourglass that stole time itself from any who dared confront the wielder in close combat. As expected, several xenos swung their heavy gauss flayers towards the Judicar, responding to ancient combat protocols. A target of opportunity dictated their attention. In doing so, their relentless barrage faltered for a moment, a second, the merest tick of the chrono. No cogitation was instant. The Iron Hands made them pay for that inefficiency with precision fire. Kell watched the Necron warriors’ formation waver, a rippling of indecision as significant holes appeared in their ranks. Engrammic errors were further compounded by increasing complexity, ceaselessly updated as more constructs fell. A hot surge of pride gripped his machine-clad hearts, a searing warmth that pumped through his enhanced system like combat-stims. He could see his own twisted visage reflected countless times in the coruscating necrodermis bodies before him. The eerily humanoid skulls turned towards him, their empty sockets tracking his approach, exposed vertebrae clicking, rotating, bringing their alien weapons to bear. Slowly. Too slowly. The Judicar was inside their firing arc, close enough that the arcane grip of the tempormortis seized them. Zone Mortalis. The place where all calculations converged in victory. There was no activation stud. No trigger to set chainblades a-whirl. The executioner blade was a relic of finer ages, forged with all the skill and steel-lore that Medusan artificers possessed. For millennia the art of making such weapons had been forgotten, buried with Ferrus beneath the bloodied sands of Isstvan. It had returned with the Primaris. It had been entrusted to their hands. Kell pivoted as he swung the sword, a one-handed arc that cleaved through four Necron constructs. Few edges were sharper than those forged on Medusa. Alien metal parted. Cabling and viscous liquids spilt out along with a musty, crypt-stale exhalation of air. He could not help but think of it as a last breath, held in for countless aeons, now freed. For a moment he stood alone amongst the dead-eyed constructs. A moment that was the space between the twin beat of his hearts. The fire-line had scored dozens of kills as it advanced. But it was his blade that struck first. His black boots already stepping up and over the twitching xeno corpses. Remember your duty. Pride had been Manus’ undoing. It had been pricked, wounded, tarnished by association. It had flogged the Primarch forward, running beyond his supply lines and tactical briefings to be the first to strike against the new-made Traitors. Had the great Father felt as Kell did now? Righteous? Invincible? Ready to prove himself finally, irrevocably loyal? And how had Ferrus felt with his beloved brother’s sword at his neck, alone amidst enemies, knowing that pride had sealed his fate? Servos groaned and gears crunched as Kell checked his momentum hard, setting his feet in a wide stance. He brought the executioner’s blade across in a back-handed slash that sent a leering necrodermis skull flying. Nothing entered that circle guarded by steel. The Judicar hewed grasping limbs and charging weapons, but even transhuman reflexes could not guard against every angle, and for that moment he was alone. Then he was not. The Iron Hands crashed into the staggered Necron line like a great beast of ceramite. They struck as one. Heavy bolters spat at point-blank range. Power axes carved through unliving flesh. Mechadendrites whirled, displaying a fiendish array of saws and ripper-weapons. A mortal opponent would have broken, but the Necron warriors lacked even the most basic of self-preservation instincts. Something deeper in the complex did not - a paltry few chassis flickered and vanished, stolen away by alien technology for repair - but the vast majority remained where they fell. Maun clanked to the Judicar’s side. The Sergeant’s bulk was further filled out by heavy augmetics and additions to his Firstborn plate, thickening the already-sturdy armour to near-Terminator proportions. A lesser Marine would have groaned under the weight, but the Sergeant was more bionic than flesh, more kin to a power loader than a human being. He flattened a downed warrior chassis underfoot as he came to rest. ‘An illogical defence,’ the vox hissed with Maun’s voice. ‘The xenos cannot recover and repair per usual strategy. To deploy them on this neutral ground rather than their lair is wasteful.’ Kell nodded in response. Few Iron Hands bothered with body language and rarely acknowledged it from others. ‘Agreed. It indicates a larger garrison than we anticipated.’ ‘Or desperation.’ ‘A pointless diversion, Sergeant. They know well that the Imperium is drawn on by these skirmishes.’ ‘Their leadership may be irrational. It is precedented.’ Ignoring the tinny note of smugness in the Sergeant’s monotone, Kell sheathed his blade. ‘How fare the Guard and Skitarii?’ Normally, he would have called up the interlink and studied the tactical overlay himself, but his buckled helm struggled enough with simple visual display. Until it was sanctified and the machine-spirit appeased, he would not risk the wargear. Maun shuddered, silent for several seconds as his onboard cogitator collated theatre-scale data. ‘Little resistance,’ he replied. ‘Dead ends. The mountain is replete with them.’ ‘Not this one, though.’ ‘The probability is low.’ There was a strange feeling below Kell’s stomach as he looked up at the vast blackstone arch that had been sheltered by ingenious rock. If local shepherds had not stumbled on it by pure accident, the mythological ‘silver ghosts’ would have remained rumour and legend. If the Necron response had been more violent, more sudden, then the truth would never have reached the wider Imperium. The Space Marines would not have been summoned to purge a xenos infestation with blade and bolter. The Judicar did not believe in coincidence. Nor did he believe, as some did, that all was according to the Omnissiah’s schema, a vast design of ineffable nature. Chance was real, as was opportunity. Success relied on making good use of both. Rumbling ground announced the arrival of the first Rhino transports. Laden with armaments rather than reinforcements, the vehicle’s machine-spirit growled a greeting to its transhuman masters. The deployment ramp dropped. In calculus-defined order, Iron Hands began to hand out sickle magazines for bolters, fresh belts for chainswords, and common battlefield spares to patch damaged armour. The foe was in disarray, acting foolishly. Whether shocked by the sudden brutality of the Astartes assault or wracked by deeper malady, Kell neither knew or cared. The time was now. ‘We press on, brother-sergeant. Look to your wargear.’ A grinding cough issued from the grille-faced front of Maun’s armour. It could have been a laugh - if the old veteran was even capable of such a thing. ‘Compliance.’ The Sergeant turned away to the arriving vehicles, looking for fresh ammunition. Kell raised a hand to feel at the damage done to his helm. It had held, thankfully, but the tortured metal dug into the flesh of his face. Uncomfortable, though not painful, it did not even rank as a superficial concern. Let the enemy look upon what it had wrought, and how he endured their worst. Let his brothers see his resolve - and his disdain for the flesh’s weakness. ‘With steel, we are stronger,’ the Judicar murmured, letting Iron Father Stronos’ words rally him. ‘But without the soul we are nothing.’ The xenos would know the strength of both before this day was done. If you enjoy my work, you can find more over on AO3 if you're so inclined.
Koepelgevangenis Holland en Operatie Inpolderen. Zou het niet beter zijn om Nederland nu volledig op slot te gooien tot het virus vrijwel weg is en daarna met grootste maatregelen het virus in te dammen en buiten houden?
Bas J. Cornelissen - Abcoude - 29/03/2020 1) Wat ik begrijp van alles wat ik over dit virus leer, is dat het meest effectieve om een virus te bestrijden het indammen van de gevallen is (hier bijvoorbeeld meerdere interessante simulaties). Helaas is dat indammen niet gelukt in Nederland en nu is het plan blijkbaar het virus gewoon rond te laten gaan onder een groot deel van de bevolking. Dat betekent dat we maandenlang zware maatregelen houden om de besmettingsgraad laag genoeg te houden dat de zorg het aan blijft kunnen. Het gevolg hiervan is een enorme klap voor talloze bedrijven die maandenlang amper inkomsten zullen zien. Nederlands zullen tijden lang geen feestjes mogen geven of bij een ouder familielid op bezoek kunnen komen. De schade aan de economie, het geluk en bovenal de gezondheid zal enorm zijn. 2) Laten we er bijvoorbeeld even van uitgaan dat 60% van de Nederlanders de ziekte krijgt en dat 0,5% daaraan overlijdt en 5% blijvende schade overhoud/in het ziekenhuis moet worden opgenomen/hulp nodig heeft terwijl ze ziek zijn. Dan betekent zo'n 50.000 dodelijke slachtoffers en zo'n 500.000 mensen in die laatste categorie. In 2018 overleden er ongeveer 150.000 mensen. Late het dus duidelijk zijn dat dit immense aantallen zijn. Het betekent ook dat we meneer Jansen van 70 met astma die zonder corona de 80 waarschijnlijk zou halen nu min of meer een doodvonnis geven. 3) Stel dat we om dat te voorkomen willen kijken of we terug kunnen naar de eerdere situatie waarbij we gaan voor maar enkele besmettingen, maar waar we nu wel heel bewust van zijn. De situatie waarbij het land functioneert als normaal, op de paar individuele brandhaarden na. Stel dat we om dat voor elkaar te krijgen nu een korte, tijdelijke periode ingaan waarin er keiharde maatregelen zijn die veel schade zullen doen en echt niet leuk zullen zijn, maar waarna we wel kunnen zeggen: dat was dat.
4) Stel dat we nu het virus besluiten in te dammen door Nederland tijdelijk in een hermetische lockdown te gooien. Dat houdt in: niet meer naar buiten voor sociaal contact met wie dan ook, boodschappen krijg je thuisbezorgd, alleen nog naar buiten voor een essentieel doktersbezoek of omdat je in een cruciale beroepsgroep werkt, misschien een uitzondering voor de uitvaartplechtigheid van een geliefde, maar daarnaast alleen als je om een van die redenen die dag nog niet buiten bent geweest dat je iets van 5 minuten even een ommetje mag lopen. 5) Dat betekent dus ook dat als je de serverruimte beheert van een webshop, fietsen maakt, rollators distribueert, (niet acute) wegwerkzaamheden verricht, beleidsmaker bent of parkeerbonnen uitschrijft je niet de deur uit mag. Alleen de mensen die echt essentieel werk hebben en bijvoorbeeld mondmaskers maken mogen nog naar buiten voor werk. 6) Daarnaast moet iedereen die samen in een woning zit verplicht speeksel uitwisselen. Op deze manier voorkom je dat mensen in een woning 1 voor 1 elkaar besmetten en aan het einde van de lockdown toch besmettelijk zijn. Dit zal dus juist leiden tot meer besmettingen, maar er komen minder besmettingen door de lockdown, waardoor uiteindelijk de zorg het aan zou moeten kunnen. Het is misschien wel te overwegen om deze heftige lockdown of het speeksel uitwisselen bijvoorbeeld uit te stellen tot na een verwachte piek. 7) Het betekent dat heel veel mensen alleen zullen zijn, opgesloten zullen zitten met mensen die ze niet kunnen luchten en/of een enorm gebrek aan privacy en concentratie gaan ervaren. 8) Maar dat gebeurt wel met een goede reden. Op deze manier zal de gemiddelde hoeveelheid personen die een besmet persoon besmet drastisch richting de nul gaan. Uiteraard zullen er nog steeds nieuwe besmettingen blijven plaatsvinden in bijvoorbeeld de ziekenhuizen, maar het is ook niet nodig om alle besmettingen helemaal in te dammen. We moeten terug naar een situatie waarbij we het virus onder controle hebben. 9) Gaat dit de economie even keihard raken? Jazeker. Maar met de overheid die enorme steun wilt geven moet deze korte periode wel te overbruggen zijn. En dan, na deze maand of anderhalve maand van keiharde maatregelen staat de hoeveelheid actieve besmettingen op zodanig laag niveau, dat we kunnen beginnen aan wat we eerst niet goed hebben gedaan:
10) Operatie inpolderen is in beginsel iedereen die ook maar een klein beetje besmet kan zijn 14 dagen in volledige quarantaine zetten of testen. Dat betekent dat als persoon A besmet is, alle personen B die A mogelijk besmet kan hebben in quarantaine gaan, en je datzelfde doet voor alle personen C die B mogelijk alweer besmet heeft. Bij voorkeur test je dan dit hele netwerk en mogen de mensen die niet besmet zijn weer naar buiten. Je moet dit ook heel grondig en groot doen, dus als A 3 dagen voor zijn eerste symptoom nog een winkelmandje heeft gebruikt in de super, dan is de persoon die de mandjes die dag aan het ontsmetten was al een B. Desnoods gooi je een heel flatgebouw in quarantaine. Omdat dit dus een zeer uitgebreid contactonderzoek betekent / heel veel testen, kan pas aan deze inpolderactie begonnen worden als er weinig genoeg gevallen zijn om dit mee te doen. Het moment waarop de capaciteit voldoende is, is het moment waarop Koepelgevangenis Holland kan worden uitgefaseerd en Operatie Inpolderen begint. 11) Naast deze inpoldering, moet ook iedereen die het land binnenkomt 14 dagen in quarantaine of negatief getest worden. Misschien de grenzen dicht doen voor iedereen zonder Nederlands paspoort of voor mensen van buiten het Schengengebied. Als mondiaal de gevallen omlaag gaan kan je deze maatregel voor sommige streken waar de reiziger vandaan komt versoepelen. 12) Om er voor te zorgen dat deze maatregelen worden nageleefd, komt er een gevangenisstraf van 3 maanden op het breken van je quarantaine die kan oplopen tot een jaar als je anderen zo blijkt te hebben besmet. 13) Je zou, om het allemaal nog effectiever te maken, risico groepen en hun naasten preventief ook in quarantaine kunnen zetten. Je zou bijvoorbeeld alle zorgmedewerkers die op een IC werken waar besmette patiënten liggen, kunnen laten overnachten in een hotel in de buurt van het ziekenhuis. Hiermee straf je dan overigens wel juist de mensen die juist zoveel waardering verdienen. Alleen ook hier gebeurt dit for the greater good: 14) Dit zijn enorm heftige maatregelen voor een kleine groep, maar die hebben hele grote positieve gevolgen voor de rest van de Nederlanders. Naast al deze maatregelen, laat je het openbare leven namelijk grotendeels zijn gang gaan. Horecabedrijven kunnen weer open, gebouwen kunnen weer verder worden gebouwd en de servers van de webwinkel kunnen eindelijk gerepareerd worden. Ja, in anderhalve maand is er heel veel schade aangericht aan de economie, maar nu kan alles weer op nagenoeg volle toeren verder als vanouds. Uiteraard blijft de focus in de samenleving op het op straat 1,5 meter afstand houden, heel veel handen wassen, mensen aanmoedigen fysiek contact te beperken en alles ontsmetten wat 2 keer op een dag wordt aangeraakt. Grote evenement moeten misschien in stukken worden gedeeld van max 100 tegelijk en later misschien 1000 deelnemers tegelijk. Mensen die verkouden zijn of met hoofdpijn moeten totdat ze getest zijn nog steeds verplicht thuisblijven. 15) Maar de Nederlanders mogen gewoon de straat op, geld gaan verdienen aan de export van mondkapjes en op de fysieke vrijdagmiddagborrel even terugdenken aan die verschrikkelijke periode achter ons. Doordat het grootste gedeelte van de bevolking dus gewoon aan het werk kan, kan er ook veel makkelijker steun worden gegeven voor de mensen die de maatregelen ondergaan.
Wordt dit niet nu al grotendeels gedaan?
16) Ja, we doen dit nu al een beetje. De huidige maatregelen die genomen zijn helpen ook zeker om de kromme platter te krijgen en de verspreiding af te laten nemen, maar die kromme moet vrijwel parallel gaan lopen aan de x-as. Als dat het geval is, dan kan je namelijk de enkele brandhaarden keihard aanpakken en Nederland zelf weer opengooien. Het huidige beleid is er niet op gericht om de crisis op te lossen, maar om hem beheersbaar te houden tot er een vaccin is. 17) Echter blijkt uit de aanpak van enkele vaak veel genoemde landen in Azië, waaronder bijvoorbeeld China, dat de hier boven genoemde strategie werkt. Het veel testen en indammen van de besmettingen zorgt ervoor dat in die landen de ziekte niet enorm om zich heen heeft geslagen. In China wordt nu na de heftige maatregelen het gewone leven langzaam weer opgepakt en komen de nieuwe besmettingen van uit het buitenland terugkerende inwoners. 18) Hoewel de economie en de mentale gezondheid van iedereen een enorme deuk zal oplopen door deze aanpak, kunnen deze spoedig beginnen met herstellen en kan de ziekte vervolgens worden ingedamd. Stel dat we dit doen, dan hoeven bedrijven niet maanden lang met een slechte omzet te zitten en ouderen zonder knuffel. De harde maatregelen zullen nu niet leuk zijn, maar leveren wel een serieuze oplossing voor het probleem op. Ik denk daarom dat we op deze manier de corona crisis het beste kunnen bestrijden en er uiteindelijk als land uit kunnen komen.
Tot zover mijn Tedtalk. Maar wat denken jullie er van? Denken jullie dat dit een goed plan is, of denken jullie dat het huidige aanpak van een intelligente / softe lockdown beter is? Zijn er onderdelen van mijn plan die niet kloppen of onhaalbaar zijn? Zou jij een forse straf voor het overtreden van zo'n quarantaine acceptabel vinden?
Final edit: the catalyst to this post was due to my recent (now) ex's betrayal. What a hell of a dam that broke. He lied to me, made me feel lesser-than, gaslit me (I do not use this term lightly), would check out women in from of me, and refused to be a grown ass man. This on top of all I have written in the body. I emailed my therapist that this situation, and the existential dread below, was crushing me. She reminded me to take care of myself. So now I'm reminding you, nameless and faceless stranger, to take care of yourself. It hurts and helps to know I am not alone. Speaking up is the only way to bring us together. Again, you are not alone. Speaking out does not make you weak. Speaking up is not an overreaction. Divide and conquer is a real strategy. It keeps people silent. You are not alone. Lying is never acceptable. Betrayal is never acceptable. Dismissing your partners wants, needs and desires is never acceptable. You are not alone. I will carry all your pain and mine, to hell and back. Thank you. _____________________________________________ I'm having a hard time dealing with the influences of society. I was first sexualized at age 9, when I started developing breasts. "Jugs," "big jugs," "double D" and more were all names I was given by boys who didn't even know girls didn't have penises. I went along because I liked playing with boys more than girls. Then my uncle started making subtle sexual remarks about me. Then I was viciously judged in middle school for having no ass but DD breasts. This continued into HS, where I had DDD breasts and was a size 2-4. Sex was everywhere, but I wasn't interested in sex. Films, ads, comments, "funny" jokes. "We hate our wives, we just like to have sex with them." I started having sex, maybe I'd be worthy. I was 15 when I lost my virginity. My first boyfriend would watch porn, do nothing to satisfy me. I'd give him painful blowjobs, trying to live up to pornographers. 8 inch dick suffocating me, making me cry. That's what they did in porn. I had never had an orgasm. I would cry because I was actually in pain from sexual frustration. He "didn't like the taste of vagina." I am 26 and only somewhat okay with oral given to me. I was recently told, when talking about this non-reciprocal sexual relationship during my formative years, that he "didn't have sex education." I didn't know you needed a teacher to tell you when a girl tells you something hurts, or needs something sexual, you should do something. The man who told me this is late 40s. He says "I just don't care what society thinks." He is one of many who have told me these thoughts. Porn is everywhere. I can't look at clothes online without seeing girls sexualized and objectified into oblivion to sell us stuff. I am one of those "strong independent females" as boys would say. I'm who gets put in charge at work. I'm the scary woman in heels and red lipstick. I'm the woman where, when shit is going down, I can be just listening and people say "we should stop, OP is going to (insert reprimand). I don't say this to brag. I say this because I feel the powerful dichotomy of my presence and my being, and that I can be reduced to tears seeing women sexualized casually. That I can say something about a joke that I find uncouth, unfunny and harmful, and men will try to take it farther. I am also interested in women. Perhaps more than men. Sometimes I wonder if I'm a powersuit lesbian. Sometimes I wonder if I am just tired of educating people on how to be a decent human being. On how, just because it gets you hard, doesn't mean it's good. That it isn't violent. That it isn't degrading. That I, the frigid bitch, the top-numbers woman, the fight-to-the-death woman, who has had men stand behind me for protection, am not being sensitive (or at least, not just being sensitive). I feel my will breaking. I cannot root out these subconscious influences. I have not been able to be okay. I am in therapy. I still am not okay. I cannot stand injustice and feel the wrath of god when I see it. I told my most recent lover, the late 40s man, that I want oral. He felt "I was giving him an ultimatum." I still give amazing blowjobs. When I got my breast reduction, men would say "why?" Snide little remarks about women's bodies. Me: maybe you should get her number (a beautiful girl, wholesome, 10/10 everything) Him: her ass is too small I am crippled by something I feel like I should be able to fight, in myself, for myself and for others. But I can't. If I say porn is by and large degrading, that step sibling porn uses coercive tactics, I am told to stay off the internet. I can't even be on the internet according to men. I recently picked up guitar (largely dominated my men as a hobby). I've been a musician for 15 years across 9 instruments. I enter a male dominated instrument (guitar), and it's sexualized. Guitars are women's bodies. I like junk in the trunk. I like to finger my guitar. Women can't play guitar because you must want to fuck your guitar to be good at it. Ad nauseum. I turn on the radio. "Empowering" women pit themselves against each other. "A penis doesn't want a girl with a small booty," "skinny girls aren't real women." Do squats to overcome genetics (hint: you can't). Sometimes I wonder if there is any good in the world. "You are more than your body" society says, while demeaning different bodies and colors, and selling us stuff to "fix ourselves." "You are more than your body" men tell me, as I watch their leering gaze and superficial comments about goddesses. It disgusts me. It is filthy. Edit: deleted half this by mistake. If you have the screenshots or original post let me know so I can post it. _____________________________________________________________________ The gist with some additions: It is becoming more difficult to deal with this struggle. It is everywhere. While I, my older self, does not give a flying fuck what men, or society, think, there is a little girl inside that can hear everything. She was shut down when I was a teenager and couldn't take the brutality of my existence any longer. I had to be strong - and fight back. So I became deaf to her. Now, at 26, her voice is only getting louder. I don't know what to do, because this is not okay. I am not okay. Society is not okay. I have a split identity - strong and weak. And I feel mostly weak as of late. These subconscious influences have led me to engage in self destructive behaviors that I didn't realize were self destructive because of what society said. Bulimia - well, at least I'll be thin. Sleeping around - maybe if I have enough sex someone will satisfy me. Pornography is fine, it's a choice, right? Prostitution? Until I considered both options for myself, and realized it is not always a real choice. It is an illusion. Worse came to worst, I would sell my body, because while it was valueless there was some monetary value. I realized that if I made that choice, it would encourage a never ending cycle. I'd be better off dead. I cannot keep metaphorically prostituting out this child within. I did not want to throw this young girl to the wolves, and yet my older self has, time and again. In effect, I've been under attack from all sides for as long as I can remember. But when the enemy is yourself, at least you can say it's a choice. But is it really? I do not know what to do at this point. I do not know how to integrate these sides. I do not know what to do about the injustices I and many other women face. I do not know what to do when I say "This is wrong" and men say "that is just how the world is" -- until it happens to them. Then it is injustice. You do not go before a judge after being robbed and get told "the world is brutal." There are consequences. But when the world is run by men, where even good men do not or will not see their misdeeds, what can you do? "I am not like other girls." I am like other girls. Not being like other girls makes you a protected class. It means you will not be judged and you will be safe. But you won't. To admit I was like other girls was to admit I could be judged on the same grounds. That women are weak. Emotional. A ball and chain. A nuisance. A chastity belt. Saying you are not like other girls is to give in to the philosophy society pushes - that is dangerous. We are not enemies. This is all I can write for now, it was hard enough the first time around. I just want to know how to be strong. Principled. Known for my achievements and not my lips and breasts. To not have to defend a cowering, threatened, scared child who is pitted against her fellow sisters. This is not just about sexualization, though that is a method I take issue with. Sexualization is, I believe a tactic. But it is a tactic that stems from something other than just sex. So while the theme here is sex and objectification, I have more thoughts on the root of this struggle that go beyond sex and sexuality. In retyping this, I have failed to get my thoughts across. There may be more essays as I work through this, and hopefully help others work through common struggles. ______________________________________________________________________________________________ Actual final edit: This post has amounted to over 1600 words and yet some people find a need to latch onto the word "porn." Which is curious. One thousand and six hundred words and that's all you see. I will block anyone who responds in bad faith. Do not add pitch in the night.
How to address game difficulty for the older and newer players
I just thought of this and wanted to put it out to the community and see how it would sound. Just making a post here. Not here to question anyone. Gamefreak/Nintendo need to add difficulty sliders to the new games from here on out. Here's how: 3 simple modes: Rookie, Average, and Veteran The sword and shield games right now kind of fall into both rookie and average. The games aren't hard at all but offer interesting matches here and there. Here's how Average should be adjusted. Average difficulty: Wild pokemon are boosted 2-5 levels higher per route increase except for the starting routes. Since wild pokemon have no trainers we aren't going to give them super intelligence, but when your pokemon get weak fighting them, they get more aggressive. Some tutorial aspects are turned off. Trainers tend to have IV'd pokemon here and there. Gym leaders focus on synergies with their pokemon and your pokemon's weaknesses. Switches occur more often and item usage is strategic and not predictable. Regular trainers: focus on beating you down asap. Some setup strategies implemented and they will use more evolved pokemon(if applicable) more often. Rivals: actually change their teams more often except for the starters. They will definitely have pokemon with IVs throughout the game until the end where they are all max IV pokemon with strategic item usage on both pokemon and bag usage. Factions: do what they do but they slowly start getting better at fighting you especially for repeat fights against certain named characters. They also grow to a full 6 pokemon squad as the story progresses with evolved pokemon. No IV investment. Just raw calculations. Elite 4 scenarios: Fully evolved pokemon, Max IVs here and there, and proper item usage. The catch: Their pokemon level scales to always be 2-5 exact levels higher on average vs your team's average. Giving incentive to have a strong team. Of course, the max is 100, but are you really trying to fight a level 98 Elite 4 pokemon on this difficulty? Veteran difficulty (brace yourself) Anything that shows you how to play the game is not present. All tutorial aspects are negated. You just simply start the game. The amount of xp and gil is boosted slightly. EXP share is not available until after you've beaten the Elite 4 Wild pokemon are boosted 10 levels higher per route increase except for the starting routes. The odds of you fighting an evolved pokemon in the wild are increased by a large margin. They will use berries more often as well. Here's the incentive for this? Random 2-3 stats on the pokemon will be maxed IV'd. Trainers will 100% have max IV'd pokemon. They will always use evolved pokemon. Their strategies are meant for quick but brutal battles. No stalling. They will try to knock you out asap and counter your pokemon every turn by either switching or making you waste a turn. Gym leaders: Their pokemon will always be a few levels higher than yours. Full restores are used more often and they use strong strategies. They will switch very often not letting you knock out a pokemon easily. Moves like leer and defense curl won't be seen. As soon as your pokemon hits red health, they get more aggressive. They always try to target weaknesses. Rivals: actually change their teams more often except for the starters. They will definitely have pokemon with IVs throughout the game until the end where they are all max IV pokemon with strategic item usage on both pokemon and bag usage. They will try to counter as often as they can. You switch in a fire type. They use a water type. Simple example. As your team levels get higher, they match yours. Factions: do what they do but they know exactly how to fights against your team with their pokemon. They also grow to a full 6 pokemon squad faster as the story progresses with evolved pokemon. Their teams receive IV investment. They will use more items as time goes on. The leaders will always have 6 pokemon that are 10 levels higher than your strongest pokemon. Choose wisely. Elite 4 scenarios: Fully evolved pokemon, Max IVs on 5 stats at random, and proper item usage. The catch: Their pokemon level scales to always be 5-10 exact levels higher on average vs your team's average. Giving incentives to have a strong team. Ever tried to fight a level 100 Elite 4 pokemon? You may just. They definitely will try to knock out your pokemon asap. If they have a move that crits, they will use it more often than not. Do they have a move that boosts crit chance? They will use it more often. All trainers will have their pokemon holding something that helps that specific pokemon fight better. They stick to their pokemon strengths and don't have random moves that don't work. DLCs: Follow the same format. They offer a difficulty slider when you start a new game for the DLC.
What are your favorite spots / strategies on each map with Reyna?
I'm a Reyna OTP, and am more often than not the MVP on my team; so I confidently continue to play her. However, I KNOW I could be always be doing things better. Personal performance and improvement are what bring me joy! Unfortunately, every guide I've found for Reyna cover the basics of her abilities and gameplay while desperately lacking specifics that are covered for other agents. Jett is currently the face of the Operator meta as she can land a pick and E to safety. Reyna can get an across the map one-tap, then either: cast Dismiss into safety if the enemy wasn't alone, or Devour to recover HP if she was damaged in the process. If you're able to aim quickly, she excels at mid-range picks with her ability to Leer through walls and take the enemy by surprise. (I say quickly, because Leer is almost just as much of a blind as it is a 1 second distraction saying "shoot me!") I digress... I would love to hear about your thoughts and strategies! I'm also looking for high elo Reyna content to study, so links are equally appreciated. TL;DR: What are your favorite spots / strategies on each map with Reyna?
Once when I was around seven or eight years old, I was tossing and turning and unable to sleep. I opened my eyes and noticed the room was brighter than it should be. I turned to look and realized there was a reddish-orange glow coming from the mirror on the wall across the room. I looked over at the mirror and was shocked to see what looked like a disembodied head of a man leering at me with a spooky grin. He had wavy hair, a full beard, and was bathed in the weird orange glow. Since I was just a kid, I employed the only defense strategy I could think of. I turned my back, pulled the covers over my head, and wished it would go away. Luckily, that worked. In spite of my terror, I was finally able to sleep. For years after I would cast nervous glances at the mirror to make sure nothing was there that shouldn't be. But I never saw that face again. At least not in the mirror. When I was 14 I went away to summer camp for the first time ever. I've always made friends easily, and camp was no exception. The counselor for our cabin was making a security check after lights out and we were consequently unsupervised. A new friend an I were sitting on a top bunk blabbing away in the dark, and were unaware that our counselor had stealthily reentered the cabin. He decided to scare us to teach us a lesson. He did that trick where you put a flashlight under your chin to light your face up in a spooky way. Only his flashlight had some kind of red plastic cover over it. So as he slowly stood up from beneath us, the effect was of a head bathed in an orange-red light suddenly appearing over the edge of the bunk. And yes, I'm certain it was the exact same face I'd seen years before. The same wavy hair and beard, the same manic grin and intense eyes. I discussed it with my counselor over the course of the camp, and we agreed that we'd never met, nor had he lived anywhere near where I grew up. I still have no explanation for how I saw his flashlight enhanced face in my mirror half a dozen years before I met him.
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