#My confidence in my analysis remains resolute

[imreidswifey]

Out of My League -S.R Fluff-

Summary: Dr. Spencer Reid has spent months secretly crushing on you, a fellow BAU agent, but his insecurities convince him you could never feel the same way. One day, he overhears you confessing that you have feelings for someone and assumes it’s about someone else. Heartbroken, he begins to distance himself, convinced that staying away is better for both of you.

A/n: Hope you enjoy it was a very quick write and Imposting a lot today so enjoy

Warnings:

Emotional angst and hurt/comfort themes

Self-doubt and insecurity

Mentions of unintentional eavesdropping

Mild language (optional, depending on interpretation)

Fluff and mutual pining

Happy resolution

——————————————————————————- The BAU headquarters buzzed with its usual rhythm, agents navigating the organized chaos of paperwork, discussions, and analysis. Dr. Spencer Reid sat at his desk, his focus buried in a file, though his mind kept wandering. He tapped his pen absently against the desk, his thoughts elsewhere. Or rather, on someone else.

You.

You had joined the team months ago, quickly proving yourself not only an asset to the BAU but also someone who had seamlessly integrated into the close-knit team. For Spencer, it was more than your intelligence and dedication to the job. It was the way you smiled, the way you listened so intently when he rambled on about some obscure fact, and the way your kindness seemed effortless and genuine.

But Spencer was Spencer—socially awkward, uncertain of himself in any scenario involving emotions. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t thought about telling you how he felt. He’d imagined it countless times, but every scenario ended the same way: with him fumbling his words and you walking away, likely embarrassed or uninterested.

Still, hope was a persistent thing, and though Spencer tried to bury it, it remained—until the day he overheard you in the break room.

He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. The sound of your voice had caught his attention as he passed by, and before he realized what he was doing, he froze just outside the doorway.

“I just can’t help it,” you were saying, your tone light but tinged with something deeper. “I’ve tried to ignore it, but it’s impossible. They’re just… brilliant. Kind. So completely out of my league it’s ridiculous.”

Spencer’s heart had leapt at the first few words, only to plummet just as quickly. His fingers tightened around the file he was holding, and his stomach twisted painfully. You weren’t talking about him. How could you be? You had to be talking about someone else on the team—someone confident and charismatic, someone who didn’t trip over their words or spend more time in books than the real world.

He left before he could hear the rest of what you said, retreating to his desk in a fog of heartache.

In the days that followed, Spencer convinced himself that the best thing he could do for you—and for himself—was to create distance. If you were in love with someone else, the last thing you needed was him hovering around, making things awkward. He started keeping his conversations with you strictly professional, avoided joining the team for coffee runs or after-work drinks, and buried himself in cases more than ever.

It hurt more than he cared to admit. Every time he saw you laugh with Derek or share a quiet moment with JJ, the ache in his chest deepened. But it was better this way. It had to be.

For your part, you couldn’t understand what had gone wrong. You’d always enjoyed your conversations with Spencer, the way his eyes lit up when he explained something he was passionate about, or the rare but endearing moments when his dry sense of humor caught you off guard. But now, he barely looked at you.

At first, you thought it was your imagination. Then, you assumed he was just busy. But as the weeks dragged on, it became impossible to ignore the distance he was putting between you.

Finally, after a particularly long case that left the entire team emotionally drained, you decided enough was enough. Most of the team had already gone home for the night, but you spotted Spencer still in the conference room, his long fingers flipping through a stack of photographs.

“Spencer,” you said, stepping inside and shutting the door softly behind you.

He looked up, startled, his pen pausing mid-note. “Oh. Hi.”

“Can we talk?”

He hesitated, his expression unreadable, before nodding. “Sure.”

You moved closer, your heart pounding. “Have I done something wrong?”

The question seemed to catch him off guard. “What? No. Of course not.”

“Then why have you been avoiding me?”

“I haven’t been avoiding you,” he said too quickly, looking down at the papers in front of him as if they might shield him from the truth.

“Spencer,” you said, your voice soft but firm. “I know you have. If I’ve upset you somehow, please tell me. I’d rather know than keep guessing.”

He sighed, pushing the stack of papers aside and rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s not you. It’s… complicated.”

“Then explain it to me.”

He hesitated, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of the table. “I overheard you in the break room a few weeks ago,” he admitted. “You were talking about someone you… care about.”

Your eyes widened. “You overheard that?”

He nodded, his gaze fixed on the table. “I just thought… I thought it would be easier for you if I kept my distance. I didn’t want to make things uncomfortable for you.”

Your heart clenched as understanding dawned. “Spencer,” you said softly, stepping closer. “Did it ever occur to you that I was talking about you?”

His head snapped up, his eyes wide with disbelief. “What?”

“I was talking about you,” you repeated, your voice steady despite the nervous flutter in your chest. “You’re the one I have feelings for. Not someone else. You.”

Spencer stared at you, the words seeming too impossible to process. “But… why me?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Why not you?” you countered, your tone gentle but insistent. “You’re brilliant, Spencer. You’re kind, thoughtful, and you make me feel like I matter in a way no one else ever has. And for the record, you’re not out of my league. If anything, it’s the other way around.”

He blinked, as if waiting for you to take it back or say it was a joke. When you didn’t, his lips parted, and the smallest, most vulnerable smile crossed his face. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” you said. “Unless you don’t feel the same way, in which case, just tell me, and I’ll—”

“I feel the same way,” he blurted, his words tumbling over each other. “I’ve liked you for so long, and I just… I didn’t think I had a chance.”

A relieved laugh escaped you, and you took another step closer. “Well, you do. So what are you going to do about it?”

For a moment, Spencer seemed frozen, as if his mind was running through every possible response. Then, with a courage you hadn’t expected, he reached out, his fingers brushing yours. “I guess I could start by asking if you’d like to have dinner with me sometime.”

You smiled, your hand turning to intertwine with his. “I’d love to.”

Spencer’s face lit up, a warmth spreading through him that he hadn’t felt in years. And for the first time in weeks, the distance he’d created melted away, replaced by a quiet, tentative joy.

[kerassentialszone]

KERASSENTIALS Testimonials

Kerassentials Oil is formulated in line with emerging investigation on these fungi and new scientific therapy discoveries. 1 considerable finding is that for men and women with odor from nail fungus, new science discovered that men and women experiencing toenail fungus have already been treating nail fungus applying the incorrect solutions and aren't to blame for their condition.

Several nail fungus sufferers have tried every little thing from antibiotics to eating plan regimens but have failed to notice any change within the nail fungus issues. Based on the Centers for Disease Handle and Prevention, the lack of adjust and improvements are due to the fungi's survival potential.Because the fungus learns to survive, it becomes tougher to treat, which implies the medication you're employing is not going to operate on emerging variants. Rather, the fungi mutate into far more dangerous fungi, producing it nearly impossible to eliminate them.

Kerassentials Evaluations: Does It Genuinely Functions? Never Acquire Until You Study This Kerassentials Evaluation! Kerassentials is often a Specific Oil mix formulated to treat skin and nail infections. Its recipe is actually a confident bet on safeguarding skin and nails. Anti-fungal Supplement ¨C Kerassentials have robust anti-fungal properties to help keep the nails wholesome. Its made up of Clove Bud, Lavender oil, Flaxseed oil, Manuka, Aloe Vera, Chia seeds, Almond Oil, and Tea Tree Critical Oil which keeps your nails and skin wholesome and fights against bacterial and fungal infections, and does the cleanses the body and supports the immune system.

Employing Kerassentials isn't challenging. As outlined by a Kerassentials review, it just needs consistency in its application. It really is simple to work with, and the manufacturer recommends working with it 4 occasions every day. Use it twice within the morning along with the afternoon for utmost efficiency. Make use of the offered brush applicator to coat the nail surface fully. Also, assure applying a cotton swab to spread the oil into cuticles. This procedure will ensure maximum absorbance with the supplement's nutrients. Lastly, use an emery board to file your nail surface for smoothness. The manufacturer of Kerassentials has carried out substantial analysis on its ingredients. Moreover, it provides immediate relief to its users. If tired of smelly feet and fungus on the nails, buy a bottle from the oil supplement to remain wholesome.

HOW DO KERASSENTIALS Work? The potent formula in the Kerassentials oil is formulated employing all-natural organic components that happen to be clinically confirmed in aiding the upkeep of healthy hair and nails. This strong oil supports the well being of your nails and skin within a new and revolutionary way. The effectiveness of this supplement is so strong with all the mixture of numerous ingredients in the correct way in the appropriate amount to help keep their properties intact.

By utilizing Kerassentials skincare formula consistently, you can benefit from healthier hair and nails that regain their all-natural glow. Also, this potent formula assists in rejuvenating your skin inside out and strengthens your nails. Based on genuine Kerassentials reviews, the antibacterial properties within the supplement assist in treating the fungal diseases in the root along with stopping future invasion of such funguses and bacterias that happen to be dangerous to human wellness.

FINAL TAKE ON KERASSENTIALS Testimonials According to my comprehensive study on the Kerassentials nail fungus eliminator, this strong formula appeared to be an efficient resolution for the improved well being of one's nails and hair. This proprietary blend is made from the perfect blend of organic all-natural components of higher potency and purity. They are manufactured within a clean and neat atmosphere which makes the supplement safe and successful for human overall health.

As per the Kerassentials official web site, the manufacturer guarantees that the supplement is totally free from additives or stimulants as well as doesn't contain any dangerous toxic chemicals which could bring a damaging impact on the customer's health. Because of this numerous consumers have attempted the supplement and have received satisfying outcomes with their constant use and are recommending it to other individuals who're suffering precisely the same. Hence we are able to say that almost all the Kerassentials critiques were positive.

With this critique, we can conclude that the Kerassentials natural oil is among the very best solutions for your nails and hair that's affected by fungal infections. You may feel the results if you use it regularly for the encouraged period and if not it is possible to ask for any comprehensive refund within 60 days just after obtain. This makes the supplement a secure investment that is worth attempting.

[a-weird-writer]

mmmmmmmmmm mmz related question

how do you think ciel n' copy x relation would have been?

I can't imagine Ciel and Copy X in any sort of relation that isn't remotely negative in their current timeline. But I'm sure I can somehow imagine some way they could both co-exist.

This analysis was written longer than originally expected, a TLDR is located at the very bottom.

Major Spoiler Warning; (Mega Man Zero 1, 3 and Ciel and Copy X's backstory)

Despite being his creator, it seems Ciel kind of disconnected from Copy X in his creation (Though I can't say that with full confidence in its truthfulness in canon, the game probably left them like that for mystery and vagueness). I can guess that, as Copy X begun building his anti-Reploid Regime, any "attachment" he might have felt towards Ciel was ultimately thrown out the window, (To be fair, if my mom created me, said "done" and quickly left without a word, I'd be mad too. Ciel is one of the reasons behind Neo Arcadia's Regime, since she created him, even admitted to it.) more so from Dr. Weil's influence.

In game, the interaction isn't much. When Copy X is resurrected by Dr. Weil, he barely talks to her, and in that one time he wasn't nice. Only appearing to offer "amnesty" in exchange for her system and total surrender. What other opinions we do hear aren't positive, Ciel clearly distrusts him, and Copy X utterly hates her. They are obviously very distant, if they did genuinely converse, I don't doubt Copy X would immediately dispose of her after Ciel finishes monologuing why she is so disappointed in him and has hope for Zero. I doubt further he'd miss her too.

But I digress. Parallel universes exist in Mega Man, so time to experiment! Let's expand our horizons for the sake of creativity, a different world formed from the original. The Dark Elf is still sealed by X, his city doesn't take a turn for the worst from his replacement's rule, resulting in the nonexistence of the Resistance and Zero's contained body remaining undiscovered. Where Copy X isn't an unsympathetic asshole (Dr. Weil disappeared and is invisible, for whatever reason.) and Ciel is, in fact, involved and as motherly to him as with everyone else, their assumed time period is before MMZ 1. Everything is in a sort of alternate "best-case" scenario, there are few struggles, but human and robot equality and peace is upheld.

I'd describe their relation as "tough love", they aren't as personally included as they could be. Although both are busy and involved in far different affairs, an effort is being made. This version of Copy X isn't psychopathic and is far less murderous, but he can still act slightly haughty, nerve-racking and God knows he will never not be stubborn. Which means Ciel steps in as a guide for her creation from time to time, Copy X tries to avoid it in stubbornness; teach him a thing or two about opening up to others, the benefits of equality and consideration of other people and not allowing arrogance to overshadow his judgment.

Arguments don't really happen, no serious ones at least, mostly from how Copy X deals with conflict and moves forward. And it's not as much of arguing as just an in-depth conversation regrading recent decisions. It's a journey, about Copy X's growth as a person and his grasps on fair law and equality between the species. Ciel scolds any unacceptable behavior he may develop, suggesting fair and more humane resolutions, hitting him over the head with that classic "acting like a decent person" spat; he remains open, indeed listens. She is that strict, but overall, kind mother type. During her free time, she tries harmless methods to bond with Copy X in familial ways, researching brand new answers to issues by receiving advice and seeing other peaceful families, trying to inspire Copy X to do the same. Labelled a prodigy at a young age, she deliberates over problems and practices many solutions, a scientist will be a scientist. Ciel does what she can to be an outstanding mother in his eyes, like to Alouette. I can see Copy X soon coming to admire and love his mother in this specific version of MMZ, rarely says it even so.

Truly connecting the definitions of the heart and soul is a hard lesson, since Copy X's superiority complex threatens to evolve and overcome him, understanding and sympathizing with inner emotions is how X managed to rule as long as he did, Copy X wants is to be as perfect as his counterpart was. So, he attempts to understand in the best way he knows; learning and patiently observing, which is exactly how Ciel adapted to educate herself quicker than humanly normal.

TLDR; There are bumps in the road, and it happens in an alternate world, but Ciel and Copy X work it out (By talking like a fucking family.) nonetheless.

[apenitentialprayer]

Dear Brothers in the Episcopate,

Just as my Predecessor Benedict XVI did with Summorum Pontificum, I wish to accompany the Motu proprio Traditionis custodes with a letter explaining the motives that prompted my decision. I turn to you with trust and parresia, in the name of that shared “solicitude for the whole Church, that contributes supremely to the good of the Universal Church” as Vatican Council II reminds us.

Most people understand the motives that prompted St. John Paul II and Benedict XVI to allow the use of the Roman Missal, promulgated by St. Pius V and edited by St. John XXIII in 1962, for the Eucharistic Sacrifice. The faculty —granted by the indult of the Congregation for Divine Worship in 1984 and confirmed by St. John Paul II in the Motu Proprio Ecclesia Dei in 1988— was above all motivated by the desire to foster the healing of the schism with the movement of Mons. Lefebvre. With the ecclesial intention of restoring the unity of the Church, the Bishops were thus asked to accept with generosity the “just aspirations” of the faithful who requested the use of that Missal.

Many in the Church came to regard this faculty as an opportunity to adopt freely the Roman Missal promulgated by St. Pius V and use it in a manner parallel to the Roman Missal promulgated by St. Paul VI. In order to regulate this situation at the distance of many years, Benedict XVI intervened to address this state of affairs in the Church. Many priests and communities had “used with gratitude the possibility offered by the Motu proprio” of St. John Paul II. Underscoring that this development was not foreseeable in 1988, the Motu proprio Summorum Pontificum of 2007 intended to introduce “a clearer juridical regulation” in this area. In order to allow access to those, including young people, who when “they discover this liturgical form, feel attracted to it and find in it a form, particularly suited to them, to encounter the mystery of the most holy Eucharist”, Benedict XVI declared “the Missal promulgated by St. Pius V and newly edited by Blessed John XXIII, as a extraordinary expression of the same lex orandi”, granting a “more ample possibility for the use of the 1962 Missal”.

In making their decision they were confident that such a provision would not place in doubt one of the key measures of Vatican Council II or minimize in this way its authority: the Motu proprio recognized that, in its own right, “the Missal promulgated by Paul VI is the ordinary expression of the lex orandi of the Catholic Church of the Latin rite”. The recognition of the Missal promulgated by St. Pius V “as an extraordinary expression of the same lex orandi” did not in any way underrate the liturgical reform, but was decreed with the desire to acknowledge the “insistent prayers of these faithful,” allowing them “to celebrate the Sacrifice of the Mass according to the editio typica of the Roman Missal promulgated by Blessed John XXIII in 1962 and never abrogated, as the extraordinary form of the Liturgy of the Church”. It comforted Benedict XVI in his discernment that many desired “to find the form of the sacred Liturgy dear to them,” “clearly accepted the binding character of Vatican Council II and were faithful to the Pope and to the Bishops”. What is more, he declared to be unfounded the fear of division in parish communities, because “the two forms of the use of the Roman Rite would enrich one another”. Thus, he invited the Bishops to set aside their doubts and fears, and to welcome the norms, “attentive that everything would proceed in peace and serenity,” with the promise that “it would be possible to find resolutions” in the event that “serious difficulties came to light” in the implementation of the norms “once the Motu proprio came into effect”.

With the passage of thirteen years, I instructed the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith to circulate a questionnaire to the Bishops regarding the implementation of the Motu proprio Summorum Pontificum. The responses reveal a situation that preoccupies and saddens me, and persuades me of the need to intervene. Regrettably, the pastoral objective of my Predecessors, who had intended “to do everything possible to ensure that all those who truly possessed the desire for unity would find it possible to remain in this unity or to rediscover it anew”, has often been seriously disregarded. An opportunity offered by St. John Paul II and, with even greater magnanimity, by Benedict XVI, intended to recover the unity of an ecclesial body with diverse liturgical sensibilities, was exploited to widen the gaps, reinforce the divergences, and encourage disagreements that injure the Church, block her path, and expose her to the peril of division.

At the same time, I am saddened by abuses in the celebration of the liturgy on all sides. In common with Benedict XVI, I deplore the fact that “in many places the prescriptions of the new Missal are not observed in celebration, but indeed come to be interpreted as an authorization for or even a requirement of creativity, which leads to almost unbearable distortions”. But I am nonetheless saddened that the instrumental use of Missale Romanum of 1962 is often characterized by a rejection not only of the liturgical reform, but of the Vatican Council II itself, claiming, with unfounded and unsustainable assertions, that it betrayed the Tradition and the “true Church”. The path of the Church must be seen within the dynamic of Tradition “which originates from the Apostles and progresses in the Church with the assistance of the Holy Spirit” (DV 8). A recent stage of this dynamic was constituted by Vatican Council II where the Catholic episcopate came together to listen and to discern the path for the Church indicated by the Holy Spirit. To doubt the Council is to doubt the intentions of those very Fathers who exercised their collegial power in a solemn manner cum Petro et sub Petro in an ecumenical council, and, in the final analysis, to doubt the Holy Spirit himself who guides the Church.

The objective of the modification of the permission granted by my Predecessors is highlighted by the Second Vatican Council itself. From the vota submitted by the Bishops there emerged a great insistence on the full, conscious and active participation of the whole People of God in the liturgy, along lines already indicated by Pius XII in the encyclical Mediator Dei on the renewal of the liturgy. The constitution Sacrosanctum Concilium confirmed this appeal, by seeking “the renewal and advancement of the liturgy”,  and by indicating the principles that should guide the reform. In particular, it established that these principles concerned the Roman Rite, and other legitimate rites where applicable, and asked that “the rites be revised carefully in the light of sound tradition, and that they be given new vigor to meet present-day circumstances and needs”. On the basis of these principles a reform of the liturgy was undertaken, with its highest expression in the Roman Missal, published in editio typica by St. Paul VI and revised by St. John Paul II. It must therefore be maintained that the Roman Rite, adapted many times over the course of the centuries according to the needs of the day, not only be preserved but renewed “in faithful observance of the Tradition”. Whoever wishes to celebrate with devotion according to earlier forms of the liturgy can find in the reformed Roman Missal according to Vatican Council II all the elements of the Roman Rite, in particular the Roman Canon which constitutes one of its more distinctive elements.

A final reason for my decision is this: ever more plain in the words and attitudes of many is the close connection between the choice of celebrations according to the liturgical books prior to Vatican Council II and the rejection of the Church and her institutions in the name of what is called the “true Church.” One is dealing here with comportment that contradicts communion and nurtures the divisive tendency — “I belong to Paul; I belong instead to Apollo; I belong to Cephas; I belong to Christ” — against which the Apostle Paul so vigorously reacted. In defense of the unity of the Body of Christ, I am constrained to revoke the faculty granted by my Predecessors. The distorted use that has been made of this faculty is contrary to the intentions that led to granting the freedom to celebrate the Mass with the Missale Romanum of 1962. Because “liturgical celebrations are not private actions, but celebrations of the Church, which is the sacrament of unity”, they must be carried out in communion with the Church. Vatican Council II, while it reaffirmed the external bonds of incorporation in the Church —the profession of faith, the sacraments, of communion— affirmed with St. Augustine that to remain in the Church not only “with the body” but also “with the heart” is a condition for salvation.

Dear brothers in the Episcopate, Sacrosanctum Concilium explained that the Church, the “sacrament of unity,” is such because it is “the holy People gathered and governed under the authority of the Bishops”. Lumen gentium, while recalling that the Bishop of Rome is “the permanent and visible principle and foundation of the unity both of the bishops and of the multitude of the faithful,” states that you the Bishops are “the visible principle and foundation of the unity of your local Churches, in which and through which exists the one and only Catholic Church”.

Responding to your requests, I take the firm decision to abrogate all the norms, instructions, permissions and customs that precede the present Motu proprio, and declare that the liturgical books promulgated by the saintly Pontiffs Paul VI and John Paul II, in conformity with the decrees of Vatican Council II, constitute the unique expression of the lex orandi of the Roman Rite. I take comfort in this decision from the fact that, after the Council of Trent, St. Pius V also abrogated all the rites that could not claim a proven antiquity, establishing for the whole Latin Church a single Missale Romanum. For four centuries this Missale Romanum, promulgated by St. Pius V, was thus the principal expression of the lex orandi of the Roman Rite, and functioned to maintain the unity of the Church. Without denying the dignity and grandeur of this Rite, the Bishops gathered in ecumenical council asked that it be reformed; their intention was that “the faithful would not assist as strangers and silent spectators in the mystery of faith, but, with a full understanding of the rites and prayers, would participate in the sacred action consciously, piously, and actively”. St. Paul VI, recalling that the work of adaptation of the Roman Missal had already been initiated by Pius XII, declared that the revision of the Roman Missal, carried out in the light of ancient liturgical sources, had the goal of permitting the Church to raise up, in the variety of languages, “a single and identical prayer,” that expressed her unity. This unity I intend to re-establish throughout the Church of the Roman Rite.

Vatican Council II, when it described the catholicity of the People of God, recalled that “within the ecclesial communion” there exist the particular Churches which enjoy their proper traditions, without prejudice to the primacy of the Chair of Peter who presides over the universal communion of charity, guarantees the legitimate diversity and together ensures that the particular not only does not injure the universal but above all serves it”. While, in the exercise of my ministry in service of unity, I take the decision to suspend the faculty granted by my Predecessors, I ask you to share with me this burden as a form of participation in the solicitude for the whole Church proper to the Bishops. In the Motu proprio I have desired to affirm that it is up to the Bishop, as moderator, promoter, and guardian of the liturgical life of the Church of which he is the principle of unity, to regulate the liturgical celebrations. It is up to you to authorize in your Churches, as local Ordinaries, the use of the Missale Romanum of 1962, applying the norms of the present Motu proprio. It is up to you to proceed in such a way as to return to a unitary form of celebration, and to determine case by case the reality of the groups which celebrate with this Missale Romanum.

Indications about how to proceed in your dioceses are chiefly dictated by two principles: on the one hand, to provide for the good of those who are rooted in the previous form of celebration and need to return in due time to the Roman Rite promulgated by Saints Paul VI and John Paul II, and, on the other hand, to discontinue the erection of new personal parishes tied more to the desire and wishes of individual priests than to the real need of the “holy People of God.” At the same time, I ask you to be vigilant in ensuring that every liturgy be celebrated with decorum and fidelity to the liturgical books promulgated after Vatican Council II, without the eccentricities that can easily degenerate into abuses. Seminarians and new priests should be formed in the faithful observance of the prescriptions of the Missal and liturgical books, in which is reflected the liturgical reform willed by Vatican Council II.

Upon you I invoke the Spirit of the risen Lord, that he may make you strong and firm in your service to the People of God entrusted to you by the Lord, so that your care and vigilance express communion even in the unity of one, single Rite, in which is preserved the great richness of the Roman liturgical tradition. I pray for you. You pray for me.

FRANCISCUS

[kentuckywrites]

Imperium 2: Chapter 7

Tu reliquisti me. (You left me.)

The further inside they got, the worse it became. Nessa found herself sickened by all the bodies they had to tiptoe over, and as they made their way into what appeared to be the central building, they were forced to navigate rubble and debris as well. Some of the walls looked torn and thrown apart, as if something had taken them and thrown them across the halls like a toy. The chilly wind seeped in through these holes, and it did nothing to stop Nessa from shivering, her arms folded in an effort to ward off her fright. 

“Was this...it couldn’t have been Starr, right?” Nessa tried to fool herself, though the moment she spoke her theory, Solstice’s shoulders slumped.

“This could very well have been Starr. I am not an advocate for the Ganglion by any means, but this...this is a massacre.”

Nessa could only afford to nod once, forcing herself to continue on into a stretch of the building that seemed more sturdy and undamaged. Claw marks and dents still littered the walls, but the wind couldn’t reach them this far in. Nessa was thankful for that, for the time being.

The hallway they’d entered continued for a long and winding way, until it opened up into a room far too large for the purpose it likely served. In the center of the room, a large towering console that connected the floor and ceiling, dull and lifeless. Around the console were more bodies, even more bodies, and a startling amount of debris and rubble compared to what they’d found outside. The source became apparent once they’d fully entered. One of the adjacent walls was completely ripped apart, a giant gaping hole where someone - something - had forced its way out. Tables, chairs, documents, all scattered across the floor, bodies of their own accord, with information and evidence just as comprehensible as the organic dead. 

For a change of pace, however, two living beings were stationed next to the center console. Elma waved them over, her guns both drawn and at the ready, while Lin was hunched over one of the console’s many screens, looking quickly between it and her comm device in her left hand. Nessa approached first, her brow furrowed.

“Looks like you guys won the race. Don’t tell me you caused all this.”

“I did a sweep of the entire fortress before you both arrived,” Elma relayed her information with a solemn heart, “Everyone was already dead. No signs of anything living in here. The bodies aren’t fresh, but Ganglion tend to decompose at a slower rate, so I want to say this likely happened within the past few weeks.”

“So the likely conclusion is that this is Starr’s handiwork,” Solstice put their head in their hands, rubbing away at more unborn tears, “This is horrific. I should've worked faster, I should’ve done more to arrive in Cocytios sooner so as to avoid this mess -”

“Hey, Sol, this isn’t your fault,” Nessa reassured them, “Besides, better Ganglion than humans, right?”

“Their species does not matter. What does matter is that this is a tremendous loss of life.”

“I agree,” Elma said, “Though that doesn’t mean this is your fault. I don’t believe anyone could have thwarted this. That being said, Lin is hard at work attempting to unlock the computer and access its data. We’re hoping to discover what truly happened here, as well as uncover any existing files on Starr or Pongo.”

“There wasn’t any sign of him here, then?” Nessa asked, slightly hopeful.

But Elma shook her head. “None, I’m afraid. I even checked amongst the bodies, but there’s -”

“No. No, he’s not dead,” Nessa interrupted, suddenly defensive and colder than she felt, “I refuse to believe he’s dead. He probably picked up a brain cell and stayed as far away from here as he could.”

Elma opened her mouth to object, but before she could speak, the computer Lin was standing in front of lit up, emitting a soft static to indicate that it was awake, that it was powered on and ready to go, though likely damaged. “There! Looks like this one still works.”

“Great job, Lin,” Elma commended her efforts, and everyone quickly gathered around the young Outfitter to gaze at the currently black screen. Letters decorated the edges and some of the sides, a language Nessa couldn’t understand. However, Lin pieced things together and started to tap random sequences, unfazed. 

“You can read Ganglion?” Nessa asked.

“I can’t exactly read it, but I know enough from my past attempts at hacking these to know where things are, if that makes sense,” Lin explained, pulling up a long string of letters accompanied by tiny thumbnails Nessa couldn’t quite understand. “This subsection is full of videos. Might be worth watching them, since...well, can you read Ganglion?”

“Nope,” Nessa scoffed, “But we should start somewhere, I guess? Mira, can you confirm that you’ll be able to translate the Ganglion if they’re speaking in the video?”

Yep. No worries there.

“Okay, it’ll translate. Pick a video and pray.”

Lin tapped on one of the lower video entries, and the screen switched to a new interface. Solstice flinched as a Ganglion appeared on the screen, a Misaaldi in standard attire. She spoke clearly, staring into the screen with such a silent rage that it made the hairs on the back of Nessa’s neck raise.

“Entry 22 in the superweapon experiment. We believe we have identified the ritual’s formula in the creation of an endbringer. The puny natives utilized ether in their day-to-day lives as easily as air. If we can collect enough ether from the surrounding environment and consolidate it into one location, we could theoretically force a subject to intake that ether and transform. The specifics of this process shall be outlined by Sharnaak, once he returns from his journey to the lava continent. We have great hopes for this next step in the experiment. The Great One shall be pleased with our hard work in restoring his honor. End log.”

“They...they replicated the ritual?” Solstice’s hands began to shake, and this time, Nessa didn’t hesitate. She took one of Solstice’s hands, squeezed it tightly, felt them squeeze back. Their eyes remained glued to the screen, attempting to say something, though words failed them. Elma was the one to speak in their stead, taking a deep breath in, exhaling out.

“The superweapon experiment...and what exactly is the ritual you’re speaking of?”

Solstice looked to Nessa, and with a small shake of their head, Nessa stepped up to the plate to explain. “The Telethia in Noctilum was created through an ancient ritual. It’s a person - or it was one, a very long time ago.”

The lie flowed easily, and Elma and Lin believed with with all their hearts. However, Elma’s confusion was still apparent. “So then, the Ganglion tried to harness this ritual and create their own Telethia? That would explain Starr, as well as his behavior.”

“Find another video,” Solstice finally managed to stutter, “I-I need to know more.”

Lin scrolled through the available videos for a moment, clicking on one that was farther away from the one they’d watched. Once more, the screen switched to the same Misaaldi, still in standard attire, though far more activity behind them indicated that something in the atmosphere had changed.

“Entry 59 in the superweapon experiment. We’ve successfully completed the ether serum. We will begin testing on our human subjects shortly, and I shall report back the details at a later time. Pause recording.”

The video cut to black for a second before returning to the Misaaldi woman, who wiped her brow before addressing the camera.

“Resume recording. All five human test subjects did not survive the injection. We have reason to believe that, once they successfully transformed, their consciences remained in tact, and they utilized their newfound strength to turn against us. We are awaiting data analysis from Sharnaak before conducting more experiments, as we wish for his input before proceeding. End log.”

The video ended. Lin didn’t waste any time in picking a new video log, and the Misaaldi soon reappeared, now wearing a confident and knowing smile.

“Entry 81 in the superweapon experiment. As per Sharnaak’s guidance, our team has created a secondary serum to combat the existence of being. Finely crafted and tuned, this serum is far more technological in nature, as the human body is not organic. The serum shall enter the data bloodstream of the human and remove everything that makes them human - their puny dreams and desires, their personality, their useless memories. Their mind shall become a blank slate, and thus, their transformation shall not be hindered by their humanity. Now, we must locate another test subject, and perhaps this shall be the final experiment required before we complete the transition. The Great One will be pleased to see that his servants have gifted him an army, forged from his enemies, forged into mindless, willing servants. End log.”

“A serum to erase someone…” Elma’s voice cracked, the fear radiating from Solstice contagious. “That…”

“There’s only one more video,” Lin told everyone, her voice barely a whisper, hushed and quiet and full of dread. “Should I…”

“We have to know.” Nessa said, clearing her throat. “Play it.”

And so, with that final, resolute command, Lin pressed the final file. The scene changed, though the Misaaldi still stood in front of the camera. Behind her, Nessa could make out a steel board, with cuffs placed where wrists and ankles would go, a larger strap where hips would likely be. Many other Marnaak and Misaaldi stood nearby, some walking around with medical tools, others standing guard off to the side, bystanders to the beginning of the end. The Misaaldi chuckled before starting her speech.

“Entry 82 in the superweapon experiment. We’ve found a perfect candidate. Alone, rather strong for a human. We think he will make the perfect base. As such, Sharnaak has given us the all-clear to begin the test.”

She glanced over her shoulder, and her voice rose as she ordered, “Bring him in!”

Nessa held her breath as, from off screen, she heard the sounds of protest, wincing, startled yelps and cries. Two Marnucks dragged another humanoid in, his legs kicking and struggling, though because of the Marnucks’ height advantage, she couldn’t see the human, couldn’t identify him. They brought him to the board, strapping him into place, all while the human continued to cry out, begging, pleading with them to stop, to tell him what was going on. When the Marnucks finally stepped away, and they had a clear visual on who was strapped to the board, who the Ganglion had picked as their test subject…

Nessa was met with a pair of pupiless indigo eyes, identical to her own. Wide with fear, obscured only slightly by long black hair, draping over pale skin and a torn purple combat vest. 

No one said his name. Everyone was frozen, watching, waiting. 

The Misaaldi stepped up to him. She had the nerve, the fucking nerve, to reach out and place her hand on his cheek, shushing him with one of her fingers. 

“Not to worry, my dear. It will all be over soon.”

She then addressed the Marnucks standing slightly behind the board, to the Marnucks that were standing close by in preparation. “Inject the first serum. Let us put an end to his suffering.”

On command, a Marnuck with a syringe stepped up, tall enough to look him in the eye as he forced his head up, exposing his neck fully. The syringe went deep inside, and he screamed, and Nessa nearly covered her ears because it shattered something deep inside her that she didn’t know could shatter, and tears were forming in her eyes, obscuring her vision, what was happening to him, what were they doing to him, make it stop make it stop make it stop -

He stopped crying. He stopped screaming, he stopped struggling. He simply went limp, head dropping as if he had no energy left, no will to fight or to live or to escape this madness. The silence was overwhelming. 

Then, his head picked back up.

Nessa was met with a pair of dead, pupiless gray eyes. Void of life, obscured only slightly by long black hair, draping over pale skin and a torn purple combat vest. 

The Misaaldi returned her hand to his cheek. He did not respond.

“My little puppet...it’s time to give you strings.”

She waved another Marnuck over, another one holding a syringe. The injection was performed without resistance into the same place as the former. It took a good ten seconds for anything to happen, and his eyes suddenly began to shift, his body started to swell, his fingers formed claws and tried to scratch at the air as he let out a howl, not a scream, a full blown howl, guttural and from the deep confines of his empty body -

Nessa couldn’t watch. She squeezed her eyes shut and simply listened to the sound of metal snapping under pressure, the howls turn into roars, the tearing of flesh and the new symphony of Ganglion screams as heavy thuds echoed against the walls, as structures began to tumble and fall and collapse under pressure, and it only kept going and going and going and -

Silence. 

Nessa opened one eye, and the video had ended abruptly. Its aftermath, however was clear as day, scattered around them, the remnants of a massacre.

It was her turn to start shaking. It was Solstice’s turn to squeeze her hand. Elma and Lin sat, staring at the screen as if they were hoping it’d provide something else, a little message saying “it’s all a prank”, “it’s all a dream”, “none of this is real”. But nothing came. They were only met with darkness. Quiet. Nothingness.

But of course, even if Nessa asked for nothingness, she would always have a little voice in her head, a separate being acting as her inner conscience.

My...my baby…you...

She didn’t think she’d ever hear Mira’s voice waver, she didn’t think Mira was capable of showing such a parental kindness. But here it was, and it sounded so torn, so lost. 

Before she could respond, a distant roar echoed across the skies, and Solstice looked up to meet it. There, behind the clouds, descending towards them…

Solstice stared dead into Starr’s eyes as he landed, teeth bared, ready to fight. They addressed Nessa without looking at her. Their hands remained intertwined.

“Your brother has great timing,” They whispered.

[mysterylover123]

I read your IzuOcha meta, and I loved it so much! It made so many good points! Now I’m wondering, since that meta was done a while back, have your opinions on the ship changed since then with the moments that came out afterwards, or are they more or less the same?

Ooh boy, Izuocha. I’m still conflicted over them TBH. They have some seriously sweet moments, but one of the overall problems I have with them is how one-sided their dynamic feels Post-Hero Killer arc. Before that, it felt like Ochako really was at least the third most important person in Deku’s life (after All Might and Kacchan, of course) but since then, their relationship has just stopped being important to Midoriya. 

Just to run it down:

1. Hero Killer Arc: Once Izuku goes off to his internship, he doesn’t think about Ochako directly until she calls to ask about Iida.

2. Final Exams: In the Manga, Deku doesn’t talk to Ochako directly for this entire arc. He doesn’t react to her match at all - we hear his thoughts on MIneta’s match and not Ochako’s - and when they are about to hang out together at the mall, she leaves and he spares her no extra thoughts.

3. Training Camp: One scene where he worries about her injured arm and she’s one of the people he thinks of, but only in a crowd, and both feel flacidly unimpressive next to his “KACCHAAAAANNN” freakout feels.

4. Hideout Raid: Ochako says nothing to help him make the choice of whether or not to save Kacchan, or anything at all (in the manga) and he doesn’t think about her opinion except as it pertains to Bakugou. She clearly disagreed with him, but doesn’t voice it, so the two don’t talk about this potential conflict. There’s no one-on-one with them, Ochako just smooths over things with the crew and no resolution happens.

5. PLE arc: Deku ignores Ochako the whole time, excepting the one moment where he recognizes Toga is a fake. He could do that for anyone. He works with her, but he also works with Sero in the same scene. And he finds plenty of time to be inspired by Iida and Kacchan, worry about Todoroki and have his Big Life Altering fight with Kacchan in the same arc, so it’s not that he’s too busy with other shit.

6. Internship arc: Ochako is the only person Deku could actually talk to about his Eri angst, but he doesn’t. In the same scene where Tamaki and Nejire reach out to Mirio, and Kirishima and Aizawa help Deku deal with his angst, Ochako can only say his name. It’s Iida and Todoroki who help him deal with that emotional trauma, and they don’t even know what the problem is. Throughout the whole thing, they fight on seperate levels and Deku never thinks about or notices her.

7. Remedial arc: Ochako and Deku both have PTSD about the same thing (Nighteye’s death) which they blame themselves for. But they never confide in each other about it. Ochako confides in Aizawa and Tsu, Deku in Mirio, and Deku gets some consolation from Aoyama. But from Ochako, nothing.

8. School Festival: Deku is fighting his Villainous Counterpart, Gentle, who is inspired by his Love Interest, La Brava. A perfect opportunity for Deku to reflect on how his love interest, Uraraka, inspires him. Who does he think of? Mei, Jirou and Mina. He and Ochako only talk briefly in this arc when she lends him some tea.

9. Joint training Arc: Supposedly the big Izuocha arc. Two juicy opportunities for Deku’s relationship with her to be built up. First, Monoma could trash Deku’s friend/love interest to piss him off - classic shippy technique, make the hero  lose control of his/her powers when the s/o is insulted, and this is the Izuocha arc, Ochako’s on Deku’s team. So who does Monoma insult? Kacchan. Second: Classy Avatar shippy situation where the LI plays on the connection she has with the hero to calm down his Out of control powers. And sure, Ochako hugs Deku. But this does nothing. It’s the emotional connection with Shinsou that helps break it for Deku (I know, the brainwashing. It still feels like the chapter sets you up for Izuocha and gives you Shindeku instead. And in the aftermath, it’s Shoto who asks about Deku’s powers, and Kacchan who he confides in.

10. Winter Intern arc: Ochako keeps Deku’s Christmas gift. He doesn’t keep and treasure hers. He mentions her briefly alongside Shinso to his mom then traipses off to OT3 shippy shenanigans with Kacchan and Shoto, confiding in, learning and growing along side them in ways Ochako has yet to approach. Whether it’s Shoto, the guy he destroyed his body to emotionally rescue, or Kacchan, the near soulmate level rival who knows him better than anyone, doesn’t matter. Deku feels more for them than he does for Ochako now.

11. Current Arc; Deku apologizes to Ochako and they fistbump, which is nice, but not remarkable. No more than went down between Deku and Iida in the Hero Killer Arc. Honestly, it’s a platonic gesture. A bro gesture. And despite being together during the raid for about two chapters, Deku and Kacchan immediately ditch her at the first sign of trouble to go chase down the plot.

So yeah, that was longer then I meant it to be. On Deku’s side, there’s been virtually nothing special to his feelings towards Ochako, especially compared to his interactions with the other members of the Wonder Trio and his various friends, since about Chapter 45. We’re on 280. That’s too long to wait to give the protagonist any real development in his feelings for his love interest for me to really be all that invested on Deku’s end anymore. In theory, I like the idea of Ochako’s cheerful, nice girl attitude helping Deku get through his stressful life, but that hasn’t happened. They honestly also seem too much like siblings to me now (doesn’t help that she has his same facial proportions and looks like his mom) to read as romantic. My remaining interest in them is mainly as a potential OT3 option with Kacchan, if the series ever gets around to developing Kacchan/Ochako’s relationship again, and as a fairly typical “boring Shonen main romantic subplot” against which more compelling dynamics can be contrasted. 

I guess this is all a fancy way of saying that I’ve cooled on it now and find it fairly boring, and wish they could just be platonic friends again instead of constantly being put in our faces as they “don’t worry Deku’s not gay he’s got a girlfriend” dynamic they’ve basically turned into. 

Thanks for the ask - I hope no Izuocha shippers take offense to this, it’s just my opinion and analysis so far. Things could change. The series could properly develop them again. If so I’ll revise my opinion. Adieu

[chazukekani]

Analysis - The Perfect Murder and Murderer (Edogawa Ranpo)

Shortly after the end of The Cannibalism Arc, Asagiri-sensei just could not wait to begin a new era starring our favourite detective - Edogawa Ranpo is the chapters of The Perfect Murder and Murderer. When I first read the chapter, I thought the series would merely serve as a transition between eras, where less characters developments or plots discussion would be revealed. Yet one day that I suddenly thought about this series, and realise that although there was not much deeper background details or epic secrets being revealed, the character development of Ranpo was indeed significant. My words probably can’t express fully about how I feel, but I hope you guys will find the same as I do! So let’s dive in!

Before we actually begin, let’s do some recap. In The Cannibalism Arc, there was once the ADA tried to find out who the city’s ability user was. Nonetheless it wasn’t successful, and fell into Fyodor’s trap, and Fyodor left the message ‘The rule can’t be changed’ to the ADA. In contrast, it was exactly Ranpo who proposed to ‘avoid direct confrontation with the Port Mafia, and change the rule by catching the virus ability user’. Given that all the members in ADA were under frustration and devastating about the pessimistic circumstances, it seems Ranpo was the only one who managed to think calmly and independently, and figure out the next right step. Although it was disappointed to see that ADA didn’t achieve this goal and manipulated by Fyodor, I think it was still the best resolution that  Ranpo could make during the situation.

-

Why Ranpo was so confident about ‘changing the rule’ at the very beginning? I can think of two possible reasons. First, Fukuzawa encouraged him; second, he promised that ‘I would infer all the information and hints I got’. As we all know that Ranpo’s ability serves as the pillar of the ADA. An ability to ‘acknowledge the truth’ is surelly incomparable in the aspect of investigations. With the ample cases that he solved throughout the years, with the combination of the two reasons above, Ranpo was confident that his ability and talent could bring him beyond the imagination of his enemies, and bring happiness and stability to everyone.

Yet, all the things that Ranpo has been through is merely within the scope of ‘investigation’ (based on what has been revealed to the readers). According to my own understanding, an investigation in itself is more like a restoration of the whole incident. However, what if that incident has never happened? In The Cannibalism Arc, Fyodor was managed to utilise this loophole, by trapping Ranpo into an fictional case. Fyodor prepared all the things needed in a detective story - murderer, victims, witnesses and evidence. It was as if Ranpo being the detective in the story, yet can he figure out who is the author of the story? Although Ranpo, along with Kunikida and Atsushi were managed to catch the ‘culprit’, was he the true ‘culprit’ that they have been searching for? Did Ranpo’s deduction bring him the answer that he longed for? No. Fyodor skilfully utilised the loophole of Super Deduction, or even could have acknowledged Ranpo’s approach beforehand, and thus setting this plot particularly for him. It is arguable whether Ranpo failed in this mission because he indeed found the culprit, but he couldn’t take a step back, and see the world beyond a book, but instead just within the story in a book. Ranpo once said that he remember every single case that he solved, and I bet he could never forget this case as well, or else he wouldn’t say ‘if I could see through the trick of Fyodor, the little girl would not die’ in the beginning of Chapter 54. Therefore, in this solo event where Ranpo was the spotlight of the whole series of The Perfect Murder and Murderer, it is definite that he is going to use a different method.

-

In Chapter 55, during the time when Ranpo was on Mushi’s car, Ranpo said ‘ My deduction was nothing but just a technique. If my opponent has the ability of changing the reality, it was impossible for me to solve it… Yet I managed to solve it this time!’ From this, we can see that the approach, and the mental status of Ranpo has changed since his official debut in Murder on D Street. In this chapter (Chapter 6), Ranpo simply used his ability to solve the case. Then, in Chapter 32 (Poe and Ranpo), Ranpo deduce without his ability, and acknowledge the nature of his talent. Coming up next to Chapter 47.5, where he was plotted in a fictional investigation with the true culprit remained outside of the story; and now in Chapter 55, where a battle was fought between an ordinary man and an ability user. We can see that the level of difficulty is constantly increasing and more challenging than before for Ranpo. From the beginning, where Ranpo thinks he is incomparable, to now acknowledging his so-called ‘ability’ is just a technique, Ranpo has gone through many changes regarding to his understanding on his ability. Such self-realisation is surely tough for

him, but we can tell that he is learning, and humble to accept his own failure. And the most important thing is - he tries to improve. He never feels satisfied and proud (sometime maybe!) even having the most intelligent skill in the world. Failures don’t stop him from stepping forward, but let him go further.

-

Asagiri still hasn’t fully explained why Ranpo’s technique can win over Mushi’s ability (Similarly like why Tachihara can make The Page broke! I have written my possible thoughts in Chapter 77 Analysis), because we still don’t know what ‘ability’ is. Nonetheless, we are able to witness how much Ranpo has grown. He doesn’t simply use his deduction and talent like he used to. Ranpo learned the ‘mind control’ from Fyodor based on his own fear towards the death of the little girl in Cannibalism Arc. Although you are born with talent, it is not enough. Ranpo manages to protect his comrades and friends by accumulating his experience and make good use of his talent. Hence allowing him to get the victory that others hoped for.

In the Novel of the Untold Story of the founding of ADA, Ranpo asked Fukuzawa ‘Why! Why I don’t understand anything, and understand no one! Why adults are all like that? Why the word is like that? There is no one willing to explain to me!’. Although Fukuzawa was probably the first one gave Ranpo an ‘answer’ about the world to, Fukuzawa was not honest about Ranpo talent and claimed it to be an ‘ability’. Ranpo has been through a long way based on the answer given by Fukuzawa, and this answer has led him to the ‘truth’ of his life. After acquiring the truth, yet there is no one capable in explaining it to him. It seems that there is no other way than struggling, and fight in lives like a stray dog, and figure your own way out.

[lhs3020b]

Some notes on recent polling developments (long, fairly depressing)...

The YouGov MRP figures came out last night. This is notable because in 2017, the multilevel-regression approach was the sole one that spotted the possibility of a hung parliament. We all ridiculed it at the time - I'll confess that I side-eyed it too. And then - well, we all know what happened to Theresa May, don't we? So, the MRP thing deserves to be taken seriously. And unfortunately, this year, it's looking grim for us. Briefly, the MRP is forecasting a Tory majority. They're also predicting that all opposition parties (bar the SNP, who only stand in Scotland) will lose seats. Labour in particular look in the danger-zone for a collapse, and contrary to their bullish predictions, the Liberal Democrats are also forecast to lose seats. (Note that this is with respect to their current strength - technically, the MRP result gives them a gain of 2 seats on where they were on the 9th of June. They currently have 19, due to defections from various other parties.)

I'll admit that I don't want to believe the MRP results, but this has never been a data-denialist blog, and I don't intend to start on that road today.

One caveat is that the reporting on the MRP results has ben remarkably-bad. The actual YouGov page is here: https://yougov.co.uk/topics/politics/articles-reports/2019/11/27/yougov-mrp-conservatives-359-labour-211-snp-43-ld- Buried a long way down the page, they say this: "Taking into account the margins of error, our model puts the number of Conservative seats at between 328 and 385, meaning that while we can be confident that the Conservatives would currently get a majority, it could range from a modest one to a landslide." As far as I can tell, the "majority of 68" figure is derived by treating 317 as a working majority and assuming that the Tory vote lands right at the upper end of their confidence-interval. This is poor statistical practice for a variety of reasons. It's also a bit questionable in terms of parliamentary arithmetic - the "working majority" thing depends on how many Sinn Fein MPs Northern Ireland elects (they don't take their seats, so count toward neither Government nor Opposition tallies). And we won't necessarily know how many that is until, well, December the 13th.

(Also, a further health-warning is that apparently the model isn't able to fully-represent some local phenomena, such as independent candidates, and the effect of the Brexit Party's partial stand-down is also apparently somewhat-unclear. The last caveat is that the analysis assumes data that has already been collected - that is, if public opinion changes between now and polling day, then obviously existing projections could become obsolete. This will still be a possible source of error even if the MRP sample is statistically-unbiased and the underlying theory/analysis is all sound.)

However, even the best-case scenario for us gives the Tories 328 seats, which is both a working and a (very small) absolute majority.

Obviously, this is not a good situation for us.

While not quite a landslide, nonetheless an inflated Tory majority will be devastating for this country. The stuff they'll do will be awful. Brexit will happen. There'll be a bus crash late next year, when the transition period ends. (No, they will have no plan for this - they won't feel they need one, as they'll be secure in power until 2024.) There'll be a Windrush for resident EU citizens. They'll trash the economy. They'll probably crash the NHS - the only question there is whether they do it through accidental negligence or through deliberate malice (say, an ideologically-driven trade "deal" that gives President Trump everything he wants on a silver platter). Nothing will be done about the country’s escalating housing crisis. They'll double down on all the maddest of the madcap "law-n-order" stuff - expect an explosion in jailable offences, accompanied by lengthy minimum-sentence tariffs and further restrictions on legal aid. They'll also resuscitate their plans to manipulate the parliamentary boundaries, and change electoral laws in their favour. The media? Expect no surprises from them. The newspapers are largely already Conservative Pravdas. The BBC - nervous about its precious Royal Charter - seems to be in the process of declaring itself for the Tories too.

Bluntly, if the Tories get re-elected this year, they'll gerrymander things so you have little chance of getting rid of them in 2024.

Perhaps this is the key thing to understand about Boris Johnson: really, he's less Britain's Trump, and more Britain's Victor Orban. He'll leave just enough vestigial democracy intact to make what he's doing plausibly-deniable, but he'll busily rearrange the furniture to favour himself and his friends. If he gets re-elected this December, you can expect to be seeing his face into the 2030s. The only reason I put the cut-off as early as that is that I expect the coming climate-crisis will wreak havoc with the Tories' internal coalition. (Oh you've built all your luxury millionaire mansions by the seaside? How nice for you, especially now that the sea is literally in your parlour. Umm, whoops.)

What can be done? Well, the first thing is to reiterate some discussions I've seen on Twitter recently. The TL;DR of them is that hope doesn't have to be something you feel - it can be something you do. (And that's just as well, because I'll admit that 2019 has destroyed what traces of social optimism I was clinging to. I'm dreading the bad end that's coming to us next month, but I also fully-expect it.)

So, my advice remains as it has been: on December the 12th, turn up, and vote for whoever you judge most likely to beat the Tory.

Remember, the MRP approach is fallible. "Mortal, finite, temporary" is absolutely in play here; no model is any better than the data that went into it. Or, indeed, the date when it was calculated. And at the end of the day, the only poll that genuinely-matters is the one on December the 12th, and that hasn't actually happened yet. (Though admittedly, given the storm-surge of pre-emptive grief that's flooding Twitter today, you could be forgiven for thinking otherwise.)

As for the horrible mess that are our opposition parties, I'll repeat what I said in 2017: it's OK to vote for a least-worst option. You're not perjuring yourself or committing any moral sin, rather you're trying to be a grown-up. Part of the package of being an adult is making the best of bad situations.

It absolutely does suck - believe me, this is one of the most soul-destroying election campaigns I've ever seen. Every single party has clown-show'd itself. All of them have done things that are ridiculous, inept or otherwise ghastly. (Well, maybe not the Greens - I haven't heard of any specific scandals surrounding them - but their cardinal sin is that they have no plausible prospect of winning the election.) But even then, the barrel we're going to have to stare down is going and voting for them anyway.

(As a related case-in-point, one factor that seems to have helped the Tories win their unexpected 2015 majority was that a contingent of left-wing voters simply stayed at home on the day. While it's hard to find concrete statistics on, nonetheless anecdotally, this absolutely was a thing. A lot of people were demotivated by Labour's confused and incoherent campaign, left cold by all the bothering about fiscal rules, and alienated by things like the mug with "controls on immigration" on it. All of those are 100% valid criticisms. Except, except, except ... it helped an even worse party back into office. The theory of "if the choices are bad, sit it out" has been tested to destruction. It turns out that looking the other way is also a choice, and not necessarily the best one.)

I would add that there are also real questions to be asked about the utter vacuum of political strategy of people nominally on the anti-Tory side - it seems the Opposition spent the summer fixated on the minutiae of House procedures, while never stopping to ask why they were on this battlefield to begin with. Meanwhile the Tories largely-ignored Commons process, and instead sent a political appeal straight to Leave voters. It lost them a lot of individual legislative battles (and I'm not minimising their defeats - they were important!), but it put them in a good strategic place to win an election. And in the long run, it turns out that was what mattered.

It's hard not to feel bitter while thinking about the events of spring and summer. Perhaps if Jo Swinson had been less blinkered about Jeremy Corbyn, perhaps if Labour could have had the minimum sense to call a Vote of No Confidence when BoJo was vulnerable, perhaps if the collective Opposition had been able to recognise the huge wave of unharnessed political energy washing through the country during the petition back in March, perhaps if Change UK had managed to be something other than an unfunny joke, maybe if Corbyn had taken the anti-semitism problem seriously in 2018 and had actually done something instead of sitting on his hands and letting it metastasize to the point where it derailed his election campaign ... but, no. That's for some other, better timeline, not the one we live in. We seem to live in the world that resolutely and firmly chooses the wrong fork in every road. I don't know whether our timeline quite qualifies as the Bad Place, but it's certainly a place full of bad choices.

In a weird sort of way, though, this brings us back to the key theme. Whatever you might think of what's happening in this election - and goodness knows I'm as appalled as anyone else - nonetheless, your vote matters. Use it. As we're seeing, this is the ultimate limitation on their power, and the one chance we have of stopping them.

So once more, let me reiterate: turn up. Vote against the Tory. Do it as a hopeful action, even if you don't feel hopeful. If nothing else, do it so that when the bad things happen, at least you can say you tried to stop it. I wish I had something less bleak to offer here, but this is where we are.

[draculalive]

Letter from Dr. Seward to Arthur Holmwood.

2 September.

My dear old fellow, --

With regard to Miss Westenra's health I hasten to let you know at once that in my opinion there is not any functional disturbance or any malady that I know of. At the same time, I am not by any means satisfied with her appearance; she is woefully different from what she was when I saw her last. Of course you must bear in mind that I did not have full opportunity of examination such as I should wish; our very friendship makes a little difficulty which not even medical science or custom can bridge over. I had better tell you exactly what happened, leaving you to draw, in a measure, your own conclusions. I shall then say what I have done and propose doing.

I found Miss Westenra in seemingly gay spirits. Her mother was present, and in a few seconds I made up my mind that she was trying all she knew to mislead her mother and prevent her from being anxious. I have no doubt she guesses, if she does not know, what need of caution there is. We lunched alone, and as we all exerted ourselves to be cheerful, we got, as some kind of reward for our labours, some real cheerfulness amongst us. Then Mrs. Westenra went to lie down, and Lucy was left with me. We went into her boudoir, and till we got there her gaiety remained, for the servants were coming and going. As soon as the door was closed, however, the mask fell from her face, and she sank down into a chair with a great sigh, and hid her eyes with her hand. When I saw that her high spirits had failed, I at once took advantage of her reaction to make a diagnosis. She said to me very sweetly:---

"I cannot tell you how I loathe talking about myself." I reminded her that a doctor's confidence was sacred, but that you were grievously anxious about her. She caught on to my meaning at once, and settled that matter in a word. "Tell Arthur everything you choose. I do not care for myself, but all for him!" So I am quite free.

I could easily see that she is somewhat bloodless, but I could not see the usual anæmic signs, and by a chance I was actually able to test the quality of her blood, for in opening a window which was stiff a cord gave way, and she cut her hand slightly with broken glass. It was a slight matter in itself, but it gave me an evident chance, and I secured a few drops of the blood and have analysed them. The qualitative analysis gives a quite normal condition, and shows, I should infer, in itself a vigorous state of health. In other physical matters I was quite satisfied that there is no need for anxiety; but as there must be a cause somewhere, I have come to the conclusion that it must be something mental. She complains of difficulty in breathing satisfactorily at times, and of heavy, lethargic sleep, with dreams that frighten her, but regarding which she can remember nothing. She says that as a child she used to walk in her sleep, and that when in Whitby the habit came back, and that once she walked out in the night and went to East Cliff, where Miss Murray found her; but she assures me that of late the habit has not returned. I am in doubt, and so have done the best thing I know of; I have written to my old friend and master, Professor Van Helsing, of Amsterdam, who knows as much about obscure diseases as any one in the world. I have asked him to come over, and as you told me that all things were to be at your charge, I have mentioned to him who you are and your relations to Miss Westenra. This, my dear fellow, is in obedience to your wishes, for I am only too proud and happy to do anything I can for her. Van Helsing would, I know, do anything for me for a personal reason, so, no matter on what ground he comes, we must accept his wishes. He is a seemingly arbitrary man, but this is because he knows what he is talking about better than any one else. He is a philosopher and a metaphysician, and one of the most advanced scientists of his day; and he has, I believe, an absolutely open mind. This, with an iron nerve, a temper of the ice-brook, an indomitable resolution, self-command, and toleration exalted from virtues to blessings, and the kindliest and truest heart that beats -- these form his equipment for the noble work that he is doing for mankind -- work both in theory and practice, for his views are as wide as his all-embracing sympathy. I tell you these facts that you may know why I have such confidence in him. I have asked him to come at once. I shall see Miss Westenra to-morrow again. She is to meet me at the Stores, so that I may not alarm her mother by too early a repetition of my call.

Yours always, JOHN SEWARD.

[mybarricades]

Fear Eats the Soul: Walter Benjamin & Baader Meinhof

by Esther Leslie

Neither of the figures in my title – Walter Benjamin and The Baader Meinhof Group – are in any direct way associated with 1968 – indeed each brackets it in time. The one, Benjamin, was long dead by the time of the student and worker revolts, that would undoubtedly have thrilled him, even if they did not thrill his old friend Adorno, who called in the police on his revolting students. Benjamin’s adult thought emerges in the years of the Russian Revolution of 1917 and it reaches its final formulation in the dark days of Nazi rule, his death occurring in 1940. The resurgences of 1968 were never further away than then in that ugly moment of European-wide reaction. The Baader Meinhof Group clearly emerged out of the debates and actions of 1968, and individuals who were to become members of the group later undertook an incendiary action in the spring of 1968 – but the group itself, with its violent strategy of urban resistance - was only founded, or issued its manifesto and logo in 1970 and reached its highest point of notoriety or effect under its second generation in the ‘hot autumn’ of 1977. Benjamin was a figure of the past. But Benjamin was of the same generation as Hitler, three years younger than him, and dying five years before him. The Baader Meinhof Group and associates were famously labelled ‘Hitler’s Children’. 

This paper explores whether they could better be called Benjamin’s children. It is not an examination of how Walter Benjamin or the Baader Meinhof Group acted in 1968, because it cannot be – but rather it is a tracing of lines of influence, of connections, intended and oblique, largely theoretical – in order to think about broader questions of modernity, avant gardism and political struggle. What happens in 1968 undoubtedly affects the way in which Benjamin is transmitted to a new generation of readers and activists. Benjamin is rediscovered, pirated, re-read, revolutionised or re-revolutionised. Perhaps this paper is a way of thinking about whether Benjamin became a sorcerer’s apprentice, just as did Adorno, though more graphically, according to the prosecutor in the trial against Adorno’s doctoral student Hans-Jürgen Krahl after the occupation of Adorno’s institute for social research in 1969: in teaching critical theory, said the prosecutor, Adorno had unleashed critical forces he was unable to control. Adorno’s retort: ‘I established a theoretical mode of thought. How could I have suspected that people would want to implement it with Molotov cocktails?’ Did Benjamin lay his own bombs and undermine quite literally his own anti-systemic mode of thought, in the subsequent actions of the Baader Meinhof Group? 

There are direct connections from Walter Benjamin to the Baader Meinhof Group. It is no surprise the intellectual milieu of the late 1960s and after drew on German Critical Theory – and if Adorno had been a critical theorist who had allowed the thinking of radical negation, but proved himself to side with law and order in the end, then perhaps Benjamin, a victim of Nazism, who never achieved any official position in Germany or outside, might serve as a reference point or even a guide. Andreas Baader cited one of Benjamin’s final pieces of writing, ‘On the Concept of History’, from 1939 or 1940, several times in his ‘Letter to the Prisoners’, part of a 300-page ‘explanation of the matter’, presented by Baader, Ensslin, Meinhof and Raspe to the court at Stuttgart-Stammheim in 1976. Three of Benjamin’s theses were quoted in these documents for a court of law. Once again critical theory was in the dock. How was Benjamin made to speak from the grave to address the questions of political analysis and political practice in 1970s Germany? 

For one, Baader cited Benjamin in relation to the question of, as he put it: ‘how to secure the specific form of revolutionary violence that is now historically possible and which corresponds to the institutional use of power’. Benjamin, for Baader, introduces the subject of revolutionary violence in a theoretical context and affirms it in practice – revolutionary violence is the only type of violence that can be commensurate with state violence. Baader continues his gloss on Benjamin by defining Benjamin’s revolutionary violence: it is a ‘concept that is directed towards revolutionary breakage’ and this violence is a recognition of the extent of reaction in Europe, which means that, according to Baader, ‘mass action only makes sense, when it integrates the experience of the front of the worldwide armed struggle’. In essence, the claim is that it is necessary to take up arms. This is the conclusion Baader draws from Benjamin – specifically from this thesis in ‘On the Concept of History’: 

The subject of historical cognition is the battling, oppressed class itself. In Marx it steps forwards as the final enslaved and avenging class, which carries out the work of emancipation in the name of generations of downtrodden to its conclusion. This consciousness, which for a short time made itself felt in the ‘Spartacus’ was objectionable to social democracy from the very beginning. In the course of three decades it succeeded in almost completely erasing the name of Blanqui, whose distant thunder [Erzklang] had made the preceding century tremble. It contented itself with assigning the working-class the role of the savior of future generations. It thereby severed the sinews of its greatest power. Through this schooling the class forgot its hate as much as its spirit of sacrifice. For both nourish themselves on the picture of enslaved forebears, not on the ideal of the emancipated heirs. 

Baader sought a justification for breaking with reformism in Benjamin. He found a ‘fundamental’ point here. He translates Benjamin’s paean to hatred into acts of hatred. It understands ‘the spirit of sacrifice’ to mean complicity in acts of destruction. Baader’s commentary on this citation is as follows: ‘This definition by Benjamin is fundamental. Since the conception of a utopia that presents itself as socialist can only ever be the attempt to make the revolution attractive like a commodity and to await its boomtime. The revolution however is real only as a negation of what exists, as its destruction.’ Baader signals his impatience, one he shares with Benjamin, who in 1940 longed for the sudden and seemingly impossible end to fascist rule. The revolution cannot be awaited. The revolution is also, according to Baader, not something attractive and desirable – it is a negation, a hard schooling, a bloodbath. Such a concept is far from another tradition which sees revolution as carnival, as unfolding. This is the hard and nasty business of political change, a harshness borne not just by the bourgeoisie but also by all. 

Baader finds justification of his – or of terrorist practice – in Benjamin’s attack on Social Democracy. The act of revolution is an act of destruction – it is not the painting in the sky of bright pictures of tomorrow, a tomorrow that of course never comes. Baader glossed the thesis further: ‘the more capital organises itself and plans (its cycle) via the state the more one experiences how power comes only from the barrel of a gun; the problem: the articulation of an action that forces on the development, […] and the creation of a political military action by a revolutionary avant garde, which directly intervenes in the crisis here and appropriates its course, forces the crisis’s resolution for the benefit of the offensive.’ Benjamin’s call for the recovery of the forces of ‘hate’ and ‘sacrifice’, excites Baader. Here is a theory of revolution that emphasizes negativity – but not just Adornonian negativity in thought. It speaks of hate and destruction and breakage, of sacrifice and horror. Baader comments in relation to his contemporary Germany: ‘destruction, the smashing of capitalist relations of production – economic, military, cultural, ideological. The function of utopia is, according to all experiences of it, a form of arrangement with the bad present, or put another way, to make bearable for oneself one’s bad conscience about one’s own inactivity.’ Benjamin is drawn by Baader here into the realms of strictly anti-utopian thinking. His animus against capitalist society is presented as absolute. No compromise is conceded. Smashing, breaking, and refusing to image the future. Turned to the past. Acts of revenge for previous and ongoing enslavement. These are indeed the catalysts of Benjamin’s critique. But there is also a way in which Baader misunderstands Benjamin and his equally productive, rather than destructive, drive. Misunderstanding is evident in Baader’s commentary on the following thesis by Benjamin: 

The class struggle, which always remains in view for a historian schooled in Marx, is a struggle for the rough and material things, without which there is nothing fine and spiritual. Nevertheless these latter are present in the class struggle as something other than mere booty, which falls to the victor. They are present as confidence, as courage, as humor, as cunning, as steadfastness in this struggle, and they reach far back into the mists of time. They will, ever and anon, call every victory which has ever been won by the rulers into question. Just as flowers turn their heads towards the sun, so too does that which has been turned, by virtue of a secret kind of heliotropism, towards the sun which is dawning in the sky of history. To this most inconspicuous of all transformations the historical materialist must pay heed. 

To this Baader adds the sentence: ‘Benjamin pronounces on the bourgeois values in the proletarian revolution’. Baader sees as a pointer to the presence of bourgeois values Benjamin’s indication of the presence of ‘fine and spiritual’ things as part of the struggle –here manifested in the attitude of the proletariat, in its confidence, courage, humour, cunning and endurance ’ rather than in terms of booty. The implication is that the presence of ‘fine and spiritual’ things, even in this form, in the form of an attitude, indicates that the proletariat has been corrupted by the bourgeoisie. Is this because Baader cannot accept the presence of anything spiritual? Is it only the material world of action that counts and which he juxtaposes to the world of spirit? Baader continues: ‘gramsci said the same thing succinctly: the proletariat is the inheritor of classical German philosophy’. To that extent, so the implication, the German working class is trapped in bourgeois thinking and thus inhibited as revolutionary actors. It is a curious misreading, as Benjamin is not actually condemning the proletariat to the mistaken bourgeois values, but rather identifies a set of new ones peculiar to working class struggle, which make him hopeful about class-based resistance, which will ever rise up again as long as classes exist. But it is not surprising: Baader has to misread it this way. He needs to negate everything, including the working class, in a way that was not necessary or desirable for Benjamin. For Baader, the German working class is nothing but corrupted. In fact, it was Engels who first made the claim about the German working class being the inheritor of classical German philosophy, in his book on Ludwig Feuerbach, when he observed the German working class’s ‘unimpaired’ ‘aptitude for theory, which produced the opportunity for alliances between the proponents of the new science and the most advanced, if abject, social forces. As Engels put it: ‘Only among the working class does the German aptitude for theory remain unimpaired. Here, it cannot be exterminated. Here, there is no concern for careers, for profit-making, or for gracious patronage from above. On the contrary, the more ruthlessly and disinterestedly knowledge proceeds the more it finds itself in harmony with the interest and aspirations of the workers. The new tendency, which recognized that the key to the understanding of the whole history of society lies in the history of the development of labor, from the outset addressed itself by preference to the working class and here found the response which it neither sought nor expected from officially recognized knowledge. The German working-class movement is the inheritor of German classical philosophy.’ 

But for Baader, perhaps for understandable historical reasons, there is no such optimism about the German working class, nor about classical German philosophy, as a mode of analysis that might flow from theory into practice through the working class, in its quest to understand the social totality. Baader quotes a final thesis from Benjamin’s ‘On the Concept of History’: 

The tradition of the oppressed teaches us that the ‘emergency situation’ in which we live is the rule. We must arrive at a concept of history which corresponds to this. Then it will become clear that the task before us is the introduction of a real state of emergency; and our position in the struggle against Fascism will thereby improve. Not the least reason that the latter has a chance is that its opponents, in the name of progress, greet it as a historical norm. – The astonishment that the things we are experiencing in the 20th century are ‘still’ possible is by no means philosophical. It is not the beginning of knowledge, unless it would be the knowledge that the conception of history on which it rests is untenable. 

This is the thesis that most lends itself to the legitimation of abrupt, sudden and emergency action, such as that carried out by the Baader Meinhof Group. The ‘emergency situation’, states Benjamin, is already here and we are charged with bringing about ‘a real state of emergency’ in response to it: our emergency should cancel out the emergency that has become the norm within which we exist, or survive barely. Baader glossed this with the following: ‘to be the protagonist of class confrontation in the metropoles, away from the history and defeats of the proletariat, away from its subordination to the imperialist state here via the social democracy that is bought by US capital and the unions ruled by the CIA – to be motor of the revolutionary proletarisation of society.’ For Benjamin the emergency situation that he confronted was fascist rule, which had been ushered in by social democracy and other putative opponents who had not felt compelled to expel fascism from participation in the usual political process. For Benjamin it is the leaders of the political organisations that have found an accommodation with fascism. As he puts it: ‘the politicians in whom the opponents of Fascism had placed their hopes have been knocked supine, and have sealed their downfall by the betrayal of their own cause’. Their members might comply – and Benjamin does mention that the German working class have been ‘corrupted’ – specifically by the idea that they were swimming with the tide of progress, specifically technological progress, a legacy possibly of that which Engels addressed earlier. In essence, though, it is the political establishment that makes its accords with capital and with fascism. Who otherwise could be addressed by Benjamin’s claim that ‘the task before us is the introduction of a real state of emergency’, which will improve ‘our position in the struggle against fascism’? 

In Baader’s gloss though what is at stake is avant gardism or vanguardism - being the protagonist in a scenario in which the proletariat is wholly lost to the grip of US capital and the security services. Of course such an attitude was not specific to the Baader Meinhof Group. Even the leader of the German student movement in the late 1960s, Rudi Dutschke, and presumably many of those he led, thought that the working class of the developed world, and more so in Germany than anywhere, was bought-off or still fascistic at its core. And perhaps, in Germany, more than anywhere else the working class was still caught, to the exclusion of revolutionary politics, between the political forcefields of reformism, given how strong and effective that tradition had been historically, and fascism, given how devastating and total that system had been more recently. That Germany remained a land of prejudice and conformity, in part but powerfully, because so psychically internalised, was one theme of Fassinder’s 1974 film, which provides the title of this piece: Fear Eats the Soul. That is was tendentially fascist – or fascisizing – was the thesis of the omnibus film about the funeral of Hans Martin Schleyer, kidnapped by the RAF, as a bargaining tool for the release of Baader and his comrades, and then murdered, and the funerals of Baader, Gudrun Ensslin and Jan-Carl Raspe. In this film Fassbinder interviews his mother, discussing her penchant for authoritarian rule.  

Benjamin wrote his theses on the concept of history from within the rule of Nazism. But he carried over into them a set of images that he had used since the beginning of the 1930s, prior to Nazi victory. In the theses he writes, as we have seen, of the use of terror to end a greater terror that presents itself as normality. He also wrote of breaking open the continuum of history or arresting it, of shock, of breaking through the picture of history, of grasping a memory that flashes up at a moment of danger, of a world in which ‘one single catastrophe’ ‘unceasingly piles rubble on top of rubble’. In 1931 he had devised, similarly, in response to the brutality of capital, a brutal figure. The ‘destructive character’ is a type without memory, opposed to repression in its political and psychic senses, who – causing havoc by cutting ways through, by liquidating situations – removes the traces which sentimentally bind us to the status quo; in order to make possible the formulation of experience according to revised tenets of existence in modernity. The destructive character rejects past traces, has abolished ‘aura’ and with it sentimentality about things, including the self. The destructive character would doubtless live, if he could, in the new glass and steel environments designed by Adolf Loos, the Bauhaus and Bruno Taut with their ‘rooms in which it is hard to leave traces’. ‘Erase the traces’, as Brecht insisted in a poem in his 1926 lyric cycle ‘Handbook for City-dwellers’. For those traces, the monograms, screens, knick-knacks on mantelpieces are also tied up with possession; and so signal class society. Brecht details: ‘Erase the traces’, rather than have someone else efface them. Living traceless lives is useful for political fugitives or terrorists on the run. Sometime between the spring and the autumn of 1933 Benjamin wrote a short reflection titled ‘Experience and Poverty’, which considered the new reality, which was the shocking world of war. Twentieth century warfare had unleashed a ‘new barbarism’ in which a generation that went to school in horse-drawn trams stood exposed in a transformed landscape, caught in the crossfire of explosions and destructive torrents. This was no lament for the old days, for those were unliveable for the propertyless and the habits engendered by the cluttered and smothered interiors were unsustainable. ‘Erase the traces!’ Benjamin repeated in this essay and invent a ‘new, positive concept of barbarism’. Benjamin heralded the honest recorders of this newly devalued, technologised, impoverished experience: Paul Klee, Adolf Loos, and the utopians Paul Scheerbart and Mickey Mouse. In all of these the brutality and dynamism of contemporary technology was used, abused, mocked and harnessed. Benjamin’s promotion of explosions, barbarism, lack of sentiment was an emulation or squatting of the enemy’s methods, tools and modes of address. So, for example, Benjamin argued that ‘impoverished experience’ can be overpowered only if the fact of poverty is made into the underpinning of a political strategy of a ‘new barbarism’ that corresponds faithfully to the new realities of the constellation of Masse and Technik. But Benjamin’s strategy was aesthetic-political, just as his theses on the concept of history addressed the idea of the image or picture of history. These metaphors cannot be so simply translated into practical action. Or rather they import themselves only at specific, charmed revolutionary moments. As he put it in one of the culminating theses: 

The consciousness of exploding the continuum of history is peculiar to the revolutionary classes in the moment of their action. The Great Revolution [of 1789] introduced a new calendar. The day on which the calendar started functioned as a historical time-lapse camera. And it is fundamentally the same day which, in the shape of holidays and memorials, always returns. The calendar does not therefore count time like clocks. They are monuments of a historical awareness, of which there has not seemed to be the slightest trace for a hundred years. Yet in the July Revolution an incident took place which did justice to this consciousness. During the evening of the first skirmishes, it turned out that the clock-towers were shot at independently and simultaneously in several places in Paris. 

In 1931, in a radio lecture on the Bastille prison, Walter Benjamin associates conspirators and artists. The Bastille was a place of incarceration for people who had upset state security. There were two classes of prisoner held there; those who were accused of conspiracy and treason, and those more numerous inmates who were writers, engravers, book dealers and binders, all people who had propagated books that offended the king or his favourites. Prisoners disappeared from between its walls as swiftly as they had appeared, subject as they were to the whims of the powerful. The storming of the Bastille, home at that moment to just sixteen prisoners, was the first visible act of destruction of the French Revolution, and it occurred, insists Benjamin, because of the arbitrariness of its punishments. What was released then into the French post-revolutionary cosmos was a ragged band of writers, artists, artisans and conspirators. In short, a low-life bohemia of gossip-mongerers, art-peddlars and revolters, who dispersed into the fertile air of a new class-rule. Having occupied the same space of confinement, they forged a bond that bore offspring. For it was from their ranks that the avant-garde was born. No longer ‘at home’ in the prison, these homeless rebels agitated and aggravated from inside the vaster prison of the bourgeois world; opposed to that world, but inside it, they figured a place apart. 

The Baader Meinhof Group found themselves some hundred years later in Stammheim – and there was to be no liberation, no storming on the part of an activated and revolutionary class keen to overturn the existing order. Instead there was only death. The vanguard perished. Its major act had been to translate a modernist desire for interruption, shock and smashing into the streets in the very specific conditions of post-nazi Germany and consumer boom. Unconvinced that consumer-applianced, psychologically-authoritarian working classes would revolt, Baader Meinhof Group sought - through bombs and kidnapping - to shatter the terms of everyday life. Such shattering of the terms of everyday life is what art only dreams of achieving. 

I want to end with some words on recycling. The politicisation of aesthetics that Benjamin theorised as the 1920s’ practice and contribution to revolutionary struggle was invoked as a direct feed into the class struggle in the 1960s. 1968 was a recycling, a return, a re-spinning of a previous revolution or revolutionary moment of the 1920s, as it played out in art, an art that had been politicised. As a vignette of this consider the filmwork of Harun Farocki, who began making films in 1966. His first films were made collectively while he was a student at the Berlin Film and Television Academy, challenging thereby the ethos of the sole genius creator. Farocki’s films were directly political in theme: the title of one, an agit-prop film, from 1968 translates as On Some Problems of the Anti-authoritarian and Anti-imperialist Struggle in the Metropolitan Areas, Using West Berlin as Example, or Their Newspapers. This short film thematised the manipulative ideological role of the Axel Springer newspaper concern, in a highly politicised West Berlin – Springer’s press was a key player in the ideological war of the 1960s and was blamed by the left for inciting an assassin to target Rudi Dutschke in April 1968, when he was shot in the head and chest after its calls to readers to ‘eliminate the trouble-makers’ and ‘stop the terror of the young Reds’. The political temperature of the time is evidenced in the film by documentary shots of demonstrations and debates – documentary was valued as the mode of accessing the data of social reality and there was a rich tradition of the left to draw on as precedent. The film made parallels between military repression in Vietnam and ideological oppression in Germany. Bombs fall onto the Vietnamese, bundles of newspapers thud onto the streets of West Berlin. A twin assault – violence towards Vietnamese bodies, violence towards German minds. Both forms distort. At the film’s close activists turn those words into weapons, as cobblestones are wrapped in Springer’s newspapers in preparation for the street fighting. These were the days in which students occupied the film academy in Berlin, the red flag hoisted above the building, now unofficially renamed, in homage to the 1920s political avant garde, ‘The Dziga Vertov Academy’. Once order was restored, the occupiers, Farocki amongst them, were expelled from the film academy. 

Farocki continued to work on political film outside the institution - one film NICHT löschbares Feuer [Un-extinguishable Fire] (1968/69) - exposed the atrocities of the Vietnam War in its concentration on Dow Chemicals, the makers of Napalm: its key line – ‘When Napalm is burning, it is too late to extinguish it. You have to fight Napalm where it is produced: in the factories’. This was another way of bringing the violence of the imperialists back to the cities – as image – and then as mass strategy. The film analysed the class perspectives of workers, engineers, students and bosses in relation to the production of Napalm. It demonstrated how the division of labour obscured the situation and prevented knowledge. The film was the vehicle for diffusing knowledge about the effects, profits, uses and meaning of Napalm. Two films from 1969, made with the Socialist Filmmakers Co-operative West Berlin, were titled Ohne Titel oder: Nixon kommt nach Berlin [Untitled or: Nixon Comes to Berlin] and Anleitung, Politizisten den Helm abzureißen [Instructions For Stripping a Policeman of His Helmet]. This was film as weapons, self-consciously using documentary in a Brechtian fashion, drawing on the resources of modern media with its barrage of techniques, such as montage, selection, distance and foregrounded manipulation or artifice – that which Brecht claimed needed to be constructed in order to be truthful – all in the pursuit of politicising art. What we see in the Baader Meinhof Group’s return of Benjamin some ten years after this is a spin too far. What Benjamin represents, in actuality, is the modernist avant garde, the revolutionary moment of October 1917 as reflected into aesthetic policy. But the Baader Meinhof Group turn this political aesthetics back again into politics – which might mean that another key aspect of Benjamin’s analysis – the stand-off between the politicisation of art – in communism – and the aestheticisation of politics - in Fascism - is of relevance. Though to pursue that line gets close to the now fashionable revisionist position directed not just at the ‘terrorist left’ but at the generation of 1968 in general. It is a line even purveyed by 1968ers about themselves. Take for example former Maoist Götz Aly whose new book Unser Kampf – a play on the title of Hitler’s famous tract – compares the ‘illiberalism’ of the 1968 generation to that of the generation of 1933, both being mass movements that are opposed to parliamentary democracy and the values of the Enlightenment. Both movements, according to Aly, and much of the existing German left, were anti-Semitic. The children of mass murders ran after the mass murderer Mao, in the final offshoot of European totalitarianism that is 1968, Aly claims of himself and his friends in an article titled ‘Back to Rudi Dutschke’s Pram’. The point is that Benjamin’s metaphorics of explosions was an aesthetic translation of political possibility, that was the political violence of 1917, a violence predicated on the possibility of a mass movement that alone could end the existing violence of war and capitalist rule. It translated this energy into revolutionary art and revolutionary theory, which was dependent on political, social and political prospects for change. The Baader Meinhof Group ran it back the other way – they took the metaphorics of explosion from art, from the avant garde, and retranslated it into political practice.

Militant Esthetix

[momtaku]

Not only an ask, but also to say a huge thank you for the endless intellectual analysis, theories and going-back-the-chapters-to-connect-the-dotts posts. With the latest snk chapter out I've been really curious... what are your thoughts about the titans sleeping in the walls? I can't help but feel they will play a role and can't just remain at that narcotic state for ever, I mean, I keep making scenarios in my head of how they could be utilised... ~~ sending lots n lots of love ~~

Ahhh what a sweet ask!! Thank you so much for this 😘💕

Wall titans, eh? My thoughts are pretty unimaginative. 

For the world to be safe they must be eliminated

As long that the world hates Eldia they are needed as a line of defense. 

If the wall titans are activated all of humanity is doomed 

If they don’t make their move at some point in this story I will be hugely disappointed. 

I feel confident that they won’t remain slumbering in the walls. In any resolution of this story they need to be dealt with and a combination of Zeke + Eren is required to do that. I’m sure they have a role but i have no idea what that would be. I think I’d rather hear your scenarios!

Thanks for the ask and again the kind words!

[tomeandflickcorner]

Star Wars: Episode Two- Attack of the Clones

And the prequel trilogy continues, and so does my ongoing Star Wars Reviews.  The plot thickens (with some rather confusing elements) and an unfortunate romance subplot is initiated.

It’s been ten years since the events of Phantom Menace.  And right away, we’re told a bit about Naboo politics.  Turns out, even though Padmé was called Queen Amidala, it wasn’t actually a traditional monarchy.  The person they call queen is actually elected for the position, with a new election being held every few years.  In other words, they call her Queen, but the position is more like President or Prime Minister.  Which is interesting, but slightly problematic.  Because Padmé was 14 years old in the first movie.  And she later states that she wasn’t the youngest person elected to be Queen of Naboo.  What kind of governmental system is this, that you place a child in a position of authority?

Either way, Padmé is now the Senator of Naboo, as the previous Naboo Senator, Palpitine, became Supreme Chancellor of the Senate in the last movie.  But there’s a new problem on the horizon.  Lately, a bunch of planetary systems have expressed a desire to secede from the Galactic Republic.  These Separatists are led by a man called Count Dooku.  Because the Jedi are finding it difficult to resolve the issue on their own, the Senate is planning to vote on whether or not they should form an Army of the Republic to aid the Jedi.

As the movie opens, we see Senator Padmé has journeyed to Coruscant to attend the Senate meeting that will discuss the matter.  She is against the creation of an army, as she feels that doing so will be declaration of war against the Separatists, which would only drive them further away from the Republic, and believes there should be a peaceful resolution to the conflict.  But when her ship lands, a bomb explodes, mortally wounding everyone as they exited the craft.  It turns out, however, that Padmé is still utilizing her old tactic of employing her bodyguards to act as decoys, and the woman who was caught in the explosion was one of those decoys.  To her credit, Padmé is visibly grieved by the death of her friend who bravely risked her life and died for her, but her remaining entourage convinces her to get to safety.

So now that they know that there’s an assassin plotting to kill Padmé, Palpatine suggests that Padmé seek protection from members of the Jedi order.  The problem is, the Jedi Council have their hands full with helping maintain peace within the Republic by doing what they can to keep the Separatist planets from seceding.  Besides, Padmé is not interested in receiving more guards, as she doesn’t feel more security is necessary.  Palpatine disagrees with her on that count and, in what I guess was an effort to compromise, suggests that Padmé seek protection from someone she already knows. Namely Obi-Wan and Anakin, who have apparently just returned to the area after dealing with a border dispute on Ansion. Padmé is still not happy about the matter, but she ultimately concedes to Palpatine’s suggestion.

As such, Obi-Wan and Anakin, who is now 19-years-old, are summoned to Coruscant to protect Padmé.  Right away, Anakin admits he’s still got his strange fascination with Padmé.  Even though they hadn’t seen or even contacted one another in a decade, and when they parted ways, they had only known each other for three or four days.  Obi-Wan responds to this by instructing Anakin to control his feelings.  This is obviously easier said than done, which becomes obvious when they meet with Padmé, who is accompanied by Jar Jar, who I guess has become a vice-senator of sorts to Padmé in the past ten years, acting as a representative for the Gungans, and Captain Typho, who pretty much fills the role Captain Panaka did in the first movie.  See, Obi-Wan and Anakin were simply tasked with protecting Padmé in case the assassin made another attempt on her life.  But Anakin starts running off at the mouth, announcing that they will do more and actually find out the identity of the assassin.  Obi Wan sternly instructs Anakin to not make any attempt at acting outside their mandate.  And it’s here that Anakin begins to become a bit unlikable.  He starts becoming openly defiant towards Obi-Wan, directly asking him why he has to listen to him.  Gee, I don’t know, Anakin.  Maybe because he’s the Jedi Master who’s been charged with training you!? But the thing that really makes me raise an eyebrow at his behavior in this scene is that he’s acting out right in front of Padmé, Jar Jar and Captain Typho.   While I realize there were scenes in Phantom Menace that showed Obi-Wan questioning Qui-Gon’s decisions, he at least had the decency to do this in private.  He never openly acted like that in front of other people.  Thankfully, after a bit of awkwardness, Obi-Wan manages to get Anakin to curb his attitude, instructing him to remember his place.

When night falls, Padmé heads off to bed while Obi-Wan, Anakin and Captain Typho’s squad stand guard.  As they’re standing around, it’s established that Anakin has been plagued by nightmares about his mother.  Whom he hasn’t seen since he left Tatooine with Qui-Gon.  Okay, I get that the whole Jedi mandate states you have to let go of your past and all, but… you’re telling me that Anakin was not allowed to visit his mother at any point during the past ten years?  I’m sure that all of Anakin’s Jedi training and duties were vitally important, but come on. Obi-Wan and the Jedi Council could have allowed him to his mother once in a while.  

Of course, Anakin then returns his focus back to Padmé and his obsessive crush on her, which leads to Obi-Wan instructing Anakin to keep in mind that Padmé is a politician, and therefore can’t be trusted.  However, Anakin disagrees with Obi-Wan’s general statement, as he isn’t interested in hearing anything negative being said about his long-lost 3 day crush. To back up his argument that not all politicians are corrupt, he points out how Palpitine seems like an upstanding man. (Oh, the irony).  This conversation is eventually halted on the dime, as both Jedi instantly sense something amiss in Padmé’s bedchamber. Because the assassin had utilized a drone to slice a hole into Padmé’s bedroom window and release two venomous slug-like creatures into the room.  Obi-Wan and Anakin charge in, killing the slugs before they can bite Padmé, and, upon seeing the drone that released the slugs, Obi-Wan launches himself out the window, tagging a ride onto the drone.  Because I guess he thinks that doing so would lead him to the assassin.

This leads to this prolonged speeder chase through the futuristic city of Coruscant, with Anakin and Obi-Wan pursuing the assassin.  They eventually catch up to her in some bar (where we not only get an ironic bit of foreshadowing with Obi-Wan stating that Anakin will be the death of him but this really funny bit about death sticks, a type of drug that exists in this universe, as well.)  After apprehending the assassin, Obi-Wan and Anakin take her outside to question her. The assassin admits that she had been hired to kill Padmé by a bounty hunter.  But before they could get her to state the bounty hunter’s name, the assassin is struck by a poisonous dart that kills her almost instantly.  The two Jedi look up to see who fired the dart, only to see the bounty hunter in question flying off.

Here, the story splits off into two separate narratives.  Obi-Wan takes on the task of identifying the origin of the dart that killed the assassin, which in turn might help them identify the bounty hunter that ordered the hit on Padmé.  And the Jedi Council instruct Anakin to escort Padmé back to Naboo for her own safety. Yes, because that’s a brilliant idea. Let’s send the hormonal teenager off to be alone with the young woman he’s been crushing on.   I’m sure nothing bad could possibly happen there.  While Obi-Wan does tell Yoda and Mace Windu, the two leaders of the Jedi Council, that he has his doubts that Anakin is ready to go on a mission on his own, the decision still stands.  As for Padmé, she is not at all pleased by the fact that she’s being sent back to Naboo. She’s worked too hard to try and put an end to the possibility that they’d create an Army of the Republic in response to the Separatist movement for her to not be there when the decision is made.  But she realizes she’s not being given much of a say in the matter, so she relents, albeit reluctantly, and instructs Jar Jar to stand in for her in the Senate.

In the Obi-Wan subplot, he ends up meeting up with an old friend of his named Dex, who works at a local diner.  We’re not given any context or explanation as to how Obi-Wan and Dex met, but it sounds like Dex once worked as a prospector on some other planet.  Obi-Wan arranged this meeting because, when he had the poison dart tested by a team of Analysis Droids, he was told that the dart’s markings could not be identified, and that it was probably custom-made by a warrior from no known society.  As Obi-Wan had hoped, Dex is able to identify the origin of the poison dart, announcing that it was most likely made by a group of cloners on a planet called Kamino. It’s briefly stated that the reason why the Analysis Droids couldn’t identify the dart was because they only look at symbols and therefore overlook the tell-tale cuts etched into the dart. (Obi-Wan also makes a comment about droids not being able to think.  Which sounds a bit iffy, to me.  Is Obi-Wan racist against Droids?)

However, when Obi-Wan returns to the Jedi temple to search through the archives, he cannot locate any information about the planetary system of Kamino.  And when he examines the star charts, the coordinates Dex gave him show nothing but empty space.  When he checks with the Jedi Librarian, she confidently tells him that if Kamino doesn’t show up in the Jedi archives, then it does not exist. It isn’t until Obi-Wan confers with Yoda, who is currently overseeing a lightsaber training sequence with a group of Jedi toddlers, that someone points out the obvious- that if Kamino does not show up in the archives, it means that someone purposely erased it from the star charts.  (Kinda weird how they needed a toddler to point that out to them.)  However, this explanation only deepens the mystery, as only someone from the Jedi order could have gotten enough access to the Jedi archives in order to erase the files on Kamino.  

With Anakin and Padmé’s subplot, things are a little less interesting.  It’s mostly just them exchanging dialogue, with topics ranging from Padmé’s childhood on Naboo to Anakin’s nightmares about his mother, how Anakin feels like Obi-Wan doesn’t have enough faith in him, etc. But, as one would predict, it gets to the point when Anakin starts to act on his attraction to Padmé.  It starts with him kissing her, and eventually he starts declaring that he’s in love with Padmé and he’s hoping that she feels the same way.

Now I’m really sorry to go off on a tangent, but I really can’t stomach the whole Anakin/Padmé romantic subplot they created in this movie.  Let’s think about it here.  When Anakin and Padmé met, they were nine and fourteen respectively.  And the cumulative amount of time they spent together was five days at the most.  After that point, Anakin went off to train as a Jedi and Padmé stayed behind on Naboo, and they had no form of contact of any sort for ten years.  And here’s Anakin, deciding that he’s completely in love with her. You can’t tell me this sounds even remotely like a healthy relationship.  Especially considering the fact that, since Anakin is 19 now, Padmé is 24.  That alone is probably a bit squicky.  I realize that it’s only a five year age gap, but generally speaking, 19-year-olds aren’t as mentally mature as a 24-year-old.

Even if you could ignore the age thing, I pretty much have the same problem with Anakin/Padmé that I did with Christine/Raul in Phantom of the Opera.  For those who aren’t familiar with that story, here’s a quick summation. Christine and Raul are childhood friends, but then their paths diverge and they don’t see each other for 10-15 years. When they do meet again, Raul invites Christine to supper, but she says ‘no, things have changed.’  And then Christine seems to fall in love with the Phantom. After that, Christine and Raul don’t talk or even interact with each other until the Phantom kills Joseph Buquet and Christine needs a shoulder to cry on.  At that point, Raul is all ‘Christine, I love you!’  And I’m left wondering where that even came from!

To be fair, in the case of Anakin and Padmé, at least the movie actually shows them talking and interacting with each other. But even then, I have a problem with it. For starters, it’s the fact that Anakin has probably rarely interacted with a young girl other than Padmé.  So his attraction to her seems more like an obsessive crush than real love, especially when he virtually starts to demand that she tell him if she feels the same way.  

While Padmé does hold her ground by informing him that them forming a relationship wouldn’t be possible, as she’s a senator and he made an oath to uphold the Jedi code which forbids him to form romantic attachments, she still seems to be falling for him in turn.  And I have no idea why she would like him in that way.  Because Anakin seems very unlikable most of the time.  For example, let’s look at the scene when Padmé is discussing the issue of the Separatist movement with Queen Jamilla (the new Queen of Naboo).  When the subject turns to Padmé’s safety, he starts acting a bit high and mighty when Padmé begins to explain what her plan will be, stating that he’s the one in charge.  Granted Padmé might have been a bit out of line when she talked over him by correcting Queen Jamillia’s attendant’s assumption that Anakin was a full-fledged Jedi, but even so.  But the biggest red flag comes when they’re having a picnic of sorts while they’re off in the Lake Country, a remote area of Naboo, where they start discussing the political system and how it works.  Anakin practically states that it might be better for the Republic to become a dictatorship instead of a democracy.  Padmé seems to dismiss his comment as if it were a joke, but… is that really something to joke about?

Meanwhile, Obi-Wan has found his way to Kamino to continue his investigation.  Upon his arrival, he is surprised to find that he was expected, with Lama Su, the Prime Minister of Kamino, giving him a warm welcome. It turns out that, ten years ago, around the time of the last movie, a Jedi calling himself Sifo-Dyas had come to the planet and placed an order for a Clone Army to be used by the Republic. Even though he is able to school his expression, it’s clear that this new information has floored Obi-Wan, as the Jedi Council had no knowledge of any of this.  And Sifo-Dyas had reportedly been killed long before the Clone Army had been ordered.  When Obi-Wan questions Lama Su, it’s revealed that the Clone Army had been cloned from a bounty hunter called Jango Fett.  This obviously catches Obi-Wan’s attention, because he had been looking for a bounty hunter.  He asks if he could meet with Jango Fett himself.  When he’s brought to Jango’s room, they are greeted by Boba, Jango’s son. Or rather, Jango’s own personal mini-me. See, in addition to his sizable fee for being the original host of the Clone Army, Jango had requested one additional clone.  One that would not be subjected to the same genetic modification that the other clones went through to make them completely obedient soldiers and would also age at a natural rate.  That separate clone ended up being Boba, who Jango kept as a son.

Obi-Wan proceeds to ask Jango some questions.  Has he been to Coruscant recently?  And does he know Jedi Master Sifo-Dyas?  Jango responds to Obi-Wan’s questioning as casually as possible, stating that he never heard of Sifo-Dyas and that he was recruited by someone called Tyranus.  But it’s clear that the two are sizing each other up.  Obi-Wan leaves the moment he’s done questioning Jango, but Jango seems to suspect that Obi-Wan is suspicious of him, for he immediately tells Boba that they’re leaving, instructing his son to pack his things.

Before leaving the planet, Obi-Wan contacts Yoda and Mace Windu back on Coruscant, informing them of his discovery, along with his suspicion that Jango Fett is the same bounty hunter that ordered the hit on Padmé.  The two elder Jedi instruct Obi-Wan to bring Jango Fett to them for further questioning.  But before Obi-Wan could do anything, Jango Fett appears in his full bounty hunter armor, attacking him on the spot.  After a brief battle, Jango Fett and Boba attempt to get away, flying away from Kamino. However, Obi-Wan manages to track them down.  Despite Jango’s best efforts at shooting Obi-Wan down upon realizing that he’s being followed, Obi-Wan is able to tail the two to a planet called Geonosis. This planet turns out to be the home base of the Separatists.  Which include Nute Gunray and the Trade Federation, who are still in active service despite Palpatine and the Senate’s attempt to shut them down.  While investigating, Obi-Wan discovers that the Separatists, with the assistance of the Trade Federation, are building a Droid Army.  One so large that it will effortlessly overpower the Jedi and force the Republic to submit to their demands.  

Upon learning this, Obi-Wan realizes he must warn the Jedi Counsil and the Senate. But since his long-range transmitter was damaged by Jango Fett, he cannot relay a message directly to Coruscant. So he decides to send the message over to Anakin, with the instructions that Anakin pass the message on.  But as he’s sending the message, Obi-Wan is discovered by the Separatists and is captured.

While in the custody of the Separatists, Obi-Wan is approached by Count Dooku, the leader of the Separatists.  Count Dooku was the one who had oversaw the creation of the Clone Army, going under the alias of Darth Tyranus.  It turns out that Dooku was once the Jedi who had taught Obi-Wan’s late master, Qui-Gon. But Dooku and left the Jedi order because he lost faith in the Republic.  Since then, he had been taking orders from Darth Sidious, the same Sith Lord who had organized the invasion of Naboo.

Qui-Gon is a large topic in Obi-Wan and Dooku’s confrontation.  Obi-Wan, in response to Dooku’s statements that he wished the fallen Jedi was still around as he could have used his help, states that Qui-Gon would never have sided with the Separatists over the Republic and the Senate.  But Dooku tells Obi-Wan that he shouldn’t be so sure on that, stating that, unbeknownst to the Jedi Council, the Republic was actually under the control of the Sith.  He goes on to inform Obi-Wan of the existence of Darth Sidious, explaining how the Sith Lord had aided the Trade Federation during the Invasion of Naboo but had then betrayed them.  That had led to the members of the Trade Federation seeking Dooku out.  Obi-Wan, however, doesn’t seem to believe Dooku’s claims of the Senate being controlled by Darth Sidious and announces he refuses to join Dooku.  Upon learning that Obi-Wan is unwilling to aid the Separatist movement, Dooku pretty much announces that he won’t make an attempt to free him.

Now, I’m a bit confused here, to be honest.  Dooku states that he knows Darth Sidious was behind the invasion of Naboo, but he ultimately double crossed the Trade Federation, which led to them seeking his help.  But Dooku is also shown to be taking orders from Dath Sidious, and has become his new apprentice, taking Darth Maul’s place.  But… if he knew Darth Sidious had simply used the Trade Federation as pawns, why would Dooku ally himself with the Sith Lord?  And why would he intentionally have the Clone Army manufactured to aid the Republic, knowing that they would be used to fight the Separatists that he is the leader of?   What exactly does Dooku think the plan is here?  (Granted, I think I know what Darth Sidious’ master plan is, but what does Dooku think it is?)

While all of this was going on, Anakin had found his nightmares involving his mother were getting worse.  This leads to him suspecting something was very wrong.  So, even though doing so is violating his orders to remain on Naboo with Padmé, he decides to journey back to Tatooine.  Padmé, understanding how important this is for him, agrees to go with him.  When they arrive on Tatooine, they head over to Watto’s place.  Obviously, Watto doesn’t recognize the older Anakin. Until Anakin effortlessly fixes the machine Watto was trying to repair.  Once he does recognize the young Jedi in front of him as the little boy he once knew, Watto is clearly pleased to see him.  Admittedly, I rather like this scene.  While Watto did keep Anakin as a slave, this scene made me think that he did have a certain level of affection for the boy.  However, when Anakin asks about Shmi, Watto admits that he’d sold her to a moisture farmer named Cliegg Lars a few years ago.  He goes on to inform Anakin that Cligg had eventually fallen in love with Shmi and proceeded to free and marry her.  So Anakin and Padmé make their way over to the Lars household, where they are greeted by Cliegg’s son, Owen, and his girlfriend, Beru.  They also are reunited with C-3PO, the Protocol Droid Anakin had been building before he’d left Tatooine with Qui-Gon in the last movie.  C-3PO has pretty much been completed since then.  When Anakin left Tatooine, he’d pretty much just been an exoskeleton.  But now, someone had completed him by adding coverings.  I wonder who it was who finished building 3PO, because it’s never stated.

Unfortunately, Cleigg, Owen and Beru have bad news for Anakin.  A month earlier, Shmi had been out gathering mushrooms when the Tuskin Raiders had attacked and abducted her.  Why they would abduct a random woman, I have no idea.  Cleigg and the other moisture farmers had attempted a rescue, but most of them ended up dying in the attempt, with Cleigg losing a leg. Naturally, they weren’t able to organize a second rescue attempt, and as time went on, even Cleigg gave up hope, believing Shmi was most likely dead.  Anakin, however, refuses to accept this and heads off on his own to find his mother.  After a long search, he locates the Tuskin Raider settlement and quickly finds a badly injured Shmi tied up inside one of the huts.  Anakin tries to untie his mother, but it’s too late, as she only has enough strength to look at her son one last time before succumbing to her injuries.  Anakin’s grief of seeing his mother dying quickly shifts to utter rage, and he retaliates by turning his lightsaber on the Tuskin Raiders, massacring every single one of them. Anakin’s rage is so great, Yoda is able to sense it from across the galaxy.

Anakin brings his mother’s body back to the Lars homestead, where she is given a proper burial. In the aftermath of the tragedy, Padmé tries to console Anakin, who is still angry over the situation.  He starts to announce that he feels that he could have been able to save her if he’d only been stronger and vows that he’ll one day become the most powerful Jedi ever, even strong enough to prevent people from dying.  He even stats placing the blame on Obi-Wan, accusing his mentor of purposely keeping him from reaching his full potential out of jealousy. Now, I acknowledge that Anakin is obviously grieving and needs time to reach the final stage of acceptance.  But I don’t think Padmé was much help here. Because I think she really should have done a better attempt at gently counseling him through his grieving by telling him that, while his mother’s death was a terrible tragedy, death was simply a part of the natural order of all things, and that preventing it was inadvisable.  Then again, I suppose Padmé can’t be expected to be a therapist.

However, this is when the warning bells really start going off.  Anakin announces that he killed everyone in the Tuskin Raider settlement.  Including the women and children.  I really don’t get how Padmé wasn’t alarmed by the fact that Anakin admitted to committing genocide without any ounce of remorse.  I’m no expert, but that’s really not the kind of behavior befitting of a Jedi.  Or anyone else, for that matter.

But there’s no time to dwell on this, because this is when R2-D2, who had been tagging along with Anakin and Padmé, rolls up, telling them of Obi-Wan’s message. Anakin heeds Obi-Wan’s request by sending the transmission on to the Jedi Temple on Coruscant.  But Padmé decides that they should also head off to rescue Obi-Wan, since they’re much closer to Geonosis.  Anakin, doing the right thing for once, points out that he was instructed by Obi-Wan to stay put.  But Padmé counters this by reminding him that he was tasked to protect her.  Since she is going to Geonosis to save Obi-Wan, he’ll have to with her if he’s to uphold his duties as her protector.

So off they go to Geonosis.  And when they arrive, we do get a rather tense sequence when Separatists Droids attack the pair in the middle of a Droid manufacturing factory.  After that scene goes on for a while, Anakin and Padmé are also captured.  The Separatists, while being egged on by Nute Gunrey, end up sentencing the two to death, and they’re both taken into a giant arena to be executed by means of large alien beasts: a mantis-like Acklay, a rhino-like Reek and a cat-like Nexu.  (On a side note, I adore the design of the Nexu.  I’d love to have one as a pet.)  But before being taken into the arena for their execution, Padmé confesses her love to Anakin and the two kiss.  Still don’t know what Padmé saw in him, though.

Upon being taken into the arena, they are reunited with Obi-Wan, who is to be executed alongside them.  Before the three alien beast that are to kill them can reach them, however, they all manage to break free and start taking on one of the beasts.  Obi-Wan battles the Acklay, Anakin, after a moment, manages to tame the Reek with the Force, and Padmé faces off against the Nexu, until Anakin and his Reek come to her aid.

And that’s when Mace Windu and the other Jedi appear on the scene, having had arrived off-camera.  They had received Obi-Wan’s message and acted accordingly.  An entire fight scene erupts.  During the fight, Mace Windu ends up facing off against Jango Fett. This battle ultimately ends with Jango getting his head chopped off by Mace Windu’s lightsaber, with Young Boba Fett watching from the shadows.  (We later see Young Boba Fett claiming his dead father’s helmet.)  Also, we get an on-going attempt at slapstick humor with C-3PO. During the scene in the Droid manufacturing factory, 3PO had inadvertently fallen into the works, thanks in part to R2-D2 pushing him off a platform.  During this battle scene, the whole thing continues, with 3PO’s head affixed to the body of a Soldier Droid, and vice-versa.  There’s no real point to this, other than to show how utterly useless 3PO is.  (I’m sorry, but outside of Return of the Jedi, does 3P0 ever contribute anything worthwhile to these movies?)

Eventually, however, the Jedi find themselves outnumbered by the Separatist’s Droid Army. But before they can be gunned down, Yoda appears out of nowhere, accompanied by the Clone Army from Kamino. Yoda and the Clones are able to help Obi-Wan, Anakin, Padmé and the surviving Jedi escape.  But the fight is not over yet, and the Separatists and Clones continue their battle outside the Separatist’s stronghold.  After a long battle scene, the Separatists decide to evacuate their base.  But before they do so, they gather up blueprints for….a familiar looking space station, stating that they can’t let the Republic see what they’re planning to build.

Obi-Wan, Anakin and Padmé, however set their sights on Count Dooku.  As they’re making their way to catch up to Count Dooku, Padmé ends up falling from the helicopter-like craft.  (She’s okay, of course.)  Anakin’s first instinct is to go back for her, but Obi-Wan eventually gets him to relent, reminding him of the matter at hand- they have a duty to stop Dooku.

They eventually catch up to Dooku and Anakin, headstrong as ever, charges in blindly. To nobody’s surprise, Dooku tosses him aside effortlessly, utilizing Force Lightning.  This leads to a lightsaber battle between Obi-Wan and Dooku.  But Dooku manages to even overwhelm Obi-Wan. Before Dooku can finish him off, Anakin, having gotten his second wind, comes back for a rematch, using both his and Obi-Wan’s lightsabers.  During this fight, Anakin not only gets his lightsaber destroyed, but gets his hand chopped off.  So now, both Anakin and Obi-Wan have been defeated.  But before Dooku can do anything, Yoda suddenly appears on the scene. Here, it’s revealed that, much like Qui-Gon was Dooku’s apprentice, Dooku was once Yoda’s apprentice.

And it’s Master vs. Apprentice.  They quickly decide that their fight won’t go anywhere if they simply rely on their mastery of the Force, as they’re pretty evenly matched in that regard.  So they engage in a lightsaber duel.  And it is awesome. Not to mention helps ensure Yoda’s place as my all-time favorite Star Wars character.  While I suppose you might end up questioning why Yoda bothers with that cane of his if he can move like that during a lightsaber battle, I think it makes sense.  The cane might be there as a reminder that you shouldn’t judge someone on outward appearance.  It might be Yoda’s way of playing on the expectations of others.  That or he can only go without the cane for short periods of time.  There are people who can walk for short distances but still need wheelchairs because they can’t be on their feet for an extended period of time.

In the end, however, Dooku resorts to an underhanded method, causing a heavy pipe to fall towards Obi-Wan and Anakin.  Yoda is forced to redirect his attention into stopping the pipe from crushing the two, but this enables Dooku to get away.  So Yoda is left alone with Obi-Wan an Anakin, with Padmé and one of the Clone Soldiers arriving on the scene shortly afterwards.  The Clone Soldier informs Yoda that the Clone Army has won the battle against the Separatists.

In the aftermath of the battle of Geonosis, the people of the Republic prepare for war with the Separatists.  The Senate had been informed of the Droid Army the Separatists were forming and, in response, decided to award emergency powers to Palpatine, at Jar Jar’s suggestion, which allowed Palpatine to approve the use of the Clone Army against the Separatists. (There was an earlier scene when Palpatine pretty much coerced Jar Jar into thinking it was a good idea.)  The situation is clearly devastating to Yoda, who announces that the Clone War has officially begun.

Meanwhile, Anakin, whose missing hand has been replaced with a mechanical one, has escorted Padmé back to her home on Naboo.  Before he returns to Coruscant, however, they have a secret wedding ceremony, with R2 and 3PO as their only witnesses.  Because they’ve apparently forgotten about Padmé’s earlier statement that it would be a bad idea for them to enter into a secret relationship.  I guess their near-death experience on Geonosis made them rethink things a bit.  Either way, I still don’t see why we’re supposed to be rooting for this particular couple.

Next week, we’ll be looking at the 2008 movie, Clone Wars.  Which is a movie I haven’t seen before starting this particular project. Here’s hoping it’s good.

(Click here to go back to the directory) 

[bellsybuilds]

[Overwatch] Hold your tongue 3/? (T, Akande/Lucio, 3.6k)

Hold your tongue, Chapter 3/? (Can also be read on AO3)

Doomfist | Akande Ogundimu / Lúcio Correia dos Santos (M)

Chapters 1 / 2 / 3 | Ceasefire Masterlist

To move forward, you must first look back.

-3 months ago-

“You know what this is?”

Hana squints at the tiny, circular container Lúcio holds up to her eye. Fitting small and neat in her palm, she pokes at the smooth, clear glass. Her voice is bright with conspiracy and triumph. “Omnic DNA.”

Lúcio arches an eyebrow. “Wha? Uh… maybe. I don’t… hmm… well.” He studies it closely, rubbing his chin in thought. He doesn’t think it’s based on omnic designs, but his homegrown knowledge of electrical engineering is passable, at best. He shakes the device in its case. “It’s a homing beacon. Tracker. I didn’t notice it ‘til we got back to base, and Athena’s alarms went off.”

Hana’s eyebrows rise in surprise. “It’s not one of yours?” At Lúcio’s shake of his head, she leans in for a closer look, mouth pensive. “Where did you get it?”

“You remember that friend we met today?”

Hana blinks at him. “Mister Mask? Or Mister Fist?”

Lúcio gives her a significant look, mouth tugging into a small smirk.

His new friend stares at him blankly. “I don’t know what that means.”

Lúcio flexes his arm, hand balling into a fist. Hana giggles at his exaggerated smirk, hiding her mouth behind her hand. It’s a good likeness. “I think someone just left me an invitation,” Lúcio explains, without explaining much of anything. Especially how the prospect makes his blood thrum at the challenge.

When Doomfist and Reaper made their stunt-worthy exit from Unity Plaza that afternoon, Lúcio thought that could be the last he would see of them, unless 76 decided to extend an olive branch while the DJ was still in town. That was unlikely, from what Lúcio gauged of the stern, proud soldier.

Lúcio wasn’t supposed to be there.

“Girl, we talked about this when I last saw you in London – Vishkar, the amplifier.” Lúcio had waved over his shoulder when the call came in, as though to gesture at all the things he’d resigned to leave with Rio when he went on tour. “That’s all done. I’m helping people another way now.”

Lena steamrolled on with her encouraging, sunny smile. Shrugging, like she was asking him to ‘pop down to the shops for some milk, luv’. “You’d be in our backlines as support,” she had said, “If anyone catches this on video, you’d be well out of range.”

Out of range? “You expecting a fight? I thought you said this was just an escort. And why can’t you hire private security for this?”

She hummed in consideration. “No, it’s sensitive, we are the security. And I meant… more if you were worried about a media storm. You have some big names backing you. But fire fights, too, right!”

Okay, he hadn’t specifically mentioned guns, but it was good to know where Lena’s head was at.

Lúcio snorted under his breath and smiled, calm and confident. “I’m not worried about any media. After Rio, people know what I stand for.”

Lena’s shifty look was slightly bashful while she bit her lip. Was she embarrassed? “Well… perception is reality, is what they say. And we’re still sort of… persona non grata. People infer a lot by the company you keep.”

“Hey. Hey. I could never be ashamed of being seen with you. Ace pilot. Fighter for the people. Doesn’t even cheat on races. I don’t shun my friends like that.”

Lena had brightened, leaning into the camera with an excited smile. “So, you’ll come? Just this once, I promise. We could really use your help, if it doesn’t disrupt your schedule. And you can wear a disguise… all mysterious-like if it’s easier. Talk to your agent.”

“Oh I will definitely not be telling them about this.”

But three months later, Lúcio was still riding with Overwatch and his agent was still wondering why Lucio had such a large allotment of free time that was originally slated for charity work and promotions. Volunteering is how he thought of it, as Lena had apologised they couldn’t pay him for his time. Lúcio wasn’t in need of the money, and he thought of all their strange security details as work to help a friend short-handed.

His agent would have had his head if they knew how he was ‘wasting’ his time.

And sometimes, Lúcio did wonder what was really going on – why specialists and scientists as overqualified as former Overwatch personnel were protecting a film director from fears of anti-omnic violence through a Hollywood set. But it was no grief to volunteer his time and abilities to heal their minor hurts and speed up their ventures (“I knew you brought that thing with you!” Lena had crowed when Lúcio had turned up with his sonic amplifier slung over his shoulder). He genuinely enjoyed their company: Jesse had a dry, wicked sense of humour; Lena always made him smile; Winston was patient and pleased that someone was interested in his inventions; and when Hana showed up, Lúcio was starstruck. It was also the first real sign that he wasn’t the only favour Overwatch was calling in: they were recruiting fresh blood.

He’d tried playing ignorant before, and it hadn’t ended well for Rio.

Then Soldier 76 turned up with Ana at his side. Old soldiers. Lúcio could see it in the way they carried themselves, their direct and confronting manner, accustomed to authority and sharp, considered answers. A heavy, weary quiet preceded each room they entered like an augur of grief. The hysterical reaction to their appearance had been enough to humble Lúcio into a quiet corner to observe, until those two elders had turned to Overwatch’s newest recruits and asked, “And who is this?”

They had returned to lay Numbani on the table and ask for help: a supposed ceasefire to a war Lúcio didn’t even realise was raging. A chill ran down his spine when he heard the name ‘Doomfist’, and he had said ‘yes’.  

It was fair time he learned what was really going on.

And of all Overwatch’s roster, Lúcio didn’t expect to be the one receiving a personal follow-up invitation. Or was it a challenge?

Hana takes the tiny container again and holds it up to the light, frowning. "So, you gonna call them?”

Lúcio shrugs, tracking the arcing glints of light off the clear glass as Hana turns it over under the pale bulbs of their hideaway. “Might drop in.”

“You can do that?”

“Who’s gonna stop me?”

It’s Hana’s turn to look skeptical, amusingly so. She thrusts both arms out to enframe the command room of agents before them, new and unfamiliar, and none the wiser for their scheming. Hana and Lúcio are both new to this strange organisation. It’s easy to bond over their youth and mutual celebrity when it’s earned them skepticism from these seasoned soldiers, scientists and… whatever McCree is.

Overwatch has co-opted this stationery re-supply store as their command centre in Numbani’s office precinct. For children who grew up hearing the legend of Overwatch and its agents, it’s sobering when they meet the shadows of its remains within abandoned buildings, reclaimed bases and crowded hotel rooms. The whole experience has been insightful: for all their humour and abilities, these people scramble to organise, and argue like every other group Lúcio has ever worked with. They’re just ordinary people.

They have more resources than Lúcio ever did when he and his crew led Rio against Vishkar, but his crew was tight. They were truly unified in common purpose.

Lena and her friends feel like they’re working from contract to contract – scattered, directionless, and united on hope for a mission nobody will speak aloud. Unstable grounds for trust or unity.

He swipes the container back from Hana, flipping it like a coin. “They’d just slow me down.”

Anyway, Lúcio is finding it hard to keep a low profile with his face plastered on banners through the whole city. At least he’d have an explanation for being seen in the streets. He reminds himself he’s only here as a favour to Lena, with his next concert not for another two days.

Hana leans in, crowding close against his shoulder. Sharing a desk in the back corner of the largely empty space, they are only half-listening with everyone else to Winston’s explanation of the storeroom of peanut butter unearthed that morning.

“Want back up?” Hana offers quietly, hopeful, angling for a cure to her boredom, but Lúcio smiles, shaking his head.

“I got this.”

///

Once he’s back in his hotel room, it’s a simple process to contact the world’s most accomplished hacker: a scrambled email to one of three watched inboxes, and then sitting back to wait. The only challenge is in earning their acknowledgement.

The video call comes less than ten minutes after Lúcio hits ‘send’.

Sombra’s face lights the heads-up display of Lúcio’s phone with her mischievous smile. Lúcio counts himself extremely lucky he gets a response each time he has reached out, that he is one of the few people in the world who knows the face behind the name. He has used her trust sparingly.

Sombra’s sing-song greeting makes him smile. “Ay, Lucito-oo-oo! La lucecita de mi noche!”

“Hola, Sombrita.” Lúcio winks, bringing up the high resolution scan and analysis of the tracker he had found tacked to his boot.

“Vishkar? Atlas? Who are we stealing from to–” Sombra’s gaze turns to the incoming image on her side. “Ooh.”

Lúcio watches her face carefully. “You lose something?”

Expression morphing to one of cooing appreciation, Sombra’s mouth purses in pleasure. “Mm, the detail on this: ‘exquisite’ as my friend would say.”

She laughs like it’s a shared private joke. Lúcio can’t help returning the smile, shaking his head. Sombra could never refrain from praising her own work, and he enjoys that about her. She is accomplished and deservedly proud of it.

On again, off again acquaintances, Lúcio hopes today that Sombra is on his side.

“A big guy from a bad place stuck this on me earlier today. What do you know about that?”

Sombra’s mouth pulls in a shrug, head tilted in consideration. “He’s not that bad.”

He frowns. Not that bad? Doomfist? The Scourge’s successor?  “What makes you say that?”

“He pays me.”

Lúcio blinks, mouth falling open. Sombra… and Doomfist? His brain feels like it has split down the middle. He leans in to his monitor. “You’re working with Talon? ¿Lula, en qué pensabas? ¿No sabes quién es? ¿Sabes las cosas que hizo?”

That went against everything she was supposed to stand for! She was supposed to be independent like him! Sombra was supposed to fight for the people, not… work with the people who would destroy them!

Sombra’s playful smile sharpens like the glint of a blade, a reminder that him she will cut him loose and scour all evidence of their bond without a second thought. He clenches his jaw under the intensity of her warning gaze that bores into him through the display.

“Name me 'squid’ again, Lucero,” she dares, cool and tempered. “You called me. You want answers, you mind your mouth.”

He rankles at the butcher of his name, biting down on the aggravation lest Sombra feed on his reaction.

She points off-screen presumably where Lúcio’s tracker displays on her side. “His name is ‘Doomfist’, you already know. He ordered a set of these; a lot of interesting people passing through Numbani these days.” She straightened in her chair, turning idly on its axle to provide her full attention. “I heard your talks were interrupted.”

“Yeah.” Lúcio deflates with a scowl, still stung with disappointment. He thought there were good odds Sombra would have intel on his mark, but not that she would be working with him, consciously and voluntarily.

“Well, if you’re interested, I think it’s worth hearing what he had to say. If I turn it back on, that tracker works both ways, you know.”

He didn’t even have to ask. Sombra may be one of the greatest founts of knowledge on the planet, but Lúcio wonders if she realises her own weaknesses? She could never resist a chance to close the social gap, bring the mighty low. If she was not stepping to protect Doomfist, then the man had not earned her complete loyalty yet.

Lúcio tries not to smile, cringing instead and affecting self-doubt.

“You mean– me? Talk to… him?”

Sombra shrugs. “Why not you?”

He can’t help showing her offer for what it was. “Sounds like a trap.”

“If you’re part of Overwatch, maybe. Or you could use your independent status to do something useful.” She raises her hand and, in a few blips of lavender, the heads up display blinks. A new window pops up with a street map of Numbani. In the heart of the residential district across the city, a red icon blinks, strong and steady.

Using his independent status.

“Like you?”

Sombra shakes her head, dismissing it immediately. “I don’t make house calls.”

Lúcio studies the red blink of the icon, considering his options.

“Is he alone?” he finally asks.

“He is.” Sombra leans in, the glint in her eye turning coy. “Don’t overstay your welcome.”

Lúcio smiles at the overt suggestion in her tone. “Still looking out for me? Watch your own back, Hermanita.”

She clicks her tongue, giving him a sharp wink. “Still older than you.”

The call disconnects.

///

-Present day-

Lúcio’s arrival is heralded by the strange sound of his skates, an electro-mechanical whir that always made Akande wonder how the DJ could achieve stealth if he even tried.

Today, stealth is not the priority.

“Coming in over the wing, open the doors.”

Lúcio maneuvers through the narrow gap of the rear cargo bay doors without breaking his stride, swinging down from the roof and and inside through one fluid motion. Akande’s palm slams the controls, and the door begins to seal behind him.

Before the door is entirely shut, Lúcio is already descending the ship’s stair, not sparing Akande a second glance. It stings, but there are greater concerns on Akande’s mind, too.

“Where is she?” Lúcio demands, catching sight of Sombra’s prone form in the same breath. He bolts across the short bay and drops to his knees, swinging the pack off his back. “Ay, Sombra! ¿Soy yo, Lúcio, puedes escucharme?” The caricature of Muiraquitã on his pack immediately begins to soothe with a familiar healing song as the audio medic digs in his bag for supplies, and glances back to Akande hovering uncertainly by the stairs. “Get over here, I need your help.”

“What should I do?” Akande kneels beside him, reaching again to apply pressure on Sombra’s wound.

Sweat beads on Lúcio’s hairline, he must have pushed hard to get here so quickly. His eyes are intent on Sombra’s wound while he lifts Akande’s hand to take in the damage. “Shut up and follow my lead.”

Sombra does not respond to the motion of Akande nor Lúcio crowding around her, to the pressure of Lúcio pressing Akande’s hands back with fresh bandages, or the jerk of her body when Lúcio cuts her jacket open to check for further wounds.

“¿Sombrita?” Lúcio calls sharply, firmly patting her cheek when she still doesn’t stir. Sombra’s head lolls to the side and Lúcio curses, pulling from his bag what Akande recognises as a scanner and one of the battery packs for his sonic amplifier. It sloshes with a rich gold liquid. “Okay, wound’s clear but her color is bad,” Lúcio says, drawing Akande’s attention back to his stern expression searching Sombra’s face, so keenly focused in his work. “We’re going to close this up, and then I need your help administering a transfusion; she needs blood.”

Akande nods without hesitation. “I am a universal donor.”

“I know,” Lúcio mutters, attention focused on calibrating another tool Akande does not recognise, something that looks like a thick, elaborate pen ending in a round, tapered point. Plugging its cabled extension into his battery pack of golden liquid, it lights up with an ethereal humm. Lúcio pulls Akande’s hand away and holds the edges of Sombra’s wound apart. Golden mist threads from the hand-held device into the red cavity of her flesh, and Akande watches the wound knit back together before his eyes.

He has seen many miracles in his lifetime: from his own augmentations to the jewel of Numbani rising against the African sun, but witnessing the technology of the world-renowned Doctor Ziegler never ceases to inspire awe in him. It has a finesse that his own scientists haven’t yet achieved. Those patents, those raw tools… are worth a lot of money.

The battery back is barely tapped when the pen eclipses with a soft, high note, signaling its work complete, and Lúcio turns up the volume on the song from his pack, diving back inside. Akande offers his arm, holding the bag open with his free hand as Lúcio searches, pulling out the administration set and a pack of alcohol swabs.

“When this is done, you’re gonna explain what the hell happened here,” Lúcio growls, powering up the equipment and watching its readings before reaching for Sombra’s bared inner arm. The administration set includes a scanner that reveals the line of her veins in glowing blue tracks beneath the skin. Sombra doesn’t react when the needle sinks in and Lúcio reaches for Akande’s arm next. “I need you to stand as I give her fluids. Let gravity do its work, yeah?”

Lúcio’s assertive beside manner is reassuring and directs his focus. Akande obeys without a second thought, without even questioning if kneeling from his angle with his height provides enough downward flow or if maybe Lúcio just wants Akande to step back and give him some space.

“Hold this.”

Akande dutifully takes the clear bag of fluids and watches the intravenous line sink into his agent’s other arm. It occurs to him this is the first time he’s seen Lúcio perform his role of an audio medic. Lúcio is focused, methodical and gratefully calm under pressure.

That he was on the verge of tears not half an hour ago, feels like some other world’s reality.

“You’re good at this,” Akande murmurs.

“Had a lot of practice because of people like you,” Lúcio says, taping down the IV line to keep it steady and from falling out. Again, he doesn’t bother glancing Akande’s way.

“Don’t pity Sombra. She’s capable and proud of who she is.”

Finally Lúcio looks at him. His glare is venomous and tempers the warmth spreading in Akande’s chest. “She’s bleeding out on your floor, is what she is, Akande.”

Why is it that it only feels like Lúcio says his name when he’s unhappy? Akande scowls and nods back to Sombra. He needs to redirect their focus.

“How do you know her?”

“We have similar interests.” Lúcio snorts a laugh under his breath, studying the readings from another scanner he runs the length of Sombra’s body. “Or, I thought we did. Then she started working with you.”

Akande refrains from pointing out Lúcio’s own hypocrisy. Working together. Sleeping together. Which was worse?

“Thank you for coming,” Akande says.

Lúcio’s retort is instant. “I didn’t do it for you.”

Akande bites the inside of his cheek, stifling a sigh. What else can he do? “Will she be all right?”

Lúcio shrugs with a shake of his head, setting the scanner down by Sombra’s side, now monitoring her vital signs. It beeps with the slow rhythm of her heart rate. “Now we wait.” From his kneeling position, he cranes his neck to meet Akande’s eye far, far above him. “Good thing you’re so big. She might need a large transfusion.”

“Take what you need.”

“Count on it.” Lúcio’s jaw clenches, eyes returning to his patient while he cushions her head with his folded up jacket. And Akande believes in the moment that his former lover would gladly take the excuse to bleed him dry.

‘Former’… so soon, so soon. So bitter, Lúcio.

Clank.

Akande’s eyes leap to the ceiling of the airship. “What was that?” He lowers on his haunches, instinctively sinking into a battle ready stance.

It sounded like something hit them. Or landed.

Lúcio is already climbing to his feet, watching Sombra as though she will flatline without his attention for a bare moment. His eyes raise to Akande as he backs up towards the main ramp and his bloodied hands lift in appeal. “It’s okay, it’s gonna be okay, don’t move.”

Akande’s hackles raise at the sense of imminent threat prickling the hairs on his neck. A low growl escapes his throat at the attempt to mollify him, and the arm infusing Sombra with life-giving blood clenches to a fist, his other hand holding the clear bag of fluids against the needle firm in his arm. “What have you done?”

He watches Lúcio reach back and slap the control releasing the main ramp. The warm sea breeze rushes in, thick and humid.

“Not everything’s up to me, okay?”

He hears the easing whine of jetpacks before the figure drops from the sky like a comet of azure, wings arched, shoulders broad and proud. The surrounding pillars tremble with the force of their landing, one knee planted in the ground. They are gilded head to toe in thick armour that gleams, piercing in its polish under the early morning sun.

Akande scowls at the sharp, dark eyes that find him under the helm of their golden beak. He shifts minutely to place himself between this new threat and his fallen agent.

“Helix International,” he grinds his jaw, shaking his head. He would recognise that flight suit anywhere. “Lúcio. You do have friends in all places, don’t you?”

Lúcio does not reply and Akande does not look his way as the newcomer rises to their feet and climbs the ramp, slinging a short cannon in their arms.

“Akande Ogundimu,” the woman declares in that same tone Akande has heard from countless authorities who failed to pen him in over the years. But her scowl is fierce, her eyes hard as diamonds, and if Akande was not hooked up to a needle, he would relish the challenge of that cannon being leveled at his chest. “I am Captain Amari of Helix International Security. By the authority of the United Nations, you are under arrest for violating the terms of your sentence. You’re coming with me.”

—————————–

My eternal thanks to the Doomcio discord server for the following Spanish translations, specifically @millie-on-a-leaf and @cryptidbae: 1) Ay, Lucito-oo-oo! La lucecita de mi noche! / Ay, lil Lucio, the little light of my night! 2) ¿Lula, en qué pensabas? ¿No sabes quién es? ¿Sabes las cosas que hizo? / Squid, what are you thinking, you know who he is? You know what he’s done? ('Lula’ in Portuguese is 'squid’) 3) Hermanita / Sweet little sister (Lucio says this in a fond, patronising way, knowing full well Sombra is his elder) 4) ¿Sombra, soy yo, Lucio, puedes escucharme? / Sombra, it’s Lucio, can you hear me?

[racingtoaredlight]

RTARL’s 2020 NFL Season Week 3 Extravapalooza

Immediately coming out of Week 2 the national conversation was focused mainly on the fact that my picks went a very respectable 10-5. But, after running out of superlatives to describe my handicapping skills, the discourse shifted in the direction of the absolutely brutal spate of injuries that took place. Saquon Barkley, Nick Bosa, and Courtland Sutton were all lost for the season with torn ACLs, and Christian McCaffery, Brandon Scherff, Jimmy Garoppolo, Drew Lock and a whole bunch of others went down with various tweaks and tears that will keep them out of game action for multiple weeks. That’s a lot of really good players! And Jimmy Garoppolo! 

There seemed to be a desire to chalk up a lot of the injuries to a lack of preseason game action, but I’m not smart enough to know if that theory has any merit. Hopefully, it was just a freak occurrence and we won’t see another week like that any time soon. If I can make a bold statement that I’m sure nobody has ever mentioned before: the NFL is a lot more fun when the best players are on the field.

My picks are in BOLD, and the lines come to us courtesy of our friends at Vegas Insider. I use the “VI Consensus” line, which is the line that occurs most frequently across Vegas Insider’s list of sportsbooks. Your sportsbook of choice may offer a different number, and if you’d like my opinion on said number A) you are insane, and B) leave a comment below and I’ll try to answer at some point before things kickoff today.

EARLY GAMES

Los Angeles Rams at Buffalo Bills (-2)

The Bills have looked great in their first two games, no doubt about it. BUT, those two games were against the incomprehensibly shitty Jets and a Dolphins team that I don’t think anyone would call world-beaters. The Rams represent a huge step up in weight class, and I’m not sure how the Bills will handle it. I still love Josh Allen and believe in the Bills in general, but this game might be a little shock to the system for them.

Chicago Bears at Atlanta Falcons (-3)

I’ve read a few takes saying that a trip to Atlanta to play against a ghastly Falcons secondary is going to make Mitchell Trubisky and the Bears offense look much better than they are, but what this pick presupposes is that a meeting with Mitchell will make the Falcons secondary look better than they are.

Washington Football Team at Cleveland Browns (-7)

I know they gave up 30 points last week, but The Football Team’s defense has played really well through two games so far. They mauled the Eagles in a Week 1 victory that saw them sack Carson Wentz 8 times, intercept him twice and hold Philly to 57 rushing yards (3.4 yards per attempt) TOTAL. In Week 2, they held Arizona RB Kenyan Drake in check for the most part (86 total yards, 4.3 per rush) and managed to pick off Kyler Murray once while sacking him three times. Washington was done in by Calimari’s running ability, which is gonna happen to a lot of teams, I reckon. Baker Mayfield is no Kyler Murray when it comes to his wheels, so I’m taking the 7 points.

Tennessee Titans (-2.5) at Minnesota Vikings

Minnesota has looked DREADFUL so far, getting whomped by the Packers and then the Colts. I honestly don’t have a great reason for picking them, other than thinking “they can’t be THIS bad.” If this year has taught us anything, it’s that thinking things can’t get worse is pretty stupid, yet here I am. The only aspect of this game I have any confidence in prediction-wise is in saying that it’ll be the first early game to wrap up. These teams are gonna run, run, and then run some more.

Las Vegas Raiders at New England Patriots (-6.5)

Last week, I once again picked against the Raiders, and they once again made me look stupid by not only covering, but winning outright. So help me if Cam Newton leads New England to an absolute thrashing of this collection of assholes he will immediately become my favorite Patriot ever. 

If I wanted to give a non-spite related reason for my pick, I’d mention that Las Vegas will be without rookie WR Henry Ruggs , LB Nick Kwiatkoski and T Trent Brown, and that G Denzelle Good, T Sam Young, TE Darren Waller and RB Josh Jacobs are all Questionable as of this writing. I’m totally picking against them out of spite, though.

San Francisco 49ers (-3) at New York Giants

The Niners were absolutely wrecked by injuries last week, and now they’re playing again on the same turf that they feel took out their comrades. I can’t help but wonder if that’ll be in their heads a little bit, and if there’s anyone who knows the minds of NFL players, it’s a guy who’s never even attended a school at any level that fielded a football team. Nick Mullens is a pretty good backup QB, and it’s not like he’s replacing Russell Wilson, but still. I can’t take an injury-riddled road favorite starting a backup QB. Seats are rapidly opening up on the Daniel Jones bandwagon, but I remain resolute...for now.

Cincinnati Bengals at Philadelphia Eagles (-4)

I’m really torn here, because I am all the way in on The Joe Burrow Experience and want good things for him, but if the Eagles come out looking like an exploded diaper again it’s gonna get really awkward and depressing in Philadelphia, and I can’t handle feeling even more secondhand cringe and despair in these trying times. I’d greatly prefer a middling Eagles season that keeps their fans’ rage at no more than a simmer, and for that to be the case they’re gonna need to win decisively here. Sorry, Joe.

Houston Texans at Pittsburgh Steelers (-4)

After dealing with Daniel Jones in Week 1 and the Drew Lock/Jeff Driskel Combo Meal in Week 2, the Steelers defense will now have to contend with DeShaun Watson. In my expert football-knower opinion, this will be a more difficult challenge for them. Conversely, the Texans started their year with games against the Chiefs and then the Ravens, and while I do think the Steelers are pretty good, they’re a step below those two death squads. In what’s become a running theme in my picks this week, I think a bit of equilibrium is restored and the Texans have somewhat of a get-right game while Pittsburgh gets taken down a peg.

LATE GAMES

Carolina Panthers at Los Angeles Chargers (-6.5)

This is a tough one. Conventional wisdom says 6.5 is a pretty big number for a rookie QB in his second start, though like everyone else I thought Justin Herbert looked more than legit in his debut. The L.A. defense has been fantastic, and they’re plenty good enough to paper over any potential rookie mistakes from their QB. 

I’m going with the Chargers less because of them and more because of how poor the Carolina offense has looked so far. Teddy Bridgewater is a great story and I’m glad he got himself a nice contract after his horrific leg injury in Minnesota, but he hasn’t looked like an NFL starter this year. New Panthers OC Joe Brady performed a miracle and gave the LSU Tigers an offense for the ages, so he clearly knows what he’s doing. Maybe the Panthers will get it together as the season goes on, but for this week I don’t see it, especially without all-world RB Christian McCaffery. 

New York Jets at Indianapolis Colts (-11.5)

11.5! That’s a large number for a pro game, and it’s terrible that I didn’t have to grapple all that much with laying the points. The Jets have looked historically awful and I feel bad for everyone on their sideline except for Adam Gase and Gregg Williams. Fuck those two. I don’t have a solid read on the Colts quite yet, but I’ve been around long enough to know that a Phillip Rivers-led squad would NEVER blow a layup like this.

Tampa Bay Buccaneers (-6) at Denver Broncos

I get that Tampa Bay is the road team here, but A) there are no fans in the stands, B) Denver has lost several key players to injury and C) they’re starting Jeff Driskel at Quarterback. The Bucs giving less than a TD seems odd to me. Maybe there’s some concern about the altitude affecting Tom Brady’s elderly lungs, or about the possibility of Rob Gronkowski buying thousands of dollars worth of edibles in Denver and mixing them in with the pregame spread. Classic Gronk move, imo.

Detroit Lions at Arizona Cardinals (-5.5)

I don’t see any way the Lions slow down this Cardinals offense, so their only hope is to outscore them. If stud WR Kenny Golladay were healthy I’d like Detroit’s chances a whole lot more, but he’s listed as Questionable with an injured hammy at the moment and on Friday assessed his situation as follows: “Wouldn’t say it’s 100 percent. I really wouldn’t even put a percentage on it, I just know I’m not 100 percent.” That doesn’t sound great to me, but I don’t come from an All Medical family, so I could be wrong.

Dallas Cowboys at Seattle Seahawks (-5)

The formerly formidable Seattle Seahawks secondary has given up 450 passing yards to Matt Ryan, and 397 yards to Cam Newton in their two games this season, while the Cowboys were also carved up by Matty Ice (lol) in their insanely improbable Week 2 win. Both of these passing attacks are fantastic, so this feels like an absolute orgy of touchdowns in the making. This game has the week’s highest over-under at 56.5, so I’m not exactly breaking any new ground with this analysis. That’s really the main hallmark of this blog series, now that I think about it. 

SNF: Green Bay Packers at New Orleans Saints (-3)

This game would be a lot more fun if All-Pro WRs Michael Thomas and Davante Adams were suiting up at 100% for their respective teams, but sometimes the Football Gods are dicks. Thomas is OUT with an ankle injury, and as of this writing Adams is being called a game-time decision with a bad hamstring. I’m guessing the game is gonna be more Aaron Jones vs Alvin Kamara than the Aaron Rodgers vs Drew Brees matchup it’s being billed as. That’s still plenty good enough to get me to tune in, as those guys are great in their own right. All things being equal, I trust Aaron Rodgers more to make chicken salad out of chicken shit against the Saints D at this point in time, so I’m giving Green Bay the edge. 

Every time Sean Payton takes his 1st ballot Hall of Fame QB off the field in favor of Taysom Hill, an angel gets its oxycodone prescription refilled. 

MNF: Kansas City Chiefs at Baltimore Ravens (-3.5)

My feelings on this game can be summed up by one of the great orators of modern times, “The Nature Boy” Ric Flair:

Last Week’s Record: 10-5

Season Record: 19-11-1