Scrumpt

Scrumpt

Almost got hit tonight on my walk by a Ford F-150 doing (ballpark estimate) 40 mph in a 25, blasting christian rock. Can only assume the driver was trying to get right with god before vehicular manslaughtering me

I am Ehab Ayyad ❤ a palestinian youngman from Gaza🍉🇵🇸, seeking to find safety and peace ☝️for my family if twenty members. We have been ❤🇵🇸🍉passing through all forms of torture and pain for almost ten months because of the war on Gaza.

Life is very miserable and tragic❤🇵🇸 as we are now deprived ❤🇵🇸🍉of all means of living. Drink water, healthy food health care and medicine❤🇵🇸 have become things 🇵🇸🍉❤of the past. We are dying dear friends. That is why I am asking you to help us break through this tough situation.Life in hot tents is incredibly sad and miserable. We are now experiencing the worst circumstances we have ever had in our life. The war has stolen happiness and life from us.

Please don't leave us alone in such dire times. Your kind contribution either through donating whatever you can or sharing my posts will be highly appreciated and valued.❤🇵🇸🍉

fallout but horse?

Brief explanation on my interpretation of these guys

Cait; an animal, when cornered, begins to roar. It puffs itself up, feathers and fur raised, teeth bared. An animal with its claws out is an animal afraid. Cait does not want to hurt—but she doesn't want to be hurt. A victor is not a victim—a predator, not prey. She had it beaten into her, and beat it into herself so she'd never forget. The claws are always out, teeth always bared, eyes always flicking across the room. But once she starts recovery, she's free to be herself. Cait slows down. She sleeps in when she feels like it. She eats when she has an appetite. She takes the time to bathe, to brush her hair and teeth. Once the loudest, brightest burning fire in the room, she mellows into a match—the potential of explosion is there, but for now, she's only a little light. Her eyes are no less sharp, but Cait only wants to be left with her friends, and enjoy the peace and quiet she can steal away for them. Her ambitions are small and unimpressive, and she appears more like a cat lazing in a sunbeam than any pit dog.

Curie; well meaning, and sweet, but too smart for her own good and she knows and acts like it. She wants the best for you, but she thinks she knows what that is. Sometimes she does, but Curie often forgets that people are more complicated than the biology that comprises them. Curie is bubbly, and social, but struggles with the idea that her perception of things is just that—her perception. It could be a result of her coding, her nature as a preprogrammed robot with set realities, or it could be a sign of her humanity. It's the critical flaw every human has, after all. Her sense of justice is too strong for her body. Her grief is too strong for her body. She examines each sensation—anger is in her cheeks and chest. Joy is a lightness in her head. Sorrow is a bitter lump in her throat, and cold hands. She wants to help everyone and everything. She knows she can't. She will try, anyway, and no one needs to know if it hurts. There is no other fate for someone so kind.

Danse; He once called the thing in his chest Wrath. Righteous connotations, implied justification and the promise of vengeance. Whatever brought this Wrath will meet it. The Wrath was provoked, summoned, and therefore, the summoner is the hand of their own undoing. Danse doesn't think about how this frees him of accountability. What he does is not his fault. The blood is not on his hands. He's a tool of Wrath—not one man of thousands, free to choose for himself. Danse doesn't respect himself enough to believe in his own judgement. He finds himself a stumbling fool, soft in the heart, fragile outside of his armor. Gentleness comes naturally to him. Such a huge man, and his heart is still too big for his body. He is equal parts intelligent and kind, but a soldier has no need for his own mind, and kindness has no place in war. Danse doesn't trust himself. He doesn't trust that his choices, his ideas for the world, are right. He leaves himself in the hands of the Brotherhood. The responsibility is no longer his.

Deacon; You can't change a soul, and Deacon seethes at this. He is the same man he was all those years ago. It's only his body that he can change. Even then, only by so much. His eyes are recognizable. Silvery blue, tired, and paradoxically, as sharp as they are dull. He never looks like he's fully there with you. Always a few steps into some other reality. Deacon wants to be good. He wants to clear his name. It really is Deacon, but no one needs to know. He is the same man. He lies about what he's done, the things he's seen, but he'll never lie about what matters. So, he will always be Deacon, because the important parts never change. He knows and hates this. The synths are what drive him now—people looking to be themselves, to wear their own face. He gets it more than any other human. Sometimes he wishes he was a synth, just so he didn't have to be Deacon. But he's stuck with himself. He keeps himself company through all the faces he wears, and leaves them when he feels to close to a life he could make for himself. A lie left to settle could grow into a truth. He loathes himself but fundamentally, there is a good man in there. Only a good man can want to be better. But he feels that good man isn't good, that being good is what he has to reach for first. He is stuck in a loop of trying, when he doesn't have to try. Deacon is Deacon, and he doesn't know. He isn't unsalvageable. Just buried so deep under attempts he doesn't need to make. The only forgiveness that can save him is his own.

Gage; if Cait is a pit dog, Gage is a bull. This creature is no gentle thing, those horns are not merely regal. But in other life, he could have sat with his field and his herd. He could have watched the clouds roll on by with the wind, and kept watch on the outskirts of his pasture. A gentle thing, lumbering and quiet, but on guard. Always waiting to gore. Even as he circles his farm, he has kept it this long because there is nothing more dangerous than he. But as it stands, he has found what he thinks is a calling in violence. It doesn't come as naturally to him as the stray dogs he runs with. Meat has no place in his flat teeth. But he runs with them nonetheless and keeps pace. He leads the charge whether they admit it or not. Gage is strength and sharpened bone, but they were never meant to initiate. He is meant to stand his ground. He was meant to protect. But no one saw it coming, the bull with the predators, and surprise is a deathblow. It's easier to hunt than be hunted. You eat what you can get even if it fits wrong in your jaws.

Hancock; There is a flavor found in the guilt of the privileged that you can't find anywhere else. He was raised wealthy, well off. When he was younger, he watched others starve, die, suffer, and knew it was an aspect of life. It was nothing to mourn. It was inevitable. Between the exile and his revival of Goodneighbor, Hancock feels his biggest crime is not finding his shame sooner. He will say he has no shame, no embarrassment. Hancock lies awake at night thinking of every meal he's eaten when there was enough to spare for everyone else, but they went hungry. He thinks of people beaten in streets and how quickly he turned around. He thinks of how his own survival is selfish when so many good people die. Hancock is anger given flesh. It's not like Cait's; his is a wailing misery, stalking the ruins and knowing what Graveyard he steps in. Hancock feels too much sympathy for him to handle. He has to numb himself or he will lose it. He'll break under the shame of not knowing better sooner. Hancock finds blood on his hands that isn't there. Most of all, he hates how bad it makes him feel. Hancock thinks he has no right to the shame or the pain. There is worse. His disgust at his inactions is not enough. It's isn't enough that he tries to help now. He didn't help then. Hancock doesn't forgive easily.

MacCready; A quiet boy raising a quiet boy of his own. MacCready seeks peace in a way most people can't. He finds sunbeams filtering through windows, plants creeping through concrete, birdsong on the wind. MacCready is the everyday wastelander; too young to see the things he's seen. But he's different. Robert finds enjoyment in the world around him. He entertains himself, takes pride in his skills, and takes pleasure in good company in such a simple way, he feels almost out of time. In other world, he could have been the one crawling out from a Vault. MacCready is haunted like anyone. His ghost doesn't terrify him. Her memory is a comfort. It hurts and always will, but MacCready wanders on. He finds toys for their child and takes interest in them as if he's still a little boy himself. He feels as much, most days. MacCready is often distrusted, but often very beloved, because he is himself. There is no character, no mask, nothing warping the man you speak to. He is a kid trying to take care of his kid, but he'll take a moment to crack jokes at you and talk about something he read in a magazine. For someone so materially greedy, on a personal level, all he wants from anyone is pleasant conversation. It's refreshingly human in a time where even humans seem more like monsters.

Nick; A painful period of one man's life, etched into hardware and frozen forever. The man dies but his pain lives, trapped in the agony of grief and betrayal. If Hancock is anger in flesh, Nick is disgust in a jar. Disgust at the injustice, at the trickery of a mastermind, the wasted life of a fine woman. Disgust at himself, fading away into a bitter old man who failed his city and his love. Valentine was a very good man who took a very dark turn after Jenny. Nick is the moment before he fell off that precipice. If Nick knew who Valentine hardened into, he'd have yet another crisis, another thing to brood over. Nick is so loved by Diamond city because he is an inhuman thing, but so capable of love and tenderness. He is all give, and incapable of take. You can't give him anything in return, and you don't need to. He's a robot very good at comforting. A robot doesn't need comfort. Nick convinces himself of this, as well. But people try. Humans get attached to the inhuman. A child hugs his leg and says they're glad he made it back. A guard throws an arm over his shoulder when he can't save someone and tells him he still did good. People hand him patches of fabric for Ellie to sew into his trench coat. Nick is loved. To be loved is to be known. Nick doesn't even know himself.

Piper; The plight of the angry woman rarely leads to a happy ending. The angry woman has her reasons. She is right. However, there are techniques to achieve results. A battering ram doesn't fix a door, it merely opens the path. Piper sees problems, but her solutions forget the complicated world around her. She wants to fix things. Some things can't be fixed, or the problem isn't actually what she thinks it is, or maybe it's just not the right time. Piper sees a problem, and the simplicity of knowing it has to change is enough for her. She barrels at the betterment of the world and doesn't think about it. She is angry that things are wrong. Piper is a young woman scared out of her mind, for herself, her sister, her community. The people around her beg her to be careful, to slow down, to not burn herself in the attempt to set the evils around her on fire. Piper doesn't realize how reckless she is. She doesn't realize that her life has value beyond fixing everything. A reporters job is to report. It is not to be a savior. Piper speaks the truth, but when nothing changes, she thinks her job isn't done. Her job is to spread the word. Piper thinks it is up to her to act on it. Her work will never be enough for her.

Preston; A good man hanging on by a thread. So close to being a monster to the people preying on him and his kin. Preston holds civilians in one arm, and a gun in the next. He has lost much of his mercy, and much of his patience. But he still acts on it. He knows right from wrong even if the wrong seems like it's the only thing that can soothe the fire in his gut. Preston lets people talk about him as if he is a gentle soul, still. As if he's merely a gentle lamb. Preston feels more like a guard dog who can still smell the bloodied wool of all the herds he's failed before. He won't even grace the next pack of wolves with a warning howl. This rage terrifies him, but Preston feels that being scared is how you stay alive, now. If you're not scared, you're not paying attention, you haven't noticed the torches on the hill. He is so angry it makes him sick. Gunshots from Quincy still ring in his ears. He still hears Hollis hit the ground dead. Preston wants to be a good person. He is one. But there is so much fury inside him, that he fears any chance of revenge that he gets will rip that away from him. He just needs one chance, and he'll be a monster like the Commonwealth has never seen before. He'll just be on its side.

X6-88; A robot with human traits, different from other synths. All of them have humanity they hide away, but X6 is exactly what he seems like. There is no internal softness, no tenderness or wanting. He doesn't stare at the sun and ponder his existence. He doesn't count the stares and think about what makes up a soul. Oddly, his disinterest in his humanity is rather human in itself. X6 is not concerned with his rights or his status as a living thing. This frustrates many in the Institute. Synths were made to be adaptable. In many ways, X6 isn't. He's the most inflexible motherfucker they've ever met. There is one way to do things. There is always an answer for a question and if you haven't found it, the question is pointless or you're stupid. Humanity doesn't seem efficient so he doesn't want it. He fascinates many. Most synths will give a long, careful answer about their existence, worded just so they don't get wiped. X6, when asked if he is human, will say no and look vaguely irritated that you could compare him to one. This is not intended. No one programmed in this lack of curiosity. He is so robotic, so one note, that he sticks out like a sore thumb from the other synths. X6 wears his inorganicness like a badge of honor. He is not human. He is better. The Institute argues about him constantly, whether he is an accidental success they didn't know they should strive for, or a black mark against everything they believe.

spoiler: blind betrayal