#they also shut down any sort of criticism so it’s impossible to challenge them about their beliefs

[birdietrait]

i really should just delete facebook

[feralphoenix]

SWEET DREAMS ARE MADE OF THIS: The Mechanics of the Infection

welcome back to feral’s essay tag where the hot takes don’t stop from keep being hot!

this particular meta has a Lot of citations from canon, and my plan is to have them as actual footnotes in the dreamwidth mirror when that goes up (as i always crosspost my meta there in case my layout text is too small for any folks accessing these from computer and not mobile).

CONTENT WARNING FOR TONIGHT’S PROGRAM: This essay contains discussion of body horror, cancer, and many of the darker aspects of Hallownest’s society.

ALSO, AS USUAL: I read Hollow Knight as anti-colonialist fiction and all of my meta approaches the text from that angle. This essay is strongly critical of the Pale King and Hallownest, and affords sympathy to pre-Hallownest societies & native characters, including Radiance. If you come from a Christian cultural background (regardless of whether you currently practice the religion or not), some of the concepts I am going to discuss may be challenging for you. Please be responsible in your choice whether to engage with this content, and also, be respectful here or wherever else you’re discussing this essay. Thanks.

SWEET DREAMS ARE MADE OF THIS: The Mechanics of the Infection

If you’ve ever looked through my Hollow Knight tags, you have probably seen me joke about the Infection like a lot, usually along the lines of Radiance casting Level 9 Inflict Tang on Hallownest, or “(radi voice) the End of EVA will continue until you Let My People Go” or some such. In addition to being some of the most beautiful body horror I’ve yet seen in fiction, its appearance also makes it a veritable meme factory.

It is also something that inspires a lot of very wild theorizing amongst fans, because canon tells us WHY the Infection exists but doesn’t ever directly explain WHAT it is. To name just a few of the guesses I’ve seen, people have posited that it could be some sort of pupa juice, or maybe some type of parasitic fungus.

I have my own guess, though, and it’s based on hints we can find in-game. I would like to share it with the class today, so let’s take a quick look through the sauce, starting with what we already know!

WHY

We learn why the Infection happened from Seer and Moss Prophet, and this is also summed up more directly in Team Cherry’s dev notes attached to Seer.

The Pale King wanted to be the only god of light in the crater,* so he tried to kill Radiance by thralling her children - attracting the moths with his light and making them forget about her,** assimilating them into Hallownest. Radiance survived because some moths still remembered and tried to preserve what they could of their original culture,*** and eventually she attempted to reassert her existence and communicate with the bugs of the crater by speaking to them through their dreams. However, the Pale King realized what was happening and ordered his worshippers to shut her out.****

Radiance did not give up, and continued to broadcast her message through dreams. This unstoppable force VS immovable object conflict could not last forever - something eventually had to give, and what gave was the mortals.***** The Infection was an accident that Radiance did not initially intend, but presumably chose to weaponize after the fact as a way to attempt to pressure TPK into releasing the moths and leaving her alone (or, barring that, a way to thoroughly destroy his kingdom at the very least).

SOURCES:

* “No blazing kin. Only one light shall shine against the dark.” - Lore tablet hidden beside the Pale King’s throne in the White Palace.

** “None of us can live forever, and so we ask those who survive to remember us. Hold something in your mind and it lives on with you, but forget it and you seal it away forever. That is the only death that matters.” - Seer’s 1200 Essence dialogue.

*** “But the memories of that ancient light still lingered, hush whispers of faith... Until all of Hallownest began to dream of that forgotten light.” - Seer’s 2400 Essence dialogue.

**** “The King and the bugs of hallownest resisted this memory/power and it started to manifest as the infection.” - from Team Cherry’s dev notes attached to Seer.

***** “Light is life, beaming, pure, brilliant. To stifle that light is to suppress nature. Nature suppressed distorts, plagues us.” - Moss Prophet's dialogue.

HOW

Now that we’ve recapped why the Infection exists, let’s examine the process of how the Infection works. We see some examples of this with various characters in-game, and the Hunter also shares his observations of the Infection’s mechanics in his commentary on the Infected Crossroads entries.

Since we’ll be bringing up the Hunter's Journal here, I want to first examine three entries to establish its dual authorship and how trustworthy it is: The Shade’s entry, the Lightseed’s, and Radiance’s.

We know that the bottom section of the Hunter’s Journal is the Hunter’s personal notes on each creature because the game itself tells us so. So who writes the notes on top that give a brief explanation of what each creature is? It’s a common fan theory that Ghost writes these, which I believe is indeed the case.

First let’s look at the Shade, which is automatically unlocked when we receive the Hunter's Journal in-game regardless of whether we have died and fought the Shade or not. Mechanically this is important because if the Shade weren’t unlocked by default it would be impossible to attain the Hunter achievements without dying at least once - this would REALLY suck for anybody who likes to suffer enough to try to complete the journal in Steel Soul mode.

The Shade’s entry reads:

Echo of a previous life. Defeat it to retake its power and become whole.

-

Each of us leaves an imprint of something when we die. A stain on the world. I don’t know how much longer this kingdom can bear the weight of so many past lives...

Notice that the top text knows exactly what the Shade is and how it works. In story terms, this would imply that Ghost has died and come back enough pre-game to understand the mechanics of how their revivals work.

The Lightseed’s entry reads:

A single-celled organism, completely infected. Scurries about simple-mindedly.

-

Strange air has been seeping down from above for years. Some of the air became liquid, and some of that liquid became flesh, and some of that flesh came to life. I don’t know what to make of it.

In this entry, the top text assumes that Lightseeds are a Lifeseed-like creature that has been infected, and the Hunter’s notes reveal that this is incorrect and the Lightseeds were actually born from the Infection itself. From this we learn that the top text isn’t omniscient and can be mistaken: It’s written from a limited perspective.

And here’s Radi’s entry:

The light,* forgotten.

-

The plague, the infection, the madness that haunts the corpses of Hallownest... the light that screams out from the eyes of this dead Kingdom. What is the source? I suppose mere mortals like myself will never understand.

Here, the top text has information that the Hunter doesn’t, and which only a handful of bugs are privy to anymore.

From these three examples, I believe it is safe to say that Ghost is in fact the author of the journal entries’ top segments.

It’s important to remember that the observations these characters make can be not wholly correct, and I’ll bring that up when I believe it to be relevant, but for now let’s build a picture of how a case of the Infection generally progresses by looking at the Hunter’s commentary on Infected Crossroads enemies, and at a handful of characters whose Infection we directly observe: Bretta, Sly, Myla, and Moss Prophet.

The Hunter describes the broad arc of Infection progression in the Violent Husk's entry: “First [the bugs of Hallownest] fell into deep slumber, then they awoke with broken minds, and then their bodies started to deform...”

The two NPCs who we can save from becoming Infected, Bretta and Sly, are initially found emitting orange fog and mumbling to themselves. In Bretta’s case, when listened to, she initially talks about being left behind and forgotten** as she assumes that all people will treat her this way even though she craves affection and attention; Dream Nailed either before or after being listened to, she mentions a “shining figure”.***

Meanwhile, Sly speaks about his pupil Oro and someone named Esmy, and when his symptoms subside he identifies that he was led to the Crossroads village ruins by a dream.****

Listening to Bretta and Sly completely brings them back to reality, after which they leave the underground area entirely to return to Dirtmouth. However, when the player encounters Myla after defeating Soul Master and obtaining Descending Dive, listening to her does not cause any change in her condition despite that she is not yet hostile.

During these encounters, Bretta is surrounded by orange fog, Sly is surrounded by orange fog and his eyes have also begun to turn orange, and Myla's eyes are glowing but there is no fog around her. So, we can deduce that for as long as the orange fog is present, a bug may still be awoken and cured (Bretta and Sly both show no signs of relapse over the course of the game), but once the fog disappears the bug can no longer be saved by external means.

The "deformation" that the Hunter mentions in the Violent Husk entry refers to the large blobs of Infection that develop on the bodies of creatures that have been infected for a long period of time. We observe these upon the Infected Crossroads enemies, as well as on Hollow and the Moss Prophet. We also see that these Infection tumors can eventually kill bugs once they grow too large and impede bodily functions, just like real cancer: The Moss Prophet and Mossy Vagabonds are all discovered in this state after the Crossroads become infected, as are the Husk Guards in the Crossroads.

So, the progression we can see here is that bugs become infected through their dreams, and while they can initially be woken, if left alone they will fall into too deep a sleep to wake up. Some time after this they will start to move around again but will be hostile to any creatures that are not infected. And, if left in this state for a very long period of time, they will develop tumorous growths which are potentially fatal.

Potentially fatal. This is an interesting contradiction to a basic assumption that most players - and even Ghost and the Hunter - seem to hold about the Infection: That is, that the Infection functions like a pop-culture zombie plague, and infected creatures are all undead (reanimated dead things that can't be killed); thus that the enemies that respawn after resting or going offscreen are the same ones that Ghost just murdered, and have simply been reanimated by the Infection once again.

But infected creatures can die of the Infection. What’s more, bosses and unique instances of generic enemies (such as Myla and the Moss Knight at the pier of Unn’s lake) do not respawn once killed. And it’s definitely not that Ghost killed them that counts: Traitor Lord dies whether Ghost fights him solo or whether Cloth is brought along, in which case she always gets the final blow. This creates the argument that the respawning generics are NOT in fact the same individuals reanimated over and over, but different individuals of the same enemy class, and that their different respawn rates speak to how plentiful those creatures are - small animals respawning faster because a new one will arrive in the recently killed one’s territory sooner, for instance.

Ghost and the Hunter both seem to assume that infected enemies are all undead - many creatures are identified as “husks” or “the remains of [whatever specific bug]” in the Hunter's Journal. But we’ve already established that sometimes Ghost and the Hunter are wrong.

So, if infected creatures aren’t undead, then what are they?

SOURCES:

* I find it a very interesting tidbit of characterization for Ghost that they refer to Radiance as the Light, as native bugs do, rather than calling her the Old Light, as Hallownest bugs did. This has some fascinating implications for where Ghost feels their allegiances to be, but that's neither here nor there right now lol.

** “Ohhh... please... don’t leave me behind! You... forgot about me...? I knew you would... everyone always forgets about me...” - Bretta’s dialogue, Fungal Wastes encounter

*** “...Shining figure...So bright...” - Bretta’s Dream Nail dialogue, Fungal Wastes encounter

**** “...ugghh, Oro you oaf.... You wield your nail... like a club... ...Esmy... how much deeper do we have to go... Oh! What?! Who are you?! ...I see. This old village. What a strange dream, to have led me down here! If you hadn’t found me, I don’t think I would’ve ever woken.” - Sly’s dialogue, Crossroads village encounter

WHAT

In a move very on-brand for Hollow Knight, there’s actually a line from Seer that gives the whole game away - and I mean this incredibly literally, she declares her loyalty to Radiance and says Fuck Hallownest and also hints at what she hopes for from Ghost all in two breaths!! - except that most players are never going to see this line because Seer only says this if you screw up platforming in the Forgotten Dream and yeet yourself off a platform before picking up the Dream Nail.

I do not doubt that I could wring a whole essay out of this one line by itself (and Seer deserves an essay from me so maybe I will), but today the part we’re concerned with is the third line of this dialogue, i.e. how she describes the Dream Nail to Ghost: “The power to wake this world from its slumber[.]”

Its slumber.

The Infection doesn’t only spread through dreams. It is a dream.

To put it in a more meta/video game mechanics sort of way, the Infection is a status ailment. Sleep exists as a common status ailment in RPGs, strategy games, and even some adventure games and platformers. Usually the status ailment of sleep is a mild nuisance that wears off after time, when a character is struck, or if the requisite curative is used; in comparison the Infection is Sleep But Bass Boosted. Appropriate, for a glorified status ailment that’s inflicted by the literal actual god of dreams.

The Infection can only be cured in the very early stages. Once an infected creature has fallen into a coma, there’s no longer any hope of a third party breaking the curse... and also, infected creatures sleepwalk. Violently.

This may also provide an explanation for why mummified bugs in the catacombs have been infected, too: If they were freshly dead and their lingering spirit was still attached enough to their corpses, and that lingering spirit retained enough of a mind to dream...

Aside from those mummified bugs, though, I believe it likely that most if not all of the infected enemies in-game are very, very much alive.

Beyond all the dialogue and lore crumbs pointing to the Infection simply being a cursed sleep, this explanation makes the most sense when thinking about Radiance as a character. She is the literal embodiment of dreams as well as the sun, so inflicting eternal slumber with bonus malignant sleepwalking is a natural extension of her power and a way to use it offensively without being directly violent.

(I've written about this at length elsewhere, but signs point to Radiance having been a pacifist prior to the Pale King’s invasion. Short version: The Moth Tribe were pacifists and Radiance was the center of their culture so it would be odd if she were an exception; she is incapable of inflicting any physical harm whatsoever in a game where lack of contact damage from an active enemy indicates helplessness and such enemies always flee from Ghost unless they have a tool they can use to fight with; her behavior in her boss battles indicates a lack of combat experience, and her nail-generating spells seem to be based on Hollow’s abilities. Real-life adult moths cannot fight - they defend themselves with flight, camouflage, mimicry, and I’m Poisonous So Fuck Off coloring.)

Now, I don’t want to downplay the harm the Infection causes - it doesn’t have to turn bugs into literal undead zombies to be devastating. What we can glean of Hallownest’s ruins suggests that as a state it was heavily dependent on labor to run its industry, so incapacitating the laborers would have turned the whole country on its head, especially because those laborers cannot be woken. The Infection also created an intense atmosphere of terror throughout Hallownest as bugs tried to discover ways to cure it or at least protect themselves. And as the Hunter observes,* because of how the Infection is caused, the harder you try to block Radiance out, the worse the Infection will get.

(A sidebar: Interestingly, the Infection's progress seems to be very slow when a creature willingly accepts it; Moss Prophet has Infection tumors when met but doesn’t die of them until the Crossroads is infected, though many Crossroads bugs are found dead of tumors immediately. Traitor Lord and his followers opted in to the Infection long ago, but Traitor Lord is still at the “orange fog” stage and could theoretically be cured, if he wanted to be. Both Traitor Lord and Moss Prophet are still completely lucid, too.)

Radiance may not have committed any direct violence against Hallownest, but the Infection does incite violence: infected creatures become hostile to and will attack the uninfected. And as we’ve discussed, the Infection itself can become fatal once it’s progressed far enough for tumorous growths to form.

A god smiting the shit out of her people’s oppressors by nonviolently but thoroughly disrupting their kingdom, Especially if that kingdom is a genocidal colonialist slave state,** as a Let My People Go And Leave Me Alone :) ultimatum is not unreasonable. (And Moss Prophet tells us point-blank that literally just listening to Radiance in the first place would have prevented the Infection before it began!) But despite that Hallownest as an institution is unambiguously awful, Hallownest bugs victimized by their own state (such as the maggot slaves and other menial workers) probably saw much less benefit from Hallownest’s genocides than the rich and nobility, and likely deserved the smiting way less than said rich and nobility.

Meanwhile Hallownest’s neighbors - all native nations who are just as much victims of TPK’s bullshit as the Moth Tribe - did not deserve to get caught up in the smiting at all.

Lateral harm in Hollow Knight is another topic that deserves its own essay - and more than that, lots of in-depth conversation! - but, again, that’s not the topic we want to focus on today. I do want to make it clear, though, that infected creatures being alive and theoretically wakeable if the curse should end doesn’t suddenly mean the Infection was actually no big deal. If you want your jimmies rustled, try Dream Nailing enemies that pull from the generic Dream Nail dialogue pool: They are on some level aware that they’re dreaming and can’t wake.***

Clues that the Infection is literally a dream are littered all over the game, from Elderbug’s initial dialogue**** to the name of ending 3, Dream No More - not only named that because that’s the ending where Ghost sacrifices Radiance’s life as well as their own to end Hollow’s suffering rather than only sacrificing their freedom.

Some of what Bardoon and Moss Prophet have to say about the Infection is suggestive of the nature of this dream, though. Moss Prophet appeals to their audience to find unity through the Infection,***** and Bardoon also remarks on this, though he cautions that this comes at the cost of being reduced to instinct.****** Dreaming does tend to come hand in hand with lack of inhibition and suggestibility, but I’m more interested in what Moss Prophet and Bardoon mean by unity, since infected creatures’ thoughts are different depending on what they are and what they were already doing while awake.

There's less specific hard evidence for this aside from how we can observe that Infection blobs are connected to Radiance, transmitting her heartbeat and birthing the Lightseeds, her unintended creations. But given that those blobs do originate from Infection fluid according to the Hunter... Radiance is not just the embodiment of dreams but the heart of THE Dream. So could the Infection be a forcible pseudo-immersion into that capital-D Dream, the Dream Realm itself?

Whether my hunch here is right or not, I can’t in good faith end this essay without bringing all y’all’s attention to absolutely my favorite bit of The Infection Is A Dream foreshadowing: The way multiple parties mention the fact that the Infection smells and tastes sweet.*******

You know... it’s sweet... it’s a sweet dream... get it.........

And now that you can no longer unsee that brilliantly awful pun, I think I'll see myself out!

SOURCES:

* “The infection that swept through Hallownest so long ago... they say that the harder you struggled against it, the more it consumed you.” - Hunter’s commentary, Slobbering Husk Hunter’s Journal entry.

** I’m referring, of course, to the maggots. See: “Weakest members of the kingdom of Hallownest. Generally looked down upon and forced to do menial labour.” (Ghost’s commentary) and “If they try to bargain for their life, just ignore them. They have nothing to offer.” (Hunter’s commentary) from the Maggot Hunter's Journal entry as well as False Knight/Failed Champion’s backstory. Remember also that maggots are the larval form of flies like Sly (you’ll see the resemblance if you compare Sly’s features to the maggot siblings’), meaning Hallownest employs child slavery. In more cheerful news Sly’s backstory must be absolutely goddamn wild.

*** “I’m not...Dead..” “Am I...Sleeping?” “I can’t....Wake up...” - Dream Nail dialogue from generic Hallownest bugs (Wandering Husk, Leaping Husk, Horned Husk, Husk Bully, Husk Warrior) and from God Tamer for some reason

**** “Perhaps dreams aren't such great things after all...” - Elderbug’s initial dialogue

***** “Embrace light! Achieve union!” - Moss Prophet’s dialogue

****** “Theirs is a different kind of unity. Rejection of the Wyrm’s attempt at order. I resist the light’s allure. Union it may offer, but also a mind bereft of thought... To instinct alone a bug is reduced...Hrrm...” - Bardoon’s dialogue (Listen four times, not counting other dialogue flags)

******* “A thick orange mist fills these walking corpses. It has a sweet, sickly taste to it. I find it foul. After you kill these creatures, I suggest you do not eat them.” - Hunter’s commentary, Husk Bully Hunter’s Journal entry, just for one example.

[lizacstuff]

Your thoughts on the epi?

This episode was everything! I don't remember when I've enjoyed crying so much. The funny thing is, though, that I've found myself crying more while rewatching those scenes, than I cried during the first time I watched the episode. This episode will definitely rank among my favorites. Let's talk about the B and C characters and then get to Edser and, of course, Kiraz at the end. I spent the first 30 minutes resisting the urge to punch my screen anytime Ayfer was on it. Damn, I wanted to slap her silly. Could she have been any more annoying? Eda's a grown woman, if she is finally doing the right thing and telling the father of her child he's a dad, then be supportive instead of a screeching pain in the ass. When she actually said "I told you so" to an upset Eda... seriously? That is awful. What a bitter, joyless, petty individual. I was cheering for Melo every time she told Ayfer she was negative. Good! At least we know the other characters recognize how awful she is.

(I get long winded, so this continues under the cut)

Also what was with her going overboard to protect Burak's feelings over his delusional aspirations? Why shouldn't he understand that Serkan and Eda shared a great love and Melo is rooting for them to rekindle it? What does hiding that from him do? It's still true. Ayfer treats this dude as a member of the family, so he might as well know. I get his feelings might get hurt, but dude needs a reality check and to move on, and no matter how hard Ayfer hopes, Serkan in their lives or no, Eda is never going to want Burak. She's made that clear. If Ayfer likes him so much maybe she should marry him, that way at least Melo would be saved from his milquetoast presence.

Speaking of that, they were clearly trying to establish some sort of connection or vibe between him and Melo. So far, I'm not into it. If he's still so into Eda that Ayfer doesn't want him to have to hear about Eda/Serkan possibly reuniting, then he doesn't deserve Melo. Melo deserves someone who wants her, not someone who pines after someone out of his league and then settles for her bff once he realizes he never had a shot with the great beauty. We'll see how it develops, but he has the personality of damp carpet so I don't have high hopes.

Aydan was a little screechy this episode, but I cut her some slack since she just found out these traitors stole 5 years of her granddaughter's life from her. My friend @echoapothecary made a good point to me that Aydan deserves no sympathy for this since she didn't tell Eda Serkan was alive back in amnesia times, and I don't disagree with that. That move by Aydan pretty much tainted her character forever, and it's near impossible to come back from, but viewing this story in a capsule I do feel sorry for her. She wasn't a good mother to Serkan, but she does love him, and I think she craves family. The main point being, Serkan wasn't the only one who lost something significant by not knowing about Kiraz until now, Aydan did too. Perhaps we can say that losing the first five years of her granddaughter's life is her punishment for keeping the secret about Serkan, it's about as steep a penalty as one could pay. Talk about karmic retribution.

Also, since Serkan is apparently not going to impose any emotional tolls on any of the traitors for the secret that was kept from him, I'm glad Aydan did at least make her displeasure known and made some of the liars uncomfortable. Piril, at least, felt it, even if she won't suffer any real consequences. I kind of wanted Serkan to kick her out of the company. I really don't like that character and I think every time she's on screen she just sucks the life out of the show. Engin when he's in scenes with Serkan or Eda or Melo or Aydan or Erdem = Interesting. Engin when he's with Piril = Zzzzzzz.

Pina and Kerem were cute, but to be honest I really don't care. It's inoffensive and I get that we need B, C and D storylines to fill out two hours each week, so I'm good with it, but let's be real I'm only watching for the main event.

Speaking of... now to EDSER! I actually like that Serkan walked out and drove away after hearing the truth. I can only imagine what kind of shock and betrayal he must have felt at that moment, escaping must have seemed like his best option. What I liked even more is that Eda followed him. What a relief after the last episode where she was looking for any and every excuse not to tell him and then made the nonsensical decision to flee in order to avoid it. Too many times in the past between these two pride has gotten in the way. There was a time that Eda might have thrown up her hands at him leaving and pretended like it didn't hurt, that it didn't matter. I'm so glad those days seem to be over. One of the hallmarks of season 2 has been the improved communication (sans secret) between these two and this episode took that concept to a new level.

How heartbreaking to watch Eda plead with Serkan through the door, and how double-y heartbreaking to watch Serkan sitting on the floor, head bent, clearly in emotional agony. You could feel it coming off of him. Kudos to both Hande and Kerem who KILLED IT this episode. Seriously, their best work to date. Their chemistry is always on point, but the way they flawlessly work off of one another in every scene they share, whether it's deeply dramatic or something light and romantic is truly something special to behold. That's one reason why I don't get the folks who are so hung up in hating the season 2 plotline, that they can't appreciate any of this. Because this is the point. Giving these two artists deep and challenging scenes together and opportunities to make more magic. Watching them this season is honestly a privilege and I plan on enjoying every minute of it.

Despite Serkan's emotional turmoil, it was so like him to put the blanket over her and then sit across from her sleeping form as he indulged in some more brooding. However, I really appreciate that by the morning he was ready to talk to her. That conversation was hard, and I'm sure I'm not the only one who was jarred by him saying that he would have told her to get an abortion. In light of his later confessions, I think there's a few ways to take that. I think it was in part a nod to what an emotional mess he was at the time, and in part he said it to alleviate some of her guilt. Because even a betrayed and hurt Serkan cares so much about her, and he knows what he put who through at the time. Especially because at that moment he still had no plans to tell her the truth about why he broke up with her, he was still playing the part of the man who just didn't want children. So stubborn! Thank goodness that over the course of the next 12 hours he'll change his mind about that...

On another note, how happy did it make you to see Sirius? It made me pretty happy. He lives!!!!

From the moment Eda went to his hotel room the night before to confess all the way until they met again at the hotel, Eda really did everything right in how she approached him. However, once back in Sile, she makes her first critical error. It reminded me of the Eda in episode 29 who started pushing so hard at amnesia!Serkan and coming at him with such extreme emotion that he shut down. And that's what happened during that conversation on the beach. Eda needed to give him a little bit of time to come to terms with things, instead of forcing a conversation the first moment they saw one another. Good grief, what was she doing demanding answers from him hours after he found out? She knows this man! She knows that he plans every aspect of his life. So to spring on him that you hid a child from him for 5 years and he's a dad, is a LOT. I like that in a later scene he knows he reacted badly, and actually also says to her "What did you expect?" While his reaction wasn't great, it was also pretty predictable and she should have known to give him some time.

Speaking of the conversation on the beach, what a powerhouse scene for Hande. One note on it, that was the scene they had just shot when Hande and Kerem did their last IGlive on premiere day. The one where Kerem kept talking about how he was in a mood because of an intense scene they had just done. After watching I couldn't help but note that he, as Serkan, mostly just stood there stoically as Hande did all the emoting as Eda let loose on all the pent up emotion she'd been carrying both for years and with Serkan's fresh rejection. It speaks to both their personal and professional dynamic that he was so affected by her being in that state since he didn't do the heavy lifting in that specific scene. The way they are attuned to each other is probably a big reason they are so flawlessly in sync on screen.

I liked how they weaved the Kiraz/Baba scene in at the right time. That was one instance where Aydan, Seyfi and Engin's meddling was for the good, engineering a situation where Serkan was alone with his daughter. Also excellent comedy from Can, ratting out his dad about throwing ice cream on him. Good stuff. I like Engin-as-a-father scenes, I like Engin-as-a-friend scenes, I could just do without Engin-as-a-husband scenes. Anyway, Serkan needed time to adjust, but he also needed to be exposed to Kiraz so that he could view their prior unlikely bond through the new prism of fatherhood. It's telling how easily he slid into Dad territory with teaching her how to tie her shoes. He had been doing that all along, but at that moment he knew about the relationship and still did what was natural. He is ready to be her father, he just needs to realize he's worthy of it.

You can't blame Eda for not realizing it, but it was lovely to see how quickly Serkan turned the corner. He was already adjusting his thinking not even 24 hours after he found out about Kiraz and that was really what inserting himself

into her dealings with the Italians was about. Staying in contact until he could beat back all his neurosis. As for the business stuff, she apparently needed him as an investor, but I also love the way he was there to first build up her confidence and then praise her after a successful presentation. I've said it before but Serkan as her professional mentor is one of my favorite dynamics between them. It did make me wonder, is she still 45% owner of the Holding? It seems like it, she sure didn't hesitate to present herself as his partner. If she is, though, it seems impossible that they could have had zero contact for all those years, unless she just placed her stake in a trust and gave him full voting control of it. Details I'm sure they won't explore in-depth, but I did wonder.

Don't you just love an unwitting guest character (Italian guy) who comes in and forces our two protagonists to spend extra time together? I do. Thank you Italian guy and Italian guy's wife! I love how quick Serkan was to accept, you see, he had already turned a corner and was looking for excuses to get close to her. It was his first step in his journey to opening up to her. Also, who noticed that Eda wore a slinky blue dress the night after Kiraz mentioned that it's Serkan's favorite color? Just checking. She is not as immune to his charms as she'd like us to believe...

OF COURSE Serkan was at Eda's graduation. I think pretty much the whole fandom had guessed that from their conversation in episode 40, but it still hit me emotionally to have it confirmed. What I really liked about it was that Serkan didn't tip his hand by accident. He quoted her graduation speech specifically because he wanted her to know he was there. And not only that he willingly admits that he thought of her every single day since they parted. This is a huge step for him. It has been driving him crazy that Eda thinks he forgot her and is totally unaffected by her. However, even just a few hours earlier he was still in a place where he had no intention to tell her anything, it's actually impressive how quickly he came around. Now I don't blame Eda at all for declaring it's not enough, he put her through emotional hell when they broke up. I mean on one hand you'd think she'd be able to see that he was already opening his heart and there was more to the story, however, her reaction was good because it spurred him on to go and tell her the whole story.

And what a heartbreaking story it was. As I said several times over the last few weeks, I was hoping that part of Serkan's motivation was that the doctor had told him he would be unable to have kids, what I wasn't expecting though was the double whammy of not being able to have kids AND there being a 70% chance of the cancer coming back. No wonder Serkan was eFFed up! Who wouldn't be, but then you add in his additional insecurities about not being worthy of love and his hypochondria and that is a bad mental cocktail. You know what's ironic, Ayfer hates him but in reality he did exactly what Ayfer would have wanted him to do. Push Eda away for her own good so she could have everything she wants in life without him dragging her down. What makes Ayfer the worst (and a hypocrite) is that this is exactly what she would have wanted him to do, but she also blames him for Eda's heartbreak in the aftermath.

The scene was so cathartic to watch as a viewer. We've been waiting for weeks for Serkan's point of view as he's hidden behind his usual confident and calm veneer, and when we finally got it, we really got it. He did not hold back. Serkan is such a complex character, which is a bit surprising for a silly show that you wouldn't really expect build a character with so many layers. On the surface he has everything and seems to be full of ego, but his arrogance is only surrounding his abilities, intellect, and skills as a businessman and architect. Personally, he has little self-worth and thinks he's not worthy of anyone's love, especially not Eda's. However, while that has been a truth of the character for a long time, this speech was the first time he admitted how deeply rooted his fears are. It was stunning, though, to have a character who is so rooted in being in control and who is worried about his outward image, open up in such a raw way and expose all his fears and insecurities to a woman he's been apart from for five years. It was breathtaking and Kerem was fantastic in the scene.

Initially, with the subtitles, I misinterpreted (though I knew it couldn't be quite right) his parting words. The subtitles I saw made it seem like Serkan was saying "Don't say you forgot me" as in Serkan didn't want Eda to say she forgot him. But it made so much more sense when I saw it translated as "But don't say I forgot you." which was a throw back to their dinner conversation in episode 40 when Eda says, "You forgot me." Once I realized Serkan was saying that he couldn't handle her thinking, or say, that he'd forgotten her, the scene hit doubly hard!

I saw some criticism of that scene that said Eda was just standing there with no emotion, but I didn't get that at all. She had tears running down her face and I thought she was fighting for his soul pretty dang hard. First by using both emotion-- telling him that everything had changed because now he had a daughter and that he'd locked his heart and soul in a cage. Then by using logic-- when she told him the cancer is gone and that's it's over and when she challenged him over why everything has to be perfect. Think from her perspective how disorienting it would be to find out that everything you thought was true, was not, and that if the love of your life wasn't such a stubborn, selfless, self-sabotaging martyr that you could have built a family together instead of been separated for 5 years. It's a lot.

On the first watch this doorway scene is where I started to get emotional, but I didn't really lose it and fully cry until Serkan's scene the next day with Engin. For whatever reason that scene hit me hard. Hats off to Anil for his work there, the way his voice broke at times during that conversation really got to me. This type of true friendship scene was something that was sorely missing during the era of the other writers, and it was wonderful to see it back, just when Serkan needed it most. Serkan needed someone to shake him a bit about his fears of dying. I think the writers did a good job here, because while Serkan's neurosis and self-sabotage is maddening, with his history it's believable that he was stuck in a headspace where he really thought he couldn't be a father to Kiraz, or a partner to Eda, because he might up and die on them. I loved how Engin pointed out that Eda and Kiraz would not be the only ones affected if he died and how ridiculous it was for him to lock himself away.

I'm glad we got the scene with the doctor to really get a full glimpse of Serkan's view of his illness and it's also a relief to not only Serkan, but to us viewers that since five years have passed cancer-free he now has the risk of a typical healthy person. Serkan isn't the only one who has hang ups about his health, I think after amnesia and cancer viewers do too!

Finding out that Eda had made videos specifically for Serkan over the years, talking to him directly, hit hard. I wasn't really expecting that. I thought maybe she just had general photos and videos, like any doting parent would have, but the fact that she was always wanting him, documenting Kiraz's life and preparing for a day when he would hopefully take his place as Kiraz's father... wow. On the cynical side it makes it that much harder to believe that she never made more of an effort to tell him once Kiraz was born, but I won't focus on that. Not when the scene was as perfect as it was. Kerem again was stellar, he made me cry buckets. I think since amnesia many of us wanted an emotional response from him, thank goodness this story finally delivered it. The emotions running through him at that moment were overwhelming and Kerem did a fantastic job of portraying all of them, the heartbreak over everything he missed, the joy at seeing moments

from his daughter's life, the regret of not being there and being the partner Eda needed, the pride in the job Eda did in raising their daughter alone, and finally the bittersweet relief that Eda never forgot him.

It was a lot, but it was a good segue to the next scene when Eda calls him frantic because Kiraz went missing. What was clear from those videos was that while Eda, when we first meet her in Sile, appeared on the surface to have everything handled as a single mom, she always really wanted to have Serkan there as her partner. While Kiraz was pining for her dad, Eda was pining for Serkan as well. And we see this displayed in full force when Serkan arrives. Several people try to comfort Eda, including Burak, but she's not having it. However, as soon as Serkan gets there you can almost see the relief hit her in a wave. She's not in this alone anymore. Kiraz's father is there to help. Even if nothing is settled at that moment, she knows she can rely on Serkan and that he will know what to do. Which is supported by the fact that he clearly took charge the moment he found out, calling the authorities, having them begin searches etc.

But while highlighting his competence, conversely can we talk about how incompetently everyone else was at searching for Kiraz? They all acted worried, but did any of them make any real effort to find her? LMAO, they all seemed much more concerned with their own personal dramas. Especially egregious were Engin and Piril. Hello! Your son is clearly trying to tell you where the missing person is! Stop ignoring him. Thank goodness Serkan is very good at finding people.

Of course he found her and our hearts collectively shattered as we watched her trying to send a message to her Baba in space when in reality he was kneeling right there beside her, helping her tie the note to the balloon. If anything else was left to convince Serkan that he is wanted and needed, by both Eda and Kiraz, this situation was it. Even though some careless crew member spoiled the astronaut suit in an unnecessary IG story from the set, (that would have been a really good surprise) it was still satisfying to see this fairy tale play out. Never over "Baba?" and "Happy Birthday, my daughter" and now I can't wait to see Kiraz's reaction that her new friend Serkan Bolat is actually her dad and it should be pretty great to watch the three of them form a family together.

Overall this was the most emotional episodes of the series, and also one of the best.

[plumoh]

[SK8] at all times, at all sides

Rating: T

Word count: 7409

Summary: Kaoru is shaped by the choices he makes and the people surrounding him. And through the years, Kojirou was there in one way or another.

Note: AO3 link. This was posted a while after Kaoru’s birthday, as a character study of sorts, birthday by birthday. I make the assumption that in the present day, Kaoru and Kojirou are 27-28 years old.There is a brief mention of alcohol at age 20, and Kaoru is a bit drunk at age 26.

15.

Kaoru gets two additional piercings on his left ear on his fifteenth birthday.

The first one, at what is considered a normal place for an earring in the middle of the earlobe, was done as an impulsive act of brashness to show off to his friends at school at the beginning of the year. He likes the attention. The family name attached to him makes people gasp when they see him with holes in his ear, but he would be lying if he said it didn’t bring him some sort of satisfaction. It’s kind of ridiculous and entirely too stiff an attitude to be offended by some nails stuck into someone else’s skin, as if it changes who he fundamentally is. Besides, piercings are cool.

So Kaoru gets two additional piercings, a helix piercing and another one in the earlobe, and Kojirou whistles.

“You sure your parents won’t cut off your entire ear for that?” he asks, his gaze appraising Kaoru’s new look.

“I’ll live with only one ear, then,” Kaoru answers, shrugging. “What do you think? I look cool, right?”

Kaoru gestures to his ear, grinning and looking at Kojirou expectantly. He knows that he must be acting like a child who got permission to eat a second candy after dinner, but it’s his birthday and he feels he can be excited for what is, essentially, a new approach to his lifestyle. He paid for these piercings with his own pocket money (and money earned through foolish bets and challenges, and he’s thankful that most skaters are stupid).

Kojirou hums, his face pinched in intense concentration. Kaoru rolls his eyes.

“That’s a yes or no question, Kojirou.”

“Let me give you a complete review of your new fashion style, impatient bastard,” Kojirou says.

“I don’t need a complete review! They’re just piercings!”

Kojirou always takes forever when asked to give his opinion on any topic, be it about his younger brother’s latest baseball game or the best suited color for a piece of garment Kaoru’s mother has decided to wear for an important meeting. It’s utterly unnecessary and a waste of time—Kaoru isn’t asking Kojirou to write an essay about his piercings.

“Just answer the question,” Kaoru says, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Well, if you like your piercings so much, maybe show them off more?” Kojirou sighs. “I don’t know, you have more hair than any human being is supposed to have. It hides the piercings.”

Kaoru snorts. “Complain to my mother about that.”

But Kaoru entertains the idea.

16.

Keeping his hair long is a simple matter of preference. There is no rule in his family stating that its members should have a specific length of hair, so why not? Very few boys and men have it this long, and Kojirou always asks him why he bothers taking care of such a useless physical feature when all it does is getting into his way when he skates. Kaoru admits he does have a point, but he likes his hair.

Kaoru is currently tying it into a ponytail, lazily skating on the sidewalk around their neighborhood. Kojirou is skating at his side eating an entire soda flavored Garigari-kun popsicle, shoving it into his mouth and crunching into the ice because he likes having brain freeze.

“Hey, it’s your birthday next week,” Kojirou announces, like it’s the most thrilling event of the week. “Did you plan something? Wanna go explore some new skating areas?”

Kaoru flips his hair over his shoulder and shrugs. Kojirou is looking at him curiously, almost intently, and that makes Kaoru raise an eyebrow.

“Nothing special, but it’s also on the same day as some renown calligrapher from Tokyo visiting our studio. So yeah.”

“All the way from Tokyo? That sounds important.”

“Maybe. I didn’t really pay attention.”

Simply thinking about all the formal procedures that will take place in his house and the fact he will have to be on his “best behavior, please, Kaoru” is pissing him off. He’s not interested in hearing about the works of this supposedly famous and talented calligrapher bestowing upon their modest family his knowledge and wise advice. Kaoru doesn’t even know why he still attends the calligraphy lessons when he’s pretty sure he’ll go into computer science or something. His parents are always on his case about maintaining his posture and improving his strokes every day, and at some point Kaoru started obeying to make their noisy demands stop. He doesn’t genuinely hate the art itself; he simply thinks that his time is better spent elsewhere. What does calligraphy have when computers can do much more fascinating stuff?

Kojirou is nibbling at the popsicle stick, eyeing him with that critical look he often gets when he considers throwing paper balls at Kaoru in class, or when he thinks that Kaoru needs a snack to calm down, like some fucking animal he’s trying to tame—Kaoru hates that somehow, food always works.

“You want to ditch?” Kojirou asks as neutrally as possible, but Kaoru hears the sympathy in his voice. Which is appreciated, but unnecessary.

“No, I was actually thinking of scandalizing my parents by cutting my hair and having it cropped short,” Kaoru says with a half-feral grin. “Like, strands of hair sticking everywhere and impossible to make it look presentable.”

Kojirou almost stumbles on his skateboard, even though it’s a straight line and he wasn’t even pushing with his feet on the concrete.

“What?! But you never shut up about your hair!”

“You fucking liar, I only ever say I like having it long!”

“Yeah, that still makes it stupid! Why would you cut your hair if you like it long?”

“Because hair grows again?”

“Not as fast as you’d think, if you even thought about it before blurting out you want to get a bowl cut.”

“Disheveled and rowdy haircut, not a bowl cut, you idiot!”

They make a turn at the corner of the street, expertly avoiding a kid walking her dog and dodging the woman carrying groceries behind her, not without getting scolded for skating in residential areas (or skating at all) but those are words that go in one ear and exit in the other. Kaoru smiles to himself and kicks into the ground to get more speed, jumps and flips his board in the air before landing on it again with minimal risk of smashing his face in the concrete. He lifts a fist in the air with a whooping cry.

“Oh hey, that was a good one!” he exclaims, giving Kojirou a radiant grin.

“You mastered this trick long ago, why are you so excited?” Kojirou grumbles.

“Because it felt nice, that’s all. Be happy about the small things in life, that’s what you keep saying.”

“Sometimes I feel you’re purposely throwing back my words at my face only when it’s convenient for you.”

“I always listen to you, even if it might come as a surprise.”

Kaoru laughs, spinning his board and continuing on a straight line, ahead of Kojirou. Today’s weather is pleasant and he can’t wait for the end of the school year at the end of the week to go skating all day. It will come with more calligraphy practice, but at least he will have time for his other hobbies too. And if he can’t focus on anything at home, he can still go to Kojirou’s place and bother him all day.

“Then don’t cut your hair!” Kojirou shouts, catching up to him.

The lines on Kojirou’s face are weird, all upset and a bit worried, and that’s not an expression Kaoru is used to see when they’re talking about haircuts, of all things. Maybe when they’re doing their geography homework or when they’ve spent one hour practicing tricks and got more bruises than actual results, but not hair.

“What’s up with you?” Kaoru asks, slowing down. “It’s just my hair. It’s a good prank.”

“You’re going to look like a bird’s nest for at least three months, you okay with that?” Kojirou retorts.

“That’s not the worst thing in existence. And if I recall, you told me last year I should show off my piercings more, so having short hair would effectively do that.”

Kojirou groans and drags a hand across his face, almost looking defeated.

“Just style it in a way that makes your piercings visible, then,” Kojirou adds. “You… have nice hair.”

Kaoru blinks. Kojirou looks straight ahead, his posture stiff, determined not to turn his head in Kaoru’s direction.

“I have nice hair,” Kaoru repeats.

“Yes.”

“You don’t want me to cut my hair because it looks nice?”

“Yes.”

“That might be the most honest compliment you’ve ever said to me.”

“Shut up, I’m never complimenting you ever again!”

Kojirou speeds up, but not before Kaoru catches a glimpse of his reddening ears. The situation is starting to make even less sense, but seeing Kojirou so flustered over nothing is piquing Kaoru’s interest and his lips stretch in a wide grin. Kaoru joins Kojirou in their less-than-recommended skating speed.

“Okay, but you’re being weird!” Kaoru shouts over the sound of their wheels scratching against the ground. “Was that an offer to style my hair?”

“I’m not talking to you,” Kojirou mutters.

“You’re the one who suggested it, you can’t drop the topic!”

It’s almost comical to see two teenagers loudly arguing about a pointless subject while skateboarding and avoiding any obstacles they come across, as if being on a board is the same as walking. Passersby shoot them quizzical looks and a lot of adults are clearly not approving their noise level.

They end up skating all the way to the playground near the elementary school of the neighborhood, where a few kids are playing while their parents are watching over them. There is a skating park farther away, but people are already using it and Kaoru doesn’t like skating with people not part of their crew unless he’s looking for a fight. So they keep skating around, at a lower speed because colliding with children won’t exactly look good on either of them.

“Fine, keep being stubborn, you asshole,” Kaoru grumbles. “I’ll get another piercing.”

Kojirou finally jerks his head towards Kaoru, his expression a lot less constipated and more curious. “On such a short notice?”

“I’ll find a way. And even if I can’t get it done before my birthday, it will still be infuriating for my parents.”

Kaoru taps at his lower lip, not missing the way Kojirou’s eyes follow the movement with rapt attention.

“I wanted to get a lip ring, anyway,” he says.

There is something simply enthralling in a lip ring—the light catches on it, and people are immediately in admiration when they see it. Not everyone has the guts to get one, after all.

Kojirou slowly nods, tearing his gaze away from Kaoru’s face.

“If you want,” he says. “I don’t see any problem with that.”

“You’re so weird today.” Kaoru rolls his eyes.

“You’re the weird one, obsessed with piercings.”

“You just wish you could be as cool as me. Race you to my home!”

“Damn it Kaoru, stop cheating!”

Kaoru ignores Kojirou and launches himself at full speed to make his skateboard pivot and turn around, going back from the way they came. Kojirou is still yelling at him.

Kaoru doesn’t manage to get his lip pierced before his birthday, but he does sweep the left side of his hair behind his head and keep it in place with a hair clamp, leaving his earrings in plain sight. To the calligrapher’s credit, upon seeing who the supposed Sakurayashiki heir is, he makes only the vaguest noise of shock before getting into business. Kaoru smiles all throughout the visit.

17.

Kaoru’s seventeenth birthday remains one of the most special days of his life.

He got gifts, snacks and high-fives from various people whom he cares more or less about (the crew bought a cake but Kaoru only got a thin slice of it because they are greedy bastards), while Kojirou bought him a book on AI that was way too expensive even if he has a part-time job salary (Kaoru wrestled him to the ground when he recognized the book).

Adam takes them skating in a place they’ve never explored before.

It’s beautiful. Exciting, captivating and alluring, making them use all their senses to turn at the right time, to ride down a hill without losing control, and to feel the full path reverberated through their bodies in shock waves. Skateboarding is fun, but this is on another level entirely—it’s like sliding on the edge of a cliff, giving heart palpitations but also an intoxicating feeling of a game that needs to be beaten, whose ending is all worth these efforts.

The three of them are skating as if wings sprouted on their back, uncaring of the world outside of their little bubble of thrills. Kaoru watches in fascination as Adam seems to fly across the track, smooth in his skating and unconcerned with the bumpy road. The wind seems to be an inconsequential factor in his descent in the slope, moving along with it and never straying far from the road. It’s subjugating, it’s beautiful, it’s freedom.

“Watch where you’re skating, idiot!” Kojirou yells right next to him, startling Kaoru out of his reverie.

Kaoru crouches low and makes a sharp turn, avoiding a rock that would have sent him sprawling. He straightens and keeps going at a controlled pace, glaring at Kojirou.

“I know what I’m doing!” he grunts.

“You almost smacked that wall with your face,” Kojirou points out with a glare of his own. “Stop getting distracted.”

“I’m not distracted,” Kaoru snaps back automatically.

But the look Kojirou is giving him is indescribable, so foreign on his face and even more so as it is directed at Kaoru. There is something brewing in the air and Kaoru doesn’t like it, doesn’t want a chasm opening between them because of a stupid argument, but he doesn’t even know what made Kojirou so irritable in the first place.

Adam is waiting for them at the end of the path, watching them arriving at a sullen pace with a raised eyebrow. Kaoru stops right in front of him and plasters a smile on his face, much more eager to talk about they’ve come here for.

“That’s an amazing place! Skating here is so fun, we can make a challenge out of a lot of things in this mountain.”

“Yes, the turns are different and there are many slopes that we need to be careful of,” Adam agrees, smiling. “I truly believe we can accomplish a lot, if we do it together. I want to create a special race here for skaters to push their limits.”

Adam looks at Kaoru, then at Kojirou—the glint of mischief and of confidence reflected in his eyes is the same as the one that pulls everyone in his orbit, making them give their all to become the best. It’s a look that Kaoru feels inextricably drawn to, enamored with the unbridled possibilities he imagines behind words that promise a paradise of freedom grander than anything they’ve ever known.

“You both have skills that will be useful to establish this race,” Adam continues. “People are following you and your skating is among the best. I said before that you guys were special, and I mean it.”

Kaoru does not preen, but the shivers that course through his body as Adam opens his heart are ones that feel pleasant, almost addictive. His grin splits his face in two.

“You can count on us, we’re going to create the best skating race in existence,” Kaoru assures. “Right, Kojirou?”

“Yeah, of course!”

Kojirou’s earnest tone is almost a relief—he’s clearly as excited about this race as them, and Kaoru would have been seriously worried if that wasn’t the case.

For the first time, the joyous expression on Adam’s face seems to be born out of sincerity plucked from the deepest corner of his heart. It suits him; it makes him look even more radiant than usual. Kaoru can’t look away.

“It’s decided, then,” Adam says. “The three of us, inaugurating the “S” race. Together.”

On that day, when Kaoru turned seventeen and his mind was filled with nothing but skateboarding, he thought that this is what belonging felt like.

18.

Sitting perfectly straight, legs tucked under him, Kaoru picks up a brush, dips it into ink he has carefully ground, presses it against the sheet of paper and splashes black trails all over it. The ink drips outside of the frame and stains the tatami floor of the study he hasn’t bothered to protect, littering everything in dark, angry marks that resemble the work of a child throwing a tantrum.

There is no word, no poem written on his paper. Half of the inkstick is grossly used up, its tip almost falling apart, like it wasn’t deemed worthy of being respected as one of the treasures of calligraphy. Kaoru is filling the paper with nothing but emptiness.

It’s not even rage moving his arm like a possessed demon. It would have been easier to deal with, if it was rage; handling it requires minimal effort, as he can mindlessly let his heart wreak havoc upon anything his hands come into contact with, or he can scream all the grievances he’s bottled up to clear the space occupied by unpleasant thoughts. Rage is physical, in and out, and Kaoru’s had years of practice getting rid of it.

But this is not rage that nudges him in the direction of destroying a perfectly good piece of paper with expensive ink and an even more expensive brush, tarnishing their quality and the noble use they are destined to. It’s cold and quiet resignation, trapping him in his own mind as he lets himself be selfish one last time and act out in childish anger.

Kaoru’s eighteenth birthday is spent alone, grieving his dream of ever cutting ties with family traditions. He hasn’t touched a skateboard in months and he hasn’t tinkered with his AI program in even longer. There was no point anyway—Kojirou has other things to focus on, and Adam left.

Kaoru was a fool to think he was strong and resolute enough to follow a path that is not written with the same deep ink as the one he’s used all his life.

20.

“You can legally drink now, congrats.”

“Great. I can sip my alcohol in the presence of guests and pretend I’m enjoying their company when all I want is getting drunk.”

“That’s not very professional, soon-to-be Sakurayashiki-sensei.”

“You’re one to talk, I bet you’re consuming way too many beers at those parties. Has gaining muscle mass made you lose brain cells?”

“Hey, you four-eyes, that was uncalled for!”

There is something moving behind Kojirou, a door opening and someone poking his head inside, and Kojirou turns his head to rattle off a few words in Italian before facing the camera again. Chin resting in his palm, Kaoru is watching with a raised eyebrow Kojirou’s roommate rummage through Kojirou’s dressing, before retreating back into the corridor.

“Does he make a habit to walk around your shared apartment half-naked?” Kaoru asks.

Kojirou laughs, waving his hand. “He was looking for a clean shirt, he forgot to do laundry yesterday. I told him he could borrow one of mine.”

“I’m surprised you still find shirts your size with the way your body’s taking the shape of a gorilla’s.”

“Just admit you’re jealous of my perfect muscles.”

Kojirou makes a show of flexing his bicep and Kaoru snorts.

“Yeah, I’m so jealous of that gorilla body that is unnecessarily big.” Kaoru deadpans.

“Believe it or not, it makes skating a lot more fun too,” Kojirou adds with a smile. “More power in the legs to do tricks.”

Kojirou looks...satisfied with the direction his life is taking. Kaoru is happy for him—studying abroad in culinary school and discovering a whole new culture seems to be the change of pace Kojirou needed. Sometimes Kaoru wishes he could also skate in the places full of pipes and curvy roads that Kojirou shows him, but he has to make do with the familiar tracks he’s skated on all his life.

“I upgraded Carla to calculate distances faster and to automatically record what she sees,” Kaoru says with a hint of smugness.

“Your AI having a girl’s name will never stop being weird,” Kojirou groans. “Why haven’t you chosen something normal like “Ghost Voice” or “Robotico”?”

“An AI is not a robot.” Kaoru pinches the bridge of his nose, already tired of having to repeat this for the umpteenth time. “Your Roomba is a robot. Carla recognizes many more things than the shape of your apartment.”

“Then program Carla to clean my apartment too.”

“Carla isn’t a vacuum cleaner, you dimwit!”

“That’s a big shame, maybe you should also create an AI cooking for you!”

Kaoru opens his mouth to reply something scathing, then snaps it shut. On the screen, Kojirou frowns.

“Don’t,” Kojirou warns.

“We have enough resources and data to program an AI that creates recipes from a list of ingredients,” Kaoru says anyway. “If we implement it into a robot, with the correct code and careful adjustments, then maybe it will be a decent cook.”

“If you start making a cook AI I don’t want to heart about it,” Kojirou mutters.

Kaoru rolls his eyes. “Do you think I have enough hours in a day to focus on another project? Carla already requires my full attention.”

There is no need for him to say that calligraphy practice is what he does most of the day, if he’s not attending courses on speech or on business. It’s his life now; he chose to become the next Sakurayashiki calligrapher and he can’t back down now. Not that he’s ever fully considered leaving calligraphy behind for one of his better, more interesting hobbies—and this was exactly the problem. He never untied his hands from the string tethering him to a brush.

“You always want to work on something, so I’m expecting anything from you when you’re bored,” Kojirou says with a smirk.

“Maybe my next project will make gorillas like you shut up.”

Kaoru is twenty years old, discovering every day new aspects of himself in a professional environment, but one thing that never changes is the comfort of simply existing as himself when he talks to Kojirou.

22.

Kaoru spends a couple of years simmering in feelings he doesn’t acknowledge.

He isn’t someone who takes the time to reflect on his own feelings, negative or positive. They simply happen and he decides on whether to act on them—which has been true since he was a child, throwing tantrums when he didn’t like the task he was asked to do, kicking someone he didn’t agree with as a teenager, and deflecting when answering journalists’ questions that would force him to look deep into his heart. He lives in the moment and tries very hard not to burden himself with useless thoughts and regrets he can’t act upon.

He doesn’t dwell more than necessary on his choice to inherit the family calligraphy studio, because it will lead to nothing productive. He has perhaps harbored ill feelings towards calligraphy in the past, but they’re not so visceral he can’t execute the job he’s been trained for since he could hold a brush. Sometimes he thinks he could have rejected everything he’s been taught and disappoint his family for the rest of his life, but he immediately chases the thought away and decides that suffering through a successful career of calligrapher appears to be a small sacrifice compared to the headaches that would have come with removing himself from the Sakurayashiki studio.

He’s a full grown adult, by society’s standards. He shed his sweaters for yukatas and took off his piercings with reluctance, feeling like he ripped off a part of himself that’s been with him forever to fit into a mold he’s accepted as his new normal. Those were remnants of his old, carefree life that he abandoned, and it’d be preposterous to wish for things to have gone differently.

At least he has his AI—a new spin to a traditional art that is resistant to change. Carla is efficient, impressive and shocks people into admiration; Kaoru has upgraded and improved the code as many times as it required, making her compatible with every device in his possession so that she could accompany him in all his tasks. Skating became a game of precision, detail and finesse, aiming for perfection beyond what the average mind would think of. Calligraphy is enhanced and magnified, the digital aspect adding beauty in an art that is almost exclusively done by hand. Incorporating technology in his otherwise boring job undoubtedly made his days easier and more fun.

Kaoru isn’t dissatisfied. He can do better, but he could have done worse. However, if there is one thing that makes him antsy it’s the realization that he’s seeing less of Kojirou with each passing day, and he would have never thought it would leave a growing ache in his chest every time he thinks about it.

They have their own lives to live. It’s part of growing up—and he hasn’t completely lost his best friend yet.

25.

They have been wandering the streets of Paris for exactly ten minutes and Kaoru is already starting to regret his decision.

“It’s not that hard to read a map,” he seethes, trying to grab Kojirou’s phone.

Kojirou lifts the device higher and turns his back on Kaoru, stubbornly keeping his eyes riveted on the screen.

“I’ve got this, stop distracting me,” Kojirou says.

“The metro station is right there, let’s just change itinerary, stupid gorilla!”

“You want to take the metro when we could explore the city on foot?”

“The probability of getting shitted on by pigeons is way too high for my liking.”

This gets an undignified snort from Kojirou, more amused than mocking though Kaoru knows not to assume when every one of his words can be thrown back at his face later on.

They do end up taking the metro. They can go anywhere in Paris by bus or metro, making it extremely convenient to find their way but it gets overwhelming really fast—the metro lines seem to be full of people at all hours of the day, according to Kaoru’s extensive research before their trip, and they are nothing like the monorail they have back in Okinawa. Most passengers are focused on their phones, while others are taking a quick nap, which is not that different from what they’re used to.

“It can’t be worse than the Tokyo rail lines,” Kaoru mutters as they’re being shaken by the train doing a particularly sharp and violent turn.

“You’ve never been to Tokyo,” Kojirou replies with a raised eyebrow.

“I did last year for a meeting.”

“And that single trip was enough for you to get the full experience of the infamous rush of Tokyo’s Yamanote line?”

“I wasn’t saying I used the Yamanote line, imbecile. All trains are crowded. I think you wouldn’t have been able to squeeze in with your gorilla body.”

“At least I’m not at risk of going blind when someone knocks off my glasses by pushing me around in a crowd!”

“I always carry a second pair of glasses with me to avoid this kind of incident!”

It’s probably a good thing that this line of metro makes the same level of noise as a tractor revved up at full power, because their arguing is by no means quiet and people are starting to stare at them. But as soon as Kaoru glances at them, they avert their eyes and pretend they weren’t gawking. Typical.

March weather is terrible. Their trip lasts one week, and there is an equal number of sunny days and of cloudy days, with high probability of rain. It shouldn’t be normal to have a changing weather so unpredictable that it makes planning for their day a real pain in the ass. Kojirou is already complaining about the sun beginning to leave space for clouds at merely eleven in the morning, and Kaoru silently agrees with the sentiment.

The food is good, at least.

“Reminds me a bit of what restaurants looked like in Italy,” Kojirou says around a mouthful of beef. “Maybe I can draw inspiration from those recipes.”

“It’s not Italian cuisine,” Kaoru points out. “Unless you intend to make a mixed menu.”

“Of course not, but the flavors can be useful.”

Kojirou is examining his piece of vegetable like a scientist observing an experiment under a microscope, as if it could give him the secrets of its cooking time or the spices used for it. Kaoru lightly kicks him under the table, and Kojirou hisses.

“Stop being weird and eat your food.”

“Do you really have to hit me every time you want to make a point?”

“I’m not hitting that hard.”

The other way around is more likely to happen; Kaoru won’t ever admit it but he doubts that Kojirou feels more pain than Kaoru does when he hits him. Those muscles are ridiculous and entirely unnecessary, honestly.

They take pictures at the landmarks and get mad at the long lines and narrow their eyes at the price of various food and drinks they stumble upon. They’re not short on money, but drinking a cup of café au lait at twice the price of what they can find in regular coffee shops doesn’t leave a good taste in their mouth. Kojirou uses the knowledge from his time in Italy to make educated guesses on whether they’re paying something at an unreasonable price or not—he looks a bit too smug doing so but Kaoru lets it slide for once and allows him to play the role of the brain for this specific aspect of their trip. Kaoru can at least trust Kojirou’s judgment when money is concerned (even if his intuition can be skewed sometimes).

“It’s only because it’s your birthday trip that I’m putting up with your need to visit museums,” Kojirou says, waving at the multiple pamphlets they gathered after three days of sightseeing.

“Having some culture ingrained in your mind is nothing but beneficial for you,” Kaoru retorts evenly.

Kojirou rolls his eyes, clearly not interested in that conversation, and gets up from his bed of their hotel room. It’s past midnight but they’re still wide awake. Sharing one room would be awkward or embarrassing for a lot of people, but Kaoru has known Kojirou half his life and it would be ridiculous to feel self-conscious now, when they’ve seen each other in various states of undress and wakefulness. Perhaps the only complaint Kaoru will voice that he didn’t have when he was thirteen is that the older Kojirou gets, the louder his snoring is (as if the noise level grows with the wideness of his body).

“Hey, Kaoru.”

Kaoru looks up from tomorrow’s schedule displayed on his phone to come face to face with a giant box of pastries and Kojirou’s bright grin. Kojirou is holding the box one-handed, slightly bent forward, like he would a tray to present his dish to his most loyal customers.

“Happy birthday, four-eyes,” Kojirou says on a light tone.

“Must you call me names when you’re wishing me happy birthday?” Kaoru scoffs, but he eyes the pastries with unconcealed interest.

They went to a bakery in the afternoon for a snack, buying a croissant, a pain au chocolat and a pain aux raisins because they apparently lack self control when it comes to cheap baked goods—but for some reason Kaoru missed the moment Kojirou acquired this box of pastries.

“It’s past midnight,” Kaoru reminds him.

Kojirou shrugs. “We’re grown adults and on holiday, I don’t think it’s much of a problem.”

“There are six different pastries in this box.”

“Nobody’s saying we should eat all of them right now, moron. Save some of them for tomorrow.”

They end up eating three pasties, one half each, while arguing about the pros and cons of buying smaller portions of different sweets over getting an entire cake for a birthday, as well as the point of starting celebrating said birthday at midnight instead of simply waiting for morning. They’ve had these conversations before, at Kaoru’s or Kojirou’s birthday over the years, but it seems they never grow sick of repeating the same arguments even when the topic is stupid.

It’s like a well-oiled machine; pushing on one button always leads to the same result. Kaoru and Kojirou argue because this is what they’re used to do, a response at their lips even before they hear the end of the other’s sentence. What comes out of their mouths takes the shape of banter but Kaoru, even though he usually ignores it, notices how at ease he is in these moments.

Kojirou invited him for this trip even if he didn’t have to, and bought pastries to share at midnight like they’re holding a small party. His face is illuminated by his generosity and his big heart that finds a way to carve itself in his eyes.

“Let’s go skating tomorrow afternoon, it will be fun,” Kojirou suggests, mischief and plain desire to have fun glimmering in his gaze.

And Kaoru can’t say no.

They brought their boards, like they did when they traveled to Los Angeles. It might sound like a waste of space in their luggage, but nobody has a say in what they consider fun. Kaoru had to change Carla’s battery for her to fall under airport regulation, which was a hassle on short notice (Kojirou dropped a plane ticket on Kaoru’s lap a week before departure, and Kaoru shoved back money at him but it somehow ended back in his hands after a few minutes of jostling) but definitely worth it, because there’s no way he will skate with a lower quality board.

On March 27th, when Kaoru turns twenty-five years old, he almost resorts to a more physical solution to win petty squabbles against skaters in another country, a behavior he was prone to display when he was seventeen. But he’s an adult who is traveling for leisure and isn’t foolish enough to ruin the trip by punching someone when he can skate away and show off with a few tricks involving exact calculations and perfect angles, so this is what he does—after Kojirou, admittedly, forced him to remain calm, as though he was his impulse control when Kojirou is just as quick to rise to a challenge.

Maybe the difference is that Kojirou isn’t a cocky bastard like Kaoru is. Debatable, but Kaoru won’t deny that he loves the feeling of achieving something flashy or impressive. Getting into trouble for it is always worth it, especially if Kojirou is there to live it with him. It’s never the same without Kojirou—they might bicker and have more arguments then actual conversations, but Kojirou’s a warm presence enveloping him in a tight hug he can never quite shake off.

The trip to Paris isn’t half-bad, and it’s full of memories with the person he trusts the most.

26.

Kojirou is very, very still when Kaoru finally stops fighting with himself and leans his head on his shoulder, completely wasted after drinking too much wine at this event gathering too many important people to talk to and drink with. The taxi is silent and all he can hear is the screech of the wheels on the asphalt.

“Rest until we reach your home,” Kojirou says, something akin to laughter in his voice.

“Hm.”

Kaoru registers the words coming out of Kojirou’s mouth, and judges them acceptable before closing his eyes and letting himself be rocked by the car drive. In his drunken haze, when he called Kojirou to be picked up, he forgot Kojirou lent his car to his little brother; remembering such an essential detail would have saved them a lot of trouble, but Kojirou called a taxi and is now sitting with Kaoru in the backseat instead of going back to his own home. What an idiot.

Kojirou helps him into his apartment, grumbling as his elbows hit the walls and his feet get caught in stray shoes in the genkan that Kaoru eventually wanted to sort out and put away. They manage to get to the couch, and Kaoru collapses on it without grace and lets out a long groan, draping an arm over his eyes.

“I’m not drinking at this sort of event again,” he complains.

“That’s your fault for not limiting yourself,” Kojirou sounds unimpressed. “You always say you’ll stop drinking but you keep doing it.”

“Half a glass with each guest is customary. Beyond that is called showing off.”

“So you’re showing off, stupid four-eyes.”

“Shut up, gorilla. I have something to prove.”

Kojirou’s sigh is filled with such apparent exasperation that Kaoru immediately realizes how petty and ridiculous he just sounded.

“On the day of your birthday, to top it all,” Kojirou says. “Do you need babysitting?”

“You are not going to babysit me,” Kaoru snaps. “I’ll just go to sleep.”

“Yeah, and you’ll start bitching tomorrow morning because you forgot to drink water and take a shower.”

“I’m not that incompetent, you giant brainless idiot.”

Kojirou doesn’t deign responding to his insult and slides behind the kitchen counter. Kaoru drops his arm and watches him rummaging through the cabinets with too much confidence for someone who doesn’t live there. Kojirou comes back with a glass of water and two slices of bread that Kaoru usually eats in the morning when he’s too lazy to make breakfast.

“You probably didn’t eat much, since your robophile brain was wired on ingesting wine.”

“I just said I don’t need your help,” Kaoru mutters.

Kojirou ignores him and deposits the items on the coffee table. He then sits down next to Kaoru, causing Kaoru to shift further on his side of the couch because of his needlessly big body.

“Do you have to sit so close to me?” Kaoru grumbles, leaning forward to snatch the water and the bread, pretending that his world didn’t start spinning as he did so. He takes a few sips of the water.

“Your couch isn’t large enough.”

“It’s your body that’s not average size, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“You’re suspiciously coherent for someone who says he’s drunk.”

Kaoru shrugs, foregoing manners as he speaks and munches on the bread at the same time. “My mind is clear, my thoughts aren’t confused in the least.”

“Right. What time is it?”

Kaoru looks at the time displayed on his TV box, sitting on the stand pushed against the opposite wall of where they’re sitting. He squints at the numbers, slightly blurry despite his glasses still resting on his nose. He has no idea what time it is.

“Eleven forty-seven,” Kaoru announces.

“No, it’s twelve forty-seven,” Kojirou snickers. “Finish that, take a shower and go to bed.”

“And you’re going to stay here and take up space in my apartment?”

“Well, if your event hadn’t run for so long, I would have spent some time with you anyway since it’s your birthday. So I might as well stay until you fall asleep.”

Several things get jumbled in his head at that moment, and Kaoru stares at Kojirou in disbelief. There’s something funny and warm happening in the pit of his stomach.

“You have nothing else to do,” Kaoru asks, or accuses—he doesn’t know how his voice comes across.

“Just go to sleep, Kaoru.”

Kojirou takes the empty glass from Kaoru’s hands and puts it on the table. He then tugs Kaoru upright, holding his wrists in a gentle and careful grip, as if Kaoru will break if he’s not handled in the most delicate manner. Half of the second slice of bread is lying abandoned in the plate, but Kaoru doesn’t particularly mind as he realizes, with strange clarity, that this isn’t unpleasant to be taken care of like this. Kojirou is smiling at him with his most genuine expression, and Kaoru has to look down to avoid his gaze, embarrassed and fulfilled and relieved all at once.

28.

It’s been a long time coming, Kaoru thinks as his fingers tangle in Kojirou’s hair and he brings him closer, always closer to him. The night is warm and too uncomfortable for a spring day, but the heat twisting his stomach is from something entirely separate. His lips meet Kojirou’s endlessly, like this act alone will make him absorb whatever Kojirou is willing to give to him for safekeeping. It’s the first time they’re kissing and yet it feels like they should have been doing this for years now, hiding under the shade of a tree or behind a rocky wall to share a private moment together, in a pocket of time that will burst only when they decide to drop all pretenses.

He knows it’s been a long time coming, because Kojirou is laughing against his lips, and when Kaoru cracks an eye open he sees how open and fond Kojirou’s face is. Kaoru immediately wants to close his eyes again and to stop noticing how luminous everything has become.

“We’re so dumb,” Kojirou says.

“You are stupid, for holding back all those years,” Kaoru retorts.

“Yeah, now it’s my fault for being considerate of your feelings towards me.”

“If you believed for one instant that I’d cut ties with you, then you’re more foolish than I thought you were.”

Kojirou still has hi arms wound around Kaoru’s back, and when he shrugs he presses Kaoru closer to himself. There is no anger and no regret in his eyes or his posture, as though nothing in the world would strip him of the bliss he’s currently being filled with. Kaoru finds himself drunk on the sight.

“I didn’t think that, no. I was just too scared of doing anything that will cause a shift in our relationship.”

The words sound strange, once Kaoru hears them spoken out loud. Kojirou is the one constant in his life that never changed, a shadow at his back and a light guiding him. They’ve both seen each other at their worst and their best, tending to bruises and squeezing a shoulder in comfort or riling each other up as part of their routine. Kojirou is an entity that exists at Karou’s side, full of familiarity and overflowing with kindness that doesn’t need to be voiced.

Kojirou is stupid for ever having hesitated or doubted the strength of their bond. But Kaoru is stupid, too, for simply taking what Kojirou was offering without ever giving back properly.

“We’re never having this conversation again,” Kaoru warns, tugging at Kojirou’s hair and pressing his forehead against his. “I trust you, Kojirou. I always have. This isn’t going to change.”

Kojirou is clinging to every one of his words, looking at Kaoru with the most enraptured expression he’s ever shown. Like this is a dream that cannot be real. Kaoru scowls.

“Don’t look so surprised, gorilla. That’s not a secret.”

“I’m not surprised, I’m simply enjoying that you’re saying it at all,” Kojirou laughs.

“You never say anything pleasant about me either.”

“You’re the one who barges into my restaurant and half the time demand dishes that aren’t even on the menu, and I still cook them! I’m being nice enough!”

“What else would you do in a restaurant, muscles for brain ape?”

“I don’t know, cook a dish I have the actual ingredients for?”

Kaoru’s lips are pulled upward despite everything, his heart as light as ever in Kojirou’s presence. The ease surrounding them remains the same, electric veil sealing them in their own brand of intimacy they wouldn’t trade for anything else.

It feels effortless, then, to switch to a less barbed attitude but still retaining playfulness. Kaoru brushes strands of hair out of Kojirou’s face, and Kojirou runs a thumb under Kaoru’s eye.

“It’s my birthday at the end of the week,” Kaoru whispers, locking eyes with Kojirou. “Take me somewhere nice.”

“Bossy as ever,” Kojirou sighs, though his voice sounds like contentment and bliss contained in a space called home.

Kaoru smiles.

[ipreferfiction]

7, 14, 18, 19 for J and Scourge shut up

wow look at that I was right on target yes here's your otp

7: who steals the duvet in their sleep?

Scourge, absolutely him, mostly because he's an entire space heater on his own so J'lima doesn't get all that cold, and also because he's used to having a nest and not. an actual bed so he steals every blanket and all the sheets and just. curls up.

14: who usually starts/causes arguments between them?

J'lima by virtue of actually. deciding that maybe perhaps discussing emotions and whatever Extremely Concerning thing Scourge has said this time, which is why it takes several arguments and a whole load of fun stuff on Nathema for. actual feelings to become known (also because they're stupid. like, really stupid). Scourge doesn't cause arguments, he Says Things and does not in fact expect any of these things to be challenged. Said Statements include such things as "I am not mission-critical and therefore am expendable," which is the sort of thing the arguments tend to be about. because, I cannot make this clear enough, neither of these people have a full braincell between them.

18: who finds it impossible to stay angry at the other for long?

J again (though tbf it's both of them). she's dumb and in love and just. very bad at being angry at Scourge. at everyone else (besides Lia), sure, she can hold a grudge like nothing else, but he's one of the few points of familiarity she has after kotfe and kotet and she clings to those like absolutely nothing else.

19: who clings to the other for comfort when they're sad or scared?

J, absolutely. she's already a very physically affectionate person by virtue of having Lia there most of her life, and she has. Major Issues with being left alone at all which get so much worse after her time on Zakuul. so she clings a lot, both mentally and physically, especially when the PTSD gets bad or when Lia isn't there and the bond's stretched thin. Scourge, on the other hand, likes to hide and avoid people the minute he can't actually pretend he's Perfectly Fine, which. tends to lead to J'lima tracking him down. and clinging more. she has minor attachment issues, it's fine

[the-bjd-community-confess]

DoA megapost (22 confessions)

Mod: So https://true-bjd-confessions.tumblr.com/post/189300138511/mod-due-to-excessive-offtopic-arguing-in-the

All you guys’ pending DoA confessions presented in no specific order, before we move into the hold, as announced above.

To be clear: I think this is a feature DoA should have yesterday. It’s completely inappropriate to force people to use deadnames and names which are related to traumatic life experiences, or be banned. 

However, *weary sigh, gesturing at the multiple 70+ reply confessions on this topic* people told me they were finding the rapidly escalating discussion to be upsetting and offputting, and that’s not my goal for this blog. ❤️

1.

I am exceptionally weary of all the DoA hate over the person who got banned over making a new account after not being allowed to change their user name. DoA isn’t the only doll forum out there. If you don’t like their rules, don’t join. I for one find their rules about on- and off-topic dolls to be unfair and arbitrary as hell, but in the end it comes down to their house, their rules. Move on.

~Anonymous

2.

Us: Sure would be nice to maybe be able to change your name on DOA.

Some of y’all: Are you asking for anarchy?? If we allow this, what’s next?? A reasonable review of outdated rules??? The rules are there for a reason!!1! The reason may be antiqued because technology has updated and changed since then, meaning there are better solutions available, but it’s still a reason so we DEFINITELY should NEVER change!! Change is too scary for me. :( You’re bullies who want to be special :((( Stop that :(

~Anonymous

3.

I love seeing people get so offended at anon saying “bigots”. How do you know it was about you ? Guilty conscience? DOA could allow name changes if they really wanted to. There are other hobbies where they forbid certain people from entering forums while still allowing name changes. It’s not hard if you really care.      

~Anonymous      

4.

Honestly the way people fall all over themselves to defend DoA against any sort of criticism (regardless of how you personally feel about the validity of said criticism, reader) makes me glad I never got into the community aspect of this hobby. It's just... stressful.          

~Anonymous  

5.

The transphobia in the comments on this blog in particular are so gross. Being a bigot makes your dolls instantly hideous. And no, I’m not saying everyone who is defending DOAs decision is transphobic. I’m talking about the one who thinks trans people transitioning is wrong and their friends. You’re gross and so are your dolls.

~Anonymous  

6.

scammers can & will get around DOA's no name change policy, it's really not that safe. also, DOA isn't the only website which allows the sale of high-value items.

~Anonymous  

7.

First it's "if you want name changes coded in DoA, offer to do it yourself!", then it's "why tf would DoA accept some rando to help code their site?" make up your goddamn mind, your argument is falling apart. 

Also when did this issue become "DoA vs trans people"? Like, I like DoA yet I also recognize it should be more accessible and updated for the modern userbase. I want it to become as good as it can be because I like the community and would hate to see it die out like so many other forum sites do. Yes, it has flaws- and believe me, the folks who get extremely upset about the idea of admitting that embarrass me- but I liked the format since I was new to the hobby. I just wish it was more inclusive!    

~Anonymous    

8.     

girlisav3rb: "this isn't about exclusion or leaving anyone out". Also girlisav3rb: "I'm just kicking your punk ass off [obvious metaphor for DoA]" yyyyiiiiikkkees      

~Anonymous    

9. 

The DOA username debate is really starting to feel like 4 people's personal beefs against each other. It isn't really about dolls and I wish it wasn't dominating all the confessions here. I don't really care about watching pomoaples, pupkinspce, aigisthewlve and tellmeifthursday make fools of themselves daily.        

~Anonymous      

10.

Say it louder for the people in the back: IF YOU INSIST ON NAME CHANGES FOR DOA, THEN VOLUNTEER YOUR CODING EXPERTISE. Don't know how to code and are just squawking about something you can't directly contribute towards? Then shut up or offer up money so the mods can hire a computer programmer to make the changes you're DEMANDING from a FREE service.        

~Anonymous

11.

God it's so painfully obvious to see how many of the people defending DoA on the grounds that name changes would destroy the integrity of the website have never ever worked on or even been part of a forum or really any website of any kind in their lives. Seriously arguing that "the database" would break if you changed a name like?? No??? Have you ever seen a server backend before? You can automate this shit, you know, keep a log of former names, just... it's not some big huge challenge??? 

~Anonymous 

12.           

I don't have a horse in the trans name change race but calling DoA one of the friendlies communities around is abject bullshit lmao. There's not a more elitist, paranoid, abusive community this side of comic books -- but that kind of goes for this hobby as a whole, let's be honest.           

~Anonymous     

13. 

THE RULES ARE IMPORTANT WE CAN't cHANGE THE RULES IT WILL LEAD TO CHAOS IF WE CHANGE ONE RULE WHERE WILL IT END THINK OF THE CHILDREN!!!!!!!! In my town it used to be THE RULES that POC have to go to separate schools and use separate bathrooms, but sure, the rules are the most important thing, not the people. And before anyone says cOmPaRiNg DoLlS tO rAciSm, 1) shitting on trans people IS a form of prejudice you smoothbrains, and 2) my ass is POC and I call it like I see it. Check yourselves.            

~Anonymous   

14.   

I personally think DOA should just.. go away? It’s been around for years, most people use it as reference rather than a community anymore. Everything is on FaceBook and Instagram now, DOA is pretty much just a glorified Dolly Dictionary at this point. Besides, if they aren’t going to change an Incredibly simple, easy thing to change just to accommodate transitioning people, it’s not the best place to be.

~Anonymous  

15.

I mean about the whole rules is rules is rules thing about doa: the thing is, some rules are there for a reason and obviously do need to be respected whether you agree with them or not, like don’t block fire exits, murder is bad, etc. but some rules eventually become outdated and need to be changed to keep up with society, and that doesn’t make the people pointing out that they need to be changed evil or entitled or spoiled. Imagine if we all still had to drive 10 mph everywhere because when someone pointed out that car technology had improved since 1915 and the speed limit should be increased accordingly everyone had just shouted them down with “BUT TEH RUUULLLEESS!!!” You’d be pretty interested in getting some of this “special treatment” yourself so you could get to work on time, huh?

~Anonymous  

16.

Honestly the easiest solution would be let people change their names only once and have it trackable.. as a trans dude its NOT that deep.     

~Anonymous        

17.

I notice that the unrelenting attacks on DoA are now even using the same phraseology along with the name-calling and implications of sinister motives. These are textbook bullying tactics. Next is the boycott, except that most of these people already say they don’t use the forum because they are just too “21st Century” for it.

Luckily this is just a confession board and no matter how many folks you manage to rile up here, it’s not going to affect DoA. Now, this is why I love DoA–you can’t go on their own site and spew this nonsense. They have Rules. They are Strict. They attempt to avoid drama, especially off-topic drama, and they don’t allow meanness, vulgarity or obscenity. If you’re looking for a pleasant, safe space, it’s your best bet.

~Anonymous

18.

Easy to lay bigotry, laziness, stupidity and worse on DoA mods for not just accepting tales of trauma and pasts to erase.  But the internet has always been full of lies by people trying to get their own way or escape consequences. Not just pro scammers. People who cry things like illness, trauma, disaster, family or pet problems over and over to get sympathy for demands or as all-purpose excuses. Recast ownership lies. People who never got a no before, and don't like being turned down no-how.

~Anonymous

19.

I just realized that no one understands the people saying DOA can allow name changes are the people who have actually modded forums before, most forums unless they’re running a totally outdated system use user id numbers that are linked to display names, which can be changed, and you can write a simple string of simple-baby-code to show old display names on a profile, to explain it in simple terms.   

~Anonymous                    

20.

Honestly I think that the anti-name change people are mostly just shilling for DoA because they can't believe that their precious forum with its volunteer mods could be anything but flawless. Or something like that, given how indignantly these people have *always* reacted to confessions criticizing DoA, even before the trans controversy was a thing. There have definitely been some obvious transphobes as well though, whose bile is really more suited to conservative FB pages or something. Go away!          

~Anonymous

21.   

the DOA mods can obviously change people's usernames because it's 2019 and basically every other site in existence can do it. they might have to change the site slightly to accomplish this. maybe there are reasons for them to choose not to do that, but let's stop pretending it's some technological impossibility.

~Anonymous

22.

How about this: Implement a system on DoA that indentifies users by a unique code and allow users to have a changeable display name. Changing the display name could become a paid feature to pay for the technical changes. Think of a system like discord has. It's a win-win situation. Thoughts?            

~Anonymous

[listoriented]

Burnout: Paradise

1. Burnout. Spinning wheels without moving. Antipodean slang. The smell of burned rubber.

The blank word document is another rounded bend. A few cars here and there loaded in. Driving these virtual streets is seeing ideas, tangents, discourse, thoughts spill off. In front is always nothingness. An inability to grasp on to anything coherent. Yes this is synecdoche, yes this is consumerism, a shiny shell of petromodernity – an actual critical theory term that I now take seriously - yes this is me, my life, my phd in miniature, the imperfect totalising open-world game, or yes this is a microcosm of the entirety of trying to play through the letter “B” of my steam library, stop-start, hopeful then despairing, takes longer than it should, yes this game is a magnum opus and I wish so hard to fill my lungs and release until my fingers are pinching some inflated balloon perfectly full of a graspable idea, or yes this game is fundamentally empty, a comment on a comment; at the bottom of all searches for purpose we find searches for purpose, etc. 

So I start and I start and I start again. I drive I drive I drive. Event after event ticks down, my license goes from learner to D to B to A and then I hit my goal, “Burnout license”, and still I don’t know what I’ll write. Something about driving, in general; driving as notionally relaxing, driving while thinking about other things. How do people write? Write things? My PhD is in pieces on the floor and in the computer and in my head. I drive around Paradise City and terrible emo from the mid-noughties plays, interspersed with long bouts of classical. Days pass, and in the game the day turns into night and back again, and I adjust the clock to make this happen slower, and the weather changes in Paradise City, a little – cycles of rain and cloud and sun - and here in Melbourne the weather changes too. It was the tail end of summer when I started, and we’ve been through the surprising highs and lows of autumn, now settling into winter, doing it all again. There are no roads leading in or out of Paradise City, and it’s a long drive back from the hills.

2.      Burnout. A series of arcade-style racers made for various platforms by Criterion Games [official site] between 2001 and 2011.

It’s a little uncanny, this pocket of 2008. It just looks real good to my rusty, unfussy eyes, like in visual terms it hasn’t aged in ways other games from that year age (though my friend James vehemently disagreed). It does the trick. It does lots of tricks. And it seems rare too, to say of a 2008 game that it’s a masterpiece, that it’s the best of its class, though of Paradise this is surely true, if all reports are to be believed with regards to all other open-world arcade driving games that have come since, including everything else made by Criterion.

Any doubts about its age are firmly put to bed by the soundtrack, though, which despite prominently featuring that Guns N’ Roses song from 1987 just screams mid-2000s at me, abundant “rock” guitars, masc whine and all, very of its time, salvaged by one timeless Avril Lavigne banger, a chunk of classical, and (to a certain extent) personal nostalgia for a time when this sort of soundtrack just seemed vaguely synonymous with “driving game”. There’s also the dated blemish of inane unmutable advice-slider DJ A(u)tomica, who at least has the good grace to (somehow) avoid repeating himself, even after seventeen hours of driving, at a clip of one quip every few minutes or so. There’s also the very 2008 nod to renewable energy via Paradise’s wind farm, harking back to that post- An Inconvenient Truth moment of progressive euphoria when we really all believed we could build towards a sustainable future that would also accommodate our oily desires, before another decade of resource-industry funded filibustering hadn’t proven this, again, impossible.

And yet Paradise stands up in ways that surpass the non-ironic soundtrack of fragile masculinity and the very 00’s DJ Atomica, despite or because of the people-less world, the flat and drab urban interior, the hardly even tokenistic ways of engaging with the city as function rather than form. I particularly like how B:P has not even the faintest hint of story, how even in terms of progression it purely becomes a game of exploration, winning events, checking boxes. It melds (excuse me for a second) form and function and manages not to get in the way of itself – the story is what the player does in the game, where the player goes. It’s kind of breathtaking, rare for any game before or since. (Hopefully it’s clear that I’m not advocating for the dissolution of narrative in games, only that the lack of narrative pretence here is very suited to this particular game, and very preferable to the kinds of irrelevant and bloated narratives that are thrown over e.g. other driving games).

Ah, 2008. It was just there! And yet so far. I played Burnout Paradise for a running total of seventeen hours over nearly three months. During this time, I also played forty-two hours of Tetris99. Everything in its place. Criterion recently announced they’ll shut down the Burnout Paradise’s online servers in August, though Paradise lives on in Remastered (2018) glory, Origin only. 

3. Burnout. The act of refuelling the boost capacity of an engine by running out of boost.

Despite the time I’ve spent with it, the fact that I managed to complete its main in-game objective, and the running thoughts on time and place and representation of cultural norms, I feel I’m struggling to say much of definition about Paradise that fits easily into the scrapbook nature of this blog. Perhaps in some ways it's too close to life; a series of arbitrary checklists through which feeling happens (nebulously) around. I "liked" it but do not feel moved to thought, and I'm aware that that is the point – it’s a game that allows you to drive, endlessly, if you want to, think and do whatever. It won’t get in the way (barring DJ Automica butting in every couple of minutes – he literally cannot be switched off).

I do not drive much these days. Last year when Lauren and I moved to Canberra, we drove nearly 4000 kilometres across the country. The landscapes wound by, at the time fleetingly, but they piled on and left deep rivulets in my head, and though it was just five days and nothing really happened – we leant on the accelerator, stopped every hour, listened to music, stayed in nothing-motels quite literally hundreds of kms from anywhere else and ate forgettable takeaway - it feels immense, now. Driving is funny like that - you are never quite in a place, separated from it by machine noise and windows and infrastructure, the one activity you can do to facilitate thinking about something else. Still, impressions, motion, the sense of having moved, of having journeyed. Here in Australia, the fossil fuel lobby has won its third straight election in a row. Hope is eroding into nothing.

Probably my favourite hour or two in Paradise City was spent mucking around in the online section with Roy and James, trying to check off a few of the game's multiplayer challenges. These involved such serious exercises as trying to do barrel a series of barrel rolls, or try and land on top of each other, or smash into each in mid-air, or drive on top of a parking lot to jump a ramp onto a shopping centre. It was very good, if a little eerie and dystopic, strewn with outdated real-and-paid-for advertising billboards, branded vehicles, quaint echoes of paused time and uncanny dilapidation.

The mill of the game I could never quite settle on - I “liked” it, I think, but it wasn’t without problems. I found the single-player events to be mindlessly enjoyable, ploughing other cars into crash barriers, or effortlessly holding down "boost" to accelerate down a straight and into a finish line, celebratory cutaway shot ensuing. Sometimes I crashed into too many grey girders that my eyes hadn't picked out and got frustrated, or sometimes I missed a critical turnoff and got frustrated. Sometimes they just felt like chores, and it was certainly sometimes annoying to not be able to restart events that I had botched, and it took me ten hours to learn you could opt out of races, stunt runs etc just by letting the car idle for a few seconds. And knowing this probably would have saved me a lot of time in the early game, because like I said it’s a long way back from the hills, where like three out of eight events end up at, and committing to staying in a race which after a couple of botched turns and unseen barriers you’re definitely not going to win, whose distant finish line is going to land you a long way from the nearest event (once you finally get there) can feel pretty dire, really, though there was also part of me that admired how Burnout refused to let you jump around the map, forced you to drive, take your time, see the city, see the sights.

I did appreciate the cracky coloured collectms of Paradise City, how they brought the city to life, sort of, or gave it the impression of being a well designed and thought-through playground, though I never got too completionist about them, the core exercise of the whole thing. Both John Walker of RPS and Chris Donlan of Eurogamer have written about Paradise’s fluoro crash gates, the impulse to reinstall the game every year and knock them all down from scratch. Along the way to getting my “Burnout license” I unlocked 36 of the 75 vehicles, jumped 35 of the 50 super jumps, broke 79 of 120 neon red billboards, and smashed through 353 of 400 aforementioned glowing yellow crash barriers. The game puts me at 55% completed. No steam achievements (woulda been nice, perhaps, given that Burnout Paradise is fundamentally a collectmup; nothing but metres and percentages). I’ve driven a little over 1000 miles, supposedly, which is certainly more than I’ve IRL driven over the past few months.

4.  Burnout. noun Physical and emotional exhaustion; breakdown caused by overwork. Commonly associated with “crunch”, “the video game industry”.

But here there is also pure hesitation. Procrastination. The fear of moving on, even at the end of this little step of what has ballooned into an impossible project. I can see the next letter waiting there, a new chapter, a chance for renewal. The one disappearing behind us has drawn out so far, encompassed a few years and a fair bit of change, and now almost petered into nothing at the final gate. I want to hit the ground running but I'm not sure I'm ready, and in the meantime various other deadlines swirl around, make it difficult to see the clear path ahead that I crave. And so it is that the temptation has been there to keep driving the streets of Paradise, its anonymous suburbs and abstract goals, continue delaying the inevitable, or the nearly inevitable, or the not-inevitable-at-all of writing this post and moving on to the next chapter, because it turns out this is a project I once made a choice to begin, and could at one point choose to stop.

There are nagging questions, of course. Who blogs, anymore? Who reads blogs anymore? How does one find a blog they like and then continue to follow it for the span of its natural life? Does anyone use “bookmarks”? What’s an RSS feed? I'm not even sure, in a broader sense, that I know where to find the kinds of writing about games that I want to read at the moment, at least not reliably, outside of say the occasional check-through of Critical Distance or Unwinnable. I look at the slate of games coming out and find it hard to be excited by anything much, the hype and the saturation. It is bountiful until it is not. The guilt element of playing games – something inherited from childhood that I’ve never been entirely able to dissociate - has become more and more prominent. I've increasingly used games as a tool for procrastination and a coping mechanism, a distraction from various (work/study and other) anxieties. I've also been aware of myself doing this, and in turn the kinds of gaming experiences I've relied on have been more focused on short term, low-investment distraction (hence the sudden unyielding devotion to Tetris, which really was just filling the hole left by an earlier act of self-discipline AKA uninstalling Rocket League; more recently, as I’ve managed to put the Switch away for longer periods, I’ve turned back to another simple but deceptive time-filler in Mini Metro. Choose your poison, basically). For a while it seemed Burnout would not only fill this role but do it responsibly: it seemed great for dropping into in short bursts - win a race or two, unlock a new car maybe – without quite the same dangerously addictive pull for me as those other games. But then I heard the GnR song "Paradise City" one too many times (it's mandatory with startup), or got sick of the menu loading times, and it lost this specific part of its appeal.

And then there's the subjective nature of this particular Sisyphean project - the knowledge that here I am pushing a rock up a mountain of my own making, one that exists only for me, entirely built out of and defined by the games and bundles I chose and continue to choose to buy, the rules I chose to set. Life is short, this task is absurd, and at the moment it's not even a joke I feel particularly happy about sharing. Sometimes I get to play great games here, games I may never have gotten around to; at other times I am playing shit games for this blog, and in the process there are inevitably other things I'm not doing. One choice erases another. Increasingly it feels like an isolated pursuit - playing games in general, not just the writing and making of this here blog. It seems like I know fewer people who play games these days, between falling out of touch with friends, seeing lots of other old friends give up games in one way or another, and playing games less frequently with those who I still know. I’ve accidentally become something of a game hermit. For years I've loved the camaraderie and easy familiarity of social gaming experiences even when I haven't loved the games that conduct them - the feeling of being connected to people even in a transient, shallow, goal-oriented sense, but even these I'm not sure I believe in anymore, or I find myself less and less willing to invest in the "right" titles to facilitate it.

I’m into my thirties now, and maybe this is just a feeling of age, life, I dunno, priorities finally shifting to where people told me they should’ve years ago. One of my oldest friends is about to have a baby, though he more or less quit video games over a year ago now. I'm extremely happy for him. Two of my younger cousins just had children, several hours away by plane – my uncle, a new grandfather to two babies, makes posts on facebook claiming climate change is a socialist hoax, and I can’t help but think of the kind of world his grandchildren are going to inherit. I'm mulling over a missed deadline that's been a thorn in my brain now for months, the single-largest hitherto unsaid reason why this post has taken so long to dig its way to the surface. This month marks the five year anniversary of another cousin’s sudden/unexpected passing; he was five years older than me, and though I’ll never be able to make sense of it, I feel like I get that there’s something sort of vulnerable about this age, when the things you want don’t quite work out, or when you’re a bit aimless and stuck in your patterns and feel like things aren’t going to change. He was so kind and gentle, a beautiful soul and a terrible Zerg, and I miss him so much. And one year ago I drove from Canberra to Melbourne and slept on the floor of this house I now call home while I waited for a truck with rest of my stuff to arrive. I’m very aware of the calendar, of change and inertia, of patterns and decay, of newness sprouting underfoot, but I don’t know how games fit at the moment, or I’ve lost the thread of feeling like they’re actually important, or why, amongst all the noise.

Burnout: Paradise is at the start, in the middle, and right at the end of all these things. It's a great game, part of me feels, or wants to say I feel. Playful, irreverent, childishly violent, simultaneously full of stuff and empty of matter. I'm happy I've played it, happy I can say that I've played it, happy to understand on an experiential level most of what it offers, happy I'll be able to remember it later, nod in some hypothetical conversation where someone brings up Burnout: Paradise and say I know what they mean, yeah. I get it. When we were playing it online together briefly, a couple of months back now, Roy told me that Burnout Paradise is the only game he ever one hundred percented twice - once on 360, once on PC - and that it was almost three times, because the first time he was almost done with it, someone broke into his house and stole his Xbox and all his games, and that Paradise was the only game that he re-bought with the insurance money, so determined he was to tick every box the game left open to tick, even if it meant doing it all again.

But maybe – counterpoint - I don’t get it. I’m finding it harder and harder to make good sense of this kind of experience, or feel like this kind of thing is (in some arbitrary way) a net positive, or that it’s okay to keep glossing over the emulation of destruction that games of so many different kinds fundamentally rely on. Outside there is so much suffering, so much to be upset about, and I no longer feel like there is time enough to sink into mindless (rather than meaningful, perhaps?) distraction. Or I’m finding it harder to get beyond the thought that this is an extension of the distraction/avoidance behaviour that I realised might actually be a problem in my life.

“Burnout” is, you’ll know, here in the great mess of the year 2019, a buzz word, particularly in the games industry. Games company employees have perpetually been expected to work unsustainable hours out of some sort of devotion to the industry, creating a cycle of talent depletion and toxic work cultures. But as is often the case with games, it’s a tip-off of what happens elsewhere, across the board. The mass casualisation of careers across all industries, the gig economy, pressures caused by un- and under- employment, the dissipation of viable faith, social-media and political stresses: all of these are leading to burnout, everyone has burnout, we are inundated with burnout. There is something ripe about the words or the idea of Burnout: Paradise, the very conceptual juxtaposition that seems to be two sides of the same coin, that feels very reflective of this moment, what we are all experiencing versus what we were promised. But what does this have to do with Burnout: Paradise, the game in which you pretend drive fake person-less cars around a virtual city, have horrific, visceral crashes from which you immediately respawn and “beat” by achieving a long series of arbitrary victories, collecting all there is to collect? Something, nothing, I don’t know.

“Burnout” means a lot of things, and the meaning of “burnout” the game adopts isn’t the other ones I’d associate with cars – a burnt out engine, or the smell of burning rubber - but one that exists only for the series, so far as I can tell: getting to keep using your boost because you’ve been continually using your boost. Keep going at all cylinders or bust, basically – except not, because the consequences for interrupting the boost are slim even on the relative scale of things that can go right or wrong, in this game where there is never really all that much on the line for the player anyway.

Paradise. n. Heaven. A place to await judgement. An enclosed park. Eden.

In Paradise City the grass is trim; the girls (all humans actually) are non-existent, unless you happen to be riding a motorcycle, presumably because a motorcycle without a rider would look very weird.

In Paradise City the cars are peopleless and drive themselves, so maybe it is an early vision of the tech bro version of Paradise. Or maybe the cars are driven by people who can only exist on the outside of the world of Paradise City, looking in across the matrix. Or maybe in Paradise City the people are the cars. This is Cars, the movie, sans dialogue.

In Paradise City all the cars emulate brands and models that exist in "the real world" but are called by names that exist only in the Burnout franchise.

In Paradise City all the cars ostensibly run on petrol, which is infinite but unnecessary, because going through a petrol station merely refills the car's boost capacity, whatever that is, rather than imply that your car would stop running if you at some point failed to “fill up”. It's very important that you know, though, that the cars run on petrol, because otherwise it wouldn't be a realistic representation of cars. Even in Paradise.

In Paradise City cars exist and then don't exist.

In Paradise City a lot more cars suddenly exists if someone decides they want to flip their car over and see how much monetary damage they can cause.

In Paradise City cars crash and crumple in a hyper-realistic way, but it's okay because the cars have no drivers and anyway all cars are all miraculously fine again after a few moments.

In Paradise City the railway has been shut down to give cars more places to hang out. 

In Paradise City the whole city runs on wind energy, because it's important to care about the environment too, because you can have both, promises the radio, though seeing as there's nobody there in all of Paradise's buildings it's unclear, anyway, what such energy would actually be running.

onward to Caesar 3

[proudtoehaver]

Chapter 5 – An Evening Among Friends

A/N: Can also be read  on AO3.

If you want to start at chapter 1 it can be found on AO3 and on tumblr.

I apologize for taking so long with this, I needed to make a decision of where exactly to take this story and how I was going to get there. Hopefully I’ll be able to write chapters a bit faster now that that is sorted.

Finn reaches for another bite on his plate, only to find it empty of food. He stares at it, surprised that he'd finished all of it without noticing. But then, he had been too occupied trying to find anything about Beshen-42 or Datung.

He's tempted to continue digging, but he suspects that looking through maps and navigational records will get him no more than he already has. The kind of information he wants, that he needs, can't be found in star charts or travel routes.  

But it might be found in the recreational lounge's media library.

That knowledge exerts an almost physical pull on him, a siren's call to his heart, to go to the lounge right this instant and flip through the holonovels and documentaries for anything that might be there.

Doing so might call attention to him though. He had said he was going to work on these maps until he was done and failing to do that would rise questions. He normally followed through with his promises and deviating from his habit would cause raised eyebrows.

It, he, will have to wait till later if he wants to dig around unnoticed.

With a sigh he pulls out the chip with the navigational data and reinserts the old Imperial map Brance had given to him a few hours earlier – was it really only a few hours, it feels like a lifetime – and calls it up. If he's waiting, he might as well do some of that work he had promised to do.

His concentration keeps slipping away though his thoughts wandering to the mystery of Datung, a thousand questions whirling through his head, all of them unanswerable.

Mentally disciplining himself he again and again brings attention back to the star chart to look at another system and another, to add what he knows about the First Order's activities in it. And three or four systems later his mind is wandering again. The cycle continues for over an hour, Finn's irritation at himself at his inability to keep his mind where it should be, constantly mounting.  

In the end he surrenders. He'll get nothing more done tonight, try as he might. He may as well call it a day, pack up and head to the lounge and if any questions are asked, then he'll just have to come up with some sort of answer.

He shuts down the console after having taken a copy of the section of both Imperial and Republic map that contains his home system and heads back to his quarters, detouring through the mess to drop of the dirty dishes.

He locks up the Imperial map in the safe in his room. He's still a little surprised at the easy trust general Organa, major Brance and all of the Resistance has put in him. Picking his memory for information makes sense, but that they trust him with sensitive information, continues to surprise him.  

As does the level of privacy he has. His quarters might be small by the standard of most people in the Resistance, he continuously hears others bemoan how tiny the rooms on the old ship are.  But while each one is indeed small, having only room for a bed, closet and a tiny desk and chair, they're one-person cabins giving the resident total privacy, an unheard-of luxury to Finn whose life have been dominated of dorms and sleeping quarters for full squads of people to a room. As is the private fresher, though this is shared with the cabin beside his own as are all of them. But used as he is to communal facilities sharing it with one other person is no hardship. Even less so as the person he shares with is Poe and the man has a tidy streak that almost rivals Finn's own.

Having locked up the files safely Finn's gaze fleetingly crosses the bed. It looks soft and tempting as a sudden weariness wash over him leaving him feeling drained and his head filled with fuzz. But the beckon call of the lounge's library is stronger still.

                                                           oOoOo

The lounge is crowded with people, most of which Finn are casually acquainted with and he has to decline several invitations to join in various activities as he crosses the room to the corner that keeps their library.  

The friendly welcome he is met with leaves him with a feeling of awkward discomfort. It is still too new and unfamiliar for him to be accepted in this easy manner and he's never quite sure how to respond, or able to silence that tiny suspicious voice that tells him that none of this is real and that every smile and invitation to join hides some other motive.

The five and a half bookcases that are crammed together can hardly be called for a library in Finn's opinion. And it's not just the size, its content is such a mishmash of things, a throw together of whatever various Resistance members had donated to it.

He's pretty sure that if he tried to explain the size of the libraries that Stormtrooper cadets have access to, most people here wouldn't believe him. He doubts they'd understand how it's possible to have access to so much information and not see the First Order for what it is. But Finn has discovered exactly how insidious the First Order is after leaving. It isn't that they restrict information it's that they offer one and only one view, their own. If you tell people the same lie long enough, if you give them access only to that one falsehood and present it as the truth, then very few people will be able to see through it, much less present a counter argument.

But right at this moment Finn almost longs for those libraries, silently berating himself for never daring to look up the name of his home planet, seek information about it. But when he had had the chance he had always been too scared, terrified that it would ever be discovered that he knew what he should not. So it became a secret he carried in his heart but never dared to do anything about.

He can only hope that now he has found the courage and the beginning of an answer, he can find what he seeks.

A few Resistance member spend some of their free time keeping the library in some vague semblance of order, so finding works about galactic history and geography isn't hard. The challenge is choosing which will hold the greatest chance of him finding what he's looking so he won't have to read every single item to find out if what he seeks is there or not.

"Hey there."

Poe voice makes him jump.

"Sorry I startled you again. You seem far away today."

"Yeah, no. Just-"  

Stars, what is he going to say?

"Looking for any new romances?" Poe teases kindly.

Finn chuckles. His love of romantic stories has become something of a friendly, running joke among his friends.

"No, more- More history or, stuff like that."  

Yeah, that's safe.

"Anything in particular?" Karé asks as she steps up to them.

"Erm, maybe-" He can feel his heart racing and he's wondering if his nerves are written all over his face. "Well, eh- Looking at all those maps got me thinking that I know the First Order's version of the story of the Civil War and the formation of the New Republic. I'd kinda like to get to know the other side?"

Poe gives him a sly grin and an 'uh oh' look that Finn doesn't understand. Karé immediately piques up.

"I know who you need," she says. "I saw her here the other day."  

Poe leans over and whispers, "You hit her favorite topic, she's a major history buff."

"Let me see, hope she's still here. Ah yes!"

She pulls out two holonovels from the shelf and hands them to Finn, the gleam of excitement in her eyes impossible to miss.

"Jafan Zapal's books on the beginning of the Rebellion and the early formation of the Republic. Her main time period in these two is about ten years after the formation of the Empire to about five years after its fall, but she goes further back a few times. She isn't just critical of the Empire but also of the new Republic, made her not very popular telling people things they didn't want to hear."

"Critical how?" Finn asks.

"She thought the New Republic repeated too many of the old one's mistakes. Mistakes that led to the formation of the Empire. That they focused too much on getting things running and not on getting them running well, had no time plan for implementing very much needed changes in structure and government that couldn't be put into effect right away and therefore ran the risk of never being done. Especially as those changes would harm those of the old guard still around and in power. She wrote a whole series of articles about it for scientific journals. Got her fired in the end."

She pulls a grimace.  

"Well, they claimed it was due to restructuring," she goes on. "But they wanted her gone. Thought it gave them bad publicity. So, she turned to writing popular science books like these two. They were her first and are by far the most popular. Why are you laughing, Poe?"

Poe holds up his hands, a smile still on her face.

"I'm not, I swear I'm not. I just sometimes forget how passionate you are about history."

"Poe, it's history. It's what we're fighting for in a way. If we can't remember who we were, how will we know who we will be? You of all people should understand that."

Poe blinks and he looks a little shocked to Finn.

"Yeah, I... suppose you're right," Poe replies quietly, but Karé seems not to notice as she turns back to Finn.

"These makes for a good start if you want to know about history from the Empire and forward. I can throw some more at you when you're done if you want?"

"Yeah. Yeah, sure. That would be great."

"But whatever you do, give Corr Berand a wide berth."

"He's not that bad," Snap, who has joined them, interjects.

"You're right, he's worse. He did well under the Empire for a reason. The man is a bigot, a chauvinist and a member of the Centrists' Old Empire faction. And I better give the politics a rest, I can feel Jess giving me side eye. If we skip playing vector tonight just because I went off, I'll never hear the end of it."

"It's okay. Thanks for the recs," Finn says, pockets the two holonovels and takes a step back.

Poe puts a hand on his arm.

"Please stay. If not, I'm going to have to team with Snap and he's shit at strategy games."

Finn expects Snap to protest, but the large man just grins.

"I don't know," Finn replies.

He's itching to go back to his room with the two holonovels and skim through to see if there's anything at all about his home planet.

Poe puts a hand on Finn's arm. It's warm and he can feel the grasp through the fabric of his jacket.

"Please?" Poe says, is warm eyes exerting their own pull on Finn.

"One game."

"Great!"

                                                              oOoOo

Vector is a game with its origin in dejarik, but instead of pitting two players against each other it has each side be a team of two or three people, each player with their own pieces that they control. The goal is the same as in dejarik though, to defeat the opponent or render their forces inoperative, but has the added element of needing teamwork and the complication of team members not being able to discuss tactics during the game but having to read each other's moves.

While dejarik had been a common game played by the Stormtrooper cadets it was not one Finn had played often. Not because he wasn't good, but because he was too good. No one wanted to constantly lose to him. But the added complications of vector are still new to him as he's not had many chances to play it yet in the brief time since he left the First Order.

He's good a teamwork, but he's used to being put in a leadership position with others following him and the give and take style of Poe's leadership with its unclear hierarchy is unfamiliar to him. Karé and Jess on the other hand has worked together countless of times and it shows in the effortless way they read each other's moves and strategies, and by the time the match is less than half way done it is clear to Finn that he and Poe is going to lose this one.

Perhaps his thoughts are a self-fulfilling prophecy or perhaps it would have gone that way regardless of his expectations, but he and Poe do end up the losers.

Poe congratulates Karé and Jess, and the two of them drifts off to one of the sofa arrangements along with Snap. Finn stays seated at the game board, looking at it in dismay.

Poe puts a hand on his shoulder, drawing his attention away.

"Hey, you coming? Or you calling it a night?"

"I'm sorry we lost."

A frown flits across Poe's face.

"Hey, it's nothing. It's just a game. We weren't even playing for money."

Finn shrugs, unable to let go of his sense of anxiety and irritation.

"I guess," he replies mostly to say something and gets off the chair. "I'm going to head back to my room, I'm kinda tired."

Poe nods.

"I'll come too. I'm pretty done in. It's been a long day."

"Okay."

Bidding the other three goodnight, the two of them head off together.

                                                        oOoOo

Spaceships has no nighttime as there is no night in space and the machinery needs constant supervision. So its rooms and corridors are always filled with beings fulfilling their tasks or going from one job to another. But as Finn and Poe heads towards their cabins it is between shifts, so the corridors are less busy than they could have been.

"Poe, can I ask you something?" Finn says as they walk.

"Sure, buddy."

"When Karé said that 'you of all people should understand that', that is, the importance of history, what did she mean?"

"I guess, that... my family is from Alderaan. That when our planet was destroyed remembering who we were became all the more important if we were going to hold on to ourselves and not get swallowed up by the galaxy."

"Oh, I didn't know that. That you were from Alderaan, your family I mean."

Poe shrugs.

"I've always thought of myself from Yavin, that's the only place I recall. There's a strong Alderaanian foundation in the settlement I grew up in, but it's not really something I spend a lot of time thinking about. There's stuff from other places too, we're not the only ones living there. And it just... kinda is. I don't know if that makes sense."

"Maybe."

Where you grew up, how you grew up, was something you carried with you no matter what. But maybe it wasn't that big a deal, maybe it didn't have to be.  

He looks at Poe out of the corner of his eye. The man looks tired and worn. The lines on his face usually soft and barely noticeable, have become deep grooves.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

"Hmmm? What? Yeah, I'm- I'm fine. Why?"

"You look a little, well tired."

"It's late." The lightness in Poe's voice sounds contrived.

"It's not that late really and you don't usually look like this even when it's much later."

"It's- Argh, it's a lot of things. I'll feel better after a night's sleep."

Finn makes a small hmmm, not pushing the issue though he gets the feeling that Poe isn't telling him the truth.

"How about you?" Poe asks. "How are you doing? You've felt spacy when I talked to you tonight and... well, like you're somewhere else. Or want to be somewhere else."

Finn feels his pulse pick up.

"No, it's- It's my dream, it just keeps coming back. I just wish I could forget it. That it'd leave me alone."

"Ah. Yeah, well. Let's hope you can sleep without dreams tonight. And if they do get bad, you know my room is just through the fresher. You can always come in."

Finn shifts on his feet, feeling both warm and cold at once.

"Yeah."

There's a moment of silence before Poe smiles again and briefly clasps Finn's shoulder.

"Goodnight then."

"Goodnight."

                                                            oOoOo

Poe's is greeted by soft beeps from BB-8 the moment he steps through the door.

"Hey there, buddy," he says softly as he steps into the room.

He kneels down and gently rubs Beebeeate's round belly.

"How was your day?"

He's answered by a flurry of enthusiastic beeps.

"Huh, that good?"

There's no masking the affirmative, nor the querying tone in the whistles that follows.

"It was- It could have gone better. I just don't know how to handle all these kids. Eh, maybe I'm just getting old, can't stay twenty forever, " he says with a lightness he doesn't feel.

He gets to his feet and start making his usual 'before bed' rounds in the room, setting the alarm, fluffing his pillows and changing into his nightclothes. But it isn't the troubles of the new recruits, or their youth that occupies his mind as her gets ready for bed. Rather it's Finn.

He was so clearly uncomfortable earlier, nervous and agitated, and very distant all evening. He had put in some effort in their game, but he still seemed not quite himself and not altogether there. The lighthearted quips he'd usually make were nowhere to be heard, nor was his soft laugh.

The answer Finn had given minutes ago had felt off, like there was something he held back, something he didn't want to tell Poe. Maybe he should have pushed harder to get Finn to talk, but it felt like too much of a violation of Finn's privacy. If he wanted to keep this to himself, surely that was his right.

Poe just wishes that Finn would open up, even a little. Even if it is to tell Poe to take a hike.

If his company was making Finn feel uncomfortable, whether it was because of Poe's active part in combat or because of his growing feelings for Finn, then it might be better for both of them to part ways instead of wearing away at each other. Even though the thought of a life without Finn is not a something he wants to entertain perhaps it would be for the best.

And if it's something else that's burdening him, then carrying it alone can't be good.

Tomorrow, Poe promises himself. He'll try again tomorrow. And the next day and the next, until something gives. He can't just let things stand as they are, he can't let Finn fight with whatever this is alone.

[paganchristian]

A little mini shrub of touch-me-not impatiens, a wildflower, found on a woodland walk one day.  I think their seedpods will explode if you touch them, thus the name.  

Anyway, that makes me think about things,... It makes me think,...  About my relative and me and how I feel sometimes blocked by them, because if I touch their sensitivities, their defenses, they might explode, only it would likely be a secret explosion, and maybe an implosion would be a better description.  The secret resentment, hurting, self-loathing and despair if they have misinterpreted or overreacted or seen what I said or did through this distorted lens.  

But I feel like they have kind of armored themselves in to a negative mindset, and the only thing to help them release themselves from the trap is if someone will help them see from another angle, and if someone can challenge them enough.  Or if life itself and difficulties and pain and confusion and loss and chaos and humiliation and desperation and losing track of one’s sure footing, swimming through necessity, learning how strong you have to be when you have no choice, trying new things when the old ones simply cannot be sustained anymore, that sort of thing,...  Maybe that would do it, like it did for me.  

Well, that was only part of what helped me to change and grow and see and try new things and new possibilities ...  Because I still did have to open up.  The chaos of life alone didn’t force me to open up and try so hard and dig so deep and learn so much as I did.  And actually I was already kind of burst open, a wreck from the start of my life, from a very young age and life kept on bursting me open more and more.  But I’d already learned to be open, and had to by necessity and I just kept learning how much more wide open I could be, how many more closed places there were that I didn’t know could still survive being pulled apart, picked apart, blown apart, blown away, desecrated, decimated, recreated, regrown, patched up anew, added onto, and transformed and so on, found what was lost, forgotten, buried, rejuvenated what was numb and felt dead, thought was gone, forgot existed, thought impossible and on and on and on and on.  

So sometimes, oftentimes, the bursting apart that happened was not a good seeming thing for me, and only later on did I heal and was ok again, but for long many years it was a survival state in which I was confused, deluded, miserable and desperate.  Sometimes being forced open too soon is not a good thing and I don’t know if I could have survived if it were not for luck or grace or chance or whatever it may be, that I can’t parade around like a celebration, when I look at others who didn’t make it, not this lifetime, though what about afterlife?  Who knows but I hope.  

Anyway, I still don’t know where my life will lead.  There is nothing that gives me sure solid steady absolute faith that it will all be livable.  Or there is nothing that assures me that my soul and heart will live on even if my mind and body appear to be alive, going through the motions for the rest of my life like a tormented zombie, like I’ve felt all throughout many of the years of my past.  Or that I won’t lose my mind too.  There is nothing so far that makes me sure of any of that.  Only hope, a little faith, but not solid faith I will come out alive, safe, in heart, mind, and least of all body.  

If my body suffered half dead perhaps my mind would still make it, unless my actual physical brain, my depression, and emotions are physically tormented or other mental health problems are too bad.  And I’ve lived through that too, when people say no, no, it’s not physical, you can overcome it, but the only thing that finally did overcome it was a change in my physical state, because my physical illnesses were causing my extreme depression (I still have depression but the physical health roots of it are being healed somewhat but it’s still there, just not as severe.  But still new roots are growing up because of my food allergies which cause me to have to have a poor diet, pretty much, that I haven’t seen a way around since I’m allergic to almost the whole world).  There is a limit to mind-over-matter and the power of positive thinking.  For some it is quite a futile worthless thing, for the most part.  That is a taboo I know and few seem to respect, religious people in particular, in this group I’m learning about, but many other nonreligious people have the same attitude.  

So anyway maybe the only way I can share with someone who is so armored, so secretly resentful and skewed in their perception and skewed in their self-loathing and despair reactions, but so desperately needs something to shake them out of an over-protective, avoidant, fearful, judgmental, shut-down approach to life,...  Maybe the only way I can share with them is to be just as self-protective, just as much untouchable, distant, kept away from them, sharing online or some other place where they can see what I say and do and offer, but it’s not aimed to them in particular, and that is the only way for them to see what I have to offer in all its detail and power and unflinching honesty and yet not feel it’s aimed directly at them, not feel burdened to have to see it at all if they don’t choose to, not feel expected to respond at all.  

It also reminds me of something that happened to me when I was doing a lot of divination in the past, and what often would happen was it would be used to loosen up my defenses, my preconceived notions, my fears, avoidance, bias, judgment of others, judgment of myself, and all my assumptions, good and bad, .. and because it was given in this unclear way, it was given as well from an impersonal source, just signs in a divination tool, and because it was private and no one was sitting there watching how i reacted to it, or if I used the advice, and because I had as much time as I wanted to respond how I wanted, to let it all simmer for days on end, sometimes weeks or months on end,...  And I would get the same or similar messages repeatedly, sometimes, but many subtle different angles and symbols so it was ever-fresh, and I used divination every day, often many times during the day.  

So even if I let it all simmer over a long time, maybe with lots of fear, hurt, confusion, and anger at the ideas it was giving me.. because of that I was able to break through so many layers of illusion.  I was able to see things form the viewpoints of others, and I was able to see through my own biases, excuses, fears and excesses, judgments, and I was able to see through the judgments and assumptions of others too.  It gave me this broad, deep, many angled perspective.  It gave me this detachment, hope, calm and patience, and deliberate analytical process s to see my problems in such detail.  

It felt like an omniscient view that let me see what no one else in the whole wide world seemed to get.  It felt like God talking to me, the taboo God, validation, comforting and giving clear descriptions of things that no one else could say or only hinted weakly at.  But God or divination or my own analysis whatever it was, gave me all these answers in symbols and signs and messages in songs and books and in things others said and wrote online and things I saw everywhere.  It healed my life immensely.  

So I could hope that maybe things I say might have some slightly similar impact on my family member.  I could hope.  Or at least maybe they’ll be able to practice as much detachment or enough detachment, while being subtly, gently pried open just a bit, pushed, suggested to leave their comfort zones, repeated suggestion of such, but only if they open to my perspectives, because my views are full of such, but not aimed at them personally, just my own process, what I see, when I look at the world, when I look at life, when I look at my own life and life in general and the way things work, even knowing all I do about suffering, but because I know so much about suffering firsthand, that is how I can give ideas of how to break out of and transcend it.  Even though I know how many limits and the slowness of that process too. 

Because often we will only really listen after repeated suggestions, seen in others’ lives or heard in the things that they talk about or seen in general society, only after repeated suggestions will we really respond to an idea.  But all that time when we see the repeated suggestions again and again slowly over time, that is an important step too, ...  It’s a time in which we can project upon, analyze, criticize these ideas, because it’s outside ourselves, less urgency, less feeling of being attacked or pressured or scrutinized or judged by others,...  So we can open to an idea we hear or see repeatedly in the world around us, only if it’s repeatedly shown oftentimes, and even when we like an idea but especially if we are unsure and just opening maybe, what if it could be, and so maybe.  I hope sharing my life and ideas could help my relative sometimes in such a way.  With all my life I would put out there for them to see, full of notions and values and practices they might view with skepticism and derision at first yet maybe after repeatedly seeing it, something might make an impact.  Or good ideas they like but feel unable to open up or try, lacking enough courage or conviction but after repeatedly seeing me doing it and talking about it maybe one day they will have the hope to reach out and try it. 

[jshmiver]

Business Continuity During Daunting Times

Business Continuity Planning                                              

 2020 has been a year that highlights the unexpected difficulties that a business might face, from COVID-19 and fires to protests and riots. Business continuity planning is the process of developing plans to handle threats that may arise during business operations and can help keep business going through turbulent times.

Risk Assessment

Every business has risks and will eventually face challenges. Many of the difficulties that arise are specific to the situation and may be impossible to foresee, such as the concept of shutting down for long periods of time, reducing staffing and customer presence in response to a global pandemic, or widespread fires forcing people away from the business.  Creating a business continuity plan for a variety of different situations helps develop problem solving skills and creates best practices for handling situations as they arise. The greater the spread of scenarios that have been evaluated and planned for, the lower the risk of rushed decisions and panicked actions that will to costly mistakes. Some tasks and functions will take priority over others, or need to be dealt with relatively quickly, depending on the situation. Having the business continuity plan ahead of time helps organize the critical tasks and provides a list of potential contingency options to implement rapidly. Without a plan in place, business teams will waste time seeking out backup options in the midst of crisis while their competitors implement strategies that were carefully designed beforehand. Turbulent times can also significantly affect employee emotions, which can also affect the work and perseverance needed for the business to succeed. In addition to considering the needs of the business itself, managers should anticipate long periods of uncertainty and include plans for boosting the morale of the team. Any necessary changes should be designed with the intention of making the transition as stress-free as possible.

Operations Changes

The success of a business relies heavily on getting goods and services to the customers. During the COVID-19 pandemic, businesses that were heavily dependent on in-person purchases and experiences, like restaurants and theaters, were forced to limit the number of customers that could be served at one time or were shut down entirely. Many of these were forced to switch to delivery services and take out options quickly to stay in business. This impacted the critical functions needed to keep these businesses operating. Small businesses and family owned restaurants are not likely to have invested resources into their own fleets of delivery vehicles due to the high costs associated with these services, so other companies have specialized in delivery services and offer to deliver the food for a commission of the profits. A business owner would need to compare each of these delivery options based on quality of service, reliability, timeliness, and cost, spending ample time evaluating which option is best for their own business. Without having put effort into business continuity planning, many small businesses were caught off guard and forced to frantically make important decisions about their operations, often resulting in a poor and costly decision for the business. Considering the business continuity of operations would have greatly reduced the panic and uncertainty that followed. A business may also be forced into offering their goods and services through web applications and using digital or contactless payment options to cope. In the age of technology, ensuring that business data and transactions occur securely is critical. Best practices for technology include using the most up-to-date systems, which often include improved data security measures, or relying on trustworthy companies to handle the backend work. When crisis strikes, digital scammers and hackers tend to become more prevalent, often coaxing desperate business owners into trusting these scam services with critical business and consumer data. This leads to lawsuits and a loss of trust with the consumer, both negatively affecting the success and longterm credibility of a business. It is best to consider the technological needs of a company in advance and perform proper research. If possible, it is also best to adopt critical technologies sooner rather than later to work through issues that arise in daily operations. Adopting them before a crisis also helps build consumer trust and increases chances of the business succeeding.

Communication Interruptions

Communication is a critical part of a properly functioning business. In person is often the best way to assign work, get tasks done, or communicate changes. Sometimes, however, this form of communication becomes impossible for the business, especially at the most critical points of a crisis. When the situation changes rapidly, the entire team needs to be able to smoothly transition together. Without a plan, employees will become confused and frustrated as management changes its mind figuring out the next move on the fly. This negatively affects worker performance and attitude for the company, and could jeopardize their trust in management when the time comes to revert back to “business as usual” or to update operations timelines and projections. In extreme situations, employees may be forced to work from home to reduce the number of people in one place. This type of work environment necessitates computers, software, and internet access for all staff that will be working from home. For businesses, this may be costly to implement if the business did not already assign work devices for employees. With many options for computing devices and work software, each with differing capabilities and compatibilities, a business manager would want to spend time ensuring that there was ample budget for such a situation to invest in the necessary software, or taking advantage of bundles and bulk purchasing options to save money. Hasty decisions can result in purchasing equipment that does not properly meet the needs of a company, thereby wasting funds. Another consideration is the time it takes for employees to learn software and hardware they are not familiar with, and using the same equipment for extensive periods of time. There will be a learning curve when operations change, resulting in reduced efficiency of employees and customer service and meeting effectiveness, at first. Being able to look at a plan ahead of time alerts the team of what sorts of changes to prepare for and can keep similar operations for the long run. Continuously changing software in the midst of changing operations will only serve to frustrate employees further.

Summary

Every business will face uncertainty and challenges in operation at some point in time. Business continuity planning can help a business owner better prepare for whatever situations may arise and enhance resilience. Planning for different circumstances, understanding the critical functions of the business, and ensuring the team can transition smoothly will help the business remain competitive and reduce the stress that unexpected changes bring.            

[megacircuit9universe]

November Outlook

WED SEP 09, 2020

With the election now less than two months away, it’s a good time to look at the different moving parts of history’s machine at this point, and see what we can gleen about how things may go down on election night, and in the many weeks to follow before inauguration on January 20th.

We’re going to start here with the assumption that Trump will, at this point lose any remotely fair election... and will lose by a significant margin.

Biden has been leading him in both national and state polls for months, and now that both conventions are behind us... there’s been little change. Trump is behind in all the battleground states by several points, and within the margin of error in some states normally thought to be safe for the GOP.

His path to victory is incredibly narrow, whereas Biden has many paths to victory.  He’s in a position such that if he lost several different battleground states, he’d still win.

Now, Trump is the incumbent... a status normally considered to be a huge advantage... but incumbency is a huge disadvantage, when everything is going straight to Hell... because you’re to blame for it all.

Clever incumbent politicians have tools use if a disaster strikes on their watch in an election year, such as... rallying everybody to come together in the crisis... and accepting responsibility in advance... two things Trump is not physically or mentally able to grasp.

So... what I’m saying is, it’s nigh impossible for things to change in a way that flips Trump’s approval ratings so late in the game... given that he’s the incumbent.

He’s presiding over a huge pandemic death toll with no end in sight (for which he’s directly to blame, because he’s resisted any and all efforts to flatten the curve*), nationwide protests, nationwide violence, a tidal wave of unemployment, a tidal wave of evictions and foreclosures (for which his pals in the Senate are to blame, for refusing to provide any aid in this crisis), and a pandoras box of fresh scandals, being exposed by the press, by whistelblowers, in a slew of new books, and... just by holding rallies at airports with no socal distancing or masks (all for which, he is, again, directly to blame).

Can all... or even any of that go away... or even simmer down between now and November 3rd?  I would say no... it’s impossible.

Meanwhile, is there any chance that some turn of events could tank Joe Biden?  Some scandal?  Some terrible miscalculation?  

Again, I would say no.  But let’s take a second to examine why...

Firstly, Trump was impeached because of an attempt to collect dirt on Biden so... that strategy already blew up in his face.  It’s no longer an option.

Secondly, Biden was the walking dead candidate who stood zero chance of surviving the first Super Tuesday... yet he’s now the nominee, so... miracles seem to be his specialty this year.

Now, I’ve said before, that miracle was more likely the work of Obama, pulling strings behind the scenes, but... as a former two-term President (and a highly intelligent man) Obama probably didn’t pull those strings just to help out an old pal.

He likely foresaw, not just the type of candidate required to beat Trump on election night... but more importantly... the one who could win against Trump in the battle to follow election night, in which Trump wages an all out scorched earth campaign to remain in power.

And that... is the subject of this entry.

Our first assumption, above, was that Trump will lose handily... but now, our second assumption must be that everybody... from the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, and the top brass at the Pentagon, on down to the poorest, most homeless voter on the street... knows this will not be over after the votes are cast.

We’ll assume, everybody knows... Trump will reject the election results, and refuse to step down.  He will, to put it bluntly, attempt to establish a dictatorship... ending the Consitution, and democracy, in the United States. 

So it would be silly to think that there isn’t a plan to stop that from happening.

The Supreme Court, for example, already signaled very loudly and clearly last month, that Trump will have no ally in their house, should he attempt to challenge the election process in endless litigation... same goes for the lower Federal and State courts... they’ve all been ruling against him, and his agenda, this whole year...  even DESPITE... the Republican lead Senate approving every judge he’s nominated over his term.

Nobody likes a despot... not even a conservative Judge.  They take their oaths seriously... even if the Mitch McConnells who ram their appointments through, do not.

Which brings us to the military... also known for taking the same oath, to defend the Constitution against all threats, foreign and domestic... deadly seriously.  

Last weeks blockbuster article in the Atlantic, in which Trump was exposed (it’s been confirmed by four other sources by now) as believing all members of the military are, “suckers,” for joining up, cuz what do they get out of the deal?  And, “losers,” for dying on battlefields... has utterly destroyed any chance he may have had at getting them to cave in the face of unconstitutional orders... such as he would have to issue to establish any successful coup to stay in power.

This is critical, because if you don’t have the military... you don’t have a coup.

And Trump does not have them, at this point.

Military culture drills it into their heads that they do not have to follow unconstitutional orders from anybody, even the Commander in Chief, which means that if there is already a, “Commander Elect,” with a transition team in the wings, who DOESN’T think they are suckers and losers...

...in fact a Commander Elect who they know well, because he already served under the previous Commander in Chief as his second in command for eight years...

They’re gonna have all the footing they need to refuse any coup related orders outright.  And I believe they’ll be eager to do so, under the present circumstances.

As I’ve noted in an earlier entry, it was the miltary who forced Trump to wear a mask in public while visiting a military hospital... because they were already pissed off about how he duped them at Jefferson Square, earlier this year.

Trump himself, seems to be aware that he’s lost the top brass, both retired and active... which is why he made a public remark last week that the old generals don’t like him, but the troops still love him.

All I’ve seen is evidence to the contrary on that point, but that was Trump’s desperate dog whistle to any sympathizers he may have in the lower ranks of the military, to please... please steal some tanks and bazookas to join the fight?

Recall I wrote about, “Beta Force,” a while back... consisting of rogue law enforcement officers, Homeland Security troopers, and regular citizens with weapons and other resources... well, he’s hoping he can woo some legit military troops to join Beta Force, should there be a showdown.

That scenario, right there, would be the much prophesied Civil War 2, but as I’ve said for years, such a Civil War 2 will be short lived... a couple weeks at most.

Recall the thugs he sent into Portland to terrify and abduct protesors... using locally rented vehicles, and presumably staying at local moetels.  Trump is nowhere near ready for a showdown with the full might of the US Military, on our own soil, no less.

You can bet your ass the legit military are gaming this scenario right now, and that if pressed, they will shut that shit down and have Trump in a cell with a bag over his head faster than you can say, “what the fuck?”

The rest of the two weeks will just be putting down random assholes with assault rifles here and there across the country... but they’ll all be hauled in, don’t you worry.  And they’ll all stand trial for treason in broad daylight.

In this scenario, yes, innocent people are going to die... as they have been dying on the streets at the hands of rogue cops, school shooters, caronavirus, and other systemic abuses, or neglects, for a long time now.  

There is no scenario here, where everybody just says, “Whew!” and we’re all good.  But that’s been the case for quite some years.  We’re all pretty used to life threatening danger on a daily basis, and the courage required to face it by now.

Which is what leads me to the next big fear, being promulgated this past week...

...The so-called, Red Mirage.

Red Mirage is a prediction about election night 2020, in which nearly all the states on the election map turn red, because only the in-person votes have been counted, while the mail-in ballots are days or weeks away from being counted.

Trump seems to believe in the Red Mirage prediction, given his statements in recent weeks about an election that could take, weeks, months, or even years to sort out**.  Couple that with his repeated assertions that mail-in voting is inherently fraudulent (seconded by his Attorney General, Bill Barr) and his recent attempts to knee-cap the post office... and you have a President who likely is betting everything on Red Mirage.

The plan would be just to run with election night results, declaring himself the victor by the biggest landslide in history... then beat that drum loudly while quashing any attempt to ever count the absentee votes... demonizing them as fraudulent, and demonizing anybody who doubted his victory as dissidents who must be imprisoned or something.

I’ll admit... it’s a terrifying scenario!

...on paper.

But the Red Mirage prediction is founded on the sophomoric conceit that all Trump supporters will vote in person... because they do not fear the pandemic... and all Biden supporters will vote by mail... because they don’t want to risk getting Covid19 by venturing out in public.

This, to me, is laughable... because it really does assume that 100% of the electorate are total idiots.

The Trump voters are all idiots who will vote like there’s no pandemic to worry about... and the Biden voters are also idiots who will, out of an abundance of caution, and a blind trust in the postal system, all vote by mail.

No Trump voters are gonna stay home... because they think it’s in the bag?  No Biden voters are gonna just wear a mask and vote in person, knowing democracy itself is on the line... knowing of Trump’s attempts to knee-cap the post office... knowing it’s better to risk an infection when the stakes are this high, than to stay healthy but live under a dictatorship the rest of their lives?

Really?

Based on what I witnessed in November 2018... together with what I’ve seen this past year, with both Millenials and GenZ waking up to the dire importance of voting... together with the cleverness and bravery of protestors across the nation risking life and limb nightly just to express their outrage, while wearing masks to stay safe from infection (successfully)... together with half the GOP turning against Trump.. and everybody in agreement this time around that third party votes will get you cancelled...

I’m expecting a Blue Tsunami on November 3rd.

Trump will shout that it was all rigged, the next morning... but he won’t have any red election map to hold up and wave around.  

And once Biden has secured that title, as President Elect... all Trump can do is try to incite his disaffected trolls to violence... and then turn his thoughts to damage control on the legal front.

Michael Cohen, Trumps former fixer, this week in interviews, predicted that Trump will resign if he loses, so that Mike Pence can issue a, “blanket pardon” in the few months before Biden takes power.

It’s anybody’s guess as to whether such a pardon could really protect Trump from the many New York State criminal charges awaiting him, as soon as he leaves office, but my guess is... no it won’t.

Trump will pay, for all that he’s done, and all he’s put us through.

He’s got nowhere to run.  Nither Russia, nor China, nor South Korea will take him in exile... nor will any other nation on the planet.  Like every two bit crime boss before him... he will end up behind bars.

And that will not only beef up the radioactive potency of House impeachment for another two hundred years... but make Trumps single term in office the cautionary tale for generations to come... of the idiot President... who dared to fuck the Consitution... and had his ass handed to him in prison.

I’m sure there are some moving parts I’ve missed in this analysis tonight... and I’m sure you think my conclusions here are overly rosey... but I have looked at this from many angles... and I do keep coming back to Trump dying in prison without a second term.

Make of it what you will.

For tonight, however... it’s time for bed.

*[THU NOV 10] Bob Woodward (of Watergate fame) released tapes of Trump the night I wrote this which did not fully hit the media until a day later.  Tapes in which Trump is talking to Woodward over the phone, and which make very plain that Trump Knew the virus was airborne, that it was worse than the flu, and that it would be very difficult to contain... before the rest of us knew it... and before he went out and started playing it down in public, saying it would go away like a miracle in April, and refusing to wear a mask, or social distance, etc. 

It’s been an incredibly damning development, because it’s Trump’s own voice, and it prooves he didn’t just botch the pandemic out of stupidity... but deliberately mislead the public about it, at the cost of hundreds of thousands of lives.

He also obstructed states from getting PPE and ventilators, attacked governors for doing lock downs, gagged the CDC, and covered up hospitals’ reporting of Covid related numbers to the public.

And all of this he did, apparently, for the sake of the economy... thinking that was the way to win in November.

This is a crime against humanity!

**The 2000 Election results hinged on the electoral votes of one single state, Florida, which was too close to call on election night.  Nobody knew who’d won for several weeks as Florida went into automatic hand recounts of the ballots, many of which were ambiguous because of, “hanging chads,” or, not fully punched out holes.

However, on th strength of Fox News calling Bush the winner, his legal team sued to stop the Florida recounts, in the Supreme Court, and successfully took power, even though it was found... years later, that Al Gore had actually won Florida, and thus, should have been President.

Red Mirage anticipates this same scenario to play out again on a national scale, in all states, not because of hanging chads... but absentee ballots... and assumes that the Supreme Court might call the end to vote counting once again, because Fox News called it for Trump on election night.

This is not the way history works.

This is not the way anything works.

This is not what will go down in November.

[i-know-you-can]

Love to Hate You - Chapter 8

Summary: AU - There is something about the way she looks at him. The way her cheeks flush and her beautiful green eyes sparkle. Like she wants to wrap her hands around his neck and strangle him, but she thinks better of it. It amuses him like nothing else. No other woman has been able to fire him up like Betty Cooper. And yet he hates her.

Rated: T

Chapters: 8/11

A/N: Thank you to everyone who commented on the previous chapters. Today I’m bringing you a chapter that is a bit longer than usual as Betty and Jughead are heading to a non-date date. What will it bring?

read on AO3

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“I still can’t believe you asked him on a date,” Veronica says excitedly as she wraps a strand of Betty‘s hair around a curling iron.

“It’s not a date.” Betty rolls her eyes. She knew that her best friend would make a big deal out of it when she told her that she and Jughead were going to dinner together. But it was not meant to be a date. She doubts Jughead would agree to it. Though after Veronica's initial freaking out, Betty started to wonder whether he did think it was a date. And whether she wants it to be. “We were working really hard on this article. And now that the investigation is over, I thought it would be appropriate to celebrate it.”

“When you started working on it together, you couldn’t stand that guy. Now you’re trying to spend more time with him outside of work? You may not want to call it a date, but I think you’re catching some feelings for him.” Veronica grins and runs her fingers through Betty's hair to loosen up the curls. “And I'm not saying you have to start dating him. But at least get some celebratory sex out of it.”

“Veronica!” Betty exclaims and swats her friend's hand away. “I'm not gonna have sex with him. That one kiss haunted me long enough. I don't need things to be awkward between us again,” she says and her face grows red as she thinks back at the kiss she and Jughead shared a couple of weeks ago. She tried so hard to forget about it. To pretend nothing ever happened just like Jughead told her to. But it was impossible. And the moment she thought she was getting over it, he kissed her again. Of course that brief kiss at the restaurant was just a cover and she couldn't read much into it, but ever since that night all the feelings she tried to push away before came flooding back and they were even stronger. Not that it made them any more understandable. She knows something has shifted in the way she looks at Jughead, but she doesn’t know what she wants from him and even if she did, it seems unlikely he would want the same. Even though he’s not a complete asshole to her all the time anymore, he also doesn’t seem to show any more interest in her than he did before. Or at least she hasn’t really noticed. He can be a very hard person to read. And Betty doesn’t want to make a fool out of herself by assuming he’s interested. Despite how hot the kiss was, it was most likely just a moment of passion caused by their fighting rather than anything else. Right?

“If I recall correctly it was a heavy make out session and not just a single kiss. And secondly, so what if things get awkward? You'll get over it.” Veronica waves her hand dramatically. “But I need to know if this brooding emo guy you've been telling me about for months is as good in bed as I imagine.”

“I'm never telling you anything. Ever again.” Betty folds her arms and glares at her best friend. “And I doubt he’s interested,” she adds, trying not to get her hopes up.

“Sure you’re not.” Veronica grins at her in the mirror. “Well you’re a total smoke show tonight. He’ll be stupid to not at least try.”

  “You really can't lose that hat even when you're going on a date?” JB asks from the couch when Jughead emerges from his room, heading towards the full length mirror that hangs by the front door.

“It's not a date,” Jughead repeats for what feels like the hundredth time. At this point he's not sure whether it's more to persuade himself or his sister. It's not like either of them is buying it anyway. “And the hat is a part of my style.”

“What style is that?” The brunette scoffs, watching her brother with amusement. “Emo hipster?”

“Oh, shut up,” Jughead mutters, readjusting the dark curl that somehow always manages to escape his beanie. It's been over twenty-four hours since Betty invited him to dinner and he's pretty sure his stomach hasn't stopped flipping. It's not like he lacked experience. For some reason girls found his gloomy appearance and sardonic humor surprisingly endearing. Even if he never managed to keep a relationship going for more than a few weeks. But going out with someone he already knew, someone he may have had one or two dirty thoughts about was different. Even more so when Betty suggested it as a purely friendly matter. He doesn't know how to make friends. Especially out of people he had seen as enemies until recently. What are they even going to talk about? Does she expect him to walk her home afterward? Questions he has no answer to keep popping up in his head.

He adjusts the collar of his flannel shirt, wondering whether he's too dressed down. The restaurant he picked is not fancy, but he expects Betty to be all dolled up. After all, she always is. What if she wears a skirt? The last time he saw her in a skirt, he could barely keep it in his pants. The memory of her body pressed to his as he pushed her against the kitchen cabinets and kissed her senseless fills his mind. It was a moment of weakness. She wants to forget it and so should he.

“God, you're a mess.” Jellybean's laugh pulls him out of his thoughts. “Whatever happens, don't forget to text me if you're bringing her over. As much as I'm rooting for you two to finally get it on, I don't wanna witness it.”

 When Jughead arrives to the restaurant Betty is already waiting outside, looking more beautiful than ever. Her hair falling around her shoulders in soft waves, the sunset making her look like an angel. Jughead gulps as his eyes trail up and down her body. She's wearing a pastel pink dress, the skirt barely reaching mid-thigh and he already knows it will be a challenging evening for him.

“Hey,” Jughead says as he steps closer to her, trying hard to maintain eye contact and not let his eyes slide lower. “I hope I'm not late.”

“Nope, I've just arrived,” Betty replies with a beaming smile that makes his chest contract.

He wonders how he has managed to work in the same company as Betty for months and not feel like this until recently. Then again, he never really gave her a reason to smile at him like this. “You um... You look very nice today.”

“Thank you,” she replies, a blush creeping up her cheeks. “You look quite handsome yourself.” She bites her lip as she shamelessly checks him out. While his outfits isn't too different from what he usually wears, a plaid shirt and dark jeans, somehow he looks more polished. Like he put a lot of effort into it. Betty feels her cheeks growing hotter as she thinks about it, but she quickly dismisses that thought. They are going to a nice looking restaurant. That's surely the reason he tries to look extra good. Not because he's trying to impress her. That's also why she put in an effort. Well, at least partially why.

“Shall we?” he asks pointing towards the entrance and she nods.

 “It looks very nice in here,” Betty says as she looks around while the usher leads them to their table.

“It is.” Jughead nods as he pulls out the chair for her and she smiles at the gesture. “And the food is to die for,” he adds as he takes a seat across from her.

“Hopefully not literally,” she quips.

“Don't you trust my recommendation?” He grins at her, cocking his head to the side. Now that her long legs are hidden beneath the table he feels like he can breathe a bit more easily.

“I do. But how do I know you didn't bring me here to get rid of me so you can take all the credit for our article?” She narrows her eyes at him and bites her lip to stop herself from laughing when Jughead pretends to look offended.

“You were the one who called it a peace offering. Shouldn't you have a bit more fate in me then?” he answers with a question.

Instead of replying she just smiles at him and Jughead feels his stomach clench harder. Shortly after they're interrupted by a waitress that brings them their menus and while Betty quickly starts scanning hers, Jughead keeps his closed, knowing exactly what he wants to order.

Betty can feel his eyes on her the whole time, but doesn't let it show and instead tries to focus on all the different meals the restaurant has to offer. “So, Mr. I know all the best food in New York, what can you recommend?” she asks after a moment, unsure what to order. While Betty loves to cook and experiment in her own kitchen, when it comes to eating out or ordering take out, she always goes for the same few things.

“How about you show your trust in me by letting me order for you?” he suggests and after a moment of hesitation Betty agrees. She's a bit worried about what Jughead may have in store for her, but lets out a sigh of relief when he places the order for both of them as 'his usual'. If one of New York's favorite food critics likes the food, then it surely can't be bad.

While they wait for the food they resort to talking about the restaurant and their work, trying to predict the impact their article may have. Both highly aware of the fact that they’ve never had a non-work related conversation that didn’t end in a fight of some sort, they try to stick to safe topics at least for a moment. After all, tonight they’re supposed to turn over a new leaf and hopefully embark on a new kind of relationship. Even if neither of them really knows what kind that is.

“Is this just a fancy version of a burger?” Betty asks once the waitress who brought them food is out of earshot, cocking her eyebrow. On the plate in front of her there is a beef patty, some vegetables and a golden brown bun, all covered in cheese and a delicious smelling sauce that makes her mouth water instantly.

“It's called a deconstructed burger and it's the best thing ever,” Jughead explains. “Well right after a regular burger.”

“Then why are we here and not in a regular fast food?” she inquires.

“I didn't take you for someone who would want to go to a fast food,” he answers simply, shrugging his shoulders. “It isn’t fancy enough.”

“You really don't know me at all, do you?” she says only half-jokingly. A lot of their fights have been based on assuming things about the other person and while some of them might be true, they never really bothered to get to know each other.

“Well...” Jughead starts, not sure what to say in his defense. He knows that Betty is right. That he doesn't actually know anything about her. He only knows people like her. Or people he assumes she belongs to. “I could say the same for you though.”

“True.” She nods before taking a bite of her food and chewing thoughtfully for a few seconds. As the rich flavor spreads across her tongue, she can’t deny that if Jughead is good at judging anything, it’s definitely food. “For starters, I don't even know your real name,” she continues once the initial astonishment of the food fades away. “I highly doubt your parents actually called you Jughead.”

That's not an information I usually disclose on a first date. He almost says, but stops himself in time and grins at her instead. “You couldn't have picked an easier question to start with?”

“That bad, huh?” Betty giggles, trying to think of names that could be so bad that Jughead wouldn’t want to share them.

“Worse.”

“Well, you don't have to tell me. But if you don't, I'll just keep trying to guess it, Horace,” she says, closely watching for his reaction, but his face is still as stone. “Okay, maybe you're not Horace so how about Cyril? Cyril Jones sounds like a name you may despise.”

Jughead laughs at her futile attempts and shakes his head. “It's neither of those and I really don't think you can guess it.”

“You have no faith in me. I'll give it one more try.” Betty bites her lip as she thinks hard for a couple of seconds, trying to think of the strangest yet believable sounding name. “How about... Alastor.”

“Does that name even exist outside of the Harry Potter universe?” He scoffs and scrunches up his face. “I'm no Mad Eye Moody.”

“You are pretty moody, though.” Betty sticks out her tongue at him playfully and he can’t help but laugh at her antics. “So just tell me, because I can keep coming up with ugly names all night long.”

“Okay, okay.” He raises his hands in mock defeat. “But only if you swear to never use it and never tell anyone about it.”

“I don't think I can swear to that. But I can promise to try. Unless you give me a reason not to,” she adds the last sentence with a grin.

Jughead thinks about it for a moment, wondering why he's even considering sharing this information with Betty. Kids in school gave him enough crap for his name and while the nickname Jughead wasn't the best one either, over the years he tried to stick to it as much as possible. But there is something about Betty. Like a gut feeling. Instead unlike all the other times when it told him to stay away from her and her smile that was too wide to be real, it tells him he can trust her. And maybe he’s an idiot to trust his feeling this time, but the smirk on Betty’s face makes his stomach clench so hard he would do anything at the moment if it meant he could keep this moment forever. “It's Forsythe,” he mumbles finally, averting his eyes and he feels his face slowly turning a crimson shade of red. “Forsythe Pendleton Jones the third, to be exact.”

“For-what?” Betty covers her mouth with her hands as she tries to stop herself from bursting into laughter. “I'm so sorry. I just...” She reaches out to place her hand over his in comfort. “You're right, I never would've guessed. But to be honest, I had some even worse on my list,” she says with a giggle.

“That's hard to believe.” Jughead laughs and shakes his head.

“I appreciate you telling me,” she adds with a smile and notices a faint blush raising on his cheeks. Despite their mutual hate, Betty has always found Jughead attractive. Hot even. But now the best word she could use to describe him is cute and she wonders whether it’s because he’s finally letting his walls down a little.

“How about we move on from this topic? I feel violated enough.”

“Alright.” Betty shrugs her shoulder. While seeing Jughead embarrassed may be her new favorite thing, she feels it’s only fair he gets to ask her something personal as well. “I got my answer. It's your turn now.”

“Why Clickfeed?” Jughead asks after a second of consideration. “Or rather, why have you stayed so long even though you have to work in that god-awful position? Nobody really wants to work there.”

“I believe that working hard will bring you what you want. So I guess I assumed that I would spend a few weeks writing stupid articles before someone noticed I’m better than that,” Betty answers simply. She has given it a lot of thought and even though her decision may seem silly, she’s still trying to believe that her hard work will eventually pay off. After all, it finally seems to be happening. “Like maybe it could be that terrible first job where I gain my experience before I move on to something I actually want to do.”

“You may have watched The Devil Wears Prada too many times,” Jughead murmurs and shakes his head. While working with her, he noticed that Betty's talents are being wasted at their company and the question why she's even there keeps popping into his mind frequently. Then again, he likes to hope for a more fulfilling job in his future as well. But for the time being it’s almost good enough.

“The Devil Wears Prada?” Betty cocks her eyebrow with an amused grin. “Is Jughead Jones a secret chick flick fan?”

“Is that your next question?”

Betty shakes her head with a smirk. “I think I know the answer already.”

“Well just for the record, my sister made me watch it with her,” he says defensively. “But it's a pretty good movie.”

“How is she? Your sister I mean. She seemed pretty upset that night I met her,” Betty asks with concern. While she has only met Jughead's sister very briefly, she noticed how much he seemed to care about her. A side of him she's not used to seeing.

“She's... Alright. Given the circumstances. But she's staying with me until she can find some better roommates,” he replies. “She's a tough cookie,” he adds with a proud smile. There aren't that many things in his life that he can be proud of, but his sister definitely makes the top of the list and he feels somewhat satisfied with himself for helping to raise her.

“You are a good brother to her. I... I never would've guessed,” she admits sheepishly. Betty always liked to hope that there is more under the tough, cold mask that Jughead wears, but it was only after she met Jellybean and saw the two of them interact that she truly started to believe it.

“Why? Because I'm such a dick to everyone else?” Jughead asks half-jokingly. He's very well aware of why Betty may think that. He wanted her to think that for a long time. Now, not so much.

“Well... Yeah.” Betty laughs, not trying to deny it. “So why are you?” The question has been boggling her mind ever since she met him. Sure, not everyone was brought up like her and pushed into being nice to everyone all the time. Jughead, on the other hand, seemed to purposely make people hate him. And while it worked on her initially, given the chance to spend more time with him she quickly started to realize he was actually a fun person to be around. Which only made her question his intentions more.

“I don't go there to make friends. If everyone hates me, at least they don't bother me with anything and I can get my work done quicker.” Not exactly the reason, but Jughead assumes it's true enough. His trust issues are not something he feels like discussing at the moment. “For me there is no point in pretending to be nice. I don’t know how you do it.”

“You think I'm pretending to be nice?” Betty asks, not sure whether she should be offended or not. Sure, her mother has been pushing her to be extremely polite and perfect her whole life, but Betty likes to believe that the niceness Jughead likes to mock her about has always been inside her. “Some of us are just naturally nice.”

“There is no such thing.” Jughead scoffs. “Nobody is nice without some hidden agenda. Trust me, I know.”

“Oh, poor Juggie, everyone is out to get him,” Betty says mockingly, but unlike all the other times when they were teasing each other, he doesn't immediately bite back, nor does he give her a cheeky grin with the promise of revenge.

Juggie. The nickname nobody has used in over a decade makes him feel as if someone just poured a bucket of ice down his shirt. “Oh, Juggie, you will turn out just like your father. There is no future for people like you.” The words flash in front of his eyes so clearly he wonders whether someone in the restaurant actually said them. He has been trying to put it behind him. To ignore the words uttered by someone who clearly didn't care enough. But it only takes that one word to bring him back to why he despised the beautiful blonde in front of him in the first place. He suddenly feels stupid that he ever considered something good could come out of their interaction. Things have been going well for him for far too long and somewhere along the way he forgot to keep his walls up at all times.

“Earth to Jughead.” Betty waves her hand in front of his eyes with a shy smile, but her face quickly grows serious when his blank stare turns into a frown.

“You don't know me at all,” Jughead mutters under his breath and Betty isn't sure whether he's talking to her or himself.

“I think we established that already.” Betty chuckles, hoping to lighten up the conversation again. “That's what we've been trying to change for the past half an hour.”

“This was a mistake. I never should've thought...” he trails off while Betty stares at him silently, trying to figure out what is happening. Their conversation took a slightly more serious turn in the past couple of minutes, but surely there was no reason for Jughead to get upset with her, was there? Betty tries to track back her words to figure out what could've set him off, but her thoughts are quickly interrupted when Jughead suddenly stands up from his chair.

“What are you doing?” she asks and her eyes grow wider when he pulls out a bunch of bills from his pocket and sets them on the table.

“I can't be here,” he answers simply, though he doesn't lift his gaze and she's still not sure whether he's talking to her or just voicing his thoughts out loud. Either way, he offers no explanation and walks away as quickly as possible without sparing her a single glance.

“Jughead, wait!” she yells after him, earning herself nasty stares from a couple of people sitting near her, but for once she doesn't care. For months she's been trying to come up with words that would wipe the arrogant smirk of Jughead's face and now that she managed to do it without even knowing how she feels everything but satisfied. Tears sting her eyes as she buries her face in her hands, wondering what on earth could make Jughead react like that.

 “You're home early,” JB states as she looks up at the clock. She expected Jughead to be away for at least another hour or even the whole night if things went well. “Didn't the date go well?”

“I don't wanna talk about it,” Jughead mumbles as he kicks of his shoes on the way to his bedroom.

“Was it that bad?” she asks curiously. As far as she knows, Jughead has had quite a few shitty dates in his life. But instead of moping about it, he always talked to her about the terrible stuff that went down and they managed to laugh about it together.

“I said I don't wanna talk about it,” he says in almost a growl and shuts the door behind him with a loud thump. He heads straight for bed and has to fight the urge to scream into his pillow in frustration. It would surely only make JB ask more questions and that's the last thing he wants right now. Instead he lies on his back and stares at the ceiling, wondering how the date, he no longer tries to kid himself into believing it wasn't one, went to complete shit so quickly.

Juggie. The nickname he hasn't heard in over a decade. The one that no one but his mother used. It sounded so good on Betty's lips, yet that one simple word opened Pandora's box and all his terrible memories and stupid reasons for hating her came soaring out. As if he got too close and needed to be reminded to stay away from her. All this time he resented her, tried to avoid falling for her charm in fear of getting hurt. He hoped that if only he put enough distance between them, he wouldn't fall for her and she couldn't hurt him. But he did and even though she didn't do anything wrong, he still felt like he was just stabbed in the chest. His mother was right. There was no future for people like him. Definitely not with girls like Betty. She was too nice. Too perfect. Nothing like him. And he was stupid to forget that.

[woozapooza]

Black Sails 1x02

See, this show is just so good, I can’t just let it wash over me. I really want to be able to keep up with it and have opinions on it. But to do that, I have to watch every episode twice and reflect on it. So I think watching this show will be most satisfying if I watch every episode twice and then write a post processing and reacting. At the least, I’ll keep this up for the first season. Community can be my Show To Watch Casually and Black Sails can be my Show I Put Effort Into.

I really can’t guess who my favorite character is going to end up being, but I said in my episode 1 reaction that Eleanor was my favorite, so let’s start with her. In episode 2 we learn that Eleanor is Max’s client and pays her for the privilege of being the only person Max is allowed to have actual sex with. I hope they will one day move beyond the arrangement where one of them is paying the other for a relationship, but it doesn’t stop me from shipping them because their relationship is deeper than just sex and because Max is clearly an eager participant. Max can tell that something is amiss with Eleanor because she keeps dwelling on her father, and Eleanor confides in Max that she fears the British are basically going to reestablish lawfulness in Nassau and her work will go to waste. Max suggests that the two of them open an inn, so it’s clear that she wants to be Eleanor’s future, but Eleanor is preoccupied with her current precarious job as a fence. Like what I said about Flint in episode 1, Eleanor may not be strictly law-abiding, but she has her own rules, her own code. She’s not inclined to let Vane’s crew’s rough treatment of that one prostitute slide just because they pay well. She disapproved of the way people in Nassau behaved like “animals” when her father ran the place. (She accuses Vane of letting his crew behave like “animals” too. More on that later.) She is capable of caring and promises to protect Max from Vane, but the fact of the matter is that she betrayed Max by bring Flint and Gates to her so they could make her tell them when and where Silver was going to give the schedule to Vane. Still, I’d say that’s forgivable, since she had every intention of protecting Max. What’s not forgivable is that when Max tells her to admit that she’ll let Gates and Flint try to get the information out of her by force, Eleanor can’t bring herself to say it, but she doesn’t deny it, either. Is Eleanor’s choice purely pragmatic or does is have any moral value? Obviously she doesn’t like Vane and we know she disapproves of his crew’s behavior, but her reason for supporting for Flint isn’t just “he’s a better person,” it’s “he’s more capable.” Eleanor doesn’t want to risk Vane becoming the main pirate in town because he can’t handle the British navy. The way I’m looking at it, putting business before Max was seriously cold, though Eleanor’s obvious inner torment mitigates it.

This betrayal leaves Max so defeated she doesn’t put up a fight. She just tells Flint and Gates what they want to know. Then she runs away. The prostitute whose name has not been mentioned assures Max that “Vane can’t get you here,” and Max says “I know, but I cannot stay.” Earlier, when Silver suggested the two of them run away with the money they’ll earn for the schedule, he wondered if there was something keeping her here. Eleanor is so important to Max that she was the only thing standing in the way of Max’s escape. Compare the exchange when Max tries to convince Eleanor to run away with her: “I've spent my life trying to build something here. It's all I have.” “It is not all you have!” Even after that, even after Max realizes that Eleanor has betrayed her, she still gives her one more chance to run away with her. I don’t think Max necessarily loves Eleanor more than the other way around, though it’s possible, but Eleanor is a bigger part of Max’s life than the other way around. It makes sense: Max is a prostitute whereas Eleanor basically runs Nassau. I’m not trying to make excuses for Eleanor, I’m just looking at why Max isn’t her priority like she is Max’s. Obviously what Eleanor did sucked, but I’m not going to stop shipping it. It’s only the second episode. She has almost four seasons to redeem herself. I do wonder what would have happened if she had just told Flint and Gates to stay behind and just talked to Max.

Max may be tricky, but she’s basically pure and sweet. I would say that so far she’s one of the moral centers of the show in the sense that she’s a relatively good spot in a sea of moral ambiguity and downright badness. I’m trying to not jump to conclusions about characters I barely know, but I get the sense that she might be the sort of character who’s basically a metric for other characters’ moral quality; like, you’re a good person if and only if you’re nice to her. (Kinda like Kaylee from Firefly or Gwen from Merlin.)

The other moral center is Billy Bones. In his case, it’s because he is (IMO, at least) the one whose attitude toward his moral environment is the most relatable. When we first go aboard the ship, the first shot is a close-up of Billy looking positively sick with angst while (almost) everyone else celebrates Singleton’s death. When Gates says he did the right thing by pretending Singleton had stolen the schedule, Billy reminds him that he tasked him with making sure Flint didn’t go too far. “That’s not going too far?” Gates supplies him with two excuses: “Singleton was no saint” and Flint can handle the immanent war against civilization better than Singleton can. Billy isn’t consoled. Billy also voices his concern that Flint is getting tyrannical. Basically, it seems that his role is to be the main dude who challenges and criticizes Flint. I hope Flint will learn a lot from him. Another relatable thing about Billy is that when he and Gates are supposed to be tracking Silver down, Gates is able to relax and people-watch for a little while whereas Billy is like “CAN WE PLEASE GET BACK TO THIS IMPORTANT TIME-SENSITIVE TASK.”

Silver just gets better and better. Honestly, Flint is lucky to have him on board. He’s seriously smart. First, he eludes Flint, Gates, and Billy by asking a bunch of people for directions to different places so that when his pursuers show up and ask where he went, everyone points in different directions. Second, when F, G & B intervene in his transaction with Vane, he memorizes the schedule and burns it so they can’t kill him. It’s even possible that he has a heart: when Vane is roughing up Max, he finds a weapon and presumably intends to intervene until Max signals not to do so.

I said in my recap of part 1 that Vane was the character who ended the episode looking the least vulnerable. That is no longer true. He goes to Eleanor to confront her about not keeping him in the loop about potential prizes, thinking it’s because they broke up, and she shuts him down for underestimating her and being self-centered. He’s all ready to gloat at Flint about his deposition, and when Flint shows up still captain, as soon as he’s gone, Vane flips out. He doesn’t have an iron grip on his crew, either, since Rackham is always challenging him. It’s great that Vane is not a one-dimensional Force of Power; it gives Zach McGowan something to do. It’s unlikely Vane will become as boring as Roan. God, why is Roan so boring?

Rackham was this week’s breakout character. He’s brilliant and level-headed. He correctly deduces that Flint is only pretending to have the schedule and that Max is telling the truth. Being more rational than Vane, who at that moment is holding Max by the throat, makes him look like a better person, but it’s impossible to tell if there’s any truth in that. It will be interesting to compare the Vane/Rackham and Flint/Gates dynamics. They’re similar in that both captains do reckless things and both #2 guys are like “you do realize this is reckless right” but Rackham seems more willing to challenge his captain, maybe because they have less to lose. Does Toby Schmitz remind anyone else of Devon Bostick?

Mr. Scott plays kind of a similar role for Eleanor: the down-to-earth second-in-command constantly annoyed by his boss’s shenanigans. Whereas Eleanor can be impetuous and, well, kind of dramatic, Scott is sensible and understands priorities. It may be tempting to lash out against Vane, but she can’t afford to do it. They have a sweet father-daughter-ish relationship.

Finally, there’s my man Flint. I just have to say that I love his interpretation of that weird part in the Odyssey with the prophecy about the place where people don’t know what an oar is. “For that would be the place that no man had ever been troubled by the sea. And that's where he'd find peace.” I’m going to keep the Odyssey in mind going forward, obvs. All Flint really wants is “to walk away from the sea and find some peace.” But is that goal compatible with his dream of establishing “a nation of thieves”? I don’t think so, but maybe he was saying that’s only the plan if it comes to war. Another thing we learn about Flint is that he’s got something you could call idealism: when Scott scoffs at the idea of “turning pirates into farmers and soldiers,” Flint protests, “They’re not animals. They’re men, starved of hope.” I was hoping I could think of a way to connect this statement to Eleanor describing certain pirates as behaving “like animals,” but I’m not sure what to say.

I really wish I had more profound things to say, but at least by writing this I’ve helped myself get a handle on the characters and plot.

[losille2000]

Home, Chapter 17

TITLE: Home CHAPTER NUMBER: 17/? AUTHOR: Losille2000 WHICH TOM/CHARACTER: Actor!Tom GENRE: Romance/Drama FIC SUMMARY: Tom returns home grouchy and exhausted from a cramped flight after four months on the road for work. Unfortunately, there’s already someone sleeping in his bed. RATING: M (sex, language) WARNINGS:  None. AUTHORS NOTES: Welcome back, everyone! Please enjoy!

Previous Chapter - Also available on Archive of Our Own!

Chapter 17

 Tom was grateful for a refreshing shower after putting the groceries away for Marigold. It gave him much needed time to calm down from the scene at the market and to process everything that they’d talked about on the ride back to the cottage. Well, process everything that had happened since this morning, really.

 He didn’t know what to think, more confused than ever about Marigold, where they stood, and his rapidly changing point of view on what she called “witchcraft”. Was she a witch? Were magic and spells real, tangible things, not solely contained in the pages of fiction? Had two witches really saved him as a child, and if they did, how much did he owe them—owe their descendant? Reading from Violet’s journal made him feel about an inch tall, knowing what they must have put into saving him and thinking about how Marigold must view him knowing he was the reason she never knew her grandmother. Even though he was still out on accepting that magic saved him when he was a child, Marigold was clearly all in. How could she not blame him?

 A cut on the hand this morning was one thing. But bringing him back from the brink of death without the aid of medicine? That was still difficult for him to wrap his head around. Why, though? If he was willing to believe what happened before his very eyes this morning, then why was it impossible to accept that a stronger magic had helped him as a child?

 Just how much she must hate him after all the terrible things he’d said and done to her? She’d made light of his sudden overflowing of concern for his actions by smacking his shoulder playfully and telling him to concentrate on the future. What was the point, though, if he’d already done too much damage? Pandora still had her hope, but what if there was no coming back from that? What if Marigold, though she said she didn’t, always held it against him?

 He couldn’t have that. Not now that he was getting to know her, and actually liked what he found. She was beautiful and lively, intellectually clever yet empathetic. Most of all, she didn’t let him rest or accept the status quo. She challenged him to be better. By god, he wanted to better. For himself. For his family. And, surprisingly, for her.

 It was a jagged pill to swallow, especially since there was still something off between them. Some sort of weird feeling he couldn’t quite put his finger on, but it was enough to put him on edge, make his hackles rise in preparation for a fight. Why? He had no bloody idea. There was no reason to dislike her; she hadn’t ever given him a reason to dislike her. Well, unless one counted her criminally cheery disposition and her ability to know exactly what was going through his head at any given time. Still, there were times he wanted to rant and attack. Which was so not him, he had no idea what was wrong.

 At least these times were becoming fewer; instead, he decided to focus on the positive moments. Like the heart-to-heart they’d had on the ride back from Cambridge that somehow calmed his jangled nerves. Or the nice quiet lunch they’d shared enjoying each other’s company. And now, dinner. Well, dinner once he pulled himself together and went downstairs to start the Bolognese sauce.

 Tom rubbed his wet hair one last time with his towel and hung it up to dry in the bathroom, then combed his fingers through his curls and pushed his glasses on his face. The achy muscles in his lower back and shoulders screamed with protest, and he cursed recently giving up the weightlifting regimen he’d been on since filming The Night Manager. He was still strong, but he was sure if he’d kept on some of that muscle, he wouldn’t have hurt as much after this morning’s workout.

 Maybe Marigold had something for it. She had the power to obliterate hangovers and heal a cut with no evidence—some sore muscles ought to be no problem for her. Right?

 With that thought, he quickly dressed in jeans and a Henley before making his way downstairs.

 He’d heard her turn on some kind of music as he’d stepped into the shower, but it was too muffled to make out the words or what type exactly from his location in the house and with the water running. Now, he could hear acoustic songs clearly floating throughout the lower level, piped through what must have been hidden speakers. Her renovator did a bang-up job, because he hadn’t noticed any evidence of ambient speakers in the walls.

 Tom stopped at the passage from the formal dining room into the kitchen and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest to watch her. The orientation of the kitchen allowed him ample opportunity to do it, too, as she was turned away from the entry.

 Marigold hummed quietly along to the music as she flitted around the kitchen like it was second nature to her. A flower-patterned apron protected her clothing, but a smudge of flour on her cheek showed she’d probably tried pushing away a bit of hair that had fallen in her eyes at some point. She focused her attention on measuring out some ingredients, but other ones she eyeballed, grabbing a large wooden spoon to stir the thick batter in her glass bowl. She wasn’t some beginner, that he knew from their first breakfast and the pancakes and bacon she’d made, but this confirmed for him that her talents and familiarity with potions extended well beyond medicinal herbs. What had she called it? Kitchen witchcraft? Whether it was the salve from earlier or the cookie batter now, she seemed to be weaving a spell—a spell that entranced him.

 A smile tugged at his lips, coming from a sudden and unexpected warmth in his chest. It squeezed something inside him, stole his breath away, and forced gooseflesh to rise on his skin. Somehow, it seemed right to be standing there, watching and admiring her as she wiggled around the kitchen. He’d never found her more appealing than he did right at that moment, though he’d never had any particular predilection for women assuming traditional, nurturing roles—or a kink that involved watching them do it. But right then, some caveman hindbrain of his sat at full attention. And again, the unwelcome stirring in his groin made him squeeze his eyes shut and will away his traitorous thoughts.

 “Oh, hey,” she finally said, breaking his concentration.

 He opened his eyes. Marigold stood in the middle of the kitchen, holding a silver teaspoon in her fingers. Her head was cocked to the side, eyes squinting as though she were trying to figure something out, perhaps trying to understand why he was leaning against a wall with his arms crossed and his eyes closed.

 Tom straightened and cleared his throat, fidgeting with his clothing. “Hi.”

 “You look better,” she said, turning back to her work. “I mean, not that you don’t always look good. Just less frazzled.”

 “I feel better,” he replied, then winced as he moved. “You wouldn’t happen to have anything for sore muscles, would you?”

 Marigold darted a glance at him, a wicked smile twisting her lips. “Are you asking for conventional treatment or something of the more witchy variety?”

 “Uh, anything?”

 “Have I made a believer out of you?” she prodded.

 Tom sighed. “The jury’s out.”

 “Even after everything?”

 He shrugged and stepped beside her, resting a hip against the countertop. “How about I say that I believe in you?”

 “In… me?”

 “I’m not ready to be conclusive about anything,” he replied. “But I believe in you. Whether it’s because you know the perfect herbal combinations for medicine, or if it’s magic, you have some sort of ability I don’t understand. I believe in you, if not magic.”

 She sucked in a breath and stopped stirring.  She turned to him, mirroring his pose with a hip against the countertop. “I suppose that’s better than nothing.”

 He hoped it was even better than the best. Wasn’t that what all this was about? Hadn’t she accused him of having a fundamental lack of trust? Well, it was coming back to him. And he realized that he could trust her, whether magic was real or not. She wasn’t trying to hurt him in any form. Shouldn’t it mean more to her that he was willing to trust her, alone?

 “But, unfortunately, I don’t have anything I can give you right now,” she said. “I don’t use paracetamol or anything because I usually make my own herbal alternatives—I haven’t had the opportunity to restock.”

 He groaned. “It’s okay. It’s not that bad. I was just curious.”

 Marigold smiled and dipped the silver teaspoon in the batter. She handed it to him. “Try this.”

 “Are there raw eggs?” he asked.

 “I’ve been eating cookie dough with raw eggs in it since I was a little girl, and you know how many times I’ve got sick?” she questioned. “None. Live a little. You’ll be fine.”

 Tom chuckled and considered the chunks of chocolate in the brown-colored batter. “At least I know where to find you if I do get sick.”

 “Should I have you go draw up a final will, just in case?” she asked.

 He stuck the spoon in his mouth and closed his eyes. As the self-styled pudding king, he’d had his fair share of sweets throughout his life. Even pilfered the odd batter-covered utensil from his mother’s baking. Nothing had ever tasted this good when it wasn’t even the final product—and they were only chocolate chip biscuits. Maybe it was a left-over effect brought on by the funny warmth from a little bit ago. He couldn’t decide.

 “That’s decadent,” he murmured, swallowing and smacking his lips.

 She nodded her head resolutely, took the spoon from his fingers and tossed it in the sink. “Good. I like unbiased critics.”

 He laughed. “I wouldn’t call myself particularly unbiased. Any sweet is a good sweet.”

 Marigold flicked her eyes to his briefly, but quickly turned around and focused her attention on doling out even mounds of batter on a baking sheet. “Anyway, yeah, I don’t have anything made, but I can whip something up.”

 “You don’t have to,” he said.

 She sighed. “But I want to.”

 “Well, okay,” he replied.

 Marigold grabbed a completed tray and walked across the kitchen to stick it into the top oven. She set the timer and turned around. “You have a choice, though.”

 He frowned. That didn’t sound good. “A… choice?”

 She nodded and continued doling out mounds of batter onto another tray. “A choice. I can make a tea for you, somewhat like the hangover one I brewed, but there’s a chance it won’t be as effective as the second option.”

 “What’s the second option?”

 Why did he know he wasn’t going to like this?

 “Like I demonstrated earlier,” she said, “by using the oil and pressing my hand to yours, I healed your cut. Right?”

 “I guess. Yes.”

 Marigold blinked. “I can give you a massage, which will accomplish the same thing with your poor muscles.”

 “Will it burn?” he asked.

 “Maybe,” she replied.

 Who was he kidding? Of course it would burn, but not because of some reaction to the herbs or to her magic. It would burn because the last thing on earth he needed was for her delicate hands to be rubbing all over his body. He wasn’t sure he could handle that and still maintain the level of decency he swore to uphold this weekend. Not because he was going to impugn her work, but because he’d narrowly made it out of the office earlier this morning with his dignity intact. This was a bad idea. No, not bad. Horrible.

 There were too many reasons why he shouldn’t do this.

 And yet, he said, as clear as day, “Okay.”

 “After dinner,” she said. “I need to finish here, and you’re liable to fall asleep on me during the massage. You’re not getting out of making me dinner.”

 Tom held up his hands. “Wouldn’t dream of it, darling.”

 Darling? Darling? Where the bloody hell had that come from? He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ignore his momentary lapse.

 Marigold glanced at him again, curiosity in her gaze as her lips twitched into a small smile. “You’re sure about the massage?”

 “I said I was, didn’t I?” Maybe it came out a little more clipped than he’d intended.

 “I’m only making sure,” she said.  She finished a third tray, and left that one alone while she waited for the other two ovens to finish cooking the previous two trays. “Let me just get this stuff cleaned up and then you can get in here to get started. Then I’m going to go have a bath. I feel like I’m covered in dust from moving everything in.”

 He held a hand out, stopping her with a touch on her arm. He couldn’t control himself or his sudden urge to touch her. “I’ll wash up for you.”

 Marigold shook her head. “Nah, it’s okay. I’ve got to wait for the cookies to be done, anyway.”

 “I can take care of those,” he said. “Believe it or not, I do know what cooked biscuits should look like.”

 “I have no doubt,” she replied, worrying her lower lip with her teeth for a second. “Okay, fine. The last tray goes in for ten minutes. If the cookies in there don’t look golden brown, give it another minute or two, but watch them carefully. These are new ovens, I don’t know how they cook just yet.”

 “No problem.”

 Marigold laughed and reached behind her to undo the apron tie on her lower back. She lifted off the apron, held it in her hands, then looked up at him.  Standing on her tip toes, her arms were just long enough to drop the neck hole around his head. He let her do it, simply because he was momentarily disarmed by the fact that she smelled of warm sugar and vanilla and the scent shot straight to the pleasure center of his brain. Tom licked his lips, wondering if she might taste as sweet as she smelled.

 She stepped back. “Turn.”

 He did, presenting his back to her. He felt her tug at the waist and fiddle with the tie on his lower back.  When she was done, she stepped back again and admired her handiwork. A laugh played on her face, lighting her eyes and making a pink warmth rise in her cheeks. Tom held his arms out and spun around for effect.

 “So… how do I look?”

 “Perfect.” She giggled. “Though I’d pay money to see you in the one Luke gave you.”

 Tom lifted a brow at her. “Oh? You like the ridiculously over-tanned, huge jock type guy on it?”

 “No.” She shook her head. “I prefer lean guys with glasses who are always ready with a quippy Shakespeare quote.”

 Okay, now he knew she was just playing with him. Right? Like earlier? But when he looked at her again, she didn’t seem at all teasing, despite the lightness of her words. There was something else there, something he wasn’t sure he was ready for. They could barely stand each other when he’d come knocking on her door last night—how could it be so different now?

 Tom cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses. “Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind?”

 Laughter burst from Marigold. “My point exactly.”

 He shrugged. “Go. I’ve got this handled. I mean, you gave me the official chef apron and everything.”

 “Do you want me to shut the music off?” she asked.

 “If music be the food of love, play on,” he retorted.

 Marigold rolled her eyes and laughed again. “I’m sorry I said anything. Geez.”

 “I’m only getting warmed up.”

 “That’s what I’m afraid of,” she teased. “Alright good luck with the cookies.”

 With that, she waved him off and left quickly through the kitchen, through the dining room, until he couldn’t see her any more.  Tom rested back against the countertop again, going over their whole conversation again. None of this made any sense whatsoever to him. How could it be so good, and yet, at times, so maddening to be around her? There was no logical explanation for anything like this. He’d never had this sort of trouble figuring out another person…

 Or understanding his own feelings about the other person.

 The oven timer dinged and he groaned. He couldn’t really afford to think about it all right now, as there were cookies to bake and dinner to make. And lord knew he’d never live it down if he let his mind wander too far down that road and he spoiled dinner by burning it. Of this, he was certain.  Besides, he wanted to impress her with his culinary skills, anyway…

 Even if he didn’t know why.

[sicklylittlesnowflake]

Can I have sick Bones please? The Doctor getting sick but refusing to leave his post because he's the Chef Medical Officer and people need him and the rest of the crew have to get him to take a break because he needs caring for too. Thank you, you're amazing!

(I’ve actually never written Star Trek before, but wanted to try it out because I love these characters!! I’ve only started watching the original series, so this is mostly based on the JJ Abrams current movies! Also sorry this is a little short, I’m trying to get used to writing ST!! Hopefully that’s cool with you!!)

It had been a very long two weeks.

The first incident was some strange plant that had caused some weird rash on Sulu–and Bones had spent the whole night researching and trying to find the proper way to treat it. Needless to say he hadn’t gotten any sleep.

The next was Scotty contracting some alien disease–and of course, Bones spent several days healing the man. It had been a pretty violent illness too–causing him to feel very drained afterwards.

Literally the moment Scotty recovered–Uhura and Spock both came in with severe injuries they had gotten from the previous mission. It took some time to heal them too.

As Bones exhaustedly collapsed on his hair as he discharged Spock and Uhura, he heard faint coughing and a light scolding voice in the distance. He sighed in exasperation as Sulu dragged a sick Chekov into sickbay.

Just when he thought everything had gone wrong, of course, of course, Jim had to throw himself into a reckless situation and put himself into critical condition. Of course.

As he checked Jim’s vitals one last time for the night, he began to cough softly into his sleeve, the sound sounding very chesty and it felt weird on his chest. But he couldn’t rest–there was still work to do.

Bones sat himself down by his desk, opening the lamp by it and beginning to work away when he heard some feet shuffling. “Great,” he thought.

“Doktor?” Chekov’ voice rang out; just a tad still raspy from his flu a few days ago.

“Chekov, I swear to god I will throw a rampage if yet another person is sick of injured,” He said a little too bitterly than he intended, not looking up from his work.

“N-no, sir. I just brought you some tea–if you would like zat–”

Bones’s heart melted, and he looked up to see the anxious teenager fiddling with a mug–his favourite mug–and what smelled like his favourite tea. He softened a little.

“..That’s..very kind, Mr.Chekov. You can set it over here,” He said warmly, managing a smile despite the throbbing pain in his temples.

After setting it down the Russian boy turned to leave, and as he was about to leave he turned around, looking worried.

“Doktor? Vill you please get some rest tonight? You always take care of us..but never yourself,” Chekov asked, a little nervously.

Bones sighed, about to snap at the kid and tell him that he had no choice, that everyone needed him, that he couldn’t just take a rain check, but he had a soft spot for the kid.

“I will, Pavel, in a little while.”

“Dobroy nochi.”

Bones didnt like lying to Chekov–but last night he did. He stayed up all night tending to Jim–worried out of his mind for the reckless man, and doing all sorts of other work. He coughed harshly into his sleeve, the sound awfully chesty and deep. He rummaged around, checking on Jim and whatnot when Uhura walked in.

“I just came to check on–Doctor?! Oh my, you look..”

She came closer to him and gently placed a hand on his face, bringing it towards her so she could see. Bones’s reflexes were awfully slow due to his illness, and was too slow to immediately swat Uhura’s hand away.

She frowned, “You’re really warm! This isn’t good–you have to stop working so hard!”

“But I–”

“What seems to be the problem, Uhura?” Spock asked, waking calmly into sickbay.

“Dr McCoy here is very sick, and I am currently trying to get him to rest,”

“Why? Is he not cooperating with you? But why not? It is highly illogical to be harming one’s body in order to be of service for someone else’s, then the effort is not at its maximum potential,”

“Exact–”

Uhura was cut off by Bones’s sudden coughing fit–the fit seeming to last an eternity. His coughs were harsh and painful, doubling him over and he was forced to balance himself on a nearby table. Soon Uhura was rubbing his back softly.

Once he finished, Bones turned back to whatever he was doing, “I am just fine! Leave me alone, now!”  

Just as he finished his sentence, the world began to spin as if he was on some trippy amusement park ride and he stumbled, and Scotty, who was now there apparently, caught him.

“Aye, the lad’s after coming down with something, here now, help me bring him to a bed, Spock,” Scotty said gently, helping Bones over to a bed despite his protests.

“I can’t–” Bones hissed from under the covers.

“Why?” Scotty challenged.

“Because I have to be taking care of everyone else–I can’t rest, it’s not like I don’t want to, but I have to–everyone’s depending on me..”

“Exactly, Doctor, people depend on you. To be you–healthy you, you need to take care of yourself. You can’t have the whole world on your shoulders–let us help you, all of us? We’re all willing, we want to help you. So please, take a rest, doctor,” Uhura said kindly, tucking him into the covers.

“She is correct, Doctor McCoy. In order for you to be at your best standard, you must ensure to maintain proper and efficient self care,” Spock commented.

“Oh, shut the fuck up, Spock,” Bones teased, albeit a little weakly, and soon after was drifting off into a long sleep.

“So, I’m the impossible one,” Jim’s loud voice boomed out.

Bones winced, his headache still present, “Sorry, could you be any louder? I’m afraid that your whispers are practically inaudible!”

“Sorry,” Jim apologised sheepishly, walking up to Bones’s bed and sitting down next to him.

“You shouldn’t be up, Jim, when did you wake up?” He asked, sitting up only for Jim to push him down and stick a tongue out.

“Nuh uh, you are getting some rest, big guy. I woke up a few hours ago–Spock and Uhura are keeping me captive but I managed to escape to see my Prince Charming,” he teased.

“Oh, fuck the fuck off, James Tiberius Kirk,” Bones groaned, rubbing at his temples, before erupting into an intense coughing fit.

Jim helped him to sit up before handing him a glass of water to down. He sighed.

“You really are sick, aren’t you?..Listen, I’m really sorry for worrying you, Bones.”

“Well, ya sure did–”

“Dude, but you’ve gotta start taking care of yourself too–in all honesty, not as good as taking care of other people as you. I’m helpless in this situation and I hate seeing you like this.”

Bones smirked, “..Did you just..admit..I’m better than you..?”

Jim hissed and lightly hit Bones on the arm, getting up and rolling his eyes before walking to leave, and just before he did he turned back and gave Bones a soft smile.

“..Hope you feel better, Bones.”

[circular-time]

Spare Parts Liveblog 6 - Disc 2 

Dinner break! Okay, the Doctor and Nyssa leave after the ep 1 cliffhanger, and they never get into any trouble at all. JUST KIDDING.....

Track 2.1 “Necessary Force”

Part Two opens with something that’s a stock scene in new Who, but rare in classic Who, especially with Nyssa of all people:  the companion and Doctor in a shouting match. I remember when Tegan was dissed by many fans because bossy/outspoken women were not popular. Then again, she did it all the time; Nyssa saves it for special occasions.

“And if you won’t get involved, then I must stay behind and do it by myself” —Nyssa

Every time I hear this bit, I cheer and wince all at once.

Never forget that Nyssa. Has. GUTS. The moment she realizes it’s the homeworld of the Cybermen, after she’s seen just how miserable and horrible and hopeless life is there, and knows she’ll probably die of starvation or consumption or be carved up for spare parts— that is where she, child of privilege who grew up in an idyllic paradise, decides to end her days. To help. Which is the sort of thing she does: she did it on Terminus. Big Finish keeps hammering home this basic aspect of her character.

While fighting, she and the Doctor run smack dab into the recurring dilemma of Doctor Who: you want to help, and you have a time machine, but you can’t alter history. Nyssa: I want to give these people some hope! I want to stop the Cybermen from coming into existence! Doctor: Yes, very laudable, but you can’t do it on your own! You’re not an army! You can’t turn the whole of history around on a sixpence! Nyssa: I’ve seen you do it!

(Again, Nyssa has guts, and  also, long before Clara was doing it, Nyssa had a very dangerous habit of trying to be Just Like the Doctor). 

The whole scene is so well-acted by Peter and Sarah. Chills down spine.

Also we get a chance to hear them face their pain about Adric’s death at the hands of the Cybermen, something Earthshock and Time-Flight really didn’t address. 

[Doctor talks about running after disasters with a stretcher.]

“A pity that didn’t occur to you before when it came to sacrificing Adric!” Ouch, Nyssa. Ouch. [she’s still mad they didn’t run after Adric with a stretcher.]

Which gives her an additional motive for wanting to stop the Cybermen from coming into existence: it will save Adric’s life.  Oh, Nyssa. 

Doctor, after she finally lashes out: “So much that never gets said. Bound to boil over sooner or later.” Yeah, with scriptwriters who actually think about the story’s impact on the characters.

However, they are very dear friends and rational people, and by the time Nyssa’s collected her belongings to leave, they’ve both cooled down; Nyssa apologises for that barb. 

And the Doctor honors her wishes and lets her go. 

Or would have done, if she hadn’t mentioned bringing a cybermat into the TARDIS. At which point he goes all angry-squeaky-Five:

YOU BROUGHT A CYBERMAT INTO MY TARDIS!!!!!!

oops. 

Track 2.2 “The Thousand Natural Shocks”

Oh FINALLY. I had a huge crush on this badass lady when she played a space pirate and crack pilot on Blake’s 7: 

(hooray for farrah fawcett hair) 

So I’m stoked that Sally Knyvette playing Doctorman Allan, the morally-grey-area scientist developing the Cybermen.

She’s cynical. She defies the Committee and laughs when she hears about the Doctor’s troublemaking— she’s about the only person with enough privilege/power to risk thinking for herself.  She’s alcoholic (because Mondas is too horrible to deal with sober— and so is her conscience). She really is trying to save her people, but she’s got a brutal way of doing it: turning the weak and sick into a cyber-workforce to serve the strong. Eugenics ahoy. And she’s too damn proud of her creations, a standard Ethically Challenged Scientist trope. 

She teases Sisterman Constant at every opportunity, making fun of her hypocrisy, (e.g. calling the Hartleys her “patients” when they’re just terrorized citizens). Sisterman Constant is a religious type, but actually she’s just another version of the secret police.

So anyway, we get Allan’s first scene treating “crewmen” from the surface and arguing with the Sisterman.

When I first listened, I had trouble with of “-man” used as a suffix to denote profession. A Sisterman is a nun (Constant prays to the “sky above” at one point, their heaven), a Doctorman is a doctor, an Electriman is an electrician, and so on. Sounds odd, but then so does the universal “he.” 

I also appreciate how many female characters are major players in this story, typical of Big Finish especially when Gary Russell was director. They don’t fall into stereotypical villain/victim female roles. (While Yvonne is a victim, she has a rather atypical part to play too.)

Got to meet Sally Knyvette a few years ago at a signing in Barking, but alas I took the worst picture AND stuck my foot right down my throat. Ah well. Good thing is that actors meet so many fans they’ll forget your foolishness.

(still with the great hair, damn her) 

Track 2.3 “Onto the Carpet”

Back in the TARDIS, testy!Doctor is frantic about the cyber-pest loose in his TARDIS. Just as bitterness about Adric’s death made Nyssa lash out at the Doctor, Nyssa endangering his TARDIS makes him lash out at her.

And go all squeaky. Of course.

He blows up at her, but once the Cybermat shorts out and she’s apologized again, he apologizes as well. Typical deflection: he rather awkwardly asks her to see what she can do to fix the damage: “Please, take a look. You’re good at this sort of thing. I’m going out for some fresh air.” 

Exactly as he used to do when Tegan got under his skin and he needed to calm down. Have I mentioned how good Platt is at capturing the nuances my favorite TARDIS team? 

Except this is the moment when the Doctor makes a FATAL mistake: HE GETS INVOLVED and leaves Nyssa, who is not going to stay safely put for very long. (And I note that it is partly Nyssa’s fault he gets involved, and/or her compassion makes things more difficult. See also: Creatures of Beauty, Emerald Tiger, trying to rescue the Doctor in Masquerade and screwing up the interface, etc.) 

Scene jump to Doctorman Allan arguing with the ominously robotic voice of the Committee. She wants to slow down their Cybermen program and try to improve the process to save lives. The Committee, ignoring her pleas, decide the city is consuming too many resources and must be shut down. Why look after the interests of the people you represent when you could just eliminate them? 

A parable of Tories shutting down UK social services over the past 20 odd years? Not sure, but the GOP is voting on Trumpcare in the US this week.

Allan: “What could possibly be more important than saving people?!”  Committee: “We. must. survive.” 

Every time i hear a new Who Cyberman say “delete” or “upgrade,” I shake my head. They just don’t have the Scary Motto down like their predecessors. 

Outside the TARDIS, the Doctor finds a Cyberman, Allan’s drone. I think it was Platt’s idea to make them used for surveillance.

Frank shows up at the TARDIS to inform Nyssa that Dad Hartley is all sad; his daughter’s been called up for the work crews. Again, tying into Nyssa’s backstory; she knows what it’s like to lose a family member (and she guesses Yvonne’s being cyber-converted). Whereas Frank’s oblivious and angry he didn’t get what he thinks is a glamorous, well-paying job.

He’s been pretty angry and self-centered through the story so far. Then again he lost his mom pretty recently, so he’s suppressing grief. 

Track 2.4  - “Bones to Pick” 

Act II means taking action, although not necessarily effective. The Doctor is upset that the riot he started last night seems to have died off. 

He wants to stir up the resistance some more. (Not realizing the cost they’ll pay, or else knowing the cost will be 100% fatal if they don’t do something soon.) This time he’s trying to draw attention to the graverobbing by hijacking a lorry and scattering its shipment of bones all over the street. I love his pre-smart-device kettle and ball of string approach to grave danger, although it doesn’t always work. 

Meanwhile the Committee’s decided to cyber-convert the remaining population. Or at least that’s what Allan guesses. She’s drinking to keep from thinking. Sisterman Constant, selfish git, says the Selectors (the nuns) should be exempt; they’re the ones who choose “recruits” to be processed, making them elite. Whereas Allan can read the writing on the wall.

Track 2.5 - “Processing Credit”

Poor Yvonne. Constant blesses her while sending her to the slaughter. The victims being taken for Cyber-processing have their clothes stripped, exactly like prisoners in Nazi interment camps. Deny them their humanity before taking it away, whee.

Scene switches to the Committee (one thing I don’t like about BF -- too many modulated weird voices I have trouble understanding). Moment of doom (if it wasn’t before): They’re recalling Commander Jeng from the surface to take over. Military coup in progress.

But bringing Jeng down endangers the project on the surface, which has hit a critical juncture: radiation’s really high; laborers die off quickly, They’re caught on the horns of an impossible dilemma, and unfortunately a soulless Committee with no compassion is in charge of choosing. Sound familiar?

At LAST. Back to Dodd, disreputable rogue, being mean to Mr. Hartley who’s signing away his own organs just so he can feed his son.. Mondas is so horrible.

Mr. hartley passes the Doctor on the way out. Tells him Nyssa will make a good doctor, considering how she helped him. 

“Oh, really?” the Doctor says, a bit dubious. But she will, in both senses: as a doctor on Terminus and, once she’s older, she starts behaving more and more like him. (Jupiter Conjunction, Mistfall, Entropy Plague to name a few examples.) 

But that’s to come. Now the Doctor is pestering Dodd again.

Track 2.6 - “Taking Stock” (the track names on this audio are great) 

The Doctor wants Dodd to help him break into the Committee’s central HQ. Dodd has other ideas, involving locking him in a freezer with the other spare parts.

Meanwhile Nyssa handily beats off a swarm of Cybermats with her nerdy smarts, electrocuting them.

Frank: It worked! Amazing! Nyssa: Not really. But worryingly satisfying. 

She’s a gentle soul. Usually.

Sure enough, the Doctor’s been gone too long, so Nyssa grabs some food to go help Mr. Hartley. 

Doom. Doom. Doom. JUST STAY IN THE TARDIS.

___________

Poor Yvonne. We get to hear her final moments as a human, begging for her Dad. Heartbreaking. Ugh: sound of a dentist’s drill just to trip all the horror nerves.

“You will join us. We are the future.”

Again, the Cybermen in this story are so much scarier than shiny robots saying “delete” and “upgrade.”

Because they are like the Borg— long before the Borg— people being assimilated into walking corpses. No wonder Death in Heaven tried to bring back this aspect of them, remind us what’s inside the armor. 

____________

Doctor escapes Dodd and a random Cyber-policeman, and promptly tries to steal the guy’s horse. Using his Tristan credentials, the Doctor tries talk to the beastie.

Shades of Black Beauty in this bit, I think, although I haven’t read it in so long I’m not sure. “the whips are hard, the feed stale....” 

Alas he doesn’t succeed in escaping; Allan rescues him from being executed, but requisitions him.

Track 2.7 “A Cracking Holiday”

Poor Mr. Hartley is in shock after losing Yvonne a second time, watching her last shreds erased before his eyes.

I love the way Big Finish often uses the sound of a teakettle going off as a sort of shorthand alarm: it’s warning of imminent danger, but the heroes are being too British and Keeping Calm and Carrying on 

And now everything goes to hell. The power cuts out, the Cyber recruits escape in the confusion, the roof cracks, the lights go out, the cyber-police are trying to herd everyone into the Committee Palace for processing, and rioting breaks out— it’s apocalyptic.

Amazing how an audio with just a few voices and sound effects can suggest the death throes of an entire world... this  hollow, terrifying world, the claustrophobic city in a cavern. It’s epic. 

Because our imaginations are still a damnsight scarier than CGI.

DOO WEE OO.