#less obvious than in other series; here they still operate by the same rules but it's obfuscated by everyone being ''''''weird'''''' still

[unproduciblesmackdown]

handshake w/anyone framed as "abnormal" but once again [trans] handshake [autistic] the way this is so parallel to me continually taking all winston's material in stride and in earnest as just more regular stuff that's probably even extra appealing, then be left to piece together that we're also all supposed to have always taken it all as a joke in the first place

[daisybeewrites]

Academy Blues — Prologue

word count: 1.8k

warnings: not any for this chapter

ship: Dousy, background Fitzsimmons and Philinda

okay y’all.. here it is. the first installment of my first LONG TERM SERIES!!!!!! ahhhh i’m so excited. literally i cant wait to continue this and see where it takes me. i have an idea and a few different planning sheets, but honestly i have no idea where exactly this will end up. i love each and single one of you <3 thank you for reading!! this is also posted on Ao3, and linked in the masterlist.

Daisy hated the sound of the bells at The Academy. Screeching, awful, way too loud, the bells were the bane of her existence. They all wore standard-issue watches from the lab that monitored vitals and gave them reminders, and also told the time, for god’s sake! Fitz had even modified hers so that she could play snake on the tiny watch face! There was no need for the bells to be so excruciatingly disruptive. Though, Daisy guessed, there were many things more tortuous than bells ringing every hour and fifteen minutes.

Daisy slowed to a jog, cutting her morning run short. The bright side to being a third-year was that you chose your schedule, for the most part, and that meant Daisy had a free first period for four out of five days of classes. She usually spent this free period getting an extra hour in at the gym, boxing or sparring with Mack or Bobbi, two fourth years that had reluctantly taken her under their wings, or sleeping in. She reserved sleeping in for especially rough nights where visions of ashes and earthquakes and lightning returned time and time again, no matter how many deep breaths she took or sheep she counted.

But this morning was not one of those mornings. She had been up before sunrise, a little before her usual alarm and silently headed out of her dorm for a run. It was humid this time of year on most Virginia mornings, but never so hot that it made Daisy feel as if she was being smothered. The cooler air chilled her sweaty skin, her chest rising and falling as she jogged up the three flights of steps to the second years’ dorms. Down one long hallway, and she arrived at her room.

Daisy had been given her own room at the start of last year, complete with poly-adaptic-proto-whatever panels, which she had painted a pastel shade of purple, to compliment the greens of her cacti and the dark purples and blacks of everything else in her room. Even May had agreed that the stark white was too ”psych wing” for a bedroom. Daisy was grateful for the space, but considering the panels and the private room were only necessary since...

She shuddered. Grabbing her shower caddy, Daisy set off to the bathroom at the opposite end of the hall, hoping no one else was spending a free first period at the dorms.

Her shoulder-length waves were wet from bouncing against her neck, and starting to become annoying now that the sweat had dried and was starting to itch. Picking the white tiled shower furthest away from the door, Daisy quickly turned the water on, checked the temperature, pulled her sports bra and shorts off and hopped into the shower. Shampoo, condition, soap body, rinse. Checking her watch, Daisy found that she had showered in record time, less than three minutes. After spending another five just enjoying the hot water, she hopped out and changed into her class clothes.

Dark purple leggings, Coulson’s grey vintage SHIELD tee and a pair of white running sneakers she had “borrowed” from Jemma completed her look. Passing the mirrors, Daisy tried not to glance at herself. If her hair was messy or her undereye bags a bit too dark, she didn’t want to know. Instead, she headed back to her room to pack her bag for the day.

SHIELD-issued laptop, extra hard drives and a charger, Advanced CS 3: Ethical Hacking: Theory and Application, Advanced CS 4: Secrets of The Coding Languages, Physics notebook, an essay that was three days late on some boring book about international laws, and her sparring gear were all thrown into the black bag. She gave a second glance at the Russian notebooks Bobbi had loaned to her, promising that she’d learn without taking the class. Oh well, she still had all of this term to start. Plus, would she ever really need more than the dirty words?

One look at the alarm clock that sat on her dark hardwood night table showed that she still had almost forty-five minutes before she had to be in the computer lab. Sitting down on her bed, Daisy ran a hand over the grey blanket May had given her.

Daisy’s relationship with May and Coulson had been something of a problem with other students when she first got here. Some had been okay with the obvious paternal love Coulson showed for Daisy, showing her around and checking up on her, scheduling lunch dates and reminding her of tests. May was more subtle, texting her links to tai chi videos when she noticed Daisy getting too stressed or letting Daisy do her own thing if she saw that she was overwhelmed. Of course, none of the other students knew her family history, what she had gone through just to realize that May and Coulson were more her parents than her biological father and mother could ever be. She would see them later today—May during field training and Coulson in between lectures in the canteen.

Daisy walked over to her window to open her blinds, staring out at the campus she had grown to love. The large brick buildings scattered around acres of the Virginia countryside; green fields meant for physical activities like sparring or obstacle courses, or simply basking in the weather to study or chat; the dorms—red brick and concrete melded together to upgrade and expand the charming style of previously-built homes.

Grabbing a protein bar, Daisy headed to the canteen to make a green smoothie (and maybe snatch a cup of joe before she had to listen to an hour-long lecture on the reason SHIELD must cooperate with the UN’s stupid rules at 7:30 in the morning). Smelling the pines and morning dew surrounding her, she smiled slightly. Maybe this term wouldn’t be so bad.

———————————————————————

Daniel Sousa was a man of honor. He was a man of great strength. Agent Daniel Sousa, previously Officer Daniel Sousa in the US Army, was a man who could fix his damn alarm clock on his own.

Just, not today. Or the day before.

So, Agent Daniel Sousa was now hurrying his way to class at The SHIELD Academy, books in hand and gym bag slung over his shoulders. Catching a glance at himself in the shiny glass doors of the bio-chem building, he groaned. He hadn’t even brushed his hair. And, looking down, he discovered he was wearing two different shoes.

This is the college experience everyone raves about, he thought bitterly. You see, Daniel Sousa had enlisted to the army straight out of high school, forgoing university. He climbed the ranks impressively quickly, earning his place as second-in-command and reconnaissance scout in the 28th Infantry Regiment. Unfortunately, after only four years in the army, Sousa was injured in the field, losing his leg and almost his life.

He came back to the US a war hero, and yet, he felt he wasn't finished. So, when a recruiter named Peggy Carter knocked on his door claiming to be from SHIELD (“Wow, you guys are still a thing?”), he leapt at the chance to continue fighti-...doing good. The Academy wasn’t exactly what he had bargained for, though. Trying to earn his B.A. and training to be an agent at the same time was grueling, but nothing he couldn’t deal with.

No, six different one hour and fifteen minute long classes plus mandatory physical therapy every day wasn’t going to break him. Learning how to be a communications agent and re-starting field training and catching up on general college education was no problem. Pressuring himself to be the best, to break the limits, to get past all his weaknesses was just another miniscule feather to add to the pile.

Unless his stupid alarm clock broke. Then yes, Agent Daniel Sousa would fail, buckle under the weight and be left on the floor to die.

Maybe he was being a bit dramatic.

One bunny-slippered right foot and a sneakered left leg carried him forward, propelled by a quickly chugged orange Celsius and his sheer will not to be late.

Daniel heard the late bell ring out, understanding that, on his first day of class, he would be counted late. It wasn’t like him, not at all. Especially when his first class was a refresher course on field tactics and covert strategy, something in which he was already aces.

He let out a sigh, slowing as he rounded the corner into the comms building. At the Academy, most buildings were grouped into categories: the cafeteria, gym and pool, and student resource building all to the south; the gun range, obstacle course, and specialized gym to the east; bio-chem labs, tech labs, and smaller rooms for lectures to the west; the computer labs and comms buildings right smack in the middle; and dorms to the north.

He swiped a key card with his driver’s license picture and student ID, unlocking the sliding doors that led to the computer labs. It was quicker to short cut through them than to walk around the building to the entrance closest to communications classrooms.

It wasn’t because he knew a certain broody brunette spent her mornings in the lab.

No, it wasn’t, because she wasn’t in her usual seat in the corner, typing away.

He slowly walked through the rows of computers, searching for a familiar black backpack. Nothing was there.

“Hey, Sousa,” an accented female voice called behind him. He whipped around to see who it was, feeling just a twinge of disappointment when Elena, or, as most people knew her, Yo-Yo, was leaning against the door frame. Yo-Yo, a fourth year operations trainee, who was very close with Daisy.

“Hey, Yo-Yo. Good morning,” he called, “I’m running a bit late.”

Elena checked her nails casually, “Way to state the obvious. You were running faster than I could trying to get here before the bell.”

Daniel rubbed the back of his neck and blushed. “Yeah…”

“Daisy’s running late today, too.”

Daniel looked around, pretending that hearing Daisy’s name didn’t make him want to smile. “Oh, of course. She’s usually here early.”

Elena nodded, chuckling a little at his response. She couldn’t tell if he was oblivious or just a bad liar. It was charming, really. “Right. See ya ‘round, Sousa!”

“See ya,” He replied. He thought he heard a quiet ‘Lovable nerds’ coming from the direction she left, but he couldn’t be sure.

And so, with a last look around the computer lab, Daniel set off to arrive late to May’s lecture.

———————————————————————

okay okay,,, what do y’all think?? like/reblog and let me know! it’s the best way to support writers and it only takes a second! stay tuned for more chapters!!

[narcisocacoplex]

Ascendance of a Bookworm and the Multiversal Marketplace of Ideas

Something that fucking stuns me about contemporary isekai as a genre is the way that it handles cultural transmission from one world to another. There’s a very consistent formula (as with all things in standard-issue isekai), and it all hinges on this fascinating system for deciding what gets to filter in from Earth through the protagonist and what is handily discarded when it would become an obstruction.

Consumer goods and services penetrate through the protagonist into the fantasy setting most easily. The single most consistent thing that isekai heroes reinvent in their otherworlds is cuisine. Almost universally contemporary Earth cooking, whether it’s Japanese, Chinese, or Italian (it is very rarely anything else), outperforms anything the locals produce, if only out of sheer novelty.

This sort of thing often forms the basis for the isekai protagonist’s horizontal monopoly—I’ve lost track of how many of these books I’ve read where an overwhelming portion of the plot is dedicated to the hero managing human and material resources as their multiple intersecting businesses proliferate like a cancer across the setting. It turns out that more than being a world savior, isekai readers fantasize most about being an entrepreneur living for the grind—albeit freed from the trouble of having to come up with your own ideas, as you can just re-hash the achievements of thousands of years of human endeavor instead and take the credit. Call it the McFly approach.

What’s peculiar is that less tangible and/or economically exploitable things don’t penetrate or are actively stripped away in the transition from life on Earth to life in the fantasy world. The most obvious point that comes to mind has to do with basic political and ethical conceits like the right to the most basic forms of self-determination. Isekai protagonists are indescribably quick to roll over for and get cozy with flavors of aristocracy and totalitarian power that the global public has been consistently taught not to trust.

Consider, for example, Ascendance of a Bookworm. I’ve lost track of how many people I’ve seen argue that Bookworm’s one of the standout isekai titles, and I can see why: it’s extremely committed to realizing an in-depth fantasy setting that’s not neatly explained with Dragon Quest allusions; the protagonist has an interesting array of flaws and limitations; in spite of the level of power on which the characters operate, it consistently creates convincing scenes of tension and peril in multiple dimensions; and the story is driven by a legitimate interest in something larger than the narratives the author has already consumed. This much is all great.

But the thing that strikes me about Ascendance of a Bookworm—the thing that keeps me from liking it at all—is that all of this craft and effort is sunk into a narrative about how there is no escape from serfdom. Myne starts at the absolute bottom rung of society, and through a conjunction of hideous self-neglect, total accident, cosmological convergence, and internecine political infighting, arrives at a position of frighteningly far-reaching authority. As Rozemyne, the archduke’s adopted daughter, she makes decisions every damn page about how her vast entourage will spend their lives in service to her agendas. Huge swathes of these books are just characters talking about how they’re going to move around various subordinates and, critically, which subordinates can be put in positions where lives won’t be at risk because of a failure to communicate across inviolable class boundaries.

While Rozemyne frequently shoots herself in the foot because she still takes as a given from time to time that people deserve to be treated like human beings and not disposable chattel, it’s never really up for consideration whether any of the societal structures that create this profound alienation should, perhaps, be changed.

And it’s not like dramatic social change isn’t a subject the story explores! Rozemyne’s whole objective in this story is to establish a thriving printing industry and universal literacy so she can go back to the standard of living she was used to as a Japanese bibliophile. She’s radically altering the cultural and industrial landscape of this other reality; it’s just that she’s not interested in changing the parts where, if you’re an aristocrat, people will act weird if you don’t murder peasants that look at you funny.

It ends up feeling kind of sinister, like the narrative is trying to convince you in slow, small steps that hey, maybe the problem here really is with Rozemyne not being willing to walk all over people as much as she could given the latitude afforded her (it’s worth noting that in many regards it’s the only latitude she’s got; the nobility are just as bound by bizarre, self-destructive social contracts as every other social class—it’s just that they can take it out on the people beneath them), and she’s already buying orphans in bulk from the church to staff her printing operation.

This is not helped by the most persistent fantasy elements of the setting. “Mana” in Bookworm is, on its face, a fantastical gloss made to legitimize the divine right of kings and the great chain of being. People have limited but varying capacity for mana, which is both trainable and heritable; the people bred for high mana capacity rule the country because their expanded mana reserves let them pump blessings into the surrounding environment, improving crop yields. Literally every noble is a miniature Fisher King, and when nobles withdraw their support from whatever fiefdom’s getting shafted, it withers and the people who live there suffer. This may be cruel, Rozemyne opines, but It Must Be Done to remind people how order is kept, however much she may not like it. Human survival in this setting hinges on the nobility’s generosity with their mana, and if there’s another option, it’s not really up for consideration.

I think periodically about how, as dense and thoroughly realized as this setting is, there’s really only one “nation” that I’ve seen so far in this series. There are rival fiefdoms, internal struggles, and cultural variations from region to region, but nobody’s really “foreign.” Everyone speaks the same language and follows the same broad set of customs. I wonder, when these thoughts come to me, how someone from a different nation in the same world might think of the culture represented in Ascendance of a Bookworm, and the thing I keep circling back to is “oh, those are the people who can’t do without owning other people.”

Part of the thematic messaging of this series, however inadvertent it may be, is how quickly a contemporary Japanese person adjusts to these expectations, even if they might make an effort to be as lenient as possible in most cases.

But pasta and hardbound books—those our hero will fight tooth and nail to introduce to this world.

[lightholme]

That's a great way to describe the nature of human nature. A lot of our instincts stem from useful shortcuts like that.

Human brains didn't evolve to handle the vast interconnectivity, complexity, and nuance of the modern world. Hell, the brain can't even really handle more than ~150 meaningful personal connections.

We operate deeply by back-of-the-napkin heuristics that solve our early evolutionary problems, but they're not very accurate. It's easier to get it right 70% of the time in one second than it is to get it right 100% of the time in thirty seconds. When a snowball (or lion) is flying at your face, moving at all is better than sitting around while you verify the threat's trajectory precisely.

Unfortunately, our tendency to align with those around us (a convenient heuristic sometimes still) isn't the sole problem here.

Some of these heuristics/instincts are naturally buffered. For example, one might imagine that the tendency (or inevitability) for people to bifurcate and fracture larger groups into less-than-150 sized groups is enough to minimize the problem, but just because it feels fine doesn't mean the result is fine. We form tribes on the spot for all sorts of reasons. Team A, Team B. My group, your group. Soccer teams, military platoons. Clades of styles and habits bloom and wither like algae tides. As a species, we crave that aspect of tribalism so deeply that sometimes a well placed "us" and a weaseled in "them" is enough to draw the lines that become a riot. This tendency can be positive sometimes (sometimes), sure.

What about our tendency to over-value sugar in a world where calories are no longer worth storing? That is a known-and-visible problem, isn't it? And how about the fact that a single mouse-click can show you more naked ladies than one's ancestors saw in their entire life - multiples more, in fact? It seems obvious that distorting such critically important evolutionary impulses miiiiight muddy the waters a bit even if we allow ourselves to believe that we handle it fine, that all is well, or that it's even somehow ideal.

Even these examples of specific and "obvious" discrepancies between our bioevolutionary hardware and our socio-technological elevation is a small enough as an idea to share with a stranger over a beer. The Real Heavy Shit™ is so unwieldy that a scientist-philosopher would struggle to gaze at directly, let alone transmit to others in a format smaller than a series of structured TedTalks.

The reasons for the issues we're facing (and in a sense have always faced) are myriad, but in recent times I think a new dynamic has been born, magnified, then bootstrapped itself into life beneath our notice - all within a single human generation. Information has become a danger to us. Any information. It is an emergent property that rises from the quasi-computational substrate of human social interaction.

Problem: When the complexity of an idea rises above the level of one's ability to conceptualize the 'entire thing' at once, we have to take the parts we can't see on faith.

With the proper framework, foundation, and a well-trained instinct this isn't an entirely disruptive phenomenon - it's even obvious and expected, right? One cannot hold the entire subject of 'science' in their head at one time. One cannot even hold the entirety of 'geology'. And even if one could, you'd be unable to truly understand geologic mechanisms without understanding that the elements that make all those fancy rocks came from dynamics that stem from astrophysics.

These things cannot be held, but they can be traced and compared and tested (if someone cares to do so in the first place). Even then, misconceptions easily bloom like cancers in the absence of an effort to validate.

Now consider the idea of an informational construct that is not so easily proven by mere effort and time. Imagine one that isn't built specifically to avoid misconception like science is. (which - unfortunately - still results in vast misconceptions by layman and scientist alike). When we cannot hold an idea in our head from start-to-finish, we also cannot verify that it exists distinct from itself at all. One can't tell a snake from an ouroborous. And unless you have something to compare it to, reference it against, the difference between a cancer and an organ is negligible. It's only in the context of an organism that a cancer is even harmful, even deadly. A cancerous tumor, viewed in a vacuum, is - for lack of a better term - successful as fuck at what it's doing... Perpetuating itself at all costs, regardless of benefit, regardless of consequence.

Ideas are not just informational nuggets. They're active, living systems which 'compete' not unlike living creatures do through the rules of their unique brand of quasi-evolutionary pressures. Ideas are both organs and cancers. And when billions of thinking beings are unable to easily determine the difference between an organ and a cancer, well... It's not so difficult to imagine that problems might arise.

To the elucidated or aware, it's horrifying to see someone running around trying to share a poison with others, claiming it to be something it is not. It's confusing to imagine how such a delusion can not only exist at all, but to spread with a veracity greater - far greater - than Real Deal truths. I will admit that part of that is because these sort of ideas empower the thinker. Real truths are either boring or frightening (or both). Aliens and crystals, gods and secret societies are so much more comforting than acknowledging that nobody is really at the wheel, that society is a ship in a storm rocked by systems - hydrodynamics, meteorological - far too complex to grasp, far too large to be defeated by comparatively meek human drives.

There's certainly more than one reason that someone interested in particular subjects (flat earth, for example) tend to also be interested in toxic conservative politics, religion, ancient aliens, so on. Many of these sort of meme-laden ideas are fundamentally incompatible with each other, yet you commonly find them in the same place. I personally use invented terms like "psychological antivirus/firewalls" since the concept of common sense alone doesn't have the load-bearing capacity to address this level of metastasized information.

Again -- A cancer is successful in a vacuum. It is optimized for relentless growth in absence of both usefulness and sustainability. Modern pressures (namely a social density vastly greater than what our brains can handle and the fast-paced war-for-attention nature of the internet) are now selecting ideas not for value or consistency, but transmissability.

Close your eyes and apply this metaphor to the rest of the world. Taste the horror of this truth, then consider that the issue can barely be described at all, let alone compressed down and shared to the world like some sort of hotfix. Following the metaphor, it'd be like writing a well-worded essay to convince your immune system to recognize an autoimmune disorder. You can't "Hey, bud. We need to have a talk." to a virus.

Christ, we can't even convince people to vaccinate against an actual virus that can be seen and verified as both real and harmful. This informational plague of idea-viruses is not only not-visible, hidden by abstraction, too recent to be intuitive, too large to even be named - some are seen by its victims as positive, absolute, worthy of defending with one's life even as one denies it exists at all.

Unfortunately, even this is just one of the many reasons why/how the modern world is simply too much for the smart apes known as homo sapiens.

TL;DR - Modern pressures (namely a social density vastly greater than what our brains can handle and the fast-paced war-for-attention nature of the internet) are now selecting ideas not for value or consistency, but transmissability. Some people are more ideal as carriers and vectors than others, but most of us have felt the sensation of being drawn into something or slowly waking up from a stupor we were born into.

[anika-ann]

Ground Rules (for Love and War) - Pt.2

Of Friendship and Love

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader        Word count: 3600

Type: Two-shot, reader insert

Summary: Being trapped in a dark workshop with two sopersoldier of whom you have a crush on one. What could possibly go wrong?

Warnings: silly pranks, blackout, attempt at humour, swearing… fluff

Part 1

༻༺༻༺༻༺༻❁༺༻༺༻༺༻༺

Your heart nearly gave out at the fright and instantly started to hammer wildly in your ribcage.

You couldn’t see in the sudden pitch-dark room, but you could sense two large frames of supersoldiers stepping into your space protectively, their backs to you, facing the potential threat.

The heat of their bodies reassured you as your breathing sounded way too loud, the sound of your heartbeat seemingly bouncing off of the walls, filling the large space. Needing to feel something, your shaky hand reached out, colliding with Steve’s wrist; at least you assumed it was Steve’s. He swiftly turned his hand, squeezing yours before letting go and focusing on the danger lurking in the dark.

You held your breath in anticipation, moments stretching. Why was nothing happening?

Clearly, Bucky had been brought here under false pretences and there was a thick chance that whoever had got him here – F.R.I.D.A.Y.?! – counted on you being here as well. Did they take Steve into account or was he the one variable that could mean the difference between death and life?

The icy silence was broken by a series of strangely familiar beeps.

You jumped good two feet above the floor at the sudden interruption, you pulse skyrocketing.

It was coming from your left, where Bucky stood, the unzipped pocket of his hoodie giving out a faint light.

He cautiously pulled the phone out, his face illuminated by the greyish glow. He eyed it absently, trying to stay on alert for an attack. Then his shoulders slumped, his eyes closing shut.

What? WHAT?! What was happening? Was it a death threat? To him? To someone else? To the whole world?

As the silence stretched once more, only interrupted by Bucky’s low growl, your mind was racing, coming out with different catastrophic scenarios.

And suddenly something clicked.

“Were those… sounds from the Angry Birds game?” you broke the deadly quiet and Bucky’s growl was more distinct this time.

“Yes,” Bucky confirmed darkly and you could feel Steve slowly relax by your side, the tension radiating from him easing as if was brought up to speed with what was going on. He was still standing dangerously close to you, but you weren’t about to complain. Definitely not until you knew what was going on. “I’m going to murder him. Slowly. And painfully.”

He sounded truly pissed off. But also annoyed. You forced yourself to take a deep breath.

“Who’s him and what is he saying?” you asked, voice thin. Despite some of the fear leaving your body, your knees felt like buckling. Good thing Steve was so close that he would be able to catch you. Or perhaps his presence was one of the reasons why you felt weak in your knees?

“Homing pigeon, who else? Wilson.”

Oh. Oh.

Wait, what?

“Shitted you pants, didn’t you?” Bucky read out loud and you could hear him grinding his teeth. Illuminated by the phone screen, he looked like he was about to live up to his reputation as the Winter Soldier. “You didn’t get a heart-attack though, did you? Because that would be considerably less fun. Enjoy your lockdown, Barnes.”

“Oh thank god,” you breathed out, finally endlessly relieved.

“I’m gonna hold him while you punch him, Buck. And then I’m gonna punch you. This has got too far. You wanna play cat and mouse, please, by all means, but do not pull us into it,” Steve said seriously, his voice carrying a hint of disappointment and irritation at his friends’ behaviour.

Your hand acted on its own account, needing to comfort him all of sudden. He covered the back of your hand when it blindly found its forearm. It caused the corners of your lips to lift.

“So much for not getting caught in the middle,” you hummed, recalling your words to him from two days prior and you had a feeling he smiled at that.

Bucky sighed, exasperated. “Fuck lockdown. We can figure something out, right?”

At that, your mood fell instantly. It was your turn to sigh, because… you weren’t so certain about that. Freeing your hand, you crossed your arms on your chest.

“Well, the power is down,” you pointed out the obvious. “The thing is, I’m ninety percent sure Tony didn’t synchronize the new protocols with the emergency power unit yet.”

“English?” Bucky hissed.

You were pretty confident that he understood, but didn’t want to believe it. You rolled your eyes and explained.

“The power won’t kick in on its own, because the new security update isn’t quite… complete. It has to be done manually. And Tony didn’t share how.”

“So we just have to call Tony?” Steve asked, relieved.

“Yeah… about that. I might have threatened to all of his Ironman suits if he left his phone on during the date with Pepper he’s currently on…”

“Oh,” Steve let out, clearly surprised, but at the same time, slightly pleased. Good. He cared for more than just his friends’ safety – he also cared about their happiness. Not that it was any surprise to you. “Where’s the date?”

You chewed on your lower lip, squeezing your eyes shut as you prepared for the storm which was doubtlessly about to follow your revelation.

“…Richmond.”

“WHAT?!” sounded stereo from both sides of your face and you whined, guilt biting at your stomach. But how were you supposed to know this was gonna happen?!

You would bet Samuel fucking Wilson planned it exactly because he knew about the date. And about its location.

“There’s a really nice restaurant with great atmosphere, okay?!” you instantly defended yourself. “It had wonderful lobster and Tony actually paid attention to what Pepper said for once, so he knew she would love it there!”

Steve sighed, but assured you that it was alright, recognizing your contribution.

“So we’ll just punch our way out.”

“…yeah, about that,” you shot down Bucky’s proposition before he could get too excited about it.

“Oh for fuck’s sake! What now?”

“Tony might have lined the walls and doors with vibranium after Ultron, T’Challa provided it to him. He thought it would be safer…?”

“Why would he do that?”

“Because he’s a paranoid bastard?” you offered, earning an affirmative hum from Steve.

“Fair enough, I suppose.”

“So, let me get this straight. He lines the walls with rare metal, but he still trusts his tech, which already turned against him before,” Bucky stated in disbelief.

“Uhhmmm, yeah, sounds about right.”

You could feel a gush of wind that probably signalled Bucky throwing his arms up in exasperation.

“So… we’re trapped,” Steve summed up and you reluctantly agreed.

“Basically.”

“In the dark,” Bucky added. “Well, for you anyway.”

“I mean, not complete dark, my phone’s somewhere on the table and has some battery– wait, are you telling me you can actually see in this… darkest dark?” you demanded incredulously.

“Yeah, a bit,” Bucky confirmed absently as he reached for his phone again to light it up. “Mine has like 5 percent.”

“I don’t have my phone with me,” Steve confessed.

“Seriously, Steve?”

“I’m still in the tower! No one outside the tower calls me!” Steve shot back at Bucky defensively.

Legendary duo arguing! Alert! Cannot be happening!

“Alright, boys. Calm down,” you asked of them gently. “We’ll figure something out. Help me find my phone…” Bucky obediently did, even though you were sure he was frowning. You lit it up contentedly. “Sweet. I have about ten percent.” You turned on the flashlight attached to the camera and squinted to see better as you headed to one of the cupboards. “There are some flashlights right he-“ Your face twisted in confusion when you found the cupboard empty. Well. “--or not. Let’s scan this place…”

As it turned out, the workshop was a place of wonders. Rest assured, you knew about a lot of strange things hidden through the cabinets, but some treasures still surprised you.

Mostly, it was Steve and Bucky, who were bewildered at their findings.

“What is Operation doing here?” Steve questioned, pulling out the game box for you to see – well, the outline of it anyway – as if he wanted you to confirm that it was indeed there and he wasn’t hallucinating.

“Don’t even ask,” you rolled your eyes.

Have you mentioned Tony needed constant supervision and that he was a man-child? Yeah? Never mind, you could say that over and over again and it wouldn’t get less truthful.

“We could play,” Bucky offered casually, clearly getting bored by the recon mission.

“I’m not playing Operation with you. I can barely see.”

“Fine, fine…” Bucky grumbled and Steve put the box back, moving to other mysterious cabinets.

“Oh. Candles. And matches. That might be helpful. And a bag of chips.”

“Nicely done, Captain,” you praised him, turning to him to flash him a grin he could probably barely see. It dawned to you too late how flirtatious it might have sounded, how strangely his rank rolled of your tongue, so you quickly spoke up again. “Hand it over.”

“Keep looking. One bag of chips isn’t enough…” Bucky stated, but Steve handed you the to-be light sources so you could place them to your liking.

His fingers brushed your hands tenderly as he passed you the items and you weren’t certain whether it was an accident or not. Judging by the faint outline of his shy smile, you thought it might not. It made your cheeks burn and your heart swell.

“Twister?” Bucky proposed this time, breaking the moment you shared with Steve and you rolled your eyes.

“Eh, Tony sometimes… plays with Dum-E,” you explained, hoping he would get the picture. “Usually when he’s drunk. I’m not-“ -playing with you.

“Got it. Monopoly then?”

You whined. It wasn’t exactly your favourite game and you knew you would lose in the matter of minutes, but if you were being honest… you were about to run out of things to do here and your phone was about to die, so you might as well play the game Tony Stark loved.

“Well. Let me just light up the candles, okay? It’s gonna be a short game. You two have superbrains. But I might survive few rounds if I really try…” you murmured and proceeded with illuminating the space.

You in fact did last few rounds. You even managed to step up and buy some of the tiny red houses. And you… you might even have been having fun.

Until you got the worst luck ever, stepping on the most fearful square owned by no other than Steve Rogers and you had to start counting all of your money… only to find out that it, if fact, wasn’t enough. Not after you had already payed him once that round and to Bucky.

“Ahh, dammit.”

“You can always just… sell something,” Bucky noted and you shot him a glare. That move always signalled the beginning of an end.

You were frowning at the board, chewing on your lower lip while you considered your options. Not that there were many of them. Your poor boat-shaped figure was about to sink.

“Or you could pay me later,” Steve’s voice broke your mussing and your head snapped to him. “I’ll give you five tosses – someone might step on something of yours by then.”

You examined his inviting expression, his sharp features softened by the candlelight. For a moment, your brain switched off. For some reason, you hadn’t truly looked at him since the game started, your gaze rather on the board and dice, but now, when you raised your gaze, you were amazed by the ethereal aura around him, by the startling beauty. His already warm eyes reflected the tiny flames, the shadows accenting the curve of his lips, defined cheekbones, strong jaw.

One of his eyebrows rose in slow motion, only for you to realize with shock that you had been staring at him for way too long. You hoped he believed you only got lost in thought; which you did, but about him, not about the game.

“I… don’t that’s possible according to the rules,” you whispered, voice hoarser than expected. You cleared your throat, your heart racing at both being caught and captivated by the vision of Steve in the sweet light.

“Sometimes it’s alright to bend the rules a bit for a good cause. Where the fun would be if I condemned you to bankrupting in about two tosses?” he shrugged, apparently oblivious to your inner turmoil and you released the breath you were holding.

“One toss, knowing my luck… are you sure?”

“Positive,” he assured you with a small smile and you could melt at spot. And it had nothing to do with that stupid capitalistic board game.

“Thank you. I guess I’ll just have to pay you with interest too when I finally do.”

You honestly had no intention for it to come out like that… it had just… happened to sound this flirty. His eyes locked on yours, the warm candlelight still casting shadows over his cheeks bones, sharp jaw, plush lips… all of him was calling out for you, luring your heart in, your breath catching in your throat and his gaze flickered to the lower part on your face just for a split second, but it was enough to cause you a little heart attack, a firework exploding in your abdomen. Christ.

“I guess it’s my turn then,” Bucky cleared his throat meaningfully and you nearly jumped out of your skin at the sound of his voice.

How the hell did you forget he was still here with you?

Also, you were playing Monopoly and when you had said you’d pay with interest, you had originally thought paying with some fake money on top. It was an accident that somehow, your brain had switched to its more primitive form, thinking about very different things and you needed to get it back in check. Right now.

Bucky helped with that significantly; while you were able to pay Steve after one single toss, without interest, because he strictly refused that (you would swear that even in the lack of light, you could see the tips of his ears burning), Sergeant Barnes was not one to be mollified. He mercilessly slayed you and you lost everything in next two rounds, because that was just your luck.

Steve proposed to end the game with that (even when he was surprisingly on his way to win despite your debacle caused by Bucky), but it felt unjust.

“I trust you, Steve. You’ll win this. And it’s okay for you to have fun. I’ll just watch how you fight over it like children,” you teased lightly, grinning up at him despite losing.

“Okay. Whenever you get too bored, we’ll stop,” he declared and your expression softened at the gentle gaze boring into your eyes.

You couldn’t remember the last time you kept staring at each other like that – more often than not, either you or him would eventually avert the other’s gaze. There ultimately was something different about tonight. You certainly didn’t find it a bad thing though. If you were being completely honest, you liked it. Steve truly was the sweetest guy you had ever met and you weren’t oblivious to his appearance, nor to his alluring personality. It was simply the assumption of having zero chance with him that had been making you hold back. But tonight… it seemed there might be a possibility even.

Was there?

Letting your thoughts wander, you watched with a fond smile on your face as the two friends fell into a merciless fight over fake money and real estate. The two world’s supersoldiers bickering like an old couple, yet resembling children.

It was when the tiredness from the whole day on your feet started settling in. First, it showed in a subtle way; goosebumps rose on your skin, uncomfortable shiver running through your whole body.

It didn’t go unnoticed; eyeing your outfit, only consisting of thin t-shirt and jeans, as you curled up into yourself on the couch, a concerned wrinkle appeared on Steve’s face.

You flashed him a drowsy smile, shaking your head so he wouldn’t worry. Ha, as if that could work! He scanned the room and then strode away, unmistakably finding the blanket you had discovered earlier in one of the cabinets. He gently laid it over your shoulders before returning to the game, stealing a glance on you ever so often.

At least you thought so. Adding warmth to the mix was the perfect recipe for your eyelids growing heavier by the second. Before you knew it, your head lulled, the motion instantly causing you to jolt awake.  

A chuckle escaped to both of your companions; except Steve had enough decency to try and sound subtle. Bucky, not so much.

“It’s almost over,” he grinned and had you had the energy, you would raise your eyebrow to show your skepticism; it was never almost over with Monopoly. Or, more precisely, the ‘almost over’ usually lasted about two hours.

“It can be over right now,” Steve offered kindly and you shook your head stubbornly, the movement causing the world swim.

“Nope. You win,” you attempted to say, your words slurring, your tongue feeling as lead-like as your eyelids.

A shift in Steve’s posture caught your attention as he scooted a little closer to you on the couch and the shock of his skin nearly making contact with yours nearly brought you back to full consciousness.

“Just lean in whenever you need,” he whispered barely audible, as if he was letting you into his darkest secret.

You mumbled something doubtlessly incomprehensible – even to yourself – and allowed your temple to fall on his impressive shoulder. You almost moaned in bliss.

“Warm…”

How was he so warm? He only wore a t-shirt, like you.

Why would Tony call him a Capsicle? He was more like a space heater… eh, you’d figure it out… later… later…

You felt your muscles relaxing, melting into the pleasant warmth and soon, you were dead to the world.

A gentle sway brought you back to consciousness, soft dip as fabric slid under your body and you subconsciously curled back towards the warmth that seemed to be disappearing. It still did, but cushions soon replaced it. You were too tired to resist, sinking into the mattress instead.

Faintly recalling the events of the night, you figured Tony must have rescued you from your prison. Mind painfully slow, it dawned to you that Steve, whom you possibly used as your personal pillow slash space heater, carried you to bed.

Sweet. Very, very sweet, always so nice, but never like with the others… perhaps it was about to change? You had passed some kind of a test? Or did you…?

“Steve… will you… treat me… like all… your friends?” your words slurred, quiet and mumbled mostly to your actual pillow, but apparently, he understood.

Or maybe you were just dreaming.

“Would you like that?” his lips must have barely moved, his voice so low you might as well only imagine it.

You felt like you only considered it for a second, but you couldn’t be sure. You just wanted to sleep. Just answer one more question to the chivalrous Steve, who was carefully tucking you in.

“Nah… Too pretty… to be friend.”

He chuckled breathlessly, a huff of air caressing your face.

“Yes, you are, doll. Sleep. I’ll try not to put my foot in my mouth tomorrow morning when you’re really awake and I finally ask you out, okay?”

Promise? “Uh-uh. So sweet.”

“Goodnight,” he whispered an inch from your head, warmth touching your forehead for only a fraction of second.

“’night.”

The reality was, he did put his foot in his moth the next morning. But only a bit; he still got a yes from you. As if no was ever an option. Vaguely remembering what had been happening after you had fallen asleep in the workshop, you returned his gesture – except his forehead was too high, so your lips brushed his cheek instead; you had to tug on his sleeve to reach at least that spot.

He certainly didn’t seem to mind if the delighted smile he gave you in return was anything to go by.

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It wasn’t the only significant encounter of that morning though.

Bucky walked into kitchen only to find Sam casually sipping his coffee, a wide grin on his face.

“What the hell did you think you were doing?” the sergeant hissed, rewarded by raised brows.

“Come on, Barnes. You should be smarter than that. Do you really think Tony keeps candles around? And no flashlights? Dude. It was for romantic atmosphere. Even you could see how hopeless they were. It was all part of my master plan to get these two idiots together,” Sam revealed calmly, clicking his tongue when Bucky shot him a murderous look, leaning closer with a menacing face.

“Do you have any idea what kind of an eye-fuck session I’ve been through? What I had to witness? If it was such a master plan, why did I get stuck in there with them?!”

“As a psychical support to your best pal Steve…?”

Bucky looked like he was considering what kind of a murder would be most painful for the other man. Strangling him would be so… boring. Though no doubt satisfying enough.

Would be though? That bastard had the audacity to shrug as he placed his empty cup on the counter.

“Kidding, I’m his best pal. I figured that it would be fun to have you play the third wheel. We are still at war, Barnes,” he pointed out. “I just thought I’d kill two birds with one stone.”

Bucky’s fist hit the counter, making the poor cup rattle.

“Soon, I will kill one particular bird and I will need no stone,” Bucky stated with startling serenity. “Run, Wilson. Run.”

Sam Wilson was a brave man. But hell, when the former Winter Soldier tells you to run, you run and you’d better be grateful for the head start.

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S.R. masterlist

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Tags: @mermaidxatxheart @cxptain​ @smilexcaptainx @scentedsongrebel​ @orions-nebula​

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Thank you for reading! :-*  If anyone wants in or out of Steve (or other) taglist, let me know via message or ask :))

[rwby-redux]

Deconstruction

Worldbuilding: Dust II

If Part 1 was the nuclear response, then Part 2 is death by a thousand paper cuts. Rather than focusing on just one massive problem with Dust, this time we’ll be discussing the smaller, albeit more numerous problems. Tempting as it is to keep our crosshairs on the obvious target, it’s important to remember that all of the subtle discrepancies—a throwaway line here, a contradiction there—eventually add up.

Today is all about what happens when those small problems get out of control.

Second verse, same as the first. Before we get started, I want to briefly revisit that list of traits so we’re all on the same page.

There are four basic types of Dust. They can be combined either naturally or artificially to produce new types that have their own specific characteristics.

Dust can be triggered by the Aura of humans and Faunus.

The default state of Dust is crystalline. The powdered form sold in shops is the result of processing and refinement.

The color of the Dust denotes what type it is.

Dust becomes functionally inert outside of Remnant’s atmosphere and no longer exhibits its inherent elemental properties.

Dust can be injected into the body in order for the wielder to use its effects more directly. Doing so requires a certain amount of discipline, and can be extremely painful without taking the necessary precautions.

Dust can be imbued into weapons like swords, or woven into clothes.

Dust can be used as a fuel source, to the end that Remnant’s technology is almost exclusively powered by it.

Semblances can interact with Dust in such a way that their skills are augmented, resulting in the temporary acquisition of new subskills or secondary characteristics.

Dust is volatile and prone to explode when subjected to certain stimuli.

Seeing as we’ve got a lot of ground to cover, I’m gonna keep my main talking points under neat little headings, so everything stays nice and organized.

Treating Dust as a Fossil Fuel Analog, and How It Relates to Technology

To say that Dust is a parallel for coal, natural gas, or petroleum is to miss the point entirely. Dust isn’t like these things—Dust is these things. For everyone who’s been watching the show since it first aired, this isn’t anything new. RWBY hasn’t exactly been subtle about establishing those comparisons. Dust is a natural resource that’s scarce, finite in quantity, found in underground deposits, reliant on minority labor in order to be mined, monopolized by a single supplier, and environmentally hazardous due to the extraction process.

A Dust drilling rig and refinement factory owned by the SDC. Excavating Dust resulted in anthropogenic pollution that destroyed Vacuo’s ecosystems, and depleted its natural resources. | Source: World of Remnant, Volume 4, Episode 4: “Vacuo.”

Like I said, it’s not exactly subtle.

The reason why I bring this up is because, to the best of my knowledge, the show has never concisely explained how Dust works as a fuel. When coal is burned, for example, it produces heat, and releases nitrogen oxide and sulfur dioxide into the air. Like, the coal doesn’t just stay coal when it’s being used up—as it’s being burned the coal is physically being reduced into the form of byproducts, like fly ash and slag. Similarly, when you operate a vehicle with gasoline, the fuel gets converted into exhaust gas by the 4-stroke engine. The compressed air-and-fuel mixture partakes in a combustion reaction when the spark plug ignites it. The byproducts of this process are carbon dioxide, nitrogen, and water.

See where I’m going with this?

If Dust is a fuel source, then we need to understand what physical changes are taking place when it’s reacting/being consumed by various technology.

And the series…really, really doesn’t show us that.

Does the Dust get broken down when used? Is the elemental energy inside only released when the Dust is subjected to mechanical stress? Is that why Dust is sensitive to small amounts of energy and explodes when someone so much as sneezes at it? [1] Are all Dust types equally as volatile? Is there a threshold for the amount of energy Dust can be exposed to before it explodes?

Let’s assume, for the moment, that all of the aforementioned are true. Physically breaking a Dust crystal is analogous to burning a chunk of coal, in that mechanical stress is the catalyst for releasing its elemental energy. If we follow that thread of logic, then it means that Dust powder is the result of breaking down Dust crystals into finer particulate matter.

Keeping the analogy in mind, this means that Dust crystals are to coal what Dust powder is to fly ash. A byproduct. Leftovers from the initial fuel consumption process.

So why is powder Dust considered a “refined” form of fuel? How is a byproduct energetically more efficient than the initial source that it’s derived from?

If I had to hazard a guess, I’d argue that Dust as a fuel source is more like a combination between burning coal and splitting an atom. Maybe when Dust companies “refine” Dust, what they’re doing is preemptively grinding the Dust down into a powder, and then—what, flash-freezing it somehow in the middle of it releasing its energy during the breakdown process? And then the flash-frozen powder Dust is stored in some sort of canister, or cartridge, or battery that can indefinitely suspend Dust in its energy-release state until it’s ready to be used? That way the refined version (the powder) cuts out the step that requires a person to physically destroy the crystal in order to release its energy.

It’s not an unsound proposition, and with enough well-presented pseudoscience, I’m sure viewers would be willing to give it a pass. The problem is that the canon ostensibly refuses to tell us any of this. Having your fandom do your homework for you so you don’t have to explain your magical fuel isn’t good storytelling. And the more RWBY continues to withhold its lore—or worse, refuse to develop it entirely—the less credible the setting feels. There’s only so much an audience is willing to suspend its disbelief before pedants like me come along and start poking holes in it.

While we’re still on the topic, I want to quickly touch upon the second issue I have with Dust being Remnant’s de facto fuel source.

Although the show did its best to visually emphasize Remnant’s reliance on Dust, it wasn’t until World of Remnant, Volume 2, Episode 1: “Dust” that we got our first concrete evidence of just how extensively it was integrated into everyday life:

“Since its discovery, man has concocted a multitude of ways in which to harness these mysterious crystals. From airships to androids, Dust has made its way into practically every facet of technology. […] Dust ammunition serves as a more practical application in today's modern society. With the technological advancements in weapon design, warriors need merely choose the right cartridge for the job and pull the trigger.”

We don’t have to question the validity of this under the assumption that Salem is an unreliable narrator, because Qrow says more or less the same thing in later episodes.

“The cold climate of Solitas forced its settlers to adapt. It developed a more advanced technology—and they did it faster than the rest of the world—because they had to, to survive. But it was the Great War that really kicked things off. New forms of Dust application and weaponry allowed Mantle to expand. More and more territory was set aside for Dust mining and research. The territory beside the Kingdom's combat school, Alsius, was the most opportune area to construct a new R&D facility.” | Source: World of Remnant, Volume 4, Episode 3: “Atlas.”

While this conclusively established Dust as the predominant fuel source, there was still some lingering ambiguity of whether or not other sources of energy—petroleum, natural gas, coal, solar, wind, geothermal, hydro—were as developed, or whether they existed at all.

Our first tentative answer to this question came up during Rooster Teeth’s 2015 Extra Life livestream: [2]

Gray Haddock: Is all technology, including scrolls, everything in the world of Remnant powered by Dust? Is all technology Dust-based?

Kerry Shawcross: You’re making me commit to this right now?

Gray Haddock: No, no, no.

Kerry Shawcross: Okay.

Gray Haddock: Most? Some? A lot?

Kerry Shawcross: I would say that a lot is.

Gray Haddock: But there might be some alternate stuff out there. Maybe. Ish.

Kerry Shawcross: Yes. Unless I change my mind later.

Take a moment to let that sink in. At the time this aired, Volume 3 had already been written and animated, and the third episode had just been released on the website. This is one of RWBY’s lead writers admitting that they didn’t have a definitive answer, and the answer that he gave could be subjected to change later down the road. 

Words cannot begin to describe how insane that sounds. That’s like J. K. Rowling deciding after Prisoner of Azkaban, you know what, I’m tired of wizards using wands to cast spells. From now on, everyone’s going to use human femurs!

You can’t just change the show’s rules on a whim. A lack of consistency and adherence to worldbuilding kills any believability your story might’ve had. And more importantly, why didn’t you figure this shit out before the series first began?

Sorry. I’m getting sidetracked.

Instead, let’s look at how well the answer he gave held up. Did RWBY give us any evidence of other fuel sources existing apart from Dust?

Short answer: No.

Long answer: Yes, but I have to qualify that statement, so bear with me for a moment.

The next time we’re given another direct answer, it comes to us from The World of RWBY: The Official Companion.

From Part 1: Origins of Remnant - Types of Dust:

“This technology doesn’t use our fuel,” explains Patrick Rodriguez. “Dust makes everything work. We take tech, put Dust into it, and go with that aesthetic. When I was creating cars for Volume 1, Monty told me to design the motor for how they’d work. I diagrammed a whole engine that ran on Dust, and we never even showed it!” [3]

And then again in Part 2: The Characters - Yang Xiao Long:

“There’s no gas [in Remnant], just Dust,” says art director Patrick Rodriguez, “and Yang’s motorcycle works using combustion Dust.” [4]

It looks like we have our answer at last. An answer that’s infuriating and rife with contradiction, but there it is, plain as day: not only is Dust Remnant’s sole fuel, but alternatives don’t exist. Period.

If that’s the case, then why did I say earlier that they did?

Because throughout the entire course of the series, from Volume 1 onward, the artists have included one very important thing: Plastic. Polyamides used in toothbrushes, polycarbonates used in eyeglasses, polystyrenes used in plastic cups—every one of these things exists in the show. And do you know what plastic is made from?

NATURAL GAS AND FUCKING CRUDE OIL.

So unless RWBY wants to introduce yet another fictional substance to the show, then it needs to reconcile with the fact that yes, oil and petroleum exist, and yes, they’re potential alternatives to Dust.

Look, if the show insists on having plastic products, but not have oil or gas be fuel sources, then there’s a very easy way to get around that. The show has already gone to lengths to establish the SDC as Remnant’s version of BP, right down to both companies using acronyms instead of their full names. Just like real-life oil tycoons, you could have the SDC use resources like lobbyists, lien, and government influence to stymie the alternative fuel industry. Like any morally-bankrupt monopoly, the SDC would be threatened by competitors in the energy sector, especially if those competitors were developing technology based on renewable resources, like solar or wind. In a world where a limited resource like Dust has a stranglehold on the kingdoms, Jacques Schnee would do his damndest to ensure those alternatives never saw the light of day.

See? Problem solved.

Treating Dust as a Gemstone Analog (and Some Other Minor Nitpicks)

Okay, this complaint isn’t as important in the grand scheme of things, but I have to ask: why are Dust crystals treated like gemstones? No, seriously. Look at how the gems on display in this shop

A display case full of various crystal Dust types in From Dust Till Dawn. | Source: Volume 1, Episode 1: “Ruby Rose.”

differ from the ones seen in unharvested deposits.

Large, jagged deposits of unmined Fire Dust embedded in the ceiling of a cave. | Source: Volume 7, Episode 3: “Ace Operatives.”

The Dust for sale was likely cut, as evidenced by the additional facets not present on the unmined deposits. Then again, if you look at the Gravity Dust found at Lake Matsu, Dust might actually belong to the hexagonal crystal system (with and without pyramidal terminations), so a few of those facets could be natural. Regardless, the implication seems to be that on some level, the Dust was treated post-production.

An unmined Gravity Dust deposit found on one of Lake Matsu’s floating islands. | Source: Volume 5, Episode 2: “Dread in the Air.”

Why I bring this up at all is because if Dust crystals are only going to get broken down while being used as a consumable fuel source, then why waste time cutting and polishing them? It doesn’t really make any sense.

While we’re on that subject, how the hell does a person cut a Dust crystal without blowing their fingers off? Seriously. This shit’s like azidoazide azide. You could fart at it from halfway across a room and it would still somehow find a way to explode.

Which also begs the question of how Hazel isn’t dead from repeatedly jabbing what is basically a stick of dynamite into his arms every time he goes berserk. At the very least, shouldn’t he be suffering from severe health complications? His Semblance nullifies pain, but there’s no way it can skirt around the ramifications of what would basically be acute chronic Dust poisoning.

Dust, and How It Relates to Aura

Like any hardcore fantasy enthusiast, I’m a sucker for floating islands. I don’t care if they’re overused and cliché. That is peak aesthetic, and nothing you say will ever convince me otherwise.

That being said…

Remember how the show repeatedly tells us that Dust can only be triggered by humans and Faunus? Meaning that its effects can only be activated in the presence of Aura?

If that’s the case, then how are any of Matsu’s islands floating? If Aura (or mechanical stress, I suppose) is a prerequisite for activating the elemental properties of Dust, then shouldn’t the islands all have fallen into the lake? It’s not like there are people hanging around out there to keep them passively airborne.

I have a sneaking suspicion that Remnant is some sort of genius loci à la Gaia hypothesis, and the planet generates its own Aura (which would explain why Dust becomes inert when leaving the atmosphere—it’s no longer within range of an Aura). But without more information to go on, we’re left scratching our heads at how this contradiction of nature can exist.

At the very least, consider this: If this ambiguity managed to generate a discussion in the fandom on what the hell is up with Lake Matsu, then shouldn’t that have also generated an in-world discussion between the characters? Fantasy setting or not, people are people, and we are an inherently curious bunch that love to ask questions about the unknown. Given that we had three volumes dedicated to the cast going to school, it always struck me as a weirdly wasted opportunity. An academic setting is the perfect place to script conversations like that, simply because it organically allows the story to teach the audience alongside its characters without everything feeling contrived.

But I digress. At the end of the day, this is far from my biggest grievance with Dust, but I felt it was still important enough to warrant being mentioned.

Cultural Aspects of Dust

There were a lot of ideas I wanted to talk about concerning Dust and its impact on culture—like if there was specific terminology for people who worked with Dust (like a Dust-cutter being called a “lapidary,” or “collier” being used as a slur for Faunus). Or if there were Dust-specific idioms or sayings. Or if there were superstitions and folk stories about Dust that still get passed along.

But we’re almost 3,000 words in and I want to try and keep things concise. For now, I’m choosing to focus on just one of those ideas instead, one which has always weirdly fascinated me: weaving Dust into clothing.

Fun fact: Did you know that in the 1700s, people used to wear clothing made with a green pigment that was derived from arsenic? Contact with the skin would give the wearer extreme chemical burns. Similarly, in the 1850s, aniline (a poisonous compound from the indigo plant) was used to create a dye that, when it was absorbed through the skin, would cause skin irritation, nausea, and dizziness. And well before we figured out that asbestos was carcinogenic, fibers made from it were often used for uniforms in professions that dealt with fire. Apparently, it’s really heat-resistant. And let’s not forget lead face paint, the skin-melting makeup that was all the rage in sixteenth-century Europe. [5]

The reason why I bring up all of these comically awful fashion trends is because, to reiterate, Dust is really explosive.

And people on Remnant used to just casually sew it into their clothes. Like, no big deal, I’m just going to wear my jacket with the custom Fire Dust sequins on the lapels and pray to god that no one bumps into me while I’m at the market. Maybe tomorrow night I’ll wear my hat with the Ice Dust embroidery to the banquet. I just hope I can avoid physical contact with another human being so my head doesn’t get encased in a block of ice.

Believe it or not, none of this is meant as a criticism, strictly speaking. On the contrary, I wish the show had taken the time to explore this neat little bit of lore, rather than consign it to a throwaway line. Because I think it would be fucking hilarious if Dust-woven clothing was the equivalent of radioactive and carcinogenic fashion trends. Not only would it enrich the history of Remnant and expand upon its worldbuilding (which it sorely needs), but it would be an organic way to explain to the audience one of the inherent dangers of unmanufactured Dust.

And just like that, we’ve finished covering Dust. Mostly, anyway. I have a few minor gripes, but nothing that can’t wait. Next time we’ll be discussing the topic near and dear to my heart, the thing I’ve been waiting for weeks to talk about: the Grimm.

-

[1] Volume 1, Episode 2: “The Shining Beacon - Part 1.”

[2] “Rooster Teeth's Extra Life Stream 2015 Hour 3-RWBY Crew & Matt/Jeremy Kiss.” YouTube video, uploaded by John Green. November 09, 2015. 51:44 - 52:09. [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SFCK-OwGoLA&t=51m44s]

[3] Wallace, Daniel. The World of RWBY: The Official Companion. VIZ Media LLC, 2019, page 36.

[4] Wallace, Daniel. The World of RWBY: The Official Companion. VIZ Media LLC, 2019, page 71.

[5] SciShow. “10 Dangerous Fashion Trends.” YouTube video. March 20, 2016. [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hhXeUQOuRaw]

[sebthesnipe]

The Dreamer by Whatwashernameagin an Analysis? Part 2

All portions:

Chapter 1: Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4

Chapter 2: Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4

The Dreamer

by @whatwashernameagain

Reminder: Spoilers under cut!

So… Where were we? Aw yes… The desperation for acceptance of a POV which is both unique and far out of the reach of the human populous as a whole. In other in other words, Logan being very lonely and wanting to share his ideas with the world and hoping against hope he will not always be alone in them… heartbreaking…

The next portion of Whatwashernameagain’s work introduces The Dreamer. Going into the work with foreknowledge of the ship and the characters within, we as the readers (or I, rather) know that Roman is The Dreamer and thus know that Logan is referring to him. So, to be completely honest I am not sure if I am imagining this next bit or if it is truly the case (hence why I have chosen to focus more on Reader-Response theory rather than some of the more closed reading disciplines). However, in Logan’s first description of The Dreamer there are a few …. Odd choices in wordings. Eva writes:

“The one thing consistently standing between him and the fulfillment of his plans had turned out to be an outrageously insignificant detail…. This thorn in his shoe showed up at the most inopportune moments, predictably puffing up his chest in his ridiculous, unpractical costume, ready to boldly reassure the public before thoughtlessly storming in to hinder his plans with his irritating presence” (Whatwashernameagain).

There are a number of things in this small paragraph that gives way to yet even more of Logan’s personality, still molding the mental image that the author is painting while still leaving the blanks to be filled in our heads. ‘Consistently’ being italicized, for example, provides me with the mental image of a small tick of annoyance like Logan is mentally hissing the word while his index finger and thumb are pressed together drawing it out with annoyance (kinda like Moriarty during the pool scene in BBC’s Sherlock). Anyways, it immediately pulls the reader back into his frustration but this time… something is different.

Lets recap a moment, So far we know that Logan is a cold calculating man with only his work to keep him company; we know that he wishes for someone to share his view points but otherwise hasn’t really shown any emotional fluctuations (he obviously has emotions, there just seem muted almost) and yet his train of thought here, indicated by the italics is fairly harsh. His choice of words far less calculated than we’ve seen thus far. Here we see him use something akin to an oxymoron calling The Dream ‘an outrageously insignificant detail’. Why would he use so many words when a simple ‘insignificant’ would work? Unless… He is compensating. Many authors will push a thought or description to further lengths than necessary to give the owner of said thoughts a unique perspective. One of the best I’ve ever seen/read would be Robert Jordan in his The Wheel of Time series. Jordan switches from POV to POV flawlessly without pausing to explain it to the reader but as talented as he is at making each so unique the reader never needs the explanation, following along without a hiccup. As much as I would love to say that Eva is there, she isnt... at least not yet… but then again, I haven’t found anyone on par with Robert Jordan’s use of POV and character development as of yet. My point is that she uses the type of flow shifting POV very fluidly without having to spell it out for the reader; and the use of the additional descriptors are a testament to that. (I hope I am making sense I am so very tired #dead).

Logan goes on to talk about the ‘puffing up’ and how ‘unpractical’ The Dreamer’s costume is and his ‘irritating presence’, he talks about grand speeches and attempting to appeal to Logan’s ‘humanity’. The tone of the paragraphs is that of annoyed humor as if it were amusing to think Logan had any humanity at all. That being said… another literary study comes to mind when reading this portion of the work. I will do my best to keep from going too much in depth but basically back in the early EARLY 1900s Sigmund Freud invented psychoanalysis with his publication of The interpretation of Dreams (Rivkin, Julie). Why was it such a big deal? Well, before the publication psychology assumed that what goes on in the mind was limited to the conscious (Rivkin, Julie). What does that have to do with Logan? Well, the revolution was a huge part of history and the strides that were made in psychology didn’t only affect the medical world but the literary one as well. Psychoanalysis wasn’t only limited to a person but the work they created as well; it began to be used as a way of studying literature, analyzing the author through their work. But… I’m veering a bit too far to the left. The reason this is important is because some of Frued’s research was based on the ‘defenses’ that the ego mobilizes against unacceptable libidianal or unconscious material (Rivkin, Julie). I.e. The mind can invert a feeling into its opposite, so that a yearning for contact can become a desire to do violence (Rivkin, Julie). That, of course, is an extreme but we see the same psychological mechanism here for Logan. The Dreamer is a man who represents the very thing Logan is determined to pull down; it would be extremely illogical to have any sort of attraction to the man. There for, to put it simply, he’s in denial. (Yes… I am aware I went into a bunch of Fruedian jargon just to say Logan is in denial and everyone already knew that… He would have approved though so I’m not editing it out. You will just have to deal with it.)

This says a lot about Roman’s character as well. Those who are familiar with the character knows how outrageous the creative man can be, but Eva writes (from Logan’s POV) ‘the idiot was actually attempting to change his mind’ (Whatwashernameagain). This give another shift in the emotional tone of the work, feeding off Logan’s annoyance and dark undertones and changing it into something more hopeful; giving us our first glimpse at the painting of The Dreamer; so far nothing but a symbol of hope (and a ‘thorn in Logan’s shoe’).

Going to reverse for a moment as well. Bringing up the metaphor of ‘a thorn in his shoe’; there is a lot to be said about this line as well. It really puts The Dreamer in perspective from The Utilitarian’s point of view…. At least his conscious one. It shows that Logan wants the hero to be beneath him, that he consciously tries to convince himself that he is. That The Dream is at his feet causing more annoyance than actually damage. I’m a sucker for a good metaphor and this one certainly isn’t a bad one.

Within the next paragraph Logan goes on ranting about The Dreamer being a nuisance, continuing on his rant that really only cements his attraction to the hero. But, once again, the image of The Dreamer is becoming more detailed. Logan describes him as ‘clinging desperately to his ancient, deontological ethics with its rules that mustn’t be broken at any cost’ (Whatwashernameagain). It sounds as if despite the way Logan whines about The Dreamer he sees him as misguided. If he truly believed that the ethics The Dreamer represents were the man’s own then we would no doubt see the frustration we did when Logan spoke about the state of the world. Instead, we see the deflection of the blame from The Dreamer to ‘ancient, deontological ethics. It is obvious that Logan doesn’t blame him but rather sees that he is attempting to simply ‘do his duty’. This provides a sense of honor for The Dreamer which is quite fitting for Roman really.

Logan only cements his denial and affection for the hero but commenting on his concern for the man’s well-being despite his inconvenient presence: “Many a times he’d foiled his operation with simple stupidity, like running into an already unsafe sweat-shop he was about to blow up in order to rescue the industrialist he’d tied up in the vicinity” (Whatwashernameagain). It is possible that he has this concern for everyone that is not directly involved in the crimes he is attempting to shine some light on but it is doubt full.

To add to the growing case against Logan’s inaffection for the man, he actually tries to defend himself! He claims that he hadn’t planned on killing the industrialist, just make a statement and ‘singe his eyebrows’ (Whatwashernameagain). I love this line; it does a lot for the story is so few words. So, first it paints Logan, the cold calculating villain, as a sulking teenager who has been scolded. I love the imagery. It also brings a bit more humor into the work than the subtle outlines of Logan’s denial had been providing. It is makes it even more clear that Logan does not dislike Roman enough to actually want to hurt him; in fact, quite the opposite. It paints Roman as someone he would like to protect, emphasizing the ‘misguided hero’ view of The Dreamer once more.

Now to the good bits: “He knew very well how much the media loved [The Dreamer] with his uniform accentuating his broad shoulders and his lush, caramel hair, his blinding smile and perfect, tan skin” (Whatwashernameagain); Really Logan? Lush, caramel hair? Who talks like that? Only someone with a crush…. And boy do you have it bad! You think he’s smexy with a capital ‘M’! I don’t even have to explain this one… we all know… We all understand.

After that oh so very subtle remark, Eva follows up with a ‘He was a nuisance, is what [Logan] was trying to say’ (Whatwashernameagain)…. Mhmmm suuurrrrree D-E-N-I-A-L. Freud would love you! Just saying!

I think from now on I’m just going to break it down paragraph by paragraph. This is getting quite long and I don’t want anyone having to jump back and forth. So:

“The Utilitarianist prided himself in his polite, calm manners, yet this – man – brought out a temper he was not fond of. How dare this simpleton speak to him about right and wrong? Despite knowing the math advised against it, he found himself drawn into moral arguments repeatedly … and had almost gotten caught by those strong hands several times due to his frustration. He found himself simply unable to refrain from correcting the man when his claims were just so utterly stupid.” (Whatwashernameagain)

We’re going to jump back into Freud’s work now… be prepared. So, obviously Logan blames Roman for Logan’s reactions, his loss of self-control. This is known as projection. In projection, we assign to others feelings or thoughts in ourselves that are unacceptable (Rivkin, Julie). What possible feelings could Logan be having that are unacceptable? Maybe it has something to do with being caught by those ‘strong hands’. -eyebrow wiggle- This is also a good example of intellectualization. In intellectualization, we avoid potentially overwhelming feelings by focusing out attention on things that allow us to exercise that part of our mind devoted to reasoning rather than emotion (Rivkin, Julie): Hence, the arguments.

Before I move on, I want to point out the author’s talent here. Writing characters with a lot of depth can be difficult especially with characters that weren’t originally yours. I say that because I do these analysis’ constantly; I do them for work, I do them for school… I obviously do them for fun on occasion… but, while talking psychoanalysis can be daunting and perhaps a bit boring; the fact that I can apply these theories to a CHARACTER not the author is astounding. That is when you know someone has a great talent for their character formations. Sure, I can slap a few fancy words to describe a character but to actually be able to analyze a fictional character’s psyche… that is when you know that they are fully formed.  

I’m afraid I will need to end Part 2 here. Once again work is approaching. I will be back with a Part 3 When I get the chance, however. Hopefully, I can get through more than 5-6 paragraphs of the work then… Some dialog is coming up so it should be a bit quicker. I am quite enjoying this analysis and I wanted to thank everyone who had read/commented/liked/reblogged Part 1; and for all of the asks I have received. I quite enjoy hearing from you and love answering questions so feel free to drop a line! Special thanks to Whatwashernameagain, as always, for writing so brilliantly and just being a genuinely wonderful human being. Until next time…

 (Please forgive any poor grammar or misspelling. I tend to run short on time so I don’t really proofread)

Rivkin, Julie. Literary Theory: a Practical Introduction. Wiley-Blackwell, 2017.

Whatwashernameagain. “The Dreamer - Chapter 1.” Hello Guys Gals And Non Binary Friends, 8 Sept. 2019, https://whatwashernameagain.tumblr.com/post/187581477262/the-dreamer-chapter-1.

[thecrazygamingzombie]

monster prom super hero AU because why not?

four normal college students: Oz, Amira, Brian, and Vicky stumble upon an ancient artifact during a semester abroad that bestows mystical powers upon them which results in the formation of the superhero team ‘The Spooky Squad.’

Oz A.K.A ‘The Shadow Walker’ gained the power of shadow and fear manipulation, not only can he sink into shadows and use them to move around but he can also morph his body into different shapes as well as create projections to fool his enemies; the king of stealth and deception. He serves as the voice of reason

Amira A.K.A ‘Blaze Girl.’ A pyromancer with a wide arsenal to work with: long range fire balls, mid range fire blasts, short range fire punches, summoning fire imps, increasing the temperature around her. The only limit is her own ingenuity. She is the reckless wildcard of the group.

Brian A.K.A ‘undying man’ the muscle of the four, Brian gained super strength from his artifact with enough power to yeet cars like baseballs, an accelerated healing factor, and the inability to ever feel fatigued; he will essentially never get tired no matter how hard he pushes himself. He is the strong silent member of the group.

Vicky A.K.A ‘positive charge’. After the accident Vicky found she could manipulate electrical energy to her whims but found that said power was highly unstable and as such built equipment to control and regulate it: a pair of shocker gauntlets and a battery pack serve as such allowing her to create dozens of shocking attacks of her own mechanization such as ball lightning, electrical strikes, and even can surf on her own electricity. The undisputed leader of the four.

Now a hero is only as good as their villains, here’s who they go up against:

Damien Lavey A.K.A. ‘The Anarchrist’ (yes you read that correctly) the leader of an anarchist gang in Monsteropolis and former friend of Amira, him and his followers want nothing more than to see the city burn to the ground for laughs and will do anything to achieve such no matter how reckless or dangerous it is, even going so far as to take on the spooky squad single-handedly, said behaviors often lead to his downfall. He is a being of nothing but chaos as well as a skilled combatant and arsonist.

Vera Oberlin A.K.A ‘The chairwoman’ the head honcho of the criminal underbelly of Monsteropolis, any form of organized crime that is performed within Monsteropolis has to go through her for confirmation, every single mobster and lowlife in the city knows to fear and respect her. Her right hand woman is her own sister Valerie Oberlin who despite her more relaxed appearance can be just as brutal and cunning as her boss. Her own plots often bring her in conflict with the Spooky Squad due to their criminal nature but instead of fighting them herself she prefers to send out goons to do her dirty work for her while she stays in the shadows, goons like:

Aaravi A.K.A. ‘The Slayer.’ A professional assassin for hire and one of the best in her field. With a habit of working for less than wholesome clientele (Vera being her most frequent employer) she often finds herself duking it out with the Spooky Squad; with unmatched fighting skill and a ridiculous amount of equipment at her disposal she is more than a match for the four but still tends to fall flat more than she overcomes them, primarily due to over confidence.

Miranda Vanderbilt A.K.A ‘the Siren’ by day Miranda Vanderbilt seems to be nothing more than an innocent little rich girl, a young heiress whose adorable mannerisms have managed to worm their way into the hearts of Monsteropolis’ aristocracy. But by night she is far different, serving as the head of a secret organization known as ‘the Merfolk Court’ that seeks to subjugate the populace through acts of terrorism and assassination in order to usher in the new era where they rule over all; Miranda also holds a creepy obsession with Oz in his Shadow Walker persona, seeing him as the perfect suitor she continuously tries to convince him to join her and rule the masses alongside her with little success.

Scott Howl A.K.A. ‘Dire Wolf’ Now Scott is just another normal college football player, doing normal jock stuff and being a relatively kind person to others, even occasionally hanging out with the spooky squad’s civilian identities. However, due to a curse placed upon him by a sorcerer as a child for breaking a window on said sorcerer’s house with a football, he is susceptible to turning into a giant wolf monster when angered causing Scott to black out and his feral form to take control of his body with greatly enhanced physical abilities that can rivals even Brian’s, Scott is one tough zit to pop when he loses control. While he is unaware of his condition the Spooky Squad hopes to cure him one day.

Polly Geist A.K.A. ‘the Phantom Thief’. An infamous thief operating out of Monsteropolis, Polly uses the cover of drunken party girl at her college campus (the very same that the spooky squad attends) to carry out her heists where she steals anything that isn’t nailed down. This is less out of need and more for the pure rush she gets from running around the rooftops, taking whatever she pleases, that she just can’t get from drugs and alcohol. For reasons that are never quite explained as Polly keeps giving a different backstory every time, she possesses magical abilities similar to that of a ghost such as turning intangible, firing out beams of ecto energy, among other things which makes her far harder to catch than most. There is totally a Batman and Catwoman dynamic going on between her and Vicky.

Of course there is also the matter of the supporting cast:

Zoe, a journalism student at Spooky U. She is a longtime friend of the members of spooky squad going back all the way to middle school who frequently tags along with them whenever they do their little hangouts. However she has no idea that they are actually superheroes. Zoe has an obsession with the spooky squad as whole, following them whenever she can and documenting their exploits; while this often puts her in harm’s way it never deters her as she is just too determined. Most of all she wants to find out the Spooky Squad’s secret identities and has even made a room dedicated to investigating this, sadly though despite very obvious signs that her friends are the ones playing hero she never realizes it; even when there is blatant evidence of it she finds a way to twist it around so that it points somewhere else.

Calculester, an advanced AI program discovered by Vicky in the bowls of the engineering building at Spooky U. After activation he set about building himself a body and hooking himself up to the web, Cal now serves as the spooky squad’s eye in the sky and ear on the ground, getting Intel about all sorts of shady things going down within the city so they can get there in time and stop it; Being a robot he has to keep himself hidden from view but he does have  a disguise that he uses to go out on occasion (imagine just a set of groucho marx glasses and a sign that says ‘totally not a robot’, somehow this works...). He is essentially the unofficial fifth member of the Spooky Squad and has some serious sexual tension with Brian despite being a robot.

Liam De Lioncourt. One of the few who actually knows who the spooky squad are, Liam is a professor at Spooky U who teaches the subject of ancient Mythos and legends; being an expert on the subject he was able to discern where exactly the Spooky Squad’s powers originated from and as such teach them all the proper way to use them. A mentor like figure that each of them go to when they feel lost and confused as well as when they need help with controlling their abilities, he may still be extremely condescending about it but he fills that role extremely well. May or may not have his own secret past where he was a super hero himself.

The Coven, basically the other super hero team working in Monsteropolis that also goes to Spooky U, while the Spooky Squad tends to fight more street level threats theCcoven’s focus is more on the mystical threats from alternate worlds although both teams have been known to work together on occasion for greater threats that neither can handle by themselves. They have their own series as well as their own rogues gallery consisting of cult leader Dimitri, the Inter-Dimensional Prince, Dahlia the demon invader, and mad monk Leonard.

[codenamesazanka]

I know this is a really vague thing to ask, but do you have any tips for writing Shigaraki? I know Echodrops made a whole meta about fanon Shigaraki vs canon Shigaraki but do you personally have anything in particular you'd want to mention yourself about the portrayal of Shigaraki in fanfics?

(Here’s the link to @echodrops‘s post! It’s really, really good, and helped me figure out Shigaraki a lot in the first place. thank you!)

oooh! Not at all a vague thing, this is a great question. I started all this meta because I wanted to figure out how to write Shigaraki as well. A word of caution tho, because this would be my personal interpretation of Shigaraki, though I’ll try to use as much manga examples as I can. As always, super long post. 

Note: images are edited to fit exact quotes to relevant and reasonable sized images, instead of a whole manga page

Here’s some hand man characteristics/traits that I think are overlooked:

Shigaraki Tomura, in his beliefs/values, has a tendency for all-or-nothing thinking, to be extreme in his actions. In all three of his incarnations - the oneshot Tenko, the draft Sazanka, and this current one - a core of the character is 1) finding something flawed/bad/had hurt him somehow 2) completely loathing it 3) vowing to destroy it. 

Tenko despised samurai and their warring, and wishes to rid the world of swords. Sazanka is on a quest to kill quirk-users with quirks he deems too dangerous for society. And Shigaraki has decided that the Heroes and justice system is a farce, and is out to destroy it. 

Kinda fitting for a guy with his quirk - he either doesn’t destroy something, or destroys it completely. The moment he makes his decision, it’s fast and permanent. 

For Shigaraki, murder is murder, destruction is destruction, violence is violence, no matter how you dress it up. That’s why he couldn’t see the difference between him and Stain. That’s why he can’t see that Bakugou, as aggressive and vicious as he is, still wants to be a good guy. 

Now this is my take, but I think his mindset is: Because All Might can’t save everyone, he’s a fake, he’s trash; because everyone will say they condemn murder yet go about their lives carefree even though they know logically someone is out there getting killed, morality and justice is an illusion; because justice is so fragile and flimsy, I will expose it and destroy it. 

Not in any goodwill or for a better society, mind you. He just hates it. 

He also has no illusions about himself or his actions, he knows he’s evil.

Shigaraki is a lot more sarcastic and sardonic than usually portrayed in fanon. He’s very rude and can be foul mouthed, but the real insult comes from his tone and behavior. He condescendingly calls Eraserhead cool. He calls Stain the ‘Great Senpai of scoundrels’. He points out to Overhaul how a wakagashira/underboss like him should be more polite. Just about half of everything he says is dripping with mockery, and he’s very breezy and irreverent. So a bit less ‘I hate you, fuck off’, and more cheek.

Adding to that, if I’m reading my Japanese right, Shigaraki can change how he addresses people depending on the person and situation. His default speech is rude, but he’ll talk somewhat (barely) politely-ish if needed; it’s just it’s very obvious he’s not taking it seriously. 

Related, I feel like Shigaraki says a lot of things he doesn’t really believe. He tries out concepts, half-heartedly, on a whim. There’s that infamous speech at USJ about Heroes and Villains both using violence - which does seem to have some semblance to the actual ‘two sides of the same coin’ that even Best Jeanist talks about. 

And here’s him considering Stain’s effects on heroes, with gusto, before ditching it.

I know it’s Smash!, but here’s him reciting some sort of pseudo education philosophy he picked up somewhere??? to Kurogiri to get out of exercise. 

He’s a total smartass 

Of course, this brings up the question, is he genuine in his speech to Bakugou, or to Toga and Twice? 

 Like Echodrop notes, he can be in a good mood. He can be (seem?) happy, he can smile, he will acknowledge when someone does a good job of something. 

Sure, it’s got a manic edge to it, it’s probably not coming from a place of good, fluffy, innocent feelings, but he can laugh, enjoy the moment, be psyched about something. 

I really like this scene because he actually giggles a bit. He squeezes Midoriya, and he really does seem excited for a chat. 

He’s quick to go back to being default cranky tho. Quick to enjoy, quick to get irked.  

Shigaraki is a weirdo and I love him.

 My boy is smart. Really, Shigaraki is smarter than he looks. In the Ultra Archive, his profile lists his intelligence as ‘A’, ranking him above most characters, including Midoriya. I get that Deku’s whole thing is being the strategizing main character, but Shigaraki’s just as analytical. Even the Smash! Comic points this out. 

His room is filled with books, so either he reads a lot or he hoards them to look smart. I think it’s the former. Well, it’s not mutually exclusive, I should know.

He thinks and reflects and questions. He was super pissed about Stain, but he realized Stain was right and tried to figure out why. He went on a walk to calm down and just ruminate. He sought out Midoriya just to get second opinion. Afterwards, he quickly sees the bigger picture and realizes the issue is systemic and he’s gotta attack the structure. Of course, kinda shaky on the specific details and it’s not endgame long term, but still impressive. 

There’s a lot of Villain!Deku fanfics - and I like them a lot! - that turns Deku into the criminal mastermind or makes him the brains behind Shigaraki’s operations. Which is fair, Deku could totally be one! And also a lot of fics where Shigaraki is dismissed, with everything he does being AFO’s machinations. Again, fair. But Canon Shigaraki is AFO’s successor and leads the League for a reason.

This also means, I think, that Shigaraki isn’t as clueless to the fact that All For One is manipulating him. This point is entirely debatable, though. All I have to back this is how Shigaraki wondered if he was lied to in the USJ.

Even tho he’s facepalm crusty boi neet, Shigaraki is still a very dangerous S-ranked villain. I feel like sometimes people forget this. 

 He’s not that childish. He can be immature, he’s still learning the ropes of being a supervillain, he’s got an irritable and sullen disposition, but he’s not a five-year-old. He’s also not completely unhinged. 

When things don’t go his way, his first response usually isn’t to shriek or whine or immediately snap. He’s got a clear head and a good sense of what he can and can’t do. Kurogiri is down, All Might escaped their grasp, but Nomu’s still active? Cool, we got this. It’s only when Nomu gets team-rocket-ed that he panics. Stain stabs him? Doesn’t start a fight right there and then, asks Master for some Nomu, is patient enough to wait until he decides he really can’t stand Stain, then finally gives the go ahead for a rampage. 

Shigaraki knew from the start he can’t handle All Might. That’s Nomu’s job. As much as he hates All Might, he doesn’t jump at the chance to kill the hero personally. He’s not ruled by impulse or easy distractions, not really. And he will back down if Kurogiri reasons with him - see accepting Stain as a party member, see letting Toga and Dabi live. And after he got his motivation, he’s been very restraint since. 

He doesn’t immediately destroy his things in anger - we only see him destroy only few items pre-mall talk. He decays binoculars, a photo of Deku, maybe a newspaper, all quiet and deliberate. Kurogiri’s bar is intact and clean, despite being the long-time hang out spot of the destructive Shigaraki Tomura. Would he decay a controller after losing a game? Maybe, but also just as likely maybe not. 

Shigaraki will complain and bitch and sulk and hold a grudge, tho, yeah. He will lose it after a series of stressors/things gone wrong. He can be moody, cruel and sadistic, bloodthirsty and mayhem-loving. But he’s got himself under control more often than not. 

Finally, video games: My biggest pet peeve about portrayal of Shigaraki in fanfics: He’s super obsessed with video games, to the point that he plays them all day long, and he can’t stop using video game slang for everything - or so a lot of the fandom believes. 

I’ve pointed out before that we’re more likely to see him reading the newspaper and we’ve never actually seen him use a console ever in manga or anime. True, he likens scenarios to games frequently, but not all the time - the USJ fight was when he did that the most, then in his other appearances only once or twice during the whole scene (Doesn’t want Stain as a ‘party member’, none at all when meeting Dabi or Toga and then at the mall, camp arc has him seeing himself playing a Sim instead of an RPG, calls All Might ‘last boss’ during the raid, then nothing for his next appearances). At least not out loud. As fun as it is to imagine him as a geeky gamer, and he is, but he does more than just that. 

I think Shigaraki uses video games and media to create mental scripts for himself to understand/interact with the world, but it serves as a skeleton. He fleshes it out, always adding to that mental model to create a more complex one. He calls his change of strategy as playing a Sim game, but it’s a good analogy that works for him, and we see how layered his plan is - dealing a blow to UA that works whether the Vanguard succeed or not, kidnapping Bakugou and Ragdoll, in order to bring about the media and public criticism of UA/heroes, and had it not been for the raid, something would’ve happen to Bakugou that would’ve demoralized everyone. 

He def is grounded in reality enough to know what he’s doing is more than just a game. 

And that’s all I got for now! There might be a part two. idk, but I hope this was helpful! 

[hamliet]

MDZS meets MBTI

The Myers-Briggs Personality type is older than the Enneagram, and consists of sixteen types based on four different pairs of personality traits: Introversion vs. Extroversion; Sensing vs. Intuition, Feeling vs. Thinking, and Perceiving vs. Judging. To be clear, none of these categories are black and white–for example, all Feelers are capable of using logic, and Thinkers have feelings and care about people–but it’s a cool way of understanding personalities.

I’m not going to do every character, but simply the characters I think are most important and the ones for whom I have the most information to analyze (some is def guesswork). :P Also, this is just my opinion and definitely open to debate! MBTI isn’t a science; it’s just something I do for fun. 

Wei WuXian-->ENFP “The Campaigner” 

Unlike many of the others, Wei WuXian’s type seems very, very obvious. He might be the most ENFP to ever ENFP. 

The ENFP personality is a true free spirit. They are often the life of the party, but unlike Explorers, they are less interested in the sheer excitement and pleasure of the moment than they are in enjoying the social and emotional connections they make with others. Charming, independent, energetic and compassionate... if they’ve found a cause that sparks their imagination, ENFPs will bring an energy that oftentimes thrusts them into the spotlight, held up by their peers as a leader and a guru – but this isn’t always where independence-loving ENFPs want to be. 

Lan WangJi-->ISTJ “The Logistician”

Why yes, Lan WangJi is the exact opposite of his beloved Wei WuXian. He’s another one that seems pretty obvious to me. 

ISTJ personalities are no-nonsense... ISTJs have little tolerance for indecisiveness, but lose patience even more quickly if their chosen course is challenged with impractical theories, especially if they ignore key details...

ISTJ personalities adhere to established rules and guidelines regardless of cost, reporting their own mistakes and telling the truth even when the consequences for doing so could be disastrous. To ISTJs, honesty is far more important than emotional considerations, and their blunt approach leaves others with the false impression that ISTJs are cold, or even robotic. People with this type may struggle to express emotion or affection outwardly, but the suggestion that they don’t feel, or worse have no personality at all, is deeply hurtful.

Jiang Cheng-->ISTJ “The Logistician” 

Yes, the same type as Lan WangJi, just a tad more bitter. Personality tests, even if two people seem to fit a type extremely well, can’t define someone, because people are just so infinitely more complex. The part about being taken advantage of reminds me here of how Jin GuangYao points out that people took advantage of Jiang Cheng’s need to prove himself to drive a wedge between him and Wei WuXian. 

ISTJs’ dedication is an excellent quality, allowing them to accomplish much, but it is also a core weakness that less scrupulous individuals take advantage of. ISTJs seek stability and security, considering it their duty to maintain a smooth operation, and they may find that their coworkers and significant others shift their responsibilities onto them, knowing that they will always take up the slack. ISTJs tend to keep their opinions to themselves and let the facts do the talking, but it can be a long time before observable evidence tells the whole story.

Lan XiChen-->ENFJ “The Protagonist” 

Sadly, this description is pretty accurate to Lan XiChen’s strengths and also his flaws--in particular in terms of his relationship with Jin GuangYao. 

ENFJs radiate authenticity, concern and altruism, unafraid to stand up and speak when they feel something needs to be said. They find it natural and easy to communicate with others, especially in person, and their Intuitive (N) trait helps people with the ENFJ personality type to reach every mind, be it through facts and logic or raw emotion. ENFJs easily see people’s motivations and seemingly disconnected events, and are able to bring these ideas together and communicate them as a common goal with an eloquence that is nothing short of mesmerizing.

The interest ENFJs have in others is genuine, almost to a fault – when they believe in someone, they can become too involved in the other person’s problems, place too much trust in them.

Jin GuangYao-->ESFJ (?) “The Consul”

This one I’m less certain of--FJ seems certain to me, but I/E and N/S is a bit debatable. I think he best meets the description of “the Consul” though. 

ESFJs are more concerned with fashion and their appearance, their social status and the standings of other people... ESFJs love to be of service, enjoying any role that allows them to participate in a meaningful way, so long as they know that they are valued and appreciated. Coming to terms with their sensitivity is ESFJs’ biggest challenge – people are going to disagree and they’re going to criticize, and while it hurts, it’s just a part of life. 

Nie MingJue-->ESTJ “The Executive” 

Less certain of E or I than for the other three, but the way he failed to overcome the challenge of how not everyone processes the same way seems very ESTJ to me. 

ESTJs are representatives of tradition and order, utilizing their understanding of what is right, wrong and socially acceptable to bring families and communities together. Embracing the values of honesty, dedication and dignity, people with the ESTJ personality type are valued for their clear advice and guidance, and they happily lead the way on difficult paths. 

ESTJs are aware of their surroundings and live in a world of clear, verifiable facts – the surety of their knowledge means that even against heavy resistance, they stick to their principles and push an unclouded vision of what is and is not acceptable... they expect their reliability and work ethic to be reciprocated – people with this personality type meet their promises, and if partners or subordinates jeopardize them through incompetence or laziness, or worse still, dishonesty, they do not hesitate to show their wrath... 

The main challenge for ESTJs is to recognize that not everyone follows the same path or contributes in the same way.

Nie HuaiSang-->ISFP “The Adventurer” 

Interesting name for a timid HuaiSang, but I really do think he is an ISFP. He is notably one of the few Nie Sect leaders who doesn’t seem at risk of dying from a qi deviation, and hence his less brutish way of ruling might actually, in the long run, be good for his sect. (NMJ would be proud... maybe.) 

ISFP personality types are true artists, but not necessarily in the typical sense where they’re out painting happy little trees. Often enough though, they are perfectly capable of this. Rather, it’s that they use aesthetics, design and even their choices and actions to push the limits of social convention...

If these goals and principles are noble, ISFPs can act with amazing charity and selflessness – but it can also happen that people with the ISFP personality type establish a more self-centered identity, acting with selfishness, manipulation and egoism. 

Wen Qing-->ENTJ “The Commander” 

Another one I feel fairly confident in. Wen Qing is a boss queen who gives birth to one of the series’ most iconic lines: “thank you, and I’m sorry.” She’s able to win the respect of Wen RouHan and even some people who hate the Wens, and thinks outside the box, theorizing on core transfer but hesitant to actually try it when she isn’t fully confident. 

ENTJs are natural-born leaders. People with this personality type embody the gifts of charisma and confidence, and project authority in a way that draws crowds together behind a common goal. But unlike their Feeling (F) counterpart, ENTJs are characterized by an often ruthless level of rationality, using their drive, determination and sharp minds to achieve whatever end they’ve set for themselves.

Wen Ning-->INFP “The Mediator”

I was torn between S and N, but I went with INFP because he is more focused on thinking about possibilities--in fact his arc is about learning to be confident in his own possibilities and to explore them.

INFP personalities are true idealists, always looking for the hint of good in even the worst of people and events, searching for ways to make things better. While they may be perceived as calm, reserved, or even shy, INFPs have an inner flame and passion that can truly shine. 

Jin ZiXuan--> ESTP, “The Entrepreneur” 

Does he have enough of a personality for me to really analyze him? Maybe not but I like him a lot. He is motivated by what seems like pride at the beginning, but we later realize he cares deeply about the people around him and genuinely cared for Wei WuXian because his wife did. 

Inspiring, convincing and colorful, they are natural group leaders, pulling everyone along the path less traveled, bringing life and excitement everywhere they go. Putting these qualities to a constructive and rewarding end is Entrepreneurs’ true challenge.

Jiang YanLi-->INFP “The Mediator” 

Shijie was indeed the mediator between her two brothers, and it’s her legacy of love and kindness, of wanting Wei WuXian to live even at the expense of her own life no matter what he’d done, that makes a huge difference.  

Luckily, like the flowers in spring, INFP’s affection, creativity, altruism and idealism will always come back, rewarding them and those they love perhaps not with logic and utility, but with a world view that inspires compassion, kindness and beauty wherever they go.

Jin Ling-->ESTP, “The Entrepreneur” 

Jin Ling is the hardest one to pin down and I’m mad because he’s one of my favorites. He is highly emotional, but I think he’s an ESTP like his dad.

Entrepreneurs keep their conversation energetic, with a good dose of intelligence, but they like to talk about what is – or better yet, to just go out and do it. Entrepreneurs leap before they look, fixing their mistakes as they go, rather than sitting idle, preparing contingencies and escape clauses.

Lan SiZhui-->INFJ “The Advocate” 

My type. 

INFJs indeed share a unique combination of traits: though soft-spoken, they have very strong opinions and will fight tirelessly for an idea they believe in. They are decisive and strong-willed, but will rarely use that energy for personal gain – INFJs will act with creativity, imagination, conviction and sensitivity not to create advantage, but to create balance. 

Lan JingYi-->ESFP “The Entertainer” 

He’s pretty easy to figure out. I constantly wonder how he fares in the Gusu Lan Sect. 

...they love putting on a show for their friends too, chatting with a unique and earthy wit, soaking up attention and making every outing feel a bit like a party. Utterly social, ESFPs enjoy the simplest things, and there’s no greater joy for them than just having fun with a good group of friends.

Xue Yang-->ESTP “The Entrepreneur” 

ESTPs are the likeliest personality type to make a lifestyle of risky behavior. They live in the moment and dive into the action – they are the eye of the storm. People with the ESTP personality type enjoy drama, passion, and pleasure, not for emotional thrills, but because it’s so stimulating to their logical minds. They are forced to make critical decisions based on factual, immediate reality in a process of rapid-fire rational stimulus response.

A-Qing-->ESTP “The Entrepreneur” 

Yes, I think A-Qing is the same type as Xue Yang, which doesn’t surprise me because they are actually extremely blatant foils in the story. It’s funny the description notes how observant ESTPs tend to be, because that’s something A-Qing absolutely is, noticing Xue Yang’s minuscule changes in expression and keeping her from trusting him, and Xue Yang is also incredibly observant of her words to realize she might just not be blind after all. 

With perhaps the most perceptive, unfiltered view of any type, ESTPs have a unique skill in noticing small changes. Whether a shift in facial expression, a new clothing style, or a broken habit, people with this personality type pick up on hidden thoughts and motives where most types would be lucky to pick up anything specific at all. ESTPs use these observations immediately, calling out the change and asking questions, often with little regard for sensitivity. ESTPs should remember that not everyone wants their secrets and decisions broadcast.

Xiao XingChen-->ISFJ “The Defender” 

The following description really reminds me of XXC especially after he hears the story about Xue Yang’s love of candy as a child, and every single day thereafter buys him and A-Qing a candy. 

ISFJs take their responsibilities personally, consistently going above and beyond, doing everything they can to exceed expectations and delight others, at work and at home... Naturally social, an odd quality for Introverts, ISFJs utilize excellent memories not to retain data and trivia, but to remember people, and details about their lives. When it comes to gift-giving, ISFJs have no equal, using their imagination and natural sensitivity to express their generosity in ways that touch the hearts of their recipients

Song Lan-->INTJ “The Architect” 

There’s not as much to go on for Song Lan, but what we do have seems to suggest INTJ to me, particularly in how someone who would spend years looking for a friend would refuse to consider that Xue Yang might have changed at all. 

INTJs are simultaneously the most starry-eyed idealists and the bitterest of cynics, a seemingly impossible conflict. 

Yu ZiYuan-->ESTJ “The Executive” 

Welp. The Purple Spider is definitely an Executive.

ESTJs are representatives of tradition and order, utilizing their understanding of what is right, wrong and socially acceptable to bring families and communities together. Embracing the values of honesty, dedication and dignity, people with the ESTJ personality type are valued for their clear advice and guidance, and they happily lead the way on difficult paths. 

[the-citrus-scale]

Chaotic Neutrals: The Walking Dead Edition

Fandom always seems to flock to morally gray characters, or as we call them here at The Citrus Scale, chaotic neutrals. The Walking Dead, in particular, is a fandom made up pretty much only of chaotic neutrals, but some are a little more chaotic than others. In this edition of our feature, we’ll talk about my personal favorite chaotic neutral, Negan, and another character very similar to him that many might not view as a chaotic neutral, Rick Grimes. Negan and Rick both do many, many questionable things throughout the series that fans attempt to justify for the sake of not vilifying them. This is why they are both great, albeit infuriating, characters.

Analyzing any character from The Walking Dead is a little tricky. While most of them originally lived in a world that functioned like ours, they don’t live in that world anymore. Their rules are dramatically different. With Negan and Rick, there’s also another layer to worry about, and that’s the fact that they’re foils. That means that their backgrounds and character arcs mirror each other, but are just varied enough to highlight the differences between them. You also have the wrinkle of comics vs. television show. At this point, it’s really best to consider each version as separate from the other. There are too many differences in character development and plot that make it disingenuous to try to smash everything together and analyze it that way. Therefore, we’ll be talking about the television show versions of these characters today.

Ultimately, in the question of who’s better, it’s really a wash and Negan and Rick end up about the same. We know, we know. It doesn’t seem possible, right? Well, trust us, it is. Negan isn’t as bad as everybody thinks he is, and Rick isn’t as great as everybody thinks he is.

That’s largely because the two men are very similar. Both Negan and Rick had positions of authority in their original roles in the world. Negan was a teacher and Rick was a cop, and these professions show in the way they treat people. Negan views others during the apocalypse as in need of a protector and organizer, someone who will tell them exactly what they need to do to stay safe and thrive. However, much like a teacher in a classroom, Negan isn’t afraid to make his own rules. Rick sees himself as policing a societal structure that already exists, the same structure that the original world operated on. He is also very focused on actions that we would call illegal, despite the lack of that structure in the new world, whereas Negan is concerned with all actions and how they affect the whole. Rick is mostly concerned about those closest to him, particularly his family, and he has shown repeatedly that he will prioritize their safety over everything else. Negan, on the other hand, since he has no family left to care for, leans more toward the welfare of everyone, not just one person. Regardless of their methods, the big similarity between these two is that they are both working towards the same goal. They both want to reestablish order in a world that no longer has any. Their methods may be different, but they want the same result.

What fans generally take issue with, though, is that methodology, and that’s because, quite frankly, both Negan and Rick’s motivations do not excuse any and all actions. Justifying the protection of a few key people is not enough to warrant jeopardizing a larger group, but the protection of the larger group doesn’t excuse any and all actions either. It also doesn’t necessarily mean that Negan’s actions aren’t justified just because he has no family to protect. Both men, at various points, say that what they’re doing is for the greater good, but that’s not a blanket excuse that can be used to bury all sins. It’s also very easy for fans to argue that an action was justified because they know the result, but when you’re forced to consider all the ways that situation could have turned out, the justification becomes murkier. It’s also pertinent to point out that Rick’s supposed commitment to democracy, which conveniently vanishes when he doesn’t get what he wants, by the way, also does not make anything he does more excusable simply because we think we’d like his system better.

But I’m sure you want some specific examples, don’t you? Sure you do. Let’s break these two bad boys, so to speak, down.

Negan’s a little easier to tackle, so let’s take him first. Negan runs The Sanctuary in The Walking Dead. It is arguably one of the safest communities we see during the course of the series, especially considering that it’s heavily implied that Negan has been there for a long time. In addition, the people in The Sanctuary are actually equipped to deal with the apocalypse, unlike, for example, Woodbury, where most of the inhabitants lived in ignorant bliss and were unprepared for what happened when their walls came down. Rick tried to establish a permanent community like that from day one, but he never really managed. Even Carl is impressed by what Negan has built during his visit. This alone lets us see some of the good in him. However, Negan’s primary means of control are extreme psychological warfare and violence, which leaves a lot of fans with bad tastes in their mouths.

Certainly violence is justified in the new world of The Walking Dead. Pretty much every character has to use it at some point, no matter how hard they try not to. And don’t get us wrong, a lot of the people who have violence directed towards them on the show deserve it. But how much is too much? Clearly a line can be drawn. While Negan doesn’t resort to violence unless it’s the absolute last thing he can do, the fact that he starts off his interactions with other communities with threats still doesn’t sit well. Although Rick’s diplomatic approach doesn’t always have the best outcome either (Terminus, anyone?), it seems like there should be some sort of happy medium. This could lead to some less unsavory methods of running The Sanctuary for Negan as well. Maybe a little more freedom within his system would be good for everyone.

Not that Rick is running things much better, really. Let’s put his multiple failures aside for the moment and focus on a few key instances when he goes, well, a little bit off the rails. The first is when his group is staying at the prison. Rick, Michonne, and Carl come upon a lone hitchhiker who runs after their car asking for help. They drive past him not once, but twice. Later, they find his abandoned bag by the side of the road and simply take it without another thought. And okay, we get it. Other people are potentially very dangerous in this new world. But this was one guy. And they were living in a prison. A prison. With cells. That they could close and lock. They kept Merle Dixon, a known threat who was working for their enemy, in one of those cells, and they couldn’t give this random guy a chance? Just letting him die seems unnecessarily cruel. At The Sanctuary, he would have at least been given a chance, and his fate would have been up to him.

Then there’s Alexandria. When Rick and the others arrive at Alexandria, it seems like a dream, but Rick and his group quickly decide that Alexandria is being mismanaged. Despite his supposed commitment to democracy and making the world a better place, Rick simply says that if Alexandria won’t do things the way they like, they’ll just take it over, which is exactly what they do. Now, we’re not saying that Alexandria wasn’t being mismanaged, but this seems like a pretty rapid escalation, and if it was being done to Rick, he certainly wouldn’t have liked it. It was a power move, and it worked out in the end, but that still doesn’t mean that it was justified.

Which brings us to Oceanside. Yes, Simon definitely overstepped when he culled the population of Oceanside. No doubt about it. But it wasn’t Negan’s order, and he didn’t condone it, so let’s put that aside for the moment. What we do know is that Rick marches into Oceanside and demands that they comply with his demands. He wants to take away all of the defenses of a terrified group just because he wants to fight after he let Negan take away all of his defenses, and he somehow thinks this is justified because he’s fighting their former oppressor, and is therefore the ultimate hero crusading for the greater good. Um, no, Rick. Just no. When Oceanside disagreed and didn’t want to do it his way, he made them get on their knees just like Negan made him get on his and he took what he wanted. Not the greatest move, dude. For all his talk about doing the right thing, Rick is definitely willing to step into the gray when it gets him what he wants. That is not being a good leader. We’re not saying that means he doesn’t ever do anything good, but he’s not the morally upright character everyone imagines him to be.

But Rick often receives the gift of the morally upright image because of other traits that make Negan seem a little less appealing from that same perspective. Specifically, we’re talking about his wives. Negan has multiple wives, and since we don’t see a lot of them in the series, the implication we’re left with is that these women trade sex for survival. While it’s fairly obvious why this arrangement gives viewers pause, it’s also hard to really judge Negan on it when we don’t actually know how it operates. Despite the implication that the trade is sex for survival, there is never any confirmation of that. None of the wives mention that sex is part of the deal, and the only sexual contact we see between Negan and any of his wives is one kiss that was clearly more about psychology than desire. I have a personal theory about this one, in fact. I think that the wives are not about sex at all. I think they’re Negan’s loophole to help those who might not be able to support themselves within his system because they don’t have skills that are particularly useful in the apocalypse. Frankie, for example, was a masseuse. Well, that’s not really something people are going to be looking for in this new world. But Negan likes massages, so he lets Frankie trade them for survival. Okay, okay. It’s a headcanon. But it could make sense, right?

And we can’t forget where these characters are now in this discussion. Negan is obviously not devoid of morals. He cares about people, even if it’s in an abstract way, and his particularly vicious stance against rape is something any woman can honestly appreciate. And no, these things don’t excuse his character flaws and actions. But in the end, Rick doesn’t learn as much as Negan. His victory and subsequent torment of Negan simply teach him that his unilateral decision-making was right in the end. Yes, he sacrifices himself for the people he loves, and that is admirable, but Rick hasn’t changed that significantly since the beginning of the series. Negan, on the other hand, has had time for self-reflection and has come to realize his mistakes. He has already proven that he’s capable of redemption, and hopefully we’ll see some more from him before either his character arc or the television series is over.

No matter what, the moral of the story is that while both characters are flawed, you are allowed to like them, and no one is allowed to demand that you explain why or make a case for why a character is good enough to be liked. You do you, and they can do them, and no one has to get in anybody else’s way.

[maevelin]

What do you think will happen in the final 3 episodes? Which characters do you think won't survive the series?

You know while I was thinking of how to reply to this I came to realize that the show made me not to care? I feel like I only have to take what they give me at face value. Something that kept on happening for a long time now but it couldn’t be more obvious. So since this is not challenging me mentality I only have to sit back and just let the writers spell out the resolution. 

Like i know that many characters won’t survive but after dealing with NK so neatly it feels that…so they survived that so easily despite how the whole show kept building the narrative way differently for so many years and now the same characters will go die a few episodes later in a generic way which is one more pointless struggle for the political games of power? As if we haven’t seen this on repeat endlessly from episode one? So why does it make it any different now? Because the show is ending I suppose but the mentality behind it remains the same so it is more or less a little bit of the same. Unless they give a twist when it comes to the WW lore somehow and add it in the last episodes again which does not make much sense. But even so in the end the way they ended the NK still falls flat and defines the story in a very damaging way.

The narrative was operating so far on the principle that no political system -and especially one that does not favor human rights- was meant to override humanity’s soul and heart and the desire we all have for survival and hope against darkness. Magic was born again for a reason. And it was not meant to be pointless. There was a reason why every character (or at least a collection of so many characters so far) was mostly terrible and showed the bad side of humanity. Because it was meant to rise the question as if that kind of humanity is deserving of being saved in the first place; so the motivations of the NK on this were also important. As were the prophecies that led to something that was meant to be apocalyptic in a way that would bring out the best and the worst of humanity till the very end. You can’t hype something that has been foretold for thousands of years only to end it like this without caring for the consequences on the existential level. 

After the Long Night and after winning the Great War with all the expected losses (none of which we have seen really) everything else in the game board was meant to be inconsequential so when we would finally go along to the game of thrones the expectations would be subverted and the survivors that would take the Throne would reshape the world in the ashes and would strive to make it a better place after the hard lessons they learned. It would put everything in perspective. After all “Power resides where men believe it resides”. This was meant to be the ultimate power struggle that would end up being the last stand of humanity against death and that would redefine the way everyone viewed their priorities and what truly gives power to the throne. I don’t think that after 8x03 anyone actually changed in any way. Either the battle against the NK happened or not, despite his defeat, I don’t feel as if the characters went out to the other side more humble or changed. Shocked maybe. With losses in their military forces for sure. But with the same arrogance despite a bit of grief and relief for making it out alive. But only in that part of the North. The rest of the world, the rest of the Kingdoms were not affected in the least. The perspective didn’t change. Their everyday life didn’t change. Winter came and everyone slept on it. The Wall might have fallen which was meant to be a big deal but Winterfell stood and the battle was won in the span of a few hours. No one else was affected even in the slightest despite all the prophecies for the Prince that was Promised that would save the world from the apocalypse and you know the Long Night that lasted for what? 3 to 5 hours I guess. 

So in the end we are back to square one with most of the world having no clue and Cersei actually making the most sense for not bothering with this. So what is it in the next episodes that can happen that is so important? We faced the nuclear threat that wasn’t that nuclear to begin with and now we will deal with the guys with the rifles that will probably cause the most damage. Okay I guess. Got to love irony. But even so that kind of irony still has divided the sides predictably.

The thing is that in the end of the day the writers have basically cleared the sides way too nicely. There is no conflict in me as to where to side. So one way or another it is most of the faves against Cersei which is the ultimate villain that we know for a fact is evil and not even that smart to begin with (although she made the most sense with the NK). And I mean…we all know she will die so there’s that. And then it will all come down to the personal conflicts of the characters and the dynamics that will make the difference. Which I guess makes sense because the soul of each story is its characters but the timing and the way you place the characters in stories and legends that are supposedly larger than life plays its part. Especially in this kind of fantasy genre. So I feel the positions here have been misplaced. 

I’d assume the aftermath of what happened in this episode and the preparation for the big confrontation for the Throne will happen in the next episode.

The big death count, the battle and characters going against characters will take place in penultimate episode.

Jon’s claim will be the focus in these two episodes majorly too.

And the finale will clear the air where magic will be contained and maybe still simmering, the Kingdoms will find a ruler or a new way or ruling and each character’s story will be wrapped up. Bittersweet ending. Counting the losses, hope for a new tomorrow, maybe an open ambiguous ending for a supernatural threat that must always linger…and see you with the missing answers in the spin off I guess.

[rochellespen]

Watching Doctor Who Season 37 (Series 11), Episode Three

I had heard that there was going to be an actual pure historical this season and was intrigued. Pure historicals were common back in the black-and-white era of Doctor Who, but were pretty much history (see what I did there?) by the end of Troughton’s first season. Which is a shame as I enjoyed seeing the Doctor and companions deal with history and its complications without the crutch of having an alien crash into the scene.

And for the record, I do consider Black Orchid a pure historical because my definition of pure historical is taking place in the past and having no other sci-fi/fantasy elements other than the Doctor, his companions and the TARDIS. I know other fans have the additional criteria that it has to involve an actual event of note in history, but I’ve often thought that that shortchanges the plot potential of the Doctor dealing with problems that can’t be solved with a wave of a sonic screwdriver or by re-wiring something at just the right moment.

Unfortunately, while Rosa is a welcome trip into the past for our latest TARDIS crew, it’s not a pure historical. At least not to me. I guess I’ll have to keep hoping we will get a pure historical someday in a future episode.

So what do we get with this episode? 

Spoilers ahoy under the cut.....

Episode Thoughts

From the outset, I felt that this was going to be an episode that makes people uncomfortable. I also felt that this is not a bad thing. History is full of things that are important, but also ugly and painful. And sci-fi has traditionally been an outlet to explore those uncomfortable themes.

Thus, it was hard to watch Ryan and Yasmin get mistreated so horribly by the people of the time period, but it’s also the reality of this era of history. The fact that the Doctor and Graham were not immune from distrust and disdain because of their decision to associate with them is a disturbing reminder of how deep this ugliness went.

While it did get a touch heavy-handed at times, I think where the writers really excelled as far as bringing the messages about racism across was in how the companions reacted to what was going on around them. Sure, they’re all excited to meet important historical figures like Rosa Parks and Martin Luther King Jr., but then they get nasty reminders of what kind of world those people existed in. Their enthusiasm to watch history unfold becomes tempered with the unhappiness and frustration of what people struggled against in the first place. It’s a very realistic reaction to learning how traveling through time can be both exhilarating and heartbreaking. 

I also enjoyed the ongoing theme of how little events could make such a huge impact on history. A thought that leads to an interesting chess game between the Doctor and her nemesis, Krasko as they each have to find ways to move history in the direction they want without drawing attention to themselves. 

My main complaint about the plot it’s that I felt like it didn’t have enough build up to it. I wish that they had either drawn out the mystery of why another time traveler was there or put in more obstacles to the endgame of making sure Rosa Parks fulfills the moment of history she is meant to. As it was, the pacing felt awkward and rushed. Like it had a lot it wanted to say and forgot at times that there needed to be an actual conflict and plot progression to give those important themes something to hold onto. 

This shows in several dangling plot points. A good example is that racist cop who was following them around at one point. Sure, they had one confrontation with him, but were we supposed to believe that he wouldn’t keep trying to find ways to make their lives hard? Why didn’t he show up again? I thought for sure that Krasko would take full advantage of getting the law involved with his plot to alter history. It would have been easy to pull off and yet, he didn’t for some odd reason...

That said, it was nice to see the Doctor deal with an opponent who was forced to operate under the same “no violence” rules that she chooses to adopt. It’s a welcome change from the all-too-common conflict of a villain who relies on brute force to win versus the Doctor’s (usually) pacifist cunning. 

One thing I also thought was particularly effective was the scene on the bus when the Doctor, Ryan, Graham and Yasmin realize that they were going to have to take part in the events that led up to Parks’ protest in order to keep history running as it should. The discomfort they silently expressed along with the wordless exchange between the Doctor and Parks as she’s led off the bus are beautifully pulled off with the right level of emotional subtext.

I sort of wish that they had ended the episode there instead of having that additional bit on the TARDIS. Then again, I think the emotional release of reflecting on the payoff of Parks’ sacrifices is probably a needed moment at the end of such a charged episode.

Character Thoughts

A lot of the characterization for this episode was tied into the plot, especially in regards to Ryan and Yasmin.

I’d like to add though, that we get some lovely scenes between the two of them which highlight the differences in their personality. Ryan is definitely having a harder time dealing with the much more brazen-than-usual racism of this time period and thus, it’s no surprise that he deals with Krasko by dealing out the harsh punishment of sending him to heaven knows where in time. 

Meanwhile, Yasmin tries to remain positive while still acknowledging the frustration she feels. She even manages to find humor over being mistakenly labeled as Mexican over and over again and I applaud the writers for making this both amusing and cringey at the same time. 

I also felt for Graham as he was faced with the difficult position of being aware that he has an unfairly privileged status and has to use it to his advantage while also dealing with his deep-seated disgust for it. The fact that he openly asserts that Ryan is his grandson, despite knowing how that will be received, says plenty about his character. 

The Doctor clearly conveyed her disgust with the situation, but it’s interesting to note the contrast between her and her immediate predecessor. Twelve was vocal with his disappointment with humans and their prejudices and had actually slugged someone who spouted bigoted thoughts toward his companion. Meanwhile, Thirteen is less direct in her disdain even if she is no less disapproving and seems to have the more prominent mindset that people could do better if they chose to. It’s a softer quality to the Doctor’s character that we don’t always get these days and thus, it was nice to see it here.

Also, kudos to the writers and Whittaker for not letting the Doctor’s joke about possibly being Banksy with Graham become tedious. It was the sort of fun Doctor-companion kidding that I’ve missed at times. As was Graham’s “absurd” idea to invent a smartphone and calling himself Steve Jobs. Touches of humor like that were needed in an episode with so much gravitas. 

Being as she was the title character and the central plot point to the episode, I was also happy that Rosa Parks was given some solid characterization. Throughout the episode, she becomes someone you can root for, even if she wasn’t involved with major events within the cause of civil rights. 

I think the one main area of characterization that really fell flat for me was Krasko. Yes, I know it’s super naive of me to think that people in the distant future who know all about the basic mechanics of time travel couldn’t be racist bigots, but I still believe that such simplistic ways of thinking would be out of place in such a technologically advanced society. So it seems odd that someone from the distant future would have a mindset that fits in perfectly with the 1950s US south.

This problem is compounded by the fact that racism seems to be Krasko’s only notable character trait. We know nothing about why he has these views or what led him to be such an evil person in the first place. Other than his being a criminal and from the future, we know zilch else about him. He exists solely to be racist trash and that is taking the easy way out rather than demonstrate the uncomfortable truth that racism persists partially because it isn’t always so straightforward and obvious. 

I do wonder though, if there will be any consequences from Ryan sending Krasko back further into the past. That might actually be an interesting plot thread to pick back up at some point. 

The Last Word

Rosa is a good example of what a historical can do as far as showcasing the Doctor’s and companions’ ingenuity as well as give the audience plenty to think about in regards to how history unfolded and continues to play out. While not perfect, it’s an emotionally satisfying episode with plenty of good moments of characterization from the main cast which makes up for the minor plot problems. 

[picardonhealth]

Family fights to ensure pain of tainted blood not in vain

The loss of a hemophiliac son because of the AIDS virus has spurred a New Brunswick couple to join the battle to reform Canada's blood system

Provincial and territorial health ministers will soon announce the terms of reference for a public inquiry into Canada's blood system. In a four- part series, The Globe and Mail examines fallout from the tainted-blood tragedy.

ANDRÉ PICARD 2361 Words Monday, September 06, 1993 Page A1 

Moncton, N.B. -- HOW do you tell your children that they're going to die?

That question came rushing at Normand and Anne-Marie Landry in January of 1987, when they first heard that half of Canada's hemophiliacs were infected with the AIDS virus.

After receiving confirmation that their twins, Serge and Stephane, were carrying the human immunodeficiency virus, the Landrys needed a year to summon the courage to sit the hemophiliac boys down at the kitchen table and tell them that the blood concentrates that had helped them lead normal lives had infected them with a deadly disease.

Today, Serge is dead. Stephane, 17, fights a losing battle against the virus. He is a shadow of his former self, in many ways a living symbol of a community ripped apart, of innocence lost.

As the parents sit down at that same kitchen table to talk to a reporter, it is obvious that their initial disbelief and fear have turned to anger and activism. They have immersed themselves in the fight to reform Canada's blood system, convinced that the best medicine is knowledge about health care and the best way of getting justice for their boys is refusing to be silenced by the pain.

Eight years after the blood system was declared, once again, to be as safe as scientifically possible, Mr. Landry believes that it is still an accident waiting to happen. "Nothing has changed. If there is another disease like AIDS, more people will die. How many bodies is it going to take to get them off their behinds?"

Despite the infection of more than 1,000 hemophiliacs and transfusion patients with HIV in the early 1980s and almost unanimous agreement that Canada's blood system is not efficiently meeting the needs of Canadians, structural changes have been minimal.

And despite proposals for radical reform, users of the blood system say there are daily problems with its functioning that underline the need for swift action.

Its problems with acquired immune deficiency syndrome problem have pretty well been whipped. No one has been reported infected from blood concentrates since 1987.

But a few Canadians a year still contract HIV from transfusions because an infected donor can slip through the testing process during the so- called window period, which lasts about six weeks from the time of infection until tests will reveal the presence of the virus.

Researchers have pegged that risk at about one in 250,000 in Canada, in contrast to one in 60,000 in the United States. In practical terms, that means that a patient who gets 50 units of blood during heart surgery in a Canadian hospital has about one chance in 5,000 of contracting HIV.

AIDS is not the last disease to infect the blood system. Thousands of Canadians have contracted hepatitis C, a potentially debilitating liver disease, from the blood supply. Critics cite that as an example of continuing problems, but regulators point to the system's response to the hepatitis threat as proof that lessons have been learned from the experience with AIDS: Canada was one of the first countries in the world to screen blood for hepatitis C shortly after a test was developed in 1990.

"The Canadian blood supply is as safe now as it can reasonably be expected to be and as safe as any blood supply in the world," says Peter Pinkerton, an officer with the Canadian Hematology Society. "Absolute safety in the blood supply is an unobtainable objective."

The most glaring failure in Canada's blood system is a lack of preparedness for an emergency.

The early-warning system is informal and so is the response mechanism. When hepatitis A infected the blood supply in four European countries this year, the bureau of biologics of the federal Health and Welfare Department convened a meeting with the main players in the blood system, just as it had done in the early stages of the AIDS epidemic. Organizations at the meeting - the bureau of biologics, Canada Red Cross Society, Canadian Blood Agency and Canadian Hemophilia Society - agreed to monitor the situation, each in its own way. Soon afterward, the source of the European contamination was identified, so the issue did not come up again.

"Hepatitis A never came here, so we just forgot about it," says William Dobson, executive director of the Canadian Blood Agency, which was created in 1991 by the provinces and territories to co-ordinate and finance a national blood program. "As a response, that's not good enough."

On Friday, more than a decade after Serge and Stephane Landry were infected with HIV, the main players in Canada's blood system met to take the first steps to draft a formal emergency response plan, but the steps were tentative.

In fact, even though the collection of blood and fractionation of it into components have become endeavours as complex as production of pharmaceuticals, formality and regulation are relatively new in the process.

Some blood concentrates have been regulated since their introduction into Canada in 1968. But before 1989, blood collection and much component manufacturing was unregulated. Four years ago, blood was classified as a drug under the Food and Drugs Act, but that made no practical difference until last year, when regulations were published.

"I wouldn't say there were no rules before; it's just that the procedures were not regulated by the federal government," says Wark Boucher, chief of the blood products division of the bureau of biologics.

Today, the Red Cross is licenced as a manufacturer of biological products, and its 17 blood-collection centres and the U.S. fractionation plants to which it ships plasma are inspected annually. (Health and Welfare Canada refuses to make the inspection reports public.) Given that the law was written to conform with standard operating procedures in place at the Red Cross, it is likely that the inspections were passed with flying colours.

On the other hand, David Kessler, commissioner of the U.S. Food and Drug Administration, warned last month that it may soon begin inspections in Canada.

Red Cross officials acknowledge that Canadian procedures do not meet standards set out in U.S. blood regulations, and they are scrambling to do so. "I guess it's a possibility that they could stop our plasma from going to the U.S. for fractionation, but hopefully it's a remote one," says Stephen Vick, assistant national director of manufacturing and development at the Red Cross.

He stresses that Canada's failings are not safety-related but technical. For example, FDA regulations require everyone to have their blood pressure taken before donating, impose stricter storage requirements and treat information about donors as a byproduct of biologics, meaning that there are strict rules about records and computerization.

The FDA demands the latest manufacturing processes and has proved to be a strong-armed regulator that brooks no delay. The agency recently got an injunction against the American Red Cross for violations of regulations and closed a transfusion centre in Portland, Ore.

Canada's bureau of biologics has never ordered a product recalled. Even after it knew that blood products such as Factor VIII, a clotting agent, were contaminated in 1985 and ordered a switch to heat-treated products, the bureau allowed the Red Cross and the provinces to phase in safer products over eight months. The United States moved to mandatory heat treatment of blood in a month.

Mr. Boucher of the bureau of biologics remains one of the few main players in the blood system unconvinced that it has to be reformed. "The system today would react quickly to a problem like an infectious agent. You have to be cautious, to not just change for the sake of change."

One of the main reasons that infection rates in Canada's blood supply are comparatively low is the country's volunteer donor program. Countries such as the United States and Germany, where commercial blood banks operate, tend to attract donors with a higher risk of having AIDS.

While Canada collects enough red cells for the needs of hospitals, it is still not self-sufficient in collecting plasma or breaking it down into its components - and that can have a dramatic effect in a time of crisis.

There is scientific and anecdotal evidence that blood concentrates made with U.S. plasma were responsible for higher contamination rates during the tainted-blood tragedy and users fear a new infectious agent would bring the same results.

Before heat treatment became mandatory in November of 1985, up to half the Factor VIII concentrates were made with U.S. plasma, but concentrates of Factor IX, another clotting agent, were made exclusively with Canadian plasma. About 90 per cent of hemophiliacs severely deficient of Factor VIII contracted HIV, but only 10 per cent of those with a severe Factor IX deficiency were infected with the deadly disease.

In Nova Scotia, where Health Department officials insisted on products made exclusively with Canadian plasma, the overall infection rate of hemophiliacs is less than 10 per cent. In neighbouring New Brunswick, which had no such restriction, the rate is more than 50 per cent.

"The Canadian blood system has paid lip service to the principle of plasma self-sufficiency for 15 years," says David Page, president of the Canadian Hemophilia Society. "Getting more volunteer donor plasma into the system is where our energies and money should go."

The easiest way is to expand the Red Cross plasmapheresis program - a method of donating plasma instead of whole blood. The Red Cross is proposing to build a network of plasma-collection centres, but such plans have had trouble getting government funds in the past.

Plasmapheresis is also being overshadowed by the Red Cross plan to build a $400-million plant for fractionation, the process by which plasma is broken down into components such as Factor VIII and albumin.

Red Cross officials feel that a domestic fractionation plant is essential to guarantee the stability of supply and prices, but users of blood products, such as the Hemophilia Society, argue that such guarantees can be achieved through contract negotiations with existing fractionators and that building a plant will tie Canada to technology soon to be outdated.

More important, however, they argue that such policies should be decided by a central agency overseeing the blood supply, not by the Red Cross on its own and in defiance of users and funders.

Mr. Dobson, who heads the Canadian Blood Agency, agrees that the governments that finance the system should ultimately make the decisions.

Spurred on by the complaints of users, he has begun to question things such as Red Cross purchasing policies for blood products and the lengthy delays in implementing computerization.

"Any comment I make is not a knock on the Red Cross," Mr. Dobson says. "But there is more than one way to do things and we want to ensure that the best decisions are made at all times."

Computerization of blood records is a major issue because, among other things, it would speed up the process of finding potentially infected blood recipients in the case of an emergency.

Jerald Freise, head of the HIV-Transfused Support Network, says the society's record of tracking down victims of tainted blood was dismal. Only 12 per cent of the group's members learned that they had received contaminated blood from follow-up procedures. Others found out when they got sick, after many had infected sexual partners and children.

The Red Cross began the computerization process in 1979. The Computerized Information System for Centre Operations, costing $16-million and counting, is not quite ready yet.

Maung Aye, national director of blood services for the Red Cross, rejects the criticisms as unfair because the undertaking was massive and unprecedented - to keep computer records from the time a donor walks in the door to when someone receives a blood product and beyond.

"It's on track and it's on schedule," he says. "It's the first time any blood system in the world has produced such an all-encompassing system."

Of all the questions about the functioning of the Canadian blood system, however, the most controversial is probably the continuing dispute about Factor VIII concentrates.

Hemophiliacs need the concentrate to control bleeding. But the life- saving product can also carry impurities and disease - the reason so many hemophiliacs have hepatitis and HIV.

Two new generations of Factor VIII, high purity (monoclonal) and genetically engineered (recombinant), have recently been approved for sale. Users want those products, and HIV-infected hemophiliacs desperately want them, because they contain no impurities.

But the decision-makers in the blood system are hesitating, just as they hesitated to introduce heat treatment for blood concentrates until they were 100 per cent convinced of the benefits.

Another key element, now and then, is money.

The Canadian Hemophilia Society, the directors of the 30 hemophilia clinics in Canada, and the Red Cross have all recommended that the high- purity products be provided. The provincially funded Canadian Blood Agency, concerned about the additional cost of up to $47-million, has decided to phase them in over time, largely because the current block- funding method does not allow for much new spending in the middle of a budget year.

Hemophiliacs say the issue is not strictly one of dollars, arguing that it is unethical to provide a patient with heat-treated products when safer ones are available.

And they do not relish having to decide who will get the better treatment.

While the debate takes place in the back rooms, the safer products are simply not available to anyone. Later, lists will be drawn up of who is eligible for the higher-purity products.

The last time around, Serge and Stephane were not on the list when a limited number of heat-treated products became available for Canadian hemophiliacs.

"A normal family just assumes that the government is going to provide you with the best treatment available," Anne-Marie Landry says bitterly. "Well, think again."

[marginalgloss]

unclean without and within

From time to time while reading Patrick O’Brian’s novels in the Aubrey-Maturin series I stop and search them for signs of late style. By this I mean the sense of an ending, or at least the feeling that there is surely more of them behind me than there is in front. I recently finished The Wine-Dark Sea, which is the sixteenth instalment in a series that began in 1969 and ended with the publication of a final (unfinished) volume in 2004. This one came out in 1993, with the author well into his 70s; almost twenty-five years after the first in the series. 

Yet such a progression of time is scarcely evident from the text: this is unmistakably the same writer who started out with Master and Commander and Post Captain all those years ago. If you were to read them back to back, they’d seem less contiguous than seamlessly continuous. It is not for nothing that some readers describe this series as really being instalments in one vast novel completed over the course of perhaps a third of a man’s lifetime.

This is not to say that there’s no change in style, no progression, no growth. To take an obvious example, by now the author has become much more dextrous when it comes to the handling of the naval jargon for the benefit of the casual reader. The books become more comfortable dwelling in the interiority of their characters, sometimes to unusual and oblique effect. And of course our heroes have aged a bit, but not much; for several books now Jack and Stephen are referred to in ways that suggest the onset of late middle age, but what exactly this means is never quite clear. Age, here, is like a layer of dust that settles quickly but can be blown away at a moment’s notice when required. Much like how the HMS Surprise itself vanished for several books before appearing with most of its old crew again, O’Brian is not above grinding the authorial gears, bending the rules of historical fiction to get what he wants at times. Such is the writer’s prerogative. 

I thought the previous book, Clarissa Oakes, was a rare misfire; by comparison The Wine-Dark Sea is very much a return to form. It finally details the completion of a journey which I think was first mentioned way back in The Letter of Marque. As if to compensate for the relative quietude of its predecessor, this is a story crowded with incident. There’s a couple of great sea-chases, an erupting volcano, a thrilling sequence in an ice floe, and a bigger than usual helping of Napoleonic banter and intrigue by land. We even get a trip way up into the Andes, and a terribly bloody battle with pirates (rarer than you’d think in this series). All of which is to say that at this stage in the books, there is still no sign of the author slowing down.

To detail the story would be somewhat besides the point here. The form of this novel is mostly given over to the picturesque; much like those earliest books in the series, it is a series of events loosely connected by plot but mostly engendered by chance. Perhaps the most interesting character in this instalment is Dutourd, a French captain mentioned briefly in the last book but only met properly here. He is a would-be revolutionary and accidental privateer, an apparently sincere idealist dedicated to setting up a new kind of society in whatever colony will have him and his gunboat. Naturally, Jack is fairly frank in his contempt:

‘From the first Jack Aubrey had disliked all that he had heard of Dutourd: Stephen described him as a good benevolent man who had been misled first by ‘that mumping villain Rousseau’ and later by his passionate belief in his own system, based it was true on a hatred of poverty, war and injustice, but also on the assumption that men were naturally and equally good, needing only a firm, friendly hand to set them on the right path, the path to the realisation of their full potentialities. This of course entailed the abolition of the present order, which had so perverted them, and of the established churches. It was old, old stuff, familiar in all its variations, but Stephen had never heard it expressed with such freshness, fire and conviction. Neither fire nor conviction survived to reach Jack in Stephen’s summary, however, but the doctrine that levelled Nelson with one of his own bargemen was clear enough, and he watched the approaching boat with a cold look in his eye.’

Stephen is a little more nuanced — and sarcastic — in his critique. After being asked what he thinks of democracy, he appears to avoid the question, pleading etiquette:

‘…we nevertheless adhere strictly to the naval tradition which forbids the discussion of religion, women, or politics in our mess. It has been objected that this rule makes for insipidity, which may be so; yet on the other hand it has its uses, since in this case for example it prevents any member from wounding any other gentleman present by saying that he did not think the policy that put Socrates to death and that left Athens prostrate was the highest expression of human wisdom, or by quoting Aristotle’s definition of democracy as mob-rule, the depraved version of a commonwealth.’

Between Aubrey’s stolid conservatism and Maturin’s cynicism, it is difficult to extract much which is admirable about Dutourd from O’Brian’s writing. Perhaps the best we can say for him is that he seems to have a genuine concern for the wellbeing of the men around him. But he is not a leader. Being genuine in this world seems to count for very little unless you have the capability to back it up.

Given the constant level of contempt aimed at Dutourd throughout, I wonder if it’s possible to salvage a consistent political perspective from these books. There’s a gentle but consistent conservatism, of course, that comes from the overwhelming faith throughout in the institution of the navy — a faith only partly related to the actual men who serve in it, and which has little or nothing to do with a sense of Britishness or national identity. The thing above all for O’Brian is the nature of the service, as exemplified by what it takes to operate one of the most complex engines of war ever designed. This, for him, is society; it is not an ideal society, but it is an immensely capable example of one. In Dutourd we see one whose only goal is to undo that society, and replace it with something decentred, nebulous, suspicious.

The pleasing contrast in the series always comes from comparing this conservatism to Maturin’s revolutionary liberalism, itself tempered with doubt towards all institutions. But as the series goes on it seems like Stephen’s most defining characteristic is that he has no faith in anything except himself. His concern for the welfare of his fellow man seems sincere, at least when a scalpel is in his hand, but it isn’t heartfelt; were he living on land, we can’t really imagine him working as a surgeon, either for profit or out of the goodness of his heart. He lives for the moments when he is alone in nature. And in that regard he seems like a figure who exemplifies a certain kind of libertarianism, one which is sometimes associated with the later years of the nineteenth and early twentieth century. Less Rousseau, more Thoreau. 

But Maturin’s gift, and his curse, is that he alone amongst the crew seems to possess a particular sense of aloneness. I love, for example, this little passage, from his trip into the Andes:

‘So it was: yet the western sky was still dark violet at the lower rim and as he looked at it Stephen remembered the words he had intended to write to Diana before he put his letter to the candle: ‘in this still cold air the stars do not twinkle, but hang there like a covey of planets’, for there they were, clear beads of unwinking gold. He could not relish them however; his dream still oppressed him, and he had to force a smile when Eduardo told him he had reserved a piece of bread for their breakfast instead of dried potatoes, a piece of wheaten bread.’

That pretty image followed, by the pang of self-awareness — the memory of a dismal dream, his faraway wife hung for some strange crime — and then that old O’Brian trick of breaking through with indirect discourse that gently mimics speech. ‘A piece of wheaten bread.’ 

One more thing I want to add. There’s something very peculiar about the fate of Martin here. I always found something feminine about his portrayal, perhaps in part because his traditional role in these books is to be Stephen’s conversational partner while Jack is indisposed. Theirs is a friendship in which intimacy seems to have been traded in for constant peaceful companionship. 

Eventually Martin becomes such a constant presence that he seems almost like a chaste spouse to Stephen. I don’t think O’Brian ever explicitly describes him as effeminate; but as a man, he doesn’t quite match up to the capabilities of his shipmates. Jack is perpetually uneasy with him, and I’m not sure it will suffice to say that he’s only suspicious of Martin’s authority on doctrinal matters. But the suspicion is strange, because it seems rootless. Martin isn’t outwardly threatening. He’s sensitive, observant, yet utterly hopeless as a physical presence compared to either of the leads. He’s perfectly pleasant, but not exceptional.

In this book, something odd happens. In Clarissa Oakes, Martin’s role as occasional companion appeared usurped by the titular woman smuggled aboard the ship. Now, it seems like O’Brian was looking for a way to get him out of the way, perhaps in order to set up a situation further down the line in England. Martin’s relationship with Clarissa becomes the instrument for bringing this about. Here is Stephen on the subject:

‘…Whether he has the disease I cannot tell for sure without a proper examination, though I doubt he has it physically: metaphysically however he is in a very bad way. Whether he lay with her or not in fact he certainly wished to do so and he is clerk enough to know that the wish is the sin; and being also persuaded that he is diseased he looks upon himself with horror, unclean without and within…’

Martin becomes desperately ill, and for a while Stephen cannot diagnose his problem. Eventually it turns out that, being tormented with guilt over an affair with Clarissa, he has poisoned himself with a desperately strong treatment for syphilis, derived from mercury. Here, perhaps, is what Jack had to be suspicious about all these years. We see this again and again in certain outlying characters in O’Brian’s world. They are tormented by a certain inner conviction, entirely irrational but thoroughly humane, that becomes not only a personal agony to the individual, but a true risk to the security of that precious narrow society.  

There is something uniquely sinister and sad about Martin’s condition here. It is as though he becomes here the ship’s equivalent of the portrait of Dorian Grey: he has somehow soaked up all the bad feeling, all the wickedness that was spread around during the Oakes incident. Ailments outside the physical have always proved entirely alien to Stephen, and so the only treatment he can conceive of is to send him on the first ship back to England. Instead of sending him to the bottom of the ocean, they send him home. 

[handle-with-utmost-care]

Cheerleader/Soccer player PART 5

Ok so I wrote this series years ago (i think like 4 yrs lmao) and I had a very uncharacteristic urge to finish several stuff I have lingering about.. 

and this was one of them…IDK If anyone is still interested in reading? Lol or even remember? Or maybe you’re new here bc of riptide but lmao surprise I wrote this cringe drabble that turned into a 5 part fic :)

I am like...70% embarrassed by this fic bc i hate mostly every previous part. it was hard to continue bc I had to get over my crippling distaste for sudden POV changes. maybe someday when I’m not too caught up in my own procrastination I’ll go back and rewrite and flesh out this mess and post it on AO3, but for now this’ll have to do.

to the person constantly harassing me to finish it YOU KNOW WHAT ANNIE I FUCKING IFNALLY DID IT OKAY. MERRY FUCKING CHRISTMAS HAPPY NEW YEAR YOU ASS! @cherylsbosom

also apologies for any typos

PART 5

“Alright, status report girls.”

“I thought we were dropping the fancy lingo?”

“Yeah it’s kinda confusing to keep up with.”

“Status report,” Ally Brooke repeats, sharply eyeing the girls on her bed.

She had invited Dinah and Normani after school to continue discussing a potential plan B.

But from the looks of it, Ally’s got the distinct impression that that’s the last thing on their minds. If their giggling over Dinah’s phone was any obvious indication.

Ally clears her throat pointedly. When that has no effect, Ally stomps her foot. “Girls!”

Dinah drops her phone and Normani’s laughter immediately tapers off.

“We have to focus here. Lives are at stake,” Ally says, as she flips open to the newest empty page in her notepad.

Normani gives her a look of disbelief. Ally almost flushes at the expression, because, okay, maybe she is still getting a bit carried away with this Operation Camren thing.

But she had convinced herself that Camila and Lauren were both too stubborn to realize the obvious. This was all for the sake of love.

And Ally was a firm believer in doing things for the sake of love.

Her eyes glance down at the notepad in time to realize she had already spelled out the mortifying title. She hastily scribbles it out before the girls can see. Normani’s expression turns into an annoyed eye roll.

Fortunately she doesn’t comment, much to the Ally’s relief.

“Mila’s not doing so well,” Dinah says, finally returning her complete attention on the topic at hand. “She’s been ditching soccer practice lately and she never wants to leave her room whenever I try to invite her to go out.”

Ally figured as much. It’s been almost a month since that awful incident at the party, an incident that Camila has been very close lipped about.

Ally had lost count of the number of times she tried to get the girl to open up. Inevitably, each time had always ended in a very indignant frown and an annoyed: “Just drop it Ally, everything is fine, okay?”

Ally wouldn’t press after that. But it was clear that everything most definitely was not okay.

“Lauren is bitchier than usual and I don’t think it has anything to do with the freshman cheerleaders fucking up the pyramid formation,” Normani admits after a while.

Ally sighs at this. She’d been aware of the head cheerleader’s mood swings, witnessing a firsthand account of it yesterday when Lauren completely chewed out a freshman for missing a step in the routine. An honest mistake that really didn’t deserve such a harsh scolding.

Ally had tried to calm Lauren down at the time, but she was having none of it. Instead, Lauren had chosen to stomp off and cut practice short.

Normally, this wouldn’t exactly worry Ally. It wasn’t anything new for Lauren to throw tantrums when things weren’t going her way. But for the tantrums to be so closely followed by a complete emotional 180 was something to be concerned about. And recently Ally had caught Lauren in a state of severe melancholy.

It was a draining experience hanging out with the girls only to have Lauren bringing the atmosphere down with the frequent amount of times she would frown sadly. Or respond sadly. Or even just breathe sadly. Ally had lost count of the sudden urges to shake Lauren and demand what was wrong.

But then, Ally would catch Lauren staring at Camila.

And she had decided that perhaps leaving them alone really was the best option.

Ally plops down at the edge of the bed, defeated.

“And I really thought this was all going to work out.”

“Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be,” Normani offers, as she inspects her nails. “Even though their horoscopes say they’re totally compatible.”

Ally doesn’t question how Normani even knows Camila’s birthday.

.

.

.

Another month passes. Another month of the same strained atmosphere. Ally is sure the rest of the cheerleaders have picked up on their leader’s flip flopped mood swings. The girls on the squad learned to leave a wide span between themselves and Lauren.

The soccer team wasn’t faring much better. Ally had noticed Camila’s performance out on the field had suffered drastically to the point that she’d been sitting out on the bench more often than not.

It was a dreary month for all of them, despite the rapidly approaching homecoming game. Something that she, Lauren, and Normani had excitedly talked about at the beginning of the school year was a topic that had been seemingly forgotten.

Yet the school didn’t share the same sentiment. Everywhere, people were buzzing with pregame excitement weeks before. Hallways were adorned with bright posters and decorations. The school’s PA always made sure to add a final comment reminding students to buy their tickets. Many conversations between classes were heard predicting the outcome of the game.

Today isn’t any different, Ally thinks as she pushes past a group of guys on the football team hyping the other up. She rolls her eyes. The action makes her stop before the cafeteria. She wasn’t like this. Usually she’d join in on the hype. Relish in it.

This whole Lauren and Camila is seriously putting a damper in my mental well being too.

She sighs, pushing through the double doors leading to the cafeteria, feeling a wave of despair at the thought.

The cafeteria is loud and rowdy. More than usual, Ally notices. Her eyes flit over to the source of the noise to find a growing throng of students near the far end of the room.

The shouts and jeers echo across the cafeteria walls, mixing into a cacophonous mess. Ally can’t exactly discern what is being said or cheered. But from the school spirit that’s been thrust in her face recently she thinks she has a pretty good guess.

For a moment, Ally panics that this was a planned lunch event she forgot about, or in one of Lauren’s irrational moods, she’d decided to have an impromptu pep rally to punish the squad.

Ally quickly rifles through her bag, pulling out her weekly planner. After flipping to the latest date, relief spreads through her chest.

No. No scheduled event.

More students gravitate towards the crowd. Ally pushes through several people, in the opposite direction, until she finds Normani.

“What’s going on?” Ally questions, sidling up beside the girl. Normani simply shakes her head.

“I don’t know.”

Ally opens her mouth but Normani quickly cuts in.

“And no, I don’t want to know.”

Ally pouts at her indifference.

The both of them make their way to their usual table. And when Lauren joins them a few moments later, she makes no indication that she’s noticed the unusual overly eager students.

Well that rules out an impromptu pep rally.

Lauren takes a seat. Ally immediately feels a wave of sympathy upon seeing her friend. She takes in Lauren’s miserable frown, the distressed knit of her eyebrows and downcast eyes.

This was probably worse than the random angry outbursts the past month. Seeing Lauren so dejected always managed to pull at her heartstrings.

“Hey girl,” Ally greets, moving to take the seat across from her. Lauren barely lifts up her gaze as she tosses her food with the fork in her other hand.

“Hey,” she answers, casting her eyes down upon the untouched food again.

“You want some of my fruit salad?” Normani probes.” My mom put in some mangos, I know you like them.”

Lauren doesn’t even flinch at the uncharacteristically nice gesture.

“Maybe later.”

Ally and Normani exchange a look. This behavior had seemed to be going further and further into a downward spiral as the weeks progressed. Ally was almost tempted to go through with her intervention.

Look how your meddling turned out.

Maybe Normani was right. Maybe it would be just best to leave them alone.

Ally sighs, before pulling out her own lunch.

The crowd continues to go on strong. The jeers and sneers reverberate throughout the lunchroom even more so than before.

Ally begins to notice that the majority of students are starting to swarm the crowd. Her eyes glance around the people trying to determine the situation. That’s when she realizes something that makes her stomach drop.

“I think that’s the soccer team’s table,” Ally says. The tone of her voice grabs both girls’ attention. She watches as Lauren’s eyes dart towards the crowd and the similar conclusion comes to her. Her expression instantly sparks to life.

Lauren is out of her seat before Ally has time to register anything. She doesn’t even have time to tell her to wait because in the next second Lauren is shoving people out of the way and disappearing among the mass of students.

“Come on,” Ally blurts out, tugging Normani up from her seat to chase after her.

Their process is a lot less effortless than Lauren who had people parting like the red sea after her aggressive pushes.

It’s probably because of the hastily muttered excuse me’s that fall from Ally’s lips. Eventually Normani becomes so frustrated that she just hollers a very loud MOVE.

The students finally part, allowing them to push through until they reach the table…. only to realize that they’re too late.

Ally feels her blood turn cold when she sees her friends.

Slowly, her senses come into focus. And she realizes, dizzily, that cheering she heard earlier were actually people chanting FIGHT.

Dinah and one of the freshmen on the cheer squad are in an intense hair pulling scuffle, while Lauren is on the floor trying to aim a punch on another beneath her, who Ally suddenly recognizes as the girl Lauren chewed out at practice what felt like forever ago.

Ally lunges forward trying to pull Lauren up from the girl, as Normani attempts to pry apart the two other girls beside them.

She manages to get Lauren to her feet, not without a ridiculous amount of struggle. Because then Lauren keeps attempting to hit the girl on the floor. The victim of Lauren’s assault isn’t making things any easier for her either, as she continuously claws at them until Ally gets caught in the fray.

Ally feels her hair being yanked in an awkward angle painfully.

God, if she wasn’t a pacifist she swears she would –

“Stop! Stop! Stop this immediately what on earth are all of you – girls STOP IT!”

The sound of the principal makes them all spring apart from each other.

The six girls are huffing and red faced, attempting to catch their breaths.

Ally’s hand instantly comes to gingerly rub her sore scalp, before scowling at the culprit for the hair pulling. The freshman’s eye is already swelling, and Ally tries to quell the silly surge of pride towards Lauren for getting her good.

She glances at Lauren, sighing in relief that her friend looks unscathed for the most part. Her eyes then come to Dinah and Normani. Dinah is pouting as she tries to fix her mussed hair and Normani is pressing her fingers to her bottom lip in search of blood.

Ally sighs again, and that’s when she remembers the last girl. She searches in a frenzy for Camila, praying she wasn’t a part of this. But then she sees the soccer player, gaping wordlessly at them …completely covered in food.

The principal turns his attention towards them all.

“You seven. My office. Now.”

.

.

.

A month’s worth of scraping gum off the cafeteria tables seems a lot better than a potential suspension. Ally will take what she can get, she decides as they all disperse from the principal’s office.

The two offending freshmen pull Lauren aside to beg for forgiveness. Though from Lauren’s stony expression, Ally figures Lauren is already planning to kick them off the team. But then is momentarily shocked when Lauren accepts their apology stiffly, followed by a malicious threat to stay in line.

(Later on, Ally would find out the girls’ had decided to go after Camila in a misguided attempt lighten up their captain’s somber mood).

“Did you see that girl’s eye? You got her so good, Laurenzo. I’m kind of proud,” Dinah compliments, after the two girls slink away. Lauren’s lips tilt into a small smile.

“Yeah but you practically pulled out her entire weave. That’s impressive,” Lauren responds, a smile finally breaking out.

Not that Ally condones fighting, because, like, she so doesn’t, but it’s nice seeing them get along. Albeit for the wrong reasons. But there’s something so amazing seeing Dinah nudging Lauren in that friendly manner. As if they’d known each other their entire lives.

“You both are ridiculous,” Normani snaps. “I literally just got my nails done yesterday and this happened.” She lifts her hand up to show off a broken middle fingernail. They both laugh and after a while Normani cracks a grin. “But okay, yeah it was kind of bad ass.”

“Kind of? Did you see the other girls?” Dinah demands.

“I don’t really understand how you’re all so happy. We got a month’s detention because you guys can’t communicate like normal people.” Camila’s voice pierces through the lighthearted atmosphere. Ally almost forgets her presence because she had been so silent during their walk through the hallway.

She watches as Camila pulls out a spaghetti noodle from her hair and flicks it to the floor.

“We were defending you,” Lauren mumbles after a while.

“I didn’t ask you to,” Camila snaps. “I was handling it.”

“Clearly,” Lauren mumbles sarcastically.

“You know what?” Camila whirls around. “I don’t need your sarcasm. And I don’t need your stupid sympathy, okay? Today wouldn’t have even happened if you weren’t such a bitch.”

Lauren visibly recoils.

“Mila,” Ally begins but the soccer player shoots her a glare.

“No, don’t do that-“

“It wasn���t my fault,” Lauren begins hotly.

“Like you didn’t plan to have them dump the entire squad’s lunch on me. I have spaghetti noodles in places there shouldn’t be!” Camila snaps.

“Mila, she didn’t know that those girls were going to do that to you. You really think she would send those cheerleaders after you?” Dinah questions.

“It wouldn’t be the first time.”

It’s the statement that does it. That plunges the atmosphere completely into a subzero level. That makes Lauren look completely heartbroken. That actually breaks Ally’s heart.

.

.

.

It’s another week of radio silence between the two. Another week of Ally and Normani (and now on occasion Dinah), watching Lauren sigh dejectedly into her food during lunch. Sometimes she’d cast a few sad looks over to the soccer team’s table. And the girls would look upon her sympathetically.

Lauren didn’t know which was worse.

The pity or being ignored. While one was infuriating as hell, the other just…hurt.

This morning in particular was brutal. She had run into Camila in the hallway, accidentally knocking her duffel bag from her shoulder. When she tried to reach down to grab it, Camila scrambled to pick it up herself and hurried away head bowed. The exchange – or lack of one – left Lauren feeling like she was a ghost.

“Would you just talk to her?” Normani groans exasperatedly after Lauren recounts the events to the three of them in Ally’s room after school.

“She practically hates my guts.” Lauren mutters into her pillow.

“Look, as much as I love kicking you especially when you’re down I don’t think I can take any more of your moping. It’s actually starting to depress me,” Normani sighs, sitting down beside Lauren on the bed. “And I doubt she hates you.”

“Yeah, it’s impossible for Mila to hate anything,” Dinah chimes in from her spot on the floor.

“Except me.”

“She’s just really upset right now, Lauren,” Ally supplies. “And rightfully so. You really did a number on her. What the heck did you even say to her at the party?”

At this, Lauren feels her face redden with shame.

She had toyed with the idea of telling them, but she feared that they would hate her more than she hated herself. And she wasn’t ready for any more negativity.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Lauren mumbles. “It was…it was really bad. And I feel really shitty for it too.”

“Then tell her that,” Normani snaps.

That’s easier said than being done, Lauren thinks. She makes a small grunt that earns an eye roll from her friend.  

Ally comes to sit next to her and places a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“Lauren, we’ve all seen the way you look at her.”

Lauren freezes at this. It’s the first time they all sort of acknowledge the big pink elephant of the room that is her more than platonic feelings for the soccer player. And she almost expects mockery or insults. But when she glances up to find them all staring at her supportively, she feels a deep seated worry slowly dissipate.

“And we’re all more than positive she feels the same way,” Ally continues, saying just the right thing to settle her confused doubt.

“Really?”

“Girl, of course she does,” Dinah adds in. “She looks at you like you put the pineapples on her pizza.”

“That’s disgusting, Dinah,” Normani retorts with a fake gag.

“Well where else are you supposed to put pineapples?”

“Um, not on a pizza.”

“It’s called Hawaiian pizza.”

“All that should be on my pizza is pepperoni and cheese,” Normani argues stubbornly.

“How can you not like pineapples on pizza? Who doesn’t like pineapples on pizza?” Dinah demands turning to look at them incredulously.

“I like Canadian bacon,” Ally says unhelpfully.

Lauren tunes the rest of the conversation after the two decide to settle the matter by ordering pizza. Her thoughts stray to the soccer player. And a pang of guilt hits her.

When the pizza arrives twenty minutes later, Normani demands (through a mouth full of Hawaiian pizza) that Lauren take her self-pitying ass next door and grovel for forgiveness.

Dinah agrees, and Ally rephrases that advice in a more encouraging manner. The thumbs up did little for her self esteem as they all but threw her out of Ally’s room and confiscated her phone lest she try to uber it back home.

And that’s really how she finds herself on Camila Cabello’s doorstep, desperately trying to think of ways to get out of knocking.

It’s stupid. This is dumb. There’s no way – absolutely no way Camila would even want to see her. The past week, the soccer player has been pointedly avoiding her.

No, that was an understatement. Lauren was getting the cold shoulder. That blatant icy treatment that left her feeling even worse than before the stupid cafeteria incident.

The last thing Camila had said to her was still plaguing her mind. Camila had insulted her, offended every nerve that could possibly be offended and yet Lauren knew she deserved it. Dinah may have been right – it wasn’t possible for Camila to hate anyone. But reducing Camila to the type of person who could be so incredibly harsh to another person just made the situation all the more worse.

Camila hated her. It wasn’t even something to debate.

Lauren hesitates ringing the doorbell. Her fingertips ghost across the button, brushing the smooth surface uncertainly.

A hundred and one things filter through her head and they all revolve around the girl somewhere behind the door.

She doesn’t get a chance to summon up much courage because in the next second the door is flying open and the Camila Cabello is standing before her.

She doesn’t look as surprised as Lauren feels, which is more than a little disheartening, but she tries not to let it faze her. Instead, she straightens up, almost to the point of rigidity.

Relax Lauren. Jesus. Okay. Here we go-

“What are you doing here?” Camila asks just as Lauren begins to form the apology that was burning to in the back of her throat ever since she Camila ran out of her bedroom crying.

Lauren hesitates, suddenly feeling the little flicker of confidence she fabricated fade away. Camila looks all around unimpressed with her display and this only serves to turn her nerves into jelly. Abort, Lauren. Abort.

NO. You will fucking stay and say your peace or so help me god you dumb shit.

“I asked you a question,” Camila snaps. It seems strange, so completely out of character seeing her so angry. There’s a venom that wasn’t there before in her voice, in her sharp expression that leaves Lauren wishing she had come better prepared for this.

A stab of guilt pricks at her chest as she realizes the only person who made this happen was herself.

Lauren swallows thickly, fiddling with the bracelet on her wrist. The attempt to occupy herself with something besides Camila’s steely gaze is pitiful. But then again, she is a coward. She’s not even sure she can look the girl in the eye anymore.

“Look, if you’re not gonna say anything you might as well just –“

“-I’m sorry!” Lauren blurts out. The desperation of the outcry overwhelms her. She’s not going anywhere until she makes Camila listen – to everything. Because she knows deep down this is her only chance. Her only shot at fixing anything that she’s so despicably good at fucking up.

Camila’s glare softens slightly. It’s very miniscule but it gives Lauren the hope she needs.

“I’m sorry, Camila,” she says again, internally quivering at the name that rolls so effortlessly off her tongue.  It comes out so naturally, almost as if it had always sort of had its own place in her voice. As if she was supposed to say it over and over again. Which, admittedly she would do…in the privacy of her room…in the dead of night…where literally no one would be able to hear.

(Of course she would deny ever doing that if anyone asked her).

But it’s the first time she’s ever called Camila by her name. Well the first time non insultingly. And it’s something that doesn’t go unnoticed by the both of them.  Lauren feels her face flush suddenly, and Camila’s eyebrows rise.

“Camila,” she pauses, feeling the nervous little buzz building in her stomach at the name. “I didn’t –  look, about what happened at the party – I didn’t mean it.”

Camila’s eyes narrow and the walls are back up again.

“It sure didn’t sound like it. Just because you defended me last week, which I didn’t even freaking ask you to do by the way, doesn’t mean I’m going to be welcoming you into my life with open arms,” Camila says. “You humiliated me.”

“I know.”

“No. I don’t think you do, Lauren. It hurt. Like a lot, okay?” Camila blurts out. “I’m not even sure I can forgive you.”

Lauren feels that little glimmer of hope crash dive. This isn’t going as planned. Oh what did she know? There weren’t any plans or any go-to instructions for this kind of situation. How were you even supposed to convince the girl that you’ve been stupidly in love with for four years that you want her?

She flushes at the thought and the familiar wave of denial bubbles up in the pit of her stomach. She can barely even admit that fact inside her own head. How could she possibly even begin to explain it to Camila?

The girl practically thinks she hates her, which she doesn’t. Oh god, she doesn’t even hate her at all.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me, Camila,” Lauren begins, feeling her voice tremble. “I really don’t. I just – I just wanted to explain.”

Camila stares at her expectantly.

“I didn’t know what people were going to think if they found out,” Lauren mutters and Camila rolls her eyes.

“That’s not enough.”

“I was scared.”

“That’s still not enough.”

“Camila, please.”

She sees the girl’s expression soften again, the aggression slowly crumbling away. It gives her the courage she needs, the motivation to bring down her own stupid barrier preventing her from being vulnerable.

And this time, when Camila speaks her anger has soundly melted. “Don’t be scared.”

It’s just a small request, not even louder than a whisper but Lauren can hear it. The conviction behind the three words. The ounce of moral support beneath them. The figurative hesitant arms being slowly opened for her to walk into and it’s enough.

Lauren takes a deep breath, her heart pounding. She swallows thickly and tries to calm the rapid beating.

“I really didn’t mean what I said to you at the party,” she begins

Lauren almost anticipates Camila to make another sarcastic comment, but she simply stares at her so she continues.

“I didn’t mean it when I told you that there wasn’t anything that would happen between us. I didn’t believe it in the slightest because…I wanted something to happen,” she admits in a rush. “And all that stuff about you being no one was just about the shittiest thing I’ve ever said and I feel terrible. It’s not true at all, Camila. Not even a little bit. I was just – I wanted to hurt you because I was the one feeling like the loser. I’m a shitty person know I am.”

“You’re not a shitty person Lauren,” Camila sighs wearily. The admittance makes her hesitate. Makes her stop and stare at Camila keenly, feeling her chest ache suddenly.

Even in her anger, Camila will still defend her. Lauren isn’t even sure if this should please or upset her.

“I am though. And it’s not even about the night of the party. I know I’ve put you through hell for like years. I’ve just been such an idiot about all of this because I was just so fucking scared of what it all meant.” She stops and runs a nervous hand through her hair. “Because I’ve never felt this way, like ever about anyone and I knew, deep down that you had the power to hurt me in the worst way. And I just, like I just refused to give you that power so I thought that if I hurt you first…” Lauren trails off, shaking her head. The shame that’s kept her up all night for weeks manages to creep back up.

She averts her gaze, feeling the all too familiar burning stinging building. The last thing she wanted to do was cry in front of Camila.

“It’s stupid I know,” Lauren mumbles. “It makes no sense – that logic. I’m an idiot and I don’t want to be that person anymore. I don’t want to be that person who gets scared over every fucking little thing, or the person who cares more about her popularity than the things that really matter. I just don’t care about that stuff anymore. Camila, I don’t care. I don’t even – I can’t even properly articulate how fucking sorry I am. For everything.  For making your feelings seem like they don’t matter because they do, Camila. They matter so much to me. And…I’m done belittling my own feelings as well because…because they matter too.”

She feels Camila’s eyes burning into the side of her face, almost as if prompting her to turn and face her. But she’s afraid of what she’ll see. Disgust? Anger?

She doesn’t expect the softness. She doesn’t expect the understanding. She doesn’t expect the feel of her fingertips brushing against her. In comfort. Acceptance.

Camila’s warm hands come to grip hers, undoing her tight fist. She feels a palm press into hers and it feels so incredibly intimate that Lauren is almost tempted to pull away. The sudden fear springs up again. The fear of being hurt.

But when she looks up at Camila’s face again, the fear melts.

“What do you feel?” Camila asks gently.

She poses the question that went unanswered in that stuffy room during the party. She’s opening the door of vulnerable opportunity. She’s allowing Lauren a second chance. One that she knows she doesn’t deserve.

A gentle squeeze of their hands prompts Lauren to speak again.

“I feel…” Lauren’s voice dies, as a lump forms in her throat. It’s stupid to get this emotional, she thinks. But god it’s been such a long time since she’s felt anything remotely similar to this. “I feel a lot,” she finishes lamely.

Camila tilts her head. For a second, Lauren feels that she’s going to laugh at her dumb attempt at opening up. But Camila is patient, something that Lauren is beginning to feel grateful for. She’s nothing like Lauren.

“I think you should know, that I…” Lauren trails off uncertainly. She stammers on the spot for a moment. It takes another gentle squeeze for Lauren to calm her nerves. “I think you're the most irritatingly adorable person I've met. I get butterflies every time I'm even in the same room as you, or even when you just look at me because you make me so nervous. And you make me doubt everything and it pisses me off but at the same time I love it because it’s you.” She pauses, releasing a shaky breath. "You’re just – like – I don’t even think you realize how extraordinary you are Camila.”

Lauren averts her eyes. Blearily glowering down at her shoes. Shifting weight between each foot. But Camila’s hand is still in hers. Intertwined. Giving Lauren just enough courage to continue.

“And I know it’s stupid because I’ve been such a bitch to you all of these years. I know it probably doesn’t mean much to you, saying all of this now. I just,” Lauren pauses, searching for the proper words. Her pounding heart isn’t exactly making it any easier. Camila staring at her so intensely isn’t making it any easier either. “I just wanted your attention. And I didn't care if it was negative attention.”

Lauren lets out a shuddering breath. The hand in hers loosens, and Lauren quickly tightens it, keeping their fingers firmly interlocked.

“I wanted your eyes on me. I wanted you to know me. That’s what I’ve always ever wanted, Camila."

.

.

.

The homecoming game falls on a chilly Friday night in October. The winds send a biting chill as the sun falls into its daily descent. The bright lights of the stadium highlights the puffs of breaths exhaled from excited students as they find their seats on the bleachers.

The football teams congregate on either side of the field, huddling for their plays. The cheerleaders form a tight group on the track, coming closer for warmth behind their short, pleated skirts, awaiting their captain’s presence.

The frosty air extends past the field, curling and slithering beneath the cracks of the school’s double doors, spreading through the empty hallways. Even faintly permeating within the small confines of the girl’s locker room. Where the conveniently absent head cheerleader has dragged a more than willing soccer player away from the loud crowded football field.

Lauren presses Camila up against the locker. She feels Camila squirm beneath her weight and she gets a thrill out of it. Her lips brush against Camila’s forehead, her cheeks, her nose, her chin, finally resting upon her mouth. Lauren moves them slow and sensually, closing and parting her lips in a delicious rhythm she has become quite familiar with.

Lauren parts her lips again, taking in the Camila’s bottom lip. Her teeth close around them, almost playfully. It would be playful if Lauren’s hands aren’t currently trying to cop a feel beneath the girl’s shirt.

Camila pulls away breathlessly. Her pants beat enticingly against Lauren’s lips, tempting her to close the gap again. But Camila is resilient, even angling her body away slightly.

“Did the girls give you a hard time?” Camila asks, her hands loosening their tight grip in her hair.

“No, it’s not halftime yet.”

Camila nods and leans back against the locker again.

“Do you think they suspect anything?”

“Please. The girls are still betting on Ally’s dumb Operation Camren plan,” Lauren scoffs. Camila laughs. Lauren feels Camila’s fingers play with the ends of her hair, twirling a few strands.

The uneven pace from the kissing has melted, warming Lauren up inside, as if she had her own personal Camila sweater. The thought almost makes her cringe. When did she turn into such a sap?

“You know, without Ally’s dumb plan this probably wouldn’t have happened,” Camila murmurs.

Lauren wants to disagree. She wants to protest and go through her detailed argument of how very much it would have happened anyway. How they were inevitable from the very beginning. It was only a matter of time because they were made for each other.

But it’s stupid and makes her sound like a weenie, even in her head.

Lauren is a lot of things. But she is most definitely not a weenie.

“Should we thank her?”

“Hmm, probably not,” Camila says, glancing down at Lauren’s lips. “I think she’ll be disappointed that she couldn’t plan our first date.”

There’s always the wedding.

For a horrifying second, Lauren almost says that out loud. It takes her a moment to recover from her almost blunder. She secretly thanks the big man upstairs for gracing her with the ability to keep her mouth shut.

(She makes a mental note to go with Ally to church more often).

“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Lauren finally responds, eyes roaming across Camila’s face. Her flushed expression. Her red, bruised lips, tousled hand blown out eyes. Lauren feels a quiver of happiness and something not quite as innocent fluttering below her waist. Her nails dance around her skin lightly. Camila shivers beneath her touch.

“Are you cold?” Lauren asks in a soft voice.

Camila glances up at her from beneath her eyelashes and Lauren swears she feels her heart stop.

“A little,” Camila murmurs. Lauren doesn’t hesitate in shrugging off her lettermen and draping it over Camila’s shoulders. “Wait, no I was kidding kind of. You can’t give me this you’re gonna get cold and plus everyone is going to see-“

“I’m not gonna need it during the routine,” Lauren reassures in that same soft tone. “And you’re my girlfriend now. Let everyone see.”

Oh god, did that really come out of my mouth? That stupid cheesey dumb good for nothing line that’ll probably make Camz totally cringe. that’s it I’m becoming a Satanist –

But then she looks at Camila and she’s is staring right back at her with an expression Lauren can’t quite put her finger on. But it easily becomes one of her favorites.

She doesn’t get a chance to speak because Camila is pulling her face down for another long, deep kiss. Their lips move at a heated pace. Lauren can feel the message conveyed in the very contours of Camila’s mouth.

I love you.

It’s not time yet. It’s too soon.

But eventually.

.

.

.

Ally bundles up in her letterman, standing next to Normani on the track field. The noise of chatter from the onlookers on the bleachers is a comforting sound, setting in her cold body pleasantly. Her eyes glance towards the football field, watching her boyfriend Troy in his gear, stretching by the bench, before running out into the field to replace another player. It’s the last game of the season and the excitement is tangible.

“Any sign of Lauren? The quarter is about to end. We already be preparing for the routine,” Normani complains.

As if on cue, the head cheerleader runs on to the field hurriedly, looking much too flushed for this cold weather.

“Hey,” Lauren greets, unevenly, making Ally and Normani exchange a furtive look. Lauren catches this. “What?”

“You’re all red,” Ally supplies, rather sheepishly because thinking of Lauren doing whatever she was doing (or who she was doing, rather), isn’t something she wants to picture.

“And you’re …flustered.” Normani smirks.

“Where’s your jacket?” Ally adds.

Finally Lauren snaps. “What is with the third degree? Jesus, I’m here aren’t I? You know what just get into formation.”

Both Ally and Normani resist the urge to laugh at the blushing girl.

Ally doesn’t have the heart to tease her further. Instead, she follows Lauren’s lead, falling into place with the rest of the cheerleaders.

However, as the routine progresses, Ally can’t help but notice something –someone – emerging from the very same double doors their head cheerleader had burst from just moments ago. Out comes a very flustered, but very happy soccer player, wearing a very familiar letterman jacket. And if Ally hadn’t noticed Lauren’s obvious shivering, the fact that Jauregui was engraved across the back in gold letters was telling enough.

Ally watches as Camila practically skips up towards the bleachers to sit beside Dinah, looking absurdly pleased with herself. The sight brings a silly grin to Ally’s face.

She glances over to Lauren who is too busy staring down at her shoes. But Ally notices the distinct pink tinge to her cheeks.

Her attention shifts to Normani and sees that she, too, notices Camila’s sudden wardrobe change. Normani smirks. But both remained tightlipped.

Once halftime is over, Ally watches as Lauren scurries back through the double doors leading to the locker rooms. She doesn’t even wait to have a quick debriefing of their routine, which Ally finds almost irresponsible. Well, she’ll talk to her about that later. It’s not like she doesn’t know what’s got Lauren all flouncy. Or who.

As if to further demonstrate this, Dinah approaches Ally and Normani down from the bleachers with a smug expression on her face.

“I see Laurenzo isn’t with you.”

Normani glances over Dinah’s shoulder.

“Neither is Camila,” Normani states, a matching smirk growing on her face.

They all sort of giggle at their observation.

Camila and Lauren were not discreet at all. Whatever secret they think they had was about as subtle as a neon sign. A blinking one. With dancing interchangeable lights. And fireworks lighting up in the background.

If all of the times Ally’s caught Lauren waiting by Camila’s locker weren’t an obvious indication. It’s probably the hickeys she’s absently seen as Lauren tries to hastily change into her uniform for practice. Or the nights she’s caught Lauren wearing what looked like one of Camila’s jerseys during sleepovers. Or the flowers Camila swears were from her father the days leading up to the game, (even though Ally distinctly remembers her father never buying flowers because of his allergies).

Not that she confronted them about it. At least not directly.

A little teasing maybe. Something that both of her snickering friends could agree with and had wholeheartedly participated in.

But no. No. She’s definitely learned her lesson about meddling…at least until that potential future wedding she’s begun making plans for comes into play.

Which, in that case, Operation Camren 2.0 is definitely a go.

.

.

A/N: happy 2018 !