#but also a way to continue traditional training so its not out of line/is plausibly deniable. battle companion not pet etc.

[maythedreadwolftakeyou]

what if i give lavellan a dog. post inquisition. mostly because i think it is funny bc Jacinth would have NO IDEA what to do with a non livestock animal. she will not know how to deal with a pet that follows her around and isnt content to just sit in a pen until needed all day.

[notimetoblog]

Not Happening (Pt.4)

Summary: An online dating site clearly makes a mistake when it matches you with the one person you cannot stand. 

A/N: A bit of a longer chapter!! I hope you guys enjoy it! As always thanks so much for all your support and for reading!

PART 1 / PART 2 / PART 3 /  MY STORIES

There was something running through your body that you could not quite place. Maybe it was the need to finally shut both of your friends up. Or, a more plausible option, it was the dread of having to spend the night with Bucky. Part of you kept hoping he would pull one of his trademark douche moves, and just ditch you before his “tour” began. 

A genuine smile spread on your lips as you noticed Steve had joined Bucky where he was still waiting, in front of the first image of the gallery. 

“Hi Steve,” you greeted him with a hug. He looked dashing, but to be honest when didn’t he look just downright gorgeous? He wore a blue button-down shirt that brought out the cool tone of his eyes and was .2 seconds from ripping at the seams thanks to his enormous biceps. His blonde hair was swept to one side, leaving his face clear from any stray hairs. The same could not be said about Bucky, who’s hair despite being tied back in a manbun, had stubborn strands draping in front of his face. 

“Hey Y/N, nice to see you. You look great,” he complimented you with a warm smile. 

Why couldn’t the algorithm match you with someone like Steve? A kind and gentle soul who treated everybody with love and respect. He was an amazing guy, and you had never seen him as anything but a friend, yet the thought still lingered. Would you be able to find someone as sweet and kind as him or would you be destined to be with a rude and obnoxious jerk like Bucky? Craig’s algorithm was currently not tipping the balance in your favor. 

“You ready?” Bucky interjected, flicking his eyes between you and Steve.

“No,” you replied with a serious tone making sure he understood how much spending any amount of extended time with him pained you. 

“What’s happening here?” Steve asked with a grin, his eyebrows quirked up in amusement. “Are you two finally playing nice? Can I stop planning around your constant bickering?”

“Don’t be too optimistic Rogers. I doubt your buddy here will ever stop being an ass.”

Bucky scoffed, his eyes rolling comically to make his opinion on your statement even more apparent. “I’m trying to help you here and you still call me an ass? What do I have to do to get you to at least stop insulting me for an hour?” 

“Stop being an ass should do the trick,” you said, throwing in a wink. “And I wouldn’t call this ‘helping me’. If anything, you’ll drive me away from ever coming back to another gallery.”

“See,” Bucky looked to Steve. “I offer to provide some of my insightful behind-the-scenes knowledge of the gallery to her, a gallery newbie, and she treats me like this.”

“What can I say, pal,” Steve chuckled lightly. “You do have a lot of ass-like behavior to make up for.” 

“You don’t even know what he made me go through tonigh—”

“Ok!” Bucky interrupted. “Steve enjoy your night,” he waved him away, “Maybe you can spend it with Nat and Wanda. And you,” he pointed towards you, “let’s get this over with.”

“You don’t have to do this Barnes,” you said, and you swore there was a lightbulb over your head flashing on as an idea popped into your mind. Maybe you could drive him away before this even began. “I am more than capable of looking at a few pictures on my own. Maybe Steve can help me.”

“Shouldn’t be too big a deal,” Steve shrugged sending another gentle smile your way. 

“No,” Bucky said, almost too quickly. “We’re doing this now. Bye Steve.”

“Ok then,” Steve laughed as he put up his hands in surrender. 

Out of all days, Bucky chose today to keep his promises. 

“Have fun, you two. I hope I’m in no way implicated in whatever murder happens here tonight,” Steve continued to laugh as he walked away in search of Nat and Wanda. 

“Ok,” Bucky began, he took a deep breath as if preparing for something major. “This here is a photograph –”

“Wow!” you faked amazement. “I would’ve spent all night unable to figure out what I was looking at if it weren’t for you.”

“You didn’t let me finish,” he said through gritted teeth. His usually sharp jawline accentuated even more as he tensed it. “You need to listen a little in order for this to work.”

“Fine,” you conceded. 

“So, as I was saying this is a photograph of a waterfall. Without looking at the label, can you tell me where it is?”

You suppressed your first instinct to peek at the artwork label that hung at the right side of the image. Your eyes scanned the image hoping to find any clue that would shed some light on the location of the waterfall. The water flowed over what looked to be an artificial wall covered in oversized and mismatched blocks of concrete, the sunlight soft. Green shrubbery framed the image and the waterfall making the white of the rushing water stand out. At the bottom, blue and pink flowers bloomed bringing in a hint of color and making this location seem even more paradisiacal. The point of view of the image made the waterfall seem to exist on its own, as if nothing existed beyond it. Everything seemed to begin and end with this waterfall. Wherever this place was, you hoped it wasn’t too expensive to get there because it sure had caught your eye. You could almost feel the cooling breeze that would emit from the waterfall; something that could surely help any bit of stress ease away. 

“I don’t know,” you said, noting how the previous interaction with Bucky had all but left your system. The annoyance making way to a much more relaxed you. “But I hope its not too long a trip to get there because it seems amazing.”

“It sure is,” Bucky said, his voice also taking on a calmer tone. “And lucky for you, you could probably be there tonight.”

“Where is it?” you asked, still keeping your eyes away from the label. 

“It’s a place called Greenacre Park. Kudos to you for not cheating. And its right here in New York. Midtown to be exact.”

“This is right here?” you asked incredulously, your pointer finger rising on its own to point at the image. 

“Yes,” Bucky chuckled, “See, you can learn something from me when you’re not being a brat.”

“And the peace is gone,” you sighed.

“Alright alright,” he said with a smile. “I’ll play nice. Next image.”

“Who is this friend of yours? I’d like to meet the photographer.”

“Oh,” his voiced was laced with surprise. “I’ll introduce him to you once we’re done.”

“Is he here, now? I mean I wouldn’t mind meeting him now.”

“Of course, he’s here. It’s the opening of his gallery,” he said, eyes scanning the room. “Not sure where, but we’ll find him eventually. Anyway, the gallery is set up in a sort of spiral fashion. You look at the images along the outer walls first and then make your way towards the center of the room following the images on the makeshift walls we set up. Let’s see if you catch on to why its arranged like this.”

You observed the way the room was set up. The walls that lined the right, left, and back of the room housed a few images. Towards the front of the room, by the door you had entered from, stood a sort of entry way that resembled the beginning of a maze. These were the makeshift walls that Bucky was referring to. They apparently followed a spiraling pattern and more photographs, that you could not see yet, hung from them. The showpiece of the gallery, Bucky explained, could be seen once you reached the very center of the room.

 “I’m sure its not very hard to figure out seeing as you are the mastermind behind it, right?”

“I’m being nice, you brat,” he reminded you, a teasing smile paying on his lips. 

“Five minutes of niceness and I’m supposed to be your best friend?” you teased back. 

“You could try,” he laughed. “You wouldn’t die, you know.”

“Hey congrats, man,” a short-haired man interrupted. He clapped Bucky’s back as he spoke. “This was amazing.”

“Oh thanks, Quill,” Bucky answered, quickly walking away from the conversation.

 “Did you announce to the whole city you supposedly helped plan this thing? Wanted your ego stroked a bit, did we now Bucky?”

“Maybe,” he defended with mock offense. “And I didn’t allegedly plan this thing, I really did plan it out.”

He walked you both over to the next image and asked you to keep your eyes off the label again. You quickly understood that every image was of a spot in New York that wasn’t as known as other more traditional sights in the city. You had discovered an abandoned hospital that you had at first thought to be a European castle. Bucky had chuckled as you had firmly given him your guess for what the image was showing, infusing his response with less of his traditional jerk flare than you had expected. An image of a bridge seemingly ending in what looked like a forest, followed. That bridge was apparently located in Harlem, connecting that area of the city to the Bronx. Surprisingly there was also an image of a portion of the Berlin Wall, tucked a few streets away from the Museum of Modern Art. 

And although all the images had been beautiful, something you happened to mention to Bucky when you asked again to meet the photographer, you audibly gasped at the image you were standing in front of now. You had begun to make your way towards the center of the spiral, now observing the photographs that lined the makeshift walls. 

“Like this one?” Bucky asked from beside you. 

You nodded, unable to form words. In front of you was a beautiful image of what appeared to be a train station. The tracks curved toward the left on one side of the image, disappearing behind a wall that bent along the curvature of the tracks. This curved line drew your eyes to the furthest part of the image only to be drawn back out as you followed the lights that hung from the ceiling. The ceiling was also curved, green and cream tiles decorated the arches on the ceiling creating a beautiful frame for the center piece of the image; a beautiful skylight. Glass tiles littered the skylight. Thick black lines created a puckered diamond shape in the center of each panel. The sunset lighting seeping in from the exterior made this place seem mystical, as if it was from a world that could only exist in your dreams. The chandeliers that hung for the ceiling only emphasized this mystic aura, giving the room a sort of charm that seemed classic and elegant. 

You let your eyes dance a bit more around the image finally succumbing to the curiosity and letting them glance at the label. 

Old City Hall Station, NY. 

“This place looks straight out of a movie,” you said, your eyes returning to the image. 

“Right?” Bucky replied, his eyes not on the image but on you. A small smile on his lips as he noticed how drawn in you were. 

“How do I get there?” you asked turning to face him, surprised to find him already looking at you.

“Not sure,” he replied with a small shrug. “Guess we’d have to ask my friend. Any idea why I chose to organize the images like this?”

You had understood the theme behind all the images, yet you didn’t know what kind of ‘story’ they were supposed to tell. Bucky had been entirely too proud as he had mentioned, multiple times, how the photographs had been arranged to form a narrative. 

Glancing back at the images you could not find another string connecting them other than them being somewhat hidden gems of New York. There were no people photographed, so you couldn’t trace a story line based on individuals. You searched your mind for anything that had stood out in all the photographs but came up short. 

“No, not a clue,” you admitted. 

A smug smirk spread on his lips and you rolled your eyes, knowing what was coming. 

“Thought you would’ve figured it out by now since not-so-bright Bucky organized it.”

“I never called you not-so-bright.”

“Maybe not tonight, but other times you’ve called me far worse.”

“You can’t deny you’ve deserved it. I mean who pulls stunts like the embarrassing one you made me go through tonight?”

A flash of red caught your eye as Bucky began his speech on how he had thought it would be funny to list you as Noah Calhoun’s plus one. A shocked Natasha and Wanda were walking toward you from the center of the room, most likely after seeing the centerpiece of the gallery. 

“Bucky!” Wanda interrupted his ongoing speech. “Wow. I mean, I thought I knew what to expect but I really don’t even know what to say.”

“I’m glad you liked it,” Bucky said with a look you couldn’t quite place. 

“I mean, props to the photographer,” Nat chimed in. “He really knows his stuff. Loved the last photograph. Any chance I could buy it?”

“I don’t think its for sale,” Bucky replied, his tone too biting for such a quick interaction.  

“You sure? Maybe you could ask him? Have him think it over?”

“I’m sure it’s not for sale.”

“Ok,” she backed off, much to your surprise. “Enjoying the tour?” she asked you with a quirked eyebrow. Wanda let out a giggle beside her. 

You had forgotten about why you had agreed to spend your time at the gallery with Bucky. Natasha’s reminder brought back the image of Bucky being a great match for you, according to whosyourmate.com .

“It’s not as dreadful as I expected,” you replied honestly. Who knew Bucky could keep his jerk persona locked up for more than five minutes? 

“Huh,” Nat pretended to contemplate your answer. You knew very well she would rub it in your face if Bucky wasn’t standing right beside you. “Well we’re so glad you’re enjoying yourself. We’ll be chatting with Steve, take your time.”

“So,” Bucky said as Nat and Wanda walked away. “Want me to tell you or you want some more time to figure it out. You need to have it before we see the last image.” 

“So, there was a waterfall, a bridge, the Berlin Wall, a secret subway exit –”

“Oh god! You really are helpless,” Bucky chuckled as you glared at him. “Don’t think about the locations, the story isn’t there.”

You simply stared at him unable to come up with anything. 

“You’re such a rookie,” he said, giving a dramatic sigh as he led you to the next image. 

“I mean it can’t be that obscure if you came up with it,” you said. 

“Yeah, well you already said that and still haven’t figured it out.”

“Well maybe the gallery wasn’t as well-organized as you had imagined. If it had been, I would’ve gotten it by now.”

“Maybe the not-so-bright one is actually you and not me,” he snapped back.

 “Highly doubt that,” you replied. “You barely figured out a widely known movie reference.”

“Calhoun? Figured that out almost immediately. Even made him your plus one, didn’t I? Stop making this about me and just admit you’re lost and can’t even begin to understand what I did here.”

“I never understand what you do, Barnes. Your jerk-like mentality just doesn’t go well with mine.”

He scoffed, looking past you at a woman standing in front of the next image. As soon as she noticed his gaze, she turned toward him, a flirtatious look suddenly overtaking her eyes. 

“Hey there, James,” she greeted him, reaching out for a hug. He obliged and quickly gave her a side hug. It was always strange to hear him being called by his real name, seemed too mature for him. 

“Hi,” he said, eyes darting to you. “This is Y/N. Y/N this is Elle.”

“You look familiar,” she said towards you as you gave her a quick wave. Her eyes moving up and down your figure trying to place you.

 “Maybe you ran into her at that coffee place you like so much,” Bucky suggested. “She practically lives there too.”

She suddenly gasped, eyes going wide as a giant smile spread across her face.  

“Is everything ok?” you asked a bit worried. 

“Everything is fine,” Bucky once again interrupted. “Nice seeing you Elle. Thanks so much for coming. See ya around.”

He abruptly walked you past the image Elle had been standing by and you voiced your disapproval at skipping that image. If you were to figure out this “story” of his it was only fair he would let you see all the images. 

“The lighting,” he suddenly said, stopping in front of an image of cemetery surrounded by gothic architecture. “It’s nighttime here, see? It was morning in the first image and the lighting has shifted through all the images as if you’re traveling not only from place to place but also from morning to night.”

Everything fell into place. The soft light in the first image was due to it being morning time and as you went by, time did too in the images. The train station, for example, had been photographed at sunset, something you had actually noted when you observed the way the room appeared dream-like. And now, as you made your way to the end, it was nighttime in the images. 

“Now, this last image, you probably will immediately recognize but I still want you to look at the label. And quick question, what comes after night?”

“Morning,” you answered, understanding the images had taken you throughout an entire day in New York, ending at the same ‘time’ it had begun. 

You turned the last corner, finally reaching the end of the gallery and your heart dropped at the sight of the last image. 

For the first time, a silhouette of a person was present. The image had been taken from behind this person, who sat on a bench, looking out onto an incredibly familiar patch of flowers. Droplets of dew still remained on the leaves of the flowers, creating little sparkles as the morning sunlight hit them. Your eyes bounced from droplet to droplet, trying to wrap your mind around what you were seeing. 

The patch of flowers wasn’t just any patch of flowers. It was the patch of flowers that you knew and loved. The one you would walk to and observe when you needed a bit of peace. The one that seemed to drown out the busy and noisy atmosphere of the city and transported you to an imaginary and endless meadow. The one you referred to when asked what your favorite place in the world was. 

Your eyes went back to the person that sat on the bench, a figure that was all too recognizable. There you sat, on one of the many times you found yourself at the community garden by your house. The peace this patch of flowers brought to you clearly reflected on your face. Part of  your features visible as you looked to the left.  

An image of you and your most beloved place in the world was the centerpiece of this gallery, a gallery made up of photographs taken by a still unknown photographer, something the people around you were also noticing as they glanced from you to the image and back again. 

In the back of your mind you heard Bucky’s request to look at the label despite already knowing where the photograph was taken. 

This time his name stared back at you not in large black letters, but in a small professional bold font. 

Photographs by James Barnes

Your hand shot up to cover your mouth. Bucky had been behind all the images? This was his gallery?!

And you had been sure nothing could surprise you more than what you had just discovered, but the words Bucky spoke next sent a chill up your spine surpassing all the chills you had already experienced as you enjoyed the photographs. 

“I think whosyourmate.com is onto something. Don’t you?”

PART 5

--

Bucky Tags

@camillechan @just-add-butter @buckyisthepuresthuman @carry-on-my-fandom  @creideamhgradochas @sixweekcure4dreams @verycoolveryunique @dugan365 @jitterbuck @buckysmusculararm @headinthe-fridge @buckybarnesappreciationsociety @hedwigthelegend @sappybarnes @sold-my-soul-in-2016 @coal000 @the-soldiers @natcad @winters-beauty @dixonsbugaboo   @sawdustandsugar @silverbvcky  @whyugottabsorude @theoutlinez @killjoynotes  @agentpegcxrter @demonspawn2468 @mlehbleh @books-movies-eternal @buckysbeech @thefridgeismybestie @lionheo04 @pinkfairyfluff @imaginecrushes  @cauraphernelia @angieptt @fridolf-arach @nerdgirljen  @ifyousayyouloveme

“Not Happening” Tags

@metalarmlover @starkxpotts @nephalem67 @boyzines @starfisharchives  @crazybutconfidentaf  @dyanna-corona @fangedmutant @talinalani @xi-i-i-whatsyouremergency @friendly-neighborhood-lich-queen @wisestydia-15 @curlypeter @jayattemptstoruletheworld @justreadingthesefanfics @missinstantgratification @swtmckngbrd  @deathbyarabbit @whogaveuspermission  @thespottedwolf-blog @buckwhitewolf @bilesxbilinskixlahey @ireallyneedcoolusername  

[moscarific]

Yuletide Letter 2019!

Dear Holiday Hero,

It's Yuletide time again, and I'm happy you're here on this journey with me, you beautiful stranger! I’m a gold star Yuletide participant: I’ve signed up every year, and written at least one story every year, since the challenge began. That’s great news for you, because over the years, I’ve learned that the best Yuletide gifts are the ones that weren’t quite what I had expected, and also that gifts are satisfying and joyful for me as long as it’s clear that the author put effort and care into them. Basically, as long as you avoid my Do Not Wants and run spellcheck, I’m going to be over the moon with excitement at whatever you write for me.

My biggest non-obvious DNW is babyfic. No pregnancy, no babies, no little kids. I’m also a grumpy Jew, so I’d prefer not to receive stories with strong Christmas themes. The “five things” format is not my favorite. Please don't center your story around ships that I did not ask for.

But I like a lot more things than I dislike! Unless the Yulegoat arrives late, I’ll be reading this on the train to Chinatown for my traditional family dim sum, so please do make me laugh out loud on the L. Or make me uncomfortably aroused on the L. (Porn is optional, obviously, but: oral sex, eroticized hands, exhibitionism, shower sex, gender play.) I like experimental structures and styles, as well as more standard ones, and I am fine with whatever POV and tense you choose. If you are the kind of person who does multimedia or interactive fiction, or just clever footnotes, I am all for that. All of my requests this year have strong and distinct voices, and I would love to receive a story that embraces their sound and feel. I like stories that stick close to canon or present interesting "what if" canon divergences, and I also like superhero and In Space AUs. When I've provided gen options, I promise I want those just as much as the ships - they're not just "gen outs," but stories I very much want to read.

I tend to write the fic I want to see in the world, so you’ll get a good sense of me by browsing my AO3 account. My AO3 bookmarks are a recs list, and therefore a great way to see what kinds of fic appeal to me and make me happy.

Here are the individual requests from my sign-up, with a little more detail added here and there. I've divided each request into three sections: things I do not want, things I very much want, and ideas for things I'd love to read in the fandom.

Wayfarers Series - Becky Chambers: Rosemary Harper, Sissix Seshkethet, Dr. Chef

Do not want:

Shipping Rosemary or Sissix with people other than each other, death of characters who are not dead in canon.

Very much want: To read fic set in this universe! I ship Rosemary/Sissix very hard and would love some hot cross-species femslash porn. Canon-consistent depictions of humans as weird aliens. Worldbuilding.

Ideas: I will be equally happy with sexy shippy fic about Rosemary and Sissix (with a line or two for Dr. Chef), or with fic centered around Dr. Chef that puts the other two requested characters in smaller roles. Or a story with all three of them having an adventure or solving a problem together! I love the xenophilia aspects of Rosemary and Sissix's relationship, so explore Sissix's affection for, or exasperation with, Rosemary's alienness. Show Rosemary bringing Sissix into an aspect of human culture that Sissix hadn’t encountered before - perhaps something uniquely Martian - or take us on a more in-depth tour of Aandrisk culture. Alternatively, write me a story focused on Dr. Chef: give me more insight into his earlier life, or send him on a culinary adventure. I’ve read all three novels, so references or character cameos are fine. This is a fandom where it's okay to make me sad, and where I'd prefer a touch of angst, hardship, or grief to lighthearted fluff.

Delicious World (Video Game): Frank Truffaut, Felix "Monet" Wilson

Do not want:

Fic centered around Emily/Patrick or Emily/Jean-Paul (background mentions are okay if you must). AUs outside the general setting or premise of canon (so, like, no In Space for this one).

Very much want: Sappy, shippy, porny Frank/Monet fic. Competence kink. Loving and detailed descriptions of food and cooking. For people who do not play this kind of game to watch the cut scenes on YouTube - you can pick up the canon in a couple of hours.

Ideas: Is there anything more Yuletide than nominating the casual time-management game I play on my phone? Especially since this one blew my mind with its sweet, believable m/m romance. Please give me the AU where they stay together and make their relationship work while the contest continues, or the one where they encounter each other again after the contest ends and get back together. Mostly, I am sad that the game narrative has split them up and want them to be together making crepes forever. I'd be more than content with domestic fluff, just to spend more time with Frank and Monet's relationship. Or go the other direction and give them more plot than canon would: send them on the run from an underground restaurant crime cabal, or have Frank save Monet from deranged paparazzi. Send them to parts of the world that the game hasn’t traveled to yet - it’s mostly been North America and Europe so far.  I very much enjoy the best friendship between Frank and Emily, and would be happy to see her play sidekick to Frank for once. 

For the People (TV 2018): Jay Simmons, Seth Oliver, Tina Krissman

Do not want:

If you write Jay/Seth, then I DNW fic set before Jay and Seth were roommates, or focus on their prior romantic relationships. For RL/job related reasons, court cases related to the US education system, both because they will make me sad and because I will not be able to turn off my nitpick brain.

Very much want: Romantic and/or angsty roommates-to-lovers Jay/Seth. A fun role for Tina, whether she's the protagonist or just gets a few choice lines in. Well-researched, plausible legal scenarios as plot. Love letters to New York City.

Ideas: There are two ways to go with this that would make me equally happy. The first is Tina character building, because she is one of my television heroes and never had enough to do on the show. "This Is America" is my favorite episode of the series, and anything in that vein, with Tina as the hero, would please me to no end. I'm an angry American progressive, so feel free to engage with my politics (or not, if that's uncomfortable/unfamiliar). Backstory would also be great, especially if it's Young Tina Saves the World. Talk about race, gender, and immigration. Let her be the soothing, fearless mouthpiece about the scary stuff. Or just send her on a relaxing vacation, "Captain's Holiday" style.

The other way to go is to give me Jay/Seth romance and/or porn. They're roommates and adversaries who are clearly also boyfriends. And now the show is canceled, so we can pretend that's where the showrunners were going with it! Jay's parents canonically love Seth, and I would enjoy a sweet story about Seth's growing relationship with them, and Jay's mixed feelings about it. Or give me a court case where they're directly opposing each other, especially one they're both passionate and both kind of right about. If you want, tell some or all of the story from Tina's POV, or do an epistolary/"found documents" structure.

Crooked Media RPF: Ira Madison III, Louis Virtel

Do not want:

For RL/job related reasons, centering stories around political discussion related to the US education system. Major roles for Crooked-Media-adjacent people, such as spouses, who are not public figures (mentions are fine). Stories formatted as a script or transcript of a podcast.

Very much want: Silly, sexy Ira/Louis with a friends-to-lovers or frenemies-to-lovers vibe. Canon-consistent engagement with progressive US politics.

Ideas: Oh, just write me something fun, and I'll love it. Tell about the wacky or apocalyptic event that makes these two cross the line into sex/romance. Or show them in a secret long-term relationship and tell about the wacky or apocalyptic event that makes them go public. Show how they're adjusting to Aida, or tell it from her POV and show how she's adjusting to their relationship (or non-relationship that turns into a relationship, or long history of FWB hookups). Show what happens when they land the Beyonce interview of their dreams. Or throw them into a fandom trope (sharing a bed? sex pollen? aliens made them do it?) and have them respond with their signature wit.

[journeysintowebcomics]

Homestuck Liveblog #184

UPDATE 184: Individuality According to Dirk Strider

Last time Dirk took over not only Rose, but also the entire narrative of this epilogue. What will be the consequences of such a thing? Well, he can control the story to some extent, for one. One of his actions was to make Jade fall unconscious, from what I understood, so let’s now continue.

The next page has Jade, but it’s a different one. It’s the Jade that was in the fight with Lord English, the one who is now drifting in the middle of nowhere, near the black hole. I suppose she survived the shard of reality impaling her on the back. Either that or she’s on the verge of death, like John is. I’ll take solace on that the odds the reality shard is poisoned are pretty low.

For a moment, she has the feeling that she’s recalling something. Images and sounds in her head that resemble memories. But the memories aren’t hers, exactly. They seem to be someone else’s. There’s an older version of Roxy... someone with a cheerful green skull for a head, who was... Roxy’s girlfriend? Something about an election. No, this doesn’t make any sense at all. The memories are slipping away, anyway. Quickly, they dissolve, and soon they’re completely out of her mind’s reach, like she’s waking from a dream. Just like that, they’re gone.

That sounds like it could be what Dirk and Rose were experiencing, visions of alternate selves. I wonder, though, perhaps Dirk’s the one sending said vision onto Jade? Heck, maybe he’s been doing this for much longer than I thought, and he’s the one who has been tormenting Rose, all so she would go talk to him and he’d have the chance to take over her. It’s plausible, I’d say.

Since she’s floating around half-dead, she has some time to think, and among the thoughts that may or may not be all hers, there’s something that gets my attention.

And she just fought Lord English after being plucked out of a doomed timeline.

For a while I had forgotten that those from doomed timelines are, well, doomed. John took with him a bunch of doomed people to fight Lord English. No wonder they died, really. Not that recruiting everyone from Earth C would have been more palatable, because he’d be placing at risk the versions of his friends who live in a peaceful Earth. There just wasn’t a perfect choice here.

For a moment I thought maybe Dirk had manipulated Rose and gave John instructions to make things go the way he wanted – including John most likely dying, given how Dirk thinks of him as useless and unremarkable – but then I remembered it was stated Dirk took over Rose during their conversation.

Something’s calling for Jade, right from the center of the black hole. It’s beckoning her, so she gets flying towards the black hole. Is that a good thing?

Oh! A red word in middle of everything! Dave red. I’m surprised! I didn’t think Dave would have the ability to mess with the narration too, but it makes sense. Striders, go!

She considers asking who is speaking, but her mouth stays shut, powerless against the forces transfixing her. Jade has no way of knowing who this voice belongs to. She has no context for understanding the true nature of this being, what role she has played in bringing about the end, and how long she has been waiting for this. She has no idea. But I do.

The dead cherub is making her move.

Hm. I’m a liiiittle bit concerned. The text is red, indicating it’s Caliborn. However, it’s not on ALL CAPS, like I remember Caliborn writes. Calliope is the only other option, and she’d write with green if she used color. Odd, hm...I guess I’ll know for sure which cherub this is when a word with U is shown.

You know a page’s not going to be fun when the very first lines are about someone being xenophobic – supposedly. It’s not like it was shown what it was. Sigh.

Apparently what caused potentially xenophobic comments was the mother grub being generally unpleasant to see. Cultural shock, I’ll say, it really was insensitive. I sure wouldn’t think a mother grub doing her thing is a nice sight, but you just don’t say that kind of thing aloud! Inner monologues are such a blessing. But hey, it’s the rebirth of trolls, this pretty much marks the success of everything Karkaroni and the rest of the trolls worked for. Only three of the original twelve are seeing the final result, but it’s worth it anyway.

So, why the description of the mother grub laying slurry from its ovipositional sphincter stuff is somehow less disgusting than the description of John eating meat? It’s kind of incongruent.

Ah, right, Kanaya is here, watching over the mother grub, and questions why they’re here, if it wasn’t to make quips about the mother grub’s performance. They’re here to convince Kanaya to join them into their political adventure, I figure. I’m not sure how Kanaya will react to that, but I don’t think she’ll eagerly support it. If she does it’ll be because of Karkaroni, though.

DAVE: im dropping a beat

DAVE: like im using a turntable and scratching one song into another

DAVE: all smooth and shit

KARKAT: IT LOOKS LIKE YOU’RE TRYING TO FOLD LAUNDRY YOU FORGOT TO IRON.

This amused me so much because that’s such a fun description of Dave’s gesture. It all reminds me I like Karkaroni a lot, what a colorful character he is.

Of course Kanaya was already aware of the election, and is impressed Karkaroni didn’t burst into flames with everyone watching him. Hah! Karkaroni replies to this gentle jab with a harsher remark about Kanaya’s like-blooded ancestors. Kind of a low blow, but nothing Kanaya can’t deal with what after so many years of being friends with Karkaroni.

She says Karkaroni has her utmost faith but that’s not the same as wanting to endorse him. I think if necessary she would, but it definitely isn’t a promise. She admits everything Karkaroni said concerns her, and Dirk takes the time to give a compliment about how Potential President Karkat can’t take compliments directly. The warm feelings cease when Kanaya mentions Jane already passed by to talk, though.

KANAYA: You Know I Do Like Jane

KANAYA: In Some Regards She Reminds Me Of A Friend We Had Who Sadly Did Not Survive Our Time On The Meteor

KANAYA: She Was Unfailingly Kind To Everyone She Met But She Also Happened To Be The Heiress To The Throne Of A Vast And Bloody Empire

KANAYA: And While She Had A Lot Of Opinions On Reform She Had Already Wrenched Some Of Her Power From Our Last Empress In The Traditional Manner

Feferi? Yeah, she was rather sweet, for troll standards. That said, I don’t think she was ‘unfailingly kind’. I mean, one of the few memories I have of her is she calling Jade stupid in a dream because she didn’t realize Feferi was dead. Hard to say someone’s unfailingly kind when the one interaction with somebody who wasn’t a troll was that, from what I remember. To her credit, she did show concern and care towards most of the trolls, so there’s that, at least.

KANAYA: By Which I Mean That Jane Is Perfectly Pleasant And I Believe That She Has Only The Best Of Intentions

KANAYA: But I Cant Shake The Feeling That Deep Inside Her Lurks The Potential For Despotism

The road to hell is paved with good intentions, they say. The saying in its usual meaning doesn’t apply to this, buuuut even though Jane has bad intentions, the result of said good intentions may not be the best for everyone. It’s a shame that so far it’s increasingly clear Jane’s supposed to be treated like she’s 100% in the wrong and should be shunned. My opinion is that maybe it’d be more interesting if it wasn’t so...black and white. That’s how things seem to me from what I have read so far, at least.

KARKAT: BUT FUCKING FEFERI? SHE WAS HARMLESS.

KANAYA: These Things Take Time To Gestate Karkat

DAVE: damn

KANAYA: Power Corrupts In Small Steps

KANAYA: Compromises

KANAYA: Concessions

KANAYA: Appeasements

KANAYA: And Leaders Follow The Example Set For Them

KANAYA: Look At What Jane Has Modeled Herself After Already

KANAYA: I Do Believe Its Important To Consider Precedent

I guess Kanaya would know better than me when it’s about troll culture, buuuut if I had to guess, Feferi would be a bit of an unpopular empress at first, given how different her policies of ‘don’t cull everyone’, but it’d be matter of time before trolls more amenable to her policies and ideas would exist, so I suppose at least for the first century or two she’d have to have a tough hand and maybe even use force to make things change. It’d be pretty close to fascism, admittedly.

Ooooh boy, Kanaya laughed, not kindly. That’s a no to the endorsement. Is she on Jane’s train, then?

KANAYA: Jane Offered Me “A Seat” On The “Board Of Responsible Troll Reproduction”

KARKAT: WHAT THE FUCK. HOW DARE SHE!

KANAYA: That Is Exactly What I Said

KANAYA: With More Tact Of Course

Board of responsible troll reproduction? That’s rather controlling. Jane, stop following the Condesce’s style, goodness.

The trolls are rather indignant at Jane’s tactless ideas, best intentions be damned, so it’s likely once anyone who isn’t human hears about it they’ll vote for Karkat. So from what I’m reading, this is starting to shape up into humans vs non-humans in general. That’s a rather delicate situation, no wonder it was said the peace in Earth C was so fragile.

I keep noticing Kanaya is dodging the topic of giving or not giving endorsement, even though that topic is touched she always has a way to go in a tangent. Look at her and learn a thing about smoothly changing topics, Dave, she’s good at this.

Apparently Rose has been distant with Dave, and he thinks she either is sick or she’s pregnant. Ah. Well that’s a thought I’d rather not to delve into, thanks for the weird thoughts, Dave. Take a hint from the trolls staring at you. Kanaya seems to feel guilty about something, and I’m not sure if Rose would have told her or not about the headaches and the unraveling of her powers and stuff. She even decides to call Rose right now.

Dirk answers, alarming Kanaya, who stays calm for diplomatic purposes. No answers come because John is doing something vaguely important to the plot again. Hah! Part of me is just imagining Dirk saw Kanaya was calling and because it’d be so awkward and bothersome to have to explain or make excuses, he made John do something just so he could get out of the conversation. But hey, no complaints from me! Moving the plot forward is good.

John’s vaguely important plot actions involve thinking about how everyone should become one powerful person, apparently. Is that your final objective, Dirk? Do you want everyone to become one person?

...

That kind of makes Jane’s presidential ambitions be a lot more sinister, since Dirk is so into them. I can’t rule out the possibility Jane winning the election would be an important step towards that goal, supposing he really intends to do such a thing.

Enough shoving strange thoughts into John’s head because he needs to focus on Meenah talking to him. She’s alive and not inside a black hole! Neato. What’s up, Lord English is dead. Rejoice!

There’s more silence than conversation here because they don’t know each other at all, unless you count John getting stabbed with a trident once or twice. Since this is a veeeery awkward conversation, he instead asks if she knows where Jade is, and Meenah doesn’t even know who Jade is. This conversation is just going nowhere.

This is without a doubt one of the worst conversations you’ve had in many, many years. And you aren’t just thinking that because I’m telling you you are.

When he’s right he’s right! More awkwardness ensues. They’re two strangers talking, pretty much.

JOHN: so what’s your plan now?

MEENAH: plan

JOHN: yeah.

JOHN: you just gonna hang around here, in the middle of nowhere, doing nothing forever?

MEENAH: thats what ghosts is most good at aint they

JOHN: you don’t have to stay here.

JOHN: i can take you back with me, to my planet.

JOHN: i mean, after we’re done looking for more survivors.

Is that possible? Can a ghost be among the living, just like that? Oh, right, John has the ring of life he took from Aranea. He could give it to Meenah and she’d be alive again. Is it a good idea, though? Do they want Meenah around? That’s what I’m not very sure about, because Meenah really doesn’t strike me as the kind of person who’d enjoy a peaceful existence with everyone else, or...as peaceful as it’ll get with everything that’s going on in Earth C.

Meenah points out correctly she’s a ghost and can’t exist over there in that planet, and she thought of her own plan, anyway. John gets close enough for her to whisper and then she leaves. John then thinks of checking his pockets and realizes the ring has been stolen. Pretty surprising it didn’t fall out of John’s pocket at some point given how much he was moving and getting bitten around. This is why you should captchalogue things instead of storing things in your pocket like some plebian, John!

Now that I think about it, captchaloguing simply stopped being a thing like in the middle of Act 6. Not that I’m complaining, really.

So, it turned out John’s vaguely important plot stuff was he getting the ring stolen by Meenah, so now that it’s done, Dirk can return to the conversation with Kanaya. How do you explain to someone her bride is unconscious after you pretty much started mind-controlling her? I suppose you don’t?

He totally isn’t explaining a thing. For someone who considers himself so clever and forward-planning what with the assimilation plan, he’s pretty awful at not keeping things going smoothly. Pretty bad traits for someone planning to possibly assimilate someone into one being.

DIRK: Sorry, Rose can’t come to the phone right now.

DIRK: She is otherwise... occupied.

KANAYA: Where Is She

DIRK: She’s at my place.

KANAYA: Im Sorry What

KANAYA: Rose Is Extremely Ill And Should Not Be Leaving The House Alone

KANAYA: What Is She Doing At Your Place

DIRK: Chillaxing, whilst we discuss the inevitable heat death of the universe and the unknowable, solitary nature of human consciousness.

KANAYA: I See

KANAYA: If She Is Capable Of Such Abstract Polemics Why Is It That She Cannot Speak With Me

DIRK: That’s a damned good question.

DIRK: One that will undoubtedly benefit from further exploration over the course of the next abstract polemic I have with her.

Goddamnit, Dirk. You could have just said she’s in the bathroom and that’d have worked slightly better than this!

Dirk’s taunting and messing around makes Kanaya decide she’ll get Rose, and once the call is over, Rose starts waking up. She doesn’t seem very under-Dirk’s-control right now, but she’s not okay. Maybe it’s a slow process or something.

John currently is wandering around, pondering if he should do surgery on the golden tooth stuck on his chest with a straight razor, and finding Jade’s shoes. He also finds Terezi. There she is! Wandering aaaaall the way out of the peaceful world, apparently. Either way, in this one paragraph I have compressed one entire page.

Apparently while they want for Kanaya Dirk’s making Rose discuss abstract polemics. I’m pretty sure that’s Dirk talking through her, because although Rose’s plenty verbose, I don’t think discussing philosophy while being sick is something she’d be eager to do. Also, she’s touching the topics of individuality, which is pretty relevant to Dirk right now. May as well listen, so I can understand a little better why Dirk’s doing all this.

Who the heck is Kierkegaard.

I’m going to be honest: reading philosophy being spouted with a straight face isn’t really what I was looking for in a liveblog. I feel a bit bad for scrolling through while all these orange and purple words fly over my head, buuuuut I don’t think liveblogging the intricacies of philosophical concepts is going to be interesting or fun, so I’m sparing everyone – and myself.

Oh, something I can bite into.

ROSE: I think free will is a thing, sure.

DIRK: Are you sure about that?

ROSE: ...

DIRK: Haven’t we spent the entire day having a feelings jam on how none of us got here by accident?

DIRK: Our lives were meticulously planned from clone-ception up through this very post-canon moment we find ourselves riffing in about the very free will we probably don’t even have.

DIRK: Don’t you think it’s all a little too convenient?

I mean, it’s a bit difficult to say there’s not a predetermined plan for these characters. If you don’t go through a series of actions, you’re in a doomed timeline and therefore you die. It’s hard not to go along the predetermined path when it’s either that or death. The only exception is John, who got powers of retcon and was able to jump around changing things to create the new predetermined path, but even then it’s possible the universe at a whole had determined that would happen and just nudged things in that direction.

Then again, when it’s about fiction there’s no free will. The author’s words and thoughts are the predetermined path. Authors are little gods creating their universe, so yeah, characters have no free will. Oh, look what you have done, Dirk, now I’m spouting philosophical nonsense, you sly fox. Won’t lie, typing all that just from a stream of thought was kind of fun. So that’s why the Striders enjoy being verbose.

Dirk keeps Rose lying down on the couch, proving he has full control of the narrative and therefore decides what happens and what doesn’t. He’s the author now and therefore the predetermined path is the one he creates. Oh there I go again, stop baiting me into philosophical hackneyed nonsense, Dirk.

The words ‘Ultimate Self’ and Dirk’s plan to possibly assimilate everyone into one god seem like they’re related, no? Maybe Dirk considers his Ultimate Self to be his goal, and it involves total assimilation. Pretty grim scenario, really.

Dirk makes Rose expand her mind, and she can see what John is doing right now.

ROSE: He could have made another choice.

DIRK: Then where would we be?

ROSE: Who knows.

The Candy epilogue, perhaps? I’m not sure how things would have changed based on that decision, but hey, butterfly effect stories are fun.

I’m not going to describe what she sees. First of all, that would be spoiling it. Unless you already know, in which case, I guess what’s taking place here qualifies as something closer to dramatic irony. But if you really want to see it for yourself, stop what you’re doing, flip the whole thing over, and begin again. I’ll be right here when you get back, waiting. Trust me, no one’s going anywhere.

Is this an indication I should go take a look at the candy epilogue now? It sounds like it is. I wonder if I should...but no, I have decided to see this through to the end. I’m already halfway done, may as well finish it.

If what Rose is saying is a reference to the events of the Candy epilogue, it doesn’t sound like they’re faring much better than the Meat epilogue. Sooooo the characters are generally screwed and are going to suffer either way. For people who spent three years in a game to create a new universe and get their happy lives that sure sucks.

Ah, here he is, I can see this is the moment where Dirk has finally assimilated Rose. It’s over for her. All that’s left is a condescending guy funneling pretentious thoughts into her. I liked Rose’s pretentious thoughts better. Next page!

Dirk’s narration when he’s talking about someone else’s supposed thoughts and actions is pretty exhausting. I find myself going faster and faster, and not because I’m invested in what he’s saying. Having Dirk as a narrator was a bad decision, he’s just on the same level than Doc Scratch was. Still not really enjoying the epilogue much.

He’s trying to stop her from going deeper into the black hole, and he’s failing. Not even the narrative is powerful enough to stop that, because there’s a stronger being trying to control parts of the narrative, the dead cherub trying to do this with red words. There was a U but it’s not any different from the rest of the text. The red text sounds courteous enough instead of Caliborn’s IRREVERENT SHOUTING so I suppose it’s Calliope, or at least a version of her. She beckons Jade deeper and deeper, until she’s irreversibly caught by the black hole and dragged in, much to Dirk’s frustration. There she goes! I’m curious what’ll happen with Jade, I admit!

Oho, the dead cherub is not only taking over the narration related to Jade in the black hole, they also are trying to take over the narration for the Jade in Earth C, the one who passed out in front of Roxy and Calliope.

ROXY: omg!

ROXY: jade

ROXY: jade u ok?

ROXY: callie hurry shes wakin up

JADE: j... john? rose??

JADE: is dave...?

JADE: wh...

JADE: what happened to.....

ROXY: yo its ok

ROXY: daves cool

ROXY: rose is cool

ROXY: everyones just straight chillin like usual

Huh! This feels kinda like the Jade in the black hole is being funneled into the Jade in Earth C. Are they fusing together, perhaps?

Dirk really doesn’t like that he can’t figure out what the dead cherub’s goal with the narrative is, and wastes his narrative grip by fuming about it while the dead cherub actually moves things along. It seems the Jade in Earth C is receiving the memories of her doomed black hole self. Maaaaaybe the doomed ghost versions of people getting caught in the black hole is that causes the headaches and visions. On the other hand, that’d require a lot of Roses and Dirks and Jades to be sucked into the black hole, and last I checked the ghost army was exclusively made of trolls. True, the black hole isn’t tied to the normal flow of time, so maybe it has expanded enough it has sucked a lot of doomed versions of the humans already.

Jade’s eyes are completely black. Alright, that wasn’t expected.

jade does not answer. the dead cherub scans her surroundings, expression neutral.

for the sake of clarity, the dead cherub is a phrase i am using in reference to myself. presently, i inhabit jade’s body, and through her i may influence this world.

Ah, nevermind, the dead cherub’s hijacking people around now. At least I can take solace on that it’s unlikely they have the same goal than Dirk. They even call him megalomaniac, which isn’t really wrong. They also call him a threat to the continued existence of the world and corporeal life, which is a tad worse than I thought it’d be. Was he planning to make everyone eliminate themselves once he got the complete takeover? Dirk’s goal is worse and worse with every page, seriously.

It doesn’t seem like Jade’s able to do anything, not even think. This is just as bad for them than what Dirk did to Rose, but it’s possible Jade’s current state is reversible once the dead cherub doesn’t need her anymore. On the other hand, what Dirk did seems permanent.

Aha, it definitely is Calliope doing things here in the narrative. Neat!

Dirk sounds so salty he’s losing the battle for the narrative, Dead Calliope even uses metaphors that are familiar to him to drive home the point: he’s outclassed. Thank goodness, I was getting tired of Dirk’s narrative.

in his haste to manipulate the events surrounding doomed jade’s ascent toward an outcome favorable to himself, the prince has unwittingly revealed several glaring weaknesses. by dictating the reality of others through expressions which he and he alone can relate to, he resorts to comparing all experience to his own. presuming his status on this side of my horizon would forever go unchallenged, his hubris went unchecked. he exposed too much of himself to all who could observe his wanton display of self-gratification. many of his personal biases and experiences have leaked through the seams of textual causality, leaving them vulnerable to exploitation by an adversary.

I’m not very sure what she means, but what’s clear is that Dirk brought this to himself, he’s the one who left the opening and enabled Dead Calliope to strike. He has nobody to blame but himself. A+ work, Dirk, try again. It also helps that Dead Calliope has more experiences with the vastness of metaphysical and narrative stuff than Dirk does, and isn’t as scared of it all as he is. If she’ll spend quite some time dunking on Dirk’s efforts I’m all for it. He deserves all the dunking he can get. Look at his tiny font, getting saltier and saltier. I’m enjoying this more, I have to say!

This seems like a good point to stop, now that we have a new narrator. Alright, until next time!

Next update: next time

[pass-the-bechdel]

The Middleman Full Series Review

How many episodes pass the Bechdel test?

100% (twelve out of twelve)

What is the average percentage per episode of female characters with names and lines for the full series?

41.34% 

How many episodes have a cast that is at least 40% female?

Seven.

How many episodes have a cast that is at least 50% female?

Four.

How many episodes have a cast that is less than 20% female?

None.

How many female characters (with names and lines) are there?

Twenty-two. Four who appear in more than one episode, three who appear in at least half the episodes, and three who appear in every episode.

How many male characters (with names and lines) are there?

Fifty. Seven who appear in more than one episode, two who appear in at least half the episodes, and one who appears in every episode.

Positive Content Status:

Casting aside—a series centering on a Latina Woman of Color remains notable—the series isn’t particularly interested in excelling on this score. And while there’s nothing huge bringing the score down, there’s a quite a few tiny things which do. (Average rating of 2.92).

General Season Quality:

Quite strong, both as a comedy and when appreciated on its own terms.  Understands the appeal of comic books and manages to replicate it more consistently and better than more traditional, and arguably more accurate, takes. 

MORE INFO (and potential spoilers) under the cut:

When I chose to revisit this series, I was afraid that the decade between when it aired and now would make the show less enjoyable than it originally was. Things have changed considerably since 2008, and not only has TV come to embrace superhero narratives of the sort The Middleman often makes reference to, it has also made considerable leaps when it comes to representation. Going back into it, I was nervous that what had once felt fresh and funny would now feel familiar, offensive, or simply unfunny.  Fortunately, no. While there are certainly things that feel more bothersome now than they did in 2008—for example, the series feels heteronormative in a way it did not before—taken as a whole, The Middleman holds up better than I’d hoped.

I read a lot of comic books. My father, who has who has been collecting them for roughly fifty years, instilled in me a love for the medium, and while time has increased my disappointment in mainstream comic books, and their consistent inability to make the most out of the toys they’ve created, my affection for them as a whole continues undiminished.  The Middleman, then, is right up my alley. It loves comic books too, and is actually better than many of them. 

The Middleman is,first and foremost, familiar. Its elements recall a million things. Wendy Watson has a lot in common with Buffy.  The Middleman would fit right in with the Doctor. The universe the characters inhabit plays by comic book rules, and knows that the audience is aware of them. Taken together, all of these things, could have very easily led to a very derivative package, which makes it all the more surprising that the series feels as singular as it does.

Part of the appeal of super-hero comic books is the way their diverse, sometimes contradictory narratives, told by various creators, interlock over years, and even decades, to create larger stories, which in turn help make the world’s setting feel large and interesting, and worth exploring even if it’s not through the eyes of the stories’ protagonists.  It’s an approach that requires a certain amount of time and looseness, and it’s one that has proven somewhat difficult to translate to the screen.

In a landscape that has become saturated with superhero narratives, The Middleman still stands out as one of the few which best captures the appeal of superhero universes. It’s one thing to tell the story of Supergirl; it’s another to tell the story in which Supergirl exists as part of a world that feels just as dense and weird and funny as she is.  Even the Marvel Cinematic Universe, in ten years, hasn’t quite managed it, at least not consistently.  

The Middleman, however, feels large. It feels dense. Its adventures may  be confined largely to a limited set of locations set within a single city, but nevertheless, the series manages, in twelve episodes, to convey a larger world and more history than other shows manage in three times the space and four times the budget. What’s more, it does so effortlessly and fearlessly. It gets that the audience is willing to buy stories of fish that turn people into zombies, or vampire puppets, or two werewolf administrations, and is willing to do so without trouble, as long as the stories are told with confidence and are bolstered clever writing and good characters.

Fortunately, The Middleman has those in spades.  

                  As a character, Wendy Watson is fascinating; like the series itself, she’s both very familiar and yet stunningly unique.  As mentioned, she exists in the same ecological niche as Buffy—snarky, clever, unconcerned with tradition, zealously determined to not let her job take over her life—while at the same feeling quite different in important ways, largely centering around the fact that the series isn’t concerned with making Wendy miserable. While Buffy’s destiny is considered a burden, Wendy’s job as a Middleman-in-training is not only something she got to choose (and can presumably abandon at any moment) but something that ultimately makes her life richer.  In fact, that Wendy is satisfied with all aspects of her life may be the most radical thing about the series: yes, she can have it all, and it doesn’t cause the world to explode.  That this is all true for a Latina woman of color makes it all the more notable, and important.

As a Puerto Rican of color, I really appreciate the depiction of Wendy’s Latinidad, which informs her character in subtle but defined ways.  She feels like my friends and I do, which is not something I can say about a lot of Latino characters.  Furthermore, I love that Wendy has friends and people who love her and are concerned for her happiness. While it makes perfect sense for her, as a Buffy analogue, to have them, that she gets to have them as a woman of color makes it all the more important, given the frequent explicit and implicit expectation that women of color be supporting characters in other people’s stories, without  wants or desires or weaknesses of their own. Wendy cares and is cared for; that matters.  

Another element that makes Wendy familiar is that she is a geek, one who feels considerably more authentic than that character type usually does. Not only are her interests more specific and varied than the norm—her reference pool goes beyond Star Wars and the X-Men—her geekery is not presented as an obstacle in her life,or something that prevents her from being socially and romantically successful. In a world in which loud, misogynistic, and often white elements within the geek communities would claim that they are oppressed because of their interests, it feels heartening to see  the show make a counter-argument. The Middleman understands geeks better than those who would most violently claim that label do, and that makes me happy.   

  Take all of these elements, add Natalie Morales’ consistently fantastic performance, and the fact that Wendy Watson is the honest-to-goodness protagonist of the show, and you have a character that remains a standout in the television landscape, even now.

Then there’s The Middleman. 

Now, I quite like the Middleman.  Not only is he responsible for many of the show’s laughs, the writing and Matt Kesslar’s acting manage to ground all his peculiarities and make them feel plausible, compelling and human, instead of allowing them to overwhelm the character.  At the same time, though, there are parts of him I no longer care for as much as I once did.   

In general, I find The Middleman hard to pin down.  Parts of him remind me of characters like Sherlock’s Sherlock—quirky geniuses who are allowed to run roughshod over other people’s lives because they are allegedly the only people who can do what they do (and, subtextually, because they are white and male). Early on, that impression feels borne out, as he does things like manipulating events to ensure a second meeting with Wendy, or suggesting that Sensei Ping, another quirky (if non-white) genius, should have free rein to be an ass.  At the same time, there is a refreshing lack of ego to him: as he’ll tell you, he’s just the Middleman, one in a decades-long line, and this is both a vital element in his characterization and the show’s overall narrative: if he could become the Middleman, there’s no reason why Wendy can’t. Together, these two elements feel somewhat hard to reconcile.

Another element that bemuses me about the Middleman is his sensibilities, which suggest a certain type of conservatism—he’s a fan of old westerns and their brand of rugged masculinity, drinks milk, foregoes swearing, styles himself in a way intended to honor Dwight Eisenhower, and expresses a degree of gender essentialism—and are therefore hard to square with his overall demeanor and actions, which suggest a generally more open character. It feels as if the parts of him that recall fake 50’s wholesomeness should define him in more fundamental ways than they actually do; instead they just exist, both being and not being a fundamental part of his personality, and feeling contradictory in ways I’m not sure are intentional. It’s not enough to ruin the character, but it’s the sort of thing that makes me newly skeptical. 

The Middleman spends most of his on-screen time with Wendy, and aforementioned hiccups aside, the series absolutely nails their partnership:  its evolution, from the moment of their accidental meeting to their reunion after Wendy is temporarily lost in a parallel Earth, is the one of the series most enjoyable long-term stories. They are, without question, one of my favorite screen duos ever. However, a large part of what makes The Middleman special is that this is far from the show’s only crucial dynamic. The Middleman may grow to be a crucially important person in Wendy’s life, but he is far from the only person, and that matters a lot.   

A tendency I’ve noted in television is that love and affection tend to be portrayed as finite resources, which can only be divvied among people in uneven slices—there’s the one single central relationship, and every other becomes peripheral. Exceptions to this are scarce: Nikita was one; this is another. Wendy not only has the Middleman, but she also has Lacey, and Tyler, and Noser, and the people in her apartment, and even Ida, and all of these feel as important to Wendy as saving the world; it is a key part of the series’ appeal.

Which brings us to Lacey.

As Wendy’s best friend and the Middleman’s love interest, Lacey is a far bigger character here than she was in the comic book the series is based on. She is also, thanks to the scripts and Brit Morgan, a consistent pleasure.  At the same time, rewatching the show, Lacey became another of my chief sources of unease. While I continue to enjoy Lacey and Wendy’s relationship, I now enjoy her relationship with Middleman considerably less than I once did.  The two characters together are electric,but there’s so much iffy stuff in the margins that it’s hard to actually root for them the way the show wants me to. In other words, it really bugs me that Lacey doesn’t care to know the Middleman’s name, and it especially bugs me considering the other characters she is romantically tied to.

It’s one thing for Lacey to be so smitten with The Middleman that she doesn’t care about his name—that can be explained away as a necessary conceit of the story. However, when she also shows signs that she instantly taken with the Middleman of 1969, and when the show plays around with pairing her with canonical-waste-of-space Pip, then it feels like something else is going on here.  Like with the Middleman’s quirks, it suggests something, but I’m not sure what that is, and it’s prominent enough to make me wary.  It’s almost enough to make me wish for her to get over the Middleman and actually got romantic with Wendy—at least, as long as they make a space for Tyler.

Of Wendy’s three core relationships, the one with Tyler is the most superfluous to the narrative, insofar as the narrative does just fine without him when he’s not around. And yet, I’m glad to have him around, in part because of how refreshing it feels to have a white male character confident enough to have no ego that needs defending. Given his and Wendy’s circumstances—he’s broke, unemployed, and struggling as an artist, while she has a job she enjoys and takes up most of her time, which also happens to be the job he could have had—it would have been the easiest thing in the world to have struggle with his insecurities, and to have him be the character in the relationship most in need of support. Instead, he manages to feel shockingly mature, and subsequently far more appealing than the usual love interest.  That the show feels no need to attempt to make him Wendy’s equal feels particularly refreshing.

The Middleman’s web of interconnected characters and relationships helps ground a series that could easily feel insubstantial or bogged down by either its humor or superhero elements in something real. While part of me wishes the series’ universe included more people of color in general, and more Latino people specifically (the only other one is Wendy’s prominent but perpetually offscreen mother) their presence would only improve what is already a very solid group. Overall, it’s quite easy to imagine the series working as a “proper” superhero show, in part because the characters work so well.

Not that I’d want a more serious The Middleman. A case could be made that it is precisely because it is not interested in being a Serious Superhero Story that it succeeds where many Serious Superhero Stories don’t.  It is because the series isn’t concerned about making a boy band made up of four Joshes five exiled intergalactic tyrants feel like an insurmountable threat (until the inevitable surmounting) that it can focus on making them entertaining and memorable and fun. It is because the series isn’t interested in making superheroics the only thing that matters that it can make it feel so vibrant and vital. It is because the series isn’t interested in filling its romances with angst that they are so appealing and important. No, The Middleman isn’t interested in that: it knows what it is, and what it is is a damn satisfying package, even after all these years.

[sanerontheinside]

Call Sign (1 of 2, apparently)

Over a year ago I did a prompt run for titles. Now, it’s been over a year, and I’ve amassed over 30 titles. Obviously I’m never gonna fill them, eh? y’all thought. 

Actually, about a third of them have ideas attached, and a few more have ideas that I’m lukewarm about, so they’re still marinating. You should know, there are... 7 aus between them, and 2 short stories (that I’m relatively set on going with). 

Call Sign alone, however, happened to be a particularly active title, and spawned 3 stories. One buggered off and found another name to live under (and, incidentally, another au). One is a Rogue One au. 

That is not this one. 

“Captain,” Governor Arkin grated irritably, “you were tasked with subduing and eradicating the rebels, and yet the terrorist attacks on the Empire's citizens continue!”

Ty drew himself up taller, forcing down a misplaced pang of wounded pride and smoothing his face to a neutral mask for the Governor’s lecture. It wasn’t his first time. It wouldn’t be the last, either. He’d be thoroughly reamed, sent out to do the job “properly this time,” yet again without assistance, and criticised again for failure. Better him in the line of fire than his men.

They were doing their jobs! They were, truly, doing their best. Problem was, Onderon’s military hadn’t been much to boast of since the Clone Wars, when their most respected generals had abandoned their posts in the midst of the Separatist occupation and joined forces with the deposed King Dendup. For a time, they’d even won back their standing, all of them—until the arrival of the Empire’s forces. Now, their king was dead, former rebels declared outlaws once more, and the people of Onderon again utterly demoralised. This was nothing like the fire Ty remembered, when the Gerrera siblings began to show the first signs of a true, organised resistance force.

Despite his fairly young age, Ty had earned his rank as Captain of the Guard fair and square—he’d been the best in his class. But he harboured no illusions about how he might compare to his predecessors. His uncle General Tandin might well have been a walking legend in comparison.

Ty was just… doing his best. Besides, how could he ask his men, his brothers-in-arms, to fight their own family? Uncle Ari might still be out there, despite reports of his suspected death. Ty certainly wasn’t going to be the one to turn reports into reality.

So he fell back on the usual script; not enough people to comb the mountains, not enough equipment or weaponry to flush the caves. He wasn’t going to sell out his men either, after all. Ty had the feeling the Empire knew all about their familial connections among rebels, and also caught the feeling that they didn’t care enough, but that could change at any moment.

But, for once, things did not go according to plan. Apparently, Governor Arkin did have a limit to his patience.

“Backup, he says. You want backup?” Arkin snarled. “Fine. I’ll put in a request for an orbital strike.”

Ty barely held back a horrified noise. “Governor, sir, we’ve requested one before, the Empire—”

“The Empire will provide resources at my request,” Arkin replied scathingly, “as your people proved unequal to the task. You call this a military, boy? I ought to send you to the Imperial Academy, but I don’t expect to see you after that strike anyway. Dismissed, Captain,” Arkin added with an ugly sneer, and Ty, shell shocked, fell back on trained habits. He saluted—making it just barely passable, he was trying so hard to keep his hands from shaking—and turned on his heel, all but fleeing the Governor's office.

Office. He’d defiled the bloody throne room, but that was neither here nor there.

Fuck, Ty thought, fucking fuck fuck shit fuck arse. He needed a drink. And a Mandalorian. A drink to appease an annoyed Mandalorian, and a Mandalorian to help him find the right fucking swear words, and tell him what the fuck to do, because Ty honestly didn’t fucking know anymore.

Fortunately, he knew where to find both.

Imps could say what they liked about the Clone Wars vets still in their command structure, but Ty preferred working with Commander Naasade, and drinking with him. For one thing, Naasade was efficient, and could drink anyone under the table. For another, the vet could always make sense of things, like command decisions.

Particularly this latest slap in the face.

“They’re sending a squadron of troopers to wipe out the resistance fighters in the mountains,” Ty mumbled into his fourth drink, about two hours later. His head was floating and his ears were ringing, but Naasade looked completely unaffected. Luckily Ty wasn’t stupid enough to try a drinking game with him.

“They’ve been saying that since we got here.” Naasade shrugged. “They say it about every planet with a resistance cell, anyway.”

“Yeah?” There was just a hint of bleak sarcasm that Ty couldn’t keep out of his voice. “What happened to Lothal?”

Naasade pinned him with a too-sober look. “Onderon isn’t Lothal. You’re Inner Rim, kid. That’d be like the Emperor ordering a strike on Alderaan.”

That sounded fair enough, Ty supposed, staring into his glass again. Things made a lot more sense when alcohol was involved, but that wasn’t necessarily a good thing.

He was sad. Why was he sad?

“I don’t wanna, kill ‘em all,” he slurred, then frowned with effort. The Empire wanted the rebels crushed, gone, forgotten, but… “S’not… right. They’re people.”

Naasade sighed. “Better be careful who you say that around, kiddo. You’re never the one who picks the booth with the jammer in it, what’re you gonna do when I’m not around to watch your sodden arse?”

Ty smiled. That sounded like a fond sort of grumble.

One thing the occupation kept reminding him of, was that there were stupid damn idealistic idiots everywhere, green and naive and itching for a way to get themselves killed. Drinks with Ty always left him in a foul mood and a sour taste in his mouth.

Naasade sighed irritably into his drink, then thought better of it and pushed the glass away. He had an appointment to keep as it was—and it just got much less pleasant. A night patrol, an out-of-the-way meeting. Now a warning to pass along.

People like that, naive and idealistic and stupid-young, they made his job easier, sometimes. Sometimes all he had to do was sit someone down for long enough that they’d lay out the plan for the next month in perfect order for him. Sometimes he got the chance to stretch out, talk rings around an officer until he could play them like a bes’bev, make them a Rebel sympathiser for a day to get the newest codes for transmission frequency encryption.

Ty was loyal, and devoted completely, to Onderon—not to the Empire. That was a crucial distinction; Naasade had no problem manipulating Imps to do whatever he needed them to. Disillusioned Imps were, in fact, the easiest to compromise. But Ty was less a target for recruitment than a source, and every time the kid walked away Naasade thought the Empire would swallow him whole, leave the body in a sewer somewhere.

Didn’t want to kill Rebels… Yeah, that kid wouldn’t last long.

Naasade was here shadowing an injured Fulcrum. He didn’t even know which one of them it was: some clever fucker in Command had once suggested tagging multiple people with that call sign, to have the Imps chasing their own tails for a bit. Based on the fact that Command had assigned him to babysit, and seemed to be keeping a very close eye on the situation, Naasade was almost convinced this was the real, original Fulcrum.

He was perversely grateful, still, that they hadn’t specified. For one thing, it gave him plausible deniability. For another, if the rumours from the early days were at all true, Fulcrum was likely to be a Jedi.

He wasn’t ready for that yet. The thought had him reaching for his glass again in a hurry, washing down a wave of bitterness before it could overtake him. Then, of course, Naasade grimaced at the empty tumbler, put it down, pushed himself up out of the seat and made his legs take him out of the bar. He certainly didn’t need that habit coming back.

He’d probably earned himself a headache for tomorrow morning anyway. Annoyingly, it tended to center on the faint scar on the right side of his head—evidence of careful brain surgery, an extraction he didn’t even want to think about. It seemed both appropriate and ironic, that he be reminded of the exact thing that drove him to drink in the first place every time he forgot himself and went a little bit too far again.

It was almost time to start his patrol, anyway, which meant that he had to be outside the city in five.

He made it in two, pulling out of the main gate like a man let loose. This was his favourite patrol route. The grey, weighted feeling of the city melted away from him and into the brisk air as he cut through the fields.

Somewhere in the middle of his patrol route, Naasade slowed down to a casual, coasting halt. It was a habit he’d established well enough during his posting that no one would think it strange. Some of his patrolling reports mentioned meeting the locals. Naasade reported meeting farmers, peaceful people, and either passing along the boundary of their land or having well-intentioned quiet arguments on where the boundary lay.

Naasade made sure to never capture a recording of one. He always left his swoop idling; his helmet, with its shitty voice pickup, never got anything over the rumble of the engine it was sitting right on top of; and in the dark, with companion in shadow or behind a large boulder, the video feed also caught nothing.

Their meetings also fell in seemingly random intervals. Actually it had more to do with which of Onderon’s moons had completed its cycle, but most Imps never bothered to learn the traditions of the planets they’d invaded. A great deal of local mythology was built on the phases of Onderon’s satellites.

Naasade just considered himself lucky that tonight was one of those predetermined meetings, and that he wouldn’t need to run the risk of requesting emergency contact.

He parked his swoop near a generously-sized boulder and got up to stretch, and stare at the stars. He was making good time, anyway—as always.

Radha was already waiting for him, but that wasn’t unusual either.

“Late, Commander,” a low voice said from behind the stone.

“Just fine,” he murmured. “How’s the patient?”

“Pain in everybody’s arse,” Radha shot back without a second’s hesitation. “Could be worse, though. Should’ve moved out a month ago, said they wanted to stay—to help out around the house.”

Naasade raised an eyebrow at the night sky. “And you don’t need the help,” he said flatly.

“Naw, we do,” Radha’s grin was audible, “but we’re not the only ones. There’s others they could assist. Not complaining, anyway. Not really.”

He knew the frustration in that voice—was intimately familiar with it. Definitely a Jedi, then, Naasade thought. ‘Helping about the house’ could mean anything, too, from training the troops to literally helping them explore the cave passageways. He suppressed a heavy sigh. “You’re gonna need all the help you can get, soon.”

“Shit.” He caught sight of the dull glow of a discarded tabac stick before it was viciously ground out. “Storm?”

Naasade nodded, mentally reviewing the last known fleet positions. “Big one.”

The Governor could be a right bastard, but Moff Sesirri Tanai had control over this sector at the moment. She was cold, calculating, and absolutely ruthless. At least she wasn’t also Tarkin-levels of destructive.

Sesirri was pragmatic, though, even in her overkill.

Radha swore fervently. “When?”

“Soon. Eight days,” at a minimum. Naasade thought about it a moment, wondering what to expect from Moff Tanai. “Expect nightcrawlers,” he added.

Death Commandos. From behind the stone, Naasade thought he heard a strangled curse as the realisation hit. They hadn’t exactly needed to use that particular shorthand phrase before. “Can your friend get out on their own?”

“I don’t know,” Radha said. “If I tell them, they won’t leave. They’ll want to help.”

Naasade snorted quietly. “Figures. Can you relocate?”

Radha was silent for a moment. “Do they know where our house is?”

An excellent question. Ty never said, but there had to be a record of sightings, suspected resistance outposts. “I’ll ask around.” He’d picked up a trick or two from slicers over the years, and with the right set of commands, computers didn’t mind questions nearly as much as people might. “When can you take delivery?”

“Fourth moon.”

Naasade grimaced. “City beat.”

“Then I’ll find you. At market?”

“Generator side. Prearranged drop-off site.”

“Done,” Radha agreed. “Now go home, Imp.”

Naasade smiled faintly. “You too, Rebel scum.

[your-fixof-fics]

Can you do a fluff one with Karma x Nagisa where they're sharing a bed? Thanks x

Bed Sharing －Karma/Nagisa

Summary: Once, falling into bed together - in the most platonic sense - had been as easy as the bright smiles they cast each other, or the banter they shared across the room, as best friends without a care in the world. But time changes people, and even if, physically, they are still sleeping side by side, Nagisa can’t deny that the two of them aren’t the same little boys they were anymore. (2980 words)

Cross-posted on FFN: [Link]

Whenever Karma and Nagisa spends the night together, they would always sleep on the same bed. It’s an unspoken agreement of sorts, or a long-held tradition, or perhaps its just something to be taken for granted between best friends.

Nagisa knows how it began, remembers fondly the nights he heard the quiet knocks on the window of his room. Back then, still in middle school, he would be all nerves as he watches the other boy, sitting on the wide ledge on the other side of the glass, showing no concern that they were 20 floors from the ground.

“What are you doing?” he’d hissed, the first time he let the other boy into his room.

Back then, Karma still had to grace to think of some excuse, “Thought of this plan we can try, to kill sensei.”

“Can’t that wait ‘til morning?”

“Okay but I’m worried if I wait until then, it won’t sound like a good idea anymore.”

It turns out, it didn’t sound a like good idea even when Nagisa was sleep-deprived in the middle of the night.

He doesn’t remember when exactly they moved from chatting on the floor to waking in the bed, cuddled together, the next morning, but he does remember the panicked rush of pushing a reluctant Karma quietly out the apartment before his mother finds out.

Nagisa knew he needed to learn to say no the next time there’s a knock at his window. But it’s hard to reject someone when they don’t even give you the time to speak.

Just waltzes around the room and plays games, reads some comics, and lounges on the bed. Nagisa knows his mum is usually still awake, so it’s not like he can let Karma out of his rooms, and there’s no way he will let Karma out the window again, assassin in training or not, so he learns to just tolerate the redhead.

He argued, for a while: “I’m too tired, Karma, you can play whatever you want, but I’ll just grab a futon for you and then I’m going back to bed.”

“Why do I have to get the floor? I’m a guest, aren’t I?”

“No, you’re just a trespasser”, Nagisa had retorted, resisting an urge to smack his face. Instead, he simply flopped down to his own bed, and slept.

He woke up with Karna’s arms wrapped around his waist and one of the redhead’s legs over his own. He had sighed, before pushing the redhead off the bed to wake him up.

Eventually, Nagisa grows to expect it, that Karma would just turn up outside his rooms suddenly and stay the night. (“How do you even get up here, anyway?” “Your fire escape is pretty close to the ledge.” “It’s actually not. Most people probably can’t make the jump.” “Lucky I’m not most people, then.”)

And somewhere in his last few months of middle school, he catches on Karma isn’t only doing this for fun. It’s the way there is tension in his movements, the force in his smiles, that Nagisa had noticed before but never quite put it all together until one night he notices Karma’s cheeks were slightly more pink on one side.

They had sat together, that night, in a silence that was not quite comfortable, but the alternative seemed worse and Nagisa wasn’t sure if he dared to break it. Instead, he had one hand on Karma’s, the other tracing the faint mark on his face.

Eventually, when they were both under the covers, lights out in the room, Nagisa mumbled, “I knew you didn’t get along with your parents, but I didn’t realise it was this bad.”

Even in the dark, Karma’s gaze was penetrating. “Don’t,” he said in a low voice. “You did fine not asking for almost a whole year.”

“This can’t go on,” Nagisa insisted.

Karma doesn’t respond for a while, to the point where Nagisa wonders if he’s asleep. But then he turns his back to Nagisa, shifting the covers as he moves. “I know,” he said at last. “That’s why, I think I’ll move to Tokyo for high school.”

Nagisa widened his eyes, and tried not gasp. He had always thought Karma would remain local, continue on at Kunigigaoka, or just a nearby high school if it didn’t work out. Not because he didn’t believe in Karma’s ability to make it into an even more prestigious high schools, but because of his casual laziness in his attitude.

He should he relieved, even happy, that once they graduate, his friend can find reprieve. But his heart had felt heavy at the news, and he couldn’t bring himself to be truly genuine when the time finally came to wishing him farewell and good luck.

The next time one of them sleepovers at the other’s place, it’s a year since they’ve seen each other.

Nagisa goes out to Tokyo to visit Karma, who stays at the local dormitories, the redhead hadn’t wanted Nagisa to return back to the hotel at nightfall. Instead, Karma sneaked Nagisa back to his dormitory, introduced him to all his friends in the common room, then led him back to his dorm.

Karma gets the room to himself, but it’s even smaller than Nagisa’s bedroom. There’s definitely no space to lie properly on floor; the desks and chairs are too much in the way for that, so Nagisa is forced into the same single bed as Karma.

Awkward does not begin to describe the experience. It’s an unfamiliar place with an unfamiliar bed that feels too small even for one person, and Nagisa couldn’t even turn without fear of either falling off or crashing into Karma.

He barely sleeps that night.

So the next year, Karma opts to crash at Nagisa’s hotel room instead. The bed is slightly bigger, and though the couch is also available, Karma’s stubborn preference for the bed hadn’t changed.

But Nagisa could feel their own dynamic changing, though. Even as they try to do the same things they’ve been doing in the past, or try introduced each other to new interests, there’s a gap that had grown in two years’ worth of absence from each other, and a few days together is not enough to bridge the gap yet.

And perhaps, that’s why Karma was even more determined to share beds, and do the same rituals they’ve always done in the past.

But they can’t live in the past forever.

As the distance between them grows, Nagisa is desperate to learn the new dance between them. It’s a light, careful tread, where Karma can’t quite meet his eyes. Sometimes, if Nagisa is quick or subtle, he’ll catch Karma’s stare before the other looks away. Their brief touches (no longer the carefree hand holding in their childhood, but there are still gentle squeezes in the shoulder, pats in the back) are firmer, but hesitation often lingers between them before the touch.

Somewhere along the line, the moments spent in bed a welcomed respite as they share a cover. Close enough to hear each other’s breaths, and somehow, in the dark, it almost feels as if not see in each other allows them not to see their own changing feelings.

Until the last holiday before the start of their final high school year.

Karma had turned to face Nagisa, their faces inches apart. “Come to Tokyo,” he offered. “For university, move to the city with me.”

Nagisa frowned. He’d considered before then about his university choices, and Tokyo had always been an option that was plausible, but one he didn’t really allow himself to think about, not daring to think of the implications. But if Karma himself was offering…

“I’ll think about it,” he hummed, noncommitally. “I’ll have to raise my grades a little higher, but I suppose it’s achievable.”

“Please come, I would be sad if you don’t.” Karma’s voice is strained.

Nagisa can’t see Karma’s expression in the dark, and he hopes it goes both ways, because he doesn’t really know how to respond to that.

“I’ll try,” he said at last.

When Nagisa tells Karma he’s moving to Tokyo, Karma was ecstatic. The nervousness leaves Nagisa when it dawns on him just how much of a help Karma is, as someone already in Tokyo, and talks of introducing Nagisa to all his favourite places and helping him settle in.

It still feels weird, Nagisa thought, to explore a side of Karma’s life that he wasn’t a part of. But maybe now, he can be apart of it, too.

And somewhere along the discussion, Karma had decided they should get an apartment together, and Nagisa hadn’t known how to say no to that.

It means there’ll be no more sleepovers, for one thing, because they would literally be living under the same roof all the time, and Nagisa doesn’t know whether to be disappointed or excited at these thoughts.

The day Nagisa moves in, four bags balanced awkwardly on his arms and the huge suitcase he’s carrying, Karma had opened the door with his eyes wide, and shirtless.

There really was nothing that Nagisa could have done to prepare for the sight. He freezes, stiff, as his bags drop to the floor.

“Um…” Karma eyed Nagisa, then swept his gaze down to all his bags on the floor. “Right. I’ll be a second.”

The door slammed shut in Nagisa’s face, and he’s left waiting for a minute outside, before Karma returned with a proper shirt. He opened the door wide, and grabs two of Nagisa’s bags, leading him into the living room.

Nagisa followed mutely behind him, his eyes lingering at Karma’s back, trying to imagine the tanned skin underneath his shirt. Surely, it is fatigue that is making his thoughts so reckless; just a wild, untamed passing thought that demands to feel the chest and abs that Karma had revealed a moment ago.

It’s just that he wasn’t expecting it. After all, they had seen each other shirtless multiple times, back in middle school, and no one had thought anything of it. It’s so easy to forget, that there no longer children who would think staring at each other’s upper body would be perfectly acceptable, and not cause his stomach to stir so.

“Sorry about before,” Karma mumbled, settling down the bags in the living room as he turns back to face Nagisa. “I wasn’t expecting you until next week.”

Nagisa snaps his mind back to the present, tilting his head. “Oh.” He looked around the room, magazines piled on the table, a blanket draped on the couch and the tv paused half-way through a movie. “I’m sorry I interrupted. There was an earlier train and I… I’m not sure why I didn’t call beforehand, I’m sorry about that.”

Karma tilted his head, a wry smile on his face. “Stop apologising, geez, I guess I’ll show you to your bedroom and you can unpa-” Nagisa knew something was bad; can feel his own heart sinking, even before Karma turns back to Nagisa. “Oh shit, the furniture guy hasn’t come with the bed yet.”

Nagisa creased his brows. “Oh, that’s unfortunate.” He looked around once more, eyes pausing at the couch. “But it’s fine, I can make do with the couch. It’ll only be a temporary arrangement, anyway.”

Karma followed Nagisa’s gaze to the couch, and let out a dissatisfied noise from the back of his throat. “We’re not talking about one night; it’s a week. I’m sure you can do better.”

Nagisa shrugged “I really don’t mind.”

Karma put a hand to his forehead and groans. “For God’s sake, don’t be a stranger.” He pulled Nagisa to his own room and pushed the door wide. “It’s a double bed, we’ll definitely fit.”

Nagisa had nodded.

And that’s how Nagisa ended up standing in front of Karma’s bed, as night fell.

They had spent the day helping Nagisa unpack some of his bags (though without most of his furniture, it wasn’t like there was any point in unpacking his clothes or other belongings), and then Karma steered Nagisa to every room in their apartment and demanded Nagisa’s input to how he wanted their shared space arranged. (Nagisa had been genuinely honest when he insisted he didn’t care, it wasn’t just out of politeness, but Karma would have none of that. So Nagisa could only reluctantly suggest some minor shifts in furniture location to satisfy his friend.)

And it helps that they’ve done chores together, because even if Nagisa’s heart jumps a little every time Karma comes near, or if he’s mind is a loss of words whenever Karma speaks, their bodies remember each other. And the shared experience of physical exertion is a quick way to bridge the gap from the past three years apart.

It also means, by nightfall, Nagisa should be too tired to worry about anything. But then, under the large covers, listening to two sets of breathing, Nagisa finds sleep evading him.

He’s lying on his back, half tempted to look towards Karma to the right of him, but he doesn’t dare. He knows from the other’s breathing patterns that he’s not quite asleep either.

It’s Karma who breaks their uneasy silence, when he shifts on the bed. Accidentally, his finger brushes against Nagisa’s and the bluenette feels his heart batter against his chest like a mad prisoner.

He lets out a small gasp from the touch, and feels Karma’s hand freeze at the noise.

“Uh- sorry,” Karma murmurs. Then his hand is gone, leaving only emptiness under the stuffy blankets.

But perhaps, that single touch was all that was needed, for a sudden courage surges within Nagisa, and he reaches across. His hand can’t quite find Karma’s, so it rests on his stomach instead, and he squeezes them gently.

No words are needed, it’s their bodies that direct them into each other, Karma’s hand finding Nagisa’s ribs and pulling him towards him, their legs brushing at first, before they are tangled within each other. They are turned onto their sides now, towards each other, only a breath away.

Despite the darkness, Nagisa finds Karma’s eyes easily. They are bright, fervent, and laughing. Hesitantly, Nagisa leans his forehead forward, and the redhead responds by doing the same, a gentle bump in greeting.

It’s almost like they’re fifteen again, in Nagisa’s bedroom, quiet because they wouldn’t want his mother to hear them. This time, it’s quiet because no words are needed between them.

Their movements - the brushing against each other, their lingering touches, and eventually, their hands entwined - speak more. It catches them up from the years of distance quicker than words can, reminds them of the way they used to be in the familiar positions, but also highlights the things that have changed.

In their close proximity, Nagisa can almost feel the movement of Karma’s chest. His heart lunges, and Nagisa knows what it wants. When he meets Karma’s eyes, he notices they’re looking pointedly at him - there’s a silent question there.

“Do you want me?” Nagisa doesn’t know where he finds the courage. Just knows that it felt like the right thing to say, to ask, in an excited whisper. He pauses, and then, is even quieter as he adds, “I think I could love you.”

He looks away, into the dark nothingness hanging around the room. Doesn’t dare to see the look in Karma’s eyes, because Karma could say yes, but he could also say no - and then that would be it. And when the furniture guy finally comes around he would find that he’d sent the bed for nothing, and Nagisa would probably be out looking for something other apartment instead, that would be colder, lonelier and-

And it’s not something Nagisa could continue to worry about as he felt Karma’s firm squeeze of his hand. His eyes are drawn back to Karma as the redhead responds with a laugh - soft and low at first, before it develops into a full on guffaw.

Nagisa pulls away, brows furrowing. “What’s so funny. I meant it - I was being serious!”

“You- you can’t-” Karma is squeezing out between moments of laughter. “You can’t spring this upon me, now, when you didn’t notice all these years. How can you ask me that, when I’ve wanted you for so long?”

“What? Wait what?”

Karma is calmer now, his laughter dying off as suddenly as it began. He shrugs, “I missed you, during high school. I knew I was developing a crush even as we only kept a bare minimum of contact online. Except you never seemed to care - never even noticed, so I backed off.”

“But I…” Nagisa paused, thinking back. “You’re right, I didn’t notice, but I noticed now. My own feelings, I think they’ve always been here, too, I just never realised.”

Karma hums noncommittally, “I don’t care about that.” He leans forward, “So what do you want to do about this?”

Nagisa eyes widen, “I- haven’t thought this far yet. But I know I want to date you, to be with you.”

“Okay,” Karma pulls his arms from his covers, taking Nagisa’s head in them as he closes the distance between them, placing a chaste kiss on his forehead. “We can date, and be together, and probably discuss this tomorrow. But to be honest, I’m actually exhausted, so if we’ve got this tension out of the way, let’s sleep first.”

Nagisa nods, and shifts to a more comfortable position on the bed (still facing Karma, of course). They stay in each other’s arm for the rest of the night, and it’s the most comfortable of all the times they’ve shared a bed.

It helps, knowing, that even after his own bed arrives, he knows it wouldn’t be the last time he can have Karma in his arms as he falls into sweet, sweet dreams.

End. 

hahahahahahahaha okay, you know the part of the request that says fluff? hahaahahahaha okay. i tried. i promise, i really did, but then the plot got away from me… :’)  But I did have a lot of fun with this prompt though, so thanks for the request, even if I didn’t end up as fluffy as I thought it would be~ 

[academiablogs]

Would You Rather Read or Play a Novel?

(Image source) 

In an old episode of Star Trek: Voyager (“Future’s End, Part I,”: Season 3, 1996), the crew travels from the 24th century to late 20th century Earth, there to encounter the wonders of ‘modern’ civilization, including soap operas. As Neelix (the crew’s cook) tries to explain the intricacies of a specific episode, Ensign Harry Kim is puzzled, remarking “how strange to watch a story you don’t interact with.” He is of course referring to the Holodeck, where the crew literally becomes part of their favorite stories, be it Beowulf or a desperate defense of the Alamo. In the 24th century, stories are meant to be lived in and through—not as passive intellectual entertainment. In a sense, it is the ultimate merging of literature and video games, where classic stories can be re-lived and re-imagined, a basic story template upon which a ‘reader’ can play different roles that lead to unexpected outcomes.

In the early 21st century, we seem to be on the cusp of this merging of mediums. While we still have the very ancient technology of books, recording a fixed story in specific language with a definite plot, we also have the storytelling of gaming. From RPGs to video games and all their various subgenres, the reader becomes the actor: not only reading the words but deciding who the characters are. From the very inception of the personal computer, this possibility was precociously explored in ‘text adventures’ (Zork, Planetfall, etc.) which read like a traditional book but depended upon typed commands to propel the story: do you talk to the merchant? Open the door? Fight the orc? Loot the treasure? Save the girl? Please restate your request, I don’t understand that command.

Today, as games become increasingly complex and interactive, the stories become almost limitless. Some games change depending on your moral outlook, while other invite you to choose sides in a galactic dispute. Even when the story follows an established narrative—be it the Roman Empire or the Star Wars universe—the game has the freedom to offer alternatives. What if Luke Skywalker is killed during the Battle of Yavin? Or the Germans ultimately conquered Stalingrad and from there all Russia? A single decision—or mistake—can re-write history as we know it. Books don’t have the luxury of offering every possible plot line and variable, so games have filled in the gap of “what if?” that fans have long since argued, without having a plausible way to test their conclusions.

However, as we march boldly into the future of storytelling, do we continue to segregate our entertainment? Do stories tell “how it happened,” leaving games to tell “what could have been?” In a way, both are unsatisfying, as a story can leave you wanting more, whereas a game can seem too open-ended, lacking a true moral or aesthetic vision. Can a game have a message or a point of view if so much of the ‘meaning’ is the hands of the players? After all, even the most edifying plot can be lost in the sheer carnage of the average video game. If Hamlet gave you the option of killing your uncle in the First Act, would it still be Shakespeare? Or would it be better? Is that the one thing that classic literature lacks for modern readers (and especially students): the ability to stage your own drama?

(A screenshot from Elsinore, a Kickstarter adventure game where you play as Ophelia and change the plot of Hamlet by way of a time loop). Of course, theater does this all the time, and is arguably ‘game technology’ in its earliest form. To stage any Shakespearean play, for example, the director has to make decisions about the text—especially a long text like Hamlet. Which scenes to cut? Which speeches to trim? Where to stage it? How to dress it? Even the actors have to weigh each word of their speeches, making even an iconic “To be, or not to be” speech highly variable—comic, despairing, philosophic, cynical, mystical, etc. Perhaps that’s why Shakespeare has lived longer than almost anything else in the language, and continues to be the most-performed playwright in English (even in other countries): he took the art of interaction to its highest level. A play must be staged, acted, performed, and Shakespeare’s plays asks even the reader/audience member to do the same.

Novels, though, lack this level of interaction. A novel begins in Chapter One and ends in Chapter Fifty-Nine. Even with its catalogue of flashbacks, flash-forwards, multiple and unreliable narrators, the story remains the same each time. Of course, some writers, like Fowles’ The French Lieutenant’s Woman (1969) give us alternative endings, letting the reader choose the most likely scenario according to his or her taste. But this seems disappointing, since the first one seems more final, the second more of a ruse. Perhaps a better—and more subtle—method to bring the reader into the story is through ambiguity. Too often, novels spell everything out, making sure the reader sees exactly what the author wants him or her to: elaborate maps are included in the first pages, along with detailed prologues about the world, its history, and all the major characters. In short, before we set foot in this imaginary landscape, we know too much and have to imagine too little.

While a video game literally depicts the entire world before our eyes, it forces us to interact with it, moving through it step by step, much as a tourist would stepping off a bus or train. Since a book lacks this visually immersive element, we should resist the temptation to compensate with too much baggage. Don’t tell us where we are, or what the world/character’s history is, or even who some of the main characters are. Let us feel our way through the story, piece together the history, and learn character’s roles page by page. Let us be detectives and explorers, and leave enough of the world indistinct so that we can see new possibilities each time we open the book. To make a book interactive, it requires the reader to bring something of his or her own to complete the story. If the author is completely in command, we lose that vitally collaborative element, which makes fiction seem real and exciting. It becomes like a play performed to an empty house; all the poetry is there, but none of the drama.

Remember, Shakespeare’s plays were originally performed on a bare stage with few props and only the simplest costumes (which were rarely period specific). In the same way, our writing should be bare enough to allow the reader to ‘clothe’ it to his or her specifications. The more power we give to our readers, the more they can re-make it every time they return to the book, making it less a map than a puzzle. And it never hurts to withhold the one crucial piece to finish the puzzle...which may or may not come in the next volume.

 -

[christiansunraysang]

Balance to the Force: An In-Depth Fan Analysis of how Rey is the Sequel Trilogy’s Chosen One

Written by Christian Ang

Beloved by generations of fans, Star Wars was first introduced on screen in 1977, and has since been an iconic piece of cinematic and pop culture history, that has since influenced the genre to come. Yet, as Lucasfilm would later be helmed by a new team after The Walt Disney Company had purchased the company and all subsequent franchises, including Star Wars, new films had been proposed to continue the legacy that came before it. However, the lore of the Star Wars films are coveted by many, and those that had been with the series in its early days, hold many of its elements, including original cuts of the first trilogy dear to them. As such, Lucasfilm and its founder, George Lucas, were vital in shaping and preserving the growing mythos that would later be expanded in books, comics, and animated television shows. One core component of the pantheon of characters that exist is the focus of the films in which the first six movies centralized in telling the tragic story of Anakin Skywalker, a boy destined to influence the galaxy in great and powerful ways. Below is an analysis of all canonical films and television shows that currently exist at the time of writing this essay, and how the future of the films would play out in reintroducing the concept of the Chosen One. While there have been recent books and comics that also elaborates the details in between the on-screen media, not including those from the Expanded Universe banner, these will be otherwise unacknowledged on the basis that both Disney and Lucasfilm had stated that the main canon of the series is primarily kept within the aforementioned films and television programs.

Star Wars tells its narratives in a circular fashion. This is often supported by George Lucas, himself, in which he states that the nature of the prequel and original trilogy functions as a symbolic circle. We begin with the rise and fall of Anakin and then his rise to redemption as Darth Vader. Kathleen Kennedy, president of Lucasfilm, has gone on record with different press junkets to reinforce that the Star Wars films have always been about family dynamics, and Lucas also mentioned, before Disney’s acquisition, that the films have always been about the character of Anakin Skywalker. Through this logic, though Anakin may not exist as a physical character, his spiritual essence is reinvigorated through Rey.

 If Lucasfilm is continuing the tradition in maintaining this circle, this can be denoted in the way that The Force Awakens heavily draws its influence on A New Hope. However, in 1999, when The Phantom Menace was released, this was also supposed to be the prequel equivalent of the same film. It is also the same film that introduces the Chosen One concept into the mythos of the films. As a result, it would not be surprising for Lucasfilm to take both films’ concepts and merge them into the first film of the sequel trilogy. On the other hand, it can be argued that when Poe Dameron destroys Starkiller base, it does not necessarily line up with the Circle Theory, as it is Luke and Anakin that have the climactic moment in their respective space battles. This can be a narrative oversight, in which it was more important to emphasize the conflict between Rey and Kylo. Yet, we see Rey have the same natural piloting prowess that Anakin had as a child, with her telling Finn that she had no prior experience in doing so.

 The catalyst in which Anakin, Luke, and now Rey embark on their journey usually comes from someone from outside their world and bringing them into the fray of the conflict. When we first meet Anakin as a young boy, it is through meeting Qui-Gon Jinn, Padme, and Obi Wan who are not residing in the planet and takes him along on their journey. This is echoed in A New Hope in which R2-D2 and C-3PO, who were recently on Leia’s ship, encounter Luke and Ben Kenobi, and serves as an expositional tool set Luke on his path. As such, this is the same with Rey, in which her way of living is disrupted upon meeting BB-8 and Finn. Further parallels to Anakin and Luke persist throughout The Force Awakens, in which she encounters the other characters. Maz Kanata asks Han who is this girl, and the rest of the dialogue in the film keeps reiterating the same question: who is Rey? It is an obvious trope in which the mystery of Rey is made known to the audience, and yet there is a distinctive connection, though it is currently unknown how. There is a strong, unspoken bond between her and Han Solo, as well as Leia in the conclusion of the film. If there was a direct familial relation, they would have recognized her. However, if she was the Chosen One, then it would make sense for the original trilogy characters to be drawn to her in a spiritual sense, though they might not understand why.

 Rey’s vision further dives into exploring this connection, in which by touching the lightsaber, she sees a cryptic series of events. First, she hears Vader’s breathing as the scene unfolds into the corridor in Bespin in which Luke would subsequently lose his hand, dropping the lightsaber that Rey had just touched. This can be interpreted as the last time the audience had last seen this saber, as well as a connection to her past life as Anakin and the fact that he encountered his former saber once again. Later, the scene continues to shift into showing R2-D2 and what the audience assumes to be Luke in a robe. Though one can deduce that since she doesn’t know what Luke looks like, this could be why Luke’s face is not shown on screen. However, this would not make sense, as we also see the forest that Rey would battle Kylo Ren, and even sees a massive slaughter from the Knights of Ren. This is all before Rey actually meets Kylo Ren in person. Through that logic, one can even further speculate that it was not even Luke under that robe, but rather Anakin before his battle on Mustafar. This is also inconsistent, however, as much of Anakin’s attire is darker tones of black and maroon, as seen in the Clone Wars animated television show, and in both The Attack of the Clones, and The Revenge of the Sith. This can even be delved in further as this may possibly be Rey in the future, for some reason on a lava planet that is meant to be significant. This may also allude to a return to Mustafar in either a flashback, if it was Luke, or in the future if it was Rey. Regardless, in Rogue One, the audience encounters Darth Vader in a large castle-like structure on a lava planet, thus providing plausibility as to why one would see either Luke or Rey at a similar environment. If the films are really about Anakin’s character, then it would not be out of context to revisit this castle if the protagonists believe there is something important hidden within there. Furthermore, in the vision, the voices of both Yoda and Obi Wan (both as a young and old man), can be heard in whispers throughout this sequence. Despite never meeting them, this would only make sense if Rey was channeling this through her past life as Anakin. In effect, both Jedi masters played a huge role in influencing Rey, and the latter being Anakin’s former master.

 Throughout the prequel trilogy, Obi Wan wrestles with the question if Anakin really is the Chosen One, to which the Council also can be seen discussing this as well. Qui-Gon, however, is convinced that Anakin will fulfill this prophecy, as he is unusually strong with the Force, and desires to train him before his demise at the end of The Phantom Menace. As a result, this is an obvious reference and parallel to the life of Jesus Christ. Shmi states that Anakin has no father and that she was mysteriously pregnant. Moreover, much like Jesus, there is doubt that Anakin is a messianic figure. In the climax of Revenge of the Sith, Obi Wan tells Anakin of this prophecy and that he was intended to “destroy the Sith, not join them”. This is not necessarily true, as the prophecy is said that the Chosen One would bring balance to the Force. Anakin accomplishes this, in fact, by helping wipe out most of the Jedi Order as they were too powerful over the Dark Side. However, Obi Wan’s claims would later be fulfilled as Vader kills Palpatine and himself, thus ending the reign of the Sith, and thus balancing the Force once more. Years later within The Force Awakens, the only characters that are trained in the Force or are familiar with sensing it when meeting Rey, would be Kylo Ren, Snoke, and Maz Kanata. Maz senses a connection between the former lightsaber of Anakin with Rey, and Kylo also notes to Snoke that she is incredibly powerful in the Force though untrained. Lastly, Snoke senses an “awakening”, which is implied to be Rey. It is not uncommon for young children to be born with a potential connection in using the Force. In fact, this is mentioned in the Rebels animated series in which Stormtroopers are searching for children who may be proficient in the Force, just as Ezra would later be. In effect, Rey’s use of the Force should not alert, let alone worry Kylo or Snoke, as this should be common in the galaxy, unless she is the new Chosen One to bring balance once again to the Force.

 Kylo Ren’s journey is made to parallel Ben Solo’s descent into the Dark Side like his grandfather, Anakin, and becomes obsessed with fulfilling his idea of his familial legacy. In fact, Kylo can be interpreted as Rey’s antithesis. In conjunction with Circle Theory and the tendency of the franchise to rely on symbolism, Rey is everything that Kylo desires to be: his grandfather. When trying to extract the map leading to Luke’s location, Rey resists, despite lacking any training, and overwhelms Kylo, only to tell him his fear of not living up to the legacy of Darth Vader. The parallelism that surround them both continue to be riddled throughout the film. Both characters belong to opposing factions, and both have an important connection to Han Solo. In the final battle, Kylo attempts to reclaim his grandfather’s lightsaber, which instead goes to Rey, as she uses the very weapon belonging to his family against him. It is important to note that this saber was easily called upon by Luke, Kylo’s uncle, and the notion that the saber would be easily drawn upon the Force to a girl who he believes to be unrelated to himself would be devastating. Kylo desires to be the Chosen One, while Rey simply is thrust into that role. Rey is ultimately the true successor to Anakin’s legacy, and Kylo is rather a false prophet that believes his own idea of what that legacy means.

 Lightsabers are built through a Jedi’s will in union with the Force. Thus, it represents a personal symbol, and source of identification of that respective Jedi. In the Clone Wars and in Rebels, the construction of a lightsaber is explored, and in Rogue One, the Kyber crystals that are used to power the Jedi weapons are bastardized into functioning as the main power source for the Death Star. Throughout the Clone Wars television show, the connection to one’s saber is important, and this is seen in A New Hope in the symbolic “passing of the torch” to Luke as Obi Wan hands over Anakin’s saber. In fact, Anakin makes note of how personal and important this is to him in an episode of the Clone Wars. As stated above, Luke and Rey are both able to call upon the saber with ease, while Kylo, a descendant of Anakin, cannot. Maz even states that the saber was calling upon Rey, and notes the legacy of its former users. If Rey is revealed not to be Luke’s daughter, as that would be a reveal that would not have had paid off as well, and is in fact the new Chosen One, the dramatic connection would be more impactful. Furthermore, Luke already has his own saber, as seen in Return of the Jedi, and would no longer need his father’s, thus giving it to Rey.

 Much speculation had risen, in anticipation of the film, that Kylo Ren and Rey were in fact a new iteration of Jacen and Jaina Solo, and are related to the Skywalker family, as seen in the Expanded Universe of books and comics. While the former was in fact revealed to be related to this lineage, Rey’s family is intentionally kept a secret. If it was the intention of the film to preserve the reveal that Rey was somehow blood related, why bother revealing Kylo Ren’s connection so immediately? This can be resolved in application with Circle Theory in which Episode VIII would emulate many of the same elements of both Empire Strikes Back and Attack of the Clones. Within Empire Strikes Back, Vader unveils the truth and tells Luke that he is, in fact, Anakin Skywalker. Though Attack of the Clones does not have a tantamount reveal parallel to this, both Anakin and Luke lose their hands in combat with a Sith Lord. While Kylo is not defined as a Sith Lord, Episode VIII, if it follows a narrative pattern like The Force Awakens and A New Hope, would see Rey facing off against Kylo Ren once more. The parallels between VIII and Empire Strikes Back is further supported as Lando Calrissian is expected to return, just as he was introduced in the latter. Luke also parallels Yoda’s role, in which he is now the exiled Jedi on a remote planet that is intended to train Rey. Yet, what is more important is the further character development that is to be expected in the upcoming film, and the reveal of Rey’s connection is undoubtedly a core component as well, in its plot. Paralleling the middle films in both trilogies that came before it, a single iconic piece of dialogue that overall shaped the importance of the films to come after it in the franchise was built upon the twist that Darth Vader was the fallen Anakin Skywalker. For Kylo Ren as he questions who Rey is to him, Rey would subsequently call him to the Light, just as his grandfather attempted to do the inverse to his uncle many years ago. As Ren resists, he would claim that he intends to accomplish what his grandfather tried to, only for Rey to knowingly say, through the Force, that, in fact, she is the risen Anakin Skywalker.

[96thdayofrage]

Secularism, says Vincent Lloyd, "wants to give the police better training, to give soldiers humanitarian missions -- not abolish the police and the military.”

Ministers in Charlottesville preached and marched. They proclaimed that God stands in opposition to white supremacy, and they put their bodies on the line against white supremacy. Hundreds of Christian ethicists signed a statement proclaiming that the alt right is a Christian heresy. The University of Virginia’s Religious Studies Department condemned “the intimidation, terror, and violence that convulsed and profaned our city and university.”

In short, middle class, multiracial religious communities did not hesitate to take a stand against American fascists. It is certainly noble to take a stand, and in pragmatic terms religious leadership can provide a useful bulwark against racist terror. But there is another, deeper sort of religiosity found in the black radical tradition of Frederick Douglass, Anna Julia Cooper, Malcolm X, and Albert Cleage.

The ways of the world are grotesquely wrong. To see justice prevail on earth, a dramatic transformation of individuals and society would be necessary. Our present habits of thinking, seeing, and acting must be uprooted. These truths are most evident to the most marginalized – in the contemporary United States, to poor blacks – and it is in the struggle of the most marginalized that we catch glimpses of what justice (and beauty, and goodness, and truth) looks like.

“Most black churches sat out the civil rights movement.”

These are insights shared by black religion, at its best, and the black left, at its best. They represent a commitment to transformation from the roots, even when the path from here to there is unclear, even when we are not sure what, exactly, is there. Saying no to white supremacy is necessary, but the more difficult, even more essential task is to say no to the belief that we have to choose between the options on the table -- between two political parties, or between unilateral military intervention and crippling economic sanctions, or between having an incarceration rate four times higher than other nations and an incarceration rate twice as high as other nations.

To refuse the ways of the world, the choices on the table, takes faith in things unseen. Some call it God, some call it revolution -- is there a difference?

Black religion has at times embraced a revolutionary faith. Huey Newton was the son of a Baptist preacher. Newton continually invoked Christian language and images to advance a black radical agenda -- including in his Christomorphically titled autobiography, Revolutionary Suicide, and in the iconic image of Newton holding a gun and a spear with a halo-shaped wicker chair behind his head. W. E. B. Du Bois wrote a widely circulated “Credo,” a statement of faith twinning belief in God with belief “in the Negro Race; in the beauty of its genius, the sweetness of its soul, and its strength in that meekness which shall yet inherit this turbulent earth.” Black leaders from Frederick Douglass to Anna Julia Cooper invoked a higher law, God’s law, that runs counter to the laws of slavery and segregation and motivates political organizing.

“Huey Newton continually invoked Christian language and images to advance a black radical agenda.”

But many black religious leaders (and followers) have rejected a revolutionary attitude. In one way or another, they have embraced the ways of the world, meaning the ways of the ruling class -- much like much of the non-religious black middle class. Most black churches sat out the civil rights movement. Black Panther leader David Hilliard attacked black church leaders as “a bunch of bootlicking pimps” in 1970 even as the Panthers were running their free breakfast program out of church basements. The narrative of #BlackLivesMatter often includes the supersession of antiquated, spotlight-seeking black preachers.

Secularism is the name for this problem. It does not just mean rejecting or ignoring religion. Secularism means embracing the world as it is given to us (in medieval Europe saeculum meant “the world”). It means accepting the choices on the table, a table set by the ruling class. It wants to make health care more affordable -- not free. It wants to give the police better training, to give soldiers humanitarian missions -- not abolish the police and the military. It wants to make slavery, or wage slavery, more comfortable -- not bring them to an end.

Secularism can look religious: idolatry means worshipping worldly things. White supremacy certainly is idolatry. It treats one aspect of the world, whiteness, as having extraordinary value. But there can be forms of idolatry that look like religion as well: when preachers say that God wants us to be wealthy, or when they seek proximity to power, or when allegiance to supposedly traditional religion masks misogyny and homophobia.

“Secularism wants to make slavery, or wage slavery, more comfortable -- not bring them to an end.”

More and more young people of all races are keeping a distance from organized religion. Sometimes this manifests as a lack of interest or participation. Churches are thought too time-consuming, too stodgy, or too confining. Sometimes it manifests as a turn to the spiritual: to yoga or New Age practices or indigenous traditions. Spirituality is often understood as this-worldly rather than other-worldly, involving practices of care for the self rather than aimed at transforming the self and the world. Does this mean secularism is taking over -- and, politically, revolutionary consciousness is fading?

No. It just means we have to look elsewhere for black religion. We have to look in places that might not call themselves churches or use the language of spirituality, but that do decisively reject secularism. Consider the burgeoning prison abolition movement. Black abolitionist Mariame Kaba has developed a careful analysis of reforms that strengthen the prison system and non-reformist reforms that call attention to, and challenge, the prison system as such. This is the work of black religion: identifying and rejecting investment in the ways of the world in order to think and live otherwise. Prison abolitionists draw on the legacy of nineteenth century abolitionism, itself a thorough mix of religious and political organizing, to approach what we are told is impossible – and so make it plausible. Rejecting worldly necessities, they conjure a world of justice.

Certainly there are ordained Christian ministers today who represent this sort of black religious radicalism. Rev. Traci Blackmon of St. Louis, Rev. Leslie Callahan of Philadelphia, and the itinerant Rev. Osagyefo Sekou, to take but three examples, all blend grassroots community organizing with the critique of idolatry (that is, ideology). There are also organizers without religious affiliation or with spiritual inclinations standing in this tradition. What matters is not which religion box one checks on the questionnaire. What matters is whether one rejects secularism, the wisdom of the world, in practice. That means organizing at the grassroots level, guided by a suspicion of the choices that we are given, of the ideas of the ruling class.

“Prison abolitionists draw on the legacy of nineteenth century abolitionism, itself a thorough mix of religious and political organizing.”

When Rev. Albert Cleage invited Malcolm X to speak at his Detroit church in 1963, Malcolm was refining his critique of colonialism and imperialism. He was also developing his critique of secularism. In his “Message to the Grassroots,” he railed against those black leaders who sought proximity to power and its benefits. Some of these leaders were ministers, like Martin Luther King, Jr. and Adam Clayton Powell. Others were not, like Whitney Young and Roy Wilkins. According to Malcolm, they shared an investment in the ways of the world. Malcolm charged that they were willing to speak out against racism only within limits, only when their own comfort was not threatened.

In contrast, Malcolm recommended “old time religion,” “good religion,” “the one that Ma and Pa used to talk about.” This was not necessarily Islam, nor institutionalized religion as such. It was religion aligned with black revolution, religion committed to overthrowing the ways of the world, drawing on the wisdom of poor and working class blacks to name ideology as idolatry, made actionable through community organizing. Black religion at its best, for Malcolm, is religion of the field Negro, forever at odds with the secularism of the house Negro. In a world pervaded by racial and economic violence, and myriad mystifications, religion of the field Negro is what we need today.