#if anyone has the clip on hand and would like to add it for citation purposes that would be helpful

[mechanismslorearchive]

heard some people say jonny is cononicaly omni? do you know where this is from?

This is from a twitch clip from Jonny’s streams! I don’t have the link at the moment, but someone asked him quite a while ago about the joke/discourse (brief pause as I am overcome with the specters of discourse past) regarding Jonny d’Ville being homophobic, based on the line in one of the fictions where he asks if Nastya is having one of her “queer orgies.”

Jonny said that he didn’t write that story, so he can’t say for sure what was intended with the line in question, but that d’Ville is, in his mind, omnisexual, and not homophobic. This makes it word-of-god canon, which of course depending on your approach to the text (the text in this case being the albums, fictions, social media posts, and other in-character, official sources) may or may not count as canon in the way that, say, Brookes from Pump Shanty (Bashful) being mlm does. But that’s where it comes from!

[allisondraste]

Cockroaches and Other Things That Just Keep On Living

Fandom: Mass Effect

Ship: Female Shepard/Garrus Vakarian

Word Count: 4019

Summary: It's only been two weeks since the Reaper War ended, and the Alliance is already trying to bury Shepard.

[Click Here for A03]

Two weeks.  It had only been two weeks since the war ended, since that devastating flash of red light burst from the Citadel and bounced off every active relay in the galaxy, since the Reapers fell dead in space and the Normandy crash landed on some tropical little human colony world just on the edge of the Terminus Systems.  It had just been two weeks, but the Alliance and the rest of the whole damn galaxy were already willing to declare Shepard dead.  And to add insult to injury, they’d  given Garrus the great honor and privilege of hanging her name up on a memorial wall in some trite ceremony to make the crew feel better.

“There isn’t anyone who could’ve been at the epicenter of that blast and survived,” Hackett had explained, far too matter-of-factly. “It’s time for us to move forward.”

“Shepard isn’t just anyone,” Garrus had replied, and then promptly told the admiral where to shove his plaque. It was not his finest moment.

Now, he sat in the mess hall, alone and staring down at the dextro-amino rations he’d barely touched. The bastardized version of some overly seasoned human dish would have been unappetizing even if he had an appetite. But he didn’t.  Something about the person he loved being declared dead left a sour taste in his mouth.  He’d only even tried to eat because Liara insisted, and he wasn’t in the mood for another well meant lecture about taking care of himself.

No longer willing to bother, he shoved the plate away from him with the back of his hand, and looked up in just enough time to catch Williams walk past him.  She stopped, performed a proper about-face and marched up to his table.

“Hey,” Ash greeted him like she’d never spoken to him before in her life.

“Hey,” Garrus replied and watched as she shifted uncomfortably and darted her eyes around the entire room before meeting his gaze.

She motioned to an empty seat across the table from him. “Can I— I mean, do you want some company? You just look—”

“Like I’m one news vid about the ‘late’ Commander Shepard away from going postal?” He let out a derisive snort. “Yeah.”

Williams smirked and  eased herself down onto the bench without waiting for him to agree to her company. “I was going to say ‘like shit,’ but that works too.”

He answered her dryly. “Gee. Thanks.”

There was a pause in conversation, then Ash tilted her head in that sympathetic way every human who knew him seemed to do since Earth. “Seriously though… how are you holding up?”

I’m not , Garrus thought, but the words didn’t make it to his mouth, just sarcasm.. “Didn’t realize you cared… or is this just one of those human things where you pretend to care for my benefit?”

She leaned back and raised an eyebrow. “Do I seem like the kind of person who pretends to do anything for anyone’s benefit, especially yours?”

He laughed. “Fair.”

“Listen, this is off the record but… Hackett had that mouthful coming.” She laughed and shook her head. “I’m just glad it was you that said it and not me because, well, I like my job.”

If anyone had told Garrus that one day, he’d have a heart-to-heart with the human woman who’d spent their entire first mission together shooting daggers at him from across Normandy’s shuttle bay, he’d have said they were crazy.  But there they were, raw from the absence of someone who meant so much to the both of them.

“It’s been two weeks,” he muttered, looking down at his hands. “ Two. They haven’t even found her bod—“ he tried and failed to choke back the lump in his throat,  but continued talking anyway, glancing up at her— “It’s too damn soon, Ash.”

“I know,” came her firm reply as she reached across the table.  She hesitated for a split second, but then let her hand fall on top of his.  Deep brown eyes welled up with tears that she tried to blink away.  She let out a frustrated huff as one rolled down her cheek anyway, then cleared her throat.  “ Damn. Pretend this isn’t happening.” “Pretend what isn’t happening, Williams?”

“Perfect,” she remarked, wiping her face with the heel of her free hand and laughing. “Kind of hard to believe it’s only been three years since we tracked down Saren.  Feels like a lifetime ago.”

“And look at us now, being mostly civil,” he said with a sigh, staring down at Ash’s hand.  Alien as it was, it reminded him of Shepard’s, strong to be as small as it was, with too many fingers.  He recalled the many times those fingers had traced the hard edges of his face, how that hand had fit so comfortably into his (after a few clumsy attempts, of course).  He’d take another missile to the face to hold it again.

“You know, Shepard worked her ass off to convince me it’d be fine having aliens on board an Alliance vessel,” Ash observed playfully, pulling him from his thoughts.

“You? Paranoid over a handful of non-humans? I’m shocked .”

“Nothing personal,” she explained,“Just didn’t feel comfortable sharing a station with a guy whose grandpa probably shot at mine during the War.”

“Hate to break it to you but—” he leaned back in his seat— “My grandfather was just a run of the mill C-Sec officer.  All he would have done was write your grandfather a nasty citation. ‘Being human in Citadel space,’ used to be a finable offense.”

“God,” she said with another laugh, “Back then, I rolled my eyes and told Shepard I’d do whatever she wanted me to do. ‘You tell me to jump, I ask how high.  You tell me to kiss a turian, I’ll ask which cheek.’”

“We don’t really have cheeks,” Garrus corrected, laughing when Ash shot him a pointed look, “But that’s beside the point.  I’m guessing Shepard never followed through with that order.”

“No, she told me, and I quote, ‘Nobody’s going to be kissing any turians on this mission, Ash,’” she said in her best Shepard impression, then muttered, “Fucking liar.”

“Well, to her credit, I don’t think she planned on me being so… irresistable.”

Ash snorted and rolled her eyes. “Okay, ladykiller .”

There was another pause in conversation, and her expression fell.  She looked down to where her hand still lay on his. “Back then, I just assumed you’d jump ship as soon as things got rocky, as soon as we— as Shepard — really needed you, but…” She trailed off, grip tightening around his hand.  “You never let her down, not once.  Not even when I—”

“You didn’t let her down, Ash,” he argued, sensing where she was headed, “She never thought that.”

“Yeah, well I do,” she snapped, words clipped, “I should have seen the signs that Cerberus had her pinned down, but I let my ego get in the way.  I’m surprised she wanted anything to do with me after that.”

“You’re not the only one who has ever screwed up trying to do the right thing,” he reassured her, “Shepard, of all people, understood that.”

“That’s… you’re probably right,” she nodded and looked up at him, “Thanks. And for whatever it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

“Uh, sorry for what?”

“For ever believing you weren’t an important part of the crew,” she stated seriously, then smiled, “And for calling you birdbrain  behind your back.”

Garrus’ mandibles flared in amusement, and he gave her hand a few friendly pats. “No harm done,” he said, then paused for a beat, “Besides, you didn’t hear what I said behind your back.”

One of her eyebrows shot up. “You talked shit about me?”

“So much.”

“Whoa, whoa, wait a minute,” shouted a familiar voice from across the mess, causing them both to snap their heads toward the sound. “Somebody get this heartwarming moment on camera.”

Ash stiffened, retracting her hand quickly and stuffing it under the table. “Joker.”

“Hey, Joker.” Garrus waved. “How are you doing?”

“Fine,” he answered, words pointed. “You know, aside from the soul-crushing agony of my girlfriend dying. ”

Garrus had spent enough time around humans to know that the Flight Lieutenant looked rough, even for someone who’d never cared about keeping up appearances.  His eyes were red, the skin underneath dark enough that even the shadow cast from his hat couldn’t disguise the lack of sleep. He made his way unsteadily to the table and sat down next to Williams.

Garrus opened his mouth, preparing to speak, to express sympathy, but Joker cut him off. “And before you start with any of that ‘I understand how you feel’ crap— no you don’t.  Everyone knows you can’t say Shepard’s dead until we’ve ID’d the body.  Maybe not even then. She just keeps living… like a cockroach. ”

“You know you could just say, ‘I’m not doing so hot,” right?” Ash scolded him,  but there was still a softness to her voice. “You don’t have to be an ass about it.”

“Yeah, but see… being an ass is way more my style.”

The table went completely quiet as Joker crossed his arms over his chest and scowled, tension palpable enough it might as well have had mass.  Not one for tolerating awkward silences, Garrus ventured a question. “What the hell is a cockroach?”

Ash smiled, clearly thankful for the change in subject, and began to explain. “They’re these—“

“ Beetles ,” Joker cut her off, “Big, disgusting ones that are supposed to be able to survive extreme conditions other organics can’t.”

“Sounds about right,” Garrus admitted with a shrug.

The pilot flinched and glared at him. “Wait. I called Shepard a disgusting beetle and you’re just okay with that?”

“Are you kidding? Why wouldn’t I be,” he asked sarcastically, “It actually explains why she kept molting. ”

“You’re having fun. Stop it,” Joker whined, scowl deepening, “Stop having fun!”

Garrus laughed and threw his hands up in surrender. “This isn’t exactly my idea of fun. My cockroach is missing.”

Joking though he was, his words were honest, something Joker must have detected.  His expression softened even as he puffed his chest out. He deflated immediately as another familiar voice called out, likely interrupting whatever barrage of barbs he’d prepared to hurl at Garrus. This time, it was Vega who strutted over to the table carrying an entire fifth of some sort of human liquor.  Cortez trailed solemnly behind him, examining the rectangular objects in his hands.

“Yo, don’t tell me the party started without us,” shouted Vega, setting the alcohol down on the table with a loud clank , pointing a thumb back at Cortez, “Esteban here took forever polishing the name plaques.”

Garrus stiffened at the mention of the plaques, knowing full and well there had been one commissioned with Shepard’s name on it despite all his protests. Turned out, the Alliance brass didn’t give a damn about some loud mouth former C-Sec officer or his feelings after all. He just hoped none of the humans were able to read the pain in his expression— a hope that was in vain if the sympathetic glance Cortez gave him was any indication.

“What’s that for?” Ashley pointed to the bottle of amber liquid Vega sat on the table.

“What do you think,” Vega asked, as if his intentions should have been completely clear, “I’m going to pour one out for the commander.”

“All over the Normandy's floor?” She raised her brows at him.

“Nah.” He gave her a dismissive wave. “Just down the sink or somethin’.”

She picked the bottle up and examined the label more closely. “But…this is expensive stuff, James.”

“Don’t care,” came Vega’s indignant response, “It’s for Lola.”

Ashley gave him a solemn nod, seeming to understand whatever peculiar human tradition he was planning to perform. Satisfied, Vega turned his attention to Joker, snagging his cap, flipping it around, and placing it down on his head backwards. Joker cursed and grumbled, calling Vega a bully among other things, but Vega just smiled and walked over to Garrus, giving him a supportive clap on the shoulder.

Slowly, the rest of the crew began to filter in, each with their own expressions of concern.  Traynor and Tali arrived together, deep in conversation if the emphatic hand gestures were any indication.  They both quieted as they arrived at the table, Traynor frowning and bowing her head, whileTali approached and slid comfortably  into the seat next to Garrus.

She looked down at the uneaten food and back up at him, giving him a nudge with her elbow and complaining. “You are wasting all of the good dextro rations.”

“Good? Oh, come on,  we both know it’s garbage.”

“Well… yes, but it’s digestible garbage,” she said, holding a finger up to make her point.  Her voice softened when she continued. “And you’ve hardly eaten anything the past few days.”

He sighed and looked down at the rations. “Yeah.”

Tali observed him for a second, eyes glowing behind her helmet. She then grabbed his plate and slid it toward him. “Eat up, Vakarian. Or else I will have to feed you myself… with a spoon I am pretending is the Normandy.”

Garrus let out a laugh despite himself. “I don’t think that’ll work, Tali.”

“You don’t know that.  You haven’t heard my engine noises.”  She laughed along with him for a few seconds, then grew quiet once again and gave him a gentle pat on the back. “The Alliance is going to feel very silly when Shepard gets back and they have to explain why they hung her name up on the wall and sold her hamster.”

“ If she makes it back this time.”

“She will,” Tali asserted, voice cracking, “She has to.”

It was Javik who entered next, voice booming in a debate with Liara, who had taken it upon herself to explain human customs for memorializing the dead. He shook his head and ignored her entirely, stating that if he wished for a history lesson, he would ask for one.  He then snapped his many-eyed gaze to Garrus.

“You should not be saddened about Shepard’s fate, Garrus.  She died with great honor.”

Liara let out an exasperated sigh, and sat down in one of the empty seats at the next table over, bringing her hand to her face.

“What is it, asari?” Javik snapped, “Honor in death is something turians hold in high regard, is it not? This should be a great comfort to him.”

“Perhaps with time,” Liara explained,”But right now it is… insensitive.”

“It’s nothing my dad hasn’t already told me a dozen times,” Garrus stated flatly, “I appreciate the sentiment.”

Weird that a fifty-thousand year-old Prothean reminded him of his dad.  Then again, Castis Vakarian was as about as traditional as turians came, and they butted heads on almost every subject, including but not limited to: Garrus’ disregard for rules, his decision to leave C-Sec—twice, his “risk- and attention-seeking” behavior, and his “absurd infatuation with a human woman”. Their relationship had always been strained, to say the least. Still, he had always been there when Garrus needed him, and listened when it mattered. He was the first call Garrus made from the medbay after the Reapers were destroyed, when he realized Shepard might not be coming back.

He’d been sympathetic, but not even remotely comforting, not unlike Javik was at present. Garrus just didn’t have it in him to explain to either how little he cared about the honorable nature of her sacrifice, the high esteem the galaxy now held her in, or the way history would remember her. None of that mattered when she wasn’t at his side.  How could he be proud, when all he felt was empty?

Once all parties arrived and settled in, the group spent time talking and sharing memories. The Alliance crew members all told stories about encounters with Admiral Anderson, how he more often felt like a parent than a commanding officer, and how his reputation was so much larger than his ego. Traynor did most of the talking about EDI, their friendship, and how seamlessly she’d fit into the crew, how easy it had been to forget she was an AI. Joker just pulled the bill of his cap down to cover his eyes.  Then, the reminiscence moved to the commander.

Every single person present had a story about Shepard, about how she went above and beyond the call of duty to help them, and to make sure they were taken care of while aboard the Normandy.  Shepard had always taken time to check in with the people who worked for her, even when the galaxy was falling apart and herself along with it.  She was a good leader, arguably the best, and an even better friend.  It was clear that everyone in the room admired her, and that she was missed.

Garrus knew he should say something, tell one of the many stories of the trouble he and Shepard had gotten into together. The others all watched him expectantly as he scrambled for words.

“I—“ he began, but was interrupted by the buzzing of his omni-tool, followed by several bright flashes of light. He cursed and pulled up the interface to silence the damn thing.  An urgent message alert flashed on his screen, and he tapped the icon to open it.

From: Dr. Chloe Michel

Subject: Jane Doe

Dear Garrus,

I hope this email reaches you, and that you are still alive to read it.  I am on the Citadel working with an emergency medical unit out of what is left of  Huerta Memorial. The blast from the Crucible caused some severe structural damage near the epicenter, and we have been searching the area to find and identify survivors and remains.

There is a Jane Doe here, who I believe you might know. Please contact me on a private channel whenever you are able.

Take Care,

Chloe

His heart sank like lead into his gut as he read what could only be a request to come in and identify a corpse.  The space around him was suddenly too full, too loud, and the curious eyes of his companions lingered on him for far longer than comfortable. He tapped the display on his omni-tool once again to close it, glancing around the room from one set of eyes to another.

“It’s nothing,” he lied. The truth would only cause unnecessary alarm he wasn’t equipped to handle at the moment.  He stood abruptly, a jolt of pain coursing through his leg that was still recovering from a fracture, and excused himself. “Just need to make a quick call.”

“Now,” Liara asked, frowning, “But the memorial ceremony was just about to begin.”

“So start without me,” he snapped and made his way to the main battery.  He’d apologize later, when his world wasn’t caving in.

The battery doors shut behind him with a familiar hiss and he sank down into his seat next to the workbench where his favorite rifle lay surrounded by tools and unused thermal clips. It had taken a beating in the battle on Earth, and Garrus had poured over repairing it in the days following its end.  He hadn’t touched it since.  There were no more enemies to fight, and the gun just reminded him of Shepard.

Bringing up his omni-tool once again, Garrus established a link using the information Michel provided him.  He only waited a second or two before a voice on the other end picked up.

“Garrus,” exclaimed the woman, “I am so glad you received my message.”

“About that Jane Doe,” he began, cutting straight to the chase, “I— do you need me to identify the b— her ?”

“No… it is Commander Shepard,” she explained, “I am absolutely certain.”

“ Oh, ” Garrus said with the breath he’d been holding.  He was glad he was already sitting down, as the last shreds of hope he’d been clinging to slipped from his grasp leaving him dizzy and sick.  It was Shepard.  She was dead. There was nothing to be done about it.

He took a minute to collect himself and his thoughts, cleared his throat and told the doctor, “I, uh…I’m not really sure how to— I mean, I guess I should make funeral arrangements. That’d be better than letting the Alliance—“

“Garrus,” Michel interjected firmly, “She’s alive.”

“ What,” he asked, more loudly than he’d intended.  Hoping nobody had overheard outside, he lowered his voice and continued, “I mean, how is she? What’s her condition? Is she going to—”

“I won’t lie to you,” the doctor interrupted again, “Her injuries are serious, and she has been comatose since we found her.  Still, her vitals are strong and stable at present. She is a fighter.”

“She is.”

The line was silent for a beat then Michel spoke up again.  “I had a wonder… Shepard’s body has, ehm… extensive cybernetic modification. More extensive than I have seen. We are not certain how, or if it is even possible to repair all of the damage.”

One name came immediately to mind. “Miranda Lawson.”

“Pardon?”

“You need to contact Miranda Lawson,” Garrus clarified,  “She is an ex-Cerberus operative, the scientist responsible for Shepard’s upgrades. And a friend. She will be able to help. I can send you her contact information.”

“Good, yes. I will contact her immediately,” Michel replied, relief noticeable in her voice. She then sighed and said, “I apologize for sending such a vague email.  I am realizing now that it was likely… anxiety provoking. I simply did not wish for the wrong people to find out about Shepard’s survival.”

Garrus huffed, “Yeah, if the media caught wind of this, it’d be a circus.”

“That is what I feared,” she agreed with a sigh, “Besides, I thought you should be the first to see her. I know she is important to you.”

“Thank you, doc. For everything.”

“It is the very least I can do.  I owe my life to the both of you. Twice over, now it would seem:”

“I’ll get to the Citadel as soon as I can.”

“Talk to you then.”

The call ended with a beep and Garrus shut off his omni-tool display, staring blankly at the wall on the opposite side of the room for several minutes, attempting to recover from the emotional whiplash the last half hour had given him.  He took a deep breath, rose to his feet, and headed back out to the mess hall.

All eyes turned to him as he made his way toward the memorial wall just outside the elevator.  EDI’s and Anderson’s names had already been placed, tears already shed. Now they looked to Garrus, Cortez approaching with the name plaque meant to commemorate Shepard’s death. He took the polished silver plate and examined it, light glinting off its corners as he stepped up to the wall.  For a long moment he traced the letters of a name that had come to mean so much to him, to those crowded in the narrow hallway around him, to the hundreds of thousands who’d cheered from ships in the massive fleet she’d rallied and led to victory, and to the billions of lives she’d saved across the galaxy.  Shepard deserved so much more than a name on a wall.

And now, just maybe, she could have it.

Garrus would have preferred to keep  Shepard’s survival to himself, to snag her from the hospital and elope to some secluded tropical paradise where nobody could ask anything of either of them again, except “Would you like a refill on that incredibly alcoholic beverage?” But he knew he couldn’t do that.  After all, he was not the only one who loved her.

Lowering the plaque, he turned to face the others, all of whom looked at him with a mix of confusion and concern.  He glanced down at Shepard’s name again, mandibles flaring out reflexively as relief and excitement swelled in his chest.

“They found her.  They found Shepard,” he told them, bringing his eyes to meet their gazes as he spoke. “She’s alive.”

[captusmomentum]

Works in Progress

Since @feynites posted a lil wip snippet of LG and opened it up to anyone I figure why not post a snippet from my own shitty fic that’s trapped in development hell.

So here’s some of AMD chap 3 for anyone who’s interested!

First things first on Inanallas' list of things to do was getting Solas settled in his new apartment and then getting him things he'd need, like toiletries, food, and more clothes. They left the office a few hours after they'd arrived to head over to the apartment building to sort things out there, get his key and give it a look over, seeing what they needed to buy. It was a pretty straight forward event since they'd worked out the bulk of it beforehand, he was in the same building as most of them, same floor as Dorian, Merrill and Professor Hightower.

The apartment itself was nothing to write home about, pre-furnished with the basics and small. Like the rest of the structure it had all the signs of a very old building that had been converted and modernized over the years. Visible pipes with decades of paint on them, a radiator that didn't do anything anymore, visible ductwork that did. A small kitchen inside a modest main living area, tolerably sized bathroom and a glorified alcove they were calling a bedroom.

He had no problem with any of it, it was functional and intended to be temporary and he'd certainly lived in worse places. He was somewhat looking forward to the opportunity to explore some of the newer elements in his own time. After the first look around the place he leaned idly on the wall. Inanallas pulled a small rectangular object from a hidden pocket in her skirt, touched some part of its black surface and an image of a wolf appeared-- only to be swiftly replaced by white, then something else.

His brow furrowed and he moved to lean over her shoulder to get a better look. "What is that?"

She looked up at him, then back down at the device, now white again.

"This? Oh it's um…." She bit her lip as she tried to suss out a description. "Well— how is your common? Should I talk in Elvhen?"

Solas shook his head. "In common first, please. I need to improve. You can use Elvhen if needed after."

She heaved a breath out and looked back down at the thing in her hand. He had noticed the tattoos before, but in the light of day and at this proximity without so much movement he could see them much better. Each hand appeared to have rings with smaller circles at their circle on back and palm while each finger had runes he recognized in the space above the knuckle. The runes were used for supplementing accuracy, aim and reach— not something he'd expected to see on a girl like her. Perhaps there were more conflicts than he anticipated at this time?

"Well, it's called a smartphone, you can use them to talk to people far away, you can also write to them. They have other things like notepads and games and math stuff and alarms and whatever." She shrugged, "They're pretty useful."

He watched her pull up examples as she talked, then hummed in understanding. "I should get one then…"

"Oh! Yeah! Right! Good catch, I'll add that to the list."

She opened up one of the functions and tapped out 'Phone' on the little alphabet that appeared.

"Okay so, phone. What else? Food, clothes, bathroom stuff, that's uh—"

Her slight fingers flew over the screen as the list grew, he was pleased to see he could read all of it, though the meanings of some of the words eluded him.

"Books," He offered "Histories, pens, notebooks, a clock? They have provided much of the base necessities it seems."

She looked up at him incredulously, mouthing 'base necessities'. "And you thought your common was bad?"

He shrugs. "I've had time to practice, but the language has changed over time and there are places I lack words completely. Generally in more recent or less common areas."

She eyes him in what he hopes is playful suspicion and not actual suspicion.  "Uh-huh. Sure. Well, we've got a lot of books and things at the office so unless you've got some specific things you'd like to pick up that we probably don't have to do that but I guess we can browse a bookstore—"   

She gasps suddenly and convulsively whips her hands together above her breast, knocking herself in the chin with her phone as she looks up at him wide eyed. Solas jerks a little, taken aback by the suddenness of her change of  tact.

"We should get you a computer!" she breathes.

His brow furrows. "A what?"

"A computer! Or—Well, a laptop really, a desktop wouldn't be practical at the moment. But, um, they're like phones but bigger? Better for writing, more space and easier to read on, they can also run things phones can't. A computer would make researching and all that a lot easier."

He takes a moment to make sure he's caught it all, he's not used to listening to people talk so fast and tries to imagine what on earth that would look like. "That certainly does sound useful, it's called a 'laptop'?"  

"Yeah, oh! I have mine on me, here—" She slips her phone back into the invisible pocket she'd pulled it from and opens up her bulging satchel, reaching in and pulling from it a thin, brightly colored something.

She shifts her grip on it with practiced ease and opens it up, revealing a screen and series of buttons with the common alphabet and numbers on them.  He immediately feels a rush of interest and vague recognition, certain he's seen devices that must be the predecessors to this, their basic arrangements are similar, though he notes this one seems to lack some of the other elements he'd seen with those other machines. Perhaps they were deemed no longer necessary? Or maybe consolidated into this considerably more compact form?

The colorful dalish design work on the exterior seems to be a clip-on carapace (an addition of her own then, he assumes) the spring green overlay on the buttons was modification as well. He glanced briefly at a note stuck to the small area in front of the alphabet and gave up on reading it the instant he saw the absolutely abysmal handwriting.

The hand that was not holding it up enters some sort of password and the screen shifts from diffused color to something that looks like a page from a book, large sections of text with the occasional image. This too is somewhat familiar he thinks, he's certain he's at least seen it once in the Fade.

Inanallas cursed softly, and quickly made the current page vanish, replacing it with another, more text heavy page. He raised a brow, looking at her briefly. Which she pointedly ignored and continued on.

"So this is a webpage, they're like little pockets of whatever people want to put there on the internet, which like a great big collection of whatever that anyone with a connection can get into. One of the things that's so great about it there are loads of databases—libraries— with lots of info on them. Some are like this one, totally free and open to everyone, and some aren't. This'll be super handy when you're looking into things, though it can also be kind of a nightmare. But internet safety can wait."

She uses the odd patch he'd been wondering the purpose of to move a small arrow across the screen and vanishes this page as well, revealing a large amount of mess over what looks like a very nice illustration of wolves or dogs, maybe both. She clicks on something else and something with incomplete writing pops up.

"You can write things like books and essays on it without mountains of paper, and some programs for it have lots of helpful features like easy citation or research organization. There are other things that are good for making or touching up art, you can listen to and organize music, store things you find and like. We have lots of programs for work that are science-y and archeology-y and yeah…"

She shrugs and it's that motion that makes them both realize how close he'd gotten in his quest to look more intently at the screen. They weren't touching, but he was leaning heavily over her shoulder, his head almost level with hers. He rose and took a step back, lacing his fingers in front of him.

"You're right. It certainly does seem like a prudent purchase."

"Great, I'll add it to the list. We can pick one up when we get you a phone…" She said distractedly, working at stuffing her laptop back into her heaving bag.

When she finally managed it she pulled her phone back out to do as she'd said and looked over what they'd come up with so far.

"Welp, I can't really think of anything else, this looks pretty good. We can always pick up more stuff later if we realize you need it." She looked at him. "Let's get going then."

Solas held the door for her and then exited himself, locking his new lodgings behind them. He was feeling more confident with where he stood now, he had a close ally and a foothold in this new world, not to mention his common was better than he'd originally guessed. Either the language had not changed much over the years or he'd observed more recent memories than he'd thought. Still, he was somewhat regretting have spent much of his time exploring less current events in the Fade because he really was quite certain once they hit the right vein of topics he'd be completely out of his depth with the language.

[fapangel]

199 chars, I got cites. I'll stick to actions and militia/cult behavior. The sniper attack on power station citation is you missing my point. Antifa has no weapon stockpiles or military training. The groups law enforcement see as a threat are the militias: "Law Enforcement Assessment of the Violent Extremist Threat". PBS: "armed militia groups surging across nation" Cult stuff: Business Insider:"right-wing-militias-recruit-young-soldiers-on-4chan-2017-5" psychologytoday:"the mind the militias".

Firstoff, pastebin.com is definitely the go-to for things like this -there’s no way anyone can make a cohesive argument in that tiny askbox. Just say “pastebin: and it’ll get you past that “no URLs”filter tumblr imposes. But I can answer these points/sources here: 

Have you heard of the John Brown club? They’rean antifa group - the usual insane anarchists - and they’re showingup at protests carrying loaded weapons. The Phoenix group inthat article made a video of themselves doingrange practice. I believe that qualifies as training, youknow, with those weapons you say they don’t have.What fucking training do you think the right-wingmilitias have besides target shooting and playing paintball in thewoods? In other words, exactly what these people are doing? 

And what the fuck do you mean stockpiles? Bro,I don’t know if you’re aware, but we live in America - you know,that free country? If you want a gun, are over 21,and don’t have a felony conviction on your record, you can walkinto any store, do 5 minutes of paperwork, wait for them to call theFBI background-check database and walk out with a new long gun. It’sthat fuckin simple. And they’re not that expensive either, you canget a decentAR-15 pattern rifle for under $500, easily. Same for ammo -you can easily buy bulk, online. The only state where both of thoseare harder is California, and I imagine that suits the huge mobs ofclub-armed antifa cunts just fine, because semi-auto firearms with large reloadable magazines are the best way to counter thugs that badly outnumber you. Stockpiles? That crazy fuck that shot the hell out of a US Representative and two Capitol police officers was using an SKS, a fucking WWII era Soviet rifle that loads from the top with fucking stripper clips. And look how much damage he did - it’s only pure dumb luck that nobody was killed or mortally wounded. 

... stockpiles?  Just how much do you know about guns? Here’s what I found in literally five goddamned seconds on ammoseek.com - you got $290, a credit card, and a shipping address? There you go, a thousand goddamned rounds of .223 Remington. Want two thousand? Three? Change the number in the “quantity” box.

Stockpiles? 

Anyway, I’m not surprised that PBS and pals are back at their fake news, doing their damnedest to gin up right-wing militias as the real threat even as they reply to attack after violent attack by radical Islamists with hey - not all Muslims! Yes, that is the trend; witness this Atlantic article trying to justify it.  But that’s beside the point. For starters, if you haven’t read my 6,500 word post on left wing vs right wing violence and violent rhetoric, I go into some depth with the whole militia thing there. For all their LARPing in the woods, swaggering and shit-talking, there hasn’t been any significant violence committed by right-wing militias since... forever, considering that Timothy McVeigh was never really part of one - and his attack was twenty-two years ago. Moreover, I cover how his attack - and the attention it drew to the militia movement - sent anywhere from “2/3rds” to “80%” (according to two different militia-affiliated folks being interviewed) scrambling away from them at high speed. Protip - actual terrorist organizations tend to attract attention when they manage huge, spectacular attacks - you know, like how Black Lives Matter is still going strong after multiple ambush attacks on cops? Gee. 

And that brings us to the essential point -  if these militias are really dangerous, and not just a bunch of shit-talking LARPers playing soldier in the woods - then where’s the violence? Again, as I document in that post, the only “cells” they find are a few shitheads talking shit in a bar too close to an FBI informant that eggs them on - one of them even gave them free automatic rifles to shoot, to get them all excited. 

As for this study, it’s a start, but this paper freely and breezily equates “anti-government extremism” with “right-wing extremism,” and that’s a false equivalency - because Antifa are anarcho-communists. Just read their handy-dandy guide to setting up an antifa group, where they call the state their enemy multiple times - as well as cops. Shit, they have a whole section on “state repression.” Also note the bit under “political orientation,” where they openly state - in case there was any doubt - that the majority of their membership in the US are anarchists. In case you weren’t aware, anarchists are, by definition, anti-government extremists. The list on page 4 covers “anti-capitalist violent extremism,” but considering that antifa are anarchists and anti-capitalists - where do they fall in the reporting? Did every agency report them the same? In light of antifa’s own literature (again, that guide) advocating strongly that they not even name their groups and keep their identities secret as long as possible, how accurate is each agencies accounting? Hell, where do right-wing terrorist groups fall on this scale, considering there’s several anti-immigration militias that focus on finding and reporting illegal immigrants? Doesn’t that qualify as racist? Or are they anti-government, considering that anti-government sentiments tend to run pretty strong in groups like that, especially with a black Democrat in office who personally did as much as he could to hamper border control efforts?

Shit, by their own admission on page 4, they defined “Al-Qaeda inspired violent extremism” as “violent extremism inspired by the radical Islamist ideas advocated by al-Qaeda and other like-minded extremist groups,” and every other category with one general example; “violent extremism motivated by any other political, social, or religious concerns, including, but not limited to, anti-government, racist, radical, environmentalist, or anti-capitalist views. Oklahoma City bomber Timothy McVeigh, the Unabomber (Ted Kaczynski,) and the Sikh temple shooter, Wade Michael Page, are examples of ‘other violent extremists.” So they only define one category well, loosely define the others, and then they start standing around characterizing the results with terminology (right wing, left wing) they didn’t even use in the fucking survey? When all those other categories were lumped together into “other violent extremism” in other categories? 

And then there’s other data-sets - one just adds up every every crime committed by “groups or individuals with far-right associations,” (which would include every skinhead robbing a gas station, which they do a lot, because skinheads are dime-store hoods almost by definition,) and the well defined report - focusing on premeditated plots by individuals or groups that rise to the level of attempted or actual domestic terrorism,” has a whopping total of... 34 incidents listed in 14 years, and is published by the Anti-Defamation League, which is a fucking activist group, not academics, or law enforcement. Wew lad. The Global Terrorism database is better - more data, and a good definition of qualifying incidents - but it’s only being compared to Islamic extremist terrorist attacks in the US, not left wing domestic terrorism, which is what we’re discussing here. 

Bruh, this is some pretty rough shit, here - all twelve pages of it. Especially that bit at the end where they make a claim about how law enforcement agencies see “right wing terrorism” (a phrase used nowhere in their survey to said law enforcement agencies) as a bigger threat in the city than in rural areas. Yeah, dense urban areas, which overwhelmingly vote Democrat, as anyone who’s seen a county-by-county electoral map can tell you, are the hotbeds of right-wing militias? 

Bruh. Bruh. 

But, listen, you’re actually doing your fucking homework here, which is more than most assholes can say, so lemme help you. The FBI is a great resource here - not only do they publicly publish huge annual reports on all sorts of categories of violence, (law enforcement officers killed and assaulted, general crime stats, hate crime stats, etc,) but they watch fucking everyone. There is no group too big or too small for them to not worry about - they’re basically a domestic surveillance agency. That’s why you have agents going out of their way to hand out automatic rifles to a trio of knuckle-dragging rednecks to egg them on till they can arrest them - these guys have time and resources to spare, apparently. They watch everyone - and they cover them, too, with published reports. I’ve read their reports on motorcycle gangs, and in researching that big post on violence, I found (and used) their public information on the “Sovereign Citizen” movement, which is definitely right-wing. While we’re at it, here’s their page on anarchist extremism. Note that page is out of date, though: 

For today’s generation of American anarchist extremists, the rioting that disrupted the 1999 World Trade Organization meetings in Seattle is the standard by which they measure “success”—it resulted in millions of dollars in property damage and economic loss and injuries to hundreds of law enforcement officers and bystanders. But fortunately, they haven’t been able to duplicate what happened in Seattle… 

LOL HAMBURG. But you get my point - the FBI watches everyone, even esoteric groups like anti/pro abortion “activists” that get a little out of hand. So the FBI is an excellent primary source to go to - certainly better than another PBS hit piece which is also regurgitating data from the “Anti-Defamation League” and making claims of “thousands” of people flooding to the Sovereign Citizen movement, without citing any source at all. Especially when they started in on how dangerous sovereign citizens are! As I noted in my big effortpost (see that for the links,) Sovereign Citizens managed to kill six police officers since the year 2000 - but twenty officers have been ambushed and murdered in 2016 alone, with multiple attacks committed by black people acting on black separatist/revolutionary rhetoric, including the Dallas shooting (killing five and wounding nine) and the Baton Rouge shooting nobody seems to have heard about (killing three and wounding three.) The latest ambush murder of a police officer in New York was similarly motivated - I haven’t even counted the ambush killings of cops in 2017 yet. But yeah, man, the fuckin right wing millitias are the real threat! Hooooo boy, how fucking hard can they shill? 

Anyway, here’s the FBI’s resources page, complete with all their copious reports in .pdf format, including several on terrorism related topics. I’ll bet $5 you can make a better argument than fuckin PBS with just what you find here. I’d also track down the sources cited in that 12 page “paper” you linked and read them yourself, see what you can get out of them. That should be a good start, at least. 

[siavahdainthemoon]

'this is problematic’ culture vs ‘it’s just fiction’ culture

Look, here’s the thing. I know this site is super divided between ‘this content/your fave/that pairing is sUpeR ProBlemAtic’ and ‘sit up shut down let me enjoy the thing’, and it’s an argument that generally doesn’t go well, because on the one hand the people who cry ‘problematic!’ are often really black/white about it and waaaay too happy to abuse/attack/demonise people for mistakes, and on the other hand people who love their Things get understandably super defensive and protective of them when they’re attacked.

And there’s a whole lot of issues tangled up in there about puritan moralities and generational values and pre- and post-9/11 cultural ideology, and it’s all relevant and important, and if we’re going to have this conversation then it needs to be calm and rational and nobody doxxing or screaming abuse at anybody else.

Particularly at kids and teenagers, for Lilith’s fucking sake. Like any of us were perfect at twelve or sixteen or whatever. Like any of us are perfect now.

We are all human. That means we’re all flawed. We’re all complicated. When people fuck up, you point it out and give them a chance to do better. Equally, when you fuck up, swallow that defensiveness, own up, apologise, and do better next time. Fucking up doesn’t make you a bad person; you’re a bad person (or at least a fucking idiot) if you refuse to consider/admit that you might have been rude/done harm/hurt somebody and continue the behaviour. 

That said.

A story is never just a story.

It doesn’t matter if you’re the creator or the consumer: it doesn’t matter if we’re talking about books or films or shows or video games. If a human created it, it contains biases and opinions, deliberately put in there or unconsciously. The fluffiest sweetest romance novel has things to say about sexuality and relationships and gender roles. The most self-indulgent action film with All Teh Explosions reinforces cultural ideals of masculinity and heroism. 

This is a fact. You don’t get to debate about this. 

It’s also not at all a bad thing, intrinsically. It’s just how the world works, how our minds work, how we tell stories. If nothing had any meaning, nothing would matter. Stories wouldn’t affect us the way they do, the way we need them to as human beings, if they didn’t speak to us this way, on a conscious or subconscious level.  

The reason it becomes an issue, sometimes, is because what stories say affect us.

It doesn’t matter that you don’t ‘see’ the message, the bias, the opinions. It doesn’t matter that you’re just enjoying a fluff fic or a thriller, gods, stop making it political. You don’t have to take a book apart in English Lit for it to literally affect how your brain works. It just happens.

Don’t believe me? I have receipts: here’s a study proving reading Harry Potter reduces prejudice. Here’s an article about the neuroscience of how film clips create empathy (or a 5 minute video running through the same info and study, if you prefer). Here’s another on how the brain basically can’t differentiate between actions and senses read in a novel and real life ones, and, again, heightens empathy for others. Here’s a Ted Talk by neuroscientist Uri Hasson on how our brains sync up while communicating, and how a single sentence can make us think like other members of the group. Here’s an article that sources several different studies on how our brains confuse metaphors with reality and how it affects our behaviour. Here’s a video rundown of the neuroscience of empathy and mirror neurons, and here’s an article full of citations on how not only can fiction make you feel, but readers and writers both score higher on empathic tests than the general population. Here’s a brief Ted Talk linking cultural folklore to gender inequality; here’s an article about how facts don’t change our minds, and here’s another about how stories do. Here is a tumblr post (because it’s the best explanation I can find of the subject) about how our brains learn visual ‘shorthand’ that doesn’t differentiate between real-life experiences and what we see in film and tv, and why that makes the stories we tell sometimes dangerous and always important.

So, again, this is not something you get to debate. Stories, both fictional and not, affect our brain chemistry, our empathy, our prejudices, our beliefs, and our behaviour. Scientific fact, not up for discussion. 

This is why it is, actually, fucking important to discuss problematic elements in our fiction. Because without conscious and deliberate critical thinking, the vast majority of us do just absorb the things we see and read. @fozmeadows, whose blog you should be following as a matter of course, said ‘depiction is not endorsement, but it is perpetuation’. When a story depicts a harmful idea or concept (I would like to add, in the wrong way, because it is absolutely possible to tackle or explore dark gritty topics in way where the narrative makes it clear that This Is Not Okay In Real Life Kids, even if you are dealing with messed up characters who think that it totally is; no one with any sense is demanding that All Fiction 5ever Must Be Only Cotton-Candy And Puppies, how boring that would be), it normalises that concept. Having every black guy (or the only black guy) in your film be a vicious criminal reinforces the cultural mythos far too many white people have that All Black Men Are Ebil. This does not just apply to racism. I will defend the obsessive loves of tween and teen girls to the death, but the romantic relationships in the Twilight series are objectively abusive and framing them as romantic is dangerous; not because young girls are stupid, but because if you absorb without critique a story that tells you your Love Interest taking the wheels off your car so you can’t visit someone he disapproves of is romantic, then why would you not believe the same behaviour is romantic in real life? That has become your definition of romance, and applied to real life, that is scary.

I think the important point here, though, is, if you absorb a story without critique. Everyone is allowed to like what they like; you don’t get to sneer or snarl at someone who likes Twilight just because there are problematic elements in it. What you should do, particularly if you’re talking to a young person, is check in that they know real-life romances shouldn’t work like that, and then move on once you’re sure they understand. You can ship unhealthy ships and you can guiltily or proudly enjoy any piece of media you want, as long as you acknowledge, within yourself, that there are pieces of this story you should not add to your Template For Real Life. 

And content creators - you can also tell any story that you like. But don’t for one second pretend, ever, that your story is only entertainment. It isn’t. It never is. Do with that responsibility what you will - nobody can stop you - but be aware of it.

That’s it. Don’t scream at or doxx or abuse anyone who likes what you don’t like, even if it’s problematic. Don’t defend the problematic elements in what you like, just acknowledge them and continue on with your lives. Try and tell stories that are fun and epic and also make the world a little better.

As you were.