#this is just the group that got an international foothold

[asgardian--angels]

Talking on the phone with my mom I finally broke down and cried thoroughly about the cancellation. I think I'd been holding it in for the last two days, or two months. And honestly I've been wondering all along why this show means so much to me. I am not queer, I am not neurodivergent, I am not POC or disabled or any of the groups that this show has been so important for in terms of representation and being treated with respect and dignity. I understand and completely empathize with all of you, and fight for this show and your rights worldwide alongside you, but it still left me wondering why I myself have latched onto Our Flag Means Death. I suppose part of it is that despite being white and cishet and the privileges that have always come with that, I have been treated like an outsider and ostracized my entire childhood and teenage years, for being ugly and having "disgusting" interests (primarily liking insects, reptiles, other creepy-crawlies - aka the thing I literally do for my career now). I was bullied relentlessly from preschool through early college and became a very lonely introverted person - I still am. Undoubtedly Our Flag Means Death gave me renewed hope that I haven't missed some key window for finding love or relationships of any kind that matter, as I sit here typing this at age 28 having never dated anyone.

But it had to be more than that. And with everything that's happened the past couple of months, and the last few days, I think it finally clicked for me.

Followers of my blog may or may not know that I am a conservation biologist, or pollinator ecologist, whichever hat fits best on a given day, they're quite close. I don't make many original posts like this anymore on here because my job is so busy. Basically, I do a variety of things - academic research, habitat management & restoration, and public outreach - to try and preserve biodiversity and ecosystems on our planet. I'm just going to say it: it's a thankless job. Nothing we do ever feels like it's enough, and burnout is common in our field because we sit with the guilt of feeling like we are the only thing between survival and utter destruction of planet Earth, and work ourselves to exhaustion. It's one of those jobs where your work is your life, and your passion is your work, and it's inseparable from who you are on a molecular level. We are often faced, on a large scale, with hostility, from people that don't believe in science and are more than happy to pull a shotgun on us, or rich old men in power who are content to watch the world burn for another penny in their bank account. There are days when sometimes it sinks in just how bad things are, and it's terrifying, and I feel like we will never be able to do enough, to change enough, before it gets catastrophic. It's paralyzing.

My ability to do my job is dependent on hope. Unwavering, unrelenting hope. Hope beyond hope. We have to believe what we're doing matters, otherwise we'd fall down and never get back up again. I'm no big-shot, I give talks to a few hundred people at a time, and make urban pollinator habitat on a local scale. Is any of that going to make a difference compared to the ramifications of a single oil mogul deciding to cut corners and cause an oil spill that kills millions of seabirds and damages ocean food chains for decades to come? If people in my field let thoughts like that linger, we'd be paralyzed to inaction. I have to hope that the people I teach choose to do something good with that knowledge, and go on to inspire others, or that the patch of habitat I make allows a declining species to maintain a foothold instead of going locally extinct. You just have to keep going.

And Our Flag Means Death got wrapped up in that for me. The Stede Bonnet effect, if you will. He set out to do pirating differently, treating his crew with respect and helping them grow. In return, they internalized that mindset, and it spread to how they interacted with others. It changed the trajectory of individual lives, and also at least began to change how the society of pirates operated as a whole. It was a beacon of hope that choosing small acts of kindness did matter, even if you yourself could not see the ripples it made. It renewed my faith that love persevered and would win. That we could all make life a little better for each other and ourselves through kindness, compassion, forgiveness, and mutual support. I think a good chunk of that is from Taika - these are running themes in his projects, and his films move me deeply for that. This show became in some, perhaps subconscious way, a source of strength for me to keep putting myself out there in my line of work to do whatever I was capable of to help the cause.

The cancellation was devastating, but the second cancellation (turbohell cancelation?) was even more so. Because now it's so clear that this is largely the work of David Zaslav and the regime he's built. It's petty, it's greedy, and more than anything, it's cruel. Indifferently, indiscriminately cruel, when one person at the top can have such power to make or break the lives of thousands, millions, beneath them, and though it would have been barely a drop in the bucket, a hand wave, to renew our show or let it pass to another streamer, he actively chose to shackle it to this sinking Titanic of a company WBD has become. I have always operated on the belief that you can do anything if you work hard enough at it, and believed deep down that there was some order, some justice in the universe, atheist though I be. We as a fandom did everything we possibly could, we loved this show harder than anything. The numbers were there, the awards nominations were there, the critic praise was there, and we were loud and loyal every single day. I felt like we could do this - how could we not win when we've done so much, and the show deserves it so much? Surely cause and effect will prevail.

This fight seemed small, though really it wasn't; we fought for the right of artists and creators to make quality, original stories and have them told to their natural end, we fought for diversity representation to be more than a token character - OFMD raised the bar so much higher on all fronts, we fought to shed light on the chaos and impending collapse of this industry silencing art and exploiting writers, actors, and all manner of production workers. It was a small fight from the outside, one that I really felt we could win. And I put my heart and soul into it, because if we could win this, if we could save this simple, kind love story about two guys on a boat, then maybe there was hope for the bigger, badder stuff too. It shouldn't seem an insurmountable task for several thousand fans to convince a streaming service that they'd turn a tidy profit to give our show one more season.

Yet we lost - through no fault of our own. I am so proud of us. But that really struck deep for me. If one peabrained CEO of a media company wouldn't budge on greenlighting a show that was in his every best interest business-wise - perhaps enough to even save Max from going under in the not-too-distant future - my god, what hope was there for changing anything bigger? The 'real' problems of the world? When no amount of ethos, logos, or pathos can penetrate these men at the top, where's that hope to fight? Lately the world seems like it's just going belly up all over. If we gave everything we could, and it still wasn't enough - if it could never be enough - what hope is there? It's like chaining yourself to a tree and the bulldozer plowing right on ahead. And I think that broke something in me. It shook me to my foundations because it broke my rules of how things are supposed to work. We believed hard enough, we worked tirelessly, and we deserved it for how important this show was to so many people. And it didn't matter. Our best wasn't enough. And that caused an avalanche of all of the horrible, scary things piled on my shoulders - we're losing the Amazon rainforest too fast to save, climate change is going to turn the corn belt into a dustbowl by mid-century, a border wall is going to devastate imperiled wildlife in Texas, deforestation and hurricanes on songbird wintering grounds could lead to entire species extinctions, saltmarshes are our lifeline and they're shrinking and we're still building stupid concrete stormwalls, invasive diseases will completely alter the composition of our forests to be unrecognizable to our children, and if you don't make every slide of this powerpoint utterly perfect and you fail to convince every single person in attendance to get rid of their lawn then you've failed and the world is doomed.

I've struggled with being a perfectionist my whole life. This didn't help.

That's where I was a couple hours ago. But I took some deep breaths. I know the world isn't fair. But I really thought if we could win this one battle, then we could win the war.

But here's what I realized. Everything we did mattered. It mattered so much. Because there's the show, and then there's everything that was birthed out of that show. The community, so many of us around the world who have been uplifted by Our Flag Means Death in a real and lasting way that we will take with us and spread to affect those around us. The Stede Bonnet effect goes global. We raised thousands and thousands of dollars for charities around the world, real people whose lives have been improved, or maybe even saved, because of us and this silly pirate show. We brought a hell of a lot of attention to WBD and their shitty practices, keeping the momentum going in a way that I think is only going to build - and I sure hope it leads to Zaslav getting deposed. We have demanded more queer stories, more BIPOC stories, more disabled and autistic and middle-aged stories, stories with exquisite costumes and award-worthy wigs, dear lord, and we are being heard. We have expressed such love and support for the cast and crew, showing them that we appreciate their hard work and that we will be behind them in their future projects. So many of them have told us how the show and its fans have changed their lives. We convinced Rhys that his career isn't winding down but winding up, and to be unapologetic about his wonderful weirdness - we've proven to everyone through this show that your weirdness is what someone out there is going to love you for, not in spite of. We rallied to help writers and actors during the strikes in a way that was taken to heart and remembered. We have been out here talking it through as a crew, and turning poison into positivity, for over two years now, and that impact is permanent. They can cancel our show, they can try and slap copyright notices on our fan merch, and spew bullshit excuses about the numbers not being there. But Our Flag Means Death sparked a movement, the biggest pirate crew the world has ever seen, using our power for good.

We may not have any more new material for our show for a while, or ever. But I maintain hope that when the dust has settled and streaming has entered its 'new era' that they'll remember us and throw us a lifeline. Because hope is a part of my genetic makeup, and even in cancellation my hope has been renewed that the fight is worth fighting, that our individual choices of kindness are having an effect, and making the world a little easier to live in bit by bit. No one can take from us what we have built out of this show. And thanks to pirating, they can't take the actual show from us either. Despite this, no matter the outcome, I am so happy we got two seasons of this wonderful series. That was more than almost anyone expected. The story belongs to all of us, and it will always live on. We did not truly lose this battle, because in the process we gained more than we could have ever imagined. And I know there's still so much more to come. That gives me the strength to keep doing what I do, every day.

To me, Our Flag Means Hope.

[0613magazine]

201220 TIME

ENTERTAINER of the year - BTS

It’s late October, and SUGA is sitting on a couch strumming a guitar. His feet are bare, his long hair falling over his eyes. He noodles around, testing out chords and muttering softly to himself, silver hoop earrings glinting in the light. “I just started learning a few months ago,” he says. It’s an intimate moment, the kind you’d spend with a new crush in a college dorm room while they confess rock-star ambitions. But SUGA is one-seventh of the Korean pop band BTS, which means I’m just one of millions of fans watching, savoring the moment.

BTS isn’t just the biggest K-pop act on the charts. They’ve become the biggest band in the world—full stop. Between releasing multiple albums, breaking every type of record and appearing in these extemporaneous livestreams in 2020, BTS ascended to the zenith of pop stardom. And they did it in a year defined by setbacks, one in which the world hit pause and everyone struggled to maintain their connections. Other celebrities tried to leverage this year’s challenges; most failed. (Remember that star-studded “Imagine” video?) But BTS’s bonds to their international fan base, called ARMY, deepened amid the pandemic, a global racial reckoning and worldwide shutdowns. “There are times when I’m still taken aback by all the unimaginable things that are happening,” SUGA tells TIME later. “But I ask myself, Who’s going to do this, if not us?”

Today, K-pop is a multibillion-dollar business, but for decades the gatekeepers of the music world—the Western radio moguls, media outlets and number-crunchers—treated it as a novelty. BTS hits the expected high notes of traditional K-pop: sharp outfits, crisp choreography and dazzling videos. But they’ve matched that superstar shine with a surprising level of honesty about the hard work that goes into it. BTS meets the demands of Top 40’s authenticity era without sacrificing any of the gloss that’s made K-pop a cultural force. It doesn’t hurt that their songs are irresistible: polished confections that are dense with hooks and sit comfortably on any mainstream playlist.

BTS is not the first Korean act to establish a secure foothold in the West, yet their outsize success today is indicative of a sea change in the inner workings of fandom and how music is consumed. From propelling their label to a $7.5 billion IPO valuation to inspiring fans to match their $1 million donation to Black Lives Matter, BTS is a case study in music-industry dominance through human connection. Once SUGA masters the guitar, there won’t be much left for them to conquer.

In an alternate universe where COVID-19 didn’t exist, BTS’s 2020 would likely have looked much like the years that came before. The group got its start in 2010, after K-pop mastermind and Big Hit Entertainment founder Bang Si-hyuk recruited RM, 26, from Seoul’s underground rap scene. He was soon joined by Jin, 28; SUGA, 27; j-hope, 26; Jimin, 25; V, 24; and Jung Kook, 23, selected for their dancing, rapping and singing talents.

But unlike their peers, BTS had an antiestablishment streak, both in their activism and in the way they contributed to their songwriting and production—which was then rare in K-pop, although that’s started to change. In BTS’s debut 2013 single, “No More Dream,” they critiqued Korean social pressures, like the high expectations placed on schoolkids. They have been open about their own challenges with mental health and spoken publicly about their support for LGBTQ+ rights. (Same-sex marriage is still not legally recognized in South Korea.) And they’ve modeled a form of gentler, more neutral masculinity, whether dyeing their hair pastel shades or draping their arms lovingly over one another. All this has made them unique not just in K-pop but also in the global pop marketplace.

In March, BTS was prepping for a global tour. Instead, they stayed in Seoul to wait out the pandemic. For the group, life didn’t feel too different: “We always spend 30 days a month together, 10 hours a day,” Jin says. But with their plans upended, they had to pivot. In August, BTS dropped an English-language single, “Dynamite,” that topped the charts in the U.S.—a first for an all-Korean act. With their latest album this year, Be, they’ve become the first band in history to debut a song and album at No. 1 on Billboard’s charts in the same week. “We never expected that we would release another album,” says RM. “Life is a trade-off.”

Their triumphs this year weren’t just about the music. In October, they put on perhaps the biggest virtual ticketed show of all time, selling nearly a million tickets to the two-night event. Their management company went public in Korea, turning Bang into a billionaire and each of the members into millionaires, a rarity in an industry where the spoils often go to the distributors, not the creators. And they were finally rewarded with a Grammy nomination. On YouTube, where their Big Hit Labels is one of the top 10 most subscribed music accounts (with over 13 billion views by this year), their only real competition is themselves, says YouTube’s music-trends manager Kevin Meenan. The “Dynamite” video racked up 101 million views in under 24 hours, a first for the platform. “They’ve beaten all their own records,” he says.

Not that the glory comes without drawbacks: namely, lack of free time. It’s nearing midnight in Seoul in late November, and BTS, sans SUGA, who’s recovering from shoulder surgery, are fitting in another interview—this time, just with me. V, Jimin and j-hope spontaneously burst into song as they discuss Jin’s upcoming birthday. “Love, love, love,” they harmonize, making good use of the Beatles’ chorus, turning to their bandmate and crossing their fingers in the Korean version of the heart symbol.

Comparisons to that epoch-defining group are inevitable. “What’s different is that we’re seven, and we also dance,” says V. “It’s kind of like a cliché when big boy bands are coming up: ‘Oh, there’s another Beatles!’” says RM. I’ve interviewed BTS five times, and in every interaction, they are polite to a fault. But by now they must be weary of revisiting these comparisons, just as they must be tired of explaining their success. RM says it’s a mix of luck, timing and mood. “I’m not 100% sure,” he says.

They’ve matured into smart celebrities: focused and cautious, they’re both more ready for the questions and more hesitant to make big statements. When you ask BTS about their landmark year, for once they’re not exactly chipper; j-hope wryly calls it a “roller coaster.” “Sh-t happens,” says RM. “It was a year that we struggled a lot,” says Jimin. Usually a showman, on this point he seems more introspective than usual. “We might look like we’re doing well on the outside with the numbers, but we do go through a hard time ourselves,” he says. For a group whose purpose is truly defined by their fans, the lack of human interaction has been stifling. Still, they’ve made it a point to represent optimism. “I always wanted to become an artist that can provide comfort, relief and positive energy to people,” says j-hope. “That intent harmonized with the sincerity of our group and led us to who we are today.”

In an era marked by so much anguish and cynicism, BTS has stayed true to their message of kindness, connection and self-acceptance. That’s the foundation of their relationship with their fans. South Korean philosopher and author Dr. Jiyoung Lee describes the passion of BTS’s fandom as a phenomenon called “horizontality,” a mutual exchange between artists and their fans. As opposed to top-down instruction from an icon to their followers, BTS has built a true community. “Us and our fans are a great influence on each other,” says j-hope. “We learn through the process of making music and receiving feedback.” The BTS fandom isn’t just about ensuring the band’s primacy—it’s also about extending the band’s message of positivity into the world. “BTS and ARMY are a symbol of change in zeitgeist, not just of generational change,” says Lee.

And in June, BTS became a symbol of youth activism worldwide after they donated $1 million to the Black Lives Matter movement amid major protests in the U.S. (They have a long track record of supporting initiatives like UNICEF and school programs.) BTS says now it was simply in support of human rights. “That was not politics. It was related to racism,” Jin says. “We believe everyone deserves to be respected. That’s why we made that decision.”

That proved meaningful for fans like Yassin Adam, 20, an ARMY from Georgia who runs popular BTS social media accounts sharing news and updates, and who is Black. “It will bring more awareness to this issue people like me face in this country,” he says. “I see myself in them, or at least a version of myself.” In May and June, a broad coalition of K-pop fans made headlines for interfering with a police app and buying out tickets for a Trump campaign rally, depleting the in-person attendance. Later that summer, ARMY’s grassroots fundraising effort matched BTS’s $1 million donation to Black Lives Matter within 24 hours.

For 28-year-old Nicole Santero, who is Asian American, their success in the U.S. is also a triumph of representation: “I never really saw people like myself on such a mainstream stage,” Santero says. She’s writing her doctoral dissertation on the culture of BTS fandom, and she runs a popular Twitter account that analyzes and shares BTS data. “Anytime I’m awake, I’m doing something related to BTS,” she says. “This is a deeper kind of love.”

Devotion like that is a point of pride for BTS, particularly in a year when so much has felt uncertain. “We’re not sure if we’ve actually earned respect,” RM says. “But one thing for sure is that [people] feel like, O.K., this is not just some kind of a syndrome, a phenomenon.” He searches for the right words. “These little boys from Korea are doing this.”

Source: TIME

[pagesofkenna]

Here's a question that's been bugging me since the dawn of time: where does the word Mormon come from? Is it a self identifier? Is it a cruel nickname? Like just in a general sense why is this the word. Is it okay?

Same vein, are there specific "latter day" saints to which the name of the church refers? Or is "latter day" kind of like "(revised edition)"?

so 'Mormon' refers to 'The Book of Mormon' which is another book of scripture that this church uses. without going into the whole story (tho I can if you're interested!) the founder of the church claimed to have a vision about the location of another historical record, which he found and then, with divine help, translated into English

(also, I'm using 'claims to' language because, while this is all stuff I believe in to varying degrees, I want to stick to the provable facts)

the Book of Mormon purports to be a collection of journals and historical records, mostly regarding religious experiences, mostly taking place in the Americas. it says it was compiled by a prophet named Mormon - thus the title

SO. at the time the church was founded and the Book of Mormon was being translated/published, people referred to those who believed it was a true historical record as 'Mormons'. since then the term has gone through a series of stages of 'self identifier' and 'nickname we're OK with' and 'nickname we're not OK with' (in case you're worried, I don't believe it was ever understood to be a slur)

recently the church organization has tried to pull away from using 'Mormon' as a self identifier. I don't know all the information, but from what I gather this is partially due to the fact that not all people who use the Book of Mormon in their religious practice follow the official church's practices. There's a few dozen 'Mormon' splinter groups... mostly hyper-conservative, secluded, super sexist and/or racist, and tbh pretty culty (if you're hearing about modern Mormon forced marriages, or doomsday militia stuff, those are groups that use the Book of Mormon in their religious service, but aren't actually endorsed by the official church organization)

the official name of the church I actually attend is the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. this is the main group of 'Mormons' that exist today; most of the time, if someone talks about 'the Mormon church' they're probably referencing the LDS church. the term comes from the idea that this is supposed to be the church that Christ himself founded when he was alive, but renewed again in modern times (so, 'Latter Day' is literally 'revised edition' lol, but not a revised from the church's initial founding in the 1800s). I think there are some splinter Mormon groups who try to use the term 'latter day', but 'LDS' specifically refers to the 'official' church

tl;dr - neither term is offensive or anything, but there are some people in the LDS church who don't like being called Mormon, and some people who call themselves Mormon who aren't affiliated with the LDS church (also some LDS people who insist on still being called Mormons because it's ridiculous not to have a one-word shorthand like literally everyone else does)

[transmascissues]

yo I just saw a tiktok abt unpopular trans opinions(?) and one of them was that trans men r the reason nbphobia and fatphobia r an issue in the trans community and there was like no explanation and the comments were just agreeing w the tiktok w no mention of that opinion so uh? idk why im the reason for those problems but idk how I'm supposed to understand when there was no reason given uhh kinda just made me confused and feel like shit :/ u got any context?

unfortunately i do know why they're saying this (although that doesn't mean it's not bullshit, as i'm sure you could guess)

presumably they're referring to tru-sc-um/tra-nsm-eds, a group that is both (depressingly) majority trans men and undeniably nbphobic and transphobic

among other things, they tend to accuse pretty much all nonbinary people of not being trans (or "trans enough", for the ones who claim they think being nonbinary is real but then always seem to think nonbinary people are "doing it wrong") and demonize trans people with body types/features they don't like, which included pretty much all fat trans people

that said, turning that into "trans men are the reason the trans community has nbphobia and fatphobia problems" is obviously a ridiculous leap in logic for a number of reasons:

trans men (and transmascs) were also largely the targets of these people! their beliefs stem primarily from internalized transphobia, so they love attacking people who have the traits they're insecure about, and most of the people that ends up fucking over are other trans guys and transmasc people. that's not to say they never attacked other trans people, but the majority of it was directed at other trans men and transmascs. i know they absolutely fucking HATED me when i was more active in that whole discourse, and they're a big part of the reason a lot of trans men are just now feeling comfortable identifying as such again after being pushed out of the community by people like that

while they tend to be trans men, it's not 100%, and honestly i don't know how people get away with claiming that given people like blaire white who definitely have enough of a platform to dispel that myth. it definitely wouldn't be fair or accurate to deny that the majority are trans men, but that doesn't mean the others don't exist, and claiming they don't just allows them to keep spreading the exact same nbphobic fatphobic generally shitty rhetoric without being challenged in the same way

nonbinary trans men and fat trans men exist??? like obviously internalized nbphobia and fatphobia are a thing and that can turn into lateral aggression, but even in those cases, it's internalized because the issue already existed and then they internalized it, so acting like it's their fault is ridiculous, and acting like it's the fault of those who don't even participate in the lateral aggression to begin with is even worse. when you say nbphobia and fatphobia in the trans community are trans men's faults, you equally blame fat and/or nonbinary trans men just as much as thin and/or binary trans men for those issues, and it should be very obvious how that's fucked up

at the end of the day, their beliefs never wouldn't gained a foothold in the community if nbphobia and fatphobia weren't already issues. the reason they're issues in the community is because they're issues everywhere because nbphobia and fatphobia are systemic, and more specifically because the trans community includes binary and thin people who are inevitably going to harbor those beliefs to some extent. it feels almost minimizing to the issues to blame them entirely on trans men because they're far bigger issues than anything our community could create on our own. it also seems minimizing in the sense that, by saying we're the reason it's a problem in the trans community, it sort of implies that those weren't already issues in virtually every community (which they were because that's what systemic means)

it also just doesn't really make sense to reduce everything that trans/medi/calism is down to just the nbphobia and fatphobia. those are definitely big parts and should be talked about, but it's a very specific ideology and when you ignore that part, you ignore how dangerous that ideology is. even if they didn't use nbphobia and fatphobia to support it, their push to make transness even more medical than it already is (and as a result force a whole lot of trans people into the closet) is super fucking dangerous - especially when they push for lowkey eugenicist shit like finding biological markers to "test for transness", which i can almost guarantee would be used to force trans people to detransition, put kids into conversion therapy before they've even said they're trans (if they are at all), and even abort "trans fetuses". acting like the nbphobia and fatphobia they display are the only dangerous part of what they do just makes the other aspects even more dangerous

at the end of the day, yeah, all the damage tra-nsm-eds/tru-scum have done and continue to do isn't something trans men can just push away and never acknowledge - members of our community did a LOT of that damage and if we forget that, we let it continue happening unchallenged - but turning that into "trans men are the reason nbphobia and fatphobia exist in the trans community" is blatantly inaccurate, and i have to imagine it's done knowingly and in bad faith pretty much every time trans man to detransition and live in the closet, a next best thing is to get that trans man to do that to other trans people. there's an undeniable pattern of trans men who fall into te/rf circles being convinced by those te/rfs and their existing tra-nsm-ed/tru-sc-um buddies to embrace trans/-medi/calism. of course, those that fall for it are still responsible for their actions, but that doesn't mean we should ignore the role that others have played. the damage they've done is often an extension of the damage other parties have done, not just its own unique thing that they alone can be held responsible for

at the end of the day, yeah, all the damage tra-nsm-eds/tru-sc-um have done and continue to do isn't something trans men can just push away and never acknowledge - members of our community did a LOT of that damage and if we forget that, we let it continue happening unchallenged - but turning that into "trans men are the reason nbphobia and fatphobia exist in the trans community" is blatantly inaccurate

personally, i believe the reason people do this is because 1) it's just another way to demonize all trans men as "evil privileged men who should just shut up", and 2) they know they can get away with it because that is already the predominant image of us in many people's minds and that means they won't question the accusations against us

[vkelleyart]

Thoughts on fandom: inclusion and engagement.

(Art credit to the kindhearted @penpanoply​!)

There’s been some stuff floating around on Tumblr about strife in the CO/WS fandom, and though I haven’t been explicitly named-dropped on anything public, my DMs have been... active. lol Rather than rehash what’s been said already, I just want to impart a little wisdom and perspective in the hopes it may soothe frayed feelings and offer a way ahead for cultivating a respectful community. As someone who has been an active participant in online fandoms since the mid-’90s, which was the advent of online fandom content creation (shout out to my fellow X-Philes!), and who has also spent a chunk of her professional life managing social media for the federal government and for activist groups, I can promise you it’s all gonna be okay.

Here’s some context for why strife happens and what we can do to create a more inclusive and communicative fandom environment. 

1) It sounds cliché, but fandoms go through growing pains. 

In the case of the Simon Snow fandom, what was once a small and cozy space untouched by cataclysmic events (such as the release of *gasp* a sequel) has grown exponentially in a relatively short amount of time following the release of Wayward Son. Newcomers are eager to find a home in this space at the same time as folks who’ve been here a while may be consciously or unconsciously wary about widening their circle, and It’s important to remember that this is not necessarily an expression of bad behavior on either side but just human psychology doing its thing. 

The byproduct, however, is that tension and stress builds over time from the lack of meaningful communication across the divide, which subsequently fuels misunderstandings. Ironically, the interfaces we use to communicate don’t help with this because any existing communication about the tension happens in tiny vacuums until a trigger goes off and bad feelings go public. 

Way Ahead: These moments of destabilization are opportunities to see where we can be more self aware about how we engage with fandom and the kind of community we want to be. Can you promote, support, or befriend someone trying to gain a foothold? If yes, please do! Each person must reach their own decision about what they can do within the confines of their available energy, health, and time, but a little self awareness goes a long way as long as you’re honest with yourself and others if applicable about what you can contribute. Anyone who judges you for it isn’t worth the strife.

2) In a fandom comprised of vulnerable/marginalized people, it’s more accurate to say that cliques are “bubbles of trust.”

This one's important. Just by nature of the source material, the CO/WS fandom includes fans with a wide array of backgrounds and experiences, especially when it comes to those who identify with the characters’ queerness, mental illness, and/or trauma. I really believe––based on individual conversations/group chats––that the difficult lived experiences that so many of our fandom peers have endured has produced one of the most open, aware, and accepting fandoms I’ve had the pleasure of participating in. Our vulnerability is, in a real way, our strength.

That said, a community of survivors also has the side effect of cultivating small circles of engagement that I call “bubbles of trust.” When you’re a survivor of abuse, marginalization, mental illness, fill-in-the-blank, it’s often quite hard to risk casting a wide net and expanding your circle to include new faces––which can subsequently be internalized by equally sensitive and vulnerable newcomers as rejection, judgement, or inadequacy.

Way Ahead: First of all, there may indeed be gatekeeping and exclusion going on. But before internalizing someone’s cagey behavior as gatekeeping or purposely exclusionary, ask yourself if you have all the information. Many people are private (I include myself in this assessment) because life has regrettably taught them to be this way, and so they may insulate themselves to a small group of people who have earned their trust. Some people might also triggered by certain content (case in point: smut triggers my anxiety) so they don’t engage with it. Others might have something in their pasts that define how they handle certain subjects (for example, a person of color should not be tone policed for getting angry when confronted with a racialized microagression, however accidental it was). You just don’t know what you don’t know. 

The solution here is to regularly check your privilege and ask questions in a private space if you sense you’re being treated unfairly by someone. If you go public with your grievances in hopes of mobilizing the mob, you may accidentally find yourself stepping into the role of the aggressor instead of the victim.

3) Social Media is not built to help you get engagement. It’s built to help itself make money off of you.

Repeat after me: Hits/likes are not a measurable indicator of talent or worth. There are ridiculously talented folks on Tumblr and elsewhere who, for whatever reason, haven’t had their viral moment, and it’s not their fault. Loads of factors come into play where things like likes, reblogs, and comments are concerned, among them being posting frequency, subject matter, the time of day, the day of the week, the week of the month, the month of the year, the current administration, the stock exchange, the concentration of middle class users, who just won the Superbowl, a madman trying to steal an election and undermine the democratic process, a PANDEMIC, do you get where I’m going with this?? lol

At the end of the day, my humble successes have been helped along by good luck, good timing, high profile signal boosters, and an absurd amount of work. (This is why I try to signal boost new work whenever I get a chance over at @vkelleyshares.) 

So while you cannot control Tumblr’s interface, trends at large, or your fellow users, here’s what you can do to ensure you give your work the best possible chance of exposure.

Have an image ready to go with your post. Tumblr is a visual platform (no matter what it says about being good for text). Not good with images? Set up a Canva.com account and get access to free graphic software with a gazillion templates to create whatever attractive image you want to attach to your post.

Keep the outward facing text brief and easy on the eyes. Too long and eyes will glaze over. Put excess text behind a “read more.”

You may think you’re being cute when you do this, but don’t put yourself down in your posts. (Don’t put yourself down in general, of course.) Doing so acts as engagement repellant. If you don’t believe in your work, no one else will.

Related: Be your best cheerleader. Confidence is a magnet, and if you don’t have it, go ahead and fake it until you start to convince yourself you are worth the buzz. So promote yourself! You have gifts that only you can impart. Use that knowledge to fuel everything you do from your art/fiction writing to your outreach with other content creators, and by golly, if someone’s done it already, acknowledge that contribution and then tell the world that this is YOUR unique take on it.

Treat your fellow fandom creators as human beings, not art/fiction/content boosting machines. I cannot count how many times I’ve had folks slide into my DMs with offers of friendship only to disappear once they realize I’m not available to draw a picture for their fic. It hurts because it’s manipulative and it makes me want to hole up and not signal boost anyone. Creators who truly support each other will not give off a transactional vibe. I want to help you reach more people, but not if that’s all I’m good for in your eyes. 

The long and short of it: Lead with compassion, do your best with the opportunities at  your disposal, and remember that fandom belongs to everyone in it. ❤️

What saves a fandom made of sensitive and vulnerable souls from imploding when it goes through growing pains is radical compassion from those who can offer it. Begin with the assumption that your fellow fandomers are not trying to harm you, and wade into the water knowing that your insight into the lives of your peers is limited by default and you may need to temper your words or actions accordingly. If you’re a content creator, save compassion for yourself as well, as there are indeed challenges to gaining an audience, and lack of engagement does not mean you lack talent or skill. Be your best advocate, and if you have the bandwidth to lift up a fellow creator and make a new friend, please, go ahead do it! 

And finally, fandom belongs to everyone, and no one has a monopoly on characters, tropes, or themes. Create and consume what you love (with respect for your more vulnerable peers), and bask in the variety, my friends!

That’s all I’ve got in my head at the moment, although I’m sure there’s more I’m forgetting. Thanks so much to @penpanoply for letting me use her art for this and to everyone else, hang in there and try not to judge each other too harshly. These are unprecedented times, and most of us are doing our best in circumstances that are pushing us to our limits. 

As always, if you have questions or want to sound off on anything, shoot me a message or an ask, or ping me on Discord. It might take me a second to respond (thanks, Covid) but I’ll get to it! Love, love, and more love to all.

[bangwoolofbangtan]

TIME

ENTERTAINER of the year

BTS

[Time magazine BTS interview ]

It’s late October, and Suga is sitting on a couch strumming a guitar. His feet are bare, his long hair falling over his eyes. He noodles around, testing out chords and muttering softly to himself, silver hoop earrings glinting in the light. “I just started learning a few months ago,” he says. It’s an intimate moment, the kind you’d spend with a new crush in a college dorm room while they confess rock-star ambitions. But Suga is one-seventh of the Korean pop band BTS, which means I’m just one of millions of fans watching, savoring the moment.

BTS isn’t just the biggest K-pop act on the charts. They’ve become the biggest band in the world—full stop. Between releasing multiple albums, breaking every type of record and appearing in these extemporaneous livestreams in 2020, BTS ascended to the zenith of pop stardom. And they did it in a year defined by setbacks, one in which the world hit pause and everyone struggled to maintain their connections. Other celebrities tried to leverage this year’s challenges; most failed. (Remember that star-studded “Imagine” video?) But BTS’s bonds to their international fan base, called ARMY, deepened amid the pandemic, a global racial reckoning and worldwide shutdowns. “There are times when I’m still taken aback by all the unimaginable things that are happening,” Suga tells TIME later. “But I ask myself, Who’s going to do this, if not us?”

Today, K-pop is a multibillion-dollar business, but for decades the gatekeepers of the music world—the Western radio moguls, media outlets and number-crunchers—treated it as a novelty. BTS hits the expected high notes of traditional K-pop: sharp outfits, crisp choreography and dazzling videos. But they’ve matched that superstar shine with a surprising level of honesty about the hard work that goes into it. BTS meets the demands of Top 40’s authenticity era without sacrificing any of the gloss that’s made K-pop a cultural force. It doesn’t hurt that their songs are irresistible: polished confections that are dense with hooks and sit comfortably on any mainstream playlist.

BTS is not the first Korean act to establish a secure foothold in the West, yet their outsize success today is indicative of a sea change in the inner workings of fandom and how music is consumed. From propelling their label to a $7.5 billion IPO valuation to inspiring fans to match their $1 million donation to Black Lives Matter, BTS is a case study in music-industry dominance through human connection. Once Suga masters the guitar, there won’t be much left for them to conquer.

In an alternate universe where COVID-19 didn’t exist, BTS’s 2020 would likely have looked much like the years that came before. The group got its start in 2010, after K-pop mastermind and Big Hit Entertainment founder Bang Si-hyuk recruited RM, 26, from Seoul’s underground rap scene. He was soon joined by Jin, 28; Suga, 27; J-Hope, 26; Jimin, 25; V, 24; and Jung Kook, 23, selected for their dancing, rapping and singing talents.

But unlike their peers, BTS had an antiestablishment streak, both in their activism and in the way they contributed to their songwriting and production—which was then rare in K-pop, although that’s started to change. In BTS’s debut 2013 single, “No More Dream,” they critiqued Korean social pressures, like the high expectations placed on schoolkids. They have been open about their own challenges with mental health and spoken publicly about their support for LGBTQ+ rights. (Same-sex marriage is still not legally recognized in South Korea.) And they’ve modeled a form of gentler, more neutral masculinity, whether dyeing their hair pastel shades or draping their arms lovingly over one another. All this has made them unique not just in K-pop but also in the global pop marketplace.

In March, BTS was prepping for a global tour. Instead, they stayed in Seoul to wait out the pandemic. For the group, life didn’t feel too different: “We always spend 30 days a month together, 10 hours a day,” Jin says. But with their plans upended, they had to pivot. In August, BTS dropped an English-language single, “Dynamite,” that topped the charts in the U.S.—a first for an all-Korean act. With their latest album this year, Be, they’ve become the first band in history to debut a song and album at No. 1 on Billboard’s charts in the same week. “We never expected that we would release another album,” says RM. “Life is a trade-off.”

Their triumphs this year weren’t just about the music. In October, they put on perhaps the biggest virtual ticketed show of all time, selling nearly a million tickets to the two-night event. Their management company went public in Korea, turning Bang into a billionaire and each of the members into millionaires, a rarity in an industry where the spoils often go to the distributors, not the creators. And they were finally rewarded with a Grammy nomination. On YouTube, where their Big Hit Labels is one of the top 10 most subscribed music accounts (with over 13 billion views by this year), their only real competition is themselves, says YouTube’s music-trends manager Kevin Meenan. The “Dynamite” video racked up 101 million views in under 24 hours, a first for the platform. “They’ve beaten all their own records,” he says.

Not that the glory comes without drawbacks: namely, lack of free time. It’s nearing midnight in Seoul in late November, and BTS, sans Suga, who’s recovering from shoulder surgery, are fitting in another interview—this time, just with me. V, Jimin and J-Hope spontaneously burst into song as they discuss Jin’s upcoming birthday. “Love, love, love,” they harmonize, making good use of the Beatles’ chorus, turning to their bandmate and crossing their fingers in the Korean version of the heart symbol.

Comparisons to that epoch-defining group are inevitable. “What’s different is that we’re seven, and we also dance,” says V. “It’s kind of like a cliché when big boy bands are coming up: ‘Oh, there’s another Beatles!’” says RM. I’ve interviewed BTS five times, and in every interaction, they are polite to a fault. But by now they must be weary of revisiting these comparisons, just as they must be tired of explaining their success. RM says it’s a mix of luck, timing and mood. “I’m not 100% sure,” he says.

They’ve matured into smart celebrities: focused and cautious, they’re both more ready for the questions and more hesitant to make big statements. When you ask BTS about their landmark year, for once they’re not exactly chipper; J-Hope wryly calls it a “roller coaster.” “Sh-t happens,” says RM. “It was a year that we struggled a lot,” says Jimin. Usually a showman, on this point he seems more introspective than usual. “We might look like we’re doing well on the outside with the numbers, but we do go through a hard time ourselves,” he says. For a group whose purpose is truly defined by their fans, the lack of human interaction has been stifling. Still, they’ve made it a point to represent optimism. “I always wanted to become an artist that can provide comfort, relief and positive energy to people,” says J-Hope. “That intent harmonized with the sincerity of our group and led us to who we are today.”

In an era marked by so much anguish and cynicism, BTS has stayed true to their message of kindness, connection and self-acceptance. That’s the foundation of their relationship with their fans. South Korean philosopher and author Dr. Jiyoung Lee describes the passion of BTS’s fandom as a phenomenon called “horizontality,” a mutual exchange between artists and their fans. As opposed to top-down instruction from an icon to their followers, BTS has built a true community. “Us and our fans are a great influence on each other,” says J-Hope. “We learn through the process of making music and receiving feedback.” The BTS fandom isn’t just about ensuring the band’s primacy—it’s also about extending the band’s message of positivity into the world. “BTS and ARMY are a symbol of change in zeitgeist, not just of generational change,” says Lee.

And in June, BTS became a symbol of youth activism worldwide after they donated $1 million to the Black Lives Matter movement amid major protests in the U.S. (They have a long track record of supporting initiatives like UNICEF and school programs.) BTS says now it was simply in support of human rights. “That was not politics. It was related to racism,” Jin says. “We believe everyone deserves to be respected. That’s why we made that decision.”

That proved meaningful for fans like Yassin Adam, 20, an ARMY from Georgia who runs popular BTS social media accounts sharing news and updates, and who is Black. “It will bring more awareness to this issue people like me face in this country,” he says. “I see myself in them, or at least a version of myself.” In May and June, a broad coalition of K-pop fans made headlines for interfering with a police app and buying out tickets for a Trump campaign rally, depleting the in-person attendance. Later that summer, ARMY’s grassroots fundraising effort matched BTS’s $1 million donation to Black Lives Matter within 24 hours.

For 28-year-old Nicole Santero, who is Asian American, their success in the U.S. is also a triumph of representation: “I never really saw people like myself on such a mainstream stage,” Santero says. She’s writing her doctoral dissertation on the culture of BTS fandom, and she runs a popular Twitter account that analyzes and shares BTS data. “Anytime I’m awake, I’m doing something related to BTS,” she says. “This is a deeper kind of love.”

Devotion like that is a point of pride for BTS, particularly in a year when so much has felt uncertain. “We’re not sure if we’ve actually earned respect,” RM says. “But one thing for sure is that [people] feel like, O.K., this is not just some kind of a syndrome, a phenomenon.” He searches for the right words. “These little boys from Korea are doing this.” —With reporting by Aria Chen/Hong Kong; Mariah Espada/Washington; Sangsuk Sylvia Kang and Kat Moon/New York

FASHION CREDITS

RM: Jacket, shirt, pants and shoes HERMES; SUGA: Jacket, shirt and necklace CELINE. Pants GIVENCHY. Shoes LOUIS VUITTON; Jung Kook: Jacket, shirt, pants and shoes FENDI; J-Hope: Jacket, shirt, pants and shoes LOUIS VUITTON. Necklace HERMES; Jin: Suit, knit top and shoes BALENCIAGA; Jimin: Jacket, silk shirt, pants and shoes CELINE; V: Suit, shirt and shoes ALEXANDER McQUEEN. Tie THOM BROWNE.

[isladeroda]

Chapter 1 - Heartbeat of Steam

It was one thing to hear the location described in the debriefing. An underground base of sorts, forged entirely out of brass and running on steam. True to what the group had been told, exposed cogs and pumps were visible the moment the beheld the entrance to the lair of their enemy. The hiss of steam could be heard from deeper within, and already, the amount of noise filling the air made it clear that communicating within the structure was going to be difficult. Luckily, that had been discussed ahead of time, and hand gestures had been practiced for many different situations.

Doctor Clara stepped tentatively towards the entrance, her hand-picked team of Operators at her sides and front. Operators Cuora, Alcatraz, Heat, Scavenger, Shirayuki, Projekt Red, and Perfumer had been selected to take part, but another guest had been selected - Rhodes Island’s own Head Engineer, Closure. Her presence was deemed necessary in case the group ran into any unfamiliar machinery, and the Head Engineering Officer was deemed the best fit - no doubt in part to her eagerly volunteering for a chance to check out the unusual engineering in play.

“Wow, despite how archaic the technology seems, this is actually pretty advanced...” As the group got closer, the Sarkaz took every opportunity she could to examine the machinery, nodding to herself a few times. “Already I can tell there’s a number of redundant systems, not out of laziness, but to pick up the slack if any one part fails... And how they manage to get them all to work together when the primary function is unnecessary is astounding... Hmmm...”

The group stopped at the entrance, not just to let Closure look a little closer at the machinery, but to gauge things immediately. If the enemy group had learned they were coming, they’d either ready an ambush, or try to bait them deeper in... And the Doctor knew the latter was unlikely, so after a few moments, the team proceeded to push in further.

“Agh, I can barely hear myself think...” Cuora complained from her place near the back of the single-file formation, her voice nearly drowned out by all of the noise. Similarly, Projekt Red was clearly uncomfortable, only in part from the noise, but as the temperature had clearly rocketed up at least another 10 degrees, Red had already regretted bringing her heavy coat. Shirayuki, befitting her usual modus operandi, had disappeared above them, presumably traveling by means of the pipes that hung overhead. Everyone else, thankfully, seemed more comfortable in the heat, yet the knowledge that they wouldn’t be able to communicate traditionally hung over the group.

The hallways themselves were thin, but rather than typical, solid metal, they were clearly more along the lines of maintenance catwalks, the heavy steel mesh that served as their footholds and the railings that kept them from falling off the side were all hung over more exposed machinery, likely for the sake of ease of access in case any of the seemingly-delicate machinery failed. Now and again, a square of walkway that split into multiple other hallways would “circle” around an important-looking piece of equipment that Closure would pause briefly to examine before the group could continue their exploration.

And yet, Doctor Clara was totally on edge. The lights were literally still on, but nobody was home. They hadn’t seen a single foe since they began to probe deep into the facility and explore, no signs of security... Nothing to stop would-be intruders. Occasionally they came across a locked door with no way to open it from their side, and had to turn back, but that was the only real security measure, and one easily subverted, as there had to be a way to open the doors - a control panel or the like.

Eventually, the team exhausted all of their options, and began traveling down one final path, before eventually coming to a room with a series of conveyor belts that crossed overhead and underneath, carrying metal scrap and unusual-looking parts. Was this a manufactory of sorts? And who was using it? Perhaps this was the group supplying weapons to Reunion... However, unable to make anything other than an educated guess, the group soldiered on, eventually coming to another locked door...

All seemed hopeless before Shirayuki appeared before them and, using hand motions, submitted the idea of using the conveyor belts to travel. The openings were large enough for a person to fit through, though they’d likely want to avoid the ones with scrap on them - those were likely being melted down, and the group would definitely not want a death by melting in molten metal. The group nodded unanimously, before they found a conveyor belt matching their prerequisites, and leaped down onto it.

Curiously, the sound of machinery began to quiet as they followed the conveyor belt, though it was still ever-present. Soon, it opened up into a larger room where mechanical humanoids were clearly being assembled... By nothing other than automated tools, cranes, and mechanical arms on an assembly line. As the group hopped off onto the floor of the assembly room, Closure in particular excitedly examined the various pieces of equipment while everyone else was on-guard.

"There’s no workers, no guards, not even any repairmen... This is beyond strange.” Heat stated, his eyes narrowed and his hand firmly on the weapon at his side. “Even a place like this can’t run fully automated... Can it?” Alcatraz and Scavenger nodded in agreement, very clearly on-guard while Projekt Red and Cuora kept close to Closure, both making sure to keep her safe while she made her observations, and also a bit curious as to the goings-on, themselves.

“You’re not wrong.” Closure eventually spoke up, turning to the group. “Even automated systems need someone to monitor them, moderate them... Ensure that they’re all working accordingly and fix them when they don’t. And for a system with this many moving parts to it, there would have to be at least some repairmen or engineers we’d have encountered on the way...” The group pondered on this idea for a brief moment, only to be interrupted by Perfumer voicing her thoughts.

“Um... I know this might be a stupid question, but... what if it self-repairs?” The group looked between each other as Closure thought to herself before checking a piece of machinery and looking closer. For a few moments, the others weren’t sure what she was looking for, before she stood up straight again and wore a grim expression on her face.

“You... might be right. Less so fantastical as self-repairs, like... It’s not just magically fitting everything back into place. There’s no Originium in these machines, as far as I can tell to facilitate something as absurd as artificial Arts, but... It’s possible they even have an automated repair system.” Scavenger was the first to ask what that meant. Did they have repair arms in the walls behind the gears or something?

“No, nothing so unnecessary... It’s likely that there’s automated drones that fly - or more likely walk or drive - out the moment an error in the system occurs.” Closure spoke with an air of near-certainty. The more she thought about it out loud, the more and more it all seemed to fit neatly into place. “The redundant systems can keep the facility running at partial capacity, while the drones repair the primary functions... It’s like a backup generator for any given piece of machinery. Frankly, it’s genius. There’s just one small problem...”

“...Someone still needs to moderate all of it. Even just check up on it once in a while.” The Doctor spoke up, looking over to their engineer. Closure nodded in agreement, her arms crossed over her midsection in thought, a grim expression on her face.

“So we’re likely to meet whoever we’re looking for deeper in the facility.” Doctor Clara said, speaking to the rest of the group. “But we still need to locate a control panel or something similar from which we can begin to operate the doors in conduct a full search. So for now, that will be our goal. Understood?” The group verbalized their understanding before beginning to move out once more, quickly locating an operable door and walking through.

On the other side was another, brief hallway, that soon lead to a set of stairs going up. Following the staircase, and one more door later, soon the group was treated to a large room with numerous bits and pieces of machinery on the walls, operating at a much quieter volume than the other areas of the facility. It almost felt like a break room for the team, if not for the fact that a terminal and a set of monitors was located on the opposite side of the room that the group quickly rushed over to.

“Well, that was easy! Thank you, sensible lair design~” Closure had already begun to work with the keys and buttons, quickly figuring out their purposes as she went through the data on the terminal. Soon, she realized she was into more important files, including one labeled “Doctor’s Reports”. Had she perhaps just discovered the jackpot? The personal files of someone part of the R&D team responsible for this place, perhaps? “There isn’t even any internal security, which is - ”

The Sarkaz had clearly spoken too soon, as the machinery on the walls suddenly came to life violently as an alarm began to blare throughout the room. The floor opened up near the walls, almost immediately followed by Terran-sized containers rising up through the holes. With gushes of steam that briefly filled the room and soon dissipated through the vents throughout it, the containers opened up to reveal a number of mechanical humanoids wielding various weaponry, from bows and swords to axes and spears.

Immediately the group drew out their weapons and prepared to engage the enemy on the Doctor’s orders. Looking back to Closure, who met her gaze and nodded, Doctor Clara began to issue orders to her group, holding off the advancing robots while Closure began to work through the system and turn off the security systems.

The waves of robots seemed almost endless, but after a minute or two of fighting, the alarm finally died down and the containers that dived down and rose back up with new soldiers finally retreated for good. With the final robot defeated, the Operators all breathed a sigh of relief.

“Sorry about that~!” Closure looked back with a wink and an apologetic grin. “Must’ve tripped something, because I think I’ve got some really good stuff here... Sadly, it’s all encrypted, so I’ll have to get it backed to Rhodes to get it analyzed, but from here, I can totally access the rest of the facility! We’ve got our ticket in, folks!”

“All right.” Doctor Clara nodded to Closure, who began to upload the files in question, before looking to her team. “We’re gonna regroup to Rhodes Island, everyone. Likely adjust our team formation, now that we know more of what we’re dealing with, but I think you’ll all still take part in further exploration of this facility. Understood?”

Replying in the affirmative, the team prepared to leave as Closure finished up her copying of the files. Even as everyone began to talk about the possibility of what may lie ahead, Doctor Clara’s sinking feeling didn’t fade just yet... What was this place for? It seemed way too complex to just be a weapons construction facility, not to mention the lack of intelligent personnel... And on top of all of that...

...Why did it feel so familiar...?

[roll20]

The Orr Group Industry Report: Q2 2020 - Widespread Growth

The first quarter of 2020 showed widespread growth for nearly every game system on Roll20. This quarter, that trend continued and was amplified--we saw unprecedented growth across nearly every game system. So many of you are staying connected during this time by playing games together, and we’re honored that you’ve turned to Roll20 as the place to do it. 

Campaign Percentage: How many Roll20 campaigns use this game system.*

Account Percentage: How many Roll20 users play this game system.* 

*Only games with at least one hour of playtime are counted in these results. It doesn’t take a particularly high perception check to see that D&D 5E continues to be the biggest RPG on our platform. This quarter, players around the world brought their dungeon-crawling campaigns online, and Dungeons & Dragons 5E saw the largest overall increase of any game system on Roll20. But it wasn’t the only game that flourished. As more and more folks flocked to us for their gaming needs, driving universal growth on the platform, the composition of the games and their proportional popularity remained about the same as the previous quarters, with a few notable exceptions. In other words, the pie got bigger, but it was still sliced the same way, give or take. And everyone likes more pie! Everyone likes more games, too.  Fantasy games still make up the bulk of the campaigns on Roll20, but we’ve seen a rise in more space- and sci-fi-themed campaigns this quarter. Cyberpunk (both Red and 2020) saw big increases in the number of campaigns. We predict a continued rise in the old versions of Cyberpunk 2020 as well as the newer Cyberpunk Red as we close in on the release of CD Projekt Red’s Cyberpunk 2020 later this year. Or maybe more and more of you are just getting really into neon and D10s. Hard to say. Additionally, both LANCER, a mecha combat RPG system, and Shadowrun, the classic urban fantasy/cyberpunk RPG system, saw notable growth. We’re excited to see unique settings and themes gaining a bigger foothold on the platform.

Back on the fantasy side of things, we noticed one interesting data point we wanted to share: This year, we saw more Pathfinder Second Edition games than D&D 3.5 games for the first time ever. Welcome, new Pathfinder players! With the release of the Pathfinder Second Edition Advanced Player’s Guide, we expect to see Pathfinder continue to grow, moving forward.  

These campaigns are campaigns with the largest growth with at least 1000 concurrent games in Q2. 

Roll20 was truly an international home for gaming this quarter. Players from around the world showed up in a myriad of ways - playing on the site, streaming tutorials and actual plays, and bringing a greater diversity to the systems and types of games being played. We saw growth from Tormenta, the popular and acclaimed Portugeuse RPG celebrating its 20th anniversary this year, Das Schwarze Auge, (The Dark Eye) a German language fantasy RPG, and Chroniques Oubliées, a French language fantasy RPG.

We want to extend a heartfelt thank you to our Roll20 community. Whether you’re a weekend warrior with hundreds of hours of Roll20 playtime, a new user just picking up the hobby for the first time, or anyone in between, we appreciate you spending your game time here with us. View the full report below: 

Compare with the previous report here!  About The Orr Group Industry Report The Orr Group Industry Report explores trends within the tabletop gaming industry with a focus on the online tabletop community. Created in 2014, the Orr Report has always aimed to go beyond the topic of “what games have sold recently” and really centralize the focus on what games people are continuing to play and enjoy on an ongoing basis. Everyone from players to publishers can get a bird’s eye view for the usage and popularity of different systems on Roll20 and identify trends for tabletop as a whole. MORE FROM ROLL20: 

Roll20 Crash Course: Learn how to set up a basic game in Roll20.  Roll20 Rundown: Learn about the latest from Roll20.  Roll20 Community Tiltify Campaign: Join us in donating to Code2040, an organization dedicated to breaking down racial barriers in the tech industry, and we’ll match your donation up to $50,000. 

[chibinightowl]

First Contact

Inspired by @tanekore‘s utterly amazing Jason Todd piece, Freedom Fighter. I meant to have this up last week, but life threw me a ton of lemons, so I had to deal with the influx first. The story is set a few years in the future of a JayDick piece I wrote last year, which can be read here (forewarned, it’s E). This story is most definitely not. ^_^

---

The quiet ping from Tim’s comm put him on instant alert. And what a time for it, right in the middle of a conference vid with Federation High Command. Thank the stars he was alone in his office on board the Titan because otherwise, someone would undoubtedly notice the quiet shift of his hands as he brought up a holoscreen beneath his desk.

Normally, he wouldn’t go through the effort during a meeting such as this, but the alert was one he’d been waiting, no, hoping for since he lost contact with the merchant vessel his ultimate trump card was carefully stashed away on. The AI was his greatest accomplishment, so the loss of the ship and his agent were devastating to his plans to regain control over the hijacked Unternet, the sub-particle web that connected all the planets and colonies in the system with Earth. Anything was possible on those data streams and the government needed to regain control before Ulysses Armstrong realized exactly what he now had access to.

Tim suspected Moneyspider was involved somehow and Oracle concurred. Between them, they knew just about everything worth knowing in the Earth Federation; their respective roles in the Intelligence Service giving them more power than that fool of a President could ever dream of. Unlike the Penguin, he and Barbara Gordon were determined to use this knowledge for the betterment of all.

There were plans in place to overthrow the current regime, plans that they’d been ready to implement at the start of the next election cycle. Plans that were now crashing around them because of Armstrong. The AI had been key and now, despite all the odds, it was signaling it was back online.

How was Tim’s main question as his fingers flew over the small screen while maintaining eye contact with Admiral Wayne and the other Commanders of the six fleets that made up Naval forces protecting the solar system. From what was always a favorite unvoiced question of his since most of their turmoil came from within rather than from beyond. Case in point, right here as Armstrong was one of theirs, a former Naval officer with a massive chip on his shoulder that was often directed right at him.

Humans and their drama, he’d heard a Kryptonian say with derision once where he wasn’t supposed to overhear. It wasn’t entirely wrong, especially since humanity seemed to carry with them eons of history that they behaved as though occurred yesterday. Always looking to the past, the Kryptonian had added before changing the topic. 

Like they were ones to talk. There was a reason they were banned from this system. Or any other system with a yellow star. 

Tim swiped at the small holoscreen, tapping in the codes to receive data from the AI. Where was it? 

Streams of information flooded the screen, so fast his cybernetic-enhanced eyes could barely keep up. Dammit, this vid needed to end now. He could only listen to Ogilvy and Lark rehash the same stupid event for the third time. Neither of them came out of that looking great and both were determined to blame the other while trying to regain face with the Admiral.

Apparently, Admiral Wayne couldn’t stand to listen to it again either. “Alright, I think we’ve reached the end of the walk-ons,” he interrupted when Ogilvy paused for breath. “I expect to see all of you planet-side for the Naval graduation in three weeks. Until then, standard channels unless an emergency crops up.” 

He didn’t give the others a chance to reply and disconnected the vid, ending the conference. 

“Thank you,” Tim breathed, sending his holos to eye level with a flick of his wrist and expanding them. “TIM, load a chart of your current location.”

“Loading.” 

A large blue orb appeared on a third holo above the other two. 

Tim narrowed his eyes. “Neptune? How under the sun did you arrive there?”

The lost shuttle had been traveling between his base above Jupiter and Mars, using the interplanetary gates. Neptune’s current orbit could not be further away if it tried. 

A new stream of data appeared, complex figures and symbols that only someone with cybernetics could understand. What Tim read made him grimace because Oracle’s suspicions were now confirmed. Armstrong had used the Unternet to interfere with the interplanetary gates.

This was not good. At all.

“Current status?”

“Power cells at 15%, no exterior damage, and my scans indicate no internal damage either. However, I am in the hands of a human male who claims to be one of the greatest hackers who ever lived and he’s on the verge of cracking my HUD.”

“Son of a bitch,” Tim swore, fingers flying across the screen as he attempted to narrow in his own satellites and scanners on the AI’s location. “Any chance to draw power from elsewhere?”

“I’ve got enough power for a self-destruct. Should I initiate?”

Good question. Tim frowned and glanced back at the screen showing Neptune.

“Get me a visual on your hacker.”

The image flickered and a face appeared, framed by untamed red hair and a grungy cap that should have seen the trash bin ages ago. He was human alright, and smart enough to wear protective goggles as he poked around at TIM’s HUD. There was something familiar about him, but with his eyes concealed, it was up to facial recognition to narrow the possibilities. 

A list of possible names popped up, and Tim honed in on one immediately. Roy Harper, alias Arsenal. Member of the antigovernment group the Outlaws and listed as their resident munitions and technology expert. Hacker could probably fall under that category, although Tim suspected the man’s claims to be exaggerated unless things had drastically changed since the last time their paths crossed. 

It was times like these that Tim missed the relative simplicity of his Academy days. Dick would not be happy if he were to learn about this. 

Best not to tell him then. 

“No need for self-destruct yet,” he instructed the AI. “The Outlaws aren’t as antiestablishment as they’d like the press to believe. In their own way, they’re trying to take the Penguin down too.”

Not that they were doing a good job of it. They needed a plan, structure. A leader who didn’t fly off the handle and blow things up at the drop of a hat.

“Standby then, sir?”

Tim watched as Harper leaned in closer. Another figure stood behind him, just over his shoulder, but wearing a full-face mask as opposed to Harper’s goggles. He zoomed in and stepped back in surprise. 

It was an oni mask, grim and fearsome, and as red as the eyes of the man whose face it concealed. The thing was, he wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near this sector of space. In fact, if he remembered correctly, the file stated he was near Venus on the New Arkham penal colony, sentenced for a lifetime of hard labor in the mines for more murders than Tim had fingers and toes. 

Jason Todd. The Red Hood. 

What the hell was he doing here? 

Tim’s nearly obsessive need for answers had him sitting back down in his chair, eyes locked on the vid. “Yes. Standby and observe.”

---

Ghost ships never failed to give Jason the creeps. Death and him were old friends, but it didn’t make it any easier when the people bumping into him in zero-g never had a chance. An interplanetary gateway malfunction, Roy had guessed when they came upon the ship hanging in Neptune’s gravity-well. The large shuttle definitely wasn’t the type to travel long distances, and there wasn’t much out this far unless a person was readying to leave the system altogether. They were lucky the Starfire was of Tamaranean design, otherwise there would be no oxygen slowly filtering in from the docking port. This shuttle wasn’t the biggest he’d ever seen, but it was large enough for a good fifty or so passengers.

Where had it come from?

Jason pushed another drifting body away from where Roy crouched on the floor, the magnetic pull of their gravity-boots allowing them to stand still. “Seriously, let’s get out of here already.”

“Someone afraid of a bunch of dead people?”

“I see dead people all the time. You’re next if you don’t move your ass.”

Roy ignored him, entranced with the new toy he’d found drifting amongst the other detritus. “You don’t get it, Jaybird. This is DI tech. Drake Industries. We’re talking top-of-the-line, best of the best, tech here. It’s so expensive I can’t even afford it in my dreams.”

“You can’t even afford a new hat.”

“Go poke through the engine room. If there’s any charge left to those ion batteries, we’ll be sittin’ pretty for a cycle or more.”

Jason sighed as he wandered away. This was what he was reduced to, sifting through wreckage of dead vessels and scavenging for goods that would put food in his stomach and recharge the fuel cells on Kory’s ship. The last attempt to gain a foothold in the Federation had crippled the Outlaws more than the government likely realized, and it wasn’t just because they’d captured him.

No, even after his rescue by the two most incredible people he’d ever known, it all boiled down to one thing.

Money.

Well, money and information. Neither of which were in great abundance at the moment.

So here they were, out in the back of beyond licking their wounds and biding their time. Another opportunity to take a stab at the Penguin would come again. It had to, because otherwise, what was the point? What had he given everything up for if not for that one chance to make things right, better for everyone in the Earth Federation?

Not for the first time, an image of Dick flashed before his eyes and Jason shoved the thought away with a grimace. Fuck memory lane and fuck Dick Grayson. The past was the past and he’d more than learned from the mistakes he’d made there.

The engine room proved to have nothing but inert batteries, the charge to them utterly neutralized by the energies of a malfunctioning gateway. Jason shoved the last tube back into its casing and scowled. There went any chance of a decent meal unless he wanted to sift through the luggage in the hold.

Why the fuck not? It wasn’t like he had anything better to do, not with Roy still poking and prodding at that piece of DI tech.

The cold, dark air in the storage compartments made Jason shiver as soon as he entered. With all the pods, it reminded him of a tomb. In a way it was, as everything down here wasn’t needed by the people floating up above. Chances were likely all the passengers died when the gateway created the wormhole that sent them out here, but there might have been a few stragglers who slowly suffocated as the air ran out.

He got to work, switching on a light-stick to see by, and sorted through the luggage pods. There were a few promising items. Earth gems always garnered some decent creds outside the system, so the jewelry he found was stashed away quick enough. A silken robe he set aside for Kory, and in the depths of one suitcase, he found a stash of physical cred chips.

Maybe there would be some beef to add to his broccoli after all.

“Hey, Jay!” Roy called from above. “You down here?”

“Yeah!” Jason returned to the stairs so he wouldn’t need to shout. “The engine room was a bust, but you might want to check it out, just in case. Got a few things in here that might be worth something if we head over to Vega for the exchange.”

Roy clomped down the stairs, the pull on his boots against the metal making it ring with each step. “You won’t believe what this is.” He held out the thick, circular disc he’d been messing around with earlier.

“Something we can trade for a shit ton of creds?”

“Technically, yes. However, I think we might want to keep it.”

Jason frowned, not sure what his best friend was getting at. “Why?”

“Because this isn’t just DI tech. This is Drake Industries AI tech.”

Well now. Even he’d heard rumors about the kind of artificial intelligence DI was involved with. All military grade stuff too, the kind that required the highest of clearances to even be in the same room with it.

And now, here they were with what could be one of the most cutting-edge AIs in the system.

He sighed, not looking forward to poking through the bodies upstairs to see who it might have belonged to. “What have you done to it?”

Roy laughed, eyes a little wild as he slipped his shades back on. It didn’t matter that it was darker than the murk that constantly surrounded New Gotham, the man could see perfectly with them. “Charged the battery a bit. It was almost dead.”

“Are we gonna die if we turn this thing on?”

“Probably not.” Roy handed the disc to him. “At least, I’m 60% sure.”

Jason had lived through worse odds, but because he had a reputation to maintain, he still gave his friend shit. “Gee, that’s reassuring. And since you’re just so goddamned skilled at putting me at ease, I’m covering my face. The last thing we need is the Federation on our asses right now.” 

Roy shrugged and took a few steps back as Jason slid his oni mask on. It used the same lens technology as Roy’s shades. “Your funeral.”

“Yeah, it is.”

It wasn’t that Jason didn’t trust Roy. He knew in the coldest cockles of his heart that the man would never betray him. The problem was, his best friend was erratically brilliant and if what he said about this piece of tech was in anyway accurate, then they had a treasure trove of information and access into the inner workings of the Federation in their hands.

This was the edge the Outlaws needed to get back in the game. 

If he wasn’t, then chances were likely they were about to get fucked because that was the way their luck had been of late.

“Here goes nothing.” Jason pressed lightly on the activation sensor. 

The device illuminated and spun in his hand, glowing with a faint blue light as it hovered before them. A hologram appeared, about ten inches in height, of what appeared to be a human male. A rather attractive one at that, with fine features, sharp cheekbones, and an even sharper jaw. 

Whoever made the AI, they were definitely projecting a fantasy because no man could be that good looking. 

The hologram’s eyes narrowed. “I am TIM, designation 003-07-19. Who are you?”

Was that a bit of sass Jason’s ears detected? “Who do you think we are?” he asked instead, wanting to see what this thing could do.

A small HUD light up in front of TIM the AI. “Visual scans indicate Roy Harper, known as Arsenal, and Jason Todd, the Red Hood. Members of the antigovernment group the Outlaws.” Those eyes narrowed again. “Such an original name,” he muttered.

“Hey, who’re you to judge?” Jason shoved his mask up over his head because there was apparently no point in hiding behind it. With the light the AI was giving off, he could see just fine. “What kind of AI are you?”

“I am TIM,” the hologram replied. “Tactical Information Manager. Series 003-07-19.”

At least he answered direct questions. Why wasn’t he checking for clearance codes? Was this a private piece of tech rather than Navy? If so, whoever created this was a goddamned genius.

“Okay, TIM. Here’s the deal. We found you on board a ghost ship. There’s not a living soul out here except for me and Roy. You do what we tell you, we’ll bring you back to the inner ring.”

Eventually. Jason crossed his toes in his boots, a habit from childhood he never quite grew out of.

“My files indicate you are supposed to be on the New Arkham penal colony.”

Jason smirked. Looked like the government didn’t want to admit they’d fucked up and lost him. “Does it look like we’re on New Arkham? I don’t think so.”

“No, coordinates indicate we are orbiting Neptune.”

Looked like TIM’s data relays were connecting to the Starfire’s mainframe. Whether that was a good thing or not was for Roy to decide. Although, Kory would be pissed if they’d managed to fuck up her ship while she was undercover on the Titan.  “Yeah, it’s a real gas.” 

The humor was lost on the AI. “Did you escape then? Please tell me how so that I can update my files.” 

“Don’t think so, Timmy. If the government wants to believe they still have me all safe and sound in that hellhole, let them. It’s their fault they couldn’t keep me there in the first place.” Not that he ever made it there, but the AI didn’t need to know that.

“My name is TIM, not Timmy.” The AI sounded almost prissy. 

Jason leaned forward. “Your name is whatever I feel like calling ya.”

“Then that will make it hard to determine if you need my services or are speaking to the bots.”

“What the fuck kind of AI are you?”

“The best kind.”

--- Behind the HUD, the real Tim snickered as Todd’s posturing turned more and more into bewilderment the longer he bickered with TIM. Or maybe it was his makeshift uniform because who under the sun finds a man with an ice cream pin tacked onto his jacket intimidating? It even smiled. 

Still, this was a unique opportunity and one that he wasn’t about to waste. The Outlaws were working toward a similar goal as he and Oracle, even if they approached it from a different angle. How did that old adage go? The enemy of my enemy is my friend? 

Yes, he could make this work. Possibly even use these men to further his own goals and take out Armstrong. Wasn’t there a third person who was part of the main crew, a Tamaranean female? He’d have to check.

“The best kind,” Todd repeated, mocking while Harper snickered beside him. “Someone’s got a massively high opinion of himself.”

“Says the man who’s holding his life and jacket together with safety pins and duct tape,” Tim replied, and the AI repeated the words.

Todd’s face turned red and he pointed a gloved finger at TIM. “Listen here, TIM. I recognize DI tech when I see it. That shit’s top notch and so are you. And right now, you’re mine. So whatever backtalk you’ve got programmed into your behavioral patterns, forget it.” 

“I’m afraid you’re sadly mistaken,” the AI stated on its own. “Part of my programming includes the ability to verbally spar. My maker designed me so.”

Yes, and he was rather proud of that little fact. TIM was an extension of himself after all, designed to go where he could not.

“They programmed you to annoy the fuck outta people?”

“You are not my maker and I am not being used for my intended purpose. As such, anything I can do to complete my mission, I will.”

Harper whistled, low and slow. “Wow. I had no idea AI technology was this advanced. Those are subversive behavior patterns, right there.”

But Todd grinned slowly and held TIM higher. This close, Tim found himself face to face with a pair of stunning teal eyes, not red at all like the file stated. Were they his real color? He mentally smacked himself. Now was not the time to fixate on a pair of attractive eyes.

“I wouldn’t worry about it, I think we’re gonna get along just fine.”

The sad thing was, Tim was highly inclined to agree with him.

[cesabutterflywrites]

The Duke of the Bay: Part 7

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First Part, Ao3 Link, Next Part 

Story Warnings: Guns, threats, alcohol, homosexual slang used pejoratively and positively, internalized homophobia, ask me to add any if need be

Chapter Warnings:  cigarettes, drinking excessively

Chapter Word Count:   3457

Summary: Patton O’Hearty was a great detective. Most people didn’t take him for one at first glance, especially when he dressed casual. He was abnormally chipper; he thought everything was the cat’s pajamas. He had a smile for everyone he met. He was always tipping his hat at the dames and gents when he walked the streets of the Bay Area.

The only person he could never catch was the leader of the planted mob in Emeryville, nicknamed The Duke. The Duke was good at hiding his dealings and joints well, and he rarely had a snitch in his ranks. The few who tried, well, somehow they disappeared before they could give the police any substantial information. He was well hidden, but popular among the residents of the town. People talked boldly of his rambunctious parties, never revealing the locations though. He was hard to catch, to say the least.

So what happens, when instead, the detective is the one that’s caught?

-

Virgil didn’t want to leave the group behind at Logan’s house, but he knew he had to. It was the safest option. It was more important at that moment for the three of them to have their talks on how to move forward. The less he knew, the better. Even if it hurt to be so far away from his…from Logan.

 Now that he had a moment to himself, walking among the warehouses at nighttime, he was finally free to think about the night before. Had it only been less than a day since he knew he’d have to betray his family? 

 He knew when he took up the job tailing Logan that he was in over his head. He wasn’t expecting that to be how he paid his debts. He made a point not to get too involved in family affairs- it was too much risky work-but he owed some money to his cousin after losing a game of poker. 

 Best loss in his life, and he didn’t say so often. 

As he paced the streets, waiting for Mr. Doris, he remembered with vivid pleasure the events of the evening before. When he finally got Logan to crack and kiss him in a way he had never been kissed. 

 Man, Pat and Alice were sure in for it. Lord knows how Logan was able to keep his cool for this long. Virge had gotten the sense that Alice had figured something was amiss, though. Dame in her situation, it made sense for her to be perceptive. Virgil briefly thought of what it would look like- a small girl pinning tall Logan to the wall demanding to know if he let his hair down. 

 He sighed, watching his breath leave his mouth in a gray mist akin to cigarette smoke. The world wasn’t ready for people like them. He knew that. Part of the reason he stayed on the low was for that reason. If the world was going to hate him, let them hate him for good reasons. Let it hate him for his failures, for his crimes, for the pain he caused people. He wished that the world wouldn’t hate him for finally being comfortable with the idea of falling in love. 

 He had considered moving to Harlem. Now that was a scene. There were stories he’d heard of women on the arms of other women freely. There were men in dresses and women in slacks. There were women who were as burly as men and men as puny as gals. There was music, freedom, a community and safe haven. He had saved up nearly enough to go east to that scene when he had been relocated to help his cousin get a foothold in the west. 

 He felt bummed out for so long, but he felt glad that he got Logan out of the whole ordeal. 

 Scenes of the night before flooded his mind’s eye. Hot skin pressed up against each other. Tightness and heat and primal instinct and sweat and all things he was familiar with, but none of it had felt...like that. Like the grip of a cuddle afterwards. The warmth of a person’s hand twirling his hair. The soft urge to plant kisses on Logan’s face afterwards to care for him. The whispered laughter in between afterglow kisses. 

 A part of him wanted to take Logan there. Logan, in a place like Harlem? It’d be worth it just for the surprise on his prude, puckered face. 

 He took out a cigarette to shift his focus from the forbidden thoughts once he heard the footsteps. He inhaled the smoke with ease when he caught the silver flash of a scar with a face forming behind it from the shadows. 

 “Hello, Virgil. How was your day?” Smooth of voice as ever. Slick like fine whiskey, and every bit of a snake’s hypnotic charm in those eyes. 

 Virgil ignored that. He took a drag from his cigarette to give himself time to form an answer. Finally, he curtly replied, “Same old. Detective Dolt is still on that blessed routine of his. Swear, the guy never steps a foot outta line.” 

 “Right,” the word drew out.  Mr. Doris squinted at him. The man who had taken Virgil’s place in the family business always glared at him with suspicion. Now, without knowing it, he had good reason to. 

 “You?” Virgil asked, trying to hold back a cough. He had to keep it cool. He held out his pack to the scarred man, a peace offering from his earlier brusque behavior that morning. 

 Mr. Doris waved it off. He turned his nose up to examine his shoulder, evidently finding some invisible lint. “I had other matters to attend to, I haven’t been able to find my target. Was he with yours?” 

 Ashes from his cigarette sprinkled slowly to the ground. “Nope, though doesn’t mean he didn’t call or something.” 

 “I see. Was there a girl there?” Mr. Doris inquired, his tone too innocent for his normally vicious demeanor. 

 “What, that broad you were supposed to toss into a river?” Virgil tried to shove out the image of Alice’s eyes-too old for her young face. 

 Mr. Doris growled, “Don’t play games with me, punk,” Virgil tensed at the word, “I am not as easy to forget as the boss, and I need a good reason to give a good lickin’ to someone.” 

 “Well, I’m afraid that isn’t possible, boys.” The Duke stated. Neither of them had heard him approach.

 “Boss, good to see you as always,” Virgil greeted coolly. He took another drag of his cigarette. The smoke soothed his nerves from the inquisition from his ‘coworker’ .

 “Virge, how often do I need to tell you not to be so formal with me? We’re family, after all.” The Duke’s smile was akin to a stray cat finding fresh steak. So, perfectly normal. For him.

 “Right, sorry cuz,” Virgil rolled his eyes. It wasn’t like they were close enough to be brothers. 

 The Duke looked between the men suspiciously. “What aren’t you boys telling me?” 

 “Doris lost the broad and the cop, in the same day.” Virgil confessed quickly, all too aware of his companions low hiss in his direction

 “Yes, I know that already, what else?” the man whined, petulance coloring his tone.

 Virgil’s eyes tightened. He got the strange feeling that his cousin knew more than he was letting on. Still, he played his part with ease. “She wasn’t with Smith, if that’s what you were wondering.” 

 “Oh really? Strange, she wasn’t with my dear detective either,” his cousin mused, twirling his mustache.  

 Mr. Doris’ back straightened. Virgil sensed that there was more to the situation than what was being led on. He catalogued that reaction to build off of later. Something about Patton was causing...something of a rift, between them. It wasn’t like Virgil cared, Doris had it coming for some time. 

 “Well, maybe they got her in a safe house or like, ya know, with another cop?” Virgil suggested. He wanted to get them off of the young lady’s trail. 

 “No, the captain said he had to suspend detective Smith. They’re onto him. There’s no way they’d bring another man in on this.” Mr. Doris was still bothered. Alice was his mark, so of course he was willing to do anything to get her back. 

 The Duke looked at Virgil. “Unless, of course, one of us were lying.” 

 Mr. Doris lifted his eyebrow. Sure, he wasn’t completely sure how loyal Virgil was, but it wouldn’t be like him to get involved enough to cause any harm. Once again, Mr. Doris toyed with the thought of having a tail put on Virgil as well. 

 Virgil felt stones fall in his stomach. Sweat started to build on his brows. He threw his cigarette down to the ground to put it out. “Or, maybe they have a friend. Maybe they left her at one of their  houses.”

 “You just said Logan was at his house earlier.” Mr. Doris stepped closer. His eyes were in slits, it was hard to see even the whites of his eyes, making him look even more like a snake. 

 Mr. Doris had the sudden suspicion that maybe he underestimated the reclusive  man, after all. 

 “I-” Virgil cleared his throat, “I know that. I just meant that maybe we don’t know enough to assume.” 

 “Right,” his cousin surmised. He looked Virgil up and down, as if looking for something. Virgil tried to appear as calm as he could. Whatever the Duke was looking for, he seemed satisfied. 

 Virgil let out a breath quietly when Mr. Doris had the attention of the boss. That was close, he thought to himself. 

 “Mr. Doris, darling, I need you to find her. You have three days. Have Virgil help, and I’ll have Roman let me know if he hears anything about her.” The Duke seemed satisfied with that conclusion, then he added to Virgil, “Take advantage of Mr. Smith being suspended. Find out what you can. Double your watch hours. Only report in if there’s any important development.

 “I’m bored, let’s go down to the Lion’s Den for some refreshments.” The Duke clapped his palms together, signaling the end of the business portion of their meeting.

 Virgil’s nod was curt. He had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. Still, he refused to let it take control as he agreed to join the gentleman for drinks at their speakeasy nearby. 

 The joint was in full swing when they arrived, fashionably late. The men and women who were outcasts, dennigans, drunks, and harlots all danced around as if there wasn’t a care in the world. The dresses were skin tight, and Virgil caught the glitter of cufflinks-obviously from some notable men in their local government. A few of them he had remembered meeting in a dark alley for a kiss or two. 

 The men made their way to a back table just behind the stage. Where they could still hear the music, but didn’t have to be bothered with the usual social engagements. It was dark, it was secluded, it was perfect for gentlemen like them.  

 The waiter that came up to them was nervous. Seemed like he didn’t have much experience directly interacting with the boss. He swallowed, trying not to stutter, and looked a little too green in the face. He took their orders bravely, then scurried away. Virgil pitied the poor boy.

 Virgil made sure to be careful with the giggle water, he couldn’t afford to have loose lips. He made sure to take sips while his companions loosened up. 

 Soon afterwards, Mr. Doris left them to go home, claiming he needed some shut eye before beginning his search the next day. He looked a little too pointedly at Virgil as he said so. 

 The Duke poured himself some more bourbon, giggling. Now was Virgil’s chance to ask for some information. 

 “So, cousin, tell me about this ‘dear detective’. What makes him so dear if he’s the enemy?” 

 “Oh, I don’t know.” the drunk man hedged. He took down the entire glass of the fiery liquid painlessly. 

 Virgil grabbed the bottle to pour more for him. He kept his voice casual, and even spared a fake grin to give off the illusion of camaraderie. He patted his cousin’s shoulder. “Come on, it’s me. I’m only curious.” 

 “Well,” the Duke drew out. He creased his eyebrows in drunken deliberation. “I think I want to shoot him, then the next I want to kiss him, and somewhere….somewhere in between he makes me soft.

 Virgil, you ever think about quitting this lifestyle?” 

 Virgil’s eyes hardened but he forced his short laughter, “No, we live like Kings.” 

 Remus pouted, holding out his glass for more. Virgil poured while he talked. “I think I wanna…” he took his drink, “I think I wanna fuck a cop.” 

 Virgil snickered. He knew the feeling all too well. “Well, good luck with that. You’re on every wanted list from here to Sacramento.” 

 His cousin’s laughter bellowed through the space. “Yes, only as the Duke. Never as Remus…” 

 Virgil instinctively looked over his shoulder. “Don’t say that name here. Do you want to get caught?” 

 The Duke, Remus, lifted his arms up and shouted, “I’m Remus! Remus damn d-” the rest of his words were muffled from Virgil’s hand. 

 It was a long night for them both. Quickly did the bottle run dry. Quickly did another one come. Virgil and Remus spent the night drinking more than talking, mostly due to Remus slurring so bad he was incomprehensible. Though most of his coherent speech was addled with talks about his feelings for Patton, the ‘dear detective’, and the shipment that had come in the night before. 

 “Virge, do you know what I got for us?” Remus stage whispered in his ear. His mustache tickled Virgil’s earlobe, causing him to shiver. 

 “Yeah, boss,” Virgil gulped. “I know about last night at the docks.” 

 “Good,” Remus took a large swig of his drink, “Let’s hope I get to kill the Irish bastard. Here’s to a good business!” 

 Virgil toasted, and took another sip of his drink. Remus became even more incomprehensible, to the point Virgil decided he was cutting him off. He took his cousin home, then collapsed in his own bed where he slept fitfully-with dreams of a teenage girl drenched in her own blood. 

--------------

 “Dammit, Logan! What the hell were you thinking?” Patton bellowed. He didn’t seem to care that Alice was in the room with them. 

 His eyes were wild with a fury that Logan had never seen before. His hair, once in small curls was now wildly untamed. Logan felt the words slam him hard, but he took a small comfort in knowing that it was the Duke that had upset Patton. 

 The man before him wasn’t this partner. This wasn’t the gentle, giant, Irishman who always had a smile to give. This wasn’t that smooth-talking detective that handled each case with compassion. This wasn't the man who earned the tip of a hat and a gaze of a gal.

 This was a man who had gone mad with the chase. 

 Logan had to do something, but he didn’t know what. He felt at a loss for words. He just let Patton beat into him more with every phrase. His best friend, his partner, was finally losing it. 

 “You just jeopardized our case! You had an informant. Not only an informant, the very gangster who was hired to tail you for a month. What the hell?!” Patton’s fists were clenched. Logan wondered if he was gonna take a swing. He wouldn't have put it past the man, at this point.

 Logan put his hands out, a gesture of peace. “Patton,” he kept his voice even, “We need to think rationally. We have a-” 

 “Rationally? Ya think the God damn Duke is rational? He’s a madman, Logan! And I have half a mind to think that you’re in kahoots with him!” Patton’s voice was hysterical, and his usually tame Irish accent was in full force. It was a miracle he wasn't spewing heavy profanities left and right. 

 Patton’s heart was pounding, no doubt his blood pressure was through the rood. His mind was swirling with angry, dark thoughts he had never considered before. He wanted to punch Logan. He wanted to cry. He wanted to be left alone to crumble. He felt like his very skin was melting underneath the wrath that was striking his soul.  He ignored the concerned looks Alice was throwing his way from the couch. 

 “Patton, please, I-” Logan tried to beg. 

 Logan clenched his fists too. He didn’t want to fight Patton, but the man needed some sense knocked into him. The air in the living room was thick with the heat of anger. Logan’s heart was breaking for his friend, and in the back of his mind he wondered if Mr. Doris had been right about the Duke and his raging partner. He wondered if maybe the Duke got his hooks deeper than a cat and mouse game.

 “No, Logan!” Patton was red in the face, he looked like he was about to burst into flames. “You made an impulsive, stupid, awful decision and-” 

 “At least I’m not the one turning into a madman!” Logan yelled back. He grabbed Patton by his shoulders. “Damn it, Patton! Don’t you get it? You’re playing right into his hand. He wants you riled up so you can’t think straight!” 

 Patton sucked in a breath, but Logan continued. “You think I haven’t noticed a change in you? Patton, you’ve been barely sleeping. You’re crazy if you think that I’m the one not thinking straight!” 

 Logan suddenly embraced Patton. Both of them were sweaty from the day, but neither of them cared. He felt Patton nearly collapse in his arms, and soon he felt his best friend sobbing into his shoulder. The pressure released from his lungs. In his arms was a tired, beaten, angry man. 

 “I’m sorry Logan. You’re right I’m not...I’m not keeping my cool.” Patton pulled away, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket. He wiped his face down. 

 He felt embarrassed, and looked next to him to see Alice giving him a watery smile. His mind was starting to clear. He remembered that his first duty was to the people, and right now he had to take care of a young dame that made her way quickly into his heart. 

 They stood in silence, the air around them dissipated of tension. Soon, they were both being embraced by the small frame of Alice. Something about the moment felt right. Logan closed his eyes. They all took in a deep breath. Together.

 Alice broke the hug to embrace just Patton. She whispered something in his ear, “You’re allowed to be mad. Hell, we’ve all got a bit of crazy.” They both giggled, which was a wonderful sound of chimes and bells. 

 Logan brushed off his shirt reflexively. “Now, I believe talk of the next step can wait. We all need rest. Especially you, Patton.” 

 Alice and Logan bid their farewells to Patton, and soon Alice retired to her new room. The lights were put out. Once some time had passed, Logan retreated to the basement of his manor that he had made his art room. 

 The smell of linseed oil filled his nostrils. He turned on the lights, and set up his paints and easel. His fingers ached, and so did his back, but he needed the mind numbing feeling of color being placed on canvas. He needed to create. He sat at his stool, and summoned a vision in his mind’s eye of what he wanted to paint. 

 He took his palette knife and made himself a beautiful green. He dipped his brush, and started spreading his brush along the canvas. He felt his shoulders relax from making the scenery. Greens and blues made their way into the scene, with spots of black and gray. Logan bit his lip as he focused on the finer details. 

 He ruminated over the events of the past twenty-four hours. He had made a lover, of sorts. He rescued a young girl from a mob boss. He found out his captain was most likely part of a conspiracy to poison the force, resulting in his suspension. His partner finally snapped. He had a sixteen year old girl temporarily living in his house that had been empty for so long.  

 He dipped the point of his fine brush into the white, and carefully laid his details out onto the waves that had formed on his canvas. He was so focused on his  scene, that he hadn’t heard the door open, or the sound of small feet making their way down the steps. 

 Luckily his brush wasn’t on the painting when he jumped from Alice’s voice saying in his ear, “So it’s you that’s filled this house with art.” 

 His heart pounded in his chest from the surprise, and his cheeks reddened from the embarrassment of having his secret caught. He watched Alice slowly walk around the room, taking in the different scenes he had painted before. 

 “Logan, these are beautiful.” she whispered. “If I had money, I’d buy them.” 

 “I, well, um…” Logan stuttered. He was tired, after all. Plus having this young girl comment on his paintings felt oddly relieving. He took a deep breath to gather his words. “I have been painting since I was a child.” 

 Alice threw him one of her dazzling smiles. “I can tell. Why aren’t you asleep? After ushering me and Patton to rest?” 

 “I was too wound up.” Logan answered. “Why aren’t you asleep, after I ushered you to rest?” 

 Alice shrugged, though Logan noticed that she was tense. “I’ve just been thinking.” 

 “Would you like to talk about it over tea?” Logan offered suddenly. He wanted nothing in that moment but to soothe any fears she had. Plus, he was painfully aware of his own weariness. 

 Alice followed him up the stairs, non-verbally giving her answer. The two talked over their tea in the kitchen, only keeping discussion light, getting to learn more about each other. Unspoken was the fear of what tomorrow would bring them. Unspoken, but still so loud, was the intuitive feeling of what was to come. 

 Alice avoided his gaze through their conversation, and pushed away the thought that this would be her last night on earth. They were the police. They knew what they were doing. Surely, Patton and Logan would figure everything out? 

 Eventually they were both done with their tea, and decided to go to sleep. Logan settled into his bed, too tired to think about how the day had stretched on for forever, and instead focused on the hope that he’d wake up to a new day.

-

-

TAGLIST: @deceits-left-glove

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!

[somethingusefulfromflorida]

Political Rant

The upcoming Iran War, it’s not about terrorism, it’s not about “Radical Islam,” it’s not about democracy.  It’s about oil, full stop, period, end of statement.

Not to resort to Soviet whataboutism, but every single critique labeled against Iran could just as easily be labeled against Saudi Arabia, and Republicans don’t care.  There’s a double standard here; the former is a rogue nation that must be stopped, while the latter is allowed to do whatever it wants because it’s more “western” than its neighbors.

Saudi Arabia is one of the only absolute monarchies left on the planet, and the US has no qualms against being chummy with them.  The Saudi royal family kills reporters and cuts people’s heads off and funds al-Qaeda, but they’re willing to sell us oil without going to war over it, so that makes it okay then.

Republicans create enemies for themselves to fight so they can always play the victim.

Dwight Eisenhower overthrew the democratically elected government of Iran and instated a monarchy; let me say that again, the United States got rid of a democracy to set up a monarchy.  The Shah of Iran, the king, was put in power by the US so that the Iranian people could no longer have a say over how they were governed.  Never believe the lie that the US fights for democracy overseas, they don’t give two shits about democracy, especially if that democracy is used to take power away from the US.

Ronald Reagan didn’t want the Soviets to establish a foothold in Afghanistan, so he funded a group calling themselves “the strugglers” (in Arabic “the Mujahideen”) to combat them.  This group would eventually start calling themselves “the students” (”Taliban”) and start fighting for “the foundation” (”al-Qaeda”).  On top of this, Reagan committed textbook treason with a capital T by selling weapons to Iran behind Congress’ back.  Reagan wanted to overthrow the left-wing government of Nicaragua by funding the Contras, a right-wing terrorist group.  Congress told him he couldn’t do that, but he decided to do it anyway; he wanted to give them money, but couldn’t use money Congress knew about, so he decided to sell weapons to raise the funds in secret.  Most courts shy away from using the t-word because it a VERY serious offense and refers to a very narrow set of charges.  Treason is specifically defined as going to war against the United States or helping its enemies; Iran was an enemy (the hostage crisis had JUST ended in 1981), so giving them weapons was actual genuine not-hyperbole treason.  He got away with it by shifting blame onto a patsy and having an intern shred the evidence (also by being Ronald Reagan; he was never held accountable for anything in his entire life, they nicknamed him the Teflon President)

George Bush the Elder got us involved in the Gulf, and George Bush the Younger continued this war on a lie.  Iraq didn’t have WMDs, it wasn’t responsible for 9/11, and had no ties to al-Qaeda; W just wanted to fix his family legacy by finishing what his daddy started, and Cheney wanted to overthrow Saddam Hussein to make ungodly amounts of money from oil and military contracts.  War is profitable; “War is a Racket,” in the words of General Smedley Butler.

There are a few explanations for the Dangling Taint’s actions:

He’s distracting from impeachment.  Clinton did the same thing by bombing Afghanistan, Sudan, Iraq and Yugoslavia.  Wag the dog, keep the eyes off the prize.

He’s trying to sway voters not to change horses midstream.  By doing something disastrous, he hopes people will think he knows what he’s doing and stick with him rather than let someone else inherit the mess.  “He started this, he must have some strategy, some end goal in mind.  He should be allowed to see it through, we shouldn’t throw a wrench in it and hand it off to someone else.”  He doesn’t have a strategy OR an end goal, he never did and never will, but his supporters think he does.

He’s being petty and trying to prove Obama wrong.  Obama stabilized relations with Iran, but Chump hates Obama for having the audacity to be black and powerful at the same time, and so vowed to undo everything Obama did to erase his legacy.  He’s obsessed with the man, he is pathologically incapable of letting it go and moving on with his life.  Everything he does has to be filtered through his insecure grade school rivalry; his main thought process is WWOD, then doing the exact opposite, regardless of if it’s in anyone’s best interest (his, Congress’s, the country’s, the world’s, it doesn’t matter; if Obama did it one way, he HAS to do it the other way.  He thinks that will prove a point.)

He’s trying to make even more money the way Cheney did; a few months ago he pulled troops from Syria, abandoning the Kurds, saying that he didn’t want the US to be involved in endless wars in the Middle East, that it wasn’t our fight anymore, that by pulling out he was succeeding where other president has failed, and now he’s doing this.  Is anyone really shocked that the man known for having no principles and doing the exact opposite of what he says he’ll do had no principles and did the exact opposite of what he said he’d do?

He’s doing it for attention. He’s incredibly insecure, he needs constant validation from his base of supporters 24/7 or he gets cranky because literally everyone else hates him and he isn’t emotionally mature enough to process this.  Insult any other president, and they ignore you; insult him, and he has to have the last word, no matter how childish it makes him look.  Starting a war means media coverage, the spotlight, a captive audience to drill his soundbites into.

The president doesn’t care how many Iranian people will die as a result of this, he doesn’t care about how many American citizens will be disenfranchised as a result, all he cares about is how it will help him.  He bought the last election with help from Russia, and now the government is looking into his finances to make sure he can’t buy this next one, so he’s trying to subvert that by playing dice with the world at stake.

[alexsmitposts]

US Propaganda Blitz Ahead of Idlib’s Liberation A concerted effort is being made to once again flood Western headlines with now familiar and long-since discredited war propaganda as Syrian forces and their Russian and Iranian allies move in on Idlib in northern Syria to liberate it from US-backed terrorists. A recent New York Times article titled, “Inside Syria’s Secret Torture Prisons: How Bashar al-Assad Crushed Dissent,” dusts off, combines, and repackages now nearly 8 years of Western war propaganda aimed at demonizing the Syrian government and paving way for regime change. While the article claims it now has “memos sent to Syria’s head of military intelligence” to back up previous claims, it admits “some information was blacked out to protect the integrity of evidence for possible prosecutions.” Yet in order to accuse a government publicly of maintaining “secret torture prisons,” evidence must be provided. Instead, the NYT presented recycled accounts from “activists” and opposition figures as well as Western-funded fronts including the “Syrian Network for Human Rights” and the “Commission for International Justice and Accountability” (CIJA). The CIJA in particular is claimed by NYT to have collected the alleged memos. Nothing about the CIJA’s background is provided by the NYT, nor can any website with background information be found. However, the US government’s Commission on Security and Cooperation in Europe (CSCE) interviewed CIJA director of investigations and operations, Chris Engels in 2018. In the interview, CIJA’s funding was discussed: [CSCE:] Who funds CIJA? [Chris Engels:] We have had a number of donors over the years. Our current donors include the United Kingdom, Canada, the European Union, Germany, Demark, the Netherlands, and Norway. Engels also openly admits that the CIJA works directly with the US government. In the interview he admits: By design, CIJA has a strong relationship with U.S. law enforcement. When asked if members of the US Congress have supported the work of CIJA, Engels would enthusiastically confirm so – citing proposed laws pertaining specifically to Syria. In other words – nations committed to the overthrow of the Syrian government fund and support the CIJA’s work in Syria – casting doubt on both their integrity and their motivations. Just as the NYT would be remiss to write an entire article based on claims made by the Syrian government itself – it is remiss in uncritically reporting the claims made by its opponents. The fact that the CIJA’s “evidence” is so heavily redacted that the NYT merely mentions it before building the rest of its article around older hearsay-accounts from its regular circle of “activists” and opposition figures, including the now notoriously discredited informant – “Caesar” – casts even further doubt. The NYT appears to instead be contributing merely to the latest chapter of US-driven war propaganda aimed at undermining the Syrian government, protracting the Syrian conflict, and further dividing and destroying the nation. Idlib is Al Qaeda Central A renewed barrage of war propaganda has been launched by the West in tandem with Syrian government efforts to move in on Idlib – the last bastion of Al Qaeda and affiliated terrorist organizations west of the Euphrates River. But it was the Western media – not the Syrian government or its Russian and Iranian allies – who have definitively exposed the overwhelming presence of terrorists in Idlib. In 2015, it was the Wall Street Journal that reported in its article, “Assad Loses Final Idlib Stronghold to Al Qaeda-led Insurgents,” that: After a two-year siege, al Qaeda’s affiliate in Syria and other insurgents on Wednesday captured the one remaining Syrian army air base in Idlib, a development that activists said effectively expelled the last of President Bashar al-Assad’s military from the northwestern province. Since 2015, Al Qaeda and its various affiliates have expanded and consolidated their control in the region. A more recent article published earlier this year by the BBC titled, “Syria war: Jihadist takeover in rebel-held Idlib sparks alarm,” would explain (emphasis added): The Islamic State group may have lost all its territory in Syria but a rival jihadist group has been making gains in the last remaining opposition stronghold in the north of the country – and it has got residents nervous. In a dramatic takeover last month, Hayat Tahrir al-Sham (HTS) swept through towns and villages in Idlib province, as well as adjoining parts of Aleppo and Hama. The group – which was known as al-Nusra Front before it broke off formal ties with al-Qaeda three years ago – expelled some rebel factions and forced others to surrender and recognise a “civil administration” it backs. In reality – US State Department-designated foreign terrorist organizations like al-Nusra – have dominated fighting against the Syrian government since the conflict began in 2011 with the notion of “moderate rebels” a propaganda ploy to obfuscate the true nature of US-backed militants. And while the BBC attempts to disassociate al-Nusra from Al Qaeda in its article by claiming it “broke off formal ties” three years ago – the US State Department itself in a 2018 amendment to its terrorist designation of al-Nusra would explicitly state (emphasis added): In January 2017, al-Nusrah Front launched the creation of HTS as a vehicle to advance its position in the Syrian uprising and to further its own goals as an al-Qa’ida affiliate. Since January 2017, the group has continued to operate through HTS in pursuit of these objectives. The Coordinator for Counterterrorism, Ambassador Nathan A. Sales, noted that “today’s designation serves notice that the United States is not fooled by this al-Qa’ida affiliate’s attempt to rebrand itself. Whatever name Nusrah chooses, we will continue to deny it the resources it seeks to further its violent cause.” The candor of the US State Department’s amendment – however – is demonstratively contradicted by current, ongoing US support for the terrorists themselves as well as the current Western propaganda campaign aimed at protecting Al Qaeda under its various aliases from efforts by the Syrian government to remove them from Idlib and restore order there. Idlib Propaganda Blitz: Barrel Bombs, Secret Torture Prisons, and Chemical Weapons If Idlib is admittedly overrun by terrorists – according to the West itself – then Syrian government efforts to remove them is justified. Yet familiar themes from similar efforts aimed at preventing Syrian forces from liberating other cities and regions from terrorists are being dusted off and reused. This includes the rehabilitation of the so-called “White Helmets,” a war propaganda troupe working side-by-side Al Qaeda and other terrorist organizations – often aiding and abetting war crimes including summary executions. The “White Helmets” are also key in promoting claims of “chemical weapon attacks.” The “White Helmets” played a key role in staging the chemical weapons attack on Douma, Syria in 2018 which served as a pretext to a US-led military strike on Syrian forces. There is also the constant din of Western propagandists citing “barrel bombs,” a term invented to describe unguided munitions – unguided munitions being neither against international conventions nor considered controversial by any standing military force, East or West – now or at any other time in the history of warfare. They are simply ordinary bombs given an ominous title in the service of otherwise dishonest Western-driven war propaganda. The NYT’s recent article recycling stories of “secret torture prisons” seeks to lump itself in with this propaganda blitz and more should be expected to follow. Among the propaganda there is nothing new – no new information, no new accusations, no new or inventive ways to repackage or resell it. Redacted pages of what is supposed to be “evidence” of the Syrian government’s crimes looks instead like the NYT and its Western-government funded source – the CIJA – have something to hide – not something to expose. However – war propaganda alone cannot win a war. It can only enhance the strengths of a government or coalition who must already possess the means of winning any given war. The United States and its collaborators in its proxy war on Syria have already long-since lost. Ongoing propaganda campaigns only further undermine Washington’s credibility and the credibility of media organizations serving its agenda. The NYT posting pictures of illegible, nearly fully redacted pages and claiming it is “evidence” comes across as self-inflicted satire. US government and corporate foundation-funded fronts like “Human Rights Watch” repeating these dubious accusations and outright lies also indefinitely cripple their own credibility. However dubious – ongoing propaganda still seeks to at the very least hamper and slow down Syrian security operations. The retaking of Idlib and the destruction of Al Qaeda’s last significant base of operations in the country is key to stabilizing the region. As the US continues positioning itself for war with nearby Iran – a festering terrorist foothold like Idlib would serve as a serious liability for Iranian efforts to defend itself at home while dealing with a serious, sudden offensive launched out of Idlib against its Syrian allies. Thus it is key to expose and confront Western war propaganda at every juncture – no matter how ineffective it appears – to minimize its impact in this war – and every other Western war of aggression to come.

[solacekames]

This account sounds very credible to me. A few observations:

This guy hasn’t atoned for his actions, and probably never will due to his privilege as a white guy to just fade away from activism, but he’s at least acknowledged his lack of morality with some degree of honesty.

Once you leave a far right organization, your greatest danger is not leftists or antifa, who don’t care about you anymore, it’s your own ex-buddies coming to stab you. That’s why he’s kept the dirt on them, obviously. Smart move.

A lot of alt righters in the comments are claiming this is fake because he calls their movement “white supremacy,” which is a term they dislike because it makes them seem older, like Boomers instead of the millenials and Gen Z that they are. But "white supremacy” is still the mainstream word for it, and once people leave their cults and abandon the jargon, they’re going to start using the mainstream words again.

Here it is. Warning for misogyny, racism, anti-semitism, suicide and general Nazism.

So I actually intended to post this to a confession sub, but it seems it automatically triggers the spam filters. I typed up my full "story" here. As far as proof goes, I don't really have much to offer as I've burned most of my materials, but I do have this video from the night before the rally that might help set the stage of what I was involved in.

https://streamable.com/3lrrw

So this is so something I've had mulling in my head for some time now and I just really wanted to get my thoughts out there. I feel like it would be healthier. Throwaway for obvious reasons.

I am a former white supremacist who helped organize the Charlotessville rally. My actions have destroyed the lives of countless people and lead to the death of a young woman.

I suppose I should start from the beginning so there is a little better context about my involvement. My beginnings as a white supremacist began a few years back when I first stumbled upon a podcast called “The Daily Shoah”. For those who don't know, this is probobly the largest alt-right podcast out there, run by Mike Penovich and Jesse Dunstan (better known as Mike Enoch and Seventh Son) of “therightstuff.biz”. At first, I didn't even take what was being said to heart. It was mostly just dark entertainment, but after having their words filling my ears for hours at a time every week, I began to actually take what they were saying to heart. I think when a lot of people imagine what turns people into white supremacist, they think of a middle aged bike gang member bruning crosses, but I was just a young college student who thought the N word was funny. It took a few weeks, but I soon internalized their arguments. The problem with having multiple podcasts drowning out the outside world is essentially you get hours and hours of pure confirmation bias filling your head with nobody to talk about these things with. Knowing your life would be over if you discussed these things with your real friends and families, you quickly just st art ignoring them in favor of other white supremacists. Most of the other people who I began consorting with were not at all the sterotype I mentioned before. Like me, they were mostly just well spoken young guys looking for others to talk about these things with. Of course “these things” were ethno-nationalism, gas chambers, and holocaust memes.

At the time, the alt-right was not really known to anyone, and their antics mostly just stayed to trolling the comment sections of National Review. I quickly gained a foothold in that community. About a year in or so, they began what they would call “Standard Pool Parties” and I became an organizer for my area. My group of fellow white supremacists grew and my sphere of outsider friends shrank. We had begun to look like a real community.

Around the end of 2016, the even that really sprung our clique into the mainstream occurred, and I was in attendance. This was the “NPI” conference in DC run by Richard Spencer, and we were celebrating the recent election (short note: I don't want to bring politics into this if possible, its just important for the context here). Multiple news outlets were in attendance filming, and near the time Richard was set to give his speech, the liquor was flowing and the attitude was festive. Before the speech, Mike Enoch got up in front of the crowed and began leading chants of various kinds, the kind of chants that would get a 1940s German soldier giddy. By the time Richard gave his “Hail Trump and Hail Victory” line, the crowd didn't stand a chance. They were all too ready to throw up Nazi salutes, and the cameras were all too happy to capture them.

A short aside on Richard: I had worked with him a few times and only one word can begin to describe him: sociopath. He seemed to take joy in leading around particularly young men and building up his little cabal. He would say anything for a camera to be shoved in his face and used his status among of the alt right to sleep with the few women it had. He never showed any remorse for the kids that would be doxxed and become unemployable, in fact he encouraged it on multiple occasions. I was one of those people who he encouraged to self-doxx, and I myself help multiple kids ruin their lives. More on that later.

So now I can start telling the story of Charlotessville. A few months before the “Unite the Right” rally most of you know about, there was a more private rally held at Charlotessville. This event was organized by a particularly vile individual who goes by “Eli Mosley”, someone who would brag about killing children in the military among many of disgraceful actions. Those aren't the worse of his sins, but out of respect for his largest victim I'll leave that out. Of course, this is someone I looked up to. This particular Charlotessville event was relatively uneventful, which is why you never heard about it. However, these was a particular Daily Caller journalist in the audience named “Jason Kessler”, a Charlotessville native. In the weeks following the event, he announced he was going to lead a larger event, and event that would be known as “Unite the Right”. He did this unilaterally, and in fact Eli himself detested the fact that this event was going to happen at all, but it proceeded. I was one of those excited to put this rally on, and as such took up an organizing role.

It was the months leading up to the event that multiple red flags began to go off. The number one issue that was likely responsible for the death of Heather Heyer was the approach to security. Everyone, and I mean everyone, was looking forward to a fight with antifa and would use any and all justifications for the use of weapons and armor at the event. The police had promised us proper protections, but the head of security (who went by “Ajax”) insisted we build our own shield wall. It was my bright idea to literally use a Roman Phylanx formation to surround the event, like the Larpers we were. This is where a lot of disagreement amoung different cliques and organizations came about. There were three main groups in attendance: American Vanguard, Identity Evropa, and Traditionalist Workers Party. I won't say who I was affiliated with.

American Vanguard was preparing for war. They wanted to burn a large jewish ephagy, as well as a pride flag. They also were planning fights and battle stratageys on their own before the event. James Fields was with American Vanguard the entire event, but they deny that he was a member. They were the ones responsible for the “Blood and Soil” chants most of you had heard. Here is a picture of them before the rally

https://i.imgur.com/77VHOOe.png

Identity Evropa could be said to be the more moderate of the bunch. In fact, before the event, Nathan Damigo (their leader) had told individual members NOT to bring any shields, helmets, or weapons. He was promptly called a cuck and eventually undid the descision. Traditionalist Workers party could be said to worst of the bunch, because they were the ones that invited the “National Socialist Movement”, a group of straight up skinheads. Before, the event was only going to be 500 or so. With NSM invited, it swelled to well over a thousand.

With all of these problems evident, we continued with the event. By this time, I had a fairly large personal circle of associates who I had went with. The torchlight march is where things went bad. There was one guy who had caused trouble at previous events who made the decision to jump at protesters and start a fight. The following day, he did the same thing, and was likely responsible for the event being shut down. I don't know if I need to spend more time recounting the events that occurred, before you all know the rest. A riot ensued, and a young girl died. I watched her pictures played on the news as she was declared dead, and you know what? I felt no remorse. Nobody did. The “higher ups” as they were called, basically sent out a memo saying she was a “dumb cunt who got what she deserved”.

Why did this feel normal for me? Well it all comes back to how I came to become a white supremacist. By the time this event occurred, I associated with essentially nobody outside the alt right. When this woman died, we all just saw it as a “aww shucks” moment. In fact, Richard created a press conference where he tried to put together as much evidence as he could to show it was in self defense.

So why did I leave? In fact, it had little to do with Heather Heyer, but rather what I realized I had begun to do. The kind of encapsulation I had woven myself and others into was destroying out lives and we didn't even know it. I brought at least 7 people along with me whom I had personal gotten into radicalism. Kids as young as 17. We saw no problem with showing their faces out in the open because we assured ourselves that the alt-right was “going big”. I told these kids that Charlotessville would make history, and if their picture was taken and they were made unemployable, they could just be taken care of and before alt-right figures.

Thats what my best friend thought before his picture was taken, and he committed suicide a month later. He didn't want to go. I told him he would regret that decision for the rest of his life. Well his life didn't last long enough to regret it, so I was right.

This is the most dangerous thing about what radicalization does to people. In reality, the alt-right has had little effect, but it has encouraged countless people to essentially fall down a slipperly slope without even knowing they are doing it. Take the case of a young man named Nick Fuentes, a kid I had associated with in my time. He had a lot going for him. He was a 18 year old polysci student at Boston College. He had his own show on a burgeoning broadcast network. He was smart. He was going places. So what did our cabal do? We dragged him down to our level. He was mostly just a pro-trump talking head, but he was caught saying “Jews make my life worst” on camera. This is where most people would shut up, apologize, and rebuild. Well me, and many others, pressured him to double down, and double down he did. He became a prominent anti-semetic twitter personality, to the point where he was kicked out of his school and now lives alone in his mom's house. And like so many others who fall into radicalization, his small group of fans prop him up and assure him he has greatness ahead of him. At 19 years old, his entire life is over and he doesn't even realize it.

As for me, I know its sounds strange that I didn't say very much about my actual white supremacist beliefs. Oddly enough, after my best friend killed himself, I myself feel into depression. After some time, I managed to get back on my feet and start getting back to work on my actual life and school. As I started back toward bettering my life, my old beliefs just sort of feel away, as if I never had them. I cut all contact with the alt-right, and now it feels as if they didn't exist. But that doesn't change the fact that I'm not only responsible for the death of Heather Heyer, but my best friend, as well as my previous friends who find their lives in shambled

I confess because every day I feel like I'm living a lie trying to build a life for myself. I'm sure one day, when I have a career, the truth will come out and I'll have to answer for it. Until then, I hope I can be a warning sign for others who might fall into the trap I did, alt-right or not. Its not worth it.

Proof: As far as proof, I've gotten rid of most everything that would remind my of my past life, but I do have this video from the night before Charlotessville that I doubt you're going to find anywhere else.

EDIT: At someone else's suggestion I've copied the story into the text field.

[newstfionline]

Wednesday, September 1, 2021

Some Hotels Are Mandating Vaccines. Will Others Follow? (NYT) As travelers prepare for their next vacation, among the essentials to take—along with items such as a toothbrush, wallet and phone charger—could be proof of vaccination for COVID-19, depending on where they are booked to sleep. As coronavirus cases surge again across the country, driven by the highly contagious delta variant, a small number of hotels in the United States have announced that they will require proof of vaccination from guests and staff. The precedent for hotels requiring vaccination is already being set beyond the contiguous United States. In August, Puerto Rico issued an islandwide vaccine mandate that requires guests and staff at all hotels, guesthouses and short-term rentals, including Airbnb, to provide proof of vaccination or a negative PCR or antigen test taken within 72 hours before their visit. Although European destinations are rolling out various vaccine mandates, hotels are mostly not requiring proof of immunization. In Portugal, however, hotel guests need to show proof of vaccination or a negative COVID-19 test.

Louisiana gets a first look at the devastation caused by Hurricane Ida (Washington Post) People clung to rooftops awaiting rescue, entire towns were cut off from communication, and more than a million faced the prospect of days—even weeks—without power as Louisianans awoke Monday and began to take stock of the devastation caused by Hurricane Ida. Parts of the state remained unreachable, making it impossible to fully assess the damage. Four deaths were confirmed, but Gov. John Bel Edwards said he expected the toll to be “considerably” higher. Ida, which made landfall just before noon Sunday local time as a Category 4 storm, the most powerful storm to hit the area in over a century, continued to batter the region well into Monday. While New Orleans was spared the worst, thanks in large part to the $14.5 billion federally funded levee system built after Hurricane Katrina, communities west and south of the city were completely routed by the storm. There were widespread reports of downed power lines and trees, levee failures and flooding, collapsed buildings and people trapped in flooded homes. Utility officials said it would take days just to assess the damage before repairs could begin. Meanwhile, gas, food and water supplies were affected, with several communities instituting “boil water” advisories.

The World Is Still Short of Everything. Get Used to It. (NYT) Like most people in the developed world, Kirsten Gjesdal had long taken for granted her ability to order whatever she needed and then watch the goods arrive, without any thought about the factories, container ships and trucks involved in delivery. Not anymore. At her kitchen supply store in Brookings, S.D., Ms. Gjesdal has given up stocking place mats, having wearied of telling customers that she can only guess when more will come. She recently received a pot lid she had purchased eight months earlier. She has grown accustomed to paying surcharges to cover the soaring shipping costs of the goods she buys. She has already placed orders for Christmas items like wreaths and baking pans. “It’s nuts,” she said. “It’s definitely not getting back to normal.” The challenges confronting Ms. Gjesdal’s shop, Carrot Seed Kitchen, are a testament to the breadth and persistence of the chaos roiling the global economy, as manufacturers and the shipping industry contend with an unrelenting pandemic. Delays, product shortages and rising costs continue to bedevil businesses large and small. And consumers are confronted with an experience once rare in modern times: no stock available, and no idea when it will come in.

US judge revokes mother’s right to visit son over her refusal to get Covid vaccine (Guardian) A judge in Illinois revoked a mother’s right to visit her 11-year-old son because she refused to be vaccinated against the coronavirus. In what is believed to be an unprecedented ruling, Cook county judge James Shapiro said Rebecca Firlit, 39, who shares custody of her son with her divorced husband, could not see the boy again until she had taken the shot. “I was confused because it was just supposed to be about expenses and child support,” Firlit told the Chicago Sun-Times about the virtual court hearing, which took place earlier this month. “One of the first things he asked me when I got on the Zoom call was whether or not I was vaccinated, which threw me off because I asked him what it had to do with the hearing. “He said, ‘I am the judge, and I make the decisions for your case.’” Firlit’s lawyer, Annette Fernholz, said she had filed a legal challenge to the state appellate court, noting that the boy’s father had not been seeking such a ruling. Firlit, who has not said if she will get the vaccine, told the judge her decision not to take it was not political. “I’ve had adverse reactions to vaccines in the past and was advised not to get vaccinated by my doctor,” she said. “It poses a risk.” Her son, she said, was upset at not being allowed to see her and cries when they speak by phone.

Colombia’s Troubles Put a President’s Legacy on the Line (NYT) Iván Duque swept into Colombia’s presidency in 2018 as a young, little-known technocrat riding a surging right-wing movement. He tapped public anger against a peace deal that he said had treated the country’s deadly insurgents too softly. And he warned that the proposals of his left-wing opponent could stifle steady growth. Three years and a global pandemic later, it is Mr. Duque who is presiding over high unemployment and an angry electorate—and who is on the defensive about the steps he has taken to tame persistent violence by militants. Colombian voters go to the polls in May, when Gustavo Petro, a former presidential candidate, previous mayor of Bogotá and a onetime guerrilla member, could become the country’s furthest-left leader in its history at a time when leftists are again claiming victories across South America.

China limits children to 3 hours of online gaming a week (AP) China is banning children from playing online games for more than three hours a week, the harshest restriction so far on the game industry as Chinese regulators continue cracking down on the technology sector. Minors in China can only play games between 8 p.m. to 9 p.m. on Fridays, weekends and on public holidays starting Sept. 1, according to a notice from the National Press and Publication Administration. That limits gaming to three hours a week for most weeks of the year, down from a previous restriction set in 2019 that allowed minors play games for an hour and a half per day and three hours on public holidays. The gaming restrictions are part of an ongoing crackdown on technology companies, amid concerns that technology firms—many of which provide ubiquitous messaging, payments and gaming services—may have an outsized influence on society. A state-affiliated newspaper has criticized the gaming industry and called games “spiritual opium.”

Taliban declare victory from Kabul airport (AP) The Taliban triumphantly marched into Kabul’s international airport on Tuesday, hours after the final U.S. troop withdrawal that ended America’s longest war. Standing on the tarmac, Taliban leaders pledged to secure the country, quickly reopen the airport and grant amnesty to former opponents. Getting the airport running again is just one of the sizeable challenges the Taliban face in governing a nation of 38 million people that for two decades had survived on billions of dollars in foreign aid. Just hours earlier, the U.S. military had wrapped up its largest airlift of non-combatants in history. On Tuesday morning, signs of the chaos of recent days were still visible. In the terminal, rifled luggage and clothes were strewn across the ground, alongside wads of documents. Concertina wire stills separated areas while overturned cars and parked vehicles blocked routes around the civilian airport—a sign of measures taken to protect against possible suicide car bombers entering the facility.

Moscow and Afghanistan (Washington Post) Russia’s ban on the Taliban as a terrorist group has not stopped Moscow officials from stepping in to support it by calling for the freeze on Afghanistan’s financial reserves to be lifted and for Western countries to lead a global conference to help rebuild the country’s economy. Russia’s presidential envoy for Afghanistan, Zamir Kabulov, said Monday that the international community should unfreeze the Afghan government’s reserves or risk a spike in illegal narcotics and arms traffic. Speaking to state-owned television, he also called for an international conference to support Afghanistan’s recovery under the Taliban’s leadership, so that the United States and its allies could “correct at least some of the mistakes they have made” in the past 20 years. Last week’s suicide bombing at the Kabul airport, claimed by the Islamic State-Khorasan, threw Russia’s fears about Afghanistan into sharp relief—that the Taliban’s governance effort could fail, that extremists affiliated with the Islamic State could gain a stronger foothold and that the country could slide into chaos, destabilizing Russia’s neighborhood. Moscow has been calling on the West to “accept the reality” of the Taliban’s victory, while pressing the Taliban to form a government that includes different political and ethnic groups. At the same time, Russian officials are warning that no one should expect the Taliban to meet Western standards for democracy and cultural and religious practices.

The Great Resignation is here (Wired) When Ashley was offered a job at a digital agency over Zoom during the last lockdown, they thought they had found the perfect set-up. Flexitime would be a given. Working from home would continue post-pandemic. The office would be a place to pop in only occasionally. By the time they’d started the new role six weeks later in Leeds, everything had changed. Cast iron guarantees of flexible hours had melted away. Promises of remote working had crumbled. Even before social restrictions had ended, staff were expected to be in the office every day, from 9am until 5.30pm. “It was incredibly frustrating,” Ashley recalls. “All these changes were done between my interview and my first day—and my new boss decided they didn’t need to explain their decision making.” Rather than ride out the disappointment and stick with the new role, Ashley decided to join ‘The Great Resignation’ and the millions of others who have quit their jobs over the spring and summer months. Workers are drafting up resignation emails, handing in their notices and heading for the exit door in their droves. The trend is worldwide. In the UK, job vacancies soared to an all-time high in July, with available posts surpassing one million for the first time. In the US, four million people quit their jobs in April—a 20-year high—followed by a record ten million jobs being available by the end of June. A Microsoft study has found that 41 per cent of the global workforce is considering leaving their employer this year. As more of the economy reopens following Covid vaccinations and the end of social restrictions, demand for talent is fast outstripping supply—it’s now an employee’s market.

[ellenembee]

Rylen Appreciation Week - Day 2

This chapter is from my larger Rylen fic, but I think it works well as a stand-alone for describing Rylen’s interactions with the Inquisition and his subordinates.

Click through to read the chapter (or the full fic) on AO3 or keep reading below to just read the chapter.

Rylen had learned early on to limit troop activities during the hottest part of the afternoons, but even by mid morning, the sand radiated a nearly unbearable heat as they marched across the literally Blighted wasteland. Wind whipped sand around their feet, into their eyes and up any crevice or cranny it could find. They soldiered on, however, with Rylen at the lead and kept their complaints to a minimum. Varghest and Venatori weren't going to hunt themselves, after all.

They'd been in the Approach for almost two weeks now, and each day brought a new trial. The one bright moment - the discovery of a massive keep at the edge of the Blighted lands - had quickly dulled when they discovered the bandits swarming the walls of the ancient Warden structure. Even with his well-trained troops, he couldn't take the Keep without risking their foothold in the area. He'd have to wait for the Inquisitor and her companions. Thankfully, he'd received word that she would arrive within the next day or two.

"Captain!"

Rylen turned to see one of his corporals approaching with a small group of soldiers.

"What is it, Corporal Soren?"

The woman stopped in front of him and saluted. "Scout Harding says the varghest at the water supply are giving them trouble again."

"Well, let's give them some trouble back, eh? Is Lieutenant Ruthien back from clearing out the nearest Venatori encampment?"

"Aye, ser. She's back at the camp treating the wounded. A few of the men got burned pretty badly."

Rylen let out a displeased grunt, his eyes turning out to look over the vast expanse of nothingness as he grumbled under his breath, "Blast it all! We're already running low on healing potions."

"Begging your pardon, ser?"

Rylen looked up from his internal calculations of supply rations and blinked at the Corporal. What had they been talking about? Varghest? Yes, varghest. Maker's breath, it's hot out here.

"We'll be there to assist as soon as we can. Have the remaining soldiers stay close to their assigned camps. The Inquisitor should be arriving soon, and I want us to be ready to offer her support if she needs it."

"Yesser!"

The corporal hurried off with her orders, and Rylen turned his attention to the varghest... again. The beasts holding their fresh water supply hostage had seemingly doubled their efforts in the last few days. Typically, Rylen would send in a large group of soldiers to coax the beasts away from the water, which would allow other soldiers to collect a supply of water and get out of harm's way. So far, the tactics had allowed them to avoid any injuries, but Rylen's patience wore thinner with each altercation. They needed a permanent solution, but as with the Keep, Rylen couldn't risk soldier's lives when the Inquisitor might need them to hold off the Grey Warden threat. His hands were tied... for the moment.

They arrived at the pool to find the varghest circling the edge of the water while, in the distance, a group of soldiers gathered around the wagon full of empty water barrels. Were the beasts actually learning their tricks? Regardless, they must have water. Rylen circled around to the wagon, apprised the soldiers of their intended tactics and set upon the varghest.

It took more than two hours to get all the barrels filled, and in the meantime, they managed to kill one of the varghest. The victory came with a price, however. Two of his soldiers had been badly injured.

Rylen's unit finally made it back to the base camp, water and injured in tow, and most soldiers headed directly for shelter from the early afternoon sun. As he directed the unloading of the water into their blockaded supply tents, Harding approached, but he held up a hand before she began speaking.

"Begging your pardon, lass, but I need to see to my injured soldiers. Unless this is an emer-"

"The Inquisitor arrived late this morning," Harding interrupted without hesitation. "She's out with her team looking into the Grey Warden issue as we speak."

Rylen instantly focused all attention on the freckled dwarf. "Does she need assistance?"

"I don't believe so. Warden Stroud and Hawke have been sighted in the area."

"You'll update me if that changes?"

Harding nodded once. "My scouts will keep an eye on the situation and report back. Also, I've got my next orders, so I'll be heading out the day after tomorrow with a group of soldiers unless the Inquisitor requests otherwise."

Rylen looked down at the sand between them and grimaced before raising his gaze back to her. "It's been a pleasure working with you these last weeks, Harding."

"Now don't go soft on me, Captain," Harding chided with a smirk. "It'll ruin your hardass reputation, and then the troops will start wondering if I'm really 'the nice one.'"

"Hardass!" he replied with a bark of laughter. His expression turned solemn even as his eyes twinkled in suppressed mirth. "I'll have you know I'm quite the charming gentleman when I wish to be."

Harding’s lips twitched as she snorted derisively and marched off to attend to her duties elsewhere. Looking after her with a ghost of a smile on his face, he felt a pang of regret that she would be leaving them so soon. He enjoyed her company... especially her sarcasm.

"Maker protect you," he murmured under his breath. "With any luck, we'll share our newest outrageous stories over a drink soon enough."

With a deep breath for fortitude, Rylen wiped at his brow, looked around him to ensure everything was in order and then headed off to check in on his injured men.

**

"It's good to see you again, Captain. How have you been holding up?"

"As well as can be expected, Your Worship. Better now that you and your team have arrived."

The Inquisitor gave him a friendly smile as she sat down next to him with her small portion of the evening rations. He'd not had much chance to get to know the elf before now, but harsh conditions such as these were a great equalizer. And anyway, she seemed to buck tradition and ceremony whenever possible in favor of getting the job done. He liked her all the more for it.

Heat still radiated off the sand, but without the harsh sunlight, the evening almost felt cool. He threw another log on the fire, gathered up his own rations and sat down beside the Inquisitor to eat.

"I'm sure you've heard by now that Lieutenant Rozellene is on her way with a large contingent of soldiers as well as supplies?" she questioned.

Rylen nodded as he chewed on a bite of venison jerky. "The Commander's message arrived a few days ago. She won't be here for quite a spell, though, as she's taking the Imperial Highway." Rylen grunted in wry amusement. "Funny that. He originally told me I couldn't have her for this mission. Said he needed her there in Skyhold."

He shot her a sidelong glance to judge her reaction, but her expression only reflected mild interest. "Oh? Well, I believe she's meant to return with me when we head back."

"Ahhh. Well, there you have it. Always a catch. She's his best, though, so I don't blame him for keeping her close."

The Inquisitor hummed quietly and remained silent through the next several bites. He snuck another glance and quickly took in her tense jaw and pensive expression. Her next comments, however, revealed her thoughts had turned in a different direction than he supposed.

"I understand you and Harding have had some time to scout out the keep. Any ideas on how to take it?"

Rylen wiped his hands on his pants and leaned back against the rock behind them. "Well, with you here, that changes things a mite, but I recommend catching them off-guard if possible. There's a magically sealed cave underneath the keep, and I think it might lead to a way inside. If so, I recommend a frontal assault as a distraction while a small team infiltrates the keep from that point. I assume you can deal with magical barriers?"

She nodded. "We'll look into it tomorrow, then. Be ready-"

"Ah, my dear," a smooth voice interrupted, "you may want to reconsider that plan if you wish to avoid insurrection."

Rylen and the Inquisitor turned to see Dorian lounging in the sand on her opposite side. He winked at Rylen and then turned his attention to the elf whose lips had turned down in a frown of confusion. She looked back and forth between Rylen and Dorian, eyeing the men warily.

"And why is that?"

Varric spoke up as he sat down on the other side of the meager fire. "Come on, now, Snowflake. You can't be serious?"

She shrugged, eyes open wide and hands spread in a clueless gesture, clearly annoyed that everyone expected her to simply know. Rylen held back his own surprise and bit of mirth at her ignorance, reminding himself that before the Inquisition she'd likely interacted rarely with humans and had no reason to learn about or observe Chantry holidays.

"Will someone please just tell me," she finally exclaimed with an irritated huff.

"Tomorrow's Satinalia, boss," Bull chimed in as he joined their group.

Her mouth gaped open and then clicked shut as vague recognition dawned in her expression. "Oh. Right. Josie mentioned something about... that's the human holiday of gift giving?"

"More a Chantry holiday, but close enough," Varric supplied. "And the best gift you could give your dedicated troops is one day away from Venatori raids, wild animal wrangling and demon hunting, right Captain?"

Varric turned his gaze to Rylen as did the Inquisitor, and the curious and open look in her eyes encouraged him to be honest. Knowing exactly how hard his troops had worked to maintain this foothold in miserable conditions, he'd feel like a heel if he didn't fight for this, especially when he really had nothing else to offer them.

"It’s true I’ve told them they can have the day unless you have need of us," he admitted. "Not much here by way of celebratory feasts and libations, but a day of rest would do these men and women a world of good. They've worked hard for you these weeks past."

The Inquisitor gave a curt nod. "Very well, then. We'll look into assaulting the keep the day after tomorrow."

Her lips lifted in a small but earnest smile, and Rylen gave her a wide, grateful one in return. "Thank you, Your Worship. The men and women will be mightily glad of it."

"I'm curious to observe your celebrations," she remarked. "I know your supplies are limited here, but I've only ever heard vague accounts of Chantry holidays. Are religious observations typical?"

"Aye, I planned to lead an evening service for those interested. I often did in the Circle."

"Good," she stated thoughtfully, almost absently, as she drew her knees up and leaned forward to wrap her arms around her legs.

After a brief lull in conversation during which the Inquisitor seemed to curl in on herself, Dorian popped up, held out his hand to the Inquisitor and exclaimed, "Well, now is as good a time as any. Up, up!"

The Inquisitor groaned but limply raised her hand. Dorian caught hold and pulled her to her feet.

"None of that, now," Dorian chided. "It was your wicked advisor who sent me to this Maker-forsaken wasteland. If I must be miserable, so must you be!"

She huffed and narrowed her eyes at the other mage, but he just smirked at her in return. She seemed to resign herself to whatever inevitability awaited her, and Dorian walked her a little away from the fire to set up in a… dance formation? Intrigued, Rylen sat up straighter and watched as they bowed to each other and began a complicated set of steps that took them all around the campsite. Rylen had almost no experience with dancing, being first the son of a stonemason and then in the service of the templars for most of his life, but he could appreciate beauty and grace when he saw it. Slowly, the men and women gathered around the nearby fires quieted, and Dorian's rhythmic humming and the intermittent pop and crackle of the campfires became loud in the stillness of the desert night. The two dancers stopped and started again a couple of times, and Rylen noticed the high color on the lithe elf's cheeks. Embarrassed to have an audience, no doubt.

Finally, they bowed to each other amidst fervent applause, the dance seemingly over for the evening, and the Inquisitor turned in for the night after a subdued goodnight to himself and her companions. Rylen remained by the fire, and a companionable silence fell over the group before Bull and Varric pulled out flasks and Dorian produced a bottle of wine from somewhere. Rylen shrugged and jumped up to grab his own stash of his favorite liquor from his tent. Tomorrow was a holiday, after all.

"So, Rylen," Bull intoned after they'd each taken long pulls from their chosen beverages, "how's it really going out here?"

Rylen shrugged. "Not bad, but it'll be better if we can take that keep from the bandits. Right now, it’s all we can do to protect our supplies and keep the hostile forces at bay. Having someplace like Griffon Wing Keep under our command... well, I'd sleep better at night, I can tell you that."

"I noticed you've got your troops back at camp during the hottest parts of the day. That's a good strategy for this kind of environment."

"So glad you approve," Rylen said with a wry smile and a hint of dry sarcasm. Familiar with Rylen's cheek by now, Bull chuckled as Rylen continued in a more serious tone. "Seemed like the logical thing to do. I've never quite experienced a heat like this, but it's a far sight better than the blasted Frostbacks."

"Here, here!" Dorian cheered as he raised his bottle. "The sand and wildlife is atrocious, but the heat feels like home."

"We had heat in Kirkwall, but it was the kind you drown in," Varric added, a note of nostalgia coloring his tone.

"Oh, aye, same for Starkhaven. Often felt like I was breathing water on those sultry summer afternoons," Rylen reminisced.

"You miss it?"

Rylen turned his eyes to the fire, contemplating Varric’s question. Did he miss Starkhaven? He'd never really thought of it in such terms. He missed the familiarity of his duties in the Circle, the weight of the templar armor hanging from his frame. But as he pondered, fond memories of his former home came back to him as well - the scent of prairie grasses wafting from the plains, the arches and spires and marbled halls of a city known for its architecture, the laughter of his siblings and their families as they gathered for the occasional family dinner - when his duties allowed.

"I suppose I do," he offered slowly, the burn of the whiskey causing his eyes to water as he quickly took another swig.

"Yeah. Me, too," Varric responded with a sigh. "It may be a shithole, but it's my shithole."

Rylen chuckled weakly, an uncomfortable ache pulsing in his chest even as the itch under his skin manifested with a vengeance. If he worked hard enough, long enough, he could ignore it, falling into his bedroll every night so exhausted he dropped into sleep immediately. In these quiet moments of idleness, however...

Without warning, the image of a bright green scarf flashed through his mind, and he scrambled to hold onto the memory, leaving the itch to fade into the background. Here was another uncomfortable puzzle. Almost a month later, the lovely Antivan woman, Trice, and her hidden pain had yet to dim from his thoughts. The strength of his reaction to her predicament - whatever it might have been - still confused him, as did these occasional, unsolicited thoughts of her.

He took a longer pull on his flask, and fell deeper into himself, letting the conversation flow on without him. The moons shone brightly in the night sky, drowning out the stars, and his eyes unfocused as he stared up at those two familiarities. At least he had that. Wherever he went, the moons would follow, a reassuring connection to what he'd once had. What he hoped to find again.

A swift kick to the bottom of his boot brought him back to the present.

"Hey, Rylen. You weren't in on the pool, were you?"

Rylen straightened and tried to keep the confusion off his face, but the strange sharpness of his typical buzz couldn't make up for weeks of hard conditions and little sleep. He shrugged.

"Don't recall that I was."

"Hmmm, well then you probably won't care, but Dorian won."

He gave up on attempting to fake understanding. "Won what, exactly?"

"You didn't even know about the bet?" Varric asked in surprise. "Where have you been?"

"Well, all around Ferelden, mostly. But many a night in the Rest with you all, as well. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were holding out on me."

Bull chuckled. "Maybe we thought you were too close to the source."

Rylen furrowed his brows. "Alright, now I'm really going to need you to catch me up. Did we have a pool on whether our unflappable ambassador will ever lose her composure?"

"Nothing so interesting," Dorian deadpanned. "No. We simply had a wager on how long it would take our Inquisitor and her Commander to admit they simply can't live without each other."

Rylen grunted. "So they managed it, eh? I wondered when I left if they weren't nearly there."

"See? Too close."

Rylen raised his brow at Bull. "And you all aren't close to the other side?"

Bull just grunted in return, and Rylen shook his head, a wry smile contorting his face. The smile shifted into a satisfied grin as the others continued to talk around him. If Cullen needed anything, it was a good woman at his side. Rylen didn't know the Inquisitor all that well - doubted he ever would - but even he could recognize her caring and dedication to making things right. He'd have to make sure to include a sly aside in his next missive to Skyhold.

"Welp, I'm out," Varric lamented as he turned his flask upside down in front of him.

Bull held out his own bottle. "I could top you off."

"Don't fall for it," Dorian warned. "Whatever is in that flask will do more damage than good, I can assure you."

Bull snorted. "Just because you can't hold your liquor…"

"I beg your pardon! I most certainly can. That swill is meant to strip paint, not be consumed."

Bull took a good long swig, keeping his eye on Dorian the whole time. The mage turned up his nose, but Varric held out his flask.

"Hit me. I can't be left out of the morning hangover grumbling."

"Sorry I can't be more hospitable," Rylen said. "But you all get me that keep, and I'll make sure the fastest supply lines possible keep us well stocked in the future."

"Deal," Bull agreed with a raise of his flask.

The four men took a drink together and carried on long into the night. And for the first time in months, there in the immeasurable, untamed desert, Rylen felt a moment of rightness in the comfort of familiar friends in unfamiliar places.

[johnboothus]

Can BrewDog Outgrow Its History of Alleged Discrimination?

In March, four workers got fired from their front-of-house staff roles at BrewDog Indianapolis, a brick-and-mortar taproom affiliated with the Scottish craft beer brand by the same name. A bit unusual, considering that the bar, located in the city’s popular Fountain Square neighborhood, was then on the verge of reopening for on-premise service after a winter furlough. Moreover, the fired workers said they’d received high performance rankings and gifts from the company prior to termination.

But hey, this is America, where at-will employment is the law of the land in 49 of 50 states (including Indiana) and you can be fired at any time for almost any reason or no reason at all. So these firings could’ve easily passed without much notice in Indy’s F&B community, let alone the broader beer industry. But they didn’t, for two reasons.

First: Three of the employees identify as women, two identify as trans women, and they were all fired on International Women’s Day 2021. Those termination conversations included a conspicuous turn of phrase that stood out to the four, all of whom identify as members of the LGBTQ+ community.

“The new general manager, who none of us have ever met — we don’t even know what he looks like — called us one by one and told us that we were all being fired because they wanted a change in culture at BrewDog,” former BrewDog Indianapolis front-of-house staffer Erica O’Neill told WISH-TV, an Indiana news outlet, last month.

After BrewDog fired 4 LGBT staff members, 2 of us transgender in the span of an hour, they told us this was due to the bar needing a “culture change.” Now their story keeps changing. This is a multi million dollar corporation abusing at-will employment laws to fire LGBT people. pic.twitter.com/5XfZ4Xbn0z

— jorde (@himbocity) March 11, 2021

Wanting a “change in culture” is simply not the sort of thing you say aloud while axing someone, let alone members of a workplace’s LGBTQ+ workforce. In addition to being needlessly cruel, it’s also potential grounds for a workplace discrimination suit, something the workers told me in a recent interview that they’re exploring with legal counsel. For the record, the company has not denied (either to me, or elsewhere) that someone uttered the phrase when firing the four workers. BrewDog USA’s chief executive officer, Jason Block, issued a statement saying the phrase “was not sanctioned and would not be how we communicate performance issues.” As backlash mounted, James Watt, BrewDog’s highly visible cofounder, posted on the company’s shareholder forum that “the person who instructed these dismissals to happen has now left our business;” according to BrewBound.

(Backbone Media, the Colorado firm that handles BrewDog USA’s public relations, declined to make Block, Watt, or his co-founder, Martin Dickie, available for interviews for this column.)

The other reason these firings generated considerable outrage, I think, is the fact that they happened at BrewDog. The Scottish company, which established its mostly Midwestern footholds in the American market via a U.S. subsidiary in 2017, has courted controversy on all fronts since its founding a decade earlier. Thanks to the marketing savvy of Watt and Dickie, the provocateur-punk schtick has been (mostly) good for business: In 2020, Forbes pegged the value of the privately held company around $2 billion, and this year it made its debut on the Brewers Association’s Top 50 volume-sales leaderboard at #41.

But if the company’s marketing has often toed the line between obtuse “lad humor” and deliberate offense on its path to a billion-dollar valuation and fast-growing U.S. sales, it has regularly trampled that line when it comes to initiatives targeted to or about women and LGBTQ+ communities. Consider the following:

2011: BrewDog invited food writers to a then-new London location for a tasting that included its “titillating” and since-discontinued Trashy Blonde Ale, the label for which promised “attitude, style, substance and a little bit of low self esteem for good measure.” At the tasting, cofounder James Watt reportedly made a few off-color jokes, including one meant to demonstrate the brand wasn’t discriminatory against women or lesbians because his cofounder Martin Dickie had “some DVDs at home of just lesbians.” (This was apparently a rehash of an anecdote BrewDog posted to its own blog in 2009, which has since been taken down; I accessed it via the Wayback Machine.)

2014: The company released “Hello, My Name Is Vladimir,” a self-described “protest beer” that featured the Russian president wearing makeup and the tagline #notforgays on its label. Watt promoted the beer — nominally a critique of Putin’s notorious homophobia timed to the Winter Olympics in Sochi — with thinly veiled homoerotic jokes. The gag (50 percent of the proceeds of which the company said it would donate to charity) read less radical than retrograde to critics like Oli Carter-Esdale, who later wrote that it “bore all the hallmarks of the same masculinity which it attempted to ridicule through the production of russophobia and pop-art.”

June 2015: In a bid to promote the company’s latest round of fundraising, Watt and Dickie filmed a video in which they dressed up as trans sex workers and unhoused people to show potential donors the lengths to which they’d go to solicit fresh capital. The ad, entitled #DontMakeUsDoThis, came in for wide criticism, and a petition calling for its removal netted over 36,000 signatures. Responding to the criticism at the time, Watt told The Drum “it’s a shame some people have taken offence,” and touted what he called his firm’s “history of supporting and championing the LGBT community.”

November 2015: Just a few months later, BrewDog launched “No Label,” a Kolsch it said was “the world’s first ‘non-binary, transgender beer” on account of its incorporation of “hops that have changed sex from female to male flowers prior to harvest.” Stonewall, a U.K. LGBTQ+ advocacy organization, issued a statement expressing reservations over the product’s language, while members of the country’s trans community criticized BrewDog more harshly for trying to “make a brand out of a community … as marginalized and oppressed as ours is.”

2018: Three years ago, also on International Women’s Day, the brewery released “Pink IPA” — a version of its flagship relabeled for women and ostensibly meant to raise awareness and charity funds to address the wage gap between men and women. The marketing stunt may have smarted for the firm’s women employees, who the previous year had earned 2.8 percent less in median hourly pay than their male colleagues, according to data collected by the U.K.’s Government Equalities Office. (To be fair, by 2019, BrewDog’s women workers earned 2.6 percent more in median hourly wages than their male colleagues; also to be fair, that report found women’s average wage still lagged men’s by 6.3 percent at the firm.)

These are just the historical incidents I’ve clocked from coverage over the years. (If you work at BrewDog, or used to, and have more stories to tell, by all means get in touch.) In fairness, BrewDog is hardly the only company in the craft beer business that has released an ill-named beer or launched an ill-conceived advertising campaign in the past. Even on the more serious stuff, including harassment allegations and workplace discrimination lawsuits, the Scottish firm is not alone. These are problems that plague breweries large and small.

But BrewDog, which has long traded on its founders’ line-stepping swagger as both corporate ethos and lucrative marketing strategy, seems to transgress more — or at least, more publicly and deliberately — than many of its craft brewing peers. It does so in spite of its stated values regarding women and the LGBTQ+ community and, crucially, it’s had plenty of success along the way. In addition to the U.S. firm’s placement on the BA’s Top 50 this year (and the $330 million in revenue that put it there), Watt and Dickie announced in an April 10 AGM livestream that the overall group’s revenue grew by 11 percent, and its volume by 32 percent. That’s no mean feat during the pandemic.

Everyone told us it was just stupid for a little Scottish brewery to take on America.??

Everyone told us @BrewDog in the USA would never work. ???????

However, in 2020 BrewDog USA was officially the fastest growing craft brewery in America.?

So proud of our @BrewDogUSA team! pic.twitter.com/9hOzYXxq7y

— James Watt (@BrewDogJames) April 2, 2021

In economic terms, BrewDog’s marketing gambit seems to be working — a troubling notion for the fired former workers in Indianapolis. “I feel like BrewDog and other [craft breweries] have kept safe this dark satire, like, ‘We can make jokes and no one can get mad at them or hold us accountable because we’re punk, we’re alternative, and we’re leading this industry,” Leah Foster, one of the fired workers from Indianapolis, told me. “It’s hiding an entire group of hateful people behind jokes.”

To Foster and her compatriots, the company’s track record is also vital context for their terminations — context they didn’t have while working for BrewDog.

“I really feel like BrewDog is intentionally deceptive to its employees about this,” Jordan Dalton, another of the Indy ex-employees in question, told me. “We had to go through an orientation that was a lot of hyping up of BrewDog and also James Watt and the other founder specifically … so for me to kind of do some digging and find something so shocking and disgusting to me, it definitely made me want to pursue this further.”

“If I knew about those things, I would have never gone to this company, being a trans woman myself,” added Kyrrha Myers, another fired worker. “I’m sure BrewDog and James Watt didn’t want us to know about that. It’s not a good look for BrewDog, and now it comes back to … I see why people have issues with BrewDog.”

Of course, ad campaigns and personnel management are two different corporate spheres, and the U.K. and U.S. are totally different markets. And while most of the marketing stunts began with something nominally good — raising money for LGBTQ+ causes, for example — that wound up boorish in execution, it’s hard to imagine anyone at BrewDog was enthused by the idea of firing workers during a pandemic.

Still, one thing that’s consistent across these incidents is the company’s reaction to accusations of bigotry against women and the LGBTQ+ community. It’s a bit of a two-step, and it goes like this.

Step one: burnish BrewDog’s progressive bona fides. With the ads, this often meant pointing to the charity component of the controversial promotion, and emphasizing its good intentions. In Indianapolis, it meant reframing the conversation around women generally, and the company’s employment of them in particular. “BrewDog USA proudly employs many women — more than half of our retail locations are led by women and 52% percent of our bars’ employees are women,” read Block’s initial statement, emailed the day after Dalton’s social media posts about the firing went viral.

(“Maybe 52 percent of those people who work there are women, but are they being treated well? Are they being sexually harassed by their managers?” scoffed Erica O’Neill, one of the fired workers, when I ran that figure by her. “It’s just such false promises from another rich white guy who has no idea what’s going on in his own company.”)

Step two: if that doesn’t dissolve the backlash mounting against it, BrewDog’s leadership will offer an apology that’s direct enough to provide cover but noncommittal enough that it won’t be seen as capitulating to pressure, which might be bad for the brand’s damn-the-torpedoes public face.

“They always say, ‘Oh, we really want to listen, we’re really sorry, we want to apologize, we’re gonna learn from this,’” Carter-Esdale, a hospitality worker in the U.K. and frequent Twitter critic of BrewDog who in 2019 delivered an academic lecture on the firm titled “Brewing a Neo-Liberal Empire,” told me in a recent interview. “But there are only so many times you can claim that you’re learning, and not learn.”

Of course, as a 1,000-person company, BrewDog contains multitudes, so it’s entirely possible that workers within the company are genuinely trying to help the company grow from its past missteps and use its considerable resources for good. To wit: As this article was being edited for publication, several U.K. craft breweries, including the Queer Brewing Project, announced a partnership with BrewDog to contract-brew and package collaborative beers for Tesco, a popular supermarket chain. It’s a huge opportunity for the Queer Brewing Project, a small U.K. producer that promotes and advocates for LGBTQ+ people in the beer community. Beer writer and QBP founder Lily Waite told me that the partnership “will enable our young brewery to gain visibility and a reach otherwise impossible, as well as having a significant financial impact.” BrewDog’s market access and brewing capacity, in other words, will march Waite’s mission onto store shelves and squarely into the mainstream.

If you'd said we'd have a queer product available to thousands and thousands of people, everything would have been different. If you'd shown me a photo of two queer—one trans—women on a can of beer in major stores, I would have felt so differently.

— Lily Waite (@LilyWaite_) April 14, 2021

“I’ve long had issues with BrewDog and the deeply problematic ‘stunts’ they’ve pulled in the past. These, of course, were taken into consideration, and whilst my feelings on those events haven’t changed, we do believe BrewDog to be a company that is maturing and moving beyond that behavior,” Waite said. Despite the “disheartening” reports from Indianapolis, and the “repetitive questions” they raise about equity in the craft beer industry, in her view, the partnership (which will be managed by proxy via another U.K. craft brewer, Cloudwater) is still a win for the LGBTQ+ community in beer. “As far as our own involvement with BrewDog goes, indirectly working with a brewery with a problematic past to continue our work to combat queer- and trans-phobia in beer, and make the beer world a better space, is a net positive,” Waite said. 

It won’t be the first case of odd bedfellows in the beer business, or the last. But the Indianapolis workers are not interested in waiting for BrewDog to mature; they want to force the issue.  “Queer Brewing [Project] seems like an important space, and one of the reasons I want to be vocal about our experience is so that queer people in the industry know about BrewDog’s past,” Dalton told me via DM, reacting to news of the partnership. 

It’s an echo of what their colleague, Leah Foster, the fourth terminated employee, said in an interview in late March. The workers believe their firings were discriminatory and that BrewDog’s past is prologue to those terminations. They hope to use the legal system to hold BrewDog accountable. “The most important thing to me [in pursuing the lawsuits] is that pressure is put on this company to reflect on how they conduct business, and to be pressured to decide if they want to change, because they are not doing it ethically,” Foster told me. “Making them uncomfortable, and hopefully bringing them to a round table where they question what they’re doing? I don’t have to make any money for that to be worth it.” 

Whether the company follows through on its promises to promote healthier workplace culture and “evaluat[e] additional opportunities to ensure we’re a safe and inclusive place for all team members, Equity Punks and customers,” whether it is maturing away from its cringeworthy antics of the recent past, whether the fired workers’ legal action can force its hand on that front — all that remains to be seen. But if BrewDog’s history is any guide… well, let’s just hope it isn’t. 

The article Can BrewDog Outgrow Its History of Alleged Discrimination? appeared first on VinePair.

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