#when he talks about history he is speaking as someone who has no credentials as a historian

[whatisonthemoon]

Frank Frivilous on Young Oon Kim’s “Blessing”

▲ Pictured: Mr. Bong Choon Choi (Sang Ik Choi or Papasan Choi) and Mrs. Won Pok Choi listening to Moon speak to German members on the 1965 world tour. Young Oon Kim is interpreting.

From a post by "Frank Frivilous," posted on the old 'What Is On The Moon?' blog on December 9, 2014:

I want to respond to an anonymous poster who may have misunderstood my post about the David Kim and Young Oon Kim foundation. Of which there is no Young Oon Kim foundation because they claim that she burned her archives. Yes, I respect and admire Young Oon Kim very much for her accomplishments, and no I do not really care about her personal love life. Perhaps I’m just mildly curious as to why she chose a “normal” marriage to someone outside the church rather than seeking Moon’s “blessing”. Even to one of his vaunted peers from spirit world, like so many of Moon’s former concubines. To be honest, I am not even that interested in Moon’s personal love life accept for the fact that it is so full of infidelities. You should look it up if you are unfamiliar. INFIDELITIES, as in infidel or unchristian or even Pagan. Something that Moon himself preached against and certainly Miss Young Oon Kim would understand, she being a professor of Theology and all.  She has a fascinating history if you care to research it and it is a pity that we do not have more access to it. One thing is absolutely certain though, there probably would not be very many American and European members if it weren’t for her careful interpretation of Divine Principle and even of some of Moon’s messianic “special” dispensations. I’m going to go out on a limb and suggest that Moon drove her into early retirement when he arrived on the scene in the U.S. because she DID occupy the high ground spiritually. He probably could not trust her because she wouldn’t compromise in her personal life. What became of the church after Moon and Young Whi Kim arrived in the U.S. was a headlong descent into cultic madness that first sought to fulfill obligations to the K.C.I.A. then the C.I.A. Moon had no apparent desire to establish a religious legacy and ruthlessly used the credentials of others to shield his more base ambitions. That’s just my opinion though. I am proud of the legacy that all the members did establish through their sacrifices and sincere prayer. I hope that you will understand the disappointment some of us feel to see it squandered the way it has. By squandered I mean the Moons, Kwaks, Paks the whole bunch turned out to be lying thieves. Here is one example of many:  

http://www.tparents.org/moon-talks/HyunJinMoon-11/HyunJinMoon-110708.pdf

Scroll to page 110 and read how Hyun Jin Moon made 10 million dollars of Japanese donations disappear. I call it total entitlement syndrome, very similar in fact, to the relationship of Wall street banks to the U.S. treasury. In any case, it certainly isn’t some past aberration but an ongoing intergenerational trauma. The question on everyone’s mind is how to stop it and my solution is to go back into the history of the church and discover how it all started. Then we can take the necessary steps to unwind this blight on human history.  Sincerely yours, Frank Frivilous (please use the correct spelling next time!)

[novus-ordo-seclorem]

Someone who shall remain anonymous because even my brother doesn’t know i have a tumblr:

“ First I want to say, I noticed some of your past journals about deleting your FA or not feeling like you're good enough to stay here. Please don't! You definitely are good enough. I wish I could draw as well as you! Stick to it, challenge yourself, find new subjects or species to attempt, study other artists' processes.. There are so many ways you can work towards getting to a level you DO think is good, and you already are! I think it's common amongst almost every skillset. Artists think their art is crap, Programmers think their code is sub-par, Athletes.. well I can't speak much regarding sports stuff but you get the idea. The more you stick to it, the better you'll get- even just naturally. And here's where my second thing comes in. And please, don't show this to him.. I've known him for like, 17 years. We met in a game called Furcadia in 2005 or so, maybe a couple years later. He seems to be incapable of sticking to.. anything! As soon as something frustrates him, he almost always literally destroys it. It's a love/hate relationship with technology that I've never been able to help him through. And I've tried, with mixed success. He just goes from 0 to 100 in a beat. And it's so hard to watch. He'll scrimp and save to like.. buy a VR headset, or build a nice PC.. and then fxcking smash the thing as soon as something doesn't work right. I swear, that fox troubleshoots with a hammer and his fists. He flip flops between being so desperate to have these nice things, to smashing them. It really kills me every time. I am so caring of my stuff, I appreciate what I can get. I dunno, I am not sure what the point of this message is. Just a little history I guess. I hate to say it, I was happy when I heard about your reunion.. but this is pretty much the outcome I predicted with the hope I was wrong. I thought, maybe finding this kindred spirit, a blood relation with so much in common, he might finally end up on a good path. But nah, he's stickin' to the same one I guess. I at least, can say, I don't think you need to worry much about him if you've cut him off. He may try to reach out again in a few months, or sooner, seemingly better. But it will just happen again. It always will. He's ragequit the Internet so many times, deleted all his accounts, disappeared.. just to come back like nothing happened. This usually results in "hey, do you still have xy or z? I deleted everything". And I always do, I've repeatedly saved so much art and data and stuff knowing he'd want it back.. Uhh, back to the point- I don't think he's gonna like.. go creeping around your house or anything. Though, honestly I can't say that with certainty. If he does start trying anything wonky or there's a confrontation, you should just do the normal thing and file a report. There are less eyes on him now than there used to be, and I don't think that's a good thing. None of what I've said here is or was an attempt to vouch for him or anything like that. I'm pretty much done with it at this point, I've deleted his credentials on any of the services that I run myself, and for the last time. I won't be replying if and when he makes his next comeback. Such a beautiful thing finally happened to him, and he trashed it. I just hate to see what a wrench he's thrown in your life. I hope this message helps in some capacity, and would hate if it makes you feel worse! D:”

----------

To put it all into context, last week my biological sibling found me at my job.  After confirmation (he had a picture of us when we were little ones in his wallet), we got to talking. And I heard more... and more... he’s a lot of things, including a reborn kitsune (fox spirit), and he draws his own comics in this very odd comic-y style...  he’s very intelligent, can program stuff- a vibrantly intelligent autism-spectrum man.  But he has a lot of negativity clinging to him and due to his upbringing, When I’m not working and i feel ready to talk to him again, I want to help him overcome these things... but I have to also remember to look after my family.

He’s already gotten upset with me and blocked me. Destroyed a $2000 computer.  I feel like... great. All of my family is ruined and fucked up... I hate it.  I can’t deny i really just hate it and I should have expected my brother to be a bit of a lunatic... but so am I.. just in a different way.  

I don’t know where to go with any of this... just going to play it by ear. And If I never post here again, ever, I’m probably dead or something.

More to come.

[gonzalez03frye]

Improve Your Knowledge Of The World Of Cosmetic Surgery

Cosmetic surgery can be a great way to improve a person's appearance. Some cosmetic procedures can be simple and affordable, while other can be difficult and very costly. If you want to save money on cosmetic surgery while still getting the best-quality surgeon, then read on for some helpful tips. Find out how long it will take you to recover after the surgery. Ask about how much pain you should expect. Perhaps you should take painkillers, or plan on spending a few days in bed after your surgery. Make all the arrangements necessary before, going to surgery if you should expect a long recovery. Go to the Department of Health of your state to get more information about your plastic surgeon. You will get more information about his or her education and find out if he or she is properly licensed. Stay away from any surgeon without a license or a legitimate college degree. Never get your surgery done by the first surgeon whom you speak with. While they may be saying all the rights things, there may be another surgeon who is more qualified to do the procedure. Speak with a few and do research on all of them before deciding which one to use. Investigate whether, or not the surgeon you are considering has been sued for malpractice. You can use online resources to find out whether, or not any claims have been made. Knowing their history makes it easier to make an educated decision about whether, or not you want someone to perform your surgery. You should be suspect of anyone with multiple malpractice suits. Almost all cosmetic surgeons will have a book available for their previous jobs, even for intimate changes such as breast surgery. Be sure to ask to take a look at this book so you can see the level of success your doctor has experienced in the past. This also gives you a chance to make detailed decisions about your own changes. You should ask your surgeon what would happen if you were not satisfied with the results. If something went wrong during the procedure. body contouring las vegas should be honest with you. Let you know that you can file a claim for malpractice. If your surgeon is not honest on this topic, you should go to another clinic. Prior to getting cosmetic surgery, be aware that there may be complications from the procedure. Your plastic surgeon will more than likely go over these potential complications with you. It is important for you to be aware of them. Some of the complications may include infection, swelling, increased blood pressure, and although rare, even death. Be aware that most insurance plans to do not cover cosmetic surgery. This means that you may have to pay for your procedure out of your own pocket, which could really add up. If cost is a problem for you, you may want to think of getting the procedure in another country where cosmetic surgery tends to be cheaper. Before you have surgery, validate the credentials of the surgeon. Make certain they have the education, and experience to perform the procedure. This simple step helps to ensure a positive outcome from the surgery. You should also ensure that their license, and insurance is current, and valid in your state. Understand the variable nature of costs associated with any cosmetic surgery. Some of these factors include the location of your procedure, anesthesia and miscellaneous expenses. Talk to your doctor about the final costs, during consultations. Only make a payment after you understand all of the monetary expenses involved. How often does the surgeon perform the procedure you are considering? Surgeons become more skilled when they perform the same procedures multiple times. As they perform more surgeries, they will have greater experience. Moreover, the more patients your surgeon has had, the more likely that there would be lawsuits in the case of malpractice. As stated before, a good way to improve one's appearance is through cosmetic surgery. Procedures range in price and difficulty, from simple and affordable, too difficult and costly. The helpful tips that were given in the above article will help you get the best-quality cosmetic surgery available without breaking your bank account in the process.

[shinobicyrus]

It cannot be overstated just how earth-shattering Alito’s leaked Supreme Court opinion is - not simply for its dismantling of womens’ bodily autonomy (though that in itself is egregious enough) but also for how it goes about overturning the foundational precedent Roe v. Wade and Planned Parenthood v. Casey are built on: the right to privacy and the due process clauses as outlined in the 14th Amendment.

Roe and Casey work on the precedent that the “privacy” of the 14th Amendment can be applied to a woman’s personal medical decisions. This is what’s called an “unenumerated right,” or a right that is implied to exist based off of what other laws say. For instance, the right to a public defender isn’t stated in the constitution at all, but was implied to exist because of a Supreme Court decision in 1963. Alito’s opinion however, asserts that a right must “must be deeply rooted in this Nation's history and tradition.”

The fuck does that mean?

Y’see, as an Originalist (like Amy Coney Barrett), Alito is concerned with the original public meaning of a law at the time it was written.

To an Originalist, since the 14th Amendment was drafted in 1868 - a time when most states criminalized abortion - to apply a “modern” interpretation of privacy to abortion like Roe did twists the 14th Amendment beyond what the drafters would have ever intended or even considered, which to Alito and other Originalists like him is Constitutional anathema.

So why is this legalese important?

Simple: while Alito insists that Roe v. Wade is a special case because abortion is a unique issue, that doesn’t change the fact that his Originalist interpretation of the 14 Amendment will topple that privacy precedent, setting a brand new legal precedent that can be applied to a huge number cases that were also decided on the 14th’s Privacy and Due Process clauses. Rights that may also lack the “history and tradition” that Alito so treasures.

What other unenumerated rights does this endanger? To name a few:

Interracial marriage (Loving v. Virginia)

The right to a public defender (Gideon v. Wainwright)

“Miranda Rights,” or a person’s legal rights being read to them by police during arrest (Miranda v. Arizona)

The right to buy and use contraceptives (Griswold v. Connecticut)

The illegality of sodomy laws (Lawrence v. Texas)   

Same-sex marriage (Obergefell v. Hodges)

Overruling Roe and Casey isn’t solely a horrible miscarriage of justice for women’s reproductive rights. If the legal logic of Alito’s draft carries into the Court’s final decision, then the legal precedence that toppled it will be legitimized and could theoretically be applied to...well. Pretty much all modern civil rights.

Now, Alito assures us that Roe is a special case and that other decisions such as interracial marriage (Loving) or contraception (Griswold) are in no danger of being overturned. They are decided law, so we have nothing to worry about.

Except...that’s exactly what a few recent Supreme Court nominees said about Roe, as well.

[olderthannetfic]

Different anon than the last one about him but apparently j/ames s/omerton has also plagiarized from other youtubers and made a whole video talking about danmei, the BL published in China, but he somehow never uses the actual correct term and instead used a definition and history from Japanese BL. As though all things from E. Asia are all the same even if they're from different countries and have different histories... and he has no credentials or degrees to back up what he's saying. I know higher learning is difficult and not everyone can do it, but BL Studies is a legitimate field of study and if you're gonna make sweeping statements about whole groups of people--let alone people of color in other counties speaking other languages with other histories and social norms--I think you need to have a degree or something to be believed. Or at least show your citations so we know where you're getting info from [but he's a plagiarist so no go]. To be taken seriously online, do you only need a lot of audacity and wifi? Am I missing something?

I'm honestly scared for him if someone does come for him though. The people he caters to seem like the same as lindsay ellis; love you today hate you tomorrow if they'll get enough social media woke points. if it ever comes his fall would be messy, and I don't think anyone needs to see that.

--

Eh. I don't care about university degrees when it's a topic like this, but that doesn't mean there's no possible authority. Fans who've been in BL/danmei/etc. communities for a long time have some. Fans who are from China and who've participated in those specific communities have more. A lot of this stuff is more oral history than anything, so different people with equal authority to speak will have different takes, and relying on more conventional authorities is undesirable. (We see this with fandom history in English a lot.)

But yes, when it comes to youtubers, actual authority is not what people respond to. They like ones who have good production values, who appear self assured, and who play into their preexisting assumptions.

Being shitty about BL/danmei fits the assumptions of more people who support youtubers with $$, thus it's a more popular stance.

Audacity and wifi is all it takes. You're missing nothing.

[winterscaptain]

long shot.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader a joyful future fic - no context required

a/n: this is in response to this ask in kind of a loose way, and also fulfills kiss prompt #6 (on a falling tear). i sat down and wrote this all in one sitting this weekend and it makes me smile SO MUCH. tell me what you think! i hope you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it :) this one takes place in au!december 2012

words: 2.3k warnings: alcohol use/mention, allusions to sex, language

summary: “i couldn’t have dreamed you into existence because i didn’t even know i needed you. you must have been sent to me.” - kamand kojouri

It’s a rare early night off in December and you all make the ill-advised choice to go to the bar closest to the base for some drinks and dancing, completely forgetting that academy graduation is tomorrow. 

There’s part of you that feels aged by the whole thing. Even newly-minted agents your own age look fresh-faced and about a decade younger than you feel. 

When you all walk in, there’s a bit of a hush, a lull, in the conversations around you. You find eyes on you from all directions and realize your faces are familiar ones, and in the case of Aaron and Dave, almost-famous ones. 

Aaron pulls you further into him, almost shielding you with his body as you navigate through the crowd that parts before you. It seems like an eternity before you find a table, but Derek, Aaron, and Spencer hold down the fort while the rest of you manage drinks. Strategic postings at either end of the bar is likely going to get you the best return, so you fan out accordingly. 

It’s unsurprising in the least when the bartenders make a beeline for you all, getting your orders down and drinks started over the shouts of NATs - many of them already blasted with three or four shots under their belt. 

While you wait, you can still feel a fair few pairs of eyes on you. You meet one pair, set in the face of a rather handsome new agent about your age. He smiles at you, and you shift your eyes away from him, your expression unmoving. 

He apparently takes that as invitation enough. Out of the corner of your eye, you spot him as he winds his way to your side. 

You meet Aaron’s eyes across the room, and there’s a smile in them. You offer the smallest twitch of your lips and a wink. Watch this. 

Oh, I’m watching, his eyebrows say. 

“Hi.” The young agent finally reaches your side and offers his hand. You take it. “Agent Mark Sullivan.” 

You smile thinly and introduce yourself. “So, I take it you’ve just received an assignment?”

He laughs, making an attempt at charm. “Alright. You’re a profiler,” he says with confidence. “What gave me away?” It’s a challenge.

It’s also a long shot. A really really long shot. 

There were plenty of people in the vicinity that would be reeled in by his warm smile and handsome jawline, but your fine man (currently sprawled back in his chair with an arm on the back of the chair and a hand over his mouth to cover his smile) stands head and shoulders above the rest, sometimes literally. 

“Well,” you start, making a show of eyeing him from head to toe, “Your papers are still in your pocket and you’ve left your ID tag on, against academy and bureau regulations.” 

He startles and snatches it off his lapel, tucking it into his pocket. 

With a little smile, you soothe his embarrassment - it’s a play only designed to endear yourself to him. “It tells me you’re proud, excited. I felt the same way when I received my assignment and credentials. It’s a significant accomplishment.”

You can’t quite tell in the irregular darkness in the room, but he looks almost like he’s blushing. “Thanks.” He collects himself after a moment, putting his bravado back on. 

Your eyes flicker to Hotch once, twice. He’s still watchful. Amused. 

“So, I was lucky enough to see your lectures with the BAU and I must say...it’s impressive.” 

He says that like it’s some kind of validation. 

I need validation from this clown like I need a hole in the head. 

“Thanks. I’m usually rather modest, but I think it’s alright to say the BAU is a very fine unit.” If you’re honest, you’re talking about one particular unit chief’s...um...unit, specifically, but that’s neither here nor there.

He smirks. “What would you say if I told you I got a placement on one of the BAU teams?”

You raise your eyebrows. “Really? That’s quite the accomplishment.” A pair of arms wind around you and a kiss is pressed to your temple. 

It would also be a lie.

You smile and flip in Aaron’s arms, completely ignoring poor Mark. “I was just getting you a drink,” you explain, gesturing vaguely to the bar behind you. 

“I see. Did you get me -”

“Double scotch, neat, aged at least fifteen years? Yes, sir.” 

He smiles. “You know me so well.” 

“I sure do.” You pull him down by his tie and plant a firm kiss on his lips and shove him off with a smile. “Go. Sit. I’ve got it.” 

You turn back to Mark with a breathless sort of laugh. Aaron always makes you feel a little flushed and you’re happy to play it up for the benefit of the moment. “Sorry about that.” 

Mark, you find, is reconsidering his strategy. His face, while still outwardly warm, harbors a kind of calculated look to it that would almost be funny if you weren’t so eager to see what kind of trick he’d pull next. “So, Hotchner?”

“What about him?”

Mark shrugs. “I dunno. Doesn’t he have a kid?”

You nod. “Yep.” 

“And he’s a widower, right?”

“Yes.” 

Mark laughs a little. “Wouldn’t it be kinda nice to, I dunno, have some fun for a little while?”

You frown at him, and your drink arrives at the hands of the frazzled bartender. You pull the fifty from your sleeve and pass it to him with a smile. After a sip, you ask. “What do you mean?”

“It seems like a lot to take on, you know?” He backpedals upon seeing your squint. “I mean, I’m sure he’s a great guy, but wouldn’t it be nice to have someone...I dunno -” He restores his confidence and leans on the bar. Again, his moves would probably work on someone else, but you were a lost cause. “- easier?”

Aaron’s scotch arrives. You pick it up in your free hand and shrug somewhat breezily. “Maybe.” 

You brush past him, leaving Mark a little confused and a bit stunned. When you return to the table after much jostling, you take a seat right on Aaron’s lap and pass him his drink, reclining in his arms. Scanning over the crowd, Mark’s frowning face sticks out like a sore thumb and you try not to look too smug. 

Other than Rossi, the rest of the team is already out on the dance floor, so you know Aaron doesn’t mind having you close. 

He sets his scotch down and wraps his arms around you kissing the underside of your jaw. You lean into his touch and smile. 

There’s nothing easier than this. 

+++

There’s something a bit sulky about Aaron when you settle next to him in bed. You squint at him, looking for his eyes as they follow the loose pattern on the bedspread. 

“Hey.” You bump his shoulder with yours. “What’s on your mind?” 

He shakes his head a little, still not meeting your eyes. “Nothing. Just thinking.” 

With a roll of your eyes, you throw the covers off and sling a leg over him, straddling his thighs. You tap your palms on his pecs on-beat with your begging. “Come on. Tell me tell me tell me tell -”

“Jesus, alright!” He cuts you off with two hands over yours, his thumbs running fondly over your knuckles. “I just…” He huffs, already a little frustrated with himself for feeling put out. 

You slide your hands out from underneath his, running up over his collarbones and shoulders to find the hair at the nape of his neck. 

“I couldn’t help but overhear…”

You let all your breath out in a huff. “Oh, Aaron. He’s a stupid NAT who knows the only way to come after you is to come after your history.” You kiss his cheek and tuck into him. “He was trying to be a big-dick boy and it didn’t pay off for him.” 

There’s a halfhearted laugh from underneath you, and his hands wander across your back. “He is right, though. It would be easi-”

“If you say ‘easier,’ Aaron Hotchner, I’m going to lose my shit.” 

He sighs, and you pull back, tipping his chin up with a finger. 

“Hey. I love Jack. He is not an added weight in my life. He does not make my life harder in any way. Your son,” you emphasize with taps on his lips, “is the light of my life and I wouldn’t ever want to be without him.” 

Aaron’s eyes get a little misty. For his sake, you ignore it and continue. 

“I never feel like a replacement for Haley. I’ve never once minded leaving room for her in our lives because she’s my friend and I love her and I love you. I loved you before we lost her and I’ve loved you long after. This baggage keeps my feet firmly planted on the ground.” 

Aaron takes a deep breath, and his voice has the smallest of wavers when he speaks. Before he even starts, you concede to let him share what he’s feeling, if only to rebut it. “But you could - you could have so much. You could have someone ten or fifteen years younger who - I don’t know - could do things with you that thirty-somethings do. You wouldn’t have to spend your weekends at soccer games or your evenings rubbing Icy Hot on my bad knee or dealing with me on rough pain days or raising your voice because I can’t hear shit on my right side.” 

He shakes his head, and you brush the tears that fall with your thumbs. “You could have - You deserve, so much more...” The rest of his words go unspoken, but you hear them anyway. 

You deserve so much more than me.

Your eyes sting and you blink rapidly, letting your tears wet your lashes. Leaning forward, you kiss away his remaining tears, shifting your weight to wrap your legs around his waist and get as close as you can. 

With your head on his left shoulder, you whisper, “Aaron, I don’t want someone ten or fifteen years younger. I don’t care what I’m doing on my evenings and weekends because I get to spend them with you.” 

You pause for a moment. “And, I don’t need boys. I’m done with boys.” 

You lean back, looking him square in the eye, or at least trying to. “I have a man who has silver in his hair because he worries and is in his mid-forties and it doesn’t fucking matter. I have a man who is the subject of so many crushes and fantasies at the academy it makes me want to vomit.” You laugh a little at your own joke, but he’s still focused on the seam of your shirt at your collar. Changing gears, you bring your hands to the sides of his neck, feeling his pulse jump under your thumbs.

“I have no need for boys because I have a man who treats me with kindness and respect. A man who is thoughtful, who isn’t afraid of himself. A man who knows himself, who loves his son, who invited me into his life when he didn’t have to because he’s brave.”

A couple more tears fall down your cheeks and you frame his face with your hands. “You love better and more courageously than anyone I have ever known.” 

You sniffle a little. “Aaron, honey...I love you. I wouldn’t want anything else, or anyone else, for my life, to be my partner, my best friend, the person I love. Odds have it that you’ll be my husband and the father of any other kids we might acquire and that we’ll grow even older and grayer together.” 

You let a little facetious smirk cross your lips. “And I’d like you to look at me and tell me I’d be happy with some dickhead named Mark with a business degree who wears shoes well-outside his pay grade.” 

That does it. 

Aaron smiles and pulls you to him with a hand at the back of your head. Your lips meet and you can taste the saltwater, but it doesn’t matter. 

He pulls back to look at you, and he really looks at you. His eyes roam hungrily over your face as if trying to memorize every line and curve and lash and budding wrinkle he finds there. 

You simply melt in the dark brown of his eyes, watching him take his time. 

Even then, as you expected, there is some doubt - not in you, of course, but in him. “Really?”

“Really.” You hold up your fist between your faces, pinky extended. “Pinky promise.” 

He smiles a little and links your pinkies together, twisting your hands to kiss your knuckles. Your hands drop into your lap and another little smile crosses your face. 

“What?” He asks.

You shrug. “I’m also thinking about how thirty-something-year-old boys absolutely suck in bed. I can pretty much guarantee that you’re better at - well, just about everything.” 

He closes his eyes and smiles, looking the picture of a happy house cat in the sun. You draw closer, running your nose along his. He leans toward you and captures your lips again. 

The next few hours? Don’t worry. They’re spent proving your point.  

+++

tagging: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @agenthotchner @hurricanejjareau @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @shrimpyblog @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @good-heavens-chris-evans @davidrossi-ismydad @angelsbabey @writefasttalkevenfaster @venusbarnes @hotchsflower @ogmilkis @marvels-agents100 @hotchslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid @captain-christopher-pike @dwellingsofrosie @pan-pride-12 @sunshine-em @word-scribbless @jdougl-love @sageellsworth05 @dreila03 @forgottenword @aaronhotchnerr @ssa-morgan @buckybau @sana-li @tegggeeee @abschaffer2 @ssacandice-ray @ellyhotchner @lotties-journey-abroad @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @laneygthememequeen @violentvulgarvolatile  @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @violet-amxthyst @bwbatta @roses-and-grasses @lcvischmitt @capricorngf @missdowntonabbey @averyhotchner @mandylove1000 @cevanswhre @qvid-pro-qvo @jeor @spencers-hoodrat @infinity1321 @zizzlekwum @popped-weasels @evee87 @nuvoleincielo @this-broken-band-girl @reidtomestyles @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @winqhster @spencerelds @the-falling-in-the-danger @nattylite49 @crazyshannonigans @softbibxtch @iconicc @mangoberry43 @andreasworlsboring101 @kerrswriting @mac99martin @itsalwaysb33nyou

[haru-sen]

IAL: Mandalorians 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The witch is alive.”  

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

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

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

“Jedi drink?” Blue raised a brow.  

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

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

“Well, I am thirsty,” you said.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your bounty?”

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

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

“What clan?”  You asked suddenly.  

“Excuse me?” Reaper said.

“What clan are you?”

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

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

**

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I said, your sandwiches suck.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sensible,” was all Reaper said.  

**

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

76 just laughed awkwardly.

**

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

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

“What kind of questions?”

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

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

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

“Query: What did he let slip?”

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

“Query: How can you tell?”

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

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

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

**

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

“Spacious,” 76 said, with a nod.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The next call was less staid.  

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

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

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

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

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

“No, thanks to you!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’m an ass.  I’m sorry.

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

**

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Reaper squinted at you.

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

**

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

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

“Whose side are you on?” Reaper growled.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He charged you again, blade raised overhead.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

76 struck again, thrusting the staff like a polearm.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Haar'chak!” He yowled.  

“Ke'pare!” Reaper shouted.  “Wait!”  

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

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

“Showoff,” Reaper said, shaking his head.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Will you join us later?” Reaper asked.

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

76 winked at you.  “Feel better?”  

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

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

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

**

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

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

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

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

It was the most peaceful you had felt since Corellia.

**

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You laughed.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is there no middle ground?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Both men blinked.  “What?!”

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

76 and Reaper exchanged meaningful glances.  

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

“So no sex?” 76 asked, his eyes wide.

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

There was a long moment of silence.  

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

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

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

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

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

You nearly choked on air.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The blonde man moaned.

But Reaper was watching you, those dark eyes glittering.  

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

[tigerjpg]

"debunking the idea that human nature is inherently bad" please can you elaborate sometime if you want? i would love to hear more on the topic!

LET ME START BY STATING THAT I am in no way whatsoever trained in any sort of anthropological field or anything of the sort besides taking one (1) anthropology class and dropping out halfway through. I don’t have any academic authority or credentials or anything fancy to back me up, but I am a human with a chronic case of thinking-too-deeply-about-shit, so that’s where I’m coming from with...whatever this is. So. Good luck. Here we go.

The thing that comes up most when talking to people who think humans are inherently selfish/prone to cruelty is that good ole headache of a debate that is Nature VS. Nurture. They’ll use it as a way to defend their theory by saying that our basest, most primitive selves are hardwired to put our own survival above anything else—which is true enough—and that that is why we are instinctively violent and selfish. That we are self-serving beasts at heart, and nurture/society is what teaches us to respect one another, to keep ourselves in check.

Which is, in my opinion, bullshit.

All living beings are hardwired to put their survival first and foremost, yes, but humans, from a purely scientific/anthropological/historical/objective/etc point of view, are social creatures. More than that, we’re social creatures who have depended entirely on cooperation to survive through the harshest of conditions and ages. We’re not solitary like jaguars or snakes! We are tribal. So if nature has hardwired anything into us, it’s that unity is the way to keep our species alive. 

Read that again. Helping each other is how we’ve survived.

There is archaeological evidence that primitive humans took care of their sick and disabled even though this might have slowed them down. A skeleton with Klippel-Feil syndrome (a bone disorder that fuses joints together) lived another 10 years after becoming paralyzed from the waist down, which would have been impossible were it not for the rest of the tribe caring for him. Another skeleton found in a cave in Iraq tells the story of a remarkably old (for a Neanderthal) man who suffered from multiple trauma-related deformities, hearing loss and partial blindness, and yet he lived years after being healed by his community even though he couldn’t possibly have participated in hunting or gathering. 

This is how humanity acts at its most primitive. With empathy.

That isn’t to say that we aren’t capable of cruelty. I’m not so naive. Pressure makes anything snap. But it’s not natural. It’s not instinctive.

But then, if I’m right and we’re supposedly creatures who want to care for each other, why is the world the trash fire that it is today? If nature states that we be empathic, how do I explain our current state? Well, that’s where nurture comes in.

Nurture is a pretty word. It makes you think of sweet things like nurseries and parenthood and childhood. But all it really means is the fostering and development of something. Training, basically. And just like you can train a dog to heel and override its wild nature, you can do the same to people.

The reason why there’s so much cruelty and despair in recent history, I think, is because the social structures we have been existing in go directly AGAINST our nature. War didn’t even exist until agricultural settlements. It’s not innate. But capitalism and past social systems have rewritten our understanding of what survival is: they have nurtured us into believing that we are each other’s enemies instead of the reason we’re alive at all. And it feels wrong. Everything feels wrong because of it. 

Humans are not meant to live in cities of millions dictated by only a handful of corrupted men in a system designated to keep someone at the bottom at all times. We are not meant to put self-destructive social constructs above lives. Greed, hatred and flawed rules are taught, trained into us, from the moment we’re born, in such a thoughtless way that we mistake it for nature. We’re nurtured into fearing for our survival and told that empathy will lead to our own individual defeat, and we’re nurtured into putting individualism above community.

I’m not going to delve into what I think should be done about it, because that’s not the point of this text, but I do believe it bears keeping in mind things like Dunbar’s number, primitive communities, and how much of what we believe to be self-evident is actually taught.

And when I get really pessimistic about the future and how twisted up we’ve become, I think about strangers singing with one voice in subways, I think about poets like Mary Oliver and Danusha Laméris, I think about the overflowing love of reunions at the Arrivals doors of any given airport in the world. All of it is nature—our nature—peeking through the cracks, stubbornly making its way through lifeless concrete and empty nuclear buildings like weeds or ivy, wrapping themselves around ancient bones, healed bones, bones of primitive ancestors who could not yet speak but still knew better than anyone how to say: I love you. Let me take care of you.

[amythecinnabunny]

Space AU and Time Travel for Juke 👀 <33

Holy shit holy shit holy shit ok ok ok ok first of all AKDBJSJSJJEJE YES

Okay okay so let me try to iron out the mess in my head skxbjsjjd I hereby apologize if things get out of order or whatever but I am literally vibrating with excitement someone please write this I'll love you forever

Ok so I'm thinking also an aged up au for ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* reasons *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ sjsnnsn

Also, I've done this before and I'm gonna do it again, but Bobby and Trevor are two different people for the sake of the timeline here.

Time frame for this would be WAY into the future. Humanity has gone galactic. We also had our asses handed to us by several alien planets but we probably deserved it. Anyway, after we got rid of Elon Musk, we eventually made peace with the aliens and now roam the galaxy freely. 20-30yo generally try to get into a different fleet, just to learn about other races. Think all those alien ships adopts a human posts.

Julie, Carrie and Flynn are my three girl geniuses. They're like,,, the smartest people in every room. They've been like this since freshman year of college. Julie, Carrie and Flynn also all want to get into the student exchange program, which is exactly what you think it is. Alien races (and this now includes humanity) swaps out older students with each other so they get a feel of what the other race is like. It's fun, educational, and! You get to make super long distance pen pals!

I'd also have so much fun making up new memes???? It would be so fucking stupid tho but I love it.

Anyway, so after a few years of jumping through the exchange programme, hoping from planet to planet, unfortunately, without their bestfriends :<, the three of them qualify to board research ships!!!

So at like 23-25, my girls come back together on the same ship!! Its a massive thing and so they've hired so many interns from so many different races. It's like a landing hub for several smaller ships. They have like 10 interns per species and that's only because there are laws against having too many of one kind after they put 50 humans on a space station and the humans tried to take over. Also, humans multiply faster than the others. This terrifies some races.

Anyway, the ship's really just a bunch of college kids from different planets trying to avoid exam season by submitting research papers from their ship. They all bond over deadlines, breakups and coffee (or the alien equivalent thereof)

Flynn dated an alien girl for a while. They were cute. Flynn: as a lesbian, it's my duty to date all the women in space

This is also where they run into Willie!!! Yay, Willie!!!

Nick Danforth-Evans and Kayla Evans-McKessie are around ... somewhere ... in bunk beds like the little toddlers they wish they were, crying about the 15 page essay on why Xjsbsjdjd is a very intelligent race that we could learn a lot from (yes, that is a keysmash I'm too buzzed to be creating alien species names sjdjjdjd)

Carrie and Nick do date for a while but then Carrie hooked up with Kayla. Bisexual queen who?

Julie met Willie that time she didn't sleep for over 48 hours because she had a research paper due within a week and she hadn't started yet and it was 10 000 words on her experiences with the Psjxjjdkeiwj race. Luckily for her, the kid she bumped into and spilled an energy drink all over had the same paper and helped her finish it. Willie sometimes goes by the nickname Lifesaver, thanks to Julie. This confuses the metaphor-less people because Willie's never saved anyone's life?? So why is he a lifesaver??

ANYWAY ON TO THE TIME TRAVEL BIT

On their own, Julie, Carrie and Flynn are professional smart people who know what they're saying and are clever enough not to do things with too many risks. In the same room, however, they turn into dumb geniuses who can and possibly may blow up the entire ship. It's a good thing they have Willie, Nick and Kayla to babysit them, right? WRONG. Willie Kayla and Nick egg them on.

They decide there going to gather all the information there is on time travel and they're going to decipher it and make it work! Yay!

When they find stuff in alien languages they start calling up their alien pen pals "hello what's this word mean in this context? What, haha oh no, it's a research paper on why time travel projects were abandoned before completion. Okay, thank you!"

Before long, they have a working time machine. I mean,, they hope so. And so they enter a random date from the past and prepare to pop their heads through just to see what the world looked like approximately 200ish years ago

2020s, post covid because that exists for joke reasons later, Sunset Curve is performing live for one of their biggest audiences yet when mid-song, the floor just opens them up and swallows them whole before vanishing. The crowd things it's a stunt but Sunset Curve's managers are flipping their shit

Back on the ship, the machine starts sparking and with a soft boom and a hiss, the power in that quadrant goes out -- not before Willie's is pelted in the face with a pair of drumsticks and then a whole person.

It's a miracle the drums survived the trip, pet alone everything else.

So now these sleep deprived geniuses and co. have to hide three people and several musical artifacts, plus the smoking remains of a time machine, from their Supervising Officer, who is regrettably, a human too.

And none of them are very good at lying.

Luke and Bobby are though, and after piecing together bits and pieces from the frenzied rambling around them, Luke and Bobby save the group.

Shenanigans ensue as they try to rebuild the time machine under the watchful eye of the SO, while trying to mantainbfake credentials for the boys and trying to explain their very dated clothing. (Yes, Sunset Curve STILL rocks the 90s vibe. In the 2020s. It's their thing.)

Willex happens in the background -- and I mean that very literally. (Jukebox having a tension moment, Willex making out in the background.)

Honestly I'm not sure yet how theyd solve the problems, whether they'd send the boys back or not or what, but I do know that they will all cause a BUNCH of problems in between.

Sometimes they play music just because they still can. Sunset Curve becomes a house band for the ship. They get broadcasted to neighbouring or passing ships like "hey, losers, we have live music, SUCK IT!"

Focusing on the jukebox aspect of this whole fic, that's gonna be a fucking hilarious slow burn.

It will definitely contain the lines "Oh my god, I have a crush on Julie." "Congratulations, you're officially the last to know." "What? Even [SO's Name] knows??" "Dude. The ship's navigation crew knows." "Does ... Julie know?" "No, you're both morons."

Julie is having the exact same conversation four hallways away.

They'd talk a lot about sending the boys back home and it'd be really quiet conversations when everyone else is asleep.

Julie and Luke write music together and after a while, Julie performs a few of them too. Thanks to the concerts, they meet the other human interns that were on the other end of the ship and Carrie and Kayla form Dirty Candy.

The ship becomes known as the party bus.

A thing that will happen: Luke helps Julie write one of her history papers that she gets an A+ for and a comment about how dedicated she was to have delved so far back in the history records to get authentic insight.

Julie and Luke speak in memes but they don't speak the same memes and it drives them both up the wall.

Luke says yeet one day and Julie's soul leaves her body because she hasn't heard anyone say yeet since she was a toddler back on Earth.

Julie: odd display, but acceptable.

Luke, physically experiencing a record scratch: what the fuck did you just say

That is all I have to offer because I'm afraid of plotting further and causing angst somehow.

oh one more thing, someone gets to bang an alien and it's probably Flynn.

Oh oh oh another one more thing. Reggie says "this is just like in Star Wars" for literally anything. The band goes along with it for shits and giggles. The rest of them are very interested in this ancient tale called Star Wars. Reggie sees a picture of Flynn and her green gf and says "hey, you dated photoshopped Yoda" and Bobby just loses his shit.

[faean]

Midnight x Gender Neutral Reader

Requested by: I really do not know or remember. Whoops.

Rating: T+; Innuendoes, Midnight being Midnight

Word Length: 1,287 words

Title: Playful Thoughts

-----

          (Y/N) (L/N), recent college graduate and holder of a Bachelor of Arts in Quirk History with an emphasis on its prevalence in art and culture, along with a minor in Hero Studies and Linguistics and some very important teaching credentials.

           Now on the path for a career, (Y/N) is hoping to be employed at one of the many Hero Schools that are spread across the globe; however, what you did not expect was to get a job offer. Much less a job offer from U.A., one of the most prestigious Hero Schools in Japan. Having read the letter over and over and over and…

           Well, it all seemed a dream come true. They were offering to help pay for any travel expenses should you need to relocate and even had suggestions on finding a home near the school. Your pay would be exceptional with ample opportunities for a raise if you go for a Master’s or Doctorate’s; you’d get full benefits within thirty days of employment; your own parking space; and you’d be teaching alongside Pro Heroes, including All Might!

           There was just one simple yet excruciatingly important little detail you missed in your excitement that you didn’t discover until already moved into your new apartment.

           ‘There will be a probational teaching period where you aid one of the teachers for a full school week so we may determine which class you would be best suited for.’

           Needless to say-

           “Shit…” you breathed out in a nervous huff. “I actually moved and applied for citizenship and everything, and I didn’t even bother to read the full letter.”

           Your anxiety grew rapidly, but it was just as quickly quelled as you reread that sentence.

           ‘…so we may determine which class you would be best suited for.’

           A sigh of relief escaped your lips as you sunk into the couch in your new living room. “I am hired, they just don’t know where to put me. At least I still have two weeks before school officially starts. Maybe I can meet with the principal and even find out which teacher I’ll be shadowing…” you said, trailing off as you began to imagine different scenarios.

           You only knew of a few teachers at U.A., mostly through the news and other media, and some of it from your own research. There’s Present Mic, though he didn’t strike you as someone into history and art other than music. There’s also Midnight, and she gave you chills, though she is an Art History teacher, so it may be her, which means having to get used to, well, Midnight. Then, there’s All Might himself, but you were pretty damn sure he’s teaching Heroics, and you don’t have the necessary licenses to teach that. Of course, there were a number of teachers at U.A., and not just in the Hero Department. There’s the General Studies (where you kind of hope to be put), the Support Department, and Business Classes…

           “I really hope I make it into the General Studies. Even though I minored in some heroic practices, I’m not really up for that sort of thing.” You said aloud, now laying sprawled across the couch as you continued to think.

           ---

           It was time. The first official day of school. Despite becoming fairly close with many of the teachers and heroes at the school, you still had trouble warming up to one, almost literally.

           The R-rated Hero: Midnight. (Or was it 18+ Hero? You were regretting not paying attention in your linguistics class, it would have helped a lot.) Every time she was near, she sent chills up and down your spine, and you tried to avoid her whenever possible. Until you learned that you’d be shadowing the Art History teacher for Class 1-A, Midnight. After learning this, you tried to talk to her more, but everything about her just made you a nervous wreck, and you couldn’t figure out why.

           Was it her outfit? No, there are countless scantily clad heroes and heroines out there, and at least she has a full body suit, even if her suit is the same tone as her skin.

           Maybe it was her Quirk? It could put people to sleep when they smell it, and it’s supposedly more effective on men than women, but you hoped you wouldn’t have to experience it for yourself.

           Perhaps it was her personality? She had no shame about how she dressed or acted, regardless of who was around. Her dominatrix personality both intrigued and terrified you, which means it probably works.

           Watching some media clips of her work didn’t help, either. Especially during the time where she wore mostly leather and nothing else. Honestly, you couldn’t figure out if you were scared or turned on, or both. Which only made things more confusing. That is, until you actually started shadowing her.

           She was an exceptional teacher, and she tolerated no disrespect. Though, you had to admit she could be a little harsh, even sadistic, when interrupted or insulted, which happened often, unfortunately (a certain purple ball-haired boy really made you wish you were in General Studies). Then, there was the fact that she was genuinely helpful. She made sure the students listened to you when you would take over, she walked you through the grading system, and she helped you prepare your own lessons. Although, there was one minor problem.

           The more time you spent with her, the more you started to adopt some of her tendencies. The confidence and no tolerance for disrespect were good, but then you found yourself thinking about innuendoes and retorts to them when something remotely suggestive was said. There was the oh so original ‘that’s what she said’ quote, but soon, those thoughts started to revolve around Midnight.

           I can help rip her suit off… for Quirk use, obviously.

           Those thighs can kill, and I will happily sacrifice myself for the greater good.

           Do I prefer legs, or breasts…? How about yes?

           Hi, yes, I would like to order one dominatrix in six-inch heels that will tower over me.

           All right, that last thought was more revealing than you, err, thought, and you realized you had to do something about it. With the students soon to return after they recover from the USJ Incident (you were grading some homework when everything went down, but without a proper hero license, you couldn’t do anything), it would be the only chance you got at speaking privately (heh) to Midnight.

           But… that wouldn’t be the case.

           “So, (L/N) … You wanted to talk?” Midnight spoke in a sultry tone; her arms extended on either side of you as she backed you into a corner.

           “I-I-I-…” you stammered, a blush spreading across your face and neck as your knees felt weak.

           Midnight was mere inches from you, her hand now resting on your shoulders as she wore a sadistic grin. “Seeing you tremble and stammer before me really turns me on, (Y/N),” her hands began to rove across your upper body, stroking your arms and ghosting over your chest and neck, “but I also really enjoy seeing you take control in the classroom.” She pressed herself up against you as she said that, and you almost fainted right then and there.

           Unable to form any coherent words, just small, embarrassing squeaks and moans, Midnight took control, and you didn’t want her to relinquish it.

           She took one of her hands to your chin, curling a finger under it as her thumb rested just beneath your bottom lip, ever so slightly parting them. She leaned in close, her breath tickling your ear as she moaned out “I think I prefer the former.”

           And all you can remember is her lips meeting yours.

-----

Two down, eight more to go. Have a magnificent Pride, and I hope you heathens enjoyed!

[spnfanficpond]

Pond Live Chat Statement

As some of you may know, we recently hosted one of our Live Chat Events in the Pond Discord server. The topic of discussion was The Male Perspective of Sex and Fanfiction. While we are very aware that it is impossible to make everyone happy, we did not expect, nor were we prepared for, this topic to elicit the response it did.

Kale, Michelle, and I, Mana, firstly need to thank AND apologize to our guest host, @superfanficnatural​. When we had the idea, borne from a curiosity about a different perspective than our norm, we did not expect backlash and we are deeply sorry for putting you in a position to receive that. Thank you for your candidness in the chat and for being so patient with us the past couple of days. Through this upset, we also want to thank all of those who spoke to us privately for being honest, civil, and patient with us as we worked to make sure everyone was heard.

Now, this is what we have to say about what happened:

We invited a penis-owning male into our female space and asked him candid questions that we had been unable to get answers to in the past from other penis-owning males. He answered those questions to the best of his ability, sometimes in a joking manner. We went into this conversation with a few prepared questions/answers and a general idea of the kinds of questions we wanted to ask and where the chat would go. As a result, most of the questions that were asked were spontaneous and worded as well as they could be in real-time. The recap post was thrown together while the chat was happening and was not reviewed before being posted.

There are several places where we could have done better, and we acknowledge that. Instead of postponing the discussion to give ourselves more time to prepare, we decided to wing it. We’ve done this in the past without incident, and did not expect a different result. We now know better and we will make sure we are better prepared in the future.

That being said, many of the loudest complaints we received seem to have come from a misunderstanding of tone or a misreading of the recap post, itself. Below the cut, we have listed these comments and explained our stand on each one. Furthermore, the tone of what’s been said about the recap has ranged from supportive comments up to and including hurtful words towards everyone involved. Civil discourse is encouraged. Cursing, insulting, demeaning, and name-calling are not.

**In the future, we ask that if the Pond, or someone therein, does/says something that upsets you, PLEASE come to one of the admins to discuss it, especially before making ANY public statements. This is why: When we are upset, we say things in ways we wouldn’t when we’re calm. These changes in expression spark feelings in others, possibly upsetting them. Suddenly, everyone is upset and screaming at each other, cursing, and calling each other names. A quick conversation with an admin can sometimes resolve issues or shed light on a situation before starting any unwanted drama. If talking with us doesn’t help, we would ask to help you craft your public statements so they spark conversation instead of inviting drama. For example:

Sparking conversation - “Our featured guest this month said that they thought the moon was made of green cheese. Although I can see where they might think that, I believe the moon is made from blue cheese. Here are a few reasons to support my theory.” Invites polite, reasoned discourse.

Inviting drama - “Our featured guest this month is a pompous blowhard who gets off on telling us how the moon tastes when they have no experience or credentials to back it up.” Invites yelling, cursing, and name-calling.

We’ve also heard from several, more than several, people that they didn’t want to come to us with any issues they had because they didn’t want to bother us or add to our plates. If you have an issue come up and feel this way, please just fucking come to us! In not talking to an admin and dealing with things on your own, more often than not, those small issues have a way of turning into bigger things (like this whole chat fiasco) and us admins end up spending literal DAYS trying to wade through everything to get to a resolution.

If you have, and we cannot stress this enough, ANY issue, comment, concern, question, about anything Pond related, PLEASE come to us. Please let us help you have conversations instead of drama!**

Also note: From here on out, any disrespectful or unnecessary public mentions of anyone’s sexual orientation or experience level will be enough to permit being removed from the Pond. Everyone has the right to keep their business private, and their business is not cannon fodder for a public mud-slinging war. The fact that we have heard so many people discuss Mert’s sexuality and experience flippantly and like it makes a difference to his value as a person appalls and upsets us. Just don’t do it, guys.

At this point, we have reached out to most Pond members involved and have carried out discussions delving into the emotions and reactions that were provoked with our live chat and recap. We’ve talked all of this through with the people who were involved and the concerns and our stance on them follow below, as well as a statement from Mert that will be added to his reblog of this post. We’ll be paraphrasing several extensive conversations and simplifying the issues we’re addressing.

An issue that several people brought forward was the feeling that they were being forcefully bombarded with the male perspective, and were told how to behave in deference to men (i.e why do we have to make men feel comfortable?), and were told how to write.

We chose topics for the Pond Live Chat through public interest and requests in the chat rooms, general questions on Tumblr, and personal brainstorming. When we realized Mert was a male in our Pond, curiosity got the best of us and we approached him with the hope that he’d be able to shed light on what it’s like to be a penis-owning male. We invited Mert to have a candid and graphic conversation with us and the members of the chat, which was held in the NSFW room. From the very start, our intent was to shed light on the male perspective, to gain knowledge of what it is physically like to experience orgasm with a penis from a penis-owner. Our goal was to get a male’s perspective about the way men and their experiences are represented in female-written fanfiction and figure out how to better represent what we as women have not experienced ourselves.

That intent in itself was not well received by some, and to that, we can only apologize. The topic was borne of our own curiosity as women who had never gotten actual answers when we’ve asked the men in our lives these same questions. Mert was invited into our space and answered our questions with his own truth. He did not barge into our space and make demands.

The question was asked, “What kind of things do you think women in fandom can do to help welcome guys in? What can women/fanfic writers do to help welcome guys into the world of fanfic so it's less intimidating?”

It is undeniable that men are a minority in the space of fanfiction and in the Spn Fanfic Pond. The question was asked on the fly and was never intended to give anyone the feeling that they should be catering to men in the one space where women are free of men’s influence. It was a question as to how we can make men more comfortable expressing themselves in the world of fanfiction and in this space of the Pond. This is a question the admins have asked about EVERY SINGLE MEMBER. It is our deepest hope that the Pond can be a welcoming space for everyone. That is part of the idea that saw the Pond go from just an idea to reality.

We should not be so insecure in this, our own space, that we can’t also make space for one man’s views and feelings. This is especially true when he was asked to bring them into our space. A man coming into a female-dominated space is bound to be intimidated, and Mert used that word himself. Since we welcome new members and new viewpoints nearly every day, we wanted to know how to decrease that discomfort so that any person, male or female or neither, can find a place where they, too, have a voice. The question did not hold keys to the kingdom, just the answers to how to find the front door.

It was brought to our attention that we used the incorrect terminology in our title and it was expressed that multiple men hosting the chat would have offered a more expansive and less specific insight into the experience of being male.

In the Pond’s history, only a few men have joined, and to our knowledge those members are no longer active in the group or on Tumblr. When we had a man join and our questions began to crop up, that one man was invited and was happy to join us and chat as honestly as he could about his experience with us. Since the recap was posted and comments began pouring in, we have tried to find other men who are familiar with fan fiction and willing to come and talk to us so we’re not only presenting one male’s view. So far, we’ve found none. If you know one, please let us know!

It was pointed out that titling our chat “The Male Experience” was incorrect and it should have been “A Male Experience”.  While we understand the grammatical difference between these two statements, every chat in the past has been run in a casual manner and the featured guests have never been asked to represent ALL knowledge on the subject they were discussing. Every chat guest has been asked to talk about what they know about a subject. The language of our Live Chat titles has never been looked at under this filter before.

We/Mert never claimed that this one man was indicative of ALL men. It’s unreasonable to assume that any one person could speak upon their entire gender’s experiences, and that we would ASK them to do something as impossible as that. Mert himself said, “Though, all of this information is not EXACTLY for every single man on earth, much like how things that are very common for women, is not for every single one on earth…,” and reiterated that point in lesser words a few times throughout the conversation.

There was an issue taken in the tone and intent of some of the questions and answers provided throughout the chat.

Some of the questions were worded poorly and made people feel like Mert was insulting, degrading their writing, and telling people what to do/write or how to act. The quotes we have received that gave these impressions have, for the most part, quoted the questions and not his answers. We crafted the questions for this chat around the idea that women don’t know what it feels like to ejaculate through a penis, and perhaps we’ve been getting something wrong or not representing it in its full truth because of that lack of insight. We recognize that our presentation of certain questions and ideas has led to these unsavory feelings and apologize for not preparing more carefully. We will try to do better in the future.

As far as the tone of certain answers, we have had thorough conversations about intent and reception with Mert. He has been sincere and compliant with us in these discussions and has taken this feedback to heart and will strive to do better in the future.

There was concern that we mainly discussed the physical aspect of orgasm and arousal of a penis-owning male and not any other experiences, emotions, motivations, etc.

The original concept only involved the physical, that’s true. The plan had been to announce the chat a full week beforehand to give members a chance to submit questions ahead of time. Due to personal reasons, that didn’t happen. We went into the chat with a couple of prepared questions that us admins had prompted and those who attended and hadn’t had the chance to send in questions beforehand were given the chance to ask whatever questions they had at the time. As the chat was happening, new, non-physical, questions were being logged in a separate document for further discussion at another time. Due to the short time frame around scheduling the event, when the hour was up we still had people with questions left to ask, so we decided to stop the conversation and pick it up next month (in a chat possibly longer than one hour) to get past the physical and go further in-depth. So, it’s true we didn’t get to explore more on this topic, but the book isn’t closed.

A very surprising, yet prominent, comment we received was that Mert’s sexual orientation and/or experience level did not qualify him to discuss smut in this facet.

We will say that he has been and was open in the chat about what his experiences were in relation to the questions asked. However, we refuse to out Mert in any way because his sexuality and sexual experiences are his business. If he’s a virgin or not, gay or not, experienced in any way or not - that has no bearing on his writing or on this topic, and absolutely no bearing on his value as a human being or a person who has a penis and was willing to answer our questions about it.

Yes, he was asked about physical sensations (including what a blowjob feels like), but it was always our goal to keep most of our questions geared toward overall sensations in general rather than specific sexual acts. Therefore, any sexual experience outside of his own self was not relevant for most of the chat and questions involved.

We could name, off the top of our heads, five virgins we have known who have written SUPERIOR smut (Mana included). There are also plenty of experienced folk who can’t write smut well at all. Experience is not a requirement of good writing, or we’d never have Good Omens, Star Trek, Doctor Who, The Stand, or even our beloved Supernatural. I mean, have you ever beheaded a vampire?

Finally, to the non-member ( @icemankazansky ) who sent us an ask and then reblogged the recap post when we didn’t respond in a timely manner, our response to your comments echoes most of what we’ve said above, but we wanted to respond to your comments as well:

You seem upset by the word “females” when used by a male. Do you also object when a female uses the term “males”? We used both terms throughout the entire chat so it’s not very fair-sighted for alarm bells to go off at ‘females’ and not a group of women asking about the ‘male’ experience.

We would argue that fandom, in general, is actually still dominated and curated by men. If it weren’t, fan fiction (which is dominated and curated primarily by women) wouldn’t be judged the way it is or have the derogatory implications that it does.

“I cannot get over the absolute audacity of this man coming into one of the only places in earth that doesn’t orbit his genitals, and telling the women who are already there what they’re doing wrong, and how they can change to make him more comfortable in a space not designed for him.”

As we have said above, HE WAS INVITED. WE asked the question, “Is there something we’re getting wrong?” WE also asked, “How could we make males more comfortable in this space?” He answered those questions to the best of his ability, from his perspective, which was all we required. While this space was designed by and primarily for women, there’s no reason we shouldn’t have the option of welcoming someone who is not a woman into it, if we so choose. The SPN Fanfic Pond has and always will be a champion for diversity and inclusiveness, and chooses to welcome ALL people, as long as they are not hateful.

You allude in your reblog that Mert does not contribute to or participate in the fandom, but Mert is a writer who contributes to the SPN fandom on a regular basis. That’s not to mention the emotional support he has provided to many of our members when needed. As you seem to have judged him based solely on the recap, you cannot fairly critique his presence when you’ve not experienced it, yourself.

Furthermore, he did NOT “stamp [his] feet and demand that stories are written how [he’d] like,” nor did he “bulldoze into conversations and begin policing them.” HE WAS INVITED, and his honesty and willingness to share his experiences and insight are exact counters of the toxic masculinity you claim he exhibits.

At this point, based on all of the private conversations we’ve had with the people who chose to comment on the reblog, we are taking this learning experience and will use it to our best capability. As admins, we will work harder in the future to make sure we are prepared properly when dealing with intimate subjects like these.  

Mert, our guest for the chat, has also prepared a statement similar to ours in which he gives his point of view and addresses the comments received on the recap that he will be adding to a reblog of this post.

If you have any questions, concerns, comments, feedback, etc. about this statement or anything else, please message us so we can discuss it. The inbox is always open as are our personal inboxes and IMs, discord, carrier pigeons, what have you.

~Kale, Mana and Michelle

[sosation]

On the Passing of Michael Brooks

I only relatively recently became aware of Michael, less than a year ago. In that time he has impacted my life more than any other media personality, more than anyone I’ve never met.

Even though the first time I voted was for Obama in 2008, my political consciousness really began during my 2nd stint of college at UTA circa 2014/15. My history undergrad was waking me up to the power dynamics and hegemonic systems that exist in our society. I was beginning to understand geopolitics under the tutelage of Dr. Joyce Goldberg and getting really wrapped up in 20th century diplomacy. The Snowden leaks had happened and the Michael Brown demonstrations in Ferguson were drawing attention to the militarization of our police forces and their tactics on US citizens. I began to see capitalism as consisting of, and causing and contributing too, countless problems. Then, the 2016 election cycle stoked my already burning interests.

During this time, there was little “left-tube” to be found. Since 2012, streaming on our X Box has been my wife and I’s primary means of entertainment. Slowly more and more of our time was being spent on YouTube. The Young Turks was really the only progressive voice on Youtube, to my knowledge, at that time. (I wasn’t yet aware of Pakman, Kulinski, Seder and Brooks.) And even though they were my primary source of news, I wasn’t crazy about the hyperbolic presentation, Cenk’s ego, or some of the attitudes expressed by various hosts at various times. That being said, I learned a lot. I was exposed to many many great journalists and they certainly helped me solidify and articulate many of the arguments I had been thinking and feeling during this time. I even became a Texas Wolf-Pac Volunteer right after Trump’s election. 

I ended my bachelor’s and master’s programs under the Trump presidency. (May ‘17, Dec ‘18 respectively.) During this time I read and wrote more than I ever have in my life. Under Dr. Christopher Morris, Dr. Patryk Babiracki, and Dr. Pawel Goral, I read Marxist historical theory and studied the history of the Cold War  from the perspectives of the US, USSR and Europe. I also began watching less and less TYT and more Secular Talk, David Pakman, and David Doel. While these shows are great, there was little to no international perspectives or geopolitical discussions happening. (Doel being Canadian accounts for something but, IMO, anyone who lives in the 5 Eyes is hardly a non-western perspective and therefore significantly less valuable in regards to gaining the insight of the peripheries of the globe. As the hegemonic “leader” of the world, Canadians, New Zealanders, Aussies and Brits, can point and laugh at the US all they want but they are taking our lead-systematically and economically.That’s not to say that their perspective is unimportant, just not the same as those outside the western sphere) Furthermore, there is still even less of a historical perspective being represented in regards to current events anywhere on YouTube. No one seems to have a long dureé, an understanding of how history plays out- again and again, and how capitalism is responsible for much of our recent history. Marx did. Michael did. 

I began my teaching career in earnest last summer, 2019, as a Geography teacher. First time I’ve ever had a salary and the first time that I didn’t have to wear a hat (or hairnet) to work. My lunch was 2nd lunch, 12:35-1:15. Here in Texas, The Majority Report was live and it began showing up consistently on my youtube feed so I began watching them while I ate my sandwich and apple, before students from guitar club would show up for a quick lesson before 6th period. I had watched TMR before, particularly live streams on twitch during the first few primary debates this cycle. They reminded me a little too much of an east coast morning talk show for me to take them too seriously at first but I eventually began to see that while Sam is--well-- Sam, the others on the show had quite a lot to say and clear, logical and articulate reasons for their positions...especially this guy Michael. Once I heard that he had his own show it quickly became the most listened to podcast in my feed. (This in itself is no small feet. I’ve been listening to podcasts for hours a day (sometimes 8) since 2012. It, too, no doubt contributed to my education and understanding of our world during this same time period but that is another blog all itself.)

Michael was everything that I was looking for. He was unabashedly a Marxist. He was intelligent and enjoyed rigorous thinking and leftist theory. He was hilarious and did fantastic impressions. He also was compassionate, kind and empathetic. He was a humanist, in the truest sense of the word and he understood, and articulated to me, that Socialism is a humanist movement. After I became a patron, I once asked him on Discord what his credentials were and he said that his Bachelor’s was in International Relations, which explained so much. Again, he was the only media personality that I was aware of that was knowledgeable and curious about the same things I was. He understood history. He valued history and its importance, so much so that he dedicated a separate Sunday show just to “Illicit Histories” where he would invite Historians from all over the world to discuss leftist movements in their own countries and how we could apply those lessons here and vice versa. This was it. This is what was missing from our national discourse--an international perspective and voice, and a historical perspective and voice. Michael was both and he was damn good at it. 

The Michael Brooks Show was an inspiration. Michael, Matt Lech and David Griscom were smart, eloquent, young men who articulated the systemic failures of our time, who critically discussed and analyzed our current political discourse and who pondered possible solutions based in history. The guests of TMBS, the network Michael created, really were the shining feature. Ben Burgis, Artesia Balthrop, Molly Webster, Glenn Greenwald, Adolf Reed, President Lula De Silva, Slavoj Žižek , Noam Chomsky, Dr. Cornel West, Dr. Richard Wolff...the list goes on and on and on. These people brought so much insight to the state of our world. Professors, Journalists, people who have spent their lives working on the cause, a cause for a better future, one based in humanity and empathy. Michael was able to bring his own empathy for humanity into his interviews, asking thoughtful direct questions that got to the heart of the issue-- while simultaneously bringing levity to a serious topic by making jokes in the voice of Gandhi, Mandela, Obama, or Bernie, to name a few. He, fucking, got it man. He understood how the world was connected. He understood that we are ALL humans, and that we all deserve to be treated with dignity, and he understood that Marx was right about a ton of shit and he wasn’t scared to remind you of that. 

Michael, for me, was an exemplar. He was a role model. I looked up to him. I had no idea he was only 13 months older than me, I thought he was probably in his early 40’s just based on the amount of shit that he knew. My personal 10 year goal was to be on his show. I wanted to either become a writer or go back into academia. I even wrote into a show a couple of months back and asked him which was a better choice. He was honored to be asked such a heavy question but didn’t feel comfortable giving that kind of life advice and I don’t blame him. He recommended that I continue teaching high school if that’s what I enjoy doing, and I do, and I likely will. He has shown me how to speak up for ideals that are right, regardless of what people think. Like, I understood that in the abstract, but watching someone do it multiple times a week really put it in my head that I need to advocate for my position publicly. I tell people that I’m a marxist- which in Texas is unheard of, even among leftists. Mostly due to people not understanding labels and what that even means. So I tell them. Thanks to David’s weekly recommended readings I haven’t stopped reading leftist theory even though I finished grad school over a year and a half ago. If TMBS never existed I never would have had the opportunity to read any of that. 

My heart bleeds for Matt and David. I can’t imagine what they’re going though. I want them to continue, to keep the community alive in his name. But I completely understand if that is just too painful. 

I was thinking earlier, trying to find an appropriate historical comparison to his passing. There are many but as a North Texan, the one that I ended up landing on was the passing of Dimebag Darrell Abbot. He did a lot. He accomplished a lot in a short amount of time. He inspired many to do things like him. It was entirely unexpected and not one person, not one, has a bad thing to say about the guy. Dimebag was adored. He listened to people, strangers, fans. He was kind and open-hearted and treated everyone with respect. Which made it extra hard when he passed. The same can be said for Michael. For Michael, since Socialism is more than just music, he inspired us to educate ourselves, to ask questions, to remember the periphery-Latin America, Africa, and Asia,-- to remember history and value it, to be compassionate, to educate others and to be active in our own communities. 

He will be sorely missed. The one thing I keep telling myself is that his death has the potential to bring even more attention to his message-- to help further catapult this movement into something undeniable. To bring more awareness to how power works and to finally activate us to become, as Michael said at Harvard on Feb 1, 2020: machiavellian.

 “...we still have to put work into reminding everybody that (Dr. MLK Jr.) was on the left. He wasn’t a guy who came out once a year and said ‘everybody should treat each other nicely. ...The other thing I loved about this speech was he talked about the fallacy- that certain Christians misunderstand love as a seeding of power. And then Nietzsche came along and rejected christian morality because he thought it was denying someone’s vitality- the will to power in a healthy sense, and he said ‘Love without power is sentimental and anemic. And power without love is abusive and corrosive’ I’m paraphrasing. And that was when I saw, I thought, ‘well here, ok, we know the left-wing Dr. King. Well here is the machiavellian Dr King, and I love it.’ I want the left to have Machiavelli, so we can have the strategy, the ruthlessness, the clarity, to actually win these battles. And be ruthless with institutions. And then I want us to learn how to be really kind to each other, welcoming of a broad set, and actually have a movement that has the capacity to do that.”

Let’s do the best we can to make that happen. Educate yourself about power. Educate yourself about ideologies. Read Marx and Engels. Read Slavoj Žižek and Adolf Reed. Read Michaels book Against the Web: A Cosmopolitan Answer to the New Right. Don’t get caught up in identity politics. Never lose sight of class dynamics. Use this knowledge to educate others and make informed decisions. Register to vote. Run for office. Effectuate real change. Do the intellectual rigor that was happening on TMBS every week, multiple times a week. Thank you for all that you brought to us Michael, you will be sorely missed and I hope to see you at the clearing at the end of the path. 

Anthony Sosa

7-21-20

[gtorres21ahsgov]

Media Assessment of Racial Injustice

Brands Have Nothing Real to Say About Racism  https://www.theatlantic.com/health/archive/2020/06/brands-racism-protests-amazon-nfl-nike/612613/

Subject: This source talks about the powers of the media. How huge brands with massive followings have participated or rarely peek their head out on the comments of racism and police brutality following the death of George Floyd. Why is it that big platforms as Nike,Twitter, and even the NFL have hardly touched on this subject? Is it because of political backlash like the majority of them claim it is?

Author: Amanda Mull is a staff writer for the Atlantic. She’s written on a wide variety of topics such as nutrition, health, beauty, but also branches out towards feminism, sports, and the changing culture of America.

Context: Article was published on June 3, 2020 weeks after the death of George Floyd. This article followed even after the media outrage sparked due to George’s death as millions protested, rioted, and spoke amongst themselves and the community. With big brand names getting called out to say their views on the situation at hand this article is a good representation on how big brands deal with real life social issues. How easily they can be dragged into discussion and what they will provide to their audience because of the recent event which was so widespread throughout the United States and possibly even the world.

Audience: The source was published for everyone that is involved with big brand companies or even media itself. And with media widely available for everyone in the United States it is hard not to be sucked in. The reliability for the source can be supported on the fact these big brand names are supported by hundreds of millions of people in the United states. Those who are the media lab rats who are conducted to be glued to their phone and exposed to all the trending media simply by swiping their fingers. It’s purpose is to awaken those who are trapped in this mindless media usage when this can be a big factor in everyone's lives.

Perspective: This is leaning towards liberal as it comes from a perspective of an individual who can be related to many other individuals who are in agreement with her view of society and the issues we live in,

Significance: Amanda Mull uses behind the scenes credentials such as Nike’s video discussing the racial injustice cause. With the words “Just don’t do it” going against their original slogan of “Just do it”. After this many smaller branches of sports media and even athletes followed up on the discussion which in attention brought millions of eyes to the topic. Famous athletes following up on the discussion will then engage their audience to speak up about the issues as well. With horrific videos being broadcasted all over the media reaching even young children it shows importance to those empowered that we must have changed now.

The Evils of Injustice and the Danger of Mobocracy

https://www.nationalreview.com/corner/the-evils-of-injustice-and-the-danger-of-mobocracy/

Subject: Source discusses the mobs that have risen throughout these racial injustice times. Claims a rise of mobocracy which is a rule or dominations from the masses. It states that issues don't address the cycle of angry mobs that can be cited from any point in time of history even before the discovery of the United States that people will seek to come to power. And if issues are not to come to a conclusion that works amongst the angry protestors and activists then the cycle of history will continuously repeat itself.

Author:Yuval Levin the director of social, cultural, and constitutional studies at the American Enterprise Institute and the editor of National Affairs, a quarterly journal of essays on domestic policy and politics. He has been a member of the White House domestic-policy staff under President George W. Bush and a congressional staffer. Because Yuval Levin has political office experience it gives him more of an insight view and knowledge that most other people don’t have. Can be very in-formatting and widen audience understanding.

Context: Published on June 2,2020 again following after the media outrage of George Floyd with riots and protest rising out as a consequence. The post explains how higher authorities have failed to grasp the concept in which people desire a unity of law and social norms. That no one in our society should have to in any way show they are no harm to a higher authority and this issue has sparked outrage on millions of activists who will continuously seek change until change is given. Easily due to his previous experience working as an office member he can read the president's intention and motives. Accurately giving a breakdown on the thought process that is behind our very own president.

Audience: The targets are aimed towards the ones who may oversee this issue as just another media outrage without understanding the cycle of mobs and angry masses of people being a cycle of history. One’s who are blind or give a shoulder to the people who seek change and ask for the help and support to make those changes come through. The focus is to discuss the negative outcomes will only become worse if help is not involved with the people. And for those who simply are a viewer on the sidelines it talks about getting on the field with your people and to believe in a cause you stand for. And if the cause you stand for is not met then make it a primary objective to meet that standard with your higher authority or the history will always repeat itself.

Perspective: Perspective comes from a conservative standpoint because it explains the history and promotes social institutions for context of civilizations in which addresses how people can get involved and what even different levels of involvement people can be into. Instead of activists simply being informed on the topic is simply enough to get others in discussion. And to see past media and to believe in your own social norms.

Significance: “Though passion may have strained it must not break our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battlefield and patriot grave to every living heart and hearthstone all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the Union, when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature.Though passion may have strained it must not break our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battlefield and patriot grave to every living heart and hearthstone all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the Union, when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature.”  A quote said from Lincoln who had the ability to see pass this wall that constricts people's outlook on society. That wall is the ideas and beliefs that are passed down from generation to generation and that wall will forever be continuously there until we are able to overcome the wall and see the things we aren’t supposed to see.

17 Year old arrested after 2 killed during unrest in Kenosha

https://www.themonitor.com/2020/08/26/17-year-old-arrested-2-killed-unrest-kenosha/

Subject: Shows how even young generations can be negatively involved in a social cause as a 17 year old shoots down two innocent people in a third straight night protest. One of them being Jacob Blake who tragically died over an irrational decision that was brought by the 17 year old. This shows acts can be facilitated through horrific actions such as shooting those who are against your belief. Explains how ununified we actually are in America more than we thought.

Author: Mike Householder and Scott Bauer are first response reporters. Their jobs are to collect hard cold facts and make them broadcasted. Obtaining those facts throughout interviews and quickly arriving at scenes where destruction is caused where they can then see first had the issues that rise and write about it from their perspectives followed by factual evidence.

Context: Published on August 26,2020 it accurately follows the events that took place during the Protest in Kenosha. Because it was published soon after events took place it gave them a more accurate writing as there was little to no time at all for other media to cover the issues and change the story. The true story is that the 17 year old was convicted of homicides in which he killed 2 and injured 1 person after sparking a shooting at the protest against those supporting the racial injustice movement.

Audience: Shows to everyone that this generation being involved in this negativity is a greatly disgusting and horrific thing to see and hear about. A child who had possibly his whole life ahead of him is not facing sentence in jail for killing and gunning down people. Does it not frighten those who have kids that this is the world in which their own children can me sucked into. And as young adults ourselves how possibly someone like this can be around us in supposedly safe environments maybe even such as school. The audience targeted are the ones who see the cause for change.

Perspective: Objective because of the facts and evidence that are amongst the article. They just talk about the event in which it took place as well as the reasoning behind the shooting. Simple and hardcore evidence of large social issue.

Significance: Again makes people question the world we live in. With just the topic itself a 17 year old boy had the courage to attend this event and shoot people. Obviously a lack of education is in fault of parenting and the school system for not addressing more knowledge on these kids in which in turn around these kids whose brains are like sponges are not only absorbing the negativity in which is presented in front of them and only know that. Article shows the needs for change with evidence provided .

The similarities are all the discussion on change for a more positive outlook on society. How we all are wanting change but our actions of negativity are actually straying us from our goal further and further. The differences are how people are expressing those wants and needs. Many are protesting either peacefully or violently. We need to come to a common conclusion that we all see fit as we all who are involved in the movement just want to see a common goal be achieved which is the ability to see others who are different in race and be socially accepted.

The source I identify most with would be The Evils of Injustice and rise of Mobocracy because I do believe that higher powers are failing to understand our true desires and only see our negativity as a rebellious act when it is trying to gain their attention that we want change. 

[iamonlypartlymajestic]

KAIJU FORCE (SPACE FORCE/GODZILLA: KING OF THE MONSTERS FANFIC)

*Co-written with @awildtrashcan*

AO3 LINK     CHAPTER 1

Chapter 2 - Mark and Mallory (and Fuck Tony and Sam) Go to Washington

Sam smiles when he sees Dr. Mallory walking towards him, but the grin wilts when he sees how annoyed the older man is as he walks closer. The Monarch director had already finished any work pertaining to his actual job and since he was already in the area, decided to make a visit to Space Force. He was having a quite invigorating discussion with Dr. Chan about the effects of MUTO radiation on terrestrial plant life (his PhD may be in computer science, but he’s always up for learning new things), when he noticed Dr. Mallory’s ID lying forgotten on one of the nearby tables. Having recently been informed about the upcoming budget hearing that day, he figured the chief scientist was with the general getting ready.

"Dr. Mallory, I saw you left your ID back in the botany lab."

Mallory's eyes widen in surprise as Sam holds his credentials in front of him, before he breaks into a relieved smile. "Thank you, Dr. Coleman. I was just on my way to grab it."

“No pro—blem?” Rather than take the ID from Sam’s hand, Mallory drags the younger man by his jacket down the path he just came from and through the main building, all the way into General Naird's office waiting room, and pushes him in front of a guard. Why do people in Space Force want to manhandle him all the time? However, unlike with Fuck Tony, Sam doesn’t want to be rude and resigns to letting the chief scientist do as he pleases.

Mallory silently holds Sam's arm which is still carrying the older man’s ID and pushes it into the guard's face. The guard squints to stare at the small rectangular piece of plastic attached to a random man’s arm. "Thank you,” he says pleasantly, “Doctor...Mallory."

Dr. Mallory abruptly drops his hold on Sam causing the younger man to stumble on the ground. “You knew that,” Mallory says utterly deadpan.

Sam stands up and straightens out his suit and tie when the general’s assistant, Brigadier General “Just call me Brad!” Gregory, informs him about General Naird’s last minute media prep with Fuck Tony.

Mallory just sighs deeply. And walks out of the waiting room.

“Wait! Dr. Mallory!” Sam picks up the dropped ID and quickly goes after the man.

                                                             ~O~

It was just supposed to be a quick hang out sesh with the science team, despairs Sam as he trails after Dr. Mallory. Now the chief scientist has asked (read: forced) Sam to pick up what is most likely the science team budget binder for the older man so he wouldn’t have to walk back to the lab himself.

Having finally found the general (and Fuck Tony), Mallory commands his new manservant to chase after the two.

“Gen-general Naird!” Sam’s voice cracks, his lungs tired after having to jog back and forth the entire length of Space Force so many times (he's definitely met his weekly physical activity quota within the last hour). Thankfully, the general stops, allowing Sam to take a break. He holds the binder out like a shield as he pants.

“Where is my rat blood pressure research funding?!” Each of Mallory’s words are emphasized as he walks up behind Sam.

Sam barely registers that the three men have started walking again when he finally catches his breath.

“Uh, er. Dr. Mallory?” He strides up to the two arguing men, “I hate to interrupt, but now that the general is here, I’ll just head out myself.” Sam wants to just go home and take a nap. He wasn’t expecting the sudden work-out today.

As Mallory takes the binder from him, General Naird stares at Sam with a raised eyebrow. The general hums and asks, “Isn’t one of your tasks in Monarch to speak in Senate hearings?”

Bewildered by the sudden question, Sam answers with a hesitant yes.

“Do they include budget meetings?”

“Um…” Sam glances behind the general’s shoulder at Fuck Tony’s obviously amused expression.

“Perfect! You’re coming with us.” General Naird continues walking, firmly ignoring any of Sam’s and Dr. Mallory’s protests. The two PhD holders look at each other in commiseration before following.

Outside, a young woman bounces up to the general. Sam, Tony, and Mallory stand a couple feet back as General Naird and his daughter speak. Sam takes the time to look at the pilot waiting in parade rest and the helicopter behind her. It’s been a while since Sam has been in a helicopter as Monarch typically uses an Osprey to carry multiple passengers as well as important cargo over the long distances between outposts. Having looked his fill, he turns back to the conversation in front of him.

“...gave the teacher the finger,” says the general’s daughter proudly.

"Nice! Y’know, one time my history teacher gave me a C so I planted drugs in his desk, and now? He lives under a bridge like a troll!" Tony excitedly informs the teenager. He elbows Sam in camaraderie and wiggles his eyebrows.

"I never went to high school,” Sam pipes up after Tony, but quickly finishes his sentence when the general turns around to give him a hard look. “I mean—I graduated university at fourteen...so I didn’t have to?” Sam gives the older man a pained smile and tells himself to shut up.

Tony rolls his eyes and scoffs, “Nerd.”

Sam doesn’t miss Dr. Mallory’s nod of approval, however, and tries hard not to blush.

The three men watch the very uncomfortable (at least for Sam) conversation between father and daughter. General Naird then commands the pilot of their helicopter, Captain Ali, to basically babysit his teenage daughter, which Sam honestly thinks is uncalled for.

Sam gives the captain a sympathetic smile, who returns an unamused glare. A bit scared for his life now, the Monarch director hurries after the three other men into the helicopter.

“At least someone else here knows how to fly,” General Naird says gruffly as he sits himself onto the pilot’s seat. Sam’s surprised but pleased that the general remembered. Nervous about the awkward start of their first meeting, Sam had told the older man about having a pilot’s license as to create some common ground between the two.

“Kiss ass,” Fuck Tony calls him in a hushed sing-song voice. Sam rolls his eyes and refuses to answer back, buckling up his own seatbelt. As the youngest, they were both delegated to the back seats of the helicopter with Dr. Mallory up at the front passenger’s next to the general.

Sam wishes he could say he gets the last laugh upon learning how freaked out Tony gets during their flight, but the brunet man is an utter nightmare to sit next to on an aircraft.

After flying for a few minutes, Mallory takes the time to continue his argument, “Rat hemoglobins are substantially—”

“Jesus, just let him fly the fucking thing!” Tony ends up screaming into Sam’s ear as the asshole bends closer towards Dr. Mallory, who’s in the seat directly in front of Sam. “You’re talking, he’s gotta fly!”

Sam pushes the panicked man off of him, and not one to be so easily deterred, Fuck Tony pushes back, which eventually leads to a slap fight between the two younger men.

"Oh, for the love of—I will turn this helicopter back around if you don't knock it off, do I make myself clear?!" The general yells at the two behind him who quickly stop and settle down.

Sam just hears Mallory sigh wearily over the microphone.

                                                              ~O~

"So why'd you come here?" Tony asks him, eyes still fixed on his phone. The two younger men sit on wooden benches outside of the Chief of Staff Gold Room, waiting for General Naird. Unlike Mallory, who settled himself right outside of the door, he and Tony are in an empty hallway nearby, not wanting to disturb the other visitors.

"What?" Sam says, taking a pause from twisting and flexing his fingers (a nervous tic he’s developed since childhood from his need to constantly tinker with something).

Tony finally looks up from his phone and waves a hand at Sam, gesturing...something. Sam doesn’t know what. "It wasn't that surprising to see you act like Mallory's personal gofer, you science dudes tend to travel in packs. But letting Naird drag you with him? You do know the general doesn't really have power over you, right? He's your business partner, not your boss."

"I...I just thought I'd help him out? Since we're business partners I may as well make sure the group I'm working with doesn't implode weeks into our partnership." Sam chooses to ignore the fact that Fuck Tony has a point, embarrassed at his own lack of a backbone.

"Well, if you say so. Honestly, he'll need all the help he can get." The brunet sends Sam a pointed look.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Sam stretches his fingers even tighter, his eyebrows furrowing in worry.

"You'll see," Tony says in a tone implying lots and lots of experience with the matter, and goes back to playing with his phone.

                                                               ~O~

As they walk into Capitol Hill, Sam feels his back straighten automatically, holding his head up higher to show he’s much more confident than he really is. A Pavlovian response that formed from having to speak to several crowds on behalf of Monarch.

It probably doesn’t work considering many senators still tend to disregard his existence.

Sam startles at seeing a balding senator grab the general in a forceful hug and almost bumps into Dr. Mallory in front of him.

“Well! That was awkward and horrible,” Tony declares with a grin. And Sam is about to agree until the other man continues, “The man is about to grill you, let him bring it in for the real thing. Remember!” He points a finger to emphasize his point, “You gotta embrace to get those dollars for space!”

“What? No!” Sam blurts out. Unfortunately, his warning goes unheard when an older woman passes by.

The secondhand cringe Sam gets seeing General Naird give his own non-consensual hug to Representative Pitosi makes the younger man’s skin crawl.

“What the fuck, Fuck Tony?” Sam whispers and gives his own look of disbelief towards the brunet as they wait to be let inside. The Monarch director then turns to the general and says placatingly, “Maybe you shouldn’t follow Tony’s advice, sir.”

Tony cocks his head toward the shorter man and narrows his eyes. "I'm sorry, since when were you the PR guy?"

“Oh no, I’m sorry,” Sam gives Tony a sarcastically pitying look, “I’m just the man whose job is to speak at these things.”

"Great job you're doing when you tell the general's daughter to skip school as you're telling her not to skip school." Tony raises his eyebrow and crosses his arms.

“What the hell does that even mean?!” Sam throws his hands up in the air.

“Gentlemen…” Dr. Mallory’s voice creeps up from behind the two, irritated by the noise. Sam and Tony face the chief scientist. His eyes stare coldly at them.

“Sorry, sir.” Sam says meekly.

“Whatever,” sneers Tony at the same time.

                                                             ~O~

Sam closes his eyes and focuses on breathing slowly so he doesn't end up bashing his head into something as he's forced to listen to a fucking flat earther that somehow got a position in Congress. Granted, considering the fact that the current POTUS is a Piece Of Shit he really shouldn't be surprised but holy crap, he is losing brain cells by the second. Brain cells that are very important to MUTO research, thank you very much…why the hell is here, again?

Tony obnoxiously lets out a fake guffaw and pats Sam’s shoulder harshly as the general makes a joke. Sam gives his own awkward giggle since the rest of the crowd behind them laugh along.

He really doesn’t want to be here.

Tony pulls his phone out yet again and starts typing away. Sam’s already beginning to tune out the whole hearing when his phone vibrates inside his jacket pocket. He ignores it.

Tony continues to text. Sam’s phone continues to vibrate.

Sam’s noticing a trend here. He pulls out his own phone, staring disapprovingly at Tony and then at his messages.

                                                                                               Told you so

                               You enjoying your front row seat for the cringe show?

                                                                                                     Saaaam

Sam takes a quick peek at the senators sitting above them and then leans towards Tony, whispering, “Why are you texting me right now?”

Tony presses a finger against his own lips and shushes him, “It’s rude to talk when others are speaking.”

Sam huffs and returns to his phone. What an asshole!

You’re an asshole. Stop texting me.

                                                         bold words for someone texting me

Sam leaves Tony’s messages on “read” and tries to refocus on the meeting. Representative Pitosi is holding a stack of documents filled almost entirely with black lines.

Wow. And people thought Monarch—a literally secret (or rather semi-secret now) science organization—had a problem with being open about their experiments and research?

Sam frowns as he sees the general begin to tap a pencil on the desk and clear his throat an unnecessary number of times. The Monarch representative glances around in case anyone notices him and then types out a text.

Is Naird ok?

                                                dw this happens anytime all of us depend on                                                   him being able to talk like a human being :/

Wow How does Space Force function?

                                                                                                          we dont

Sam doesn’t even bother to reply back, pressing his hand to his forehead. “Jesus…,” he whispers.

It also doesn’t help Sam’s anxiety when the general seriously says—out loud, he wants to emphasize—that “Space is hard.” He receives another text.

                                             "Space is hard." - General Mark R. Naird, 2020                                                                                                      #newmotto

Sam sinks deeper into his seat.

But then straightens up again as General Naird continues to speak.

“...I want her to have a taste of the Earth and remember what she’s fighting for.” The general’s voice trembles slightly but stays strong as he talks. It shames Sam to say this, but before this moment, he hadn’t realized how passionate General Naird is about Space Force and its role in helping society. The older man’s speech reminds him of Dr. Serizawa. How the Monarch scientist would speak in their own Senate hearings, fighting for the respect Titans deserve as fellow beings living with us on Earth. If we took care of our home and its inhabitants, they would take care of us in return.

A symbiotic relationship, if you will.

Sam smiles, his regard for the general increasing.

Incoherent chanting echoes from the back of the room. The crowd turns around to find a group of women wearing Handmaid’s Tale costumes and holding up signs with various “Pro-choice” slogans.

Bad timing, but good for them, Sam thinks.

Tony shakes him as they watch the protestors leave. “Hey, quick! Take a picture of me with them.”

“What?! Do it yourself.” But Tony has already thrown his phone at the other man and leaves Sam to juggle to not drop it. He quickly takes the picture and gives Tony back his phone. Sam’s own cell vibrates not long after.

                                                                 cant even take a proper pic smh

Below the message is the photo Sam just took. More than half of the picture is covered by his thumb, completely obscuring Tony’s face.

Who said it was accidental?

He sends Tony the middle-finger emoji.

Tony sends three back.

Sam sends a GIF of a group of people flipping off the camera.

                                                                         You win this time Coleman                                                                                                      this time

Sam smirks and puts away his phone. Just in time for Dr. Mallory to classily put the young senator on blast. He could see the woman get increasingly more embarrassed from his front row seat.

Sam wants to be like Dr. Mallory when he grows up.

Representative Pitosi finally dismisses Space Force, and Sam and Tony quickly get up to follow the general and chief scientist.

Fuck Tony glides through the center walkway, holding his hand out for high-fives along the way. However, unlike the social media director, Sam is not a child and just stares admiringly at the two older men as they walk out of the room.

"So, Dr. Coleman," General Naird turns to him and Sam has to physically shake his head to remove the heart filter over his eyes. "How was our first Space Force budget hearing?"

Sam's casual smile vanishes into a thin line. He brings his hands, palms pressed together, over his mouth and inhales sharply. Next to him, Fuck Tony grins.

[chiseler]

Nick Tosches’ Final Interview

On Sunday, October 20th, 2019, three days before his seventieth birthday, Nick Tosches died in his TriBeCa apartment. As of this writing, no cause of death has been specified. It represents an Immeasurable loss to the world of literature. The below, conducted this past July, was the last full interview Tosches ever gave. 

***

In Where Dead Voices Gather, his peripatetic 2001 anti-biography of minstrel singer Emmett Miller, Nick Tosches wrote: “The deeper we seek, the more we descend from knowledge to mystery, which is the only place where true wisdom abides.” It’s an apt summation of Tosches’ own life and work.

Journalist, poet, novelist, biographer and historian Nick Tosches has been called the last of our literary outlaws, thanks in part to his reputation as a hardboiled character with a history of personal excesses. But he’s far more than that—he’s one of those writers other writers wish they could be. He’s seen it all first-hand, moved in some of the most dangerous circles on earth, and is blessed with the genius to put it down with a sharp elegance that’s earned him a seat in the Pantheon.

Born in 1949, Tosches was raised in the working class neighborhoods of Newark and Jersey City, where his father ran a bar. Despite barely finishing high school, he fell into the writing game at nineteen, shortly after relocating to New York. He quickly earned a reputation as a brilliant music journalist, writing for Rolling Stone and authoring Country: The Twisted Roots of Rock ’N Roll (1977), the Jerry Lee Lewis biography Hellfire (1982) and Unsung Heroes of Rock ’N Roll (1984). After that he staked out his own territory, exploring and illuminating the deeply-shadowed corners of the culture and the human spirit. He’s written biographies of sinister Italian financier Michele Sindona, Sonny Liston, Dean Martin and near-mythical crime boss Arnold Rothstein. He’s published poetry and books about opium. His debut novel, Cut Numbers (1988) focused on the numbers racket, and his most recent, Under Tiberius (2015) presented Jesus as a con artist with a good p.r. man.

While often citing Faulkner, Charles Olsen, Dante and the Greeks as his primary literary influences, over the past fifty years Tosches’ own style has evolved from the flash and swagger of his early music writing into a singular and inimitable prose which blends the two-fisted nihilism of the crime pulps with an elegant and lyrical formalism. Like Joyce, Tosches takes clear joy in the measured, poetic flow of language, and like Dostoevsky, his writing, regardless of the topic at hand, wrestles with the Big Issues: Good and Evil, Truth and Falsehood, the Sacred and the Profane, and our pathetic place in a universe gone mad.

For years now, Tosches’ official bio has stated he “lives in what used to be New York.” It only makes sense then that we would meet amid the tangled web of tiny sidestreets that make up SoHo at what remains one of the last bars in New York where we could smoke. Tosches, now sixty-nine, smoked a cigar and drank a bottle of forty-year-old tawny port as we discussed his work, publishing, religion, the Internet, this godforsaken city, fear, and how a confirmed heretic goes about obtaining Vatican credentials.

Jim Knipfel: When I initially contacted you about an interview last year, my first question was going to be about retirement. You’d been hinting for awhile, at least since Me and the Devil in 2012, that you planned to retire from writing at sixty-five. And since Under Tiberius came out, there’d been silence. But shortly after I got in touch, we had to put things on hold because you’d started working on a new project. As you put it then, “I find myself becoming lost again in the cursed woods of words and writing.”

Nick Tosches: It is unlike any other project. I am indulging myself, knowing nobody has paid me money up front. Is it a project? Yeah, I guess anything that’s not come to a recognizable fruition is a project. So yeah. I do consider the actual writing of books to be behind me.

JK: Did thinking about retirement have anything to do with what we’ll generously call the dispiriting nature of contemporary publishing?

NT: Oh, very much so. Very much.

JK: There’s a remarkable section in the middle of In The Hand of Dante, it just comes out of nowhere, in which you launch into this frontal attack on what’s become of the industry. I went back and read it again last week, and it’s so beautiful and so perfect, and as I was reading I couldn’t help but think, “Who the hell else could get away with this?” Dropping a very personal screed like that in the middle of a novel? And a novel released by a major publisher, in this case Little, Brown. Was there any kind of reaction from your editor?

NT: Okay, is this the same passage where I talk about all these people with fat asses?

JK: Yeah, that’s part of it.

NT: Okay, my agent at the time, Russ Galen, said he heard from {Michael} Pietsch, the editor who’s now the Chief Executive Officer of North America. And the moment he became so, he went from being my lifelong friend to “yeah, I heard of him.” He complained about the fat ass comment, and my agent told him, “If you go for a walk with Nick Tosches, you might get rained on.” Apart from that, no. And I have to say, he considers that one of his favorite novels, ever. When I tried to get the rights back because of a movie deal, he said “no I won’t do that.” I said “Why?” And he said because it was one of his favorite books. So no, there was no real backlash. A lot of comments like your own. A lot of people saying “Boy, that was great.”

JK: As we both know, marketing departments make all the editorial decisions at publishing houses nowadays, and over the years you must have driven them nuts. There’s no easy label to slap on you. You hear there’s a new Nick Tosches book coming out, it could be a novel, it could be poetry, it could be a biography or history or anything at all. I’m trying to imagine all these marketing people sitting around asking, “So what’s our targeted demographic for The Last Opium Den?”

NT: I just set out to do what I wanted to do. If they wanted to cling to the delusion that they could somehow control sales or predict the future of taste, fine, let them go ahead and do it. I’ve always found it’s the books that gather the attention, they just try to coordinate things. All they’re doing is covering their own jobs. If they can wrangle you an interview with Modern Farming, well, there’s something to put on a list they hand out at one of their meetings… They’re all illiterate. Thirty years ago there was still a sense of independence among publishers. Now they’re just vestigial remnants that mean nothing because they’re all owned by these huge media conglomerates.

JK: To whom publishing is irrelevant.

NT: Right. It’s all just a joke.  

JK: I guess what matters is that the people who read you will read whatever you put out. If you put out a book of cake decorating tips, I’d be the first in line to buy it. Actually I’d love to see what you could do with Nick’s Best Cakes Ever, right? It’s something to consider.

NT: Maybe not that particular instance, but what you have so kindly referred to as my current project, which is very…eccentric. It’s the herd of my obsessions that will not remain corralled as I intended.

JK: What brought you back to writing? You’ve said in the past that writing is a very tough habit to kick.

NT: Well, what brought me back? I have no idea. Maybe just actual, utter, desperate boredom. There was none of this Romantic need to express myself. Just a lot of little obsessions, that’s all. As I said…well, I didn’t say this at all. There’s nothing at stake. There’s no money, there’s not going to be any money. There’s no one I need to give a second thought of offending or pleasing. But that having been said, I’m taking as much care with it as I have with everything else. I’ve always thought of myself as the only editor. And having had the good fortune to work with good titular editors, which means their job consists of perhaps making a suggestion or stating a preference or notifying me that they do not understand certain things, and beyond that leaving it be. As I told one editor,I forget when or where or why, “Why don’t you go write you’re own fuckin’ book and leave mine be?” He had all these great ideas. The best editors are the ones that aren’t frustrated authors.

JK: I was lucky enough to work with two editors like that. One had a nervous breakdown and is out of the business, the other just vanished one day.

NT: Well, you’re fortunate. Not only do most editors, a majority of editors, which are bad editors, like the majority of anything, really. If they don’t interfere with something, and nine times out of ten make it worse, they’re not justifying their jobs. The other thing is, we’re recently at the point where the new type of writers, which are the writers who are willing to do it for free, think the editor’s the chief mark of the whole racket. But it’s not—he’s not, she’s not. Their job is to get you paid and leave you alone. That’s the thing. Now you got pseudo editors, pseudo writers. If you think of a writer such as William Faulkner. Now there’s a guy who just screamed out to be edited. Fortunately the editors were willing to publish him and leave him alone, which is why we have William Faulkner. That was the editor’s great contribution, protecting William Faulkner from that nonsense. People speak about, what’s that phrase applied to Maxwell Perkins? “Editor of Genius.” Well, the genius was you find someone who can write really well, and don’t fuck with ‘em. There’s something to be said about that. It’s to Perkins’ credit.

JK: If I can step back a ways to your early years. You were a streetwise kid who grew up in Jersey City and Newark. Your father discouraged you from reading, but you read anyway. So what was the attraction to books? Or was it simple contrariness on your part because you’d been told to avoid them?

NT: I got lost in them. It was dope before I copped dope. I used to love to drift away, in my mind, my imagination. I loved books. My father was not an anti-book person, but he was the first generation of our family to be born in this country. A working class neighborhood where okay, this guy worked in this factory, and that guy owned a bar, and that guy delivered the mail. Nobody was going any further than this. And I remember my father saying, “These books are gonna put ideas in your head.” I guess I enjoyed that they did. Terrible books, some of them. Terrible books, but it didn’t matter.

JK: You’ve also said that very early on you wanted to be a writer.

NT: Yes.

JK: Or a farmer.

NT: Or a garbage man or an archaeologist. Those were my childhood aspirations.

JK: Considering the environment you were coming out of, three of those seem counterintuitive.

NT: Garbage men got to ride on the side of the truck, and that looked great. Archaeologists, wow. I didn’t know they were spending years just coming up with little splintered shards of urns. Yeah, writer. Writing had a great attraction for me, because writing seemed a great coward’s way out. You can communicate anything while facing a corner, with no one seeing you, no one hearing you, you didn’t have to look anyone in the eye. It’s a great coward’s form of expressing yourself. That coupled with the fact that what I felt a need to express was inchoate. I didn’t even understand what it was I wanted to express. Sometimes I still don’t.

JK: You’ve also said that in your teens you started to listen to country music, which given the time and place also seems counterintuitive.

NT: Did I say my teens? Maybe I was nineteen or twenty. Yeah, I never listened to country music until the jukebox at the place on Park Avenue and West Side Avenue in Jersey City.

JK: It was right around that time, when you were nineteen, twenty, that you published your first story in the music magazine Fusion. Which means we’re right around the fiftieth anniversary of your start in this racket.

NT: Let’s see…that was 1969, so yeah, I guess so. Fifty years ago.

JK: Then for the next fifteen-plus years you wrote mainly about music. You were at Rolling Stone  and other magazines, and you put out Country, Hellfire and Unsung Heroes of Rock ’n Roll. So How early on were you thinking about branching out? About writing about the mob, or the Vatican, or anything else that interested you?

NT: Before I ever wrote anything. You have to understand, these so-called rock’n’roll magazines provided two great things. First as an outlet for young writers whose phone calls to The New Yorker would not be accepted. And they all, back then before they caught the capitalist disease, offered complete freedom of speech. So yes, in the course of writing about music you could…or actually, forget about writing about music, because nobody even knew anything about music. We were just fucking around.

JK: I remember an early piece you did for Rolling Stone back in 1971. It was a review of Black Sabbath’s Paranoid album, but all it was was a description of a blasphemous Satanic orgy straight out of De Sade.

NT: Yeah, I remember that one.

JK: It was pretty amazing, and even that early, your writing was several steps beyond everything else that was happening at the time. But from an outsider’s perspective, your first big step away from music journalism was actually a huge fucking leap, and a potentially deadly one. So how do you go from Unsung Heroes of Rock ’N Roll to Power on Earth, about Italian financier Michele Sindona?

NT: After Hellfire, someone wanted to pay me a lot of money to write another biography. But I realized there was absolutely no one on the face of the earth whom I found interesting enough to write about other than Jerry Lee Lewis. I’d caught sort of a glimpse of Sindona on television. My friend Judith suggested “Why don’t you write about him?” But how am I gonna get in touch with a guy like that? And she said I should write him a letter.

JK: He was in prison at that point?

NT: Yes, he was in prison the entire time I knew him, until his death. He died before the book was published. I met him in prison here in New York, then they shipped him back to Italy to be imprisoned, and I went over there.

JK: You were dealing with The Vatican, the mob, and the shadowy world of international high finance. Were there moments while you were working on the book when you found yourself thinking, “What the fuck have I gotten myself into?”

NT: Well, yes, because the story was too immense and too complicated to be told.    

JK: Something I’ve always been curious about. Publishing house libel lawyers have been the bane of my existence. Whenever I write non-fiction, they set upon the manuscript like jackals, tearing it apart line-by-line in search of anything that anyone anywhere might conceivably consider suing over. And I wasn’t writing about the likes of Jerry Lee Lewis, Dean Martin, or Michele Sindona.

NT: “Conceivably” is the key word in this country, where anyone can sue anyone without punitive repercussions. That’s the key phrase. What these libel lawyers are also doing above all else is protecting their own jobs.    

JK: Were you forced to cut a lot of material for legal reasons?

NT: Yes, including proven, irrefutable facts. So yes I did. And it’s not because it was libelous, but because it was subject to being accused of being libelous. It’s a shame. Some of the things were just outrageous. I once threw a fictive element into a description that involved a black dog. “Well, how do you know there was a black dog there?” I said there probably wasn’t, that it was just creating a mood. “Well, we gotta cut that out.” So what’s offensive about a black dog? It sets a precedent. Misrepresentative facts? Morality? I don’t know. These guys.  

JK: I don’t know if this was the case with you as well, but I found out I could write exactly the same thing, and just as honestly, but if I called it a novel instead of nom-fiction. They didn’t touch a word. Didn’t even want to look at it. As it happens, your first novel, Cut Numbers, came out next. Had that been written before Power on Earth?

NT: Let me think for a moment…Well, the order in which my books were published is the order in which they were written. The only putative exception may be Where Dead Voices Gather, because that was written over a span of years with no intention of it being a book. So yeah, Cut Numbers. What year was that?

JK: I think that was 1988. I love that novel. There’s a 1948 John Garfield picture about the numbers racket, Force of Evil.

NT: Yeah, I’ve seen that.

JK: But of course they had to glamorize it, because it was Hollywood and it was John Garfield.

NT: I like John Garfield. Terrible movies, but a great actor.

JK: What I love about Cut Numbers is that it’s so un-glamorous. It’s not The Godfather. It’s very street-level. And I’ve always had the sense it was very autobiographical.

NT: I’ve never written anything that wasn’t autobiographical in some way, shape or form. The world in which Cut Numbers is set was my auto-biographical world. “Auto,” self and “bio,” life. My auto-biographical world. The world I lived in and the world I knew. It’s a world that no longer exists. Like every other aspect of the world I once knew. Except taxes. Which I found is a really great upside to having no income. I’m serious.

JK: Oh. I know all too well.

NT: I mean, but It comes with “Jeeze, I wish I could afford another case of this tawny port.”

JK: A few years later, after Dino, you released your second novel, Trinities. While Cut Numbers took place on a very small scale. Trinities was epic—the story spans the globe and pulls in the mob, the Vatican, high finance. You crammed an awful lot of material in there. It almost feels like a culmination.

NT: I wanted to capture the whole sweep of that vanishing, dying world. It was written during a dark period of my life, and I was drawn to a beautifully profound but unanswerable question, which had first been voiced by a Chinese philosopher—sounds like a joke but it’s true: “What if what man believes is good, God believes is evil?” Or vice versa. And we can go from there, the whole mythology, the concept of the need for God. To what extend is our idea of evil just a device? We don’t want anybody to fuck our wives. So God says thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s wife. We don’t want to be killed, so thou shalt not kill. It’s a bunch of “don’t do this, because I don’t want to suffer that.” I don’t want to get robbed. I dunno, what the hell. Yeah, this has something to do with Trinities, and I somehow knew as I wrote Trinities I was saying goodbye to a whole world, not because I was leaving it. It was basically half memory, as opposed to present day reality.

JK: I remember when I first read it, recognizing so many locales and situations and characters. At least from the New York scenes. That was right at the cusp, when all these things began disappearing.

NT: Yes, and now it has to such an extent that I walk past all these locales, and it’s a walk among the ghosts. That was a club, now it’s a Korean laundry. This was another place I used to go, now it’s Tibetan handicrafts.    

JK: I don’t even recognize the Village anymore. I used to work in the Puck Building at Lafayette and Houston. Landmark building, right? It’s since been gutted completely and turned into some kind of high-end fashion store.

NT: Yeah, it’s all dead.

JK: Now, when Trinities was released, I was astonished to see the publisher was marketing it like a mainstream pop thriller. You even got the mass market paperback with the embossed cover treatment. I love the idea of some middle management type on his way to a convention in Scranton picking it up at the airport thinking he was getting something like Robert Ludlum,, and diving headlong into, well, you.

NT: I can explain why all that was. It was volume. It was the same publisher as Dino. They were happy with Dino. Dino was a great success. I think that was 1992, because that was when my father died. This is now, what, 2019? There has not been a single day where that book has not sold. Not that I could buy a bottle of tawny port with it. So whereas with Cut Numbers I was paid a small amount and eagerly accepted it. Eagerly. In fact it’s one of the few times I told the editor, ran into him at a bar, and said all I want is this, and he said “Nah, that’s not enough, we’ll pay you twice that.” Then Dino was double that. And look, I really want to do this book Trinities   and be paid a small fortune for it. They had to say yes. They had to believe this was going to be the next, I dunno. Yeah, mainstream. Most of these things are ancillary and coincidental to the actual writing.

JK: There were a lot of strings dangling at the end of the novel, and I remember reading rumors you were working on a sequel. You don’t seem much the sequel type. So was there any truth to that?

NT: Not that I was aware of. I’m sure that if they’d come back and said, “Well, we pulled it off,” and offered twice that, there would’ve been a sequel. Because I loved that book, so if they were going to offer me more to write more, I would have. I hated saying good bye to that world and the past.

JK: Maybe you’ve noticed this, but the people who read you often tend to make a very sharp distinction between your fiction and your non-fiction, which never made a lot of sense to me. To me they’re a continuum, and any line dividing them is a very porous, fuzzy one. Do you approach them in different ways?

NT: Oh, god. Do I approach them differently? Yes. In a way, I approach the fiction with a sense of unbounded freedom. But parallel to that, that blank page is scarier knowing that there is not a single datum you can place on it that will gain or achieve balance. With non-fiction, I am constrained by truth to a certain extent. That’s also true in fiction. They just use different forms of writing. There are poems that have more cuttingly diligent actuality than most history works. It comes down to wielding words. Tools being appointed with different weights and cutting edges and colors. Words, beautiful words. Without the words, no writing in prose is gonna be worth a damn. Used to be, I get in a cab, and back then cab drivers were from New York, and they’d ask me what I did. Now I don’t think they really know what city they’re in. They know it’s not Bangladesh. But if I told them what I did, it was always, “Oh, I could write a book.”  Yeah, you’re gonna write a book. Your life is interesting. So what’re you gonna write about? Great tippers, great fares? Become a reader first. Read the Greeks sometime. I decided next time a cab driver asks me what I do for a living. I’m gonna tell him I’m a plumber. “Oh, my brother-in-law’s a plumber!”

JK: As varied as your published works are, there are two I’ve always been curious about. Two complete anomalies. The first was the Hall and Oates book, Dangerous Dances, which always struck me—and correct me if I’m wromg—as the result of a whopping check for services rendered. And the other. From thirty years later, is Johnny’s First Cigarette. Which is, what would you call it? A children’s book? A young adult book?  

NT: Right. Of course they’re many years apart. Okay, Hall and Oates, Dangerous Dances. I knew a woman who was what you’d call a book packager. I owed money to the government. Tommy Mottola, who was at the time the manager of Hall and Oates, wanted a Hall and Oates book. She asked me if I wanted to do it, and I said yeah, but it’s gonna cost this much. And Tommy Mottola, in one of the great moments of literary judgment, was like, “How come he costs more than the other people?” She said something very nice about me. He has got on his desk a paperweight that’s a check for a million dollars in lucite. We weren’t talking nearly that much. So I came up with the title Dangerous Dances. I had never heard a Hall and Oates record. So I met them. It was over the course of a summer. So I did that and made the government happy. That’s one book I try not to espouse. But everyone knows I wrote that, it has my name on it. As I wanted, as my ex-agent says.

Now. Johnny’s Last Cigarette, which as I said was many years later. I don’t even think that was ten years ago.

JK: I think that came out in 2014, between Me and the Devil and Under Tiberius.

NT: I get so sick of all this political correctness. I mean, every man. Every woman was once a child. And there are all these good. Beautiful childhood moments and feelings. Which is the greatest step on earth that we lose. It’s not a nefarious book like Kill Your mother—which may not be a bad idea—but sweet. Why do we rob these kids of the dreaminess of the truth? So Johnny’s first Cigarette, Johnny’s First whatever. I was living in Paris at the time when I wrote that.. I knew a woman who was one of my best translators into French. We put the idea together with a publisher I knew in Marseilles and a wonderful artist-illustrator we found and were so excited about.

To tell you the truth I think the idea of legislating feeling is like…How the fuck do you legislate feeling? And forbidden words. It may have been Aristotle who said, when men fear words, times are dark. You and I have spoken about this. Sometimes we don’t even understand what it is about this or that word. It’s like that joke—a guy goes in for a Rorschach test, and the psychologist tells him. “Has anyone ever told you you have a sexually obsessed mind?” And the guy says, “Well, what about you, showing me all these dirty pictures?” What do these words mean? I don’t know. Why is it a crime to call a black man a crocodile? I have always consciously stood against performing any kind of political correctness. And I have written some long letters to people I felt deserved an explanation of my feelings.

JK: Whenever people get outraged because some comedian cracked an “inappropriate” joke, and they say, “How could he say such a thing?” I always respond, “Well, someone has to, right?”

NT: Yeah. So one book came from the government’s desire to have their share of what I’m making. We’re all government employees. The other was, why can’t I write something that’s soft and sweet with a child’s vocabulary that’s not politically correct?  

JK: If Dangerous Dances and Johnny’s First Cigarette were anomalies, I’ve always considered another two of your books companion pieces. Or at least cousins. King of the Jews an Where Dead Voices Gather are both biographies, or maybe anti-biographies, of men about whom very little—or at least very little that’s credible—is known: Arnold Rothstein and Emmett Miller. And that gives you the freedom to run in a thousand directions at once. They’re books made up of detours and parentheticals and digressions, and what we end up with are essentially compact histories of the world with these figures at the center. They strike me as your purest works, and certainly very personal works. More than any of your other books, it’s these two that allow readers to take a peek inside your head. Does that make any sense to you?

NT: Yes, it makes perfect sense. In fact I couldn’t have put it any better myself. This whole myth of what they called the Mafia in the United States—there’s no mafia outside of Sicily. Or called organized crime, was always Italians. The Italians dressed the part, but the Jews made the shirts. It was always an Italian-Jewish consortium. And this Irish mayor wants to play ball? So now it’s Irish. Total equal opportunity. It was basically…Well, Arnold Rothstein was the son of shirt makers. Not only did he control, but he invented what was organized crime in New York. He had the whole political system of New York in his pocket. Emmet Miller was this guy who made these old records that went on to be so influential without his being known. Nobody even knew where or when he was born. The appeal to me was as both an investigator and then to proceed forward with other perspicuities, musings and theories. I never thought of them before as companion works until you mentioned it, but they are.

JK: People have tended to focus on the amount of obsessive research you do. Which is on full display in these books, but what they too often overlook, which is also on full display here, is that you contain a vast storehouse of arcane knowledge. It’s like you’ve fully absorbed everything you’ve ever read, and it just spills out of you. These forgotten histories and unexpected connections.

NT: I’ve always kept very strange notebooks. I still do, except now it’s on the computer. There’s no rhyme or reason to these notebooks, it’s just,”don’t want to forget this one.”

JK: Speaking of research, has your methodology changed in the Internet Age? I’m trying to imagine you working on Under Tiberius and looking up”First Century Judea” on Wikipedia.

NT: The Internet demands master navigation. There are sites which have reproduced great scholarly, as opposed to academic, works. There’s also every lie and untruth brought to you by the Such-and Such Authority of North America. This is what they call themselves. I experienced this within the past week. It was not only complete misinformation, but presented in the shoddiest fashion, such as “Historians agree…” I mean, what historians? I couldn’t find a one of them.

So my methodology. I love Ezra Pound’s phrase, “the luminous detail.” Something you find somewhere or learn somewhere…They don’t even have a card catalog at New York Public Library anymore, let alone books. You want an actual book, they have to bring it in from New Jersey. Who cares anymore? What they care about is who’s in a TV series, and they whip out their Mickey Mouse toys and, “look, there he is!”

JK: I was thinking about this on the way over. You and I both remember a time when if you were looking for a specific record or book or bit of information, you could spend months or years searching, scouring used bookstores an libraries. There was a challenge to it.

NT: It was not just a challenge. It was a whole illuminating process unto itself, because of what you come to by accident. So in looking for one fact or one insight, you would gather an untold amount. That is what it’s about.

JK: Nowadays if I’m looking for, say, a specific edition of a specific book, I take two minutes, go online, and there it is. I hit a button, and it’s mailed to me at my home. Somehow it diminishes the value, as opposed to finally finding something I’d been searching for for years. Nothing has any value anymore.

NT: No, definitely not. When I was living down in Tennessee, all those Sunday drives, guys selling stuff out of their garages. Every once in awhile you hit on something, or find something you didn’t even know existed. Now education on every level, especially on the institutional, but even on a personal level, is diminished. People are getting stupider, and that probably includes myself.

JK: And me too. Now, if I could change course here, you’re a man of many contradictions. Maybe dichotomies is a better term. A streetwise Italian kid who’s a bookworm. A misanthrope who seeks out the company of others. A libertine who is also a highly disciplined, self-educated man of letters. It’s even reflected in your prose—someone who is always swinging between the stars and the gutter. It’s led some people to say there are two Nick Tosches. Is this something you recognize in yourself?

NT: Yes. It’s never been a goal, it’s just…

JK: How you are?

NT: Yeah. I’ve noticed it, and much to my consternation and displeasure and inconvenience, yeah. But there’s no reward in seeking to explain or justify it.

JK: One of the most intriguing and complex of these is the savage heretic who keeps returning to religious themes, the secrets of the Church and the sacred texts. And of course the devil in one guise or another is lurking through much of your work. Again it’s led some people to argue that since you were raised Catholic, this may represent some kind of striving for redemption. You give any credence to that?

NT: No. Absolutely not.

JK: Yeah, it would seem Under Tiberius would’ve put the kibosh on that idea.

NT: I don’t even consider myself having been raised Catholic, in the modern made-for-TV sense of that phrase. I was told to go to church on Sundays and confession on Saturdays, and I usually went to the candy store instead. I was confirmed, I had communion. To me, it was a much deeper, much more experiential passage when I came to the conclusion that there was no Santa Clause than when I came to the conclusion there was no God. I remember emotionally expressing my suspicions about Santa Claus to my mother. Toward the end of his life, I was talking to my father one day, and I said, “By the way, do you believe in God?” And he said no. I said me neither. And that was about the only real religious conversation we ever had. I think religion, without a doubt since its invention—and God was an invention of man—is a huge indefensible evil force in this world. When people believe in a religion which calls for vengeance upon those whose beliefs are different, it’s not a good sign. Not a good sign.          

JK: This is something I’ve been curious about. Two of your novels—In the Hand of Dante and Under Tiberius—are predicated on the idea that you come into possession of manuscripts pilfered from the Vatican library. The library comes up a few other times as well. You write about it in such detail and with an insider’s knowledge. Either I was fooled by your skills as a convincing fiction writer, or you’ve spent your share of time there. And if the latter, how does a heretic like you end up with Vatican credentials?

NT: Okay. You go buy yourself a very beautiful, very important let’s say, leather portfolio with silk ribbon corner stays that keeps the documents there. Then you set about…Well, my friend Jim Merlis’ father-in-law, for instance, won the Nobel Prize in physics right around then. So I went to Jim and said, “Hey Jim, do you suppose you could get your father-in-law to write me a letter of recommendation? I know I never met the man.” Had a tough life, but won the Nobel Prize. Did a beautiful letter for me. I don’t even know that I kept it. You put together five letters that only Jesus Christ could’ve gathered. And he probably couldn’t have because he was unwashed. It was twice as difficult for me, because I had no academic affiliation, not even a college degree. But the Vatican was so nice. There are two libraries. One involves a photo I.D. and the other one doesn’t. They gave me two cards, and they made me a doctor. That’s how you get in. So what do you do once you’re in? They have the greatest retrieval library I’ve ever seen. The people that you meet. One guy was a composer. Wanted to see this exact original musical manuscript because he wanted to make sure of one note that may have changed. So this was all real—I just hallucinated the rest. If you can use a real setting, you’re one step closer to gaining credibility with the person who reads you. I still have my membership cards, though I think they must’ve expired. They were great. You go to a hotel and they ask you to show them photo ID? “Ohhh…”

JK: One of the themes that runs throughout your work is fear. Fear as maybe the most fundamental motivating human emotion.

NT: Any man who thinks he’s a tough guy is either a fool or a liar. Fear is I think one of the fundamental formative elements. And I’m just speaking of myself becoming a writer. Choosing to express yourself with great subtlety in some cases, when what you want to express is so inchoate. But that was a long time ago. I still believed in the great charade. These days I’m just living the lie. But it’s so much better than fear. To convey fear. The more universal the feeling, the easier it is to convey powerful emotions. There was a line in Cut Numbers; “He thought the worst thing a man can think.” Michael Pietsch my editor said, “What is that thing?” And I said “Michael, every person who reads that will have a different idea.” It’s an invocation of the Worst Thing. One woman might read it and think of raping her two-year-old son. Some guy might think of robbing his father. To you or I it might not be that bad a thing, but to that person it’s the Worst Thing.

JK: That’s the magic of reading.

NT: That is the magic of reading. That’s the bottom line. Writing is a two-man job. It takes someone to write it and Someone to read it who’s not yourself.

JK: Exactly. Readers bring what they have to a book, and take away from it what they need, what interpretation  has meaning for them.

NT: It’s also possible to write certain very exact phrases and have them be evocative of nothing but a thirst for an answer that the person who wrote them doesn’t know. Readers never give themselves enough credit. Now all the experiential and soulful depths of all our finite wanderings, roaming imaginations and questions thereof are relegated to a Mickey Mouse toy. That’s what I see, people who interact with these toys instead of another person. I don’t care. I was here for the good times.

JK: There’s another idea that’s come up a few times in various forms and various contexts in your work, where you say, in essence, “once you give up hope, life becomes more pleasant,” which is a wonderful twist on Dante.

NT: It’s true!

JK: I know, and I’m in full agreement with you. Hope, faith, belief, are all great destroyers. But I’m wonderinh, when did you come to that conclusion?

NT: A lot of the things I write or think I do put in that notebook I mentioned, and I usually put the date. That was one where I did not put down the date. I do believe it’s true. People say, “never give up hope.” Why the hell not? If you don’t give up hope, it leads you, at a craps table, betting you’re aunt’s car. Where did hope ever get anybody? It’s terrible.  

JK: Now, there are two quotes which have appeared and reappeared throughout your work, and I think you know which two I’m talking about. The first is from Pound’s Canto CXX: “I have tried to write Paradise// Do not move/ Let the wind speak/ that is paradise.” And the other’s from the Gospel of Thomas: “If you bring forth what is within you, what you bring forth will save you. If you do not bring forth what is within you, what you do not bring forth will destroy you.” As you look at your life and work now, and look back over the last half century, do you think you’re closing in on that point where Pound and Thomas finally come together?

NT: Yes. I never thought of that phrase you choose, “come together,” but yes. They’ve become more and more deeply a part of my consciousness. Yes, every day I pause. And I still hold the 120th Canto to be the final one. It was just one person who insisted no, this is not how he would have ended. Which is why the current modern edition of the Cantos goes two cantos more. There’s this line that is so bad. It’s hilariously bad. The joke of history. The line that Pound was supposed to have written to go beyond that beautiful line was, “Courage, thy name is Olga.” The other of course, the meaning of that line, that line being the one you were referring to, if you bring forth what is within you it will save you, if you do not bring forth it will destroy you. Of a hundred translations from the Coptic, that, to me, is the perfect translation. What is that thing? That’s what everybody wants to know. That’s me. That thing is just the truth of yourself. If you do live in fear, that will destroy you. If I speak the truth, the worst it’s going to do is frighten another. That will save you. That will set you free. Those two things, yes. And there’s another element, if I can add it unsolicited. I’ve noticed this pattern with people such as Pound and people such as Samuel Beckett. The greatest depth, the most majestic wielders of language as a communication form, slowly trail off to silence. Which is what Pound refers to in what I know is the last Canto. Be still. Paradise. Ezra Pound’s own daughter, Mary de Rachewiltz, translated The Cantos into Italian. Her translation had moments when it was an improvement on his phraseology. In Italian, “Non ti muovere” is much better than “be still.” Books, reading, writing, lend themselves to interpretive subtleties which are by no means pointless. What can people get out of an app?

by Jim Knipfel

[thechicchicsagency]

Can Anna Wintour Survive the Social Justice Movement? A reckoning has come to Bon Appétit and the other magazines of Condé Nast. Can a culture built on elitism and exclusion possibly change?On Monday, as swiftly as a 9-iron taken to a tee at Augusta, Adam Rapoport resigned as the editor in chief of Bon Appétit magazine after a damning Halloween photo circulated on social media that morning. Drawn from the vast insensitivity archives to which so many influential people have made inadvertent submissions, the picture, from 2004, shows him costumed in a tank top and thick chain necklace as his wife’s “papi,’’ the term she attached to it in an Instagram post several years later.As it happened, Mr. Rapoport had been facing mounting grievance from his staff about the magazine’s demeaning treatment of employees and freelancers of color and the dubious ways in which its popular video division presented culturally appropriated cooking. But these apparently were insufficient grounds for forcing him out.Over and over, power structures seem to require that accusations of racial bias are documented by photographic evidence — proof to override a reflexive or simply inconvenient skepticism. Police officers abused their authority for decades without consequence. It was not until a growing body of video footage revealed all the brutality, and the systemic prejudice at the heart of it, that the world began to express the outrage there to be mined all along — justice by iPhone.In that sense, Mr. Rapoport’s ouster at the hands of a camera was entirely fitting. Bon Appétit belongs to Condé Nast, a media empire perhaps unrivaled by any institution on earth in its supplication to image. For decades, both at the level of corporate culture and branded worldview, the company’s lifestyle magazines have held to the notion that there are “right’’ people and wrong people, a determination made by birthright. 

There are the rich, and there are the dismissible; the great looking, and the condemned — a paradigm that has now become dangerously untenable, and one the company has been striving to change.Within the Condé Nast framework, autocratic bosses were left to do whatever they pleased — subjugating underlings to hazing rituals with no seeming end point. So much was excusable in the name of beauty and profit. “Difficulty,” Kim France, a former editor in chief of Lucky magazine, told me, “was regarded as brilliance.

”No one at Condé Nast has had more of an outsize reputation for imperiousness wed to native talent than Anna Wintour, the editor of Vogue, the artistic director of the company and more recently its “global content adviser’’ as well. Mr. Rapoport, who spent 20 years at the company and turned around an ailing product in Bon Appétit, reported to her.What sort of management cues were to be taken? Famous for a self-regarding style — she might demand that subordinates arrive 30 minutes early for certain meetings she attended — Ms. Wintour was obviously not in the best position to try to convince him, for instance, that he should not ask his assistant (black and Stanford-educated) to clean his golf clubs. (That was one of the many revealing details in a Business Insider exposé of the food magazine that arrived this week.)Race is a fraught subject at Condé Nast. Several employees of color I spoke with, all of them laid off over the past few years, talked about the challenges they faced. They struggled to be heard or get the resources they needed to do their jobs at the highest levels; they faced ignorance and lazy stereotyping from white bosses when the subject of covering black culture came up; they all said they were exhausted by always having to explain it all.

Even though they were no longer at Condé Nast, not one of them felt free to speak on the record out of fear of retaliation from the company or the concern that they would be looked at as complainers, making it much harder to find work.Editors’ PicksHotels Transformed New York’s Social Life. Now What?Solving the Mystery of What Became of J.F.K.’s Other Patrol BoatOne former staff member who is black could not fail to see the irony in being made to go to unconscious bias training — which became mandatory at the company early last year — only then to lose a big chunk of his portfolio shortly thereafter. “I felt so devalued,’’ he said, “after working so hard.’’Unconscious bias training is supposed to alert you to your blind spots in your perception of people and ideas. But at the level of corporate and creative governance, the programming at Condé Nast has not been seamlessly woven into the company’s broader philosophy. Last month, during a round of layoffs, in which 100 people were let go amid the economic calamities of Covid-19, the company dismissed three Asian-American editors, all of whom covered culture at different publications.Among the top 10 editorial leaders listed on Vogue’s masthead, all are white. According to a spokesman for Condé Nast, across divisions on Vogue’s editorial side, people of color make up 14 percent of senior managers. On June 5, amid global protests spurred by the death of George Floyd, Ms. Wintour sent a note to her staff, acknowledging that “it can’t be easy to be a Black employee at Vogue,’’ and that the magazine had “not found enough ways to elevate and give space to Black editors, writers, photographers, designers and other creators.”Although Vogue has made a greater effort to feature black women on its covers in recent years — Rihanna, Serena Williams, Lupita Nyong’o — the gate swings open far more easily for those who are not. And in this particular area, too, legacy weighs heavily. When LeBron James made history as the first black man to grace the cover in 2008, he shared the space with a white supermodel, Gisele Bündchen, who appeared as a damsel in his clutches, an unmistakable reference to King Kong.

A spokesman at Condé Nast admitted that much progress needs to be made in regard to diversity at the company, but he defended Ms. Wintour’s record, pointing out that she has passionately supported various designers of color throughout her career, helping to raise money for them through her work with the Council of Fashion Designers of America. She also installed two black editors to lead Teen Vogue, genuinely radical in its content, one following the other (Elaine Welteroth and then Lindsay Peoples Wagner).At the same time, Ms. Wintour has presided over Vogue for 32 years, and during that period she has done more to enshrine the values of bloodline, pedigree and privilege than anyone in American media. A brief and very inconclusive list of Ms. Wintour’s assistants in the 21st century includes the Yale-educated daughter of a prominent Miami dance director, the Dartmouth-educated descendant of a major bank president, the Princeton-educated daughter of an Oscar-winning screenwriter and so on. For so long it was central to the Condé Nast ethos that you had to be thin, gorgeous and impeccably credentialed to retrieve someone else’s espresso macchiato.

Even now, as the publishing industry continues to implode and wonderful writers who could really use the work (or at least the prestigious affiliation) abound, Vogue continues to list among its contributing editors people like the German heiress Elisabeth von Thurn und Taxis and many others among the well born. Five years ago, Ms. Thurn und Taxis posted a picture on Instagram of a homeless woman reading Vogue, seated on the sidewalk, with the words, “Paris is full of surprises.” Vogue quickly issued a statement, calling the gesture distasteful, and then proceeded to run her byline on its website at least 10 more timesLast year, Grace Coddington, another contributor, who had held enormous influence over what was shot for Vogue and how, in her many years as the magazine’s creative director, was photographed with her collection of “mammy’’ jars, racist ceramics depicting African-American women as servile maids.

Ms. Wintour clearly believes that she can break from the past and kill off any vestiges of a system steeped in the benighted values for which she has become the corporate avatar. The public apology from Bon Appétit was quite startling in its admission of failure, particularly its concession that the magazine “continued to tokenize” the people of color that it did hire.As part of her contribution to this new wave of progressivism, Ms. Wintour wrote a piece for Vogue.com a week after the death of George Floyd, aligning herself with Black Lives Matter and calling on Joe Biden to select a woman of color as his running mate.For someone who had seemed so averse to activism as the world has roiled from inequality for years, it felt like a desperate grasp for relevance. A spokesman for the company bristled at the suggestion, arguing that it is Condé Nast’s job “to cover what’s going on in the culture in the moment.”As it happens, André Leon Talley, who recently wrote a memoir about his complicated relationship with Ms. Wintour, as a black man and longtime former editor at Vogue, also has a lot to say about the current moment. This week in a radio interview with Sandra Bernhard, he offered his opinion about his ex-boss’s professed transformation.“I wanna say one thing, Dame Anna Wintour is a colonial broad; she’s a colonial dame,” he told Ms. Bernhard. “I do not think she will ever let anything get in the way of her white privilege.”