#i guarantee the fallout will be ugly

[louisapennyfeather2021]

I would rather a solar storm knock out all of Earth's satellites and technology and be the reason why we lose Ao3 than lose it to the U.S. government.

***Edit: this isn't talking specifically about Ao3 being down on 7/10. I'm referencing all of the proposed bills in the U.S. government which threaten what little privacy we still have on the internet, threaten to censor sites predominantly populated by minority groups(POC, LGBTQIA+, disabled, non-Christian, etc), and threaten to take away the way kids/teens/young adults express themselves on the internet. For more information, research the Kids Online Safety Act(KOSA), the Restrict Act, and the Earn It Act. There are petitions you can sign, letters/email templates you can send to your Representatives and Senators, and scripts you can use to call your Representatives and Senators :)

[murfpersonalblog]

You definitely did your job right, Rolin, cuz wtf. Yes, 2x5 was a tour de force of acting & writing, bravo bravo. But 2x7 keeps me up at night, istg. 👌 That Trial pisses me right off, and I'm disgusted by how accurate 2x2 was about the audience being COMPLICIT, cuz this rancid fandom's been proving Santiago right every dang day.

And some of that IMO is the writing's fault, where things aren't messy for the sake of drama & good tv, but are messy as part of the strike's fallout. I truly hope they've been taking fans' feedback & critiques to heart, cuz people are running around with all kinds of conclusions & assumptions about 2x7 and 2x8 that y'all need to address in S3.

I'm glad he's aware that some of the writing makes no effing sense.

I never liked using memory is the monster as a crutch for plot holes & retcons, but I commend Rolin for the clever things he did do despite the strikes & budget/production issues, to still stick the landing in S2. We'll have to see where S3 takes it, but i do have faith that if anyone can pull it off, Rolin can.

"Everybody in the [writer's] room relives their worst fight with someone they shouldn’t have been in love with but wanted to be." I love this. Cuz people wanna act like this show isn't a deliberately literal mirror of IRL relationships, and the monsters within us that make us say "ugly words." That's GOTHIC literature 101. It's not subtle at all. The absence of metaphor is so striking.

You pissed off EVERYONE--me included--and I love you for it, RJ. Is this the best vampire show I've ever seen? Not quite--Bram Stoker's Dracula is near & dear to my heart; and Castlevania S1 was a revelation. But this is HANDS DOWN the best fantasy book adaption I've seen since Lord of the Rings. IWTV's way better than Game of Thrones (I hear House of the Dragon is mid AF, which I expected). This is "harder to swallow" cuz it puts the onus on lazy AF viewers to not turn their brains off & put in actual legwork to look things up themselves. (Plus there's Bipoc leads, which also grates racists. I guarantee that S3 will have a very different reception since Lestat's the lead.)

Yaaaas~! SUFFER!

AMC should 100% release the full footage of the plays on their website or on Youtube or SOMETHING, wtf!? I thought the plays were so cool! WEIRD, ofc, but so cool!

STFU, Rolin--you should ABSOLUTELY do Forrest Gump, LOL. XD Y'all had Sartre eavesdropping on Loumand, and Lestat ghostwriting for Jelly Roll Martin, and Tom Anderson thirsting after Louis--PLEASE keep going, you sicko, yaaas~!

It's so sad that Rolin keeps repeating this, that he thought AMC would cancel them. WTF is going on over there? Y'all spent all this money buying AR's estate--RJ also often talks about their budget issues--just to cancel it? WHY? And why TF has it taken y'all so long to get on other streaming platforms like Netflix? The business moves & marketing has been dog trash since Day One, and it boggles my mind. But thank god AMC's going forward with it--they'd be dumb AF to let this diamond slip through their fingers, just cuz it's not doing HotD numbers.

This makes me feel most insane of all. ROBBED, I tell you!

[yukirayu]

(Reposting something from Twitter, though my thoughts are a bit more organized this time.)

Unfortunately, I don't have the brain cells to plot out the specifics, but what if... 

What if Towa could still get closure with his past in the aftermath of Taku's good ending? 

Say, some months after he and Taku reunited, Fujieda shows up on their doorstep.

While it took longer for him to find the information he needed on his own, he got enough info nonetheless to figure out that Towa and Taku both are linked to it. So he approaches them, asks them about what he needs to know from them. 

In a few minutes, their world is upturned.

Now here's where my imagination gets blurry, but in the end, Fujieda does find out what happened to Mei, Towa remembers his past and Taku reveals how much he knew. 

Of course, a fallout is inevitable, but it's only temporary.

Because the news will never not be devastating, Towa will feel lost when he remembers what happened to Mei. 

He's lost, he's devastated, but he doesn't try to commit suicide. 

Though he does try to punish himself still, so after a long time, he cuts himself again.

Then Taku sees him, and stops him, and they have a talk. A long one. Where they bare themselves to each other. 

No more lies, no more concealed truths, every ugly truth is out in the open. It hurts, and changes everything. Everything except... their feelings for each other.

And no matter what, they gave each other a reason to live. 

Taku couldn't save his mother, but he could still protect Towa. Mei died protecting Towa, but she wished for him to live on and be free. She reminded Towa that there were other people who cared for him.

With that, they reconcile, and they make their resolve, together. 

Of course, Fujieda is still able to have his reflection and his epiphany like he does in his route. It may not be as profound without the relationship development he got with Towa in his own route, but he still manages to have closure and move on.

So in a way, even though the journey there will still be grueling and heart wrenching, the three still get a happy ending, or something close to it.  

Extra Note: 

But even with the above, there’s still one loose end that I’m trying to figure out how to resolve, and that is Sakaki. 

By this time, he had already long given up on enacting Maya's plans, and one can only wonder if and/or how Towa, Taku or Fujieda figure out that Sakaki may have been involved with everything that Maya had done.

If anything, their only lead is Toono hinting to Towa that Sakaki is the only other person besides Taku who’s keeping Towa’s past a secret from him. This may take a while for Towa to recall, but he’s guaranteed to remember Toono’s remark. 

But even then, I'm having difficulty imagining how Sakaki would act by now. Since even if Towa recalled his memories, it wouldn’t “bring him closer” to “becoming Maya” like what Sakaki was aiming for.

And one other thing: ever since I played the final route, it always caught my interest that Taku could have potentially been in Sakaki's hitlist had the man caught wind that Taku was trying to burn Towa's mail (since that would interfere with his plans), except that Sakaki got distracted by the fact that Fujieda is Mei's older brother, and we all know how much he and Maya loathed the poor child. 

As far as Sakaki is concerned, Taku didn't know anything and just continued to do his job of looking after Towa. 

But imagine if he realized Taku learned of certain info and had actively been trying to repress Towa's memories all this time... that's sure to anger him. And once Towa, Taku and Fujieda investigate the remains of Maya��s mansion... 

No doubt, Sakaki will be involved. The tricky part to picture is how he will be ultimately dealt with, because what I’m at least sure of is that it will play out very differently from Fujieda’s route, and the only thing that’s likely still going to happen is Fujieda finding out that while Maya ordered for Mei’s death, it was Sakaki who directly took her life.  

[gtg3000]

Noooo, I don't wanna do proper ECS design in a language that actually offers the performance I require to have fancy features I want.

What I want is to keep digging in this slow ugly prototype that chugs despite being literally 320x240. And doesn't have a sane entity design, which leads to some wonderful implications of component design, like lowering your health below zero doesn't guarantee that component actually setting off it's internal components - in case they expect an "attack" event and you just did a fallout 1 and healed yourself to death.

I hate being in that part of the project where nothing works so you can't iterate.

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Coyote Ugly Pt 2

Okay, a couple people asked, so here we go down the rabbithole.

Basically, in this universe, I imagined the Luthors as the crime lords of the city. Anything that happens in the seedy underbelly of Metropolis has the Luthors fingers all over it, and they have a reputation of being swift and efficient in eliminating any competition.

Lena, however, sought to break away from them. She struck out on her own as soon as she was able, and now works at Coyote Ugly to make ends meet. However, when tips are low or emergency funds are needed, Lena makes her way to one of her brother's fight rings to supplement her income.

She gives as good as she gets, having learned to fight as soon as she could walk, and often wins. Her name is notorious in those rings, and any appearance she makes always guarantees a good show for the spectators.

Though Lena occasionally comes to work with fresh bruises, she always brushes off any concern from her coworkers. Kara is the first one to ask in a long time, and hesitantly asks if Lena's partner is abusive. (Lena blinks at that, then smirks. "Sure. Let's go with that." Her tone makes it clear that that's not the case, but has no intention of sharing the truth of it.)

After the fallout with Kara, Lena quits the bar, and returns to the ring full time. But this time, it isn't about the money. In fact, she loses quite a bit of her brother's money after he bets on her inevitable win and instead gets a lackluster performance.

Lena lets herself get pummeled-- her form of self flagellation for how she ruined things with Kara. She doesn't even wait to heal before she's back in the ring, making sloppy dodges and pulling her punches.

Kara, of course, goes out of her mind with worry. She doesn't know what Lena gets up to in her free time, but she knows from the bruises she's seen that it's nothing good. After a week of being Stonewalled by Andrea, she finally corners her boss and threatens to quit-- leaving her shortstaffed by two instead of just one.

Andrea finally caves, and points her in the direction of Veronica Sinclair (a coyote who got fired for reasons no one will say). When Kara tracks Veronica down, Veronica smirks and barters information on Lena for a rundown of what happened to cause Kara to lose Lena in the first place.

Once Kara confesses everything, Veronica writes down an address and hands it over. "Better move fast. It never stays in one place for long."

Kara goes directly from Veronica's club to the address she'd been given, and is admitted after some wheedling with the bouncer (which may or may not have involved flashing the man her breasts in exchange for the entry passphrase).

Inside, Kara pushes through the crowd to find Lena getting her ass kicked inside a chain link cage. She's just in time to witness a burly man in a sweat stained wife beater deliver a right hook directly into Lena's temple. She watches Lena stagger, then go down, collapsing face down to the concrete.

"LENA!!"

Kara surges forward, tangling her fingers in the chainlink in her effort to get closer. Lena blinks blearily up at her. There's a flash of recognition, but it quickly fades to heavy resignation. Her opponent slams a kick into Lena's ribs, making her cough with a painful wheeze. Lena clenches her jaw through the pain, but makes no move to rise.

Blessedly, Lena's opponent turns away to hype himself up to the crowd. Kara uses the brief respite to crouch into Lena's eyeline.

"What the fuck are you doing??" Kara shouts over the raucous crowd. "Lena! Get up!!"

"Go home, Kara," Lena coughs dully.

Kara scowls. "No. You don't get to do this. I'm allowed to be mad at you!"

Lena doesn't respond.

"Jesus! It was one goddamn fight, and you deserved it! But you don't deserve this!"

Lena's eyes close.

"I don't deserve this!"

Again, no response. By now, with the crowd suitably aroused, the other brawler has turned his attention back to Lena, and stamps towards her with ominous intent. Panic now mingles with Kara's rage.

"God damn it, Lena! I did not flash my tits to get in here just to watch you die. Stop being such a fucking puss--"

Before the word can fully leave her mouth Lena's eyes snap open. In the next moment, she rolls sharply to the left, dodging the stomp that would have smashed her ribs even further. Moving with more speed than Kara could have thought possible, Lena shoots to her knees and catches the next kick aimed at her head.

With a vicious twist of her hands, the man's leg cracks, earning a bellow of pain. Before he has a chance to even think of recovering, Lena barrels into him, catching him around the midsection and tackling him to the ground. Straddling his chest she pummels him about the head over and over, until her opponent goes limp, unconscious.

Only then does Lena stagger to her feet. Her brother (though Kara doesn't know this yet) steps into the ring with a grin splitting his features, lifting Lena's lax fist into the air in triumph.

"Our winner! Let's hear it for Kieran!!"

The crowd roars, but Kara can only focus on Lena's bruised and swollen face, both eyes blackened and bloodied nose rapidly swelling. Her lip is also split, and a glutinous line of blood trails from above her hairline.

Amid the cheers of the crowd and the defeated moans of money changing hands, Lena disappears into the crush of bodies. Kara remains, long after the bulk of the spectators have left. Eventually, the bouncer she encountered at the door lumbers towards her, sporting fresh, reddening bruise on his jaw.

"This way," he mumbles.

Kara follows him down a corridor deeper into the building, where he leads her to a single door on the left. Before she enters, he speaks one last time.

"Uh. Sorry. About earlier."

Kara looks at him, but before she can conjure a response he ambles glumly away. Kara watches him go for a moment, before pushing her way through the door.

Inside, she finds Lena sitting on a bench, with a tall man bending over her. Kara sees his arms twitch, hears a crack and then an explosion of curses as Lena's nose shifts back into place.

"Motherfucking--!"

"Don't block with your face then," Kara remarks drily.

Lena instantly quiets, falling somber at Kara's presence. Kara softens, exhaling a quiet sigh as the medic puts one last butterfly bandage on a deep gash.

"Get to a hospital for stitches," he says before packing his kit and leaving.

Suddenly, it's just the two of them. Lena avoids her gaze, her palms rubbing nervously against the tops of her thighs. Kara's own gaze falls, studying the floor for a long moment as she gathers her thoughts.

"I'm allowed to be mad at you," she says firmly. "I'm allowed to be angry."

Lena nods. "I know." She swallows thickly. "And you're right-- about everything."

"Enough with the beating yourself up shtick. It's getting real old." Though Kara's voice is stern, a grin niggles at the corner of her mouth. Lena spots it, and huffs with quiet mirth. The pall between them breaks.

Kara crosses to sit beside Lena on the bench. She clasps her hands between her knees, so fight the urge to soothe the angry bruises taking shape on Lena's pale skin.

"I'm sorry," Lena says softly. Finally. "I didn't mean to-- I mean, I meant to-- I mean... I panicked."

"To which your response was to kiss in front of a bar full of men?"

"It was the only thing I could think of."

"Uh huh."

"Well, it is the only thing I'd been thinking of for weeks," Lena admits. She casts a furtive glance towards Kara, who holds it teasingly.

"Weeks?"

Lena smiles. Not her megawatt smile, but a quiet one. An honest one. A nervous one.

"Yeah."

"Well then," Kara returns, "maybe you should give it another shot."

She gives Lena's ribs a playful nudge, only to gasp in horror when Lena stiffens and swallows a grunt of pain.

"Shit! Jeez, I'm sorry, I forgot--"

The next thing Kara knows lips are pressing fiercely against hers, and her senses are consumed with Lena. The scent of her sweat, the taste of it and the coppery tang of blood on her mouth.

"Your lip," Kara whispers against Lena's lips, which pause only long enough to speak.

"Worth it."

[concussed-to-pieces]

The Mettle Of A Man; Part Four

Fandom: Fallout (4)

Pairing: Eventual Paladin Danse/Female Sole Survivor

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Hey there my broskis! I figured I would start backing this up over here as well, cross-posting from my AO3. The chapters got somewhat restructured, so there may be some retreaded ground. Hopefully this will also give me a bit of incentive to actually finish this tale ;-;

Enjoy!

Part One: ArcJet

Part Two: The Prydwen

Part Three: Orders

Paladin Danse, pride of the Brotherhood of Steel, found himself incredibly nervous as he watched Backhand suit up for the first time. She gave him no real reason to be, of course, climbing into her power armor with veteran grace. She had forgone their jumpsuit in favor of her Vault suit so she was short a few of the securing clips, but it was her call. She did put on a hood though, stating that she wasn’t a fan of getting chunks of her hair ripped out by the helmet.

  Danse barely hid his grin at the way she shook herself all over once she was in the suit, metal clanking loudly as pieces fell into place. “What do you think, Knight Vega?” He asked cautiously.

  “I think I’m gonna’ have a lot of fun with this.” Backhand sounded like she was smiling.

  Proctor Ingram sighed. “Yeah yeah, just try not to fuck up your actuators. Damn kids and your Prydwen jumps.”

  Danse flipped his helmet and smoothly clicked it into place in his suit’s gorget, then blinked in confusion at the HUD. “Proctor, did you change the-”

  “Oh, yeah. Sorry Danse. The yellow HUD makes me queasy.” Ingram apologized. Danse sighed, bringing up the internal options screen and readjusting the HUD color back to the warm amber he preferred. “Don’t be that way, Paladin, I have to look at a million of these helmets every day.”

  “What? How do you change the…oh, I got it.” Backhand paused, obviously fiddling with the HUD in her own suit. “ Purple .” She said firmly.

  Danse tried to mask his chuckle by clearing his throat, but the look Ingram shot him told him the attempt was unsuccessful. “Well, uh, I think it’s about time we begin our maneuvers.” He said hurriedly.

  “You two take as long as you need. Bring Brandis back safe. Backhand, remember what I told you.” Ingram said sternly, saluting the two of them.

  Backhand nodded solemnly, returning the salute. “Ad Victoriam, Proctor Ingram.” Danse saluted as well, curious about Ingram's mysterious statement.

  Maxson hadn’t cleared them for vertibird transport to a general location. Danse could see why to an extent, the elder probably needed all the aerial support he could get while they sent out scouts to find more clues about the Institute. The reason Maxson had given was...still logical, but a little different.

  “ With you on foot, there will be less warning for Brandis. ” Arthur had said in his briefing, arms behind his back as always. “ If he is alive, we don’t know what shape he’ll be in mentally. Use extreme caution. If you fear for your lives, do not hesitate to kill him .” He glared at Danse when he said that and Danse had swallowed hard.

  Do not hesitate. Do not hesitate like you did with Cutler, Paladin.

  Danse let Backhand set a pace she was comfortable with once they were on the ground and he followed her lead, the paladin silent as they marched. His thoughts churned and roiled, scratching to escape his head in a frenzy of uncertainty. He almost didn’t notice Backhand skipping , aside from how ridiculously loud her sabatons were on the remains of the road. “Knight Vega, what on earth .”

  “ Finally! I’ve been trying to ask you something for five minutes. Figured I would opt for a different approach.” She laughed, knuckling his shoulder with her gauntlet. “After we find Paladin Brandis, I have-”

  “ If we find Paladin Brandis.” Danse corrected her grimly.

  Backhand paused, tilting her head to the side. “Sir?”

  “I said, if we find Brandis. There’s no guarantee that he’s alive after all this time. It’s entirely possible that we’re simply on a remains retrieval detail.” Danse warned her.

  Backhand shook her head after a moment. “Paladin, you really think I don’t know that? Damn.” She grumbled. “You’d rather find him alive, right? That’s the hope?” Danse nodded reluctantly. Brandis was an incredibly skilled survivalist, a respected squadron leader and free thinker of the highest caliber. He would be a phenomenal asset to the Brotherhood if…

  If he was still alive.

  “I apologize for my pessimistic outlook.” Danse said after a moment. “I have not had…exceptional luck when it comes to search and rescue details.”

  “Hey, first time for everything.” He was almost positive that she was grinning at him under her helmet. “You’ve got me here. You can't say the homeland doesn't take care of their own; I’m practically the embodiment of a four-leaf clover.”

  “We can hope.” Danse murmured, half to himself. “You certainly came through previously.”

  “Maybe I’m your good luck charm.”

  The notion that he had outlived his men because of luck left a bitter taste in Danse’s mouth and he fell silent once more. She at least seemed to understand not to poke him and simply carried on down the road at an easily-managed pace.

  Danse couldn’t decide whether he personally wanted to find Brandis or not. On the one hand, of course he was a valuable asset. But on the other, Brandis had a penchant for… noticing things. Arthur had butted heads with the older man numerous times, usually over what Maxson labeled ‘ trivial issues ’.

  And Danse still hadn’t forgotten the nasty rumors he’d heard about the real reason for Recon Squadron Artemis being sent to scout the Commonwealth…

  “ Brandis overreaches, connects well with young recruits. The elder fears his influence. ”

  “ Brandis was sent to die and you know it! ”

  The atmosphere in the barracks had turned ugly fast when Arthur had dropped the tidbit that the Brotherhood lost contact with Squadron Artemis almost immediately upon their arrival in the Commonwealth.

  Aspirants got into shouting matches; several scuffles broke out. Danse ended up wading through the midst of a pitched fistfight, throwing one knight over his shoulder and pinning the other beneath his arm momentarily.

  “ This is behavior unbecoming of a soldier, knights! ” He had shouted over the ruckus. “ Stop the childish antics, use your brains and think! ” His voice carried in the cramped bunk room, and due to his massive height he was easily visible through the swirling hurricane of young men and women. “ Paladin Brandis would be ashamed of every one of you for losing sight of what is truly important in the Brotherhood! Your brothers and sisters are all you have in the world, you cannot set into them at the first sign of trouble! ”

  “ Elder Maxson wanted Paladin Brandis to die! ” One brave scribe cried. “ That’s why he sent him! ”

  “ He is the elder and you will show him the respect he deserves! ” Danse admonished the young man. “ I will not tolerate this insubordination! ”

  “ You’re only on his side because you’re fucking him! ” The knight over his shoulder yelled furiously, beating his fists against Danse’s shoulder blade.

  The entirety of the barracks went dead quiet and Danse was certain his face must have been an ungodly shade of purple from his insinuation. “ What did you just say, Knight? ”

  The young man slowed to a stop, and then suddenly burst into tears. Danse set him down on his feet and the knight stood in front of him, his shoulders hunched. “ I ap-pologize, Palad-d-din Danse sir. ” He had hiccupped, saluting him without looking up.

  “ Knight, you cannot lash out with harsh words or actions just because something isn’t going your way. ” Danse had known he was letting him off too easy, but the young knight was still weeping. “ You will go to Knight-Captain Cade in the morning. He is…far better at managing situations like these than I am. I fear I will do nothing but cause more damage. ”

  “ Paladin Danse, have they told you anything about Paladin Brandis? Anything at all? ” A tiny squire had piped up from the door, her hair already braided for sleep.

  Danse shook his head regretfully. “ All I know is what you’ve already been told. I have no other information at this time .”

  “ Will…will you tell us if you learn anything new? ” She had continued hesitantly, glancing up at the aspirant holding her hand for confirmation. Murmuring rippled through the crowd, all eyes on Danse as he stood there silent, stoic. The knight's words echoed in his mind over and over, on his side, on his side...

  “ You have my word as a Brotherhood paladin, Squire .”

  It had been a simple thing to promise then. Almost negligibly simple. Danse shook his head, trying to disperse the memories. This rumination would get him nowhere. Thank goodness he had Knight Vega with him, at least she could keep an eye out for threats while he wandered down his proverbial Memory Lane.

  Speaking of Knight Vega…

  Danse swung his head around, perplexed. She had just been here, it wasn’t exactly like she could sneak in all that plating. He spotted her finally as he came over the next rise in the road. She appeared to be speaking to a civilian, the ragged-looking man gesturing wildly off to the side.

  “…idea how many of them there are in the facility?” Backhand was asking.

  “Usually we only see three to five, b-but sometimes there’s loads more! Hounds too! Please, General, if you can spare the men, we really need your help.” The man begged.

  General? Danse thought with confusion. Why is he calling her General?

  “Currently, we’re focusing our efforts on rebuilding Fort Independence…er, I mean, the Castle. We have mobile cells but they are few and far between. I will send word that-” Backhand was cut off by the man shaking his head rapidly.

  “I knew it, I knew you would refuse! That’s how it always is! Say anything about super mutants and everyone pusses out!” The man shook his fist in Backhand’s impassive face. “I had hoped that you of all people would be able to help us, but I guess I was wrong.” He spat, “should have known better than to trust things would be alright with your group back on the playing field.”

  Danse had heard enough, practically stomping down the road towards the man yelling at his charge. “Civilian, I suggest you watch your tone.” He uttered the words curtly, his eyes narrowed behind his visor.

  The man huffed out a breath at him, obviously unimpressed. “So you have a bodyguard now, General?”

  “Hardly.” Backhand replied dryly.

  Danse got the feeling he had just been insulted, but he brushed it off. “Where is the nest of vermin?” He queried instead, making a considerable effort to try and keep his tone neutral. “You mentioned super mutants.”

  “They’re in Weston. The pre-war water treatment plant. Are… you’re going to help?” The man asked uncertainly.

  “There are other, more important matters that currently take priority, civilian. When we have the time, we will investigate. Now I would advise you to be on your way before I have to assist you in making the choice of departure.” Danse ordered, his laser rifle not quite at the ready, but high enough that to the untrained eye it would look like he was poised to strike.

  The man grumbled something under his breath and then announced, “I'd better see you later, General. Oberland would be a good spot to spiff up, y'know, but it's so close to Weston no one will touch it.”

  “Thank you, Rob. Hey, tell your wife I said hello. I hope your little one is doing well.” Backhand's face had gone strangely soft.

  For some reason, the man's shoulders relaxed. “She is, she's doing really good. Her mom is teachin' her everything that she knows. She's wicked smart for her age.” He bragged.

  “No doubt there. Take care of yourself, and tell people to steer clear until we can get to Weston.” Backhand gave the man a nod in reply to the tip of his hat. “Thanks for helping.” She said out of the corner of her mouth to Danse, who straightened up.

  “I don’t recall doing anything helpful, Knight Vega.” He was startled when she knocked her pauldron against his own in a playful gesture.

  “Rob loves to puff himself up and talk about how no one’s ever done anything for him ever. It’s harmless, but he’ll drag on for ages unless you nip it in the bud.” She grinned at him. “Thanks for going on the offensive and heading him off at the pass. Lots of people are like him out here. When the Minutemen disbanded, it meant that the simple people had to take the full load of raider assaults and super mutant attacks. Still plenty of distrust for me and my crew.”

  “Your ‘crew’?” Danse echoed, thoroughly confused. Why did he call her General? What is she talking about?

  Backhand just nodded, putting her helmet back on. “You want to take point? You were kind of spacing out back there, Paladin. Might help you get centered. Run down the list of objectives?” She suggested.

  “I must be worse than I thought if you noticed my thousand-yard stare.” Danse realized it was a sarcastic quip the second after the words left his mouth, and he felt horribly awkward.

  That is, until there was an undignified guffaw from the knight. She clunked her whole forearm against his own in a makeshift nudge, still snickering. “How incredibly rude of you, Paladin! I’ve got bad eyesight, but it’s still there. Kinda’. Didn’t need twenty-twenty to see that you were deep in thought.”

  “Knight Vega, I appreciate your attention to detail. And…” Danse hesitated, biting his lip. “And thank you for… humoring my wandering mind.”

  “I’m not humoring anything. You’ve been through a lot recently and you’ve had no breathing room at all. You’re allowed to have time to process.” When she put it like that ...

  Danse made a noise of acknowledgement. Backhand cleared her throat, stepping aside and letting him go ahead of her.

  …

  Do me a favor and try to limit his time on board this rustbucket, okay? I don't know what's going on and it's not my place to ask. But Danse is a good man and he shouldn't be getting jerked around, Elder or no.

  Ingram's words spurred Backhand to speak up. “Paladin Danse, sir?” When he turned to face her, she wished that he wasn’t wearing his helmet. “Sir, I meant what I said before.”

  “What?”

  “When I said I was available if you needed someone to talk to. I’m serious. It’ll all be off the record, just between us. The only person I report to is you.” Backhand said firmly.

  “And the elder.” Danse reminded her, his voice soft.

  “Nope.” Backhand grinned, trying to lighten his obviously bleak mood. “Just you. You might answer to the elder, but I don’t.”

  “That’s tantamount to treason, Knight.”

  “He’s not a sovereign , for--”

  “Elder Maxson’s orders are law in this chapter of the Brotherhood, Knight Vega.” Danse sounded like he was repeating the words from memory, clearly used to defending the young elder. “I suggest you cease your needlessly-flippant flouting of Brotherhood practices.”

  Backhand knew she was on thin ice. “Of course, sir. I apologize. Forgive me my misstep.” She saluted loosely. “My previous military experiences were a little more lax. When out on patrol we spoke to each other and our superiors as equals. It was common to poke fun at the higher-ups, as well.”

  “I wouldn’t begrudge you a joke or two, but not at the expense of the elder.” Danse replied tersely. “He works exceptionally hard to keep everything in line and running smoothly. I will not tolerate any disrespect towards him.”

  “Understood, Paladin.” Her suspicion only thickened at Danse’s rebuke. What is Maxson doing to him? Normally, soldiers gleefully took the opportunity to joke about their superiors. But Danse was acting like it was a cardinal sin to so much as tease about the young elder. No wonder Ingram had told her to take her time. Danse was obviously kept on an incredibly short leash. The longer he was away from Maxson, the better.

  They continued down the road in silence for nearly an hour before Danse finally sighed heavily. “Knight Vega, I must apologize again. You were not raised in the Brotherhood, it’s not as if you would know any better. My shortness of temper is unrelated to you.”

  “It’s okay. You’re worried about Brandis, right?” Backhand asked. “A little scared, a little hopeful?”

  “For being a relic of a bygone age, you are remarkably perceptive.” Backhand sputtered a little at being called a relic but Danse carried on gravely, “I am concerned about the state Brandis may be in when we reach him. If he is mentally compromised…dealing with a man who was Brotherhood but has lost his senses is not a task I take lightly.” He turned to her. “The younger recruits love Brandis. He was a father figure to a multitude of them.”

  “You promised them you would bring him back.” She realized. Danse didn’t reply immediately, instead focusing his attention to the road in front of them.

  “I could not feasibly promise anything.” He muttered, quiet enough that she was unsure if she was supposed to hear him. “It was not within my power to promise.”

  “But you did anyway. On that slim hope that Brandis was alive and in one piece.” Backhand’s heart ached as she thought of the paladin trying to decide what to tell a group of young recruits, a group of kids .

  “…Yes, Knight. I did.” Danse admitted after a long pause. “My motivations are irrelevant. I lied to children, because I…I cannot see the little ones as soldiers. They begged for news of Brandis and I had nothing to offer them except my word as a paladin.”

  “That’s okay.” Backhand said simply. “We’re going to find him.”

  “I suppose we are.” Danse sounded a little surprised. His shoulders straightened up. “One way or another.”

  The asphalt had dissolved into nothing a mile back, leaving the two of them to continue trekking through the wilderness on the remains of the flattened earth that was once a road. Backhand was used to the booby-trapped state of everything at this point, so she didn’t even bat an eyelash when she heard the warning beep of a landmine.

  Danse on the other hand stopped dead, helmet swinging rapidly back and forth as he tried to locate the mine before it went off. “Wait, Knight Vega-!” He began as she knelt, trailing off when he realized that she had deactivated the landmine. “Oh.”

  “Impromptu bomb squad.” Backhand replied by way of explanation, tucking the salvaged mine into her satchel. “I got pretty good at working in gauntlets.”

  His worry was touching all the same, the paladin letting out an awkward chuckle. “Hell, maybe you are lucky.” He shifted his weight nervously, pauldrons clattering in the relative stillness. “I should have known better than to think Brandis would make it easy. There’s a reason that old codger lived through everything.”

  “You can either think I'm lucky, or you can just attribute it to the Sarge's bandanna like I usually do.” Backhand grinned, flexing her fingers experimentally. “Keep your eyes open for more and point them out if you see ‘em. These gauntlets are way better than the ones in my old suit. The mines won’t know what hit them.” 

  “Affirmative, Knight Vega.”

  With both of them on guard, their progress was slowed somewhat. But they found three more mines thanks to their diligence, and Backhand carefully deactivated every one before the timer ran out. She was so focused on scanning the ground that she almost walked into Danse’s back when the paladin stopped in the middle of the path. “Danse?” Inwardly, she cursed herself for not addressing him properly.

  Danse didn’t even seem to notice though, his attention fixed on a bunker built into the side of the shallow valley they were in. “Recon bunker Theta…of course .” He hissed like he was talking to himself. “How could I have forgotten?”

  “Is this the place?” Backhand asked, peering over his shoulder warily. The armored man nodded, already striding towards the door of the bunker.

  “It must be.”

  …

  There was a terminal affixed to the outer concrete of the building and the paladin wasted little time painstakingly manipulating his huge gauntlets to press the correct keys on the keyboard. There was a loud clunk! when the lock on the door disengaged, but the door itself remained shut tight. Danse swore under his breath, firmly rapping his knuckles on the metal door. “Paladin Brandis!” He called. “Can you hear me, sir?”

  “Paladin Danse? Are you sure you should-” Backhand started to ask, sounding nervous.

  “ Quiet , Vega.” Danse ordered brusquely. To her credit, she immediately fell silent. He could still hear her shifting back and forth behind him though, and he wondered what on earth could have her so antsy. Surely it couldn’t be that she was worried about what Brandis might do? “ Paladin Brandis! If you’re in there-”

  “Uh, D-Danse, I don’t think you should be so loud.”

  “Vega, he will not hear me otherwise.” Danse, losing his limited patience, hammered his fist on the door. “ Brandis! ”

  He heard a flurry of motion behind the door. “Who’s out there? How did you get that keycode? Never mind, never mind, just go away! I’m not letting you in here!”

  Danse’s throat tightened at the elderly officer’s voice. “Paladin Brandis, sir! It’s me, Pal--"

  In his distress over finding Brandis, Danse had forgotten to be wary of his surroundings. Heavy footsteps shook the ground and Backhand’s cry of surprise was the only warning he had, the paladin halfway through turning around when he was thrown against the door of the bunker by a thunderous blow from a behemoth’s improvised club. His shoulder protested violently at the rough treatment but Danse shrugged off the pain. He was so used to getting pummeled by the inside of his armor, he practically anticipated the bruises. He raised his head and got a good eyeful of the ugly brute inches from his face.

  Suddenly he couldn’t breathe. There was a dull roaring in his ears, static pounding at his temples like a hammer while he stared at the creature and it stared right through him. Bloody spittle foamed around its mouth, eyes wide and pupils nothing but pinpricks. Nostrils flared to take in his scent.

  This thing was once human . Danse felt sick to his stomach.

  “ Paladin! ” Backhand yelled, firing a glancing shot off the beast’s shoulder that made it rear back. She was giving him time again, Danse realized dimly, his body refusing to cooperate as he remembered Dawes’ horrific death at the hands of a super mutant, remembered Cutler, Cutler like a punch to the face. And this mutant was a behemoth .

  His laser rifle, unnamed as of yet, shook in one slack, trembling hand.

  Backhand flanked the massive creature to end up back at his side, her pauldron clanking into his own. “Paladin!” She barked and Danse instantly straightened up, his grip snapping tight on his gun.

  “Ma’am!”

  “Attack the enemy, soldier!” She sounded almost like Krieg, all righteous authority and fury inches from detonation.

  An order, an order. Danse felt his body refocus on the here and now, banishing the horrific images of Dawes’ demise for later contemplation. “Yes ma’am!” He replied automatically, pulling the trigger and spraying laser shots into the behemoth’s massive chest. Backhand slung Righteous Authority back out of the way to dangle from its strap, her shotgun in her hands now. Danse was so used to the comparatively quiet report of laser weaponry that he actually flinched when she fired the shotgun. The drum-fed gun bolted to life at her touch, heavy slugs making the behemoth pause.

  “ Eat hot lead, freak! ” Backhand shouted over the weapon, her words punctuating her shots. Danse got the feeling that pairing her with a Fat Man would make her nigh unstoppable.

  Behind him, he heard something swing open. The door to the bunker! Brandis! “Knight Vega, maintain this position!” He demanded, not bothering to look back.

  “A paladin…?” Brandis’ voice had an unfamiliar tremor in it.

  “ Now , Vega!” Danse snapped.

  “Sir, yes sir!” Backhand replied quickly, sliding into place where he had been a second ago. Her power armor frame filled the doorway as well as his had, and Danse brandished his rifle. The behemoth brayed deafeningly loud, seeming perturbed that its prey refused to cooperate.

  “Not today, you giant freak!” Danse announced firmly.

  …

  Backhand had barely caught a glimpse of a worn face with an unkempt beard peering around the side of the doorway before she moved herself in front of the opening. She braced her shotgun against her plating and continued to hammer away at the behemoth, shell after shell ripping the creature’s thick hide.

  Danse kept up his own attack, a seemingly endless stream of mutant-related verbal abuse pouring from him in time with his laser shots. Backhand almost wished she could hear him clearer, certain that he was swearing a blue streak that could put Sergeant Cathan to shame.

  That club swept low, knocked Danse’s legs out from beneath him. The paladin landed on his back with a grunt of pain and the behemoth (in a surprising show of intelligence) picked up one of the nearby boulders and dropped it onto Danse’s chest. Danse gritted out an infuriated curse and started struggling to lift the boulder, actuators in his armor shrieking under the strain when the behemoth started pushing down on the rock. Clearly it was either trying to crack Danse’s armor or crush the paladin inside it.

  “Shut the door.” Backhand said calmly. There was the sound of fidgeting behind her. “It’s going to be alright. Just shut the door.”

  At the loud clunk! of the door closing, the behemoth looked up from Danse. Backhand barely had a moment to inhale before she was snatched up by a massive hand, the creature roaring triumphantly.

  “Knight Vega!” Danse shouted, the paladin still trying to shift the massive rock enough to get free.

  Backhand squirmed desperately in the beast’s grip, arms pinned to her sides and her shotgun pointed towards the ground. Well kid, you gave it a good try . She pumped her trigger out of desperation, not sure if she even had any shells left, and blew a hole through the behemoth’s foot. The gargantuan mutant howled in pain, flinging her through the air when it toppled over. She hit the ground hard enough to lose consciousness briefly, her head slamming against the inside of the helmet.

  When she blinked her eyes open again, all she could see was a power armor sabaton inches from her face. There was a muffled report to her right and super mutant skull fragments and brain tissue abruptly sprayed across her helmet visor. “ Tango down .” Danse snarled.

  “Jesus.” Backhand muttered, her gauntlet clanking loudly against her helmet. “What a hit.”

  “Are you injured, Knight?” Danse sounded like his teeth were clenched.

  “Blacked out for a second is all. You alright?”

  “That’s irrelevant. We need to see to Paladin Brandis.” Danse said sharply.

  “It’s been so long since I’ve heard my name.” Said a quivering voice. “I imagine I’m hallucinating at this point. Going mad from seclusion.”

  “It’s Danse, sir, Paladin Danse. Don’t you recognize me?” Danse asked, and Backhand was sure she wasn’t supposed to hear the uncertainty in his tone.

  Danse pulled her to her feet and she took in the sight of the elderly man in badly-worn combat armor across from them. He was studying Danse hard, his eyes widening when Danse unfastened his helmet and took it off. “ Danse? You…is it really you?” Brandis asked, his voice still shaking. “Oh my God, is it true?”

  “It’s me, sir.” Danse replied stiffly. “Knight Vega and I were tasked with reacquiring you. Elder Maxson-”

  “Maxson? It’s his fault that I’m even…my squadron…” Brandis’ words grew disjointed, choked with emotion.

  “ The elder believes that you are still a valuable asset to the war effort, Paladin Brandis.” If Danse had been stiff before, he was outright stony now.

  Brandis, entertainingly, waved off Danse’s chastising attitude. “Yes yes, praise be to the elder. I suppose it’s you two that I ought to be thanking, though. After all, you’re the ones who risked life and limb to come find me.”

  “It was Knight Vega’s first assignment as a member of the Brotherhood. She was honored beyond measure.”

  “I don’t suppose she can talk , can she?” Brandis asked dryly. Backhand decided that she liked Brandis. “Why all this trouble for me, though? And so suddenly? I’ve been sending distress signals for years , Danse.”

  “It was only through sheer luck and our acquisition of Knight Vega’s skillset that we even managed to signal the Brotherhood for support.” Danse replied curtly. “Over half of Recon Squad Gladius is dead, their lives claimed in the line of duty. Much like your own squadron.”

  “Oh, Danse.” Brandis said helplessly. “It’s such a heavy burden to carry. Their lives…and Astlin , I know you were so fond of her.”

  “She was a good soldier. Best marksman I ever knew.” Danse gritted out.

  “I’ll bet she was an even better friend.” Backhand said tentatively.

  “She died with honor.”

  “I don’t doubt it.” What the hell was going on? Danse sounded livid , the set of his shoulders visibly tense even through the power armor. A muscle ticked in his jaw.

  “Danse, what does the Brotherhood even expect to get out of me? I’m too old, I’ve…I’ve been away for too long.” Brandis floundered.

  “Elder Max-”

  “ Fuck Arthur, Danse!” Brandis exploded. “I’m asking you . What do you believe that the Brotherhood can get out of me?”

  “Intimate knowledge of the Commonwealth.” Danse snapped. “You’re a survivor, Brandis, and your skills could be indispensable to our troops.”

  “There’s nothing I could teach that the locals couldn’t Danse, you and Maxson know that.”

  “Yes, and you’re not a filthy local. You’re Brotherhood.”

  “Am I?” Brandis mused, glancing towards Backhand. “And I’ll assume that Knight Vega is one of the so-called ‘ filthy locals ’?”

  Danse paused, his hand still up in the air in the beginning of an irritated gesture. Backhand barely kept her snort in check. “Knight Vega is a…special case.” He said finally.

  “Typical Brotherhood. You’re filthy, you’re garbage, you’re nothing . And then, you’re a special case if you’re useful. Sound familiar, Danse?” Brandis grumbled. “Sleep with one eye open, Vega. Maxson is a little boy in a much larger man’s battle coat.”

  “Paladin!” Danse barked. “There is no need for this insubordinate behavior in front of my ward!”

  Brandis drew himself up to his full height (which, next to Danse in full armor, wasn’t exactly intimidating ) and jabbed his index finger into the larger paladin’s breastplate. “Don’t you dare speak to me about insubordination, Danse.” He hissed, his green eyes snapping with fury. “My squadron is dead because of Arthur and you still want to play Lancelot?”

  “The Brotherhood will honor their memory.” Danse intoned dully.

  “I’ll honor your memory if you keep this up, you damn fool.” Brandis growled. “No, no , I won’t go back to that madman. Better that I stay in isolation.”

  “I’m relatively certain that you staying here isn’t an option.” Backhand interjected. “Look, if the elder is as tricky as you say, he’s not going to let you live out your days in peace. You’re Brotherhood, or you were once, and you know too much. It was the same with the army.” Danse looked horrified and Backhand hurried to finish, sure that her opening wouldn’t last. “You should be as close to him as possible, if anything. Make it more difficult for him to do something shady by keeping an eye on him.”

  “Knight Vega! ” Danse sputtered indignantly.

  But Brandis was nodding his head, looking intently at her. “Take that helmet off, Vega. I make it a point to know my allies.”

  “Yes sir.” Backhand undid the helm and pulled it over her head, tucking it under her arm as an afterthought. “It’s an honor to meet you, sir.”

  “You’re bleeding, Knight Vega.” Brandis pointed out after she saluted him and Danse fairly pounced on her, a huge finger looped through the pauldron on her shoulder jerking her around to face him. His gauntlet grazed her temple and she winced, grimacing when the metal returned brick-red.

  “Just a scrape. I’ll be fine.” She insisted.

  “I’m certain you will, Knight. How long have you been in Danse’s care?” Brandis asked genteelly.

  “Ah, about t…two, three days?” Backhand answered cautiously.

  “But Danse said that-”

  “Knight Vega did not immediately accept the offer. I imagine that our ranks did not strike her as particularly impressive.” Danse cut Brandis off, his tone incredibly bitter.

  “It wasn’t that. I had other obligations to deal with.” Backhand corrected him, trying to be gentle. “You guys were in a worse situation than most, but my responsibilities took me elsewhere.”

  “True, I did not…I apologize, Knight Vega. That was unnecessarily harsh of me.” Danse admitted after a second.

  “Be still my heart. You got him to apologize! Never thought I’d see the day.” Brandis said with a hint of faked bewilderment. Backhand decided to keep the fact that Danse had apologized to her three times in the same day to herself. “Alright Danse, I’ll return to that rustbucket . But only because Knight Vega makes an excellent point.”

  “Shall I signal us a vertibird?” Danse asked, his hands clenched tightly at his sides.

  “ Ha! And let Maxson get the drop on me? No, no, it’ll be better for me to show up on foot, alone. Provided you two have been discreet, this place will still serve its purpose as a fallback point. I’ll meander for a few days and then make my way…hmm.” Brandis’ eyes rested on Backhand.

  “Can I loan you my suit for your journey if you won’t accept an escort?” Backhand offered, following his train of thought. “My combat armor is functional and on standby. May I loan him my power armor, Paladin Danse sir?” She knew she was spreading it on thick, but Danse was obviously a stickler for protocol. “He is a senior ranking officer, and I…I mean if I’m with you, I’m sure it’ll be fine.” It couldn’t hurt to flatter him a bit.

  Danse’s face pinked up endearingly and he cleared his throat. “I don’t see why not. If you hope to arrive safely Brandis, this is the least we can do. I would prefer, of course, to accompany you sir. But it’s your decision.”

  “How gracious of you to permit an old man his preferences.” Brandis replied dryly. Backhand couldn’t stifle her hiccup of laughter and Danse ‘ harrumph ’ed, obviously embarrassed by her behavior.

  “Knight Vega and I will busy ourselves with other tasks in the Commonwealth until you make your return to the Brotherhood, Paladin.” Danse said sternly. “You realize that my knight cannot return without her armor and empty-handed.”

  “Understood, Danse.”

  Backhand fought the excited leap in her chest at the way Danse referred to her as ‘his’ knight, choosing instead to extract herself from her power armor and start strapping on her heavy combat gear. It’s only because he’s sponsoring you. Don’t be ridiculous , she scolded herself while she donned her breastplate and greaves.

  “My thanks, Knight Vega. When you return, I’ll see that your armor is waiting in the bay for you.” Paladin Brandis promised, a heavy hand landing on her shoulder. “As well as a frazzled Maxson, if I play my cards right.” The old man grinned, his eyes still sad. “You two can help yourselves to anything in the bunker. I’ve collected some odds and ends over the years, so if you see something you need it’s yours.”

  “Much obliged, sir.” Backhand said gratefully, struggling to recall what Preston had asked her to pick up in her travels. Well, we can always use more aluminum ...

Part Five

[a-x-ce]

Me, not too long ago: As a Tokoyami fan I’m ride or die with Hawks, if Toko loves him, I love him!

*Applies my brain for 5 seconds*

Oh brother, here I fucking go

Hawks does not reciprocate even a fucking fraction of the emotion Tokoyami puts into their relationship. Horikoshi has butchered their dynamic and made it so unfairly one-sided. The way Hawks has become completely attached to the Deku storyline completely betrays any of the development between him and Tokoyami. Even IF Hori decides to backtrack, all of the emotional payoff will be completely diminished.

First, he only accepts him during the work study to use him, which is really shitty. Tokoyami is rightfully angry at the implication that his only value is that he’s been involved in attacks on him and his classmates by the LOV and therefore has some fucked up “insider information”. Tokoyami gets stronger out of sheer anger at this point to come back and prove himself to a hero who basically looked down on him as a tool. Oh and also some jokes about Tokoyami having a bird head because we’re still not tackling anything in this series in regards to discrimination on mutants, but it’s ~funny~ because Hawks is mutated too! He’s just also hot because his mutation is some really pretty red wings and not an actual animal head or anything else that would make him ~ugly~ :))

Hawks invited him back again for the same shitty reasons, he’s got info. and he wants to tap into his personal, horrible, experience with the LOV. Which this time included losing control of his quirk and nearly hurting his friends, being nearly kidnapped, multiple of his friends being hurt and nearly killed, the ACTUAL kidnapping of one of his classmates, and the entire fallout of Kamino. Like, what the hell! But this time thanks to how much of a badass Tokoyami is in training himself he can keep up with Hawks, which earns him a night-flight opportunity and some vague advice on learning to fly for reasons he doesn’t even explain in terms of how that directly connects to Tokoyami and his ability to fly that didn’t even exist prior to this very conversation. Okay? So Tokoyami yet again learns some badass move because he’s awesome and U.A. and his internship opportunities so far are basically useless, this kid teaches himself. 

Which is exactly what happens during the 2nd internship, Hawks isn’t even around...but Tokoyami gets stronger regardless because fuck Hawks taking him in again and abandoning him. All we get before the war arc is some internal dialogue from him about how grateful he was that Tokoyami came and showed him he could rely on the next generation of heroes, and acknowledges Tokoyami’s strength. Tokoyami doesn’t know any of this.

While on the other hand Tokoyami ends up appreciating and even being thankful of Hawks advice after the first internship. He admires him, during the war arc he thinks of him specifically and desires his praise for how far he’s come and how much stronger he’s gotten. Tokoyami wants nothing more than in that moment to see him again. And then when he does see him again? Tokoyami is saving Hawks’ life. 

Against an opponent with the worst possible ability, Tokoyami gets hurt in that rescue, burning his foot/ankle/leg in the process. In the worst possible moment near the end when Dabi is on the verge of KILLING them Tokoyami clutches Hawks in his arms as Dark Shadow becomes a shield. He’s willing to die for him there. But thankfully due to the BS of Geten fucking things up, Tokoyami can escape and take Hawks with him. Where he then stays by his side the ENTIRE time he’s treated, through the Machia destruction, until the very end of the arc...

And what? What was the payoff for all this? What could possibly come later to make up for the fact that so far, at no point, ANY of this has been acknowledged by Hawks? Not one word. Not one thought. Nothing to show us he’s even said a goddamn thing to Tokoyami about his near life sacrifice for him. His injuries? Why he had to kill Twice? How ANY of that affected Tokoyami? NOTHING.

Now the “best case scenario” is some shitty flashback way down the road MAYBE. It’s not even guaranteed there will be payoff for all of that, it’s just assumed because all of us expect something otherwise, what the fuck? That’d be horrible writing and some of us would like to keep thinking Hori knows what the fuck he’s doing sometimes (I’m on the fence these days...)

There was so much potential here for just ONE chapter’s worth of dialogue, maybe not even a chapter since god forbid we take too many panels away from the main 3 (lord! I’m sorry for asking for too much!!! forgive this selfish bitch!!) a page to show us that they TALKED AT ALL would have saved me a lot of frustration and annoyance. No amount of flashbacks potentially are going to undo these last few months of anger.

And I KNOW Horikoshi shows us that they have a good dynamic in SIDE art, we got that amazing new image on twitter showing us how Tokoyami makes him laugh, showing his happiness with his little intern. But WHY is that in some twitter image and NOT in the manga?! SHOW US IN THE MANGA TOO, it’s the same shit with all of Tokoyami’s power-ups, ALL off-screened. He just, gets stronger, develops new techniques, and we see the outcome of all of it...details given to us in fucking extra pages maybe in the back of a volume or included in a character data book that only people who buy it get to know. I want information IN the series, not just brushed off to the side so we can just keep focusing on the same 5 characters over and over and over again. Develop your cast Horikoshi, it’s literally not that hard EVERY other mangaka has done it before you and many will do it after you as well, it’s the bare fucking minimum.

[letterboxd]

Best of Sundance 2021.

From pandemic-era stories, via portraits of grief, to the serendipitous 1969 trilogy, the Letterboxd crew recaps our favorite films from the first major festival of the year.

Sundance heralds a new season of storytelling, with insights into what’s concerning filmmakers at present, and what artistic innovations may be on the horizon. As with every film festival, there were spooky coincidences and intersecting themes, whether it was a proliferation of pandemic-era stories, or extraordinary portraits of women working through grief (Land, Hive, The World to Come), or the incredible serendipity of the festival’s ‘1969 trilogy’, covering pivotal moments in Black American history: Summer of Soul (...Or When the Revolution Could Not Be Televised), Judas and the Black Messiah and the joyful Street Gang: How We Got to Sesame Street.

The hybrid model of this year’s Sundance meant more film lovers across the United States—a record number of you, in fact—‘attended’ the prestigious indie showcase. Our Festiville team (Gemma Gracewood, Aaron Yap, Ella Kemp, Selome Hailu, Jack Moulton and Dominic Corry) scanned your Letterboxd reviews and compared them with our notes to arrive at these seventeen feature-length documentary and narrative picks from Sundance 2021. There are plenty more we enjoyed, but these are the films we can’t stop thinking about.

Documentary features

Summer of Soul (...Or, When the Revolution Could Not Be Televised) Directed by Ahmir-Khalib Thompson (AKA Questlove)

One hot summer five decades ago, there was a free concert series at a park in Harlem. It was huge, and it was lovely, and then it was forgotten. The Harlem Cultural Festival of 1969 brought together some of the world’s most beloved Black artists to connect with Black audiences. The star power and the size of the crowds alone should have been enough to immortalize the event à la Woodstock—which happened the same summer, the film emphasizes. But no one cared to buy up the footage until Ahmir-Khalib Thompson, better known as Questlove, came along.

It would have been easy to oversimplify such a rich archive by stringing together the performances, seeking out some talking heads, and calling it a day. But Questlove was both careful and ebullient in his approach. “Summer of Soul is a monumental concert documentary and a fantastic piece of reclaimed archived footage. There is perhaps no one better suited to curate this essential footage than Questlove, whose expertise and passion for the music shines through,” writes Matthew on Letterboxd. The film is inventive with its use of present interviews, bringing in both artists and attendees not just to speak on their experiences, but to react to and relive the footage. The director reaches past the festival itself, providing thorough social context that takes in the moon landing, the assassinations of Black political figures, and more. By overlapping different styles of documentary filmmaking, Questlove’s directorial debut embraces the breadth and simultaneity of Black resilience and joy. A deserving winner of both the Grand Jury and Audience awards (and many of our unofficial Letterboxd awards). —SH

Flee Directed by Jonas Poher Rasmussen

Flee is the type of discovery Sundance is designed for. Danish documentarian Jonas Poher Rasmussen tells the poignant story of his close friend and former classmate (using the pseudonym ‘Amin Nawabi’) and his daring escape from persecution in 1990s Afghanistan. Rasmussen always approaches tender topics with sensitivity and takes further steps to protect his friend’s identity by illustrating the film almost entirely in immersive animation, following in the footsteps of Waltz With Bashir and Tower. It’s a film aware of its subjectivity, allowing the animated scenes to alternate between the playful joy of nostalgia and the mournful pain of an unforgettable memory. However, these are intercepted by dramatic archive footage that oppressively brings the reality home.

“Remarkably singular, yet that is what makes it so universal,” writes Paul. “So many ugly truths about the immigration experience—the impossible choices forced upon people, and the inability to really be able to explain all of it to people in your new life… You can hear the longing in his voice, the fear in his whisper. Some don’t get the easy path.” Winner of the World Cinema (Documentary) Grand Jury Prize and quickly acquired by Neon, Flee is guaranteed to be a film you’ll hear a lot about for the rest of 2021. —JM

Taming the Garden Directed by Salomé Jashi

There’s always a moment at a film festival when fatigue sets in, when the empathy machine overwhelms, and when I hit that moment in 2021, I took the advice of filmmaker and Sundance veteran Jim Cummings, who told us: “If you’re ever stressed or tired, watch a documentary to reset yourself.” Taming the Garden wasn’t initially on my hit-list, but it’s one of those moments when the ‘close your eyes and point at a random title’ trick paid off. Documentary director Salomé Jashi does the Lorax’s work, documenting the impact and grief caused by billionaire former Georgian PM Bidzina Ivanishvili’s obsession with collecting ancient trees for his private arboretum.

“A movie that is strangely both infuriating and relaxing” writes Todd, of the long, locked-off wide shots showing the intense process of removing large, old trees from their village homes. There’s no narration, instead Jashi eavesdrops on locals as they gossip about Ivanishvili, argue about whether the money is worth it, and a feisty, irritated 90-year-old warns of the impending environmental fallout. “What you get out of it is absolutely proportional to what you put into it,” writes David, who recommends this film get the IMAX treatment. It’s arboriculture as ASMR, the timeline cleanse my Sundance needed. The extraordinary images of treasured trees being barged across the sea will become iconic. —GG

The Most Beautiful Boy in the World Directed by Kristian Petri and Kristina Lindström

Where Taming the Garden succeeds through pure observation, The Most Beautiful Boy in the World relies on the complete participation of its title subject, actor Björn Andrésen, who was thrust into the spotlight as a teenager. Cast by Italian director Lucino Visconti in Death in Venice, a 1971 adaptation of Thomas Mann’s novella about obsession and fatal longing, Andrésen spent the 1970s as an object of lust, with a side-gig as a blonde pop star in Japan, inspiring many manga artists along the way.

As we know by now (Alex Winter’s Showbiz Kids is a handy companion to this film), young stardom comes at a price, one that Andrésen was not well-placed to pay even before his fateful audition for Visconti. But he’s still alive, still acting (he’s Dan in Midsommar), and ready to face the mysteries of his past. Like Benjamin Ree’s excellent The Painter and the Thief from last year, this documentary is a constantly unfolding detective story, notable for great archive footage, and a deep kindness towards its reticent yet wide-open subject. —GG

All Light, Everywhere Directed by Theo Anthony

Threading the blind spots between Étienne-Jules Marey’s 19th-century “photographic rifle”, camera-carrying war pigeons and Axon’s body-cam tech, Theo Anthony’s inquisitive, mind-expanding doc about the false promise of the all-seeing eye is absorbing, scary, urgent. It’s the greatest Minority Report origin story you didn’t know you needed.

Augmented by Dan Deacon’s electronic soundscapes and Keaver Brenai’s lullingly robotic narration, All Light, Everywhere proves to be a captivating, intricately balanced experience that Harris describes as “one part Adam Curtis-esque cine-essay”, “one part structural experiment in the vein of Koyaanisqatsi” and “one part accidental character study of two of the most familiar yet strikingly unique evil, conservative capitalists…”. Yes, there’s a tremendous amount to download, but Anthony’s expert weaving, as AC writes, “make its numerous subjects burst with clarity and profundity.” For curious cinephiles, the oldest movie on Letterboxd, Jules Jenssen’s Passage de Vénus (1874), makes a cameo. —AY

The Sparks Brothers Directed by Edgar Wright

Conceived at a Sparks gig in 2017 upon the encouragement of fellow writer-director Phil Lord, Edgar Wright broke his streak of riotous comedies with his first (of many, we hope) rockumentary. While somewhat overstuffed—this is, after all, his longest film by nearly fifteen minutes—The Sparks Brothers speaks only to Wright’s unrestrained passion for his art-pop Gods, exploring all the nooks and crannies of Sparks’ sprawling career, with unprecedented access to brothers and bandmates Ron and Russell Mael.

Nobody else can quite pin them down, so Wright dedicates his time to put every pin in them while he can, building a mythology and breaking it down, while coloring the film with irresistible dives into film history, whimsically animated anecdotes and cheeky captions. “Sparks rules. Edgar Wright rules. There’s no way this wasn’t going to rule”, proclaims Nick, “every Sparks song is its own world, with characters, rules, jokes and layers of narrative irony. What a lovely ode to a creative partnership that was founded on sticking to one’s artistic guns, no matter what may have been fashionable at the time.” —JM

Narrative features

The Pink Cloud Written and directed by Iuli Gerbase

The Pink Cloud is disorienting and full of déjà vu. Brazilian writer-director Iuli Gerbase constructs characters that are damned to have to settle when it comes to human connection. Giovana and Yago’s pleasant one-night stand lasts longer than expected when the titular pink cloud emerges from the sky, full of a mysterious and deadly gas that forces everyone to stay locked where they stand. Sound familiar? Reserve your groans—The Pink Cloud wasn’t churned out to figure out “what it all means” before the pandemic is even over. Gerbase wrote and shot the film prior to the discovery of Covid-19.

It’s “striking in its ability to prophesize a pandemic and a feeling unknown at the time of its conception. What was once science fiction hits so close now,” writes Sam. As uncanny as the quarantine narrative feels, what’s truly harrowing is how well the film predicts and understands interiorities that the pandemic later exacerbated. Above all, Giovana is a woman with unmet needs. She is a good partner, good mother and good person even when she doesn’t want to be. Even those who love her cannot see how their expectations strip her of her personhood, and the film dares to ask what escape there might be when love itself leaves you lonely. —SH

Together Together Written and directed by Nikole Beckwith

Every festival needs at least one indie relationship dramedy, and Together Together filled that role at Sundance 2021 with a healthy degree of subversion. It follows rom-com structure while ostensibly avoiding romance, instead focusing on how cultivating adult friendships can be just hard, if not harder.

Writer-director Nikole Beckwith warmly examines the limits of the platonic, and Patti Harrison and Ed Helms are brilliantly cast as the not-couple: a single soon-to-be father and the surrogate carrying his child. They poke at each other’s boundaries with a subtle desperation to know what makes a friendship appropriate or real. As Jacob writes: “It’s cute and serious, charming without being quirky. It’s a movie that deals with the struggle of being alone in this world, but offers a shimmer of hope that even if you don’t fall in fantastical, romantic, Hollywood love… there are people out there for you.” —SH

Hive Written and directed by Blerta Basholli

Hive, for some, may fall into the “nothing much happens” slice-of-life genre, but Blerta Basholli’s directorial debut holds an ocean of pain in its small tale, asking us to consider the heavy lifting that women must always do in the aftermath of war. As Liz writes, “Hive is not just a story about grief and trauma in a patriarchy-dominated culture, but of perseverance and the bonds created by the survivors who must begin to consider the future without their husbands.”

Yllka Gashi is an understated hero as Fahrjie, a mother-of-two who sets about organizing work for the women of her village, while awaiting news of her missing husband—one of thousands unaccounted for, years after the Kosovo War has ended. The townsmen have many opinions about how women should and shouldn’t mourn, work, socialize, parent, drive cars and, basically, get on with living, but Fahrjie persists, and Basholli sticks close with an unfussy, tender eye. “It felt like I was a fly on the wall, witnessing something that was actually happening,” writes Arthur. Just as in Robin Wright’s Land and Mona Fastvold’s The World to Come, Hive pays off in the rare, beaming smile of its protagonist. —GG

On the Count of Three Directed by Jerrod Carmichael, written by Ari Katcher and Ryan Welch

It starts with an image: two best friends pointing guns at each other’s heads. There’s no anger, there’s no hatred—this is an act of merciful brotherly love. How do you have a bleak, gun-totin’ buddy-comedy in 2021 and be critically embraced without contradicting your gun-control retweets or appearing as though your film is the dying embers of Tarantino-tinged student films?

Comedian Jerrod Carmichael’s acerbic directorial debut On the Count of Three achieves this by calling it out every step of the way. Guns are a tool to give insecure men the illusion of power. They are indeed a tool too terrifying to trust in the hands of untrained citizens. Carmichael also stars, alongside Christopher Abbott, who has never been more hilarious or more tragic, bringing pathos to a cathartic rendition of Papa Roach’s ‘Last Resort’. Above all, Carmichael and Abbott’s shared struggle and bond communicates the millennial malaise: how can you save others if you can’t save yourself? “Here’s what it boils down to: life is fucking hard”, Laura sums up, “and sometimes the most we can hope for is to have a best friend who loves you [and] to be a best friend who loves. It doesn’t make life any easier, but it sure helps.” Sundance 2021 is one for the books when it comes to documentaries, but On the Count of Three stands out in the fiction lineup this year. —JM

Censor Directed by Prano Bailey-Bond, written by Bailey-Bond and Anthony Fletcher

The first of several upcoming films inspired by the ‘video nasty’ moral panic over gory horror in mid-’80s Britain, Prano Bailey-Bond leans heavily into both the period and the genre in telling the story of a film censor (a phenomenal Niamh Algar—vulnerable and steely at the same time) who begins to suspect a banned movie may hold the key to her sister’s childhood disappearance. Often dreamlike, occasionally phantasmagorical and repeatedly traumatic, even if the worst gore presented (as seen in the impressively authentic fictional horrors being appraised) appears via a screen, providing a welcome degree of separation.

Nevertheless, Censor is definitely not for the faint of heart, but old-school horror aficionados will squeal with delight at the aesthetic commitment. “I’m so ecstatic that horror is in the hands of immensely talented women going absolutely batshit in front of and behind the camera.” writes Erik. (Same here!) “A great ode to the video-nasty era and paying tribute to the great horror auteurs of the ’80s such as Argento, De Palma and Cronenberg while also doing something new with the genre. Loved this!” writes John, effectively encapsulating Censor’s unfettered film-nerd appeal. —DC

CODA Written and directed by Siân Heder

A film so earnest it shouldn’t work, with a heart so big it should surely not fit the size of the screen, CODA broke records (the first US dramatic film in Sundance history to win all three top prizes; the 25-million-dollar sale to Apple Studios), and won the world over like no other film. “A unique take on something we’ve seen so much,” writes Amanda, nailing the special appeal of Siân Heder’s coming-of-ager and family portrait. Emilia Jones plays Ruby, the only hearing person in her deaf family, at war between the family business and her passion for singing. While Heder is technically remaking the French film La Famille Bélier, the decision to cast brilliant deaf actors—Troy Kotsur, Marlee Matlin and Daniel Durant—makes this feel brand new.

But it’s not just about representation for the sake of it. A sense of authenticity, in humor as much as affection, shines through. With a script that’s 40 per cent ASL, so many of the jokes are visual gags, poking fun at Tinder and rap music, but a lot of the film’s most poignant moments are silent as well. And in Ruby’s own world, too, choir kids will feel seen. “I approve of this very specific alto representation and the brilliant casting of the entire choir,” Laura confirms in her review. Come for the fearless, empathetic family portrait, stay for the High School Musical vibes that actually ring true. —EK

We’re All Going to the World’s Fair Written and directed by Jane Schoenbrun

Perhaps the most singular addition to the recent flurry of Extremely Online cinema—Searching, Spree, Host, et al—Jane Schoenbrun’s feature debut ushers the viewer into a haunted, hypno-drone miasma of delirium-inducing YouTube time-suck, tenebrous creepypasta lore and painfully intimate webcam confessionals. Featuring an extraordinarily unaffected, fearless performance by newcomer Anna Cobb, the film “unpacks the mythology of adolescence in a way that’s so harrowingly familiar and also so otherworldly”, writes Kristen. Not since Kiyoshi Kurosawa’s Pulse has there been such an eerily lonely, and at times strangely beautiful, evocation of the liminal spaces between virtual and real worlds.

For members of the trans community, it’s also a work that translates that experience to screen with uncommon authenticity. “What Schoenbrun has accomplished with the form of We’re All Going to the World’s Fair is akin to catching a wisp of smoke,” writes Willow, “because the images, mood and aesthetic that they have brought to life is one that is understood completely by trans people as one of familiarity, without also plunging into the obvious melodrama, or liberal back-patting that is usually associated with ‘good’ direct representation.” One of the most original, compelling new voices to emerge from Sundance this year. —AY

Judas and the Black Messiah Directed by Shaka King, written by King, Will Berson, Kenneth Lucas and Keith Lucas

It was always going to take a visionary, uncompromising filmmaker to bring the story of Fred Hampton, the deputy chairman of the national Black Panther Party, to life. Shaka King casts Daniel Kaluuya as Hampton, and LaKeith Stanfield as William “Wild Bill” O’Neal, the FBI informant whose betrayal leads to Hampton’s assassination. Both actors have never been better, particularly Kaluuya who Fran Hoepfner calls “entrancing, magnetic, fizzling, romantic, riveting, endlessly watchable.”

Judas and the Black Messiah is an electric, involving watch: not just replaying history by following a certain biopic template. Instead, it’s a film with something to say—on power, on fear, on war and on freedom. “Shaka King’s name better reverberate through the halls of every studio after this,” writes Demi. A talent like this, capable of framing such a revolution, doesn’t come around so often. We’d better listen up. —EK

Pleasure Directed by Ninja Thyberg, written by Thyberg and Peter Modestij

A24’s first purchase of 2021. Ironically titled on multiple levels, Pleasure is a brutal film that you endure more than enjoy. But one thing you can’t do is forget it. Ninja Thyberg’s debut feature follows a young Swedish woman (Sofia Kappel) who arrives in Los Angeles with dreams of porn stardom under the name ‘Bella Cherry’. Although Bella is clear-eyed about the business she’s getting into, Thyberg doesn’t shy away from any of the awfulness she faces in order to succeed in an industry rife with exploitation and abuse. Bella does make allies, and the film isn’t suggesting that porn is only stocked with villains, but the ultimate cost is clear, even if it ends on an ever-so-slightly ambiguous note.

Touching as it does on ambition, friendship and betrayal in the sex business, Pleasure is often oddly reminiscent of Paul Verhoeven’s Showgirls. Or rather, the gritty film Showgirls was claiming to be, as opposed to the camp classic it became. There’s nothing campy here. Kappel is raw and fearless in the lead, but never lets the viewer lose touch with her humanity. Emma puts it well: “Kappel gives the hardest, most provocative and transfixing performance I’ve seen all festival.” “My whole body was physically tense during this,” writes Gillian, while Keegan perhaps speaks for most when she says “Great film, never want to see it again.” —DC

Coming Home in the Dark Directed by James Ashcroft, written by Ashcroft and Eli Kent

A family camping trip amidst some typically stunnin—and casually foreboding— New Zealand scenery is upended by a shocking rug-pull of violence that gives way to sustained terror represented by Daniel Gillies’ disturbingly calm psychopath. The set-up of this thriller initially suggests a spin on the backwoods brutality thriller, but as Coming Home in the Dark progresses and hope dissipates, the motivations reveal themselves to be much more personal in nature, and informed on a thematic level by New Zealand’s colonial crimes against its Indigenous population. It’s a stark and haunting film that remains disorientating and unpredictable throughout, repeatedly daring the viewer to anticipate what will happen next, only to casually stomp on each glimmer of a positive outcome.

It’s so captivatingly bleak that a viewing of it, as Collins Ezeanyim’s eloquent reaction points out, does not lend itself to completing domestic tasks. The film marks an auspicious debut for director and co-writer James Ashcroft. Jacob writes that he “will probably follow James Ashcroft’s career to the gates of Hell after this one”. Justin hits the nail on the head with his description: “Lean and exceptionally brutal road/revenge film … that trades in genre tropes, especially those of Ozploitation and ’70s Italian exploitation, but contextualizes them in the dark history of its country of origin.” —DC

The World to Come Directed by Mona Fastvold, written by Ron Hansen and Jim Shepard

Mona Fastvold has not made the first, nor probably the last, period romance about forbidden lesbian love. But The World to Come focuses on a specific pocket in time, a world contained in Jim Shepard’s short story ‘Love & Hydrogen’ from within the collection giving the film its name. Katherine Waterston and Vanessa Kirby are Abigail and Tallie, farming neighbors, stifled by their husbands, who find brief moments of solace, of astonishment and joy, together. What shines here is the script, a verbose, delicate narration that emanates beauty more than pretence. “So beautifully restrained and yet I felt everything,” Iana writes.

And you can feel the fluidity and elegance in the way the film sounds, too: composer Daniel Blumberg’s clarinet theme converses with the dialogue and tells you when your heart can break, when you must pause, when the end is near. “So much heartache. So much hunger. So much longing. Waves of love and grief and love and grief,” writes Claira, capturing the ebb and flow of emotion that keeps The World to Come in your mind long after the screen has gone silent. —EK

Related content

The 2021 Sundance Film Festival lineup by Letterboxd rating

Letterboxd’s ‘Official’ Top 50 of 2021

Awards Season 2020-2021: our awards-tracker list

Letterboxd’s Festiville HQ: our home for up-to-the-minute festival coverage

[idkwntht-blog]

The Plight of the Pick Me

I’ve said this before and I’m sure I’ll say it again: Y’all hate women.

If anything, this has been made exponentially clear in the aftermath of Tristan Thompson’s cheating finally striking a nerve with Khloe Kardashian. You’ve been watching the fallout (unless your wifi got cut off or something), and you know that somehow Kylie Jenner’s (ex) best friend Jordyn Woods is bearing the brunt of the blame.

How.

This is not the first (or the second) time that we’ve been on Tristan Cheating alert. Add to that the fact that it’s super hazy if Tristan cheated on his pregnant girlfriend with Khloe to begin with -- and by hazy, I mean not hazy at all. And he cheated on Khloe when she was pregnant too.

All signs point to this man being a hoe and a unsuitable partner, but Khloe has convinced herself that Jordyn is the reason her family has been ripped apart.

Do you know why? Because even women hate women.

Let’s backtrack just a bit. Jordyn has now spoken out publicly, saying that Tristan initiated the kiss. She said there was no making out, no tongue and no sex. She alleges that she lied to the Kardashian family because she was scared. And you know what? I absolutely believe her. Why? Because the devil works hard, but Kris Jenner will always work harder.

Don’t get me wrong. The child was wrong, but the level of backlash she’s getting is unwarranted.

Back to the current promo material for Keeping Up With the Kardashians: Khloe and her posse are now online publicly bullying a 21-year-old about ruining her family, the child is getting death threats, and Tristan Thompson done fucked shit up and hahs evacuated the premises to have pasta with yet another fling. Khloe is legit online cussing Jordyn out and protecting Tristan because hEs ThE fAtHeR oF heR cHilD.

What in the “the family fucked my husband” is really going on here?

Our socialized urge to absolve men of guilt by transferring it to the women is not the only example of our inherent misogyny. We’ve also been socialized to distrust women and that rears its ugly head in many ways -- from disbelief and conspiracy theories when women come forward about rape and sexual assault to the way women love boasting that they have no women friends.

My Mimi will say to me that she doesn’t understand why I have so many female friends and why I let them in my business because when she was growing up she only had one girlfriend. All her other friends were men. I get her point, but the language is problematic af.

It’s important to acknowledge that a lot of that behavior stems from the fact that women are socialized to see other women as competition for the affections of a Good Man. We’re taught that the things we do affect how Good of a Man we end up with -- which is obviously some bullshi.

We don’t see women as allies, we see them as opponents to “outwoman” in order to snag the man.

Pick me’s are just women who still subscribe to that in a big way. There are enough of us who know that someone being a good man is less about the woman you are and exponentially more about who the man is.

We’ve been taught this myth that finding and keeping a good man is more reliant on what a woman does than a man’s character. If someone is trash, they gon be trash. Nothing you do will make them not be trash because that behavior isn’t about you.

I can guarantee that my ex is somewhere calling me a hoe. We were together for 8 years and in that time frame he cheated more times than I probably know about, got at least one girl pregnant, and emotionally abused the hell out of me. Breaking up was always the most logical decision, but I had to learn the hard way that there was nothing I could do to save that man from himself.

I stayed so long because I had put in the work, I had forgiven so much and bitten my tongue so often that he just had to get it right. He never did. I couldn���t save him, so I finally decided to save myself.

And that’s where the pick me comes in.

A pick me still fully supports the emotional labor of trying to turn a man into a Good Man. Since that’s an impossible feat, they spend a lot of time being mistreated by men who take advantage of their willingness to carry the relationship. These men are not good men, and they don’t wanna be good men, and they don’t have to be good men.

(I should mention here that no man, even a genuinely good man, is perfect. But no woman is either. )

The issue with a pick me is not that she chooses bad apple men in hopes that following Good Woman rules will make them shiny and new again. The rest of us can’t be mad that you’re taking them off our hands, you’re honestly doing the Lord’s work.

The problem with a pick me is that she’s fucking PISSED at the rest of us who refuse to abide by those rules. She stans for T.I. and Tiny’s relationship and she defends Rasheeda in the IG comments. She’s blasting Future, screaming “fuck Ciara” at the top of her lungs until the end of time. Why? Because Ciara said fuck this bullshit and found a good man and sis is a ride or die.

“Why leave a sure thing for a maybe?” they ask. But if the real sure thing is simply that you’re just going to keep getting hurt and you’ll never actually be happy, maybe starts looking a lot more attractive.

She probably still doesn’t see why Offset crashing Cardi’s set to apologize for cheating on her was a problem. The fact that Offset cheated on Cardi, that Jay Z cheated on Beyonce is literally all the proof one should need to realize that a man’s behavior is not rooted in who his woman is.

To be mad at other women for being their true selves and still getting chosen because you’re following these rules and still barely happy is as “I hate women” as Mike Pence. A man will never chose you if you’re not what he wants and there’s really no way to change that. Pretending will only get you but so far. So be yourself and be happy, sis.

[unityghost]

Infection

Over on fanfiction.net, Willows Dancing in the Wind made the following suggestion:

"I would like to see more Dean and Gabriel interaction. Maybe Dean having to wake Gabriel up from a nightmare and he's the only one home to comfort him. I'd like to see them bond over Hell."

I'm adding this as part 12 of Post-Asmodeus Sabriel Feels, even though most of the story focuses on Dean's treatment of Gabriel. It's part of the same story line, so why not include it in the series?

Most of my regular readers are here for for the Sabriel hurt/comfort. And that's what's coming next. For those of you who are like, “Coolio but let’s just stick with what we’re really here to read,” thanks for sticking with me!

Gabriel had fallen asleep at the table.

 Dean found him when he entered the kitchen to make himself a sandwich. He wasn’t surprised. Even with a fair portion of grace back in action, Gabriel was exhausted at least ninety percent of the time and functioned poorly without rest. In any case, sleep and nutrition accelerated the replenishment process. Most likely, by Castiel’s estimates, Gabriel would have had to spend an extra month or so recovering from Asmodeus sucking him dry.

 So here he was, face planted on the table between his arms. Next to his head was a half-drunk mug of coffee and an unwrapped granola bar.

 Well, Dean thought, opening the fridge as quietly as he could, at least Gabriel had tried to eat.

 Dean sniffed at the deli drawer to make sure he was still more likely to die from ghouls slurping out his insides through a straw than by slimy roast beef, then fished out some cheese and grabbed a bottle of mayonnaise from one of the side shelves. He hoped he could find at least one clean plate in the cupboard.

 “Stop.”

 Crap, he’d been too loud.

 Dean turned. “Sorry man, I - ”

 But Gabriel was still unconscious. He’d shifted so that his face was turned to the side.

 Dean watched him carefully. Gabriel moaned softly. “Stop,” he mumbled again.

 Dean set the mayonnaise back on the shelf. “Gabe.”

Gabriel flinched in his sleep.

“Gabe,” Dean repeated, louder this time.

Gabriel jerked awake and shot upright. He didn’t spot Dean right away but still looked panicked once he did. 

“Gabriel,” said Dean, “Everything okay?”

Gabriel’s breathing was tight and rapid. “Dean?”

“Just me.” He could see how badly Gabriel was trembling. “This was a bad one, huh?”

“Dean, where’s Sam?”

A pause. “He went out.”

Gabriel turned chalk-white.

“He’s with Cas,” Dean explained. “They’re just getting a bite to eat.”

Gabriel shook more violently. “Okay.”

Dean moved over to the table and took a seat beside him. “Want me to make you a fresh cup of coffee?”

Gabriel’s eyes fell on the half-empty mug. “How long have I been asleep?”

“When’d you decide to pass out in here?”

Gabriel considered. “2:00? 2:30? I was planning on having lunch.

Dean glanced at the untouched granola. “And lunch was a Quaker bar.”

Gabriel shrugged 

“You’ve been out for an hour and a half,” Dean told him. “So how about that coffee?”

“No. No thanks. Sick to my stomach.”

“Same old routine, huh? Glass of water, then.”

“I can’t right now.”

But Dean went to the sink and filled a glass anyway, then set it in front of Gabriel. “If you change your mind.”

Gabriel stared at the glass. “Thanks.”

Dean resettled himself next to Gabriel. “It’s a gross feeling, I know. The whole nightmare game. Truth is I’d rather face down an entire army of Michaels than go through that every night like I used to.”

Gabriel offered no response.

“Listen,” Dean went on, “I’m not Sam, but I know how to do this.”

Gabriel looked at him.

“You know how many years of experience I have trying to hold someone together? Doesn’t always work, but I ain’t a new pledge.”

Gabriel had calmed down a little, not quite as tense as he had been a few moments before. “You probably don’t want to watch the show.”

“I can guarantee you I’ve put on better performances.”

“Trust me, it gets ugly.”

“Yeah, I know. But it’s uglier if you’re alone.

“Dean, I don’t expect - ”

“Hey. It’s all good. We don’t have to talk if you don’t wanna talk; I can just sit here, give you … moral support.”

Gabriel sighed. “It’s your funeral.”

“So can you think of anything that’d …” Dean made vague gestures with his hands. “... help?”

“Well, you’re not mad or freaked out, so don’t worry about extra credit.”

“What are the extra credit options?”

“You could write a paper on how much of a disaster I am. Sam can grade it.”

“Pass.”

“You’re not a sympathy puker, are you?”

“Who do you think was the one to clean up after a preschool-aged Sam, huh?”

“I just wanted to make sure you have the credentials for this job.” Gabriel paused. “You know that’s what Sam called it? His ‘job’?”

“I think it’s more than that to him.”

“Why? Just …” Gabriel struggled for the right words. “Why?”

Dean considered. “No offense, but if you’d seen yourself when you first got here, you’d probably understand.”

Gabriel gave a hollow laugh. “I wouldn’t have touched me with a ten-foot pole.”

“What can I say? Sam is … you know, sometimes I wonder why he stuck with hunting. The kid used to catch spiders in cups and take them outside. He sees someone like you and just …”

Gabriel smiled. “Catches me in a cup and puts me outside?”

“Nah, man, he wanted to hold onto you.”

“That was a strange decision.”

“I don’t know Gabriel, he just cares.”

“Yeah, okay, but - I mean, Cas I can sort of get. He’s my brother and maybe he feels like he has to do something. But Sam? Dean, I’m the most irritating bitch of an archangel in all of Dad’s creation.”

“Right, I forgot how much more fun it is to watch Lucifer and Michael corrupt the integrity of existence itself than to pick you up off the floor once in a while.”

Gabriel slumped in his chair. “It drives me nuts that your brother’s so good at both.”

“I’d like to say he learned it from me, but I’ve gotten more out of watching him than I’d ever be able to come up with on my own.”

“Yeah, well …” Gabriel ran both hands through his hair. “Shit.”

Dean watched him carefully. “Gabe, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Takes me a little while is all.”

“You wanna tell me about it?”

Gabriel groaned, still holding his head. “I just - this always ends messy. I don’t even remember what I say to Sam most of the time; all I know is there’s never any pride left to spare.”

“I’ll leave you alone if that’s what you want, but I don’t think it is.”

“Mm. Yeah. I guess not.”

They sat in silence for a while. Gabriel kept his head lowered and his eyes fixed on the table.

Dean was surprised when Gabriel was the first to speak. “Asmodeus did so much to hurt me. Even if I manage to catch a break from thinking about one form of torture, there’s another right behind it. And angels aren’t supposed to dream. When we do it’s … it’s so real.”

“I don’t think that’s unique to angels,” Dean told him.

Gabriel lifted his head. “I can’t wait for all this to be over. These nightmares, they’re screwing me up so bad.”

“You just gotta wait for your grace to come back and then take it from there.”

Gabriel looked desperate. “I don’t know how to wait this out. It’s taking too long.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “You’re an archangel and six months feels like a long time to you?”

“Yes! I mean, look at Sam! He’s fine. He has his bad days but he’s so …so not like me. And you, too. You both went through the same thing I did and you’re human. You’re the ones who are supposed to have low expectations.”

Dean’s expression soured. “Thanks, Gabriel. Look, I think you’re missing a few pieces here. One, Sam doesn’t just have ‘bad days.’ He’d never let you witness it, but sometimes the resemblance between you guys is creepy. Two, you were in the pit for a long-ass time, longer than me or Sam. And three, I’m not the role model you should be looking to when it comes to making a healthy recovery. I was in there for less than a century and sometimes I can’t see three feet ahead because someone looked at me funny. Cut yourself a break.”

Gabriel squirmed. “But I can’t tell there’s anything wrong with you! I could settle for just being able to pretend.”

“Bad idea. I know archangels probably don’t have livers, but - ”

“Sam keeps reminding me it’s going to take longer than I think it should,” Gabriel continued. “Tell me, Dean: if you guys are still as damaged as you say, how is it that you function? How do you … how do you just keep going without falling apart again and again?”

Dean looked down at his hands. “If I knew, I’d pass along my wisdom.”

“Dean, you’re both so much stronger than I am.”

“No.”

“You are. I’m not trying to host a pity-party; I’m giving the facts.” 

“Gabe - ” Dean turned back to him. “Beating the crap out of yourself isn’t gonna do anything except pull you backwards. You were in Hell. You were screwed over in the worst way. And the only person who’s mad at you for the fallout is you. Me and Sam … we don’t like seeing you like this. The most you should’ve gotten for being such a jerk to us before is maybe a solid half hour of me yelling at you. But this? What you actually wound up with? I wouldn’t have ever wished that on you. I wouldn’t send anyone to Hell unless they were part of the administration. It sucks down there, Gabriel. It sucks and we just want to help.”

He watched as Gabriel’s eyes filled with tears. Normally, Dean would have frozen up, but he’d been expecting things to go south sooner or later. He had known that the situation would become, as Gabriel put it, “ugly.”

“Dean,” Gabriel croaked, “I spill my guts to your brother even though I know better, and no matter how many times I let him take care of me, I still haven’t - haven’t told him even half of what  Asmodeus did to me - and hardly anything about what Asmodeus made me do. I can’t. If Sam let me talk about that stuff, everything would change. You’d all look at me differently. You wouldn’t want to room with me. There’s so much I - ” He turned away, and the last words came out as a sob. “So much I can’t tell any of you.”

“Hey,” Dean replied softly, wondering if it was better to reach out or give him space. “If there’s stuff you don’t want to say, you don’t have to say it. If you keep it to yourself just because you think those are the rules, you’ve gotta let one of us try to change your mind.”

“Have you - ” Gabriel’s head was lowered towards his lap, his eyes squeezed shut. “Did Sam ever tell you anything? Any of what I confessed to him?”

“No. I don’t think he’d do something like that.”

“But you know the kinds of things they do in Hell.” Gabriel shuddered, then opened his eyes. “You know how they ... everything that they ...”

“Of course I do,” Dean said gently.

“So some of it ... you might be able to guess.”

Dean grimaced. “I think it might be more than just ‘some.’”

“But how do you know when it’s cool to talk about it? What if people really do start seeing you like ... like what you already know you are?”

“Okay, look.” Dean shifted his chair so that he was facing Gabriel. “I’m not exactly an over-sharer myself, but Sam and Cas have never, ever given me crap for bringing up the worst. Including the torture that I carried out with my own two hands. And when I was in Hell, everything happened to me - and whatever happened to me, I did to the newbies over and over and over again. And Sam? When he was in Hell, that kid saw the dark. There’s still mountains of crap he won’t tell me no matter how hard I push. The truth is that if anyone’s permanently messed up, it’s him.” Dean’s softened his tone. “Just like you said, I know what they do down there. I know, and so does Sam. Now, I don’t know exactly what you went through for all that time, but a solid fifty percent of it is bound to be familiar. If anyone’s gonna judge you for what happened, it ain’t us.”

For almost a full minute, Gabriel simply stared at him, eyes bright with fear. Dean decided to ride the silence out, to let Gabriel take control of the conversation.

When Gabriel finally spoke, his voice trembled. “What if you three do everything to help and it doesn’t work? What if it’s a waste of your time? Dean, I - ” He clenched his fists, face crumpling again. “I don’t think I’m going to get better.”

“Hey, you know us. We’re stubborn sons of bitches and we don’t give up easy. For better or worse, you’re gonna have to live with that.”

Gabriel went on crying, trying to choke it down.

Dean pushed the glass of water towards him. “All right, drink some of that. It’ll only do you good.”

Gabriel shook his head, eyes locked shut again.

“Come on, Gabe, you know it’ll help.”

“I can’t,” Gabriel rasped. “Dean, I feel really sick.”

“I promise this is the best thing for that.”

“No!”

“Okay. Okay. Then let’s get you lying down or something. You’re exhausted and you need to be somewhere you can take it easy.” Dean got to his feet and carefully touched Gabriel’s shoulder to signal that he should rise too. Gabriel didn’t flinch at the contact. “Let’s go; I’ll stay with you until Sam gets back.”

With a strangled sob, Gabriel stood up. He moved a little unevenly as they made their way down the hall, but mostly because he was still shivering, not because he couldn’t balance.

They arrived at Gabriel’s room and Dean ushered him inside, leaving the door open so that Sam could hear them when he arrived home. Gabriel lay on his side and curled up, turning his tear-streaked face away from Dean.

“Take off your shoes; get comfortable,” Dean instructed. “Just relax, Gabe; it’s gonna be fine. You wanna talk, we’ll talk; you wanna lie there and just not think about anything, that’s okay too.”

“I can’t not think about it,” Gabriel whispered. “The dream.”

“But you don’t want to say what it was.”

“It’s no different from what I usually dream about. That’s the problem. Everything is the same and it shocks my whole system no matter how many times I see it. I thought maybe I’d get inured to it after a while, but I - I didn’t.” He hesitated before adding, “I keep dreaming that he comes here. Not even that he manages to get past the warding, but that he rings the doorbell and one of you lets him in. I scream; I always end up clinging to Sam, trying to get him to help me, just - just begging for one of you to reconsider, and then Asmodeus grabs me  and I can’t breathe and - ”

“All right, all right. Try to calm down. Here, let’s talk about something different, okay? Something to keep your mind off that asshat. What else d’you want to talk about?”

Gabriel rolled over so that he was lying on his back, looking up at Dean. “There’s nothing else. There’s only him. That’s all I am now, Dean. He took everything away.”

“No, that’s not true, come on.”

“It is. I can’t be distracted. Sam’s tried that, and it never works. It hasn’t done any good, not even once.”

“Okay, so then what else might help?”

“Nothing helps. It just doesn’t. I have to wait it out.”

“All right.” Dean sat down on the bed. “We’ll wait it out together, okay?”

There was a long moment of silence during which Dean simply sat still and Gabriel hugged himself, shaking. When Gabriel failed to speak, Dean took the initiative. “You doing okay?”

“Just scared,” Gabriel muttered.

“Nothing to be scared of.”

“I know, I know - I’m trying.”

“Don’t put too much pressure on yourself. If you’re afraid, then you’re afraid. It’ll pass, like you said.”

“Hey, can you, uh ... can you get the wastebasket for me? I think I might throw up.”

“Sure thing.” Dean moved it next to the bed, within Gabriel’s immediate reach. “You’re gonna be okay.”

“Don’t get excited.” A beat, then: “You said you know what it’s like. And so you know it won’t go away. You’re still there. The feeling infects everything.”

“Yeah, I do know.”

“Sometimes I ... I look at Sam and even he doesn’t seem safe anymore. It’s like I can taste the dream at the back of my throat.”

“I get it, man. I really do.”

Gabriel closed his eyes. “This is too much.”

“Just ride it out, Gabe.”

Gabriel suddenly jerked upright, panicked. “Dean - ”

Dean picked up the wastebasket and gave it to him. Gabriel dry-heaved, struggling for breath.

“Hey,” said Dean, “You want me to touch you or no?”

Gabriel whimpered. “Help.”

Dean inched nearer and rested a hand on Gabriel’s back. “You’re doing good.”

Gabriel gagged, bringing up the half-cup of coffee he’d managed before falling asleep, as well as whatever Sam had coaxed into him that morning.

Dean was so intent on trying to ground Gabriel that he didn’t notice his brother and Castiel in the doorway.

“Oh god!” Sam sprinted over to them. Gabriel, too sick to raise his head, didn’t seem to notice. “Dean, what happened to him?”

“Just a shitty nap.” Keeping his hand in place, Dean glanced over at Cas. “You two have a good time?”

Castiel’s eyes were fixed on Gabriel. “Better than yours, I’d imagine.”

Sam looked on in horror as Gabriel continued to vomit. “Dean, why didn’t you call me?”

“Because we were okay.”

“You call this okay?”

“Come on, it isn’t like you’re seeing anything new. You were out and I was here and we were fine.”

Sam moved nearer and bent down to examine Gabriel. “Gabriel?”

Gabriel was pale and shaking. He stared down into the wastebasket for a few seconds before throwing up again.

“He’s bad,” Sam whispered.

“I think he’s almost done.” Dean peered more closely at Gabriel’s face. Gabriel spat into the wastebasket and raised his eyes to meet Dean’s. “See, look at that.”

“Gabriel?” Sam pried the wastebasket from his hands and put it on the floor. “Hey, Gabriel, what happened?”

Gabriel coughed weakly. “Why the hell are you acting so surprised?”

“Guess I shouldn’t’ve left you alone, huh?”

“Jesus Christ, Sammy, he wasn’t alone,” Dean protested.

Sam sat down on Gabriel’s other side. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”

Gabriel waved him away. “I can survive two hours without you.”

Maybe Dean was imagining it, but he thought Sam looked almost hurt.

“Dean,” said Castiel, “You shouldn’t hesitate to let one of us know if something feels out of your depth.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Cas. What do you guys think I am, a Vulcan?”

“A Klingon,” Sam admitted.

“Okay, Sam, you know what?” Still resting his hand on Gabriel’s back, he met Sam’s gaze. “First of all, why’d you leave if you thought I’d only make things worse? And second, if anyone should be writing a half-assed letter of recommendation, it’s definitely not you.”

Sam closed his eyes in frustration. “This isn’t the same thing.”

“No, Sam, he has a point,” Castiel broke in. “When children learn to play the piano for the first time and all they know is ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb’ ... it isn’t as though they forget which keys can be used to form a different melody.”

“Well,” said Dean, “I just lost twenty years’ worth of testosterone, but I appreciate the new attitude.”

“Will you stop talking about me like I’m not here?” Gabriel snapped. “Sam, leave your brother alone. Cas, give Dean his testosterone back. And Dean, if these two eventually decide I’m worth consulting, you won’t need that letter of recommendation.”

Sam glanced between Dean and Gabriel.

“Stop worrying so much,” Dean told him. “I’m not made of stone.”

“I think you may have underestimated your brother, Sam,” Cas agreed.

Sam looked at Castiel, then back at Gabriel. “Did I, Gabe?”

“Yeah,” Gabriel replied, “It looks like you did. Man, are you both annoying.” But he leaned into Sam’s body and hugged him.

“Okay.” Sam returned the embrace. “Sorry, I ... I guess you just looked pretty wrecked when I came in.”

“That’s because I am a wreck.” Gabriel pulled away. “How is that news?”

“In any case,” said Castiel, “You must feel worn out. It sounds like it’s been a long afternoon.”

“Yeah.” Gabriel laid his head on Dean’s shoulder, failing to notice Sam’s look of astonishment. “Feels like I can hardly move.”

“You were quite sick,” Cas agreed.

“What do you think about trying to lie down?” asked Dean.

Gabriel scoffed. “Because that went so well the last time.”

“Okay, yeah, but you’re over the worst of it, don’t you think?”

“Maybe. I guess.”

“Why don’t I stay with you for a little while?” Sam suggested.

Gabriel lifted his head from Dean’s shoulder. “It’d be good to talk to you.”

“Yeah, okay. Guys, I’ll take care of things in here. You go relax.”

Dean stood up. “Holler if Sam gets too annoying.”

Gabriel smiled.

Out in the hall, Castiel turned to Dean. “Don’t let Sam’s skepticism get to you; he ... he just feels guilty that he might not be doing enough.”

“Gabe’s better than he was,” Dean replied. “I hope Sam can see that.”

“Even if he does, he may not attribute the improvement to his own efforts.”

“I’ll give him a pep talk.”

“And I certainly hope,” Castiel added, studying Dean closely, “That you know your input counts for something too.”

“All right. Well.” Dean turned and started making his way back down the hall. “While you and Sam were out feasting, I never got an opportunity to finish my sandwich. Come sing my praises in the kitchen.”

[welovekpopscenarios]

Friction Pt. 3 (Fallout!AU Woozi X Reader)

Admin: Mimi

The truth is revealed.

Fandom: Seventeen

Genre: Angst, fluff

Pairing: Woozi x Reader

Warnings: Language, mentions of violence/death

Word Count: 5152

A/N: gUESS WHOSE LAPTOP FINALLY GOT FIXED AND COULD FINALLY FINISH THE LAST PART OF THIS STORY AFTER NEARLY A YEAR?? THIS GIRL OMG I’m so sorry for the wait and this probably isn’t even that good but taKE IT PLS

 - PART 1 -  - PART 2 -

It was funny how visiting Woozi everyday after work despite your apparent distaste for the mechanic became such a vital part of your day and one you refused to miss.

Well, Jeonghan, Scoups, Hoshi, Jackson (especially Jackson) and virtually everyone else who was privy to the ongoing bitter quarrels between yourself and Woozi found it downright hilarious, which of course meant the entire city obviously knew. And you could honestly say, you weren’t really amused.

Traversing through the clustered city to get to his workshop was full of knowing faces and smirks, the occasional holler from a close friend of his (particularly Hoshi and Seungkwan), and it left you with a face as hot as the torches on the walls and in a slight sour mood once you sat down next Woozi at his workbench and watched him idly tinker away at your rifle.

Not that Woozi noticed much of a shift in your behaviour – quite frankly he was used to your scowls and tight-lipped words. And despite his cheek and quick witted words that caused annoyance to wash over you, he never actually made any real attempt at getting you out of the workshop and away from him anymore.

There was something comforting in watching his slim fingers work their magic – repairing and taking apart, pulling and pushing, it was oddly mesmerising, and you spent more time watching with lidded eyes, resting your head on your arms and stuck in a daze of just Woozi. The man in question simply carried on with his work, his dark eyes occasionally flickering in your direction, lingering a bit too long when he thinks you aren’t looking, and replying when he needs to. He doesn’t ask about why the rifle is so important to you. You don’t tell him either.

And so, your days consist of idle conversation and comfortable silence with the mechanic, and once the strange peace of the workshop has to end and you return to your job at the Dugout Inn, it turns to dodging Jackson’s questions of when you’ll marry Woozi and helping Shownu throw out the occasional rowdy drunk waving his pistol around, all the while ignoring Jeonghan’s sly smirk at your flustered state when someone mentions how Woozi favours you more than half the people in this city.

You elect to ignore the disappointed feeling brewing in the pit of your stomach while you lie down on your squeaky bed when you think about how conversation with Woozi doesn’t really go anywhere. You lie to yourself that that’s a good thing. But the frown on your face says otherwise when you pop another saved cap into your stash, reminding yourself that this is only a business deal, and that once your rifle is finished you’ll be on your merry way fighting for your life in the wasteland and away from everyone in this city.

It’s roughly four and half weeks since you first came to Diamond City when Woozi decides to ask the dreaded question you’ve kept buried under the sand. You had the day off, awarded to you by Jeonghan and Scoups after taking a fist to the face by some old crone when you served her drink and she decided she didn’t like the look of you. With a smile of guilt, you were allowed to spend the day as you liked for your hassle, and it seemed like you would be spending the day in your ratty bed nursing a bruise on your face, muscles pulled taut with the scowl on your face and making the pain even worse. The hag was stronger than she looked.

Instead of subjecting yourself to lying miserably on your mattress, staring at the peeling wallpaper and faded wood, and listening to Jackson pull jokes every two seconds about your face, you grabbed your jacket and headed out to the one place you were guaranteed peace and quiet.

The day was dull – overcast and grey, and there were whispers around the people of a possible incoming radiation storm which had you sighing in annoyance. You’ll be cooped up inside for hours with a mask beside you until it clears.

Without even saying hello once you reached his workshop, you pulled up the familiar box you’ve labelled your ‘chair’ and took your usual place, rolling an empty shotgun shell found on his workbench between your fingers and eyeing your rifle, in two halves but looking considerably better than it was.

“Hello to you too,” Woozi mumbled, not straying his attention away from the barrel of your gun. You replied quietly, the shotgun shell clinking against the metal of the workbench as you fiddled with it. After a moment of silence, Woozi looked up in curiosity. “You’re unusually quie- wait, what happened to your face?” His brows furrowed, and he moved closer for inspection, wincing in sympathy at the markings on your cheek.

“I didn’t think I was that ugly, but thanks Woozi. Ever the charmer,” you said sarcastically, and he gave a light tap to your leg. You huffed out a laugh. “Some woman punched me last night. I was given the day off to ‘recover my health’.”

A noise of understanding slipped out of his mouth. He raised his hands slowly towards your face, but stopped himself short of touching you, instead looking at you at the last second when he remembered what he was doing, a question written on his face and his ears tinged pink. With your breath caught in the confines of your chest, you gave the smallest nod, and Woozi continued.

His fingers, the pads rough and calloused from years of work, travelled the lightest and gentlest of paths along your cheeks, turning your head to the side to get a better view of your injury. His touch was so hesitant you almost didn’t feel it, wouldn’t believe he was actually touching you had your eyes been closed, but there he was, mapping out the lines of your face with such care all you could do was stare and wonder if this was the same Woozi who would knock you flat on your ass for moving something in his shop.

With slight reluctance he removed his hands and moved quickly back into his previous position, hunched over your gun and imagining the last 20 seconds didn’t happen. He cleared his throat, and it was enough to knock you out of the trance he had locked you in, that the rapid beating of your hear had seized your muscles in shock.

“Doesn’t seem as bad as you think. It’ll be fine in a few days. Just put some of Seokjin’s cream he makes on it and you should be good.” His voice was stiff, as was his body, and it left a strange bitter taste on the tip of your tongue. You swallowed.

“Yeah, that’s what Hoshi said too,” you nodded, more interested in picking at your nails than looking at Woozi. You laughed lightly, attempting to lighten the dense atmosphere that blanketed over you at the strange intimacy that occurred. “He even offered to buy me some, seeing as I’m trying to save my caps to pay you for fixing my rifle. Says every little helps, or something like that. He’s a little fool, he shouldn’t be spending caps on me.” Your heart warmed at Hoshi’s bright smile and kind eyes. And his incessant need to bring up how great Woozi was in every conversation you’ve had.

Woozi fell quiet and didn’t answer you immediately, instead focusing on a particularly finicky screw in the gun, and had his tongue poking out of his pink lips in a comical display of concentration, and you looked on in mild interest at the bead of sweat rolling down his temple. As always, his face was lined with oil and dirt, and yet it became a staple look for him. To see him without the grease would seem strange, unusual. He really was dedicated to his work.

When ten minutes of silence passed, and you expected him to say nothing for the rest of your visit, he opened his mouth to speak, tilting his head slightly in your direction but not quite focusing his black eyes on you. He set the stock of your gun down carefully.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You just did,” you joked, but he didn’t laugh. He didn’t even roll his eyes.

“Why is this rifle so important to you?”

You heart walloped into the pit of your stomach, and you became so cold despite the lingering heat hiding in the air. The drop of your expression probably would have been funny to watch, but neither of you were laughing at anything. Woozi didn’t want to meet your eyes but he did, and his eyes implored you to tell the truth.

You suppose you should have seen this coming, your desperation for having such a basic rifle mended had most people in Diamond City questioning it’s worth - some speculated it belonged to a wealthy ghoul, others joked and said you won it in a fist fight against a super mutant and that you longed to keep the trophy. Both were wrong, but you never bothered to answer, too busy swallowing down the bile rising up your throat and focusing on keeping your hands steady when handing over drinks to the patrons of the bar. 

That still doesn’t prepare you for the one person you deem most worthy of hearing your horrible tale, doesn’t prepare you at all for his aloofness about the entire affair to dissipate and drag up that elephant’s proverbial carcass into his tiny workshop, making things seem so cramped and leaving you with a shortage of air in your chest. You stalled, coughed, did just about everything else, and left the room in silence as your mind raced. 

“Look, I normally wouldn’t push you, because that’s dickish and it clearly bothers you,” he murmured, head down turned, but every so often his eyes would flit upwards to meet yours. “But, I have to know- to understand - why you’re so hell bent on fixing this gun of yours. I’d rather we both be straight forward with each other.” He hesitated. “A-And Wonho said we should always get these things off our chest.“

It was clear that Woozi was looking for an answer, be it today or another day, and you honestly don’t blame him. You’ve eluded him about the topic for long enough, and were rather rude to him in any of his attempts at delving deeper beneath the surface, quick to push and throw him off the cliff of your problems. It wasn’t like you weren’t aware of it. Even Hoshi (not quite) subtly warned that your incessant defensive remarks were really rubbing Woozi the wrong way (in a much less playful way than they were), and that the man in question only wanted to know you for, well, you. And no one ever wanted to before.

It scared you.

It scared you to let people in close, when you’ve lived a life of pushing them away and caring only about the skin on your back and when your next meal would be. So for someone, especially someone like Woozi, to show even the slightest interest in knowing more about you, both dark and bright parts of you, it frightened you to the point where your fight or flight senses activated and waged war on your body instead of giving him a clear answer.

He tinkered away with your weapon, the rust and grime from years of use stained his gloves, and his face remained carefully blank. All you could hear was the tinkling of metal, the bustle of the main square, and the pounding of your heart in your fragile chest. But after moments of seemingly deafening silence apart from the echo of the moving world, your lips parted, mouth as dry as the barren trees in the wasteland.

“It was my dad’s.”

Slowly, his fingers stopped their movements, and he simply sat there. You watched with idle interest the way his chest moved as he breathed, even and steady, sturdy despite his small frame, anything to distract you and keep you rooted to the spot. Your feet itched to sprint from the scene and never return. You almost made good on that feeling.

He never lifted his head from your weapon, and anyone passing by could have mistaken him for one of those statues you remember seeing in some fancy pre-war household that was much too luxurious for your blood. He said not a word, made no judgement, but you felt the need to elaborate regardless, nerves eating away at your skin.

“He, uhm, he was- we were…I mean, there was these bandits, and they…well I, uhm, he-”

“Take a deep breath. You don’t have to rush.” His words rushed over you like a smooth wave, his baritone voices sending your anxiety away bit by bit, much like a stream on a spring afternoon - not forceful but firm, strong. His words sounded much like an exit, a metaphorical ‘Come Back Tomorrow!” sign flashing in your head, warning you that this was your chance to run, but once you started you couldn’t (wouldn’t) stop. So, you followed his instructions.

“It was always just my dad and I,” you began, shaking fingers twiddling with the frayed ends of your sleeves. It irked you slightly that Woozi still had not looked in your direction. “My mom died when I was little, so I don’t really remember her. But my dad raised me, and we’ve been on the move all my life. We went from DC to the Commonwealth, all over the area. We had each others back.

“But one night, a year or two ago, the office building we were hold up in filled up with bandits while we were sleeping. My dad woke me and told me we needed to get out of there fast. I was trying to gather up my stuff as fast as possible, but I wasn’t fast enough. Dad-” your throat closed up at the memory, but you forced yourself to keep going. 

“Dad just promised he’d be right behind me, and told me to sneak out of the windows as quickly as I could. I waited in a nearby building for hours until I saw all the bandits clear out, and waited a few more for the dad to come out and tell me everything was alright. He…never came. I went back into the office building to look for him but he was already…I grabbed his rifle and his bag and I never went back.”

It was strange, how recalling a story that made you cry for months on end at just a single thought of it to someone who is virtually a stranger, someone who loves to antagonise you just for a laugh, could make that dead weight hiding in the pit of your gut ease up, even in just the slightest, for a moment, and you relished in the feeling of breathing without restriction. 

There was a pregnant silence in the wake of this revelation, and you took the time to reign in your emotions and recollect your thoughts. You awaited judgement. You waited for a snide remark on how you acted like a stupid child, how you should have done things differently. Woozi broke the silence.

“When I was 15 my mom died trying to save me from a bunch of ghouls, and I’ve been blaming myself ever since.”

You really did not expect this to ever leave his lips, a similar tale of heartbreak to your own that made you realise you were more kindred spirits than you were initially willing to admit. Before you could kickstart your brain and say something, he continued. 

“We were in one of those underground tunnels looking for a place to stay away from the raiders and super mutants and whatever else kind of shit is out there. We were used to moving from place to place, so we figured we could handle the tunnels despite everyone telling us how dumb that idea was when the underground is infested with those freaks. And it worked, but I was the one to fuck up everything.”

His voice broke towards the end, and with it so did your heart. The lines on his face seemed more weary, more tragic than you thought they ever could, and your heart clenched at the familiarity of this kind of situation. You knew what was coming next.

“I was bored and started snooping around the tunnels like the idiot I am, knowing that there were ghouls everywhere. I knocked over a box in one of the booths and then suddenly they all came swarming towards us because of the sound. My mom- she grabbed my hand and we ran but…there was too many.” He grimaced bitterly. “She tried taking them all on her own. She told me to run and not look back. So I did. I ran, and ran, and ran, until I wound up here. And I’ve never gone back since.”

He looked up, then, and looked steadfast into your eyes. Beneath the sorrow swimming in his dark eyes, even further beneath the self-loathing, there was acceptance. There was strength.

“I know you might blame yourself for what happened to your dad. Trust me, I do. But what I’ve come to learn is that, parents, they’d do anything to keep their kids safe. So while everything that happened is awful, and you feel like shit, your dad wanted you to keep living for a reason,” his jaw clenched, and your eyes began to burn. “So don’t get lost in the past, like I was. Keep your head up, and keep walking forward.”

You stared on in awe, stomach churning and heart heavy. But at the back of your mind, you knew there was some truth to his words. He blames himself for the loss of his mother so badly, but he’s still carrying on, living life as it comes. And for that, you think he might be one of the bravest people you’ve ever met.

Your hand - shaking like a leaf in the wind - moved itself over his own resting atop the workbench, and squeezed. His eyes followed the movement, wide with wonder, and the lightest of blushes dusting his cheeks as his eyebrows slowly inched their way to his hairline. 

You smiled - small and fragile, barely there but a smile nonetheless. “I’m sorry for everything, Woozi,” you whispered. His dark eyes flickered back to yours. “But, thank you. So much. I didn’t realise I needed to hear that until it was said. You are…you’re very brave, and I don’t think you give yourself enough credit for that.”

He shrugged awkwardly, coughed it off, up-righted himself and refocused on your father’s weapon, but still never moved his hand from beneath yours. The fingers twitched every few seconds, as if itching to hold yours but choosing to stay back. In the end, you made the decision for him on a whim, hoping he would not object, and maneuvered your hands so that you both held onto each other tightly. He made no objection.

“Again, thank you Woozi-”

“It’s Jihoon.”

You almost missed what he had said, the words uttered so silently that they would have floated away with the breeze to be long forgotten, but the rising blush heating his face told you otherwise. You smiled wider, more genuine this time, and when Wo-Jihoon, returned your gaze, his own special sort of smile crept onto his dirtied face, and his eyes crinkled in such away that made your stomach somersault faster than when you fell down a ravine in your younger years.

“Jihoon,” you murmured, testing the name on your tongue with heated cheeks. Jihoon looked shy, but pleased. 

“I like that name.”

If anyone noticed the slight (more like drastic) change in attitudes both Woozi and yourself now had towards each other in the weeks following your conversation, no one, thankfully and surprisingly, decided to comment on it, even if you could see Hoshi itching to say whatever was on the tip of his tongue when he saw the both of you acting amicably with each other. 

Even Jeonghan, who tried to subtly worm information out of you about Woozi’s sudden behaviour change and was met with elusive answers, backed off rather quickly after observing the mechanic and yourself quite extensively, making up some sort of resolution in his mind. What that was, you weren’t sure, and if that ever familiar, all-knowing smile on his face meant anything in particular, you really didn’t want to find out.

Conversation flowed more easily with Woozi now, yet you were still hesitant to say his name out loud, feeling that simple 6 letter name too intimate to whisper in a dingy workshop. But your daily trips no longer consisted of just check ups on your rifle and comfortable silence. Sure, the comfortable silence was nice after dealing with lunatics in the Dugout, at least 50% of them trying to kill you, the usual stuff, but now it became questions about what he likes, your opinions on a project he’s working on, reminiscing on old memories, talks of future ones, and it was...well it was better than you hoped. 

You couldn’t pinpoint the moment when his bitter comments stopped feeling exactly what they were - bitter. Instead, they were even funny, a ploy to get a rise out of you and you enjoyed giving it right back to him, a sense of satisfaction spreading through all of your bones at his small smile, suppressing a grin you know would light his face up brighter than the sun, and it became your personal mission to get it to bloom on his oil stained face.

“You ok there?”

You turned your head to the left, attention diverted from drying the glass in your hand. Jackson sat on the counter, counting the caps earned from last night in the deposit box. He smiled when your eyes met his own, fingers twirling a Nuka-Cola cap idly between his slender fingers. It reminded you, oddly, of how Woozi would fidget with the random bolts on his counter top out of frustration. 

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” you countered. Jackson laughed and pointed to the glass in your hands.

“Well, you’ve been twisting your hand around in that glass with the cloth for about 5 minutes straight, staring at literally nothing and smiling weirdly. So excuse me if I assume you’ve been bitten by a bloatfly.”

Your face heats up, rushing to put the glass on the shelf and start drying a new one. He laughs some more, returning to the caps in his hands. 

“Is it because of him?” he asks, and you play dumb.

“Because of who?” you reply airily, hearing Jackson tut quietly.

“Mr Mechanic, of course.” You scoff in response, and he rolls his eyes. “What else could that smile mean?”

“I was...farting,” you reply lamely, and it sends Jackson into a fit of laughter, your own joining his after a moment of reflection on how stupid that answer was. 

“Charming,” he giggles, and would’ve said more had the door not burst open, waking a sleeping Shownu who rested in a chair next to it. 

“Where’s my favourite person in the world?” a voice called, and it brought that smile back to your face. Hoshi appeared in your line of sight, a grand entrance to an otherwise empty lounge.

“I’m right here, darling,” Jackson sang, and Hoshi visibly cringed while Jackson chuckled.

“I meant my second favourite person, of course,” he sheepishly said.

“I believe that would be me, what can I help you with?” you smiled. He grinned in response, his beautiful eyes disappearing with his happy expression. 

“I am delighted to announce that your rifle is all patched up and ready to go!”

The glass nearly slipped from your grasp, shock etched into your expression as you stared at him. It was finished? So you wouldn’t have to see Woozi anymore? The thought left an unsettling feeling in the pit of your stomach. 

“It’s done? B-but...I don’t have the 500 yet, I still have a bit to go.”

Hoshi shook his head, reaching forward to direct you around the bar and towards the door.

“It’ll be fine, don’t worry! I promise you, it will work out.” You should have been more suspicious of the shit-eating grin plastered on his bubbly face, but with how distracted you were with the strange disappointment of not having a reason to see Woozi anymore, you failed to notice that Hoshi seemed to have some plan in motion. 

“But I have to help at the bar-”

“Don’t worry about it, kid! I’m sure Hoshi will be happy to help me clean the Inn, isn’t that right?” Jackson beamed. Hoshi chuckled halfheartedly, still ushering you out of the pub.

“Yeah, I sure will Jackson,” he murmured, and with one final shove, he forced you out of the door, Shownu closing it with a light smile and a faint cry of ‘good luck!’ from Hoshi muffled by the steel. 

You stared dumbfounded at the red door, but with no other option (seeing as you had just been temporarily barred from the place you live), you headed to Woozi’s workshop, the inevitable meeting, running through each possible outcome in your head as you walked through the city.

That same old sign came into view as you rounded the corner of Jin’s Office, and subconsciously your steps slowed as dread filled your system. It wasn’t like before, when you and Woozi would share childish insults that left you irked at even hearing his name. It wasn’t like that. It was similar to the dread of having to give up something precious to you, something you weren’t yet ready to let go. And that thought scared you, because when had Jihoon become that something special? That precious thing you wanted to latch onto, like you did with your rifle?

“Ah, there you are.”

You hadn’t even noticed you had reached the entrance to his shop, staring numbly back at him as he gazed at you with something akin to nervousness, though it left you wondering what for exactly. 

“You called?”

He nodded, stood and turned, picking up something wrapped up in a ragged cloth and presenting it to you so carefully. Unfolding the cloth led you to your rifle, looking as perfect as the day you had it before it was destroyed, before it was torn to pieces to be put back together again, and it took your breath away. 

You really shouldn’t have doubted him as you had in the beginning. You should have believed everyone when they said Woozi could make the unimaginable happen, because he truly, truly did. In more ways than you could admit. Your chest tightened with emotion the longer you looked at it, but it wasn’t until Woozi cleared his throat awkwardly were you knocked out of your reverie with eyes watery and shaking hands. 

His gaze was fleeting, much too hesitant to linger on the strong emotion on your face but not harsh to completely disregard your state, so he simply grabbed one of your hands, so gently, and rested the rifle in your grip, curling your fingers around the neck with his own. It almost felt foreign, out of your hands for so long that the weight of it was almost unrecognisable, but it slotted into your palms so easily it couldn’t be anything but your father’s rifle.

“I-I...Woozi, I...I just..” you were at a loss for words, and he looked like he didn’t expect you to say any, settling for a small smile that made your heart clench and your stomach twist pleasantly. With a deep breath, you placed your weapon gently on the table, nodded your head lightly, and faced Woozi. 

Before he could question your behaviour, you reached out and hugged him, holding his small frame close to yours, hugging so tightly you could hear him struggling to get a word out, yet you hugged him with everything you could, hoping to convey your gratitude as best you could.

“Thank you. So, so much, Jihoon. I just...thank you so much,” you whispered into the crook of his neck, and idly wondered if that was Woozi shivering or if your body was trying its best to keep the sobs at bay. Hesitantly, and with a touch as light as a feather, his arms wrapped around your body, and the warmth that came with it surprised you. It was unexpected, how comforting it was in this position with a man you would’ve spat at a mere few weeks ago, and yet here you are, finding more safety in his touch than with anything in your life since your father died. 

With great reluctance, you pulled back, wiped embarrassingly at the tears gathering in the corners of your eyes while Woozi stood in a slightly shocked silence, fiddling with the edges of his shirt. It was then that you remembered your payment.

“Oh, uhm, I don’t have the 500 caps yet. I’m really sorry, I’m saving as much as I can, but I still have a bit until I reach the full lot, so I’ll understand if you want to hang onto the gun until I have your money-”

“Just pay me 200.”

Your rambling stopped, staring wide eyed at Woozi, who stood with cheeks dusted a rosy hue and a shy, minuscule smile on his visage. He looked like he was working up the courage to say something, chest heaving with each breath and lips parting only to close a second later, the odd sound leaving them in mumbles and frustrated tuts. He closed his eyes momentarily, inhaled, exhaled, opened his eyes, and spoke.

“You don’t owe me 500. With the work I’ve done on it, just 200 will do. You don’t have to save for anything anymore,” he explained. He paused, tongue peeking out to wet his lips, and with a darker blush spreading across his cheeks, he continued. “If you want to pay me more, you...you could go for a drink with me at the Inn, if you want.”

Your brows inched their way up your forehead, and yet, happiness and glee replaced the dread in the pit of your gut. You could feel your lips spreading into a large, bashful smile, and you didn’t care. The look on Woozi’s face was sending you to cloud nine faster than a blow from a Deathclaw ever could, timid but with hope swimming in his dark eyes. 

“A drink at the Inn?” you repeated. You smiled, nodded, and Woozi deflated with relief, not quite suppressing the grin growing on his hardened face. 

“That sounds great, Jihoon.”

[somethingfoe]

You’re SPECIAL (FO4): Tacticians

This took some time as well, didn't it? Considerably longer than my Medics one, considering that I had that scheduled for release but got pulled back as a result of me moving out. Why? Well, Fallout 76 was as much of a fucking disasterpiece as I feared. It's barely even wearing the skin of the Fallout franchise as it tries to be some rust clone 3 to 5 years late on that bandwagon, with rehashed out assets from Fallout 4 with all kinds of dialogue interaction skimmed out for audiologs spitting out diatribes. It seems to me that Bethesda have rested on their laurels way too long to give Fallout the kind of treatment it deserves, and don't give me this bullshit that it's just merely a 'side' project and won't have any effect on future titles. Fallout 4 was basically them testing the waters of the settlement crafting system and attempting to skim down the dialogue options prevalent in previous titles, if Fallout 76 would've succeeded off it's own laziness, guaranteed that Elder Scrolls 6 would've had the same treatment as well as other future titles. Considering that not barely a month into release and Fallout 76 has been knicked off half it's retail price is probably a tell tale sign that Bethesda have fucked far beyond just making their typically buggy games, and that they seriously need to reevaluate their ethical decisions for the long run, because at this point, the fucking fans are making better games than they are. Fallout New California, a 6 year old mod based off of the working parts of Fallout New Vegas, just came out and is indefinitely superior in what Fallout is conventionally known for, save for the isometric view and turn-based combat. As a result of this disappointment, I found it really hard for me to continue on this You're SPECIAL series considering that that was primarily why I even wanted to make a 'FO4' version of it, but alas, I must continue with the ones I made prior. With that side note out of the way, here is the tacticians of the respective FOE and PH lores! I figure that I first cover the Main protagonist's companions across all boards before doing the side entries like Malevolent Relics and Main Antagonists, which means that the Odd One Outs (or Pets) will be the next entry on that. I'm not sure if I intend to slash their base SPECIAL attributes Like I did previous, maybe just lower their level cap a hair and see where I can skew some of the attributes too. With the nods in mind, the Xenith art was by :DevClutterCluster: and the Lacunae art was by :DevInLucidReverie:, and boy was the Lacunae art fucking hard to make work in this format, what with the huge flowing mane that I had to cut out but not too much to make it obvious. As with Saboteurs and Medics, This is taking into account a build that is at Level 65, with 12 perk points put into the actual Attributes themselves, pitting it at 40. If you're curious how I decided the Attributes, like with the others, the link for the original is right here https://www.deviantart.com/somethingguy912/art/You-re-SPECIAL-Xenith-VS-Lacunae-525076774 since I'm going to have to explain why I chose what perks. With that, here is the technical mumbo jumbo, as always.

STRENGTH

Strong Back <u>Xenith</u> :star: :star: :star: :star: - Seeing that Xenith lived all her life as a slaver, I'd imagine that her being forced to lug around huge items was a day to day part of her life. Not to mention how Xenith was capable of carrying Littlepip unconscious on her back after Littlepip's attempt to save both of them from captivity of Red Eye is a impressive feat on it's own. Armorer <u>Lacunae</u> :star: :star: - Seeing that Lacunae is not keen on either fiddling with guns or armorer, we are merely talking about the hypothetical armorer work in that Lacunae can project a 'bubble' around herself as a means of protection, what with being a Alicorn under manipulation by The Master of Maripony. Iron Fist <u>Xenith</u> :star: :star: :star: :star: - Xenith is the master of Fallen Caesar, a sort of close quarters combat brought down through the generations even beyond the apocalypses attempt to eradicate it, and with Xenith being a hard boiled gladiator for the mere spectacle of the other raiders, Xenith is not one to be tussled with in close proximity.

PERCEPTION

Refractor <u>Lacunae</u> :star: :star: :star: :star: - Borne of a weird radioactive experiment and being artificially made into a Alicorn, it only makes sense that being so attune with magic can make nearly resistant to any sort of plasma or energy weapons to the point that they might as well bounce off of her! The aforementioned protective bubble also helps to confirm this notion. Night Person <u>Xenith</u> :star: :star: :star: - Being thrown in a dark, dingy cage outside of having to fight in a dark, bloody arena would make one a bit more perceptive of the goings on during the night, so it makes sense that Xenith would have superior eyesight during those times. <u>Lacunae</u> :star: :star: - While Lacunae does sport some of that same ability as well, not to mention by her being previously a trained assassin post-apocalypse, Lacunae's innate ability to project light out from her horn in times of darkness gives her less of a edge when it comes to matters of the night. Still, having a weird connection to other Alicorns across the globe helps too. Demo Expert <u>Lacunae</u> :star: :star: - Lacunae is a big guns babe, and she likes all things big, from Miniguns to heavy grenade launchers, so Lacunae does sport some fascination with the big and loud and brutal, even if it makes her a sort of open target for ongoing attacks. Awareness <u>Xenith & Lacunae</u> :star: :star: - Both these lasses sport the same skill in awareness, with Xenith's more isolated nature helping to observe things around her, and Lacunae being a agent of misery for the Master's worst parts. You need the Nuka World DLC to get a 2 star in awareness, so if you don't have it, Xenith would get a one star in Pickpocket, whereas Lacunae would get Three stars in Demo Expert.

ENDURANCE

Adamantium Skeleton <u>Lacunae</u> :star: :star: :star: - Being irradiated with pure magic makes it quite difficult to knock down someone, and Lacunae has that in spades. Barely able to even get hurt, save for the perchance of getting a train dropped on you, Lacunae is completely numb to the idea of having limbs damaged. Rad Resistant <u>Lacunae</u> :star: :star: :star: :star: - Almost in comparison to resistance as Steelhooves is, perhaps being doused in radiation makes you almost nearly immune to it, to the point that it might beef you up too! Who'd funk that! maybe everyone should just dump in radiation...oh wait, it doesn't quite work THAT way! Chem Resistant <u>Lacunae & Xenith</u> :star: :star: - Again, both lasses are pretty resistant to chems, even if both don't really use it that much. Probably Xenith for Med-X what with her battle scars and slight trauma, and Lacunae's inherently somber nature needing some version of AntiDepressants? Lifegiver <u>Lacunae</u> :star: :star: - Being a large body Alicorn would tend to give you a bit more resilence, even if Lacunae doesn't really need the help. Her protective bubble, and her slightly regenerative radiation also gives her a bit more longevity than most. Lead Belly <u>Xenith</u> :star: :star: - Both hated as a Zebra and a outcast, Xenith has had to take the worst from others in order to survive, so I wouldn't be surprised if she's been able to tolerate some otherwise dirty water to keep going. Toughness <u>Xenith</u> :star: :star: :star: :star: :star: - Being beaten, bruised, raped, tortured, and splayed as a exotic attraction for the arena, Xenith can take the worst that anyone can bring upon her, assuming that it's not to the expense of her lost daughter. <u>Lacunae</u> :star: :star: - Lacunae can similarly take some beatings, but not nearly as much as Xenith has. Lacunae does have to endure with all of the negative feelings that the Master pumps into her, but not much more beyond that.

CHARISMA

Lone Wanderer <u>Lacunae</u> :star: :star: :star: :star: - Lacunae is absolutely isolated from everyone else, despite being tied with Unity and the other alicorns. Treated merely as the ugly duckling of the pack, and vilified on sight by anyone else, Lacunae is the very definition of a lone wolf. this requires the Far Harbor DLC, so if you don't have it, Lacunae will get a additional point into Cap Collector. <u>Xenith</u> :star: :star: :star: - Xenith is almost equally in measure to being isolated from everyone else, but unlike Lacunae, being a Alicorn, Xenith is not immediately killed on sight, so I guess she does get 'some' interaction, even if it is almost entirely abusive. Xenith could be considered a 'Haphephobe', which is being afraid of being touched by others, a trauma that Littlepip had to learn once she got to know her better. Lady Killer <u>Lacunae</u> :star: :star: - I know this might seem strange, given Lacunae's demured nature, but Lacunae does catch some eyes, like with Paladin Stronghoof, in spite of her Alicorn nature and personality. You could also say that Lacunae's more quiet nature does give her a bit of a allure to others as well. Cap Collector <u>Lacunae</u> :star: - In the most basic means, Lacunae can collect caps, if merely as a half measure. More interested in trying to lead Blackjack to the goddess more than anything, I merely put this in on account of Lacunae's desire to keep her black dress in check so others don't immediately recognize her as Alicorn.

INTELLIGENCE

Nuclear Physicist

<u>Lacunae</u> :star: :star: :star: - while Lacunae is not one to delve in using specifically energy weapons, Her innate alicorn abilities more than compensate for that and factor into her ability to use a multitude of abilities to either fire projectiles out of magic, or cast shields for herself and allies. Robotics Expert <u>Lacunae</u> :star: :star: - Seeing that Lacunae can master levitation with relative ease, she can inadvertently use enemy robots on her side by merely directing them towards another target for her own purpose. She can even use her own magic to literally shred robots to pieces, from the inside no less if need be! Chemist <u>Xenith</u> :star: :star: :star: - Supporting the stereotype that Zebras tend to delve in the alchemical, Xenith is one such, being able to brew unusual potions that help with wounds or other ailments if need be, even if it's a rare thing for her to do. Science! <u>Lacunae</u> :star: :star: :star: - Again, while Lacunae is not keen on using technology to win the battle, her intense knowledge stemming from her connection to the other Alicorns around her, and her fascination with heavier weapons gives her some desire to amp them up from their initial build. <u>Xenith</u> :star: - Another stereotype of Zebras is that they are technophobes, which I guess requires some idea as to how weapons and technology works to be afraid of them, so I guess Xenith gets merely a one for her paranoia of it. Scrapper <u>Xenith</u> :star: :star: - with the aforementioned technophobia, Xenith doesn't tend to let those weird do-hickys stay functional, vying to scrap them or strictly warn others of using them. Basically she is the bane of the philosophy behind the BoS. Gun Nut <u>Lacunae</u> :star: :star: :star: - While Lacunae isn't quite the aficionado when it comes to all things gunpowder, Lacunae still enjoys using the otherwise unwieldy weapons to great effect, like with the Anti-Material Rifle for example. Medic <u>Xenith</u> :star: :star: :star: - Xenith does surprisingly sport some knowledge of healing ailments, what with her being somewhat capable of deterring Killing Joke as well as her ability to use healing powder during her time as a slave to heal some grievous wounds. <u>Lacunae</u> :star: :star: - While Lacunae can indeed 'heal', so to speak, she really only can do it for herself. Other with her being able to levitate friends out of trouble, or give them a protective bubble, Lacunae cannot gift her friends her healing ability.

AGILITY

Blitz <u>Xenith</u> :star: :star: - Xenith is almost entirely melee based, so it makes sense that her prowess in Fallen Caeaser would require that she needs to close the distance with her enemies, thus giving her maxed out in Blitz. Ninja <u>Xenith</u> :star: :star: :star: - Xenith is quite a sneaky zebra if you give her the ability to get out of her cage, metaphorically or no. A lot of Zebras have a good knowledge of what amounts to Sun Tzu's the Art of War; covert attacks. Seeing that Xenith is equally melee based as Rampage is, it only makes sense that Xenith would want to quickly make that distance. Moving Target <u>Xenith</u> :star: :star: :star: - Continuing to be agile and fit as she is, Xenith got her recognition as a deadly fighter in the arena, being nearly untouchable as a result of her nimble ways. Action Boy <u>Xenith</u> :star: :star: - Xenith has to keep moving, goddammit! she's moving to avoid enemies, moving to close the distance, and moving to stay out of sight, she's got to have as much action points in order to win! Sneak <u>Xenith</u> :star: :star: :star: :star: - Xenith would more than likely prefer to hide than be seen by a crowd to be mocked at until she drove their face in the dirt. This also confirms the suspicions that Zebras adopted Sun Tzu's tactics of hit and run and subdue the enemy psychologically then moreso. Commando <u>Lacunae</u> :star: :star: :star: :star: :star: - Lacunae is a star when it comes to all weapons two handed, and seeing that Miniguns, Launchers and .50 Cal Sniper Rifles are ostensibly two handed, it only makes sense that Lacunae would have a fondness for them.

LUCK

Mysterious Stranger <u>Xenith</u> :star: - this might be a strange inclusion for me to put on here, but Xenith does have the help of her lost daughter later on to get the slight upper hand, as both are very good at sneaking and attacking when necessary. Bloody Mess<u>Lacunae</u> :star: :star: :star: - Lacunae can tend to get a little out of hand with her excitement of heavy weapons, often times literally making paste out of her enemies once Unity starts to control her moreso than other times.And that is it with the Tacticians! I have a photo run planned to do sometime tomorrow, as I have only one day off and I figure that I do one considering how long it's been since my last proper one! enjoy this for now!

[rpbetter]

You don't understand; I am that Raven, though. 🥲

I genuinely do not even know how to take this. You have to understand that after everything that has happened, I'm not unreasonably suspicious, while I'm also neither willing nor able to find any explanation as to why someone would fake this or figure out whether you're forgetful, oblivious, or rather ballsy for this if it's legitimate. So, let's go with legitimate.

Listen, it's been a good day, it's Christmas Eve, even if that's not my personal belief system...I'm willing to treat this seriously and proceed in a kind manner, alright? Please, do not make me regret it, as this is an effort, your "one mistake" has caused me harassment, it caused friends harassment, I have watched and dealt with the fallout of this for months, and, frankly, you weren't exactly nice the first time I tried to help you. I'd appreciate it quite a lot if you could extend the same courtesy this time, this is, obviously, still a detriment to you. Maybe we can figure something out to start repairing the damage to everyone, yourself included.

Firstly, there are going to be people who are never going to forgive you, I cannot sufficiently explain the severity of negativity, to say the least, that your actions have caused. I know that may be difficult, but forgiveness is never a guarantee with anything we do wrong and are sorry for, and should never be the ultimate objective when making an effort to do better. We just have to realize that people have a right to be angry with us and never want anything to do with us again, and to let that reality be what it is. It's alright, so long as you're doing better, and while I, obviously, cannot promise you that the harassment will stop from the most determined parties, it will help ease a lot of it off otherwise and start putting meaningful distance between who you were when you did this and who you are becoming in learning from it. After a while, it becomes a cruel, moot point to keep actively trying to ruin someone when they've changed. This is one of my major problems with things like callouts, they give no one an opportunity to move on, on top of being wildly unnecessary among adults and in a community in which no one's real world impact is ever going to be significant enough to make such a thing pertinent.

Secondly, you actually do have to commit to making changes, to being better, and you need to demonstrate that in your actions, not only in saying you are sorry.

The way in which you are apologizing matters, it is part of the proof of your seriousness to doing better by others (and ultimately, by yourself as well). I told you once that because your actions affected so, so many people and because you had all of them blocked (if you will remember, that is why I, specifically, decided to engage with you as a more neutral party), apologizing only on a post on your blog wasn't cutting it. No one is seeing it, it hasn't the same reach as the wrong doings. It's also not very impactful when paired with both actions that continue the issue and statements that heavily imply your regret is based in suffering consequences, not in being truly sorry for what happened.

You've got to stop saying things that minimize all of this. Owning this, all of this, goes a long way. That's difficult, it doesn't feel very good, and it's ugly, but if you truly are sorry and wish to demonstrate that and move forward, it's necessary. Make a post and admit to everything that was done, own that these things were poor choices, and if you're going to explain why you made them, avoid turning the explanation into an excuse or statements that otherwise feel like backhanded apologies. You know the kind, we've all gotten them from someone! I'm sorry I hurt your feelings, but you made me angry. That sort of thing isn't an explanation, it's a backhanded apology. It is an excuse.

Here, I will demonstrate by genuinely apologizing to you and explaining something to you. When discussing your actions, I initially misgendered you. I made this mistake because, as I mentioned in the last response, I have known many other Ravens and every one of them went by female pronouns. My mind filled in blanks because I was tired, tired of this already, and was unusually careless in not double-checking a blog for preferred pronouns. It was an honestly innocent mistake that didn't warrant the harassment I received, but it was still a mistake made in carelessness, and one I know what it feels like to be on the receiving end of, no less. I should have been more careful, and now that I can speak to you directly, I want you to know I'm sorry for being careless like that and hope it didn't give you terrible feelings of dysphoria or anything. Not being done on purpose or without malicious intentions doesn't mean something is free of harm, after all. So, I'm sorry for that mistake, and I hope that knowing why/how it happened makes some difference. Since then, I have even politely corrected others who did not have the benefit of your information, no matter how nasty things have gotten, I haven't allowed anyone to misgender you intentionally or by accident.

See? There is a big difference in what I've said instead of either opting to ignore that it happened or simply saying that it was one mistake I apologized for that wasn't enough to stop harassment. If an apology is sincere, it needs to be said with sincerity and viewed by those it is directed toward.

You have a lot of blogs, and because the people you hurt either left or go out of their way to avoid you, the issue of directly approaching them is difficult...but not impossible. I have every blog anyone has ever told me you might be involved with blocked, but you contacted me. I'm not for subverting blocks for any reason, people have a right to avoid others, please don't do that to someone else. However, perhaps you could get a friend to send short, individually meaningful apologies to those who are still here, with the additional statement that they can find you at x blog. On that blog, make your pinned post a lengthier apology, be sure no one is blocked, have those you know with platforms of some reach reblog it so that it has a higher chance to be seen. You can literally create a blog specifically for this purpose.

I'm really serious, take some time to take stock of everyone you can think of who was in a callout, whose blogs went on hiatus, who was forced to quit tumblr, whose rules you drug around tumblr, and who your friends and followers harassed. Literally, anyone and everyone negatively affected by this. Then, be specific. "Blogname, I caused you to be harassed when I accused you of x, you have a right to write whatever content you enjoy, and you were doing everything right so that others could avoid or opt out of it. That was wrong and hateful of me, I realize now how terrible this was for you." "Blogname, I know now that by choosing to 'call out' something you said on your blog, I started up harassment for you and compromised your ability to interact in the RPC and feel safe. There was no excuse for what I did, no matter how in the right I felt at the time. You deserve to enjoy yourself and feel safe here."

And so on. All of these people expressed what they were going through, for many of them, all you have to do is go back to the months in which this was at its most severe and look at their posts, but if you can't find them, you can always take the initiative to try speaking with them or their friends about what they suffered. Unless they specifically state somewhere that they are outright triggered by the mere mention of you, then, leave them alone and apologize for doing something so terrible as to be an actual trigger for someone else. You can make reasonable assumptions as to the damage you caused, you know the things they were being told and accused of, and you can see many of them on this blog.

Yes, apologize in general, there's no way you're going to find everyone, and there was damage done to the RPC as a whole. Be honest and specific about that as well, like your actions involving COAR. Don't sugarcoat it, don't hide things, your admittance and honesty is very important. Apologize overall, but don't leave it there, you didn't leave it there when you were doing these things, the apology needs to be just as direct and determined.

Be honest about your expectations. You know exactly what it felt like to be on the receiving end of what you did now, it's okay to say that, but don't make this the basis of your apology. You're sorry because you're sorry, not because you've received similar shit in return, or you're not sorry at all. Express that being harassed has made it clearer to you how terrible this was, if that is true. When you passionately vilify people as you did, it can be difficult to see them as human beings who are experiencing terrible things until you get slapped by it in return. That doesn't make it right, not at all, but again, honesty. We all need to recognize we're people, being honest about experiences, fault, and flaws is humanizing...this might help people give you the benefit of empathy they were not given by you. But you need to tell them, too, that you're not expecting forgiveness or anything else, you just want the opportunity to apologize as part of doing better and growing as a person. That's all.

If you're already being harassed everywhere, you might as well offer a list of your blogs to demonstrate how serious you are. This is everywhere I am, so that those of you I have hurt can block me and feel safer. I wish I was exaggerating, but there are at least two muns out there I've ran into entirely on accident while looking for memes and such that are terrified of where you are. These people literally live in fear of not knowing where you are so they can avoid you, you didn't just cause them problems online, turning their safe space inside out sent them into mental health spirals. More people than have directly said it on their blogs were thus impacted, people had to be hospitalized, they lost progress with their mental illness battles. They deserve to feel safer again, and only you can do that for them. If you're sorry enough, if you're actually accepting guilt and interested in making amends.

Being better is often hard as hell, I'm not talking out of my ass here, I know it is. Some years ago, out in reality, I was kind of a fucking bastard, bluntly. It doesn't matter that much of it was due to untreated mental illness, social deficits, and defense mechanisms from trauma. I was still a shitty person sometimes, and it was not easy or painless for me to confront people I hurt, but it was the right thing to do because I was sorry for my actions. Some of them even forgave me, a few of them became very good friends, I only expected, since this was face-to-face, not to be slapped, though.

I know that when all of this happened, you were expressing some mental health concerns and that you are autistic. As I said at that time to you, me too, and several of the people you hurt as well. It's okay to explain yourself, these are relevant factors! Just, again, don't make excuses, remember the difference. I hope that you are in a better place now than you were then, it is so much easier to make horrific choices when our brains are against us. I meant what I said both above and to you previously, taking responsibility and genuinely trying to make amends is a benefit to you as well. It helps with the lifelong learning experience you've been saddled with being ND. You can better recognize in the future that this is a bad choice, it's easier to distance yourself from high emotions and think logically about how it really isn't your place to judge people like that, take action against them, or go without questioning that you might be misconstruing something you'll regret later. It's relieving, even if hard, to accept guilt and work on making things better! I know you keep saying things like it was just one mistake and so on, but you've got to feel even a tiny bit guilty, to keep wrapping this around somehow not being at fault, right? This helps. A lot.

Lastly, as a part of demonstratively being better, you seriously cannot do anything like this again. You're not sorry, let alone ever going to be trustworthy and welcome again, if you keep doing this. I don't know that it's true that you put another callout for me, I didn't see it, I look at blogs I'm sent to block just long enough to verify that they're a problem, then I block them. So, maybe that was bullshit, but because of the past behavior, I have to believe it's possible. Just like I have to believe it's possible you are still harassing, or encouraging/allowing people out there to be harassed. You have got to stop that shit right along with excusing and downplaying your actions in the past.

Absolutely nothing that happens in tumblr RP is endangering the world. Neither is anyone here capable of making anyone else RP differently, and their requirements and preferences are just that, requirements and preferences. A majority of them come from being ND and/or physically ill. You've got to stop judging people for what they need to do for themselves, it isn't hurting you or anyone else. It's not your business. If you don't like it, you don't have to interact with it. If someone is writing something or enjoying media that you find repugnant, that's fine! Just leave them alone about it. Again, no one is making anyone else interact, and what they're doing isn't real. It doesn't have any bearing on reality whatsoever. You're not calling out a super popular celebrity on being an open transphobe or something, okay? You're just harassing a random ass person online writing something you find upsetting. Your reasons for finding something upsetting are valid, their reasons for enjoying it are valid. You can both exist by ignoring each other. There are a lot of things I am deeply uncomfortable with and a few I am triggered by, it's still someone else's right to feel differently than I do. I'm not them, and you aren't either. You're not protecting anyone or acting righteously, you're doing the opposite when you act like that.

No more callouts, no more reblogging other people's callouts. Make a commitment to staying away from places, people, and topics that upset you instead. No more toleration of friends and followers harassing people, you need to put your foot down here. If you know someone is doing it, you've got to cut them loose from now on. Make it clear you will not be tolerant of this, that was the old you, this is the new you. Nope, you don't control anyone but yourself, you'll not be able to stop everyone, but you can make a serious effort by posting warnings that this is not acceptable and you will be dropping threads and blocking from now on, you need it to stop. Then, follow through on this.

No more URL dropping in your DNIs or labeling people. You can just say that you're uncomfortable interacting with those writing incest, underage, dubcon, etc. It is wholly unnecessary and purely inflammatory to use adjectives like "nasty" or "freak shit" or to imply/state that someone is a child molester, rape apologist, and so on for engaging with these topics. It's enough to say you won't interact, anything else is intentionally being hostile, and you've seen what that hostility does now, correct? Insulate yourself without vilifying others.

Make an effort to exclude these things from your other conversations as well. If you are only doing this publicly, you're not really changing, are you? No. This isn't the way we legitimately grow. Since you've almost certainly surrounded yourself with people who felt and behaved the same way, you'll be around conversations like this. Don't feed it, it's enough to say that, yeah, I find that upsetting, but hey, guys, we don't need to bring their character as a human being into what we dislike, that makes me uncomfortable. You know that annoying "be the change you want to see" shit? Yeah, well, it's kind of right, no matter how annoying! So, be the change instead of the problem. You have the power to positively be an influence.

Be willing to speak to those you've hurt, and be open about it when it comes up. Eventually, if you truly demonstrate change and being a positive member of the community, or just one that stays in their lane peacefully from now on, that will stop. It won't remain relevant, you're no longer keeping it relevant. As I said, some folks are never going to like you or want to be nice to you again, some are going to remember this with insult years from now, but if you're growing, their behavior becomes the unreasonable behavior after a time. You obviously have friends and mutuals, you don't need everyone here to forgive and love you, it's okay. I promise, plenty of people don't like me lol it isn't ruining my life any, and a lot of that is because I do have great friends and mutuals. Rely on them to be your support system through this difficult time. After what happened, if you want to make a meaningful change and be treated better again, allowing people their anger and giving them your honesty is critical.

I'm not saying you need to become the community's whipping boy or tolerate harassment...certainly not that the harassment is acceptable. Not once have I said that harassing you was a solution or something I supported. You don't have to respond kindly to people treating you like shit, but you should be aware of the really valid emotions you caused. Either don't respond at all, or have the patience to simply say that you're sorry for the damage done, please see the pinned post or speak civilly so we can work on this, otherwise, fueling this with more hostility toward me isn't helping and I will block you next time. I understand if you don't always have that patience and calm, I don't either. Those are the times you let it sit until you do, or you call it enough and block without responding - such as the case with death threats. Understanding where people are coming from and accepting some penance isn't the same thing as allowing people to seriously harm your mental health by incessantly suicide baiting and such. It's a fine line to walk, you may need to experiment some, just don't lose it on anyone.

When someone comes to you in the future and says that something you are currently doing is harming them or is harmful for whatever reason? Don't lose it on them either. Don't treat them like you did everyone, myself included, who tried to reasonably converse with you this year. Consider what they've said, accept what they've said, and stop doing whatever it is. Apologize and take down an inflammatory post, don't use whatever word or phrase anymore, make a statement about how post x you reblogged was in bad faith without your realizing it. Be responsible and willing to listen. If you get pissed off or feel irrationally defensive, step away from it for a while until you're calm again. Acting rashly is what got you here, refusing to listen to others and sticking to a course of extreme hostility because you've got to be right is what you got you here. It's okay to be wrong, it's okay if there is still something right in the wrong and you just need to clarify and change the tone or direction. That's a real mistake! You're a person, mistakes will happen. Unfortunately, you're also a person who dropped fucking napalm on the RPC, people will scrutinize what you do for a while. It's frustrating and exhausting sometimes, but remind yourself that it is your own fault.

Be open and welcoming on your meme blogs. Don't make people feel like they're walking into a trap by engaging with your resources, that if they RP something you don't like or a character you don't like, and reblog a meme from you that has nothing to do with either, they'll end up in a callout or getting harassment in their inbox. It's okay to say that you won't make memes or reblog them that deal with XYZ, that's your right! But it's just more inflammatory behavior to expect people to go to your meme blog's rules page/doc/carrd and correctly infer that they're the "proshipper" you're saying shouldn't reblog your resources regardless of content or use. People see them on their dashes and reblog, they're not even in a position to see these rules most of the time. No one should be punished for using resources the way they're meant to be used on tumblr, and you aren't RPing with these people. You don't have to engage with their content or them. In fact, you can quietly block them on your RP blogs to ensure you don't ever interact with them directly. It's just not necessary and only furthering the problem to do this on a meme or other resource blog, okay? Just don't share your RP blogs in connection with your meme etc. blogs, keep it separate to control your environment the way you need to peacefully.

Be intolerant of harassment where you see it going on. You can uniquely speak from experience on both sides of this issue now, this is what changing in a way that isn't just performative means. Send a polite anon advising someone not to do what you did and why, join a conversation and help someone understand why this is wrong and how it can really come back on them awfully as well. Make yourself a voice for reason and tolerance, re-establish yourself in this way, become known as someone who did something bad, but is now using that experience to do good.

All of this takes work, but hey, if it's important enough to you, if you're earnest enough, you have the strength to do this. And, furthermore, if you truly can be that genuine and committed, are not weirdly trolling my blog in a way that'll just make you look like an ass, or lying for passable sympathy to end your problems, I'll help you. I'll reblog that post you need to make, I'll go over it with you before you post it and help you understand any problems with it, that way, it has a higher chance of being seen by people you hurt as well as coming from a genuine place. I'll not block this anon message, I'll unblock a blog of your choice you can contact me with directly, and you can vent or ask for help in this process privately.

I was willing to be that person before, I really do believe in making the RPC better, so, I'm willing to be that person now despite what you've done. You hurt a lot of people, they deserve for you to change, if I can help make that really happen, I will do it, you didn't harm me like you did them. I just need you to do some self-examination and be serious about it. If you can't commit to this, if you're going to keep blaming everyone else and coming off like your primary point of regret is that you're being harassed in return, if you want to keep pretending that the majority of the RPC didn't see what you did, if you engage in callout culture or otherwise harass anyone, that's going to be the cut off. I will retract that offer, I'm not going to be civil to someone who is engaged in those behaviors, and am not willing to endanger others by helping them pull the wool over their eyes until it suits them to attack again. If you choose to pull that kind of thing? I'm sorry, but I really will get unbelievably hateful this time and I will stay that way.

I genuinely hope that this can be a turning point, that everyone can start on the long road to moving beyond this entire thing. We all deserve to peacefully enjoy ourselves in a fun hobby.

[orbemnews]

Colombia's bloody protests could be a warning to the region Thousands of people are still taking to the streets to protest against police brutality and the economic cost of the pandemic amid Colombia’s extreme inequality. And with both issues common across South America — and exacerbated by the pandemic — many international observers are watching Colombia’s cycle of protest closely for signs of deeper regional effects. Duque was the first president in the region to launch a tax overhaul to help his country’s pandemic-ravaged economy get back in shape. But rigid opposition from Colombia’s workers’ unions and social movements is a cautionary tale for any other president who plans to follow a similar route. While both the European Union and the United States have pursued enormous investment plans to rebuild their economies post-pandemic, many countries like Colombia, where the economy is dependent on exports and already burdened by a ballooning foreign debt, do not have the capacity to undertake a similar expansion plan. Such countries need to increase revenues through taxes in order to be able to spend — and even to maintain vital social programs like cash support for the unemployed and credit lines to businesses struggling with the pandemic. Before he withdrew his tax reform plan, Duque stressed it was of pivotal importance for the state to increase its fiscal revenues. “The reform is not a whim, it’s a necessity to keep the social programs going,” he said. But critics argued the tax hikes — like a proposed VAT increase on everyday goods — would disproportionally impact middle and working classes and escalate inequality even more. Their concerns took root in an economy already decimated by Covid-19, where frustration has been mounting as record increases in cases and deaths prompt authorities to impose new lockdowns, stifling the country’s vast informal labor market. More than 3.6 million Colombians fell back into poverty during the pandemic according to recent figures released by the country’s statistics authority, while the number of families that cannot afford to eat three times a day tripled in the same period of time. But the now-withdrawn tax hike will leave a big hole in the state finances, and Duque’s government will have to look for alternatives to try and pass reforms to repair the very inequality that currently fuels much discontent. Human rights concerns Colombia’s ongoing protests have also prompted fear and outrage at law enforcement’s handling of demonstrators — a concern echoed by rights organizations and foreign observers. “We’re here because it may seem a paradox, but in the middle of a pandemic our government is literally attacking our lives,” Joana Ivanazca Salgado, a 43-year-old artist who took part in Bogota’s protests last week, told CNN. Ivanazca was referring to the spiraling death toll that the protests have left behind: according to Colombia’s ombudsman on Monday, at least 19 people — including a policeman — have been killed since the start of the protests and at least 89 people have disappeared. Videos of anti-riot policemen using teargas and batons against protesters have gone viral on social media, spreading beyond big cities and across the country. Far from curbing the protests, alleged police brutality has become a focal point for the demonstrators, who, after putting the fiscal reform plan to rest, are now calling for a thorough inquiry into the deaths. Human rights NGOs say the real death toll could be much higher and have called for the president to restrain police from using any excessive use of force. But the Colombian government has so far defended the actions of the police and blamed the violence on groups of rioters and organized crime. In particular, the military has been deployed to the city of Cali, which has seen the worst of the violence so far and where a team of the UN Human Rights Committee said they encountered police fire, although they did not believe they were directly targeted. The Cali police department says they are investigating claims of excessive force. Multilateral organizations, foreign ambassadors and even Colombian pop star Shakira have issued statements of concern over law enforcement’s response — on Tuesday, the US State Department publicly urged “the utmost restraint by public forces to prevent additional loss of life.” In the early hours of Wednesday, Bogota’s mayor, Claudia Lopez, made a tearful plea to all sides to abandon violence: “I beg Bogota and Colombia to stop. It’s been eight days of frankly, by miracle, that we don’t have a death [in Bogota] so far,” said Lopez. At least 30 civilians and 16 policemen were injured late Tuesday, she said, in an ugly escalation of violence on both sides. According to Lopez, rioters set fire to one police station, where 15 policemen managed to escape. Major General Oscar Antonio Gomez Heredia, the chief of police in Bogota, said during the same briefing that a total of 25 police stations had been attacked. The political fallout By late Tuesday, Duque called for a “national dialogue initiative” and while he said police forces are guaranteeing the right to protest, he pledged a thorough investigation into any possible abuse. Should Duque cede to public pressure and open up an independent inquiry into police practices, it could give momentum to protest movements demanding police accountability across the region. Police brutality is a hot button issue in several Latin American countries: Colombia’s own National Police, which answers to the Defense Ministry, have previously come under fire for its response to protests in 2019 and 2020. In Chile in 2019, carabineros were accused of deliberately shooting rubber bullets at the eyes of protesters resulting in hundreds of injuries. And in Peru, at least two men died in a recent wave of protests in November of last year. Looming over all these political calculations for the Colombian government are next year’s presidential elections: While Duque himself is barred from running, the conservative coalition that brought him the presidency is keen to project strength and control, capable of dealing with both the pandemic and the wave of protests. After withdrawing the fiscal reform plan, further concessions to demonstrators could weaken that image. But Ivan Briscoe, Latin America program director for the International Crisis Group, believes it would be misguided not to learn from protesters’ outrage. “The government must look beyond other parties and other political forces with which it has been negotiating its tax reform and take into account the demands of the Colombians in the streets,” said Briscoe. For now, Duque is resisting calls from his own party to impose a state of emergency to curb the protests — but at the same time, he is standing by the police accused of escalating the violence. All of which has contributed to the image of a president disconnected from many of his citizens. Reporting contributed by CNN’s Tatiana Arias in Atlanta. Source link Orbem News #bloody #Colombias #protests #Region #warning

[didanawisgi]

In Defense of the Natural Evolution of Liberty, version 2. Comments, suggestions, & evidential debate are welcome :)

As a student of history and human nature, I know many fear what they do not understand. I am also keenly aware of the possibilities, that may repeat themselves, should a Citizenry whose degree of liberty and freedoms, never before seen in known human history, ever forfeit their ability to defend, by force if ever necessary, those same freedoms and liberties that allow them life, liberty, and to pursue those joyous experiences that represent peak experiences of the human condition. History teaches us that people who wield power must be tempered. Plato’s idea of the Philosopher King was such that a King whom, essentially, learning of the several liberal arts and sciences, and becoming closer to God and Nature, and understanding Natural Laws of Mother Nature, would be embodied with compassion and wisdom and other qualities quintessential for successful and benevolent rulership. But as the currents of time flow in one direction, so too does the truth. As it turns out, this is not enough. Francis Bacon’s ‘New Atlantis’ was a place influenced by an academy known as the House of Solomon, a mythical place where humankind will meet its greatest potential. This place is America; the Novus ordo seclorum (New order of the ages). This order, a Republic founded in the principles of the Constitution, is a system devised to benefit all within its borders; a permanent ‘Philosopher King’ found only in a text that allows America (possibly named after the Merica, the Mandaean Star of Venus, and consort to the King/Pharaoh) to not suffer as our ancestors have, and has allowed each successive generation incrementally more freedom, more well-being, and more opportunity, should we take it. This is not to say we don’t have our modern day challenges. But it is the Second Amendment in the Bill of Rights, not granted by Government, but by God, the intrinsic cosmic consciousness and Architect of the Universe, that ensures us at least the opportunity to defend the natural evolution of Liberty and Freedom, and to stop those who would seek to destroy it or take it away from us; for tyranny historically springs forth from the well intended initially. This is perhaps why, in terms of importance, it is the second, after the Amendment which protects our freedom of thought and the ability to communicate those thoughts; the ability to stand up and act, by force if necessary, against forms of Tyranny which throughout the course of Human history has enjoyed many appearances.

Nowhere on Earth is there a Bill of Rights so comprehensive with a philosophy founded in Natural Law. This uniqueness in American history does influence us today, particularly those who believe the Second Amendment exists to limit the power of the Federal Government (as the rest of the Amendments do) and to protect our Liberty and personal Freedom henceforth and for posterity; for in a crisis, many times you are the only one to rely on.

The push for Gun Control, is rooted in racism, if you examine history keenly.  Huey P Newton, co-founder of the Black Panther Party in the 60′s once said, “The policemen or soldiers are only a gun in the establishments hand. They make the racist secure in his racism.” It is true that, if you study history, you will find that gun control is rooted in racism. Attorney Ralph Sherman has, what I think, is a good synopsis of this argument. This was written in 1999:

Legal Opinion by  Atty. Ralph D. Sherman April 1999 Blacks and the right to bear arms It’s time to resume my discussion of the history and meaning of the Second Amendment (as requested by several readers). One of the myths that you hear from the gun-ban crowd is that the U.S. Supreme Court has “never” said the Second Amendment guarantees every individual the right to keep and bear arms. Our deceitful President would like you to believe that your right to firearms has something to do with duck hunting. There are several reasons that Handgun Control and company don’t want you to know the truth. One reason is that when you research what the Supreme Court has actually said, you quickly find that “gun control” laws are rooted in racism. Wait. I haven’t turned into some kind of conspiracy nut. If somebody had told me 15 years ago that “gun control” and racial discrimination are inseparably linked in the history of the United States, I would have been skeptical, too. After I started to read some of the old cases and statutes, however, I saw that it is impossible to reach any other conclusion. (In fact I recently gave a talk at UConn on the connections between “gun control” and racial, economic, and sexual discrimination.) Anyone who studies the history of the United States in the 19th Century comes across the Supreme Court case known as the Dred Scott decision. The correct title of the case is Scott v. Sandford (1856), and you can find it in any law library. Usually the case is studied because of its bearing on the status of blacks. Today the Dred Scott case is infamous, a good example of how the Supreme Court can be dead wrong. Dred Scott himself was a free black. The Supreme Court was asked to decide whether a free black was a citizen, entitled to the full protection of the Constitution, the Bill of Rights, and other laws of the United States. The court held that blacks were not citizens, because the founding fathers didn’t have blacks in mind when the Constitution was written. This is no longer the law of our country, thank goodness, because even the Supreme Court corrects its errors, if given enough time. But the Dred Scott case is still important because it is one of the first cases in which the Supreme Court gave its view of the Second Amendment. In this column I don’t have space to discuss most of the decision. But here’s the critical section. The court found it unthinkable that blacks could be considered citizens, because: “[If black people were] entitled to the privileges and immunities of citizens, it would exempt them from the operation of the special laws and from the police regulations which [Southern states] considered to be necessary for their own safety. It would give the persons of the negro race, who were recognized as citizens in any one State of the Union…the full liberty of speech in public and in private upon all subjects upon which its own citizens might speak; to hold public meetings upon political affairs, and to keep and carry arms wherever they went. And all of this would be done in the face of the subject race of the same color, both free and slaves, inevitably producing discontent and insubordination among them, and endangering the peace and safety of the State.” The “special laws” mentioned by the court are the Black Codes, drafted to keep blacks down even if they became free. Essential to the Black Code of every Southern state was a law prohibiting blacks from owning firearms - a total gun ban for blacks only. The “full liberty of speech” is the court’s reference to the right of free speech, guaranteed by the First Amendment. The freedom “to hold public meetings upon political affairs” likewise refers to the First Amendment. And the right “to keep and carry arms wherever they went” - I don’t have to tell you where the Supreme Court found that one. But you can see the meaning as plain as day, in the words of the U.S. Supreme Court. Because of dissatisfaction with the court’s ruling that blacks weren’t citizens, Congress eventually passed the 14th Amendment. This also is quite relevant to the right to keep and bear arms, and anyone who reads this column needs to know why. I’ll explain in a future column. (Source: ralphdsherman.com)

Much of the “black codes” apropos possession of guns, are rehashed in contemporary fashion; except now, the codes are tailored for everyone, not just black people.  If my point has not been made well enough, I shall tell you a story of the only Coup D’Etat in U.S. History:  “A mob of white supremacists armed with rifles and pistols marched on City Hall in Wilmington, N.C., on Nov. 10 and overthrew the elected local government, forcing both black and white officials to resign and running many out of town. The coup was the culmination of a race riot in which whites torched the offices of a black newspaper and killed a number of black residents. No one is sure how many African-Americans died that day, but some estimates say as many as 90 were killed.” -https://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=93615391

What they neglect to mention is that the “black codes” had disarmed the populace, and they were ill-prepared for the slaughter.

Again, racial tensions are not as high today, and this occurred in the not-so-recent past, however the ugly memes of tribalism, which globally and historically have resulted in Warfare, discrimination, violence, racism, religious killings, terrorism etc. are thriving in some parts of the world, and because history, no matter how small the chance, potentially could repeat itself. To quote Fallout: “War, war never changes”.

“The world is not entirely governed by logic. Life itself involves some kind of violence and we have to choose the path of least violence.” -

The Mind of Mahatma Gandhi.

If you have ever been a victim of any crime, or hate crime, you know that it is a terrible ordeal, and that your peace of mind is disrupted.  I have before had to face threats, for instance, racists smashing my mailbox and racial slurs; my grandmother, who lived alone, had her house broken into and virtually everything she ever owned stolen when she returned by cowardly thugs. These things can affect how you perceive the world. I find that many armchair philosophers often come from a highly privileged state of mind, a state that is developed overtime from a perch of relative safety; an Ivory Tower. They underestimate the rate of defensive uses of weapons and overestimate the rate of illegal, criminal acts with firearms, when in fact, according to the CDC, the rate is about equal, or even more defensive uses therefore counter-intuitively avoiding violence.

Defensive Use of Guns

“Defensive use of guns by crime victims is a common occurrence, although the exact number remains disputed (Cook and Ludwig, 1996; Kleck, 2001a). Almost all national survey estimates indicate that defensive gun uses by victims are at least as common as offensive uses by criminals, with estimates of annual uses ranging from about 500,000 to more than 3 million (Kleck, 2001a), in the context of about 300,000 violent crimes involving firearms in 2008 (BJS, 2010)…

A different issue is whether defensive uses of guns, however numerous or rare they may be, are effective in preventing injury to the gun-wielding crime victim. Studies that directly assessed the effect of actual defensive uses of guns (i.e., incidents in which a gun was “used” by the crime victim in the sense of attacking or threatening an offender) have found consistently lower injury rates among gun-using crime victims compared with victims who used other self-protective strategies (Kleck, 1988; Kleck and DeLone, 1993; Southwick, 2000; Tark and Kleck, 2004). - CDC,  Priorities for Research to Reduce the Threat of Firearm-Related Violence (2013)  https://www.nap.edu/read/18319/chapter/3#15

There is something to be said for the art of complete nonviolence, however this must be cultivated over time. Only two people I know of have mastered it; MLK and Gandhi. I do not doubt other examples can be found, however, it is extremely rare.

Just as one must learn the art of killing in the training for violence, so one must learn the art of dying in the training for nonviolence. Violence does not mean emancipation from fear, but discovering the means of combating the cause of fear. Nonviolence, on the other hand, has no cause for fear. The votary of nonviolence has to cultivate the capacity for sacrifice of the highest type in order to be free from fear. He recks not if he should lose his land, his wealth, his life. -

The Mind of Mahatma Gandhi

I want both the Hindus and Mussalmans to cultivate the cool courage to die without killing. But if one has not that courage, I want him to cultivate the art of killing and being killed rather than, in a cowardly manner, flee from danger. For the latter, in spite of his flight, does commit mental himsa. He flees because he has not the courage to be killed in the act of killing.

The Mind of Mahatma Gandhi

So in the meantime, while I “cultivate the cool courage to die without killing,” I will maintain my weapon, drill, and assert my Second Amendment Right, based in Natural Law, for the defense of myself, family, community, and Liberty. If you do not defend yourself, and get hurt or worse, die, you will no longer participate in The Great Work. I am not a Hermit, I do not stay inside studying all day, only working on the perfection of my Mental landscape. I am an Adept, and I go where others do not wish to, in order to further The Great Work, however, I reserve the right to protect myself when I go.

I grew up with all kinds of martial arts and weapons, and have basic proficiency with most. That’s just something I like to do. Something I have enjoyed since I was 11. I suggest reading Sam Harris’ The Moral Landscape. He also has a piece called The Riddle of the Gun, which in my opinion is a good philosophical treatise on the issues surrounding guns, both morally and in terms of rational philosophy. Excerpt:

“Most of my friends do not own guns and never will. When asked to consider the possibility of keeping firearms for protection, they worry that the mere presence of them in their homes would put themselves and their families in danger. Can’t a gun go off by accident? Wouldn’t it be more likely to be used against them in an altercation with a criminal? I am surrounded by otherwise intelligent people who imagine that the ability to dial 911 is all the protection against violence a sane person ever needs.But, unlike my friends, I own several guns and train with them regularly. Every month or two, I spend a full day shooting with a highly qualified instructor. This is an expensive and time-consuming habit, but I view it as part of my responsibility as a gun owner. It is true that my work as a writer has added to my security concerns somewhat, but my involvement with guns goes back decades. I have always wanted to be able to protect myself and my family, and I have never had any illusions about how quickly the police can respond when called. I have expressed my views on self-defense elsewhere. Suffice it to say, if a person enters your home for the purpose of harming you, you cannot reasonably expect the police to arrive in time to stop him. This is not the fault of the police—it is a problem of physics.Like most gun owners, I understand the ethical importance of guns and cannot honestly wish for a world without them. I suspect that sentiment will shock many readers. Wouldn’t any decent person wish for a world without guns? In my view, only someone who doesn’t understand violence could wish for such a world. A world without guns is one in which the most aggressive men can do more or less anything they want. It is a world in which a man with a knife can rape and murder a woman in the presence of a dozen witnesses, and none will find the courage to intervene. There have been cases of prison guards (who generally do not carry guns) helplessly standing by as one of their own was stabbed to death by a lone prisoner armed with an improvised blade. The hesitation of bystanders in these situations makes perfect sense—and “diffusion of responsibility” has little to do with it. The fantasies of many martial artists aside, to go unarmed against a person with a knife is to put oneself in very real peril, regardless of one’s training. The same can be said of attacks involving multiple assailants. A world without guns is a world in which no man, not even a member of Seal Team Six, can reasonably expect to prevail over more than one determined attacker at a time. A world without guns, therefore, is one in which the advantages of youth, size, strength, aggression, and sheer numbers are almost always decisive. Who could be nostalgic for such a world?” - https://samharris.org/the-riddle-of-the-gun/ & https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I0DYpaLgWIo

I find it the height of hubris when people try to tell me what is and what is not alchemy, what is and what is not freemasonry, what the Great Work means and what is and what is not good morality. Newsflash, moral relativism is lazy pseudo-intellectualism, however, if you are increasing the potential for self-actualization for yourself and those around you, keep going and continue to do what you do. How dare someone say their “Great Work” is somehow purer, somehow better, because they do not ascribe to this or that. In reality, it is a personal journey and Quest, and it is one that only the Traveler can take. There are many paths; take the ones that make you a better person.

-The Modern Alchemist

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