#help military propaganda has taken over my brain

[avianii]

welp. I did a thing

[arotechno]

Jughead (2015), Issues 1-6: Discussion and Commentary

"I am like unto a god, Archie Andrews. Respect me as such."

Recently re-typed and ready to go, here is a broad discussion of the first volume of the Jughead reboot comic series. I was originally going to review each issue individually, but given that the first six comprise one story arc, I decided to do the whole volume in one go. That means this is a bit crunched for time and therefore not quite as in-depth as I wanted to go! But I encourage you to read the comics for yourself, if you are able.

This will not be spoiler-free, for the record! The images here are taken from my own copy using my phone, so they're not the best quality! But they also aren't especially crucial to this commentary, so you'll have to bear with me.

I just really like the inside cover art for this volume, alright (it's also the cover of issue 5)? I can't help it, I'm aro, I see heart imagery and something in my brain goes haywire.

When we first meet Jughead at the beginning of Volume 1, he comes off as lazy and apathetic, at least on the surface. After an all-nighter of playing video games, Jughead is dragged to school by Archie. There, they find that Betty has started a new campaign to save Fox Forest, a beloved local greenspace that is being threatened by Veronica’s wealthy father, Mr. Lodge. Jughead is… not very interested in Betty’s cause, to put it politely. It’s not that he doesn’t care about Fox Forest, but he does not believe that Mr. Lodge would be convinced to change his mind by a petition. He tells Betty as such, and she remarks that he lives a very hollow life.

“Man, you’re so cynical,” Archie tells him. “Is there anything you’d actually fight for?”

The answer is yes. What ultimately gets Jughead to fight for something? Food—well, kind of, but we’re getting ahead of ourselves.

When Archie and Jughead get to class, they learn that the principal of Riverdale High, Mr. Weatherbee, is being replaced out of the blue by a new guy called Stanger. Stanger is a stiff, serious type, and he immediately starts making changes: new uptight teachers, a strict dress code, new bootcamp-esque curriculum, and most importantly, supposedly nutritious slop to replace the food in the cafeteria.

This sends Jughead down a bit of a rebellious path—he’s not a rule-breaker, but he’s perfectly comfortable with bending the rules in his favor while narrowly skirting around getting into trouble. He starts selling burgers in the cafeteria, with the proceeds benefitting Betty’s fundraiser for Fox Forest.

(Hell yeah, Jughead, unionize that student body! Sell those burgers! You have nothing to lose but your chains!)

This stunt gets Jughead on Stanger’s bad side immediately, and a slowly simmering feud between them ultimately boils over when Stanger plants a knife in Jughead’s backpack to get him expelled. Thankfully, his dad is able to talk his sentence down to a week’s suspension, but that doesn’t stop his friends (and his mother) from worrying about him.

As an aside, I’d like to take a moment to appreciate Mr. Jones.

“Something’s off here and I’m not sure what it is, but I am sure Jughead didn’t bring a knife to school. My boy’s weird, but he’s not a criminal.”

I really like this line from him to Betty. He clearly knows his son and is willing to stand up for him, and it’s comforting to me, especially viewing the story through the lens of Jughead being aroace, that Mr. Jones is not at all bothered by his son being a bit on the strange side, as long as he’s still a good kid. Nothing but respect for Forsythe Jones II in this house.

Something fun and unique about this volume in particular is that in every issue, Jughead either falls asleep or passes out, and has an elaborate imaginative dream about the events of the story. In one he’s a pirate, for example, and in another he’s visited by a descendant of Archie’s from the future, who belongs to the time police. But towards the end of the volume, the line between these daydreams and reality seem to blur for Jughead. He comes to the conclusion in one particular nightmare that Stanger is trying to brainwash them all into becoming mindless agents for his evil organization—and then he realizes he may not be that far off from the truth.

Jughead brings this realization—that Stanger is using the school as a sort of training ground for secret agents—up to his friends, and understandably, they aren’t convinced. They worry that the compounded exhaustion of multiple all-nighters playing games and the stress of being suspended has started to get to Jughead, but he vows to prove it to them.

I mean, damn, Betty, that kind of hurts. (Don’t worry, Betty is actually a good friend, as I’m sure we’ll get into later in the series.)

To make a long story short (and to avoid spoiling the entire plot for those who haven’t read it!), Jughead does find proof, and once he does, his friends are immediately on board. They are ultimately able to save the day, and once it’s revealed that Stanger and the new teachers are ex-CIA trying to brainwash the students (no, seriously), Mr. Weatherbee is re-instated as principal and things return to normal.

I’m leaving out a lot of nuanced details, mostly for the sake of time, but there are a lot of surprisingly weighty moments to this first arc, and Zdarsky’s character writing is incredibly endearing and funny, while still hitting the serious moments when it needs to. There’s an interesting underlying commentary in this arc about military recruitment and U.S. propaganda; Stanger says that he specifically chose Riverdale because the students are so average. There’s something to be said here about the way the military industrial complex preys on average or underprivileged teenagers to convince them to serve when they feel they have no better path to take. It’s an almost funnily serious commentary for Zdarsky to make with a seemingly silly and off-beat comic series, and I respect him for that.

(If you recognize this panel, it’s because it appears on the page where Jughead’s asexuality is canonized. What a good page. So good that nobody ever points out this panel.)

By the end of Volume 1, we see that Jughead maybe isn’t as apathetic and careless as he seemed to be. Sure, he got up in arms about food of all things in the beginning, but it stopped being about food very quickly, once he realized that something truly messed up was going on. And it bothers him, deeply—at one point, the gravity of the situation begins to weigh on him so heavily that he nearly gives up entirely, convinced that there is nothing they can do and that they ought to just lie low until they make it out. But he does end up making things right, with the help of his friends, and in the end, he does decide to help Betty out after all. It’s the least he can do, really. You do get the impression that although Jughead’s friends often don’t take him seriously, they’ll always have his back when it counts—and he’ll do the same for them, even if he’ll insist on being a bit snarky about it.

(That slightly cynical attitude is still there, though, and truthfully, Jughead wouldn’t be the same without it.)

To close out, I am just going to share some of my favorite panels/quotes that didn’t fit elsewhere, including some choice Aro Moods. I hope this (admittedly brief) discussion of Volume 1 convinces you to read the comics, and to join me again when I cover the next arc. Until then, cheers to Chip and Erica.

Jughead’s attitude towards Archie’s romantic problems will never not be funny to me. He’s just like “RIP to you but I’m different.”

Kevin. :/ Kevin come on, man. Mr. Zdarsky, sir, this is character assassination. (Jughead’s face in the corner is a reasonable reaction.)

This one’s gone around so many times before (as have a bunch of other aro moments that I don’t think I need to bother re-posting here), but I just think it’s neat. Don’t worry, Betty lets go.

Aaand lastly, I just really like this line from Jughead. “The world is out of our hands, pal. You just gotta make your own weird way in it.” That we do, Jughead. That we do.

[suburbanbeatnik]

The short and very miserable life of Napoleon II, aka the Eaglet, aka Franz, Duke of Reichstadt: PART TWO

Although the beatings had ceased, Franz’s life continued in refined isolation until his fifteenth year, when his cousin Franz Karl married the beautiful and charming Sophie of Bavaria.

She was only six years older than he, a fine, pretty girl of sweet features and merry lips, with light chestnut brown hair arranged in great loops on her temples. She had done away with the stiff sumptuousness of her apartment at the Burg, and refurnished it in a more intimate atmosphere. In her salon, with its mahogany furniture covered in yellow velours and minus the usual gilding. Reichstadt would often come and sit beside her, looking through the pictures in her albums while she would paint, or play graceful Italian airs on her piano. And they would talk. She sided with him when things went wrong, pitied him, loved him. She was the only one to whom he could talk to with an open heart. Thanks to Sophie, in those troubled years of adolescence when the child is disappearing and the man is trying to find himself, he had at last found what had been refused him for so long: a friend.  [Aubry pg 140]

Franz was growing into a handsome young man, with his mother’s blue eyes and blond curls, but his father’s striking bone structure and deep-set eyes, and the emotional Bonaparte temperament. Though he was robust and “glowing with health” as a baby, by the time he was an adolescent he became more frail. Doctors said he had a “scrofulous tendency,” which was 19th century medical gobbledygook for some sort of disorder connected with the lymphatic glands. It seems to me that this kid was isolated and beaten for years, and suffered from pretty severe depression— on top of that, he didn’t eat (Aubry records that he had “a poor appetite”). Throw in an inherited tendency from his mother to have lung trouble, I’m not surprised he struggled with illness going forwards.

Apart from Sophie, there was no one to really look out after him. She encouraged him, his interests, his passions, his keen desire to be a soldier, his love for his father and of France, helping undo all the years of Habsburg brainwashing. As the years passed, he even learned how his father’s executors were continually frustrated in trying to pass on the legacy his father had tried to leave to him. “They had been kept away, or driven away: or else the relics they had brought had been politely taken from them and stuffed away into strongboxes, thus cheating the son of the only material inheritance his father had left him. Who had so ordained? Metternich, none other!” [Aubry pg 154]

Metternich, the true ruler of this not-so-holy and not-so-Roman empire, was the one man who had schemed and plotted to keep Franz so isolated and alone. Metternich, and this is no exaggeration, hated every atom of Franz since he was a baby, and he never let Franz forget it. Franz was under police surveillance at all times: the Chancellor had the Corsican’s son in his grasp, and would not lose him. He wouldn’t even allow the young man contact with his own grandmother, Letizia, Madame Mère, now eighty years old and blind from cataracts. He wouldn’t even allow a single letter— a single sentence.

That statesman, who had a government for a soul, had made Austria a prison for him instead of the home it should have been! Metternich had been his father’s enemy; he was his enemy too, and always had been! The young man felt the hostility underneath the Chancellor’s icy courtesy, and he hated him. Altogether without basis in fact are those accounts of numerous conversations between Metternich and the Duke of Reichstadt during this period. Prokesch maintains that the Minister talked to the Prince just five times in seventeen years. Far from seeking to influence the Duke of Reichstadt during this period, Metternich avoided all contact with him. He hated him as he hated his father. The likeness to the Corsican which he found again in the young man’s features offended him like an insult. He could not bear the sight of that forehead, the sound of that voice. At a Court reception on the evening of the Duke’s eighteenth birthday, the Chancellor paid the obligatory compliments and turned away hastily. Those who spoke to him immediately afterwards found him more distant than usual. As soon as he could do so without attracting attention, he left the palace. [Aubry pg 162]

After years of being force-fed Austrian propaganda, Franz had started reading as much as he could about the greatness of Napoleon— obsessively reading Las Cases’ Memorial of St Helena, which he found on one of the top shelves of the library. Imagine his feelings when he read his father’s will for the first time, discovering what affects and relics were left to him, but which he would never see, thanks to Metternich’s machinations (and Louise’s clumsy attempts to lay claim to Napoleon’s inheritance, which had sabotaged the work of the executors in the first place, did not cease until 1837). Franz, fascinated with his father’s campaigns and personal history, threw himself into his studies. Through books, he vicariously experienced Lodi, Arcole, Marengo, the Pyramids, Jena, Austerlitz… He became drunk with the glory of the past. A spell had been cast, and Franz became determined to make his father proud of him. When one of his tutors began to lecture him on his father’s shortcomings, Franz replied impatiently:

“The actions of great men are not to be weighed with ordinary scales.” [Aubry pg 156]

Franz was slowly shedding the relationships of his childhood. When, upon Neipperg’s death in 1829, he had discovered his mother had contracted a morganatic marriage with the one-eyed Neipperg, he “felt deeply insulted and humiliated.” He was enraged enough to discover just that: of course, keep in mind he had no idea that she was sleeping with Neipperg and had given Franz two illegitimate half-siblings while his father was living with the rats on St. Helena. I doubt he would have ever talked to her again if that was the case. Even without knowing that, he withdrew, “his letters were less affectionate and he mentioned her name more rarely. She had been expected at Schoenbrunn for the summer. Her son learned with relief that she preferred to take a cure in Switzerland.” [Aubry pg 160]

Of course, Louise kept doing her thing, weeping for Neipperg over “gay dinner tables and at the opera,” being annoyed whenever the name of Napoleon reached her ears, and then finding “a substitute for the one-eyed general in the person of the Count de Bombelles, at first Grand Master of her Household, then her lover, and then finally her third husband.” [Aubry pg 161]

Meanwhile, for years Franz had struggled with depression. The July Revolution had happened, with the kind and comfortable Louis-Philippe installed on the throne, and even though the King of Rome was still a popular figure in France, with perhaps a chance to ascend the throne, Franz was still, for all intents and purposes, a prisoner. And the older he got, the more obvious this became. Suggestions to become a monarch in Poland or Greece were pushed asides by Metternich. Attempts by his uncles Lucien and Joseph to discuss Franz’s future with Metternich were completely blocked. All he wanted to do was to start his military career, and make himself useful, but he couldn’t even join his regiment, or even visit his mother in Italy. His health was floated as the reason why he should stay inactive, but Franz doubted this was the only reason. Bouts of rage alternated with deep sloughs of “sadness and tedium,” and he could barely summon the interest to hold a conversation. Not surprisingly, his mother lacked sympathy. In 1830, when Louise was summering in Baden, taking the waters, she “rebuked him for his apathy. She could not understand why her son could be ‘so little like other young people.’” [Aubry pg 181]

It grew worse a year later. Italy was on fire with the revolutionary activities of the Carbonari, and Louise had fled Parma in fear of her life. Franz pleaded with his grandfather to let him go rescue her, but Metternich intervened. Let the son of Napoleon, the King of Rome, go to Italy, where his father won his own fame? Of course not! Emperor Francis gave into Metternich, and poor Franz was left feeling torn between misery, fury and desperation. Even Prokesch, his best friend apart from Sophie—a major in the Viennese army, a loyal soldier, scholar and diplomat who had worked for Metternich, but had defied him on a few occasions-- couldn’t calm him.  

His despair was palpable. He knew he would spend his entire life bound and trapped, with Metternich as his jailer.

The young man had sealed himself up in a silence that was almost complete, venting his feelings at the most in talks with Sophie and Prokesch, during which he expressed many severe judgments on members of the Imperial family. He loved Sophie and he had an affection for his grandfather, but he did not like the Empress, fond as she was of him. He thought the Archduke Ferdinand, heir-apparent and King of Hungary, was a ninny. [Editor’s note: Ferdinand was actually a brain-damaged hydrocephalic epileptic who couldn’t even consummate his own marriage with his wife Maria Anna, married in 1835.] He hated the Archduke Franz Karl, Sophie’s husband, calling him deceitful, mean and vulgar. Table conversations at the Hofburg were stupid, the Court life was cheap and in bad taste. Comparing himself with those pious, submissive and conceited Archudukes and those ugly, insipid Archduchesses, he felt himself of a superior race. He even said one day— and Prokesch recorded the words in his secret notes:

“If Josephine had been my mother, my father would not have gone to St. Helena, and I would not be languishing in Vienna. My mother certainly has a kind heart, but no backbone! She was not the wife my father deserved!”

And he added, burying his face in Prokesch’s hands:

“You do not respect her, do you?”

And Prokesch replied:

“She was what she could be. The woman your father deserved for a wife did not exist. But he chose her, and she is your mother…”

Reichstadt was now weeping, and a long silence followed. [Aubry pg 207]

And that was when he seriously began to think about escaping.

While the two began to consider exactly what they could do, Franz decided that he had had quite enough of the chaperonage of Count Dietrichstein, his head tutor. This was the man who whipped him when he was five, who thrashed him when he was ten, who drilled him for countless hours on his German and his Italian translations and all the minutiae of court etiquette. He claimed to be utterly devoted to the young prince. Maybe he was, in his own weird way. But Franz was spreading his wings (or at least attempting to— even when he was 20, his imperial grandpa was still prone to treating him like a child, forcing him to dine with him in austerity if his own personal dinner parties became, in Francis’s opinion, too extravagant). In addition to the sensible and devoted Prokesch, Franz had befriended a few other young men, rakes and dandies all, like Neipperg’s eldest son and the young Esterhazy. Franz was gorgeous, brooding, romantic, and with perfect manners, and the women were obsessed with him (a Polish nun who had never met him but only saw him from a distance once swore undying love, even writing letters to this effect).

There was one woman that Franz danced with at a masquerade ball, a certain Naudine Karolyi, black-haired, handsome and bold, and not only did they manage to dodge Metternich’s spies, but they exchanged a lot of letters. This was 1831, and he was 20. But Dietrichstein soon found out about the correspondence.

At any rate, he strode into the Duke’s room, began rummaging through his desk, and finding a drawer locked, commanded him to open it. Reichstadt did not dare refuse— he obeyed, and his governor saw before him a pile of letters from Esterhazy. He opened a few, ran through them, and turned around livid with anger:

“What?” he cried. “You have a love affair?”

“Yes,” replied the prince coolly. “You can see with whom.”

“Do you write to her directly?”

“No, sir.”

“Then through an intermediary? Someone I know?”

He was besides himself with rage and almost shouting. Other persons had just entered the room and stood looking on in surprise at the strange scene. Reichstadt begged the Count to calm himself.

“Come downstairs with me,” he whispered. “You shall have all the letters afterwards, I promise you.”

The Count mastered his anger and went down with him to the Emperor. On the return, the Duke scrupulously handed him the entire correspondence, and it was forthwith consigned to the flames. [Aubry, pg 212]

But this didn’t stop Dietrichstein from trying to intercept Franz’s personal letters. At one point he saw that Esterhazy called him “the old woman,” and Dietrichstein was “extremely hurt.” He tried everything he could to break up the friendship from that day on, but didn’t succeed, as Franz could be extremely stubborn and loyal to a fault.

The affair with Naudine didn’t go anywhere, but there were others— there was even a reputed bastard daughter who later called herself the Comtesse de la Pommiere— but no matter what happened, his heart belonged to Sophie.

* * *

I’m cutting this off here, because LONG POST IS LONG, but more angst and drama will be coming with the next post!

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: Forged Through Fire (7/13)

Summary: Amestris. Once democratic, now a military dictatorship. Prohibition is strict; personal freedoms curtailed. All alchemists must be state-licensed or face imprisonment. Foreigners are met with suspicion. It’s a grim place and a grim time, but there are some people able to bring a little light to the world. Behind an innocent-looking bookshop, speakeasy proprietor Chris Mustang has formed an unlikely alliance with unlicensed alchemist Van Hohenheim to provide alcohol to those who want it and medical care to those who need it. When Riza’s newly complete tattoo becomes infected, Roy brings her into this underworld, little knowing the way it will change their lives in the future – uncovering the secrets of the mythical Philosopher’s Stone and the schemes of a Fuhrer hell-bent on achieving immortality, all whilst navigating what they mean to each other.

===

Rated: T

[One] [Two] [Three] [Four] [Five] [Six] AO3]

===

Note: So, just in case you read the previous chapter before I edited it, a note on timing. I managed to  mix up centuries and millennia because… wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey stuff. To clarify, Xerxes was destroyed about 450-500 years prior, like in canon. Not 50 years prior, like my brain decided to originally write…

Also, Atticus was picked as a random Ancient Greek name, there’s no deeper reasoning behind it.

===

Forged Through Fire

Seven

Riza looked up from the counter as the bell over the shop door tinkled and Gracia entered. 

“Hey Riza. How’s he doing today?”

Riza laughed. “He’s stopped rambling and he’s now annoying everyone, so I think he’s getting better. I know that Chris can’t wait to get him off her hands, but we’re a bit concerned that someone might try to shoot him again if we let him out of our sight.” She went and flipped the closed sign, locking the door. The speakeasy was still doing limited trade in order to keep the money coming in, but it was only open to trusted regulars who had forewarned that they would be coming in advance. 

Gracia followed her down into the bar. For all she could joke about it, Riza could feel the tension in the place. Hughes had stumbled upon something so big and so secret that it would affect all of them in the long run. 

As suspected, it now appeared irrefutable that Bradley had the military alchemists working on creating the Philosopher’s Stone. So far, they’d had several failed attempts, but a recent covert expedition to the ruins of Xerxes had uncovered some interesting documentation. Barely anyone could read it, but it was nevertheless causing a lot of excitement among the upper echelons of the military. 

Or, to put it simply, Fuhrer Bradley was trying to make himself immortal. 

“Can you think of anything worse than an immortal Bradley?” Hughes was saying as they entered his sick room. Roy was in there too, sitting in the office chair with his feet up on the end of the bed. There were papers scattered everywhere. 

“No, right now I don’t think that there’s anything worse than an immortal Bradley. Hi Gracia, hi Riza.”

“Hello Roy. Shouldn’t you be at work?”

“I’m very hard at work attempting to bring down a conspiracy in the military!” Roy protested, gesturing around at all the papers. “And no. Officially I am taking a leave of absence to care for my sick aunt.”

Madam Christmas, who had entered the room behind them, gave a pathetic cough. 

“See, my sick aunt. I’ve got Havoc and Breda running interference and Fuery’s been sending all kinds of mixed message telegrams. The top brass are so concerned with trying to work out whether or not Hughes is dead that they shouldn’t be paying too much attention to my whereabouts.”

“Right.” Riza shook her head in despair as Roy swung his feet up off the bed, leaving the room with her and Madam Christmas to give Gracia and Hughes some time alone together. 

She waited until he had poured himself some coffee from the large pot that had been left on the bar and they’d settled down at their usual table before she spoke again. “Have you found out anything new?”

“Bradley nearly declared war on Xing as an excuse to get in there and try to find the Philosopher’s Stone, but even his closest allies decided that would be a bit much and it would be better to try and create their own.” Roy took a long sip of his coffee. “You know, I wouldn’t put it past him to just lead a one-man charge on the place, he’s certainly bonkers enough.”

“Is it even the kind of thing that can be created twice? I mean, I know we should all take myths and legends with a pinch of salt, but at the same time, all the bits and pieces I’ve read about it talk about it as The Philosopher’s Stone, as if there is and can only ever be one.”

“Well, I think the military are certainly testing that theory.” Roy sighed. “The worst thing about it is that I have no idea what kind of unethical experiments they’re getting up to and as an alchemist I could be dragged into them at any time. I mean, my specialism sort of keeps me safe unless they need to burn a bunch of stuff but considering the lengths they seem willing to go to in order to both keep the secret and try to succeed, I don’t want to rule it out.” 

Riza inched a little closer to him, chancing to put an arm around his back, and he leaned into her side, head drooping onto her shoulder. 

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he mumbled to her. “Thank you.”

“Any time.”

He gave a little huff of laughter. “That’s my line.”

“Well, maybe it’s time for me to take care of you for a little while. You’ve taken care of me enough in the past.”

“Thanks for following us out the other night, as well. I was so frantic; I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been there being calm and wonderful.”

Riza laughed. “I’m sure you would have survived somehow.” She held him a little tighter, and he burrowed in closer. 

“It feels like everything’s been turned upside down. Except you.”

He looked up at her then, his dark eyes so sad and tired, and Riza’s heart went out to him. 

“We never got to finish our conversation from yesterday,” he said. 

“The ‘What happens between us now?’ conversation.”

“Yeah. That one.” Roy sighed. “I know that we’ve just ended up in a potentially really dangerous situation, and I know that this is the worst time ever to be talking about it, and thinking about it, and God forbid thinking about the future. But I also know that you’re the only person I would ever want by my side throughout this whole thing, and if we all end up skewered through with one of Bradley’s not-at-all ceremonial swords tomorrow, then I know that not taking a chance with you would be my only regret.”

“Oh, Roy.” Riza leaned in to kiss him softly. “There’s nothing like people being shot to put things in perspective, is there?”

“Nope.” His hand came up to cup her cheek and he returned the kiss, gently and a little hesitantly, but with definite hope and want behind it. “Perhaps I’m starting to see that sometimes the universe just really wants to screw us over, and there’s nothing we can do about it.”

“Exactly. It’s time to let go of the guilt, Roy. There’s nothing anyone can do about it.” She found herself stroking his hair as he resettled against her shoulder. 

“We make quite the pair, don’t you think? Both broken up in our own ways.” 

“Perhaps.” Riza kissed the top of his head. “But we’ll stick ourselves back together. I think that’s the one thing that I’ve learned the most since leaving home and coming here. The sticking myself back together part. Because I haven’t been sticking myself back together, not really. I’ve had you and Rebecca and Madam and Hughes and Trisha and Hohenheim and all the rest of the crew helping me stick myself back together. And when you get broken, I’ll help you stick yourself back together as well.”

“Thank you, Riza.”

They stayed like that for a long time, and although her arm was going numb, Riza didn’t mind at all. She was enjoying this easy closeness. They had been so close back when he had first known her – perhaps they had never been this physically close, but they’d been so close as people. A part of her had always known that they would end up like this somehow. Maybe not as romantic partners, but definitely as friends. 

It was only when Madam Christmas came out into the bar to take over serving and gave them a knowing look that Riza realised Roy had fallen asleep on her, and she just smiled. They’d had a fraught couple of days of it, what with everything Hughes had found out and the aftermath of that; she wasn’t really surprised that it had taken it out of him so much. She was just glad that he trusted her enough to be this vulnerable around her. Well, she trusted him that much, and she guessed that it went both ways. 

Madam Christmas came over with a glass of wine; Riza took it with her free hand. It was her favourite, and she savoured the rich taste. 

“On the house.” Madam Christmas winked. “I think we could all use a little pick-me-up right now. It’s been a day. I had Rebecca on the phone earlier, she’s been picking up all kinds of stories at the paper.”

Over the last few months or so, Rebecca had become a great friend to them in giving inside information as to what kinds of propaganda were about to be sent out to the general population. Of course, most of what she wrote herself ended up cut and censored by the government-employed editors by the time it appeared in print, but the unredacted versions were always circulated through the speakeasy to great interest. Riza had been happy to set her up with Havoc.

“Good stories or bad stories?”

“A bit of both. Everything’s being swept under the rug, though. As far as Central City’s citizens are concerned, absolutely nothing out of the ordinary happened in the park two nights ago.”

“Huh.” Riza felt the uneasiness beginning to creep back in. “I don’t like how that implies that people do know that something out of the ordinary happened in the park two nights ago.” She thought back to Hohenheim and the frighteningly powerful alchemy that he’d performed on Hughes, something unlike anything she’d ever known before, and in turn she found herself thinking back to the day she’d burned her back, and his warning that removing her tattoo completely would be too traumatic. 

If that was what he would have had to do, she could well see why. Hughes had been unconscious and on his last breaths; she wouldn’t have wanted anything like that to happen if she was anything other than at death’s door. 

“No,” Madam Christmas agreed. “It’s worrying. I’m just hoping that there’s nothing that can tie it all back to this place. Rebecca doesn’t think that there is, and she’s running as much interference as she can. Still, I think keeping a low profile for a couple of weeks will be a good idea.” She glanced at Roy. “Are you comfortable like that?”

“Not really. My shoulder’s gone dead. But I don’t mind.”

“Oh, to be young and in love once more. Don’t deny it, Miss Hawkeye. I’ve known you long enough.”

Riza shook her head, but she didn’t respond. Something good would come of it all. It had to.

X

“Do you really think that Bradley would risk wiping out the entire population of Amestris in order to gain immortality? I mean, surely the whole point of him gaining immortality is so that he can remain Fuhrer and rule over us forever. It wouldn’t be much fun being immortal if he was literally the only person in the country.”

Two more days had passed, and the rag-tag bunch of investigators had become a full-on research force, although they weren’t any closer to finding out what was going on in Central Command than they had been before. Every new piece of information they uncovered just seemed to be adding to the confusion without clearing anything up. 

“I mean, if the legends of Xerxes are anything to go by, then he’d get wiped out too.” Hughes brushed some peanut shells off the table and slammed down another piece of paper. “Take a look at that.”

Riza looked up at the clock; it was almost eleven but none of them showed any signs of stopping. The entire crew of Roy’s friends from Central Command were gathered in the bar, and Madam Christmas had closed up shop temporarily to allow them more space to spread out in the main area rather than everyone being cramped in the office that had been Hughes’s recovery room. Hohenheim had given him the all-clear earlier in the day, but he still hadn’t actually left the speakeasy and gone home. Gracia and Rebecca had joined the party as well, and although Madam Christmas was trying to remain as aloof from it all as she could, more concerned with keeping them all safe in the bar than with the military conspiracies going on, she was offering insights wherever she could. 

Hohenheim and Trisha had gone home. Riza hadn’t seen all that much of them since the night Hughes had been shot, and she got the impression that Hohenheim was trying to avoid everyone in the wake of what he’d had to do. Not that anyone who had been there and who knew what had happened held his strangeness against him, quite the opposite in fact; they were all extremely grateful that he’d managed to save Hughes’ life. Still, if he wanted space then they would give it to him. 

Riza craned over the others to take a read of the paper that Hughes had put down, but the writing was too small for her to make it out. 

“What is it?”

“It attributes the creation of the Philosopher’s Stone to an alchemist named Atticus, who was the King of Xerxes’ personal alchemist. But it also says that Atticus died in whatever catastrophe wiped out the rest of Xerxes, so even if Bradley does succeed in creating the Philosopher’s Stone again, it won’t leave him any better off than when he started.”

“Just another hunk of rock in an empty country waiting for some Xingese merchants to take it home to Tim Marcoh,” Roy mused, and Riza couldn’t stop herself from bursting into laughter.

“Sorry, sorry. I know it’s really not that funny. I think I need more coffee.” She extricated herself from the gaggle around the table and went over to the coffee pot. Considering the vast array of alcohol that was available behind the bar and the fact that the coffee pot had never seen all that much use before the night Hughes had been shot, it was certainly earning its keep now. They’d been refilling it almost constantly all day. 

“Hey.” 

She looked up to find that Roy had followed her over. They hadn’t really had the chance to spend all that much time together since they’d had their talk. Well, that wasn’t strictly true since they’d spent most of the intervening two days in each other’s pockets whilst trying to work out what on earth was going on in the country, but they’d always been surrounded by other people. This moment leaning on the bar was as close as they had come to having a moment to themselves. 

“Hey yourself.” She smiled at the memory of the other night. Roy had been so embarrassed when he’d woken up, and it had been sweet to see him so flustered. Naturally, she’d had to kiss him to stop his litany of apologies for falling asleep on her. 

He helped himself to another cup, draining the pot. “How are you holding up?”

“All right, I guess. It’s just so surreal that I’m having trouble believing that it’s all happening and I’m not in some kind of crazy dream. More like a nightmare, actually. How come none of this has ever come to light before? Something this big and all-encompassing, surely someone would have found something out.”

“Someone probably did,” Roy said grimly. “And that someone, and all the someones who came before and after them, probably met the same fate as Hughes would have met if he hadn’t had a handy Hohenheim around.”

“It just boggles the mind. Who would even want to be immortal in the first place? Can you imagine having to live on and watch everyone around you grow old and die?”

“I don’t think psychopaths like Bradley really see it in that way.”

“But what about his wife? Their child?”

Roy shrugged. “I don’t think he sees it that way. If you want something badly enough, then everything else falls by the wayside.” He paused. “I… No. Sorry. That’s not an appropriate train of thought.”

Riza raised an eyebrow. “Well, now you have to tell me.”

“It’s about your father. Are you sure you want to hear it?”

Riza nodded. Although her feelings for her father remained complicated, the time and space between them made it easier to look at things through a more neutral lens. She didn’t think that she was ever going to forgive him for what he had done to her, but at the same time, she was no longer wasting her energy being angry at either him or herself. He simply wasn’t worth the emotional investment she had given him for so long. 

“I was thinking that I can see certain similarities between Bradley and your father.” Roy glanced at her, but she nodded for him to continue. “There’s something about them both, that single-mindedness and that disregard for others. Your father’s desire to protect his complex array above all else, his willingness to completely destroy your life in order to achieve his own ends… I can see that same drive in Bradley, and I dread to think what would have happened to you if Hawkeye’s goal had been immortality instead of anything else.”

Riza shuddered. “Yes. When you put it like that, I can see why Mrs Bradley and Selim wouldn’t cross his mind at all. I don’t even want to think about my father being immortal. He did enough damage in the fifty-three years he had.”

Roy reached across and took her hand. He didn’t apologise; perhaps he knew better than that now. After so many years of carrying guilt around, Riza had hoped she’d made it clear that he didn’t have to anymore. 

“At least it’s over now.”

Riza nodded. “Yes. It’s over now. And in the end, I don’t think my life has been completely destroyed. I mean, it might be if Bradley does something drastic, but I can’t lay that one at my father’s door. I think that I’ve still found something good in spite of him and his disregard for everything.”

Roy smiled, and Riza could see the colour coming up in his cheeks. It was sweet to see it; the persona he wore within the military and when he was around the rest of the customers in the bar was always confident and self-assured, an easy-going ladies’ man, but Riza had known him long enough to know that the real Roy was just as flustered around her as she had been about him when she had first realised that she liked him as far more than a friend. 

They were settling now, having put the cards on the table the other night, and Riza knew that, if the circumstances in the outside world had been easier, they would have been moving ahead with the relationship without any concerns. But the circumstances were what they were, and with danger lurking in every corner, it felt premature to be making any kind of long-term plans beyond the fact that they wanted to be together right now in case they never got the chance in the future. 

Roy’s fingertips brushed her face, touching the frown line between her brows. 

“It’ll be all right.” He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Somehow, it’ll be all right.”

It wasn’t the firmest or most confident of statements, but it gave Riza some hope, and she smiled, knocking her coffee mug against his in a toast before they went back to join the others. Breda and Fuery were pouring over a book so old it was practically falling apart, and Riza wondered if it was stock from the shop upstairs. 

“Can you make out this transmutation circle?” Fuery thrust the book at him. “Armstrong doesn’t recognise it, but he thinks it’s a forbidden one.”

Roy grabbed the book and turned it this way and that, before his eyes widened.

“I think that’s for human transmutation.”

“Ah.” Breda and Fuery exchanged a worried look. Even the layman most ignorant of all things alchemic knew that human transmutation was the ultimate taboo, not just in Amestris but in general. 

“So, once we get our hands on someone who can read Ancient Xerxian, that one could prove to be a game changer,” Breda muttered. He shoved it on the ‘keep’ pile of documents, and Riza went to sit beside him and take a look at what they had so far. 

She had only just settled down when she jumped out of her skin as a pounding against the door began. It was the back door that led out into the alley with the garbage, the door that Madam Christmas brought all the booze in through; the door that would serve as their emergency exit if the speakeasy ever got raided. 

No one used that door on a regular basis, and Riza felt her blood going cold. She looked over at Madam Christmas, who, although as guarded as ever, looked genuinely concerned. She gave Riza a nod and reached under the bar, grabbing the rifle that was always kept there in case of problems and tossing it to her, and the two of them made their way through the bar towards the door. Roy followed them, pulling on his gloves and getting ready to strike. The pounding was not letting up, a steady and frantic hammering, and as tense as the noise was making her, Riza thought that the fact it wasn’t being punctuated with ‘open up in the name of the law’ and threats of the door being blown in meant that they weren’t being raided. 

“Please!” The voice was muffled through the thick wood and obscured by the constant pounding, but Riza could recognise it in an instant, and ice ran through her veins afresh. “Please let me in! Please!”

Madam Christmas unbolted the door and threw it open, catching Trisha as she fell in through the doorway. 

“Trisha? What’s going on?” Riza rushed to help her back on her feet.

“They’ve got Hohenheim!”

[thanksjro]

More Than Meets the Eye #4- Man, Talk About Timely, Huh? It’s Time for the Plague Storyline!

Issue #4 opens up with First Aid writing in his diary about the less-than-stellar working conditions at Delphi medical center, and it’s not because Ambulon caught him reading Wreckers fanfic during office hours for the eighth time this week.

So, here’s the thing: you can’t be demoted from doctor to nurse. That’s not how that goes, because doctors and nurses aren’t on the same career path ladder. A doctor can have certain accesses and privileges taken away if their performance slips, or can be moved to a different ward or transferred to another facility, but outright demotion to nurse status isn’t a THING. If anything, First Aid would be performing nurse duties to cover for the fact that Delphi seems to have a grand total of three staff members for the entire outpost. Hell, they’ve had to outsource their mental health checkups to a guy who was in orbit over Cybertron until a couple months ago.

But anyway, something’s up at Delphi, and it all started when they let a couple of Decepticon surrendering combatants inside. These two dudes were running from the Decepticon Justice Division, a group who basically super-murder any Decepticon who’s decided to do a runner from the Cause. The DJD’s base of operations is in the same general area as Delphi, which seems like maybe not the best idea for the Autobots when it came to outpost placement, but it seems to be working out pretty well for the surrendering combatants.

Pharma shows up, and is ready to throw them back outside- he’s the big boss, so he can make that kind of call- but after a little detective works they figure out that the two don’t have their t-cogs anymore, having had them removed for religious purposes. Ambulon sees them as the exact opposite of a threat because of this, not to mention him having a soft spot for surrendering ‘Cons, and manages to convince Pharma to let them stay, and also not violate the Autobot Code, Article 7, which states that all surrendering combatants must be granted safe haven. Ultra Magnus would be proud.

They lock up the Decepticons, slate them for a patch up, then things get complicated as it turns out, they’ve got a branched spark. The last time we saw a branched spark, things didn’t turn out so hot, and it looks like things have started going similarly downhill.

But enough about the horrific deaths of dozens of robots on a frozen planet, it’s time for bar shenanigans!

While Skids prepares to commit an act of violence on a droid that’s done absolutely nothing to him and is just trying to do its friggin’ job, Swerve reveals to Ratchet that he’s decided to follow his dreams after all and open a bar. He doesn’t have all the paperwork turned in yet, per se, but he’s working on it. He hands Ratchet a free drink to celebrate the off-panel event of the Lost Light having found itself on the map again, and Ratchet, who’s apparently never heard of a shot, gripes about the portioning.

Of course, he might have a bit of a point, as the drink seems to shrink more and more as he talks to Swerve about the fact that they’re both giant nerds who were subscribed to Wreckers: Declassified.

Was non-war-related entertainment just not allowed for the last four million years? No wonder the war went on for so long- everyone was so steeped in it they forgot how to function like regular people. Since the logs were beamed directly into the brain, I can only imagine the amount of physic damage that last entry caused.

The reason Ratchet’s brought up everyone’s favorite podcast is that there was a new entry last night- odd, considering that Ironfist’s been dead for a couple years at this point. It was just a series of seemingly random numbers, or at least it would have been, if Ratchet wasn’t a good doctor who kept up-to-date on his medical news.

My my, I do wonder which Wreckers: Declassified subscriber could have sent those statistics on Delphi out into the aether.

As luck would have it, the Lost Light isn’t terribly far away from Messatine at the moment, which is the planet Delphi is on. Ratchet decides it’s time to check things out.

Over in Rodimus’ very pink room, Ultra Magnus wants to have a discussion about Tailgate, and the fact that he wants to be a Decepticon. This is, obviously, a problem, considering the fact that everyone on the ship, who wasn’t stuck in some sort of hole or alternate dimension for the last six millions years, is staunchly anti-Decepticon. Magnus laments on the fact that now that the war is over, he has to start seeing people as people, as opposed to cogs in the machine. Magnus is one of those guys who functions better with structure, which the Lost Light doesn’t really have a ton of.

Rodimus tells Magnus to lighten up a bit, before he pulls something trying to bring military regulation into civilian life, and says that he’ll handle the whole Tailgate thing.

Back down on Messatine, Ratchet’s dragged Drift and Pipes of all people into his little visit to Delphi, and they’re rocking up to the scene on the MARBs- Mobile Autobot Repair Bays. This is Pipe’s first space adventure, and he’s really happy to be here!

We’ll see how he feels a little later in the day.

As the boys make their way over to the plot, Drift and Ratchet lay a bit of groundwork down for future storylines, then arrive outside Delphi to find the door locked and spray painted with a big ol’ X.

Shane McCarthy slipped James Roberts a twenty to set up a slowburn between his OC and Ratchet. Let’s see how that pays off.

Pipes decides to do a thing and crash through the entrance like a hooligan. It goes about as well as one could expect, though we do a pretty sweet and unnecessary flip from Drift out of it.

We’re going to need to soak Pipes in rubbing alcohol for a good hour.

Ratchet yells at Pipes for busting into a medical outpost that clearly wasn’t meant to be cracked open like a cold one, not to mention knocking over at least three hospital beds.

Then a sick guy shows up and Drift flips the hell out and slices up a guy so hard Pipes has to remove his visor to watch the insanity unfold.

The whole “sword murder” thing doesn’t really gel with the idea of “do no harm”, so Ratchet and Drift get into it a bit before First Aid shows up and starts drawing on Pipe’s face.

Back on the Lost Light, Rodimus is keeping his promise and dealing with Tailgate, with the help of Rewind, resident historical archivist and the guy who’s about to rock Tailgate’s fucking world in under 12 seconds.

Okay. So.

The thing about recorded history is everything has a bias. No matter how impartial the recorder attempts to be, no matter how detached, there will ALWAYS be at least a little bleedthough. Now, while it’s unlikely Rewind’s been in direct combat, because he’s friggin’ tiny and turns into a data slug, and while he doesn’t seem the patriotic type, he’s still an Autobot. He’s only been on one side of the war, so most, if all all of his archive, is built from the framework of being surrounded by Autobot mindsets and propaganda. It would appear that this isn’t the first time Rewind’s done something like this, if he already has the upload time committed to memory down to the tens decimal. If he’d been asked to do this prior to the conclusion of the war- very likely, considering it ended a few months ago- what are the odds that he was asked to frame things a little more in favor of his own team? Pretty good, I’d think.

Guys, I don’t think Tailgate is having a good time with the history lesson.

Needless to say, any concern over Tailgate wanting to be a Decepticon is pretty soundly quashed after this.

Back over with the plague plotline, First Aid gives Ratchet the rundown on the symptoms they’ve run into at Delphi.

You fucker, you got that line from Wreckers: Declassified.

Delphi hasn’t been able to call for help, because even if they didn’t have their hands full of liquified robot, communications have been out since something went off and broke pretty much everything in the outpost, general health and well-being included. First Aid suspects a dirty bomb, curtesy of the DJD. The tour of the facility ends in the medical bay proper, where Ambulon is hard at work trying to keep folks alive.

Ratchet looks over the scene, and notes that the older patients in the ward aren’t crying their literal eyeballs out. Weird, that.

Ambulon shows off their super-secret patient, who is kept in shadow for the reader, to keep the suspense going for a bit longer. Mystery patient’s been in an “everlasting coma” since he got here, and while Ambulon and Pharma don’t think anything can be done, First Aid’s willing to get weird with it.

Earlier in the issue, it was mentioned that Ambulon didn’t think First Aid took any initiative. Turns out, First Aid does, and has, just not on things Ambulon agrees with.

It was at that point that Ratchet decided he rather liked First Aid.

Back with Tailgate, he’s returned to his room to confront Cyclonus, who’s busy doing something on the computer. What exactly isn’t revealed, and never will be.

Tailgate is really cross about the fact that Cyclonus let him walk around on a ship full of Autobots claiming he wanted to be a Decepticon. Of course, it’s not like Cyclonus knew he was going to be such a loudmouth about it, otherwise maybe he would have told him to maybe NOT do that, if only to prevent his life getting further muddied up by a war he wasn’t even around for.

Tailgate’s gotten really worked up over this, because that’s just how he is as a person, and even goes so far as to punch Cyclonus in the arm in his frustration. He apologizes almost immediately, but the bear’s already been poked, unfortunately.

Oh, honeybunches, you are going to be regretting that move for the next five years.

But not before the customary “pulling away from the one guy who’ll even talk to you because you don’t know how to properly react to anything anymore" thing.

Back on Messatine, we find out where Pharma got to- he’s been locked into the quarantine room by accident, and will remain there until all technopathogens are completely dead. This will take millions of years.

That seems like poor planning for such a room.

Or, at least, it would be, if Ambulon was still running the show.

How the fuck has Ambulon survived this long without dying of stupidity?

As Ratchet starts trying to get Pharma out of his glass case of emotion, Pipes is starting to not have so much fun on his first-ever field trip.

Yaaay, space adventure!

Ratchet warns Drift not to kill Pipes- repeatedly- and Drift manages to do that, though it looks a little dodgy for a second, as he bonks the little guy on the head and knocks him out. Ratchet’s managed to get Pharma out, and Pharma immediately runs for the prison cells, saying he’s figured it out.

Ambulon carries what’s left of Pipes back to the emergency ward, and Ratchet holds the little dude’s hand while they get him hooked up to some feeds. Drift starts bleeding from the eyes. Awesome.

Enter Pharma.

Today just keeps getting better, doesn’t it?

Turns out those two Decepticons from earlier got out of their cells somehow, and they’ve got guns. Things aren’t looking too good for the Autobots.

Well, I mean, if he says it’s fine, then I guess…

Yep, our mystery patient is none other than Fortress Maximus, warden of Garrus 9, victim of Overlord, and glorified lock-pick for the Aequitas chamber. He’s looking a lot better than the last time we saw him, in that he’s got some limbs attached to that torso of his, and also eyeballs. Good for him.

[somegirlsnerdywords2]

Anime i’ve Watched

That begin with a S (Part 2)!

Yep this is how i’m going to bring over all the anime and manga i’ve watched and posted about on the old blog. It’s not so detailed but it will have to do. Anything new I watch or read from this point on will have their own posts.

Shimoneta to Iu Gainen ga Sonzai Shinai Taikutsu na Sekai:

Genres: Comedy, Ecchi, School

Synopsis:  With the introduction of strict new morality laws, Japan has become a nation cleansed of all that is obscene and impure. By monitoring citizens using special devices worn around their necks, authorities have taken extreme measures to ensure that society remains chaste. In this world of sexual suppression, Tanukichi Okuma—son of an infamous terrorist who opposed the chastity laws—has just entered high school, offering his help to the student council in order to get close to president Anna Nishikinomiya, his childhood friend and crush. Little does he know that the vice president Ayame Kajou has a secret identity: Blue Snow, a masked criminal dedicated to spreading lewd material amongst the sheltered public—and Tanukichi has caught the girl's interest due to his father's notoriety. Soon, Tanukichi is dragged into joining her organization called SOX, where he is forced to spread obscene propaganda, helping to launch an assault against the government's oppressive rule. With their school set as the first point of attack, Tanukichi will have to do the unthinkable when he realizes that their primary target is the person he admires most. [Written by MAL Rewrite]

My Rating: 7/10

Finished airing in 2015 with a total of 12 episodes. 

My Thoughts: Super pervy but surprisingly funny and somewhat enjoyable. The only character that really made me cringe hard and want to tear my eyes out and scrub my brain was Anna... she was just too much. Just no. Not one i’d suggest or am likely to watch again but if it’s your thing, go for it. 

Shingeki no Kyojin (Attack on Titan):

Genres: Action, Military, Mystery, Super Power, Drama, Fantasy, Shounen

Synopsis: Centuries ago, mankind was slaughtered to near extinction by monstrous humanoid creatures called titans, forcing humans to hide in fear behind enormous concentric walls. What makes these giants truly terrifying is that their taste for human flesh is not born out of hunger but what appears to be out of pleasure. To ensure their survival, the remnants of humanity began living within defensive barriers, resulting in one hundred years without a single titan encounter. However, that fragile calm is soon shattered when a colossal titan manages to breach the supposedly impregnable outer wall, reigniting the fight for survival against the man-eating abominations. After witnessing a horrific personal loss at the hands of the invading creatures, Eren Yeager dedicates his life to their eradication by enlisting into the Survey Corps, an elite military unit that combats the merciless humanoids outside the protection of the walls. Based on Hajime Isayama's award-winning manga, Shingeki no Kyojin follows Eren, along with his adopted sister Mikasa Ackerman and his childhood friend Armin Arlert, as they join the brutal war against the titans and race to discover a way of defeating them before the last walls are breached. [Written by MAL Rewrite]

My Rating: 9/10

Finished airing in 2013 with a total of 25 episodes. 

My Thoughts: The first season was a damn near masterpiece and it’s rise in popularity was no shock after watching it. Amazing opening theme, fitting art/ style and a pretty interesting story. This is the type of anime that i’d likely suggest to someone who isn’t actually all that interested in anime. 

Shingeki no Kyojin Season 2 (Attack on Titan Seaon 2):

Genres: Action, Military, Mystery, Super Power, Drama, Fantasy, Shounen

Synopsis:  For centuries, humanity has been hunted by giant, mysterious predators known as the Titans. Three mighty walls—Wall Maria, Rose, and Sheena—provided peace and protection for humanity for over a hundred years. That peace, however, was shattered when the Colossus Titan and Armored Titan appeared and destroyed the outermost wall, Wall Maria. Forced to retreat behind Wall Rose, humanity waited with bated breath for the Titans to reappear and destroy their safe haven once more. In Shingeki no Kyojin Season 2, Eren Yeager and others of the 104th Training Corps have just begun to become full members of the Survey Corps. As they ready themselves to face the Titans once again, their preparations are interrupted by the invasion of Wall Rose—but all is not as it seems as more mysteries are unraveled. As the Survey Corps races to save the wall, they uncover more about the invading Titans and the dark secrets of their own members. [Written by MAL Rewrite]

My Rating: 7.5/10

Finished airing in 2017 with a total of 12 episodes. 

My Thoughts: I have a very love/ hate sort of relationship with every season of this anime after the first. I still find it to be an extremely interesting anime and story that’s quite well done but certain negatives keep popping up as i’m watching, things I can’t quite ignore. Still pretty good series overall though. 

Shingeki no Kyojin Season 3 (Attack on Titan Season 3):

Genres: Action, Military, Mystery, Super Power, Drama, Fantasy, Shounen

Synopsis: Still threatened by the "Titans" that rob them of their freedom, mankind remains caged inside the two remaining walls. Efforts to eradicate these monsters continue; however, threats arise not only from the Titans beyond the walls, but from the humans within them as well. After being rescued from the Colossal and Armored Titans, Eren Yaeger devotes himself to improving his Titan form. Krista Lenz struggles to accept the loss of her friend, Captain Levi chooses Eren and his friends to form his new personal squad, and Commander Erwin Smith recovers from his injuries. All seems well for the soldiers, until the government suddenly demands custody of Eren and Krista. The Survey Corps' recent successes have drawn attention, and a familiar face from Levi's past is sent to collect the wanted soldiers. Sought after by the government, Levi and his new squad must evade their adversaries in hopes of keeping Eren and Krista safe. In Shingeki no Kyojin Season 3, Eren and his fellow soldiers are not only fighting for their survival against the terrifying Titans, but also against the terror of a far more conniving foe: humans. [Written by MAL Rewrite]

My Rating: 8/10

Finished airing in 2018 with a total of 12 episodes. 

My Thoughts: I just don’t really care for the characters... I mean I don’t hate them but that connection just isn’t there. Which may be a large part in why I don’t LOVE this series. Still, this season was a bit better than the previous one. 

Shingeki no Kyojin Season 3 Part 2 (Attack on Titan Season 3 Part 2):

Genres: Military, shounen, action, Mystery, Super Power, Drama, Fantasy

Synopsis: Seeking to restore humanity’s diminishing hope, the Survey Corps embark on a mission to retake Wall Maria, where the battle against the merciless "Titans" takes the stage once again.

Returning to the tattered Shiganshina District that was once his home, Eren Yeager and the Corps find the town oddly unoccupied by Titans. Even after the outer gate is plugged, they strangely encounter no opposition. The mission progresses smoothly until Armin Arlert, highly suspicious of the enemy's absence, discovers distressing signs of a potential scheme against them.

Shingeki no Kyojin Season 3 Part 2 follows Eren as he vows to take back everything that was once his. Alongside him, the Survey Corps strive—through countless sacrifices—to carve a path towards victory and uncover the secrets locked away in the Yeager family's basement.

[Written by MAL Rewrite]

My Rating: 9/10

Finished airing in 2019 with a total of 10 episodes. 

My Thoughts: That’s the stuff. That’s the stuff I loved about the very first season of the anime. A vast improvment from the previous two seasons in my opinion! 

Shingeki no Kyojin: Kuinaki Sentaku (Attack on Titan: No Regrets):

Genres: OVA, Action, Fantasy

Synopsis:  Many years before becoming the famed captain of the Survey Corps, a young Levi struggles to survive in the capital's garbage dump, the Underground. As the boss of his own criminal operation, Levi attempts to get by with meager earnings while aided by fellow criminals, Isabel Magnolia and Farlan Church. With little hope for the future, Levi accepts a deal from the anti-expedition faction leader Nicholas Lobov, who promises the trio citizenship aboveground if they are able to successfully assassinate Erwin Smith, a squad leader of the Survey Corps. As Levi and Erwin cross paths, Erwin acknowledges Levi's agility and skill and gives him the option to either become part of the expedition team, or be turned over to the Military Police, to atone for his crimes. Now closer to the man they are tasked to kill, the group plans to complete their mission and save themselves from a grim demise in the dim recesses of their past home. However, they are about to learn that the surface world is not as liberating as they had thought and that sometimes, freedom can come at a heavy price. Based on the popular spin-off manga of the same name, Shingeki no Kyojin: Kuinaki Sentaku illustrates the encounter between two of Shingeki no Kyojin's pivotal characters, as well as the events of the 23rd expedition beyond the walls. [Written by MAL Rewrite]

My Rating: 7/10

Finished airing in 2015 with a total of 2 episodes. 

My Thoughts: I love Levi, he’s probably the only character I really care all that much about in this series but I just didn’t love this OVA! 

[stinkyratshadowgod]

Crazy Storyline Apex Theory

(P.s: I’m reposting because Tumblr F*CKING ate my first post)

Okay in the trailer for the new event “Lost Treasures”, we see at the end that in Mila (in some way) spoke to Crypto through his drone, saying “Tae, it’s me. Be carefull! they’re watching you”. Naturally i was going to joke “Haha Mila is going to be the next Apex Legends next season lmao”. But then i stopped and thought more about it, and instead of making a joke, i decided to write a theory about why is that plausible and it’s going to be the next storyline (or maybe...this storyline)

Okay what do we know about Mila? Not much actually, she and Tae found a prediction algorithm that is directly related to the Apex Games (but we don’t know who made that and the real purpose), and then she saves it in a pen drive, leaves and is found “dead” next morning, with her brother being blamed as the killer

I know that this isn’t a lot to work with, but i think it’s enough to cook something. The name of my plate (aka theory) is “Apex is going to pull up a Winter Soldier and make Mila a brainwashed soldier (or expert Hacker) from Hammond”. You better enjoy it while it is still hot

1-Mila is still alive

Ok so why do i believe that? It’s because i believe that Mila is actually alive (even tho it’s a schrodinger cat paradox situation because shes alive and dead at the same at, and we will only know the real result when Respawn pulls her out of the “box”).

My evidences is that 1-The new trailer (lol) and 2-Shes actually pretty usefull: Shes a hacker, a good one, she was the one (with the help of Tae) to unlock the prediction programm, and she developed the system that unlock it (or at least had the knowledge that the system she found online would help unlock the algorithm). And because shes connected to the biggest hacker of the outlands, so perhaps they are going to use her to blackmail Crypto to stop going after the truth.

Respawn never explained how the brothers found the algorithm, but whatever the case is, if the sindicate would go out of their way to “eliminate” Mila and then go after her brother (but we know that this time they wanted for real kill Crypto) that must mean that the prediction algorithm must be really important, and we know why:

2-Season 4 (and the Override event)

Hammond had great interest in the Apex Games in the start of Season 4, and so they made a deal with the AG, and so Hammod brought us 1-Revenant (the best decision ever i love him but i better stop or else i will write a full essay on why i love Rev); 2-The evo shield (at least i headcannon that the evo shields are a Hammond creation in order to please the Legends), but in return they would build the planet harvester and do some promotion...it’s just me that thinks that a big company especialized in robotics (and titans) would only bring a harvester and do a propaganda to show that their hip and cool?

Even the harvester is a little weird, because: 1-The Apex Games takes ages after Titanfall 2 campaign (10 years i belive), and the war is over, so the need of building Titans wouldn’t be very necessary, yeah they can be used as heavy machinery in hazardous jobs, but the main use of the titans was military, and they already use MRVNS units to replace humans. I know that building robots and guns requires a lot of materials, but the harvester seems like a little bit of a overkill, also are we even sure that they are collecting materials for the robots? (which brings me to my next point)

2-What the heck is the planet harvester even harvesting?  By the looks of the big lazer, it looks like they are actually harvesting the core of the world edge’s planet (idk if it’s also sucking materials for robots and guns, but you never see pieces of scraps flying up with the lazer, and we don’t see a storage thing to store the minerals)

I believe the real reason that Hammond is so interested in the Apex Games is actually because of 2 mf’s: 1-Revenant (since he was killing all the Hammonds workers and those connected to the simulacrum project) and 2-Crypto, since hes the one going after their tail, and Hammond knows that Crypto has the actual powers to be a real problem to them, so they partner up with the Apex Games just to keep a closer eye to Tae Joon (and Revenant but who can blame them Rev is a real eye treat).

(Side point: While i was writting this theory, i remembered a critical point of the Override event...the rewards, the rewards you got when you gained points, and in the points reward’s menu, we see this:

At first we thought this was Rev doing, but when you think about, it doesn’t make a lot of sense since Revenant doesn’t give a crap about helping people, he just wants to kill (go you, you funky lil robot), and when you think more about it, hes couldn’t pull that off since hes not a computer specialist. The only character that could this is Crypto, but Tae A)Already knows that Hammond cannot be trusted or B)He coudn’t have predicted the partnership. My point is, Crypto also didn’t left the message (cuz it would be weird leaving a message about something that seems obivious to yourself). So the only one remaining is...Mila Mila is somewhere in the Outlands (maybe she escaped or she sneakily sended the message through the place she is being held) sending messages to Crypto.

2.5-The bunkers

You know whats weirder than The Planet Harvester? The underground holes (bunker? vaults? Its hard to use these words since they’re already taken) introduced in Season 5. In the trailer they looked like bunkers that you could open at any moment (like a trapdoor). In the release of season 5 the first thing i saw youtubers do is try to open the bunkers, they failed, and then they tried to use Loba (and they would usually fail and fall to their death, which was funny content). So i thought “Okay, maybe it’s going to be like Fortnite and with each week they are going to open one by one (and yes i play Fortnite casually, it’s actually a great and fun game), and nothing. So i ask “What is the purpose of those trapdoors?”

In the trailer of the new event, after Mila talked with Crypto through the Drone, it showed us a underground bunker opening, perhaps it’s Mila, or at least a secret base that Mila used to send Crypto the messages to warn him about Hammond. Whatever the case is, i strongly believe thats it’s going to be something related to Mila

3-The artifact and the “broken ghost”

The name “broken ghost” is actually a weird name for something that has something to with Loba, sure you can say “It actually refers to something that is going to be used against Revenant” or “It’s actually something that we are going to use to bring back Ash from the Titanfall 2 campaign” and while yes that can be the case (especially the Ash theory) i actually believe that what we’re building is a universal locator, a locator used to locate everything and everyone in the outlands. You may be asking “...okay...why?” And i tell you: “The legends don’t live together”

On what i mean by that: In a tweet sended by Tom Casiello, he told us that the legends don’t live in the dropship or in a big house like housemates  (even tho i decided that in my heart they are one big family of friends living together in a mansion, with each one of them having a room with their themes). And in the Chapter 4 of the storyline, it’s revealed that Bangalore and Lifeline live in diferent houses.

Where i am going with this is: Crypto is still living like a nomad, always running (and he even says in one of the elimination lines [“Sometimes you get tired of running, I understand, but you can't ever stop."], thus showing that even in the Apex games, hes running from the sindicate, the people who got his sister and now is after him, but as we can see, they still didn’t got him. Hammond could be building a robot (since the artifact [currently] looks like a skull, which spookes me a lil bit) that could pinpoint the exact location of Crypto and finally capture him.

Now for the most bonker part of this theory: They brainwashed Mila and turned her into a winter soldier

As i already said, Mila is actually pretty useful, not only because of her smarts, but because of the advantage that using someone that Crypto is closely familiar with could bring his downfall. So heres what i concluding: Mila gets brainwashed by Hammond in order to have someone to be a strong match against the best hacker of all the outlands and get rid of a big threat.

You may be asking “How?” and for that, i call my favorite boy:

4-Revenant (also yes this is a excuse to talk more about my main)

Rev doesn’t need a introduction, but heres one anyway: He was a hitman that at some point has died, so Hammond used his still somewhat salvageable brain to put it in a Simulacrum (in which i headcannon that at the same time they were also experimenting with some supernatural elements, but thats a theory for another day). after 200 years, during a hitjob he found out about who he really was and now here we are...do i need to say more?...really? Okay then: Hammond showed that they can brainwash simulacrums for an extensive period of time (200+ years i believe) in order to make them believe that they are actually human (even tho climbing a 15 store building, turning into a shadow and stabbing people with hands isn’t very...human). So in Rev backstory (and in the simulacrum lore) Hammond shows that they have the capacity to brainwash brains since the simulacrums are in a way cyborgs, being 99% robot and 1% human (that would be the brain btw). So using these techniques on a human would be very easy (i think?, i don’t know a lot of Simulacrums cuz they’re not real)

5-”THE broken ghost”

I want to touch upon is the name “The Broken Ghost”, i know that people believe that it’s actually Ash from Titanfall 2 (because spoilers she died), but don’t you think it’s weird that even 10 years after the main campaign, they couldn’t bring Ash back? I know that Simulacrums are diferent from robots, but couldn’t they just repaired Ash? And to answer myself: No. You see Simulacrums have an internal brain that is used to datastore information, but Rev is a special boy cuz hes handsome and his storage system is external, so in another words, when she died in the explosion caused by when a Titan is destroyed (or worse if you did an execution on her), her brain was destroyed, thus meaning that there is absolutely no way to bring her back. And yes, i just debunked the theories about how Ash is actually the broken ghost. Speaking of ghosts, that brings me on another point

6-Revenants and Ghosts

I wanna talk briefly about real life urban legends. First the Revenant myth is that a phisical deceased person who returns from the dead with an eternal rage for revenge, they are strong, smart and imortal, only leaving the world of the living when his thirst of revenge is sated (which fits very well for our baby boy Rev from Apex Legends)

And the Ghost is a spiritual deceased person who starts haunting the world of the living, sending chills down the spines of those who looks at them.

While yes their backstories are similar, their main diferences is that Revenants are corporial, and ghosts are spiritual, aka, Ghosts have the ability to dissapear and make people wonder if what they saw was real or not. Sounds familiar? If not, let me spell out for you: Mila. In the Crypto’s backstory, she suddenly dissapeared from Tae’s life, even in a surreal way since his life suddenly came crashing down overnight. And even better: If she was truly the broken ghost and got introduced in the Apex Games next season, that would really mess with Crypto’s brain, cuz his paranoia would make him wonder if his sister was back for real or not.

7-”Hold up”

-Said the handsome reader, scratching their brain (and yes i write fanfics)-”What does that mean for the future of Apex Legends and the storyline?”. I look at them, with the fire of knowledge burning through my eyes-“Let me tell you about the Winter Soldier movie from Marvel”

One key element from the Winter Soldier is that he was being brainwashed by Hidra (a Marvel version of the Nazis) and Bucky Barnes would transform into a emotionless killing machine, ready to kill the next target or those who got in his/Hidra’s way. But one thing that would turn him back into a normal human is his best friend Captain America, that through his pursue and persistence, by the end of the movies he saves Bucky from the brainwash trance and later movies he becomes Captain’s ally (and my OTP don’t @ me)

So if everything i talked about here is correct, heres what i think it’s going to happen: By the end of the storyline, it’s going to be revealed that Mila is alive, but she has been brainwashed by Hammond to kill Crypto. Even tho hes the main target and it would go against his better judgement, hes going to try save Mila from the brainwash trance, and not only that, hes going to use the help of Mirage. “Mirage?”-Asked the reader-”What the heck does Mirage have to do with an complicated story about family reunion, betrayl, saving someone from brainwash and fighting against a evil corporation?” and for that, i call Tom Casiello yet again (and a piece of Tae’s past):

8-Mirage, Casiello and a letter

In a early Season 5 tweet, Casiello confirmed that Mirage and Crypto’s story is far from done, and they would have many misadventures together, and while everybody (myself included) read it as Cryptage fuel, now i can confirm that Crypto is going to need Mirage’s help to make Mila remember who she was. You ask again ”But why Mirage?”, well, while i was researching Crypto’s page on the wiki, i found a peculiar letter that he sent for someone: “[Mystik -- I survived my first match, with only two broken ribs. Being as safe as I can, and keeping my distance. Unfortunately, the others are already asking about the Tower. The one Legend you love confronted me on the dropship. I thought he had evidence, but it turns out he’s just an idiot.There are two others here who are BIG guys. Like your son. Very intimidating. I’m sure one’s a sociopath, but I may have judged the other too soon. His name is Makoa Gibraltar, and he’s here to help Legends survive. I always chalked the Games up to neanderthals trying to prove something. Turns out some of them have a strong code of ethics. Ironically, the only neanderthal I’ve met trying to prove something… is me. Burn this letter as soon as you receive it. Will write when I can. Family forever. --TJP]” (https://apexlegends.gamepedia.com/Crypto)

Now you’re wondering “what the heck is that letter? Who is “Mystik” ”, and according to the wiki, Mystik is Crypto and Mila’s former caretakers at Ticacek Orphanage in Suotamo, aka the closest person they had to a parent. And in the letter, Crypto knows that Mirage is Mystik’s favorite legends, showing that him, Mila and their caretaker watched the Apex Games together

Thats where Mirage comes in: Crypto is going to use Mirage’s handsome and familiar face to remind Winter Soldier Mila the past, and then try to deactivate the brainwash (and headcannon, we are going to visit Angel City (the place where Mila and Tae used to live together) and collect parts of Crypto’s past and then bring it back to try make Mila remember who she was, but the FBI and Hammond is going to stop the legends)

Oh, and before you leave, ask yourself this: “How can a ghost get broken?”, now, instead of trying to find an answer, i’ll be kind enough to respond it to you (you’re welcome ;) ): Mila is the ghost that Hammond broke and put it together into Winter Soldier Mila, and then Crypto is going to have to break the ghost again to put back the right pieces

(I wanna thank everybody that somehow read everything, i do apologize if broke my english in some parts, it’s not my first language, also i would appreciate if yall could share my theory. It’s because i worked so hard on it, and it’s probably only going to receive like 10 likes and 3 reblogs. Also if you have a piece of information that could be considered important for my theory, please do let me know)

part 2 here

[miso-vicious]

RWBY Volume 7 Chapter 1 (Spoilers)

Welcome back, everyone. It’s been too long, and yet at the same time, it feels like only yesterday season 6 had ended. Now that season 7 has premiered, it has opened up a whole new world of excitement and problems for our favorite heroes. So let’s try and break down what has happened and what possibly lies in our future.

It should go without saying, but there are SPOILERS AHEAD.

Welcome To Atlas

After a whole season worth of traveling, our heroes have finally reached Atlas. While we did spend season 4 here, we only ever saw the Schnee manor. This is the first time we’ve seen Atlas in all of its glory. Only, it seems as though Atlas military has taken over the skies and grounds. Most likely due to James Ironwood’s increasing paranoia of Salem. Beacon has fallen, Haven almost fell, it stands to reason that Atlas is next on Salem’s list. Especially since Qrow forewarned him of their impending arrival. And bad luck follows this group like a dark shadow.

And it’s abundantly clear that if you aren’t lucky enough to be born into wealth, you are immediately put at the bottom of the food chain. More specifically, you live on the ground, at risk of crime and Grimm attacks. While the wealthy get to live on the tethered city in the clouds, free from land Grimm, but riddled with corruption.

This is a basic rough draft of the possible hierarchy of power in Atlas, but our information is limited. So don’t take this as fact. As you can see, Military is at the top of this pyramid. Below is Arms Makers and Scientists. This is an all encompassing of what makes Atlas one of the most powerful Kingdoms in the world due its technological and military innovations. Leaving the noble families, first and foremost the Schnee family, at bottom of this pyramid. Because while they bring in at least half of this Kingdom’s income with their Dust Company, the Ironwood had no problem cutting of trade going in and out of the Kingdom, thus cutting off the Kingdom’s and the Schnee Family’s income. But if I can say anything about that bastard Jacques Schnee, is that he isn’t going to let a military ban stop him from making his millions.

Next comes the white collar works, the blue collar workers, and finally, the bottom of the pyramid. It consists of the Dust Miners, Criminals, the Homeless, and the Faunus. Caroline Cordovin’s cold reception of Blake Belladonna in Argus is indication that Atlas is the worst place for a Faunus to be. But since most of the world is prejudice against Faunus, Atlas is a place for desperate Faunus to get work in the Dust Mines belonging to the Schnee Dust Company. Which we all know is dangerous, even life threatening, work, but no one seems to care as long as they keep getting their Dust for their war.

There Is No War In Atlas

In the opening sequence, we see a group of angry civilians yelling at one of Ironwoods propaganda messages. And when one of them throws a rock at the hologram, it glitches and reveals Jacques Schnee. This could imply that Ironwood’s paranoia has been spurred on by Jacques. If Salem were to kick down their door tomorrow, who would be the first to go? Everyone who is on the ground. Most of the military seems to be focused on protecting the main capital, where the Relic is most likely hidden. But there’s no protection for those less fortunate, and I’m sure Jacques wants it to stay that way. I guess it will be Qrow’s job to convince Ironwood that his hologram messages can’t protect these people from Salem’s flying monkeys. And now with two Relics and possibly the Winter Maiden all in the same Kingdom, Atlas is now the most dangerous place to be. With Cinder being unable to fully tap into her Fall Maiden powers (as well as her disappearance), and with Vacuo being a wasteland of sand and death, Ironwood knows that Salem’s next move will be towards Atlas.

And let’s not forget that Winter Schnee has also been drinking the kool-aid. So now the team feels less secure in calling Ironwood and Winter for aid.

And part of his paranoia, Ironwood has drones roaming the streets. They seemed to be keen on Yang’s prosthetic arm, and even took her picture. They’re most likely there to record and document any suspicious activity, people of interest, or dangerous weapons. This is a clear violation of civil liberties and right to privacy, all in the name of “protecting” the people. How would you feel if a drone took your picture because you looked “suspicious”?

And our team has a quick run in with what seems to be drunk upper crust Atlas employees, who are upset because everyone views them as the enemy. And they try to pick a fight with Blake due to her being a Faunus.

Follow The Green Light

Maria Calavera points their destination towards her Doctor’s office, the one she  originally intended to visit to fix her eyes. Dr. Pietro is apparently an Atlisian scientist who spends his spare time on the ground in his personal pharmacy, volunteering his time to help those in need. He even works along side Ironwood.

He points out the core of Ironwood’s paranoia: someone hacked into their security system, reprogrammed their military drone forces, took down their flag ships, and many people died due to this. Atlas has some of the best technological achievements, has the greatest developments in robotic based soldiers. And all of it meant nothing. Whomever hacked into their system was either a technological genius, or it was an inside job. Little do they know, it was one in the same.

It has already been established that Arthur Watts is a disgraced Atlisian scientist, as well as a doctor, and we’ve only seen glimpses into his technological feats. While the infiltration into Beacon was lead by Cinder, it’s become clear that Watts was most likely the brains behind the virus that brought down the Atlas military and the CCT tower. He also designed a new stinger for Tyrian Callow after his original one was cut off by Ruby Rose. He even created armor plating for the rest of his tail. It’s not clear what Watts’ angle is, aside from taking down the government that turned their back on him. It could be possible that Dr. Pietro might have had some run ins with Watts in the past. Some have theorized that Watts is Dr. Pietro’s son. But that might be stretching it. While season 5 focused on Cinder, Hazel, and Raven as the main villains, it seems that Watts and Tyrian will be taking the helm this time.

What’s more surprising is that he recognizes Yang’s prosthetic arm, and notes how she painted it yellow. And once Ruby stepped forward, he recognized the girls as Team RWBY.

Cut to a fight between our team and a bunch of tundra themed Grimm. Even after the grueling battle they experienced earlier that same day, they come out on top.

My Fancy Way Of Saying Hello

And we even get a beautiful reunion with our favorite Cybernetic Ginger and Ruby Rose.

We then learn that Dr. Pietro is Penny Polendina’s creator/father. He was able to retrieve her core from the wreckage of Amity Arena, and he rebuilt her. And she’s got a few new updates, including but not limited to a new hair cut, rocket legs, and laser beams. Perhaps he removed her metal cords/swords since it lead to her untimely death. It’s unclear if she is still the same Penny we remember, nor is it clear if she remembers exactly how she died. But this is the first time we’ve had one of our dead characters come back to life, so let’s try and enjoy it.

Here We Are Safe, Here We Are Free

And of course, the reunion is short lived. Penny makes a quick exit at the sound of alarms, leaving our team behind. They are arrested by A.C.E. OPs; most likely Ironwood’s personal secret police. Apparently their efforts to protect the city were illegal, since most of them aren’t actually licensed Huntsmen.

They confiscate our teams weapons, take the Relic from Ruby, and are being driven to places unknown.

Mirror Mirror, Who Can I Trust?

Now that concludes what happened in the episode, lets go into what may happen in the future. Namely, the future for the Schnee Family. Now that Weiss Schnee is back in her home Kingdom, she is bound to have a run in with her father and brother. The last she saw of them both was when her father revoked her place as heir to the Schnee Dust Company, right after hitting her. And Whitely Schnee, who played the part of her loving brother, revealed that this was the outcome he wanted all along. With Winter rejecting her place as the heir, and Weiss being removed, Whitely is now the sole heir of Schnee Dust Company. Weiss believes his betrayal is because he’s jealous of her and Winter, because he does not have the trademark Schnee semblance. Even though he claims it to be barbaric, it has to take a toll on him that Winter and Weiss are everything a Schnee should be (smart, powerful, elegant), and he is just... there. It takes more than just a head of snow white hair to make a Schnee, no matter how often Jacques must dye his own.

Even if Winter is pro military, she’s the only Schnee Weiss can trust right now. And it will be interesting to see how Jacques and Whitely have taken to Weiss disowning herself and becoming confident enough to stand up to both of them. Perhaps Whitely will finally see that fame, money, and their company mean nothing to Weiss, she would rather spend her time trying to save the world than kiss their father’s boots. Whitely coudln’t survive one day in the real world. And if he gets a real look at what Weiss has been fighting, maybe it will be all three of the Schnee children against Jacques. Some people believe that that Winter is the current Winter Maiden, hence her name. Which would explain why Ironwood keeps her at his side, since only a Maiden can access the Relics, and her powerful abilities. But I feel like it would be too obvious if it were her.

Atlas Operatives: ACE

It’s unclear if these ACE OPs will be a thorn in our team’s side throughout this season, or if they will be the support system they need. While RWBY, JNR, and Oscar try their best and have come a long way since the beginning, Qrow is the only trained Huntsmen on the team. It will be SO helpful if they had some actual Huntsmen on the team. But knowing our luck, at least one of them will either die or betray us.

Spa Day and Upgrades

RWBY and JNR are getting more than just haircuts and a new wardrobe. They’re also getting weapon upgrades. We probably won’t see them for a couple of episodes, but we got our first glimpse at Jaune’s upgrade in the opening sequence.

He’s like Steven Universe. Jaune’s first instinct isn’t to attack, it’s to deflect, assess his opponent, and protect the one’s he loves. So of course he shield got a big upgrade. Now he has what looks like the shield wall that protects Argus coming out of his own shield. Since all Jaune had to do in this fight sequence was deflect the Cyber Tooth Tiger Grimm with his new shield it for it to disintegrate, it's more than just a shield now. It will certainly give him a new edge when he combines his sword and shield in battle.

Protect Mantle

Who is she? We don’t know. We see her face plastered on posters all over the city that say “Protect Mantle”.

For those who don’t know, Mantle was once the capital of Solitas. The first large settlement made in this northern continent, due to the harsh conditions and the Grimm, it was a hard place to live. Until Atlas came to be, merging their military, governemnt, and school together, they took Mantle’s greatest minds and made one of them most powerful Kingdoms. And everyone in Mantle was left behind. “Mantle was old news- and the Kingdom of Atlas was born. A golden age of prosperity, they called it- but those left behind in Mantle would probably tell you it was the coldest winter they ever knew.” No one in Atlas cares about Mantle. Whoever this woman is, she seems to be the poster child for an uprising in Mantle.

We do see her fighting Tyrian along side Qrow, wielding a crossbow like weapon.

Due to a possible scarcity of Dust down in Mantle, she has to rely on actual bolts instead of Dust to load her weapon. And based on her fighting skills, she may have been a high Atlesian solider, maybe part of Ironwood’s inner circle, but when Ironwood turned his back on those in Mantle, she left to protect them.

On The First Day, The God of Light Created...

Finally, we have what they’re all here for. Through the power of photoshop, I’ve created an image of the Winter Maiden’s Relic: The Relic of Creation.

Of course, they would put Monty Oum’s credit in front of this Relic, since he is the creator of RWBY. And it makes sense that this would be the Relic that would be in Atlas. Atlas is known for it’s amazing innovations/creations. Perhaps, this Relic had certain influences over the Kingdom, giving them the power create things beyond imagination. Since the Relic of Knowledge isn’t a weapon at all, but a host to a being of infinite knowledge, we can only guess what lies in this Relic. Maybe if there’s another being resting in this Relic, they can help our team stop Salem. And since all that remains is Vale and Vacuo, I’ve theorized that the Relic of Choice is in Beacon (the most liberated Kingdom, who is accepting of all its citizens), and the Relic of Destruction is in Shade (the setting of the end of the Great War, and a dangerous tundra of sand).

Look Towards The Future

Here, we have our main team this season. This is the biggest group we’ve ever had. I’m looking forward to where this season will take us. If you made it to the end of my horrible rambling, I commend you. And if you have any additional information or theories to add, please tell me. I’m always interested in all things RWBY. See ya’ll next Saturday!!!

[cao-the-dreamer]

Sweet child o’ mine: Who am I, who are they

I wasn’t patient enough to wait for someone to beta-read this chapter, so forgive me if there are any mistake. But I’m so glad I finally finished it!

Time for Optimus to give Nebula a clue about her past… 

Enjoy!

(You can read it on Ao3 or Fanfiction if you prefer)

The first time he meets her, he cannot help but think how similar and yet how different she is compared to her creators.

Optimus Prime is standing in front of a wooden house — a cabin, according to Bumblebee — which blends in between the broad and twilight-like trunks of the forest, where the young girl is hiding from the world.

They are a few miles away from the place his fellow Autobots currently are, trying to settle down on this foreign planet after their arrival a week ago.

Optimus knew that there was a chance he might come across her, the little one, the miracle child, but he hadn't expected her to be aware of her origins. Her eyes pierce through the darkness of the door frame, questioning, wary, ready to fall back into the shadows should he reveal himself as a threat.

But Bumblebee hums a soothing tune, gesturing with patience, willing to prove her that his leader means no harm.

The truck takes a step back, giving her space, before getting down on one knee, making himself smaller.

Electric blue dives into dim red.

“Take your time, little one,” his deep voice is a foreign sound amongst the forest's. “I will not force you to come out if you don't want to.”

Her eyes lower, avoiding his gaze.

“I'm sorry… I don't know who I should trust anymore.”

Before he can question the eerie statement, a dark hand comes forward, pointing at the yellow scout.

“You comforted my best friend, you protected her, you threw away her loneliness and gave her a sense to her life. I’m deeply grateful that you did so. But… those two titans who were eager to destroy my planet, and yet who treated me like a precious gem, they told me who I really am, they told me you took me away from a loving father.”

“More complicated… than that,” a feminine voice whispers from his radio.

“I know. That's why you told me to wait. To wait for someone who could properly explain me what happened.”

Her stare goes back to Optimus.

“And you came.”

Then she takes a step forward, she comes into the light, and for a brief moment the faces of her creators hide her own.

But soon the illusion is gone, because even if she has the same ruby eyes of her father and the same dark skin and round shape of her mother, she is not like them.

The rage eating the warlord from the inside out is absent from her eyes.

Her gaze is not determined like her mother's.

Her shoulders are hunched and her head lowered — it is so different from her parents who always stood proudly.

She is just tired. Tired, and alone again.

He can see she has gone through a lot. Optimus doesn't know why, but his spark begs him to lean forward and welcome the child within his arms, to give her some comfort. He suppresses the urge, knowing that such a brusque and invading gesture would scare the little one off.

He nods instead, explaining that it would be a long story to tell, for he has to dig deep into the roots of the Cybertronian society to explain how her parents came to be.

“Go ahead,” she shrugs as she brutally flops onto the stairs of the porch. “I have plenty of time for storytelling.”

He cannot help but ask if she is alright.

“Fine,” she grumbles.

Her tone is a clear indicator that she is not fine, but should Optimus press the matter, he has no clue.

He still doesn’t know a single thing about her. For now, they are strangers.

Maybe later… When they will be more comfortable around each other, maybe he will try to make her speak about her.

So he pushes the thought away and he kneels, the grass brushing his plating, and Bumblebee imitates him in a cross-legged position. Then his — soothing, she discovers with surprise — his soothing voice begins the tale of an old world.

“Cybertron once was a vast empire, with dozens and dozens of colonies implanted on several planets across the galaxy. Our leaders believed that our kind was above organic species; thus they never hesitate to wipe entire populations out if their homeworld’s soil was rich in resources — and the newly free space would be used to host the ever-growing Cybertronian population. We live for millennia, sometimes millions of years; back then the deaths did not compensate the newborns, which didn’t allow a balanced population growth. It seemed like our ruthless appetite was endlessly unsatisfied, despite the empire’s immense wealth.

“Cybertron was powerful, rich and feared, but that did not mean that Cybertronians were happy. Our society was framed by a rigid system of castes: according to the body and the alt-mode you were born with, you were labelled with the corresponding caste: the politicians, the military, the intellectuals, the entertainers, the merchants, the manual workers, the priests, and the outcasts, called “the strays”. Your cast dictated your profession for the rest of your life, no matter how misfit you could feel within it. You couldn’t have a Conjunx — what you humans would call a spouse — outside of your own cast. Every cast had to face prejudices and wariness from the other parts of society — which divided us, making it almost impossible to live as a community. And by the time I was online, the upper casts, politic and military, were heavily corrupted: bribes, favours and blackmails were common things.

“Before the war, my name was not Optimus Prime, but Orion Pax. I was a historian, from the cast of the intellectuals. My work was to study the Cybertronian archives and vulgarize their content for the general public. But it was more propaganda than an actual job: many times my books were returned to me, because it did not glorify enough the system. I never liked it, but I was too young to know how to write something that would satisfy the specification of the Council, and, at the same time, would give a clear insight of our past. The Council pretended that Cybertron was better now, and that the previous ages were uncivilized and dark periods of time, but I easily knew it was a blatant lie. Easy for me, since I had all the resources available to prove the absurdity of Functionalism — but I could not speak out loud, nor could any of my fellow Transformers, because whoever disapproved the Council was sidelined, banned, and sometimes killed. The atmosphere was of ignorance and fear, making it heavy and unbearable.

“And then, one day, a book appeared. The Council tried to remove it from the book stores and forbade its distribution, but by doing so they only increased the value of the novel, and it spread out in a small amount of time. Everyone wanted to know what was so special about this particular book (some people even downloaded it directly into their brain!), and I was curious too, so I looked for it. When I found it, I immediately became fascinated.

“It was simply called Dialogues. The story, beautifully written, was about a Cybertronian, who had died in an accident, and, as he waited in the Afterspark to be judged by Primus, our god, he came across a character called “the Stranger”. Who or what they were, the reader didn’t know, only that “they were not from here”. The Stranger asked the Transformer why he was crying, and he told them that all his life he had been miserable. Again the Stranger asked why, and as they comforted him, he told them his life. Gradually it became an explanation of the Cybertronian society, fueled by the remarks of the Stranger. The more the characters spoke, the more flaws of our world were pointed out. The mech explained that freedom was a foreign concept for him, and the Stranger was outraged to hear such a thing. They told him he was free to be himself, he ought to, actually, because everyone else was taken. It was the most touching part of the book: when the Cybertronian realised that he could hope, that he could dream. But then he asked what was the point in dreaming about a better life, if he was dead. And the Stranger pronounced an iconic sentence: “Because dreams occur when one is sleeping. It is time to wake up.” And he woke up in a hospital bed.”

For a fleeting moment, he stays silent, before speaking again:

“No wonder the Council tried to get rid of this book: it was an evident criticism of the very system they promoted. Whoever had written it had signed its own death warrant �� but despite the Council’s investigations, they were never found. And the politicians were too late: the seeds of hope were sown. “It is time to wake up” became a forbidden motto, thrilling those who said it, thanks to someone who had been brave enough to shout that something was wrong.

“I wanted to meet this someone. I wanted to help them, I wanted to be part of this bravery. Thus I started to look for clues, anything that would lead me to them. I went all over the planet, I asked publishers and librarians who might have been in contact with this mysterious author. But none of them gave me an answer, denying the fact they had an acquaintance with them. I was about to give up, when a book seller from Kaon accosted me, and simply told me I should go to Zagoran.

“Zagoran is a desertic planet on the borderline of the Cybertronian Empire. It had been left untouched because it was only made of sand and barren mountains, making it “unworthy” of our leaders’ attention and unfit for Cybertronians to settle down. Only a few natives peacefully lived there, undisturbed by our expansionism.

“There were only two options. Either the book seller had given me a clue about the author's location, so I could meet them away from prying eyes; or it was a ruse from the Council, who might have noticed my researches about them, and maybe I was becoming too annoying, so they were trying to lure me away from Cybertron to kill me without any witness. But that last hypothesis was illogical: why send me on a faraway planet and waste resources in following me there, whereas there were people who easily disappeared every week? No, it was very likely that the place would lead me to the unknown writer.

“So I decided to go.”

The more he speaks, the more enthralled she becomes. It is as if Nebula can see the past through Orion Pax's eyes, and she beholds a world she doesn't know a thing about, yet who unfolds before her like the stage of a theatre.

She follows Orion Pax through his journey to Zagoran, can feel his excitement and his apprehension as his ship gets closer and closer to the planet and finally lands not far from a mountain massif.

The hot sand tickles her toes as he puts his feet on the ground. The tip of her tongue tastes the dry wind whistling around him, and she bites back a whine when the sun heating up his armour almost scorches her skin. But the sensation is quickly forgotten when he catches a glimpse of a shining object, standing at the base of a canyon.

The sun is reflecting on the plating of another Cybertronian, and Nebula is as curious as Orion about this stranger. A cloak is thrown around their shoulders, hiding their body, but everything about them is massive, and both travellers suddenly feel wary. They are even more anxious when the other robot beckons them to come closer before retreating into the canyon, but does Orion Pax have a choice? There is no turning back now.

Nebula is a simple witness, and cannot comfort him as he follows the stranger — and like his spark, her heart clenches in dread when a black bag is shoved around his head as soon as he enters the shadow of the cliffs. She feels his panic while he struggles against whoever harshly grips his wrists together and forces him down to his knees. His body is shaking and she shares the frightening hypothesis that this is a trap, and she jerks with him when another pair of hands palpate his body, looking for who knows what.

How long lasts this agonising moment, she doesn't know, but then a rumbling voice speaks.

“No tracker, no camera, no weapons. The guy is clean. You can let him go.”

Orion breathes out a sigh he has been holding — robots are able to sigh apparently — when he is released. But a firm hand stops him when he tries to take the bag off.

“The bag stays on,” the rumbling, calm voice tells him. “Now, follow us.”

He genuinely asks how he is supposed to walk if he is blind. The voice sighs and another one snickers, then Orion gasps in surprise when two callous hands scoop him up and press him against a broad chest.

“Aww,” the second voice, gravelly and deep, exclaims, “the little guy is cute when he squeaks! You look like a creator with their sparkling, bwahaha!”

Orion coughs in embarrassment while the one holding him — a femme, according to her voice — lets out an exasperated huff, before beginning to walk.

“Does this situation look like a joke to you?” and there is a warning in her tone.

“Oh, don’t worry, if the little guy tries any funny business, I’ll happily crush him. Got it, little guy?”

The smallest of the three shakily wonders what kind of situation he has got himself into while he nods and gulps.

The mech then makes an odd noise, something between a laugh and a snarl, like a wolf chuckling at a frightened dog, demanding him to go away, to leave his territory, or to submit.

So Orion submits. It's not like he can run away anyway. Not when the femme carrying him can easily smash him with her hands. He cannot see her, but he can guess she is taller than he is, or should he said huge, considering the arms supporting his weight are larger than his thighs. Each of her steps slightly shake the ground. Her thick and square fingers speak of strength, yet the powerful joints pressed against his armour are nothing but gentle and steady. He can feel the dents in the metal, a sign that her hands are used to harsh work… or more violent business.

He really, really doesn't want to think about the implications of such thoughts.

Then he notices that the air is cooler, it’s refreshing after having to cope with the burning heat of the desert. The femme turns right, turns left, turns left again — and after a moment he is so confused he cannot grasp directions any longer.

An eternity that could have been a second elapses during their walk — until she stops walking, and suddenly it seems like he is being stared at.

Anxious, he instinctively clings to her — and in response she unceremoniously drops him on the ground.

Someone snorts as he yelps in indignation then pain when he lands on his buttocks. He tries to get up despite the bag blindfolding him and he wobbles, almost losing his balance. A clawed hand catches him just in time, and sight is given back to him.

The first thing he sees is red. In the darkness of what looks like a cave, several pairs of glowing rubies warily peer at him. They stand straight, ready to strike should he do anything wrong. Their plating is dented and their paint worn, but their armor is so thick not even the strongest bullets would be able to pierce it. Some of them have cannons mounted on their back, others have guns and blades sticking out of their wrists — but all of them are covered in scars.

Orion realises in horror that he is before a pack of soldiers, beasts hardened by war — war dogs that can tear him up before he can say anything.

Despite being part of the military, one of the highest casts, soldiers are not worth more than strays. They are the tools of the expansion and the defence of the empire: they invade planets chosen by their superiors, they kill the people the strategists have decided not to spare, they guard the outposts implanted by their masters after having watched the battle from afar.

Never mind that dozens of them die on the battlefield — they are just pawns on the chessboard. They are made for violence, decimating everything, until violence claims them back.

Soldiers are almost never seen on Cybertron, if not as bodyguards — a job they are really good at — and they are so feared no one approaches them.

Are these people bodyguards too? Are they here to protect the mysterious author? It would be the most feasible explanation, yet Orion cannot shakes the feeling that he is missing something. They look old, battered by life, and at the same time there is something very young about them.

“What is your name?” a blue bot with gold accent coolly asks, his hands resting on the hilt of a long sword that can cut him in half in one swift motion.

“My designation is Orion Pax,” the historian manages to say with a steady voice, something he is proud of.

“Typical body from the intellectual cast,” the femme that carried him adds, and Primus, she is not tall she is a giant! “He fits Kat's description. He’s got nothing he can use against us. He’s either a spy or someone who genuinely wants to help.”

“I want to!” Orion exclaims, and everyone immediately stiffens, until they notice he is not speaking vehemently, but enthusiastically. “This novel, Dialogues, it was… it was something that everybody needed to read. The author was very brave to speak out loud, and I want to support them, so they can keep speaking.”

“And how would you do that?” two large, scarlet optics ask, inquisitive, only visible feature of a body hidden in the dark — and at this moment Orion regrets he has not an infrared vision.

“I am an historian. I have studied the past of Cybertron for a long time, and I want to share this knowledge… even if the Council doesn’t allow me to. That is why I am here: the writer spread hope, and if there is anything I can do to make this hope grow, if there are arguments the author needs to strengthen his ideas and resist against the Council’s propaganda… then I will not hesitate to provide them.”

The embers are closed now, reflecting upon the historian’s words. But when they open again, it is another voice that speaks, sounding strange, almost alien.

“We cannot trust you. Not yet. But if your words are true, then we will gladly accept your help. For now, go back to Cybertron. Think about the implications of such a choice. When we will decide that you are trustworthy, we will contact you again. And you will see the one you seem so keen to meet.”

When the silence comes back, Orion understands that it is time to leave. As they put the bag back and escort him toward the exit, he cannot help but feel disappointed. However, he understands that they have to take precautions — it’s survival.

He wonders how they will be able to tell that he is not a traitor, and he doesn’t feel the minuscule camera they have installed on him when they frisked him a moment earlier.

And the mysterious author is still plaguing his mind.

“Back then I didn’t know. I didn’t know that there was not one but two authors. I didn’t know they were already there, in this cave where everything began. I had seen his eyes and I had heard her voice. One was a soldier, like his brothers in arms. The other was someone who came from far away.”

Nebula is back to the present, and watches this robot full of memories, closing his eyes for a moment, trying not to get lost into the maze of his past.

“These people, one of a kind, were your parents. Megatron and Esther.”

[thingsareswinging]

Shine on: ⭐

For your audacity, and since the reaction to this chapter in particular has been unusually positive, you get: the entirety of chapter 9 of Red Hand.

I Should Have Got Up To Stand

The title of this chapter, as with every title of every chapter, comes from a song I happen to have been listening to at the time, and not bothered to think any harder about. In this case, Elton John’s Kiss The Bride.

Like 70% of my Katara/Ty Lee playlist is Elton John songs, do not even think about @ing me.

Mai pushed her broom across the immaculate floor as her boss had his breakfast. He got a lot of mail, and liked to read it with a cup of tea. He read the interesting bits out loud, which was convenient, as it saved her the trouble of learning to pick locks.

“Admiral Zhao’s armada has begun its siege of the Northern Water Tribes. Barring anything unexpected from the Avatar, who has apparently taken refuge in the city, the attack is expected to be decisive. Zhao expects to proclaim victory before the end of the week.”

He turned to his next little message, and paused, delivering his second piece of news with a degree of seriousness that had been entirely absent when he’d been discussing the imminent annihilation of a sovereign nation.

“Princess Azula has been killed, or so the Navy is reporting.”

Mai didn’t miss a beat. “A just reward for traitors to the Fire Nation.”

Master Piandao set his cup down with deliberate care, frowned slightly to himself, and fixed her with a tired look. “Mai. I killed one hundred firebenders rather than go back to the military.”

“Yes, Master.”

“I am the most wanted man on Fire Nation shores.”

“Yes, Master.”

“I know you know this.”

“Yes, Master.”

“So I know you know you don’t need to keep acting like the Minister for Propaganda in my own home.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Because, and I honestly don’t know if this matters to you at all, I find it exhausting.”

“Yes, Master.”

“As long as we’re clear.”

Master Piandao was … not what she’d expected, when she’d gone to him for employment. What she had expected wasn’t totally clear, but if she’d been pressed, she might have admitted to anticipating a dead-eyed sociopath, or an open revolutionary full of plots. What she’d been confronted with was a slightly effete weirdo who complained of headaches a lot and didn’t do much of anything, except the occasional bout of calligraphy. Though to be fair apparently the headaches thing was only when he talked to her for too long, and to be much fairer than Mai had ever been in her life she deliberately wound him up for no reason other than to stave off boredom.

She couldn’t help it, although honestly she’d never tried to. He was just so… safe. There was no menace in the man at all. She’d never even seen him pick up a sword. Maybe the real Master Piandao had been dead for years, or was an urban legend or a regular legend or a mass hallucination, and this guy was just taking advantage of a terrifying reputation. Mai could live with that. He at least made sure she kept up with world events, and she’d been careful to never ask how he knew the things he did.

Speaking of, Azula was dead, was she? Mai would reserve judgement until she’d seen a body, and even then she’d only be moved to a solid maybe.

The Zhao thing was frankly a lot more of a concern, because while nobody deserved things to be going their way less than Fire Lord Ozai, Admiral Zhao was a close second, as far as Mai was concerned.

She didn’t regret leaving, after Zuko’s fateful Agni Kai, but she occasionally wondered if she should, if only for Ty Lee’s sake.

I’ve said it elsewhere, but this scene really only exists to dilute the grim nonsense that is most of the rest of the chapter- I did like using it as the way to signal It’s Siege Of The North Time, though. Also as the way to indicate that maybe the audience shouldn’t take the fact that Azula  got drowned a couple chapters ago too seriously.

It does demonstrate a weakness in my dialogue- when I come up with these quick back-and-forth exchanges, I tend to completely drop any kind of staging.

I also like using the phrase ‘effete weirdo’ as a way of describing Master Piandao.

–

Yue knew that her life was measured in heartbeats. Had known for so long she didn’t even always recognise the odd tightness when it twisted in her chest for what it was, what choked her breathless in the dark when she couldn’t help but think of all the things she’d never do.

So it hadn’t mattered much to her when her betrothal had been decided. And probably she should hate Sokka for making her realise, making her notice how desperately, smotheringly unfair it was, how miserably unhappy she was-

-But he was so insistent and vital and trying so hard to impress her, like her opinion mattered, like she- a girl that did nothing but stay in her room every second she wasn’t reciting lines other people had written for her- was someone he had to impress.

He’d shown her the sky and he’d made her laugh and she wanted to kiss him and he didn’t know what he was doing, didn’t know she mustn’t think what he was planting in her brain when he showed her the horizon and offhandedly insinuated how easy it was to leave.

She’d almost believed him, before that horizon had suddenly been ringed in iron.

It was a bit of a challenge to try and a: give Yue a character arc in one chapter, especially considering b: I knew I was going to try and give her an internal motivation that is only barely suggested by canon, and c: she’s a naturally (or has been turned into a) passive person. First Draft Yue was markedly different, in that she was Mad As Hell. This version of the character basically didn’t survive into the actual chapter, but she gets a couple lines here and there. She mostly ended up just really resigned, which I think works better but does make me quite sad.

–

“I’ll go.”

When the plan was announced, and volunteers were asked for, she didn’t hesitate, shooting to her feet, demanding they recognise her, but she knew it was pointless the second the stunned silence fell across the hall. Of course. Of course.

She’d had to fight this whole city from the moment she’d arrived, snap and bite and claw every shred of the respect she knew she’d earned, that had been handed to Aang and Sokka without a thought, and she knew nobody in this city was going to stand up for her, and Master Pakku was going to shake his head and that was going to be that and angry tears were pricking at the corner of her eyes- 

A hand landed on her shoulder. She hadn’t noticed Sokka standing up, beside her, glowering out at the assembled crowd.

“And me,” he affirmed, daring anyone to say anything, eyes locking on to High Chief Arnook and Katara could feel herself starting to grin as to his left the Princess started to shake and Pakku scowled in irritation and Arnook blinked.

“Very well.”

It wasn’t until later, the warpaint prickling against her forehead as it dried, that she realised what she’d gotten them both into. The way Aang had looked at them, like he’d thought he could spare them any of this, had made Katara’s chest ache and wish for time enough to talk, to tell him how it had been killing her to watch him launch himself beyond the walls all day while she sat and watched, but there was work for them all to do.

She’d make time, afterwards. For now, she and Sokka had a job to do.

Did anyone notice what happened here? I had to add an entire extra day of fighting and have Arnook declare what the mission actually was about before he got volunteers (you know, like how volunteering is supposed to work, go fuck yourself, Arnook), in order for this to make sense- Katara only wants to volunteer for the mission because that way she gets a shot at either murdering Zhao, or getting a second crack at persuading Ty Lee to abscond. In canon, this scene happens before the armada arrives.

Normally I obsess over justifying how things like this deviate from canon, but I couldn’t do it here, so I just hid it behind a [and so]. Nobody appeared to notice, or at least care enough to mention it.

And Katara will always, always assume Sokka has her back.

–

These morons were all going to die, and it’d be hilarious if they weren’t also going to drag Katara down with them.

He’d thought, at first, that now he was around real warriors from a tribe that seemed to actually have thrived in the last century rather than get whittled down to a handful of idiots too stubborn to die, that he might learn something, see professionals at work.

But their chief was an idiot trusting this mission to a worse idiot, and although the embarrassment and anger still rolled around his stomach he would still consider breaking Hahn’s nose one of the more righteous things he’d ever done.

Sokka does better in the fight against Hahn than in canon. It’s not just because Hahn deserves to get his nose broken, I promise. Sokka’s escalating violence is something I’m doing on purpose, for reasons discussed below.

Except it’d gotten him kicked off the mission. Which would have been okay, because, again, they were all going to die because their idiot leader couldn’t even pronounce Zhao’s name and they were going to try to blend in-

Except Katara was still going.

He couldn’t protect her. But that, it turned out, had been true all along.

He exhaled slowly, and tried not to notice the way Yue deliberately didn’t look at him.

It was fine, it was okay, he’d deal with it the way he’d learned to deal with everything: crush it up small and wedge it somewhere it wouldn’t get in the way of doing his job.

He followed her gaze, out from the balcony of the palace, across the city, out towards where Aang had catapulted himself into the Fire Nation armada for another day of putting off the inevitable.

There wasn’t anywhere to run to, after this. That worried Sokka. This was the first time they’d been forced to stand their ground for more than an hour, and they were not doing too good at it.

Aang was just… he was so small, so disarming, everything about him screamed vulnerable and Sokka had been trying and increasingly failing to hold the kid at arm’s length all winter, not because he didn’t trust him still, but because the alternative was worrying himself sick over this kid who was currently, at this exact moment- he could see the smoke rising up over the battleships- trying to fight an armada completely by himself without hurting any of them too badly.

Katara called him a pessimist for the things he said out loud. He didn’t know the word for the feeling he got when he looked at Aang and saw a corpse that had just gotten lucky so far, but he wouldn’t voice it for all the money in Ba Sing Se.

Aang and Sokka’s relationship is so great in canon, because they have radically different opinions about the things that matter, but they get along so well all the same. But by this point, outside of Avatar State Berserk Rage, Aang hasn’t done all that much to convince Sokka he might, you know, live. This is one of the few things Season One Sokka is willing to think honestly about.

–

There wasn’t a lot to do but sit around and wait for sunset. They’d wanted to start their infiltration in the daytime, and even after Katara had explained why that was ridiculous, they hadn’t actually backed down until she’d pointed out that the full moon would make her that much stronger. Which let Hahn, in a way he probably thought was subtle, frame it like they were all waiting for her.

Sokka had hated this guy from the second he’d started talking, and Katara was beginning to trust her brother as a judge of character.

“So,” she said, offhandedly, as Hahn diligently set an edge to his machete, the rest of the men doing some other similar activities to make them look like they weren’t just killing time, “when was the last time you fought a firebender?”

It wasn’t a totally cruel question, she told herself, even as his head bent over his whetstone and his ears started to flush. If, somehow, the answer had been anything other than never, that would have been good to know. She’d seen her brother learn how to fight, in a rough kind of way, on their trip north, learned herself, but she knew she had an advantage he’d never have, and he’d learned the hard way not to charge a firebender with a spear, not if you didn’t have a fantastic plan.

But it wasn’t just Hahn that was looking uncomfortable, Katara noticed, with growing discomfort. All the men were suddenly looking a lot busier than they had a second ago, like they were afraid she was going to ask them an uncomfortable question next.

Katara suddenly had the awful realisation that she was probably the veteran in the room.

“Hahn,” she asked, more seriously than she probably meant, “was Sokka breaking your nose …the first fight you’ve ever been in?”

His lack of an answer was answer enough, but he didn’t even have the good sense to look scared, just annoyed, possibly because a girl was having an opinion where he could see it. Like all those times he’d sparred with someone who would pull him up off the ground when they won and congratulate him on a fight well fought somehow counted. Honestly, Katara and her brother had at least hunted their own food before Aang had showed up- Hahn looked the kind of pampered that only had only ever thrown spears at practise dummies.

Oh, oh this guy was going to die. He was going to die and get them all killed. If she didn’t do something about it.

Another ‘light’ scene, continuing the theme that Katara Gets No Respect In the North. Also marks the point at which Katara determined that Hahn had to live, which still irritates me. But if he died, there’d never be a point at which he realised Katara was right about everything.

–

The sun set early this time of year. Sokka guessed they should all be grateful that Admiral Zhao had been stupid or arrogant enough to attack in winter at a full moon. Firebenders got a lot less impressive at night. Not not-dangerous, but… less dangerous.

Aang had come back from beyond the wall, now the sustained assault was more manageable. Which was a result. But he’d looked even more ragged than he had at sunrise, and as Sokka fussed around making sure the kid at least drank some soup, he tried to not make a big deal out of the way Aang’s head bobbed down to his chest before jerking suddenly upwards again.

He should probably let the kid sleep. He should probably do all kinds of things.

He stood to one side, as much a part of the scenery as he could make himself, as Yue sat next to Aang and started to speak.

Sokka: oh man Aang’s going to absolutely die, so I won’t bother getting attached

Sokka, also: Aang drink some soup and make sure you go to bed on time

–

Zhao spared a cursory glance at the distant ice wall, and the soldiers being repelled from it, clearly visible under the moonlight. He wasn’t too concerned. Most of them weren’t even firebenders, only needed to keep the pressure on the defenders, keep them tired, hold them in place for the true assault.

He pulled his cloak around his shoulders, but not so close that it wouldn’t billow appropriately, and made his way carefully to the front of the small landing craft, as his hand-picked men filed in behind him. They were the best he had, for now. He’d have better soon.

He wasn’t amazed that his plan had never occurred to anyone before, but he was smugly reminded that victory was so often a matter of audacity.

Zhao grinned, and cracked his knuckles, to set the right tone. He’d originally had a longer speech planned, but Pouhai Fortress had been instructive in a lot of ways, and so he’d boiled it down to the one sentence that mattered.

“Gentlemen,” he announced, to the crowded landing craft, turning back to face his men, one foot rested dramatically on the prow in a way that would be easy to replicate for the portrait later, “prepare for infamy.”

If he had waited, coincidentally, about as long as his first draft speech would have taken, his strike force would have collided with a series of sleek Water Tribe canoes heading in the exact opposite direction. Which would have been embarrassing all round.

Zhao’s first appearance in canon has him getting beaten up by a teenager that has already been established as Not A Credible Threat. Zhao’s last appearance in canon has him getting beaten up by a lemur. Zhao gets no respect, and this is an important aspect of his character.

–

Yue sat on the warm grass, and watched Aang’s knees fold underneath him, as the tattoos on his head and peeking out beneath his sleeves filled with soft light, like one of those strange fishes that lived in the deepest parts of the ocean where the sunlight never reached.

At least this way, she’d had some part in it. If she was doomed to die to save the moon, at least this way she’d been the one to get the Spirits involved. That didn’t matter, except to her, possibly.

Across the pond where Tui and La chased each other endlessly, by the only entrance to the grotto, Sokka was standing, awkwardly, trying not to look at anything, and yeah, she got that. She-

She saw him look up suddenly, head cocked towards the entrance, and pull his machete free from its sheath with terrified urgency, as the sounds of fighting reached her ears.

Oh no.

Angry Yue makes a small appearance here, deciding that she’s going to get at least a little agency, in a way that isn’t about trying to live.

Yue makes me very sad 100% of the time.

–

“He’s not here?” Hahn proclaimed, indignantly, as Katara’s grip tightened on the front of the crewman’s coat. The crewman looked appropriately intimidated, as the ice that pinned him to the wall began to crawl up towards his throat.

“He went out, took a few landing craft with him,” he elaborated, shallow-breathed, and Katara could feel the dissonance radiating off of Hahn, the confused relief clashing with the disappointment that he had somehow managed to live this long.

“Back to the boats,” Katara snapped, turning to face the huddled warriors in their out-of-date armour. “Go. Maybe you can still catch up to him.” They couldn’t, not without Katara there to speed the canoes along, and speaking of: “I’ve still got something to do here.”

If Katara had expected Hahn to seem conflicted at the thought of leaving her on an enemy ship with no obvious way to escape, she would have been disappointed. But she hadn’t, so she wasn’t.

In the silence left in the wake of fifteen men trying not to look like they were running for their lives, Katara turned back to the gentleman who had been so cooperative earlier. He flinched under her gaze.

“I’ve already told you, the Admiral isn’t-” he protested, but Katara let her teeth show.

“I’ve got a couple other questions, actually.”

Katara’s interrogation techniques are questionable and would constitute torture in a world where frostbite exists, but I get to indulge in a little rank hypocrisy and just not talk about that, since it’s not the point of the fic. Presumably she let the guy out after asking him for directions, at which point he was killed by a fish monster, so nobody learned anything here.

–

When they told this story, in the years and decades that followed, he would ensure they got this scene right, as he burst into the grotto, the home of two Spirits that had dared come where they were not needed, his remaining soldiers at his back-

He got three strides onto the grass before there was a commotion behind him. As he turned, he saw one of his lieutenants go down, blood spraying from his neck, a young savage bearing him to the ground teeth bared in a snarl typical of his kind, but before Zhao was forced to interrupt his moment of triumph, another of his soldiers took initiative, knocking the boy to the ground with the butt of his spear, and impaling him through the stomach with the blade of it in one smooth motion.

Right. Where was he? Ah, right, triumph.

A native girl with startling hair screamed as they approached, but that was only as notable as the colour of her hair- as she was tackled to the ground before she could come within ten feet of him, Zhao’s eyes were suddenly fixed on an unexpected development.

The Avatar, lit up in pale fire like he’d been the night he’d torn Pouhai Fortress apart, cross-legged on the grass, apparently insensible. For an instant Zhao couldn’t breathe, but as the seconds ground on, it occurred to him that if the boy couldn’t hear the screaming, then he was probably safe to approach.

“An unexpected bonus,” he mused, for the benefit of- no, his lieutenant was dead, wasn’t he?- for the benefit of posterity, then. “We’ll take the brat with us. He’ll be a useful hostage, and killing him would just reset the cycle anyway.”

“Admiral, what about the girl?”

Zhao turned to see that two (it had taken that many? He despaired, he honestly did) of his men were holding the girl on her knees, one with his knife to her throat. Apparently they weren’t able to figure out the last step on their own.

“Kill her,” he instructed, hoping to convey with tone alone how much he resented them wasting his time with this kind of triviality.

As the blade flashed across her neck, he turned, satisfied that there would be no further interruptions, to the pool.

Zhao does not care about our heroes, or about his men dying, or really anything other than how cool this is going to look in the press release.

I deliberated a lot on how bloody to make this- at one point I was considering reversing the injuries, and leaving Sokka with a permanent speech impediment from a slit throat- but in the end that felt just barely more gratuitous than I was willing to go with.

–

Koh was curling around him and telling him everything he didn’t want to hear- the Spirits couldn’t help, they were in danger too, and Aang couldn’t even think about that because he had to concentrate on playing the game, keeping his temper and his face slack and suddenly the spirit howled, louder than Aang could contemplate, more sound than a mind could hold, and he was flung backwards with the weight of it and a long, impossibly strong black-and-white hand was reaching into the hollow and grabbing Aang by the scruff of his neck and wrenching him backwards, flinging him towards himself and back towards his body in a rush of wind and light and he opened his eyes.

Zhao, looming over the pool, eyes glinting with dark joy, the lifeless body of Tui dropping from his opening hand, flopping back into the water, the screaming still echoing in Aang’s head, the black and pulsing rage overtaking him as his eyes rolled over the red-armoured men filling the grotto, to Yue-

Blood spilling from her neck, falling forwards. The screams grew, welling up from the ground, the water, drowning everything else in the world.

Aang surrendered.

As he unfolded, fast, faster than he’d ever moved before, as though he could make up for being too late, Zhao turned to look, jaw dropping, and there was something in his eyes that Aang never wanted to see again. And then his arm was grabbed from behind, wrenched upwards, exposing a gap in his armour, just below the armpit, and Aang recognised Sokka just as he jammed his long knife into Zhao’s side once, twice, and pulled it back bloody before plunging it into the Admiral’s throat.

One of Sokka’s fists was black with blood, and he let the knife stay with Zhao’s body as it toppled, and Sokka sank drunkenly to his knees, hands screwed up over the hole in his stomach.

Aang didn’t remember much after that. Not until later.

A lot here.

1- Aang’s rampage getting deliberately tied to the fact that he thinks he watched Sokka die is a deliberate twist, and sets up the epilogue for this book.

2- Zhao very nearly lived to be a threat in book 2, but I nixed that almost at the last minute. In the first draft it was Katara that killed Zhao, as he tried to flee the city, in a scene that much more closely mirrored Zhao’s canon death. After that, he, as I said, almost became an antagonist in book 2, but the problem there is that a: it’s only possible to have Zhao be a semi-credible threat when he’s up against book 1 Gaang and their low levels, and also b: it futzed with Ty Lee’s character arc in ways you can probably figure out

3- This, currently, is the peak of Sokka getting his Old Ultraviolence on. I didn’t want to make it… ‘unrealistic’, and have him winning fights due to him being So Cool And Strong, You Guys, but, and I don’t think I’m surprising anyone too much here, a lot of this fic is about the expectations placed on what, in our society, would be considered children, in the context of a hundred years of no-holds-barred war. Sokka has always been kind of the Boromir of the group, doing what he thinks society needs him to do, so, knifemurder.

Season One Sokka is a much more serious cat than Season Three Sokka becomes, and that’s not a bad thing- admittedly, the humour wasn’t always to my taste, but there’s a reason it happened- by Season Three, Sokka isn’t under the same kind of (largely but not entirely self-inflicted) pressure he is in season one. He’s come to terms with letting other people share the work, and so is freer to relax a bit.

–

Yue had reduced the world down to the ten feet between her and the body of Tui. There was light, and sound, and pain, too much of all three to understand, and all she could do was drag herself forward by her fingertips and hope that she was heading in the right direction. She thought she was, but it’d be embarrassing to die crawling away from her destiny.

She couldn’t breathe but she had to force herself up and her heart rattled in her chest but she was so close and there was Sokka, sunk on his knees, unmoving, surrounded by bodies, eyes wide and white and agonised and she needed him now as she dragged herself forwards and she thought she saw him look to her but she had to drop down again, the grass against her cheek and her neck screaming across a jagged cut.

She gestured, muzzily, waving her hand towards the pool, no longer able to lift her head up off the grass, desperately hoping he’d understand, somehow.

I wanted to thank you, she thought, blearily, as the world went dark, you made me feel like a person.

His hands tangled in her coat, pushing her forward with a screech of agony- this stupid corpse she had to drag around- but her hand was trailing in the pool and if she could just find the body before her heart realised she was dead-

The final burst of Angry Yue! ‘This stupid corpse she had to drag around’ is a nod to blatantly stolen from one of my favourite fics of all time, but it’s a Homestuck fic so I figure the Venn diagram is disparate enough that I can get away with it.

Also, Sokka figures out what Yue’s trying to do pretty quick. The reason for that is because he knows the pool’s water is super good at healing. He thinks she’s trying to save herself.

–

Ty Lee was jerked out of fitful sleep by a hammering on the door, ringing iron echoing through her tiny box that Zhao still thought was a prison.

For a few blissful moments, she ignored it, buoyed up by the vague knowledge that Zhao had other things on his mind right now, but as the seconds wore on and the sounds of fighting, muffled, drifted through the outer wall, she knew it was only a matter of time before- the banging started again, quicker, and Ty Lee swung her legs over the side of her bed, and stood up, bare feet sticking slightly to the cold metal of the floor.

She slid back the peephole and blue eyes stared back.

Ty Lee was backed up away from the door in an instant, but there was a voice-

“Hi, uh… I just realised I don’t know your name?”

A voice Ty Lee recognised. She slipped back to the door, with less caution than she should, because this couldn’t be happening, right? This kind of thing didn’t happen. Not to her, anyway.

“It’s you,” she breathed. “The waterbender.”

“Yeah. I’m here because you didn’t say no.”

She hadn’t said yes either. Saying either would have required more courage than she could muster.

“I guess I didn’t,” she replied. But that didn’t make sense, nothing about this made any sense at all. She was in the guts of a battleship in the middle of a siege, and this girl was somehow here, and she was supposed to believe it was for her?

Was this about the kiss?

The thought screwed Ty Lee’s stomach up in knots, but before she could even imagine how to approach that, the girl tried the handle. It didn’t give.

“It’s locked,” Ty Lee pointed out, hopelessly. “I don’t have a key.”

“That won’t be a problem, trust me,” the waterbender responded, without a second’s hesitation, and that was it, that certainty in her voice, the same certainty she’d used to offer to take Ty Lee away, in the festival, when she’d had a real chance to get away. She’d not taken it. “You coming?”

Now? She was at sea, with Zhao on the verge of an overwhelming victory, and nowhere to run. Running now would be a terrible idea. Ty Lee was pretty sure that everything she’d ever done had been a terrible idea, though, so that balanced out?

“Okay,” she said, quietly enough that she wasn’t sure the waterbender had heard, that she could still take it back-

“Alright stand back,” -okay never mind apparently the girl was very ready to go, and as Ty Lee took half a step back frost blossomed on the hinges and they cracked and screeched and snapped, the door dropping downwards, revealing a sliver of torchlight, and a proffered hand.

Ty Lee has never been good at turning down a commanding voice and the promise of Adventure. 

I considered doing a bit where Katara couldn’t bend and didn’t know why, but that would have killed the pacing, and also made Ty Lee’s decision to go with her seem even more of a bad idea than it already looked. We all know that no moon= no waterbending, so there wasn’t a need to explain why Zhao killed a fish anywhere in the chapter.

I won’t be able to pull that kind of trick forever, assuming that at some point we will jump the rails of canon, so I’m making full use of it while I can.

–

The absence of pain was jarring, or would have been jarring if she was still alive enough to understand pain, or surprise.

Sokka was on his knees in front of her, slick with blood, eyes shining as he looked at her like a drowning man staring one last time at the sky.

I like this simile for a lot of reasons.

If he was looking at her, that meant she was real after all. She’d not been sure. But he was looking at her, had been looking at her the moment she’d met him, and that kind of constancy was reassuring. It’d been so intimidating, at first, the attention of this strange young man who’d been places and fought monsters she could hardly imagine, who’d showed her the sky and acted like there was nothing wrong with her wanting to leave, like there was nothing wrong with her wanting.

A thousand fractal futures splayed in front of her, and he was hers in none of them. If she’d still been human, she might have been disappointed.

There were… words, words she should say, but she’d never been good at marshalling them on her own and she didn’t have any now, as he looked up at her through tears and blood with an expression on his face fit to break her heart again and the part of her that was-had been-human couldn’t stand it any longer and she leaned in and kissed him before she learned why she mustn’t.

There was an awful sound in his throat as he leaned into her, and it occurred to her that he was dying. Well. If she was meddling, she might as well do it properly. Through his breath into her mouth, she concentrated.

Pull, she instructed, and his ruined organs began to thread themselves back together, blood flowed, muscles knit and skin folded back and when she was done he was as whole as she could manage. She pulled back, smiling, letting him know it’d be okay, there was nothing he could have done.

He didn’t look like he believed her. Possibly it was too much to try and tell him with a smile.

Originally, Yue got a lot more temporal in Spirit Form, but honestly it was too disorienting and not really supported by canon and, most importantly, not relevant, so it mostly vanished. The only line that survived that draft was ‘A thousand fractal futures splayed in front of her, and he was hers in none of them.’

That line survived because, real talk, it’s a contender for Favouritest Line I Ever Did Write.

An idea I wanted to get across is that Yue is now both more and less than human- she’s kind of blissed out on immortality, and doesn’t have a connection to her emotions any more. In a Discworld Death kind of way, she Thinks Sad, rather than Feels Sad.

I have no idea if Yue can heal, but I don’t care.

–

The sea was rolling, the ship was lurching, salt water was being flung across the deck, there were firebenders running this way and that -thankfully too busy to pay attention to her right now- and in the middle distance the sea had risen into the form of a giant monster that was smashing the Fire Nation fleet apart like so much driftwood, which Katara couldn’t even begin to figure out.

Katara had officially run out of options.

“Hey!” she yelled over her shoulder as she turned. “You ever fallen in freezing water?”

The girl’s eyes were saucers, terror blazing from them, fixed on the glowing titan. “What? On purpose?”

“Ever! Do you know how-” the ship convulsed, and okay, no time- “never mind! Just hold on!” she ordered, pulling the girl close, wrapping one arm around her waist, gratified to feel her arms lock around Katara in return. Good. She needed a hand free for this.

The little Sokka that lived in her hindbrain was telling her that this wasn’t the ideal moment for testing out new ideas, but it was probably this or drown or pray. Katara wasn’t good at praying, and she wasn’t keen on learning how to drown.

As the ship bucked in the wake of the monstrosity slamming a fist on a ship half a mile away, Katara sprang, launched through the air by the momentum of the rolling deck, and she felt the girl’s arms tighten around her as she reached out towards the rolling blackness of the sea and-

-and the sea reached back, and grasped her hand.

I kind of wish I’d done more with Fishmonster, but honestly, again, it would have messed up the clean parallels between Yue and Ty Lee, which I was proud of and didn’t want to risk knocking over.

The visual rolling around in my head the most here was Luke at the end of Return of the Jedi, hauling Vader to the shuttles while stormtroopers run around, not paying any attention to the main characters.

[moony-moon-blogs]

Me, Myself and I

The apple never really falls far from the tree, and children always have something that came from their parents. At the end of the day, we are made up of other people — their mannerisms, their behaviours, their beliefs. The way I smile comes from a pretty girl I saw on TV. The way I twirl my pen comes from an old friend who taught me how to do it. I am made up of millions of little moments, all stuck together to make up the person I am today. In Syria, the thing everyone has in common with their parents before them is generational trauma.

Growing up, I was never able to sleep properly at night (a civil war will do that to you) and I was accustomed to loud noises. Coming to Canada, my world finally went quiet. Not completely seeing as I was sharing a bed with my mother, grandmother and brother in my uncle’s basement, but more in the general sense. It was like diving into the water on a hot summer’s day. All the talking and screaming and laughter fades away and you're left completely in a void of calm. The water muffles everything else until you float like one of the barnacles on the reef, completely at peace. Leaving Syria was exactly like that for me. I can't say just how much I miss my home and the opportunity to be surrounded by my culture growing up, but leaving was better than being shot in the head. (Kidding! They kidnap the kids to torture their parents! Most likely I would've been held in a prison because of all my rebellious relatives. You think you have a cool aunt? My aunt commanded and monitored over 500 men in engineering projects in order to help the Syrian resistance standing at 4 foot 11 at most.)

I was told stories from my parents of their time in Syria seeing as I left when I was 8 and I wasn't expected to remember much (Spoiler alert: I did). My father, despite abandoning his family in a foreign country, liked to tell me stories. When I was smaller they were stories of markets and people, of amazing adventures that happened just around the corner, but as I grew up he told me personal stories. Things that happened to him, or around him. He wanted to share his experience growing up at home because I had that taken from me because a megalomaniac decided he needed power. He began telling me of the military takeover and how his father had him duck on the floor out of fear of getting hit with stray bullets.

My mother told me much the same and made it into a game when I was a child. Using duct tape on all the windows because if a bomb hit, we wouldn't want to be hit with stray glass. Telling me to never repeat the propaganda I heard around me, to always say exactly what a teacher told me to in school even if I didn't want to. Back then we had to repeat slogans for the government of Syria, and such patriotism was encouraged in our schools.

Childhood is always filled with games and laughter and fun. Playing hide and seek was fun too until I accidentally hid in the fake wall in my parents’ closet. They hid my father’s shotgun and safe there in case we were hurt and looters tried to break in.

Now I know what you're thinking. Why on earth do I care about all these random events that occurred ages ago? The thing about escaping from a war-torn country is that it never goes away. Your brain is always in survival mode and everything seems like a threat. A sense of hypervigilance and a sensitive fight or flight response is common amongst my family. The mental illness of being in such a state constantly was left ignored because of the stigma and bias in our communities. My father is a very sick man. He refuses to acknowledge his mental illness and has in turn made himself completely miserable. He lives alone in Abu Dhabi and works at nearly 70 years old because he doesn't know how to live. And despite not living in Syria as long as him or experiencing trauma as bad, I have that very same sense of anxious survival.

I’m getting help now and it’s important to acknowledge that I need to mind my own business. The way I see it — there are three businesses in the universe. When I am concerned with how my father treats me, or what actions he takes, I am in his business. When I am concerned over natural disasters or when I’ll die or if someone is out to get me — I am in God’s business. Every time in my life that I have felt upset or anxious or any kind of negative emotion, I have been in someone else’s business. If you are living your life and I am also living it with you, who’s over there in mine? Even if it comes from love or affection, what’s best for others is never my business. I can only know what's best for me. Accepting that reality was incredibly difficult because I have a sense of survivor’s guilt. That if someone else lived instead of me they would've been smarter or a better person and I am robbing them of such an opportunity. That I haven't experienced enough trauma or pain to compare to that of my parents. Who am I to say I have poor mental health because of the decades of normalization of war and trauma? In comparison, I have experienced nothing worth feeling bad over.

I am breaking the cycle, all of this ends with me. Should I have children (as if I don't already have enough body issues) they will never experience the constant hyper fixation and need to succeed in life. Feeling as though if they don't end up as doctors or engineers, they are not worthy of love or affection. My children will be allowed to enjoy life instead of simply fighting to survive every day. I am allowed to be selfish and put myself first because my apples are falling far away from my tree.

[youarenotthewalrus]

this article is dumb, i shouldn’t be hate-reading and you shouldn’t either but here we are so let’s do this:

We begin with a description of a platformer doing something clever and metatextual at the end. Followed by;

What this means is that the game stands in stark contrast to an industry whose products, historically speaking, rely on hijacking the reptile brains of hormone-crazed teenaged boys. In short, the history of videogames is the history of the glorification of violence.

Ah yes, who can forget such bloodthirsty products of the military-industrial complex as Pong, Tetris, Pacman or Zork?

We can debate what constitutes the first videogame, and whether it’s fair to attribute the invention of videogames to the military,

Given the contentiousness of that assertion, I should certainly hope so!

but what’s undeniable is that military engineers—ever ready to coopt, conspire with, or commission innovation from the private sector (e.g., the splitting of the atom, the invention of I.Q.)—more or less immediately recognized that videogames could be employed as a cheap substitute for teaching soldiers how to do everything from fly a plane to take out a sniper.

Kinda reductive to reduce the history of video games to FPSes in general and America’s Army in particular, doncha think?

Anyway, then we get some more waffle about how first-person shooters video games are training us to kill, before we get to the real question: given that this platformer he just finished playing did something a little artsy, can video games be art even despite the fact that were originally works of military propaganda intended to inure potential military recruits to violence? And more importantly, given that this guy seems to think the history of video games began with first person shooters, is he really qualified to answer this question?

Then we get some pointless side chatter over the claim that games are good for your brain, followed by the charge that games are addictive--despite the explicit comparison made to gambling (at “your local Native American casino,” no less), there is no discussion of lootboxes or microtransactions whatsoever, suggesting the author is not aware of specific steps which are taken to make games addictive and is just invoking vague notions of all games being addictive. None of this ever comes up again, and we promptly move back to talking about the actual game.

More specifically, Inside is what’s known as a “2D side-scroller”—meaning that you observe your figure mostly in profile in the center of your screen while a background landscape scrolling right-to-left gives the illusion of left-to-right forward motion.

Somehow, the use of the term “2D side-scroller” in quotes does not make me feel that this fellow is sufficiently familiar with video games to assess whether or not they can be art, as does the fact that he reckons that the platformer he is playing hearkens back to a 1981 shoot-em-up he remembers from his teens, which makes his apparent conviction that video games originated as first person shooters all the more baffling.

And while the world of videogames has already become a “spectator sport,” I’m unaware of any instance of the record of a videogame player’s performance becoming intellectual property, as it has in the world of chess, and in a whole array of sports. True, gamers go “professional” by attracting followers on the internet and earning ad revenue, but their play itself is not copyrighted. Games might wind up in museums (worldwide, there are at least seventeen museums dedicated to videogames), but bracketed moments of the play of particular games have not yet become value-able as art.

I invite the author to start selling unauthorized DVDs of clips from popular Twitch streamers and gaming YouTubers and see how long their lawyers allow him to entertain the notion that Let’s Plays do not constitute intellectual property.

the 2D side-scroller and its pitbull of a cousin, the first-person shooter,

???

The rest of the section is pretty unremarkable, so we move onto him complaining about lousy movie critique, then lousy video game critique, then explaining the concept of Easter eggs, then video game puzzles:

The puzzles of Limbo and Inside are more ambitious than the puzzles of most games in that their solutions often require the player to wait, or to exhibit what in psychology and education circles is known as divergent thought—for example, a corpse is a corpse, but it is also potentially a deadweight that can be used to spring a boobytrap.

Making the player wait or use an unusual object as a weight doesn’t strike me as particularly devilishly clever.

Then we get this jewel of a paragraph:

Nevertheless, puzzles themselves stand as an obstacle blocking the path of videogames’ journey from game to art. For while I might willingly suspend my disbelief long enough to accept that a boy has been tasked with jogging exhaustedly through a factory that churns out invincible blob creatures, I will find that willingness strained when I am also confronted with confounding puzzles placed in my path for no good reason. Videogames, in other words, ignore the basic tenets of internal consistency—in order to keep playing, you must suspend your disbelief, and then suspend it again, and again, and again, which means that in order to play and enjoy videogames you must also suspend the kind of critical judgment that is normally associated with art.

You heard it here, folks, accepting weird gameplay conceits means you can’t critically analyze a game.

Similarly, Easter eggs appeal only on the level of geek fetish—which is more or less the opposite of critical appreciation—and it is for this reason that I won’t address the puzzles and Easter eggs in Inside, even though they eventually lead to what some have concluded is the game’s “hidden meaning.” And this is the problem of videogames in a nutshell, because meaning in work of art is no more hidden from its beholder than the summit of a mountain is hidden from the mountain climber.

Sounds to me more like the problem is that he’s ignoring what the game itself is telling him about its plot and themes because it’s doing it in a way he finds aesthetically displeasing. I don’t know much about critical analysis but I feel like that’s not really how you should be doing it.

We then get a description of the plots of Limbo and Inside, including a decent bit of analysis marred by a bit of “murder simulator”-ism.

This is worth noting because prior to this moment the violence the boy has inflicted, either in Limbo or Inside, has been indirect—really an act of self-defense—but now the game is threatening to creep back into the usual videogame mode of affectless murder. You are given a choice: slip backward toward the wantonly horrific likes of Grand Theft Auto (1997) and Postal 2 (2003) [3] , or pause a moment and then continue on in a macabre but not morally bankrupt pursuit narrative. In this way, the player is implicated in a wryly disjointed bit of commentary on the history of gaming itself.

I mean this entirely sincerely: someone should get this guy a copy of Undertale. I think he’d enjoy it, if he could get past the idea of having to accept JRPG conventions.

Sadly, video game still aren’t art because he can list a bunch of movies that had vaguely similar elements:

From there, it’s not hard to find antecedents for Inside in both literature and film—it’s a little bit Soylent Green, a little bit Logan’s Run, a little bit The Island of Dr. Moreau, and more than a little bit Frankenstein. The imagery starts to seem familiar, too, with milieus lifted from E.T., Alien, and The Poseidon Adventure. But all this allusive flotsam becomes a bit of a disappointment, as eventually you become hard pressed to find anything in Inside that you haven’t seen inside something else.

Ezra Pound demanded that artists “make it new,” and Marcel Proust insisted that a writer is someone who invents a voice as unique as his or her fingerprint, but Inside isn’t even really trying to tell a story that hasn’t been told before. That’s a problem. Art cannot be made up wholly of references to other art. Star Wars, for example, does not come close to art because at its core it is nothing more than a pre-fab mash-up of archetypes mail-ordered from the IKEA superstore of Joseph Campbell.

I mean... why can’t art be composed solely of references to other art? Why can the whole not be more than the sum of its parts? If I take a picture of the Mona Lisa and photoshop a photo of a can of soup over her head, the resulting work is distinct from either of the originals, even though I provided no original content except the idea of sticking the two together.

Put another way, Inside could only have been designed by someone who hasn’t read Roland Barthes’s “The Death of the Author,” and hasn’t read Walter Benjamin’s “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction,” and hasn’t read T.S. Eliot’s “Tradition and the Individual Talent”—someone who hasn’t, in other words, engaged theoretically with what art is. And that, in turn, leads to the simple conclusion that on the level of its plot Inside is not trying to do what art does.

Good god this guy is snobbish.

Second, there’s still the meta-twist to consider: perhaps Inside is a game with both a text and a subtext. And perhaps a subtext can help the videogame industry evolve beyond the hyperviolence that is its womb and its crutch.

“Hyperviolent” is not exactly how I would describe Breakout or Super Mario Bros. Anyway, he then ponders the potential meaning of the evil scientists at the end of the game being stand-ins for the developers, and comes to the conclusion that...

The problem of games today is that their creators have not imagined any purpose for them greater than fun. There are exceptions to this, of course, but for the most part games equate escape with distraction—to be distracted is to be entertained, and it is good to be entertained.

Unlike the rest of popular media, of course.

The obligation of art, as Henry James described it, is to be interesting, and if you’re paying attention, that is to say, if you’re trying for more than distraction, then Inside begins to be interesting with its name, which stands in stark contrast to games like Call of Duty: Infinite Warfare and Grand Theft Auto: Vice City.

I too enjoy criticizing games for being superficial based on their titles.

Then we get some final analysis, a quote from a Raymond Carver short story I read in high school and remember mostly as something my friends in English class found homoerotic subtext in, and the claim that the goal of art is a feeling of transcendental bliss:

The much remarked-upon narrator of Raymond Carver’s classic short story, “Cathedral,” experiences such a moment as the story climaxes with a blind man helping him draw a church. “My eyes were still closed,” the narrator says. “I was in my house. I knew that. But I didn’t feel like I was inside anything.”

At its most ambitious, Inside aspires to a similar feeling. Escape in art that is not transcendence is cheap, and if you can climb beyond the foolish puzzles and the Easter eggs and the hidden meanings, you can feel, for a moment, that you are not alone on your sofa with your phone, playing a game; rather, you are somewhere else—somewhere grassy, bathed in warmth by a ray of sunlight falling from above.

And that’s nice and all but it feels like he didn’t really lead up to it.

Anyway, I spent way too much time picking through this but here we go. Final rating: 2/10, the next time you want to know if video games are art yet ask someone who actually plays them.

[toblkflys]

A Little Brain Scrub

I have a family member that believes there is no pandemic. How is that? I guess there is a whole movement that believes this. So, people are dying how? In 7 months 2 million people have died worldwide. In the same time period, there have been 10 million people in the US that tested COVID positive. What do we call this?  Of course, many people are using the TV/movie/book version like The Hot Zone, as a point of reference, “now that is what a pandemic looks like,” they say. They think if it were a real pandemic people would be “dropping like flys.” If it truly got to that point we would really be screwed worldwide. That would be worse than a pandemic, it would be an extinction event. The definition of a pandemic is “(of a disease) prevalent over a whole country or the world.” That is all it means. What about this is a pandemic is incorrect? People are getting the sickness/disease here, people are getting the same sickness/disease across the country and people are getting the sickness/disease in other countries. That fits the definition. I find nowhere in the definition, no matter which dictionary I look in, does it say “people must drop like flys.” Obviously, this group of people knows something even the scholars don’t. Speaking of, this group of people is quite a bit bigger than one would have guessed. That is disappointing. We have that many people in the country who prefer not to think for themselves. That is truly frightening. Of course, I am referring to my friends the Trumpsters.  And I was amazed or maybe I was horrified, I’m not sure which, the day after the election. I live in a nice retirement community with over 55 adults and most are quite a bit over 55. I drove down my street and several of the houses were flying their flag, nice, right? Not. They were flying them half-mast! Are you fucking kidding me? Just because Trump lost? Now that is a slap in the face to democracy and patriotism. These people think they are patriots, who tout the flag and talk about their rights and pro-America. These same people are basically shitting on the flag. They might as well burn it. Flying the flag at half-mast is not to be taken lightly. Only the president can order the flag to be flown at half-mast (and guess what Trumpsters, Trump lost and he is NOT your president).  “Those individuals and agencies that usurp authority and display the flag at half-staff on inappropriate occasions are quickly eroding the honor and reverence accorded this solemn act,” says the American Legion and I fully agree! I mean Wells Fargo is doing this as well! WTF?  What about flying the flag at half-mast is patriotic? Are they going to do it all four years? I get so angry every time I pass the neighbor’s house because I see it. It is an affront every time. I even printed out 20 flyers with the American Legion saying above on it. I wanted, and still want, to throw them all over their fence into their backyard. I wanted to tape the flyers to the windshields of their vehicles. I want to strike back or strike out.  Speaking of, have you ever noticed what vehicles Trumpsters drive? Trucks, SUVs, muscle cars and American-made sedans. It is horrible to stereotype says you, and you are right. But it is true. What vehicles are parked at rallies? What vehicles do you see all decked out with American flags, the bigger the better? Trucks, the higher the better, big tires, lots of modification, maybe they rock climb with their truck or they pull their toy hauler with their Polaris, going out to the dunes to drink beer and drive their UTVs around. Maybe they will take their guns so they can target practice because drinking beer, driving UTVs, and shooting guns all go together, especially the beer. Just sayin. I have another relative who, unfortunately, married a Trumpster (actually I have two, eye roll). They have a little boy. Dad is in the military and mom, my relative, used to be normal but now follows her husband. The little boy is obsessed with war movies and they encourage it. They bought him military gear, a helmet, a tactical vest, an ammo belt and of course a replica M4. They sent a picture of him all geared up, holding the machine gun at the ready with a scowl on his face. They think it’s cute.  What about dressing your child up like a killer is cute? But god help them, they need their guns, especially their fully automatic M16s because they hunt deer with them. Yeah. Are the deer shooting back or something? Are they that afraid of the deer that they need a fully automatic weapon? Or maybe it is the scary sounds in the wild while they are hunting. And these people teach their kids how to hold a gun and how to shoot as soon as they can. I remember my brother being taught and I was jealous I wasn’t because I was a girl. And this is patriotic. Dressing my 8-year-old like a sniper is patriotic. He will likely grow up hating Democrats and he will not really know why. He will join a survivalist group, hate queers and liberals, and believe that men are superior to women. He will shoot guns, practice being a sniper, learn hand-to-hand combat, all to be a patriot. Because that is the American way. War not peace. Force not negotiation. Show strength not compromise. Shoot first, not ask questions. That is patriotic.  Trumpsters have no idea where they were/are headed. Welcome to Jonestown, line up for your kool-aid, never mind the people in pain and dying. An incredible phenomenon. Trumpsters don’t see what is so very obvious to the rest of us. They are so sure that the sky is green because Trump said so. We look up and nope, still blue. But don’t infringe on the Trumpsters' rights to call the sky green!  It is so interesting to me because I have always been fascinated with Nazi Germany and what happened there. I have wondered what it was about Hitler that people followed with no question. I mean how can people do that? How can they not see what was happening? How could they let it happen? And now I know. I still don’t understand it but I have had the opportunity to witness how a leader mesmerizes a huge section of a country to believe anything he says no matter how irrational. How the leader can literally say and do anything and get away with it.  And they follow blindly. They listen to his propaganda. Definition,“information, especially of a biased or misleading nature, used to promote or publicize a particular political cause or point of view.” See, Hitler did this with the Jews. He villainized the Jews. It could have been anyone but he chose the Jews, lucky them. They became the enemy that everything wrong could be blamed on. There’s a shortage? It’s the Jews, they take the bread out of your child’s mouth.  And then he offers a solution. Only I can solve your Jew problem. Trump did the same thing with immigrants at first and eventually with Democrats. Now the Democrats are the downfall of the country. They are evil, horrible, liberal people. They hate god, they hate family, they hate America and want to destroy it and make America a socialist country. This is all Trump propaganda. And people listen. And they believe. Despite no proof, they don’t ask for proof. They don’t ask for examples or evidence that it is true. Like Democrats are evil and horrible. Okay. What Democrats do you, Mr. Trumpster, know who fit this bill? If they are evil and horrible they must be doing evil and horrible things, what things are they? Ask a Trumpster. Then, once the people are properly brainwashed, he proceeds to cut the country off, starts to close our borders. Hitler closed Germany’s borders, it’s called isolation. Kind of like North Korea, ever heard of it? North Korea is a good modern example of a country that has closed its borders. Not only would we keep the immigrants out, but Trump would also have kept Americans in. I believe that leaving the country would be defecting and would not be looked upon kindly in Trump’s America. Once he had all of that buttoned up and our country was “self-sufficient” he would start introducing his own police force to keep the peace. He was already headed that way. They would be deployed slowly in more and more places, eventually, there would be no local police, it would be federal and more specifically, Trump’s force. Say hello to the neo SS.  And people, through all of this the Trumpsters are clapping and holding up the American flag, which would eventually be modified to include something Trump. Their rights would be secure! They finally had a voice in Trump and he is getting things done! It’s about time that we had a real police force that came in and made everything safe and secure! It’s okay that they are everywhere with their M4s and you have to show your passport when asked. Better be safe than sorry! Since concentration camps have worked before there is no point messing with success. Put the immigrants/minorities in several which would have been built. And any outspoken Dems. In fact, herd all of the Dems up and put them in certain cities or certain parts of the city. We need to protect our white American children from the undesirables. White supremacy would reign once again. Yes, Trump would have saved this country (from democracy). The funny thing is that Trump didn’t even hide that he was a fascist or that he was promoting fascism. Dictatorial leader, severe economic and social regimentation and forcible suppression of opposition. Boom. There you go.  So, let them fly our flag at half-mast in protest. Biden and the Dems took away the Trumpsters rights to have a fascist America. They never even got to chant Hail Trump! Or maybe they did and I don’t know about it.  They have the right to disgrace the American flag. They have a right to spread a deadly disease. They have the right to purchase and use a fully automatic weapon. They have a right to vote for a dictator. They have the right to a fascist America. And I guess a serial killer has a right to kill. The rapist a right to rape. Because it’s about me, not you. And I have the right to do what I want to do because I’m free white and American. Isn’t it beautiful? Read the full article

[alexsmitposts]

American Foreign Policy: Populism’s Racist Roots America’s military adventures, domestic and foreign, have had racist components, with frightening consistency for well over two centuries. Ethnically cleansing the continent of its indigenous population of up to 10 million, allowed America to spread from Atlantic to Pacific. Once on the Pacific shore, the drive to make that ocean an “American lake” began. War with Spain in 1898, with Japan in 1941, followed by Korea and then Vietnam, America’s military history was strewn with racist stereotypes, polluting the language with terms best forgotten. The only exception has been Germany and Russia, nations of origin for much of America’s white population. There programs of demonization created a century of conflict. Though controversial, an examination of America’s role in nurturing two world wars and a half century Cold War is more than supportable, once one looks behind the fabricated historical narrative foisted on the public. With these exceptions, a major component of global policy has been not just racist propaganda. It goes much further, dehumanization of a majority of the world’s population of color and vilification of an increasingly comprehensive list of ethnicities, nationalities and religions. Trump, it seems, has taken it all to a new level, but he didn’t invent racism, not in America. He simply tapped, under the guise of “populism,” something long instilled into the psyche of a nation that was created by ethnic cleansing. One might note that the world had already been divided by the colonial powers of Portugal and Spain, in accordance with the Treaty of Tordesillas of 1494. You see, after Columbus returned from the New World, it was necessary for the Catholic powers to come to agreement or descend into conflict. It was Rodrigo Borgia, known as Pope Alexander IV, who established a meridian, dividing the planet between the two small Iberian nations. By 1580 the two nations became one and in 1588, with the destruction of the Spanish Armada, world conquest had slipped away. Still, Latin America, with the exception of Portuguese Brazil, would remain Spanish, a Latin America that included Florida, Texas, California and the entire Southwestern United States. As an aside, Spain’s northern neighbor on North America’s Pacific Coast was Russia. On March 31, Fox News, owned by Rupert Murdoch, whose real background as one of the crown princes of the Deep State known only by a very few, flashed a bizarre headline on the screen during one of their broadcasts. The show was “Fox and Friends,” where Donald Trump is a regular guest. The headline, even by Fox News standards was a serious gaff, goes as follows: “Trump Cuts US Aid to 3 Mexican Countries” Trump didn’t say this, but he had said worse. The nations referred to, El Salvador, Guatemala and Honduras, are and have been politically unstable for decades, mostly due to American interference in their governments. In 1933, Major General Smedley Butler, two-time winner of the Medal of Honor, made the following statement during a speech: “War is just a racket. A racket is best described, I believe, as something that is not what it seems to the majority of people. Only a small inside group knows what it is about. It is conducted for the benefit of the very few at the expense of the masses. I believe in adequate defense at the coastline and nothing else. If a nation comes over here to fight, then we’ll fight. The trouble with America is that when the dollar only earns 6 percent over here, then it gets restless and goes overseas to get 100 percent. Then the flag follows the dollar and the soldiers follow the flag. I wouldn’t go to war again as I have done to protect some lousy investment of the bankers. There are only two things we should fight for. One is the defense of our homes and the other is the Bill of Rights. War for any other reason is simply a racket. There isn’t a trick in the racketeering bag that the military gang is blind to. It has its “finger men” to point out enemies, its “muscle men” to destroy enemies, its “brain men” to plan war preparations, and a “Big Boss” Super-Nationalistic-Capitalism. It may seem odd for me, a military man to adopt such a comparison. Truthfulness compels me to. I spent thirty- three years and four months in active military service as a member of this country’s most agile military force, the Marine Corps. I served in all commissioned ranks from Second Lieutenant to Major-General. And during that period, I spent most of my time being a high-class muscle- man for Big Business, for Wall Street and for the Bankers. In short, I was a racketeer, a gangster for capitalism. I suspected I was just part of a racket at the time. Now I am sure of it. Like all the members of the military profession, I never had a thought of my own until I left the service. My mental faculties remained in suspended animation while I obeyed the orders of higher-ups. This is typical with everyone in the military service. I helped make Mexico, especially Tampico, safe for American oil interests in 1914. I helped make Haiti and Cuba a decent place for the National City Bank boys to collect revenues in. I helped in the raping of half a dozen Central American republics for the benefits of Wall Street. The record of racketeering is long. I helped purify Nicaragua for the international banking house of Brown Brothers in 1909-1912 (where have I heard that name before?). I brought light to the Dominican Republic for American sugar interests in 1916. In China I helped to see to it that Standard Oil went its way unmolested. During those years, I had, as the boys in the back room would say, a swell racket. Looking back on it, I feel that I could have given Al Capone a few hints. The best he could do was to operate his racket in three districts. I operated on three continents.” Butler may have been the only 20th century military commander ever to speak out openly with the exception of General George Patton. Crushing the military careers of each became a major goal of Washington’s “fat backside” ruling order. Butler was, at one time, put under arrest for citing an incident where Italy’s Fascist leader Benito Mussolini ran down a child with his automobile, thinking little or nothing of it. You see, Mussolini was quite popular in Washington as was Adolf Hitler, Time Magazine’s “Man of the Year” in 1940. Patton, sharing the title of “America’s Greatest General” with Robert E. Lee, was repeatedly removed from command and, in all probability assassinated, most likely for his open defense of the German people who he was ordered to starve to death under American occupation. With Mexico, South and Central America, the air of racism that now floods Washington, wildly inaccurate stories about massed assaults on America’s Southern border, are little more than a distraction from America’s targeting of nation after nation in that region, a follow up to America’s dismal failures in Afghanistan and Syria. When we add this to fake reports of “no go zones” in America’s cities where imaginary Sharia Law is enforced by an Islamic population made up largely of business owners and highly educated professionals, the majority of whom are conservatives with ties to Trump’s own party, and the newfound war on, well whom? One might ask why the continual focus on transsexuals. In 70 years, I haven’t knowingly met one yet I am warned, on a daily basis, of the threat they pose to my moral wellbeing. For those of us, the “baby boomers,” born during or after the Second World War, born in an America that was over 90% “whites only,” few accurately remember the highly charged atmosphere of our youth, race hatred and fear permeated everything. “Good negroes” swept our floors, cleaned our homes, those of us, and I was hardly one of “those,” who could afford such things. The “rest,” were purported to be “layabouts” or violent criminals. Few of us ever met these criminals who did exist, but not in the numbers or under the circumstances alleged. In fact, the most radically racist states, Montana, Wyoming, Nebraska, Kansas, I could add a dozen more to the list, had no African American population whatsoever. What residents of these Red States knew then and know now is based on what they see on television. A reminder, much of what is on television or even the print media, is made up by people working for Rupert Murdoch. In fact, Donald Trump watches nothing that isn’t Rupert Murdoch approved. Donald Trump doesn’t read anything at all, ever. Conclusion A question, can we look back to 9/11 as a watershed event, replacing the hatred of African Americans with fear and hatred of Muslims? Was this done to polarize a sector of America voters, one sector motivated by fear and hate, while other sectors drown in ambivalence and hopelessness? Is this how America is ruled, though fear and racism fed “populism?”

[baltics4engbergs]

Thursday: A Jewish History Tour of Vilnius

OK, be ready -- I am sure this will be my longest post. 

On Thursday morning, my dad and I had an appointment with Daniel Gurevich of Jerulita Tours, for a day-long tour to begin at 10 a.m. We were getting going that morning--serving breakfast of thick yogurt with jam, hearty bread left by Jurgita, and nectarines – and Daniel let us know he’d be ten minutes late.  That was fine.  It turned out that those extra minutes let us get a bit more prepared because we’d be heading out into a very rainy day. Not the best weather for a walking tour, but, luckily, Daniel sort of switched up the order of the tour, and we did a driving part first. I had found Daniel’s company online before we left and he seemed reasonably priced and I ran his tour past a woman who I’ve been working with on our family genealogy, who had done some touring in the Baltics.  She thought he seemed solid, so we scheduled the tour. Of course, since we’d had an hour and a half with Nathalie at the Tolerance Center the night before, we had some background information, but Daniel’s insights really added nuance to what Nathalie had said, given that his age, religiosity, and life history were very different and impacted his message. Daniel first took us, in his sparkly dark blue Prius, up to the hill of the Three Crosses (Plikasis kalnas) and from that vantage, even in the diminishing rain and mist, we could see an excellent vista of the city, and he was able to point to many important secular and religious buildings, charting the historical progression of the city before our eyes.  He also pointed out the historical walls of the city and the “barbican,” the barrier/barricade wall of the city.  He identified the Gediminas Tower, built by the Grand Duke of Lithuania who was the founder of the city  in the year 1322.  Daniel was able to point out the opera and ballet theater to me, which I was interested in, and the location of our apartment and the location of the old synagogue, the current synagogue, the presidential palace (their president is a woman, in her second term – and we learned that when a president is elected, he or she must leave her or his political party, to affect impartiality). When we were atop that hill, the rain really abated, and we learned about Daniel’s biography, and his family history and ties to Lithuania.  His grandmother was a Holocaust survivor from Kaunas, another major Jewish city in Lithuania, and she actually escaped to Kazakhstan by train the day of the invasion (June 22, 1941), which was the day after her high school graduation and party.  Her parents died of illness during the travel, but she was taken in as a household employee by a family there, and stayed through the war, and then made her way back to Lithuania, looking for surviving relatives.  We learned that Daniel himself – who is a few years younger than me and has two sons who go to the public school that is the Jewish school, in which only 50% of the children are Jewish (and I am not sure even how many of the those fulfill the more orthodox definition of “Jewish”)—lived in Israel for a while at the age of 18, as did his parents, but he came back after they had returned because he missed his home country of Lithuania. His father started Jerulita tours twenty years ago. From the top of the hill, we drove down, went to a gas station for some coffee (figuring out both the bathroom and the espresso machine’s buttons proved almost too challenging for us, haha), and then we went to the Paneriai memorial, which memorializes the 70,000 Jewish people killed in the forest of Ponary, starting in 1941.  For whatever it’s worth, by the time we got to the outskirts of Vilnius where the Ponary forest is, the weather had improved and it was sunny and warm.  The ground was wet, as was the whole forest.  So, the story of Ponary is this: Jews from the small ghetto in Vilnius started to be taken to the forest by truck in July, 1941, a mere few weeks after the Germans entered Lithuania. The Germans didn’t have a large number of soldiers in Vilnius to carry out the shooting of the Jews, given the large numbers they needed to eliminate, so they used local Lithuanians to do some of the shooting, and since anti-Semitism had long existed, and had been further  fostered by the Germans and their propaganda, the Lithuanians were fine with playing this role.  There are many political complexities here, regarding Russian control versus German control and who the ethnic Lithuanians preferred, but I will leave that out for now.  Suffice to say, most of the Jews killed in the forest were killed by Lithuanians who were working with and on behalf of the German military.  These Lithuanians never had to pay any price for this role and were integrated back into the society after the war and some people knew—and some did not know—who had served in this way. So, the reason Ponary was chosen was because the Russians has already been in this forest excavating these huge pits for fuel oil tanks, but they never got to that point in their project.  So, when a Nazi was charged with the role of finding a suitable place for the shootings of the Jews, this site was chosen because it was somewhat remote and had these huge pits, seven of them.  Now, the forest is really close to people’s houses, like suburban houses, which were there in the early 1940s, so, given that on average it took 1.5 bullets to kill a person, and there were 100,000 people killed in the forest (70,000 Jews and 30,000 others), it is likely that nearby people heard gunfire regularly in 1941 and again in 1943.  Not many killings happened there in 1942. Jews (and, as I mentioned, thousands of non-Jews, too) were taken into forest, lined up on the edge of a pit, and shot, then the bodies would tumble into the pit, be sprinkled with lime, and then another group would follow. A few people apparently were merely wounded and escaped – about 60 people.  Some of these people returned to Vilnius and told of what was happening.  In 1941, no one believed them, that this was even possible. By 1943, the Nazis realized there were too many bodies in these mass graves, so around eighty Jews were enlisted to exhume the corpses and arrange to burn them, using the wood from the trees in the forest, building pyramids of wood, bodies, wood, bodies, wood, etc. In one pit, there had been 26,000 bodies.  Apparently, when Germany was defeated and this area was entered, the forest was very thin and brown.  There had been so much traffic into there between 1941 and 1943 and so many of the trees had been cut down to be used for the fires.  Now, what I show in the pictures of this area is relatively new growth trees. So, as you can see, I can tell this story about what happened in this forest and to the Jews of Vilnius matter-of-factly, I guess you’d say, but it is just inconceivable, something of fiction, that this actually happened, like really happened.  The way that people can villainize, motivated by centuries-old xenophobia, their very own neighbors, to the degree that happened in the Holocaust is really something we still to this day find brain-bendingly befuddling. Relatedly, how people can not even believe what is happening to their own community, is just a testament to another aspect of the human condition.  So, here are the two Janus faces of the condition: we believe that people will, in the end, be good and that people cannot possibly be as evil as we imagine in a nightmare, but, the fact is, that people really can be, even with the smallest push, be just as evil as the nightmares that just seem too awful. So, this whole trip we’re on now was of course organized around a conference I have to go to in London next week.  But, Eric and I had long wanted to visit the Baltics, and I was motivated in the early trip-planning stages to learn more about my Lithuanian ancestry. On my dad’s side, I have four great-grandparents, three of whom were born in the Litvak region (Lithuanian Jewish), which was part of the Russian Pale of Settlement, the regions where Jews were pushed into during the period of Russian control.  My dad’s Grandpa Sam is the one about whom I’d been able to find out the most, followed by his wife, my great-grandma Celia (for whom Cece is named).  So, Grandpa Sam was one of seven children, which included two sets of twins.  He was a twin, and then there was another set of boy twins.  With some professional genealogical help, I was able to determine that one of Sam’s brothers, Yudel, survived the war, as did his wife, and are buried in Vilnius – more on that later.  But, the other siblings, we do not know their fate.  They are not listed in the Yad Vashem (the Holocaust memorial and research center in Israel) database and we have not found evidence of them elsewhere from after the war.  They might have left Lithuania somehow, or they might have died before the war, in the ghetto, or from a gunshot wound in a pit in the Ponary forest.  We just do not at this point know. My Grandma Celia’s family was from one hour from Vilnius, in a town that is now in Belarus: Radun.  The Jews of Radun were also shot in a forest outside town.  I was unaware before this day-tour that early in the efforts to exterminate Jews, bullets were used, but of course, given the huge numbers of Jews that needed to be exterminated, shooting them just didn’t turn out to be efficient.  So, this is why other options were employed after the Germans had dealt with the Baltic Jews; I am sure you all know what these “other options” were. Anyway, back to what we did yesterday: we also visit Snipiskis, which was called Snipishok in Yiddish, which is a part of Vilnius, on the other side of the river from the Old Town, which was a little village of Jewish people.  The houses that stand now in Snipiskis, interspersed with new highrise apartment buildings and office towers, are over a hundred years old.  Grandpa Sam’s family was from Snipiskis, so it was really emotionally resonant to see these homes, though we don’t know his family’s precise address. We finally got to do a walking tour of the Jewish quarters of the city when the sun was out.  It was really interesting, of course, but not as emotionally impactful as the earlier parts of the day.  Seriously, I absorbed so much information yesterday that it was pretty exhausting.  It was really meaningful to be with my dad for this whole Vilnius aspect of our trip, as learning about his grandfather’s home city and about the Jewish community there is something he never imagined he’d do. We ended our day by driving out to the only cemetery that still exists that has graves from the post-WWII period, because we knew Yudel and Riveka Bengis were buried there, as he died in 1962 and she died in 1974. But, the cemetery manager was not there, so we were out of luck, as we could not look through all 6700 plots for the Hebrew letters spelling “Bengis.”  But, we retuned to the graveyard this morning, so I will tell more about this in my next post. Our day with Daniel was so full, and as I said, so full of information – my head was kind of spinning and I could not calibrate really the gravity of all of the horror that happened in the sites in which I was standing with the easy, comfortable experience I was having being able to tour those sites, thousands of miles away from my own safe home in the U.S., a trip that the privileges that have come down my ancestral line to me – descending from diasporic individual travelers like my Grandpa Sam in 1911—made possible. To quickly tie this long post up, we all went to Bistro 18 for dinner and it was so, so delicious.  I ate a massive bowl of asparagus risotto that was probably an unsafe temperature for my innards to digest, but it was so good and I was famished.  The kids were catered to with “long noodles” (i.e. spaghetti) and fruit and juice.  All of us had something we really loved.  When we were leaving, the rain came back with a vengeance, so we ducked into an alcove on the old street we were on, and there opened a door! We were welcomed into a little shop, the proprietor of which was a woman about my age, and it was, of all things, a custom-clothing children’s shop with everything designed and made in Lithuania, and there were Brio trains and Legos there for kids to play with.  During the torrential downpour, we stayed there, talking to this amazing entrepreneurial woman, and we even bought a few of her awesome kids’ pieces.  What serendipity. After, my dad and Alia went out for some beers and I went home – trying to get ready for bed, but quickly realized that the dryer I was so happy to see really is more of a time-suck that a convenience-offerer.  So, I stayed up until 1, and then slept very little because while Cece has ceased being a chatterbox night-owl, she’s been a nagging-coughing night-owl, so we did what we could do –cuddling, milk, teaspoons of jam—to try to quell her cough and all get some shut-eye.

[cwnerd12]

The Newcomer

The Newcomer Laura talks to a video conference with David, Lawrence, Anthony, John, and Michael, “I have tried calling for Council, and Wayne has refused me! Even if he accepted, I don’t have time! The Christian Wolves of Mizpah are attacking my military headquarters as we speak! If I don’t get additional support, and get it now, I am going to be overthrown!” Lawrence, “I commend the job you have done bringing order to Moab, Laura, but given your country’s history, perhaps this is inevitable.” Laura, “It will not be inevitable if I get the support I need!" Lawrence, "Yes, but how much more support are you going to need?" John, "Samaria is sending support." David, "As is Gilboa.” Michael, “And Gath." Lawrence, “I’m not sending Edomians to die for a lost cause.” Laura, “Moab is not a lost cause! It will be a stable country! Damian Meyer could have been a great king, if he'd have gotten an ounce of military support, but you let him fall!” David speaks up, “I believe that the CWM is currently being supported by Ammon, just as it was in the past. Princess Grace agrees with my assessment that King Wayne is trying to push his father’s beliefs and agenda into other countries. If Moab falls, Edom could be next.” Lawrence, “Edom can stand on its own, without outside support!” Anthony, speaking up nervously, “I agree with Lawrence. It isn’t worth sending Aramian soldiers.” Laura, "You are siding with these terrorists! Your failure to act will forever be a part of your legacy-” There's a sudden loud noise outside Laura’s door. A swarm of security guys hurry in, one says, “Ma'am, we have to get you to a secure location!" David, "Laura?" Her feed goes blank. Lawrence sighs, “That'll be the last time we hear from her." David stands up.

David bursts into Abby and Michelle’s new residence at the palace. Abby, usually dressed and very heavily pregnant, and she, Jack Jessie are putting the last touches on the baby-proofing. David bursts in, “Abby!” Abby, “You’re the king, but you’re still supposed to knock.” David, “Abby, Laura’s about to be overthrown, and I have to go to Moab to stop it.” Abby grows more serious, “They know you’re coming, right?” David, “Yes!” Jack, “CWM again?” David, “Yes.” Jack, “Is Wayne behind it?” David, “Probably, but he’s not saying anything!” Jessie, “David, you can’t leave, the baby’s almost here.” David, “The due date is two weeks away!” Jessie, “Babies arrive on their own schedule! You came a week early!” David, “It’s kind of an emergency, Mom!” Abby, “What do I need to do?” David, “Lawrence and Anthony are still denying support, do you think you can work on them?” Abby, “I can try. I honestly don't know what I can do.” Jack, “Lawrence will never budge, and Anthony will do whatever Lawrence dies.” Abby, “What about the CWM themselves, are they saying anything? Are there any hostages?” Jessie, “You need to be relaxing!” Abby, “David’s right, this is kind of an emergency. We have to deal with it.” Jessie sighs and knits her eyebrows in concern, “I don’t like it when you just run into these things.” David, “Laura is our closest ally, and if she gets overthrown, we are beyond fucked!” Jessie, “Language!” David, “If we don’t deal with this now, it’s gonna make it a lot harder for me and Abby to be parents!” Abby, “David, you go get on a plane. I’ll get everything set up we we can talk when you’re on the way.” David, “Jack can look after Abby while I’m gone, okay?” Jack, “Yeah, I’ll be here.” Jessie nods, “You do what you have to do.”

David, Shay, and Joel sit in the cabin of David’s royal plane, while Jack, Asher, and Abby join in on video. They all watch a video of Duncan Penzak, the young, blonde, and handsome man calling himself the leader of the Christian Wolves of Mizpah. Penzak, “I call on the Christian men of the world to join me. The time has come to overthrow Queen Laura Wall. The Christian Wolves of Mizpah takes responsibility for the recent bombing attacks…” Jack, “He looks like you.” David, “What? He’s blonde, but I don’t see anything else.” Jack, “More than that.” David, "What's his name, again?” Abby, "Duncan Penzak.” David, "And what's his deal? Has he like… done anything heroic?” Abby, “Robbed some banks, made a big show of it.” David rolls his eyes, “It’s not heroic if you’re the only person with a gun.” Penzak, “As Christians, we ask, what must be done? Queen Laura has perverted God’s perfect, natural order by leading a country. She misleads us with the lies of feminism, humanism, and progressivism.” Asher, “Huh. They’re appealing to their base, not going for popularism.” David, “Yeah, so?” Asher, “When Warner and the Christian Front were fighting for control of Ammon, they gained support from the public by basing much of their rhetoric on the fact that Allen White was a terrible king. People supported the heroes who were fighting for a better future. Once you agree to that, the fundamentalism becomes much more palatable. People will put up with authoritarianism if it means they have a job and a government that looks after their needs. CWM is skipping all that and going straight for the fringe.” David, “So what does that mean?” Asher shrugs, “Probably that they don’t need popular support in Moab. Their support is coming in from elsewhere.” Joel, “They’re sending their propaganda outside of Moab. They’re seeking, bored, disaffected, and insecure men looking for meaning in their lives and something to fight for.” David, “That’s what Amal did.” Joel, “Same shit, different asshole.” Asher, “Extremists are all the same, no matter their religion.” Penzak, “We must resist! We must demand that our leaders honor God! We must demand our authority as men! The time has come for Queen Laura to be removed!” Jack, “He’s copying you! Ashdod! W-when you interrupted Dad!” He pulls up a video of David on his phone, “We must resist! We must demand honesty from our leaders…” Abby, “I wrote that fucking speech. Do they know they’re plagiarizing a woman?”

The plane lands in Moab. David, Joel, and Shay get led through a building on an army base. An army officer leads them into a room where Laura waits for them, “Your Majesty, King David is here to see you.” Laura gets up and greets David with a tight hug, “Oh my god, David.” As she hugs him, she’s overcome for a moment, and she wipes her eyes as she steps back, “They’ve taken the palace. I just barely made it out alive.” David, “We will drive them out, okay?” Laura shakes her head, “I know my country. I know its history. I’m lucky to have made it this long.” David, “Don’t talk like that!” Laura, “If it comes down to it, I want Steven to go back to Gilboa with you.” David, “What?” Laura, “Steven will go to Gilboa where he can live out the rest of his life in safety, but I’m not going into exile. I will die before I let Moab fall.” David, “Laura, that’s not going to happen, do you hear me? I can’t lose you as an ally, and I’m staying here with you, okay?” Laura, “Don’t be stupid, David.” Joel speaks up, “Hey, we took care of the Amalekites, we can handle the CWM. The big thing is gonna be getting Penzak.” Shay, “You were smart, calling us. CWM took over your palace. We spent a long time trying to do the same thing.

Jack sits in Abby's office, Abby waits on the phone, “King David is in Moab right now. It’s vital that King Lawrence grant immediate aide… Yes… Yes... I understand, but…” she sighs heavily, "Okay thank you.” She slams the phone down, "What the fuck is Lawrence even up to, playing golf?” Jack, “You know it’s just a dead end, right?" Abby, “Yes, but I need to keep trying." Jack, "Abby, seriously, you’ve been at it for hours, there's nothing you can do." Abby, "I have to do something.” Jack, “No you don’t. Not to sound like too much of a bitch, but Jessie’s kind right. If there’s nothing for you to do, you should be relaxing.” Abby gives him a dirty look. Jack, "How the fuck are you going to survive three months of maternity leave?” Abby, “It’s hard to relax when there’s shit happening! How the fuck do you relax?” Jack, “My good friend, reality TV.” Abby, “You had a traumatic brain injury, and you still rot what’s left of your brain with that?” Jack, “Helped me survive the hospital. I get a migraine, it distracts me. I watch someone else's problems.”

David, Shay, Joel, Laura, Steven (who is an officer in the army now and wearing army fatigues), and Laura’s military advisors watch a team of Queens of Gilboa fighting in a wing of the palace. David scrutinizes the image of a CWM fighter, “Are- are they wearing fucking jackets?” Shay squints and looks closer, “Yeah. It looks like they are.” Laura, “Good God, where are they getting jackets?” David, "They're copying the AFG." Shay, “They can't even be original. How fucking lame." David, to Laura, “Do you have any long-term plans? How are you going to deal with these guys after this?” Laura, “I’m just trying to survive this.” David, “How were they operating before? Did they always have a leader?" Laura sighs, “They've always been loose, but organized. They’ve had a few generals that we’ve managed to take care of, but none of them seemed to love the spotlight the way Penzak does.” Joel, "Are you trying to take him alive?" Laura, “These men make martyrs of themselves so well. I’m sure he wants to die. I hate to give him what he wants.” David, "What would you do, if you caught him alive?” Laura, "Put him on trial. Show the world he's a criminal, not some brilliant leader." Shay, “He’s not a brilliant leader. He’s copying David. Do you know how dumb David is most of the time?” David, “I think we can catch him, but… it's gonna take some risks.” Laura, "What kind of risks?" David, “Penzak is going to want to do something glorious, something that makes him famous.” Shay, “So what, do we send a tank in there?” David, “Something close,” he glances over at Steven, “If we send Steven, he won’t be able to resist it.” Laura, “I am not doing that!" David, “We don’t send him in alone!” he turns to David, "You're an officer now, right?” Steven, “Yeah.” David, “Send him in as the leader of a unit, like he's just there to fight. Say his name over the radio a few times, make sure it’s clear he’s there.”  Everyone exchanges nervous looks. Laura shudders, “I don't like this idea." David goes on, “The tank thing, I did that by myself, and I was fucking lucky, but my luck definitely ran out. I made it out alive because I had Shay with me. We send in Steven and keep him well-covered, we can take Penzak alive.” Laura, "David, I know you rely on heroics-” David, “These guys are trying to be heroes. Sometimes you gotta remind people who they're dealing with." Steven, “I can do it." Laura shakes her head, “No. No, I can’t do that," she goes over to David and puts her hands on his shoulders, "David, you're going to be a parent very soon. I was a mother long before I was a queen. Steven is the one thing I care about more than my country. This is why I want him going back to Gilboa with you!” David, "He won't be going in alone I have been burned, shot, stabbed, poisoned, and hit with a car, and I'm standing here today because I’ve always had someone covering me. Penzak seems to think he can be a hero all by himself. That's how we're gonna take him down.” Steven approaches Laura, “Mom, if there’s anyone who can get me through this safely, it’s David.” David, “Actually, it’s Shay. And he’s going to have both of us." Laura shudders, "I- I can’t watch it. I can't be in the room with you. But I trust you.” Steven, "I know the layout of the palace, where all the hiding places and potential traps are. I know where we can lure Penzak.”

Jack and Abby sit watching TV and eating ice cream. Abby, "I don't get it, why are they all trying to marry him?” Jack, "He's a millionaire." Abby, "So? No amount of money is worth a lifetime of bad dick." Jack, "You're a lesbian. What do you know about dick?" Abby, "I know what your sister does with a strap-on." Jack, "Oh my god, I’m traumatized! Already traumatized!” Abby, "Besides, I was married once, remember?" Jack, “Yeah. Norman. Why the fuck did you marry him?” Abby, "Why the fuck were you dating Katrina Ghent? It's what my parents wanted. He didn't seem that bad at first. Ha came from a rich family, and my dad said he had a good career in front of him. Turns out he didn't like having a wife wanted a good career, too." She makes a face, “So many men just want a mommy they can fuck on demand,” she pats her baby, "Not this baby, though. He's gonna know how to do his own damn laundry.” Jack, "Michelle doesn't know laundry." Abby, “Exactly, why do you think I’m making sure my kid knows how to do it?” Jack, "You know, maybe I went wrong in looking in the wrong direction. I should have married you." Abby, “What?!” Jack, “We get along. We’re parents. I go fuck David, you go fuck Michelle. Easy.” Abby laughs, "No way. I’m not nearly pretty enough. Rose would never let me marry you.” Jack, “Mom was very desperate. Would you say no?” Abby, “Probably not.” Jack, “I’m better than most straight guys. I know where the clitoris is.” Abby grimaces and puts a hand on her belly. Jack, "You okay?” Abby, “Yeah, I just-” her expression falls, “Oh, fuck. Fuck me." Jack, "What?" Abby, “Goddamnit! Of course it's gonna happen right now!” Jack, “Oh my god, are you in labor?" Abby, "You're gonna need someone to clean your couch."  

David, Shay, Joel, Laura, and her generals sit tensely watching a firefight on their TVs. Steven’s voice, “We’ve got pretty heavy resistance!” Shay, “Do you need reinforcements?” On screen, Steven shoots down a CWM fighter. Steven, “I think we’ve got it.” Shay nods, “Hang in there, Lieutenant Fletcher.” David’s phone buzzes. He takes it out, looks at it: MICHELLE. David, “Shit.” He stands up, “I have to take this.” Shay, “Make it short. We’re almost in position.” David steps into an isolated spot and speaks quietly, “Hey, what's up?” Michelle answers, standing on the outside of hospital room, “Hey, uh, Abby's kind of in labor." David, "What?" Michelle, "She's dilated at only one centimeter.” David, “What does that mean?" Michelle, “It means that the cervix usually expands at once centimeter per hour. It takes six hours for you to get from Mizpah to Shiloh. If you leave right now, you might make it in time.” David, “I….” He struggles to think of the right words. Michelle, “Can you leave?” David, “I can’t discuss it over the phone.” Michelle, “Okay.” David, "Tell Abby-” Michelle, "David, you do what you need to do. Whatever happens, happens.” David, “I want to be there." Michelle, "I know you do." David, “I- I…” he falters, “I have to go.” Michelle, “I’ll call you if anything happens.” David, “Yeah. Okay.” Michelle, “Bye.” David, “Bye.” His hand drops to his side. Behind him, Shay appears, “David?” He glances back at her, as if snapping out of a trance. Shay, “Everything okay?” David, “Let’s get Penzak.”

Abby lays in the hospital bed, groaning, gritting her teeth, and squeezing Jack’s hand, “Oh my god, where is the fucking epidural?!” Michelle, “They’re getting the medicine and the anesthesiologist. It’s going to take a little while.” Abby, “I’m about to deliver the anesthesiologist’s future king!” Michelle, “And you’re in here earlier than we expected. It usually takes a half hour for the medicine to arrive, and then another half hour for the anesthesiologist to arrive after that.” Abby, “Motherfucker!” She clenches down on Jack’s hand, and Jack cries out with pain, “Aaah!” Abby, panting, “Michelle, call Lawrence.” Michelle, “What?” Abby, “Take my phone and call King Lawrence.” Michelle, “Why?” Abby, “So help me God, I am going to get Edomian aid to Moab!” Cut to: Lawrence’s POV on a tablet screen: Abby in a hospital gown, sitting on the edge of her bed, with an anesthesiologist swabbing her back down, “I’m sterilizing the area to prevent any infection.” In his office, Lawrence watches it all on a tablet, “Good god, I was told you were at the hospital, I didn’t believe you were actually in labor!” Abby, “Yeah, and David’s not here because he’s in Moab, stopping a coup without your fucking help!” Anesthesiologist, “You’re gonna feel a little pinch, that’s the local anesthetic numbing you up before I insert the big needle.” Lawrence, “This is obscene!” Abby, “Yeah, it’s obscene that you’re actively fucking up this child’s future!” Lawrence, “It’s too late. It’s too far into the crisis, any support I send now will be completely useless.” Abby, “Even if the crisis is fully averted, long-term support is going to be critical! Laura’s position as queen has to be secured and made safe, and any remaining CWM cells and operatives eliminated!” Lawrence, “I am not sending my troops to stay in Moab indefinitely!” Abby, “Motherfucker! Aaaaagh!” She grimaces with another contraction. Lawrence, “Are you all right, Minister Benjamin-Hatch?” Anesthesiologist, “Okay, I think I can stick the epidural needle in, now.” Abby re-gains control of herself with a loud moan, “Sending support now ensures that there will be no further need in the future! Moab is unstable because it has never been given stability! Stability in Moab means stability is Gilboa, which means this baby won’t miss the glorious birth of his first child because he’s still fighting the Christian fucking Wolves of Mizpah! Stability in Moab can only benefit Edom politically and economically!” Anesthesiologist, “You’re gonna have to be still so I get get the needle in the right way.” Lawrence, “You are in no condition to be negotiating right now.” Abby, “I’m not negotiating shit, I am stating facts! Laura is the most successful and beloved monarch that Moab has had in its existence, and she’s still not as popular has fatherhood has made David! If David misses the birth of his heir, and Laura still gets overthrown, he will go to every major news outlet in North America and spell it out explicitly, this is all Lawrence Merritt’s fucking fault! King Lawrence does not give a shit! He sits in his palace signing let them eat cake while the world crumbles around him! David will speak to the people of Edom, and the people of Edom will be fucking pissed!” Lawrence, trying to hide the fact that he’s shook, “David can’t possibly inspire a revolt in Edom.” Abby, “Wanna bet?” She doubles over and cries out in pain, “Mother fucker, put the fucking needle in!” Anesthesiologist, “Hold still!” The anesthesiologist jams the needle into Abby’s spine, and pushes the plunger on the syringe. Lawrence sighs and looks away awkwardly. Anesthesiologist, “You should be feeling it now, but it’ll take about fifteen minutes for the full effect. If you still feel pain, we can give you more.” Abby, sighing with relief, “Thank you.” Lawrence, “If David succeeds in defending Laura… IF he succeeds… I will consider sending Edomian troops to help secure stability in Moab.” Abby, “I’m not considering anything, either you will or you won’t.” Lawrence, “If David succeeds.” Abby, “You’ll send support!” Lawrence, “I will send support!” Abby, “So now I can give birth knowing that this isn’t a problem my child will have to be dealing with.” Lawrence, “Yes. I’m going to leave you now to deliver your child. You have my warmest congratulations.” He shuts the stream off. Jack, “Holy shit!” Abby falls back into he bed, smiling and panting with relief, “Okay. Now let’s get this baby out of me.” Michelle, “Probably still gonna be a while.” Abby, “Fuck!”

At the base, David and the others all watch tensely. Steven and two other soldiers stand outside the door of a long hallway. David, "You ready, Captain Fletcher?" Steven, “I’m ready.” David glances over at Laura, who suddens and nods. David, "Okay. Let's secure the next target." Steven, “Moving in." He leads his two men into the hallway. The hallway is long and fancy, with black and white tiles, fountains, plants, high ceilings, and decorative skylights. Slowly, Cautiously, they inch down the hallways, wary of any sudden movement. Suddenly, Two CWM fighters burst in at the end of the hallway, firing away. Steven and his men return fire. One of Steven's men fas wounded, and then the other. Steven dives behind a statue, still firing. The CWM fighters move to corner him, filling the statue with holes, sending shards of marble flying. Eventually, Steven drops his gun and holds his hands up in surrender. At the base, Laura looks over at David, distraught, “David!” David, “Hold on.” The two CWM fighters slowly approach Steven, grinning ear to ear. A door at the other end of the hallway opens, and Duncan Penzak comes strutting in. He approaches Steven, gloating over him, “My, my, my. God certainly is good to us today.” David, “Now.” Suddenly, the glass above their heads shatters, and teams of Queens of Gilboa come rappelling in through the skylights. Steven’s two “wounded” men spring to their feet and disarm the two CWM fighters. While Penzak is distracted, Steven tackles him, takes his gun, and points it at his head. Steven, "I got Penzak!" Laura has to sit down, overcome with relief. David grins, "Good going, Steven. Bring him in.” Shay comes up behind David and pats him on the back, “Good going man.” David, “I'd be dead seven times over if I didn't have you covering me.” Shay, “What was that call earlier?” David, “Uh, it was Michelle. Abby’s in labor.” Shay, “Are you fucking kidding me? What are you still doing here?" David, "Had to make sure the mission is successful.” Shay, “It's fucking successful! Go!” David, "The palace isn't fully secured yet." Shay, "It's just mopping up now, Joel and I can handle that!”  

Abby lies in her hospital bed, Jack and Michelle at her sides, a doctor checking on her dilation. Abby whines, “Uuuugh, can I push yet?” Doctor, “You’re at six centimeters. Two more to go.” Michelle, “You are doing so good.” Jack’s phone dings. He looks at it, “David is on the plane!” Abby, “Is he gonna make it?” Michelle, “Uh, if your labor slows, maybe.” Abby, “Oh, fuck it, I want this baby out of me!” Doctor, “When you’re fully dilated!”

(“Welcome to the World” Kevin Rudolf) Penzak forlornly gets photographed at the military base, now a prisoner in custody. Behind the camera, Shay and Joel laugh and smirk at him. Joel, “Cheer up, bro. You're gonna be famous.”

Laura surveys the damage in the throne room: it’s a mess, but fixable. Most importantly, it's still hers. Steven appears at her side. Laura smiles at him, bursting wit pride, and he grins back at her.

On his airplane, in the dark, his face illuminated by the screen of his phone, David watches with bated breath.

In her hospital room, Michelle and Jack both hold on to Abby’s hands. Doctor, “Just one more push!” Abby takes in a deep breath and lets out a ferocious roar.

David watches. He covers his face with his hand. The sound of a baby dying comes over the phone. The doctor says, “A healthy baby boy!” David throws his head back, overcome with joy and amazement.

Abby looks on in astonishment as the doctor places the baby in her arms. Michelle coos, “Hi, Daniel! Hi!” Jack is too overwhelmed to say anything. Abby gazes down at her new son awe-struck, “Hi! Hi!” Michelle, softly, “Daniel Seth.” Abby laughs, joyous tears in her eyes.

David walks down the hallway of the hospital. Jack comes running up to him, and they embrace each other with a long, tight hug, both of them laughing deliriously.

Jack leads David into the delivery room. Abby sits in bed, holding the baby, Michelle at her side. They both look up as Jack and David enter. Abby beams, “Hi, Dad.” David approaches, completely awe-struck. Abby, "He looks like you!” Gently, David reaches out his arms, and Abby hands the baby over to him. Slowly David backs down into a chair, transfixed by the face of his new son. David, “Abby… Abby, he’s perfect.” Abby laughs and wipes a happy tear from her eye, “Yeah.” David glances back at Jack, and they both share tired smiles. David looks back down at the baby, softly murmuring, “Hi, Daniel, hi…”