#like i know there was the whole environmental movement back then and people were like. aware of climate change sort of

[muirneach]

from 1972. haha okay. chuckles. we are so fucked lol

[alpaca-clouds]

German Solarpunk - Did I Mess This Up?

A bit ago, I was doing the thing I will do from time to time: Go through book releases on Amazon (yeah I know Amazon sucks, but what can I do? I literally do not even have a small bookstore around) and putting Solarpunk-stuff on my wishlist (hint: My birthday is in a month). However, doing so I realized one thing: There is a surprising number of German novels that are listed as Solarpunk... With only one issue: None of them are punk. Or even much solar. And I cannot help but wonder: Is this my fault?

Now, this question might seem presumptuous, or even narcissistic, until I tell you something else: Solarpunk was very much a non-topic in German Scifi/Fantasy writing until 2021. Looking through google it was mentioned in like two or three blogs, and there was one group in Hamburg, who was promoting the movement-part of Solarpunk. But writing wise? Yeah, not really a thing.

And then, during the pandemic, in summer of 2021 I made a thread on twitter about the genre. And somehow that thread went viral. People loved it. They loved the idea of Solarpunk. And especially in the pandemic, it just seemed the time was rife for this. I got a chance to write essays on the topic and the genre for several fantasy publications in Germany between summer 2021 and summer 2022.

And those books that I found on Amazon tagged as Solarpunk? Yeah, they released between 2022 and today. Which is why I have to wonder: Did I mess this up? Did I not communicate it well enough?

I did indeed never talk about the punk factor. Mostly because back then I assumed it was a given. Sure, I knew that Germans were not that big on doing the whole punk aspect with Cyberpunk either. I just thought, well...

I am not going to name names. But let me just go through some of the stuff I found.

A trilogy releasing between 2022 and 2024 about an AI taking over a world. Very much a Cyberpunk setting, though not with particularly strong anticapitalist themes. There is not even a lot of environmental or renewable stuff in this story. No fucking clue why it was tagged as Solarpunk.

A fantasy trilogy that started releasing early 2023 (and is not yet released in full), which only thing that might imply Solar-anything is that it features a sun goddess as an important character.

A game with its own short story collection, which is simply a fantasy post-apocalyptic setting, though at the very least it does have some environmental themes.

A scifi novel about slavery - that very much also has a Cyberpunk setting.

Another scifi series about people in Cyberspace. This one I know was originally just tagged Cyberpunk and when Solarpunk started to get hyped, the author just added the tag to it.

A fantasy fairytale retelling, in which I know for a fact not even a single environmental theme is featured.

And I am honestly just wondering: What is happening here? Do people not understand what Solarpunk is? Do they not understand that it is more than an aesthetic? I definitely made that one quite clear. Or do they just use the tag because right now it definitely is a very hyped topic in Germany. I mean, like fuck. The news made a segment about Solarpunk earlier this year! The bloody main news show we have in our country. A variety of news papers also wrote about it during the last two years.

Or to put it differently: Given the genre gets hyped here right now, there is a good chance that you might actually be abled to push something onto one of the big publishers by tagging it with Solarpunk.

And I... I mostly feel frustrated. Because people really do just ignore what the genre is about. Hell, half of the stuff does even ignore the aesthetic and just goes... Well, I don't bloody know what the people are thinking.

But a part of me wonders, whether I should have made more of an effort in communicating the punk aspects. Sure, I talked about how it is anti-capitalist and all that, but... Yeah, honestly. I don't know.

[mllemaenad]

So ... I remembered that the Skyline Valley update exists for Fallout 76 and since it has nothing to do with the Brotherhood of Steel, and in fact deals with one of my favourite bits of Fallout lore (ghouls!), I thought I'd dip my toe back in and do that part.

But ... ohhhhh. That was to be one of the most frustrating experiences of my existence.

To be clear, I also found a lot of the mechanics of, say, the Expeditions extremely frustrating. I feel like Fallout games encourage solo play (read the terminals, chat to the NPCs, look for notes, examine the scenes for environmental storytelling), and this is true of Fallout 76 as well, but the bullet-sponge waves of enemies encourage group play, which doesn't generally involve engaging deeply with the story. So I found playing those difficult to deal with.

But in story terms? The grim backstory of the Pitt; the brutal knowledge of how this must end; the ... well, tragic beauty in the fact that the old trade unions kept fighting the good fight even after the bombs fell – it added something. Likewise Atlantic City. By the end of it Tessa was so done with all of those people (except poor Vin, who should run the hell away and never look back), but it was a story – and another glimpse at a new part of the post war world.

But the whole Vault 63 experience was just ... infuriating.

Its biggest issue was that it had so many interesting ideas and spent zero time exploring any of them.

First, Vault 63 is supposed to be enormous. A vault the size of a city, in which the dwellers still had to commute to work every morning on underground trains. This alone sounds like a profoundly interesting idea. We know, for example, that suspicion of Vault-Tec was high in Appalachia. The Free States movement was specifically formed around the idea that a sinister shadow government was pushing the world inexorably toward nuclear war, and that Vault-Tec and the US government were conspiring against the people of America. Sam Blackwell should have been all over this. But ... no? This massive construction effort seems to have had virtually no impact on the region, and to the small extent it did only people actually involved in the DLC noticed it.

A gigantic vault might have been a fascinating thing to explore – to see how it worked, and how that society ran itself. Except you can't. Virtually all of it has been blown up by the time you get there, and you can only visit small, disconnected areas. There are hardly any terminals and you can't talk to most of the residents. I feel like I have far less handle on the culture of Vault 63 than I do of, say, Vault 94 – and they were all dead by the time the game started! But you could walk through their vault, and look at how they lived their lives, and read their stories.

Second, the thing about Vault 63 is that it is entirely populated by ghouls because it was improperly shielded and did not protect its residents from radiation exposure when the bombs dropped. Now ... that's not the first time we've told that story. It is also the story of the west coast Vault 12 of Bakersfield. I might roll my eyes at repeating the idea, but, well, it had the potential to do something quite new and engaging.

The original Fallout starts in 2161, some 84 years after the Great War. There are very few non-ghoul first generation survivors at this point, and even for the ghouls the war was a very, very long time ago. Fallout 76 starts in 2102 and the current game year is 2105. We are up to our eyeballs in first generation survivors, and one of the most interesting things about the story is the mix of old and new: the people who can tell you their pre-war jobs, and where they lived and what they did; the truckers who became caravanners; the Unionists in the Pitt whose campaign for workers' rights has transformed into a fight against slavery; the people who keep on doing what they did before, with a few post-apocalyptic tweaks.

You could look at what the start of a ghoul community looks like. If you look at Vault 12/Necropolis and Underworld both are, pretty obviously, death themed. And sure, that's a little on the nose with the whole ghoul thing, but that's Fallout for you. But more to the point, it encapsulates the experience of a ghoul community. Because from their perspective, they are the survivors of a plague. Most people in the Fallout world, when exposed to radiation, just fucking die, exactly like in the real world. A small number become ghouls. The thing about the Great War is, if you expose virtually everybody at once to a lot of radiation, you find out very quickly who can become a ghoul.

People in ghoul cities will have watched their friends and family die horribly. They will have gotten "sick" themselves, losing hair and skin, and then miraculously kept on living. Their homes will have been packed with corpses, which people will have wanted to bury and mourn, and which public safety will have demanded be disposed of – and likely they will have had no way to do either of those things on that scale.

If you think of all those 14th century European dancing skeletons, you can see where the ghouls might be coming from.

It's a grim but fascinating idea. Scale that up to a community the size of Vault 63 and you can imagine a true city of the dead: whole streets given over as mausoleums for corpses (and later, rooms where the feral were sedated), areas shut down and abandoned for want of inhabitants, everything running at half speed and half power because the people who are supposed to run the place are gone. A twilight city of survivors, who still have a vivid memory of that experience.

You know what the bits of Vault 63 you can access look like? A normal fucking vault. The characters are barely interested in the fact that they're ghouls, except for the occasional bit of dialogue about whether there are people above ground like this too.

Third, the characters of Vault 63 have faced a persistent problem of feralisation for years. While in theory the whole plot revolves around their attempts to address this, the story gives it virtually no weight.

We don't talk about when it started, or their theories as to why it was happening. Now – you can try to do some storytelling legwork for them. Imagine a vault built to hold thousands reduced to a population of hundreds. Imagine the scale of the death in a place that was large and yet still confined. Imagine a surreal world where the overseer is your old pre-war boss and for some fucking reason he is still expecting you to meet the original quotas even though two thirds of your department died of radiation sickness and you personally are mourning the death of your spouse. You could see how people might not cope.

But nope! We're not discussing that. Something, something, weather machine – and we move right on to the Lost. The thing about the Lost, though, is that I kind of think they're the only ones behaving normally about the situation. This is this community's third apocalypse in the space of 30 years. It's like Buffy the Vampire Slayer in there, with less genre awareness. They lost people to the war, they lost people to feralisation, they lost the remainder to the Storm. More people should be screaming about ghosts and having nervous breakdowns in the forest!

Unfortunately, the story doesn't even seem deeply interested in the condition of the Lost – it's much more interested in setting up mysteries to which everyone already knows the answers. Hugo Stolz introduces himself as a member of Vault-Tec's board of directors. The easily accessible terminal right next to where you first meet him contains references to his association with Calvert and Desmond Lockheart.

So, yeah, he's the bad guy. I appreciate that not everyone will have played Fallout 3, but I think by this point everyone's clear on Vault-Tec being a problem. We did not need a half dozen quests demonstrating that Hugo is just manipulating everyone around him. He's a Vault-Tec overseer. That is literally his job.

It is especially frustrating when the game effectively railroads you into pretending you don't know that. Obviously, your player character is a vault dweller themselves. This is very much familiar territory. But there does come a point where the situation becomes almost absurdly obvious. A group who initially present themselves as "mothman cultists" show up. However, when you infiltrate them it is revealed that they are in fact a group specifically opposing Hugo Stolz – he took their land to develop his vault and when the bombs dropped locked them out of the shelter, despite promising them places. Their leader is Alex, the ex-girlfriend of Hugo's daughter, who has been presumed dead after Hugo sent assassins after her.

This feels like a juicy bit of drama. On the one hand – these people have every right to be angry. What Hugo did to them was terrible. On the other hand ... it wouldn't have mattered. The vault was poorly shielded. Any of the loved ones they lost to radiation would have died anyway. And Alex was a problem for the Stolz family because she had communist sympathies. This could be setting up for a really interesting ... nope. Nope. It's not setting you up for anything. The game forces you to kill all the cultists, whether you want to or not.

And the whole thing leads up to a painfully long boss battle (why the fuck do I have to kill this middle aged ghoulified business executive three times) that should never have happened in the first place. Hugo is the bad guy. Clearly. Why are we letting him leave the damn vault?

Tessa broke all four of her guns fighting him in the end, and that will cost a fortune in scrap to repair.

The whole thing is just baffling. They could have explored any one of these ideas and made it an intriguing new bit of lore. Instead ... this.

[rjzimmerman]

Are There Forever Chemicals in Your Drinking Water? (Heatmap News)

Excerpt:

Approximately 32,000 people drink the tap water in Moses Lake, Washington, an agricultural town in the Columbia River basin approximately 175 miles to the east of Seattle. If you were to sip that water over the course of a lifetime, you’d consume 7,457 times the recommended limit of perfluorooctane sulfonate and perfluorooctanoic acid — two chemicals that fall under the umbrella of per- and polyfluoroalkyl substances, also known as PFAS or “forever chemicals.”

Moses Lake’s contaminated groundwater dates back to when the town was the site of the Larson Air Force Base, which was also usedfor years as a dump site for toxic waste. But its story is not unique: the city’s water utility is one of 563 in the Environmental Working Group’s newly updated tap water database to report unsafe levels of PFOA and PFOS. That’s not even to mention all the other possible PFAS contaminants that can be found in drinking water or the utilities that haven’t tested for PFAS at all.

Though the Environmental Protection Agency is required by a 1996 amendment to the Safe Water Drinking Act to report drinking water data, it’s never released a comprehensive database, and information can be hard to come by. EWG, a nonprofit that focuses on contaminants and toxins, synthesized reports from 50,000 individual water systems across the country, looking at more than 300 contaminants beyond PFAS. It also offers fairly conservative exposure recommendations for each, often based on California’s public health goals. “EWG is filling this need for people to have a national clearinghouse where they can easily access their drinking water data,” Tasha Stoiber, a senior scientist with EWG, told me.

The United States Geological Survey estimates that as much as 20%of Americans drink, bathe, and brush their teeth with PFAS-contaminated water. But unless you know where to look — or bother to — you could be drinking the chemicals entirely unawares. “The first step is to find out about what’s in your drinking water,” Stoiber added. “Depending on where you are, the quality of your drinking water can vary.”

The obvious safeguard here is federal regulations. But despite PFAS being linked to a whole host of poor health outcomes, including kidney and testicular cancer, decreased fertility, and thyroid disease, the Environmental Protection Agency only announced legally enforceable limits for six PFAS chemicals in drinking water last year, under President Joe Biden. (The EPA has estimated that the quantifiable health benefits of those six regulations alone reach $1.5 billion annually.) At the same time, a Biden-era effort to limit PFAS discharged into industrial wastewater — which can subsequently spread to drinking water — stalled out in 2024, and never advanced past the notice phase of the rulemaking process. President Trump promptly scrapped the draft guidelines after taking office.

The future of PFAS regulation now hangs in a strange limbo. Though EPA Administrator Lee Zeldin previously voted for regulating some PFAS in drinking water while serving as a New York congressman, the deregulatory influences in the Trump administration seem poised to win out over the voices in the Make America Healthy Again camp epitomized by Robert F. Kennedy, Jr.’s often conspiratorial emphasis on “wellness.” (While some concerns, like microplastics and PFAS, are backed by ample research, the right-wing health movement also expresses skepticism about long-proven health measures like pasteurization and vaccines.)

I used the EWG database to determine the toxicity of our drinking water in River Forest, Illinois. I used the data from a neighboring suburb (Oak Park), which has the same source of drinking water (Lake Michigan water, purchased through the City of Chicago's facilities.) Here's what I learned, which ain't making me happy:

[felassan]

Mark Darrah on Dragon Age 4, from his recent Old Game Dev Advice Q&A video

[source and watchlink] Q. [this question wasn't DA4-specific but ties to the next one] "How would you describe the ideal villain in a story, video games or otherwise?"

A. "What I think you want in a villain, you either want something that is essentially environmental, so that is essentially just a hurricane that you're fighting, or you want something whose motivations you can understand but disagree with. In a video game in particular, you don't want someone whose side you're on because you're still gonna have to defeat them. That might work in a movie where you can have a villain where you understand them and kinda root for them, but you don't really wanna be rooting for the antagonist in a video game where you're going to have to actually stop them."

Q. [follow-up to the prior question] "How is that going to work for Solas then? Some players are very much on his side."

A. "I guess stay tuned, it's not my problem anymore."

Q. "What does a game need to thrive? You said in December that Dragon Age 4 would thrive without you, but most of us have some concerns."

A. "I think it's about, I mean a game is not built by a single person, it's built by a team, and it's about the whole, it's not about any one individual. So I think if you have people in place that know what is in the DNA of the game, then it's in good hands. I think it's worth remembering that I am the person who came on to ship Dragon Age: Origins, I am not the person who was on for most of its development from a leadership perspective, so this has happened before, and it can be fine."

Q. "Can you share anything Solavellan-related with us?"

A. "I put this in here just so I could say no, because I'm not going to either steal a card out of BioWare's deck or potentially spoil something or otherwise change/reveal what they're planning to do. Honestly, anything that was planned could still happen, anything that was planned when I left might have already changed out from underneath me, so my answer is no, I don't have anything to share there."

Q. "I think what most people forget to ask is 'How long would a Dragon Age remake take?' because if they remake Dragon Age: Origins they might have to knock Dragon Age 5 back to 2030."

A. "So, honestly, one of the reasons, at one point, in Joplin days, there was a plan to make a toolset again. There wasn't really any interest within the greater Frostbite organization for that, so it died very early, but one of my motivations for that was to get a toolset that would be sufficient enough that we could find almost-professional modders, basically promote them into professional modders, and work with them to remake Dragon Age: Origins. There you go, spoilers. Well I guess not spoilers, cause it's not gonna happen."

Q. "BioWare seems pretty uninterested in modders these days."

A. "Unfortunately, I mean we love modders but yeah, I get that. Frostbite is a barrier for that for sure because it prevents us from releasing some of the background that would be required. There had been a moment, or there was a movement that had started just before I left that might change that, EA is becoming much more interested in the modding community and user-created content, so stay tuned maybe?"

Q. "I recall reading that having staff going on nature trips was part of the process for Dragon Age: Inquisition, is there any truth to this [and how is it budgeted/expensed for]?"

A. "Yes, we did do that. I would say that Dragon Age is very pragmatic in its spending, most of those things were done locally. We also went to Drumheller [pop “Drumheller” into Google images] for reference stuff for Dragon Age 4. Anthem went to Hawaiʻi to do capture. It's greenlit as an expense by me, we have a budget for reference materials and things like that, so the person in charge of the project's gonna greenlight it. If it gets too big you might have to go up the chain to do it. If you're gonna go and spend a month in Gibraltar to capture a specific castle and it's gonna cost $500,000 then yeah that's bigger than that. But if it's tens of thousands of dollars it's way within my ability to approve. It's very worth doing because you get reference materials, these days you get photogrammetry materials, but also it's good for the artists and designers as well to see things out in the wild."

Q. "Any expectations from The Game Awards announcements?"

A. "I don't know if Dragon Age or Mass Effect or anything from BioWare is going to be there. Yeah, I don't know."

Q. "What is your opinion of Jason Schreier's articles about BioWare?"

A. "I'll say kind of no comment. I would say that the video game press has been struggling to figure out if it wants to have real journalists or not. And by real journalists I mean people who are gonna dig around and figure things out and break stories. And journalists like that, they're not going to be liked by the industry, but they might be necessary to improve the industry as well. So yeah, that's what I'd say about that."

Q. "Any chance we would get Hawke's marriage scene in Dragon Age 4?"

A. “Well I don't know. Possibly. I doubt it. But, possibly. That's really a question for BioWare, not for me.”

Q. [on how BioWare has been interacted with/portrayed by fans/press/social media etc]

A. "I've talked about social media and how extreme it's become, that is certainly true. I don't think that BioWare has been singled out or anything. I would say this, that people love a 'fall from grace' story. The only thing they love more than a 'fall from grace' story is a redemption story, so maybe BioWare's on its redemption arc now. I think people will get on board that, as much as they got on board with the 'fall from grace' story that happened, how's that."

Q. [chat comment] "Hawke is 33% dead in Dragon Age 4."

A. "Yes, that's right, Hawke is 33% dead in Dragon Age 4."

Q. "Do you happen to know if the stealth and/or pickpocket skills will ever come back in Dragon Age?"

A. "I don't happen to know that. It's possible."

Q. [Will future Dragon Ages ever return to dark fantasy as a specific genre?]

A. "So, first answer to that is Inquisition is the most-acclaimed of the Dragon Ages. Will it ever return to dark fantasy? I don't know. For me I feel like dark fantasy can be hard to work on, it can be really draining, it can be really exhausting. I think there are other players [studios/companies] in the space that are doing dark fantasy just fine, so I don't know that BioWare is necessarily interested in competing head-to-head against those studios, so... maybe, I doubt it."

Q. "What do you think of Christian Dailey?"

A. "I'm a big fan of Christian Dailey, we worked together on Anthem. I don't know how things are going on Dragon Age right now but I have high confidence in him."

Q. "What are your greatest hopes with Dragon Age?"

A. "So for me, a lot of it is about moving the conversation forward in terms of more diverse people in the games, more broader perspectives around a lot of things. I hope that continues. I think it has a ways to go. That's my hope, that they keep pushing on that."

Q. [on Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening plot points]

A. "The Architect is out there still, so will that thread ever come back up again? Possibly, but I don't think it's in the foreground right now. Awakening is obviously the least played of all the Dragon Ages, even though it did have a very good attach rate. So [will they come up again?], maybe."

Q. [on Dragon Age 4's development time]

A. "The much longer Dragon Age cycle more than anything has been caused by externalities to Dragon Age. So Joplin started in 2015, late 2015, but then that got derailed by Mass Effect: Andromeda. Then it got back up and running and then it got derailed again by Anthem. So if you only count from Anthem shipping, it hasn't been that long." Q. "How did you manage to capture faces in mo-cap during the pandemic? Has it been a problem when you were at BioWare in 2020?"

A. "There wasn’t a lot going on in 2020 but actually they were sending entire hardware packages to voice actors to set up and do it, so microphones, cameras, the whole works. We were, in my final days we were looking to try to start doing mo-cap again, and actually we did do some mo-cap in Vancouver, but it was kind of ridiculous because they were only letting one person on the stage, so they did actually capture a scene with one actor playing all parts, which was an amazingly impressive technological feat, but I’m not entirely sure was worth the trouble."

Q. ​ "You mentioned one of the reasons you left BioWare is because of Dragon Age getting derailed. Doesn't that mean if it didn't get derailed you would still be at BioWare? Or would you have still left?"

A. "There are lots of reasons. I had decided to leave a lot sooner than my actual resignation so, probably I would have still left, it’s hard to say."

Q. "What do you mean by Dragon Age getting derailed?"

A. "I just mean getting reset with people being pulled off it to work on other things, to work on Andromeda, to work on Anthem."

Q. [on choices and associated resulting ongoing complexity]

A. "Dragon Age actually has occasionally canonized some choices, it hasn’t always been obvious, but yes, Dragon Age gets around this by - this is one of the major reasons why it’s a new protagonist, because it lets us move past romance choices and characters that may be living or dead. The biggest quantum consequence comes from Dragon Age: Origins which was basically built kind of with the assumption that there was never going to be another one, I think, so there is just a lot of quantum coming from Origins. Dragon Age 2 and Dragon Age: Inquisition have done a fairly good job of collapsing that by moving past those things or moving to different regions. I think in the comics and novels there’s been a bit more canon collapsing, but I believe you should try to respect peoples’ choices as much as you can possibly do so."

Q. "Are the stats from previous games, e.g. how many people romanced or killed a character etc, taken into account when developing future content, or do the writers try and ignore it?"

A. "Yeah, we definitely do pay attention to that. You can go too far, for sure, but you need to know that, you know, nobody plays a dwarf or everyone hates this romance character."

Q. "Do you think that Dragon Age 4 is going to hit the 100 GB-mark?"

A. "There are still hardware limitations there in terms of, publishers don’t want you to go to multiple discs if you can possibly avoid it, it makes things really a lot more expensive because you need different packaging, and an extra disc. As long as we have physical copies being a significant part of the development process I suspect the answer is no, but we’ll see."

Bonus - On Dragon Age: The Last Court:

"The reason why Dragon Age: The Last Court, I know for a fact the reason why it got removed for Dragon Age was because of a legal reason, it needed to be updated to some sort of new privacy laws, and it was decided that it wasn’t worth doing so." 

[source and watchlink]

[meruz]

i was gonna draw tonight but i dropped my tablet pen and the barrel of the pen broke off and flew somewhere underneath (??) my bed (?) and now i cant find it so I’m just gonna answer asks before bed instead. just some art asks and more mentions of infinity train LOL

What program and brushes do you use when making your art?

@ravki hi! part of this is in my FAQ but i’ll say it again anyways LOL: I use photoshop CC and have used photoshop for pretty much....my whole art career. I’ve dabbled in clip and paint tool sai in the past but photoshop is my true wife, we eloped away from her awful father adobe many years ago and are very happy together. 

as for brushes... I should prob put this info in my FAQ too lol,... my default brush set is actually free to download here! Tho I will say I also use steve ahn’s storyboarding brush sometimes and lately i’ve been using shiyoon kim’s brushes A TON. Shiyoon’s cost a couple bucks but they’re super worth it imo

How do you choose colors?

This is kind of a difficult one to describe from scratch but hmm.... I’ll put it this way. Generally when I go into coloring or painting something I already have some colors in mind. Like for a certain piece I know I want a bright green, or a magenta, or a dark blue in certain areas. A lot of the time I know a mood I want. So I’ll start with that core color tone and build around it. I’ll use an example from a recent piece

So you can see here that the first color I accessed was that bright cyan. So I start with that bright cyan and then bring in its “friends” in the form of analogous colors (shown below on the far left)

greens greys etc. THEN I know I want the characters to stand out against all the blue so I start laying down warm contrasting colors for them (middle group). the mat under them is orange, skin tones are warm, ryans flannel is red etc. then to get them to work together I work more cool colors into the shadows and slightly warmer (not too warm because its a cool img overall so in this case, greener LOL) colors into highlights. 

hope that makes sense? for me choosing colors is a lot about story and composition. If you know what you want to say, the mood you want to create, where you want to go, the path to get there becomes a lot clearer imo.

Have you ever considered making an art book?

I have! But I don’t think I currently have enough...original illustrations for one LOL? Not that an art book has to be all original work but if I were putting fanart in an art book...at that point I’d just make a fanzine. I’m making more original work lately though so maybe this year....? Who knows. For now, I do have a sketchbook up on gumroad. Hoping to do one of those next year too.

Any tips for keeping background drawings from getting super stiff, especially since things like interiors have a lot of straight lines?

This is a really interesting ask. Really great question that I don’t think gets asked enough - forgive me if I get a bit art school here but I drew up some examples.

First I think we have to investigate the assumption that straight lines make things stiff. That seems true on an instinctual level and certainly proves to be true very often But I don’t think its actually the straight lines themselves but the sort of arrangements and compositions they tend to dictate. Take this for instance.

pretty big difference, right? there’s a couple things that make a composition feel stiff and one of the most significant is lines that are perpendicular and parallel to the frame. it feels locked in and solid, like bricks. but the moment you shift these angles even a little the composition instantly becomes more dynamic because our innate senses of weight, gravity, and directionality can sense movement.

But it’s not just diagonals let’s take this one step further

when lines meet and terminate together those tangents can flatten and lock space so the best way to solve this is with overlap and complete intersection, forms continuing past or behind each other feel more layered and less like a flat mosaic... again, even in the simplest line drawings. So how do we apply this to a background?

ok I drew this really fast so its potentially not the best example but I think the idea is there. This space isn’t even particularly deep, it’s basically a room, a doorway, and a hallway behind it, and we’re not seeing that much of any of those things LOL. but when you draw an environmental object like a doorway in a way that lines up with the perpendicular and parallel lines of the canvas you’re automatically flattening it and making it look rigid.

and when you create tangents with objects and characters you flatten the space around them and make it difficult to tell what is actually in front or behind or if they’re on the same plane.

GOD I HOPE THIS MAKES SENSE. Anyways. avoid those things and you’ll instantly have less stiff bgs no matter what kind of bg you’re depicting.

I wanna mention however that this isn’t to say a stiff bg with flat space doesn’t have its purposes.

sometimes you want to create parallels and tangents. it can make characters feel closed in, trapped, regimented, part of a routine, etc. it’s also great for making a composition look ornamental (especially combined with symmetry).

directors like wes anderson can even use these compositional elements to make images feel uncanny or harrowing! its very versatile. I think the important thing is to just be aware of when you are making something rigid and when that’s the last thing you want to do. conscious choices.

Can you speak Tagalog?

@lemuelzero101​ I can! BUT NOT VERY WELL LOL ;;; both my parents are from Visayas! but they met and had me in the states lol so I’m pretty American born and raised. We go back to visit family on occasion but not regularly. My tagalog is mostly absorbed from listening to relatives at parties lol and my parents speak bisaya at home so I’m marginally better at that. Sorry to any filipinos out there hoping I’d be better educated, I’m like a little baby...

I do love meeting and talking to other filipinos online though, I grew up in an area that was relatively diverse but the asian population was small and the filipino population basically non-existent. I was like one of maybe 2 filipino kids in my highschool of 2000.

Apart from infinity train what shows are you watching now? Have you seen jujitsu kaisen?

Man this is gonna sound so boring but I haven’t watched a lot of tv lately.  It’s not really part of my daily routine. Let’s see... I was sort of watching Amphibia, Craig of the Creek, and the new Digimon Adventure 2020 but I keep falling off watching those for one reason or another. Also there’s a lot of episodes, it doesn’t feel like something I can just binge and be done with.

The last thing I binged was Succession. I want that show and Euphoria back so bad, when I’m done forcing all my friends to watch Infinity Train im cancelling my HBO subscription until Succession and Euphoria return so they know exactly what I’m on their list for LOL. 

I have not watched jujitsu kaisen but I’ve kept up with some of the sakuga news (I keep up with anime industry news and production info like x5 the amt i keep up with actual anime) for it and their compositing/editing looks dope. I’ve read the manga actually LOL or at least part of the beginning. I wasn’t super keen on the whole finger eating thing. Also to be honest I kinda feel like its the new Bleach and I never particularly cared about Bleach. Characters look nice enough tho. I wholeheartedly support jjk fans.

Thank you! Thank you @keznodzieja​! <3

And thank you anons who don’t watch infinity train LOL...it’s always nice to hear when people enjoy my fanart despite not knowing the source material because it lifts a little bit of the “oh god am I being annoying???” fear off my chest. But also I think you should watch infinity train because it’s really good I have no reservations recommending it.

[gross-gal]

// FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF DESTROY ALL HUMANS 2! REPROBED//

Real quick, I've been a long time fan of this series. The first time I had the chance to play 2 was back when Blockbuster was still around, whenever my bro would give me the chance. Then when I no longer could, I got my fixes through playing the demo disk that had the Albion level. Eventually I had a chance to play 2 on my own when I was older.

I got up to the Moon level before my disk got fucked up and had to cease playing. It's a pretty addicting game with smooth controls, the environments I heavily preferred over 1 due to their diversity and scale, writing is kind of eye rolling but I found charm in the protags.

I thoroughly enjoyed the first game's remake and was looking forward to seeing how they'd improve the second game.

2 throws you right into the action, tutorials are pretty brief and you're immediately given the ability to use your powers and weapons. This is unchanged obviously, though it just reminded me how overwhelming the game can be at first. DAH gives you a lot of free range with what you can do which is great but if you're like me, you'll pause and frantically try to remember what shit does for the first 30 mins.

Not a huge fan that they changed where some of your powers are. Your free love ability used to be mapped to your XYAB buttons, but now it's treated like a weapon and you pick it through your weapon wheel. The weapon wheel used to be the d-pad but now it's your analog stick. This might explain why using it felt more slippery than I remember. And your other mind tricks are located on your d-pad. Quite the overhaul in controller inputs.

Besides those nitpicks I noticed right away, I couldn't help but fall in love with how dense the environmental design was. This made me realize how drab the old game's color palette was, Bay City is extremely lively! I love how decorated the walls are, the diversity in land formation, an abundance of interactive objects, even adding new shit like skateparks/basketball hoops/furniture on roofs and people are hanging out on them/the bridge to the rock is now a ship.

There's so much dedication on display. I don't mind spending more time in these areas because they're so fun to run around in.

OH. And it's never just graphics or movement or weapon controls that are improved. There are some missions that have been almost completely redone. The most notable to me is the Bongwater boss fight, where before you were just fighting in a boring warehouse with the KGB till Bongwater drops. Here? Bongwater shoots you with a drugged arrow that causes you to hallucinate and the area is now a bunch of greenery, toxic waste, books scattered, whole buildings now here, kind of all wonderland-ish. Bongwater actually attacks and has a mechanic with shooting the arrows which will make your movement more sluggish.

It's fucking crazy.

Might as well talk on the weapons, they're as great as they were! Though, I still think I'm not gonna be using certain ones anytime soon. Yes, great that the dislocator automatically lets you move larger objects via a charge. ((I still don't think it's that useful)). And I LOVE that they give you the drift from 1, AND IT'S FROM THE BEGINNING. Def saves you so much time, I cannot tell if walking is slower than the original lmao.

I guess all that's left are graphics, UI, and the dialogue.

Besides the humans, I think this game looks great. Though the mocap is kinda awkward.

UI is a bit overwhelming. Doesn't help when you're in a rush so choosing weapons will take you a sec since all the weapons are shown and they're tightly packed.

Now, just like the first game, dialogue is the same as it was in the original. It's about as eye rolling as you remember, kinda surprised I enjoyed this but there's some cynical jokes that land. And yes, I've been informed, the Japan level hasn't been changed. ((Though I don't know how they could've fixed that, that's so much shit)). If you were worried about that, there you go.

Anyways. Despite some nitpicks I have, I found this to be very enjoyable. I look forward to seeing how else they improved on this game. I know Albion has a few missions that peeved me back then, I hope they're better.

And thank god for keeping the music <3

[noahwhyle]

Chapter 3: Feelings and First Times

A little prequel that takes place during 2.01-2.02 when Devi is dating both Ben and Paxton. The first time they have sex, it isn’t in a friends-with-benefits relationship. It’s bordering on the brink of something real, something special, at least in Paxton’s retrospect.

tw: rated M for sexual content 

In the days that followed Devi deciding to date both Ben and Paxton, their relationship moved at a quicker pace than expected. Paxton meant what he said by wanting to make the time they still had together count, even if it would only be for a couple more weeks. So when Devi is invited to the Hall-Yoshida household that Friday night with the implicit instruction to stay over, she tells her mom she is sleeping over at Eleanor’s and is maybe even a little too eager to get there, the walk feels more like a sprint. They had tried taking the next step a few times, and then realized they wanted to live long enough to actually see each other, so doing it at the Vishwakumar residence was out of the question.

She isn’t expecting much, a pizza, maybe some video games in the garage and then she’d retire to Rebecca’s room and try to raid her closet unsuccessfully. But what she arrived at was a whole other story.

She was greeted at the door with a long, slow kiss and Paxton’s lit up face as he ushered her inside.

“We’ve gone on enough dates for me to get that it means one on one, so tonight it’s just us.” He was biting the inside of his cheek.

“Do you have protection?”

“Yeah I-Why, do you?” Leave it to Devi to be the first one to bring up sex. She did say that Paxton brought out her mega-horny side after all, and never thought she would actually get this close to having sex before being moved halfway around the world.

“Yeah, I kind of panicked and asked Kamala to buy me some at the drug store and drop it off a block away so my mom didn’t catch on.” For talking a big game, Devi knew next to nothing about sex. She only knew what she saw in tv shows, read about in weird Wattpad-fanfiction-turned-best-selling-novels, and researched on the internet. She had tried watching porn once but she clicked play when her airpod was off and you couldn’t pay her to relive that experience and the horror of her mom asking what she was doing.

“I kinda asked my parents to take Becca out for the night. I wanna show you something.” Paxton lightly took her head as they walked up the staircase towards his bedroom. Not the garage, not the couch, his room.

“If this is going to be one of the last weekends we have together, I wanted it to be special and shit.” She had been in Paxton’s room before, but had never seen it so clean, and was that the smell of fresh sheets? Upon taking in Devi’s widened gaze, he quickly backtracked and shook his head vigorously. “Not that we have to fool around or do anything that you don’t want to.”

Devi was shaking her head and stifling a laugh for a whole other reason.

“I just wanted you to have something that was something out of the stupid chick-flicks that Becca makes me watch. Something that you can think about while you’re in India and I’m stuck here. I had to use these dumb environmentally friendly light bulbs that my mom buys because the last time we had real candles, there was an incident with Trent and the house almost burned down.”

He had lit candles, or at least light bulbs in the shape of candles, ushered his family out of the house and seemed rather hesitant about asking for sex. She couldn’t believe this was her life right now. Her relationship with Paxton had always been somewhat based on physical attraction. When they first talked and she asked him for sex, to when they started dating and moved onto beyond chaste kisses and lingering touches over clothes to long makeout sessions and bruised lips and body parts.

If anything it only made her want him more and she eagerly hooked her arms around his neck. “This is perfect. More than perfect actually, you didn’t have to go through all the trouble, but I’m glad you did.”

Normally Devi was the one rambling and Paxton was the one initiating things between them, it was kind of a rush to be on the other side of things for a change.

“I want my first time to be with you, here, just like this.” She whispered against his mouth, watching as his lips curved upwards into a wide smile.

He took his time kissing her, familiarizing himself with her body, teasing things out in her that she figured laid dormant. He was moving so slow that Devi was getting frustrated as they fell back onto his bed.  

“I know I’m the virgin here, but doesn’t it usually move a lot quicker than this?” She was trying to unbutton his jeans, lift up his shirt to feel his abs, anything to speed things up but Paxton simply continued pushing his tongue past her lips and making her head spin.

A hand snaked under her shirt and Devi immediately moved to cover her breasts, insecurity surfacing at the worst time.

“What’s wrong?”

“I know I have small boobs and I’m not like Zoe or Shira levels of hotness. So if this isn’t, you know up to par with the sex you usually have, I understand.”

Paxton only furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. Did she really not know how he felt about her?

“Not only are you beautiful on the outside, but you’re gorgeous on the inside, something that they...are lacking.”

His words always made her flush, and this time was no exception. “I like your body. Now can I continue to appreciate it the way it deserves?” He chuckled under his breath and with one hand, grabbed both of hers and pinned them above her head. Her eyes widened in surprise and anticipation, she bit down on her bottom lip and if things weren’t already well on their way, he would have muttered something about wanting to do very dirty things to her. Repeatedly.  

“If this is the first time, and quite possibly the last time we have to do this, you better believe that I am going to be taking my time with you.” He caught her lower lip with his teeth, slowing his movements which only made a whine emit from deep in her throat.

Paxton’s free hand moved between her legs and brushed her core through her underwear. Without breaking eye contact he moved her panties aside and inserted one finger into her, and then another.

The sudden pressure made Devi suck in a breath, no amount of YA novels or research could have prepared her for what it would actually feel like. Her whole body lit up, as if she was covered in gasoline and Paxton had lit a match, starting a fire that only seemed to spread.

“So tight.” His breath came out ragged, his jeans tightening against him. Paxton thought that guys thought about sex more than girls, and he hadn’t heard anything to the contrary until he met Devi. She had stared at him one too many times past the point of charming and made remarks about wanting to “climb him like a jungle gym.” Mostly through text to Fabiola and Eleanor that he may have happened to stumble upon when he used her phone to play Candy Crush.

In the days that followed their kiss in the park, Paxton wanted to nail his next history while Devi made it increasingly difficult to concentrate with all the short skirts she would wear, and don’t forget about the constant sexual innuendos she would make that went over his head because they had to do with whatever subject they were learning about.  

“Is this okay?” He asked, his eyes searching hers for any hint of hesitation. One word, and he would gladly stall his movements. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No, just go faster. I want more of you. All of you.”

This night was all about making her comfortable, making sure she was getting the most out of this, that her needs were met. A selfish part of him hoped that if he made a lasting impression, she wouldn’t come back from India with a smarter, hotter, boyfriend or worse, fiance. His fears only made his grip on her tighten and tilt her chin up so she was forced to meet his eyes.

“Tell me, in words or else I’ll just assume and that’s a really shitty thing to do.” He spoke slowly, deliberately as her eyes fixated on his chest.

“I want you inside of me.”

Paxton breathed out a sigh of relief, or was Devi breathing out her own? He withdrew his hand and her body instantly shivered at the loss of contact. Within the time it took for him to shake off his jeans, Devi had regained control of her hands and grabbed a fistful of his T-shirt into her hands, yanking it over his head in record time.  

“Do you want me to touch you?”

“Shh, this is about making you feel good.” He mumbled into her hair, dragging his lips towards her ear as she ground her hips into his. He took a condom out of his jeans pocket and rolled it on before positioning himself in between her legs.

He pushed into her slowly, the movements stilling as Devi dug her nails into his back in retaliation. She grimaced at the feeling, her body was tightly wound up and only when Paxton began to move his body at a quicker pace, did hers relax in response.

They laid in bed after, Devi’s legs felt like the jello and even if she had to be home in a few hours, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to walk without falling or at least looking like a klutz. “Is that a picture of Gigi Hadid on your ceiling?”

Now it was Paxton’s turn to almost flush to an unseemly red color.

“I’ve had that up there forever, just forgot to take it down that’s all.”

“Do you look at it when you, you know?”

“I was just inside you Vishwakumar, I think we’re as intimate as two people can be. You can say the word masturbate.”

“Well, do you?” She pressed, ignoring the way nerves once more fluttered against her stomach. “Do you ever think of me, when you touch yourself?”

“If only you knew.” He murmured against her neck, not wanting to give away just how many nights he spent relieving himself to the memory of their first kiss, or more recently, to their makeout sessions that didn’t just leave her hot and bothered, but him as well. “That was your first time right?”

“Is it that obvious? Should I just have had the word virgin written across my forehead?”

“I think it’s cool that you waited or whatever. Did what was right for you.”

“Why? What was your first time like?” Devi didn’t want to pry, or ask something too personal, but she would be lying if she said she wasn’t curious.

“Um, I think I was 14.”

“14? As in like freshman year of high school?” That was one year younger than her current age, it made bile rise to her throat at the thought.

“Eighth grade. It was the summer before high school and the JV and Varsity swim teams invited us incoming freshmen to a party, to get to know each other and whatnot. It was chaperoned by this one guy’s sister, I think she was 21. Her name was Stacey or Stephanie, something with an S. She brought us all beer and acted cooler than any of our parents at the time.” Devi didn’t say anything, but silently nodded and urged him to continue.

“Anyway, one night like the first week of school, we all get wasted right? Some more than others I guess, because I woke up not remembering anything that happened or even how I got so intoxicated. I was mostly drinking Coke the entire night, with some rum here and there sure, but nothing too extreme. I passed out on the couch and when I woke up, she was on top of me, stroking my hair, touching me, and telling me to stay quiet so we didn’t wake anyone up.”

“I-Is that all?” Her eyes were wide, almost glassy, and Paxton instantly felt years older than her. Like she was too innocent to be hearing this and yet here he was, exposing her to it anyway. Exposing her to the harsh reality that he didn’t want her to know, yet she was already familiar with after what happened to her dad.

“She started whispering in my ear. Tell me how I seemed really mature for my age and how college boys are so rowdy and they didn’t listen to her like I did. I don’t even remember us having any kind of in-depth conversation.” His voice dropped to a low whisper. “She said that it wasn’t cool to go into high school as a virgin, especially if you were a guy. The other guys on the swim team would just turn it into some kind of contest to see who could get laid the fastest. She said I would have a leg up on all of them and be able to show off.”

A bitter chuckle passed through his lips. “Except, I didn’t feel superior or like a man or wanted, I just felt empty.”  

“Did you tell anyone?”

“Only Trent.”

Not wanting to sound rude, Devi bit her tongue and remained nonchalant. “Is Trent really the best person to be telling your secrets to?”

“He’s actually cool once you get to know him, okay? He told me that if I wanted to go to the cops and quote ‘make her a prison bitch’ unquote that he would back me up. He may act stoned 90% of the time, but he has a good heart. I trust him with my life.”

“Did um, did you ever see her again?” She asked patiently, as her fingers ran up and down the length of his torso.

“At that point, it didn’t matter. When I got back to school on Monday everyone had heard, turned me into the big man on campus and whatnot, whether I earned the title or not. I wish I had waited, you know? For my first time to be with someone that I really cared about.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I know I’ve been with other girls before and you know, I’m some ladies man or shit. But that’s all it was you know, just sex. It’s isn’t like that with you.”

“Well if it makes you feel any better, this was better than what I had in mind. It was better than any rom-com or YA novel.”

“This doesn’t mean nothing okay? It would never mean nothing, not with you.”

Devi immediately wanted to correct his use of a double negative, but she refrained. She was speechless, too raw, first from the sex they just had and then hearing Paxton’s story. She was touched that he felt comfortable sharing such a private event with her.

“Would you have done things different? Your first time I mean.” She asked quietly, finding her voice again after letting all the information she had just heard sink in.

“Well I definitely would have waited to do it when I was sober.”

“Everyone deserves a second change, a do-over. And you aren’t drunk or high or impaired in any way right now are you?”

“No.”

“So take your do-over.” Sure she didn’t handle her own trauma in the best manner, but she was surprisingly insistent in helping others overcome their own turmoil. Plus with her big brown eyes, Paxton felt like he was saying no to Bambi.

“Dev-”

“I want you to feel good.” His own words hung in the air between them uttered by her soft voice, only a silent nod of his head and Devi had pressed her lips against his and rolled them over so she was now flush against his chest. “We can go as painfully slow as you want.”

“So now you aren’t in a rush to jump me?” The warmth in his features returned, he seemed to have a genuine smile on his face and was raising an eyebrow at her in slightly amusement.

“Something tells me this won’t be the last time, we’ll get there.”

[definitearticle]

Dear Baby Boomers...

"When you're accustomed to privilege, equality feels like oppression."

Older friends, come in! Sit down! I'm so glad you came.

Can I get you a water?

So listen. As your friendly neighborhood geriatric millennial, I need you to understand something. It's important, and it's going to hurt. But pain can be a sign of growth, and I want you to hear this from a friend. So know that this comes from a place of love.

So nu. I'm gonna ease into this by making sure we're on the same page with some ideas.

You know Bob Dylan's song, "The Times They Are A-Changin'," yeah? It might not have been THE anthem of your youth, but it's certainly one that's held up over time. It speaks to the ever-continuing cycle of change and the need for members of the previous generation (and those in power generally) to "get out of the [way] if you can't lend a hand."

Thing is, younger generations have been asking older generations to listen, to understand, and to help the culture progress since time immemorial. And older generations have traditionally pushed back. So your generation's experience of pushing your parents' generation into begrudging acceptance of civil rights, feminism, et al, isn't new.

But y'all came up with some great turns of phrase to express it. One of my favorites, technically coined by Jack Weinberg (5 years too old to be a Baby Boomer) was "Don't trust anyone over 30." It was an offhand phrase said in anger when Weinberg felt that the reporter interviewing him wasn't actually listening, but was instead looking for ulterior motives so that he could dismiss the message of his protest.

But the phrase stuck, and it was used not only as a rallying cry, but also as a talking point by older folks who wanted to dismiss the New Left as a bunch of whiny brats, rather than people we now know were on the right side of history regarding the war, police brutality, and so on.

So with that in mind, in the words of The Who, let's talk about MY generation, and the even younger generation just starting to come into their own.

You know how a few years ago, there were a whole lot of women in the #MeToo movement who were talking about their experiences with men and how they constantly feared sexual assault? And then you had a whole bunch of idiots coming on saying "Not all men!" because they weren't used to their demographic being the target of negative criticism? Yeah, they were idiots, and you knew it. Of course "not all men." But the MeToo movement wasn't about hating men. It was about hearing women and understanding their fears.

And by and large, you understood that. You were pretty solid on it. Good for you! No, seriously, I'm really proud of you for continuing the fight for feminism that you were on the front lines of back in your more enthusiastic years.

And you know how #BlackLivesMatter has been a thing for several years now, and how it's really a continuation of the Civil Rights movement that you grew up in? But of course, idiots tried to reframe the narrative by saying "All lives matter!" And you knew that that was just a smokescreen. Of course all lives matter, but once again black lives were being treated as if they don't matter. And the reason you recognized this was because was all familiar to you. It was the same scene you remember playing out on your 12" black-and-white screens decades ago, where protests erupted against an injustice (frequently assault or murder of an unarmed black man) and the resulting police violence shook the conscience of the country.

So you stood with BLM, or at the very least listened and acknowledged when it was explained to you. We appreciate it, truly. We do.

But here's the thing. You're not the only ones we were talking to. And a whole lot of the "all lives matter!" and "not all men!" crowd? They were from your generation. Now, not all of them, certainly. We definitely have our regressive stooges in Gen X and Millenial age groups. But let's be honest, a strong majority of the people raising a ruckus against "these kids today, with their PC woke brigade cancel culture" are members of the Baby Boom generation. And those who aren't? Well...they have the same kind of regressive attitude that comes from being the third generation out.

You know...like your parents and grandparents were when Dylan wrote his song. When your social circle embraced "Don't trust anyone over 30."

There's a frustration that comes from trying to explain something important to people who appear to not wish to listen to you, but are instead spending their time looking for reasons to discredit you, or make you feel inferior, or find any excuse to belittle you and the incredibly important message you're trying to express. When you get to that breaking point, you need a way to ripcord out of the conversation in a way that expresses not only that you're through pretending to maintain civil discourse, but also that you recognize that there was no intent for honest dialogue in the first place. You need a shorthand phrase for "You're a dishonest, condescending jerk who couldn't care less about doing the right thing or about the lives of anyone other than yourself. I am through wasting my time casting pearls before swine. Good day, sir! I SAID GOOD DAY!"

Weinberg felt it in his interview.

You've undoubtedly felt it yourself, countless times.

My generation feels it constantly. And we've come up with a pretty good phrase that encapsulates our frustration with those in power who've apparently forgotten the lessons of the past and are happy to sit in apathy in the middle of the road and never lend a hand.

And that phrase is "Okay, Boomer."

Oof. Yeah.

I know.

It stings. A lot.

And I can hear you screaming at me right now. "How dare you judge us based on our age! This is ageism, pure and simple! It's hate! Not all old people! All ages matter!"

Shhh, shhh, it's okay. You're in a safe space. We're friends. No one is judging you.

See, just like MeToo wasn't denigrating all men, and BLM wasn't saying that non-black lives didn't matter, the use of "Boomer" here is not about age. It's about the same progressive vs regressive divide you experienced when you were young, that was largely drawn along generational lines.

Not all Baby Boomers are "Okay, Boomers," and not all "Okay, Boomers" are Baby Boomers.

If you're with us on the issues, if you're supportive of people's self-identity and fight for equality, then it doesn't matter what age you are. You're gold.

But if you get told "Okay, Boomer," it's not about your age either. You've just been told that your approach to the conversation indicates to the speaker that you don't want to engage on the issues in an open and honest manner.

It means that you've probably hit a blind spot in your experience which is incredibly common and nothing to be ashamed of, but is also something that needs to be addressed.

It means you've upset the person talking to you, and they've given up trying to be reasonable with you.

It's not hate speech. It's not ageism.

It's a wake-up call. For the times, they are a-changin'.

Weinberg aged out of the demographic he framed in his statement 5 years after he made it. But from what I can find online, he continues to this day to fight the good fight. He was an anti-war activist and a union organizer before becoming a champion of environmental issues. He turned 81 earlier this year. A statistical tally in the Silent Generation, he was nonetheless clearly a member of a young Baby Boomer movement in their prime.

You can stick with us. Join your voice to ours like Weinberg joined his voice to your generation's. Like Martin Luther King (born 1929) did. Like Abbie Hoffman (1936), John Lewis (1940), Gloria Steinem (1934), Bertrand Russel (1872)...

There's plenty of room on the right side of history to be an older person that the young'uns can trust, a mentor we can talk to, someone who will actually *listen* to us and help us move the culture forward.

Or you can be someone who embodies the cause of the admonishment "Never trust anyone over 30."

But if you decide to do that, if you choose to close your ears to the pleas of the younger generation because they don't show you deference and respect? Then you're not a Baby Boomer, a phrase once used to dismiss your generation as youthful, idealistic, and unreasonable.

Then you're just an "Okay, Boomer."

[witchyintention]

𝕎𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕚𝕤 𝕎𝕚𝕥𝕔𝕙𝕔𝕣𝕒𝕗𝕥?

As of late many have found themselves taking steps into the wondrous world of witchcraft. However it is a lot more than just an aesthetic. It is a lifestyle that is both beautiful and dangerous when you don't know what you're doing. Witchy Intention is to help guide you in your craft and teach you through my experiences and research. Along with many other experienced witches through interviews.

When you hear someone say witchcraft you instantly jump to satanic or devil worship but truth be told it's not. Satan is a figure in Christianity and has absolutely nothing to do with witchcraft. So what is witchcraft you ask. Witchcraft is an earth based religion or practice, and has been practiced in almost all the societies and cultures across the world. Though each craft is different according to local beliefs and traditions.

According to scholars of witchcraft, it was a belief system whose origin predates the majority of well known religions. It dates back so far many do not know the exact date, but we have seen it in many cultures such as ancient Egyptians. It also has been evolving since then and its present form is quite different from what it was thousands of years ago. And different areas practiced it differently. Even today from person to person and Coven to Coven it is practice differently. To each their own. It's a unique experience in itself. 

In the ancient times, Witchcraft was known as ‘craft of the wise’ as the wise persons were those who followed the path of nature and were in tune with its forces, had the knowledge of herbs and medicines, gave wise counsel and were held in high esteem as Shamanic healers and leaders in the village and community. They understood that nature was superior to human beings and that human beings were simply one of the many parts of nature, both seen and unseen that combine to form one whole. As Chief Seattle said, “We do not own the earth; we are a part of it.” They understood that what we take from nature or use, we must return in kind to maintain the balance and equilibrium. The modern man has, however, forgotten this and has paid the price in the form of many ecological and environmental disasters.

Unfortunately for the past several hundred years the image of the witch has been associated with the evil, heathenism and unrighteousness due to prejudices created by the Christian church. Somewhere along the line Christians accused the Pagan Horned god as the devil because these pagans didn't believe in the same god as them. So what does some Christian of high power do? Calls it devil worship. Despite the fact the bible never tells us what Lucifer looks like upon going to hell. 

However, as of late people have started understanding and practicing witchcraft as the true religion of God and Nature. There is renewed interest in witchcraft and witches profess to believe and practice the craft with a sense of pride and confidence. The believers in the New Age movement have understood witchcraft in its true perspective.

Modern witchcraft attracts believers from all walks of life and positions in society all over the world. They come together to understand the life, nature, evolution and mysteries of the universe through witchcraft. Witchcraft is the most democratic religion and practices in the world. There is no rigid dogma and no hard-line regime except for a simple premise that we should not do evil and if we do, know it will come back in multiple. Though not all witches bide by this but many of us do. Secondly, we should not misuse the generosity of nature by disturbing its balance. This is certainly something we all bide by. 

There are many forms of witchcraft like I had said earlier it differs from person to person. I will have a separate episode going into the top most popular kinds of witches but for now let's just explain a few things. A lot of other belief systems have set rules of what is good and what is bad, think the ten commandments, or Orthodox Jews are not allowed to use anything mechanical on the Sabbath, or Muslims are only allowed to eat certain parts of the animal. Witchcraft isn't like that. It's more about the big picture and how our actions contribute to that big picture. 

I would also like to clarify that being a witch doesn't mean your Wiccan or even pagan. You can very much still be Christian and practice the craft. Remember I said witchcraft was all about the mother earth along with whatever god or gods you worship. This includes the Christian god. I personally know a few Christian witches.

 However note that if you are a Christian witch you will be working with only that god. If you plan to work with other gods perhaps you need to rethink your religion's standpoint. "Thou shalt have no other gods before Me" is one of the Ten Commandments found in the Hebrew Bible at Exodus 20:2 and Deuteronomy 5:6. With that said the craft is something unique and interesting but be careful because it is real and it can be dangerous. 

When new witches find themselves wanting to get into the craft but they really have no idea where to start. Try the history. There is a lot more history than I could even hope to cover in a single session. This is nothing more than an introduction to it. When you are learning about its history you will find many different kinds of practices. 

Though it's perfectly fine to be drawn to a practice and wanting to do it. Make sure you first do research on whether the practice is a closed or open practice. Closed practices are closed for a reason and most times you have to have approval to practice it and be sworn in. So if you find yourself wanting to do a closed practice make sure you do the research on how you can do it and do go through the proper procedures. 

Some might not let you in at all. For example Voodoo. Voodoo is one of the ones you work with your ancestors, an African folk magic. Those gods (spiritual beings? I really don't know.) are not going to be very accepting of one who is of European descent because your ancestors did their ancestors wrong. 

If you are considering the craft, know this, you will spend your whole life learning about the craft. Even the most seasoned of witches are constantly learning. The craft in a sense is like a hypothesis. You will constantly be learning, writing down your findings, doing this and that, to see if it works and figuring things out as you go. But before you even think about getting a head of yourself you need to do lots of research. Don't think 'oh I read a book I can now do a spell'. Witches read a lot. Even if we have already read something on a topic we will keep on. Cross reference everything you read. There is plenty of false information. Especially on the internet, but there are some good sources too.

You need tons of training and maybe even guidance from established witches before you cast your first spell. However we know full well that you learn by doing. So go for it but start with small simple spells. Note that writing a spell or doing a spell does not require a coven, animal bones, and full moon, as fun as nights involving these can be. In fact many witches don't have covens and many do not use animal bones. 

Sometimes it’s not about forming the biggest circle under a full moon, but just having a good time with other witches. Or even yourself if you prefer to do Magic solo. It's fine and very much acceptable. But coven or not it's always fun to do with friends. Nothing's like dancing around a bonfire with your best friends.

Practicing can get expensive. I mean you're going to spend a lot of money on books. Though the internet had everything you could possibly need, nothing beats a good book on witchcraft. I mean who doesn't want a bookshelf full of witchcraft research. Then the actual items you'll need will cost you. Even if it's not aesthetically pleasing. People tend to go a cheaper route using things for the dollar store or reusing sauce jars. Which is good but you will still spend a pretty penny because you'll constantly be getting new ones. Jars break, candles melt, herbs are all used up and crystals can and will break. And no your practice might not always be aesthetically pleasing or photo worthy at all time. Truth be told it can be a bit messy, kinda like arts and crafts. Then again witchcraft is both an art and a craft so it makes sense.

Not all witches are female. Whether you are male, nonbinary, trans, genderless, or anything in between, you can be a witch. It's true that there is a beautiful history of women and witchcraft but magick is genderless. Magik does not care about your gender, sexuality, or religious beliefs. Magik is also not good nor evil, it all depends on how the protactioner is using it.

Popular belief also tells that you have to be born into a witch family or your ancestors have to be a witch for you to be one. That's not true. I have said it once and I have said it twice. Anyone can be a witch. 

Hexes, they are real. Sorry if this scares you, but hexes, cast to inflict misfortune on others, are indeed real. Some witches but not all believe Magic used with ill intent will come back three times on the caster. Some call this The Rule of Three some call it karma. Either way just know it will come back to you some way or another, even if it's by a return to sender spell.

One of the mean teachings of witchcraft by most forms is what you put into the universe is what you get out of it. If you put positivity into the world you'll get positivity back. The same could be said about negativity. But then someone will say 'Oh I have been putting positivity in the world and nothings happening.' If that's the case the negativity you've been put into the world prior to it is still trying to catch up to you. So keep up the positivity even if it's hard.

You don't have to wear all black. There isn’t a standard dress code for witches, and while it’s absolutely acceptable to wear black from head to toe, there are just as many witches who prefer a sundress and sandals as there are who like black fishnets and velvet.

Black cats are not needed either. Though there is nothing wrong with having a black cat and being a witch. Both have been misunderstood for their supposed evil intentions and connections to dark magic for centries.

Remember real magic isn't some Harry Potter mumbo jumbo either. Though let's face it, we can all still pretend that's what it's like. I do. I know the difference between real magic and what the church and Entertainment make it out to be. But I still enjoy the fiction as much as the real. But we do use wands. Though not all of us do and if anything it's to help control where our magic goes to say.

Black, Grey, White, Evil or Good Magic are terms I personally do not use. Some people use these terms, but they probably shouldn't. To start, they have racist undertones. Rituals that are mistakenly believed to be bad are labeled black magic often come from traditions such as Hoodoo, which is traditional African folk magic, that is also a closed practice. Another thing I have said before is that Magic and Witchcraft alike are not good or bad, it's all on how the protationer uses it. I personally tend to stay away from these labels simply because I do not like the negative feeling given and the story behind them. But that is just me, I would hope many follow in those footsteps but not all are going to. I fully understand that.

✩ Don't Steal Other Peoples Work ✩

Written:

May 24, 2020

By:

Reine Alicis

[greenninjagal-blog]

Let Me Hear You Scream pt2

Ready for more spooky vibes? If you missed the first part you can find it [here!]

Summary: Upon waking up in a forest he doesn't recognize, Roman vs a Bear Trap goes almost exactly how you would think it goes.

Words: 6374

TW: Bear traps, blood, violence,

Read on Ao3 || My General Writing Masterlist

Roman has always had an unusually high pain tolerance. He had to, being twin brothers with Remus and all that. The sheer amount of danger the two of them got into as kids delegated that if he was anything less than completely indestructible, he’d be dead the next time Remus started a conversation with “I bet you won’t…”

He remembers that summer when Remus dared him to ride his bike down the concrete stairs, and he remembers how the wheels pitched him forward and his helmet cracked on the sidewalk, his knee skidded on the concrete, and his arm went snap with pain so white hot that Roman actually thought that the whole thing had popped right off his body entirely.

He remembers lying on the ground so shocked that he couldn’t even breathe, much less cry, and he remembers Remus laughing in the background, “I didn’t think you were going to actually do it! Oh shit, Ro? Roman! ROMAN!”

He remembers it so clearly.

“REMUS!” Roman shrieks into the forest, with tears rolling down his cheeks. “THIS ISN’T FUNNY, YOU FUCKER!”

His ankle burns. He can’t feel his toes, he can’t feel his ankle, he can’t feel anything, but there’s blood all over his hands and he can’t look down in case he faints.

His hands are trembling as they blindly work over whatever the fuck he stepped on. He can feel the slushie that he last ate, swirling in his stomach, boiling and bubbling until he feels it corroding his back molars. His fingers fumble around the… the metal teeth, oh god he’s going to vomit. His ankle screams in pain when his fingers prod too close to his actual limb. His ears echo with the painful awful SNAP of the jaw mechanism like its seared right into his soul.

“Remus,” He sobs, “I’m going to fucking kill you--”

Because there was a line here; Yeah, Remus dared him into a prank war with one of his stupid “I bet you wont, you prissy goody two shoes…” and Roman poured glitter into Remus’s laundry once, then Remus replaced Roman’s toothpaste with mayo, then Roman put white hair dye in Remus’s shampoo, and Remus swore he would get some type of revenge, even though he loved that look so much that he kept a stupid white streak in his hair. At least Roman thought he did-- He did, right?

Remus wasn’t the type to keep it to himself if he was upset. Neither of them were: Roman had perfected the art of loud sighs and dramatic monologues into a microphone and Remus had set things on fire to make people pay attention.

He didn’t-- wouldn’t--

He wouldn’t drag Roman into the middle of nowhere and make him walk into a bear trap for hair dye that would come out in another few weeks.

((Wouldn’t he?))

Everyone said Remus was insane, through whispered rumors and gossip that dissipated the moment that Roman walked into the room. Roman hadn’t ever seen the insanity himself; he grew up with Remus chasing squirrels in the park and diving into dumpsters for cool treasures and it was normal. Remus had always found humor in strange and weird things and as they had grown up those things had become less real and more abstract and Roman still didn’t think it meant that Remus would do this.

The forest is dense around him, stupid, dark; Roman isn’t sure he could recognize it even if he had a map in front of him, but then again Remus was always the more environmentally aware person of the two of them. He doesn’t know where Remus went the fuck off to either-- he’s brain is fuzzy at everything more than a few seconds ago when he blinked opened his eyes and took one step forward into a metal death trap, but he… he thought Remus had been right beside him, so close that… that…. His head is singing with pain and the backs of his eyes are melting.

“Hey!” A voice calls out and Roman flinches so hard that the metal spikes dig into his ankle and his scream strangles him.

Roman blinks back his tears just in time to see a figure stumble right out the thickets nearby, with the grace of a new born fucking dear. Roman swears in every language he knows and then some he doesn’t as the person scrambles back to their feet and zeroes in on him with an expression that Roman usually associates with the memory of his science teacher right before she demonstrated how to break a frog's ribcage for their dissection.

“No,” Roman says, “No, back off--”

He tries to scoot back and agony shoots up his leg so bright and violent that his vision whites out.

“Don’t move,” the person says, holding up their palms up suddenly to show they were unarmed or something. Roman isn’t sure what that’s supposed to do when he knows that Remus himself has never needed a weapon to be a lunatic. “I’m going to try to help.”

“Do not fucking come near me,” Roman snarls. “Who are you? One of Remus’s fucking little friends--”

“I assure you I don’t know a Remus, but you are in pain and believe I am qualified to help.”

“Fuck off!”

Roman swears that the pain is getting to his head, meddling with his thoughts like alcohol except not fun and Roman would not suggest anyone repeat this experience. The stranger-- Remus’s friend or whatever-- is staring at him with a patient impatience: like his mother waiting for him to finish his story before she runs off to answer a call on her work phone. They’re older than Roman, by a year or two, with sharp cheekbones and back framed glasses of a stereotypical nerd but a height that makes it hard to even imagine anyone looking down on them. Their eyes are colder than ice, and frost wafts off their breath. They’ve got a sweater vest on, with a tie, and converse dotted with glow in the dark paint in the shape of space nebulas.

Between his teary eye lashes Roman thinks that this guy looks incredibly tame for someone who associates with Remus and he fights the urge to vomit.

Is his leg supposed to be feeling cold?

Oh god, was he going to lose his foot? His breath swells up in his lungs, like a balloon pressing against his ribs. He wouldn’t be able to walk without a foot-- He wouldn’t be able to move or leave these woods or get help-- Remus and his psycho friends could easily cut up the rest of his body and let the wolves get him and then at school when someone would ask what happened to that dumbass who used to make dumb jokes on air during the football games, everyone will be like “Who?” and “didn’t Remus used to have an annoying twin? What happened to that guy?” and no one will ever find him because no one would car--

“Please,” The Doctor Who-ever says, in a faux calm tone as Roman nearly swallows his tongue. “I have medical knowledge, and you are clearly in distress.”

Agony races up his leg and Roman whimpers again. He swears he can hear the sound of metal grinding against his ankle bones, biting in deep and forcing the marrow to crack and shatter and explode until it's just a bunch of broken glass-like fragments under his skin. His head feels light and he frantically breathes deeply because he is not going to pass out, he is not going to make it that eas--

He’s cut off by a sudden crashing from behind behind himself: snapping of branches like a wild animal is tearing through them, the crunch of dead leaves steadily getting louder and heavy and deadlier, the swearing that are all tell-tale sounds of Remus crashing directly into someone and both of them eating the dirt as they barrel through the thickets and roll to a stop a few feet away.

Nerdicus jerks back like they were expecting anything less of Remus’s spectacular grand entrance.

Roman bites down on his tongue to stop himself from outright whimpering. Remus, his twin, his mirror image, rolls back to a sitting position like a possessed doll coming to life, untangling his limbs from another crumpled, groaning form that must be some other friend of his, and snapping them back in place because what are limbs to a maniac like him? The setting sun paints him in an eerie light and Roman’s skin itches with equal parts rage and terror at him, for dragging them out there, for putting out bear traps, for doing all this as pay back for a stupid little prank in a prank war he fucking started--

Remus’s laughter is obnoxious as always and Roman tries not to flinch at the sound of it alone, holding back a white wash of fear with just his force of will.

His other friend is another person that Roman hasn’t seen before-- not that he spends a lot of time getting to know the faces of the delinquents that his brother hangs out with. They’ve got on black jeans and a black T-shirt with one of those reversible sequin designs in the shape of a skull. Their blond hair dances in the last dregs of the evening, even as they pull a leaf from their bangs and yanks their dirty yellow beanie back over their head.

“Holy shit!” Remus says, spitting out dirt from his mouth. “Is that a bear trap?”

“Remus!” Roman whimpers with a tight throat. “This isn’t funny!”

“Au contraire! I left you alone for like five seconds and now you’re in a bear trap!” There’s a glint in Remus’s eyes and Roman recognizes it from those times when Remus climbed too high in the trees back at home, when he stared at a growing flame of a match too long, when he reached across the console and yanked on the steering wheel, screaming Roman’s name--

Roman brain pulses to the point where he can feel it knock against his skull and that hurts almost as much as ankle and he swears he sees stars on the backs of his eyelids and he does not want those to be the last stars he ever sees.

Remus swoops towards him and Roman flinches back, nearly screaming when his leg jostles.

“Chill out, Prince Charmless,” his twin says, rolling his eyes. “I’m gonna get it off. What’s your range of movement?”

“Do not come any closer to me, you asshole!”

“You can’t get that thing off yourself,” Remus says.

“And whose fault is that?” Roman snaps.

Remus freezes, tilting his head slightly to the side. His rat's nest of hair creates an unearthly silhouette as he looks down at Roman, something straight out his Halloween horror films, and Roman bares his teeth in warning. He’s not thinking about how Remus’s foot can stomp down on his injured, trapped leg, he’s not thinking about how there’s no one around for miles, he’s not thinking about how there’s nothing and no one to stop him from straight out fratricide--

“Why am I suddenly getting the feeling you think I know what the flying fuck is going on here?” Remus asks.

“Don’t you?”

“No!” Remus says, delightedly, happily, cheerfully and his voice makes some distant bird caw. “I thought you snapped and took me to the woods to kill me yourself! This is much more boring now that I know I haven’t managed to break your last shreds of sanity.”

“Why would I--”

“This is ridiculous,” Glasses McGee cuts in sharply, adjusting said glasses with their index finger. “We need to remove your foot from that trap now.” They look at Remus and the other person. “Are either of you knowledgeable about the mechanics of bear traps?”

Remus throws two thumbs up, and Roman remembers vaguely a rant from a year or two ago about unethical bear hunting and steel jaw traps and how animals would step in and then lay there for days suffering as their mangled limb held them captive regardless of them trying to chew it off for freedom and oh god he’s going to be sick--

“Roman,” Remus says somewhere beyond the screaming in his head. “Oh shit.” It sounds like he’s far away and distant, or maybe underwater and Roman is drowning. He can’t seem to breathe anymore, like the teeth biting into his ankles had wrapped around his chest and was slowly crushing him.

People are moving around him, faint voices talking and then suddenly burning blinding white hot pain that shoots all the way up to the back of his eyes.

He screams and bites down only to find there’s something in his mouth-- fibers and the unmistakable taste of wool and Roman nearly gags on it. He blinks back the foggy pain and finds that he’s leaning on Remus and Webster Dick-tionary is pressing a multicolored sweatshirt to his leg delicately with the bear trap fully closed a few feet away, tethered to the ground with a heavy metal chain coated in a red paint that makes Roman’s vision sway all over again. The slushie claws back up his throat and he gags.

There’s someone new standing just behind the nerd: a very pretty person in a pretty skirt and headphones with cat ears on them around his neck. The splash of freckles and the round glasses makes them look a bit younger than the rest of them, but that could also be Roman’s brain twisting things around the moment that they wince in sympathy as the nerd prods part of his ankle.

They’re magnificent, Roman decides with a dizzying certainty. They’re the sun in the middle of this dark and dreadful forest, the stars in the night sky, the lighthouse in the storm guiding Roman back from complete devastation with just those shiny eyes behind cracked lens.

The other person, the one in the black skull shirt, Sid from Toy Story come to life, is standing just behind him and Remus, looking on distastefully from a good distance away. It takes Roman a moment to realize he’s biting down on the guy’s beanie, and gross. He spits it out at the same time as the nerd presses too close to where the trap had caught him.

“Son of a Witch!” He hisses. “A dragon witch, a fucking---”

“Oh, boo,” Remus says. “He’s alive.”

“He was not in any immediate danger of dying,” Space Case says firmly. “And isn’t he your brother?”

“Looks like someone is an only child,” Remus says. The person in black reaches out and snatches back his beanie, his entire face curling into some disgusted expression as they hold the part with Roman’s saliva away from themself.

“Wonderful,” they say in deadpan and stuff the beanie in their back pocket.

Roman blinks, struggling to sit up by himself. He scrubs his face trying to get rid of his tears, and buries that boiling humiliation being the center of attention like this. Of course, he has to be grievously injured for anyone to care about him, for anyone to take a moment to look at him, for anything--

Remus lets him go, stretching up and yawning like nothing about this is weird or strange or scary to him.

Part of Roman is reassured by that. Like, of course Remus isn’t terrified out of his mind; what is there to be scared of when he’s the most terrifying thing in a 100 mile radius? When he handcuffed himself to the doors of the city history museum to protest its demolishment even though the wrecking ball was right there, when he wore a mini skirt to school to protest the dress code even though he’d been beat up for less before, when he marched into the Governor’s office when he was refused a meeting about the rescinding of the pollution standards in the the county and laughed in the face of the armed guards that told him to leave.

Remus had an endless supply of guts and determination and Roman had wished for so long that his reckless bravery could be contained, controlled and banished, but now it kinda felt like Remus slipping a familiar jacket over Roman’s shoulders and telling him to relax.

Google.com-- Roman is seriously running out of names for them-- leans in and tears the new holes in Roman’s jeans further-- Roman grimaces at the thought of having to buy another pair to make up for this, but the nerd expertly uses the excess fabric to tie up his wound with a professional precision.

“Alright, Doc Oct,” Remus says while they work. “What is the diagnosis? Amputation? Do I need a body bag?”

“I just said that he was not in danger of dying,” they say, finishing the knot which only causes Roman to grunt a little bit. “And my name is Logan, if you must know. I am not a full medical doctor by any means, but I believe that he will recover fully; the trap broke skin and there will likely be a nasty amount of bruising deep in the muscle tissue, but he will recover in a few weeks of rest. It will probably be best to keep weight off your foot as much as possible.”

“See, drama queen?” Remus says to Roman, shoving his shoulder. “You’re fine.”

Roman gives him double middle fingers for his trouble and tries not to shake too hard with relief. He stares down at his leg, forcing a steady breath through his lungs and out his nose, and wonders with a dizzying amazement how his leg was not only in one piece but recoverable, after all the pain. He isn’t sure that it’s not just the placebo effect of someone saying that everything’s going to be okay, but he wiggles his toes and swears that the pain only wracks his limb moderately this time.

Even closed, the bear trap looked menacingly at them: Roman’s blood on the jaws that were curled into a ghoulish grin, just waiting for someone to get close enough to open and bite down on. He’s not sure how Remus and the Doctor Doolittle-- Logan-- managed to get it off him.

Logan turns and offers the sweater to the person in the skirt. “Ah, sorry, I’m afraid the blood has…”

Roman sucks in another breath at the sight of it: the bright splotchy blobs of red that bled through the pastel tye dye design that would likely never come out and eternally remain a reminder of how Roman put his foot directly in a bear trap like an idiot-- What would he have done if there was no one around? Died? His own stupidity had ruined such a nice piece of clothing and--

“It’s okay!” The angel says with a somewhat cartoonish voice. Roman blinks in surprise at the sweetness of it, tasting sugar even as the words hold over the air. He swears he can envision their I’s dotted with hearts; a soft and kind tone despite the fact that Roman had ruined their sweater. “I’m much more relieved he’s going to be okay!”

“Let’s not get too excited,” Doctor Doom says, causing Roman to stiffen and Remus to glance back curiously towards them. They’re turned away from the rest of the mismatched, miscellaneous group, looking into the trees with a gaze that makes Roman’s stomach roll over and not in any way that is even remotely good.

“What?”

They glance back at them with an expression something that Roman can only call shifty. Like a snake before it strikes, they’re poised on the balls of their feet, coiled with the power to move at a seconds decision. Untrustable, Undependable, Unkind-- and Roman squares his shoulders just to prove to himself that there isn’t actually a dagger point about to plunge into his back.

The person’s voice is silky smooth, but Roman can’t find it in himself to be jealous when the meaning of the next words hit. “I don’t suppose any of you remember just exactly how we came to be here, do you?”

The woods echo with a strange emptiness, like the trees themselves are holding their breaths. The silence is eerie-- Roman’s never been a forest this quiet. He’s never been anywhere this quiet. The hairs on the back of his neck raise up.

Logan and the shining, shimmering, lovely vision share a look and the former shrugs, occupying their hands with tying their sweater around their waist.

“It’s fuzzy,” they admit, thoughtfully. “I was leaving my dorm...and then…” They grimace, which is downright awful to witness: Roman doesn't think anyone deserves to look so uncomfortable, and certainly not a beauty like them. “...then I was here.”

Logan makes a sour face like he managed to misplace a decimal twenty seven steps back in his math equations. “I was uncharacteristically late to class, but I seem to have some form of amnesia surrounding the hours since then as well; It was just past two.”

Dr. Facilier-turned-teenager turns to Roman, their eyes asking a question they already know the answer to. And part of Roman wants to snarl at them, tell them to knock it off with the creepy aura and better-than-you-expression, explain to them exactly how they ended up all here together because there’s a logical, causal explanation.

But Remus is already laughing. “Oh come on! We were…. What were we doing again?” Remus freezes for a moment, some of the smile leaving his face. “Ro? Where were we…?”

Remus is dressed in another one of his ripped T-shirts, the Save the Turtles one that he wore to that protest a few months ago and when he volunteered to clean up beaches for the weekend. His sleeves are ripped off to show off the endangered Tiger tattoo on his shoulder up to his neck, and his jeans are the recycled ones that he bought second hand and begged Roman to repair rather than buy a new pair and “give his money to the capitalists that are trying to kill us all”.

In comparison, Roman is wearing his letterman jacket, with his name engraved on it that he got for being the announcer for the football team three years in a row. He’s wearing his announcer uniform too-- his hair is styled and his colors are coordinated to the white and red of their school, but Remus never comes to the football games anymore.

Or well, he’s not allowed to come to the games anymore after he stole the tuba from the band players and charged into the field during the game back in their freshman year.

Still he-- remembers… he thinks he remembers... They were in the car together, Remus needed to go somewhere and Roman had to drop him off and then speed off to the game, right? Remus' feet were up on his dashboard, mud flaking off into his freshly cleaned car, his air fresheners weren’t working, they were fighting over the radio, Remus’s hand reached out, latching on to the wheel and a scream--

“Fuck,” Remus says, rubbing the side of his head like Roman had slapped him. “Did you crash our car out here?”

“Me?” Roman says, incredulously.

“Yeah!” Remus says. “Did you get brain damage in the crash too? Are your brains going to fall out? You were the one driving, dumbass.”

“You grabbed my steering wheel!”

Remus snorts. “What? No, I didn’t?”

“Yes you did!”

“No way!”

“Yes way!”

“I wouldn’t get anything out of--”

“Boys!” Skeletar says, clapping to get their attention. “Less arguing, more answering the question.”

Remus looks at Roman and Roman glares right back because he did not crash the car. Between the two of them Remus was more likely to crash a car-- proven from how he totaled their green Ford Fiesta nine months ago and now even around the pounding headache he can still remember the feeling of surprise as Remus’s sporadic movement jumbled through his own, the yank that caused him to lose control, the-- the--

He doesn’t remember what happened after that, but he knows that then Roman had opened his eyes out here, taken a step forward, and nearly lost his foot to a bear trap.

“This is getting us nowhere,” Logan says. “Even if perhaps you happened to have a car around here, that does not explain how the rest of us came to be here. And likely from the events that you are describing the car is not in functional condition-- although I’m unsure how your persons would have come out of such a thing without a few visible injuries…”

“I didn’t crash the car,” Roman says firmly.

“Oh, like you didn’t step into a bear trap?” Remus asks innocently antagonistically.

“Why are there bear traps out here anyway!” Roman hisses. “Isn’t bear hunting or whatever illeg--”

Roman almost doesn’t hear it: it starts so softly and then it raises in pitch and suddenly it's ringing in the air like cracks in the fragile glass silence. He feels his breath disappear right out of his chest, his body tensing and everyone jerks towards the direction the sound comes from, like they’re expecting to see something out there.

Roman remembers hearing people yell at Remus to get out of the way of the wrecking ball, remembers hearing the teachers snap at him to go change into his gym clothes, remembers the armed guard spitting on Remus’s face, his own shouts turning to something just above an animalistic growl when he told Remus to knock it off, you’re making me look bad.

And still he doesn’t remember hearing anything sound so horrified. So desperate. So despondent.

It is the noise that causes Roman to break out in goosebumps, electricity dancing along his skin causing all of his hairs to raise, and himself to find it suddenly very hard to swallow. Roman is scrambling back before he can remember that his foot should not be moving and he bumps into Logan as he does.

It cuts off short and disappears like someone took a pair of scissors to the sound itself, snipping the scream for help away before it reaches the end.

And Roman doesn’t think anyone is breathing anymore. His heart pounds in his chest, waiting for the rest of it.

The trees cast shadows so deep and dark that not even the moonlight will touch them. Somehow without Roman noticing, the temperature had dropped until the air feels like frostbite licking his exposed skin. Roman doesn’t dare move another inch-- doesn’t like the idea of what might happen if he reminds the rest of the world that time is still passing.

“I…” the person in the skull T-shirt says, in a very low, strangled tone. “I don’t think bears are what's being hunted.”

“No,” Roman says, “No.”

“Oh god, I’m gonna be sick,” the person in the skirt says.

“No!” Roman says, throwing out his arms before his thoughts can catch up. “This is not--”

“We need to leave,” Logan says, face pale. “Now.”

“I think I saw a gate,” Remus said, no hint of his unhinged grin. He thumbs the direction that he and Kaa came from. “I pulled the switch but it didn’t open. I thought about climbing but there are no holds and barbed wire around the top--”

“It’s likely lacking a power source then,” Logan says steadily calm and Roman feels like he’s losing his whole goddamned mind. “Let me take a look at--”

“We are not being hunted right now!” Roman blurts out.

The others stare at him for a solid, endless second and Roman’s stomach threatens to crawl up his throat. He waits for them to agree with him, waits for them to laugh and call it a joke, waits for Remus to tell him he’s so easy to scare, come on Ro, did you really think there was a murderer in these woods? This is grade school level effort!

Roman gets the feeling that he’s going to be waiting a very long time.

“Guys,” Roman says, slightly more wobbly than he means it to, slightly more softer than he means it to, slightly more terrified than he means it to. “We aren’t being hunted for sport, right?”

Because-- Because he’s seen horror movies. And he remembers once how Remus poured a bag of popcorn over his head and said that if they were ever in that situation, he’d leave Roman to rot, maybe even toss him to the killer himself, laugh as Roman screamed and begged and cried.

He doesn’t look at his foot. He doesn’t look at his foot and think about how he can’t run. He doesn't look at his foot and realize that they’re going to leave him behind and no one will ever know what happened to him and no one will care--

Remus is suddenly right in front of him, offering a hand right into Romans face. Roman blinks back the burning tears on his cheeks and looks at the limb with a trembling lip.

“Come on,” Remus says. “You’re a little bitch when you ruin your mascara, Ro.”

And Roman tries to articulate the billions of insults he has in his brain, but all that comes out is a whimper as Remus latches on to his wrist and pulls him to his feet. He stumbles the moment that he tries to put weight on his foot, flickers of pain echoing in his brain although it's not nearly as bad as he was expecting. Remus pulls Roman over his shoulder with his injured leg raised between them and all of his weight on Remus’s shoulders.

“I’m not leaving you behind, dumbass,” Remus says.

((Why wouldn’t he?))

“We need to help them,” the person in the skirt, the good and just and wonderful person in a skirt, says suddenly.

“I don’t think they need our help,” Hans Gruber-minus-the-German-accent says. “In fact, I don’t think they need anything, anymore.”

“How could you say that?!”

“Easily,” they respond, shortly.

The person in the skirt is shaking, Roman realizes. They’re shaking and hugging themself and they look slightly green in the face.

“I came from over there,” they say from behind trembling hands. “I-- I didn’t hear anyone else over there but they must have been there and I-- I can’t--”

“They’re dead,” Dr. Jerkyll says clinically, like a surgeon with a knife. “Us rushing towards that area is only going to get us attacked next. And I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to die, thank you very much.”

“We can’t leave them!” The other argues.

The person in the skull shirt steps towards the other and grabs their upper arm to spin them back to the direction the scream came from. Then with a derisive and terrible sneer, they shove. The cutie in the skirt stumbles forward, nearly face planting on the uneven ground.

“Then you go help them,” they say, with streaks of faint and awful moonlight painting them in a pale halo. They wave back to Logan, Remus and Roman, and Roman feels very much like he doesn’t want to be included in this group all of a sudden. “Don’t drag the rest of us into it.”

“Hey, don’t be a dick!” Roman says, stepping forward and hissing when he places a slight weight on his foot. “What if it were you out there?”

They scoff. “Me? I would never let myself get caught by a psycho murderer in the woods. But if I did, the last thing I would want is my valiant savior to come charging to my rescue and then get slaughtered right beside me like an idiot!”

“I’ll keep that in mind, you slimy snake,” Roman says.

“I bet you will, Hiccup,” they shoot back. “The gate is this way. Try not to step in another bear trap, won’t you?”

“Damn!” Remus says, “You’re a bitch! What’s your opinion on plastic in the sea?”

Roman slaps Remus’s arm and gives him a glare because really? Right now? They’re in the woods, someone just screamed and probably got murdered, they don’t know how to get out, Roman’s injured, and Remus is doing one of his weird flirting attempts.

Great.

The person in the skull shirt at least looks slightly thrown by the question, narrowing their eyes and shaking their head as they turn away as if they can brush off the rest of the group. “The sea turtles are dying.” They say blandly, without a hint of actual emotion. “Oh no. Next time I see one I will give my condolences about it’s mother.”

Remus’s mouth pops open for a retort that Roman knows is going to be bad, but before he can get the words out, there’s a loud sound of cracking branches from behind them. Remus drags Roman back from the area, planting himself in front of Roman like some kind of human shield and Roman wobbles, without anything to put his injured leg on.

“Jesus Christ!” A new voice screams, as they trip over a thicket and fall into the clearing.

They move like a blur; barely more than a shadow with the ungodly amount of black they’re wearing. Roman can make out a pale face, dark bangs and terrified eyes, before the scramble back in the ground leaving… leaving smears of deep red on the ground in front of them. Their flashlight goes flying off to Logan’s feet, but they don’t seem to care as much about that as moving away from whatever is behind them.

The air tastes like metal, like copper, and Roman swears the world sways under him. His heartbeat blares in his ears almost louder than the newcomer’s hysterical sobs.

There’s a thud. And another.

And the trees themselves seem to shake and draw from the shadow that takes form. It peels away from the others, massive, hulking and distorted in all the wrong ways: at some point it must have been human, Roman thinks hysterically. It has two legs and two arms and a torso and a head, but it's elongated towering over even Logan at his ridiculous height. Its skin is covered in soot and dirt, layers upon layers to the point where Roman almost thought that it was wearing some kind of leather armor. It has rubber overalls on, strapped...strapped to its body with metal hooks that catch the thin moonlight peeking out of its bulging bare shoulders in a way that looks…looks self mutilated. The patchy ugly skin is healed around the metal, molded to it, absorbing it. In one hand is a cleaver, cobbled together from various metals with an unfinished touch and dripping scarlet all the way down the handle to its massive hands. Roman thinks that with one hand it could easily crush one of their skulls.

But worse than that, than the blood, than the stench coming from the thing, than the bloodlust that's echoing out of it: worse than all that is the mask welded to its face. A pale white skin that nearly glows in the darkness, framed with jagged sharp edges of bladed teeth in a terror inducing smile. Soulless orbs exist where eyes might have once been: now there are empty voids without a human behind them.

In a slow, almost robotic motion, it raises the cleaver in its hand. Blood rolls down the handle onto it’s hand and Roman watches the bulb of red drip down into the grass right between the newcomer’s sneakers.

Oh, Roman thinks suddenly very clearly without any room for a single doubt, This is what death looks like.

“NO!” The person in the skirt screams and suddenly they shove forward and throw themselves in front of the swing of the cleaver. Roman isn’t sure who screams louder at that: him, the person in the skirt, or the person on the ground bleeding out.

His brain is on fire, every atom in him is screaming so loud that he can’t hear his thoughts. His own breath flees his lungs with abandon that Roman’s brain somehow hadn’t gotten because instead of running away he’s running towards the monster. His blood boils in his veins and he pushes through Remus with the sort of reckless abandonment of sanity he never would have thought he’d ever make.

His vision locks onto the kid on the ground and his fingers latch on their left shoulder and he hauls them back.

The air next to his ear whistles as the cleaver misses them by centimeters and the person in the skirt screams as they fall to the side, and specks of something wet and warm and sticky flings through the air like its a water fountain; Roman feels it splatter across his face and his brain heart thuds in his chest.

Remus appears on his other side, grabbing Roman’s hostage by their other arm and they both pull them to their feet, ignoring the way they scream in pain. Their torso drips ruby into the dead grass at their feet and Roman-- Roman--

The hulking monster in front of them gives his cleaver a shake and drags it over its own arm to wipe away the blood, like it's nothing more than a hindrance. It turns its entire body towards the person in the skirt, the gorgeous selfless angel of a person that Roman hasn’t gotten the name of-- of someone he isn't going to get the same of because the abomination raises the cleaver again.

Roman screams because he does not want to watch someone die, please he doesn’t want to be in this nightmare anymore, wake up wake up wakeup--

There’s a brilliant white light that explodes at the last second. Roman himself jerks away from it, but that’s nothing compared to the inhuman howl that the creature makes as it stumbles back to the edge of the forest, covering its beady eyes with its massive hands.

Logan flicks the flashlight off and grabs the person in the skirt by their uninjured arm and looks back at them only briefly with an air of finality.

“RUN!” He says.

And Roman does.

[minnesotadruids]

Druidry and Politics

In the time leading up to the United States 2020 presidential election, elsewhere on social media I mentioned something to the effect of protecting the Earth-Mother against those who would harm her, paired with an obvious political stance. There was one individual, let’s call him Clive, who had a point, (understandable to a degree) that druids should stay apolitical. Furthermore, Clive said to “stay on point” and stated that making political statements “cheapens the message.”

Ok I get that. Some people are into druidry solely for the spiritual aspect, solely for escapism, or solely to honor the gods. Some are truly apolitical, while a large number of other druids are right-wingers for some reason, and often they seem uncomfortable disclosing how they reconcile druidry with voting against their own interests. Personally I think they are aware of their hypocrisy and just don’t want to come to terms with it. I’ve even seen an unhealthy number of White Supremacists trying to racially glorify their brand of druidry as a “Native European Religion” (a healthy number of racists would be zero).

I usually don’t really want to politicize my druidry either, but I realized druidry — a nature-based spirituality — is political, de facto. It always has been. Even the ancient druids held roles equivalent to political advisors, lawyers, and judges.

Look at the Industrial Revolution as it began three centuries ago, and look at how the Druidry Revival movement sprang up as a knee-jerk reaction to it. Those modern druids saw the destruction and exploitation of the Earth-Mother expanding exponentially. Profit and power were sold to the highest bidder with no regard for stewardship or sustainability, and the expansionist industrialization quickly became a hallmark of capitalism, imperialism, and colonialism. 

Enter the Reformed Druids

In his 2004 interview, founder David Fisher recalled that Reformed Druidism “...has very little ethical importance, except sort of benign concern for nature and ecology. Perhaps some pacifism.” In tandem with that notion, the Reformed Druid movement began in 1963 as a protest against the rule of a conservative [college] administration. 

Then in the early 1970s Richard Shelton was the 8th Arch-Druid of Carleton College Grove and Chairperson of the Council of Dalon Ap Landu. He wrote Exorcism in Time of War, invoking the Curse of the Druids, the latter of which is a well-guarded secret in the Reform. The druids were protesting the Vietnam War, and he created a ritual spell in his effort to put an end to the war. Shortly after Shelton used the exorcism, then-US president Nixon announced in January 1973 a ceasefire in North Vietnam, and the Reformed Druids claimed partial credit for their magical role in the peace accords.

Back to Clive

I’d have to say that I am staying on point as a member of the Reformed Druid movement. I won’t say Clive can’t be a Reformed Druid, but it does sound like there is room for self improvement on his part. Druidry as a whole is a vague amorphous blob that means something different to everyone. If me saying I want to protect the Earth-Mother from exploitation is some sort of cheapened message, then what is it that Clive wants me to deliver in terms of druidry? If there’s something about druidry that makes Clive feel uncomfortable, then he needs to feel that discomfort in order to grow as a spiritual being, and transcend past his hurdles.

Have an acorn. Something to inspire personal growth.

Editor’s Note: It took me three days to write and rewrite this entry and about two weeks deliberating whether I wanted to write it at all. I had to attempt to be more compassionate and understanding of the myriad forms of contemporary druidism out there and remove the vitriol in my tone. I still have yet to see or hear a convincing defense as to how conservative druids reconcile the nature-loving and environmental aspects of druidry with the exploitative habits of the political causes they support. 

There’s always the good old “I don’t have to explain myself to you” condescending attitude they display, and it really only sounds like they know they have flawed reasoning and don’t want to address their hypocrisy. Also common responses are some sort of red herring fallacy where they try to change the subject. Being evasive doesn’t look good either. Why can’t they just answer the questions without making it about something else?

Lastly if I lose any followers over this post, then very well. In Reformed Druidry we call it weeding the grove. So be it.

[haru-sen]

IAL: Mandalorians 2

Thanks, 3-D Render Anon, with your adorable voodoo dolls.  That was the serotonin I needed.

I should be working, but I’m posting this.  The Mando’a phrases and cultural dishes are from Wookieepedia.  I’ll post the actual translations in the fic, but I don’t have time right now.

You woke up in a tent, your entire body aching.  You were tucked under some blankets, a bedroll under your head.  Your sabers were still on your belt.  

“Query: are you done yet?” HK-53 asked, from overhead.  “Also, are you sure I can’t kill these Mandalorians?”  

“I am going to track down that pacifist module and shove it right up your accessory port,” you muttered.  “Just you wait-”

“Shock: Master, how could you threaten your loyal droid this way?  When did Master get so cruel?  I am very proud of you!”  

Laughing, you held your head for a moment. “What happened?”

“Recollection:  You collapsed. The blue-armored meatbag injected you with kolto, and carried you here.  The black-armored meatbag kept his gun on me, and I made sure neither of them did strange things to your person while you were inconveniently indisposed. It has been a little over a standardized hour since you lost consciousness.”  

You sat up slowly.  The sun was still up.  “Where are we?”

“The witch is alive.”  

You blinked, the black-armored Mandalorian standing in front of you.  He was not wearing his helmet. Tall, with dark skin and clawmark scars across his cheeks, he loomed over you.  He was well-groomed, his beard neatly trimmed, his black hair was immaculately styled.  How did he not have helmet hair?  

Blue scrambled over, also with his helmet off, also younger than you expected.  He was blonde, hair gelled and styled.  What the hell? Did Mandalorians discover the secret to preventing helmet hair?   He smiled at you, with eyes as blue as his armor, his cheeks flushed. “You’re recovering much faster than I expected. How are you feeling?”

“Like I drank Delta Squad under the table again…”  You said, rubbing your forehead.  You had overdone it back there.  Between the terentatek corruption, the Ataru form, and the subsequent wounds, you had pushed yourself too hard too quickly.  

“Jedi drink?” Blue raised a brow.  

“No, we just absorb dew through our pores,” you scowled.

“This Jedi witch is about to get dunked in a lake if she keeps giving me that attitude,” Skull said coolly.  

“Well, I am thirsty,” you said.  

To your surprise, Blue offered his canteen, looked thoughtful for a moment, took a drink, and then offered it again.  “It’s not poisoned.”  

“Disgust: Not poisoned, but definitely contaminated,” HK-53 said.

You hesitantly accepted the canteen, drinking down some of the metallic-tasting water. “Thanks.”  You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. “What do I call you?”

“Reaper,” Skull said. “76.” He pointed at Blue.  “You?”

“Strike,” you said,  climbing to your feet.  The world wobbled, but did not tilt too far on its axis.   You looked around.  This encampment was small, but there was a cold firepit and vehicle tracks. They had not set this up in a couple hours.  They had been in this area for awhile.  

“Strike,” Reaper said, expression grim.  “I think we need to talk.”  

“No, I need to get to Nar Shaddaa,” you said.  

The men looked at each other.  “So do we.”  

“That’s what we need to talk about,” 76 said, crossing his arms.  

You stood there for a moment, a little intuitive nudge already sending your thoughts into overdrive. This was about to get even more complicated. “Because you really like casinos?  Right?” You asked, with a sigh.  

“Because we need to get one of those kids back,” Reaper said.  

“...Of course, you do,” you said, staring up at the sky.  You were glad someone had survived to hire mercs to rescue their kid. And you didn’t really care if the child chose to avoid training on Tython. But you did not need battle-happy Mandalorians ruining your operation.  “Which one?”

“Xenya Itera, human female.” Reaper held out a holo of a little girl with a tiny spherical droid floating over her outstretched hands.  She was dark skinned, her hair in several long tiny braids. She was smiling.  “You can rescue the others, but we are obligated to retrieve her.”  

“And if she doesn’t want to go with you?” You asked, crossing your arms.

“Then she doesn’t have to,” Reaper said with a shrug, surprisingly unbothered by the question.  

“Your bounty?”

“Not your problem,” Reaper said coolly.  “We just need to get the kid away from the Cartels. Simple enough.  Easier too if we go after them together.”  

...Two sensible, non-volatile suggestions from Mandalorian mercs in one day? Was the world coming to an end? ...Or was it a trap? There was a long history of bad blood between Jedi and the Mandalorian clans.  

“What clan?”  You asked suddenly.  

“Excuse me?” Reaper said.

“What clan are you?”

The men looked at you for a moment, like they hadn’t expected that question.  “Clan Ordo.”  

You nodded.  You didn’t have any standing grudges with Clan Ordo.  Hell, you hadn’t really ever dealt with them.  But they weren’t Clan Lok, Rook, Varad, or Viszla, so you were probably good for the moment.  “I can work with that.”

**

“You should be fine with Ordo,” Rogun said, over the comm-link.  “They were one of the clans that backed the Crusader’s Schism, several years back – wanted to side with the Republic instead of the Empire.  Whole thing got crushed by Mandalore the Vindicated, and Ordo was eventually welcomed back into the fold, with honor.  So they likely don’t have the grudge that Lok and Viszla do.  I can’t speak for the individuals though.”

“Good to know,” you said, sitting cross legged in the tent.  “And Talon?”

“...I guess you’re right, Strike.  There are no coincidences.  He’s been spotted on Nar Shaddaa, near the slave markets with an entourage.”  An entourage? Did that mean…?  Rogun gave a rough laugh.  “The Force moves in mysterious ways.”  

“No, the Force is a mean bitch with an axe to grind, usually in my face,” you scowled.  

Rogun guffawed, the lethorns on the side of his head shaking.  “You’re never going to make Master with that kind of talk.”  

You rolled your eyes upward, like that was the only thing keeping you from obtaining the rank of Master.  Ha!  “Just so you know, I got quizzed by the Council on our association.”  

“I’m sure you said nice things about me,” he said, his grin mean.

“I said, your sandwiches suck.”

Rogun scowled back at you.  “It was the best I could do during an active bombardment!”

You knew adult Chagrians often lost their sense of taste due to environmental factors, and maybe that was the reason the food had been awful, but it was rude to point that part out.  “Yeah, well, I talked you up a little too.  Made sure they knew that despite your questionable occupation, you’re a friend of the Republic.”

“Great, so when they come knocking at my door for favors or charitable handouts, I know who to blame.”  

“Just give them one of those sandwiches, that’ll send them on their way.”

Rogun squinted at you.  “It’s a good thing you’re useful, Strike.”

You laughed.  “Thanks, Rogun. Keep me updated on Lord Talon’s movements.  I’ll make you a delicious sandwich in gratitude.”

“Go kiss a sarlaac,” he scowled, and hung up.

“You certainly have a way with people,” Reaper said, hovering by the entrance.  

You had not noticed his approach. How much had he heard?  “That’s me, making friends wherever I go,” you said with a shrug.

Reaper gave a low chuckle.  “You and that mouthy droid.”  

You glanced around, realizing HK-53 had not been over your shoulder for your conversation with Rogun. You got up, a little concerned.

“Relax, he’s shooting bogstalkers with 76.  They were attacking the comms equipment.  I’ve already updated my people. I’m going to finish breaking down the camp, and then we can go.”  

You started to disassemble the tent, watching as HK and 76 sniped at the leathery reptilians that fluttered in the sky.  

“What are you flying?” Reaper asked, packing several weapons into crates.

“The usual – Rendili Defender-class light corvette.  It’ll get us where we need to go.”

“And you think your credentials will be enough to get us through Olaris?” He asked, because the Republic-held city wasn’t too friendly toward Mandalorians.  

“I can, but it might be easier if you leave off the helmets.  I know that’s culturally insensitive, but we’ll move faster if I don’t have to pull rank on a bunch of terrified soldiers and customs agents,”  You shrugged, bundling the tent tightly.

“Sensible,” was all Reaper said.  

**

“So what’s it like, traveling with a Jedi Knight?” 76 asked, lowering his rifle.

“Declaration: That is a broad question, meatbag.  Be more specific,” HK-53 said, rifle aimed at a ferrazid hound, the mutated creature already tearing apart a broke receiver.  

76 laughed.  “Do you get in a lot of fights?”

“Bragging: We get in so many fights.  The number of people who want to kill Master is very high. And it doesn’t seem to get lower, despite how many people we do kill. If I wasn’t so busy killing her enemies, I would want to fight her one day.”  HK-53 paused, its head twitching.

76 frowned.  “Why does she attract such enmity?  Just who are you killing?”

“Aggravation: Master has killed many things, usually enemies of the Republic, but she has also made many rules about what I am not allowed to kill.  It is unnecessarily complicated.  For example, Master generally prefers to let the enemy make the first move of aggression, to ensure that it is adhering to her archaic rules of “moral” combat.  Sometimes she even talks people out of fighting her.  Can you believe it?  She knows they’re her enemies and she lets them walk away! She should just kill them ahead of time, not spare them.  What is she thinking?” HK-53 gunned down the mutated hound-beast.  “But Master is a Jedi, and Jedi have to follow silly rules,” the droid muttered petulantly.  

“How did a...violent murder-happy droid like yourself end up with a Jedi then?” 76 asked.

HK-53 tilted its head, giving 76 a very skeptical look.  “Suspicion: Such flattery. Why are you asking so many questions, meatbag?”  

“I’m just curious about the people I’m traveling with,” 76 said, rubbing the back of his neck.  “It’s not every day I meet a Jedi Knight or such an...enthusiastic battle droid.  It leaves an impression.  There’s a story there.”

HK-53 stared at him, those eyes glowing.  “Satisfaction: We are impressive. You don’t need to know more.”  Turning back to the swamps, HK-53 surveyed the area. “Observation: Oh, it looks like Master and the other meatbag want us to return.”

76 just laughed awkwardly.

**

“Concern: Master, that meatbag was asking a lot of questions about us.”  HK-53 was secured to speeder on the seat behind you.  The Mandalorians were on the other. You were technically using their equipment, but you didn’t exactly trust a bunch of battle-happy maniacs in the driver’s seat.  That included your droid.

You zoomed over marshlands and fields, the Mandalorians riding parallel to you.  

“What kind of questions?”

To your surprise, HK-53 just replayed the recording of the conversation.  Normally, he was all too happy to summarize an interaction, and intersperse his own commentary, but he let it play out without interruption.

“Query: There is subtext that I do not understand, Master.  Is he probing for weakness?  What angle is he coming from?  What does he hope to learn?”

You sighed.  “It could be socially-motivated, but I’m sure he’s also trying to gather intel.  People often let a lot of things slip in friendly conversation.”  

“Query: What did he let slip?”

“Not a lot,” you said, thoughtfully. “But he’s trying to be diplomatic, and he seems to have a personal interest in Jedi.”

“Query: How can you tell?”

“The enthusiasm,” you said. “He’s not just asking for intelligence purposes.  He’s interested in the topic, and he wants to make a good impression on you.  I’m not exactly sure why – Mandalorian mercs aren’t really known for their diplomatic skills, but I think if we talk to him more, we’ll figure it out.”  

“Statement: These Mandalorians are not what I expected.  Normally, we just fight them, and it’s a little difficult, but it’s done.  This change in behavior is...disconcerting.”  

“Yeah, I know.  Nothing about this mission is what we expected,” you muttered.  

**

  “Clean, sturdy, and fast,” Reaper said, looking over your ship.  “Not bad.”  

“Spacious,” 76 said, with a nod.

Given the fact that it was just you and HK-53, the ship was almost too big.  “You guys can make yourselves comfortable in the crew quarters,” you said, gesturing to the rooms.  “Let me know if you need anything.  I’m going to make some calls before we reach Nar Shaddaa.”

But first you needed to change into an intact top, and check your wounds.  Your robe was ruined, and there were three parallel gashes across your low back.  They nearly spanned the entire width of your back, and were each a couple inches wide, and thankfully not too deep.  But they would take a while to heal.  76 was right, you would scar.  Your healing skills just weren’t up good enough.  Still.  

The auto-navigation was engaged, cockpit locked.  You wouldn’t have to take the helm till you reached Nar Shaddaa.  You didn’t exactly trust the Mandalorians on your ship, but you could feel them settling down, sharing one of the two sleeping rooms - there were multiple berths on your ship, but they holed up in one together. And they were behaving. To your surprise, when you reached Olaris, the Mandalorians had tucked their helmets into their bags, and quietly followed you through the spaceport.  HK-53 attracted more attention with his running commentary, but boarding had gone smoothly.  

You put HK-53 outside the comm room and shut the door.  

You first called Master Amari, to give her the update for the Council.  Yes, you were going to Nar Shaddaa.  Also, Orgo the Hutt had a terentatek and had tried to feed you to it.  You did not have time to finish the beast – but you would return to take care of it, after you rescued the children.  You had picked up some Mandalorians – they were also tracking one of the children and on their best behavior.  

Master Amari had been interested to learn they were Clan Ordo, but seemed satisfied with your progress.  You did not mention Lord Talon.  

The next call was less staid.  

“A terentatek, Theron,” you snarled.  “How did you manage to leave out that detail?”

“I don’t keep an inventory of every crime lord’s dungeon!”

“It’s a goddamn terentatek, not a monkey lizard!  How did he even get one?”

“Did you try asking him?” The spy asked snidely.  He lounged on the comm unit, looking nothing like the sickly boy you’d met on Haashimut. “I was too busy trying not to die!”

“Sounds like a “you problem,” he shrugged.  “And stop whining, you didn’t die.”  He grinned at you.  

“No, thanks to you!”

“You didn’t invite me.  You could still invite me,” he said, leaning forward, his eyes bright and too eager.

“Pfft, since when did you care about a dozen potential padawans?” You asked, even though you knew the answer, just like you knew why you had not invited Theron along.  It would get too complicated for a variety of reasons.  “This is barely even Jedi business.  It’s a criminal venture that happens to have Imperial ties – not really relevant to the SIS or your career.”

“...I heard you saw the Grandmaster,” he said, suddenly subdued.  

And that was exactly why you had not invited him.  Theron was a shady son of a bitch on the best of days.  That said “bitch” happened to be Grandmaster Satele Shan was just another level of complicated. There were so many reasons the situation was screwed: she had given him up immediately, his father was “unknown,” and he didn’t have enough force sensitivity to blow out a candle.  His solution? He’d gotten some kind of high end cybernetic implant and gone off to play spymaster for the Republic, instead of working through his feelings.

But there was always an underlying layer of bitter regrets that accompanied his dealings with the Jedi Order.  

“Yes, she looks healthy,” you said, playing it off like it was not a big deal. “It was going to be a disciplinary hearing, but that changed, because I’m just a pawn in some greater philosophical argument.  Or maybe because they needed me to do a job,” you scowled.  “I still annoy her, don’t worry.”  

“Wanna wager which one of us is the greater disappointment?” Theron asked, his smile deceptively cheerful.  You knew better than to answer that question.  “Just kidding, Strike.  It’s obviously you.” He made finger guns.  “She hasn’t given me a second thought.”  

You shrugged, pretending like you didn’t hear the open wound in that statement. “I doubt it’s anything so important.  I just get a lot of lectures from the Council.  You can probably guess what they think about strong emotion and any activity that isn’t meditating in front of a fountain.”  You paused. “Look, do you want to be there when I report back to them?  Like as an SIS adjutant or something?”

Theron let out a harsh laugh. “Are you trying to get kicked out, Strike? You show up to a High Council meeting with the Grandmaster’s bastard offspring in tow?  How’s that going to look?”

“...You’re the one asking to come along,” you scowled.  “Make up your own mind, Theron.  I don’t offer to drag you into stupid Order business, you complain.  I do offer to bring you into stupid Order business, after you ask, and you decline and point out why it’s a dumb idea.  This is why you don’t have friends.”

“You’re one to talk, unable to make real connections because the Order stunted you for the first half of your life. Now here you are, running around with that psychotic defective HK unit, like it will replace what you lost on Corellia, chasing after Lord Talon like he’s the one you’re mad at, instead of-”  

The world narrowed to a single point.  Red light flashed across your field of vision.  

“You need to stop talking,” you said, your voice going cold.    

Theron blinked, his eyes widening.  “...Druk.  Strike, I didn’t mean-”

You cut the connection, the room blurring around you for a moment.  It took a couple seconds for your vision to adjust.  To realize how angry you were.  Sure, Theron was an asshole, but he’d only peeled back the scab on a still-festering wound.  You tilted your head back.

Breathe in.  Hold.  Breathe out.  Hold.  Repeat till the darkness recedes.  

Gradually, your control steadied.  But you sat with that cloud of anger, not letting it go, nor letting it take ascendance.  It was there, a pulsing reminder of your humanity.  

You were going to kill Lord Talon and maybe his apprentice.  Not because you hated him, though you did.  Not because it was the right thing to do, though it was.  You were going to kill him for personal reasons, and unlike the rest of the Order, you were not going to lie to yourself about it.  And if that brought you down, if that decision made you fall, well, you were prepared.  You had taken the appropriate precautions. There would be no Sith Lord Strike.  

There was a ping as you received an incoming message.  It was from Theron. It was only five words.  

I’m an ass.  I’m sorry.

You shook your head, not ready to respond just yet, and left the comm room.  

**

“Is that the best you can do?” 76 laughed, and then there was whumpf, before you heard a body hit the floor.  

You peeked into the bunks, to see the Mandalorians stripped down to their shorts, wrestling on the ground.  Both men were muscular, with noticeable scars from blasters, vibroblades, and even some teeth and clawmarks.  But the tattoos were interesting… Reaper had a full left sleeve, and 76 had some very colorful creatures etched on his back.  Was that a varactyl?  

“See something you like?” 76 asked, glancing over at you.

Reaper looked up at you, narrowing his eyes.  “Or are we being too loud?”

“I wasn’t sure what was going on, just making sure it wasn’t a murder,” you said.  “Carry on then.” You abruptly turned around, shoulders taut.  You would not stare.  And you certainly would not get caught staring.  

“Hey, you seem kind of stressed.  Do you want to spar or something?” 76 asked.  

“That’s not a good idea right now,” you said, tensing.

“Why, because you’re still weak from getting your ass handed to you by a Sithspawn freak?” Reaper asked, casually.  “Don’t worry, witch. I’ll go easy on you, if you ask me nicely.”  His grin was savage.  

You turned back to face him, feeling the anger pour off you in waves. “...Mandalorian, do you need someone to humble you that badly?” You asked, your voice low and harsh.  

Reaper laughed.  “You don’t scare me, witch.  Choose your weapons.  And if you need to hide behind your fancy light swords-”

“Practice blades will do,” you said.  “Come on then.”  

Reaper squinted at you.

“You don’t think I’m going to tear up this room, do you?  The sparring mats are on the lower decks,” you said, already heading down.  

**

You picked up two blades off the rack, choosing a full blade and a half-length blade.  The cargo hold was equipped for exercise, as you did not normally transport a lot of goods.  You stretched, ignoring the whispered conversation between the Mandalorians.  

“Oh good, the medbay is across the hall-” 76 said.

“Whose side are you on?” Reaper growled.  

“You’re out of armor, cyar’ika,” 76 murmured. “She’s a Jedi.  The outcome is obvious.”

“Hut’uun,” Reaper spat.  “Verd ori'shya beskar'gam.”

“Don’t be salty because I’m telling the truth, mir’osik.” 76 laughed.

Maybe you should have called HK down here.  He could have translated the Mando’a for you.  Except he’d be calling for real bloodsport instead of just sparring.  And you didn’t need that temptation right now.  

You took a few practice swings, reviewing your forms.  Niman would be the most sensible.  This was just a sparring match. It was an all-around style, and Reaper had a lot more muscle mass than you did.  You did not need to go all out. You swung the longer blade, feeling the air part in front of you.  

Reaper glowered at 76, then stalked over to the weapon rack.  

“Don’t worry, Mandalorian,” you said, your mouth curving in a mockery of a smile.  “I won’t use my witchcraft to beat you.  I’ll do it with my own two hands.”

“You don’t sound much like a Jedi right now,” Reaper said as he stepped on the mat, holding a single vibrosword.    

“What do I sound like then?” You asked, as you began to circle each other.  

“A real soldier,” Reaper said.  “Which is impossible, because everyone knows that the Jedi like to hide in their fancy temples praying for peace, while their soldiers die.”  

You just smiled, the insult gliding right by your ear.  You had made that argument too many times to be offended by it.  Especially when it was from a Mandalorian braggart trying to get under your skin.  But it said everything that this was how an outsider viewed your order.  

You spun your swords, the heavier one in your dominant hand, feeling just right.  The anger boiling under your skin seemed to evaporate.  It was just energy now, ready to power you through another fight.  Your mind slid back into its seat of balance.  

Reaper charged you, lunging forward, the blade cutting through the air in a horizontal arc.  You sidestepped, ninety degrees to the right, just out of his reach.  And while his blade was extended, you slipped around his guard, and dragged your short sword across his back, a thin line of blood appearing seconds later.

He whirled, swinging the sword at you.  You parried with your left hand, and glided forward, under his guard, so close you couldn’t swing your other blade.  Instead, you grinned up at him, and rammed the hilt into his stomach.  

Coughing, Reaper doubled over, glared at you, and then his leg snapped up.  You slid backward, but a half-second to slow.  He kicked you in the chest, and you had to catch yourself in a spin.  It was suddenly hard to breathe.  

He charged you again, blade raised overhead.  

You instinctively raised your swords to parry, catching his blade between both of yours.  You twisted, and the vibrosword flew out of his hands, and landed on the floor of the cargohold with a clatter.  

“Do you yield?” You asked, spinning your swords. “Or would you like a moment to go retrieve your weapon, Mandalorian?  That’s fine.  I’ll wait.”  You grinned. “Because I can do this all night long.”

Reaper stared at you, eyes dark, nostrils flared. He was bleeding, breathing hard, and sweat glistened on his velvety skin, but he didn’t look like he was done.  

“Maybe you’d like to try both of us then?” 76 asked, his eyes narrowed. He picked up Reaper’s sword and then a stave for himself.  He placed the sword in Reaper’s outstretched hand, and took up a stance beside his comrade.  “Tion'ad hukaat'kama?”

You tilted your head back, moving your head from side to side.  76 held the staff like he knew how to use it.   You closed your eyes, feeling the currents of the force flow through you, a picture of the field forming in your head.   They stood side by side, but they would attempt to box you in.  They both had excellent range, but 76 would have the advantage of reach.   You could see the range and motion of their attacks before they made them, and while it would be difficult, you were good at this. “What are you waiting for?  An invitation?”

76 lunged first, sweeping the staff at knee-height.  

You leapt over the attack, even as Reaper slid to your right swung the vibrosword in a downward arc.  Elbow bent, wrist pressed to your head, you blocked the strike.

76 struck again, thrusting the staff like a polearm.  

You jumped backward out of his range, disengaging from Reaper’s sword lock.  You spun around toward Reaper, blades outstretched.  

76 swung the staff around, blocking the area across Reaper’s torso.

You struck the staff with a clang, and had to swing your right blade to block Reaper’s counterattack.  You disengaged again, dancing to the side, putting Reaper between you and 76. He tried to swing his sword, but you parried the blow again, and whipped your other blade across his cheek with a little flourish.  

The skin split and instead of countering, he stared at you, with an intensity that made you hesitate.  

From behind Reaper,  76 thrust again, striking you in the side with the staff. You hissed, and kicked Reaper backward into 76.   The blonde man steadied his friend, and together they stayed on their feet.  

You touched your side, knowing that the area would need extra healing later.  But it wasn’t enough to bring you down now. Breathing hard, you took a deep breath and whirled toward them, blades spinning in your hands.  

Still leaning on 76, Reaper didn’t have a chance to take a strong defensive stance.  You caught his vibrosword between yours, and scissored them, sending his weapon flying once more.  You couldn’t quite kick him aside, so you circled around to 76.  You got close, too close for him to use the staff properly.  He could block your blows, but he didn’t have the space to maneuver.  Your blades slid off the staff, but still scraped against his chest, slicing a long gash through the pink skin, the tip of the short sword catching on a gold ring.  

“Haar'chak!” He yowled.  

“Ke'pare!” Reaper shouted.  “Wait!”  

You froze, having not noticed the little gold rings on his nipples. “Disengaging,” you said, dropping your vibrosword, and very carefully freeing the short blade from the piercing.  “Why the hell would you leave those in for a sparring match?” You asked, backing up.  

Wincing, 76 held a hand over the right nipple ring.  “I...forgot,” he mumbled.  

“Showoff,” Reaper said, shaking his head.  

“I’ll get the kolto,” you sighed, setting the blades back in the rack, before you went across the hall to the medbay.  You grabbed the first aid kit and headed back.  

76 sat in the middle of the mats, rubbing his chest sheepishly.  Reaper sat next to him, shaking his head.  

“Hold still,” you said, crouching down in front of him to examine the cuts on his chest.  You cleaned the wounds with a sanitizing wipe and then applied a layer of kolto over the cuts.  You glanced at the nipple.  It was pink and a lot more swollen than the other one, but still intact.  You hadn’t torn the piercing or cut anything off. It wasn't even bleeding. Squeezing a little more kolto onto your thumb, you rubbed it lightly against his nipple.

76 stiffened, inhaling sharply as you put the healing gel on him.  He was breathing hard now, chest and face flushed from the exertion. He watched you with hooded eyes, teeth clenched.  “Do you patch up all your conquests?”  

“No, normally there isn’t enough left to fix,” you said, meeting his gaze.  

He studied your face for a moment.  You could feel the heat pouring off him.  He leaned closer.  “So I’m one of the lucky ones?”

“Very, you almost lost that piercing and more.” You said, your mouth suddenly dry.

“It’s still sore, maybe you could put some more kolto on it,” he purred, a very knowing smile on his face.

“No, I think you deserve to suffer a little for your stupidity,” you said, backing up.  You glanced at Reaper.  “Do you need kolto?”

“Go on then,” Reaper said coolly, sitting up straight.  

You crouched back down in front of Reaper, keeping him partially between you and 76.  You worked quickly, your fingers lightly tracing the scar on his face.  He watched you sullenly, as you quickly applied the gel.  And then he turned around, silently giving you his back. His skin was hot under your fingertips, and you tried to seal the wound quickly, very conscious of 76’s hungry gaze. You slapped a bandage on it, and he turned back around, plucking the kolto out of your hands.

“Let’s see those ribs,” Reaper told you calmly.  “76 hit you pretty hard.”  

“I can take care of it myself,” you said.  

“No one’s going to pounce on you,” Reaper said.  “And even if they did, you could handle them.” He did not look at 76.  “Now don’t be stubborn and try going up that ladder with your ribs cracked. That’s just foolish.” There wasn’t any of the previous malice in his voice, just a gentle chiding that reminded you a little of Master Amari.  

Sighing, you unfastened your sash, and peeled back your robes, wincing as you touched your left side.  

His head tilted to the side, Reaper applied the healing gel to your bare skin, his warm hands gently massaging it into your left side.  You bit your lip, placing a hand near there as you tried to convince the bones to knit back together correctly.  

Between the kolto and the little bit of force healing you could manage, the pain began to subside.  

“Better?” Reaper asked, his palm still pressed to your side, close to your hand.  

“Yes,” you said, swallowing roughly.  “I should be good.”  

Reaper bowed his head.  “You won, Jedi.  I am...humbled by your prowess.” He nodded to you, giving you a slight smile.  “But I would like to try against you again later.  Perhaps barehanded next time.”  

You remembered seeing them rolling around on the ground, wrestling.  Your breath caught.  “You’re welcome to use the sparring mats,” you said, pulling away, closing your robes and tying off your sash.  “But I need to go meditate.”  

“Will you join us later?” Reaper asked.

“...We’ll see,” you said, glancing at 76, who lounged on his side, one hand cupping his sore pectoral.  

76 winked at you.  “Feel better?”  

You blinked, having already forgotten why you’d agreed to spar in the first place.  “Yes, thank you, but I really need to go meditate.”  

“I can think of some other things that would help you out,” 76 said, looking you up and down with a smile.

“I really should go,” you said, already halfway out the door.

**

“I need to go meditate?”  Really?  That was your best excuse?  It worked, but still…

Grumbling you, shut yourself in your quarters, limping to the fresher for a shower.   It was quick, and you changed into another clean robe – today had been hard on clothes – and then settled on your floor cushion, still feeling the force run through you.  

You did not contemplate the temple fountains, nor the forests of Tython, nor any Jedi object.  You stared out the window, into the void of space, the stars twinkling in the distance.  You fully expected flashes of red light, or even that dark haze that settled over your mind when you really got to thinking about the past.  

But the force continued to move through you in strong currents.  It was like sitting up to your shoulders in a warm ocean.  The world took on a soft gray glow, and you let yourself drift.

It was the most peaceful you had felt since Corellia.

**

“Knight Strike, are you occupied?” 76 asked over the intercom.  

You opened one eye, focus settling back into your body.  “Do you need something?”

“We took the liberty of making a meal, and thought you might be hungry,” he said.

You blinked. “Oh, I’ll be down in a minute.”  The offer took you by surprise.  HK-53 had said nothing about them moving around the ship. You rose, tightening your robe, and left your quarters.  

A warm savory scent hit you as you opened the door.  The entire deck smelled of rich spices and sauteed aromatics.  It was coming from the conference room – the one you used as a makeshift dining room back when… Back when there had been more people on your ship.  

The Mandalorians were inside and had set up hotplates and a kettle on the table.  Reaper was back in his polished black armor, sans helmet, stirring a pot. He did not look up when you came in.  He just lifted a battered spoon to his lips and tasted the stew or maybe it was a casserole?  If so, it was heavily sauced.    

76 stood over his own battered iron skillet, an amber colored cake within.  He cautiously poured some syrup over the cake.   Then he cracked open a bottle and poured an even more generous amount of dark liquor over it.  “It’s almost done!”  

“If you want to cook, I have a small kitchen setup in my quarters-” You paused, realizing that maybe you did not want them traipsing in and out of your bedroom.  

“Oh? Really? I would like to see that,” Reaper said, looking up and smiling at you, heat in his gaze.  He lifted the spoon from the pot, offering you a taste of the bright orange stew.  It had chunks of mystery meat, vegetables, and what looked like beans.  It smelled like fire, smoke, and peppers, clearing whatever spacedust might have been clogging your sinuses.  You hesitantly took a bite.  It was savory and hot. The layers of earthy and smoky spices blended well together and even though you were still chewing, you wanted another bite almost immediately.

Even if you had never tasted this dish before, there was something immediately comforting about it.  The meat was smoked.  The vegetables had likely been dried and reconstituted in the sauce.  The “beans” were actually some kind of grains, soft and fluffy with just the right amount of chewiness.  “That’s very good,” you said. “What is it?”  

“Tiingilar,” Reaper said, watching your face.  “It doesn’t burn too much, I hope.”  

“The seasoning is excellent.  I’m very fond of peppers,” you said, raising a brow.  Was he hoping that it was too much for you?  That seemed a possibility.  You had beaten him in combat, so he was going to compete with you in other ways.  Still, if it meant that he cooked a nice dinner, you wouldn’t take too much offense.    

Reaper just smiled at you.  “You are full of surprises.  The last non-Mandalorian I fed this to accused me of poisoning her.  It was...too hot for her delicate mouth.”  

“She wasn’t as well-traveled as Knight Strike,” 76 said, flipping his skillet and dumping the cake onto a battered metal plate.  “Uj'alayi. It’s a traditional dessert,” he told you, pulling out a combat knife and slicing it into six pieces.  “It can be made in our helmets.  Reaper insisted that I use a pan this time.” He winked. “But I think the helmet adds to the flavor.”

“Interesting,” you said, glancing at Reaper, who just chuckled.  “Should I get-”

“No need! We have tiingilar, uj’alayi, and behot tea.  Plenty of food to go around,”  76 said proudly.  He paused, gesturing to the table.  

“And I have a few extra bottles of kri’gee and narcolethe, if you’re interested,” Reaper said, a little too innocently. “Now I think he is trying to poison me,” you said, because you weren’t an idiot.  Those liquors were very potent.  

“I have some extra ne’tra gal,” 76 said, gesturing to the bottle he had.  “It’s a much nicer ale.”  

“It would go well with the uj’alayi,” Reaper said, setting a bowl of his spicy stew in front of you.  He poured you a mug of tea.  Then he began doling out portions for himself and 76.

76 put a slice of cake in front of you, along with the open bottle of ne’tra gal.

You took a sip of the sticky sweet ale.  It was more potent than you were expecting, but it was Mandalorian alcohol.  You then took a small bite of the dense cake.  It was rich and sticky, filled with dried fruit, nuts, and some kind of sweet syrup.  The syrup had carmelized a little on the outside of the cake, but the inside was almost too sweet, except for the ale that soaked in.   You washed it down with more of the ale.    

76 watched you eagerly.  “What do you think?”

“It’s rich,” you said.  “But the ne’tra gal does go well with it.”

“It was originally army rations – lots of calories for a march,” Reaper said.  “We thought you might enjoy some traditional Mandalorian food.”  

“That was very kind,” you said. “It’s delicious.”  

“Do Jedi have tasty traditional food?”  76 asked.

You sat with that for a moment. “...It’s actually kind of bland,” you sighed.  “Nutritious, but not fancy.  They don’t want us to be “distracted” by such things.”  Back in the day, Theron had smuggled you candies, snack foods, and even alcohol.  You felt a twinge of annoyance.  Back in the day, Theron hadn’t been such an asshole.  “I like trying new things though.  I had to sneak around in Coruscant – make it look like I was only stopping because I needed “sustenance.”  Not because the food stall smelled delicious.”

“We are not encouraged to be easily distracted by food,” Reaper said with a frown.  “But there is no harm in enjoying it.”  

“...Jedi aren’t supposed to “enjoy” things,” you muttered.  “Well, they can, just not…too much.”

“What counts as “too much?” 76 asked, taking a big bite of cake.  

You shrugged.  “That’s a philosopher’s debate.  But we’re meant to focus on denying most temptations.  Want and attachment lead to other negative emotions, which lead to hate, which leads to the Dark Side.  Let me summarize it for you: everything fun leads to the Dark Side.”  You rolled your eyes and took another swig of ale. “Depending on who catches you, that lecture can go on for hours.”

“Enjoying cake leads to becoming a Sith Lord?”  76 chuckled.  “I want to eat more.  Will that get me my own lightsaber?”  

You laughed.  

“Your Order has a real fear of this Dark Side,” Reaper said, sipping his tea.  “It seems a little convenient, like a method of control.”  

“The fear is legitimate, but the safeguards are controversial.”  You took another bite of his spicy stew.  “It’s complicated.”  

“So what happens when a Jedi goes to the Dark Side, becomes dar’jetii? Why is this so dreaded?  I have met the dar’jetii of the Empire.  Some are reasonable.  Many are not.  But they are not Jedi, and they are not so much more fearsome.”  Reaper’s brows furrowed.

“We’ve fought dar’jetii,” 76 said, chest puffed out.  “And we’ve won.  Didn’t get to keep the lightsaber though.  Captain got it.”  He gave you a rueful smile.  

“I assume dar’jetii means “Sith.”  And that’s part of the problem.”  You took another sip of tea, staring at the wall.  “There are two different understandings of the terms.  The political difference is that Jedi are force-sensitives who work for the Republic.  Sith work for the Empire.  It is an overly-simple explanation.” You held the mug between your hands, its warmth comforting.  

“That is how we understand it,” Reaper said.  

“Then you have the philosophical definitions.  There are two sides to the Force, Light and Dark.  The choices you make in life determine your alignment.  There are Imperial Sith, who are fair-minded and compassionate.  Even if they may not follow the Jedi Code, they are of the Light, though it would be unwise of them to advertise that.”

“And there are Jedi who are cruel and bloodthirsty, and they are of the Dark?”  Reaper asked.  “Your Order allows this?”

“No, they do not.  In fact, they are dismissed from the Order, and sometimes they are imprisoned.  Sometimes it is...worse.”  You did not look at them.  

“That seems like a tactical disadvantage,”  76 said.

“...It’s more than that.”  You switched back to the ne’tra gal. “Sometimes singular choices can swing a Light-side Jedi to the opposite end of the spectrum.  They go from honorable, kind, and patient to violent, cruel, and despotic in seconds.  Falling is a sudden kind of madness. Often they turn on their friends and allies, killing the people they swore to protect. Sometimes they recover who they were and regret what was done.  Sometimes they just become monsters.”  

“What causes it? I haven’t heard of Sith having such experiences often.” Reaper asked.  “Do they fear an inverse effect?”

You laughed, imagining that for a moment.  “No, I guess I haven’t heard of a Sith suddenly being filled with an uncontrollable sense of altruism.  At least, not to the same degree.  They may switch sides or work to seek redemption, but these are conscious choices.”

“So what makes Jedi so much easier to influence?” 76 asked.  

“Well, the Sith Code does encourage a certain amount of violence and backstabbing, but that’s the question, isn’t it?  The Jedi Order thinks if we, as individuals, keep our distance from the world, do not get attached to others, and live like ascetics, we can avoid falling.  If we just follow their rules, and live in our cloisters, we will be safe.”  The bitterness of your words surprised you.  

“Is there no middle ground?”

You took another bite of the stew.  “That’s also complicated. Allegedly, there is.”  You thought of the Gray Jedi. “But it is not an explanation accepted within our Order.  I have witnessed people falling.  It is...horrible to see someone you have known your entire life changing into the antithesis of themselves.”

“So if...attachment makes them fall, what brings them back?  Do you appeal to their honor?”  76 asked.

“Maybe,” you said, because you would give a lot to find the answer to that question.  “I think...reminding them what they found to be so important can help.”  You thought of Nomen Karr.  “But sometimes they are just in denial.  They think they are infallible, they think that excuses whatever actions they take, and that accumulation of corruption combined with their own hubris destroys them.”  You sighed.  

“What causes this madness?  The revelation of their own hypocrisies?” Reaper pressed.  

“Force users are...vessels.  The Force runs through us, it is like a constant stream of energy.  That energy can manifest in different ways.  Light Side users have certain powers, Dark Side users have others.  And then there are some abilities that are so rare, it’s hard to say where they come from.  Those are the extremely talented few: I have a friend who can heal broken minds.  But I have no idea how to do such things.  I am just a better-than-average fighter.” You smiled wryly.  “But one of my teachers has a theory.  Jedi spend so long keeping out the Dark, that sometimes, if we lower our guards, if we make an emotional choice toward the Dark, suddenly we have opened ourselves up to an outpouring from it.  Some of us do not know how to cope and that system shock is too much too quickly, and then we swing to the opposite side.”  

“So maybe you should do a few bad things, to keep your mind safe,” Reaper said with a shrug.  “Easy enough.”  

You laughed.  “...maybe.  Or maybe that slow acceptance of corruption just makes it easier to fall.  That’s a high-risk theory for me to try to prove.”  

“So what is an example of how a Jedi falls?” Reaper asked.

You sat there, knowing it wasn’t any of his business, and that you were drinking too much.  But it was not a secret.  And he wasn’t actually asking about your past. “Say you go into battle, and you really hate the person you are fighting.  You have thought long and hard about how they need to die.  You know that it is against everything that your Order has taught you, and you don’t care.  They might want him as a useful prisoner, but even if he surrenders, you are going to kill him.  Or perhaps, you are going to disobey orders – you will pursue him off the battlefield, even if it means leaving your comrades or charges behind.  There are many ways.  But I think it comes down to, you will look at your choices, you will know that what you choose is wrong, and you will do it anyway.”  

Reaper snorted.  “That doesn’t sound evil: foolish and undisciplined maybe.  But killing certain enemies is sensible.”

“But if it throws off your sense of self…”  76 rubbed his chin.  

“That is a problem we do not have to deal with,” Reaper said, brow furrowed.  “Perhaps the cost of sorcery is too high.  Or perhaps Jedi are weak-minded.  Their strictures are too rigid; the conditions they set are unreasonable.”  

“This fear of attachment and strong emotion,” 76 mused.  “How are they as parents?”  

“...Jedi are good caretakers, but not good parents.  Because Jedi are not supposed to marry or have kids, so we usually recruit externally,” you said, trying not to think of Theron.  

Both men blinked.  “What?!”

“We’re warrior monks,” you muttered.  “Or supposed to be.  There are exceptions, but in general, marriage and other romantic attachments are not encouraged.”  

76 and Reaper exchanged meaningful glances.  

You could feel the judgment.  You finished your ale, suddenly wishing for more.  

“So no sex?” 76 asked, his eyes wide.

“...We’re not supposed to,” you said, looking at the table, suddenly embarrassed.  

There was a long moment of silence.  

“But you don’t always do what you’re supposed to, do you?” Reaper asked, his voice warm and amused.  

You bit your lip.  “That’s really not your business.”  

Reaper gave a low laugh.  “I didn’t think so.”  He tilted his head to the side, resting his chin in the palm of his hand.  “There’s no shame in indulging or abstaining.  But something tells me that you’re not the type to shrink away from a challenge.”  

You crossed your arms, staring hard at him.  Did he need another lesson in humility? “What are you trying to say, Reaper?”

“I’m saying, if you choose to indulge, we’re both interested,” he said plainly, and took another bite of his tiingilar. “And if you don’t, we respect that too.”  

You nearly choked on air.  

“But we’re a package deal,” 76 said, his expression uncharacteristically somber.  

“...Wait, are you married?” You asked, because it was easier than processing what Reaper had just offered.

“Promised,” Reaper said, giving 76 an appreciative smile. “But this one has fought at my side for years, and that matters more than any words spoken.”  

76’s cheeks burned pink.  He gave Reaper a warm look.  “Traditionally, we can just say the vows whenever: in person, over comlink, through letters, and it’s done. But our clan wants to be there to witness it and throw a big party, which isn’t exactly traditional – they usually can wait till afterward.”

“But certain clan-members are insisting that they should attend,” Reaper said.

“And if we didn’t make the allowance our sisters and the Captain would never forgive us,” 76 said with a sigh.  “You don’t cross the Captain.”

“And our sisters are unreasonable and very good with their flamethrowers,” Reaper said.  

“Oh,” you said, like it all made perfect sense.  They were about to be married, but they wanted to invite you to their beds?  How did that make any sense?  You groped for words. “That’s lovely.”  

“You could come too,” 76 said.  “There will be plenty of food.”  

“...Uh…” You blinked, not sure how to process the proposition, the wedding invitation, and the entire situation.  

“76 and I take pride in performing well, be it fighting, cooking, or other recreational activities,” Reaper said smoothly.  “If you’re concerned, we’d be happy to give a demonstration.”  He leaned over, one arm around 76’s shoulder.

76 nodded happily. “You can think of it as exercise or stress relief.”

“Or you can just watch, if you like, we don’t mind,” Reaper purred, stroking 76’s hair.  Those thick metal gauntlets tightened into a fist, pulling 76 closer.   Reaper leaned over, pressing a hard kiss to 76’s neck.  

The blonde man moaned.

But Reaper was watching you, those dark eyes glittering.  

“...I should go meditate,” you said, abruptly standing up and retreating from the room.

[mercurysowntwenty-two]

tell me more about lancer!! (I’ve heard of it but never played)

“It is 5016u, and the galaxy is home to trillions. At the core of humanity’s territory there is a golden age, but outside of this newly won utopia the revolutionary project continues... Your character in the world of Lancer is a mechanized cavalry pilot of particular note – a lancer. Whatever the mission, whatever the terrain, whatever the enemy, your character is the one who is called in to break the siege or hold the line. When the drop klaxons sound, it’s up to them to save the day. “ - Introduction, Lancer core rules (pp 10-11)

Lancer is a very good role-playing game about piloting giant robots and using them to make Utopia happen. I’m going to organize this into mechanical things that are Very Good about Lancer and lore things that are Very Good. Here are 12 things I like Very Much about Lancer. 

MECHANICAL

1. COMPCON

2. In addition to a primary system of regular old weapons n attacks n hitpoints, there is an entire other system of technological attacks and “heat” hitpoints to represent hacking enemy robots to increasingly bizarre effect. Making regular physical attacks is tied to physical weapon “mounts” on your mech, and these mounts may be destroyed over the course of a fight, so the technology attack system gives players who might otherwise be neutralized something to do the whole time. 

3. So much player choice: There are 29 mechs in the core rulebook, another 5 in the first rules supplement, another 3 freely available on the publisher itch.io, then various others in the nooks and crannies of the Lancer discord. Do not be daunted, however!  i. In a source like COMPCON above, all the mechs are organized by manufacturer and role. Each in-universe manufacturer matches one of the 4 fundamental mech stats so if you know you’re aiming for a mech that especially interacts with a particular part of the mechanics you’ve already selected out 75% of the choices.  a. The matches go like this: Harrison Armory matches to the “Engineering” stat and so their mechs deal with the Heat mechanics in interesting ways, HORUS matches to the “Systems” stat and so they specialize in hacking other mechs and other technological attacks, Interplanetary Shipping-Northstar matches to “Hull” and so builds tanks and tough guys, and Smith-Shimano matches to “Agility” and so builds the sexy ones the ones that have interesting ways of avoiding getting hit. b. Roles are relatively straightforward too! Striker mechs are the close-quarters fighters, artillery are... artillery- long range fighters, controllers do big Areas of Effect or impose conditions or alter character movement, defenders have big shields or are mobile bunkers or are just so darn big they protect those behind them, and support is... support- they share bonuses like repairs with their allies.  ii. Take this all together and finding the mech that best suits you is actually real easy despite the long long lists. And if you ever get locked into a build you grow to dislike? At every level up, you can completely replace and overhaul the mech licenses (which represent your ability to use the relevant equipment and frame associated with a given robot) you have so you can try other robots. 

4. The NPC system: There are 33 NPC statblocks, organized by the kind of role they have in a potential fight. In addition, there are 12 templates you could potentially apply to an NPC. Both statblocks and templates are defined by “systems”- just little traits and qualities and there are often many optional systems you can slap on for an extra level of customization. Therefore, you can tailor hundreds if not thousands of NPCs out of a seemingly-limited stock.  i. The template system means any potential moveset or archetype can be made into a miniboss or boss ii. The template system means you can flavorfully telegraph how an encounter can go- telling the players they are fighting a group of pirates prepares them for coreworm rockets and grapple leashes (hallmarks of the pirate template) regardless of the actual statblock in use. iii. Each statblock is effectively 3 statblocks in one, set to different tiers to match and scale to the level of the players throughout the game (so oops I guess there are 99 NPCs by default) iv. Monstrosity- it’s for Kaiju! it’s also one of the most modular statblocks for all the little tweaks you need for Big Monster v. Squad- for footsoldiers! 

5. There is no class system (mechanically speaking, in the lore Union is working on it). Character creation functions through selecting Skill Triggers for situations outside your mech and Talents for situations inside your mech, and mech licenses themselves. Even Backgrounds are mostly just lists of questions in order to prompt character introspection. 

6. I put this last down here because it’s kind of at the intersection of the mechanics and the lore, but Lancer has some good random tables for generating things like planets, space stations, people on space stations, Pirate crews, and big Enterprise companies. It’s just good clean fun. 

LORE

I also created this google doc for totally unrelated reasons

1. The naming convention of the rings of Union and the Blinkgates- Blinkgates are Lancer’s mechanism of faster-than-light travel. They are Big installations and passing through one can take you to any other instantly. They’re organized into “rings” of the stations that are physically closest to one another, emanating out from Earth. Each ring is named after a mountain range on Earth (now called Cradle because of course) and each gate is named after a peak in that range. This is a real small detail in the grand scheme of things but I adore it because this naming convention is a clear reflection of the priorities and values of the people who did the naming. Every gate by definition is situated in places that humans have already settled, but they’re not named according to local convention. Just so, every gate is situated somewhere in Cradle’s night sky, but they’re not named for things like constellations. Each blinkgate is named after a feature on Cradle because the blinkgates were named by the Second Committee of Union, who had a driving philosophy of Anthrochauvinism (a manifest destiny attitude towards humanity on the galactic stage, with a heavy bias towards humanity as it is on Cradle) and so of course blinkgates are named as a projection of life on Earth onto space without regard for the actual space they occupy. 

2. On a related note, according to the starship-battle spinoff Battlegroup, Union names its largest starships- its battleships- after environmentalists. That just warmed my little Environmental Scientist heart, and also is a clear reflection of the Third Committee’s values and priorities (Union rose from the ashes of an environmental disaster on Earth, and the Union Navy under the Third Committee has a general mandate of acting protectively and defensively, so Union has effectively named one set of their people’s protectors after another set of protectors). 

3. The fact that every faction is simultaneously in a state of escalating tension. "The Good War" is this inevitable conflict that everyone constantly expects, but it is constantly not here, which just increases the tension further. This makes for good adventure fodder.  i. KTB and HA are about to have the Second Interest War in the Dawnline Shore,  ii. Union and the Aun are about to have the Second Distal War in Boundary Garden, and SSC is gonna wade into it because geneticists gotta get their samples I guess,  iii. IPS-N is about to fall apart from infighting,  iv. In the Long Rim HORUS is closing in on Horizon, finding the Fourth Metavault is around the corner

4. Utopia is a verb. Corollary: Union are the enemy you want. Or: Life is good, but it can be better. All this to say, Union is presented as an unambiguous force for good, but the game and the creators make no bones about how Union can be made better (and thus directly put improving the world in the players’ court!). 

5. Many Factions are defined by a fundamental expectation-subverting "What If?"  i. Union- what if the big bad hegemony that rules over everything was (at least trying to be) the good guys?  ii. The Aun- what if the mysterious and mystical theocracy explicitly and literally had the support of a god and thus could back up their claims of manifest destiny?  iii. The Corpros- what if all of these awful organizations actually did materially improve people’s lives, instead of that just being a propaganda line they throw out to justify themselves?

6. NHPs- Explaining what’s up with NHPs in full would be a whole Thing, so for now I’ll just share my favorite thing about them: they’re like droids in Star Wars, except the creators actually acknowledge the immorality of the situation and thus generate and encourage discussion about it in the playerbase, rather than just let it be taken for granted (and thus directly put improving the world in the players’ court!). 

[lexpressobean]

Parent/Teacher Night

In which Shikamaru steps in as Mirai's guardian to help her complete her unofficial assignment of the night and subsequently suffers from nostalgia induced shock from unforeseen circumstances.

**Modern AU, Mild Swearing, late 20-something adults who simply care about the same 10-year-old kid lol

Edit: Now available on AO3 too!

•••

Shikamaru had gladly accepted Kurenai's request for him to attend Parent-Teacher night with Mirai in her absence. It had been his day off after all, and he hadn't planned anything anyway. Plus, it'd only take, what, half an hour at most back and forth? Maybe he could even treat Mirai to dinner, just 'cause it had been a while. Normally, Kurenai would have skipped it all together due to her schedule, just this one time, but apparently Mirai's teacher was offering extra credit to the students as an incentive for them to have their parents come. And Mirai was very adamant that she shouldn't waste such an opportunity. Not for this teacher.

Shikamaru wondered what seemed to make this teacher so special to Mirai anyway. When he asked, Mirai seemed confused.

"You don't know, Shikamaru?"

"... Well, it's not like I've met the teacher either Mirai. But this teacher must be really good at their job if you like them that much already."

Mirai gave him a gleeful grin, "Watch, you'll see!"

And see he did.

Shikamaru wasn't expecting to run into such a classicaly "tall, dark, and handsome" form in the classroom. He certainly wasn't expecting that man to BE the teacher.

"Shino-sensei!" Mirai called, running over to greet him.

And at that, something froze Shikamaru in place. Something almost urgent... Wait... Shino? Shino... Why did that name sound familiar...?

The teacher turned just in time to take her glomp's impact with a deep, "OOF!" into his abdomen, and Shikamaru got distracted by the sound of his voice. Wow, deep... but then Shikamaru noticed his glasses misaligned in the process, and Shikamaru then realized they were... sunglasses? Indoors? Ha, this guy... Shikamaru wasn't necessarily gonna dock him points for that. But the only other person Shikamaru remembers doing that unironically was-

...

... Oh wait...

Oh... Wait.

OH. OH, HOLY SHIT!?

WAIT, THAT'S SHINO!? AS IN "SHINO ABURAME" SHINO!?!?!?

...

W H A T ! ?

"Ah... Mirai, hello. I thought you and your mother weren't coming. I told you it's okay, sometimes people can't come."

"Shikamaru came with me! I didn't want to miss the extra credit!"

"Shikamaru?"

"He's technically my godfather, so it counts, right?"

Shino stayed quiet for a moment and looked over towards the doorway where Shikamaru was still standing. As he recognized Shikamaru, Shino straightened up, gave a brief wave and... a smile?

Shikamaru was dumbfounded. Just a minute ago, he would've simply held up an open hand in response as he subtley and respectfully checked him out. Seriously, how could he not? But, now the movement of Shino's wave snapped him out of his thoughts and Shikamaru probably waved more than really needed to acknowledge the teacher. And he cursed at himself inwardly as soon as Shino looked back to Mirai. Was he blushing? It was feeling kinda hot in the classroom all of a sudden...!

"Alright Mirai, thank-you for coming, but for now please wait your turn, okay?"

"Alright!" Mirai walked back to Shikamaru, smiling widely proud of herself.

From far away, he could hear Shino's voice, "Sorry for the interruption. You see-"

"Surprise, Shikamaru!"

Mirai knew. This whole time. And the more he thought about it, Shikamaru at one point knew too. He just... simply forgot... Wow, what a thing to forget. Damn it, why didn't Shikamaru ask more questions earlier? Why didn't she just tell Shikamaru? Hell, why didn't KURENAI tell Shikamaru!?

"Yeah, I guess you're right..."

As Mirai led Shikamaru around the classroom, he started to try and recall more about Shino. It was all coming to him, slowly but surely. And if what he recalled was correct, this neat and organized classroom definitely would scream Shino. It was decorated with the typical posters meant to be both fun and helpful, and colorful and eye catching. Shikamaru even recognized many of the books in the shelves, though most he never actually read any of them. But there were traces of decorations here and there that were definitely conscious choices. Namely pictures of worms in apples, ladybugs, ants and bees symbolizing teamwork, things like that. Shino was a fan of bugs afterall.

Then Shikamaru found some board games and noted shogi was among them. He was tempted for a split second to pull it out and challenge Mirai to a game, but thought better of it. But what Mirai was most eager to show Shikamaru was her seat. Or rather, what was nearly right next to her seat.

In a terrarium, no doubt from Shino's collection if Kiba told him the truth, held a black and white worm. Except the worm had these orange like eye markings all along either side if it, and black dots in each eye shape... Shikamaru thought it looked kinda goth for a bug.

"We all decided to name it Daidai! Shino-sensei says this one will turn into a moth. Before Daidai, we had a catepillar we all named Marugao, because it's head was so big! But when he became a butterfly, he was so pretty, he almost shimmered!"

As Mirai gushed about how she got to sit next to Daidai, Shikamaru stole a glance at Shino once more. He was still making rounds, and it looked like no one else had come into the classroom either. Hm, looks like they were gonna be last.

Sunglasses had always hid Shino's eyes, ever since they were kids. Shikamaru couldn't quite recall if they were actually prescription or not, but up to this point, they had always been a constant. Otherwise... his former classmate really was virtually unrecognizable. And now that he thought about it, Shikamaru recalled that Shino had graduated from university with a teaching degree some years back, but this information had only been secondhand from Kiba on social media. Shikamaru wasn't even sure if Shino had social media...

Meanwhile, Shikamaru had barely been back in town for still less than a year. It wasn't his fault if he didn't know Shino's business. Medical school was gruelling, and anesthesia was no joke.

But still... Shikamaru had been expecting something similar from Shino. Maybe not a medical doctor, but a doctorate? Hadn't he been in the Environmental Club in high school? He seemed like he would've been very interested in the natural sciences, and definitely had the means... It was just kind if odd. He was an academic star that was always competing with both Ino and Sakura for top of the class as far as he could remember. And those ladies had gone to school to become a Pediatric Psychiatrist and Pediatric Surgeon respectively too. They were all a smart bunch, no doubt about that.

Yet, Shino had always been... different too. He had looked like a troublemaker with the beanies he wore, and his messy, nearly kinky curls always managed to find a way to stick out in the back. And he always had baggy looking clothing on in layers during any kind of weather. Plus he had a bad case of RBF Syndrome too, which would alarm a few others because he was always so good at blending into the background, yet when noticed, he looked like the kind of guy that would mess you up for just breathing funny. He had always been taller than most too, that probably didn't help.

But he wasn't a bad kid at all. Not like Naruto and Kiba anyway. Acording to Kiba, Shino's loner tendencies were due to simple shyness. And he would know, as Kiba and Shino seemed to grow close after they opted to join the Environmental Club separately in high school, which happened to be run by Kurenai-sensei. And that's all Shikamaru really knew, because when Kiba would come out and about Shino hardly ever came. Kiba could be pushy, which is how Shikamaru suspected the pair became friends in the first place, but apparently not enough to enjoy a party or things like that together outside of school... Maybe once or twice? Not even at Naruto's insistence could make him a regular, as Naruto was... an "unofficial" member of the Environment Club. Meaning he'd just crash the club's outings when they did plant specific activities. Naruto had a green thumb after all.

Actually, it always seemed like Kiba and Naruto were those extroverts that had the habit of adopting introvert friends so to speak. Funnily enough, their respective adoptees had already known each other too. But Sasuke was even LESS friendlier than Shino, and even Shino seemed annoyed with him, one of those rare times he let his thoughts show in his expression...

But today, in the yellowish glow of the classroom lights... something was definitely different. From his smoothed out hair tied up into modern bun on his hatless head and his open, light duty trenchcoat that really... accentuated his very... broad, adult figure... It was most definitely different... but the most dynamic change of all had to be that Shikamaru had never seen Shino so soft in the face before. Behind those shades, he looked... relaxed, and when he spoke, it sounded so... nice? Definitely not a bad thing at all...

And suddenly there was a hand in front of Shikamaru's face.

"-kamru...Shikamaru?"

"HUH!? What?"

... Oh... Hell, he spaced out.

"... Shikamaru, are you okay? Busy day at work at the hospital maybe?"

HUH!? How did Shino know that? "Uh! Yeah, kinda..." he shook his head, "Well no, that's not it, today was actually my day off. I worked yesterday. Still a little out of it looks like," he added with a casual chuckle. At least he hoped he sounded casual.

Shino frowned, eyebrows knit into concern. Ah man, how embarrassing! Had Shikamaru been caught starting with a dopey look on his face?

"... I'm sorry, maybe extra credit was a bad idea this time around. Mirai is so dutiful, I didn't mean for anyone to be dragged here."

"What? No way, I wasn't dragged here. Mirai is my Goddaughter, Shino, so I'm perfectly ready to be informed about her progress. I agreed to come, it's no big deal."

The now teacher looked at Shikamaru with a slight head tilt to the right... And then another small smile. Wow, he really had to stop doing that!

"Well, all in all, Mirai is actually doing very well. She already excels in her studies and is easily one of our most engaged and top students at this time. She's still young, but she shows a lot of scholarly promise."

"Ah, I see. Do... do you see any areas in need of improvement?"

"Well, there's always room for improvement of course. But in Mirai's case..."

Shino looked over at Mirai who was at the snack table. She had walked over to get a couple of cookies and was seemingly cornered by a classmate into a chat.

"... I think, she could benefit from some encouragement to be more social."

"More social?"

Shikamaru followed Shino's gaze and saw Mirai talking to her classmate, her expression showing patience more than anything... It looked like the other little girl was chatting up a storm.

"Don't misunderstand, she's definitely a team player and is very respectful. However, her maturity level is above many of her classmates. As a result, she tends to prefer to study on her own..."

Well, that rang a bell. Shikamaru could've sworn that Shino was the same way back then. But Mirai didn't resemble Shino at all.

"Is she quiet?" Shikamaru asked.

"Oh, no, thankfully she's still quite engaged. If anything, sometimes she may overthink things. I've noted she's a bit of a perfectionist, and so is actually a little slower on average during tests, but she's an avid question asker too. If she just had some more confidence in her self and would... relax a little more, I think it'd be good for her. She's still a kid after all, she should feel allowed to act like one."

That was a strange thing to say... Did Mirai... not feel okay?

"... She's Kurenai-sensei's daughter, so I try not to favor her. It's kind of hard when she used to ride on my shoulders during reunions and things like that though."

Shino gives a small, warm smile in Mirai's direction. And Shikamaru is kind of touched. Despite the shades, his fondness for Mirai is so obvious. It makes Shikamaru glad to know she has Shino to come to during school time. At least that was something....

Then, Shino turned back to Shikamaru, who was TOTALLY not staring just now.

"But it's necessary. She's... too comfortable with me... If earlier didn't make that obvious."

Shikamaru did have it in his mind to scold Mirai about that, but that was a talk for later. More private.

"I had meant to bring this up with Kurenai, but Mirai also... has had a habit of staying in the classroom during lunch and recess. I've had to move to the teacher's lounge during just to get her outside..."

"What? Really?"

Shino nodded, eyebrows knitted and a smile that showed a regretful sympathy.

"... I wonder what that could be about..."

"I suppose some kids find it hard to socialize, but she needs a more... balanced perception of boundries. In no time, she'll have her own mother for a teacher too. Otherwise, she's generally doing pretty well."

Shit. Shino was thinking way ahead, Kurenai was a high school teacher. But... he was right, this couldn't be allowed to go on.

"Shikamaru?"

"Hm? Yes?"

"Did you have any more questions?"

"Uh... No, I... don't think so. But, even though I'm sure you don't have to be asked, please, continue to take care of her."

Shino perked up a little at that before smiling at Shikamaru again! It made it hard to stare him in the face, "Of course."

... Damn... Was Shino's smile... always this cute?

"Shikamaru! I brought you a cookie."

"Oh, thank-you."

"Did you want one too Buggy... I mean... Shino... sensei?"

"... Buggy?" Shikamaru repeated.

"... Ah, Sensei I'm sorry, I did it again...!"

Shino pat Mirai's head, and gave a small chuckle even. Shikamaru was all ears, "It's okay Mirai, I'm know you're trying. No offense taken."

"I really am, I promise!" she assured, "So did you want one?"

"No thank-you Mirai, it's for the guests. You go ahead."

"Okay, sensei."

Shikamaru couldn't help it. He just had to say something.

"Hey Shino."

"Yes?"

"You must be pretty suited to teaching."

"Oh? What makes you sat that?"

"I mean... It's been a while. Actually it's been a long time, but... well, I don't think I've ever seen you quite like this before..."

"Pardon?"

"I dunno, you just seem... Very much in your element here. I'm glad the whole instructor thing really worked out. You've been here for a few years already, haven't you?

"Oh... Thank-you, Shikamaru... And yes, I have. I appreciate that."

This time Shino GRINNED. And Shikamaru suddenly was very aware of his... jawline... uh...

"Y-Yeah, of course! Well, I'm sure there's other parents you need to talk to..."

"Right, that is true." A couple more stragglers had come in.

"But here, hold on a sec," Shikamaru pulled out his phone, "I don't think we've ever traded information before. Wanna trade now? I'll send you a text back."

"Oh," Shino was a bit surprised, "Um. Okay, sure."

After getting his number, Shikamaru sent a text and could hear one of Shino's pockets vibrate.

"There, all set! Thanks for talking with me, Shino."

"Thank-you for coming. And if you're not terribly busy, I trust you will be the one to come when Kurenai-sensei is unavailable?"

"Yes. Yes, that'll be the plan," Shikamaru decided right then and there.

"Alright, thank-you Shikamaru."

"No, thank-you. C'mon Mirai, let's go. Goodbye, Shino.

"Bye Shino-sensei!"

"Goodbye."

-

"Shikamaru! Can we go eat something? I'm starving!"

"What do you want?"

"Yakisoba!!"

"Haha, alright, sure."

Mirai gave Shikamaru a sudden and huge hug.

"Whoa, what's up?"

"I'm just so happy you came, Shikamaru! So thank-you!" she beamed.

It tugged on Shikamaru's heartstrings a bit. She really had missed him, huh? "You don't have to thank me, Mirai, but your welcome anyway. C'mon, let's go."

"It was nice that you and Shino-sensei got to see each other again too, don't you think?"

"Uh, yeah, it was quite the surprise. But a welcomed one."

Hmmm... It looks like Kurenai was gonna have to be unavailable for the next few parent-teacher nights....

••

I kept tweaking it and tweaking it until I decided to simply stop. So sorry for any grammar or syntax errors, but I just needed to get this out of my system haha

[kahakais]

decolonization in the atla comics

right well i know nobody cares but i think i figured out why i dislike the avatar comics so much. like i already thought that they justified colonialism a hell of a lot (in direct contrast to the themes of atla itself which makes me CRAZY grrrr) but i was finally able to pin down why, exactly, i think that. in this i’m gonna be focusing specifically on the promise and north and south because i hate both of those with a passion!

i think that the way both north and south and the promise handle the process of decolonization and reckoning with a colonial legacy is inherently flawed. in the promise, zuko withdraws his support of the harmony restoration movement because of the new earth/fire national culture that has been created in yu dao. he thinks it would be wrong to take these people away from livelihoods that they’ve created. he also says that economically, they are better off now than they were 100 years ago. 

so like, that’s already yikes. economic justifications of colonialism are the worst ones. always. also, it doesn’t help that as zuko says that, there’s a panel showing a fire nation man getting his shoes shined by an earth national as katara says “it doesn’t look like that wealth was shared equally” or something of that sentiment.

and i know zuko says one of his other reasons for withdrawing from the harmony restoration movement is because the people don’t want to be given back to earth kingdom rule...but uh...which people, exactly, don’t want to be given back to the earth kingdom? who benefited the most from colonial rule in the colonies themselves? (i’ll give you a hint: it wasn’t the earth nationals.)

so although yu dao is now an incredibly wealthy and prosperous place as a direct result of its colonization, the wealth is not spread equally. also, economic prosperity doesn’t mean that yu dao should remain a colony? nor does it mean that the fire nation government should continue to meddle in its affairs by instituting a coalition government and then creating the united republic of nations? they should’ve just given them complete self autonomy and called it a day! but whatever.

in the promise, the process of decolonization (ie giving earth kingdom land back to the earth kingdom itself and repatriating the fire nation citizens) is kind of equated to a direct impediment of Progress™, particularly economic and social Progress™. this is seen again in north and south, when the northern water tribe tries to establish the oil refinery on southern water tribe land. in north and south, many southern water tribe members (and katara herself) take issue with this northern interference, citing that they are just turning the south into a cheap copy of the north in the name of...you guessed it...Progress™. katara and other members of the southern tribe are seen as extremists for wanting to preserve their heritage after one hundred years of war. the oil refinery and other northern interferences are portrayed as a solely good thing, even though they come at the expense of other important traditions. 

and so therein lies my biggest problem with these two atla comics: they assume that decolonization = anti progress, when it very much does not. this is something that’s seen in the real world, time and time again. like, i’m from hawai’i (not native hawaiian tho, which is an important distinction to make!) and the whole struggle to halt the construction of the thirty meter telescope on mauna kea is a good real life example. mauna kea is sacred land to native hawaiians, and construction of the telescope would completely desecrate the land, both culturally and environmentally. yet for some reason, native hawaiians are portrayed as “backwards” and “anti-science” for not wanting the TMT to be built, which isn’t true at all! but they shouldn’t have to sacrifice what they believe in the name of progress defined by someone else’s metric. 

in the atla comics (and legend of korra), Modern Westernization™ is the default. returning yu dao’s land to the earth kingdom and removing fire nation involvement is seen as anti-progress. refusing to build an oil refinery and trying to preserve important cultural practices and traditions is seen as anti-progress. anything that doesn’t lead to...cómo se dice...complete industrialization and what is essentially capitalism is seen as anti-progress. and this is such a western mindset that it hurts, because that’s not what decolonization is. decolonization is supposed to revive, humanize, and modernize important indigenous and traditional aspects of cultures. decolonization, unlike how it’s portrayed in the promise and in north and south, does not mean that we go backwards. instead, we actively reconstruct our perspectives and stop measuring previously aforementioned Progress™ by a western capitalist mindset! that’s why it’s important, and that’s why these comics fall short, because they had an opportunity to build a world that wasn’t modeled after the patterns of the west...and they just didn’t.