#except keeping the sphere’s original personality and everything

[choccymilkblehhh]

thinking of taking aspects from the 2007 film, and the flatland heist video, and the book and meshing it into one au

really liking it so far and thought of a dumb idea that would be funny to illustrate (or ramble abt in tags)

my name for the au would be after the heist i think

[yutzen]

Perfect Echoes

This particular tale will upset some of my most avid, yet quietest readers, of this I am sure. For its origins are less than certain, contested between the Burnt and Bellbound hives, and the resulting struggles of ownership have whittled it down to uselessness with revisions and accusations within their respective territories. I find this contrary to the pursuit of knowledge as a whole, to the point I will throw caution to the wind and state the Bellbound should be ashamed for letting it reach such low points. Any who object to my statement may come to me, as they surely know my dwelling by now, and I wish to tell them my grievances in person for once. Nevertheless, the following tale’s origin is as obfuscated as the Hives’ own, and I could find nothing I could satisfactorily call an original. Instead, I was forced to piece it together from different translations in different languages, acquired all across the caverns and compiled together into a single version. I suspect Bellbounds (that's the Nirhaq, for those not yet aware) that objected to the aforementioned squabble much like I did spread these out by themselves, but that is beyond the scope of this volume.

While it remains obvious to any denizen of the Subterraneum with any sense of where they stand, even before taking refuge many of its now-dwellers had found that there are many realms beyond their own. Philosophers and scholars of reality itself often found ways to peer past the assorted veils, and find the existences beyond. Of course, in trying to reach such sights, most of them became familiar with what separated them. They saw where all they knew came to an end, giving way to a thick nothingness, separating them from all others… And they found the thin, thin layer keeping it all out. For everything we know is but another bubble, adrift in a sea few could ever cross. A million, million bubbles, all floating freely in an ocean[1] with neither surface nor bottom… All except one. There is a singular bubble of existence, greater than any other, with the thickest walls of all keeping its being within, and the weight of nothingness outside. A perfect bubble, a flawless sphere, which – whether as coincidence or as an anchor to the rising archipelago[2] of bubbles in every direction – lies in the perfect center of it all, its own center matching that of everything. It is the First and Greatest[3], the most Perfect of all, perpetual and unassailable. And utterly, unquestionably empty, once. Nothing spawned within it, no life to grow and thrive, no land to be carved by age and water, nothing within but the walls and the darkness. It was not until bridges could be tended from other bubbles that anyone at all saw such perfect emptiness for what it was… And it was perfect. Utterly different from the nothingness outside, which crushed the chance of anything at all coming to pass. This was a void full of potential, a place that could hold anything, and had so little within it that even just a word or a thought could make a lasting mark upon it… And with its perfect shape, and the perfect walls surrounding it that could not be pierced by anything, such words and ideas could remain for a long time, bouncing off the walls in a similarly perfect echo if spoken in the right tone, reigniting their idea with every pass. With nothing to dampen them as they echoed across the interior, and nothing to lose with each bounce upon walls that seemingly received nothing, and pushed back everything. With the right words and dedication, one could bring anything to pass, feeding the echo as it passed each time, hitting the right cadence and tone each time[4]…

But as always, it only took one fool to set off its ruin.

Whoever pushed the first pebble in this avalanche that haunts us to this day, we don’t know. It was lost to time, if not rightfully wiped from it. We just know this emptiness had gathered a crowd, an actual settlement, by the time said individual raised their voice and called out the presence of a monster that wasn’t there. Cried out in fear, most likely feigned, that some indescribable destroyer was out for their life, and that of others. Yelled that it was a powerful beast, an outright abomination that could tear down anything and anyone…

And so it began. Just one voice to contaminate it all, its echoes bouncing back upon themselves, resonating with themselves, and with the ideas they brought in this utter emptiness that wouldn’t let them dissipate. Slowly, something began to take form, the faintest outline of a being that embodied this long-forgotten person’s claims… And yet, with such lofty claims, even this outline could kill, well before it could have a proper shape. Weaved together from the shouts that made it be, this unseen, phantasmal nightmare reached out and tore down their settlement, one stone-rending screech at a time. No one saw if it was clawing at them or striking with any limbs at all, all anyone knew was that where it screamed, homes crumbled, and their dwellers were rent apart.

Then, panic reigned. Monster, those attacked called out. Destroyer, they screamed out as they ran. Abomination, they cried as they witnessed their fellows slaughtered without warning[5]. What was just one voice quickly became an unwitting choir, feeding and strengthening the thing that’d come to pass. The thing would grow with their panic, drawn in by their cries, and so grew its reach and bloodshed, which spurred the horrified masses further into disarray…

Those who knew what was happening tried to intervene, but they had no contingencies. They never thought something like this could happen, that anyone would even think raise a false alarm just to create its own disaster. They knew to deaden the panic, but did exactly the wrong thing to achieve it. “There is no monster”, they tried to say, but the word “monster” was still heard. “This destroyer is but a hoax, a lie”, they repeated, but “destroyer” lingered on. “This abomination was made up, it doesn’t exist”, they shouted out, but only the word “abomination” survived, all the rest drowned and washed away in the echoes. They realized moments too late that to refute an idea, it had to be brought up, and that was enough in this perfectly malleable existence to make it real, irrefutable. And so, the thing’s existence was only stoked further by their mistakes and they, too, were rent apart.

In moments, it had become clear that wherever it saw chaos and horror, it and its bone-shattering screeches would follow… And soon, it hardly even needed to sow them by itself to know where to reach out and strike. The ideas and words that had brought it to life within moments would resonate with its existence, even if their origins had nothing to do with it, and they would call it forth. This formless thing was soon reaching well across the bubble’s confines, one side to another, to wreak its havoc in places where even one person had expressed a hint of fear, spoken about a monster – any monster – or fretted that a given barrier wouldn’t hold. And once it had reached there, it remained, its own rending shrieks joining the echoes that made it and fueled its wrath…

Soon enough, nearly everything that wasn’t it was gone. Even the very emptiness that once filled this perfect bubble was now just more of it, and the ever-rebounding echoes. Every corner was just another part of it, as its sound filled the void. The very walls became filled with its existence, as the screams soaked into once-impermeable barriers; they simply let it in, muffled yet undeniable, long before they could be cracked by its intensity, even if they never truly let it through. And in being filled with its presence, it’s essence, the walls that formed this bubble became yet another part of the formless monstrosity that but one voice had spawned. This Perfect Bubble had been swallowed whole by its existence… And it found it couldn’t tear the Bubble down. The thing couldn’t breach its own immaterial form with its own screams, couldn’t reach walls that were now inside it, and so, the echoes that formed it would never stop ringing, and would never be truly released…

But now that just enough of it had crept into the walls, it could still resonate with the outside, and listen. Terrified, familiar cries in languages it never knew, from peoples it had never met, in contexts no one it killed would’ve imagined. Monster. Destroyer. Abomination. Fear of things that come to tear down one’s abode without warning, unseen and unstoppable. All of this and more… In other bubbles, across the true nothingness.

And so, its reign of mindless terror would continue. What was once the Perfect Bubble was now but a destroyer of realms. And when, in some unfortunate bubble, the fearful murmurs of end-bringing beasts become loud enough to be overheard? The thing will reach out, stretching the walls that have become its body, and rend the source apart. Those within the realm are either swallowed by the crushing nothingness, or are scattered across its remnants, naught but thin suds spread in every direction… And sometimes, subsumed into the once-perfect bubble that both holds and is their hunter, as the suds merge with it like any bubble would.

Irony of ironies that those within are perhaps the safest of all, in spite of being buffeted to and fro by the maddening echoes of the one who tried to slaughter them…

[1]At least three translations referred to it as a lake, but I have gone with ocean, as those languages with a distinction between lake and ocean inevitably used the latter. [2]Direct translation from an Ishissi text, as other languages inevitably resorted to more general terms like “collection” (with one baffling Urul translation referring to them as “hill range”, which I decided against). Unusually (and for those who don’t grasp it), the Ishissi language does have a word for a collection of bubbles, but no texts ever resorted to it pre-Nixian Age. [3] Not every translation related to this part referred to it as either, let alone both, but I found none that outright contradicted it. [4]All texts coincided in these terms, usually reserved for music and sound as a whole, no matter the translation. If there was any error in translation or transcription, it happened far before the story was spread far and wide, and even those mutilated versions in Bellbound/Burnt spaces contain such terms. [5]The three words presented here found their own repetition in each translation, yet still differed between different languages, with very clear marks of imperfect translation from an original language. I use these terms as the closest I could find in the common tongue. Ironically, the most precise versions of the word I could find were from Bellbound texts that had otherwise been massacred.

-Excerpt from "Who is the Lord Below? A Treatise on the Radiant and Cthonic", authored by 'the Ever-Restless Nirrhamidh' (assumed pseudonym; author not yet identified)

[theminecraftbox]

OKOK so i was gonna ask angela this but what exactly the basement era is like...? you guys havent talked about what those years much other than the shock collar i think and im curious

/dsmp rp

OKAY YEAH. It’s, erm, rough. It’s bad. It’s really bad, and it gets gradually more and more livable because of Briar’s moderating influence… so on top of being bad, it’s just plain WEIRD.

Sam’s initial plan when he’s hunting Dream is that he’s going to find Dream, then lock him away in some basement never to see the light of day again. Sam can’t return to the server because he’s thoroughly burnt all those bridges, but home prison is where your heart is, right? So he searches for years, but when he finally finds Dream, eight years later, Dream is with… a child.

Sam has a lot of opinions and feelings about that. But in pragmatic terms, okay, that means Sam has to take the child with him too, obviously. That’s fine. Sam will adopt Briar as his own, and Dream can still just be locked away in a hole in the ground. Excellent.

Except… oh no, Briar keeps throwing fits about it. He’s inconsolable. He’s bonded to Dream; Sam got to him too late to change that, and Briar won’t listen to his admonitions about how bad a person Dream is. But also too early, because eight is too young to really *blame* Briar for needing his mother… okay. Okay. This is workable, obviously Briar cannot be allowed into the basement, but maybe Dream can come upstairs sometimes. For supervised visits. And it’s a lot of hard work being a single parent; maybe Dream can be let out to do supervised tasks to help out around the house, maybe make some things to sell. Obviously he’s not to be trusted, so Sam makes him an over-engineered shock collar with proximity functions so that Dream can never leave the property.

The shock collar isn’t used all that often; it’s for severe offenses. Food is Sam’s chief weapon of control and punishment. The very first thing he does upon capturing Dream is to put him on a starvation diet: make him as weak as possible as quickly as possible so that he can’t fight back or try to escape while Sam puts proper security in place. Sam had originally planned on potatoes, as before—except Briar gets in the way, again; the hassle of going to market and working and getting everything he needs to raise a child on a good diet means that Sam ends up feeding Dream normal meals… just, less.

If Dream acts up too much, he’ll be hit; more than that, and he’ll be beaten. It’s not too frequent but it’s always a threat. Sam carries out these punishments in the basement, away from Briar’s prying eyes. Such things aren’t suitable for children.

There are other things unsuitable for children. In this AU, Sam and Dream had a semi-frequent sexual relationship that started in prison. That starts up again, in utmost secrecy. This is the only time Dream is allowed upstairs at night. So there are three floors of the house and three spheres of life that Sam tries to keep carefully separated: the basement, the main house, and the bedroom.

So here’s a normal day, a few years in: let’s say Briar is ten. Sam unlocks the basement in the morning to let Dream out. Briar wants breakfast, Dream makes food, Briar and Sam eat. Sam goes hunting; Dream has blankets to finish for Sam to take to market later. Briar helps and chatters to him. Sam comes back for lunch; Dream gets to eat. Sam takes Briar out to market with him, Dream goes back in the basement. Dinner time; none for Dream, he did something last week Sam is still offended about. Dream is put to bed in the basement, Briar is put to bed in his room. A few hours later, the basement door opens again, and Sam asks a question without words. Dream nods, and they go to Sam’s bedroom.

[blackpilledkremlintsarina5294]

February 19, 2020

Vladimir Putin attended a concert in memory of Anatoly Sobchak at the Grand Hall of the Shostakovich St Petersburg Academic Philharmonic.

President of Russia Vladimir Putin: Dear friends, Today, we are paying tribute to Anatoly Sobchak, my mentor and friend. I am proud to say this. He was a very dynamic person. As we all know, he was a St Petersburg Governor. This is an important post, but he was not the first, second, or third person of the state. However, he surely was a politician of national scale. He lived and developed as a politician (and he covered a short but exceptional and momentous path of development in politics) during a very difficult and critical period in our recent history. The thing is that a person like Sobchak related to the spirit of that era. He was the kind of person our country needed, and he was there. Of course, I am sure that there are no indifferent people in this hall; you saw his public speeches, and you know what a brilliant speaker he was. And I could see all this backstage from the inside. I will share my observations. You know, in 1996, Anatoly Sobchak traveled as a confidant of Boris Yeltsin around the country and to a very difficult region at that time and proposed that I accompany him. I watched it happen in real life. Those were very difficult times. We lacked everything. The economy had “cracked,” and the social sphere fell apart, to put it bluntly. People lived in very difficult conditions. You know, I remember how we would enter a hall (in 1996) met by hooting and whistling. What was different about Anatoly Sobchak? Not only was he a very scholarly man, a well-trained person, but do you know what his peculiarity was? He was a very decent and honest man. And that was his essence. You will now understand why I combine all of the above. We would enter a hall to hoot and whistling, but he would leave to applause. We were on stage. I was receiving notes and, to be honest, (this was a great lesson for me). At first, I tried to put aside rude and abusive notes. When he saw that I was weeding out the rude comments, he said to me, “Let me have them.” He took them and started answering the most difficult questions, but he spoke so sincerely, honestly and with feeling that people believed him. People believed him, and this is the main thing that a politician must have: honesty, frankness, and sincerity. He had all of these qualities. Yes, of course we remember the year he lost the election in St Petersburg. This was no accident, either. He also had his drawbacks, but maybe some of them were in way virtues at the same time. He was too straightforward. He never fawned over anyone and was not a yes-man. He almost always said what he thought, even when a seasoned politician would at least keep quiet. He was never silent and always was honest and straight talking. But these were hard times. All his friends, the people who worked with him, got a lot from him. This includes me, too. He did much for the city. What matters is not just that he returned the original name to the city. No, this is not the whole point. He returned a sense of dignity to St Petersburg as the true northern capital and gave it a new lease on life; more than anything, he gave the city its spirit back. He did a lot for the city and for this country, and we – at any rate those who knew and loved him, and were his friends – will never forget this. Thank you very much for your attention.

[chasing-obsession]

Arknights Lore Shit - Amiya Module Part 1

Amiya’s module dropped on CN and holy shit is it a big one with SO MANY FUCKING IMPLICATIONS. Beware for absolutely MASSIVE spoilers.

As always, everything I say is just my own personal interpretation of the text. Original source of the module can be found here: https://aceship.github.io/AN-EN-Tags/akhrchars.html?opname=Amiya

EDIT: Corrected a thing because I forgot that Terra had 2 moons.

The basic summary of the module is that a certain individual is reviewing memories. Probably watching space ships launch up into space. Then the memories come into focus, a giant metal sphere floating in space, waiting for it’s father. The viewer feels tears forming and the memories change to the birth of a child, the viewer’s child and all the feelings and emotions that come with witnesses said birth. Then the memories end and there’s a bunch of people yelling, asking the viewer what they saw. Did it work?

"Check his brain, I told you we shouldn't be in such a hurry, we've only just established a protocol channel for communication with the database! This has only just completed the first successful delivery!"

It turns out the viewer was actually witnessing someone ELSE’S memory. The memory of a planetary engineer.

"I said ...... I never actually used to like you planetary engineers very much, I thought you were doing flashy things ...... But I saw it. I saw your past, I shared your past, I felt your emotions, and it was ...... unparalleled."

The project, code named DWDB-221E, appears to be a repository of human history up to a certain point but relying on memory instead of texts and videos. I’m not sure why memory except somehow...

"We've learned enough, except that in the future, they'll never find an excuse to tinker with history."

The same group of scientists then debate on what to name it. They don’t want to keep calling it DWDB-221E, it sounds too cold. The scientist arguing for the name refers to the AMa project. There’s an argument over what to name it and one of the proposed names is “Black Crown” but ultimately, the lead suggests calling it “The Survival of Civilization."

That’s the summary.

Here’s the my theorizing:

First, we now know that whomever created Kal’tsit is also the same group of scientists who created the Black Crown. We know this because Alty calls Kal’tsit AMa-10 in HoSF OF-EX6:

Alty: AMa-10 Dr. Kal'tsit, please tell me... How were those special Ægirians born?

We also know this because of this line from Amiya’s module:

“I know there's a prescribed format for project numbers, just like AMa“

Second: So we have confirmation that one of the two moons hanging over Terra is fake. The question is why. What is it for? Is THAT what’s storing all the data and where Originium comes from? What’s with the fake sky then? Was Terra a terraformed system adapted to be more hospitable to human life and both the fake sky and the second moon were created to maintain the balance? Or something else? To hide it from whatever unknown entity lies Beyond? Are the humans fleeing from something or did they just really fuck up Earth? Is Enfield actually a prequel?

Third. I’m going to put money down that the Doctor and Priestess are both part of the original ‘humans’ that created the Black Crown and Kal’tsit. Most likely they are their descendants and the Doctor is the last survivor, having been kept in a pod and left buried after disaster struck, probably with or near the Rhodes Island Landship and then excavated at some point, where they basically they lived their life as a professor and researcher of Originium before Theresa dragged them into her war. 

Fourth. This is the big one. The Black Crown and how it relates to the Sarkaz. When discussing what the Confessarii’s arts were all about, I had once theorized that the Sarkaz Collective Memory was less some nebulous collective unconscious and more like a singular mass cloud storage where all the memories were just uploaded with maybe a random file name and no organization.

The fact that my analogy is... most likely not an analogy and ACTUALLY WHAT IS GOING ON amuses the fuck out of me. Anyway. If all this memory is uploaded, it needs to be stored and that’s a MASSIVE amount of data that needs to be stored and there’s no way Terrans wouldn’t have found artifacts unless... said data is actually stored in Originium. It’s a semi-organic material that’s capable of self-replicating and we know from Ptilopsis’s module and her first Op Rec, that it’s actually capable of storing massive amounts of data. But not only that, but the Originium as a memory storage device is linked to ancient Sarkaz legend.

From the Module:

If Originium really has the ability to store information, and we are able to decode and translate it, then Columbia's science and technology will surge forward by leaps and bounds!

I've encountered a bottleneck. Current electronic computational devices are not able to handle the enormous amount of information contained within Originium. I need a more suitable computational carrier...

From the Op Rec:

???: All of this information is consistent with our hypothesis.

???: With these data on hand, Rhine Lab's newest results now directly correlate with the ancient Sarkaz legend. I don't think this is an accident.

???: And if our hypothesis is verified, it will revolutionize everything we know about Originium.

???: People think that Originium is a source of energy, a calamity; They think it can be used as a weapon, with only narrow applications outside of that. But the truth may be something far greater.

???: If Originium really 'stores information,' just think about what that implies. From Originium, we will be able to read the story of this world, spanning hundreds or thousands of years, maybe even more...

This brings us back to the Sarkaz and the Black Crown. The Black Crown is clearly device created to interface with all this data and the Sarkaz are clearly somehow genetically “in tune” with interfacing with the Black Crown and these stored memories on a level that other races in Terra can’t. I suspect this is also what makes them more susceptible to oripathy than other races. So if the Sarkaz basically connected 24/7 to the data bank and have one-way write access and the Black Crown is the only way to easily interface with the data bank, then it’s understandable why the Lord of Fiends aka King of the Sarkaz is a title that can be passed on to pretty much anyone, because it goes with the Black Crown.

Amiya is the current wearer of the Black Crown, having inherited it from Theresa but with a caveat. Because Amiya is not Sarkaz, she appears to issues interfacing with the crown properly, thus the suppression rings created by Theresa and Kal’tsit. (You could also argue that the Crown is also Amiya’s arts unit and because of it’s unique properties to not just read but also ‘access’ memories, she’s able to use it to do things like copy Ch’en’s swordsmanship.)

Which brings us to the Confessarii and what all of this means for THEM. I once theorized that the Confessarii’s arts work by being able to access the Sarkaz Collective Memories and based on what Salus said in Chapter 11, it sounds like the Confessarii arts can bypass the Black Crown entirely and tap directly into the data bank. The issue is that it’s basically like a script kiddie who hacked into a heavily encrypted database and thus can only read fragments of the data stored. Shining and her brother’s arts are a little more advanced. From my readings, it sounds like they have more than just read access. They can download a whole snapshot. But just a snapshot, a moment in time, not the whole memory.

Only the King of Sarkaz can do that via the Black Crown. Even more interesting is that the King of Sarkaz can basically utilize their connection to the database to manipulate the memories and feelings of all the other Sarkaz. Basically it sounds they have root access and can either edit or upload specific memories to illicit specific emotional responses.

There’s a TON of implications for this. Shit like ‘what’s Nightingale’s whole deal then’? And ‘what does this mean for Kirsten’s dreams of breaking out into space?’ But also ‘WHY THE FUCK DO THE SEABORNE REMEMBER THE NIGHT SKY?!’

I’ll continue my musings in part 2.

[maulusque]

Clone genetic enhancement ideas

So the clones were genetically enhanced, but i don’t really see any writers (in fanfic or in published stuff) really exploring what that MEANS beyond “clone very stronk”. Here are some ideas that would actually make clones significantly different from just a regular-ass human in peak condition. 

-enhanced senses: eyesight, hearing, etc. I’m talking eyes like a HAWK

-better reflexes

-quicker information processing

-can hear sounds of higher and lower frequency than standard humans

-can see light of a broader spectrum than human standard

-learn quicker, retain information and skills better (potential problem: if you learn something the WRONG way, that way might stick really well)

-photographic memory (really useful for memorizing layouts and maps)

-immunity to various diseases

-can tolerate a wider range of temperatures and environments

-increased stamina and strength baseline. Clones can just run full-tilt for hours and hours and be like “ah a nice stroll”. Over long distances, they can out-pace jedi in the same way that humans can out-pace horses.

-higher tolerance of certain poisons/toxins (clones can straight-up drink ethanol, and get maybe a little tipsy)

-bodies respond quickly to physical stress, and slowly to the absence of it (basically, this means that physical conditioning results in stronger muscles and a stronger cardiovascular system really quickly, and it takes MUCH longer for a clone to lose strength and conditioning due to not exercising than standard humans. Think how much valuable training time is saved if they only have to go on a run like, once a month in order to stay in shape)

-increased ability to function through intense pain and acute injuries. Basically, semi-disabling the pain system so it’s less distracting. Probably not good for the survival of the individual in many situations, but an advantage on the battlefield. 

-heal faster and better, with fewer long-term complications. Clones can dislocate their shoulders and NOT have the joint be permanently fucked up, because the Kaminoans re-designed the whole damn thing to suck WAY less.

-actually, unique internal anatomy. There’s probably a lot about the human body besides the shoulder joint that is actually just really stupid, and something no intelligent designer would actually build. So the Kaminoans can fix a lot of that stuff. Better knees, maybe. Stronger ribs. Maybe Cody punches droids not just because he’s a mad bastard, but also because his metatarsals are literally as strong as steel. 

-Hearing loss/hearing damage? No problem, your ear can regrow those little hair-thingies that help you hear. 

-Of course, it takes energy to maintain muscle mass, which is why human bodies lose it if we’re not using it. Clones need significantly more calories than standard humans. However, their digestive systems are enhanced to extract calories and nutrients from food much more efficiently, so food goes much farther. Potential weird side effect: maybe clones only have to poop like, once a week?

-You could probably extend that into increased ability to tolerate long periods without food/on low rations, despite the increased need for calories. 

-wouldn’t it be NEAT if the kaminoans somehow designed self-repairing DNA. This would mean that others couldn’t take a DNA sample from a clone and modify it to create their own clones (basically, it protects their product. It’s like DRM for clones). This ALSO means that clones couldn’t get cancer, and that they’d be immune to radiation poisoning. So a clone could just walk up to a sphere of uranium at critical mass and pick it up. Maybe with oven mitts on if it’s hot. (this would also make it harder for a rapid-aging cure to be developed, but uhhhh fanfic writers find a way)

- “bred for obedience” I think most of this would have to be accomplished through tightly-controlled messaging and cultural norms as the clones grow up- basically, enshrining obedience as a desirable and almost sacred trait, to be prized higher than anything else, including the lives of your brothers. In the same way that we hear stories of people sacrificing their lives to protect their loved ones, the clones would grow up hearing stories of soldiers sacrificing their brothers’ lives to obey an order from a superior. 

-SOME of the “obedience” thing could be engineered, though. Humans are already super social, but it would probably make sense for the clones to have an even greater need for social bonds. This would make for greater teamwork and coordination, and better unit cohesion, since the clones would be more inclined to prioritize friendship/agreeing with someone over winning an argument. It would also make it so they’d bond with their natural-born generals more easily, so they would obey them not just because they’re supposed to, but because they’d be much quicker to see them as a friend, and someone who’s trust they want to earn, someone they want to incorporate into their group and make happy.

-consequently, clones who find themselves alone do NOT do well. Isolation has a much more profoundly negative impact on clones than on regular humans.

-Originally, clones designed to operate alone or in small teams would not have the social enhancement- ARC troopers, spec-ops teams, etc. There wouldn’t be much of a noticeable difference in everyday interactions, but they’d also be vaguely weirded out by what they interpret as aggressive friendliness from their brothers, and their brothers would think they’re a bit shy and standoffish. 

-actually this social modification would make it MUCH harder for clones to kill people. REGULAR HUMANS are already super bad at killing people- i remember reading this article about how as soon as soldiers have to point their weapons at actual people, their aim gets mysteriously much shittier. Even when compared to situations that are exactly the same, except they’re not shooting at other humans. So reconcile this how you will, idk.

-I imagine a lot of these enhancements would be accomplished not through DNA, but through microorganisms. Retroviruses could explain the DNA resistant to modification, and the increased healing speed, and possibly some disease resistance (do i know anything about retroviruses other than a vague concept of what they are? no i do not. will that stop me? also no.) Their metabolism can be partially explained through specially engineered gut microbes.

-not sure how they’d go about making clones “resistant to any stress”, because you can’t exactly turn off the trauma response in the brain without breaking a bunch of other things. They could probably do a bit of fiddling to make clones more resistant to chemical imbalances, and therefore more depression-resistant. I think most of the “stress-resistance” would have to come through training. Either they train the clones to basically suppress everything, which might work alright in the short term. OR they actually have systems in place that help prevent the development of things like PTSD and help treat trauma. Meaning the clones are literally trained in self-care, positive self-talk, talking about their pain with their brothers, and having community rituals around things like death and grief. I don’t think that’s super likely because one thing that’s integral to those concepts is the concept of “i am a person and i have worth, and if i feel angry about something bad happening, that is ok and valid” and considering that a whole lot of bad things happen to the clones all the time and their childhood is a whole boatload of bad all happening at once, i don’t think the kaminoans would want the clones realizing “hey wait a minute i’m a person and i don’t deserve to be treated this way and it’s ok for me to be mad at you”. 

- the clones were supposedly engineered to be “less aggressive” but i think there was literally nothing more to that than a cover story for the control chip. The clones wouldn’t be raised with a lot of the aggressive western concept of masculinity, where anger is the default reaction to like, everything, and your personal pride is extremely important and also fragile (no offense lmao). So you wouldn’t have clones posturing and getting angry over perceived slights and fighting each other all the time, like everyone in-universe apparently expects to be the case. Anyway, why would you want your soldiers to be less aggressive? they’re literally supposed to fight and kill the enemy. You want them fully capable of getting angry, anger is the human response to fear and danger that lets us DO something about it. 

-obviously the biggest component in how they behave would be how they are raised, but that’s an entirely different post

-Specializations! I imagine that initially, the Kaminoans had different clones with different traits engineered specifically to fill certain roles. However, as the war went on, they struggled to keep up with demand and had to start shoving clones into whatever roles were needed (hence Fives and Echo becoming ARCs, despite not being engineered as ARC troopers). 

-Command clones would have better abilities in the executive function parts of the brain that deal with extrapolation, planning ahead, spatial reasoning, etc. They’d also have increased visual pattern recognition (like a pigeon)

-search-and-rescue troops would also have the pigeon pattern recognition abilities. The coast guard literally strapped pigeons to helicopters who would tap a button when they saw orange in the water, because they were better at spotting it than humans. Pigeons can detect cancer in microscope images of cells, because they’re that good at pattern recognition

-Pilots would have hella reflexes, excellent spatial awareness and spatial reasoning skills, much greater ability to process visual information, stronger hearts and blood vessels (to resist greater Gs of force), and they’d also be much shorter, to better fit into a cockpit. Which reminds me of Axe, that poor bastard from Ahsoka’s squadron over Ryloth who was almost eight feet tall. rip poor Axe, how did you even become a pilot, you long bastard.

-medics who can smell certain diseases. If you want to get a little bit out there, make the medics able to purr so they can sooth stressed-out patients. 

-infantry would have even greater endurance than everyone else, as well as greater tolerance for, and ability to, remain constantly on alert.

-ability to fall asleep at will? that would be super dope.

-maybe more efficient sleep, so to an adult clone, 4 hours of sleep is genuinely sufficient.

-concept: clones can sort of turn down their bodily functions- slow their digestion, heart, lungs, the whole nine yards- to last longer in adverse conditions. Sort of a half-hibernation (or quarter hibernation- they’d still be able to talk and think, but they’d feel very lethargic). They wouldn’t be able to function very well, but it would be great for things like enduring intense cold, periods without food, low-oxygen environments, and it would be especially useful if you were wounded and waiting for help, since you could slow your circulation, meaning it would take you a lot longer to bleed out. This state could be triggered by a combination of physical actions such as sitting or lying still, breathing slowly and deeply, and focusing on slowing the heart down (humans can actually slow down their hearts consciously if you practice at it, this is basically that, but turned up to like 1100).

-one thing that never made sense to me was the whole “we’re running out of jango fett’s DNA, all the new clones won’t be as good, and we have to stop ventress from stealing the original DNA” because like, can’t they just, get the EXACT SAME DNA from the clones?? you know, the exact genetic copies? With all the enhancements already done? But now my idea is that the kaminoans have engineered the clones so their DNA straight up can’t be copied. The clone’s own body can obviously replicate it, but if you take a sample and try to extract the DNA, it just self-destructs or something. This is to protect their intellectual property, but also means that they literally have to use a couple of Jango Fett’s actual human cells for every single clone they make (and the fact that they then have to do all the above enhancements to every single embryo helps explain why there’s so many small mutations, such as hair color and height). So they kinda shot themselves in the foot with that one. 

-of course since things like ADHD and autism have a strong genetic component, the kaminoans could theoretically engineer those out of the clones, but actually FUCK THAT so for whatever reason, that’s just not something they are able to do, and neurodivergent clones are absolutely a thing

[no-droids]

Just the Translator

Part Ten of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 7.6K

Warnings:  There is rough sex in this.  THERE IS ROUGH SEX IN THIS.  Do NOT read if that offends you.  There is also more anal stuff—NO FUCKING (not yet).  Uh, canon-typical violence, grumpy Din Djarin, some fluffy moments, Baby Yoda being a little troublemaker, bit of a cliffhanger ending BUT NOT TO WORRY PALS I ALREADY GOT QUITE A BIT OF THE NEXT PART WRITTEN

A/N: ***Please take a second to visit this googledoc, in it are useful links regarding the BLM protests and what we can do to help. Here is a separate link to where I originally addressed this and shared more thoughts***

***

Whelp.  At least you’re in a good mood. 

In contrast, Din and the kid have been causing problems all morning, the both of them.  Like two… two annoying, middle-aged children competing to see which one is less mature.

The smaller of the two, and older (most likely) is bouncing with energy.  Acting a complete fool.  Ready and willing to launch out of his restricting little sphere at any second, a bright green bundle of energy that slept way too well last night and is just rubbing it in at this point.  He was fine earlier—checking out of the inn, picking up some food at a local market, riding in the Crest as it navigated towards the most isolated sector on this planet—but the hike to this field has been like pulling teeth.

In fact, Din is currently wearing a singular gauntlet on his left hand for that very reason—so this child’s hyper ass could be contained within the hovering, reflective prison.  He’s restless, though, continuing to act out.  At one point you suggest just letting him walk to let some energy out like yesterday, even if he slows the group down with his tiny little legs.  Once you let the little menace out on parole though, he just continues to veer off in his own direction and irritate his dad even further.

And, oh stars—his dad.

Din has barely said a word, only answering with short responses when directly prompted and spending most of his energy just silently stewing inside his own little grumpy teapot on his head.  The helmet is the only other piece of armor he’s donning besides the lone vambrace, and you’re surprised steam hasn’t started whistling through the top of it with how frustrated he is, how many times you’ve seen him curl his hands with impatience. At first it was amusing, though you know better than to tease him about it right now.  You keep your mouth shut and try your best to wrangle the kid, doing everything you can to be helpful while also steering clear of unintentionally exacerbating his silent irritation, knowing Din isn’t in the mood for jokes after being interrupted at a very crucial moment last night.  The sun shines directly on the front of his helmet and blinds you with every single annoyed step, so you follow just far enough behind him and try to use his enormous refrigerator of a body to shield your eyes.

At first it was amusing.  But then the baby catches sight of a gorgeously patterned butterfly floating through the field that he probably wants to snack on for breakfast, and he breaks off from your entourage once more with a quiet little coo that should strike pure terror into the hearts of small animals everywhere.

Immediately you’re turning to go get him—but then a large hand quickly snatches the front of your shirt before you can take a single step, pulling until you’re colliding with an unarmored chest with an oof.  

A bare hand catches your jaw and tightens until you’re staring deep into the thin blade of his visor, before Din whispers rough through the modulator, “As soon as he falls asleep.”

That’s all he says.  And then he’s releasing you and letting you stumble back towards his wayward son a whole lot less amused than you were before, and a whole lot more achy.  The baby shenanigans are far less amusing too.

“You’re killing me here, kiddo,” you breathe after quickly catching up with him, having to bend in half to lead him back towards his impatient dad. 

His hot, moody… incredibly well endowed dad, thick arms crossed tight over his chest as he waits for your return.

The monster’s hand lifts high above him as his three fingers cling to just one of yours, the baggy brown sack exposing his pudgy little green elbow as he follows next to you with a waddle.  It’s slow going, but at some point he decides to pull himself up onto your wrist and you catch him, cradling him in your arms before quickly hurrying back to Din.

Thankfully he begins to calm down a little after that.  As you three eventually find a spot in the endlessly breezy field to settle into, the kid clamors back into his shield while Din carelessly drops the dark bag of supplies he carried from the Crest into the tall grass.  You twist your back to let some of the stiffness out, rotating your arms to encourage more movement as he approaches.

“Same thing as yesterday,” he gruffs when he’s in reach, patting his chest again with a bare hand.  “Hard as you can.”

“My… My hands hurt,” you eventually admit, not wanting to frustrate him even more and hoping you would be able to work on blocking today instead, but Din just nods while you gently brush your thumb along your sore knuckles.

“That’ll happen until it doesn’t,” he tells you quietly, reaching out to touch your elbow in a quick, awkward gesture of comfort and then dropping his arm to his side.  Short, but not unkind.  “Push through.  You can do it.”

You nod, knowing that’s probably the very best motivation you’ll get from him.  His beliefs, condensed down to quick, stunted sentences, presented with such unwavering surety that they must be truths.  Weirdly, it works wonders for you.  Maybe it’s just the person it’s coming from.

You drop into stance and then slam your fist into his chest before he’s ready, and Din steps back on impact with a small grunt while you bite your lip to silence your own noise from the pain reverberating up your arm. 

“Good,” he huffs nonetheless, rubbing the spot on his chest he’s historically designated as target practice.  “Good.  You’re… hitting harder than yesterday.  That’s… fuck.  Good.”

“Good?”  You ask lowly, chancing a quick look over at the kid.  Who blinks directly back at you, wide-eyed and staring purposefully from his crib.  You deflate just a little bit at the sight of him still wide awake, and Din’s fists are clenched by his sides when you turn back to him.

He doesn’t say anything, but you can feel the pent up tightness in his body as you spend the next couple hours throwing more hits at him, different types.  Left hooks, right hooks, crosses, jabs, elbow strikes, palm heels.  He was absolutely right though—the more you make contact with him, the less you begin to feel the pain, until it eventually feels like nothing at all to you.

But then, at one point, you pull your hardened fist back, aimed and focused directly on that same spot on his chest once more—when suddenly his hand flashes up and he flicks his finger against the lower part of your open ribcage. 

He barely puts any strength into it at all—it’s the pressure you’d use to tap someone on the shoulder if you were trying to get their attention, but for some reason the incredibly well-placed reminder throws you.  A little fucking touch like that shouldn’t hurt nearly as much as it does, but you nearly tip sideways and have to catch your footing with how dizzy it makes you.

“That’s what’s called a liver shot,” Din tells you calmly, watching you wrap your hand around your ribcage and wince at the lingering pain through gritted teeth.  “Keep your arm down like I told you.  That’ll happen every time you wanna get lazy with me, little chicken wing.”

You hiss and shake your head a little bit, trying to clear the fog, and then purposefully tuck both arms tight to your sides.  But then—

His hand flashes up again and taps the side of your face this time—not hard enough to hurt but enough to make you flinch on instinct and take a step back.  “That arm stays up.”

Your quick huff of air is suppressed.  Somewhat censored—it doesn’t duly portray the sharp flare of annoyance you experience.  You do exactly what he says, however, and keep your arms in position in front of you.

But then you jerk back and sputter angrily when the tips of his fingers lightly connect with your cheek once more.  “Stop that!  My hands are up!”

“Then why’d you let me do it?”  He asks, stepping up as you retreat to poke you square in your chest.  “Stop letting me do it.”

He goes to tap your face again, but this time your forearm comes up to swat his away before he can make contact, and he seems pleased for the moment.  Din steps back and hits his chest again.  “Come on.”

He lets you get in just a few more blows before coming at you again.  You smack his hand away and then go to throw another punch, but he’s quick.  He cheats—goes for you twice in a row when you’re not expecting it, and taps the vulnerable spot on your side for the second time today.  It hits you like a bullet and takes you a second to snap out of the abrupt shot of pain.

“Come on,” Din taunts once more, curling his mismatched fingers at you—one hand leathered and the other tan and bare.  He sounds like he’s grinning under the helmet, starting to enjoy this way too fucking much.  It makes your blood boil, makes you just stand there like an idiot for a few seconds and fume at his audacity.

Apparently you take too long getting pissed off at him.  He comes at you first, going for your side again, but you shove his arm out of the way with a growl.  Except his other arm flashes and you react instantly, ducking under the wide, careful swipe aimed for your cheek and then zeroing in on the same exact spot below his ribs he’s been torturing you with all day, the one left wide open while his arm misses its mark.

Except—yours isn’t a tap, or a flick.  It’s a hard uppercut.

Air rushes through the modulator as he groans and stumbles sideways, gasping and trying to steady himself.  Triumph surges through your veins as you watch him, shaking your hand out at your side to quickly encourage the numbness away, your knuckles not yet used to hitting bone.  He clutches his side and shakes the helmet violently in an effort to regain himself, breathing hard through the filter and—

The visor instantly jerks to you and you’re already taking a step back on instinct, adrenaline roaring.  He snaps upright as you continue to retreat—until you trip over yourself and plunge to the grass.

A reflection catches in your peripheral, and you whip your head to the side to see the kid completely passed out in his metallic cradle, eyes closed and mouth drooping a bit.  The sight shoots pure exhilaration through you, but it’s nothing compared to the thrill of only seeing him there for a split second before chrome shields instantly slide shut over his head.

You look back to Din just in time to see him dropping his gloved hand back down to his side and taking quick steps towards you—and you react without thinking.  You scramble over on your hands and knees and then launch forwards before you’re even halfway off the ground, finding your feet as you stumble into a run and hearing footsteps pick up behind you.

Maker, it’s been ages since you’ve run like this.  You don’t even know why you’re running—you just do, it just feels like you should.  Your body barrels through tall grass and your heart thunders faster than the sound of your pumping legs, louder than the wind whipping through your ears.  You don’t know if he purposefully allows you to get this far or if you’re genuinely quick—

—nope.  Nope, you’re not quick, because he suddenly bursts into a sprint behind you and gains way too much ground way too quickly.  You try to break left as soon as you realize what’s happening, but he’s too fast and hooks an arm around your stomach just before you’re out of reach.  Din yanks you back to his chest as he twists around and takes you both to the ground, his shoulder blades slamming down first and softening your landing with his whole body and a grunt, skidding you both to a halt in the endlessly wavy field.

The wind is knocked out of you regardless.  You try and struggle off of him but the positioning makes it almost impossible—your abdominal muscles are no match for the strength of his arms wrapped around your stomach, keeping your body pinned tight to his as you wrestle to lift against him in the grass.

“Fight harder,” Din growls raggedly in your ear, and your pussy seizes with need when you feel how rock hard he is against your ass.  It encourages you—you make a rough sound towards the sky and then lift against him with all your strength, and your elbow comes down hard into his ribcage.  Air whooshes out of him and his arms loosen just slightly.  You’re able to wiggle off him and start crawling away, but then he heaves over and snatches at your pant leg—

Which means you pull them down yourself as you keep clawing yourself forward by your arms, raw excitement coursing through your veins, the fabric pulling tight over your ass and then bunching around your thighs.  You squeal and flounder and kick at him—but Din just grabs at your ankle and then pins your leg to the ground, pushing up and using your calves to clamor on top of you with brute strength, catching your underwear and ripping them down too.  Your heart pounds and your pussy just about floods itself hearing him dig in his pants to pull his cock out, his breath coming heavy through the helmet.

Maker, you’re so fucking ready for it.  You keep struggling just because your body is telling you to, but nothing close to the word ‘stop’ ever leaves your mouth, never even comes to mind.  You feel wetness slicking your inner thighs as Din grunts and plants an arm next to your head, his bare hand shooting out to hover in front of your face.  You flinch—but he keeps it there, palm open in front of your lips in silent expectation.

“Wet or dry,” he snarls when you don’t immediately react.  “I don’t give a shit.”

Still, his hand stays right in front of your face long enough to let you make up your mind.

And… not lick it.

After a moment, Din makes a sound that drops another wave of white hot arousal down through your stomach—a furious, growly noise that resembles distorted static passing through the filter.  He angles his cock against your opening and when you hear him muttering angrily, you think he’s scolding you for it.  Calling you dirty under his breath, promising you you’ll regret saying that in a second.  But no—he’s—

“Perfect.  Perfect little girl, fucking perfect,” Din hisses darkly, pushing into your soaking entrance without anything but your slick to ease his way.  “H-How are you—s-so fuck—ing—”

Oh Maker, you turn your head into the grass and cry out through the delicious, blissful intrusion, pushing your hips back against his—and Din curses as he quickly bottoms out, making sure he lurches fully into you before his hands find out exactly where they want to be.  They land on your lower back and he mounts up, pinning your body hard to the ground with almost his full weight.  It means you can rip out as much grass with your useless arms as you want—he doesn’t even give you a single moment now that he’s successfully rooted you to the crushed greenery.  You bloom for him all the same, as soon as Din pulls out with a wet sound and then starts fucking you strong and steady.

It’s sharp.  Biting.  Even the pleasure has a hard edge to it, completely paralyzing you even if you could struggle in this position.  His hands are pushing down so hard that the ground digs into your tummy and makes his cock angle and slam right into your g-spot each and every time.  You want to moan out your ecstasy but he’s wringing the air from your lungs with every shattering swing of his hips back and forth, quickly speeding up as he goes and taking out a full night’s worth of deprivation on you.

“Ngh.  Take.  Cock.  So.  Fucking.  Good—” Din grits with every mean thrust, the staccato growls of praise getting lost in the echoing, rhythmic clap of his hips.  You can’t fucking breathe—the pleasure is too overwhelming, your face is pressed into the grass, he’s got almost all his weight on you.  You’re helpless to do anything besides close your eyes, furrow your brows, drop your jaw, and just let him own your body in the middle of this beautiful oasis.  The heavy, wild thrusts steal every sense away from you, any ability to think beyond the fractured piece of heaven he’s striking inside you over and over.  You don’t even feel him grabbing your asscheeks and spreading them—

Somebody makes a pitiful, breathless whine—it’s you, you realize.  You make that sound, because worn leather lands right on the entrance he was denied last night and shamelessly breaches it before anything else can interrupt him.

“Tight,” he hisses, slowly sinking his thumb all the way down to the knuckle while you clench your eyes shut and choke out his name, “—f-fucking tight—”

His cock pulses inside you and you bear down as hard as you can on it in return, trying to get accustomed to being penetrated in two places at once.  He doesn’t move his thumb after that—he just keeps it there, deep inside you while he continues wrecking you with the brutal hammering of his hips from behind. 

Still—the impropriety of it starts to burn you up, how… dirty it is.  Getting the life fucked out of you in broad daylight, in the middle of a wide open field, the thickest finger he has buried deep in your ass, helpless to do anything else besides lay here and let him—you feel yourself start to clamp down, steadily getting tighter and tighter around the intrusions while he grits out hard curses and keeps giving it to you through the rapid build.

His name—you start repeating it into the ground like it’s the only thing you’ve ever known.  The word scrapes from your throat over and over, and you try to pull at the grass but your hands are clenched into fists and you can’t seem to remember which muscles to use to open them.

“You like this?”  You’re able to hear him grit from above you.  “Like when I—fuck—when I fuck you l-like this?  When I just.  H-Hold you down and take—” he chokes, “—take what I w-want—”

You can’t respond, but fuck yes, you do.  The kindling spark inside you suddenly flares up and starts to spread through your body like wildfire, tightening, tightening, tightening, but then—

He’s so pent up—Din cums.

Devastatingly early.

The savage thrusts suddenly stutter to a halt and the gasp he takes in sounds like it physically hurts him.  Like the orgasm is just ripped out of him.  His hold turns to steel on you, as if he thinks you can somehow get away right now, and Din cums deep inside your spasming cunt with a shuddering, desperate groan of your name. 

It’s like it drains everything from him—he slumps, just conscious enough to slowly ease his thumb out of your tight asshole, and then he collapses in the grass next to you.  You stay there for just a second and shake next to him, muscles feeling like they’re creaking even while just laying on the ground like this, completely motionless.

“Shit—was that—”  Din pants, turning and scooting over to you to brush your hair out of your face with his bare hand, “was that… okay?  Do you… do you need…?”

You’re still so submissive, still so high on the overwhelming rush of pleasure, your mouth opens and croaks out a response without your permission.  “It was good.”

“Yeah?”  He huffs, dropping back on the grass and trying to catch his breath.  “Good.”

And… it’s true.  It was good, it was absolutely fucking amazing.  So overpowering, such a hard fuck that you almost don’t think about the fact that you didn’t actually cum from it.  The thought doesn’t really even register with you fully, not yet.

Eventually you both push yourselves up, each of you equally lacking in energy, just in different ways.  Din looks like he’s drunk—unbalanced and dizzy while he removes his glove and stuffs it into one of his pockets, before carefully tucking his spent cock back in his trousers.  In contrast, you’re nothing more than another trembling blade of grass in an enormous landscape of them, flimsy and yielding to the powerful, rippling wind as you attempt to adjust your clothing.

It’s fine, you tell yourself on the slow, quiet walk back.  Sex doesn’t always need to end in a fiery orgasm.  Sometimes a rough pounding hits the spot, scratches that itch.  You feel like you’re a newborn blurg trying to balance your oddly proportioned weight on two noodle legs as Din’s hand patiently guides you from your lower back, and a bright flare of arousal arcs through you feeling how gentle his hold is compared to the way his cum is steadily leaking from your throbbing, aching cunt.

You don’t need to cum every single time he fucks you.  It’s fine.

***

Upon returning to the sight of the unbothered, napping kid, you both decide to walk a bit more, and you learn your lesson this time.  The sun glints bright against Din’s left side while traveling in this direction, so you stick purposefully to his right the entire time.

In the meantime, you share easy conversation and attempt to regain some semblance of control over your still slightly… restless body.  Slowly but surely, your feverish arousal for him dims and fades to the backburner, replaced instead by… softer, quieter feelings.  There’s not a solid word for it, not really.  If you were mixing on a palette, you’d start out with a base of gentle contentment and then add a big dollop of affection, diluted with silence until it’s a swirling, pastel… color you don’t have a name for, but cherish all the same.

The baby wakes up about halfway through the afternoon hike, and he’s better now too.  Eventually your ragtag party finds a place to settle for the night—a small clearing in the field at the edge of a thick forest.  There’s a sizable log and boulder situated relatively close together, with a wide open space to make a fire in the center.

Din disappears for a bit to go get some firewood from the looming forest while you entertain the kid; the log is tilted perfectly to allow you both to watch the sunset, and you easily converse with the riveting baby talk as if he’s an absolute genius.

“I’m not so sure about that, honestly,” you tell him diplomatically, receiving nothing but unintelligible babbles in response as he climbs all over you.  “Well, no actually, because there’s two major schools of thought concerning that, the first being—”

He pops up in front of your face to interrupt you heatedly and you scoff, rolling your eyes over the loud gibberish.  “Look, I’d appreciate it if we could tone down the passive-aggressiveness, okay?  If we can’t have a respectful discussi—”

Three green fingers settle over your lips and you gasp at the nerve of him, forced to let him continue to ramble on your lap about absolutely nothing at all, the size of his ego soon growing to match the size of his ears.

“Hear that, shiny?”  You turn your head and ask his father upon his eventual return, and Din grunts distractedly as he dumps the firewood down and rummages around in the bag for a lighter.  Tilting your head back towards the kid, you prompt him with a raised brow.  “Tell him what you just told me.”

The baby bursts into more nonsense, encouraged by your attention, and Din crouches down to set the wood into position in the dusky twilight glow while saying nothing at all, and it somehow manages to pass as listening intently.

It continues to go on like that far longer than you expected it would, the baby apparently having quite the bone to pick about something that’s been on his mind, and one point you have to rest your hand over his mouth so he finally stops babbling.  “Hey, that’s not very nice,” you scold him quietly.  “I’m sure his face is perfectly normal under there.”

The helmet turns just slightly towards you, unamused while you snort at your own joke for a little bit. 

“I didn’t say it,” you remind him after far too long of just celebrating your own hilarity, clearing your throat through the stifled chuckles.  “I’m just translating.”

“Oh yeah?”  He eventually murmurs, beginning to ignite some of the crumpled twigs at the center of the pile, and if you worked at it, you could probably convince yourself he’s sharing your gentle smile.  More muted than yours perhaps, but beautiful and easy on his face, fitting him simply and perfectly.  “What did… What did he say I look like?”

You would’ve shot something ridiculous back at him, something snarky and facetious, but you stop short.  You catch it—underneath his voice, it sounds… timid, almost.  Uncertain.  It makes you take just a second in responding.

“Brown eyes,” you tell him after a moment, and Din doesn’t visibly react, just continues to slowly add small branches to kindle the flame.  It’s so quiet out here, but it’s different from hyperspace quiet.  This quiet is… natural.  Warm, and.  Free.  Fleeting, allowed to roam.  In a way that hyperspace just feels compact, stifling.  “He said you have… brown eyes.  And a… a strong bone structure, striking features.  A sharp, chiseled jaw, dark facial hair.  And, uh.  He also said…”

Din keeps silently feeding the fire until it’s crackling and bright, and then he settles back on his butt next to it, both elbows resting on his knees, not moving the visor towards you but waiting for you to finish regardless. 

The stunning backdrop gives way to a stunning surge of bravery.

“He said you make a bunch of faces under there that nobody ever sees,” you say softly, blinking at Din in the fading twilight while the kid sits silently in your lap.  “That you’re an open book.  Behind a metal wall.  And you have a really nice smile, I bet—he bets… he bets you probably do it more often than anyone realizes.  And your… your hair starts to curl when you let it grow long, and.  And you’re almost guaranteed to be drop dead gorgeous under there, and it’s a real fucking shame that you’ve probably never had anyone tell you it.”

Din tilts his helmet at you, looks at you for a long time—long enough for blood to rush to your cheeks and for you to get fidgety.  But when he finally does respond, his voice is gentle through the modulator.  “He said that.”

You mhm at him quickly, nodding your head and turning away as casually as you can, heart beating incredibly fast for some reason.  “Just the translator.”

A lovely silence soon blankets the both of you, a warmth permeating through to your bones that has nothing to do with the steadily growing fire.

***

A little while later, the kid has retired to his reflective cradle and the dancing flames are the only source of light besides the bright moon hanging directly overhead.  Din sits with his back to the large boulder and digs through the bag, pulling out all sorts of food you picked up before leaving the village this morning and handing them to you.  Something red and unfocused flashes oddly against the curve of his helmet when he reaches his hand back in, but it’s only for a second—he’s already pushing more food at you and filling your arms with bags of dried meats, fresh fruit, and loaves of bread.

“Stars,” you whisper under your breath, examining the feast in the flickering firelight.  “Here, take—take some of this, it’s too much.”

“There’s more in here,” he counters lowly, zipping the bag and dropping it somewhere on the other side of his body.  “The kid hasn’t eaten all day.  Might crawl away and catch himself a Gungan later if you don’t feed him soon.”

“No, I mean—” you let all the food drop into your lap and start sorting the items, “—you need to eat.  What do you want?  There’s plenty.”

“I’m not hungry,” he answers, far too quickly to have actually taken a moment to check.  “Just give me whatever you two don’t eat when you’re finished, I’ll put it back in the bag.”

Okay, if he’s gonna play it like this, you’ll just have to choose for him.  You’ve already dedicated at least two bags of dried meat to the kid, which takes care of him.  So, you take an extended moment to methodically find the ripest fruit in the bunch, the one with the most squish to it, and then search for the softest loaf of bread, not caring that Din is silently watching you.  You gather both of them in your arms and then pluck three bags of meat from the pile, before depositing all of them back into his lap.

“Eat,” you urge quietly, grabbing another portion of food for yourself, heavy on the fruit.  “Don’t inhale it.  Please.”

With that, you grab the kid’s food and then scoop the little guy up from his shield with your free arm, standing and walking to the other side of the fire.  You carefully plop yourself down with your back purposefully to Din, the kid happily finding a place on your lap with his back to you and reaching six little fingers out for the food.

You start eating, and after a moment, you smile around the large bites of fruit at the sound of metal clinking against stone.  The baby, of course, refuses to even open the bag of dried meat you set in front of him, so you roll your eyes and do it yourself, hoping he’ll at least eat like an adult and give you some time to feed yourself.  But no—the fifty year old creep demands to be hand fed, and any other day, you wouldn’t have let him get away with it.

Today, you’re just really fucking.  Happy.

You’re unbelievably happy.  Having spent a few days on this gorgeous planet, your two favorite people in the galaxy with you.  It fills your heart with air.

You start out quiet, praying you aren’t bothering Din as he (hopefully) continues to relax and enjoy his food behind you.  You begin humming your favorite melody under the sound of the crackling flames, the source of heat burning pleasantly against the curve of your lower back, setting another piece of dried meat into the kid’s cute little mouth and only just slightly annoyed that he refuses to do this himself.  Admittedly though, you do love babying him, especially when he shows you his adorable little chompers.

One bite for him, two bites for you.  That’s the deal, even though you’re hungry and you deserve way more than double his food intake rate.  You try to be quiet enough that your gentle humming will get lost with the fire between you and Din, and he never says anything or tells you to cut it out, so you just continue to let your cheerful mood provide a quiet soundtrack to the moonlit evening.

Even better, you and the kid actually finish snacking before he does, and you’re more than willing to wait for him, thrilled that this is actually happening.  It’s so simple, such a throwaway thing, but.  Knowing he used to eat his meals as quick as he can and now he’s comfortable enough to just take a second and enjoy it… you don’t know, there’s something inherently meaningful about it, something that you specifically notice.  Something about this, about sitting around a fire and sharing a meal together for the first time—even with your back turned to him, it just feels… familial.  In a way.  More than it’s ever felt before.

You have a little moment.  It’s nice.  You drop your head back and gaze up at the night sky, in awe of how different the stars look from this side of the galaxy and remembering how far you’ve come.  The kid follows suit, leaning back against your tummy and blinking silently at the universe, the star-speckled sky reflecting in his gigantic dark eyes.

He starts to doze after awhile, listening to you hum softly to yourself, but the noise of a helmet finally lifting from the boulder and most likely fitting itself back in its rightful place snaps him awake just enough.  The kid pushes off you and waddles over to his dad, and you scoot yourself back over to your little log while he unceremoniously clamors up onto Din’s thighs.

Admittedly, it’s really fucking cute.  The visor moves just enough to watch him plop his little green butt down and find a comfy position on his lap, not helping but not preventing the movement either.  A heartwarming, silent kind of tolerance hardened men have for innocent little creatures that makes you bite your lip to hide your smile.  What a softie.

You sit there in companionable quiet, staring deep into the dancing firelight and losing track of time just a bit.  They’re hypnotic, the flames.  Crackling and popping, warming just the forward-facing parts of you and nearly burning your cheeks, but you love it.  Breathing in the woodsy campfire air, hearing the gentle breeze float through the field surrounding you, the quiet forest waving dark and deep in the distance.  The midnight sky stretches long above you and the stars seem… brighter than they were on Arvala-7.  They probably aren’t—that planet is practically abandoned and has almost no light pollution whatsoever compared to Naboo, but… maybe it’s because now they feel… in reach.  Something you can touch.  Interact with.  Something you can cover your eyes, blindly point at, and then say—that one.  That’s where we should go next.

After awhile—you have no idea how long—you blink your gaze over to Din and startle to find the helmet facing you directly, shamelessly, the kid completely passed out on his lap as the flames reflect in the visor.

Without intending to, you’re already thinking back to earlier today.  How quickly he bolted after you, how strong he was bringing you to the ground, pinning you under him and taking what was so rudely denied to him last night.

You didn’t actually finish, and you can still feel it simmering down low.  Din’s cum has been steadily leaking from you all day, and while you eventually became successful at blocking out the sensation, it suddenly slams to the forefront of your mind again.  The visor pierces deep into you while you start to squirm just a bit against the rough log pressed into your back.  You can still feel him when you flex your lower muscles, and you bite your lip and do it repeatedly while blinking at him, waiting, squeezing your thighs together and loving the reminder.

He still hasn’t said anything to you, and you start to get antsy under his stare.  Your body works itself up even more, fueled by the flames reflecting in his helmet.  After a few more moments of silent tension, you’ve finally had enough.

“Din,” you whisper, trying not to make it sound like a whine and his head quickly lifts when you didn’t even realize it was slightly tipped forward.  The helmet rolls back in a drowsy little circle, as if his neck is suddenly remembering the weight burdening it.  Embarrassment instantly floods you.  “Oh.  Shit.  I’m so stupid.  I’m sor—”

Only he’s already pushing himself up with his free arm, lethargic and drunk with exhaustion, not saying a single word as he sets the conked out kid in the cradle and closes the shield over his sleepy little head with the push of a button.

You bite your lip as he drags himself over to you, swinging a leg behind you and then dropping down without any ceremony, firmly inserting himself between the uncomfortable log and your back.  Your butt is shoved forward from the sudden displacement but he’s not done.  Din wraps both his arms around you and pulls, dragging you up onto his long torso while his legs close under you and you’re off the ground completely.

Oh Maker, he’s already thousands of times more comfortable than sleeping up against the log would be.  He makes the best bed in the galaxy, big and warm and firm under you, letting you stretch out long on him.  You lounge on his lap and drop your head to his shoulder, resting your arms on top of his as they drape heavy across your belly.

“Sorry,” he gruffs, voice low and rough through the modulator.  The filter rings sharp through your ear when it’s pressed up against his helmet like this.  “Just need a few hours.  Didn’t… didn't sleep great last night.”

You close your eyes and internally scold yourself, now taking responsibility for his lack of rest for the past two days.  Shit.  You don’t actively respond, feeling slightly put out, but your body is of another mind altogether.  It still continues trundling down the steep slope you shoved it towards earlier, when you stupidly thought he was giving you eyes under the helmet instead of him being passed out cold.  You wiggle against him just slightly under the guise of finding a comfortable position, but it has unintentional consequences.

You breathe out a soft sigh when your hips move over his cock, biting your lip at the sensation but trying so hard to stop it in its tracks.  He’s exhausted, and he already fucked the life out of you today, there’s no way he’ll want to go again this soon.  Except—then he shifts and mmms low in his throat.

“And you,” Din murmurs quietly, reaching a hand down to slowly push under your pants, “need to start being more honest with me.”

“What are you t—oh, stars,” you whisper, your body shuddering as one of his thick fingers slowly dips into your slit.

“Shit, you’re wet,” he groans, sinking his hand down lower to feel remnants of himself still easing its way out of you.  Your lashes flutter as your jaw drops, and his cock gets hard against your spine almost immediately.  “You’re fucking… soaked.  I—I asked if you came and you said yeah,” he whispers low to you, but you shake your head.  “Why’d you lie to me abo—”

“No, no—” you protest breathlessly, “—you asked if it was okay, and then I said—”

“You said it was good.  It’s not good if you didn’t cum,” he grunts quietly, and the tip of his finger now drawing tight circles over your clit makes it damn near impossible to argue.  “I didn’t fuck you right if you didn’t cum.  You should be fucked right.”

“Maker, you fuck me exactly how I need to be fucked,” you whimper, tilting your head until your lips are pressed against the curve of his helmet while his hand steadily works under your pants.  “And—oh, fuck, that’s… h-however you need to fuck me.”

“Fuck—obedient little thing…” he huffs, starting to rub harder over your clit.  “What I need is for you to cum.  From now on, you’ll tell me.  Say yes.”

“Yes,” you moan into the beskar, your eyes fluttering back at the slowly building pressure.

“Say, ‘yes, Din,’” he breathes.

“Yes, Din,” you dutifully repeat, lifting your hips up against his hand, and he groans softly through the modulator.

“Say, ‘Din, I need something to cum on’,” he whispers.

You’re delirious, you don’t even catch it before most of it is already out of your mouth.  “Din, I need something to c—” you cut off but he’s already reaching down between your bodies to ease his cock out, before yanking your pants down your ass just enough to position himself up against your entrance.

He rocks his hips up and he slides in easier than ever before, and you… don’t know what you’re expecting, but he surprises you nonetheless.  He doesn’t start thrusting into you at all.  Even though he’s rock hard inside you, thick and pulsing and breaking you open, he doesn’t move a single inch.  He just keeps himself there, continuing to rub circles around your clit and giving you exactly what he prompted you to ask for.

Something to cum on.

Your body tenses and squeezes him, and Din shushes you before you realize you were making noise.  His free hand comes up to settle tight over your mouth and guide you turn your head away from his helmet.  At first you think it’s because your heavy breathing was probably fogging the visor up, but no—his fingers leave your pussy for a split second and you hear him maneuver himself out of it.  The hollow noise it makes thunking to the ground is beginning to become your favorite sound in this universe.

But then of course, Din buries his face into your neck and starts talking again, whispering low praises behind your ear with that bassy, dark chocolate rasp, and you have to remind yourself to keep breathing.  His fingers return to your cunt to slowly rub your clit and his cock throbs hotter than sin inside you, building your pleasure into a strong, slow crescendo.

You start to whimper unintentionally, but his hand is wrapped tight around your mouth, muting and confining the desperate sounds to your throat.  His finger presses down harder on your clit and his cock flexes inside you.

“That’s it, sw—sweet girl,” Din mutters, his voice interrupted by his own staccato breaths and tight gasps the longer he talks you through it, the longer he keeps himself perfectly still while engulfed in your drenched, fluttering cunt.  “That’s—that’s it, I can feel it c-coming.  Fuck—make it good for me, give me a good one—”

His words shove you right over a cliff you didn’t even realize was there until you were dangling over the steep drop for an extended moment like a cartoon.  Everything squeezes around him unbearably tight—your hands dig into his forearms, your back arches up against him, your pussy constricts his thick cock until you feel like you’re hurting the both of you with it, and Din’s breath catches next to your ear while you’re both suspended in thin air for a split second—

—before you’re convulsing in pure bliss, flooding his cock with cum while he rasps out, “good girl,” into the crook of your neck and rocks his hips up into yours.  The few heavenly inches of movement hits something jaw-dropping inside you and nearly makes you scream against his palm, launching your body even higher into mind-bending rapture.  Fucking Maker, you cum hard for him, on him, around him.  You downright drown his cock in your pleasure, suffocate it and work out the aching tightness in your pussy all over him until you feel like you can’t breathe anymore.

“Mmm…” Din murmurs quietly, continuing to circle your swollen clit hard through the shattering aftershocks.  His voice is deep and sinful and vibrates your whole back with its frequency, but something underneath it also sounds as if he’s considering, before he seems to land on an answer to a wordless question he just asked himself.  “…One more.”

And, like the fucking Maker himself commanded it, another blazing hot wave of fire suddenly rips you apart and sends you spasming rhythmically around the throbbing cock buried inside you once again.  This one wrings you completely dry, robbing you of every sense.  The ragged whine you make behind his hand must be too loud—his fingers quickly tighten around your jaw and lock down, keeping you as still as possible while you give him everything you have to give.

Eventually the sparks die out and you’re left a shell of what you once were, clamping down hard on him and shuddering your bliss at the night sky.  He lays there silently under you, holding you as you fall back down to reality.  Your breathing is a mess and so is everything below your waist, and your whole body jerks when Din carefully slides his hand from your pussy and rubs gently over your thighs, your tummy, your chest.

“That was…” you croak out, trying to remember how to speak, “ … g-good.”

“Go to sleep,” he whispers, pressing soft kisses against the side of your neck.  You can hear the gentle grin he’s hiding from you, knowing he completely incapacitated you.

“But what about—” you start to protest, when Din’s teeth sink into your flesh and your pussy seizes up tight around him, making him choke a hoarse little groan into your skin.

After a moment, he eases his throbbing cock out of you, and he resets your clothing while you whimper in distress.  “Go to sleep,” Din murmurs, before softly kissing your neck once more, and your eyes slowly droop against your will.  Fuck, his body beats a king size mattress any day of the week.  “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

***

He…

He isn’t.

[sprawa-przybyszewskiej]

I would like to present (extremely briefly; it's more of an invitation to their thoughts rather than anything else) two approaches that touch on a creative technique used by Przybyszewska, which has been spotted by some of her scholars, albeit each in its own way. Ewa Graczyk maintains that Przybyszewska did not write a historical drama in any way, but rather described a completely different reality, an universum in which the same events happen, but which doesn't take place on Earth, with us in it. She describes, then, something which I call The French Revolution', taking after mathematics' nomenclature. Kazimiera Ingdahl, on the other hand, spots traces of gnostic and manichean ideologies in Przybyszewska's writing, which, as we all know, are based solidly on the contrast between Heaven and Hell, knowledge and numbness, soul and mind. I mention them here solely to point out there is a dualism in her works, it is important and easily recognizable.

I have nowhere near the amount of erudition these scholars do, so I will constrict myself to some more visible matters. In my previous post about Antoine, I've made a remark that stuck with me for far longer than I had expected, and so I decided to elaborate on it.

The passage I'm talking about is this: because it could potentially reveal Saint-Just as another Danton-like minded individual, looking for power for himself through sacrifices of others. I want to explore whether Przybyszewska really did construct both of them alike?

To me it appears very probable, as crazy as it sounds. First of all, ALL of the personages are created in some reference to Robespierre. He is the only singular, original mind amongst them all, not to mentoin an axis around which other revolve, and so all of them, whether we like it or not, are somewhat similar to each other. Second of all, she clearly went in the direction of mirroring certain scenes, ideas, expressions (which I personally love to track down and compare them later), and it's exactly the same when talking about certain individuals. The two pairs (Robespierre – Saint-Just and Danton – Desmoulins) come to mind right away. They are constructed as parallels at least in some aspects and at least to some extent.

Wouldn't that, however, put Saint-Just and Desmoulins on the same/similar level, aren't they the ones who creat a parallel pair? Well, yes and no. I think they are a unit when it comes to personal matters, for rather obvious reasons. But I also think they are both put in similar situations, and yet their thinking is polar opposite of each other. They are both allowed to Robespierre's most personal sphere, and yet their reactions are completely different, which is one among the reasons as to why one of them meets a sad end by all accounts, and the other can die somewhat happy (as I will always mantain: if Przybyszewska managed to finish Thermidor, I am one hundred percent sure she would depict Antoine as one dying boldly and proudly, if only beause he died for a great cause and alongside Robespierre). On the other hand, spiritually and mentally, Camille resembles Maxime way, way more than Danton. They are both... maybe not exactly soft, but emotional. The main difference between them is Maxime is able to rein his feelings in when necessary (again, not always, not completely; vide his late night visit at Desmoulins', vide his attempt and saving him from the Luxembourg Palace), but as far as differences go, this one is actually minor. They are put in different positions, but their reactions are similar.

I would also wager to say Saint-Just and Robespierre don't have that much in common with each other in the plays, leaving out their political stances and their relationship. They are very different in terms of character traits: Maxime is more forgiving, calmer, quieter in all aspects. Antoine is more of a quicksilver, and also is regarded more as a tool in Maxime's hands, which I mean in the best way possible. While he has his own opinions, sometimes quite different to that of Robespierre's, he only entertains them in Maxime's presence, so that no one can put a splinter between them and turn them against each other. When they are turned against each other (during their quarrels, yes, but also during Thermidor, which is a beautiful study of such a case), he defers to Maximilien humbly and holds no grudges against him. This is pretty much the only soft side he ever presents to the audience, for when facing any other characters, he is sarcastic  if not downright hostile, the only exception I can think of being Eleonore. He's not gentle, not even with Robespierre whom he respects so much.  (I cannot get over how badly Wajda interpreted this in his movie, where in his very first scene Antoine brings Maxime an apple-tree branch in full blossom; while a sweet gesture, it made little sense, for the director not only didn't establish their special bond in any way, cutting their very important scene in Act II and a lot of their exchange of words in Act V out, but completely ignored the fact that in the play they did talk about trees blossming, but it was Maxime who pointed this out to Antoine. Honestly, it would make much more sense if in the movie he was the one giving Antoine flowers; altough I don't trust it would be executed well, so perhaps the best scenario would be to drop it altogether.)

This leaves Antoine and Danton as the unlikely pair. Here I wouldn't necessarily say they are put in different positions (following my train of comparison), because – depending on if you believe the confrontation between Danton and Robespierre to be honest or not – there is enough evidence in the play to mantain both of them want to  establish power over nation through Robespierre. Danton is the villain of the play, but he isn't blind, he too wants to use Maximilien as a face of the dictature, as a tool to obtain more "normal" power for himself (normal power here would equal to money, respect, high office; the "abnormal" power is what Robespierre sort-of-dreams-of, an influence over people to direct them into doing what is necessary for the good of the whole of the nation, or better yet, the world). And Antoine wants more or less the same thing, the exception being he doesn't care at all for personal gains. He doesn't necessarily believe in Robespierre's visions of the future, one could even argue he doesn't understand them (this is clearly shown in Thermidor, where he reacts with a headache once Robespierre unfolds his plan in front of him: Stop it, Maxime. I can't keep up with you anymore.); he does, however, see the neccesity of establishing the dictature or some other extraordinary mean to obtain the total power over the state. Both he and Danton are blessed with a far-fetching political vision, the only thing differentiating them from Robespierre is that he's a much more brilliant chess player than any of them, when they can see few moves forward, he's already seen all the possible outcomes of the match. And all of these outcomes are bad, for Maxime is characterised as a pessimist, while Antoine and Danton are, generally speaking, optimistically inclined. Youthful foolishness indeed, except Antoine is not foolish! He's just optimistic. In Danton, the optimism takes a form of boldness and bravado, in Saint-Just it manifests as an unwavering faith in the one he considers to be so much more superior to himself, and also a certain amount of contempt for the ones he considers to be inferior. This is another trait he shares with Danton, and we have to admit, Przybyszewska did a really good job at presenting the same trait in them both in such different ways, that we like one, hate the other.

There is also the matter of how they treat Camille and what they think of him. Here, both are jealous, I think. Jealous of the special place Camille has in Robespierre's heart, scornful of his abilities as a politician and a journalist, disinclined to him as a person. Danton cares for him as far as his utility in being a leverage on Robespierre goes, but I don't think he hoards any warm feelings for him personally, and I don't say it only because he was willing to sacrifice Camille purely out of spite. A much better example to show what I mean is that Danton seems to have a much better functioning, more honest and professional relationship with Delacroix than with Camille, whom he keeps in the dark about absolutely everything from start to finish. I don't know if it was meant to be a symbol or not, but in their very last scene in the jail cell, Camille has to beg Danton not to snuff out the candle, which Danton does, albeit very reluctantly. In turn, Saint-Just talks about Camille in language dripping with contempt and jealousy of purely personal kind, offending him left and right, right to Robespierre's face – not to hurt Maxime, but to "open his eyes", so to speak. In one particularly harsh sentence he compares Camille to a dog, a child and a prostitue all in one breath. He not only doesn't regard him as an opponent, but barely recognizes him as a human being worth respect, in which he is sadly very similar to Danton.

Weirdly enough, they both regard Maximilien as human, which I think is interesting to notice. It would be really easy to write them in such a style that leaves way for them to see Robespierre as something more, something almost extraterrestrial, somebody who posseses abilites greater than normal humans do. And yet:

The first image is from The Last Nights of Ventose, my own translation, and it's directly from Antoine's compassionate speech. I didn't include Robespierre's response, because he just deflected, but deflection does mean he doesn't fully agree, so it's yet another similarity.

One more thing that comes to mind in a comparison like this is that Danton threatens Robespierre with the ultimate power. He doesn't think that Maxime will be able to live with it, with himself, if he ever decides to go this one step futher and become a dictator. Is this is because he wouldn't be able to live with himself, or does he truly underestimate Maxime, or he simply wants to make sure Maxime would not go in this direction precisley because he knows he would then be ustoppable? How very telling then, that in Antoine's mouth the very same thing is not a threat, but a promise! This ultimate power is born out of necessity, and it's a grace for the whole nation, because no other person could bear the weight of this "crown", but Maxime.

The main difference between Saint-Just and Danton, I think, is something which we have to believe, it's not written clearly anywhere, and this is also the thing I briefly touched uppon in the aforementioned post: we have to believe that Antoine has pure intentions, because we sure know Danton does not. These were the embers fueling the suspiscion in Maxime when he couldn't understand why Antoine would possibly push for the dictature so much – is his heart pure? This sounds overly dramatic, perhaps, but I think this dramaticism aligns perfectly with Maxime's overall characterisation. I think all readers believe in his good intentions, and the parallels constructing the characters help immensely in this judgement, for if Danton is rotten to the core, Antoine is as steady and pure as a marble column. Robespierre even calls one a pig, while the other deserves to be named an Apostle of liberty.

There is, however, another similarity between them, too. Both Antoine and Danton are willing to be dishonest in order to achieve their goals. This is this one thing that's hard for Robespierre to swallow, for he – like Camille – values honesty really highly and if he could, he'd always act honestly. Saint-Just, not to mention Danton, has no such scrupules. He sees the greater necessity as something erasing all other circumstances, and for this greater picture he is willing to sacrifice some of his integrity as a human being. With Danton, the situation is even less complex, for I don't believe he would be sacrificing his integrity in any way – this dishonesty lays at his very core and comes natural to him.

The arguments Saint-Just presents, and which differs from Robespierre's point of view, are also different from that of Danton's. Danton's vision of the present is filled with contempt for the people, for the masses who are less brilliant than him and few others are. It is worth noting that Przybyszewska really did think like this, this is something she believed in and while reading Danton's speeches in Act II Scene 3, what we actually hear is her own train of thoughts. The only difference is that she didn't disdain the people they way he did. She thought that being a mass, an unnamed pulp of flesh is not a bad thing (it was perhaps unfortunate, and I am sure thinking she was a genius like Robespierre helped her in maintainign this view). Base material is a nourishment for those who will lead these masses. We – the lesser people – are absolutely necessary for them – the greater ones – so that they can lead us out of the night and into the new epoch of enlightement, and there is nothing humiliating in being this nourishment/tool/base. Danton understood it only partially, for he wasn't ready for the greatest sacrifice of all: to be a genius, one has to get rid of everything personal, all needs and desires must be kept aside, and never again spoken of. Robespierre understood it, and I think Antoine did too. I think the best evidence for it is that he said, that he doesn't consider himself to be Robespierre's equal. Recently I hoped to prove it was a silent declaration of love; now I want to point out it is one because it showed Robespierre that Antoine understood this great sacrifice one has to make in order to be a leader, and in his own way, he has already done this. He has brushed aside personal vain and glory, his amour-propre, he degraded himself in order to magnify Maxime's importance. Danton may say: It's you whom I adore, but it is Antoine who shows it through his actions as well as his words.  

[wtfgaylittlezooid]

I’ve lost to temptation so here it is

My interpretation of magolor lets fucking go

So first section: How this bitch works

So Magolor is from Halcandria, a planet who’s core is essentially magic. There’s so much magic on this single planet that it leaked into the life and even some objects that could contain it. Magolor is no exception. Magic energy is essentially stored in a second heart (tho it’s more of a container than a heart), and runs through the body very similar to blood. It’s created and flows through his body, and allows for things like his eye glow, floating, and obviously powers. When he’s asleep, it regenerates. If there’s already enough magic energy while he’s asleep, it disposes of the old magic mostly by floating in sleep or by more severe means like insomnia aka magical overdose (which I’ve gone over before).

Next, is the glowing eyes!! Why he have that, I’ll tell ya. It makes it easier to detect other halcandrians as well as make it easier to detect light such as fire. Which is very useful when you need to look through ashy clouds and make sure a giant rock isn’t about to slam into you from above. It’s also a way to show the health of a halcandrian. Though the eyes glow yellow, they have a brown color very similar to their fur. If they’re sick or very unhealthy, they lose their glow and it slowly reverts to the brown color.

As a side effect of the master crown though, Magolor’s magic energy got boosted by the crown so he didn’t just die instantly by overwhelming power. It sounds like a good thing on paper, having so much energy to the point where he can fight non stop without getting tired magically, but magic overdose due to him not being able to deplete enough of it fast enough is a bitch. He gets sick a lot easier, bad insomnia, as well as occasionally using magic without realizing. So this clears out how he works and shit!! Now onto...

Before RTDL

So before RTDL Magolor had little social skills or experience with interacting with other people that wasnt lying to them to get them to do stuff. It was just how Halcandria worked. People kept to themselves and if you needed help you’d have to twist the truth in order to convince them. Relationships of any kind are very rare in Halcandria as well.

So when he met Marx, it was weird. He originally planned to let him stay until he got better and told him about why he was found in a Nova’s wreckage, so he could hopefully get Marx to lead him to something else he could use to defeat Landia. It didn’t go as planned. Marx was an unpredictable dude who immeadiatly fell for Magolor (but mags didn’t notice cause he’s never experienced someone else crushing or a crush) and due to that Marx spent a lot of time with Magolor during recovery and grew on him. He also ended up showing Magolor what friendship was, and honestly: magolor liked it. He liked having someone around. It was a nice change, and it was nice to have someone around to help (and rarely give him affection). So, Magolor wanted Marx to rule the universe with him once he killed Landia. He didn’t want Marx to leave. Though things started going downhill when an accident happened one time while exploring and Magolor was distracted, leaving to Marx having to use Nova’s power to make sure Magolor was safe.

And Magolor was fascinated, and god he was excited. He pried Marx for questions about his wings, constantly stared at them when they were out, and started talking about if he and Marx used their combined powers they could finally kill Landia and get what they want. But Marx didn’t want to. His want for power by then left, and he knew the consequences. He was happy just hanging out with Mags, and didn’t want to risk his life fighting a dragon with a crown of infinite power. But Magolor, despite liking the change of company, was used to being a loner and believed he could do it again since he’s halcandrian. He said Marx could leave if he didn’t want to, and that was when Marx started to see just how desperate Magolor was for the Master Crown. It was all too similar to his own desperation with Nova, and all words were useless and failed to change Magolor’s mind. So Marx left, and Magolor continued. He felt a little bad (and lonely) but pushed it down and decided no turning back and opted to modifying the Starcutter more like a weapon and attacking Landia that way, but failing.

Though he had a backup plan, thanks to Marx. Which brings me to..

The Betrayal

So this is RTDL time, before the betrayal. His back up plan was going to the pink hero Marx ranted about and using them to get the crown. After all, if they could defeat someone with the gift of Nova’s power, they could defeat a wyvern with a crown. They landed, and Magolor met everyone, but he couldn’t stop thinking about a certain someone. Chilly, who volunteered to stay with him while the others collected the spheres and parts (tho it was because he was suspicious). Mags didn’t know this, and assumed he was being nice. So the second person who (he thought) was being friendly with him enough to stay with him, and fill that hole Marx accdientally left by leaving him. He couldn’t not get attatched. He became REALLY REALLY clingy, and did as much as he could to keep himself focused as well as make sure they were friends. It backfired, making Chilly agitated most of the time, but it also semi worked later on. Most of his time between the betrayal and his crash landing was spent monitoring everyone’s progress, and trying to get Chilly to like him so he could do what he had to do during the betrayal.

Now during the betrayal! The closer he got to achieving the crown again, the more desperate and ooc he got. By the time he was at Halcandria, there’d be no way to talk him out of it, since he was THIS close. But there was still one thing wrong that he assumed the crown would fix: he couldn’t go back to being alone. He assumed he would adjust, since that’s how it’s been for his whole life. But now, that he’s actually had two people really close to him (and one leave) that showed him affection and didn’t only use him like in Halcandria, he didn’t want to go back to being alone. He couldn’t. But he came too far to turn back, and continued anyway (not like he ever changed his mind, but he did have moments of doubt). He told Chilly to stay in the Starcutter, wanting to keep him safe, which obviously didn’t go well for him when Chilly responded with freezing the ship from the inside to stop Magolor from using it in its attacks.

And of course, when Magolor sees this, he has a moment of “oh shit I can’t let him do this. I can’t lose someone else.” And tries to convince Chilly to join him. He talks about the two of them ruling and even giving Chilly Popstar to rule. He means it. He wants someone with him, somebody that he genuinely loves and treats him like a friend. He assumed that if he didn’t force Chilly into working with him like Marx, he would join in the end. And like any person with common sense, Chilly denies, loyal to Kirby and Popstar. THIS was the moment Magolor became truly desperate, he tries to convince Chilly to join him but he can barely get any words other than “but you were only friend” out while crying (in the middle of battle lol). Kirby and everyone take this chance to attack, while Magolor is just kind of broken. He fucked up again.

And he’ll be alone.

He has one thing left now, and that’s the power to rule the universe.

And he’s desperate to have this one thing go right for him, and he uses the remaining power of the Master Crown... which brings me to the next topic!

The Master Crown

Full section for the master crown let’s go. It gets its dark power from a leader/creator of dark matter (think 0), and is sentient. It only knows to shroud the world in darkness, and will do whatever it takes to get it. It’s powers are held at bay by Landia, who is Halcandria’s guardian and can resist its powers due to being a magic guardian. Magolor however, isn’t a magic guardian, and can’t resist. To him, it’s a shiny piece of jewelry that’ll make him strong so things can finally go his way.

The way it works is by drawing people in, like a venus fly trap. It just amplify people’s interest in it, as well as bring out the more negative traits about them that makes them easier to control. The most common traits is desperation, impulsiveness, frustration, and determination. And once the crown is on their head, it locks on and is irremovable and works like a parasite, basically completely erasing whoever put it on and molding them to the perfect puppet. Magolor essentially just sped up the process completely by using the last of its power in a desperate attempt to get what he wanted.

After the Betrayal

Magolor, after the betrayal, is left just floating around Another Dimension. He’s exhausted, in a lot of pain, and completely magically drained. He couldn’t even float if he tried, and that uses the bare minimum of magic. He’s stuck here for a long time, and at first, he’s extremely frustrated and upset. He spends a lot of time replaying the events in his head (not magolor soul, he has no memories of that aside from snippets that come into his dreams that are partially due to the master crown’s lasting effect) and just getting more and more angry at everything. He was so close to having control over EVERYTHING, and he lost it over himself the second he used the rest of the power. He was infuriated that he manged to let that stupid puffball beat him, along with their friends.

He cries, screams, shouts, but it doesn’t matter. Rage can only last so long, and it’s not much before he’s just exhausted and tired. He’s given up on escaping, knowing he can’t. He cant form a dimensional portal strong enough to pull him out of a dimension. He only has the skill to use it for teleportation. After a few days, he’s accepted what happened, that this is his fate. He hates being alone, floating in space with no silly jester to crack a joke or scratch his head, and no snowman who’s bell jingled with an adorable tune whenever he laughed and even gave him hugs. He ends up getting habits of scratching his head (despite the pain because of master crown injuries) and hugging himself as a way to fill that hole the two left when leaving. He misses them, and starts to regret going after the crown in the first place. He comes up with scenarios in his head to pass the time as he basically waits for himself to rot. He imagines apologizing and having his friends back. He imagines Marx somehow finding him similar to how Magolor found him. He imagines not being alone, and being happy. Not plagued by agonizing exhaustion and self fury. He even comes to miss Kirby and their friend one he actually realizes the kindness they showed him, since he was too focused before to realize.

He spends a few days in the hell dimension before he finds something. He ends up finding an energy sphere that floats past that was lost during the battle. He grabs and clings to it, now having only one thing from before. It doesn’t make the loneliness any better, but it does make things a little less bareable. But of course, energy spheres are a sphere doomer’s favorite snack, and it doesn’t take long before one comes along really wanting it.

Magolor at first, pushes it away desperate to keep this one thing he had before, and the sphere doomer keeps coming back desperately wanting its food. Eventually, Magolor and the sphere doomer form a slight bond since this was when Magolor started slowly regaining magic again and tries attacking it with his revolution orbs, but it’s just a treat for the sphere doomer. The sphere doomer keeps coming back for more treats and another attempt at a snack, and Magolor feels a little less lonely. Over time, he actually gains enough of its trust to pet it and even talks to it. He names her Lor II.

Lor II is the reason he gets out of Another Dimension and back to Halcandria, via opening a rift. Lor II basically gives Magolor a second chance to make things right, and he immeadiatly takes it. Of course, he has to steal the Starcutter to do it, but he makes his way to Popstar to apologize, because he REALLY regrets his major fuck up and at the very least, he can make things better (and maybe get a chance at being less lonely).

So that’s all I got lmao hope you enjoyed

[thedefinitionofendgame]

baseball takes your mind off things

Slexie, Merder and Cristowen one-shot | Rated T | Canon-compliant with 6x03

A/N: The baseball scene at the end of 6.03 after Lexie doesn’t get fired with the hospital cuts (and neither did Meredith or Cristina). Will go down as one of my favourite “couples” scenes on grey’s and I literally don’t know why. Maybe because everyone looks so happy, and both Derek and Meredith are cool with Mark and Lexie being together. All is well, aka the calm before the storm that is the Mercy West merger.

•

You can read this work on ao3 and fanfiction.net as well

Written and cover by @thedefinitionofendgame (aka me)

It was just six doctors off-duty-three medical students, three well-known surgeons-all just messing around with baseballs and beer bottles in their hands. For the surgeons, it was another night of fun with their girls and the boys. For the medical students, it was a way to take the edge off as they had all just survived the first round of merger cuts. Meredith wasn’t surprised all three of the women had made it; they were all more than capable. Cristina especially, although sometimes her actions were a little questionable. Lexie, as Meredith’s younger sister, had a legacy to live up to but she also was becoming a very talented surgeon. Mark never hesitated to tell her that.

Meredith was still trying to figure Mark Sloan out. Sure, he was a player and slept around a lot prior to getting together with Lexie Grey. It was one of the reasons why Meredith was very against Derek’s best friend and Lexie at first. She was the one who told Derek to tell Mark to keep “little Mark” in his pants when it came to Lexie. That was her first mistake, because all it seemed to do was make Mark want Lexie; a guy clearly likes the challenge of fooling around with someone he can’t have. Although they weren’t just fooling around; Lexie loved Mark and Mark loved Lexie. Lexie had assured Meredith he wasn’t taking advantage of her and that they were going to be together, blessing or not. Meredith didn’t want to lose her sister that she had only recently found out she had, so she caved. Now here she was, with her sister, her best friend, her husband, his best friend, and then Owen. Meredith supposed everyone had a connection to her somehow, except for Owen Hunt. Sure, he was her best friend’s boyfriend but they weren’t super close. Anyways, that wasn’t the point.

The point was that Meredith, Cristina and Lexie had all made the first round of cuts. Cristina had to go and put a damper on their good news by stating it was the first round of more to come. Nevertheless, Meredith was happy for all of them. The men had decided that a game of baseball was in order, not so much a game as a chance to blow off some steam. Originally, Cristina was going to stay at the hospital, and Meredith with her. Then Owen came along with beers and announced that baseball was necessary, rounding up Meredith and Derek. They found Mark comforting Lexie in the foyer; Meredith’s first thought was that she had been cut when she saw the tears on Lexie’s cheeks. But they were actually tears of joy, and Mark was doing his boyfriend-ly job by soothing her regardless of it being a victory or loss.

Okay, maybe former-womanizer Mark Sloan could be a good guy. Guess he just had to find the right girl.

Meredith snapped back to focus to cheer Cristina on, after she managed to hit the baseball flying at her face. Lexie wanted a turn next, so she handed her beer off to Mark, slapped one of the helmets on her head and headed to take a crack at it. Derek, who was playing back catcher, caught Meredith’s eye and winked; he really did love his complicated-but-loving wife.

Meredith and him, well they’re love story hadn’t been a smooth one. It started with a one-night stand that ended up being taken to work of all places. Turns out Seattle wasn’t as large as they thought. But Derek wouldn’t change all the bumps in the road, including his ex-wife coming back into his life and then leaving almost as fast, to go back and not meet Meredith. She was his endgame, his ride-or-die and his forever. Post-it or not, they would always be married and love each other until the ends of the Earth.

It was the love he felt for Meredith, that made him reconcile things with Mark. Mark Sloan had had the tendency to make jackass moves all his life; sleeping with Addison being one of many. But specifically going against Derek’s only ask that he didn’t date Lexie, well that had been a bit far. They had fought it out like teenage boys, despite the fact they were grown men, and with the girls’ help had then talked it out. Mark had assured him that Lexie wasn’t another fling that he’d get rid of in a couple weeks. She was the real-deal. And even though Derek doubted it at first, there was no denying that Mark Sloan loved Little Grey. It took Mark a lot to ever say the word “love” about a girl, for the long term. Confessing his relationship status to Derek had been tough, but it only made Derek realize how much Mark actually cared for Lexie; he was willing to lose his best friend over the girl he loved.

Derek liked Meredith’s “sisters” both the blood-related and the symbolic one. Cristina Yang was all shades of talented, and while she wasn’t all smiley like Lexie, she knew how to perform surgery like a boss. She and Meredith had been there for each other through a lot, and Meredith needed good friends like Cristina. She needed her “person”; someone who would be there through the thick and thin. Best friends don’t come along often, and Derek of all people knew that in regards to Mark. His and Mark’s friendship hadn’t been smooth-sailing, but deep down they cared for each other. He was the brother Derek never had, because God or someone else had cursed him with sisters.

Crouching behind the batter, who at the moment was Lexie Grey, Derek turned his attention to the baseball winding up inside the machine. Owen Hunt had been speaking all kinds of smartness when he told Cristina she needed to focus on what was in front of her, in that very moment. The ex-army trauma surgeon did know what he was talking about and while he didn’t always make the best choices, he sure knew how to give a short but sweet peptalk. Derek smacked his hand into the glove and waited, ready for whatever life threw at him.

They took shot after shot, of both alcohol (well more like sips) and baseball. It was a wild night, as the three couples laughed and had fun just being. No cares were in their minds anymore; even Cristina had stopped fretting about the next round of cuts. Meredith had Derek’s jackets wrapped around her shoulders, while Lexie snuck drinks of Mark’s beer, and Owen helped Cristina work on her swing stance. It was peaceful and though Cristina didn’t like to admit it, her boyfriend’s idea was a good one.

It felt good to clear her head, to take her mind off the rush at the hospital. Nothing could ever feel as good as the rush of surgery but hitting a baseball swung mighty close. At least in this moment right now. She might feel differently if she woke up the next morning with a sore arm from taking hits all evening. Although Owen had already whispered in her ear about promising to massage her back if her muscles were tight. It was an opportunity Cristina was prepared to take full advantage of.

She and Owen were something else. Not fierce, but good. Comfortable. They were good together and they knew what the other wanted, at least they both thought they did. Sure, they would never get married on a post-it note like Meredith and Derek had, although who could really match with Meredith and Derek? They were utterly perfect and utterly in love. It was a miracle they were here tonight, actually, and not Christening more surfaces in the house. “Newlyweds” had been their excuse, according to Lexie. Little Grey was here tonight having a blast and the beer in her system made her a little more rowdy than normal. Cristina couldn’t help but enjoy this new side of Lexie.

Mark was also enjoying it, watching his girl jump up and down when she hit the ball square on the bat, making a nice crack sound and sending the little white sphere tumbling through the air. He wouldn’t help but stare at her ass too, because damn did Little Grey have a nice ass. She had a nice everything, but of her physical features her ass was his favourite. Mark shook his head as Derek stepped up to plate next; he did not want to think of his best friend’s ass at all.

It was Owen who was the most observing throughout the night. He watched his girlfriend loosen up and start to feel more like her regular self. Cristina was normally uptight but she had been very uptight recently. A night of hitting a ball around was clearly doing some good, and it was good to see Mark and Derek getting along as though nothing had happened between them. Owen didn’t know much about the fistfight that went down, besides the fact that Derek had thrown the first punch, but whatever it was hadn’t managed to tear the two guys apart. If the cost was being the third wheel amongst the bros for them to get along, then Owen was happy to pay the price.

At last everyone started to lose energy, and the baseball night drew to a close. Lexie took off her sweaty helmet and threw it into the back of Mark’s vehicle. She said goodbye to her sister and her husband with hugs; Cristina and Owen got a wave as they headed for the opposite side of the parking lot. Mark drove away with a smile on his face and Lexie’s fingers interlaced with his.

They didn’t speak, but Lexie knew what he was feeling. They were happy, they had their jobs and they loved each other. That was all that mattered; it was all that ever mattered. Tonight had been a whirlwind, though Lexie loved it. She loved her life, she loved the man sitting beside her, and she loved her newfound sister. Life was good.

So good, in fact, that she didn’t even think about the Mercy West merger that was about to take place.

Not one thought.

[glapplebloom]

BONUS ARTICLE AND SPOILER WARNING!

@RiseFallNickBck

I make it no secret I am a fan of the Powerpuff Girls. I got every original episode on DVD, saw Dance Pantsed and even enjoyed most of the Reboot (yes it has problems but there are things I do enjoy about it). But when I heard about the Live Action Reboot even I think it was a terrible idea and reading the supposed leak proved I was right. If this leaked script was indeed true, it would explain the re-working they’re doing for the pilot. So this post said that it is unsalvagable. I’m willing to give it my best shot. To add to this challenge: I am keeping the cast the same. And I’m not going to just use my own version of the Future PPGs.

First, for this, I would animate most of the opening to be cartoon representatives of the cast. This way, people will know this is a new take on the Powerpuff Girls off the bat. Inspired from the PPG movie, we see the Professor looking at Townsville and wanting to bring something positive in this town. The a recreation of the opening, you know, the Sugar, Spice and everything Nice bit. Then the Narrator talk about how they were successful, showing a montage of them fighting all sorts of villains. Also showing them slowly maturing and changing their costumes to reflect their personalities. Then puberty hits.

Two things I am going to keep from the Pilot script is Blossom doing some serious studying and Buttercup being a cheating lesbian. Like my own future PPGs I do believe Blossom being the serious one and Buttercup being the wild one makes the most sense. But for Bubbles, they want her to be Hollywood yet making her more like Brittany Spheres at her worse. So I’m going to make her more focus on that. She was tired since she was doing numerous interviews with various magazines. So when they confront Mojo Jojo, who is human, they’re not at their best.

Mojo does his thing, but because they were tired they messed up. Instead of tackling Mojo out of the giant machine like always, they tackled below it, With Mojo’s last words, he curses the Powerpuff Girls before dying, either by the machine being destroyed via explosion or the head falling down, crushing him (this will depend on the twist ending). Now with blood on all their hands and not because Mojo tried to be a hero by attacking the girls, they all take this differently. Blossom has PTSD since she feels she’s responsible for it. Buttercup, who you think would be excited about it, is horrified. And Bubbles being so focused on the spotlight ignores it by saying “that’s right villains! If you mess with Townsville ever again expect the same!”

After that statement, there are no more villains in Townsville. They either quit or left Townsville. The Professor, who is not trying cash in on them, sends them to therapy to help them deal with it. Bubbles is in denial, Buttercup is getting better, but Blossom needs more of it. And when they turned 18, they felt it was best to move on. Buttercup is a traveling hero now, saving the day where she can and sleeping around when she can’t. Blossom graduated college, got the job at the Biotech Firm in Boston and has a boyfriend with Clive. She still goes to therapy and she is seemingly better. Bubbles went to Hollywood to cash in on her fame. No blonde drunk here. The Professor? Well, he is dating Sara Bellum after the Mayor lost and she was out of a job. She now works as an office secretary while the Professor is still doing his thing.

Currently being the Mayor is one Jones (played by Jojo’s actor). He is up for re-election and seems to be losing his chance at a second term. So he comes up with an idea: bringing back the Powerpuff Girls to Townsville. Even after the girls left Townsville has been pretty safe (at least to the the public’s knowledge) so he figured them coming back would give his campaign a boost. Around the same time, the Professor began to notice that there is an unusual concentration of high frequency technology happening recently. He fears that Darkness is coming back to Townsville and decided to call the Powerpuff Girls. Buttercup is a little worried but is alright. She promise to call the girl later. Bubbles sees this as an opportunity to get a chance in the spotlight, so she informs the media about a PPG reunion and gets her camera crew and agent. Blossom panic attacks as Clive reminds her of her therapy. Blossom calms down and decides to go see. It can’t be too serious she thinks. 

When Buttercup arrived at Townsville’s Airport, Bubbles is there with her cameraman and manager. They take an uber as they catch up. When they arrive at Townsville, the media is there since Bubbles informed them. Buttercup tries to get pass them but Bubbles embrace them. Especially a little girl who seems to be a fan. While Blossom is her favorite, she is excited to finally see them all in action. She asks for a hug, Bubbles goes in (thinking it’ll be a great camera shot), a caterpillar crawls up from around the girl to Bubbles, Buttercup flicks it, Henrietta said it was her pet and Buttercup rushes Bubbles inside. Blossom was already inside, sneaking in with Super Speed since she doesn’t want to have another panic attack. With the Professor there they he makes a claim. Blossom faints

Meanwhile, we find out that Henrietta was an evil genius. She wanted that caterpillar to crawl into Bubbles’ head to control her. And with all three together, she continues to want that power to herself and makes a move. Sometime later, Blossom recovering from her panic attack. She does not want to return to the Super Hero life and the others are accepting yet still needs her help. They promise she won’t have to fight but they still got to investigate. Drake thinks that if they can find the source he can take care of the rest since technology is his thing. Though they decide to humor him since despite being a scientist he hasn’t have the best track record for detecting things. And it gives the three girls to catch up beyond bitmoji. 

They decided to go to the Cano: the bar that’s located to the old inactive volcano that no one previously used. The owner is Butch who had a thing for Bubbles but she broke it off to presume her acting career, so he has a grudge. He’s cool with the other two. The girls catch up for a bit, Buttercup eyes Macy for a brief moment, they drink. Maybe too much as the three are different levels of dazed. Bubbles is making out with Butch while trying to find the source of an evil lab (at least she thinks she does), Buttercup is okay talking to Macy and Blossom is calling Clive while a little drunk. That’s when this guy who was Henrietta’s neighbor and being a little too aggressive. Buttercup does not take this well. 

After being escorted out of the bar (with the exception of Bubbles because she is trying to milk it for the camera) Blossom was commenting on how the guy had yellow eyes which Buttercup dismisses. With the computer stuff, they wrongfully suspect a charging station to be the culprit. They return back home unbeknown that it was indeed Henrietta’s Evil Laboratory underneath it. She has an army of caterpillars and decided to send them after the girls. If they can’t get them themselves, they’ll get other people. Back at the home, they relay their discovery to the Professor. He could have sworn but eventually settled that “maybe technology is advancing faster than he thought”. He invites them to stay the night but Bubbles and Buttercup got arrangements. Blossom stays, hoping to get some more talking.

With Bubbles, as the Cameraman gets some shots of the city for B-Roll, Bubbles and Ace (her manager) look over the footage. As he praises her, Bubbles notices there was a kid there. Before she can recognize who it was, their van got hit by another car. It was four people with yellow eyes. Bubbles goes in for the attack, taking it easy since she knows she can beat them easy. But as she knocks one out, she notices a small caterpillar coming out of their ear. As soon as it went back inside, that person gets back up. As she sees this, another tries to sneak up on her to place one near her ear. She’s too fast and makes the connection. So one by one she KOs a person and crush a caterpillar. With one remaining, they decided to take their own life by snapping their own neck. Bubbles breaks down. With Mojo, she told herself it was his own fault since he was a bad guy. But this is an innocent person who got killed to get to them. Ace comforts her telling her that it isn’t her fault. He even suggest to forget the filming and go see her sisters: because if this happened to her the others have to be in danger too.

At Macy’s place, the two are making out, not noticing the caterpillar getting closer and closer to them. That’s when Bubbles comes in. Thanks to the Friend Locator she knew Buttercup would be here. Buttercup goes to see Bubbles as Macy gets infected. Bubbles is hysterical trying to tell Buttercup what is happening but Buttercup isn’t understanding. That’s when Macy hits her with a lamp. Bubbles punches Macy and finds the caterpillar and crushes it. Now getting it, the girls go to see Blossom. At the PPG House, Blossom is getting some one on one time asking for relationship advice from Sara Bellum. Unbeknownst to the two of them the Professor walks out the door. Sometime later, Buttercup, Bubbles and Macy arrive to inform them of what’s up. They went to see the Professor but finds out he’s gone. Not suspecting the worst (probably thinking he’s getting dinner), Blossom examines the remains of the caterpillar and realize its a mind control device. And after Bubbles show them the footage of the girl, Buttercup realizes something isn’t up. That’s when Sara calls them to the living room.

The news are reporting that Townsville is having a rampage and the Professor is claiming to be the one behind it. They see the yellow eyes and Blossom makes the connection that he’s under mind control. Bubbles realizing the danger rushes out the door to try to stop it. Blossom is hyperventilating as she can’t get back out there. Buttercup tries to convince her but decides to leave her be since she can’t let Bubbles do it alone. That’s when Sara comes to talk to Blossom some more. Blossom discuss her therapy session and all the issues she had with it. Sara makes a comment that calms Blossom down and makes her realize that she needs to help (basically have Sara be the Young Blossom). Meanwhile, Bubbles figures that since the civilians are standing in water, they can give a small electric shock to stop the threat without killing them. Henrietta then shows up making the threat to kill the Professor if they don’t stop. Bubbles wants to save him but Buttercup can’t keep the telephone pole up without her. The Professor falls. Blossom saves him and knocks the Caterpillar out of him. With no where to turn, Henrietta calls all her Caterpillars to come together to create a giant armor for her and the Powerpuff Girls fight her.

After a lengthy battle, the Citizens cheer for the Powerpuff Girls as Blossom admits that she did miss this. Sometime later, Clive hears Blossom plans and while he hopes she would change her mind he understands. The Mayor Jones arrives to thank the girls and hope they continue to stay. And the Professor thanks them for saving him. But Blossom feels that despite how evil Henrietta was, there was no way for her to have the funds to create such a laboratory and suggest they continue to stay to figure out the true mastermind behind everything. Bubbles and Buttercup accept as the Powerpuff Girls are back together once more.

The episode ends with Jones revealing that his real name is Jojo and he is the one behind everything. This is because Jones is really the Son of Mojo and he wants revenge on the Powerpuff Girls. 

And that’s how I would rewrite that supposed leaked pilot. It may not be huge improvement since I kept certain things similar, but I do hope it shows that it could be better. My goal is to keep the humor parts separate for the serious parts and inject some more action. But if you have any thoughts, feel free to make your own version of the pilot, one that would most likely be better without the limitations made already.

[scottymcgeesterwrites]

Final Fantasy XIII Review

Year: 2009

Original Platform: PlayStation 3

Also available on: Xbox 360, PC, Android, iOS

Version I Played: PlayStation 3

Synopsis:

On the planet Cocoon, those who come into contact with anything from the planet Pulse are purged to that planet. Pulse is a feared planet full of monsters and strange creatures. Both planets are ruled by fal’Cie, mechanical godlike beings who sometimes brand humans as their servants for specific tasks, called a focus. Those who fulfill their focus are turned into crystals and obtain eternal life. Those who do not fulfill their focus turn into mindless monsters. Lightning is a former soldier whose sister, Serah, is branded by a fal’Cie and taken to be purged. Lightning sets off to rescue her.

Gameplay:

Going to say this now – the worst gameplay in the entire Final Fantasy series.

The battles are Active Time Battles but instead of you inputting individual commands, there are what’s called paradigms. Paradigms are somewhat like Job Classes from the old Final Fantasy games, except less fun and more automated. You can switch to a Medic paradigm in battle and every time you press “Auto-Battle” your character automatically performs a series of necessary cure and restore spells, based on what’s going on in the battle. The Sentinel paradigm specializes in keeping the enemy at bay. The Ravager paradigm uses magic. The Commando paradigm uses physical attacks. You get the picture.

As a result, the gameplay could be best described as:

With occasional switching of paradigms whenever you see fit. You can set up a number of combinations across the characters. Two Commandos and one Sentinel. One Sentinel and one Ravager and One Commando, etc.

The party automatically heals after each battle – you can even press start during a battle and restart the battle.

I probably only used an item once or twice. I honestly don’t see why they bothered putting any items if you hardly ever use them.

You can upgrade your weapons with pieces and junk you find after battles. You find so many of them that you hardly ever think about what you’re upgrading so long as whatever you make upgrades your stats. Is this better? No? What about this? Okay, good. Moving on.

Like Final Fantasy X, the game is linear. Much more linear. You follow a long hallway for about 30 hours of the game before you can do sidequests. The sidequests involve completing other people’s focus. That’s about it. There are no towns, no inns, no villages. You are entirely on the road, constantly in battle (Okay, there’s like one time where Sazh and Vanille are in a casino or something but that’s about it).

I wrote a blog piece a while back about what exactly was wrong with Final Fantasy XIII, and it’s not that it’s linear. We play really great linear games all the time. It’s the automation – the feeling that you’re not really doing anything.

There isn’t an ounce of customization. Leveling up is similar to the Sphere Grid of Final Fantasy X. It’s called the Crystarium but it follows a strict path. You can’t actually stray anywhere or customize anything. If that’s the case, why bother making you open the menu to level up through the Crystarium? Why not just automatically do it? I guess they want to give you some ounce (more like a milligram) of control over the game.

Basically – you’re watching a long movie and occasionally get to move the people around. That’s how I see it.

Graphics:

PLAYSTATION 3 HD GRAPHICS HOMG DO YOU HAVEA BONER YET? LOOK AT THIS. FIRST FINAL FANTASY GAME IN GLORIOUS HD.

Everything is pretty in this game. Everything. There is nothing wrong with this at all.

Story:

The characters appear to reference those in Final Fantasy VII. Director Motomu Toriyama wanted Lightning to essentially be a female Cloud Strife. She’s a no-nonsense, athletic female lead. While Cloud and Squall were introspective and antisocial, Lightning is slightly different by actively ordering people around. She comes off as a dick to everyone, and that’s due to her ex-soldier background. Think of your stereotypical ex-cop/ex-CIA/ex-military action movie hero, like Liam Neeson (Bryan Mills in Taken) or Bruce Willis (John McClane in Die Hard). That’s basically Lightning.

Can we go on a short tangent for a moment to talk about how weird it is that Lightning was also used as a model for advertising in Japan?

Here she is driving a Nissan.

And wearing Louis Vitton.

Cool? I guess? Unless you start to realize that Toriyama wanted to design his own personal waifu, and that he’s completely obsessed with her. That gets really weird. And sad? A little? Anyway.

Vanille has some reminiscent of Yuffie from Final Fantasy VII, although with more character via her inner monologues and narration. Fang is vaguely like Vincent Valentine. Sazh takes the place of Barrett as the token black dude, except instead of being aggressive he’s more like the comic relief and wants nothing to do with anything. Every time you control him, jazz music plays, because black people I guess. Hope doesn’t appear to be reminiscent of anyone – he’s just this boy who yells and complains a lot with Lightning. Snow meanwhile is a ripoff of Zell from Final Fantasy VIII, except somehow even more annoying.

(Every time I see his picture I think about your typical dude bro at a frat.)

The story starts of a bit choppy as you follow almost each character separately, then they run into each other, then separate again, then join again. The first 30 hours or so gives flashbacks of 13 days prior- BECAUSE IT’S FINAL FANTASY XIII GET IT? Vanille actually narrates some events but it’s not exactly clear why or from when – but that’s a spoiler. Along the way, I got really confused because I didn’t know why some people were fighting each other when they were on the same side a moment ago. The concept of the “focus” is really weird and sometimes confusing. People with a focus simply have visions or a general idea of what they’re supposed to do, but they don’t actually know for sure unless they actively seek it. If the gods granted them a focus, wouldn’t it make more sense if the gods just told them what to do? Seemed to work in Final Fantasy XII. 

In short, the narrative weaves around a lot. If you stop playing in the middle and pick up the game again months later, you’re bound to forget what’s going on. I know I did.

The characters didn’t annoy me as much as you would think they would on paper. They all have character development and that’s good. The only character that effectively got on my nerves was Snow. Snow is Serah’s fiancé, and Lightning hates him because of course you need some family drama. I don’t blame Lightning though. Snow shouts cheesy lines left and right, like “Heroes never die!”. He shouts Serah’s name the same way Christian Bale shouts Rachel’s name in the Christopher Nolan Batman films. Snow is quite possibly the most irritating character of all the Final Fantasy games. He will not shut the fuck up about what it means to be a hero.

The rest of the cast works well in that their motives and desires clash with each other. But I’m still sore about the wasted potential for a great character in Jihl Nabaat. Sazh wants his son Dejh back, who was taken to be purged by the sinister and extremely hot Jihl Nabaat.

 Goddaaayyyum. Seriously, look at her.

Too bad, because she’s only featured in a handful of scenes and then dies. Her death isn’t a major spoiler, at least one that I consider, because she hardly does anything except get in the way for a moment. You don’t even fight her. How lame is that?

Then you have this annoying bastard – Primarch Dysley.

When I think of him, I think of Mitch McConnell.

Old. Disagreeable. Been in power for too long. Always in the way of progress.

Primarch Dysley happens to be as annoying as Seymour from Final Fantasy X, so expect to be overjoyed every time you run into him.

Overall, the story isn’t as bad as you’d think. You just have to pay close attention. The gameplay is far worse than the story. I could easily slip into a coma while playing this game and still make it pretty far.

Music:

Final Fantasy XII saw the departure of Nobuo Uematsu (well with the exception of the pop song “Kiss Me Goodbye”). Final Fantasy XIII continues to head into the unknown without the beloved longtime composer. This game’s score is composed entirely by Masashi Hamauzu, who if you haven’t been paying attention, already partly worked on Final Fantasy X.  I immediately saw how “Saber’s Edge”, the boss theme, is similar in nature to the boss theme of Final Fantasy X.

Final Fantasy XIII made the most radical changes to the score. There are no signature themes from the series. No “Prelude” theme, no “Main Theme”, no “Victory Fanfare” theme. Instead, we get a theme called “Fabula Nova Crystallis”.  It plays frequently throughout the game, and almost acts as Serah and Snow’s love theme. In some portions of the game, some woman is singing along. Yes – this is the first time where you roam around a world in a Final Fantasy game with actual pop music playing in the background – “Sunleth Waterscape” to be exact. Final Fantasy XIII’s music gets pretty poppy.

Not saying it’s a bad idea.

Just.

You got pop music playing in the background now.

“Lightning’s Theme” is pretty sick. Her theme plays during the battles in a rendition called “Blinded by Light” – HA GET IT BECAUSE SHE’S LIGHTNING. SO CLEVER.

But Hamauzu was a good choice – the entire score holds up well and sounds like a movie score, with varying motifs running across. It can be a bit more subdued but that’s how contemporary instrumental music is nowadays, especially with film composers like Hans Zimmer.

 Notable Theme:

“Blinded by Light”

Really epic, unique song. I always scat along to it as it plays.

Verdict:

Uff. 

Look, if you just search on YouTube for all the cutscenes, there you go. That’s the game. And it’s entertaining to watch. But it has the worst gameplay that doesn’t feel like you’re even doing anything. No sense of customization or originality.

Direct Sequel?

Yes, two.

Final Fantasy XIII-2.

I started it around the time it first came out, but I’m still in the middle of playing it and I have no idea what’s going on in the story. NO idea. NONE at all. They use time travel but none of it makes sense. Apparently changing things in the future can change the past. I don’t know how. I only understand a vague semblance of a plot with the bad guy Caius. While it doesn’t tarnish the dignity of the original like Final Fantasy X-2 did, it’s still offbeat with its metal (yes, metal) music and utterly confounding story. It’s infamous for this metal rendition of the sweet and innocent Chocobo theme.

Then there’s the third game, Lightning Returns: Final Fantasy XIII

I plan on playing it after I finish Final Fantasy XIII-2, if I don’t already die from an aneurysm by then. It’s supposed to be better than Final Fantasy XIII-2 but lacking in graphics.

[random-mha-thoughts]

Murphy’s Law (Bakugou x Reader)

Pairing: Bakugou x Reader

Genre: Fluff, comedy/crack

Summary: Bakugou just wants a peaceful date with you and promises to tone down his aggression, but things don’t always go his way.

Word count: 2,206

Inspo: This tik tok

Tags:  @yuki-osaki​ @liviitehe​ @iamsoftsodonttoucheume-blog​ @bunnythepipsqueak​

a/n: I absolutely love writing these comedy/crack style plots, they’re so fun!  They just fit so well with Bakugou’s character, what can I say?

Starting next post, I’ll finally be posting some spicy content ;)  Not nsfw exactly, but I’d give it a PG-13 rating if I had to.

Anyway, its 3 am and I’m about to pass out.  Enjoy~!

"You smell like...cherries?"  Bakugou takes a deeper whiff of the crook of my neck.  "No, wait... Vanilla?"

I bite my lip, trying not to chuckle too hard and disturb his adorable sleuthing.

"I got it," he moves up to stare me right in the eyes for my answer.  "Coconut."  When I nod, he smirks victoriously.  "I knew it."  He peppers my face and neck in soft kisses, his grip on my waist tightening.  "Admit it, your boyfriend is amazing."

I tilt my head and scrunch my eyes.  "You're...okay."

His grip turns into erratic twitches as he tickles me.  "Just okay, huh?"

My breath is stolen by laughter.  "Okay!  You're amazing!"  I curse his knowledge of my ticklish spots.

Bakugou ceases his mischievous torture and returns to our original cuddling position: his one arm on top of my waist and the other enveloping my shoulders as I rest on his chest.  We bask in the silence of each other's warmth and breathing, the faint sound of his heartbeat thudding in my ear.

His warm fingers draw patterns against exposed skin near the hem of my shirt.  "We haven't been out on a proper date for a while, we should go this weekend," he proposes out of the blue.

I mull over the idea.  We've both been busy with training, and we both mutually agree that we prefer spending more intimate time with each other like this than being out on a formal date.  "What brought this up?" I ask, genuinely curious.

"It's just a random thing, no big deal," he snorts, trying to pass it off casually, but I know him well enough to know better.

"You saw Todoroki taking Midoriya out, didn't you?"

I hear the clinking of his teeth as he clenches his jaw, taking that as a positive response.

I sigh, loosing draping my arm onto his chest.  "Katsuki-"

"I just wanna make you feel special, okay?" he blurts out, terse but affectionate in his own way.  "I don't want you to think I don't care about you or that you're missing out on things other couples do.  I'm your man, you deserve more."

My fingers softly trail up his arm.  In other words, he feels like he's not doing enough in our relationship.  I peck his lips.  "Okay, let's do it.  But let's not go somewhere too fancy.  I don't feel like dressing up and all that.  Besides, you're too...excited for those quiet places."

His eyebrows furrow.  "Whaddaya mean by that?"

I want to chuckle at his defiance.  "You get very easily riled up.  Sometimes, you just need to tone it down a notch."

Though he pouts, he mutters, "I'll be on my best behavior, promise."

.

The weekend finally rolls around.  The Sun shines brightly, there isn't a cloud in the sky, the temperature is brisk, nothing could possibly go wrong.

Bakugou agreed to meet at noon so we could go out for lunch at this cute outdoor restaurant downtown.  I dress in a somewhat-fancy-somewhat-casual grey sweater, black leather pants, and Chelsea boots.  While I'm deciding on what accessories to style with my outfit, there's a  knock at my door.  I glance at the clock, only then realizing it's 12:30, and rush to the door.

Bakugou stands in the doorway, looking like an absolute snack.  For some reason, he's dressed in a crisp white button down, fitted black slacks down above his ankles held up by black suspenders, and brown dress shoes.  Slack jawed, I barely have a second to comment on how amazing he looks before he storms into my room and I catch a whiff of his cologne, wanting to shower him with compliments.

"Katsuki-"

"I woke up late, I'm sorry," he growls, throwing a black strip of fabric around his neck and making a beeline for my full length mirror.  He's trying to knot a tie around his neck, I realize.  "My alarm didn't go off for some stupid reason, and I wanted to wake up early to get you flowers before coming here.  This date's already ruined and I'm not even ready- AND THIS STUPID TIE JUST WON'T TIE PROPERLY!"  Clearly, he's already worked up and his tie won't cooperate with him.

At first, it's cute watching him struggle, but I realize he's genuinely bothered by this entire situation.  I wrap my arms around his torso from behind.  "Babe, it's fine.  We're not in a hurry, just take your time." I assure him softly.  "I was just finishing up myself."

At the sound of my voice, my boyfriend releases his tension in a sigh.  "You're right.  I promised I'll be calmer today."  He finally finishes tying his tie and smooths it over.

I smile and kiss his cheek to comfort him.  "You look so handsome."

A light blush colors Bakugou's cheeks as he runs his hands through his hair.  "I did it for you, dummy," he admits in the softest voice.

We stare at each other in the mirror fondly for a moment, and I ruffle his hair.  "Let's go, whenever you're ready."

As we're getting ready to leave the dorms, Kaminari and Mineta are playing some sort of weird game in the hallway with Mineta's purple spheres where Kaminari tries to hit them with his lightning.

One of them flies past Bakugou's head, just missing it, and he almost goes off.  "I swear if one of those things hits me in the face, you idiots are-!"  Cutting himself off at the end, he takes a deep breath.  "I'm calm, I'm calm.  Let's just get out of here."

It's cute watching him struggle to stay calm for my sake.

And it doesn't get any easier.  Somewhere during the walk over to the restaurant, the sprinkler system turns on in someone's lawn and managed to almost spritz Bakugou's crisp outfit.  He says nothing and holds in his complaints, like a true trooper.  The next thing to go wrong is the train getting delayed.  Such a small nuisance is too much for the boy, as evidenced by the wild tapping of his foot on the floor to the point where some of the other passengers stare at him.

"If I could use my quirk, I would've just blasted us out of here to the restaurant," he mutters in my ear.

I squeeze his hand in mine.  "You're doing a great job, babe."

The smile that appears on his face is absolute bliss.

After the train finally moves and we reach our stop, we make our way through the city hand in hand, talking only to each other.

"You've out-dressed me, Katsuki.  Where did these clothes even come from?"

"My mom always told me a formal outfit is a staple," the boy shrugs in response.  "I just didn't want to wear the jacket because it's still daytime."

In the back of my head, I realize that Bakugou seems to have an unconscious eye for dressing presentable, he just chooses to wear joggers and a T-shirt all the time.

"I just figured we were going to a nice place and I wanted to look good, you know?" he continues.  "Even though everything's kinda gone to hell so far today."

My heart melts for how hard he's trying, and I decide to hug his arm for comfort.  "You're doing amazing.  I'm having fun just being with you so far."

In return, he kisses my forehead.  "The date's not over yet, we still need to eat."  He takes out his phone.  "I just need to make sure we're going-"

We collide into someone who's not watching where they're going, and, unfortunately, Bakugou's phone gets knocked out of his hand.  Almost in slow motion, we watch as the poor device crashes against the concrete face down.  I can feel his grip on my hand tighten as he growls and picks up the phone, hoping for the best, only to realize there are now spidery cracks across the surface.

I hold my breath for the inevitable outburst, which doesn't come.  A vein pops in Bakugou's neck and a muscle jumps in his jaw, but no sound escapes his lips except an extended, harsh exhale.  "Can I check it on your phone, babe?" he asks through clenched teeth, and I offer to be navigator myself out of pity.

When we finally get to the restaurant, we sit down and have our meal in peace.  The blond seems to relax as food slowly fills his belly and we carry light conversation with each other.

"You finished all the rolls already?!" I guffaw, covering my face to keep myself from being too loud, "Were you that hungry?"

"I told you I got up late!" he growls, ripping off a piece from the last roll, "I haven't eaten yet all day."

I take his hand from across the table.  "And you deserve it, with the day you've had so far."

Smooth as a criminal, he kisses my fingers gently, "At least you're here.  But you shouldn't give me your hand so easily, I might bite you because of how hungry I am."  He jokingly starts play biting my hand, making me laugh again.  And just for a moment, our eyes catch each other's, sharing our affections wordlessly.

Until something - or someone - crashes into our table.

Both of us get to our feet instinctively and inspect the damage.  The person who had crashed our table is a male waiter we recognized moving around since we've been here.

"That man is a villain!  He's trying to rob the place!" one of the staff announces from across the room.

The man slowly tries standing on his feet, catching onto the closest thing to help himself.  Which happened to be Bakugou's pant leg.  Looking up, the sorry villain realizes he's just sealed his fate.

Bakugou's face is crimson with impatient rage, bottled up from the entire day and ready to explode onto the nearest victim.

"What. The actual. Fuck?" he murmurs from deep in his throat down at the villain, who's eyes are widening as he registers he might actually be facing a devil.  The boy's breathing gets ragged.  "You have exactly," he pulls and undoes the knot around his neck in one swift movement, not breaking his malicious glare on the villain, "Two seconds," he throws the tie aside and slides his suspenders off his shoulders, "Before I blast you into oblivion," the top buttons of his shirt are undone.

"I-I'm so sorry I interrupted your date," the villain's eyes widen as he slides backwards into the broken table.  "Y-You two must've been having a good time-"

"Damn RIGHT we were!" Bakugou bellows, sleeved already folded and he's pushing them up past his elbows away from his hands.  "Now you're gonna DIE!"

As hot as it was watching my angry boyfriend slightly undress, I don't want him getting in trouble doing something illegal.  I grasp his taut elbow, avoiding his forearm. "Katsuki, just leave this for the pros to deal with, don't get yourself in trouble."

He slowly calms his breathing, but still eyes the man with a murderous glint as we back away from the situation.

.

We silently eat our sandwiches on a park bench.  Bakugou's gnawing and mashing his food to get his anger out, his tie hanging out of his pocket since he couldn't be bothered to re-tie it around his neck, or readjust his outfit.

I quietly admire his rugged appearance and let out a small chuckle.

He shoots me a look.  "What're you laughing at?"

"I'm just thinking how much better you look when you're all undone like this," I remark, finishing the last of my own sandwich, "You looked too uptight before, this is way more casual."

My comment is met with a smirk and a huff as he uses one arm to pull me so close to him, I might as well be on his lap.  "Is that your way of saying I look hot all angry like this?"

"Maybe."  With that, I steal the last bite from his sandwich.

Bakugou sets the wrapper aside and hugs my waist with both hands, setting me properly in front of him so I can look him straight on.  "I'm sorry I lost my cool like that.  I promised I'd stay calm for you today, but nothing even went right all day and then that mess happened."

His ashamed expression makes me plant a quick kiss on his lips, allowing a light blush to appear in its place.  "You're amazing, Katsuki.  You've had such crappy luck all day and you managed to hold in your anger for most of it.  But, while I appreciate the effort, you really didn't have to."  I wrap my arms around his neck affectionately.  "I love you and all your hotheaded screaming, you dope, no fancy dates or rules needed.  Don't feel like you need to do more for me when I just need you."

A heart-melting smile spreads across Bakugou's face as he rests our foreheads together.  "I don't deserve you, babe, you're the best I could ever ask for."  Our lips join together in a sweet kiss for a moment.

I break it with a chuckle.  "Honestly though, I really would've liked to see you smash that guy's face in."

"Me too!"

[okay-victoria]

Status of Women in The Empire

Summary: LN gives some evidence women have a better status than they did in OTL Germany. It gives little to nothing in the way of evidence that we are in post-sexual-revolution territory. It presents little enough evidence generally that you can use this issue in your own story as you wish; however, using how humans actually work as your baseline, it would be a very definite handwave to think that gender equality is much more than marginally better than OTL would have been at the time, or that Tanya wouldn’t be negatively affected by it in some significant ways in daily life. On the other hand, the original story handwaves an eight year old enrolling in a modern military and getting promoted to a mid-ranking officer by age eleven, so as a reader, I’m obviously pretty down for handwaving some realism for the sake of a good story.

Evidence:

V1/C1

“The armed forces have a practical exception in place for just about everything.” <= I think in fanon the entire Empire as seen as this sort of “everything we do is logical” territory where gender discrimination would have had to be eliminated, but in reality it’s presented as the military, and they are making an exception for a rare and incredibly militarily useful type of person to be able to be put to use by them without gender discrimination stopping it.

V1/C4

“But in the far-from-gender-free world of “ladies first,” Tanya with her outwardly girlish appearance is, albeit only relatively, blessed compared to the other students” <= YMMV, but I would not describe modern society as a world of “ladies first”. Do people do/say it to hark back to pre-1960s chivalry? Sure. Is it really the standard we live by anymore? Not so much. Tanya seems to pretty definitely still be living in those days.

“Basically, apart from the mage branch, the army is a man’s world. Actually, even most of the mages are men.” <= this is notable because it is said when Tanya is in War College, at which point the war has been going on for long enough that available mages have been conscripted, so there is no selection bias that men have simply chosen to pursue a career as a mage more often than women. This is actually weirdly important because it either means:

Magic talent is like, an X chromosome trait and men are thus more likely to have it [in which case, it would probably be taken as natural evidence that men are superior and worsen the gender equality situation]; or

There in fact is a Youjo Konki-esque exception for married women and/or mothers. A nation has to still be relatively in the infancy of gender equality if Female Mage #102 has children with Infantryman #1,000,102 and the military decides that since it can’t leave these children parentless, it has to conscript the dude who is substitutable for literally anyone else and not the human weapon.

Tanya has a long-ish reflection on women in the military. Important points are, the rules have only been overhauled recently to make it practical for women to serve in combat. Women in combat didn’t really exist prior to this war, and women in the military were basically limited to noble/imperial families having their daughters serve out nominal duties. Whatever boost women as a whole get from serving in a capacity that people are used to seeing men in, it has not had time to transform society all that much.

V2/C2

“Women administrators are not uncommon, but in the Empire where gender equality still has a ways to go, their qualifications are always questioned.” <= YMMV as to what degree this is meant to be a statement on something that still troubles women in modern times, or something that indicates gender equality is not particularly close to modern.

V2/C5

“After all, now that I’ve been turned into a girl, I’m faced with this annoying military framework where men are superior. Just the thought of my promotions being blocked by an invisible glass ceiling is enough to dampen any desire I might have to act all girlish for propaganda…apart from that, the Empire’s personnel system has adapted extremely meritocratic principles for the war, in a way, so I’m more or less satisfied with it.” <= sort of same as above, YMMV on whether this is just Tanya realizing what life is like for a woman in modern society or meant as a “no, it was worse” point.

However, I will say this: I highly, highly doubt any men chosen for high military honors were photographed doing anything other than looking ultra manly in uniform. Women serving in modern militaries are not forced to put on showy dresses when they get their photos taken, they are treated, at least in photos, with the same respect as their male colleagues. The fact that anyone found it appropriate to only photograph the recipient of the highest military honor in cute girl clothes speaks to some deep discomfort with anyone outside the military seeing women not doing what they’re supposed to.

V6/C6

“The Imperial Army has already tapped all the population pools that can be mobilized, but it still has two options. One is to begin the general conscription of women. That said, they’ve already been mobilized in the industrial sector.” <= YMMV, again, on how willing a modern country would be to conscript women to fight a world war, but if you are as deep into a world war as the Empire is and no one’s trying it, at the least we can say the Empire is not the bastion of cold logic it fanonically is outside the military. Also, it pretty much seems like women working in large numbers has only become a thing because all the guys are off fighting, which very much sticks us in pre-1950s territory.

V8/C1

Andrew reacts surprised to see a female reporter from the Federation, and reflects that they are quite liberal in some ways <= while this is a non-Imperial guy, given his familiarity with the Empire, it would seem weird that if the Empire was particularly more advanced than his country that he would still be so surprised.

Other Working Knowledge Your Author Has On This Subject:

Women serving in the military, while certainly helpful to the cause of gender equality, by itself is not going to create a broad-based transformation in society. That sounds a bit like saying: As we all know, the US dropped any racist laws or regulations as soon as we started allowing non-white units in the military. After Elizabeth I serving as the Ruler of England, a very manly role that her tiny woman-brain didn’t fuck up too bad, the people who thought women were naturally stupider than men were quickly relegated to the margins and gender discrimination mostly became more of an annoyance than a real hindrance to the average woman’s goals. It just doesn’t work that way. And I’m not here to say that the US is a post-gender paradise, but the US, which has never had a woman president and is pretty slow about expanding military opportunities for women, nonetheless is a lot better on the gender equality front than some countries that have had women leaders and allow women a fuller range of military opportunities. There’s a lot more complexity to it than: My country respects military => military allows women => guess I’m going to stop being sexist

The same goes for something that isn’t about gender equality at large but how it relates to Tanya: The view that while gender equality may be non-advanced, Tanya specifically is exempt from dealing with it because she is “one of the boys”. It Does Not Work Like That. At All. And the further you go back in time, the less it worked like that. Within the military specifically Tanya will probably be alright, but society at large punishes men & women that break gender roles as brazenly as she does more than it rewards them. This is an entire essay unto itself, Google is your friend.

This is going to sound silly and facetious but I’m being dead serious, from what little we know of fashion in the YS world, it matches what would have been the case in the real world in the WW1 era. If society at large was really that different, that wouldn’t be the case.

There is no canon evidence that magic has made any scientific advancements outside the military sphere of influence. Before the advent of things like dishwashers, vacuums, microwaves, especially refrigerators, and especially laundry machines being common household items, the ideal family model was: one person makes money outside home, one person takes care of house. There wasn’t enough time in the day to work and run a household. Many women in poor households had to work, generally at the expense of being able to keep their own household running smoothly, and even then they often worked in capacities that allowed them to be at home or ones that allowed them the flexibility to take care of some of this stuff. It really just isn’t possible to have a society remotely approaching equality when one gender is automatically assigned to home unless necessary.

Same goes for something else - contraception. Women having access to a contraceptive device that they control is a major component of setting a society on a path towards equality. Birth control pills didn’t become widely available until the 1960s. Without being unable to at least kind of balance the outcome of sex (even between married couples) between men and women, women as a class have a hard time escaping from the housewife-mother archetype.

Not to get too political here, but the Empire matches OTL Germanic-Prussianness too much to ignore. Living under a military-worshipping, religiously-inclined traditional monarchy has not, in any real life example I’m aware of, gone hand-in-hand with anything other than a fairly conservative and patriarchal society, and I feel like the burden of proof is on the other side to explain why that isn’t the case in the Empire, and our original author makes approximately zero effort to do this.

Being X turns Tanya into a woman for the purpose of making her life worse. It seems simply illogical [although I guess Being X’s decision-making skills are questionable] that he would then drop her into a world that had undergone broad-based gender reform instead of a world that was just barely tweaked from our own in such a way that it would allow Tanya to serve in the military.

My conclusion: the most likely option is that gender equality is exactly enough better as it needs to be to allow the military to convince the lawmakers that they should be able to use a very rare & dangerous ability to be part of their arsenal without respect to gender, or age, and no more. That difference is not likely to make life for women significantly better than it was in the equivalent OTL time period.

[crisisdparity]

Game Master Akuma AU

(Note: Originally submitted to @justanotherpersonsuniverse, on their advice I will be using my own tumblr for anything in the future related to this AU.)

Xavier Duchamp was rather proud of himself. What he had before him was an absolute masterpiece of a campaign if he did say so himself. The product of over six months of study, research, and rebalancing efforts followed by two weeks of discussion with his five players to hash out schedules, meeting times, characters, backstories, potential character arcs, and getting them set up with a messaging app that was really good for sending discrete messages between the GM and the players.

Valentine and her boyfriend Justin were onboard in an instant. Within days, he'd greenlighted their Half-Elf Bard of the College of Glamour whose spell list was 100% Illusion spells and Half-Orc Fighter (Eldritch Knight) who was focusing entirely on Abjuration as Rena Rouge and Carapace respectively.

Olivia had spent a few days coming up with a Halfling Rogue and debating subclasses with him until settling on Scout. Along with some discussion over how her special magic item's stunning and paralysis effect would work with Sneak Attack, the campaign had its Vesperia.

Jeanette had gone back and forth with him for a week looking at various homebrew subclasses for her Gnome Artificer before they both agreed on one particular Master Tinkerer entry that would be balanced and do the character justice. And with that they had their Ladybug.

Even Matt was on board with a stealthy human Chat the Barbarian using the Path of the Beast. The class choice was something Matt had insisted on (and that Xavier would have suggested anyway just for the high hit point totals given Matt's history with characters dying) and he'd even come up with a backstory that Xavier felt was quite compelling compared to Matt's usual efforts. Morally ambiguous, likely to be tempted by promises of power, but with a great deal of story potential to work with.

Which was a relief. Getting a new player into their group to replace Matt was not something Xavier really felt comfortable with. There were too many unknowns with introducing a new person, far too many for him to risk his masterpiece on an unknown factor. He knew Matt. He could work with Matt. Despite the history.

He'd put everything he had into this. Every known Akuma ever fought by the heroes had been made into a boss-tier foe. He'd carefully documented each and every power the heroes had shown to craft special legendary magic items based on the Miraculous. Hawkmoth and Mayura themselves were going to be the final bosses of his campaign.

In response to criticism about the difficulty of his campaigns (he tried to make them fair, but still challenging enough to be memorable), he'd made several guest NPCs based on every other hero that had ever been called upon, statted out like player characters that might show up in a pinch to help. He even had a genuine Deus ex Machina that he was ready to use to get the players out of a truly impossible jam if they found themselves in one.

Not always, but a few times at least. Enough to get them to the point where they wouldn't need it anymore.

-----

It was thirty minutes in, right in the middle of exposition from the Guardian NPC, when Xavier got his first message on the app.

Matt/Chat - Chat's going to wait until everyone breaks up and follow Ladybug stealthily.

Xavier/GM - Starting party conflict on the first session? Not what I'd advise, but it's your character. Go ahead and make your Stealth roll now.

Matt/Chat - <photo> 17

Xavier/GM - Yeah, that beats everyone's passive Perception easily. You'll sneak off handily without anyone noticing.

-----

"Jeanette, Ladybug is grabbed from behind by an unknown assailant. Roll to resist the grapple."

"Geez, already? Okay, what did my assailant get for their grapple? How screwed am I?"

Xavier pretended to roll a die while consulting the message from Matt.

"19."

"Okay, difficult, but not undoable... Crap."

"What'd you get?"

"Nat 1..."

"Hah! I rip off her earrings and claim them for myself! The Wish is mine!"

"Seriously Matt?! What the hell?!"

"Because it's payback time! Payback for every character of mine killed in these hellish campaigns!"

"Oh, come on! You're not the only person whose had a character die at this table! Xavier runs some pretty challenging campaigns, but they're always fair!"

"What about the time he killed Allric the Allmighty in a single round of combat?"

"Dude, you tried to Leroy Jenkins straight into melee with a 4th-level Wizard that had a CON penalty. Even at full health you had like 10 hp."

"14!"

"Not much better, dude."

"Guys, it's fine. I can handle this. Okay, Matt. Chat the Barbarian managed to get the earrings-"

"Yeah, Ladybug screams bloody murder when he rips them out. Good luck getting out of this in one piece."

"The moment Rena hears Ladybug scream, she bolts for the sound."

"So does Carapace."

"Vesperia too."

"-and with their current locations and movement speeds, I assume you're all using the Dash action?, you've got maybe one round to decide on your Wish before they're all over you, so choose carefully. And be aware that I plan to grant whatever you wish for in the worst possible way, just as I would if any of the others pulled this."

"Rena screams 'What the HELL, Chat?! We're supposed to protect the Miraculous, not use them for our own selfish purposes! Didn't you listen to the Guardian? Such actions always bring misfortune upon those who misuse the Miraculous!'"

"Because I am Chat, avatar of Destruction and I WISH THIS WORLD NEVER EXISTED!"

There was dead silence at the table.

"Matt... What... just... WHAT?!"

"Hah! You like that?! How does it feel now that the shoe's on the other foot, huh?!"

"What the hell is your problem, Matt?!"

"My problem? MY problem?! Do you know how much time I've spent making characters for these shitty campaigns only to have them turned into paste in one session?!"

"Because you made primary spellcasters and played every last one of them like a barbarian, charging in headfirst without thinking! All of us breathed a sigh of relief when you revealed that your character finally matched your playstyle!"

"I HATE BARBARIANS! THEY'RE BORING! I SHOULD GET TO PLAY CHARACTERS THAT CAN AT LEAST CHUCK FIREBALLS!"

"THEN MAYBE YOU SHOULD STOP RUNNING THEM FACE FIRST INTO ENEMY SWORDS!"

"NONE OF YOU COULD EVER HANDLE THE FACT THE I MAKE MORE AWESOME CHARACTERS THAN ANY OF YOU, SO YOU JUST LET THIS DOUCHEBAG KILL THEM OFF SO YOU WOULDN'T GET OVERSHADOWED BY HOW AMAZING I AM! WELL NOW I KILLED SOMETHING YOU ALL WORKED HARD ON, SO SUCK IT! I'M DONE WITH ALL OF YOU FOREVER!"

"MATT! HEY! GET BACK HERE YOU JERK! MATT!"

"Crap, I think Olivia might actually kill him this time..."

"It's going to take all of us to stop her from getting arrested at least."

Xavier just watched numbly as the rest of the group ran out of his apartment. Over six months of work. Gone in less than an hour.

He'd given so much to making sure this would work. He'd apologized to Matt at least twice for every character of his that had died to get him to come back. He'd agreed to demand after demand just to keep a familiar face on board, never dreaming he'd pull something like this.

He'd nearly gotten fired from his job trying to rearrange his schedule to fit with everyone else's. They'd somehow, miraculously, gotten the whole day with no other obligations among any of them and decided to make the first session a true marathon. They'd meet in the morning after breakfast and eat both lunch and dinner at the game table before calling it a night late in the evening.

It was barely 10:00 in the morning and the whole campaign he'd slaved over for months was kaput.

He never noticed the butterfly landing on his custom Miraculous-themed Game Master screen and being absorbed into it.

"Game Master, I am Hawkmoth. Few people appreciate the kind of effort that goes into making something truly grand and memorable. I shall give you the power to bring your entire world to life and in return, I ask only for a few simple things."

This was wrong. Hawkmoth was the worst of the worst. The kind of person who would be at home among all the final bosses he'd ever made for his campaigns. Heartless, manipulative, cruel.

"Not enough? Ah, but what is a game without players? How would you like to have the Miraculous heroes themselves run your great campaign? Surely they would be far more appreciative than those ungrateful peons that left you alone with nothing but the broken remains of your efforts."

He knew all these things, but the allure of bringing the world he'd spent so much time on to life... What creator could ever turn down an offer like that?

"I, the Game Master, accept... Hawkmoth."

"Excellent. And in exchange, you shall bring me one of two things: The Miraculous, or the identities of their wielders."

"No."

Hawkmoth was silent for a moment.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said no. I am the Game Master. I make the world. I craft the challenges. I decide the rewards. But I do not do anything for anyone. If you want these things, get them yourself."

"If you refuse me, it shall be very unpleasant for you."

"No. As Game Master, I decide the limits of all powers within my realm. And I decide that you have none over me."

And with that, he unleashed his creation over all of Paris, drawing everyone and everything within into his sphere of influence.

-----

Ladybug blinked the spots (ha) out of her eyes as the flash of light died down and looked at herself. She didn't remember transforming, but she was clearly in her spots. Except her red and black superhero uniform didn't usually look like it was headed to a steampunk convention. Looking around, she tried to figure out what had happened and her eyes landed on a familiar belt and pants combo.

Problem. Whoever this was, their groin was at eye level for her.

She looked up.

And up.

To find a grinning Chat Noir, sans anything resembling a shirt and having put on at least a foot of height and apparently a hundred pounds of pure muscle, grinning down at her.

"How's the weather down there?" Chat Noir chuckled as he flexed his unfairly attractive muscleman physique.

"I WILL END YOU!" the heroine snarled, already 100% done with whatever new insanity Hawkmoth had cooked up.

Characters:

Ladybug - Gnome Artificer (Master Tinkerer - Homebrew)

Chat Noir - Human Barbarian (Path of the Beast)

-----

Vesperia had to admit, as Akuma attacks went, this was pretty dope.

She was currently a halfling. A halfling! If it wasn't for her fantasy ensemble being yellow and black, she'd have thought she stepped straight out of Lord of the Rings.

Of course, fantasy setting or not, there were still things she'd have rather left back in the real world. Like racism. And stigma against mixed couples. Not directed at her, but rather at the two walking down the street next to her.

"You know, people are staring..." she said as she craned her head to look at her companions.

"Let them," the Half-Elf Rena Rouge (who looked like a cross between a musician and a belly dancer) said from her perch atop the shoulders of the heavily armored (and surprisingly buff) Half-Orc Carapace. "They're just jealous because their boyfriends can't carry them everywhere."

Characters:

Vesperia - Halfling Rogue (Scout)

Rena Rouge - Half-Elf Bard (College of Glamour)

Carapace - Half-Orc Fighter (Eldritch Knight)

-----

Ryuko blinked as she studied the apparent snake-man-thing before her who claimed to be Viperion. She lifted a hand to study it and found what appeared to be bronze scales covering every inch of her skin.

She sniffed herself, smelling the sharp tang of ozone. What was she?

And why did she appear to be wearing wooden armor?

Characters:

Ryuko - Dragonborn (bronze) Druid (Circle of Storms - Third Party)

Viperion - Naga Sorcerer (Divination Magic - Homebrew)

-----

Polymouse giggled as her friends ran over her. Okay, she'd freaked out a little to find a swarm of mice (with hair like hers no less) crawling all over her surprisingly mouse-like body when she'd come to in the middle of some forest somewhere. But she'd gotten over it pretty quickly. It helped that her new friends were adorable.

It might help more if she could figure out where she was.

Or find another person.

Characters:

Polymouse - Kobold (rodentlike) Ranger (Swarmkeeper - Reskinned)

-----

Purple Tigress sighed as she felt the hair (fur?) on the top of her head being shifted around and twitched her new catlike ears in mild annoyance.

"Are you quite done?"

"Almost!" Pigella's cheerful voice answered. "Your fur is so comfy!"

Tigress sighed. Of course Pigella would end up being a fairy, and having her normal cheerful enthusiasm cranked up to previously unimagined levels.

"I love you dearly, but if you start shouting 'hey listen' I will stick you in a bottle."

"Aw, I love you too! Hey, what's that?"

"I think it's my character sheet?"

Characters:

Purple Tigress - Tabaxi Paladin (Oath of Glory)

Pigella - Fairy Cleric (Order Domain - Reskinned)

-----

"According to my analysis, we have been placed into what appears to be a Dungeons and Dragons campaign under 5th edition rules," Pegasus stated in a mechanical monotone. "I am apparently a Warforged Wizard using the School of Conjuration whose spells create portals to bridge dimensions and summon or banish my intended targets. You are what is known as a Simic Hybrid, with the class of Monk, following the Way of the Drunken Master."

"Aweshum," King Monkey slurred, his generally human appearance clad in monk's robes marred by his monkey-like hands and feet as well as the monkey tail swishing behind him.

"Why do you keep slurring like that? According to my sensors, your gourd is filled with only water."

"Gotta keep up appearanshes!" King Monkey grinned as he continued faking drunkenness.

Characters:

Pegasus - Warforged Wizard (School of Conjuration - Reskinned)

King Monkey - Simic Hybrid Monk (Way of the Drunken Master)

-----

Hawkmoth studied the dark red horns growing out of his head in the mirror. The change in appearance was disconcerting, but he felt a rush of power in this new form that he'd never felt before.

"Hmm... perhaps I can work with this..."

"Speak for yourself..." Mayura muttered off to the side, ruffling her peacock-like feathers in annoyance as she tried to glare at the beak on her own face.

Characters:

Hawkmoth - Tiefling Dark Lord, Warlock Patron, Contracted by Lila Rossi, Volpina, Queen Wasp, and many others.

Mayura - Kenku Assistant to the Dark Lord, Creator of Monsters

-----

"Oh, come on!" A figure in a cyan and white hooded robe complained as they waved a similarly colored umbrella around angrily. "Everyone else gets to be part of this adventure, why can't I join them?"

"Because you're too OP. You'd completely break everything and remove all challenge from the adventure."

"But sitting around is no fun at all!"

"If you like, I can put you in the position of the main quest giver. Your job would be to direct them towards their enemies and means of becoming stronger."

"That's it?! I'm on 'mysterious hooded figure' duty? Boo! Why can't I fight with them?!"

"Because you're too OP. But if you insist, I'll allow some Deus ex Machina interventions."

"YES!"

"Five."

"I'm sorry?"

"I'll allow five interventions at your discretion to aid them when they are in peril. Once you have come to their aid five times, I will allow no more meetings save to impart quest information."

"That's it?"

"Yes. Choose your interventions wisely."

"So... if I manage to save one for when they fight Hawmoth and Mayura in the final battle...?"

"Then I would allow you to join them of course."

"Score!"

Characters:

Bunnyx: Mysterious Hooded Figure, Deus-ex-Machina (5)

Game Master: Akuma Lord of the Miraculous Campaign

-----

Addendum

When the Game Master is finally purified and the damage reversed, it turns out that he took the effort to trap all of Paris in a temporal stasis bubble so that no matter how long passed inside no more than a few moments passed outside. Meaning that after what seemed like months in the bubble, it's basically less than a minute after he was akumatized when everything is put back.

All his friends, minus Matt, come back in bringing a new person named Zack that they vetted themselves to take Matt's place in case he pulled something like what he did. And while he has a similar playstyle to Matt, he's savvy enough to know what kind of characters that is suited for and he loves playing barbarians.

They all sit back down and restart the game they were all looking forward to.

[radramblog]

Radiohead Retrospective Part 4: We’ve got heads on sticks

Your name is Thom Yorke. You’ve just released what is considered one of the best albums of the 90s, if not of all time, and you’ve achieved a level of fame that at least one band member considers akin to the Beatles. Through the release of OK Computer, you’ve proven that even if people are pretty much over Oasis at this point, British rock bands still rule the airwaves. You’re also stressed the fuck out over just about all of this, and having a very hard time accustoming to the life of a celebrity- let alone the usual mental health issues.

What will you do?

Apparently, the answer was to write the fourth album to be as far away from the previous few as possible, seeking influence from IDM groups like Aphex Twin, jazz stuff, and just some bizarro instruments and experimentation and leaving a lot of the “rock” stuff behind. The primary genre listed for Kid A is usually Electronica or Ambient, with various off-kilter rock subgenres lagging behind, crying “you’re still gonna do guitars and stuff, right?”

Well…not as much anymore. But this era of Radiohead, this career-suicidal swerve, still proved monumentally successful, and showed that the band still had it, and that sometimes artistic risks do pay dividends.

A side note: I usually link music videos for the tracks I discuss as part of each post, as you’ll have seen in previous parts of this series. Kid A, however, doesn’t have any singles, and it sure doesn’t have any music videos. So…maybe just listen yourself. I’m probably in over my head here anyway.

I think the first 5 notes of Everything In Its Right Place are some of the most iconic in all of music.

Some personal background- Kid A was the first Radiohead I ever listened to. A particular cool and good mate of mine was a fan in high school, but I’d never listened to them at all, and I trusted his opinion musically, so I went to buy one of their CDs the next time I was at the shop. And for whatever reason, the cheapest one was Kid A at 10 bucks, and I didn’t want to gamble more than that, so that’s the one I got.

So the opening notes of Everything In Its Right Place were the first Radiohead I ever heard. And considering how much I obsessed over this band, in high school and beyond, it’s no surprise that this song is one of my favourites.

Not only did this song introduce me to Radiohead, it was effectively a gateway track for electronic music in general. This was the early 10s, and the majority of what I knew as electronic stuff was the EDM that was drowning the airwaves at the time. I hated that stuff out of principle, because being a hipster like that was definitely a personality. I don’t think I would ever have gotten into Vaporwave, into IDM, or into any electronic music the way I eventually would were it not for Everything In Its Right Place.

Now that I’ve spent 250 words talking about myself and not the actual song, we should probably stop that. Everything In Its Right Place is defined by this steady build of layering vocals and effects onto the relatively calm synth line, distorted vocals and word salad lyrics and manipulated noises growing and getting more chaotic before it just stops- the vocals fade out, the effects drop, and you’re left with the synth line- except it’s been slowly changing itself the whole time, and you don’t realise because you’ve been distracted by everything else at the same time.

It’s worth noting (and I don’t know if this was the case with OK Computer, because I don’t have an original copy of that one) that this was an album without liner notes, without the lyrics in the cover booklet. But at least in this case, the lyrics don’t matter as much as the v i b e. At least, that’s what I think.

On the topic of unintelligible lyrics, Kid A has a title track! I believe literally two Radiohead albums do this, the other being The Bends (though Hail to the Thief and In Rainbows do appear as lyrics). The song itself is an ambient, quiet piece that feels something like a twisted nursery tune- incredibly affected vocals, a syncopated (?) percussion, and a synth (I think???) that…I don’t know how to describe it, but it feels nursery-rhyme-y. If you’ve heard this song a few times, or you know what to listen for, you can piece together the lyrics somewhat- and they are, frankly, kind of unsettling. What is standing in the shadows at the end of your bed, can it please leave? And imagery of the Pied Piper is always either extremely silly or extremely unnerving, with this clearly leaning towards the latter. There’s a lot going on here- especially for a track most probably wouldn’t listen to outside the context of the full album. I know I generally don’t- not the kind of thing I generally am in the mood for.

 We’re at 850+ words, and we’re only up to The National Anthem? Fuuuuck. Well, anyone who wasn’t on board the IDM train can at least appreciate this one more, it’s got an actual bassline. A killer one, at that, that drives the whole track. Well, you know, that and the B R A S S. Seriously, it sounds like they invited a marching band to this bad boy. The combination ends up sounding mostly like controlled chaos, a jazz band traffic jam wound together by that B A S S. But the bass can’t hold it forever, and eventually that shit breaks free and just, it just honks all over the place.

I’m frustratingly running out of things to say about this song I really like, as opposed to the other songs I really liked. Unfortunately, ya boi forgot to take his neurotypicalification pills today, and so I’m getting very distracted. Hopefully, that slightly unhinged nature suits the album somewhat.

The next song, How To Disappear Completely, is a Big Mood with a fun story attached. The main lyrics- I’m not here, this isn’t happening- were allegedly something none other than Michael Stipe from R.E.M. told Thom to help him deal with that massive stage fright that came with Getting Big. Fun trivia aside, this song is gorgeous, luscious with massive strings, an acoustic bend, aethereal vocals, and a background drone running through the thing that makes sure your hair is always a little on end through the thing. It’s a song whose lyrics are an attempt to escape anxiety, whose instrumentation serves more to reinforce it- a calm, melodic piece that builds into nervous swells and threatening strings. A song about fighting your fear, and losing.

Fuck me it’s a bit depressing isn’t it. It’s potentially the most emotionally revealing song the album has- a lot of the lyricism on other tracks is more metaphorical, or subtle, but the meaning in How To Disappear Completely is evident even just from the title. You get lost in the strings and they go from calming, to imposing, to downright menacing (and then back again) in the song’s final minute.

Treefingers, on the other hand, has a lot less to say, and by that I mean it’s an instrumental. A very atmospheric, ambient one, and thereby one I don’t have a lot to say about. I’m not sure I’m particularly good at commenting on regular music, but this kinda thing is a whole different animal. I have no idea how to interact with discussing this. I like it? I will say, that one note right at the end, that echoes for a bit, the one piece of clarity in this muddled, reverbed sphere, feels especially poignant, for reasons I cannot describe.

We go from ambient instrumental to arguable the most rock-song-like track on this album, Optimistic, certified banger that it is. Some might argue that it doesn’t fit here, but like, did they even hear the lyrics? The bridge? It more that deserves its place on one of the best albums around. The little way the guitar scales up during the chorus is excellent, the proggy drums and riffs are glorious, it’s just a very good rock song.

Also this is the first song with the lyric “dinosaurs roaming the earth”, which, aside from being a bit of a non-sequitur, would return two albums later. And I’m really looking forward to that one.

In Limbo is a song I kind of always forget exists until I hear it again. It’s antimemetic, the way the song goes slipping from my mind until I hear those opening notes again. I’m going to be honest, it’s probably because it’s also the most mid song on the album. Far from bad, but it isn’t doing anything that How to Disappear Completely or Optimistic aren’t doing better. If I had to remove any track from this album, it might be this one?

Watch me get fucking lynched from the fandom for that one, if I ever post this to r/Radiohead or whatever. Which I might, though as much as I’d like more people to read my things I’m also extremely anxious about the potential response. Like the album I’m discussing today, I’m terrified of fame.

Incidentally, In Limbo is also the shortest track on the album (Treefingers beats it by 11 seconds), though this isn’t initially obvious online at least, because people keep messing with Motion Picture Soundtrack. But we’re not there yet, hang on.

We go from the forgettable (to me) In Limbo to the utterly mesmerizing Idioteque. Anxious but danceable, confusing but emotive, messy but tightly controlled. I love this fucking song to death. The reason I got the particular Radiohead poster that I did was because it has lyrics from this on it.

I’ve heard that lyrics for this album were largely pulled from a hat, and nowhere is that more clear than here (or maybe Everything In Its Right Place). Despite this, there’s a pretty clear theme in them, a continuation of some of the themes of this and the last albums. A condemnation of wealth and cowardice in the face of ecological disaster. In the form of an apocalypse disco.

What a lot of people don’t know about this track is that it actually samples an extremely old electronic music piece- one written in 1973, on a particularly old computer. The track, mild und leise, is a very interesting track considering its age- I’m reminded of Selected Ambient Works by Aphex Twin- not so much musically, but about how that reason was as influential as it was because it was the first time songs had sounded like that, because it was the first time songs could sound like that- I suppose it’s somewhat similar in that way, if older. These pieces and their composers inexorably linked by the allure of technology, and how that could be used to define new eras in music history- in Radiohead’s case, it certainly defined the next few albums in their lifespan.

Jesus mild und leise is long, it’s still going as I write this. I need to get back to Kid A, man!

Idioteque leads directly into Morning Bell, admittedly another less memorable song. Largely percussion lead, plenty of falsetto, and with a very unsubtle theme if you listen to the lyrics. I recall seeing someone saying that “cut the kids in half” was a really surprising and spooky line, and, yeah, sure, it sort of is, but it’s only particularly bad if you don’t pay attention for the rest of it. It’s about divorce, dude, it’s not subtle.

Or apparently not, according to one interview, but Thom said the interpretation isn’t invalid, so haha still winning baybeeeee.

I think the only part of this I really can’t do without is the outro, because the last minute and a half of this song is really cool. The mumbled lyrics go really well with the rising percussion and eerie effects that end the track.

Our final song is Motion Picture Soundtrack, or, Exit Music (for Walt Disney’s Depression Nap). This and Street Spirit I think are what really cement Radiohead’s reputation for brutal closers, both of them being tragic but hauntingly beautiful in different ways. In this case, it’s the instrumentation- glittering harps attempting the echo 50s Disney. There’s actually a version of this song from the OK Computer era with extremely different instrumentation, piano rather than organ, and no harps (and a third verse that is utterly brutal). Regardless, this is the song they chose to close the apocalypse that Kid A is on- the final lyric being “I will see you in the next life”, as the glittering echoes into the night. Poignant and tragic, but a little hopeful- the next life hopefully won’t have the struggles and pain of this one.

And then, of course, there’s the hidden track. Nicknamed Genchildren by some (that’s just the username of the dude who uploaded it to Napster back in the day), officially known as Untitled, and the true closer to the album. With Spotify slapping it right at the end of Motion Picture Soundtrack, it’s not clear the true nature of this song- it’s actually hidden on the original album, after several minutes of silence, just long enough that you’ve forgotten you left the player running (or you’re still crying from Motion Picture Soundtrack). I don’t think there’s a real word for what this sounds like other than heavenly, and incredibly brief piece I’ve heard compared to the pearly gates. After all, if we end on “I will see you in the next life”, then what can this be but that?

 Thus closes Kid A, a gorgeous and powerful album, yet an insane swerve for any rock band to pull, not just Radiohead. A bold strategy, and yet it paid off for them- Kid A would not only be massively influential, it was also massively successful both critically and commercially- but not to the standard of OK Computer before it. But they obviously weren’t trying to do OK Computer part 2, just as that album was deliberately not The Bends part 2.

Kid A would pretty much get a Part 2, though, less than a year later. And it’s that album we’ll be discussing next week, obviously. Until then.