#full offense bombastic side eye

[vinsmokewife]

Me: I literally do not care who you ship in one piece as long as you aren’t hurting anyone

Someone: *ships Robin with Zoro or Law even though Franky is right there*

Me:

[somedaytakethetime]

I'm looking over the clown match footage to make some gifs, as is my usual mode of operation, and.. besties..

.....

[p1nkshield]

things each of the batkids have inherited from their batfather

Dick: Being able to full name his siblings, stopping them in their tracks

Jason: Bombastic side eye, CRIMINALLY OFFENSIVE side eye

Cass: Bombastic side eye, CRIMINALLY OFFENSIVE side eye

Steph: Bombastic side eye, CRIMINALLY OFFENSIVE side eye

Babs: Bombastic side eye, CRIMINALLY OFFENSIVE side eye

Tim: Bombastic side eye, CRIMINALLY OFFENSIVE side eye

Duke: Bombastic side eye, CRIMINALLY OFFENSIVE side eye

Damian: He has his father's eyebrows 🤗 ... also the Bombastic side eye, CRIMINALLY OFFENSIVE side eye

Bruce got it from Alfred originally tho.

[daechvvitas]

BOYFRIEND MATERIAL

how i think each member would be like as a boyfriend part one - hyung line edition

WARNINGS: mentions of daddy k ink, praise k ink, brat taming, d*ggystyle, oral, bee dee ess em, degradation

A/N: this is a mixture of sfw/nsfw. thanks for requesting, anon! minors, dni.

NAMJOON

He's the most self conscious about the songs he writes about you. You're his biggest source of inspiration, so that means he wants the lyrics to be perfect. It throws him off kilter because normally, he can write a song in one sitting. Even in an ER room. But when they're about you, it's different. He likes the challenge, though. He feels like it makes him a better writer.

He points out baby shoes and clothing to you every time you guys are at a store. He's still not sure if he wants to have a kid or not but he can't help but still find the items super fucking adorable.

He has a bit of a daddy k ink. He never thought he would been into it but the first time it slipped out of your mouth, his brain went to static and he fucked you harder than he'd ever done before.

He buys you books specifically curated to your taste. Even more, he buys himself a copy too so that he can keep up with what you like.

He talks you through sex. It's full of a lot of praise and encouragement. "Look how good you're taking me" and the sorts. He also loves hearing validation from you that it feels good and he's doing well.

He hates when the two of you argue but he physically cannot stop himself from having the last word. What can I say? The man likes to be right. And sometimes, that stubbornness can lead to huge blow outs. He always makes it up to you, though. After a cool-off period, he'll come back with calmer logic and won't rest until the situation is resolved.

SEOKJIN

He always makes you meals, even when his schedule is insane. If he has to wake up in the wee hours to have it cooked and waiting in the fridge for you, then so be it.

He's a brat tamer. And he's damn good at it. Even if you don't have a particularly submissive nature, he'll have you a whimpering, shaking mess by the end of the night. But those intense nights come with the best aftercare. He'll run you a bath, make you food, and give you a ton of cuddles.

He's insistent on doing things for you, even if it annoys you. Grabbing things from high places, opening doors... You name it. He just likes showing how much he cares about you through action.

He's the type to jokingly rile you up but then end up actually getting really mad, which leads to arguments that could have been avoided.

Unfortunately, he has a bit of the gamer boyfriend syndrome. He does not like being interrupted when he's playing his games. He is a sucker for you, though. So he's willing to free up one of his hands to give you the attention you so desperately want. And no, he doesn't plan on muting his mic so you better keep those moans quiet.

He takes personal offense if he's not your bias or if you rocking any BT21 character that isn't RJ. He'll definitely give you a playful but bombastic side eye until you either change or admit that he is the only option to be your bias.

YOONGI

He wouldn't consider himself a 'romantic' but he shows that he cares through quality time. Even if you're just in the living room watching a show, he'll always quietly sit next to you. Just so you know he's always there.

Alternatively, he loves when you do the same. His genius lab is a sacred place that even his members don't dare to enter unless it's for work. But for you? It's an open door policy. Your presence motivates him more than it distracts him.

Speaking of his studio, the two of you have definitely fucked there. Multiple times. The first time it happened was just sort of a spur of the moment type of things but now, you live to bend over for him, chest pressed against the knobs of his music equipment as he thrusts into you.

He shares his food with you without any complaints or annoyance. If he notices you want a taste of whatever he has, he immediately offers it to you. Not even just a bite, either. He'll give you the whole thing.

He likes taking his time with you. There's a lot of foreplay where the tongue technology comes in hand. He loves to lick you, taste you, make you fall apart with just his mouth.

He prefers dates at home over dates out of the house, but he'll indulge you if you really want a night out. However, his ideal night would be cooking you both dinner, plenty of whiskey, and of course, you.

HOSEOK

Prepare to be touched all the time. Not even just sexually (though we'll get to that). He's just a very touchy feely boyfriend. Cheek kisses, hugs from behind, gripping your thigh. He just wants to feel your skin against his.

He loves sharing tea with you. He remembers every single piece of gossip you tell him, even if he doesn't know the parties involved, and enthusiastically picks whatever side you're on. In return, he always keeps you updated on the drama and insanity of his members' lives. There's really no secrets between you both.

He's a dom, for sure. When it's just the two of you behind closed doors, he feels comfortable enough to strip back the sunshine side and get to play with the darker side of him without judgement. He also finds it so hot that you trust him enough to go on wilder extremes together — tying you up, blindfolding you, spanking you. He craves having control over you.

His favorite form of aftercare is giving you a massage. Typically, he has you folded up like a pretzel as he has his way with you. So making sure your body is taken care of afterwards is of utmost importance. As he massages you, he likes to sweetly shower you with compliments just so you know that any degradation that occurred during sex does not hold true in real life.

He's the first to like your social media posts. Yes, he has notifications on just to make sure he's the first. It could be a selfie or a random picture of the sky and he's the first on the post, showering you with emojis.

Sometimes, he needs personal space. You didn't do anything wrong. But when things get hard at work or overwhelming in his personal life, he has the tendency to retract instead of engage. He doesn't ever have the heart to tell you that but you can tell by the short answers or less enthused interactions. The best thing you can do is give him that space to work through his head.

[sunnylolli]

FACE from most to least likely to be able to clap back with a full lecture citing receipts and spilling the tea, because I just need it out there:

Alfred - This dude does not stutter or let you breathe when he's ripping you a new one. AND he'll come up with colorful, creative ways to call you an asshole - And if he's in the wrong, he'll stomp off or he'll resort to being super petty. Like SUPER petty, and he will gaslight you to believe he was never petty to begin with and you're just trynna make him look bad.

'You're just making stuff up now, sore loser. Take the L and move on, dude.'

Arthur - I would've put him first, but he doesn't shout loud enough to actually overshadow someone trying to argue with him, so he'll wait until you're done trying to argue, before pummeling your ego with the same colorful ways to call you a cocksucker that he passed down to his son. Arthur, however, will win any argument whether he's in the right or not, because he attacks your insecurities so head-on that you're going to be crying before you can fathom to call him on it. He'll admit fault later, though, and pretend he never called you a 'Useless slug with no sense of time management'. Like father like son, truly.

Francis - He doesn't use much by means of colorful vocabulary, but he doesn't actually need much swearing, when his tone and his angry demeanor is very much enough to get his point across. Like he will be in the wrong a lot of the time, but he'll make you feel insecure anyway. He'll be spitting everywhere, wide hand gestures and speaking down at you like a disappointed father 'Je ne suis pas contente.' And tsk-ing at everything you do. Petty king, too. He's the pettiest and cheekiest when he's displeased, with the rolled eyes and the 'duh' attitude.

Matthew - Sorry to put him at the bottom, he can definitely rip you a new one, without mercy, don't get me wrong - But he's way more of a passive aggressive keeps-a-grudge-for-millenia type of angry. The type of angry that if he does end up ripping into you it's going to be a brawl and it's going to be super-charged because he's accumulated so much spite and resentment, that he's not going to be content before you're fighting for your life in the hospital. Before the snapping point, you're going to get a lot of the 'tsk'-ing and bombastic, criminal offensive side eyes from him. Maybe some petty comments hinting that you're being a dickhead about something and if you catch those hints he'll probably turn a better eye on you, but if you don't, you're putting a penny in the 'I'll-punch-your-teeth-in' jar.

[teatroll]

(just memes and crack and a bit of cursing)

All of you (me included) be riding Buggy's head like there's no tomorrow in your fics. But there IS tomorrow. And just imagine the aftermath of it.

All crew on deck, debriefing plans for the upcoming Nami rescue mission. You casually drinking your morning tea/coffee while leaning on the railing, Buggy's head close to you on a barrel, whistling some tune, being an annoying (but strangely satisfied) brat.

Usopp gives the two of you a confused glance; Zoro doesn't even flinch, pretending to ignore anything but Luffy's speech; Sanji makes a distasteful grimace at Buggy. And Luffy is being Luffy, completely unfazed by the weird intimacy between you two.

Usopp, being the man of curiosity, bluntly asks "Why're you so okay being THAT close to HIM?"

Mouth full of your drink you can't quickly reply something witty.

So Buggy does it for you. In his Buggy style, of course. And a VERY suggestive wink, as a cherry on top.

"Oh, we were MUCH closer than that last night."

You choke THAT INSTANT. Your drink nearly spilling out of your nose as you proceed to cough your lungs out.

All while Usopp's jaw drops, Zoro raises his eyebrow, giving you a BOMBASTIC and CRIMINAL OFFENSIVE side eye, and Sanji gripping his head in utter shock and silently mouthing to you "did you fuck a clown?!"

And Luffy again being Luffy, just looking between everyone, completely oblivious to Buggy's implications.

"I don't get it, can someone explain?"

Your face now red from embarrassment, as you glance down at Buggy, whose grin is so wide it could possibly break his face in half. And you once again don't get a chance to dismiss this mess he started, because the guys quickly do it for you. In unison.

Usopp, panicking, "DoN't wOrrY abOut It!!"

Zoro, shaking his head, "Leave it to the adults."

Sanji, in a sweet chirp, "Do you want some meatloaf? Let's go make one RIGHT NOW!"

Upon hearing "meat" Luffy loses all interest to you and Buggy, cheerfully following after Sanji into the kitchen. However, Zoro and Usopp stay, both eyeing you with blank stares. Buggy's shit eating grin still there, your own embarrassment is hidden on the bottom of your cup.

Zoro, tone indifferent, "...did you really..?"

Buggy, expression smug, "Would you like to hear the deets?-"

You, now wishing you suffocated him between your thighs last night, "HOW ABOUT A SILENT GAME FOR THE REST OF THIS MORNING?!"

[wulfhalls]

Just here to say I know the meme of Rhaenyra looking at Daemon and immediately knowing he did B&C is hysterical but I also have to point out the happy little sigh as she sits back in her chair and looks at her husband, just to look at him. Girl said: well I din't do it, so that's dealt with! Hi hubby-- wait. 🥰 to 😐 pipeline fr. And that little moment is probably the first I've really felt Milly's Rhaenyra shine through in Emma's portrayal - which I adore, but I will admit to having trouble reconciling the impetuous brat vibes of her youth w/such a matura and level-headed woman. I'm glad for continuity (and horny) reasons that we got to see a second of that there, and also of course a brief flash of what domestic and content daemyra must look like! Yes that *is* the couple that giggles over peas at the dining table!

she really was ready for a shared can u believe these bitches 🙄 glance with the husband before realising the bitch in question was actually The Husband 😭 I loved that little us against them moment (that daemon ruined immediately skdjjd) it reminded me of them first coming back to kings landing in ep 8 and just bombastic side eyeing criminal offensive side eyeing what happened to the red keep in their absence lmao I love u shared superiority complex blood of the dragon inheritance pride in their heritage and own exceptionalism (hope to see more of that this season cause I feel like they really toned down that aspect of rhaenyras character post timeskip tbh also. exclusively high valyrian conversations........ where are they what happened to them the audience wants them back.... they were such a neat little device to show their shared conscious otherness their desire to set themselves apart together to be alone even in a room full of people............) anyway I entirely lost the plot. u are so correct about everything u said and we are back like never before!

[yuadokjon]

a hierarchy not based on strength

summary: he's a gym owner.

-----

New job, new life. When you finally heard back from your dream job, you couldn't hop on a plane fast enough away from the hellhole you unfortunately called your hometown. Sure, it would start as a mostly administrative position at the bottom of the totem pole. Sure, the pay wasn’t great. And, sure, the only way you would be able to afford living anywhere remotely near your workplace would be in a shoebox of an apartment in the sketchiest side of the city. But, hey -- new job, new life. And, most recently, new gym.

Within the first few weeks of moving in, you were sifting through yet another smashed-in pile of new resident mailers until digging out a glossy, colorful flyer for a gym. Malevolent Shrine, huh? You eyed the neon-colored temple, the sharp edges of the skulls and teeth littering its base piercing into the two words it centered. Loud. Bombastic. And unbelievably douche-y, you noted with a raised brow at the captions splashed haphazardly across the page in tribalistic all-caps:

‘ONLY A HIERARCHY BASED PURELY ON STRENGTH MATTERS.’

‘DISCOVER THE HUNGER TO TAKE HOLD OF YOUR DESIRES.’

‘STAND PROUD. YOU ARE STRONG.’

Was this for a gym, a rave, or a cult? What kind of business owner signed off on this? It just screamed frat bros and gym rats, and you were pretty sure you weren’t the target market. But it did its job of grabbing your attention and, a quick search of its close location later, considering its relatively reasonably priced offers. Brand new members could even sign up for a 30-day trial with zero dollars down as an offensively yellow spike in the corner shouted. It couldn’t hurt. Maybe you needed something of a familiar routine to help better ground yourself. Help adjust to this lonely foreign land that you hoped to eventually replace ‘home.’ 

Of course, you, ever-diligent skeptic, had to uncover all the public secrets you could before stepping one foot inside. Not that there was much to find. Nothing much was on their official site other than current promotions and classes in that same gaudy font from the ad. No social media accounts. No gallery of staff or trainer photos. Not even an ‘About’ page. It was opened sometime in 2018, going by the sparse Internet reviews and photos you did find. You would have been impressed a business could survive in this day and age with such a specter of an online presence if you weren’t so frustrated. But it was indeed a real gym, one with decent reviews and a decently large layout providing enough spacing among machines to retain some level of privacy while easily cycling through them. No Wi-Fi, televisions, or cafés peddling the latest health fads but 24/7 with great showers and sauna. A very no-frills gym. You could appreciate that.

The next day some kid in a white-pink ombre bob took down your information, not offering a smile or tour throughout the entirety of the speedy sign-up process. You could barely get a word in that wasn’t a simple affirmation or denial as they reviewed your application and drilled through the gym policies and rules in a monotonous drone, pointing vaguely in the respective directions of the few amenities before ushering you out of their office with a handful of brochures and a temporary gym badge. You think you might’ve signed something and mumbled a thanks right before they neatly shut the door in your face. You weren’t sure if you had even caught a name. But you did recall them confirming something about a free cancellation policy within the first thirty days, so you took full advantage of it whenever you could.

Today was day 22 of your trial period, and so far it was...fine. Generally everything was fine, except for...your eyes scanned cautiously around the gym's perimeter. You felt the squat bar you were resting against lurch and whipped around, coming eye to eye with a pair of scarlet ones. You squeaked and jumped back in surprise, immediately earning the icy stare of a certain manager that chilled the back of your neck. You hissed and huffed as you adjusted your clothes for no apparent reason.

“Ugh, Sukuna!” 

“Afternoon, gorgeous,” he greeted cheerily in return. You merely crossed your arms over your chest and scowled back at the grin that only widened at your defensive display.

“First time seeing you here during these hours,” he casually continued as he pushed himself off the bar he’d been dangling over and peered down at you from his full height, “Missed you this morning.”

“I was hoping to, actually,” you sighed and shooed him away from your rack, hands on hips until he obediently bowed out outside and around the metallic cage, “For the last time, leave me alone.”

Yeah, generally everything was fine save for this pink-haired menace that terrorized your every gym visit since popping up out of nowhere one day.

Sukuna had smoothly inserted himself into your routine and refused to let you recall ever knowing a peaceful start to your day since joining Shrine. He was there. Always. Every early morning -- or even the occasional late night -- it didn't seem to matter when you timed your pilgrimage. Sukuna was always there, waiting for you outside the locker rooms with that suspicious smirk and two fresh towels slung over his shoulder. What are we working on today? How about we try pushing past your PR? Need a spotter? What am I saying, of course you do. Wave after wave of rhetorical questions and light barbs always buffeted you first as he followed around after you like an eager kitten. What protests you eked out during his infrequent ebbs were patiently listened to but quickly drowned again, swept up by the tsunami of suggestions from someone who was obviously more experienced at this than you. Though you would always insist on sticking to the schedule you had already carefully laid out prior to each session, you always found yourself drifting away and towards his instead by the end. It was a ritual at this point.

You couldn’t deny that your physique was the best shape it’d been in a while, his challenges helping you push past limitations that had long been entrenched for years. And he was also useful in warding off other goers, whose numbers you were surprised to find even during the odd hours you purposely chose. A singular distraction with honest -- if crude -- motivations, you could handle. Multiple ones wanting who knows what from you? Especially from around this part of town? One close brush was close enough for you. No, Sukuna was decidedly the lesser evil that you knew. Probably.

You understood their caution and had shared it when he first stepped up to you. He was taller and bigger than any of the regulars you now recognized. Wide muscled thighs and arms that seemed to strain the basketball shorts and cutoff tanks he always wore that would have blanketed any other man. Perfect limbs that balanced vertically at the convergence of his comparatively slimmer waist. Bulging veins that recorded a history intimate with everything within the gym’s interior and scars that suggested a familiarity with dangers past the confinement of their brick walls. Like a wrathful Buddhist deity rendered exquisitely in flesh and blood. Not that you were ogling. He was just hard to not notice.

But more than his imposing build or the tats he unabashedly wore across its expanse, it was the air around him. Heavy. Intense. Suffocating. He was a planet, its inescapable gravity forcing further down the lowered heads and eyes from everyone encircling his orbit. His presence both demanded and eschewed attention, the correct answer of the two one might realize only afterwards (and possibly much too late). Nobody dared to approach you now, even in the past thirty or so minutes you were free of him for once within this gym.

Other than the flirting, however, Sukuna seemed harmless enough as you got to know him over the course of your visits. He hadn’t yet given you any reason to fear him, though he left you plenty to question everything else. You weren’t sure how or why such an intimidating man took an interest in you at all. 

“Aw, don’t be like that,” he chuckled and sidled in behind you while you checked over the loaded discs that flanked the opposite ends of the steel pole and the clips holding them firmly in place. His big hands hugged the centimeters of space above your hips as he leaned down, smirking, “You know how to get me to stop.”

“For the last time,” you repeated to his reflection in the mirrored wall in front of the two of you before slapping his hands away, “I don’t go out with jobless losers.” 

“Hmph,” he pouted but eased back again as you swung underneath the bar and shouldered the metal onto your squeezed blades, “What makes you think that again? Spread your feet farther, doll.”

You rolled your eyes but complied. His hands now hung loosely under yours that tensed and tightened their grip. You peeled your gaze away from them and onto your reflected form as you took a deep breath and started your descent.

“One,” Sukuna voiced aloud your thought as you came back up, the deep reverberations scattering away what focus you had managed to muster. You furrowed your brows.

“Loser because obvious. Jobless because,” you grunted as you steadily lowered yourself again, “How else could you always be here? And in the middle of the day.”

“So are you,” he scoffed.

“I’m only here now because I took the day off.” 

“I could have, too.”

“Doubtful. Wish I could take a day off from you for once.”

“Two -- aw, hurtful. Are you trying to avoid me, [Y/N]?”

You didn’t answer. You tried to ignore the heat emanating from the body that followed behind you as you continued with your reps and he with his count. You fixed your eyes on your heaving diaphragm to blur out the thicker frame that overshadowed yours several times over. Your heart was pounding. Your head was starting to spin. Maybe you had already overdone it. Or you should’ve drank some more water beforehand. Breathe, you thought you heard your partner warn, don’t forget to breathe. You shut your eyes as you struggled to drive up the bar a final time and quickly re-racked it with his help before doubling over to catch your breath. He bent down in concern before shooting back up as a pointed finger stabbed the air in front of his face.

"One. Date," you panted, shakily but emphatically jabbing the singular digit skyward again, “Got it? One. One date then you'll leave me alone to lift in peace.”

He blinked. An unusual softness crept into his features that disappeared as quickly as it had appeared when you looked up and awaited his response. 

“One,” he agreed, the usual snark now returning in full glory, “So…how about now?”

“No.”

“But you just said you had the day o--”

“No.”

[wxnheart]

Primarch hair styling by you? After all... they all need to look their best!

(Yes even feral Curze)

Horus Lupercal - A nice shave and shine. Complete with a head massage. You really like doing Abaddon's hair, though, even though he'll be looking sour the entire time you're doing it. lmao.

Leman Russ - Whatever style you do, there will almost always be braids and a man-bun of some kind involved. You also do your best to keep his scalp and strands moisturized with oils because his hair gets dry REALLY quick.

Ferrus Manus - Wash and cut; likes his close-cropped hair to be a certain length.

Fulgrim - Wash, trim, a protein treatment, a facial, and eyebrow shaping. All done in one sitting. Is the primarch whose hairstyles would change the most because he likes to experiment. You stay booked and busy because of him and his sons.

Vulkan - Head massage fanatic. You don't really need to do anything; you just enjoy his company

Rogal Dorn - Same as Ferrus Manus: wash and cut; his hair is much softer than it looks and at this point, it's almost trained to sit the way it does on his head. Believe it or not, you also like to clean his eyebrows up some because their shape really hones in his stoic visage.

Roboute Guilliman - Wash and cut complete with a facial and massage because the poor guy needs it (his scowl has gotten deeper in the time you've known him). You two have made a running joke of naming his gray strands after certain individuals who've pissed him off.

Magnus the Red - Wash, protein treatment, and trim. Magnus has some pretty fucking thick hair so there's no one style you can't do. Well, you can't do pigtails. Don't do pigtails. You cut layers in his hair once. Tiring but good work nonetheless.

Sanguinius - Wash and go; sometimes a trim, sometimes a full-blown cut. Sanguinius has a pretty sensitive scalp so you do your best to make the experience as easy and quick as possible. You love his curls/waves so you don't really style it. You just let it be. You also like to do Azkaellon's hair, too. He tends to get split ends easily. He was very offended when you told him you liked his headband lmao.

Lion El'Jonson - Wash, trim, and shape his beard up. That's it. Sometimes rocks a half-do, sometimes not. His hair tends to get oily really quickly, though, so you suggest he comes to you more often. Not that he listens lmao.

Perturabo - *Bombastic side-eye.*

Mortarion - *Criminal Offensive side-eye.*

Lorgar - You're in awe of the writing decorating his head and face so you spend more time reading it and listening to him interpret it than you actually do his hair (what hair?). He likes to be cleanshaven, though, so that's where your services go. You love to shape his brows, too.

Jaghatai Khan - When you can actually catch him, you wash his hair, oil it, and back into the top knot it goes. He credits you with its healthiness and length.

Konrad Curze - LMAO. The water was pitch fucking black when you got done washing it. He refused to let you trim it (it actually needed to be cut). You don't have an issue with Sevatar, though. The hair care actually helps more than you think it does.

Angron - Uh... well... he needs the facial massages much more than he does the haircare and to your surprise (and everyone else's), he's quite receptive to it. He's never felt anything other than blood and steel against his skin so a caring touch is... nice. Angron will never admit it, though.

Corvus Corax - Wash and trim. You especially love his bangs. He has fine hair but he has a lot of it, too.

Alpharius Omegon - Uh...

[marie-is-seein-stars]

ice.cream

Chapter 1 🍨

Bombastic side-eye count: 2

"Hyunijn! Wake up honey it's time for school!" Hyunin's mother called from the kitchen. The delightful aroma of fried rice was enough reason of getting out of his comfy, cozy bed. "Hey, pack some extra so your brothers don't eat it all" Mom said smiling at him from afar, she was washing dishes at the sink. Kkami, the family dog, stared at Hyunijn. He was begging AGAIN. "Ah! Kkami Leave me alone!" Hyunjin whined. After the dog left him at the table, he packed up everything he needed for the day; his bento full of the extra rice, history, math, and English Lit. books. He walked out onto the porch and saw a girl with curly hair sitting on the bench for the bus stop. "She is just ADORABLE Hyunjin!"His best friend, Felix Lee, a freckled blondie remarked with the goofiest of smiles. They both sat down and the girl made some sort of noise between a yawn and a gasp. She looked up at Hyunjin and Felix, but blushed when they made eye contact. There was no doubt whoever these two guys were, they are HANDSOME, she couldn't help but try to make some coherent words but failed miserably when the bus pulled up, drowning her out completely. Out of the blue, Felix asked "Wanna sit?" All Y/n could do was nod and hope he didn't ask if that was a yes or no like all her old classmates did. He didn't, thank GAWD. Y/n trotted up the steps, making her curls dance along her back. Once they were all settled in their seats, Y/n took a deep breath for courage "I-i am in the Flower Class... are you?" At this sudden news, Hyunjin wasn't shook, nor was he shooketh he was JUNGSHOOK."YES, we both ARE ACTUALLY!!!!" That's when almost everyone in that bus gave him the BoMbAstiC side eye, I'm takin' bout that CRIMINAL. OFFENSIVE. SIDE--EYE. He quickly corrected his tone 'Felix and I are in that class, I mean" he blushed and smirked at Felix, who gave his usual goofy grin, "You two should date, you'd be an ITEM for sure." he whispered, his grin slowly turning into a smile. Once they unloaded with the rest of their fellow teenage gremlins, they headed to homeroom. "I gotta catch up on some work so..." Felix, being the ultimate hard shipper left the two alone. Just then, Hyunjin felt something clasp a bit tight around his arm. Looking down, he realized it was Y/n and that everyone in the room was BoMbAstiC side eyeing them. Suddenly, some girl opened her fat mouth and screeched "Gasp! why is that gurl touching on my mansssss?" Upon hearing this, it was obvious, she wasn't wanted here, her face flushed, and tears started streaming down her face. She rushed out the room without a word.

[nicsnort]

Trial by Fire (part 53)

A Nightcrawler/Fem!OC romance, drama, and mystery fanfic, with lots of Quicksilver thrown in for fun and even more drama.

Intro (with link to full Ao3 story) First Previous

Warren was let in by more accident than intent. Students darted out of the mansion while shouting at one another, something about ‘how could you tell him I like him’ or the like. Warren chuckled as he entered, shutting the door behind him as the students couldn’t be bothered with it. Ah, to be young once again. He looked up and caught the wisps of smoke around a familiar blue mutant.

“Kurt,” he greeted with a smile. And when he looked next to him, he spotted the woman with red curls, freckles, and glasses. She looked like she could blend in with a crowd, or at least a crowd in New York where there were so many unique folks, but he knew all too well who she was and why she was unique. “And this,” he said as he walked over, walking with a confidence and grace that came from years of faking it, “must be the great Bedelia Hayes.” 

He was charming, certainly, and his eyes were bright with friendliness and warmth. He held his hand out to shake. “I could tell...mostly from the outfit.” The ‘X’ on the clothes always gave away who was a guest and who wasn’t. “And from a description or two.”

Bedelia shook his hand firmly, a large smile coming to her face as well. “I am indeed. I must say, Mr. Worthington, this does explain why the Guardian was one of the few pro-mutant paper’s out there.”

The softest hint of a modest blush went over Warren’s face. He gave a soft chuckle as if caught. “Yes...yes, well, given everything, I should hope you keep this under wraps. But even without my powers, I should like to think my newspaper would still be pro-mutant.” 

She was here with the X-men; she had been with the Brotherhood...there was no reason to think she’d let anything slip. “My compliments, you have written several impressive articles before Eugene managed to,” capture seemed to be in poor taste, “ persuade you to join our paper. Your recent articles are without compare. I’m glad to have them for The Guardian.”

At his compliment on her work, a slight blush entered Bedelia’s cheeks. “You have them for three years at the very least,” she joked. “But thank you. It is nice to have some recognition for my less bombastic articles.”

Kurt offered, “Would you like me to get the Professor?”

Warren shook his head, placing his hand at his side. “No, no, not yet. I actually just wanted to meet the daring, fearless journalist in person...and ensure that she was being treated like royalty while she visited here.”

“Like a Queen,” Kurt confirmed, his eyes lingering on Bedelia just for a moment longer than one might. Warren caught notice but said nothing.

“Everyone here has been very kind and helpful, Kurt especially. I only hope I won’t be putting anyone out too much since I don’t know how long I will be here, given the Brotherhood and all...I actually, just got off the phone with Eugene. I don’t suppose he informed you I was in danger, and you informed the X-men? I was wondering how they turned up outside my home.”

The very idea that Bedelia would be an inconvenience in such a large building was something that both men found amusing. Warren’s smile flashed some teeth. “Ever a sharp mind to deduce that...yes, Eugene reached out to me and shared his concerns. It seemed your message to him worked. I thought that any human who reported on the Brotherhood would likely be in some sort of danger -- no offense, of course. All the same, I am pleased to meet you in person at last. I’m glad you’re doing well, you’re in safe hands with Kurt.” He didn’t miss the shy sort of grin Kurt had and the way his tail unconsciously hovered near the woman. 

“None taken, it was a delicate situation. I am aware that I am lucky to be alive.” At his mention of being in Kurt’s hands, Bedelia looked at Kurt with a playful secretive smile. She was indeed safe in his hands, and his arms...and his tail. Her cheeks went a bit red at the memory as she returned her attention to Angel.

Warren nodded, listening intently. He didn’t miss the look she gave Kurt. What was this? He would ask a student in passing -- students typically had all the gossip, as he learned from his previous visits. He tried not to react to it, though, lest it make the relationship between the two awkward or otherwise. But all in all good for Kurt, he thought.

“Will you be expanding your articles to review the X-men?”

“It would be my pleasure, though I will have to work out any conflicts of interest,” her gaze went to Kurt again briefly, “and of course, I don’t want to bring any unwanted attention to the students here. My plan with the Brotherhood was to publish more of the interviews that I did with the rescued Genoshans; I don't see that changing. But afterward, I think a break from the Brotherhood would be good. I don’t want people thinking that I am sympathetic to their methods.”

“I’m pleased to hear this -- both as a mutant and the owner of the paper.” He added with a hint of jest. “If there’s anything I could do for you to assist in your writing, please let me know.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out one of the many business cards he had on him at all times. “My personal phone number if you can’t reach me through the X-men.” He looked over at Kurt. “I trust the Professor is in his office?”

Kurt shook his head. “No, I believe he’s downstairs.” He would let Warren find out the rest himself. He looked over at Bedelia and smiled. She was, in a sense, part of the group now if only in knowledge. Knowledge was power, after all, and how true that was. 

Bedelia took his card with a smile. She half wanted to joke that she could use a million dollars, but it would be too unprofessional...and not that funny. “Thank you, I will keep that in mind.” Tucking the business card in her pocket Bedelia gave him a nod.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Worthington,” Bedelia told him with a nod as he went to speak with Xavier. When he left, she turned to Kurt. “More strange turnings of fate, it seems,” she commented with a grin.

Her hand took his and she leaned against him just a hint. “And as I said, I don’t want to put you out. You’ve been spending a lot of time with me, which has been very nice, but if there is anything you need to do, please feel free.”

It took Kurt a moment longer to answer than it would have had her hand not taken his and offered a brief distraction. He was delighted, elated, with the touch and familiarity. When he focused on her words again, the blue mutant shook his head. “You are not putting me out. I enjoy spending time with you. I do not need to do much -- Scott will likely want to debrief and discuss how the latest mission could have gone better, and Logan will want to train, but they will call us when the time is right. Everyone is decompressing and preparing...Though if you grow bored of me,” he smiled to show he was joking, taking the edge off of his words, “I think Rogue might have a collection of romance novels you could read.”

“I will consider it...though I have to say I was hoping that you were going to say that you had a daily workout routine and I was free to watch you if I wanted.” Bedelia’s other hand squeezed his upper arm. She could feel the lean muscle there and had felt it in his arms last night. “Of course, if I were to join you, you’d be free to watch too. I am sure it would be more entertaining than watching me sleep.”

Heat flooded his face at her subtle and not-so-subtle hint about his physique and, more embarrassingly, the way he had been caught studying her sleeping form. He gave a shy grin but managed, to his credit, not to turn violet in his blush. “Heh...ah, ja, that. Well, we do have a small gym that we could go to. It is different from the Danger Room.” He thought it best that she wasn’t involved in that room, or even to observe him and his teammates. The name said it all, after all. 

“Would you like to go now? I can always use a chance to...pump iron.” He had to pause just for that moment to recall what he had heard Scott call lifting weights one time. Bobby and Logan had snickered and smirked at him, but it seemed to be the phrase to use to suggest a sense of confidence. 

Bedelia laughed at his words. Ah, yes, he totally pumped iron all the time. She wondered how many English idioms he actually understood. Yet, she truly did not mind the idea of exercising with him. She had been doing some light exercise with Quicksilver when she was held captive, but Bedelia truly needed to get back in the habit of training. Pyro should not have been able to get the better of her. She needed to be able to protect herself, even if for just a small amount of time against a mutant. Training was the only way to accomplish that.

Though she did wonder what this Danger Room was. Some sort of training room, obviously. Perhaps, one day, they’d let her see it. “That sounds like a great time,” she told Kurt once her giggling subsided. “Let’s go pump some iron then.”

~~~~~

Bedelia and Kurt had gone to the gym downstairs in the basement. The one that Kitty and Rogue had shown Bedelia after her shower before meeting Kurt in the kitchen. It was a well-equipped gym with plenty of weights, treadmills, a few gymnastic bars, and an area for hand-to-hand combat training. They warmed up on the treadmills with a light jog, each eyeing the other and trying to keep pace. Then they moved on to the weights. Bedelia spotted for Kurt while he ‘pumped iron’, and she began giggling uncontrollably as he began lifting a weight with his tail as well. When Kurt was done doing his bench presses, she used some of the machines herself.

After some time, though, the call of the training mat was too strong for Bedelia to ignore. Setting the leg press back into the neutral position, she went to Kurt. “Fight me,” she told him with a grin. 

Kurt blinked, processing what she had said to him. “Uh...you are sure?” He wasn’t exactly denying her, but he was highly trained.

“It’ll be fun,” Bedelia told him, stepping onto the mat herself. She was glad that he was not complaining or denying her. Kurt trusted her decisions and her abilities. “Besides, I need some practice. If some jerkoff like Pyro can get the better of me…” Bedelia paused for a half moment forcing the memory from her mind. Shaking her head, she took her stance, powerful, strong, and grounded. “Let’s do this.”

He teleported onto the mat and got in position, his weight even between his stance. His tail moved slowly behind him. His gaze traveled over Bedelia, not entirely for pleasure, though he appreciated her form, but to review her stance. He would wait and let her make the first move. "Very well, Kobold, and for fairness, I will not use my powers."

Without warning, Bedelia threw her first punch aiming for Kurt’s chest. Neither was wearing padding, so they had to be careful about where they aimed. There was no hesitation as Kurt swiped his arm up and blocked her punch, sending her arm to the side. His tail reached up and wrapped tightly around her other forearm -- it wasn’t his powers that he used, technically. He grinned, a flash of his fangs showing, before he swiped his leg against hers, hoping to knock her off balance.

Kurt’s tail around her arm sent the briefest wave of memory of Pyro over her. But Bedelia knew Kurt wasn’t him. And it was his tail. It wasn’t enough to send her panicking. Returning Kurt’s smile, Bedelia felt the shift in his weight as he went to one leg. Bedelia responded in kind. Her hands grabbed his shoulder and right arm as she swept her leg to the side. Knocking his leg from under him. His leg still collided with hers, but she allowed the momentum of her movement and his to bring Kurt down onto his back. Bedelia had half gone down herself but quickly went back into position.

“I think it is starting to come back to me,” she told Kurt with a smirk.

Kurt let it play out and fell back, mindful not to use his powers though it was tempting. "Glad I could help, fraulein." He jumped back onto his feet and used the momentum forward to aim a punch at her shoulder.

Bedelia dodged out of the way of his arm, pulling his arm past her to try and get him off balance once again. He managed to keep his balance though, but now Bedelia was behind him. She made to strike his back, but his tail shot up, pulling the same trick on her. Kurt was more successful in knocking her off balance. Stumbling forward, Bedelia righted herself quickly but could not avoid Kurt’s next strike to her upper arm.

She grunted in pain but responded with an elbow to his chest. Kurt stepped back, rubbing the place she struck. “Thank you for taking me seriously,” she told him, rushing forward with a feint of a punch but planning on striking with a quick kick.

"You deserve nothing less." Kurt declared as he turned to face her. He managed to barely catch her foot at the kick, grinning. He pulled her forward, catching her off balance and making her back hit the mat. When she did, he smiled and released her foot. "Think we are even." 

There was an ‘oof’ as Bedelia hit the mat, knocking the wind out of her. Rolling back up, she grinned at Kurt. “Even? But I’m here to win.”

With that, she rushed forward and grabbed his head. But instead of slamming it to her knee or anything of the like, she pressed a kiss against his lips. Bedelia felt him freeze in surprise. Grinning into the kiss, Bedelia used her close position to sweep his legs out from under him. Both toppled onto the mat with Bedelia on top. She pulled back from the kiss giggling uncontrollably.

And just like that, Kurt dissolved into laughter as well. His lips still tingled from her surprise, his tail having straightened out momentarily. His hands went naturally to her waist as she proclaimed dominance over him. In short, he looked happy.

____

Next

Fanfic Masterlist

[elishahahz]

BOMBASTIC SIDE EYE CRIMINAL OFFENSIVE SIDE EYE HEAD TURN SCALP SCRATCH FULL BODY TURN EYEBROWS RAISED THE ROCK EMOTE PUPILS SHRUNK JAW DROPPED

[aparecium-hq]

Welcome to Aparecium, Wes! You have been accepted for Albus Potter with your planned faceclaim. We love the way you’ve crafted Albus to go against the grain of the rest of his family, and personally I loved your writing sample in particular. We can’t wait to see him around! Check out the new member checklist, and jump right in. 

Character Basics

               Age: 21 years old

               Birthdate: 15 March 2006

               Pronouns: He/Him

               Sexuality: Homosexual, homoromantic

               Blood Status: Halfblood

               Hogwarts House:  Slytherin

               Occupation: Lawclerk for the Wizengamot,

                             apprentice barrister.

               Faceclaim: Chance Perdomo

Any requested changes: Not really?  I took some liberties with the evolution in the Ministry and the apprenticeship for becoming a lawyer.  I figured it would be something of a long process with a lot of work in the guild system rather than going off to law school?  But I’m most interested to know if we need to tweak anything.

Biography:

The middle Potter, the second son of a hero, Albus Potter has lived a certain amount of his life in the public eye.  He’s always been conscious of attention, desiring it less and less as he grew older.  He finds respite in close acquaintances and good friends, small settings and familiar environments.  His family, though sometimes the very people he’s clashing with, are always his first source of solace and comfort.  Whatever tensions they might have, they’re his people.  And woe be told to anyone who crosses the line in his presence.

From a young age, Albus showed a taciturn bent and found himself at his Aunt Hermione’s side with frequency.  Books and stories became his companions as much as his brother.  And sometimes to better effect.  He devoured literature, asked his aunt and parents for lessons and primers, and had a raging row over the fact that other children could go to primary school.  He saw Hogwarts and education as the next great challenge, the next great adventure.  He saw it as where he truly belonged.

How wonderfully cruel that reality can be.

Hogwarts wasn’t the worst thing really.  It was a learning experience to be sure, in more than just the academics.  Sorted into Slytherin and falling into a different vein than his brother and father, he acquired more than a little gossip.  But Albus had been backed into an unfamiliar corner before, so he did what came naturally.  His tongue lashed, far faster than his wand ever could, and he caught trouble with it.  A black eye and a split lip were his reward, but the third year Gryffindor was on the ground and his opinion amongst his housemates was settled: he was a snake, through and through.

He learned quickly, taking in whatever he could from his housemates and classes.  He learned that his reserved nature was a gap people had to cross, that the masks he used out of indifference our out of annoyance with the press were tools at his disposal, he learned that his words were not just barbs, but arrows.  By his third year, he changed tones and temperaments like cloaks, dressing up for some and down for others.  He developed a knack for patterns that spread naturally to arithmancy while his ability to think on his feet endeared him to charms all the more.  They became his best subjects, followed rather quickly by history of magic.  Though that one?  That was a practiced study.  Especially after the Madley Properies came about.

The change of the world while he was at Hogwarts was sudden.  The access to more technology meant access to more information.  Muggle information.  Albus devoured it all, spending hours cross referencing magical history with muggle timelines, building comprehensive understanding of events and their influence on either side of the Statute of Secrecy.  How the pollical actions in the muggle world influenced the economic realities of the magically community, or how a magical malady could seep over into the muggle world and insight chaos because of the tiniest bit of other.  He learned that things were far more interconnected than most people thought.

And he realized how absolutely how absolutely mad changing anything quickly was.

He graduated with respectable marks in his favored disciplines, with his only truly problematic grade coming in Defense.  But he wasn’t looking to join his father in the Aurors.  But he had his eyes on the DMLE.  Eventually.  But first, well he needed information.  His classes were dreadfully sparse on the machinations that drove their society, and that’s what he needed to understand.  He’d never had to fake an interest in his Aunt Hermione’s work, and the right words had him there, running paper and writing briefs and other monotonous work in the danker parts of the Ministy.  But he was there.  That was the important part.  And it paid off, when two years later, the Wizengamot took advantage of his skills and put him to work as a clerk.

Now at twenty-one, Albus has become something of a fixture in the research apparatus of the magical government of England.  His pattern recall and gift for memorization has made him the place where most research inquiries start: ask Potter, he’ll point you where to start.  His analytical mind lends itself to complicated cross application of policy and precedent, and while he doesn’t have the bombastic personality of some clerks or barristers before the high wizarding court, his ability to shift gears and pull references makes him an adept ally in cross examination and questioning.

Sociability:

When he’s not picking at threads in the legal archives or catching up on muggle current events, he tries to still be there for his family and friends.  He tries to keep a social life, between work friends and his large family and the people that give him actual solace in life, he likes to think he keeps a full social calendar.  For Scorpius, his best friend and his roommate, he would literally drop the world to ash if it needed.  And he…tries not to dwell exactly on that why too close.  Somethings don’t withstand scrutiny after all.  He misses the closeness he once had with his siblings, long before Hogwarts and Madley, when things were simpler.  He does boast a large network of acquaintances that he knows only by their handle.  He took to internet culture a bit too well, making friends and associates that he only knows by online handles and pseudonyms.  Some have made the leap to personal acquaintances, especially the collection of muggles that helped him come to grips with his own burgeoning sexuality at Hogwarts, that took him to his first Pride.  He owes them quite a lot, even if they’re kept at arm’s length.

Personality:

Albus still resembles that inquisitive child he was, somewhat quieter and more reserved than his family and always searching for some new bit of information.  He’s lost some of the taciturn qualities however, finding his voice through reasoned arguments and biting wit.  He’s not afraid to speak his mind, but does try to find the path of least offense unless his ultimate goal is to cause offense and put someone on the back foot.  He wears his opinions and language like masks, speaking openly but not always directly.  It’s those that know him best, Scorpius and Rose and his closest family, that see the true Albus.  He’s a stack of books on a rainy Saturday morning, the smell of coffee and old leather in the air.  He’s a passionate debate over dry martinis, the smell of cigarette smoke mingling with gin and the buzz of conversation.  He’s warm cashmere and soft jazz while something bubbles on the stove top.  He’s good friends and late nights, fairy lights low and spirts high and flowing freely.

Appearance:

Much like he appropriated language and history from his housemates, he also picked up on their habits of dress.  Fine robes and well cut wizarding garb are key to his image at the Wizengamot.  But these days, he finds himself draping a cloak over well cut Savile Row suits in greys and blacks with stylishly bright ties in greens or violets.  Waistcoats with patterns shirts and small lapel pins that sing his causes: rainbows, circuits that spark magically, something called an x-wing.  Blazers and jeans with Doc Martens or stylish boots when he slips into muggle London for a drink or a date..  Jeans and hoodies and warm woolen jumpers round out his casual clothes.  He’s looked longingly at some jewelry the muggle university students have, all manner of piercing and decoration of ink on skin, but he’s yet to give into those temptations as they endanger the masks he needs a little too much.

Character Questionnaire (In Character):

What does your character value in a friendship?

Is it cheating to say discretion?  No?  Then that simply must be the answer.  When one grows up with a certain amount of notoriety… a name that is recognizable and splashed across the press of the realm near daily… a friend who knows when to bluff, when to keep things private is worth their weight in gold.  Quite literally.    And there is so much caught up in that word as well.  Discretion.  It’s not just secrecy.  It’s trust.  And with that I believe truly, there must be some level of affection there.  A warmth and familiarity that breed such a level of trust.  There are people for whom I have great affection, and even great trust, but for who I don’t believe are discrete.  It’s that bit extra, that pinch more wit and courage and resolve that make it the better value.

How would a stranger who has just met your character describe them?

Oh Circe, this is such a loaded question.  A stranger?  Well it really depends upon the circumstances you know.  Where are we?  Drinks is very different than a fundraiser than a friendly pick up game of Quidditch.  Though why I made mention of the last, I really haven’t a clue.  But the point remans; where did we meet?  I’d like to think that I leave people at least somewhat assured that I know what I’m talking about, even if that does mean I come off as a bit of an ass.  And as cold as it may sound, so much of this might come down to how I want them to remember me.  It changes the way one approaches a stranger, if they think it’s only for a moment or there’s something more there.  Whatever that more might be.  Well at the very least, it means I try not to burn bridges I’ve only just encountered.

What magical skill or talent is your character most proud of?

Can we consider memory a skill?  A talent?  I’m not sure it’s honed like a blade or conditioned like a muscle.  But I do think I’m very good at it.  Or with it.  Memorizing.  Recalling.  Things just sort of…stick up there.  Referenced and catalogued.  A font of utterly useless information.  But information that can be applied, brought forward when needed to dramatic effect or for some nefarious purpose.  Dreadfully useful, in work and in life.  I don’t forget birthdays.  Though I do sometimes forget to shop for them…so it’s rather an imperfect skill.  Talent.  Part of me, whatever.  

Para Sample

Albus tapped a finger against the stem of his glass slowly, letting the small sound of his nail making contact mark the time.  He’d been watching for the past half hour as patrons moved in and out of the space.  Fresh drinks, greetings, calls to join a group.  It was the happiest of hours and this particular bar was just getting started.

Then again, so was he.

It wasn’t a usual of his, though he found the ambiance quite charming.  Dark wood, shiny brass, and a Botanist martini that was so dry it could be a disaster area.  Start of a good evening.  And it put him on good footing for the chap that he was expecting.  A friend of a friend, a you-should-meet-him sort of person that did…something functionally important in Westminster.  No doubt it would be a topic of some conversation later into the evening.  Best to know enough going in to be interested, but not too much so as to be bored.  Rather like any project, dating was.

Merlin, Scor would chastise him for being so cynical and dry about it all.  He smirked into his glass.

The man that approached a bit before their appointed rendezvous was fit.  Albus raked eyes over the man, taking in the cut of his suit, the fit of his trousers, the twist of his laces.  Cambridge man.  He’d bet money on it.  Eaton too.  He saw a few coy grins flashed at other patrons, a crisp note slipped discreetly to the bartender, a lean up the rail to whisper across the bar.   Albus let his smirk grow as he finished his drink, slipping away to duck into the gents.

He dispelled the subtle notice-me-not once he was in a stall, wafting away the bits that kept him mostly undisturbed.  There was a lot you could see at happy hour after all.  People drinking too quickly, nerves when a joke failed to land, thousand-yard stares into pint glasses.  Frivolity as a mask.  Jocularity as a balm.  He checked his reflection, gave an artful tousle of his hair and straightened his tie, and slipped out with a beatific smile that never met his eyes.

Those?  He liked sharp.

[lifeofyellowpearl]

Yellow Pearl Goes Over Old Files: Operation Backtrack

Author’s Note: Well this is embarrassing.  I’m sorry for disappearing on y’all like that. I won’t go into too much detail but I had a mental health crisis that needed tending to. I’m much better now and hope to restart frequently posting again!

It was during my continued perusal through the old archive files that yet another document of both historical and personal significance stood out to me. A military report pertaining to an operation wherein The Diamonds had hoped to retake a major spaceport that had been seized by The Crystal Gems. As I thoughtfully observed its contents, I could not help but focus in on the title: “Operation Backtrack.” There were numerous battles throughout the war, but few stood apart in terms of seminality in such a way as the battles of “Operation Backtrack” and the devastating events preceding.

It was up until this point in the war, that the menaces of The Crystal gems were willfully deemphasized within the minds of The Diamonds. That this band of lowlife miscreants could pose a true threat to one of our colonies was a possibility which the diamonds were yet hesitant to acknowledge. But this unthinkable prospect was growing harder to dismiss and what was witnessed at Spaceport Eta – 18 of Facet 12 made it nigh impossible. Indeed, our enemies were lacking in military experience and the authority of Rose Quartz was periodically put to the test by increasing incidents of internal variance. Nevertheless, these vulnerabilities were offset by the creativity and innovation for which Rose Quartz was widely known. The magnitude of her métiers was put on full display during the extraordinary takeover of Eta-18.

A collection of crystal gem forces had been gathering on the south Eastern coast of facet 6 as revealed to us by our spy satellites.  No sooner after this confounding revelation did a suspiciously serendipitous pall materialize over the area, frustrating any and all areal observation. When the pall finally began to dissipate, no trace of the enemy’s presence could be found. Further consultation with ground forces could reveal no clue as to where these gems had gone, for the number of enemy forces had remained constant on all fronts – save the inevitable casualties of war. Following a weeks-long period of infuriating stalemates and a relative quiet that drove even the most rational minds to give way to the throes of speculative paranoia, a two-pronged attack of memorable proportion was finally launched off the western coast of facet 12 by the Crystal Gems! In an uncharacteristically shameful display of panic and irrationality, our forces dissolved into a rout as their respective commanders tried in vain to maintain order in between their desperate and tearful cries for backup.

The commanders frantically spoke of titanic beasts of a particularly indescribable hideousness emerging from the ocean just two kilo-units off the coast among a horrifying fanfare of tidal waves and oceanic mist. Upon the shoulders, backs, and stationary palms of these creatures rested artillery units from whom our forces were subject to merciless bombardment. The creatures then began to approach the beaches as Crystal infantry emerged from the waterline in unprecedented numbers, overwhelming our forces and ultimately driving them further inland.

It was later revealed that The Crystal Gems had trekked across the ocean floor from facet 6 all the way to facet 12, hauling with them artillery for which their leading weapons engineer had built special deep-sea pods to protect against the natural perils of the ocean deep. The “beasts” in question turned out to be hetero-fusions of an especially disgusting sort, that to even recount such an indecent display of offensiveness stoked feelings of unequivocal revulsion among the unfortunate quartzes who laid eyes on those…things. The coastal spaceport was soon surrounded and captured within days. This gave our enemies an established presence in the eastern hemisphere as well as a beachhead within facet 12. Not to mention the control they now had over one of our few spaceports.

Due to the infancy of the Earth Colony, spaceports were sparse. The port which had been seized, Eta-18 Fascet-12, was one of only few at this early point in the colony’s maturation. Moreover, at the onset of the rebellion, the interstellar ports served an additional function as military posts through which troops and supplies could be brought in and distributed in accordance with the needs of our ground forces. What’s more, this port was the biggest and most prominent and now there were rumors circulating that our enemies had plans to take to the stars in their campaign. There was much speculation surrounding the potential machinations of the Crystal Gems and while the Diamond Authority was reluctant to publicly confirm or deny any such rumors, recent findings by The Crystal Gem Intelligence Commission – which had been given a second chance - had forced the diamonds to quietly lend, at the very least, some degree of credence to the hearsay. The Crystal Gems, as it seemed, had intentions to capture our mines in the asteroid belt and now, with the capture of Eta-18, they had the means to do just that. These asteroid mines, in the wake of this conflict, had come to be an invaluable part of an expansive – albeit hastily constructed – interstellar supply line. The surprise by which this tenacious rebel faction caught us compelled from The Diamond Authority an admittedly cursory response, allotting time for minimal organization.  Consequently, the fragility of our supply line’s integrity was highly conspicuous. Even a minor disruption would collapse the entire interstellar nexus, crippling our military efforts for weeks, possibly months!

With all this in mind, it was evident that attached to this port was a significance beyond that of a tactical setback. It was concluded that this seizure was but a component within the larger scope of a full-scale military operation that the crystal gems had been planning for months. This was extremely troubling, as an operation of such sophistication was well beyond the capabilities of some scantily organized band of rebels. Indeed, such a feat could only have been executed by no less than a truly cohesive military force – one that could realistically stand against Homeworld’s armies. For this reason, the loss of this port was cause for great alarm and speculation – much of which, despite The Diamond Authority’s best efforts, could not be put at ease. Consequently, no expense, resource, nor soldier would be withheld in our efforts to reclaim Eta-18, that confidence in the military, as well as the great authority it serves to represent may be fully restored.

Preparation began on both sides as everyone was operating under the assumption that The Crystal Gems would take advantage of their new position and push further into to facet 12 while Crystal Gem naval units would prepare for an asteroid belt campaign. However, just as we underestimated the capabilities of The Crystal Gems, so too did everyone overestimate the limits of Rose’s naivete. We were stunned to hear that Rose Quartz was “offering us” an opportunity to sue for peace. This was the latest of many attempts by the foolish rebel to bring about a diplomatic end to this conflict. It had seemed that Rose Quartz believed that a bombastic display of military might would force the Diamonds into submission, reasoning that the Diamonds would not risk the potential humiliation of losing more assets to the rebel armies.

Jaws were dropping to the ground as news of this began to spread. We would later learn that even some of The Crystal Gems were appalled by Rose’s decision. However, aside from a few detractors – their weapons engineer being among the most vocal, many of The Crystal Gems simply elected to trust that Rose knew what she was doing. This was good news for the diamonds and created a greater sense of hope in any and all future plans to retake Eta-18.  In an effort to buy time, Rose was led to believe that a peaceful resolution was indeed within her grasp. Meanwhile, enemy forces dug in, maintaining defensive positions and a temporary cease-fire was declared. This allotted us precious time to regroup and adequately prepare to retake the base in the operation codenamed, “Operation Backtrack.”

Among the many prerequisites upon which the success of this enterprise relied was the element of surprise. It was imperative that the Crystal Gems be allotted as little preparation as possible; to the end that our armies would have nothing with which to contend save a weak and sparsely fortified perimeter. So, we poured as many resources as we could into counterintelligence, that documentation of our eventual attack would never meet the sinister and increasingly ambient eyes of our rebel foes. Given the unalloyed extensiveness of our counterintelligence efforts, we saw no reason as to why any information regarding this operation should reach The Crystal Gems. And yet, as our armies mobilized in preparation for the operation’s day of execution, word had gotten back to us of the extensive fortifications which were being set up by our enemies around the perimeter of the commandeered spaceport. This was troubling news as these fortifications were being made in clear anticipatory preparation of an oncoming attack. What’s more, enemy forces had resumed their fire. That the gems had been made aware of our operation, was an obvious and generally uncontested suspicion among the commanders as well as the diamond authority. One of the many ever-increasing failures of our counterintelligence measures.

As much as My Diamond wanted to address the potential source of information leakage from our intelligence departments, she hadn’t the time. As the Crystal Gems were embattling the Eta-18 perimeter in earnest, it was imperative that we lay siege to the port as quickly as possible. While the full element of surprise had been lost, our deceptive efforts were not entirely in vain. We had moved enough of our forces to facet-12 that an inland push was nearly impossible, and the asteroid mines were now in retrograde meaning that any efforts to try and capture them at this point would be even more of a logistical nightmare. And so, the mobilization process was expedited and soon our armies went to meet our enemies at Eta-18. The battles of this campaign initially presented themselves as efforts of simplicity; little more than skirmishes that would quickly be overcome. But much to the surprise and consternation of the general, the Diamonds, and the public at large, the battles dragged on much longer than anticipated. Our foes had surprised us with an impressive display of resilience and tenacity. One which forced our reluctant commanders to admit to the Crystal Gems a begrudging respect.

Nevertheless, it all ended in a seemingly decisive victory. One that, from my perspective of innocence, would have surely permitted an abundance of pomp and gaiety of which there could be no surfeit. And yet, My Diamond carried herself in a manner that was not indicative such occasion. When she heard about the outcome of the operation, I saw in her not a look of relief but one of concern and frustration. So far, much to my confusion, this victory had not elicited any proclamations of triumph. The following events would confuse me evermore, for when My Diamond convened with her three companions to discuss further action, they shared in My Diamond’s worried demeanor – save Pink Diamond, who’s demeanor showed an unrelenting sense of guilt and ambivalence. I saw in Pink Diamond an internal struggle of unknown cause; one that would only become more apparent in the coming years. To this day I look back and wonder what it was that provoked within the young diamond such evident inner turmoil.

Another four days would pass without any proclamation of our victory. I concluded that there was, in fact, something I was missing but I couldn’t fathom what it was. Why trouble the public any further with worry by withholding news of this operation’s outcome? Why hesitate in our celebration of our much-needed win? In a creeping moment of temerity, I was tempted to present My Diamond with these inquiries but did all I could to quell the urge for to so boldly ask such things was not within the bounds of a pearl’s conduct. I rightfully chastised myself for even entertaining the thought.

It was in a moment of near spontaneity that My Diamond decided to visit the port, that she may see firsthand the state in which it was left postbellum. Nothing about this was normal. There are a number of attributes that I could ascribe to My Diamond, ‘spontaneity’ not being among them. These inquiries were at the forefront of my mind as My Diamond set a course for Eta – 18. I accompanied My Diamond to her palanquin once our ship arrived at its destination and as I did, I was deafened by her silence.

My Diamond and I entered the palanquin and in an instant, we were jettisoned from the palm of My Diamond’s vessel. The rapid descent and the turbulence it brought about overwhelmed the auditory senses. As I looked out the window, my mind could hardly accept that we were descending as it appeared as though we were static in mid-air. Despite the speed of our descent, the surface below was very slow in gaining prominence. Not to say that there was much I was looking forward to seeing. Even from this distance, I could see that there was nothing below us. Or, to be more accurate, nothing of substance or worth. Simply a vast expanse of organic lifelessness. At this moment in time – save the few traces of modern civilization that we had brought with us thus far – the surface of this world was almost completely exanimate as it was occupied only by useless lifeforms and inanimate resources. Directly below us, the expanse of natural deadness was dichotomized between land and sea. To our east was a seemingly infinite range of worthless lowland vegetation. To our west, an immeasurably empty ocean so vast as though it extended into infinity. A thin serpentine coastline served as a line of demarcation between the two halves of this biotically dead surface. Void was it all of any true substance or vigor, as we had yet to truly breathe life into this planet of primitive nothingness. That is our mission, after all; to create life from the primal nihility of the otherwise lifeless worlds of this universe. I will never even begin to fathom why the Crystal Gems would be so against that.

As we got closer to the planet’s surface, a small yet notable trace of modern civilization began to present itself near the coastline. This was the Eta – 18 spaceport. As we got closer to the ground the speed of our descent gradually became more notable and more details of the port began to present themselves. Though we were still a ways from the surface I was already impressed by the port's magnitude. Boasting an area of nearly 2000 hectares, it was one of the biggest spaceports on Earth thus far. However, there was something strange in its appearance. I was yet unable to place my finger on it but there was almost a disorganized aspect about it. Things just felt out of place and I could not discern why.

I turned to My Diamond who was hunched over, her elbows resting on her thighs and her head resting on the interlocked fingers of her hands. Her eyes were fixed on the ground and on her face, I saw a mild look of dread. She must have caught my regard in her peripherals as her eyes suddenly darted in my direction. Instinctively, I averted my gaze and turned my attention back to the outside.

A great deal of altitude had been lost in those brief moments as we were much closer to the surface and the details of the port’s condition presented themselves in full. Shock and horror overtook me once I observed the doleful state it was currently in. Where I expected to see the magnificent architecture of buildings, hangers, starships, and an enthused and rallied army prepared to reclaim it all in the name of our glorious diamonds, I saw utter and complete destruction and a loose collection of gems sparsely wading through the abject ruination of what was once our prodigious spaceport.

Our palanquin soon landed on what little was left of the landing pad. My Diamond and I stumbled as a small depression caused the palanquin to land slightly off-kilter. We stepped off where we were greeted by the sight of nothing but absolute ruin. Save a sparse number of rogue standing walls, pillars, girders, and corbels - the port, in its entirety, had been reduced to rubble, leveled to the ground upon which these mighty constructs once stood. What truly stuck with me was the absolute completeness of it all. There truly was nothing left. I understood the necessity of airstrikes for the success of the operation but were we so confined in our desperation as to destroy the entire base? No, that couldn’t be right.  Such a masochistic act of annihilation would have defeated the entire purpose of our noble enterprise. I turned again to My Diamond, in the vain hope that I may glean some clue as to what happened here. I was deeply troubled when I beheld her demeanor. She stood rigid in a veritable state of awe. Doubtless was it that My Diamond expected to find the port in such a horrid state. That the dreadful details of its condition had been recounted to her many times over was an uncontestable certainty. But no amount of mental imagery, regardless of an utmost vividness bolstered by repeated accounts both oral and written, could prepare her for the reality that presented itself now.

I turned my attention back to the surrounding ruin. There was something about the place, aside from its ghastly aspect, that sparked within me an unshakeable feeling of dread. Perhaps, I postulated, it was the feeling of exposure that occasioned such inexplicable fear. As all the buildings were leveled, I had a full view of the natural nihility that surrounded the port. The miles of terrestrial emptiness to the east – carpeted as it was by its hideous low-growing flora –and the infinitely expansive ocean of deadness to the west. It was disconcerting as it was depressing, being in the presence of such primeval desolation. The overcast above only served to bolster my unease. Normally, our terraform companies would clear the skies of such unpalatable weather happenings in preparation for a visit by a Diamond. But this visit was entirely unplanned and so, no such preparation had taken place.

Still though, I knew that, on its own, the mere sense of exposure to the exanimate natural world was not the only source of my agitation. There was a threat about this place of an ambient nature. One that could not be seen but whose encroaching presence had somehow made itself known to me. I turned again to the ocean and as I did, I found myself troubled by an acutely increased fear whose roots ran deep within the nether realms of my inner gem. I regarded the coastline with timorous curiosity. It seemed as though my intuition was detecting an unknown menace lurking somewhere within the abysmal depths of the hideously organic brine. I turned to observe the gems surveying the damage and as I did, I noticed a common peculiarity among them. Each individual seemed to carry herself in an almost daunted manor. Every so often, one would turn her regard to that repulsive ocean of deadness and in doing so, would briefly indulge herself in a moment of silent trepidation before returning to her work still slightly afeared. These gems, as it seemed, shared in my inexplicable disquiet. I considered it all, the destruction, the aura, the fearful gems. And after a moment of internal deliberation, it all clicked. I realized, at that moment, what truly happened here and why My Diamond behaved as she did.

The expense of Operation Backtrack – In both gem power and material resources – were great. So much that to recoup the losses sustained would take months. I thought about this in trepidation as the fullest extent of the threat posed by The Crystal Gems became known to me.

The battle waged by our foes was not, in its entirety, a defensive one but in part one of external attrition. Upon receiving word of our oncoming siege – no less from a persistently treacherous insider yet to be identified – they indeed foresaw the inevitable fate of their hold on Eta – 18. We had successfully duped the nefarious Rose Quartz but once again, despite her infantile credulity, the ingenuity and inexplicable charisma of Rose Quartz went on full display as she rallied her troops at Eta-18, taking full advantage of their blind fanaticism. The Crystal Gems could not deny the end was near for their venture but rather than flee or make preparations for surrender, they relentlessly embattled their perimeter and held firm. Our general assumed this to be a final act of defiance. A last stand meant to precede a spectacular demise on a monumental scale – one that would jettison the fallen into the glorious realm of martyrdom. This, however, was not their intent, at least not entirely.

Their tenacity had only one end, to force the Diamonds into relentless deployment of their finite military forces. The Crystal Gems knew of the significance with which the Homeworld public regarded the Eta – 18 port and the ends to which the diamonds would go to reclaim it. They were also aware of the eventual end that our armies would bring to their illicit holding on the port.

And so, they secured their perimeter and held firm. Wave after wave was sent but with each advance, Crystal Gems would manage to break a hole in our line forcing us to pull back and close the gap. Eventually, our enemies were pushed back into the sea but not before razing the entire port. This, along with the expenditures of this operation, left a hole in our reserves.

But worse yet, they could still be out there, watching from the depths, rebuilding their numbers through some other unconventional means which we had yet to consider, waiting for the right time to emerge and finish off our remaining troops, to the end that they may further cripple our reserves. Before I realized what I was doing, I found myself gradually moving to My Diamonds right as to create a barrier between myself and the water. I got it now, this was not a defeat, but this was not a victory either. I did not know what to call this but what I did know is that Rose had demonstrated the extent of her weaknesses, but she had also demonstrated the extent of her capabilities. No longer could The Diamond Authority downplay the severity of the threat she posed. My Diamond turned to her left to address me but found that I was not there. She turned to her right about to ask why I had moved, but after regarding the notable fear on my face, she simply said, “Come Pearl. Let’s leave this place. We have much to do.” As we made our way back to the palanquin, I heard her mutter under her breath, “I shouldn’t have brought you here.”

Author’s Note: Here’s Operation Backtrack. I had a lot of fun making this one!

[thesswrites]

Global Terror

Fear is a universal constant. Everyone on earth is afraid of something; it might be irrational like the number thirteen or clowns, or a very abstract concept like death of a loved one, but everyone knows fear, down in their bones. A lot of factors will eventually decide what an individual fears - someone who was stung by a bee as a very small child may well develop a fear of flying insects in later life, for example, while someone who was in a car accident is likely to find car journeys stressful in future. While individual experiences are likely to define our fears, the experiences that we share as a culture are equally likely to define our more abstract fears. This in turn will define trends in horror media in a nearly self-perpetuating cycle of societal fear response. This essay takes a look at various cultures and their reactions to societal terrors as shown in horror media, beginning with some of the less examined cultures and ending with the 'melting pot' that is, for better or worse, the perceived core of mass media.

Europe is an interesting source of horror, largely because of its early fairy tales being the progenitor of most commonly-used modern Western horror stories. Eastern Europe as a whole has lived with monsters for a very long time, from the narrative perspective. While the vampire mythos has existed since ancient Greece, and the forerunners of the modern vampire were British and Irish (John William Polidori first with the much-forgotten Lord Ruthven and Bram Stoker with Dracula), Romania and Slavic Europe have a surprising number of myths about vampires. Slavic and Romanian folklore is, in fact, so riddled with monsters that it's almost impossible to be truly afraid of them, as most fear is, at its root, of the unknown. That combined with the ease and blamelessness in which one can become a vampire in Slavic folklore means that there is an entirely different kind of horror involved in tales involving the blood-drinking undead; combined with the fact that everything from birth defects to an animal jumping over someone's open grave can make a vampire, the only way to truly find the fear and horror from these creatures is to become these creatures, at least from the narrative perspective. Films like Night Watch, Let The Right One In and Not Like Others delve into the lives of these cast-out souls, and the horror is found in the tragedy of their haunted, hunted existence and their battle with their own natures, not in the fates of their victims.

There is another purpose to the focus on the monster as the terrorised party in Slavic culture; the fear of standing out. Up until fairly recently, to stand out in Eastern Europe was the worst thing, when survival largely depended on keeping one's head down and not being noticed. Particularly post-World War II, the idea of birth defects or living 'impiously' by local standards being an offense punishable by death is a familiar one to those in Germany, Poland and Russia, even if that last is largely because of a significant guilt for letting it happen to countries that were ostensibly under its purview beginning with the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact. All told, in the tale of 'the different need to be exterminated because the world says they're wrong and dangerous', countries with their chequered history are likely to show sympathy for the different. Since supernatural creatures have been used as an allegory for the different and bizarre for at least a century, that makes it entirely unsurprising that that entire section of Europe will find the horror in being the 'different' one, rather than being the one hunted by the 'monster'.

Great Britain is a particularly interesting case, given its approach to life as a whole. The British Empire, and the two islands in general, have suffered a great many highs and lows, to the point where 'Keep Calm and Carry On' was effectively its motto long before they quasi-officially adopted it during World War II. Also, its folklore is full of just as many horrors as those found in Eastern European folklore, though British folklore mostly focuses on trickster beings that live somewhere in the middle of the Venn diagram covering spirit, monster and god. All things taken into account, it's surprisingly difficult to find a truly terrifying British horror story. The 'Keep Calm and Carry On' mentality mean that even the great classics, such as Dracula and Frankenstein, convey more of a clinical if occasionally suspenseful retelling than a conventional horror story. More modern British entries into the hallowed halls of horror show the other side of British esprit de corps - the ability to laugh at themselves in even the most dire of circumstances. This is a country that deals with terrorist attacks by stating in a ha-ha-only-serious way that "I've been blown up by a better class of bastard than this", flagging up that the surest show that this was an emergency was that a popular sandwich bar chain had run out of chocolate cake, and interrupts live coverage of the incident to air a popular soap opera. These are not a people that seek visceral terror as a form of entertainment, simply because it's so difficult to achieve. Even the few things they do find scary are often subject to parody; for every 28 Days Later apocalypse scenario, there's a film - usually by or starring Simon Pegg - to parody it, a Shaun of the Dead or a The World's End or, most recently, a Slaughterhouse Rulez.

However, looking at that example, as well as classics like Dracula, Frankenstein and Dr Jeckyll and Mr Hyde, there is one thing that the British seem to fear: a breakdown of the normally accepted rules of conduct, be they scientific, political or societal. Victor Frankenstein brought on his own doom by over-reaching himself in his field, and compounded it by ignoring his responsibilities to his creation. There are too many examples of this to count in Dracula, though the most notable is the fate of poor Dr Seward, who delved too deeply into things he should not have touched. This trend continues in microcosm and macrocosm in British cinema today; The Quiet Ones follows scientists tormented because they breached a realm of study best left unexplored, whereas 28 Days Later and 28 Weeks Later touches on both "Science Shouldn't Go Too Far" and "What Happens When The Rules Stop Working?".

Going to the other side of the globe for a moment, some of the front-runners of the horror genre are from the Pacific Rim. Japan and South Korea are renowned for their dark, suspenseful horror films, with Japan adding extra bombast with disaster movies whose messages and cultural impact have stood the test of time even if their special effects have not. The disaster movies are easy ones to dissect from a cultural standpoint; nuclear radiation and its effects, as well as large-scale property damage, have been a stark scar across the Japanese consciousness since 1945. Like the aforementioned car accident victim attempting to ride in a car without panicking, the radiation fears and mass-destruction imagery of the Godzilla movies are an almost guaranteed poke to the hindbrain.

Going back further in the consciousness of the region, however, we come to the underlying cultural fear evoked by the more subtle horror films of both Japan and South Korea. From Ringu in Japan to South Korean films such as The Wishing Stairs, the largest driving force for the supernatural plot elements are guilt and revenge, evoking the honour code that has driven both nations for a very long time, while also touching on the horrors left after their various wars of attrition with the 'death of innocence' trope. However, while Japan focuses on these themes in a more general way, South Korea often approaches the matter in a somewhat more focused - and, to the modern eye, disturbing - way in that many of its defining offerings to cinematic history touch on the latent homophobia of the nation. The Wishing Stairs, Whispering Corridors and particularly Memento Mori all focus on teenage girls, and all of them either imply lesbian relationships or outright feature them. It's unclear whether this is a call to arms, trying to see homosexuality as something more acceptable by framing it as a trait held by a sympathetic character, or a show that 'queers get what they deserve'. It's certainly seen as a common enough situation to be nearly commonplace in movies of that type, though blending it into the horror genre so completely frames it as something to fear.

Across the Pacific, we find Hollywood, and the so-called 'melting pot' that is the United States. Arguably the primary source of the world's entertainment media, the US should theoretically produce a range of horror as broad as the cultural heritage of its people. In a way, that's the case, as American horror authors and scriptwriters often borrow from the folklore of other nations or even simply remake them. However, as these are framed in the American idea of what 'scary' is rather than tapping into the cultural fear that inspired the originals, these remakes seldom come off as well unless they deviate significantly from the source material. Even going back past the days of cinema, consider HP Lovecraft - while born in the United States, America at that time was still only a few generations removed from being a British colony, rebuilding on its own after a bloody civil war. It had hardly been long enough for the nation to develop its own cultural identity, although it was clearly trying. Lovecraft began that in terms of horror; while still deeply entrenched in the "break rules to delve into things you should not examine and be damned" mentality of British horror, his deep-seated racism showed the first glimmer of a largely American fear of the black population, so recently freed.

Nowadays, however, US horror is a difficult subject to examine because of the subgenres on offer in the wider horror genre. Paranormal romance, for example, has taken a great deal of the horror out of classic movie monsters like vampires and werewolves, with the 'action-adventure' label making them one more antagonist to shoot. These days, the true horror in US entertainment media comes from a source whose very mundanity makes it all the more terrifying - other people. Born of urban legends as much as real-life serial killers, slasher movies are the one movie genre that is very specifically American (the British being too inured to the idea of the knife-wielding stranger by Jack the Ripper to really bother with it). Despite supernaturally-born outliers like Freddy Krueger, slasher-killers have always simply been troubled individuals, from Norman Bates to Jason Voorhes to the convoluted chain of Jigsaw killers. The Purge franchise takes it one step further, casting everyone in the immediate vicinity as a potential killer just waiting for the opportunity. While the actual reasoning behind this cultural paranoia is unclear, the fact that most entertainment media is optioned by committee under the auspices of swathes of marketing data means that there is at least a vocal minority of the American public that identifies enough with this mindset to engage it on an emotional level. Given the shape of US politics today, this is worrying on so many levels it's impossible to discuss them all in an essay of any reasonable length; it would probably take a proper academic paper written by someone with several degrees and preferably no personal investment. Perhaps someone living somewhere sane like Switzerland.

So what does all this tell us about the cultural makeup of the countries under discussion? It certainly indicates that Slavic Europe and the Pacific Rim are still haunted by the spectres of a particularly violent past, and that Britain has an inborn need for order that may or may not have originated with the loss of the Empire. The United States, meanwhile, shows some deep-seated paranoia, a fear of itself that shows no signs of abating and even seems to be ramping up as the years go by. It's entirely possible that the entire world needs whatever the cultural equivalent of therapy is, but given the cathartic nature of entertainment media, this is supposed to be a form of therapy from the cultural standpoint. At least most of the rest of the nations seem to be recovering, though they will always still be suffering from whatever the cultural equivalent of PTSD is; Britain, in fact, has recovered well enough to laugh about it, although given the shape of the sociopolitical landscape, they may have recovered too well and be doomed to repeat the lessons they refused to learn from history. The United States, meanwhile, appears to be wallowing in its own divisiveness from a cultural standpoint, with the primary indicator of the things it fears showing a nation that would be happiest alone in a bunker surrounded by land mines with a high-powered firearm, shooting at anyone who gets too close.

There’s no great sociopolitical message here, unless it’s one that a reader wants to find for themselves. It’s just fascinating from an anthropological standpoint how much what people - on a cultural level - are afraid of can sometimes tell us about what kind of people they are.

[jorelassicpark]

Short, Hot Take(tm) on Isle of Dogs’ controversy

I watched Isle of Dogs. I don’t think I’ll have time for a full review, so I’ll leave it at: good, did character expansion better than Kubo, but still felt like character development was either insanely quick, or frustratingly slow.

As an Asian Man(tm), I think the serious, angry accusations of cultural appropriation are overblown...

...but the movie still has its problematic bits.

It's VERY rooted in how the West saw 50s/60s-era Japan, with lots of kimonos, taiko drums, bombastic stylings after Kurosawa and other 50s Japanese films (I've read the main villain is physically based on Mifune's role in High and Low). Stuff like unironic bozusoku and the angry student protest groups, Toho-style government labs...

Let me put it this way: I think I facepalmed when the human protagonist karate kicked down a slide.

It's very twee (it IS Wes Anderson) in how it depicts Japan - part of me wants to say it’s no more twee or offensive than small-town America being depicted in Moonrise Kingdom, but:

The rest of me agrees with the articles that kinda-sorta say it's not exactly what we think of as 'default' cultural appropriation -  there's nothing malicious meant, and a lot of it is chalked up to 'fantasy Japan', but there's still stuff to pick through and side-eye for.

Yes, it’s a deliberate style choice meant to highlight human alienation, mob mentality, language barriers, traditional vs. new (that resonates in Japan, East Asia, the West, AND the World at large), and it explores these themes in a way that isn’t ham-handed - but, it being Wes Anderson, the hand is just a different size, so to speak?

tl;dr: Isle of Dogs isn’t appropriation, but it still uses Asian cliches - even though it plays with them to prove a point, it’s still weird.