#because he’s a fucking war profiteer who made his money off of the american war machine

[kookyburrowing]

if i see one more pro tony stark fic in the venom fandom tag im going to start eating heads

[yes-these-obsessions-are-healthy]

No but the portrayal of the suits at Vault Tech is so fucking on the money. We were all Cooper when Bud was talking his absolute ear off about that shit. I didn’t really understand what he was saying but that’s the thing of it. Businessmen live in a world completely separate from reality. Everything is just.. Money. There are no people, there are only ants in a terrarium that they are trying to manipulate into doing certain things because that is how they relate to the world, perfecting the art of convincing people to part with their resources for the notion of an idea.

And what is crazier is this, and what Lucy represents: Vault 33 was devised by a bunch of suits who, in their deluded hubris of misconstruing $$$ = wisdom, created a vault that was built on the American Dream made manifest: A harmonious, productive, self-improving, peaceful, tolerant (if a bit high and mighty), cooperative meritocracy. But when Hank tried to make Lucy see his perspective, she couldn’t. Why? Because the values taught to her by Vault 33’s credo were in direct opposition to the Pre-War Machiavellian corporate mindset that Hank followed. The perfect society that Vault 33 was meant create on the surface would rot away as soon as capitalism and corporatism was reintroduced, as soon as the same Big Business elements that drove the world to ruin were resurrected.

It is the suits, the upper management, the C-Suite, the CEOs that poison all genuine humanistic endeavors. Hank as Overseer, and all Overseers before him, were able to keep things running smoothly not necessarily because they were just that good at management (though that is a contributing factor) but because the Vault had no scarcity-fueled capitalism on steroids serving as its primary motivation for labor and cooperation. Kindness, cooperation, and empathy were the primary motivators.

Like reinventing the wheel, the suits in their meetings when creating Vault 33 thought they were geniuses for structuring the vault on the aforementioned metrics, but really such a thing was already a concept that existed, they were simply too removed from their own humanity to realize it, and what’s more, that their very existence has always and always will be a hindrance to that goal, not an asset.

In short, big business is unironically, unironically a cancer on the human experience and anything beneficial they produce—the holy and sacred ‘good, efficient management’— is a coincidental, not unique, byproduct that could be replicated by a dozen other less soulless systems. And Hank knows that. Or he doesn’t, because he’s deluding himself so he doesn’t break in absolute despair over the revelation that he was actively involved in damning the rest of humanity to exist on an irradiated husk of our former world, that he was also a pawn of upper management who truly only cared about what profits might still be gleaned once the “right people” got out on the other side, and how they were willing to prod the world powers to nuclear war in order to do it.

[lorddeathofmurdermountain]

I have stopped enjoying and at all supporting Harry Potter mostly because I grew out of it, but I don't agree with this opinion. Yes, JKR is a bitch and yes she is directly profiting off of people liking and engaging with her work and derivatives of her work - let me ask you; are you better that a HP fanboy? Are you really? Do you use modern tools like smartphones and computers? Do you wear jewelry? Do you eat out, do you buy things for nothing but your own pleasure, do you do any number of things we all count as acceptable despite it following the same kind of logic as the idea of "supporting JKR by buying her stuff?"

If you own a phone you're most likely profiting off of some random 6yo working 16 hour shifts in a sweatshop. Hell, just owning clothing items makes this "guilt" possible. Ah, but you'll say those are necessary for your way of life, I understand. So you need those nice earrings? That nice stake made by the overworked and underpaid chef and delivered to you by the equally overworked and underpaid waiter? Do you need the soda or alcohol you drink, do you need the cigarettes you smoke, do you need the games you play?

Have you ever had something delivered by Amazon? Owned an IPhone? You're supporting Jeff Bezos in his evil campaign of profiting off people who regularly go to sleep hungry despite working for a man who could probably live comfortably with just 1% of his income and feed half the nation thrice a week indefinitely (spitballing here, the estimate isn't at all serious).

I'm sure you're getting tired of the rhetorical questions, so let me be clear. My aunt, for example, huge HP nerd that she is, is not in any way responsible for the things JKR does with the money she earns, irregardless of the fact part of that money comes from my aunt. That she does not HAVE to buy Harry Potter products is irrelevant; you don't HAVE to pay taxes or HAVE to wear nice clothes, not really. As an old saying here goes, all any person ever HAS to do in life is go to the toilet and die, and the first one is questionable.

Do you say that John Doe is personally responsible for the American government invading Iraq? No, of course not, because John Doe couldn't stop them no matter how hard he tried and no matter what he did. Incidentally, even if John Doe didn't do anything at all, didn't even think about it at all, it isn't his fault that it happened any more than it is my dad's fault for the war crimes our military committed about three decades ago, now.

JKR being an evil stinky mud creature is as inevitable as a politician mishandling government funds - in more ways than just the surface level. They both PROFIT off of it because if they didn't they'd either stop or else get in trouble. That neither has truly happened means it's working and it's working great for them. They won't stop until an equally big or bigger fish comes to fuck their shit up, and if that happens it will probably be to cover something up. No matter how many small fishies attack nothing will change because the big bad one can, if at all necessary, just call its friends and now it's a feast.

The false, hypocritical self-righteousness you display has already led to dark paths before, lest we forget, and it accomplishes nothing, and the methods you suggest won't ever accomplish anything even if everyone tries really really hard. Because that's not how the world works. Even if JKR didn't earn a single penny from now to the rest of her life off of regular people buying her shit, or shit she owns the IP to, she's never gonna stop, and it's never gonna bother her, because she doesn't NEED those people and those funds any more.

All you're really doing is being a mega-ass to people you know nothing about, who could be allies even, because one mean bitch says some mean things and tries to convince everyone we should go the route of the exact fucking villains she herself wrote, like the dumbass she is. What you're doing, essentially, is pulling your own JKR out of stinky crusty doodoo hole and flinging it at unsuspecting bystanders who are too done with life to bother too hard with stopping you. All because someone bought a specifically themed wand, or played a game, or brought joy and laughter into the life of an innocent child full of wonderlust by buying them a simple book, which just so happens to be owned by a stupid asshole.

“but what about separating the art from the artist” buddy. listen to me. joanne kathleen rowling is relevant for one reason and one reason only—she wrote harry potter. that’s why she’s famous. that is the bedrock of her fucking platform. jk rowling is the harry potter lady and harry potter is the jk rowling guy. this is not the same thing as listening to a song on repeat even though the keyboardist was an asshole, or reading a novel by some dude who sucked ideological shit in the 1800s. jk rowling has a hate platform right now, today, and she sustains it off of harry potter bucks. u will forgive me if i am unwilling to advertise for her

[stephenjaymorrisblog]

Patriotic Mercenary Fakery

By Stephen Jay Morris

May 13, 2023

©Scientific Morality

If you are a cunning, crafty, entrepreneur in America, you can find various schemes to make money. These schemes can come from creativity or devious plans. Let’s take one example: The cause to fight for one’s country may require military service. If, by misfortune, you are killed by the enemy, then you are paid homage as a hero while your wife sheds tears at your funeral. There is one big problem with that arrangement: You! You won’t be around to witness all the accolades expressed about you. That is, unless you believe in the afterlife.

 Most war hawks are middle-aged, fat, bald guys who believe that violence is a panacea to solve all human relation problems. The most cowardly way of avoiding death is to be a part of the military brass, like a sergeant, a captain, or even a four-star general. Or, you could be a conservative activist. As a conservative, you believe in the free enterprise system. So, to profit from patriotism is not unethical or tasteless because your very ideology supports making money for yourself. If you make a lot of it, then you lugubriously complain about the welfare state and how unfair it is that the state takes your hard-earned money and gives it to the military. But…Hold on! You can make money off right wing propaganda. Leftists express their politics for free, like interns in the porn industry or at a Wall Street firm. Fuck that shit! You are not a sucker for that altruistic crap! You want cold, hard cash, and you want it now. What a glorious way to pay tribute to the capitalist system! All you have to do is attack the poor, the transgender, the blacks, the feminists, and the other dregs of society.

Here is one business that realizes that type of profit by making stuff up: The Daily Wire. It is owned by the yarmulke-wearing, conservative Jew, Ben Shapiro. Most conservatives are failures in life: failed Hollywood screenwriters, actors, and even comedians. Ben is a failed screenwriter. One thing about these failures is that they blame the politics of Hollywood instead of their own lack of talent. Or they point to their own dislike of conservatives. John Wayne was a conservative and the rest of Hollywood respected and admired Mr. Wayne because he was a good character actor. Same goes for the folk singer, Pete Seeger, who had a melliferous voice and played a great banjo. He was member of the Communist Party. Oy yeh! Nobody in the music industry cares about that.

Ben took the cliché stereotype of the money-hungry Jew and made it a reality. He’s rubbed elbows with White Nationalists. He even worked for the racist, Breitbart, for a spell. He has an office somewhere in Los Angeles and a studio that permits various podcasters to create podcasts. Not only do they make money from a social media platform, but they also carry advertisements for various sponsors—for even bigger bucks! Since conservatives are pro-capitalist, they can get away with the most racist and sexist statements. This does not bother Ben. In his delusional mind, he thinks he is doing God’s work. He does have one big setback, though: he’s got a sinus problem. As a result, his voice sounds like a duck’s! However, it doesn’t deter him, one bit, from making a ton of money.

Other Chuds make money from other sources. Charlie Kirk gets his financial backing from the rich oil barrens, the Koch Family.

Conservative elitists would love that America go theocratic, making Americans stupid and God-dependent, thereby eradicating any notion of rebelling against the Chud ruling class. That is why they are going after colleges and public schools. The Christian Nationalists get funding from the rich pigs.

So, roll up your sleeves and get started on your own podcast. Isn’t America the greatest country in the world? You can spew the most insensitive and meanspirited rhetoric and get paid well for it.

[gaykarstaagforever]

Oh my god, watching journalists try to understand why VICE and Buzzfeed are tanking.

"WELL I GUESS PEOPLE JUST LOVE THE NEW YORK TIMES BECAUSE OF ITS QUALITY JOURNALISM!"

If you are of a class where old-fashioned news reporting matters to you, yes, you subscribe to the Times. But that amounts to only 10 million subscriptions for them. As compared to the 300 million Americans using the Internet.

People don't want to pay for fucking news, stupids. And they aren't. You are all fighting over a tiny mountain of money specially reserved for the most soulless corporate shills. Society as a whole is NOT CONSUMING NEWS THIS WAY ANYMORE.

They just cannot admit they have already lost the war. They still have to act like someone needs them. When it is overwhelmingly obvious no one does.

Yes, that does make us less-informed and dumber. Obviously. And we are. And we don't care. We're not paying your mortgage so you can write bitchy thinkpieces about TV shows you don't like. You're not getting a travel budget, plus daily expenses, from us so you can stand there somewhere in the South and breathlessly "both sides" your way into making the Far Right mainstream. I am not buying you $700 shoes for that dinner party with federal court nominees and lobbyists so you can later pretend you were there all night conducting serious adult business. We don't do it that way anymore. It is too expensive and we have other ways of getting chunks of information when we need it. That is a fractured system but it is FREE.

Vice and Buzzfeed were condescending attempts by old journalists in the 2010s to trick "the hip youth" into consuming news the old-fashioned way. They dressed it up with trendy Internet bullshit but it was just ABC News again. And the only thing that made its financial model "new" was pimping videos on YouTube for sweet Google ad-revenue. Oh what a brilliant idea! News is saved!

The trendy bullshit held on for awhile. Then it still made money because people laughed at it. But then that fell off, too. And while there were random successes of serious traditional news reporting out of that...who was paying for that? The bullshit. The second the bullshit lost value in the market, bam!, the money for reporting dried up. Because no one under 60 is paying you for news. We. Don't. Do. That. Anymore. It was a doomed endeavor.

The Times and Wall Street Journal and television network news hold out because billionaires keep plowing money into them, no matter how much or little they generate, because those billionaires need them as organs of political influence and narrative control. That is the ONLY reason they persist. Yes, many are actually profitable, because the accountants running them are expensive and have tailored them to thrive in the specific weird markets they are faced with. That's all. It not because they are beloved and respected for quality expensive journalism by a nonexistent Monoculture that loves the Times crossword.

This is like a blacksmith in 1908 saying the problem isn't that the Model T has come out, the problem is that not enough other blacksmiths are wearing eye-catching hats.

Traditional news-for-profit is motherfucking dead. Any attempts to revive it will fail. News is a commodity now, and we'll buy the cheapest supply, which may be shit quality but is free. We are not paying you for "perspective and context" anymore.

The reason Tucker Carlson lost his shit trying to lie to Trump voters to woo them back was because he knew that the MOMENT Fox News loses its hold over the old and stupid, his $20 million salary is impossible to justify anymore. He was one of the lucky rare media goons making that kind of money from "news." And to do that, his "news" network has by this point degraded into a platform for far-right propaganda that only maintains an actual news desk so they can point at it when people accuse them of having no point but evil. And Tucker was demanding that news desk lie about election fraud because the propaganda part was where all the money is. Obviously, even Fox News's ancient audience of mummies DOESN'T WANT TO PAY FOR NEWS.

You have a passion for journalism? Take your phone and go do journalism. Figure out how to pay your bills later. It isn't a job anymore. Get the fuck over it and stop trying to sell quality horseshoes on the streets of Detroit.

[zenaidamacrouras1]

OH MY GOD look a piece of meta that is relevant to all of my cursed knowledge about American politics. Okay. So, first I'll say Evidence 1: JD VANCE. Lord, I hate that carpetbagging clown of a human who is 10 lb of shit stuffed in a 5 lb bag. What, what was I talking about?

Oh yeah, anyway, yeah, I can totally see Bucky becoming a Congressperson. There is a long history of war veterans, astronauts, football stars, and business leaders with no relevant experience besides being famous for their jobs becoming elected officials. The path to becoming an elected official in the US is a bizarre mix of whimsy and money that impossible to predict. Some examples that come to mind below:

Starting simple:

Could he get residency?

Famously (to me) Hilary Clinton decided to run for Senate and knew that New York was the state she was most likely to win in, so they bought a house there in 1999 and she ran for Senator of NY and won in 2000. This was, mind you, hot off the Monica Lewinsky scandal of 1998. Hilary Clinton is from Arkansas (from 1974-1992), and had lived in DC for 8 years while her husband was president. She became the first female senator from New York and the first First Lady to simultaneously hold elected office. Say what you will about Hilary, made of steel, that one is.

Mitt Romney is also a Senator in Utah in large part because it was a place he thought he could win. His career has been in Massachusetts and Utah which for those unfamiliar with US geography, are not adjacent.

It's pretty common for people with political aspirations to buy a house and get residency in whatever place they'll do best.

Is being a criminal a barrier to holding office? hahahahahhaha. no.

Mostly you see white collar crime, but lord honey, we have a lot of white collar criminals holding office. I mean, it depends on how you get caught, but yeah. Anyway. One delightful example of a person who wasn't actually charged with criminal activity that I am aware of (he did have to pay back public funds he used for sexcapades) but was SURELY too much of a public dumbass to hold office, and yet was re-elected, is former South Carolina Governor Mark Sanford. In 2009 he mysteriously disappeared for a week. It turns out he was on a week long sexcation with an Argentinian journalist. He lied to the press that he was "hiking the Appalachian trail," managed to survive impeachment efforts, and got then elected to Congress in 2013 despite making "hiking the Appalachian trail" a euphemism for having an affair.

Is killing people and/or overthrowing a foreign government a barrier to public office? LOL NO.

Judging by people who advocated for numerous wars that they were directly profiting off of (LOL FUCK YOU DICK CHENEY MAY YOU ROT IN HELL)(yeah Dick Cheney is technically still alive but whatever I am pretending he's dead for my own mental health reasons)), we can assume that causing the deaths dozens, hundreds or millions of people is not a barrier to holding public office. The US overthrew lots of governments (see: South and Central America) and lots of the architects of those plans did very well.

Another festive example is the Chappaquiddick incident, where Ted Kennedy either accidentally or on purpose (drunk driving) killed a woman and then waited 12+ hours to tell anyone. He was sad that he didn't get to be president because of the whole going to jail for "leaving the scene of an accident" (cough manslaughter) thing, but it didn't stop him from being Senator for approximately thousand years.

Can traumatized war heroes get elected? Yes frequently.

Perhaps the most relevant example might be John McCain, who was captured by the North Vietnamese in 1967 and held as a POW (prisoner of war) till 1973 and became a Congressperson in 1982. He suffered life-long impacts from his torture (which, I mean, obviously), but served in Congress first as a Rep and then Senator for decades. McCain was a Republican but well known for working across the aisle (famously, he saved our healthcare by voting against party lines shortly after he learned he was dying of cancer in 2017, thanks for letting me go to the doctor, John McCain!)

Another prominent example is Tammy Duckworth was a helicopter pilot in the Iraq war when she was shot down, lost both her legs and had a major arm injury in the crash in 2004. She worked for Veterans Affairs in Illinois before being elected to Congress in 2012. Duckworth was born in Thailand, is the first Thai woman elected to Congress, the first woman with a disability elected to Congress, the first female double amputee in the Senate, and the first senator to give birth while in office. She also makes really good policy. She's great at her job (largely credited with saving the American's with Disabilities Act - thanks Tammy!)(I love her).

I would suspect that Bucky's PR people would go along the lines of the campaign messaging and framing of the examples above, leaning into the years of service and surviving adversity.

But how would the public ignore his terrible past?

This is a sensitive topic, but here's the thing: Many soldiers do terrible things in wars. It's very sad and traumatizing for most of those soldiers. The public is happier to not think about this, at all, ever. It's one reason our Veterans services are so underfunded, frankly, because a good percent our country wants to pretend war is as fun as a picnic and a super cool thing for poor people to go do, and another good percent wants to be mad at all the traumatized poor people chewed up and spit out by said horrifying war machine so they don't have to feel guilty about it, and none of those people are taking the needs of our veterans very seriously.

But I can very much see the public ignoring the deeply terrifying parts of Bucky's past because they just don't want to think about it, and focusing on the bright and shiny flag WWII era. Woo! Buy war bonds! Captain America's handsome sidekick! Yay!

How can I reconcile that with how I think of Bucky Barnes as a character?

Well, no one asked me, but I wonder if we can imagine a setting where the opportunity to run was offered to him, and Sam low key encouraged it, because Bucky and Sam thought he could do something more to help people impacted by the Blip as well as veterans, etc, assuming he shares my opinions that we treat veterans in our country like absolute garbage and should be ashamed of ourselves.

I do think Bucky would deeply, deeply hate it, but maybe he would see his misery in politics as a kind of penance. Or maybe he figures he's miserable anyway, may as well see if he can be kinda useful as a politician. (Bucky Barnes deserves soft blankets and kittens forever).

as someone who knows very little about the American governmental system... is it even realistic that Bucky is a senator/candidate, outside of the simple fact that it goes against everything we know about his character for the last 13 years and is deeply ooc and weird?

Can someone with his history actually become a senator? Dude has killed like...a lot of people, specifically American citizens to keep it relevant to this context, and he's openly broken the law and gone against multiple governments in some of the most wild displays of anarchy alongside Steve and the Avengers. Also I don't think he's been a consistent enough resident of any state even if you take out the Blip?? At least 9 years right? Bro has maybe been on American soil for 3 years, pre AND post Blip, and that's being generous assuming Thunderbolts takes place in 2024-2025.

I don't know how realistic it is that he's even able to run for senate? I'm not an expert, not American, but it just seems absurd.

The main take really is that Bucky Barnes as a senator is one of the stupidest things, what the hell

[yourtoradorasextendedwarranty]

The people that defend Hassan Piker will never not come off to me as people bent down on their knees in front of him trying to talk with their mouth full. 

And I realize that’s harsh but I’ll put it in plain text.

He has stated that the US deserved 9/11. He only walked this back a little when he realized how fucked up it was for him to say it, and a lot of his audience pushed back. Fuck half of his audience agreed with it. 

He ran a smear campaign against PewDiePie who’s entire schtick is satire and being goofy. He’s also not American so he doesn’t know our cultural norms. And yet, many people including Hasan dragged him across the coals. Also leaned into the Nazi allegations against Pewds.

He is a Champaign Socialist. He gets rich off of preaching socialism and communist, meanwhile getting filthy rich off of the lie he is selling. Even going so far as to buy an expensive ass house and expensive cars. Even travel a lot. Ah yes very socialist of you to use capital gains in an extravagant way white your viewers all just eat up your propaganda. 

He is pro war. He is 100% for the war in Ukraine and actively talks about how we just “Can’t leave them on their own” despite the fact that we (The US) and the UK are the REASON they have not had a cease fire (A neutral country president has gone on record saying he brokered a peace pact between the two countries until the US and UK told Ukraine not to negotiate). We are printing money by the truckload that we don’t have, and sending so much weaponry that we are whittling down our own reserves. And yet Hassan is totally fine with that. (Meanwhile not saying a DAMN THING about the genocide in china against their Muslim Population.) 

He lies, smears, and slanders people often by misrepresenting them on his streams and his viewers eat that shit up. Then go out and actively harass the people he mentions (Which if I was a betting man I'd say he’s more than fine with if you asked him in private.)

He spreads cultural Marxism which we know is tearing this country to shreds and he personally doesn’t care. Mostly because he profits off of it. He also insulates his viewers into believing that any person to the right of Stalin is far right. Which for reference, here is a political spectrum test of WHERE Stalin is. 

Which of course one of the only people further left than him was Mao. So if you think that Authoritarian Communism and Socialism are good, then you CLERARLY have never opened a history book. 

My point is this. I think Hassan is a crappy person. I think he either believes the bullshit he pushed and just lives a cushy life at the top because he thinks he deserves it. Or he’s a grifter who lies and profits off of his lies. 

And it’s funny too. I commented on a video with him in it, that I like the content creator that made the video Hasan was in. Which was the only reason I watched some of it. And like clock work, his C-sucking groupies came in high on copium with what I about expected. Here were the initial comments. 

The next one of course being after I made the above points. Though in far less words. 

Followed by this. 

The of course this when I didn’t take issue with being compared to Peterson at all. 

And of course my response to which he had no come back at all. 

And that’s a huge thing I also take issue with. People have this insane hive mind mentality where if you don’t agree with them 100% culturally, you magically become far right. And mind you, I didn’t insult this person. I did however say my peace about Hassan. And he went right for, as expected, “Sniveling Conservative”. Yeah.....because my left libertarian ass is TOTALLY a conservative. For context on the political spectrum test I am 2 rungs left, and 3 rungs down into libertarian. But for real I’m never going to be a communist. And that ISN’T the criteria for what makes a person left wing. It SHOULDN’T be. And yet here we are. With a man who is fine pushing this Stalin is a moderate propaganda, and letting his viewers run with that shit. Hell that sad part is I AM in favor of social programs. I’m just not in favor of handouts to laze f*cks who abuse the system. Or the systems we have now where our government agencies line their pockets pretending to help solve the issues. Meanwhile these marxists assholes are demanding the government have MORE and more power. I’m sorry that me being against big brother, all powerful Jack boot, full control government isn’t something I care for. Because no matter who is in charge of that. Eventually it will lead to mass death. 

Long story short. Look to my response to that guy. These are they types of people that claim that going to college makes you smarter than everyone else. That the longer you stay the more intelligent you are then everyone else. Peterson, his politics aside, is a man that has been in academia for decades. The man has written papers hand over fist into the 100′s if not 1000′s. Many have been used for years in further research. He even was an instructor at Harvard. According to these types, this man should be the top of the intelligence food chain. However, because his politics are wrong, he’s “clearly stupid”. Which is it you lunatics? Does education make you smart or not? And before you say, “Oh well he is an exception”, he’s not the only person I’ve seen that claim levied against. Robert Malone. A Medal winning Doctor who pioneered MRNA research. Even winning awards. However, after he came out with a very clear cut statement, he was ruthlessly smeared and more or less pushed into a box of, “Covid Vaccine Denier”. However this only because he questioned the amount of work put into the shots. Which mind you, makes sense if you consider the company we were FORCED to take the shot from had been buried in the LARGEST lawsuits in US history for idk, malfeasance, lying about safety protocols, lying about negative affects of medications they made even going so far as hiding them. Yeah no I’d be pretty skeptical too. 

But that’s my point. If you go against the cultural marxists in any way shape or form, you are labeled as a conservative, far right, neo nazi, nazi, trump supporting, blah blah blah blah blah. How about make a valid argument? Or is that too hard to ask. I view people like Hassan as awful human being that take advantage of people. They will lie, cheat and steal. And then when they are on the top, they will pretend to care, while they are sipping expensive Sake in japan. Where he will proceed to shit talk the US. Every country has it’s issues. Every country has HUGE issues in some areas. And Hassan, having the balls to vote to make all our problems worse, meanwhile preaching the shit tearing the culture of this country apart? The man literally got all whiney about the Hogwarts Legacy game saying he couldn’t play it because of online bullies. “HEY HASSAN! DID IT EVER OCCUR TO YOU THAT MAYBE YOU ARE A ROOT CAUSE OF THAT BULLSHIT?!?!? Did it ever cross your mind that the bullshit you push day in and day out about race and marxism is WHY we are here now? Of course it never crossed your mind. That would imply you were intelligent. 

[ronmanmob]

Stateside - The Beginning

It was an associate in the New York mob that’d seeded an idea in Reggie Kray’s mind - branching out operations to where the big money lay; getting up close, in the back garden of the big players; going international about this business of his; having a New York base. The fact this associate was talking in the singular didn’t hit Reggie til later on, as he and Ronnie were tucking into dinner together and chewing the cud about this most interesting prospect. Dread began to pool in Kray the Elder’s belly the longer they went on, and when Ronnie popped home for the night he was right back on to his boy from the States.

“You don’t get me wivaht me bruvvah. You know tha.”

“And you know” came back his contact.”That he’s problematic.”

Reggie could’ve put his fist through a mirror with the frustration of it all. Ron,  in all his...eccentricities...He’d not warmed easy to the mafia and they’d not warmed easily to him. From their end it wasn’t a personal thing. Their representatives had found him charming, just like they had Reggie. They’d found him dedicated and profitable; capable both of horrendous violence where the job demanded but also his own special species of witty tact. He was grand. But he was stark-raving and talked about it. And he was---

The hand gesture Reggie’s contact had done didn’t bear description. Suffice it to say that this chap from New York was concerned that his brother having boyfriends might turn off the more conservative of their number. And since some of that conservative number was backbreakingly wealthy, it wasn’t worth the risk. 

“So either you leave your brother behind-”

Whiplash fast, Reggie corrected him. “No. Or?”

“Or” the calculating American said. “Make him useful outside the business.”

Now that...

That was a sell and a half.

Ron, to Reggie’s mind, was made for gangland. He loved the life, revelled in the violence, the prospect of war, the profit, the victory of it all. He’d never agree to being parted from it utterly. But...Reggie was nothing if not a spin master. And so, after an easy kilo of tobacco disappeared through him as he thought things through over a couple of weeks, he put his plan to his brother. It had a few key elements that he’d jotted down on a side of A4.

1. This move needs to be gradual. We need proper roots. I’ll go first, get the lay of the land, make some early connections. You sort your papers out in the meanwhile - join me proper; both of us need to go legal. We want no heat off the law over there and they’ll be sniffing soon as we start wanting to set up a business. Which is to say... 2. We’ll need a business out there as cover - like we do here. That’s where you, Ron, come in. Take the success of your pub and make it in New York.   3. Charlie’s got his ducks in a row in the East End. Our businesses’ll keep running under family management, so we’ll keep our hold on profits.

It was only a broad strokes thing. But Ronnie? 

Ronnie near-about took his fucking hand off.

Pacing left and right in his Cedra Court flat’s sitting room, Ron bubbled over with enthusiasm and ideas. And not only those. To stunned Reggie’s surprise he had a business contacts list ready for tapping, a realtor who specialised in business spaces in mind already, and had at least half a clue about the hoops they’d need to leap through in order to qualify for legal entry and the right to work State-side too. How he knew all this Reggie hadn’t the foggiest, and when he asked the look Ron gave him took an inch off his height it was that withering.

“--I got mates aht there, ain’t I. You fink yer th’only fella rahnd ‘ere ‘oo networks? Pssh. Put yerself away lad. Sort yer accounts ‘n yer passport aht. Y’ll need ‘em.’

10 Months Later

After a couple of exploratory trips as his papers processed, Ronnie and his realtor pal stepped through the doors of perhaps the finest establishment on his company’s books. It was a stunning thing, all wood floors and panelling, a gorgeous bar already in place-

“Because I know you love mahogany, Ronnie, and I really wanna sell you on this property.”

Ron, who’d been gawping at the enormity of the place while running a hand appreciatively along that self-same bar-top, turned stunned eyes on his pal. “Go on then Si” he said genially. “Sell it to me.”

Breaking into a beaming smile, the realtor - Simon to his colleagues, Si to friends - tossed his company note file away with a flourish. “Listen to me” he said. “This piece has been here since the 40′s. She’s got a long history, some of it industrial but most as a public house. Can you smell it?’ A theatrical hand drew the room’s scent to the realtor’s waiting nose. “Floor polish and liquor still lingers if you catch it right. She’s not been too long closed.”

“When’s she go up for sale, Si?” Ron asked, rubbing what little dust he’d gathered off the top between his fingers. 

“When I say a year you’ll wince ‘n wonder why” Si said. “But it’s not for lack of interest. The building’s structurally up to code and well kept. It’s just the price that spooks new buyers. Because of the frontage and the size of the place, she’s not a cheap date.”

“How much?”

“Freehold-”  Si had the grace to look abashed. “So you own the whole property, shesabouttwopointfivemillion-”

Laughingly, Ron waved off that garbled offering. “One more time, please.”

The realtor’s smile was rueful. “About two point five million, Ronnie. That’s wh-”

“Sold.”

“Sh-” Shock forced a laugh from Si like a punch might. “What?!”

Approaching his pal, Ron gave him a smile and laid a hand on his shoulder. “I said, sold. No mortgage, mate. I’ve been savin’ fer this fer a long, long time ‘n ‘is been some plush years in London fer me ‘n mine. So le’s get our people talkin’ ‘n get this deal done. Aye?” 

And so it was - the beginning of a new start.

[mewtonian-physics]

my ranking of the alex rider original series (stormbreaker through scorpia rising) from ‘book i least enjoy rereading’ to ‘book i most enjoy rereading’ let’s goooo

spoilers for all 9 books under the cut

9. Ark Angel

...He went to space. He went to space. Also the entire plot could have been avoided if Drevin had actually bothered to provide a photograph of his son. I’m sure he had one. I still like this book but it’s literally so insane that I just don’t know what to do with it. 

It is however really funny that Webber just goes and gives a speech insulting this super high-profile ecoterrorist group and acts like it’s no big deal and then they kill him. Shock of shocks.

8. Skeleton Key

Okay, points to this book for terrifying the shit out of me. God damn it does that shark scene scare me. Also, points for making me feel a little bit bad for a man who wants to nuke his own country because he thinks it will fix the place up. I’m still not entirely sure how that’s supposed to work, but that’s probably a good thing. I feel like understanding his thought process would say bad things about me. Still, I actually did feel sorry for him, if only a little. Dude was clearly mentally unstable and I doubt his son’s death helped at all. I also got sad about what happened to Carver and Troy. (Yeah, yeah, I’m a cringe fail American who has the American release. So sue me.) What a nightmare that must’ve been to endure... Otherwise, though, I’m not super into this book. The opening is just kind of meh and the way it leads into the rest of the plot seems a little bit unbelievable. Also, this might be an unpopular opinion, but Sabina annoys me. I would not get along with her at all and I can’t imagine her as a girlfriend. Skeleton Key does, however, absolutely excel at the emotional scenes. 

Also, why are all the spy agencies so comfortable with sending in a 14-year-old? Especially when they outright admit that the other attempts have all died horribly? Bureaucracy’s a bitch.

7. Point Blank

Boo, Dr. Grief! Boo! We hate your white supremacy! I’m so glad you got a snowmobile to the face, you deserved it. (Perks of books written by Jewish people--we aren’t afraid to give the neo-Nazis an unpleasant death.) Anyway, this book definitely isn’t bad, but I wouldn’t really say it stands out in the series. It definitely does hammer home the point of just how trapped Alex is, since MI6 isn’t going to just let him go after one mission, and let’s face it, the plot with the clones is creepy as hell, if highly improbable. But I’m largely just here to see the neo-Nazi get snowmobiled. That’s right, I just completely changed the definition of a pre-established word. I’m a rebel.

Also, I hate Fiona Friend so much and overall think she just didn’t need to be in the book, but the line about ‘I’d rather kiss the horse’ made me laugh so hard. Alex, you sass.

6. Snakehead

Okay, let’s talk about how genius the plan in this book is. I love it! I love how Yu wants to kill the people involved in the peace conference without making them into martyrs, so he comes up with this whole elaborate plan to stage a natural disaster. It’s incredible. This dude was thinking so far ahead. And he would’ve gotten away with it, too, if it weren’t for that meddling kid... But anyway, I don’t see a lot of books where the villain really acknowledges that killing their enemies could just cause more problems for them via turning them into martyrs for a cause. Also, the way he’s so polite and soft-spoken while also being a complete monster... This book genuinely gives me chills. Extra bonus points for the part in the hospital, the absolute nightmare of having all your organs slowly removed and sold off and everyone around you is being so nice about it? ‘Oh, don’t worry, Alex, it won’t be so bad. Here, take your medicine. Do you need anything?’ Literally just. What the fuck. 

Also Ash can fucking fight me. You put your own godson in horrible danger on purpose! You killed your best friend! Bastard. 

...And just in case the book wasn’t disturbing enough, Yu’s fate at the end lives in my mind rent-free and I think about it on a concerningly regular basis considering that the chances of that happening to me are so low they’re practically in the negatives. Damn you, Horowitz.

I would also be remiss if I did not mention just how much I love the tagline ‘once bitten, twice spy’.

5. Crocodile Tears

Ah yes, the book that kickstarted my drift away from the church... I kid, of course. I drifted away from the church for completely separate reasons. But Desmond McCain is always going to scare the shit out of me. The ability to kill countless innocent people while blissfully quoting Bible verses (that he takes wildly out of context and uses for his own self-serving means) is... well, I could actually say a lot about what that reminds me of, but I’m here to rate books, not religion. Moving on. This book has some really stellar antagonists, and the plot is chilling in a way that feels a lot more realistic than most of the other books. Even if some of it is a bit farfetched (sabotaging a nuclear power plant? Really?), the idea of using disasters for your own profit... well. I’m sure I don’t need to elaborate on why that is so believable. The Poison Dome is also a really cool and chilling scene--even Alex, who has the luck of the devil, can’t get out of that one unscathed. Further scares come in with the fate of Harold Bulman--imagine having your entire existence wiped and your identity changed while you were asleep! The breakdown he has over it is almost enough to make me feel sorry for him, even though he was ready to exploit a teenager and make his life a living hell just to turn a profit. Note the word almost.

Also. The opening makes me cry. Specifically the line talking about how Ravi’s kids would ‘never meet Mickey Mouse’. I lose my goddamn mind every single time I read it. That little personal touch turns the scene from a statistic to a tragedy. Once again: Damn you, Horowitz.

4. Stormbreaker

Yeah, this one gets the special cover shot. And why not? What we are looking at here is the birth of a legend. Move the fuck over, James Bond, Alex Rider is on the scene now. Anyway, yeah, this book is pretty damn spectacular. It has its stumbles, but as the first book in a series, that’s to be expected. Still, it pulls you in from quite literally the first line and keeps you going right up until the end. (If you came here from my post of memes, you know how much the line ‘Killing is for grownups, and you’re still a child’ destroys me.) It has the debut of much-beloved characters such as, of course, Alex--but also Jack Starbright, and of course, the best MI6 agent of them all, which is to say Smithers. Hell, even Yassen Gregorovich, especially once you get through Russian Roulette... Man, that was a rough one. 

Seriously, though. This is a really good book. The scene with the Portuguese man-o’-war still gives me the chills to think about. (Have you ever looked up pictures of those things? They’re beautiful, but holy shit will they make you regret being born. Nature is funny like that.) 

We also get the introduction of, of course, Alex’s patented sass (his response to Sayle saying he relates to the man-o’-war is HILARIOUS) and we get the inherent humor of Alex screwing up an alias one time and then just going by Alex for the rest of the series so he doesn’t do that again. Really, kid, I know you’re not a trained spy or anything but did you never play pretend growing up? Ever? You can’t pretend your name is Felix for a little while? That sounds like a you problem.

3. Scorpia Rising

I distinctly remember when this book came out, actually. I was on vacation at the time, and I remember my brother annoying the hell out of the poor workers at a bookstore we frequented there to see if/when they were going to get it in. They did, finally, and we bought it immediately, and I was of course absolutely desperate to read it. He got to read it first, though. -_-

This is a great book, an absolute emotional rollercoaster all the way through. The way Blunt tricks Alex back into service by staging a shooting was exactly the kind of cold, brutal behavior I’d expect from him. Seeing Julius come back was shocking, but very exciting, too. And Razim makes an incredibly chilling villain, with his absolute disregard for human life and his desire to measure pain. Also, seeing Smithers’s house was so much fun. Smithers in this book was just really fun in general, but he’s really fun in every book, so... nothing unusual there. But also, I want an unwelcome mat. Please?

2. Eagle Strike

‘But Penny,’ you might ask, ‘why is this book so high on your list? It has so much of Sabina in it, and you said she annoys you.’ That is true. What does not annoy me, however, is basically the entire rest of the book. I love the tense opening, and then reading through Alex’s real-life ‘playthrough’ of Feathered Serpent is still one of my favorite scenes. Cray is absolutely incredible as a villain, with the way that he truly believes in his cause--which is undoubtedly a good one! Yet the extremes to which he will go for that cause, and the fact that he very nearly succeeds, are what elevate him to one of the most dangerous villains in the series. That scene with Charlie Roper and the nickels is something I can never seem to stop thinking about. Actually, I think about it basically whenever I think about large amounts of money paid in small increments... 

Also, I really enjoy how he gets into the whole plot in the first place, and I really enjoy Smithers saying ‘ah, fuck it’ and helping him out anyway. Go, Smithers. You once again prove me right in saying that you’re the coolest adult in MI6.

The revelation that Yassen knew Alex’s father is one that absolutely blew my mind first time around. The way his life was threaded into the lives of the Rider family--he worked with John Rider, was saved by him, killed Ian Rider, and then died for refusing to kill Alex Rider--wow. Wow. It gets to me. It really gets to me. This book is a masterpiece. I heard that it’s going to be what the second season of the TV series is based off of, and I’m so hyped for that. We love to see it, we really do.

1. Scorpia

I don’t believe anyone who says this book didn’t get to them at all. I just think they are lying. I don’t think it’s humanly possible to not be affected by this book. God. Just thinking about it reminds me of why I don’t think it’s possible. I mean, come on. We get all this backstory about Alex’s parents, we get tricked along with him into thinking MI6 killed his father, then bam, that was a lie, and Alex may have just fucked himself over big time. Also, that plot is terrifying! (And I bet anti-vaxxers had a field day with it, huh.) Julia Rothman is a really great antagonist, one of the only ones who didn’t go and explain her plan in great detail to Alex--the fact that she didn’t actually being a plot point was something I personally found pretty clever. In general, this book is... I tend to hate when people say they ‘can’t put it down’ because it’s usually an obvious exaggeration, but that really is how I feel reading it.

And again. If that ending didn’t get to you... Well, I just think you are lying.

[piermanwalter]

Thinking about the Bayonetta MGR crossover and it’s basically console wars and Mac vs PC with actual human bodies.

It’s the year 2085 and LumenOS by Lighthouse Biotechnology is the most popular engine for coding brain-machine interfaces. It’s biggest competitor, UmbraOS by Left Hand Cybernetics, became free and open source after the Lighthouse and Left Hand CEOs married each other, causing a stock market panic and both of them getting voted off their board of directors for conflict of interest and insider trading reasons. This loss of good leadership eventually led to both companies going bankrupt. To stay open, Lighthouse was purchased by Ithavoll Group. Meanwhile, Left Hand chose to go out of business and posted its source code on the internet as a final goodbye. 

Both engines are coded on the intricate but infuriating fuzzy-logic focused programming language Enochian and are very similar in function if not in construction. Most of their differences come from distribution policies.

LumenOS is suited for bringing injured and incapacitated people to working condition as quickly as possible. To avoid trauma, most commercially available Lumen software is built with emotion inhibition and memory suppression. It can be argued that Lumen uses the human brain as hardware to run its own processes instead of preserving the original person, but it can also be argued that people don’t want to remember getting hit by a truck, or being trapped in a burning house, or years of failed cancer treatments.

Regardless of moral implications, because full body cyborgs running on Lumen can walk and talk within days or surgery, while other BMI engines take years of physical therapy to regain normal function, many medical providers and individuals choose Lumen. 

Lumen is mostly used by Ithavoll and its subsidiaries, since licensing fees for outsiders has been raised to 80 million dollars a year. This insane entry price ensures Lumen-running products are consistently high quality, but are also becoming increasingly inaccessible. 

UmbraOS was originally suited for accurately simulating and enhancing all human senses, but after 30 years of being open source, it’s now used for whatever fuck shit you can get away with. Countless Umbra scripts can be found for free, but there’s no guarantee any of them will be useable. For every treasure like the flight skills and reaction time of a dragonfly or the ability to toggle the taste of hot nachos on and off, there are a thousand scripts that give you diabetes and force you to email your credit card information to make it stop. Lord help you if your UmbraOS implant is connected to WiFi. 

Because the engine is open source, many BMI programmers get their start on Umbra, which has indirect benefits for other Enochian-based engines. Even for skilled programmers, it’s considered best practice to carefully curate your own custom pile of scripts other people made to run your body with, because no single person can do it all alone. It’s also considered dishonorable to charge money for Umbra scripts if you aren’t custom-making it for a single person.

Although Umbra is sketchy and often dangerous, many people unable to afford more legit procedures rely on secondhand implants running Umbra to survive.

Following a period of extended global peace and stability, many cyborg paramilitary organisations, and the various other companies supporting that industry, have gone out of business. 

Cardinal Ventures LLC, once famous for actually affording a legal Lumen license and building bespoke bodies for its enforcers, was barely able to limp along using clout gained from eradicating other mercenaries during the United States Civil War II, but tensions in upper management reached a breaking point when one cofounder, Lucifer, fought the other cofounder, Jubileus, sent her into a coma, and went into hiding. 

Now the de facto leader, Fortitudo tried to keep Cardinal together. He isn’t exactly stupid, but his expertise lies more with melting enemy cyborgs into slag and less in running a business. To avoid falling into inescapable debt, and also tempted by promises to revive Jubileus, and also because vintage cyborgs are vulnerable to parts trafficking gangs, Fortitudo sold Cardinal to Ithavoll Group.

 Initially, the deal was very good since it was made in Vigrid, whose European laws of cyborg personhood were a lot more generous than American laws, which were written in response to repeated ninja and metal gear crises, and also that one time a US senator’s medical nanomachines went haywire and tragically caused him to go insane. 

The deal worsened when it was revealed that the deal was technically made in Isla del Sol, an autonomous region in Vigrid that’s basically a corporate dictatorship. The laws changed and now all Lumen-running cyborgs involved with the deal are legally not human and belong to Ithavoll. With constant Lumen software updates, Fortitudo is literally incapable of feeling too bad about it, but his panic and betrayal come out in more indirect ways. To be fair to Ithavoll, Fortitudo is now in charge of the largest private cyborg army in the world, composed of other companies Ithavoll purchased and dissolved, including Laguna Homefront Solutions, Paradiso Augmetics, and the aforementioned Lighthouse Biotechnology.

At the center of Isla del Sol, the Ithavoll Building is at constant risk of terrorist attack. An individual of unclear origins was converted into a cyborg based off one of Cardinal’s prototypes and tasked to patrol the upper levels. Temperantia’s primary purpose is to do post-disaster search and rescue, aid building evacuation by making his own exits, but can also fight off attackers if needed. Since he has to be in the upper levels anyway, Temperantia argued that might as well get a regular job there. Ithavoll’s CEO Balder gave him an office job as a joke, but Temperantia did well and eventually worked his way up to Ithavoll Building Assistant HR Manager. 

Built after the acquisition, Temperantia has no memories of Cardinal while it was independent, and doesn’t really get the rest of Cardinal’s devotion to Jubileus, but goes along with it to make his coworkers happy. Fortitudo initially saw him as a bastardisation of the Temperantia he once worked with, who ruins Cardinal’s military legacy by being a clueless civilian. They become work friends after Temperantia rips a gatling gun off a UG helicopter and shoots the entire convoy down with it from the Ithavoll Building roof.

Despite his horrifying strength and enormous uncanny mechanical body, Temperantia would prefer to be known as the guy who loves enamel pins and stringently enforces office dress code.

What could drive trained and made killers to sell their rights to a corporation for protection? Inferno is a black market criminal organisation that hunts cyborgs for parts. Catering both to filthy rich collectors and those too poor to afford legit implants, Inferno traps people in insidious contracts by converting the desperately injured into cyborgs whether they truly want it or not, then foisting debts so huge upon them that it can only be paid by acting as spies and informants to find rare and expensive cyborgs. If the debt grows too large or goes unpaid for too long, Inferno recoups their costs.

Typically, once a contractor finds a rare cyborg, they call a local Inferno agent to do the dirty work. Even worse, the contractor has to pay for all the expenses Inferno sustained to kill their target, meaning if the target escapes before the agent gets there, raises law enforcement attention, or is extremely dangerous, the debt may end up even greater.

Experienced contractors eventually learn to corner and incapacitate their targets themselves before calling Inferno. Some of them are so skilled at balancing on the knife’s edge of debt and respect that they leverage their contract into having their own private cyborg hit squad for life. 

After many cyborg PMCs went bankrupt, Inferno gorged on newly weakened victims and flooded the black market with cyborg parts. However, to sustain the same profits now that the easy prey is gone, Inferno contractors now have to go after even rarer and more protected cyborgs to avoid debt murder.

Bayonetta was dredged from the bottom of a lake and restored by Inferno, incurring huge debts. Combined with Inferno debts she apparently sustained before she drowned and lost her memory, Bayonetta is forced to infiltrate Vigrid to go after the most expensive targets, Cardinals, or else Inferno will tear her apart.

[oimoi-op]

It’s kind of weird to me that some (though obvs not all and honestly not the majority of) MCU Tony stans will literally say any stupid shit to make any criticisms against his character somehow seem ingenuine or meritless. I saw a post comparing Tony’s and Wanda’s traumas as well as their different responses to said traumas that has gained a little traction, and honestly I was kind of pissed off about the assumptions made about people who criticize Tony??? At one point the OP literally said that most people who “won’t forgive” Tony only dislike him because he’s a man and a billionaire but will forgive Wanda because she’s poor and a woman.

Um, okay then.

Folks, we are talking about fictional characters. They are not real people. Perhaps they may mean a lot to you, but these people are not and have never been real. That being said, Tony, in the context of the MCU in particular, is one of the most privileged characters in the films. He is a white American man who also happens to be a billionaire. He established his personal success by selling weapons to the US military which he knew were being used on villages overseas. Yes, it was Stane who made deals with the Ten Rings specifically, but Tony actively and enthusiastically did business with the military up until he became a victim of his own weapons. I’m not trying to diminish Tony’s arc or attempt to demonize him as he is a well-developed and complex character, but I’m rehashing his origins for the people who have apparently forgotten what he was like pre-Avengers. The point is, the man has a shit ton of privilege that he both actively and passively benefits from in literally every movie he’s in. 

Wanda was born in Sokovia which I honestly dislike for various reasons, mainly because the MCU has (as of now) erased Wanda’s longstanding identity as both a Romani and Jewish woman in the comics while also portraying her and Pietro’s MCU identities as Eastern Europeans in a negative and offensive light, but that’s something for a different time and lost her parents to weapons sold by Stark Industries at the age of ten. Ten. She and her brother were apparently in such a bad situation that they grew susceptible to Hydra’s rhetoric and volunteered for a program that no one else survived. Does that excuse what she does in AoU? No. Does shit like Pietro and Vision dying excuse what she does in WandaVision? Also no. That being said, her circumstances are vastly different from Tony’s, and I’m not going to say that Wanda, who has not mastered her abilities in Civil War, being unable to stop an explosion that she didn’t cause from hurting people is just as bad as Tony, who has access to a shit ton of money and advanced tech as well as his 500 doctorates, in AoU deciding to experiment with alien tech that was used to mindfuck people (including Clint, whom Tony seems to be on friendly terms with as of AoU) to create ‘a suit of armor around the world’ that the rest of the world had literally no say in (examples of “collateral damage” on both parties’ parts that the Tony stan post gave 🙄) because it’s not. It’s not the same at all.

They both have severe trauma and survivor’s guilt, and they both react poorly and out of grief and fear (Tony creating Ultron/siding with the Accords without considering individuals who can’t just “stop” their powers like he can take off his armor and I’m not saying Cap was right either but Tony was definitely in the wrong as well/Tony attacking and trying to kill Bucky, Wanda joining Hydra/using her powers on the Avengers/creating the Hex). Hell, they could even be foils in some way. However, their situations are so different that it’s not fair to minimize criticisms of Tony’s actions because they acknowledge the privilege the character has in-universe. We’re kind of supposed to be critical of people with privilege, y’know, not ignore it. Tony isn’t supposed to be a perfect character without flaws; in fact, his MCU version was created to intentionally show development over a period of time instead of instantaneously so as to not jar the viewer.  His development mitigates but does not erase his flaws. I actually like that about his character a lot. Because he is one of the smartest and richest and most privileged people in the MCU, however, I’m going to be much more critical of him than I am of other characters, just like I’m more critical of Doctor Strange, or Hank Pym, or even Danny fucking Rand. I’m not going to ignore the fact that the character is a fucking billionaire who made money off of weapons used by the US military for the war in Afghanistan just because he said a funny thing that I can relate to lmao

I do think a lot of viewers are writing off Wanda’s actions because of her trauma, and I don’t agree with that. Wanda being hurt does not give her the right to hurt innocent people. She, like Tony, is a very flawed yet very complex and interesting character, and I’m glad she’s starting to get a larger role within the MCU. I also think it’s dumb how some viewers are trying to blame everything that has happened in WandaVision on Tony (especially in regards to Vision’s body because there’s no way Tony had any say over what happened there, Tony is not Vision’s creator, Vision is not Tony’s creation). However, I don’t see why this is a reason to compare everything about her, including her criticisms, to Tony Stark because not everything about their respective situations is equivalent mainly due to their different circumstances and privilege in-universe.

And you know what, if people don’t like Tony just because he’s a billionaire white American man who once made a fortune off the US military bombing villages overseas, then they’re completely fucking valid. I personally wish they could look past that and instead focus on his evolution as a character, but, like, profiting from war is pretty fucking awful, so I don’t see how getting hung up on that is a problem on the part of the audience 🤷

[gayregis]

Do you have any thoughts on TWN using non polish actors to portray characters from polish fantasy book with dense polish culture and roots? And on how most of the cast apperereance are drastically different than in the books? Like Foltest, Renfri, Fringilla or Calanthe? (Sorry this is the correct one, i forgot to add Fringilla on my previous question.)

i feel like the witcher should not be handled by a large american company like netflix. it is clear that a lot of decisions were made to “dumb the series down” in a manner that would make it more of a pop culture phenomenon that could be used to profit off of from viewership, subscriptions, social buzz, and merchandise, instead of an opportunity to demonstrate actual artistry, storytelling, character depth, and poignant messages. the company that handles it CAN be american or another nationality besides polish, but it shouldn’t be a huge one focused on making as much money and social sharability as possible, that will ruin things. (i also feel like the witcher should not be a live-action adaptation, but this is kind of besides the point... to better gauge how i think the feel of a visual-audial witcher adaptation should look, my dream adaptation would be that of a more “adult version” (”adult” meaning in themes like war and despair) studio ghibli or laika).

in regards to casting, i feel like it’s fine to not use an all polish cast as long as they fit the character description in a way that is actually relevant to the plot. so many people in response to people of color being cast in the witcher were volalitely racist and demanded a “polish cast” - as if polish MUST = white. even though poland is not as ethically diverse as some other european countries, people of color do exist in poland, as they/we exist everywhere. if you want an “all-polish cast and production,” that’s fine to me, i don’t think it’s inherently necessary, but i think if one is doing so, that doesn’t mean that it would be wrong to cast actors of color in roles. 

i think the issue lies more with storytellng, for two reasons. one is that eastern european people involved on set seem to actually understand the witcher and what it’s about way better than any of the british cast, and by that i mean sakharov and baginski, who have demonstrated more understanding of like, the style of storytelling (not every scene needs to be jammed with action, drama, sex, gore), what the characters actually mean to each other, and the lore in general. this makes sense because i have read some articles and such before about how the witcher was and is important to its fans in poland and eastern europe because very little “slavic fantasy” ever gets exported and represented internationally, and of course sapkowski involved many cultural references in the series, so it’s recognizable to people from those regions (or are diaspora from those regions) who grew up hearing these fairytales, etc. it’s more of a meaningful callback and less of a “foreign curiosity,” if that makes sense. so for those reasons, i think it’s important to have a majority polish and/or slavic writing room/directors/etc, people behind the story and how the story is told - but that doesn’t mean the writer’s room should be all white men, though. diversity in gender, race, etc should be considered.

the other reason is that the casting for the netflix is inaccurate, but not for reasons of race. the issue with anya chalotra as yennefer isn’t that she is indian, it’s that her hair is incredibly straight and flat and not like yennefer’s curly stormy hair at all, and that her face is so soft and childlike, she doesn’t look stern and cold like yennefer at all. there are many casting issues amongst the white members of cast, such as henry cavill, who doesn’t fit the description of geralt at all because geralt looks like he’s starved constantly, and joey batey, who ... well, dandelion is supposed to be blonde and curly long-haired... but of course, these are the appearances which don’t really “matter” in regards to the story. except i think geralt’s build, as well as yennefer and ciri’s proximity in age, which makes me nauseous to think about how they only have a 6 year age difference

one physical description which does actually matter to the plot/lore is that of calanthe, pavetta, and ciri, as they are a matrelineal line, but in netflix, they don’t look related at all. i saw so many people complaining that they should have chosen a white actress for calanthe, but why is she the problem? why not cast people of color for calanthe, pavetta, and ciri altogether? they should look related and have the ashen grey hair/green eyes, but that doesn’t mean they have to be white. it’s a similar issue with yennefer and fringilla. they are supposed to look similar, and i saw many people complaining that they chose mimi who is black to be fringilla, they are just using “they need to look similar” as an excuse to hide their racism and anti-blackness, because anya is more white-passing than mimi is. from my perspective, why not then cast a black actress who looks similar to mimi as yennefer, then? “they need to look similar” again does not mean “they need to all be white or white-passing.”

we should have cast actors that both fit the descriptions of the characters in the books AND are diverse, without it being “random diversity to appeal to a diverse audience.” lauren thought she was so clever by throwing the actors of color in the roles of background characters, stereotypes, forgettable and disposable aides to the white leads, or super evil villains... i see what you did... why not center actors of color in an actually proud and leading light, with lead roles, where the casting makes sense and isn’t there for tokenization that does nothing to empower people of color? actually incorporate people of color into your artistic projects in a way that respects them and makes sense and not just so you can get more views to make more money

other divergences from canon like foltest were just piss-poor and demonstrated the lack of understanding about the messages of the story. foltest was supposed to be handsome, elegant, and as a refined a king as any, to show how those in power are actually corrupt and as prone to disgusting acts as any other human being, that foltest is not a better man than geralt because he is beautiful and sits on a throne. by making him disgusting on the outside, they totally missed the point that he is supposed to mask his disgustingness on the inside with beauty on the outside. also i feel like (maybe related) twn really made a whole joke out of foltest and his relationship to his sister because in one of the flashbacks (in the sorcerer? gala? party?) foltest is shown as a kid with his sister and his mom grabs his arm or whatever and is like “foltest stop bothering your sister” as like some kind of fucking joke... literally they made a “funny ahaha incest joke” like seriously wtf. the story of the striga in particular should be taken seriously imo because of how rawly the tragedy is depicted... this is probably why it’s one of my least favorite short stories... its so sad and also incest disgusts me horribly

for renfri i feel like she was just sooooo ... more “likable” as a character, a lot like how yennefer’s character was changed. you feel feelings of pity and curiosity towards her rather than actually being intimidated by her. renfri in the books actually made me so mad because i think she represents something like what ciri goes through across the saga, just how when you have the choice on how to respond to your abuse, you can easily become consumed with revenge, and i think renfri made me think of myself in that way so i really disliked it when they changed this terrifying raw aspect of her anguish and hunger for retrubution that made her lose her humanity into like, more of a palatable manner of killing... it really was just “girl with sword” and it was so boring. the lesser evil literally makes my stomach turn and that’s why i only read the story like once as well...

also to return to fringilla, i liked mimi and i thought she should have been cast for yennefer instead maybe.... i just was really upset at how much they changed fringilla’s character in the writing to be a “generic evil villain” when in the series she actually is kind of unique in my opinion. she is like, not allied at all with the main characters, but ends up saving both yennefer and geralt’s lives. she’s not good or bad, she’s not super loyal to the empire but she is still nilfgaardian/beauclairoise, and she just exists as a character and that’s why i actually like her in the books (asides from all of the unnecessary library nonsense). i thought mimi could have handled that complex role really well but they totally took that away from her and just made her a flat boring forgettable “evil” character that does “forbidden black magic” and is super loyal to an empire that brought her purpose because yennefer was mean to her once or smth ig... yeah ok. also i fucking hate how they had cahir of all fucking people order her around. idk how old cahir is supposed to be in netflix because he’s obviously not like 16-20 as he would be in canon during this time period, but to have him be the boss of fringilla... that is dumb as hell. i just try and think about that ever occuring with books verse cahir and fringilla and i think she would smack him off of his horse and into the mud. she’d tell assire and assire would get mawr to drag him off by his ear as he tries not to cry.  also of course i hate cahir’s casting and the fact that they showed his face. why. it ruins like every message that his character had...

oh also because i HAVE to talk about it. i hate how they tried to make jaskier more masculine/boyish with not giving joey a wig or flamboyant setting-appropriate garb, i think they are allergic to men with long hair that’s not a grime, dirt-covered mess... literally just give half of the production wigs or better wigs i swear to god ... also like this is totally for another post but i don’t think making jaskier a flirt is inherently misogynistic like he acts in the books at times. like just write the misogynistic bits out and it’s fine... flirtatiousness is not evil when it’s consensual and appreciated ... i think they just really wanted geralt to be the one that gets large amounts of p*ssy because he’s muscular or w/e and jaskier became this sort of helpless annoying barnacle on his side instead of a real character and friend to him. and to bring this point back to the main point , i think character appearance really affects their characterization: jaskier in twn has short, boyish hair with no facial hair, which makes him look kind of juvenile, jaskier in the books has curly long hair with some light facial hair, which kind of brings up ehhh what would you call it... 70s casanova energies maybe, a man that puts oils in his hair and such, male thottery...

[uzumaki-rebellion]

“Wet Sugar” [Part 1 of 30]

Summary: Erik Stevens has fully embraced his new identity as Killmonger and infiltrated a mercenary group with ties to Ulysses Klaue. Invited to St. Thomas in the U.S. Virgin Islands to meet for the first time, Klaue is impressed with Erik, unaware that the man before him is the son of Prince N'Jobu Udaku, a man he betrayed on a failed mission in Wakanda years ago.

Erik ingratiates himself to Klaue and is found to be a useful member of the new mercenary team the black market arms dealer and smuggler is putting together.

As a reward for hard and profitable work for him, Ulysses allows Erik to stay a summer at his stash/safe house to keep a close eye on some stolen artifacts hidden there. Erik uses that time to hatch the long term plan of using Klaue to gain access to Wakanda, however, he becomes distracted by  Klaue's housekeeper who allows Erik glimpses into a possible different life he could have if he ever let go of his plans for revenge...

For mature audiences only. NSFW. 

C.W.: Some violence in the beginning.

Please let me know what you think, share/reblog/etc. Off to get the next update up and ready!

"Bad man, nuh talk, West London me walk No bad vibes in mi yard, or yuh hear di ting back (boom) Gyally dem ah call, see the money and the car Celly ah ring off, rum-rum, haffi start, ya hear me? Mi buss ah Champ' and then they watch we, ya hear me? Mi have di liquor and di big tree, ya hear me? No commotion in my circle Potent herb and a sweet, sweet girl Take you 'round the world No-no-no bad vibes in my yard, hmm Inna my yard, inna my yard, inna my yard…"

Goldlink – "Yard"

What's past is prologue…

Ulysses Klaue had heard rumors of a large hoard of ancient gold coins worth €4 million hidden inside Assyrian-era giant winged bulls. The entire cache of five-foot statues themselves could not be transported nor disguised because of their weight and size, but some of the heads were removed and sold on the black market. Dating back 3,000 years, they were a hot commodity after the destruction of the Mosul Museum in Iraq. Klaue knew this because he had buyers salivating for a chance to procure the heads. And some of those heads had coins hidden in them. It was why he found himself standing now in front of a tall young Black man, American, with gold slugs on his two bottom canines, and a mop of neatly braided locs.

Klaue stared at the intel he had on his field computer.

"You're saying the statues we're looking for are gone already?" Klaue asked.

"ISIL already transported all that shit."

Wide-legged stance, protective ballistic body armor draped over an impressive build, his hands holding an AR-15 pointed right at Klaue's head, this man was in control of the situation. He had five other men from his team standing behind him backing him up with their weapons drawn too. Serious beefy looking men who would shoot if their leader even blinked. The red dot on Klaue's chest was a polite way of letting him know there were snipers on his ass too.

"Stand down," Klaue ordered his men behind him. A rough motley crew of six international soldiers of fortune.

"Alhusul ealaa al'ashya' alkhasat bihim," the Black man said.

Men that Klaue and his team didn't even know were behind them materialized like ghosts, snatching up their weapons and frisking them for more.

"Is this necessary?" Klaue asked as a thick-set mercenary felt on his balls and behind his back squeezing his ass.

"Gotta be thorough in this bitch."

Klaue smirked.

"May I ask who I have the pleasure of getting my nuts tweaked by?" Klaue said.

The man rolled his tongue along his bottom teeth, the gold slugs shining in the sunset. He nodded his head to his team to round Klaue's men up. Once the men were secured and a non-threat, the man lowered his weapon. His dark brown eyes were razor sharp and they regarded Klaue with calculated verve.

"Killmonger."

###

The oldest profession in the world was prostitution.

The second…killers for hire.

Of course, there were kinder more veiled names for mercenaries nowadays:

Soldiers of Fortune.

Private Military Contractors.

Professional Hired Fighters.

Dogs of War.

But Erik "Killmonger" Stevens knew what it was. Murder Incorporated—monetized madness.

The business of war was to keep a perpetual cycle of conflict all over the world so fat cats could make their coins under the guise of professional conflict management. If his mother were still alive, she would say what she always said around her women friends and his very own father…men were trash.

And she was right.

Unfortunately, she gave birth to a son who had to maneuver among the garbage so that he could fulfill his destiny. A destiny of revenge. A making right of what had been wrong for so long.

On the days that he did have downtime and could sit and do nothing at all, Erik would catch a news report or some ticker tape lede on the bottom of C-SPAN, CNN, MSNBC, or the BBC—just about any global news outlet—and catch glimpses of his final endgame. T'Chaka Udaku.

A king.

An elder statesmen.

A blood relative.

A lifelong enemy.

Erik's body would coil tight and hot when he let his mind imagine the day he would be in the presence of his Uncle. He foresaw the moment he would pull back the thick flesh of his bottom lip, the glowing blue vibram tattoo his father gave him as a child embedded deep in the skin of his inner mouth.

He ached to show the ring his father had left for him dangling around his neck, ached to taste and feed on the moment he would reveal all to King T'Chaka, unveil his birthright, and then snap the old man's neck with his bare hands, appreciating the feel of vertebrae cracking and twisting beneath his powerful calloused fingers. Or maybe he would fashion panther claws for himself and rip the man's heart out through his chest. Erik relished the thought. He would bring down—no…eradicate—he would eradicate the old House of Udaku, destroy T'Chaka's bloodline branch and take the throne of Wakanda for himself. A new sun would set on the golden city of Birnin Zana, the place of his father's birth.

Erik was his father's son, but he was also his mother's child, and Califia Stevens didn't raise no simpering punk. He was taught to be a soldier the moment he fell out of his mother's womb. The war he was going to rage was groomed by all of the things that happened in his life and all the things he was learning while biding his time in the ranks of private armies. Sitting back in the cut, gathering new skills and Intel, moving closer to finding the man he needed to get him into Wakanda: Ulysses Klaue. A man who sat at the top of his kill list for right now.

Erik sat crossed-legged overlooking a sand berm keeping watch for a particular caravan of armored S.U.V.s to traverse their path. The sun was making its way to a sluggish sunset, and his military-issue sunglasses protected his tired eyes. He hadn't slept in forty-eight hours and the job he was meant to complete was only halfway finished.

Earlier in the day, his crack team of fifteen men pulled off a bold daytime robbery of highly-sought after Assyrian gold coins. Disguised as U.N. peace-keepers dedicated to preserving artifacts, Erik was the only American on the removal team. He was tasked with masquerading as an art historian since the Canadians with them couldn't sound like authentic Londoners. The non-prescription glasses he wore and the crisp British accent he perfected allowed him to dupe a few Iraqi guards, especially with his fluency with Arabic and his thoughtful acknowledgment of Jumu'ah, the Friday prayers.

While Erik pretended to sit aside respectfully on an offered prayer rug in the midst of an isolated bunker holding the goods they sought, his phony U.N. gear a bit too tight, the guards thanked him for respecting their time in contemplation of Allah. The beneficent. The merciful. Moments later they were tied up and blind-folded left shackled together in the interior of the ravaged bunker that hid the last of the priceless winged bull statues that were hidden for their protection. Erik did let them finish their prayers though.

Time wasn't wasted, what needed to be found was found and bagged up, the heavy weight of the gold bending the backs of five men carting it out onto phony U.N. Jeeps. On the wings of hummingbirds as his great-grandmother used to say when it came to speed and efficiency. An expert strategist and obsessive pre-planner, Erik facilitated the logistics and implementation of the entire operation. They had to be gone before dusk as the heavy hitters from various political factions began to roam. The dry heat was fucking exhausting, made breathing laborious, and the lack of sleep was messing with Erik's focus. His men were ready to dip, but he had to wait, had to take the chance that the man he was scouting for would show.

"Killmonger."

Tahir, the one man Erik considered as close of a so-called friend with the work that he did, stood next to him, his AK-47 resting on his hip, his tan and black shemagh covering his neck and head. Erik glanced up, his own shemagh twisting around his neck tight. He loosened it.

"We should probably leave while it is still quiet."

"Nah. We got time." Gruff and brusque. That's how Erik kept it with the men.

Tahir placed his left hand on his hip and glanced behind him. He was always the one sent to question Erik. The rest were afraid of him, afraid of his quick temper. Afraid of the self-inflicted keloid scars that covered most of his upper body.

Erik looked past Tahir, could see the only other two Iraqis, Amit, and Wassef eyeing him from their sniper positions. He could feel the eyes of the others on him, the Greek, the Egyptian, the two Jordanians, the Russian and the three Canadians. The rest were hidden with their two Mi-17's a quarter of a mile away among the bullet-ridden wreckage of left behind helicopters from failed wars inflicted by the U.S. military.

"We have the gold. Let's go get paid and have some drinks. We can be in Lebanon in a few hours, I know some pretty girls, some nice clubs…"

"We'll wait. I need to see if this dude shows," Erik said, softening his tone with Tahir.

"You should eat something."

"Later," Erik whispered as he saw the approach of the caravan he was looking for.

###

A smart mercenary always checked out their target before any engagement. Someone on Klaue's team didn't do their homework and Erik had the man in his crosshairs. Klaue was shorter and ruddier than he thought the man would be. His reputation seemed larger than life, but the reality was a bit of a disappointment. Little dick energy all the way around. He was also slipping because Erik knew for a fact that some of his men tipped Erik's team off to the coins in the abandoned bunker. Getting past I.E.D's, insurgents, and American PMC checkpoints, Klaue's people looked pretty sorry in front of their main man being plucked by Erik.

"Listen, Killmonger. We'll just be on our way. No harm, no foul," Klaue said as he sat on the ground looking up at Erik.

No harm no foul. Yeah, right. Klaue would take any opening to put a bullet in Erik's head, and in the dome of whoever allowed this clusterfuck on his side.

"We just came for statues," Klaue said.

"With what? Three S.U.V.s? You can't even fit the head of one statue in those. Come again."

Klaue's eyes grew suspicious. Just as Erik expected.

"We have the coins," Erik said.

Klaue let his head drop down and he chuckled, his gold-rimmed teeth glinting. The snake had to come up with a plan fast.

The rat-a-tat-tat-tat sound of machine gun fire in the distance caught Erik's attention. Time was up. It was time to set the trap for this man. Erik knelt down.

Takka takka!

The gunfire was ticking closer.

"Just take the fucking coins and let us go."

An AR-15 near him and Klaue wasn't even flinching. The sweat on his forehead was just from the heat. Erik flipped his weapon behind him.

"I don't give a fuck about those coins. My boss does. But I'm here for something more valuable and it's not here." Erik kept his voice low enough so that only Klaue could hear him.

Klaue's eyes observed him with keen curiosity.

Erik dipped closer to Klaue's ear lobe, making his own men nervous. Erik's sour breath warmed Klaue's ear.

"I'm looking for vibranium," Erik said. He sat back on his haunches and tapped the man's prosthetic left arm that was bound tight. Erik wasn't taking any chances. He was well aware that the arm was a dangerous weapon. Klaue could easily wipe them out, but he was a pursuer of information, and more than illicit goods, useful intel was golden. This bitch was squirming on the hook. None of these motherfuckers around them knew what vibranium was.

"Who are you?" Klaue said, his voice sounding like it was in awe.

"The stash that was supposed to be here isn't. I don't know who got to it first, but it wasn't you or me—"

SSssss-BLAM!

The RPG came in fast and destroyed the first S.U.V. in Klaue's entourage.

Erik's men returned fire for cover as Tahir radioed for their choppers to extract them and the gold. Erik grabbed Klaue by his collar and hoisted him up to his feet. Tahir threw a yellow smoke grenade and stood in front of Erik and Klaue.

The hard whop-whop sounds of their Mi-17s surrounded them as Wassef and Amit slung their RPGs on their shoulders and returned rocket grenades to buy them time. The first chopper landed and their surly Canadian side gunner Wally G rolled the chopper door open and waved for them frantically.

"We got incoming from the north," Wally G yelled.

Erik's men quickly loaded their bounty of gold and split up to enter both choppers for the extraction.

"Move your asses!" Wally G screamed.

Erik yanked on the handcuffed and rope-bound Klaue and dragged him over to the first Mi-17 and threw him in.

"Let's go!" Erik yelled propping his AR-15 in position to help protect his side gunners on the chopper. His return fire bought Tahir more time to move.

Amit fired one last RPG to protect Klaue's men. Erik sent most over to the second chopper, and once Amit jumped aboard the first Mi-17, Erik waved his arm and their pilot Elias took off.

A sizeable enemy force swept into where they once stood. The chopper Erik was on was picking up fire from everywhere. Erik shot back from the open door and he could hear Elias bitching from the cockpit.

"Why the fuck did you have us wait?" Elias screeched.

"Just fly the fucking bird!" Erik shouted while still returning fire.

A stream of fuel ran down the inside of the chopper’s windscreen.

"Fuck!" Elias yelled, "One of my feed tanks is out!"

"Jesus Christ!" a man screamed.

Erik looked back into the rear of the chopper, two of Klaue's men had been hit, the screams of the wounded mixing in with the rapid-fire babble of Erik's men trying to figure out their next move. They were outnumbered by the men on the ground and the number of vehicles chasing after the limping Mi-17.

They were spilling volumes of fuel.

"Stop fucking shooting!" Erik cried out. All he needed was for one of their bullets to ricochet and spark the fuel vapors filling up the chopper. They could explode in mid-air.

"I gotta put her down, Killmonger!"

Erik moved to the cockpit and grabbed the radio.

"Banks! Banks! We gotta find a clear LZ. We've been hit!"

"Dammit, Killmonger!" Banks fired back with crackled intensity through the radio speaker.

Erik and the others felt the sudden drop and swoop of the chopper as Elias did his best to make a soft landing.

Night had fallen and Erik's men disembarked with Klaue's men. Through it all, Klaue was cool as a cucumber, watching Erik's every move. Tahir, eased over to Erik, his eyes watching the horizon as vehicle lights traced them in the distance.

"Too many of us, we all won't fit," Tahir grumbled.

"I'll make it work," Erik hissed, his eyes thwarted by the flash and hiss of an enemy RPG.

"Incoming!" Tahir screamed, and the grenade blew up a mere two hundred feet from them tossing dark sand into the air.

The second chopper pilot, Banks, landed and they loaded up. They were more than the number of bodies allowed based on the flight manual. Erik pulled Klaue up by his arms.

"Crunching numbers time. Who do you fuck with and who did you dirty?" Erik asked.

"Killmonger!" Banks yelled.

The enemy was getting closer.

Klaue glared at his men, his eyes going to the three that Erik already knew played him. Erik gave a cruel sneer and cut Klaue loose from the rope that bound his arms.

"See ya!" Erik said giving Tahir a head nod. The men were pushed out of the chopper.

"Klaue!" one of them screamed.

"Let's go!" Erik shouted to Banks.

The Mi-17 lifted up and Klaue's traitorous men flailed their arms begging to be taken.

Erik heard the sharp hiss and loud explosion of an RPG down below.

He already knew those men were in bloody pieces now. His eyes glanced over at Klaue who was stuffed between two of his henchmen. Erik's boys watched them like hawks, but Erik wasn't worried about them trying anything. Their lives had been saved. If Erik and his crew weren't there, they would've been killed by turncoats. Gold coins were probably the last things on their minds as the Mi-17 dipped and swooped amid rocket grenades.

The chopper headed toward a remote airstrip.

Erik stared at Tahir and grabbed at his stomach.

"Yo, I'm hungry as fuck."

###

The mid-morning American Airlines flight touched down at the Cyril E. King Airport with a soft bounce. Walking down the ramp and onto the tarmac, the wet heat engulfed Erik's face. He wore a light cream-collared linen long-sleeve shirt and loose jeans. He always kept his arms covered when he traveled, his keloid markings too much of a distraction in public. His two large bags were waiting for him at guest services. His flight from Miami had been delayed because of tropical storm weather, but for some strange reason, his luggage went out on an earlier flight.

He saw one of Klaue's men holding a handwritten sign with his name on it. Killmonger. Erik waved and carried his things to the tall Black man with the clean-shaven face and dark mocha skin.

"I'm Polk," the man said. Polk was dressed in comfortable basketball shorts, a plain white t-shirt and slip on sandals. Vacation gear.

They shared a handshake and Erik followed him out to a nice burgundy Mazda S.U.V. idling with another burly man in the driver's seat.

"That's Huntsman," Polk said helping Erik put his suitcases in the trunk.

Huntsman regarded Erik cooly, his pale white skin sunburned and overly pink in spots as Erik stepped into the back of the Mazda.

"Welcome to the team," Huntsman said and Erik picked up the Afrikaans accent in his voice.

"Thanks," Erik said.

"You hungry? We can grab something on the way to the house," Polk said as he stared back at Erik from the passenger seat.

"Nah, I'm good," Erik said.

Erik had to orient himself to the driving once he realized St. Thomas residents drove on the left side like the English.

"We have our own cook, so if you do get hungry later, she can whip something up for you," Polk said. Erik nodded, his eyes watching the crowd of cars jammed on the two-lane road leading away from the airport.

The scenery eventually swept past as they drove into Charlotte Amalie. Erik saw the port dock that housed the large cruise ships, floating cities on the way up into the hills.

"You ever been to the islands before?" Polk asked.

"Nah. Never found the time," Erik said still staring out of the window.

St. Thomas was not very big, only thirty-two square miles. In about twenty minutes the car was already crawling into an area of hills that elevated them. Erik noticed quite a few green and multi-colored iguanas lounging in the street and meandering on the sides of the road.

"Harmless," Polk said when he noticed Erik staring at them, "they are everywhere. Think of them as the squirrels of the island."

Erik nodded.

"We're here," Huntsman said.

The Mazda entered a guarded gate. Once it was opened and they drove through, Erik realized they were actually on a compound that had a grouping of houses. They parked in front of the main house. Polk helped Erik with his things.

"I'll walk him down to our area," Polk said.

Erik rolled his heaviest suitcase and trailed Polk as they made their way down a path blooming with colorful foliage and crawling with more iguanas. One large iguana blocked their path and Erik looked at the regal creature. It was blue and pink in the face with a mottled pink and brown body that had what looked like green plant-like growths on it. It hissed and Polk had them walk around it with a wide berth.

"Harmless, but a bit of an attitude sometimes," Polk said.

Erik chuckled and soon found himself entering a tastefully furnished house.

"You can have the room on the right. When we get full, we usually have to bunk with people, but this first week there are only eight of us here, so plenty of room and privacy.

Erik nodded.

"I'll let you get settled. Meet us at the front house around 1 p.m.? Klaue will want to see you for lunch."

Erik nodded and Polk left him alone.

The room assigned to Erik was nice and airy. He opened the window across from his bed to bring in the fresh island air. Unpacking slowly and methodically, he organized his space and was happy that he had his own bathroom.

He took a quick shower to wash away the flight and travel sweat from his body. He touched the two new keloid scars under the waterproof bandage that his cousin Marisol helped place on his lower back the month before. They were healing, slowly, the itch and scarring pain still present. Lately, he had been flying to Sao Paulo Brazil more often, and Marisol was not happy to perform the scarring ritual for him anymore, especially when his visits brought her pain because they were short-lived, often only for two or three days and then he was gone to the next assignment. She knew what the marks were for. She had one on her own side hip that he helped put there for her.

He allowed the water to run over his locs and then tilted his head back, letting the cool liquid drench his beard. He was tired and antsy at the same time. He had to be very careful in the lion's den.

"What are you doing down here?"

The melodious voice startled him, it was so close to the small frosted window he cracked open in the bathroom, and he turned to try and see who was speaking.

Erik was about to answer, but then he realized the person wasn't talking to him at all but to someone else outside.

"What I tell you 'bout coming down here? Don't look at me like that. You stay up above. Hear me now?"

The woman's island voice was sweet, lyrical almost, and had the fussy quality that reminded him of his great-grandmother when she was fussing with his mother. Whoever she was addressing didn't answer.

"Jerome! You hear me. Get yourself back up top. Now!"

Erik heard the stomping of feet.

"What are you doin' making all this noise?"

Another woman's voice joined the first.

"Jerome. His wife and alla his pickney up at the front house waiting on him. And he's down here being nosey. Get!"

"Gyal! Leave that thing alone. Him no listen to all that shrillness comin' from your mouth. Like he'll understand you—"

"They understand me. When I told him to move his ass from the driveway before that devil man ran him over, you seen how fast he move. Him know what I say. Right, Jerome?"

Erik dried off and tried to get dressed in fresh clothes fast when he heard a knock on the front door.

"Inside," the voice of the second woman greeted him kindly.

Erik pulled on a pair of black sweats and opened the front door.

An older woman with graying neat plaits stared at his chest. The scars startled her.

"Sorry," she said averting her eyes. Her hands carried clean beach towels and sunblock.

"It's cool," Erik said. His eyes swept past her looking for the person he heard moments before.

"I'm Miss Leona. I do the cooking and help take care of the property. I came down to ask if you had any food allergies."

"No, I can eat anything."

"Good," she said, her eyes focusing on his face. The graying hair didn't seem to match her youthful face and big bright white teeth.

"Just so you know, bathroom etiquette is simple. If it's yellow, let it mellow. If it's brown, flush it down. Use the bottled water for drinking, and all laundry can be done at the front house in the laundry room down below. There's a little apartment down there. Just drop the things you need to be cleaned in the laundry bag—"

"I can do my own laundry," Erik said.

Leona nodded and handed him the towels and sunblock.

"We have a pool at the middle house, and if you prefer sea water, there's a path by the pool that leads down to the private beach area. The water is very warm this season, and stays warm into the night."

Leona allowed her eyes to flit across his chest as she regarded his scars again.

"Is that…is that a condition? Do you need any creams or ointments? I can bring some—"

"I'm good. Thank you for asking."

"I don't mean to stare Mr. Killmonger. I have a nephew that has some tissue damage on his back, and it looks like that."

"No worries."

"I will leave you be then—"

"Who was the person you were talking to a minute ago? I heard someone else and she was talking to someone…Jerome?"

Leona laughed and pointed behind her.

"That was just Yani, my niece. She helps me out around here. She was just chatting with him."

Leona pointed and Erik saw the rainbow-colored iguana perched on a small tree in front of the house.

Erik smiled.

"I thought she was really talking to someone."

"Oh, she was. She and Jerome have a history together. She's known him since he was a baby. He doesn't listen to anyone but her."

"He's a big dude."

"Yes. But he won't bother you if you don't bother him. Get Yani if he does give you trouble."

"Will do. Thanks. How many houses are on the property?"

"Three. Mr. Klaue stays in the house down below. The two other houses are for his…men."

"Okay. Thanks Miss Leona."

"You're welcome. I will see you at lunch then? Mr. Klaue likes a late lunch, so I usually have things prepared by 1:30. Today will be a light sesame salad with salmon."

"Any local fish?"

"Sometimes. Mr. Klaue has me ship in things when he wants them. See you at lunch!"

Leona left him, and he was left standing in front of Jerome who watched him with wary eyes from his place in the tree.

"Don't make me call Yani on your ass," he said glaring at the iguana.

Erik finished dressing in a short-sleeved soccer shirt. He laced up a pair of New Balance sneakers and took a walk around the property.

He walked around the small pool that was only six feet deep and found the trail that led down to the beach. If Leona hadn't told him there was a path near the pool, he would never have found it. As it was, he felt secretive slipping down the hill and working his way to the sounds of open water.

"Whoa," he sighed when he finally found the entrance to a breathtaking sight. Clear water with soft sugary white sand and a beautiful view of an isolated smaller island further out in the sea. The sun beat down on him and he looked around to see if there was anyone else around. No one. It was quiet and hidden by part of a cove that had rock structures that curved away from where Erik stood. There were no other footprints or signs of any other human presence.

The water called to him.

Erik looked around again, then slipped off his shoes, pants, underwear and shirt. What a way to start his first day in paradise. He splashed into the water and it felt like he was crawling into the womb of life, the warmth cradling his tired limbs.

Paradise.

The place where he would plot against Klaue. Right in his own home.

###

Yani Galiber was always fussing with Jerome.

Ever since she rescued him from his first car accident as a baby when one of Klaue's drivers ran over his tail seven years previous. She had been fourteen and devastated, thinking her little friend would die. But then his tail grew back and she had been fussing with him ever since.

She was sent by her Aunt Leona to check the water cistern on Klaue's main house where he stayed. Sometimes an iguana would fall in and clog the waterway, and the man had been asking about water pressure. She made a point to check the roof gutters that helped collect water in case there was plant refuse or some other detritus stuck up there. When she ran into Jerome on the way back up, she noticed cuts on his skin. He must've been fighting the other male iguana that had moved into his territory. Unlike most of the iguanas around the property, Jerome was a drama queen and started trouble with other iguanas that weren't his children or mates, and sometimes he went after humans he didn't like.

After leaving her Aunt with Jerome, she headed back to the front house to grab a soda before her Aunt had her helping with lunch. She thought she may have time use her breast pump in private to fix her baby daughter Sydette's bottles for the evening when she had to go to work at her night job as a hostess at Havana Blue, a beach-front restaurant in the main part of Charlotte Amalie. Her cousin Monice would pick her up by 2:30 and drop her off at her Aunt Leona's apartment where she would spend time with Sydette before handing her over to her other cousin Twyla who would watch Sydette until Yani made it home to sleep. And depending on how busy Klaue kept her Aunt, Yani would travel back and forth to help work at the compound.

Yani cobbled together a life and set her sights on saving enough money to attend nursing school since her university plans of becoming a doctor had been derailed with the birth of her daughter. It was still a touchy subject with her parents who had allowed her to take a year off after she graduated high school to follow the crazy dream she had with her then-boyfriend Chez who was going to be the biggest rapper from St. Thomas after he was signed to a small record company in Miami.

Yani had sung background vocals for him around island clubs there and when they island hopped to Puerto Rico or Jamaica and as far as Trinidad. Chez was supposed to make it big and pay for Yani's education, but a year after graduating, Yani fell pregnant, she broke up with Chez, he lost the record contract due to a failed single not charting anywhere, and she was stuck living with her cousin and Aunt because she couldn't afford anywhere on her own and her parents didn't want the stigma in their home among her younger sisters. She was the tainted oldest child who had thrown her life away by having a baby with a SoundCloud level struggle rapper. For shame.

Her baby girl Sydette was a joy, but Yani found it difficult to nurse a baby and still try and nurse a medical career of some kind. A nurse was about as high as she could go now, and she set her sights on getting into the nursing college of her choice the following year. She just needed to get her money right to help take care of Sydette and tuition.

Klaue's compound was a way to make good money, especially when he had a lot of people there. Her Aunt Leona always made sure to pull her in to work for the under the table cash. Klaue paid well. The more men there, the more they made.

Yani and her Aunt were fully aware that Klaue was into some nefarious dealings. Even though he owned two jewelry stores, one in Charlotte Amalie, and one on St. John island, they were just legal fronts for some bad guy stuff. Leona didn't think they were drug dealers, but they did sell something illegal. Did something that required a private compound and sometimes armed guards when Klaue was gone. But as long as the money was good and they stayed out of the way when not needed, Yani had no problem working there. Her Aunt had been doing it for twelve years.

Yani took some time to slip into a bedroom in the front house with her breast pump. She filled three bottles and put them in a plastic bag inside the kitchen freezer to take home later for Sydette. Bottles made, she helped prepare lunch with her Aunt. All the houses were clean and prepped for Klaue's people, so Yani enjoyed the respite.

"What time are they eating, Auntie?"

"Mr. Klaue said around 1:30."

Yani washed her hands in the kitchen sink. She sneaked a nectarine from a bowl on the dining table.

"That's for the guests."

"They won't miss one piece of fruit."

"Where you goin'?"

"The beach—"

"Don't stay down there all day, Yani—"

"Just a quick dip. I promise."

"I'll need your help putting things out—"

"I'll be back. Quick, quick…" she said flouncing out of sight.

###

The path was a tiny sanctuary.

It felt like she was traveling into a secret garden.

Even though she grew up around water all her life, was nicknamed The Mermaid because of her love for it and knew practically every bay and cove on the island, there was something special about this small patch of land that led to this particular little private beach. Private only because the topography made it difficult for small boats to get to and tourists to walk without having to climb some terrain.

Klaue wasn't a swimmer, not all that much anyway, and his men never came down this way, so it was hers. Yaniland.

She ate the nectarine and began pulling her top off when she halted, fruit dangling between her teeth.

Someone was in her private paradise.

A man was swimming in her water.

She felt vexed until she walked closer.

He was floating naked on his back oblivious to her gawking at him full of irritation. He was spoiling her space. She pulled the fruit from her mouth.

"Hey! You out there! What are you doin' here?"

The man dunked under the crystal waters and when he came back up, he shook loose locs around the crown of his head.

Yani shielded her eyes.

"You talking to me?" he asked.

"You see anyone else here?"

"Why you so salty? You don't even know me, Ma!"

"Ma? You call me your mother? Do I look like your mother to you?"

"Relax Steve Irwin—"

"What you call me?"

"You the one talking to the iguana?"

"What iguana?"

"Earlier, up at the middle house…Jerome."

Yani scrunched up her face.

"How you know I talked to Jerome?"

"I was in the house. I'm the new guy."

"Killmonger?"

"Yeah."

"Who told you to come down here?"

"Your Aunt."

Yani sucked her teeth. It was loud enough for him to hear and he laughed at her.

"Is this your private beach?"

"No," she said folding her arms across her chest.

"Then I can swim here."

He moved in closer until the water was at his waist.

There were bumps all over his chest and waist, but none below…

Lookie.

His privates were distorted a bit from the sun's angle hitting the water, but she could see it closer. She felt her eyes fuse in her skull. She was staring at a naked man she didn't know.

"Were you planning on getting in? I can leave if you want some privacy."

"I was, but you can stay in…"

He looked down at himself then back at her.

"I'll leave—"

"Wait!"

Yani stepped back and her nectarine fell out of her hand.

"I don't want to make this weird for you. I'll leave first so you can swim or put your clothes on."

"Close your eyes. You walked all the way down here to enjoy yourself. I'll put on my stuff and let you have at it."

Yani closed her eyes and she heard the splash of water as the man left the sea.

"All good now," he said.

When she opened her eyes, he had his sweatpants on and held his shirt and shoes in his hands.

"Yani?" he asked.

"Yeah…"

She felt her voice die in her throat when she saw his bottom canines between his lips. She wasn't shy about staring at his scars. He was much taller than her.

Killmonger.

This was the man Klaue was bragging on the last two days. The man that Polk and Huntsman grumbled about at the dinner the previous night. It seemed Killmonger had favor with Klaue and those two brutes didn't like it so much. Yani had heard Huntsman call the man an ursurper. She expected to see some piggish white man with swine-like features and dragon fire spewing from his mouth. The only unsettling thing about him was the keloid scars. And only because they didn't look random at all nor accidental.

"You not hot wearing that on your head?" he asked.

Yani touched the top of her head. She still had her beanie on from earlier in the day. It had been cold that morning when she arrived. She wore a dark Naruto t-shirt and baggy orange sweats and just because he mentioned her head cover, she suddenly felt overheated wearing so much clothing on the beach. The heat was beating her down. She needed to be in the water. But she needed him to leave because she too liked to swim nude. But now that he knew about this place, she would probably have to change the times she came down. And she most definitely couldn't swim naked again while he was here. He was ruining everything.

She pulled her beanie off. Her scalp was grateful, her short buzz cut allowing the heat to toast the dyed blonde hair on her head.

"I'll go check on Jerome," he said.

Up close his voice had a playful raspy quality to it. His gold slugs peeked at her again when he smiled. He had dimples like her Sydette.

"Oh!" she said.

She wanted to grab her breasts when she felt her nipples leaking suddenly.

"What?" he asked, his face looking curious.

"I forgot something!"

She took off running back up to the front house clutching at her chest.

Leona was clearing space on the dining table for the lunch meal when Yani ran in.

"What's going on?"

"My titties are leaking."

"You're not wearing that special padded bra I bought for you? I got you four of those to help with that.

"I forgot," Yani called from the bathroom. She wiped down her nipples and stuffed tissue inside her bra to soak up anything else that decided to express itself from her tits. She couldn't wait for Sydette to be done with breastfeeding so her titty milk could dry up.

She walked out of the bathroom to find her Aunt talking to Killmonger and she felt her nipples acting up again. The tissue would have to work miracles.

Watching Killmonger converse she noticed how giddy her Aunt was acting with him. He was sweet with her, asking questions about the island, about her, what she did when she didn't work at the house. Before she knew it, lunch was ready and Killmonger was helping Leona bring the food to the table. Now he was taking over her job.

The other men arrived and Yani joined her Aunt in the kitchen to stay out of their way. Klaue sat at the head of the table with Killmonger by his side, and when she heard the new man speak again, she realized that her tits were reacting to his voice, her milk was leaking again. Only her baby could do that to her sometimes when she cried or needed something.

What the hell was this man doing to her?

She pressed her fingers against her nipples to push the tissue paper closer to her tips.

Who was he?

###

Smooth sun-kissed brown skin. Lips plump. Eyes big and bright. Eyebrows dark and thick.

Yani favored her Aunt and Erik found himself staring at her while he ate lunch with the men and Klaue.

One minute she was making him feel like he didn't belong in her space and the next he was watching her run away from him, her thick ass cheeks bouncing and making him think thoughts he had put aside. He hadn't been with a woman for about three months and quite frankly, hadn't missed the company because of all the work he had been doing. Once he hooked Klaue into his orbit, all Erik could think about was Wakanda and waiting for the perfect time to move on the East African nation.

She was young. This girl, Yani. Probably in her twenties. Mouthy. He liked that. Saw him naked and didn't give a fuck. Until he came closer to her. Then she became modest, probably for his sake and hers. A young woman like her around some treacherous men, she had to be careful.

He wasn't the only one peeping her in the kitchen at lunch. Huntsman was clocking her also. This bothered Erik. So openly wanton.

She was covered up looking like some skater punk he could see on any street corner back home, but she had some curves that strained against the sweatpants. Waist tight probably from swimming a lot. Full breasts. It was the blonde hair that made her dark eyebrows pop. Right now, those eyebrows were furrowed and she was looking right at him. Like she was still mad he had trespassed on her world. The girl who spoke affectionately to iguanas like they were human and yelled at him like he was a big lizard. Erik gave her a grin and she cut her eyes to look at her Aunt who was washing dishes.

By the time lunch was over, Yani was reaching into a refrigerator and grabbing a plastic bag and leaving the house for the day.

The rest of the day was a period of rest and acclimation.

Klaue didn't want to talk shop until the next day, and Erik was happy he could just wander the secure compound. He spotted security cameras everywhere. He learned that each house could be locked down from the inside and secured easily. Klaue called the estate "Our Lady's Manor", naming it after Leona who Klaue affectionately referred to as "My Lady" every chance he got. Leona didn't seem to mind, and she got on well with Klaue in that practiced way that Black people had when in the employ of white people. Klaue may have thought they were close, like family even by the way he fawned over her, but Leona was about her job and getting her work done as expeditiously as possible without getting in anyone's way. Friendly but distant. Smart woman. Klaue was not to be trusted. The presence of guns and ammo didn't faze her or Yani. Money was money.

Erik looked for Yani at dinner and she wasn't around for it. Gone for the rest of the night he assumed. He didn't want to ask Leona about her, afraid of making the older woman suspicious of him for asking about her young niece. He just wanted to let her know that he would be going to the beach early in the morning so that she could have her own personal beach time.

Erik slept well in his new room after smoking some decent herb that Polk gave him to tune out. When his alarm went off at five in the morning, he slipped into some light blue swim trunks and walked barefoot at dawn to the beach.

Body rested, mind clear and sharp, he felt like the wind had been punched out of him when he saw Yani in the water already.

Naked.

Water pearled down her cinnamon brown skin as if she wore diamonds in the early morning waves. Her hips flared out showcasing the beauty of her round posterior that flexed as she poured water over her head.

Once, when he was a child, Erik's mother had taken him to carnival in Sao Paulo and while standing next to his play cousin Marisol and holding his father's hand, Erik saw Yemanjá dancing on a float, the drums of Candomblé pounding in his ears, his little hips moving in time to the rhythm. He thought the woman on the float dressed in gauzy blue scarves was a real Goddess and his mother gently corrected him and explained that she was a representation. That first sensation, the tangible feeling of his heart bursting wide open to make room for the orixá of the sea had stayed with him for a long time. That woman long ago may have been a false divinity, and he could be forgiven for making the mistake with the eyes of a child. But he was a man now, and the being before him splashing in the warm sea was real and divine. Black deities were real. She was in front of him. Yemanjá. He had to be near her.

He shucked his trunks and took his time approaching her.

She dived under the water and he felt that his heart would break if she didn't come back up, wouldn't be surprised at all if she didn't return to the surface, but he needed to see her eyes, needed to make sure she was real.

He stopped short when a small wave crashed into his chest and he allowed himself to be swept with it.

Yani popped back to the surface wiping her hand over her face. She didn't jump or cry out when she saw him wading in the water, didn't try to shield her breasts or the neatly clipped bikini area of her sex, her vulva pouty and rounded, the split between her legs making his dick jump. She was a true ethereal vision and the reverence in his eyes must've stalled any thoughts she may have had of him being a weirdo coming for her.

"Killmonger," she said with no trepidation in her voice, "I see this is going to be a problem, no?"

"Erik," he whispered, trying to find his own voice, "my name is Erik."

[Part 1]

[Part 2]  [Part 3]  [Part 4]  [Part 5]  [Part 6]

Tag List:

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[bloody-fists-beating-hearts]

It’s a Fallout76/Bethesda rant

Bethesda just released Fallout 1st, a horseshit pay-to-win subscription system for their absolute cum-bubble of a game, and while it’s getting the flack it deserves there are people already putting on their kneepads so they can gobble down Todd Howards entire turgid cock, and as someone who likes rpg’s way too much this irked me, so have a massive and barely coherent rant i took off the discord because why not.

I want to start off with this:  Every good thing about current fallout comes from the fanbase. The stories people tell, the headcanons, the fanfics, the art, everything fans do for it is made with more love, and more thought, than anything Bethesda’s writing and games design team has done in the last 10 years

Now first of all, I haven’t bought or played 76. People are gonna stop me right there and go ”well you haven’t bought it how would you know its bad!!” yeah, I’ve never eaten dog shit either but I can pretty well guess that I ain’t gonna fucking like it.

I knew the second he said "there are no npcs" with actual enthusiasm that this game was gonna be shit. And if you give me 2 seconds to gloat, I never bought the game and I knew this was gonna happen and I was RIGHT so suck my fat hairy nuts all those fanboys who pre-order things mindlessly just because there's a brand name attached to it. If there is anything you take from this its DO NOT PREORDER. BRAND LOYALTY IS FOR BOOMERS AND BOOTLICKERS. FOR FUCKS SAKE BE SMART WITH YOUR MONEY.

Games like this are fucking 80-90 dollars or more in Australia so I actually have to think about whether this momentary distraction is worth almost an entire days paycheck, and I’m still looking for employment which means I actually haven’t bought shit in a while (side note, anyone wants to commission me for 10 dollars I’ll draw damn near anything. God I need to make rent)

Every executive at Bethesda seems to be playing catch-up to EA's monetisation scheme. Beth has abandoned their model of single-player rpg's in favour of a "games as a service" model. Fallout 76 seems to me like its a weird experiment for just how far they can stretch this and still make money. It actually makes me wonder if they are 

 a) just completely unaware of fanbase response [no idea HOW]

b) are running into financial problems and are doing this out of desperation

 c) todd howard is still mad that obsidian made a better fallout than he ever could and he's doing this out of spite 

  Games as a whole has become much like the movie industry where publishers will throw big buckets of cash around to development teams, and those teams have CEO's and higher ups that throw lavish meet n greets and have nice fancy suits and cars and then treat their development teams like shit, overworking them to the point of exhaustion, because the product has to be on time for release dates that are scheduled to be the most profitable (christmas is a notable one). 

And those products are consistently bland, shitty, shallow experiences. Narrative cum-dumpsters that are purposefully made to toe the line as safely as possible, to be open to as wide as an audience as possible so they can make the most money, and Bethesda is a huge offender. Skyrim was fun, sure, but it was watered down to fuck, it had shitty dialogue, it had bland one-note characters, it had a simplified skill system. It was impossible to lose. Seriously, try and fail a fucking quest in skyrim, other than one or two, it's a hand-holder of an rpg, but it has a huge community of fans that put in monumental effort, for free, because they like the Elder Scrolls, and they like the world bethesda made. 

  Then Bethesda goes "hey, that watered down thing we made got huge! lets release it about 12 more fucking times, with some of the SAME bugs, with the SAME content, with the SAME limitations and Yes, we absolutely expect you to pay for it, again. Then they release the remastered edition which, to their credit, is free to anyone who already bought the legendary edition (on PC), and does actually have updated 64bit capability and some graphical enhancements (that aren't anywhere near what some goober in his basement cooked up in his spare time, but whatever). Then, seeing that Skyrim was so popular, with kids especially, and made money, they turn their sights to fallout 4, a game that was so anticipated that someone made a fake countdown and caused a small meltdown on tumblr/social media when it was revealed to be fake (i was part of that fiasco, i remember the hype, i was there goddamnit)

So Fallout, a franchise that literally has its theme as its FUCKING TAGLINE, an ADULT game that is equal parts crude, gory and humorous. A game that satirises the cold war era of american my-country-tis-of-thee blind loyalty and openly mocks the way war was idealised, and shows that not even the literal end of the world could either stop humanity's lust for blood or its desire for conquest. Games that showed you the growth of the world - from shady sands to the NCR, from the vault dweller to arroyo, shit actually happened in the games, the world didn't just stop turning when the bombs dropped. A game where you you become a porn star for fucks sake, and it's funny. 

So Bethesda sees that, makes something like it (fallout 3) which is good, but a little rough around the edges when you look at it too hard. But the way they suck you into the vault, the way they build a relationship with your dad and your way of life is immersive as fuck, so when you leave the place you actually feel like you're leaving something important, not just finishing the tutorial

then they outsource a Fallout game to obsidian, because hey, we saved your franchise by buying it off you, but if you can make an entire game in one year and get a metacritic score of 85 we'll even throw in a bonus. And fuck me sideways and in the ear, if the obsidian devs didn't work themselves harder than a 4-armed hooker. And they made a game that on release was a clusterfuck of bugs, because they were given an unrealistic time limit and missed the metacritic score by ONE POINT so bethesda goes "nhey heh sucks to suck" and fucks them off the franchise forever. EXCEPT (and I admit I'm biased here) the game is good. The game is actually really good when you remove those bugs, and people start forming attachments to it, and mentioning how bad fallout 3's writing is by extension. 

  So Todd and Co. in his infinite wisdom, decide that the only thing a fallout rpg needs is 50s aesthetic and fuck all else, and he releases a game so watered down it can't even be called an rpg. And its not. There are no skills. There are barely any dialogue checks. Instead of dialogue, Nate/Nora is a flat, samrish individual that is either "yes sir right away sir may i have another", "yes but i'm gonna make an unfunny quip about it" "this option pretends to say no but its gonna give you the quest marker anyway". 

The game drops any pretence of difficulty by giving you a deathclaw, a minigun and some power armour in the first 10 minutes, allowing you to effectively reach late-game power levels with some minor scavenging for ammo or cores. Then the game ropes you into some inter-faction war that realistically you wouldn't give a shit about, because some spud in a cowboy hat fucking deputizes you into a military general because you shot like 4 raiders from a rooftop (with a minigun. in power armour. making you nigh-invulnerable to bullets). You're sad about your son about 3 times the whole game and then you're on your merry way to mowing down humans left right and center without a care in the world. God fallout 4's writing is so stupid it gives me an aneurysm.

 Remember the part about resources wars and america only having the veneer of a strong country while riots, inflation, and resource shortages tore it apart from within? Bethesda doesn't, have an eerily stepford pastel coloured glimpse at a world that was totally fine, nothing wrong here, shame it got nuked oh well moving on

Your spouse? yeah you love them, they're said 2 whole sentences to you then they died, be sad because you totally loved them and it is totally sad that they are dead. Your weird play-dough son shaun, you love him so much, you even tickled him on the chin once, okay he's gone off you go to chase him - woah now, don't chase him too hard we have all these side quests for you to do! What would be the narrative reasoning for a supposedly distraught parent to fuck around boston instead of finding their goddamn child? fuck knows! just go pick up some goddamn wood and get to base building sonny-jim! 

Companions? yeah, they're fun, we gave them a romance questline and it's thus: if you pick enough locks and pass a minor charisma check maccready will be ready and willing to tell you about his sick child, and then he'll ride you like a stallion. Talk to him like, 4 times, and he will be your bosom buddy for life in about 3-5 days if you just pick locks like a fucking madman, because character growth is hard and counting beans is easy.

 Also your son is a part of the faction we were talking about! something about synths, remember that one questline from rivet city that barely anyone actually remembers and was an interesting time waster at best? Well get ready to do that same quest but about! 15! more! times! because we could not think of anything else to write about synthetically produced humans that assume peoples identities other than having them as a hamfisted metaphor for slavery. Why do they take over people's identies? Well because the institute needs them to aasdkfjdh kshshshsh t9oe of course. 

Speaking of hamfisted metaphors, here's the underground railroad, named after the underground railroad that actually mattered, except this time its the same thing but synths. They are so top secret that the only way to find them is to follow the only bright red line in a street that is exclusively green-brown otherwise, and then enter their super secret password, which is "password"

They are then, like every other faction, absolutely willing to trust you, at face value, no questions asked, because have to actually do something or require a skill check might make this hard for people under the age of 12 to play. Then you go do whatever fuckin shit you do, I stopped playing at this point, and then you find out your son is actually 60, you guys have a tearful, 10 sentence reunion, then he diesthe whole reason you were out here in the first place dies, and you react appropriately, which is to say you say his name really sadly, and then go back to mowing down raiders with reckless abandon

And then 76 gets released, bethesda drops all pretense of fallout still being an rpg. You want a story? Fuck you, pay up. Its retro future and thats all that makes falloutSatirizing war mongering? You can nuke things in this game and its totally fine, its actually the goal, because fallout has nukes in it right? Pay us 10 dollars and you get army olive drab spraypaint because hurrgh war is fun and great, wasnt that the tagline from the first game?The more i rant the more angry i am because people put their heart and soul into writing this. The lore and dialogue is actual work that someone researched and loved and felt proud of and now  it's becoming a hilariously meta parody of itself. 

Honestly FUCK bethesda and and fuck todd howard for his pisspoor cash grab. Not even worth calling it a video game anymore

[dearyallfrommatt]

 My late father loved Krystal burgers. Even after his diabetes blossomed into something his battered old body could barely control, if he came near a town that had a Krystal, he’d make Momma drive him by it. When my brother got married in Athens, GA, and a mix-up of Daddy’s meds put him in a serious fog, he had enough presence of mind to have us make a run to the one on Prince Avenue.

 Long story short, the Krystal burger chain is filing for bankruptcy. Founded in 1932 and famous for those little hamburgers like you’d get at White Castle up North, the company has a hearing in the North District Court of Georgia Wednesday, citing debts up to $100 million dollars. Regardless how things turn out, some of the 320 restaurants in nine different states will remain open thanks to franchising, but that still makes life a little worrisome for the 5,000-plus people who work for the company now, mostly at part-time wages, of course.

 The last time Krystal went bankrupt was 1997 and that was due to millions of dollars of unpaid overtime owed to employees. The company was bought by a private equity firm, Port Royal Holdings, for $145 million dollars. As an aside, the original Port Royale was a famous pirate haven back during what’s called The Golden Age of Piracy, roughly 1620-1720, before becoming a center for “legitimate” shipping and trade in the Caribbean, but I’m sure that’s a coincidence.

 Since 1997, Krystal has bounced from private equity firm to private equity firm and has had eight different CEO’s. The last one, Paul Macaluso, left after the company eliminated franchises and management positions, not to mention slashing basic staff, in an effort to not actually turn a buck but the stave off their mounting creditors. The company declared bankruptcy the day their last loan deal with a creditor ran out. At the same time, the company’s dealing with an investigation into their payment practices and a “security breach”.

 I doubt this will mean we’ll see the end of Krystal, but maybe. What’s most likely is that yet another private equity firm full of people who care nothing about anything beyond making more and more profit and damn the torpedoes, will swing in to rescue it, finding new and better ways to screw over workers. Because they can never make enough money.

 I don’t understand rich people, I really don’t. People who can’t just enjoy their wealth and good fortune, I mean, the ones that have to have more and more lucre. Wrestling legend Jim Cornette - stay with me here - once said the main thing he could not understand about former boss and WWE CEO Vince McMahaon is why he couldn’t just enjoy his billions. He had to have more and, not only that, fuck over other people as much as possible while doing it.

 For your edification, after the end of the Monday Night Wars in 1999, the only professional wrestling company that made money was the WWF. McMahaon - who bought the company from his father Vince Sr. in the late ‘70s for one dollar - was literally worth billions. On top of that, it didn’t look like the they’d ever stop making money bringing the rabid fan base the best in sweaty men in small pants pretending to fight.

 And then Vince got greedy. First they tried to bring the world two billion-dollar flops in the XFL and a restaurant in Manhattan. I really don’t know from the restaurant except that it crashed and burned, but being a fan of football, I watched the XFL saga with fascinated horror. Going against the NFL is a rum’s game - ask the USFL and President Trump - but the XFL was set up to actually take down - or pretend to, keeping with the wrestling theme - the pro football juggernaut.

 The lads from at Old School Wrestling can sum it up better and more entertaining than I could. After all was said and done, the league lost $138 million dollars with their deal with NBC, it cost Vince himself $69 million, and by the time the thing washed out, Vince was no longer a billionaire. In short order, the wrestling boom ate itself and money that could’ve been spent to give their employees some sort of health insurance security went to creditors. Even in the football league, the highest paid athlete made five grand a week and, of course, no health insurance for players.

 Now, I’m not ragging on the WWE or even professional wrestling. I firmly believe that one of America’s greatest contribution to world culture is professional wrestling - no, seriously - and a full understanding of the United States’ development and evolution, at least in the 20th century. But this is a fine example of how greed destroys whatever it touches. Call it capitalism’s inevitable outcome or whatever you want to call it, but this is now seen as How Things Are Supposed to Be.

 The last decade saw a plethora of long-running businesses go flat broke and have to shutter their doors. Financial experts blamed the death of Toys ‘R’ Us on Millennials not having kids and the spread of Amazon, for example, but the fact is the private equity companies - including Mitt Romney’s Ban Capital - cut and sliced everything they could in the run for more profits and less overhead. ‘Cause that’s all that matters.

 I used to do an internet streaming radio show with a libertarian who once tried to enlighten to me the evil of taxation in maybe the dumbest way possible. A friend of his, he said, worked at a private equity firm, putting in 80 hours a week, and because of taxation, she was only able to bring home $180 thousand out of the $200 thousand she “earned” each year. Needless to say, that didn’t cut it.

 But again, this is how the world is Supposed To Work. Providing a good consumers either need or really enjoy and in some way makes their lives a little better, that doesn’t even pretend to matter anymore. Taking care of your employees, paying them enough to live on and keep themselves hale-&-hearty because workers that aren’t living in terror of getting sick or a raise in rent are better workers, that’s not profitable.

 Well, it is profitable and a smaller, self-contained businesses can totally do that, but the American Way is to gobble up as much as possible for some reason. Instead of enjoying your wealth and the sense of stability never having to worry about which bill you’re going to have to skip this month or if your landlord is going to increase your went for whatever the hell reason, our society encourages the very richest to accumulate and horde as much wealth as possible. If you can step on someone’s face in the process, even better.

 And if you fail, no big worry. In 2008, Delta Airlines fired their CEO, Richard Anderson, after four months because the company lost over $70 million. Anderson nevertheless walked away with a severance package that included  over $11 million dollars plus a corner office on Peachtree Street in Atlanta. More recently, due to on-going scandals involving their 737′s, Boeing booted their CEO Dennis Muilenberg after ballooning losses and deadly crashes of two of their planes. They did punish him by denying his full severance package, though. Luckily, he still walks away with $60 million in stock options and pension benefits.

 So, what is the answer, I hear you say. Hell, I don’t know. These practices are an ongoing problem, but the acceptance of such behavior by the hoi palloi is even worse. We see this as natural and good, the American way. We elected a president who was born rich and was a big mover-&-shaker in a field his father already plowed, and companies under his control went bankrupt at least six times. Had he spent the last 50 years funding art galleries and weaving baskets, just letting the interest do it’s work, he’d arguably be richer than he is now.

 Is socialism the answer? Can capitalism be saved? Do we need to look for an entirely different paradigm when it comes to economic survival? Again, I don’t pretend to have any answers. Indeed, my whole approach to anarchistic theory isn’t searching for a specific end result way to “make things work” so much as using the tools I can live with to get by as best I can while maybe making the world a better place along the way. But since no one is ever really punished or suffers from such actions that have proven to be, at best, a crap game, we’ll see more of this.

 More profit, that’s all that matters.

[autismgavemychildvaccines]

Why I’m Ashamed to Be Christian

So, now that I am literally sick of the Measles nonsense (no, fucking literally, working 12+ hour shifts on an incident management team has got me sick and tired enough to call in tomorrow), I’ve decided to do a non PH rant, though it’ll for sure rear it’s fucking head somewhere in here. Instead, let’s tackle something real fun. Religion! Time to buckle up.  In my half fucking awake daze that I was just nudged out of, something really wild hit me. My faith, my belief in a very specific God with a specific book (though I admit that other religions, so long as their origin is not a company or a tool to oppress others on the outset, are valid/likely just as true) makes no God damned sense.  (For reference, here I will claim my most closely related sect as my own; American Evangelism [though if one were to ask in person I’d say “non-denominational”, but historically, the two are close] and will be speaking as a part of a community I used to closely belong to but now have drifted away from on some granola-crunching dumbassery that is “I am a church of one” bullshit. I’ve wanted to be other things, but ever since I left the Freemasons, fuck all else has had much appeal.) So, first things first, Garden of Eden, right? Pretty fucking cool place, some might have even called it a perfect garden, a perfect place for humans and God to interact? But here’s my hang up with it. The trees of Life and Knowledge, and the rule that Adam and Eve could eat of any fruit except those grown upon that pair. Why even fucking have them?

 When I asked that as a kid in a faith based area, they said because it was a test.

 Of what?

 “Well, of our loyalty to God and our Faith, of course”. 

Except again, what the fuck? Like, I get the idea of free-will, in fact I am a huge believer in individual free will (I’ll get to that in a sec), but here’s the stickler here. As any other creative type will tell you, we want our work to take on a life of its own. Like say I wanted to program a remarkably bright AI, and it worked, and all I wanted was for it to recognize me as its creator and to discover and enjoy what home I could make for it. You know what I wouldn’t do? I wouldn’t give an AI, even with some simulated free will, the ability to break certain rules. For example, I wouldn’t allow it unrestricted access to the internet or my personal accounts. I wouldn’t even give it the concept that such things existed, let alone put it right fucking there to be used. That would be a flaw, an imperfection in an otherwise perfect place. And yeah, there’s something to be said for giving free will with not-free consequences, sure. But two things: 1) Don’t be pissed when the thing happens that you allowed to exist in the first place and thus forced it to be a mathematical certainty now that you’re dealing with perhaps the most curious species to ever exist.  2) Don’t go blaming them for a lack of faith. If anything, it’s a self-fulfilling prophecy, an act that abusers often use to get what they really want and have a thin veneer of an excuse to make happen. Now doesn’t that sound a lot like a good number of the followers of this faith, as opposed to an almighty, omnipotent, powerful being? Hmm, something to consider there, maybe.  Speaking of followers, let’s actually also take a look at some of the prophets that we as American Christians often hold so dear. Now me? I’m a Luke guy, I like Luke. Peaceful, loving gospel for the most part, and I dig it. Peace and love, baby, that’s all I want coming from stories regarding a higher power that we had to hang up like a fucking tapestry to make sure we got all that love. But do you know who I fucking hate, and who I blame the most for how the American chruch is? Paul/Saul of Tarsus. Thiiiiiiiiiiis prick. This fucking Deus Vult Vulture. Actually in many ways, he really is the archetype to the Modern Evangelical fucking anything. Actively participated in the harassing, attempted extinguishing and successful terrorizing of a marginalized group. Then after being hit back for it, literally “seeing the light” and trying to be the fucking vanguard of said group only to lead it down a path where he’s suddenly the appointed expert of anything to do with the issue. And while he does this, he helps create the most violent and bigoted thoughts in the whole of the religion, and is praised for his visions as he says they are truly from God, and can thus act oh so righteously. This right here is a fucking problem, y’all. Like, I know the whole forgiveness idea allows for some mental gymnastics on how this could even happen, but even then to make a genocidal ass-face your de-facto leader aside from Christ himself for the next 2000 years is a fucking flip that even at the 1988 Olympics, if Christians were America, Russia would give them a straight 10/10.    And yet, for many of us, that’s exactly what we’ve done. Hell, we’ve even fallen into the forced victim narrative of the synopsis of this asshole:  “Oh well, you see, I was a heathen and thus I couldn’t help myself, but then like, the God of the people I was killing talked to me and like, now I have to do this (Take on the “burden” of leading the church) as penance for what I couldn’t help myself over.” We’ve fallen for it so much, that it may as well be hard wired into our nervous system to believe anything resembling it, just as we assume if something is flat, green and on a tree, it’s a leaf.  Maybe it’s why we as a religion (and let’s face it, other Abrahamic religions as well) are so damn good at beating down the marginalized while screaming that we are the saints, we’re the sacrificiers trying to make things better. Like, let’s have some modern day fun with this bullshit, man; let’s see how we treated and in many places continue to treat women.  Of the few churches I have been to, 100% of them had one dual-sided message that made me real fuckin’ uncomfortable, fam:  Part 1) That women cannot be trusted onto themselves and thus 2) Men must take control of them and society to not allow for some unspecified “Ridiculous bullshit”.  (as a fair heads up; I do fully recognize non-binary, trans individuals, etc, but for the sake of brevity I’ll be mostly referring to M/F in the traditional sort of way, because opening up Christianity’s treatment of anything regarding gender fluidity is a Ph.D. thesis for another day)  Now, I don’t know about y’all, but I know damn well that out of all the dudes I know, and all the lasses I know, they’re a pretty mixed fuckin’ bunch. It’s almost like their gender assigned at birth doesn’t really affect how reasonable they could be as people nor how much responsibility they should have. Obviously some cultural practices skew this quite a bit in so far that women are expected to take more responsibility, younger, and for less praise, but if anything that should help destroy, not reinforce that message.  And yet, the idea persists so much in Christian circles. And not just by the men themselves, but the women, also. For the longest time of my church going days, the pastor was a woman. She wholly believed it was just and right that her husband be in charge of everything, that women should be loyal to their men in all aspects. Then again, she also (despite recruiting members primarily from college) did not believe in evolution at all, so there’s that in terms of an intellectual hurdle. But regardless, this inherent submissive attitude within the faith (and even the half-hearted and self-congratulatory “Yeah but we REALLY are the ones making the decisions because we can withhold sex if we want” is essentially that too just a smidgen more empowering), when combined with the idea that men should be wholly in-control (which is a breeding ground for toxic masculinity if there ever was) is shameful. It’s what has allowed so much bullshit in the past, including these recent abortion laws. Now, I’m going to cover abortion in another post (I might get to it tomorrow; It’s been on the burner for weeks), but it’s super pertinent here.  We, as a religion, have allowed ourselves to tell women (just as we tell/told minorities before) that they cannot be trusted with their own bodies, that they cannot be trusted when they speak, and most certainly cannot be trusted to truly hold dominion over anything. And that has allowed the most insidious, hateful, bigoted, disgusting things to happen in the name of God. A God that while I am writing this post I still believe in, but my doubts about how genuine the message has ever been is hitting home. One whose words about peace have been ignored when they could be interpreted or pointed to to support war, where the rich can profit off the poor, or to support sexism, because we as men historically have wanted to control “everything of ours”, or to take the very free will we claim to hold so dear from those who need the ability to make their own decisions the most. Words that have been used to hold down good people from making lives better. Words that in the hands of those who wanted, could be profaned and desecrated and thus allow for profane and disturbing events, both on the grand stage of the world and behind the closed doors of any house in some small town. Words which are held up with a wink and a nod so that followers feel included when they are scammed by some fucking fried chicken joint who wants to make more money to fight against equality, or to pay for another $9 million jet for some asshole who croons about how the poor should be grateful they do not have the temptations of the rich.  To other followers, do you not lament that we are this way? That we have been this way for so long? Because I fucking do.  And to those who have been discriminated or marginalized or whatever else against because of your gender or skin colour or situation or victimization or  past deeds of any sort; I’m sorry. Genuinely, truly sorry you have suffered as you have. Sorry for what people have done thinking it was somehow morally or spiritually justified, sorry that they thought they were saving you. And I can assure you that I will never try to lead you as those before me have tried to. Though if it’s all the same, I’d like to get to hear you, and walk beside you.