#write what the want without the need to be extremely specific and idealistic in a harmful way

[swallowerofdharma]

if you feel like sharing them, what are your thoughts on the current state of things between doumeki and yashiro?

Hi, I don’t mind sharing at all, only… I have felt a little disconnected from some comments on Yashiro when the last chapter was released and I wasn’t in the mood to write about it that much after that. From my own point of view, considering the actual amount of time Yashiro and Doumeki spent together after four years apart, things have been moving almost too quickly in between the various encounters that at first they needed to justify as “work related” and now with this new arrangement. They are keeping themselves hidden, they don’t want to show vulnerabilities to each other and they are creating a climate of half truths and deception and caution that is unnerving to say the least. And they are suffering because of that. The control also has shifted quite considerably lately and Doumeki has more power than he realizes and his actions consequences he isn’t able to foresee. But if I am being honest, I might be frustrated by the situation, but at the same time I understand it by a storytelling standpoint and from the characters’ perspectives: who they are, in what sets of circumstances they find themselves in. I appreciate the realism and coherence of their behavior. It would frustrate me much much more if they were to sit down and discuss their feelings, or if the author was spoon feeding the readers with some sappy solutions, kiss and go to the pride parade. I would taste the added sugar or edulcorates in my drink and spit it out immediately. I don’t really read this story to see a “happy ending” (both types), I read because it describes what trauma does to people in a manner that makes sense to me and doesn’t hide how hard it is to trust and connect meaningfully with people even when there is attraction or affection or loyalty. Personally, I am willing to read between the lines, and I see how they are repeating their words to each others back and forth to probe and see which one will take a step forward and admit that what they are doing isn’t exactly what they really want things to be. The story doesn’t work if the readers take the characters and whatever they say at face value, without looking deeper, behind the surface.

They aren’t honest because they’re afraid and if anything else I would expect fear. From Yashiro is the deepest emotion he has been carrying within himself and it’s so deeply tied to the feelings of love and loss, that is painful to see. For Doumeki is the fear of being rejected and discarded and left adrift again. I think that building instead an external situation making them confront the lies they have been feeding each other is good writing. I am not in a rush, because most of all I want the story to be believable and I don’t necessarily need comfort or fast closure or anything like that. I want these characters to be flawed because they went through hurtful things and live in a bad environment and they aren’t supposed to act like any idealistic version of themselves in my opinion. This is the story I like to read, and I think the pacing has been very good.

I have always felt a personal connection to Yashiro and I am treating him and his flavor of pain like I would have liked to be treated myself, with compassion, and this is why this story has been cathartic for me. I am willing to see what will happen but I don’t wish for things being forced upon Yashiro beyond what it is the necessary critical point that brings the willingness to change direction or unmask oneself on one’s own terms. The situation is extremely delicate right now. I didn’t expect that much attention to Yashiro’s own homophobia either, going into this story, but maybe I should have, Saezuru is always raising the bar. I think it’s amazing, to be honest, that this story is showing some specific aspects of Yashiro’s childhood trauma, as a person who never found an answer for myself: how much what happened to you as a child, without you having any choice, really changed the course of your life, derailed it to such an extent that you can’t even be sure about who you are, who you were and what the other version of yourself, the one nothing too bad happened to could have become, now a ghost haunting you. Are we maybe likely to built up a version of normality and innocence that adheres to common social norms and expectations, including heteronormativity, and if so is this why we feel like we are never going to measure up? Falling in love hurts when you don’t know how to trust yourself or the other person, when nothing feels like it has any foundation or security. So I empathized with Yashiro and I felt that last page with the rain, especially since Doumeki seems like another person (I don’t think we should buy into either of these characters’ deceptions tho). It feels like these two are standing in each other’s blind spot so successfully at the moment.

[steven-has-exploded]

ive yet to really see anyone else point this out but i think fyodor is going to end up being one of the most gut-wrenchingly unstable and sympathetic (to ME atleast) characters in bsd. what i perceive as foreshadowing for this has all been pretty vague, but thats really only further ammunition considering the way asagiri likes to write via throwing the wildest shit at us out of nowhere at 50mph and expecting us to deal with it. how did i first come to this conclusion? harukawas eye thing

this is going to be long please proceed with caution if you read slowly or just not at literal supersonic speed. rant under cut u know how this works

for those unaware or who have since forgotten the exact details, here is the image explaining harukawas thing with eyes, click to read;

so. fyodors eyes are usually very light, which a few other people have pointed out is probably due to the fact he genuinely believes his goal of ridding the world of abilities is following gods will; almost everything he does is a necessary evil to acheive the idealistic dream of a world without abilities. he understands his actions are wrong, but you cant go through with a goal such as that without doing morally reprehensible things in the process. anws so as user wildflowerteas pointed out his eyes are extremely dark after hes resurrected

now, could this just be signifying that fyodor can now continue doing his fucked up little deeds via his functional immortality? yes. but asagiri doesnt seem to write that way and i need an excuse to defend fyodor because im insane

asagiri generally doesnt write characters, especially important ones, as subscribing to one specific side of the moral compass. sure, there are characters that are more morally good or bad or gray than others, but not every one of their actions is as such. characters arent straight heroes or villains in their actions, and sometimes not even narratively; fitzgerald did everything for his wife to finally be happy and see her daughter again, dazai still trained akutagawa the way he did despite knowing it was abusive because his circumstances couldnt allow him to change before oda died, et cetera

so, lets interpret it another way. fyodors eyes being dark after resurrection may not be a reflection of his sinister personality, but rather the way he views and experiences his own countless deaths. he is purified in death and tainted when hes brought back; at peace in his last moments and destroyed when hes alive again. so what conclusion did this realization bring me to? fyodor is a suicidal maniac and hates his ability hear me out Please

in hindsight it seems really obvious to me now; what other reason could have spurred him on to try to desperately to erase abilities if not because he himself despises his own? his ability is truly the purest act of cruelty someone can experience when driven to the point he has been; it lets him bask in the calm of death, the comfort of everything finally ending, the solace that hes going to be finally rewarded for his actions by god. but only for a moment. once that moment is over, hes torn back into the world of the living, in the body of his own killer, the corpse of his last vessel staring him in the face as if to mock him for what he could never have. it deprives him of the human right to even die. what kind of person who claims to love all humanity wouldnt want to free the world of abilities, if others' have caused them as much pain as his has to him?

okok i apologize for making u hear me wax poetic about an anime twink version of fyodor dostoevsky but if youre still not convinced, which is ok i can see why this would be very insane to someone who isnt obsessed with this guy, i want you to just imagine for a moment how living with that kind of power would effect you. while we dont know fyodors exact age, we can assume that hes been alive for at least about 500 years due to his ability. fyodor isnt some kind of immortal being that has a conveniently human form, he is an actual human being who was first murdered presumably just in his twenties based on his appearance, who then had to slowly come to the realization that he will experience small spots of death before having to continue the same cycle of immortality for forever. human beings cant grasp the concept of infinity; our brains arent wired to deal with the idea, because everything in our own lives comes to an end. fyodor will never experience that. even if you view him as plain evil, pure and simple, no human being wishes to have their brain broken by the hands of infinity. and yet thats what fyodor is experiencing

[alleyskywalker]

🐅💖💛 for Jeyne Westerling, please

Oooh thank you!

🐅 - Characterization: character habits, personality, etc.

I see/headcanon Jeyne as this mixture of sweet, romantic, idealistic and compassionate on one hand, but also passionate, headstrong, stubborn and maybe a bit selfish in certain respects on the other. I don't really see her as ambitious or interested in politics though. In my headcanon(s), that's more her sister.

💖 - Romantic relationships or ships. (This could be as simple as sharing a rareship you enjoy, or an unusual interpretation of a popular/canon ship!)

Hmm I don't know that I have a lot of Jeyne ships. I've enjoyed shipping her with Sansa! I do kinda ship her with Robb, tbh? But the thing is I definitely don't see this as either 1) a completely one-sided relationship or 2) a perfect non-problematic relationship as tends to be the two most common interpretations I've seen.

Without writing a whole ass meta here (lol) there's too components of my opinion here. First, while I think it's reasonable to assume that duty and wanting to do the right thing played a role in Robb's decision to marry Jeyne, I reject the notion that that's all it was. I see no reason to take his talk to duty at face value but not his super sappy "I conquered her castle and she conquered my heart." Like please, that's a cringe, goo-ey teenage infatuation if I've ever seen one. (Also, I'm sorry, but they fuck like rabbits on the daily. I know Robb needs an heir but this does not sound like someone who's not enjoying sex with his wife.) So yea, I think he was into her a lot, and wanting to keep her with him and also his feelings making him less willing to hurt her played a large part in in decision making as well as honor and duty considerations.

That said, Robb was kinda shitting to her and I think there's ample possible reason for this, everything from his initial infatuation fading somewhat to having to return to the war and all its stresses full time have put a damper on his ability/desire for romance if not his libido. (And it's not like Robb isn't ever kinda shitty toward other people he ostensibly loves/cares about...) I do think though, that had Robb survived the war, they could have ended up having a pretty happy marriage.

Second, this fandom really needs to recognize more how sketchy the circumstances around their first sexual encounter were. I'm not saying Jeyne didn't consent to the sex, but...it amazes me that people who easily recognize the coercive elements in the Criston/Rhaenyra scene don't see them here. The power imbalance is significant. Robb has conquered her home and his men are literally occupying it. Jeyne and her family are completely at his mercy. She doesn't really know him that well so it's hard for her to tell how he will/won't react to things (such as a sexual rejection). Robb absolutely has a temper, and if she ever witnessed it that would not have been comforting. Yes, she's attracted to him/infatuated or in love with him, but that's not really there or here when it comes to consent at any specific given moment. (Criston was attracted to Rhaenyra,, Cersei in love with Jaime - that didn't change the issues with those sex scenes.) Yes, Robb had recently been ill, but this is not a Petyr and Lysa situation frankly. Robb gives no indication of being confused about what had been happening or what they were doing. I'm also pretty sure no one was giving him war reports while he was high on milk of the poppy or whatever.

And again, I'm not saying she didn't say yes or want to... But also...that's kind of the point to. We don't know exactly what happened. Or really even any not extremely vague version. I'm sure Robb believes for every moment that she was into it. But this is less to say "it was definitely dubcon" and more like...I think this situation was more psychologically complicated than fandom has any desire to explore. (Weird in a fandom that looooves to talk about these issues. But then Robb's a Stark so what do I expect? lol) Personally, I enjoy some ambiguity there, a bit of uncertainty, a bit of confusion on Jeyne's part afterwards maybe. Because otherwise...how reckless, how selfish of her. And I don't want to be of that opinion of her.

(Literally, do not come at me with the "they drugged/seduced him" misogynistic conspiracy theories. I will sacrifice you to the Drowned God.)

💛 - Familial relationships.

I def have thoughts/feelings about Jeyne and her siblings! I think before her marriage/the Incident with Robb she was pretty close with all of them. Rollam is probably her most "surface" relationship - he's a lot younger and a boy, so they're not as close as she is with her sister and older brother, but it's also relatively straightforward and uncomplicated. That doesn't really change.

Eleyna is a more complex relationship - she's also a few years younger but them being sisters they have some more common interests/goals/environments/etc. Probably more of a complexity than their difference in age is their difference in personality. I hc Jeyne taking more after their father and Eleyna taking more after their mother. Eleyna is more practical and cynical, particularly for her age, less prone to romanticism and more prone to following the rules, or at least appearing to. But still being young this is also a bit sublimated with the naivete of childhood and such. She's far more ambitious than Jeyne. This all gets especially fraught after Jeyne gets involved with Robb. Eleyna does not take this well. She instinctively (and in part actually) understands the danger Jeyne's marriage puts their family in and the problems it will cause of Eleyna personally down the line, especially if Robb doesn't win. She also understands that if Jeyne's reputation is ruined her own could be impacted/questioned as well, especially when her prospects were already lower than Jeyne's, being the younger daughter. So she is extremely angry at Jeyne for what she considers to be her thoughtlessness and selfishness. So their relationship suffers not insignificantly.

Raynald I headcanon as like Jeyne's best friend. They're extremely close and while he's not sure how to feel about this whole allegiance switching thing generally and knows it's dangerous, he'll do pretty much anything for his sister's happiness.

[impalementation]

spike, angel, buffy & romanticism: part 3

part 1: “When you kiss me I want to die”: Angel and the high school seasons

part 2: “Love isn’t brains, children”: Enter Spike as the id

* 

“Something effulgent”: Season five and the construction of Spike the romantic

Prior to becoming a romantic interest, Spike is everything I discussed in the last section. He is an id and a mirror for Buffy, he’s prone to both romantic exaggeration and cutting realism, and his liminality suggests ambiguity. But outside of “Lovers Walk”, the writing doesn’t actually delve too deeply into Spike’s nature as a romantic. If you stopped the canon at “Restless”, you’d probably think that Spike’s love for Drusilla was intriguing, but that the show hadn’t really gone anywhere with the implications of it, and for all you knew, that might not be an important part of his character anymore. So one of the most interesting things about season five to me, is that in this season in which the writers first consciously, deliberately decide to explore the sexual and romantic tension between Spike and Buffy, they also emphasize Spike’s romanticism more than ever. The choice to define Spike by his romanticism is a choice that follows naturally from everything established about his character, but it was also not an inevitable choice. Therefore, it’s a choice worth looking at in some detail.

Consider everything that “Fool For Love” establishes about Spike, especially the things that contradict what was supposedly canon at the time. It makes Drusilla his sire instead of Angel, meaning that he is sired by a romantic connection, and as a direct result of heartbreak. It makes him a poet living in the middle of the Victorian era, an age at odds with his previous ages of “barely 200” and “126”. Meaning that the writing specifically decides to ignore its canon in order to associate him with an era in which passions would have been repressed (rather than the Romantic era of the early 1800’s or the modern energy of the early 1900’s). Moreover, the episode reveals his entire aesthetic and personality to essentially be a construct. But most tellingly of all, it reveals him to be an idealist. Spike is not just a performance artist; he yearns for the “effulgent”, for something “glowing and glistening” that the “vulgarians” of the world don’t understand. In other words, he yearns for something bigger and more beautiful than life: something romantic. Later, he chases after “death, glory, and sod all else.” Spike may be a “fool for love”, who has a romantic view of romantic love specifically, but the episode is very clear about the fact that he is also a romantic more generally. When Drusilla turns him, she doesn’t tempt him by telling him she’ll love him forever. She tempts him by offering him “something…effulgent”. (Which, in typical Spike form, the episode immediately undercuts by having him say “ow” instead of swooning romantically). The fact that “Fool For Love”, Spike’s major backstory episode, is so determined to paint him as a romantic--and in particular, a disappointed, frustrated romantic--that it is willing to contradict canon to do so, tells you that this choice was important for framing Spike and his new, ongoing thematic role.

I’ve talked in the past about how season five is all about the tension between the mythical and the mortal--between big, grand, sweeping narratives, and the reality of being human. Buffy is the Slayer, but she’s also just a girl who loses her mother. Dawn is the key, but she’s also just a confused and hormonal fourteen-year-old. Willow is a powerful witch, but she also just wants her girlfriend to be okay. Glory is a god, but she’s also a human man named Ben, and finds herself increasingly weakened by his emotions. And Spike embodies this tension perfectly. He’s a soulless vampire with a lifetime of bloodshed behind him, but he’s also this silly, human man who wants to love and be loved. He wants big, grand things, but every time they are frustrated by a Victorian society, a rejection, a chip, a pratfall, or dying with an “ow”. Furthermore, his season five storyline is all about the tension between loving in an exalted, yet often selfish way, versus loving in a “real” or selfless way. 

There was a fascinating piece a ways back that discussed how Spike’s attempts to woo Buffy in season five almost perfectly match the romantic narratives of Courtly Love. In the words of the author:

The term "Courtly Love" is used to describe a certain kind of relationship common in romantic medieval literature. The Knight/Lover finds himself desperately and piteously enamored of a divinely beautiful but unobtainable woman. After a period of distressed introspection, he offers himself as her faithful servant and goes forth to perform brave deeds in her honor. His desire to impress her and to be found worthy of her gradually transforms and ennobles him; his sufferings -- inner turmoil, doubts as to the lady's care of him, as well as physical travails -- ultimately lends him wisdom, patience, and virtue and his acts themselves worldly renown.

You can see for yourself how well that description fits Spike’s arc. He fixates on the torturous, abject nature of his love, and has it in his head that he can perform deeds and demonstrate virtue, and this will prove to Buffy that he is worthy of her. But despite Spike’s gradual ennobling over the course of the season, I think it would be a mistake to see the season as using the Courtly Love narrative uncritically, or even just ironically. The same way it would be a mistake to see season two as using the Gothic uncritically. Spike is as much Don Quixote as he is Lancelot. He is a character that deliberately tries to act out romantic tropes, giving the writing an opportunity to satirize those tropes, including the tropes of chivalric romance. In particular, the writing criticizes Spike’s (very chivalric) fixation on love as a personal agony, something that is more about pain--and specifically, his pain--than building a real relationship. Over and over in season five, he is forced to abandon these sorts of flattering romantic mindsets in favor of a more complicated reality. 

So at first, Spike’s “deeds” tend to be shallow and vaguely transactional. He tries to help Buffy in “Checkpoint” even though she doesn’t want it (and insults her when she doesn’t appreciate it), he asks “what the hell does it take?” when Buffy is unimpressed by him not feeding on “bleeding disaster victims” in “Triangle”, he rants bitterly at a mannequin when Buffy fails to be grateful to him for taking her to Riley in “Into the Woods”, and he is angry and confused when Buffy is unmoved by his offer to stake Drusilla in “Crush”. While these attempts to symbolically reject his evilness are startling for a soulless vampire, and although Spike certainly feels like he is fundamentally altering himself for Buffy’s sake, none of it is based on understanding or supporting Buffy in a way that she would actually find substantial. Moreover, he lashes out when his gestures fail to win her attention or affection. He has an idea in his head of how their romantic scenes should play out, and reacts petulantly when reality fails to live up to it. 

But these incidents of self-interested narrativizing are also continuously contrasted with scenes in which Spike reacts with real generosity, or is surprised when he realizes he’s touched something emotionally genuine. When Buffy seeks him out in “Checkpoint”, his mannerisms instantly change when he realizes she actually needs real help (“You’re the only one strong enough to protect them”), rather than the performed help he offered at the beginning of the episode. At the end of “Fool For Love” he’s struck dumb by Buffy’s grief, and his antagonistic posturing all evening melts away. He abandons his romantic vision of their erotic, life-and-death rivalry in favor of real, awkward emotional intimacy. In “Forever” he tries to anonymously leave flowers for Joyce, and reacts angrily when he’s denied—but this time not because he wanted something from Buffy. Simply because he wanted to do something meaningful. 

This contradictory behavior comes to a head in “Intervention”, the episode in which Spike finally begins to understand the difference between real and transactional generosity. Up until that point, Spike has been reacting both selfishly and unselfishly, but he hasn’t been able to truly distinguish between them, which is why he keeps repeating the same mistakes. Although he touches something real at the end of “Fool For Love”, for instance, he goes on to rifle through Buffy’s intimates in the very next episode. And so “Intervention” has Spike go to extremes of fakeness and reality. He gives up on having the real Buffy, and seeks out an artificial substitute that lets him live out his cheesiest romance novel scripts. It’s important that the Buffybot isn’t just a sexbot, even if he does have sex with her. She’s a bot he plays out romantic scenarios with the way he played them with Harmony in “Crush”, allowing him to almost literally live within a fiction. But then he “gives up” on having Buffy in a way that’s actually real, by offering up his life. He lets himself be tortured, and potentially killed, for no other reason than that to do otherwise would cause Buffy pain. The focus is on her pain, not his. For the first time, he acts like the Knight he’s been trying to be all along. He performs a grand, heroic deed that causes the object of his affection to see him in a different light, and even grant him a kiss. Yet ironically, as part of learning the difference between real and fake, he ceases to press for Buffy’s reciprocation. Through the end of season five, Spike continues to act the selfless Knight, assisting Buffy in her heroism without asking for anything in return. Which culminates in his declaration that he knows Buffy “will never love him”, even after he’s promised her the deed of protecting Dawn, and even though she allows a kind of intimacy by letting him back in her house. He proves that he sees those gestures for what they are, rather than in a transactional light. The irony of the way Spike fulfills the narrative of chivalric romance, is that his ennobling involves letting aspects of that narrative go. 

In a Courtly Love narrative, the object of the Knight’s affection is fundamentally pedestalized. The Knight himself might be flawed, but the woman he pines after is not. She is “divinely beautiful” and “unobtainable”, something above him and almost more than human. This is why it’s so comic that in Don Quixote, which was a direct satire of chivalric romance, Alonso Quixano’s “lady love” is a vulgar peasant farmgirl who has no idea who he is. (Think of the way Spike asks if Buffy is tough in “School Hard” or threatens to “take her apart” despite “how brilliant she is” in “The Initiative”, followed by scenes where Buffy is acting like the teenage girl she is. Or how Giles in “Checkpoint” says that Buffy has “acquired a remarkable focus” before cutting to Buffy yawning.). Although it’s true that Buffy is beautiful, and supernatural, and profoundly moral, she is also very human, and the writing is very concerned with that humanity. Season five in particular, as I’ve mentioned, is preoccupied with the duality of Buffy’s mythic and mortal nature. Thus it becomes significant that Buffy is assigned such a heightened role in Spike’s chivalric narrative. Just Spike is at once Lancelot and Don Quixote, Buffy is at once Achilles, Dulcinea, and a coming-of-age protagonist. 

And part of the “lesson” of Spike’s arc is for him to see both sides of the roles they embody. One of my favorite things about the scene in Buffy’s house in “The Gift” is how adroitly it conveys the dualities of both Buffy and Spike with simple, but poetic imagery and language. Buffy stands above Spike on her steps, conveying her elevated role, and Spike honors the way her heroic status has inspired him by physically looking up to her as he explains that he expects nothing from her. But by expecting nothing from her, and promising to protect her sister, he also honors the fact that she is a real person with no obligation to him, and a younger sister she cares about more than anything. He also honors his own duality by at once making Knightly promises, and acknowledging that he sees through his former delusions: “I know that I’m a monster, but you treat me like a man.” In “Fool For Love” he tried to acknowledge the same duality of realism and romance, by declaring to Cecily that “I know I’m a bad poet, but I’m a good man.” But at the time, he was an innocent, whose desire to be seen, and whose romantic avoidance of “dark, ugly things”, left him unprepared to understand how Cecily really saw him (similar to Spike’s insistence in “Crush” that what he and Buffy have “isn’t pretty, but it’s real” just before Buffy locks him out). Spike is a character defined simultaneously by continuous disillusionment and dogged aspiration, which is why he makes perfect sense as a character to embody a season torn between the pain of being human, and the wonder of the gift of love.

Fittingly, the season ends with Spike’s most devastating loss of innocence of all. He fails to be the hero for Buffy or Dawn (note that Knightly language he uses on the tower: “I made a promise to a lady”), and he loses the woman he loves. He may have become more virtuous, but unlike in a chivalric romance, that virtue wins him neither Buffy, nor something flattering like “world reknown.” The climax of the “The Gift” is full of romance—a god, a troll hammer, a damsel on a tower, a heroic self-sacrifice, a vampire transformed into a Knight—but the end result is that Buffy is dead, in part because he wasn’t good enough, and all that he and the Scoobies can do is grieve. Stories got Spike nothing, even when reality finally lived up to them. It is a swan song to the myths of childhood, and on the other side of Glory’s portal, Spike and the other characters will have to confront a world where those myths have been left behind.

part 4: “But I can’t fool myself. Or Spike, for some reason.”: Buffy and Spike as a blended self

[moveobjectsonblogs]

Zodiac Challenge

Welcome to the Sims 4 Zodiac Challenge!

This idea came to me in a dream after a month of um-ing and ah-ing over whether or not I should start my very own Sims inspired Youtube Channel.

This is also inspired by the Not So Berry Challenge over on my queen, lilsimsie’s page, since I recently started playing that myself and found myself engaging with aspects of the game I never used to before. 

SO, the Zodiac challenge... It’s a legacy challenge inspired by Zodiac traits*, aspirations and careers with a little extra spice to keep the story moving along.  

*Please keep in mind that this is not a direct reflection of Zodiac traits, but merely an inspired challenge based on some common information surrounding each sign and a need to make a workable legacy challenge. I love all you little start signs out there equally and I believe we all have some positive influences on society as a whole. 

Okay, okay, cut to the chase already. Here are the rules of the challenge: 

No excessive money cheats (freerealestate is acceptable, as well as moderate transfer of household fees when a sim moves out) 

You have full control over CAS for your sims/partners/children, however traits are to remain according to challenge 

The color attached to each generation/sign needs to be visible on all sim outfits as well as in household, but you can decide to what degree

You can create looks inspired by the signs, but again, you can decide to what degree 

Make it your own! Where a generation requires pack-specific traits, aspirations, careers etc which you do not own, please substitute and come up with your own unique spin on it!

If a skill, aspiration, or career is listed, the expectation is to MAX IT OUT!

Please tag me! I want to see your videos, characters and creations on this

Generation 1 - Aries / Red - The Go-Getter

You start out as a runaway teen, trying to make it in the Big City. You believe you have what it takes to be the next National Leader, and the City is the place to be! You have a quick temper and a fiery personality, so in order to appear calm in the public eye (everyone wants a piece of you!) you need to practice Wellness every day. You don’t have time for marriage, but your PR Manager advised you it would look good for your political career to adopt!

Traits

Hot Headed

Self-Assured

Ambitious

Aspiration

Leader Of The Pack

Career

Politician (Politician branch to become National Leader)

Skills

Charisma

Wellness

Additional Requirements

Reach Level 3 Fame

Must have no biological children, only adopt

Don’t have a good relationship with child/ren

Never marry

Never retire 

Generation 2 - Taurus / Dark Green - The Loving Nurturer

All your life you tried to get the approval of your always-too-busy presidential parent. You were pawned off to day-care, baby-sitters and after-school activities to fill your time and never knew what a parental figure or family time was. You were told to always appear perfect in terms of good grades, a good university degree and a stable career but in your heart all you ever wanted was love! You spend quality time with your children and your greatest pleasure is helping them grow and succeed in life. You believe in taking the time to grow your own produce in order to eat only the healthiest food and other sims would describe you as ~earthy~.

Traits

Foodie

Family Oriented

Romantic

Aspiration

Big Happy Family

Career

Freelancer (any branch you want)

Skills

Parenting 

Gardening

Additional Requirements

Marry your High School/University sweetheart

Have minimum 3 children 

Work part time in order to help children with meals & homework everyday

Generation 3 - Gemini / Yellow - The Open-Minded Adventurer

You loved your cozy (some would say sheltered) and unconventional upbringing with your earthy parent and many siblings; however, you want to see the world and all it has to offer for yourself! You love people, creativity and being busy and you want to see it all, try it all and be it all. Thanks to your loving mom, you were always made to believe you can be whatever you want in this world. You can never sit still. Due to that, you have many different careers, many different worlds you live in and many different lovers...You’ll try anything once!

Traits

Outgoing

Adventurous

Creative

Aspiration

Renaissance Sim 

Career

Any 3 (as per Aspiration)

Skills

Flower Arranging

Video Gaming

Fitness 

Additional Requirements

Have a love child before marriage 

Have 3 failed romances before marriage 

Move to 3 different worlds in lifetime 

Generation 4 - Cancer / Grey - The Intuitive Gossip

You want a nice and normal life, no surprises, everything as it should be and in the right order. You want to settle down, and live an uneventful life. But when do plans ever work out like that? You earn a university degree in something sensible, and you follow that route with determination; however, you’ve always been described as psychic by those who know you, and you always have the dirt on the town folk. Finally, late in your life you understand that this ability can bring in some serious cash. You switch to the social media career and always work from home to protect your identity from those who’s secrets you spill. Who would ever suspect you, the nerdy Brainiac who barely speaks up? xoxo, Sims Girl

Traits

Neat

Unflirty 

Materialistic

Aspiration

Academic

Career

Initially something connected to Degree, but switch to Social Media (Internet Personality Branch) in late Adult Life Stage 

Skills

Logic

Writing

Media Production 

Additional Requirements

Attend university (Business or History degree)

Change careers when in Adult life stage to Social Media Career

Always work from home

Marry for convenience and not love (not attracted to partner)

Have no relationship with child/ren

Generation 5 - Leo / Gold - The Romantic Star

Your life growing up was boring. Your mom and dad were the least romantic people ever and everything was cookie-cutter perfect (and devoid of any emotion) growing up. So, from a young age, you throw yourself into movies and get lost in the romantic, passionate and fairy tale aesthetic of it all! You move to Del Sol Valley straight after high school to try and make it as a big star and start your own fairy tale! But it turns out not all fairy tales are perfect, and you have to kiss a few frogs to find your prince/ss!  

Traits

Cheerful

Self Absorbed 

Romantic

Aspiration

World Famous Celebrity

Career

Actor/Actress 

Skills

Acting

Singing 

Additional Requirements

Move to Del Sol Valley straight after high school with very little money (10K max)

Cheat on 2 different partners

Date both genders

Generation 6 - Virgo / Beige - The Critical Perfectionist

Owing to your famous parent, you always attended red carpet events with the best food imaginable. Let’s face it, you always thought your taste was just a touch above everyone else. And when you’re good at something never do it for free! Your dream is to criticize others and earn a pay check for it.For you, life is about experiences, perfection and having something to show for it in the bank account. You want to wear and eat the finest things!

Traits

Perfectionist

Genius

Snob

Aspiration

Fabulously Wealthy

Career

Critic (Food)

Skills

Gourmet Cooking

Mixology

Additional Requirements

Marry a famous sim or a sim at the top of their career

Have a house worth over 100K

Have 1 child

Generation 7 - Libra / Pink - The Classy Advocate

You grew up in a very classy home, with only the finest things. You believe in the value of beautiful art, intellectual discussions and physical beauty. From behind the thick, gilded window panes in your childhood mansion, you always witness the injustices of the world and felt a calling to help those without a voice.

Traits

Materialistic

Art Lover

Outgoing

Aspiration

Party Animal

Career

Law (Any Branch)

Skills

Charisma

Violin

Additional Requirements

Attend university, join the debate guild

Marry a sim you find extremely attractive

Volunteer weekly

Own art pieces worth over 20K

Generation 8 - Scorpio / Black - The Beautiful Empath 

You’re a sweetheart deep down and you find beauty in all things physical. Where your parents saw beauty in materialistic things, you see beauty in yourself and others. You always dreamed of perfecting your own body as a testament to your intense passion towards your goals. You meet a beautiful partner along the way and together, you create a perfect image of love, beauty and emotional intensity.

Traits

Jealous 

Active 

Romantic

Aspiration

Soulmate

Career

Athlete (Bodybuilder career)

Skills

Fitness

Mischief

Additional Requirements

Marry a sim seen as extremely attractive

Have 1 child minimum and encourage active side (from toddler to teenager)

Go on a date night with your partner every weekend

Generation 9 - Sagittarius / Purple - The Traveling Spy 

You’re fun to be around and can never sit still. You’ve used this to your advantage to lure people into trusting you, and you have friends all over the world! Little do they know, you’re a secret agent with some top-tier missions to accomplish. Your passion for love and romance means you have a few slip ups and made some (unexpectedly great) mistakes along the way. You can’t ever be tied down. Keep it moving, blend in with the locals and you’ll never get caught!

Traits

Non-Committal

Adventurous

Cheerful  

Aspiration

Serial Romantic

Career

Secret Agent (Any Branch)

Skills

Comedy

Photography

Additional Requirements

Live in Mt. Komorebi and Sulani in lifetime – dabble in local culture and activities  

Have children from both of the above worlds with one of the locals

Never marry  

Generation 10 - Capricorn / Brown - The Idealistic Pragmatist

You’re smart – scary smart. You are a quiet, intelligent soul and you love to lose yourself in the mountains when life gets overwhelming. You approach life with military intelligence, routine and perfection and never thought you could meet someone who cracked through your tough exterior. When you do meet them, you marry them after the first few dates and start your family. Your partner adores you and your family and quits their career to take care of the large brood of kids and animals in your rustic, outdoorsy home.

Traits

Loner

Genius

Loves the Outdoors

Aspiration

Extreme Sports Enthusiast

Career

Military 

Skills

Pet Training

Logic 

Additional Requirements

Marry a spouse after a maximum of 3 dates

Have spouse quit job to raise children

Have 4 children minimum

Go Climbing/Hiking or do Snow Sports every weekend

Generation 11 - Aquarius / Blue - The Outspoken Activist 

You grew up with nature and animals taking preference over technology and humans. Therefore, you are sickened by the state of the world that humans have created and you decide to pursue a green future. You are all for eco living, off the grid lifestyle and conserving the environment for generations to come.

Traits

Vegetarian

Green Fiend

Creative

Aspiration

Eco Innovator 

Career

Civil Designer (Green Technician) 

Skills

Fabrication 

Logic 

Additional Requirements

Live in Evergreen Harbor (all 3 neighborhoods) and convert all to Green Eco Footprint

Live off the grid at least once

Adopt children and animals until household limit of 8 is reached 

Generation 12 - Pisces / Light Green - The Creative Overthinker 

You’re a dreamer and you want to heal everyone. Due to your parent’s ideals growing up, you want to make a difference... but you also want to create art and move souls. You tend to internalize your dreams and fears and as a result often feel misunderstood. You move around as a doctor trying to heal the world and as a result, love is last on the list of accomplishments.

Traits

Creative

Gloomy

Loner  

Aspiration

Painter Extraordinaire 

Career

Doctor 

Skills

Painting 

Baking 

Additional Requirements

Have no friends apart from future spouse

Gain fame through paintings  

Marry for the first time as an elder

Never have children

Live in all worlds through lifetime

[djmarinizelablog]

A Conversation with the Author of City Comma State, kippielovesyou/ForcedSimile

Had a short interview with the author of City Comma State, @kippielovesyou/ForcedSimile and asked her if I could share our conversation online---she said yes!

Did you know that Hange and Levi in her work was based on Spongebob and Squidward's interactions?

Read the entire transcript below:

-------------------------------------

djmarinizela (D): if i may ask, where and how did you learn to write so good? what inspired you to write city comma state?

kippielovesyou (K): i don't mind at all! it's genuinely just years of practice. i've been scribbling stories since kindergarten (i had a long standing multi part series in first grade about all my classmates). i think one thing is certain: having a strong understanding of characters whether you borrow them or they are your own is pretty key.

a lot of points [in Isayama's story] could have been better thought out or tighter. however, we all love his characters. a weak plot (or in the case of city comma state: no plot) can be ignored or forgiven if everyone loves the characters

i'll be honest, i spend a lot of time trying to understand why a character does things or reacts a certain way. and yes, sometimes, that means i act out scenes in my car while driving. it's embarrassing...

there's a lot more to it, but to me that's the most important thing

as far as how city comma state came about: i wanted to do a slow burn romance centered around levihan, but I also wanted to show how all these characters care about and support each other. i knew in the confines of the AoT world, anyone could die at any moment and that didn't work with the softer feelings i wanted people to enjoy. how can you enjoy the friendship between mike and hange if he dies? it's possible, but it upends all the warmth we were enjoying. so i wrote an AU. i wanted to keep levi with a rough background with many walls, and i wanted hange to have her own issues that they can work through together. and i love the idea of them adopting/supporting the 104th kids without the fear of sending them out to war

D: your answer is so profound and helpful, thank you so much! I can honestly say you pretty nailed it when it comes to character development---everyone has a character arc in your fic! [my next question] is about the gender discourse in your story. I know you started City Comma State pretty early in 2014, but even back then, the nonbinary identity wasn't widely known before. How were you able to flesh out the discourse on the LGBTQIA+ spectrum and play it out on the dialogues and backstories?

K: it's pretty funny, a lot of the LGBTQIA+ has always been discussed i my family. we've had gay, lesbian, trans, gnc, bi and asexual people in my family for generations, as far back as the 20s (that we're aware of). hange's gender being debated made it a prime opportunity to write such an experience, some of which is borrowed from my own life. when i read older chapters i see certain slips in dialogue where i could have made an effort to be more neutral. we're in such a binary society that sometimes even if you feel in between, it slips in. in fact, i'm sure some people might take issue with the fact that i stuck with she/her for hange. i'm not sure i'd make a different decision today. i like this version of hange the way she is, and i hope hange's nb/gnc status comes across in more than just pronouns. hange's full identity is so much more than that and that is what i wanted to explore. and i think no matter where you fall on the whole LGBTQIA+ spectrum, you are more than just the label you've chosen. yes, in this story levi is bi/pan. but i don't think he ever says that explicitly, and he avoids labels. it seems fussy to him, which feels levi. discourse would not be his thing. i think even having a debate about whether or not he was bi or pan wouldn't be something he would want to engage in, he just wants to do what he wants. instead it's heavily implied. i think we forget since so many of us experience this discourse online and want to label things that there are people who don't want to involve themselves in it. it goes back to how would this character act. for instance, based on how levi is in canon, i can see many ways to interpret his sexuality. there's cues for a lot of different takes. but levi doesn't seem like the type that would need a definitive label in order to be happy. there's many ways to interpret hange's gender (and i've written several takes, some where they're more insistent on their pronouns), but i think hange's more excited to explore life than worry too much about much about how they're addressed or how someone talks about them. maybe another character might be more caught up in labels but hange and levi not so much

D: No, don't be sorry, I am more than thankful for your answer. I really appreciate it! I don't get to have these kinds of conversations with other writers, so I am grateful for your insights.

K: a really funny anecdote for you: i loosely based the idea of my levihan off of spongebob and squidward. you know, since they start out as neighbors and hange is more invasive than levi is used to

D: that's.... a stretch. but thanks for the tidbit! was the annual star wars contest also something that you do in your family? that part as well as all the geeky references won me over tbh!

K: it was an extremely loose inspiration! but hange mowing her lawn in the middle of the night so levi wouldn't be mad at her is on par with a spongebob move. and um...my family, while they can be a little nerdy, is not nerdy enough to do the star wars tournament! i made that up entirely

i just imagined hange having eccentric family, so they have very unusual traditions that none of the children question

i'll be the first to say a lot of city comma state is unrealistic and a little bit of a domestic fantasy. there's a lot of problems with money, employment and such that hange and levi SHOULD have but that's a little too real and not what i want to be the focus of this story. like hange landing a job that gives her a day off and she doesn't suffer a severe pay cut as a result? unrealistic. but i have other things i want to tackle. plus, in canon we have humans that turn into giants and 3D maneuver gear which would probably kill its user in real life. i think making certain parts of this fanfic a little idealistic is okay

D: are there other works that influence your writing? or authors that inspire you to write?

K: There's too many influences to count. reading is so important and even things that are bad are helpful. i actually was trying to read a YA series that seemed really cool and i had to stop reading because so many things were so annoying (I won't reveal which, since i think it has a small but dedicated fandom and i don't want to rain on their parade, it is purely a taste thing to some degree). instead of being upset and thinking that I wasted my time, i took note of what made me stop reading (that is a long list of things i didn't like so i won't bother to outline each one). even if it's something as small as a fanfiction that you had to click out of, ask yourself why you stopped. Especially with fanfiction: you already like these characters, what you're looking for is usually pretty specific (a pairing, an au, a specific scenario, etc). why, when this author has ticked all your superficial boxes, did you stop reading? and when you love something as yourself why. Ask yourself why you love the source material even! do you really love the plotlines and the world or do you love the characters? Is the dialogue strong? something to also pay attention to: people in general. how do they speak, gestures, facial expressions. really listen to how people talk (Youtube podcasts are really good for this!).

i think people would be surprised, a lot of what i really like to read is very all over. from surrealist novels, to classic literature, to science fiction aimed at children (i'm finally reading animorphs after almost 20 years!). and what i write for original fiction doesn't reflect what i'm probably best known for.

D: thanks for this, Kippie! looking forward to reading more of your works!

K: i'm still amazed at the response! writing is so solitary to me and i don't really look at my numbers. it never occurred to me that people would be discussing my fic!

-------------------------------------

If you haven't read Kippie's Levihan fic yet, here's the link to get started: City Comma State

[carmichealroyals]

CHARACTER INSPIRATION // C H A L L E N G E

Rules: Write up a blurb or make a visual collage of the people or characters (from books, TV shows, movies, etc.) that inspired your OC, either visually, personality wise, or just a general vibe.

I was tagged by this by so many lovely pals -- @thelockwoodroyals, @wa-royal-tea AND @ourwillowcreekroyals !!! I only feel bad that it took me so long but I wanted it to be as perfect as it could be while taking time to fiddle with Photoshop more (thank you @royaldevilliers for answering my silly questions). Below the cut are the descriptions for the personality types and tropes for each of the main three kids of this next generation! 

Not sure who’s done this yet, so if you see this and you want to do it, this is me telling you to do it!

CHARLOTTE:

The Protagonist:  Protagonists are natural-born leaders, full of passion and charisma. Forming around two percent of the population, they are oftentimes our politicians, our coaches and our teachers, reaching out and inspiring others to achieve and to do good in the world. With a natural confidence that begets influence, Protagonists take a great deal of pride and joy in guiding others to work together to improve themselves and their community.

Spirited Young Lady:  She is the girl who bends the rules just a little. Oh, she can dance a country dance or pour tea with the best of them, but she may also be a good walker or horseback rider. She may be the most intelligent girl in the story, and she is almost certainly the wittiest and the most outspoken, sometimes earning her the title of spitfire. She may be talented in more practical ways, as well: if given the opportunity, she may turn out to be a wise investor, and she may harbor talent for music, writing, or art that goes beyond drawing room entertainment and might become a means of financial independence if necessary. In rare cases, she may even solve a murder. Though she occasionally runs into some trouble, especially if she fails to obey the powers that be, she usually comes through in the end.

Deadpan Snarker: A character prone to gnomic, sarcastic, sometimes bitter, occasionally whimsical asides.The Deadpan Snarker exists to deflate pomposity, point out the unlikelihood of certain plans, and deliver funny lines. Typically the most cynical supporting character. In most cases, it is implied that the snarker would make a good leader, strategist, or consultant given their ability to instantly see the flaws in a constructed plan. More often than not, their innate snarkiness is the only thing preventing the other characters from comprehending this for themselves.

Politically Active Princess:  The Politically Active Princess is a princess that takes active interest in and plays an active role in politics. Naive courtiers and commoners alike might view her only as a figurehead, but in truth, she discreetly uses her position and guile in order to achieve her ends. Skilled in diplomacy, she will usually attempt to solve conflicts via conversation or bargaining, rather than combat. Her defining trait is her involvement in politics or diplomatic matters, without letting herself serve only as a bargaining chip.

Inspired by: Mia Thermopolis (The Princess Diaries); Lorelai Gilmore (Gilmore Girls); Vex’ahlia (Critical Role); Jenny Lee (Call the Midwife)

PETER: 

The Architect:  It can be lonely at the top. As one of the rarest personality types – and one of the most capable – Architects (INTJs) know this all too well. Rational and quick-witted, Architects may struggle to find people who can keep up with their nonstop analysis of everything around them.

The Dog Bites Back:  Unlike the Bastard Understudy and The Starscream, this character attacks as a crime of opportunity. There is no danger that he will take over the villain's place in the grand scheme of things. There is, however, a possibility that he will menace the others as a True Final Boss. The backstabber often ends up dead, but this is usually not Redemption Equals Death because their motive is not noble. Innocent victims who turn on the villain typically do it only for revenge, while evil victims prove that they were fine with all of the Big Bad's crimes except the one committed against them.

Middle Child Syndrome: Everyone loves the oldest child because the parents can rely on them, they watch out for their siblings, and they're so confidently attractive. The Youngest Child Wins because they're the "baby". But what does that leave the one in the middle? That's essentially the definition of Middle Child Syndrome, in which a child automatically may become The Unfavorite or the rebellious Black Sheep, specifically because they are the easiest child to overlook. They're not old enough to be given the responsibilities and privileges of the oldest, and the youngest child took their spot as the spoiled and doted-on "baby" of the family. This tends to be more of an issue when there are three children rather than four or more. Oftentimes in media, the middle child ends up becoming more of the Deadpan Snarker or the quirky one for this reason.

The Un-Favorite: Where there's an Alpha wolf, there's got to be a Beta. When there is a first banana, there is a second banana. This is the person in the family who can't get a break. For example, this is the child who's the big let-down to their parents, the daughter that was supposed to be a son (or vice-versa), the child the parents had by accident when they'd already decided they didn't need another mouth to feed, the adoptive, foster, or stepchild that came before the parents had a biological child, the illegitimate child conceived by infidelity on the part of one of the parents (if not even worse). But all in all, this is basically the kid who is always getting the short-end of the stick. In some extreme cases, this may cause Rich Sibling, Poor Sibling, especially if one sibling is forced into service to the other. A regular line that may be entailed with this is a variant of, "Honestly, [name], why can't you be more like [favorite's name]?"

Inspired by: Edith Crawley (Downton Abbey); Fiyero (Wicked: The Musical); Logan Huntzberger (Gilmore Girls); Rafael Solano (Jane the Virgin)

PEGGY: 

The Mediator:  Idealistic and empathetic, Mediators long for deep, soulful relationships, and they feel called to help others. But because this personality type makes up such a small portion of the population, Mediators may sometimes feel lonely or invisible, adrift in a world that doesn’t seem to appreciate the traits that make them unique.

The Baby of the Bunch: Being the youngest of your group typically comes with some perks and challenges. On one side you're probably the cutest, have a pass to act immature, people like taking care of you, and you can embrace your fun side, knowing that the elders are there to handle the serious stuff. And if there's anything you're naïve about, you have plenty of others to give you the realest unfiltered advice without the generational gap and detachment that your parents or the Old Master have. On the other end, sometimes people don't take you seriously. There you're kinda stuck because no matter how old you get, you'll always be "the baby" in their eyes.

Indifferent Beauty: A character who is attractive, aware of their effect on other people, but doesn't care or at least doesn't value their physical attractiveness over their other traits. Often, this character is a consummate professional who is well aware of the fact that they could use their "assets" to get what they want by other means, but feels that it would be unprofessional or beneath their dignity, and is instead focused on proving that they can compete purely on skill, often to the exclusion of romantic opportunities. While such characters are not averse to dressing in sexy outfits, they don't plan on relying on or even exploiting their sex appeal - but the camera will often do that for them. Other characters' indifference is not due to regarding relying on appearance to be beneath their dignity, but rather that they consider it to be unimportant.

Spoiled Sweet:  The Spoiled Sweet character is a naive, spoiled, rich or comfortably upper-class or upper-middle-class girl, who has everything they could ever want, but instead of being mean, she is as nice as can be to everyone. While still spoiled, slightly naive, perhaps shallow, maybe even a bit selfish at times, when it comes right down to it, she is a loyal friend and doesn't use her money or popularity as an excuse to treat everyone like garbage — though the trope Rich in Dollars, Poor in Sense is in play, especially since a particularly common sticking point is that characters of this type often believe their friends and other loved ones deserve to live just as well as they do.

Inspired by: Rory Gilmore (Gilmore Girls); Beth March (Little Women); Pike Trickfoot (Critical Role); Peggy Schuyler (Hamilton: An American Musical)

[my-introvert-hideout]

Oda Sakunosuke: ISFP [BSD]

Fi > Se > Ni > Te

*I definitely understand why you had / have such a hard time typing him, @bornunderscorpiosky​! He was almost as hard to pin down for me as Fukuzawa!

I’VE ALSO SEEN HIM TYPED AS: INFJ, INFP, ISTP

His Fi is extremely obvious to me, honestly! Oda is quite reserved in his emotions, and while that applies to an INFJ / ISTP, he is clearly a feeler. Unlike these two types with Fe, though, his facial expressions are minimal. Even when around things that make him happy, like the orphans. In addition, when Dazai kind of reprimands him for not killing the Mimic operatives in the alley, Oda doesn’t make moves to defend himself. Fe would definitely take the persuasion route, but he doesn’t. He just does the minimal response that Dazai would accept and moved on. This means he doesn’t push for Dazai to change his morals, either, which Fe does almost subconsciously. While talking to Mori, he refused to tell the leader of the Port Mafia something -- why he didn’t kill. Even Mori seemed surprised! However, he did it in a polite yet firm way, utilizing Te but not in a way where thinking would be above feeling. Fi does have a tendency to believe the best about people, which has the potential to lead to a kind of gullibility. We see Oda free Ango despite Dazai’s pretty clear Ti reasons as to why the latter was guilty. Now, his conviction for not killing. At first, I did think he was INFJ, but his reason for this screams Fi. Oda doesn’t want to kill because he wants to make a better life for himself; he feels like he can’t write (or finish) the narratives of other people if he wants to become an author. It is admirable, but ultimately, it’s because of what he values. In the end, Oda only chose to kill when he felt what the members of Mimic felt. At that point, he wanted to die, too. Fe might have found it more easy to help Mimic by fulfilling their desires, even if they normally wouldn’t kill or want to.

Se is a bit harder to pin down for him, honestly. But it’s safe to say that he acts quickly and decisively. Some of this is due to his ability, but someone without Se higher in their stack wouldn’t find all of this to come as naturally. While we’re at it, many people think of him as an IxxJ type. While he is reserved and serious, he is more relaxed when it comes to the outside world. Oda doesn’t feel the need to organize everything around him. I’m also trying out this theory that peoples’ likes and dislikes reflect their intuition and sensing preferences.

LIKES: Curry, orphans, reading DISLIKES: Killing, fancy meals

I’d say this is mostly sensing, but things like killing can apply to high Fi, as well. I think Ni is the function that causes people the most trouble! And his ability to see six seconds into the future doesn’t help. Abilities are extensions of the user; idealistic Kunikida can create things, passionate Atsushi can shapeshift into a tiger, mentally-tough Kenji has super strength, balanced Fukuzawa can equalize others’ abilities, so on and so forth. Part of Oda’s personality is therefore tied to Ni, but people overestimate this. He really has a much more grounded presence in the world (you’d have to in a place like the mafia) but is a little ‘airheaded.’ This is where his intuition comes in. Fi paired with Ni is extremely adept at reading others, even someone like Dazai. I’d say as much as the Ni-Fe combination. But he does have that slightly impulsive side that is difficult for me to see as being inferior Se. Grips do happen, but again, his expression of Se is pretty consistent and healthy. I’ve also heard that people tend to idealize or exaggerate their third function. I mean, I thought I was an INTP for a while! I really look up to Ti (hello, xxTPs <3) but that doesn’t make it my dominant function. First-slot Ti and Fi almost seem to make Ni more powerful in their type; lots of ISxPs mistype as INFJ! Oda’s Te can actually be compared to Izumi’s expression of it. They’re both ISFPs who were in the Port Mafia, too. But Te is really what he focuses on while on missions -- for obvious reasons. On the other hand, this function seemed much more prevalent in his younger years since his Fi has taken over more. Izumi and Edmond Dantes (from The Count of Monte Cristo) are damaged ISFPs like Oda. They share the same functions as INTJs, just in a different order. Add in some unhealthy ISFP position-switching and, voila, apparent INTJ.

Ne Blind Spot: I can’t think of any specific examples other than his lack of Ne. Really, his personality doesn’t include much intuitive exploring. There isn’t a sense of wonder there. For instance, Ranpo -- who has still been through quite a bit -- does keep up that Ne curiosity. With the addition of such intense Fi and Ni, as well, his final decision to go up against Mimic alone was quite closed off to any Ne.

Fi-Ni Loop: ‘An ISFP in a Fi-Ni loop overanalyze situations, getting stuck in their head and find themselves unable to act on any of their beliefs. They will wallow in their feelings and overanalyze situations, also becoming overly anxious in situations. They will also become overly worried about the long term implications of an action and have trouble acting in the moment, worrying about whatever future emotional repercussions will result from actions. They will read into things past what is on the surface and come to negative conclusions which result in negative emotions, which they then stew in.’ source We really see the reverse of this, in a way, too. Throughout most of the time we see him, he’s in a healthier Fi-Ni loop. But when the orphans are blown up (rest in peace, little angels) those two functions went off the rails, for lack of a better term. His last stand was a perfect example of Se-Te -- which, for reference, are the same extroverted functions that Yosano has.

[vamonumentlandscape]

Poplar Forest & Bedford

When we first arrived at Poplar Forest that lies on the outskirts of Lynchburg in Bedford County, we were blown away by the beautiful landscape that surrounded Thomas Jefferson’s retreat. Our team had heard such good things about the historic site from those who work there, our professors, and fellow students, we knew it was a must see spot. When we walked into the visitors center, we were greeted by the most kind staff member that we have encountered at any historic site. He was helpful, sweet, and even asked us about our research. We felt very welcome as soon as we walked through the door. To begin the tour, we started with a fifteen minute video introduction to Poplar Forest. Before the tour began, we realized our tour guide seemed to have little enthusiasm when one man asked her if she was our tour guide and she responded with a flat “yes.” After that odd encounter, we watched the wonderfully done film on Jefferson’s retreat home. The short video captured the stories of Jefferson, the enslaved people who worked there, and the importance of the architecture of the site. We were all looking forward to the tour of the historic home and the rest of our day at Poplar Forest after this.

We began the tour outside of the octagonal mansion with our tour guide explaining the symmetric architecture that Jefferson wanted to experiment with. By combining all of the techniques he had seen in Europe, he created this small, yet grand mansion as his getaway. But, he is not the one who put the physical labor into creating this architectural masterpiece. The enslaved people of Poplar Forest are the real champions of constructing the illustrious home. Our tour guide made that clear when she described much of the back-breaking work the enslaved people, like John Hemings, put into the building. She pointed out the only asymmetric detail, the wing of the home, where the enslaved people spent most of their days cooking, cleaning, and keeping the home the way Jefferson wanted. Unlike other Jefferson designs, there was no other wing to complete the symmetry. As Travis McDonald would explain to us later, “the second wing is the million dollar question.” Speculation from staff who have greatly studied the wing says it was just unnecessary to add another space to the home. We walked a little further to see the newly reconstructed carriage turnaround to what it would have looked like in Jefferson’s day. At Poplar Forest, the staff has taken huge steps to ensure the complete correctness of their rebuilding of the home. Our tour guide made sure we knew this once we entered the home. We were all impressed by the moulding, exact replicas, and specificity of the measurements for the rooms. Not only is the representation of the home wonderfully done, but the interpretation was wonderful. Though our tour guide was a bit quiet and unenthused, she did not refrain from allowing Jefferson to be talked about as human and did not glorify him. She was able to express his architectural genius all the while letting us know he did not build one piece of it. He was wholly dependent on enslaved laborers to have his elitist lifestyle. It was encouraging to see a second site where Jefferson was able to be learned about earnestly and not in a God-like manner. Our tour guide also explained to us in the parlor room how he had a more familial side with his granddaughters who frequently accompanied him at Poplar Forest. In the last room, we got to see the room that mirrored Jefferson's bedroom. While his room was fully restored, this room was used as a progress room to show how the staff at Poplar Forest worked to recreate the Jeffersonian home after it had undergone fire and renovations from other residents. Also in this room was an original John Hemings door. This was a site to see as we all know that he was responsible for most of the ornate mouldings and doors in the original home. We all enjoyed the house tour and were incredibly impressed with all the work the staff at Poplar Forest has done in the short 40 years they have been a museum. In the grand scheme of things, 40 years and starting from scratch is not long for the project that they had ahead of them.

In the basement and the wing of the mansion is an exhibit dedicated to the enslaved workers of Poplar Forest. This was not a part of the house tour, but we made sure to see all that was displayed on our own. We saw the familiar name of John Hemings featured throughout. Without his tireless efforts, the home would not have been able to feature such unique architectural details. Though Thomas Jefferson was a master architect, he was never doing the hard work of actually building what he designed throughout his life. It was enlightening to see what archaeological finds have been discovered at the site. There was one display case that featured a series of items collected by rats in the attic of the home between 1846 and the 1960s, which was far beyond Thomas Jefferson’s ownership of the property. There were fragments of book pages, newspapers, clothes, and more. We walked over to see what was displayed in the wing between the east side of the home and the east mound, and we were amazed to find the kitchen with fireplaces, hearths, and a cook’s quarters. On display in one of the rooms was a letter from Hannah, an enslaved woman, written to Thomas Jefferson. In the letter, she expresses sadness about his inability to visit Poplar Forest that Fall and she also paraphrased the Bible - “we ought to serve and obey his commandments that you may set to win the prize and after glory run.” We believe this letter clearly shows a level of hopelessness and despair within Hannah, but it also depicts a unique dynamic of an enslaved person being allowed the ability to write. This must have been a unique circumstance. We are extremely pleased with the archaeological excavations done to bring the Wing of Offices back to their original form. Past the East mound are structures of the era beyond Thomas Jefferson’s ownership of the property and contained the living quarters of enslaved people during the antebellum era up through emancipation. There was a small exhibit in one of the spaces that allowed further learning about the enslaved. Down the hill and near a modern residential community is a reconstructed enslaved person quarters known as the North Hill site. It was built with logs and had a chimney lined with clay to avoid the spread of fires. A small garden likely existed since food rations were so limited. It was amazing to see the basic shape and size of what the enslaved lived within and is a stark contrast to the extravagance of the mansion. Reconstructing such structures allow sites like Poplar Forest to share the hard, yet necessary, truths of what enslavement looked like.

Our last stop after the gift shop at Poplar Forest was to Travis McDonald’s office. McDonald is the Director of Architectural Restoration at Poplar Forest. He has been with the foundation from the very beginning. His skills of being an architect, a restorationist, and a historian in his own right made him the perfect candidate for the position he has held for over 30 years. We were all so thankful that we got the opportunity to speak with him about Jefferson’s historic retreat. As we sat down in his office, the walls were lined with shelves encasing what seemed to be hundreds of books. On his desk and floor there were even more. The books that caught our attention were the Annette Gordon-Reed books, The Hemings of Monticello and Thomas Jefferson and Sally Hemings. His devotion to the ever evolving story of Jefferson was told to us before he even began talking. He told us right off the bat that Poplar forest “strives for historical accuracy over idealistic perceptions.” Since we have been to many historic sites across the state this summer, we have seen a few places that do the opposite. It is so impressive that the foundation has wanted to do this from the very beginning. They have cut no corners in perfection - literally. He explained to us that Jefferson was not the originator of his own ideas, but a master of self-education. He was able to learn and combine many pre-existing cutting edge architectural techniques. From masters of the art like Andrea Palladio, Jefferson was able to utilize his knowledge and European ideas to create his own style. McDonald continued to give us wisdom when he connected his specialty of architecture to history. “Architecture is a lot like history. It gets reinterpreted as new evidence is found and progress can be made.” Our last question for McDonald was about his feelings towards the current issues of Confederate monuments. His answer blew all of us away as it contained sincere emotion and toiled thought. “I had to separate myself from seeing them as art and architecture. As a professional architect and restorationist, that is how I saw and appreciated them for a long time. But now, I have been able to separate myself from that and see what they truly mean.” It was enlightening to hear a professional who has been in his field for decades to share his feelings with us. Travis McDonald was so welcoming and we are so thankful to have had the opportunity to gain insight from him.

We ventured into the small town of Bedford after visiting Poplar Forest. In our earliest research, we found an article on “The War Between the States Museum'' at the Bedford Museum and Genealogical Library. Just from the title, we knew we needed to go see whatever it was. Of course, “the war between the states” is a lost cause term to amplify that states rights was the reason for the Civil War instead of the obvious cause: slavery. We went in and it was a dark, dimly lit place. There were a few staff members and they were kind to us when we asked for admission in the museum. The gift shop was filled with outdated books, old postcards, and Confederate memorabilia, so we gained more insight onto what was ahead in the exhibit spaces. We took what the museum employee called the “slowest elevator in the county” up to the top floor where the exhibit on the “war between the states'' was displayed. We walk in and it is a large room with many glass cases. Again, very dim and not well lit, we strained our eyes to read the exhibits. The first exhibit you see in the space is on “Blacks Service.” All of our mouths dropped. It was an exhibit amplifying the myth of Black Confederates. Yes, Africa Americans served in the Confederacy, but not by their own will. They served as enslaved persons to those in the war. None of us could barely stand to be in the museum any longer after this, but we pushed through. Confederate flags were everywhere, the use of the word “Yankee”, and an exhibit on how Jefferson Davis’ release from prison was “a way to heal the deep divide between the U.S.” was on display. It was mind blowing to see this shrine to the Lost Cause only thirty minutes away from Randolph. At the end of the exhibit, we noticed a little sign on the wall that said the Sons of the Confederate Veterans still meet at least once a month in the room. We were all in disbelief from the complete bias and shrine-like nature of the museum. We traveled downstairs to see the other exhibits on local Native Americans, local African Americans, WWI, and WWII. The Native American exhibit looked like it was a project that the local middle school students put together. The information was not terrible, but the display was embarrassing. The information was presented at an education level for 5th graders, yet there was no signage dictating that it was a children’s exhibit. In the local African American exhibit, there were artifacts from the former all-Black high school, the African American sheriff who just retired, and Carol M. Swain, the African American conservative political science professor and Republican advocate. It was nice to see the information displayed about successful locals, but the message was clear. Overall, the museum experience was subpar. We all knew what we were walking into, but somehow it was worse than we could have imagined. We hope one day that the staff at the Bedford Museum and Genealogical Library will improve their interpretation.

Before we left the town of Bedford, we took a close look at the Confederate monument that stands in front of the Bedford County Courthouse. The text at the base of the high obelisk below a carved battle flag says “Bedford honors her heroes; proudly rejoicing with the living; sincerely mourning the dead. Their history is its brightest pace...This stone is erected to keep fresh in memory the noble deeds of these devoted sons.” Obviously, this monument reeks of the lost cause and does not honor a piece of history that all can be proud of. Taking down such a problematic statue would not be “erasing history,” as Bedford supervisor candidates stated in 2017. The public should play a role in discussions of what to do with the obelisk, but it certainly does not belong in front of such an important government building. Once again, the United Daughters of the Confederacy supported the construction of a heinous monument at a time (1909) when African-Americans faced acts of discrimination and bigotry. If people were able to put themselves in the shoes of those most affected by the presence of such an awful monument, then we would finally be able to make lasting changes for the betterment of us all.

[eternalcantarella]

Entropy - Chapter 2: Horseman of The Apocalypse - Joker/Reader

Entropy

  Summary: We all seek for some measure of uncertainty. Working against the mob is a dangerous game, you might as well be signing a death warrant. You would think it was all by a stroke of chance, the multiple run-ins with Gotham’s Jester of Genocide. When crooks begin to make more sense than do-gooders ― that’s anarchy. He’s no ordinary crook, however. And he’s still wrong. At least that’s what you'd like to tell yourself.

Word count: 17.9k

  A/N: Medical specifics - I know the rod of asclepius is more for professional healthcare usage and caduceus is for commercial usage, but I chose to use a hybridisation of both asclepius and caduceus rods instead because its symbolism was slightly more in line with what I want to portray. Sorry for the inconsistency with practical usage! This chapter took me a while to write, and I didn't expect it to turn out this long. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy it! 

  Inspirations: Trafalgar Law’s speech on the new era (One Piece), Amaya & Aiko no Akatsuki's Deisaku writing - Pinky Bruiser (Deisaku fans should totally check this out), Town of Salem's Plaguebearer role.

Available to read on AO3! Check my blog description for link to my AO3.

###

He sat in the long corridor, his legs crossed. His posture was laid back, with his tablet propped up on his lap. He tried to get used to the stiff teal plastic seat, secured to the wall behind him, but it was extremely uncomfortable and he kept readjusting his position. He tried to distract himself with the forthcoming plans for the week ahead with Gotham Press Holdings, refreshing his email to check for updates from his superiors. Unfortunately, he could not find the urge to open those mails. He leaned forward in his seat, his hand instinctively searching for the familiar spot on his chin.

  The thin and bitter smell of antiseptic and cleaning products was invasive, acrid and stinging as it caused him to look away and stare at his other hand, twisting and knotting it as if doing so would hold back the unrest threatening to break within him. A man was whisked on a hospital bed right past him down the narrow corridor, and he was greeted with the disturbance of coughing, hacking and wheezing in the Emergency Department waiting room. He found the closest antibacterial hand dispenser, which was fortunately right beside him, and started working it like a gambling addict hitting up a VLT machine.

  In a disorienting ambulance ride earlier, claustrophobia had closed in on him. He stood hovering over the stretcher, trying to rationally articulate the details surrounding your predicament, trying to discard feelings of his rising worries for you. However, with every bump the ambulance made, his unease peaked higher. As expected, the paramedics had briefed him that prompt delivery to the Emergency Department should be a priority, and had administered their prehospital care procedure onto you. 

  While otherwise appearing to be asymptomatic, the fact that you lost consciousness was alarming. They had secured the airway as required, delivering high-flow oxygen by cupping a respirator mask over your face, obtaining IV access simultaneously. There was a tenseness to his muscles, his head a violent whirl of confusion, trying to organise the newly found chaos in his life. They had also administered a beta-antagonist as a nebulised treatment for bronchoconstriction, a paramedic explained to him as she spritzed short bursts of liquid spray up your nostrils. 

  And here he was, waiting. A suspense ate at him internally while he awaited the ED doctor’s examination results.

  While he was willing himself to check on instructions from Gotham Press Holdings, his hands betrayed his line of thought, and he instead found himself looking through his archived emails. His eyes glossed over the subject title.

  ‘Application for Blake Accounting Consultancy - Junior Data Analyst Applicant; Resume Included’

  He crinkled his eye, his lips stretching against his index finger resting against it. He always found himself unknowingly going back to this fateful letter, at different, random times with no real reason connecting them with each other. He didn’t like to express it, both visually and verbally, to you that he had come to care for you deeply. And he was wondering if he was regretting ever holding back and hiding his actions to show that care. With the current uncertainty, and your life at stake, it’s always easy to see in hindsight that there were many things he could do differently. He clicked onto the email he archived, going through the motions that took him back to simpler and more pleasant times. He indulged himself in the light breeze of familiarity and nostalgia. He would always have a sentimental longing and affection for the past, especially when it came to you.

  He remembered looking at your application and how absurd he thought it was at first glance. He vaguely recalled the contents of his job listing on Craigslist, having clearly stated that a bachelor’s degree in Computing or Data related fields was a prerequisite and lowest qualification one must have at the very least. Yet your highest form of education was trade school and coding bootcamps.

  This was almost ludicrous in his eyes, that he found it to be amusing. He was about to dismiss your application to sift through the others, without even looking at your resume. However he felt compelled to click on it, probably out of some sick sense of curiosity and humour, he supposed. He wanted to see what laughs or kicks he could get out of this.

  A condescending sense of jest bubbled in his chest when he started reading it. Perhaps this was just a joke applicant, he thought. Well, humour me. However, he found that the more he read into it, the more his smile started to falter. Being a data analyst requires very specific skills. You had recorded a very all-encompassing list of individual qualifications from courses painstakingly taken and they were all relevant to the job scope. Technical, analytical, math and creative skills. This was impressive for a non-uni graduate. You had also taken the initiative to contribute to opensource projects, demonstrating a fire and drive for the role. Not to mention the attention to detail and the amount of work put into organising this resume, to frame and market yourself in the best way possible. You had done a lot of research into this, evidently.

  From this, he could sense that being a data analyst was something you wanted to be strongly at this point in time. And while strongly wanting to be one is often not enough for a data analyst, you had the puzzle pieces arranged and chops to back it up. Perhaps what sealed the deal to offer you an interview over coffee was the thing that set you apart from other applicants. Other candidates wrote about what they wanted from this job. No one cares what they want. No one cares that they want to “leverage their skills working with a highly effective team”. Yours was focused solely on the employer’s benefit, rather than for personal gain. And one thing in particular had caught his eyes to show you were perhaps a best fit for the company.

  ‘To build an ethical and positive culture for the company from the ground up and inspire change in Gotham.’

  Given the current legal and political climate in Gotham, especially with the battles between parties of power going on, no one would care to write statements like this. No one even knew if they were submitting applications to companies deep within the mob, entrenched in corruption, or held hostage after having had debts to repay them. The mob had an iron grip on affairs at every nook and cranny of Gotham City. These types of statements were too fluffy, too idealistic, and often were not considered on job offers. However, things were changing. In a world where caped and masked vigilantes were jumping off roofs and Falcone was locked up in Arkham, he had hope. Politics were becoming more transparent, as candidates like Harvey Dent stepped up to the plate. And he would stop at nothing to make the most of this hope for a better Gotham. He had to believe in a better Gotham. He clenched his wrists and swallowed. He wanted to realise this idealistic vision he had. 

  “This mask for the anger I’ve been hiding… It’s not enough.”

  “Then channel that anger to something good, I dunno. Frankly speaking, it’s not that hard.”

  You two were sitting around a mahogany coffee table, with two plush sofas clad in burgundy fabric offering you two the luxury of sinking back into the comfort of its softness. However, you two were on the edge of your seats, not allowing yourselves to be lulled into its false sense of security and let your guards down. Your eyes were trained on each other, the air electrifying. You took a sip from the mug of your macchiato, eyes never leaving his as you tilted your coffee mug. You looked at him through your lashes, hiding behind a coy smile. Intrigued by your boldness, he quirked a brow in amusement. He sighed and pushed his laptop away from him on the table, finding no real need for it.

  “Charming. If you’re so impressive, why don’t you tell me why you hadn’t attempted college?” 

  This definitely did not feel like a job interview. He leaned back, arms folded, a smugness tugging at the corners of his mouth. He was challenging you. You sure as hell weren’t one to back down.

  “Well, maybe it’s because some of us aren’t so lucky to have our parents afford our college fees, just so we can chase our dreams.”

  In a saccharine voice, you leaned forward, tilting your head, no longer smiling. Your lips showed the hints of a pout. John Blake stared at you, slightly confused for a moment. Was this a personal attack or something?

  “That’s very valiant of you. However, Miss, if I had to remind you of something,”

  He maintained his composure, leaning forward with a slight tension in his jaw, his smirk not falling.

  “You don’t know the first thing about me, darling.”

  You remained neutral, staying in the same position.

  “Well, I’m sorry if I offended you.” 

  He had been the one to poke you first, you thought, slightly indignant. You bit your lip and spoke again, treading dangerously.

  “If I had to take a guess, I would say you feel threatened by me.”

  John Blake raised his brows at you, possibly in disbelief at your brazenness. He lightly clenched through his teeth. Were you perhaps right?

  “Far from it, kid.”

  You glared at him for this obvious condescension. If you were anyone else, the blatant disrespect you showed him earlier would have immediately gotten you rejected. But the chemistry between you two was palpable, even then. His eyes looked at the laptop in front of him. His eyes avoided yours. He looked away, and nonchalantly he asked you.

  “Don’t you think it’s impossible to really foster an ethical company in Gotham? I mean, it’s a pretty corrupt city.”

  He stirred his coffee to feign apathy. This question wasn’t important to him. You furrowed your brows and shook your head, your voice raising in tone. You felt your indignancy rise. Affronted and outraged. What kind of question is this…?

  “What? Gotham is full of people ready to believe in good and compassion.”

  You had his attention now. And he stared at you, his eyes hard.

  “Hey, don’t you think that’s pretty naive of you?”

  “You can say that all you want about me. I don’t gain much from being an idealist, but I have to do the best I can.”

  Your voice softened towards the end. This was perhaps the first time you allowed yourself to be vulnerable in this… “Interview”. The man in front of you shifted his weight in his chair and stood up. This prompted you to stand up as well, befuddled and just mindlessly mirroring his body language.

  Satisfied with his find, he stared down his nose at you with an unreadable expression. He stuck his hand out towards you.

  “Well then kid, I believe we have a deal.”

  Dumbfounded, you took his hand hesitantly, and he gave your hand a firm squeeze, bobbing it lightly in the process. Your jaw was slightly ajar and you were confused. After all that, you were in a state of doubt. Did you really just pass this… interview?

  “Check your email for updates.”

  He picked up his coffee, downed the rest of it and held his cup up towards you, a last gesture signifying his leave. He set it down against the table with a clink and left swiftly with his laptop. 

  You will become my weapon. My tool. You will fight for me, and in exchange, I will ensure that you realise your vision, and sate your burning desires.

  He smirked. A diamond in the rough indeed.

  He was stirred out of his daze when he heard the sound of the sliding doors of the emergency ward. It revealed a doctor dressed in blue short-sleeved scrub top and pants, with a white lab coat. She held a clipboard and wore a surgical mask. The mask could not hide the sunkenness in her eyes, fatigued from being overworked during her residency. Blake stood up immediately seeing her, desperate to know the outcome of your medical evaluation.

  “Sir, I’ll cut to the chase. She will have to remain under our observation for the next forty-eight hours, and we will periodically image her with serial chest radiographs.”

  Taking a moment to take this news in, he nodded, signalling for the doctor to continue.

  “We seek your understanding, patients may develop significant signs and symptoms for as long as thirty-six hours after exposure. We checked for burns in the nasal cavity and tested for particles.”

  She sighed and stared at her clipboard, shifting her weight onto her other foot. Her tennis shoes squeaked.

  “Burning was spotted, but minimal. Her airway functions are still relatively stable. Our test results revealed in her system a complex of zinc chloride and the fear gas toxin compound found in our water supply months back.”

  “I understand. Her condition is stable enough and she will recover, right?”

  He looked her in the eye, searching for any signs that would betray her jaded features.

  “I’m afraid nothing in this world is certain, sir.”

  Her voice was somber. His brows knitted. What was that supposed to mean? Realising what she uttered out, she quickly switched her expression to mask what she just said, to a more amicable one for professionalism.

  “But of course, nothing is likely to happen to her. We have databases storing synthesised antidotes and counteragents to the compounds we found.”

  He sank, his muscles losing their tension as he deflated. At least there was some solace in this situation.

  “You can check back around the same time after two days, if you’d like. She will be placed under our care til then.”

  He nodded and took that as a sign to take his leave. He grabbed the laptops from the seats and gave himself another couple of pumps of hand sanitiser solution. He sighed and felt the tension in his forehead subside a little. You always had to cause trouble for everyone involved, didn’t you? He turned his head and looked at you through the glass panes, lying unconscious on a hospital bed. He gave a snort and didn’t slow down his pace. 

  Luckily for you, you had someone who didn’t find you to be more trouble than you were worth.

###

He found the darkness strange. In the heart of Gotham city, he had grown used to having the warm, yellow-orange glow of streetlamps outside his window, light filtering in through the gaps in the curtains and seeing them whenever he walked down the street. It felt safe. Come to think of it, it was a privilege. When he took a first drive through the Narrows, there were no such safety blankets in the form of regularly spaced streetlamps. He continued staring up at the Bat-Signal, its rays projected an emblem. 

  It was shrouded in darkness. Gotham City is a bustling, urban metropolis. The signal was alone in the night sky, not a single star there to accompany it. Light pollution makes us unable to see stars in big cities. The bat was cursed to be alone in the dark. It was the only way he could exist, anyway. After all, most sightings of him caught on tape were filmed around the Narrows.

  He combed a hand through his honey blond hair, while the balmy breeze smeared against his face. He heard footsteps. Immediately, he whipped his form around, hands affixed tightly on his hips.

  “You’re a hard man to reach.”

  He walked forward, trying to seem cordial, as much as he could be. His posture was strained, however, his neck craned forward from waiting too long. He walked forward, closer to the figure and swung one arm loose, by his side. He sized him up. This was the first time he had seen him up close, and he simply remained silent. They regarded each other for a cold moment. He couldn’t expect much from him, even a response would be too much, not without Gordon around.

  He almost blended in with the darkness. His suit mirrored the plated armour of specialised jousters, but with a much more modern and practical design. He looked rigid and reminded him of a man from medieval times, a mounted warrior with ideals of chivalry and a code of conduct befitting for a nobleman. The difference was, he did not work with the state, and was in no way a perfect courtly Christian warrior.

  I believe in Harvey Dent. People needed to believe in something, just as he believed in the Batman.

  His presence, despite being mostly subdued and shadowed, did invoke a bearing to be idolised. If he weren’t Gotham’s District Attorney or the up-and-coming choice political candidate, he might have even been star-struck and giddy-headed at the sight of him. He scoffed at this. They were of the same standing in the city of Gotham, on equal footing, and they both knew it. He could feel it in his stare.

  They waited.

  The jarring sound of the door clicking open broke the uncomfortable silence. He studied Gordon, who looked just as miffed as he did. He tried to get Gordon’s attention.

  “Lau’s halfway to Hong Kong.”

  Gordon ignored him, storming forward to switch off the Bat-Signal. This rubbed Harvey Dent the wrong way. He was a little vexed.

  “You’d asked. I could’ve taken his passport―I told you to keep me in the loop.”

  Gordon was aggravated by his unpleasant overbearing insistence on being involved in the Gotham City Police Department’s investigations. He raised his voice.

  “All that was left in the vaults were marked bills. They knew we were coming, as soon as your office got involved-”

  Gordon was motioning with his hand. He waved it around temperamentally, emotion clearly clouding his judgement and choice of words. Dent felt his blood pressure rise and he definitely would not stand for these accusations against his team. He felt a vein jutting in his neck, tensing as he matched his voice level to reach Gordon’s.

  “My office? You’re sitting there with scum like Wuertz and Ramirez and you’re talking-”

  He jammed a strained finger at the ground as he stressed his words. He paused for a moment. Realisation in a recent finding gave him the upperhand. He sneered. This was turning into a full-blown argument.

  “Oh yeah Gordon. I almost had your rookie cold on a racketeering beat.”

  He jabbed more accusatory fingers directed at Gordon. God forbid his argumentative habits from the high court show through now. This was making things a lot worse.

  “Don’t try and cloud the fact that clearly Maroni’s got people in your office, Dent.”

  Gordon’s statement was final and harsh. They stared each other down. This was going nowhere. The night breeze blew against them. The Bat was silent. Quietly, he stood and analysed whether he could really trust both of these men to solve crime in Gotham together. The wariness and doubt was palpable. What makes them think they could make him trust them, when they couldn’t even trust each other?

  Dent didn’t know how to respond to this. He went silent. He couldn’t dispute or disprove this. The Maronis’ got their reigns deep within all walks of this city.

  Gordon sighed, giving up. If they couldn’t have transparency at this point, they could forget about asking for Batman’s help. He would not accept this if they were to only hinder his goal. It was embarrassing, to say the least. They would only appear to be a joke to the man. He had to relent, for starters.

  “We couldn’t detain him. He has too much power. We can’t conclusively accuse Lau at this point, and we were denied prior warrants on him. We have no data on him aside from pure speculation.”

  Looking down, Gordon bit on his bottom lip, his facial hair caught between his lip. He tugged at his pocket with exaggerated movements, looking like a jovial dad who thrived on telling dad jokes, pulling out a scrap of notes. He skimmed through it. Harvey Dent’s hands were still on his hips, gripping at his hipbone. He turned to look at the man in the dark suit.

  The three of them stood in formation, on the rooftop of the Major Crimes Unit, circling each other. They formed the three pillars of justice in Gotham. All unyielding in their beliefs of their methods of crime fighting, and their ideals. Coming to a compromise seemed near impossible moments ago.

“We need Lau back. The Chinese won’t extradite a national under any circumstances. Not that we even have the right documents to prove his involvement with the mob.”

  Batman took this chance to respond, for the first time.

  “I have no jurisdiction. I believe I personally have enough proof to track that rat down.”

  Harvey Dent raised his brows a fraction. The gall of him to talk about legal power or authority having no control over him, right in front of the DA no less. If he didn’t know better, he would say he was boasting about operating outside the law. Even if he was a vigilante, that was a bold statement. He liked that.

  “If I get him to you, can you get him to talk?”

  Batman’s voice was deep and raspy. Dent did not expect his voice to be like this. The corner of his mouths tugged a bit. This was his area of expertise.

  “I’ll get him to sing.”

  Nodding for further assertion and poise in confidence, he said so knowingly. Gordon unfolded the scrap of notes handed to him by his officers. They had brute-forced their way into the systems of the recent bank heist at Gotham National Bank. Apparently, they had digital tracks of code and graphs as potential sources of evidence for this case from a foreign system. The department, however, was not specialised enough to interpret this data definitively.

  “The GCPD only recently uncovered leads to prove Lau’s dirty work in the mob, but I suppose it’s better late than never.”

  This caught Harvey Dent’s attention. He signalled for him to elaborate.

  “We traced the source to be devices registered under the Blake Accounting Consultancy company.”

  Bringing a finger to his lip, Dent bit against it lightly. He pondered

  “We can do this concurrently while Batman forcefully extradites Lau. We need to do this fast, however. Set up an interrogation with this company, as soon as possible.”

  Dent and Gordon looked at each other. For once, they saw each other eye to eye. Gordon took in a deep breath, and nodded, this time with a lot less hesitation than before. The Bat looked at them, his focus flitting between the two, and pressed his lips together. Maybe there was hope in this after all.

  “We’re going after the mob’s life savings, things will get ugly.”

  Gordon inclined his head, indicating the urgency of this harsh truth. Gordon gave Dent a hard stare, a direct warning to the man. A pretty-boy working high up in the office, who had never gotten his hands dirty like that in the life of a city cop. He had to know what was in store for him, and Gordon wanted to see if he really was all that serious about this, rather than being purely concerned with racking political points.

  “I knew the risk when I took this job, lieutenant.”

  Harvey Dent leaned back, seeming a tad bit offended by his warning. As if he didn’t know already. Hell, someone had even pulled a gun on him in the courtroom. In Rachel’s words, as Gotham’s DA, if you’re not getting shot at, you’re not doing your job right. He decided to let it go.

  “How are you getting back in-”

  He directed his attention back onto Batman. He vanished into thin air. Dent was at a loss for words. How dysfunctional this agreement between the three of them seemed. He dared Gordon to give him an explanation. Do I really want to know, he scoffed. Gordon cocked his head derisively, a wry smile in place.  

  “He does that.”

  Pretty crude sense of humour, even for someone flying from building to building with a cape. He relaxed his upper body, hands still on his hips. He looked at the ground. He gave an audible groan. He was going to need a cold shower after all this―This absolutely baffling and absurd confrontation. It almost seemed comical. Well, he couldn’t complain. After all, he did ask for it.

###

It had been a while since you’ve woken up from your blackout. You could only see darkness. 

  Distant static noises from the television muffled in and out through your ears. When you cracked open your eyes, they still felt raw and fluttered back shut repeatedly from your drugged up state. You had no idea where you were.

  “-according to eyewitnesses, each man wore a clown mask.”

  You gripped the bed sheets. This news was… unsettlingly familiar. You felt a mild stinging pain on top of your hand with the restricted movement. It felt like plastic taped against your hand.

  “-used grenades to intimidate the hostages into submission.”

  Suddenly everything came flooding back, the feeling of fear re-imagined. You tore your eyes which were sealed shut open. You remembered the clowns. And the clown beneath the clown mask. And the sight of a live grenade beside you. You stared up at the ceiling wide-eyed, the whirring sound of a ventilator a droning hum beside your ear. You reached up to your face and touched the plastic sterile respirator cupping over your nose and mouth.

  Oh. You were in a hospital. It took a while for you to register this.

  You looked at the television and saw Gotham Tonight News. Your thoughts immediately shifted to John Blake. He had saved your life. Your eyes desperately searched the room, darting around all corners. You only saw other patients as you were in a public ward, and in your movement you unknowingly hit a button on your hospital bed with your elbow. Distant beeping noises of machines could be heard, with the occasional coughing and hacking. The feeling of grogginess was slowly subsiding. You heard footsteps coming.

  In your silent hope, you half-expected it to be John Blake. But much to your dismay, it was a doctor. She held a clipboard and wore a mask that was tucked under her chin, and a white clinical lab coat. She offered you a warm, hospitable smile, despite the tiredness that dragged down her sunken eyes.

  “Miss, I see you have woken up. We can let you rest for a while before we discharge you, you slept for longer than we have expected.”

  Longer than they had expected? How long were you out? You needed answers. You resisted and slowly tried to sit up. You gestured towards your respirator and flailed your hand around slightly. She seemed to understand you.

  “Ah, I understand. Eager to get out?”

  She continued smiling tiredly. She dislodged the mask from behind your head and took it off your face. You felt a drastic change in pressure as you tried to adjust to the current atmosphere, taking even deeper breaths and sputtering slightly. You suddenly felt breathless. She let you take a while to get used to this before working on the tube that went up your nose and down your throat. She pulled it straight from your nose, much to your horror, and you felt the friction of it sliding against your pharynx. You could have sworn you felt blood trickling down your throat. Excruciatingly, you let out a prolonged sob the more she pulled onto it. When she was done, you panted, using the back of a hand to wipe against the saliva that dribbled around your mouth.

  She took your other hand in hers and tore off the IV access, effortlessly and with little pain around that area. You stared at her behind tearful eyes. Nurses and doctors were so amicable yet did actions like this with that much intention and precision. It was daring, courageous and you guessed it took a lot for them to not be squeamish. You licked your chapped lips and proceeded to thank her.

  You looked at the golden badge pinned on her breast pocket. It was the Caduceus symbol. The omnipotent Staff of Hermes. A staff once carried by Hermes in Greek mythology, slender and splendid, entwined by a serpent coiling around the body of the staff in a downward spiral. The wand of healing. It was beautiful, magnificent, if not a bit eerie and otherworldly. You sucked in a breath. You were lost in thought. Must we really fall prey to the deceptive trickster of Eden in order to achieve greatness? Medicine is a holy tome, the all-encompassing, for the most glorious knowledge in the world. 

  Break the rules.

  To achieve greatness, you must know the truth, and to know the truth, you must take the forbidden fruit for the knowledge of all things good and evil.

  And that means walking away from the lies you were told your whole life.

  Your eyes glazed over, starry-eyed over the dreams of a past life. You stared at the healthcare worker with eyes of green. 

  No, that dream simply isn’t possible.

  Disillusionment tore at your eyes. No, it really wasn’t.

  She returned you your set of clothes from before and you changed out of the hospital gown. You were given a brief rundown of your condition, as well as pictures and radiographs of chest scans. You had suffered minor burns down your air passages and suffered from acute zinc chloride and fear gas poisoning, but the counter-agents had already been administered. Luckily for you, the actions taken against the fear gas were swift and that prevented long-term effects from creeping into your system. You would hate to be plagued with images of that darned clown for life. Soon, you found yourself at the counter, ready to be discharged. You groaned inwardly at the hospital bills this stay would rack up. You would experience mild discomfort and difficulty breathing for a while, but it wouldn’t be anything serious. You guessed that you really did owe Blake one for this time.

  Speaking of whom, you would have expected him to at least pay you a visit this one time, seeing as it was in fact a weekend. If you hadn’t gone through that terror that previous day, you would have felt a petty disappointment in him, for you felt that you were important enough for him to do that much for you. But this time, you felt a bit worried. You chewed at your cracked lips, hoping that nothing bad had happened to him while you were out. 

  You signed the relevant documents and walked towards the entrance, ready to head out when you suddenly saw a head of familiar, clean cut chestnut hair walking towards you. He wore a navy suit with a cool-toned pink tie. You felt a warmth bubble inside of you when you smiled at him. Boy were you glad to see him, and he had made it to visit you after all. You were about to reach out to him and say something, but he stopped you in your tracks only to turn you around and walk you in the same direction as him.

  “Hey kid, glad to see you’re out and all, but we have no time right now. You’ll understand when we get there.” 

  His jaw had a greater tension to it than it did normally, and his dark features were serious and silent. He didn’t really have a smile gracing his lips, but his eyes showed a hint of relief seeing you well and recovered. You were confused by this and felt a slight dejection constricting at your chest. What was with him and wouldn’t he be happy seeing you? You furrowed your brows for a moment and avoided his gaze. He handed you your laptop he stowed hastily by thrusting it into your hands. You fumbled with it and nearly dropped it. You felt your blood boil slowly, you thought to yourself, oh no you’d better not expect me to work overtime like this. You stopped in your tracks.

  “Hey―You really think I’m going to work for you at this hour, under these circumstances? You’re out of your mind.”

  He simply continued walking, not slowing down his pace. He only turned his head behind indifferently, regarding you coldly, then returned his gaze in front of him.

  “You’re not working for me today.”

  Your jaw agape, you stared at his back that was getting smaller by the second, incredulous. You’ve had it with this caginess, he was tight-lipped. Why couldn’t he just tell you anything at all? You pulled at your hair and ran ahead to catch up with him, the heels of your pumps clacking against the hospital floor. At this, you felt a fiery burst pulsating down your throat and windpipe. You ran out of oxygen very quickly and sputtered for more, the friction of air against the burn marks up your nostrils raked mercilessly through your nerves. It was obvious you couldn’t do much physically for a while. Your footsteps slowed down, but Blake’s did not. You guys had perfect communication most of the time and today was one of the rare times you couldn’t tell what he was thinking. You pleaded again, between agonising hacks, clearly vexxed.

  “Could you... at LEAST tell me what’s going on-”

  He stopped suddenly, at the west-wing entrance of Gotham General Hospital. You caught up to him, about to lose your mind at him. You gawked, your gaze landing on the sight in front of him. Your brain stutters for a moment and your eyes seem to betray you. To say that you were shocked was an understatement. You wanted to turn to Blake to confirm that you were indeed working for these people, but you couldn’t find it in you. There stood two of the most authoritative men in Gotham, hands on their hips, feet tapping impatiently. They weren’t facing each other. The vibe felt a little off. Gotham’s White Knight, Harvey Dent, and Lieutenant James Gordon. 

  “This is your Junior Data Analyst, Consultant Blake? I hope you had a speedy recovery, Miss.”

  Jim Gordon adjusted his spectacles and nodded at you, his brows frowning, a sorry expression written on his face.

  “We uh, apologise for bothering you on such short notice, but we hope you can understand.”

  “Pleasure to meet you, the name’s Harvey Dent. I’ve heard a lot of good things about you,”

  Harvey Dent stuck a warm hand out, smiling affably as you took it to give it a firm shake, shifting his eyes onto Blake at the last sentence. He was charming, just like the clips of him you’ve seen on television. You expected no less, but this level of charisma was unprecedented. You introduced yourself and smiled hesitantly, unsure, before you turned to look at Blake, hoping for an explanation. He looked at you and nodded reassuringly, the first time he had shown any real emotion to you this whole time. That made you feel slightly more relieved. The two men still didn’t exactly look at each other. Did they have some kind of beef with each other…?

  “We’re not going to waste your time and get to the point,”

  Gordon ushered you out of the hospital and into a cop car. This was your first time in one, and you were sure that you weren’t in it for illicit reasons, after seeing how John nodded at you earlier. It still unsettled you a little bit, you couldn’t be too sure. You had a read on the atmosphere after your initial shock subsided, and it was grim and urgent. You did not like this energy, no one says anything unnecessarily, probably to save time. It’s no wonder Blake was acting so unusually secretive, and uncommunicative. You felt bad now for blaming him. Blake and Harvey Dent sat to your left. Gordon took the front passenger’s seat.

  You looked up outside the windows. It was dark outside much like the way the cop car’s leather seats and roof were painted black. A return back into the concrete jungle was imminent.

  “We need your combined efforts in decoding whatever work you had on Gotham National Bank.”

  You loosened your grip on your laptop. At least you weren’t in trouble for anything. You tried to maintain eye contact with Jim Gordon through the rear-view mirror, his kind yet profound looking eyes looking deep into yours. You could almost feel his burdens undoing into you. He had a weight on his shoulders and immense responsibilities you could not even dream of imagining. Gordon was the open-book type of person, evidently.

  “Oh, is it the one proving Lau-”

  “Yes, Lau’s fraudulence and involvement with the mob. He’s still in Hong Kong. Your data could really help us with his case and get him to talk. We need to take out the big dogs.”

  Harvey Dent interjected. You turned your head towards him, and you saw his profile with his strong nose and golden hair. The golden boy of Gotham. Normally, you would be rather bothered by someone who cuts you off like that, but it felt different with Dent. Even you would defer to such absolute authority and apparent righteousness at a pressing time like this. From all his campaigns and court hearings, you could tell he was sincere in his pursuit of goodness in Gotham, he just overflowed with integrity and honour. He embodied that All-American charm, handsome, deep blue eyes monumental with some form of knightly honour. A heroic presence, almost like the kind Robert Redford sort of had. He shifted his cleft chin in thought, a hand to his temple, before he looked at you.

  “Can you present us a full analysis of your findings and write out a report by tonight?”

  He raised his brows a fraction, looking at you pleadingly with his blue eyes, lips stretched slightly with a gentle half-smile. 

  How could you say no when he had asked you with such sincerity? While he appeared to be brash at times, it was a quality that came with the job of being the city’s persecutor. It couldn’t be helped, you supposed.

  After all, wasn’t this a dream of yours? To serve in the movement for change in Gotham.

  This city is dying. It’s rotting.

  No, it was rich land for the seeds in the car sitting right beside you. And you had a part to play too, a golden opportunity had presented itself.

  “I already planned to expose that little rat, I didn’t need to be told.” 

  You looked away, snorting. You felt a slight tightening in your chest, and you cursed at the breathing difficulties caused by the smoke bomb. Blake eyed you from the corner of his eyes, trying to hide that twinkle, and his cheeks aching from holding down the pull of the sides. Harvey Dent paused, lightly taken aback by your statement, quirked his lips downwards in an arc, nodding his head unexpectedly.

  “Well then, the youth these days never fail to surprise me. Welcome aboard, Miss.”

  “Listen Mr. Dent, you’re still considered a spring chicken compared to those insufferable old farts we tolerate on a daily basis.”

  You smiled. Harvey Dent let out a hearty laugh within his chest at this joke you cracked. It did well to ease the tension for critical times like these. You did consider him to be part of your generation, at the forefront leading this revolution. John Blake looked over at Dent, adding onto your statement.

  “She’s right, you’re cut from the same cloth as us, you’re our peer. And you are the cream of the crop, the very best of us. Gotham is changing because of you.”

  “Well, I feel very flattered, but I’m not the only one. It’s all thanks to the Batman.”

  You grunted, a rumble through your chest, ignoring the pain. You’d agree to a certain extent, Batman was just the beginning. However, Harvey Dent was the culmination of all this. He was the hero with the face, the hero grounded in reality and tangible change. Batman can only go so far without the help of Harvey Dent.

  “This is inspiring stuff and all, but are we forgetting something? Or someone? Or an entire generation above you?”

  All of you turned your heads to Jim Gordon in the front seat. On the rear view mirror, Gordon had an expectant look on his face, his lips underneath that mustache pressed together in a thin line. The three of you in the backseat felt a light feather ticking your insides, threatening to break free at your throats. You all chuckled weakly, subdued laughter as you all darted your gazes, looking away at all absent corners of the cop car. You hid the humour in your voice with a stinging cough. Heaven forbid you all make light of the situation at a time like this.

###

You cleared your throat, feeling the lingering effects of the smoke on your system, the noise resounding off the washed out concrete brick walls, frosted white with an almost steely-blue. The small room made you feel sick and oppressed, with its air-conditioner temperature set to an isolating sixty degrees fahrenheit. You stepped back, the soft clicks of your heels hitting the concrete, non-tiled floor as you brought up a finger. It shuddered slightly, and you raised it up to point to the projector screen fabric hoisted on the wall, the shadow of your hand looming over the makeshift light projector setup the GCPD had provided, sending ripples through the fabric.

  The room felt like a prison cell, almost deliberately designed to make you feel alienated and scrutinised. A bare bulb hung from the ceiling, a fluorescent lighting irradiating through the room with a cool toned jarring brightness that made you squint a little, yet not completely illuminating the dark shadowy corners of the squarish room. A grey rectangular table sat in front of you, with Harvey Dent and Lieutenant Jim Gordon sitting back cross legged in their foldable plastic chairs, while John Blake sat hunched over on the other end of the table, furiously typing out a report on his laptop. You guessed you couldn’t expect anything too fancy from the Major Crimes Unit of Gotham. You needed to push through this presentation, despite the building physical discomfort following your predicament from the day before.

  You made eye contact with Jim Gordon, with a little bit of difficulty, but you still pressed on to make your point. He had his hands clasped together, sitting between his thighs, and avoided your gaze to favour studying the data presented on the screen. Harvey Dent had a hand wrapped around one side of his cheek, and an elbow propped on the table, resting his head against it and listening intently. You had been given unreasonable demands to give impromptu presentations rather frequently at work, but definitely not within an hour of getting discharged from the hospital. Your nerves fired off a little bit and you tried your best not to let your voice betray you. You tugged your blazer tighter around your waist, blaming the cold for this action.

  “I think we have a pretty strong case here. This is all the information you need, reallyㅡto charge Lau, especially with the insights from Mr. Blake. He was a forensic accountant.”

  Gordon and Dent shared a pointed look at each other, expressions unreadable, before Gordon turned back to you to nod a gentle ‘thank you’. You took this as a sign to give them ample space for their own discussion and consolidation, and you let out a huge sigh, walking swiftly over to John Blake after being granted the permission to be dismissed. You dragged another foldable chair and scooched over to sit beside him. You leaned over to look at his laptop, then at him expectantly. He ignored this and continued looking at his screen.

  “Little nervous there, weren’t you kid?”

  You puffed your cheeks and let a stream of air out. You were punished for this motion as you felt searing pain up your larynx and flaring at your nostrils. You were about to lose your mind on him but you remembered the presence of the other two justice hounds in the room. Blake snickered inwardly. You supposed two compliments in two consecutive days was unheard of from the man. You hadn’t been silly enough to hope for that. Yesterday, what he said to you at the bank was possibly the most acknowledgement you had ever gotten from him for your worth as his partner, and you will take that to your chest and run away with it.

  “Yeah, yeah. Why don’t you try giving a presentation after literally being discharged from the hospital?”

  He decided to let it go and brush this off, his smile still not withholding however. He scrolled down the document he had impressively typed out. It seemed he had been working on it while you were out. It was way too detailed to have been put together in the short amount of time you were here, while you gave the presentation. You raised your brows, he was on his A game tonight, more so than usual. Working behind the scenes, after hours. You wondered what sparked this escalation in work ethic and quality. This little rivalry between you two felt slightly more visceral.

  Covertly, you stared over at Gordon and Dent, who looked cold and calculative under the subtle hue of blue-toned lighting. They seemed to be in some kind of disagreement, brows furrowed and stubborn towards each other. Did this happen often? You chewed your lips and tapped lightly at the table. You could see Blake at the corner of your eyes rubbing his chin again. While you two were confidently secure in your abilities as analysts and consultants, working with public servants required a different form of rigour. It required a different kind of convincing. Not one that was only concerned with profits and risk-bearings, like your previous clients, but something that held ethical weight and certainty. You two had done something that could be classified as immoral, and you weren’t sure if this level of convincing was enough to gloss over that fact. Judging from John Blake’s body language, he shared the same sentiments. You took in a deep breath, despite the pain, desperately needing the extra air to catch up on your shortness of breath.

  Gordon and Dent signaled for the two of you to come over and show them the written report. You could feel your heart beating quickly, hammering against your chest. The desire to please the authorities made your senses go wild, and it would only serve as a testament to your abilities if you could help the highest forms of justice in the city in these respects. Blake took this chance to explain briefly the navigation of the report, and to bring focus to the more important details of your presentation highlighted in the report. This would allow them to utilise the information more effectively and constructively should they ever need to take this to court. This once was his area of expertise, after all. Gordon and Dent gave each other another look and they looked pleased. Well, at least they came to a consensus on something. They had their attention on you again after the mutual confirmation.

  “Astounding work you two,”

  Harvey Dent smiled politely at you. Your erratic heartbeat calmed as you felt heat radiate off your face like a hot pan. Slowly the high of authoritative validation crept within your system. His words definitely felt like honey.

  “I’m gonna need you to come with me to County tomorrow, after hours, to account for certain data and ledgers regarding Lau’s case. Could you spare me some of your time, Miss?”

  You gulped. It was extremely hard to say no to this man. You weren’t going to turn down a request like this anyway, if it meant one step closer to saving Gotham City. A little sacrifice for something you love was nothing. You nodded tentatively at first, charting a rough impression of your weekly schedule in your head. You had work the next day and it would be very hectic for you. Blake looked impassive. You couldn’t get a read on him. Harvey Dent leaned back in his chair, threw the documents on his lap back onto the table and stood up to be eye level with you.

  “Well, that would be all for today. I need to rush back, so I thank you all for your hard work.”

  After Harvey Dent promptly left the room, Gordon shifted the laptop in front of him and stood up. The room felt significantly emptier with Dent gone, he had quite the presence. You looked around the room again, eyes scanning the white brick walls, squinting as your gaze briefly landed on the bare LED light bulb. You silently waited for Gordon to collect his thoughts.

  “Consultant Blake, you're not going off the hook so easily, I’m afraid. The GCPD needs your help in tracing the mob’s money while it is being stowed away indefinitely.”

  Blake pressed his lips into a thin line, giving a single nod of understanding. Gordon shifted his weight to his other foot, pondering. He cast his eyes downwards, then back onto Blake and you.

  “You know, you two enjoy fighting against crime, right? I see something very special in you youngsters. Well, I have a proposition for you... So, here’s some food for thought.”

  Gordon looked a little more intently at you two.

  “We really could use your skill sets for our ongoing and future investigations for our fight against organised crime. We-uh, don’t receive nearly as much funding as we need from the state… So our financial forensics department is not as developed as it should be.”

  He paused. You saw those worn down eyes again, beaten down by the world around him. He was an old soul, and he made no effort to mask the worry in his eyes, his forehead grazed with permanent crease lines, perhaps from constant frowning. You could see however, the silver lining behind his dark irises. The one thing not jaded, remaining pure and undiluted, was his hope in enforcing justice for Gotham City. That is where his true passion lies.

  “We don’t have enough people with the relevant technological or knowledge based capabilities. I know this is too much to ask of you… But the offer is always open―I could negotiate a permanent spot for you two on the team, if you were to change your mind in future. That is, if you want to, of course-”

  Gordon fumbled a little with his words, his hand waving about slightly. John Blake held a hand out, saving Gordon from his apparent awkwardness as he felt it unbecoming. Cops should at least have some pride. It would not do well for a lieutenant to be appealing to two private sector workers for help like this, it was almost completely undignified. Had the cops really been pressed thin to the brink? Pushed into a corner? Here, he had thought that the state of Gotham was improving immensely. Evidently, the fine balance of all powers in Gotham has been knocked over. Something was brewing. There was a storm coming. 

  You interjected.

  “We’re, uh, very flattered! Thank you, Lieutenant Gordon. We will definitely keep your words in our hearts, and keep your offer in consideration.”

  You all regarded each other for a moment, unspeaking―completely aware of the implications of all this. This whole agreement, and Gordon’s open proposal to you. John Blake stared hard, his jaws fixed in position. You sensed the energy in this room and it held an excruciating weight. You didn’t even know what you all were waiting for. You clenched your fingers at the hem of your blazer. You looked discreetly at John Blake, not really knowing what to expect. As if you didn’t want him to catch you staring.

  “It’s been nine months since the first appearance of Batman. Since Falcone’s incarceration.”

  Blake started, his voice sure and certain.

  “Did anyone actually accomplish anything?”

  His voice echoed through the room, piercing through everyone that stood. He stepped forward slightly. His gaze flitting down to the laptop in his hand.

  “All Batman did was end Falcone’s era. The Police Headquarters rounded up new forces. The mob replaced the figurehead at the top. Dent’s attempts to take down the top dogs have been, to no avail. The big-timers didn’t take any action.”

  You adjusted your collar, uncomfortable and unable to stare at him for any longer.

  “Sure, petty crimes have been reduced, one by one. Things have changed. But at the root of it all… Nothing’s been fixed.”

  He pondered wistfully.

  “It was like… everybody was just preparing for something.”

  Blake adjusted his tie.

  “...And now you’re here, Lieutenant Gordon―You and Harvey Dent. Asking us for help, knowing very well that this-”

  He waved his laptop around in his hand.

  “-data right here, was gained unscrupulously. And it’s not too far-fetched to believe you two are corroborating closely with the Bat, despite that official policy is to arrest the vigilante known as Batman on sight.”

  John Blake tilted his chin downwards, looking up at Gordon, a purse evident on his lips. You flinched a little.

  “You are resorting to outlawed measures to fight the outlaws. And you’re telling me.”

  Gordon could not find the right words to this. He responded carefully. He would have to humble himself and swallow his pride for the sake of Gotham’s future, and he had in fact pitched you all a rather unreasonable request. He hoped to be able to earnestly appeal to the parts of your hearts, no matter how small, that cared deeply for the city of Gotham. It had to be there, he assumed, otherwise you wouldn’t have aided in the investigations as readily as you did, at the drop of a hat.

  “The mob had… squeezed us to the point of desperation, as much as I hate to admit it. I realise the first step to having a successful collusion with all parties involved is to drop the act and acknowledge this.”

   You gulped, and finally said something. At this point, the tension in the room had made you forget the slightly debilitating pain in your trachea.

  “Frankly speaking, we crossed the line first. We aren’t the only ones, and soon they’ll be hammered to the point of desperation, Lieutenant Gordon.”

  Gordon grunted, a hum low in his chest.

  “I know very well.”

  John Blake, for the first time in this confrontation, allowed a smirk to grace his lips. He looked over at you.

  “You always told me, kid…”

  His gaze on you was unnerving, and compelling.

  “...that the new era of the daring ones is coming along with an unstoppable swell. Batman is just the beginning. He... broke the gear. And we’re not going to be the only side taking up arms, fighting back.”

  He shifted his gaze back onto Gordon.

  “Expect a storm. Expect escalation. Expect a resistance like we’ve never seen before. There’s no turning back.”

  You watched as their eyes locked, their hard expressions unyielding. Gordon was obviously not new to this line of thought, but perhaps no one had been courteous enough to engage with him in discussing the implications of such. He was at a loss for words, but not caught by surprise. His deeply emotive eyes stirred, and he spoke quietly.

  “I am well aware of all this Consultant Blake. It’s not anything new to me. But I am prepared for anything and will stop at nothing. I do the best I can with what I have.”

  Blake’s eyes softened a little, but still retaining their edge, knowing fully well what all of you had gotten yourselves into. The very moment you had engaged in these investigations and accepted the request in lending your contributions, you had placed all of your lives at stake. He stuck a palm to him out of habit, always one for the conditioned nicety. 

  “We have a deal, then. We will lend you our tentative aid. ”

###

Your teeth gnawed slightly at your lips as you made your rounds around the main office room in the MCU. The administrative office had been closed long since you arrived here. You reorganised your datasets you gathered from Gotham National Bank, and printed out the required evidence for your visit to County the next day. It occurred to you, with the impromptu presentation you delivered earlier, that you needed to revise the formatting of your work before it was court-ready. You stood by the printer, listening to the squeaking of ink running across paper and the whir and buzz of the mechanism inside. 

  You exhaled, the first time this night since being discharged that you could take a brief moment of respite. You had a newfound respect for crime fighters in Gotham, if this was what their lifestyles consisted of. Gordon hadn’t even left the MCU, he resolved to return to his private workspace at the top floor of this building. Justice never sleeps, you supposed. You looked out the window, groaning then pinching the bridge of your nose. It was a special kind of blackness out there, one you would probably only see during the witching hours. You wouldn’t be able to get the rest you needed to recover properly, since you probably only had a couple hours of sleep at best before you had to wake up to head for work. Then, when you were done for the day, you would have to rush over to County, grab a bite on the go for dinner if you were lucky, and turn in late again.

  Never would you have thought that you would find yourself working on the side of justice in this way, having a direct hand in adjusting things in Gotham for good. Although, it did seem like a sort of calling to you, in a way. Things were a little bit too convenient, and pieces fell into place together too easily. It was like a feasible chemical reaction in a way that was bound to happen at any given point in time, so long as time had stretched on. You tapped your fingers against your chapped lips, deliberating for a while.

  You did always wish you had a reliable way of measuring what was guaranteed and what wasn’t. It would provide you with a greater control over your life than what you had over the past few years, one that you sought after.

  Serendipity.

  You weren’t exactly too sure if you could call it that.

  Your thoughts wandered back to your coworker and boss, John Blake. He was pretty much done for the night and didn’t have much else to wrap up on. He would wait for you at the porch of the MCU. He had been acting rather strange. Ever since you first saw him, he had been pretty cold to you. But now, it was currently walking along a fine line of coldness and slight, dare you say, hostility. You supposed that he had always been pretty insufferable to you. God, since the start, he had been pretty provocative even when you were sitting round the coffee table at that one boujee cafe. But it had, well, mostly always been in playful jest, or friendly banter. You supposed you always did feel the strife of competition with him, always needing to prove something to him.

  You groaned again, feeling a pinch behind your eyes. You had to save all this thinking for later when you weren’t exactly sleep deprived. You ran a final check through all your printouts, languidly flipping through them with an index finger. Satisfied, you tapped the width of the entire stack a couple times against the surface of the wooden table, aligning the sheets within. You slotted it in an empty file supplied by the GCPD, and headed to the entrance with the large front doors.

  Harvey Dent and Gordon sure made the impression on you, though you did have your doubts towards them. Their relationship seemed… unnatural, kind of strained. You could even describe it as seeming dysfunctional. And it was obvious to you. You couldn’t really blame them, though. With corruption levels so high in this city, you wouldn’t know who to trust either. You would love to have faith in the system, but if they were so good, they wouldn’t be turning to you and Blake.

  You stepped out into lights cast upon the porch by the warm streetlamps, lost in your thoughts.

  John Blake.

  You squinted upon the intrusion of the flaring streetlamps. You saw two streetlamps in the spot where there should only be one.

  What the hell?

  You rubbed your eyes with your free hand. You couldn’t hear anything.

  Where is he… anyway?

  You strained your eyes open again.

  The streetlamps were like a desert mirage. You saw the two balls of light separate slightly, then start to converge.

  Your hair stood on ends, from the back of your neck to the entirety of your arms. Something scraped along the inside of your ears, a high-pitched screeching that bounced within your ear canal.

  You blinked, your shoulders tensing up. You took a step forward, your breath faltering.

  Your feet wobbled slightly as you made your first descent down a step. You gripped onto your laptop and file even tighter. 

  No…

  You broke into an all out sprint, almost nose diving down the long flight of stairs, the sensation pulling at your lungs disorientating.

  Does it depress you? To know that your reality is based on comforting lies?

  Poor little girl... You think a safe space will actually help.

  You felt something black and long, emaciated fingertips reaching into your ear and scratching lightly. They were charred and felt like the bark of scorched trees. They were lanky and skinny like tree branches, about a foot long and grazed at the walls of your ear canals.

  If you stare into the abyss long enough, the abyss stares back at you.

  It was a creature of the underworld. One of the most fearsome apparitions, not from the corporal realm. Then… What was he doing here? You bristled.

  Judgement had been passed, and the final fight between good and evil awaits.

  He was the plaguebearer, the Fourth Horseman of the Apocalypse. He was the harbinger of the pestilence. When the time was right, he will besiege the world with pure pandemonium.

  Flesh thudded against stone tiled floors. A strangled scream tore gutturally through the streets. These sounds were incredibly muffled to you.

  He barely turned his head to give a brief, uninterested, side glance.

  And all of a sudden, all your senses returned to you in one compounding moment, everything came crashing down dramatically upon you like a surging, symphonic orchestral blare, and you were met with your fears. The scratchy fingertips stabbed and pierced into your eardrums, and a sharp, debilitating throb pounded through your head. No amount of alcohol could make you forget the sight of his gruesome face.

  Here he stood, in the corporeal world, insidious and spectral. The time had come, and his presence heralded the arrival of world’s end, the armageddon before Judgement Day.

  You were unfortunate enough to be caught, dead in the center of this maelstrom.

  You looked death in the eye, watching carefully as you anticipated his next course of action. He opened his mouth to speak.

  “Ah, uninvited guests―Always a, uh, welcome surprise.”

  He slurred the last word. You tried your hardest to react, to at least do something, anything at all really would do at this moment. Ounce by ounce, he filled every space and cavity your physical being had to offer, and then those your spiritual and mental being as well, for there seemed to not be enough space for this surreal and... grotesque thing. You couldn’t breathe, it felt as if his mere presence was asphyxiating. You wanted to move, you wanted to run, you wanted to curl up into a ball, you wanted to move at least one goddamned muscle in your body.

  But you can’t.

  Sighing exaggeratedly, as if the world owed him a living, he trudged forward slowly and expectantly towards you. He put both his palms up, facing you, stretching and spacing out all his gloved fingers, perhaps in mock concession, a friendly gesture showing that he had nothing to hide. He raised his brows at you with his lips in a sulk, derisive in his condolences. All at once, the air was knocked out of your lungs, and your torso was constricted. You could barely comprehend what was happening, and he seized you by warping behind you as quickly as his stature allowed for. You bit into your lips, tears pricking at your eyes that you could allow such a thing to happen without having the guts to put up a fight. You thrashed your head around, struggling against his grasp, his leather gloved hands muffling a yelp that escaped your lips.

  He grumbled about something related to people minding their own businesses, but you were far too busy trying to pry away at his iron clasp around your figure to comprehend what he was really saying.  

  You couldn’t breathe properly. You sucked in as much air as you could through your scalded nostrils. Your lungs burned. Perhaps it was because you couldn’t see his face, that you could muster the courage required for this display of resistance to his restraints. Your laptop and files were left forgotten, dropped by the pavement and driven into the soil.

  “Kid, it’s fine, just relax and don’t―urgh! Don’t...don’t do anything rash.”

  You peered down as he rasped, the side of his face pressed mercilessly down into the concrete slabs of the sidewalk. Your shaky pupils searched the scene in front of you. The darkness was illuminated by the mellow streetlamps. John Blake was pushed, head first into the ground with a big, pale, brown-haired man kneeling against his form, restraining his arm behind his back. He was armed. That put you slightly more on edge, and slightly more willing to comply. The wraith behind you removed his hand from your mouth, and just as you were about to let out an ear-curdling scream, you felt a cold smoothness of the point of a knife tickle you lightly at your neck, drawing circles around your pulse point gently. Stubbornly, you slackened your arms a little, but still maintained a hold on his forearms.

  Let… Let go of John.

  You saw another man a couple feet beside him, frightened out of his wits, held at gunpoint by another goon, this one wearing a clown mask. He was quivering slightly, both his arms behind his head, clad in a grey suit, a piece of paper duct-taped at its front with words scribbled sloppily―‘Please deliver to Lieutenant Gordon.’ You scrunch your nose a little, tracing your eyes up to look into his panic-stricken, beady eyes.

  “Lau?”

  You spit out in disbelief, momentarily forgetting the compromising position you were in. The phantom circled his arms around you tighter like a python, a ritual they performed before they devoured their prey. It was no use, your arms were wedged by your sides at this point. You tried one last time to fight it, but it was met with a mere chuckle.

  “I see we’re all, uh, acquainted here?”

  He gestured in sardonic formality with his fingers that weren’t latched onto the trigger. He had an incredibly erratic cadence to his voice. His intonations and inflections were completely irregular, he stressed words in a pattern that seemed completely… random. This made even the way he spoke instinctually threatening, for you didn’t know what to expect from him, a sort of jagged edge that laced his words. It granted him a heightened sense of unpredictability, and a malicious air of danger that felt even more tangible. You felt this, it was all too real.

  “You’re working with the police to sell me out, is that how it is? You would betray your own company’s affiliate.”

  Lau, with as much disdain he could gather within him in his sorry state, glared daggers at you. His hands shook more violently, unable to control the trepidation of fear and anger mixed together in a deadly concoction. The ghoulish man who held you shifted you in his grasp a little, pressing your head closer to his cheek, and you felt the stickiness of his greasepaint latch onto your hair. You cringed and recoiled, lips contorting in disgust. He swiped his tongue against the ridges along his bottom lip.

  “I wouldn’t be so ah... concerned with that, if I were you. Seeing that our boy-o over here so valiantly jumped in to save your little-ol life.”

  You snarled at this implication, how dare he mock John? You clawed at his forearm, digging your nails into the velvety textile of his purple sleeve, and jerked yourself against his grasp. Roughly, he tensed his arm against your body. He shifted his lips closer to your ear, his slimy breath stroking the shell of your ear, smearing some hot waxy face paint against your cheek.

  “Ah-tatta… Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves.”

  He growled that last bit menacingly into your ear, pushing the slender tapered point of his blade deeper into your neck, sashaying side to side ominously as he adjusted his hold on you to expertly elude his arm from your long nails. He played around with the butt of the knife, tapping it and twisting it around absentmindedly. The blade slid against the delicate skin of your throat carelessly, with varying pressure. You froze. Just because you couldn’t see him didn’t mean he wasn’t there. As a grim reminder of his presence, he knowingly did this, intruding all boundaries of your personal space. Your blood ran cold, frosted by the chilling metal digging into your neck, and your sight remained trained on John Blake.

  Events that happened at the bank flipped through your mind like the pages of a comic book.

  Terrorist. Master-manipulator. Criminal. What the hell are you?

  You weren’t sure if you should be more afraid of this more talkative version of the clown, or the dead silent dirt green-haired man under the frowning mask.

  If there was one thing they had in common, you couldn’t fully understand either of them.

  Your life was in the hands of a madman who treated it all like a game.

  You saw John looking straight into you, seething underneath all that pressure. You tried to seek solace in him and calm him down at the same time, trying to convey your emotions through your eyes.

  Tongue in cheek, the man behind you was clearly watching this interaction, unamused.

  “For a couple of party crashers-ah? You guys sure are bor―ing.”

  With a low rumble in his chest, he shoved you forward and seized your hands behind you, pressing the knife against the back of your neck. A gasp escaped your lips, not used to the crassness of which you were being handled.

  “Ooh, I have an idea, something real fun. It wouldn’t do to do this at our, uh, current venue however…”

  He gestured his goons towards the abandoned building in front of you.

  Catching your breath, you twisted your head to the side to look at John Blake, your eyes widening and searching his face desperately. You had no choice but to be subjected to this… sick game of his.

  “It’ll be okay, John. We’ll be okay.”

  You only managed to catch a glimpse of his jaw clenching and his hard eyes looking back at you, before the clown in the purple suit pushed you forward again. The clown smacked his lips together.

  “Make it fast, lovebirds.”

###

Your head spun feverishly. You were sleep-deprived, couldn’t breathe well, and in a… sticky situation. You were just slammed forcefully, thrown head first into a fiberboard office desk. Through a teary-eyed vision, for a moment it was pitchblack, with the dim light of the city at night filtering through the window. Then, you were blinded by the sting of office-grade LED strip lights arranged neatly on the ceilings above you. Your trachea was already burning from being forced to climb up a flight of stairs. You had just about enough. This debilitation and lightheadedness gave you a newfound strength, ironically.

  You thought back on the 9/11 attacks, and on every other occasion you felt this similar genuine terror strike up in your heart. You vaguely remember some quote, to never negotiate with terrorists, or something like that. Terrible advice really, to anyone who was actually in a terror situation where it was life or death, but to hell with it. You were at your limit for the amount of bullshit you could tolerate. Being absolutely manhandled was not in your itinerary this night. You thought back on every good thing you’ve tried to do for Gotham, sickeningly undone by thugs like these. Your hunched form felt an animosity that was like acid, burning, slicing and extremely potent. And luck has it, you’re trying to stop me again.

  Your forehead was propped against the desk for support. Your hands were free, but your world was spinning too much for you to do anything with them. You bared your teeth, and you swear you could feel fangs growing where your canines were rooted.

  Violently, you hurled your voice against the desk.

  “Haven’t you done enough to us at the bank?”

  You squeezed your eyes shut and gritted your teeth, clenching your fists tightly. Your blood was hot, and you could no longer feel the coolness of the blade against your neck.

  “I’m not afraid of you terrorists. Frankly speaking, I am absolutely sick of you little bastards.”

  Venomously, you spit the excess saliva in your mouth against the desk, overwhelmed with emotion.

  You felt him tugging at your white blazer sleeves, and an excruciating force wrenched at the crown of your head by the hair, lifting your body up slightly, with it still looming over the desk. You felt a suppressed rage as you ran out of ways to express your anger in this awkward position, and you prepared to resort to launching a spit at him to resolve this compulsion.

  But the moment you were face to face with him, the hairs on the nape of your neck bristled. Trapped in your own psychosis, you were wheedled into a living nightmare tailor made for your own brain to play on your deepest fears. Two holes gouged out for eyes, and a bloodied smile carved in place of lips, all splotched onto a chalky white canvas. He looked like a corpse, and you felt the urge to puke. You felt your stomach lurch, and you clutched at your mouth to coax the acidic feeling back down your throat.

  He studied you, frowning deeply and narrowing his eyes, straining his head sideways to get a better look at you. God, when he narrowed those eyes, his sclera disappeared and they looked like the eye sockets embedded within a skull. His greasy hair frayed around framing his head stiffly, lifeless with its strands starched and stiffened together with muck, as if it were dipped in formaldehyde, its proteins coagulated rigidly like it belonged to a cadaver that had long been embalmed. They were bleached off of their natural colour and a faded wash of pallid, acid pale green remained. The fact that he smelled strongly of a queasy mixture of many different chemicals definitely did nothing to help.

  “Ah, so you are that little doctor girl back there. I remember you... Who else on earth wears a, uh, white blazer?”

  He snorted at the end, pinched at your sleeve at the same time, causing your forearm to be lifted, before he let it go. Your wrist bone landed, smacking against the table with a loud snap. The bite was sharp and pointed. You quickly grabbed your hand and held it to your chest, rubbing over it soothingly. You had no idea why you felt offended by this.

  “Glad you made it, little girl-”

  “Doctor... What? And says you! You’re-you’re dressed in a purple trench-”

  You cut him off. He regarded you with a slow lick of his lips, gliding languidly over the fringes of his scars. He gets even closer, up in your face. He stares down at you, looking directly into your very being. You try to look away, but you could only see ink black. You could even smell the greasepaint in this enclosed space. You felt the world spinning.

  “C’mere―Hey. Look at me.”

  He rasped, dragging the clipped point of the dagger against your cheek, pressing it against the corner of your lips.

  “Y'know, whenever people say they’re... not afraid of me,”

  He looked away, inflecting his voice. Then he pointed at his face with his gloved hands, gesturing at the distance between you two, etching even closer. You felt an internal score rising in pitch.

  “I do this. I get all up in their face.”

  He nodded at you. To this you sealed your eyes back together. You dared not look. The world had not stopped circling around you. He yanked your head.

  “Hey―come on…”

  Cooing, he sticks the blade in your mouth. It took all your strength in order to keep your eyes open, just to stare helplessly into back his cavernous ones. The straining notes were reaching an unbearable dissonance, tearing jarringly into your eardrums. It was excruciating. Your ears ached and bled. They reached a frequency that was no longer audible to you.

  “And guess what? They’re always silent. Like you, right now.”

  He smiled, patronisingly, with a sympathetic look on his face, shaking his head slightly.

  “People that, uh, put on a show… are spineless, more often, than no-t.”

  He patted your face gently with his leather finger tips, then rubbed loose patterns around. He had you in his trap. You were his prey, no more than a little mouse to a cold-blooded viper. He flicked his tongue rapidly out of his mouth, then retracts it. What he said wasn’t… false. You couldn’t take it any longer. The revolutions around you were excessive.  

  “Hey―Freakshow. Does it feel good intimidating someone smaller than you? Behind a mask?”

  You saw his eyeballs shift to the side with the weight of a boulder, this time jarringly wide, and you could only see the white of his eyes. He really did not look amused. He shifted his bottom lips in a restrained tick, almost like a controlled form of madness. He leaned back slightly, his grip still firm on your hair, wobbling it around slightly. His body bent a little backwards from the hips, and he dramatically gesticulated his hand holding the knife into an open palm.

  “Very well, your dashing knight in ah, shining armour has given us a great suggestion.”

  Your body was pulled towards him and he faced it towards the center of the room, with that familiar careless grace you witnessed days ago. His arm was hooked suffocatingly around your neck, and you were face to face with the setting of an abandoned office room. The only furniture was the shabby office desk before you, and floorboards were uncovered, revealing nails sticking out of the ground. The wallpaper was partially torn, a pale beige staining at the edges with a rusted brown. A few slider windows were spruced along the walls surrounding the room.

  John Blake and Lau were pushed all the way to the windows, both of them still held captive by the two goons, edging dangerously close to the borders. Lau stood on the left, and Blake on the right.

  “Let’s extend this little… game between us,”

  The grisly clown tongued along the scars on his inner cheek.

  “To our guests here with us.”

  He reached around beneath his coat, into his back pocket.

  “You deranged fuck, what you’re doing here is sick-”

  Bones cracked. A fist connected with John Blake’s skull.

  Lau just stared on agitatedly, his tongue curling against his bottom lip as he inhaled deeply, his breathing rate increasing. His hands were still behind his head.

  “Between one life or the other,”

  The clown craned his head into your line of sight, to check if you were still listening. Your chest constricted, and your breathing picked up. The pain escalated.

  “You’ll get to choose…”

  Reaching around you, he presented a gun, glinting silver. You stared at it, horrified. He cackled scratchily, the sound of his voice grating to your ears like sandpaper. From behind, he wrapped his hands around yours as gingerly as he could at first, as if he were handling a delicate little child, teaching them a valuable life skill, such as tying their shoe laces. Soon he gave up on this idea and thrust it in your hand, then unceremoniously clasped his hands tightly around yours, fumbling slightly with the butt of the gun. He made a throaty noise. His varnished gloves rubbed mercilessly against the skin on your knuckles.

  No, no, no, no....

  You squeezed your eyes, an epileptic meditation amidst the prelude of a panic attack. He hunched over, jutting a sharp chin into the tender flesh between your neck and shoulder. You squirmed, and felt purple walls around you constricting further as his arms enclosed around you, your heart sinking further down and squished into a box. You did not like him pushing past your personal boundaries at all.

  “You can’t make me do this.”

  Your voice was barely a crack above a whisper, croaking silently.

  He lifted his chin and pushed back down on your shoulder to get a closer look at your face, making a nasally grunt as he did so.

  “You do know what��s gonna happen to you if ya don’t play along now, don’tcha?”

  He bobbed your hand around slightly, the gleaming danger of the pistol hypnotic. You stay rooted to the spot, coercing your hands into relaxation. You were being lured into its spell, it was like a siren that serenaded, and the barrel of the gun looked like that of a deformed pipe. His arms were caged around you, you were locked in place.

  You followed the sound of the pipe.

  Your eyes were steely.

  He turned his cheek a little, nudging the side of his cheek against yours to direct your attention to the left side. More wax was smeared on your face. You felt stifled.

  “Your… corrupt boss who cares about nothing but money,”

  Your gun was still pointed to the middle of Blake and Lau. But you were bewitched to keep your gaze on Lau, and he stared at you with the same flecks of red in his eyes as he did a couple days ago at the office.

  “You know, my car is worth more than both of your entire life savings combined-”

  “Or…”

  He jerked his head slightly to the right and made another nasal sound to redirect you, along with the disgusting lick of his lips. The walls were slowly caving in.

  “Your tall, dark and handsome squeeze over here.”

  He crooned suggestively.

  “Y’know, he is pretty gallant―Maybe he wouldn’t mind sacrificing his life so that little squealing rat could live.”

  You watched John Blake as he was being jostled roughly by the brown-haired man. You didn’t know how to react, and you couldn’t find the right words to say. For some reason, that statement made you feel somehow… sorrowful. Why?

  “He… We’re not attached.”

  You silently blurted out. You felt a low rumble vibrating against your back, before the clown behind you burst into a fit of light, high-pitched giggles, incredulous. On top of his voice, even his nasal laughter sounded like a cynical, washed out clown who smoked a pack of cigarettes a day, who put on a red nose and laughed derisively at childrens’ misery at their own birthday parties.

  This was something you felt the need to clarify? Right before all of your untimely deaths? Oh, how entertaining this was to him. You were beyond foolish to the clown.

  “Talk about ice cold, little girl.” 

  The clown scoffed in disbelief.

  “My brother over there, I’m so sorry. Trust me, I feel for ya-”

  He jeered, wiping a fake tear away from his eyes, letting the last waves of his laughter tide through. You frowned, puzzled and bewildered. You caught John Blake’s gaze, helplessly searching for answers from him. He tensed his jaw further, collecting his thoughts. Clearly, the clown’s antics were getting to him. You couldn’t blame him. You fared no better. He took a deep breath and calmed.

  “It’s fine, just relax. Don’t fall for his twisted mind games.”

  The clown pouted at him. He was pushed even further against the edge of the window, the brown-haired man pointing his gun underneath his chin and painstakingly shoved him further backward. His lower body was the only thing anchoring him to the floorboard. The corpse clown's hands clasped over yours tapped it impatiently a couple of times.

  “We don’t have all day, y’know.”

  He deadpanned. You inhaled slightly and closed your eyes. Your mind sifted through many memories, sharp and bright, of all your interactions with Lau. Of all the conversations you’ve had with John over Lau.

  That man is nothing but scum. He has contributed to the steady crumble of Gotham, peddling drugs, perpetuating murders, and ensuring that the mob ruled the city with an iron fist.

  It was scary how you were able to rationalise this. 

  No hard feelings Lau. An eye for an eye. That’s all it really is.

  You slowly felt anger and vengeance bubbling in your stomach. You were overwhelmed with the savagery of the beast. You sought retribution, reprisal and revenge. This… was you. And you had all the power in the world to take the law into your hands, to play your own judge. You slowly traced the line of the sight of the gun to your left. The music of the pipe resounded melodically. It’s dangerous. But it was so… incredibly sweet. You looked up from the barrel to the man its sight landed on. Your eyes were glazed over. The clown behind you hummed in assent, pleased with the results. Your fingers hooked at the trigger, hesitating.

  “Excellent choice, little girl.”

  He licked his lips. He toyed around with the gun, playing and fiddling with its hammer, flicking it and letting go absentmindedly.

  “If only it weren’t so, ah… pre-dictable.”

  He rested his fingers atop of yours. Your hands shook a little. 

  “Is it because it goes ‘according to plan’? I mean, he’s the obvious baddie over here, and all you… do-gooders. You clearly deserve to live. To bring him to justice.”

  He purred into your ear, his breath fanning you hotly. John Blake struggled further against the man holding him back. He had no hands to grip onto the frames of the window. His fall was imminent. He had to speak up now. There was no better time. Desperately, he wheezed.

  “You know kid,”

  He sputtered slightly.

  “I always told you that you were like a… like a siege engine. I’m only saying this now because it’s a matter of life or death,”

  His words were initially spat out at a fast pace, his voice was very strained from his extreme and awkward position, and his breath was laboured. Eventually, he slowed down to get his point across more clearly.

  “You’re a fine weapon. A valuable asset to my company, and your work is remarkable. I’ve always entrusted you to make the right decisions as my junior analyst… But I’ve come to realise you’re so much more. ”

  He tried to peer down at you from his obstructed view, toiling as his voice was weak from holding this position. For so long you worked so hard for him, and you barely got rewarded with words of confirmation. Your eyes went wide and you hastily looked at him, they were glossy and large like a puppy dog. Your heart squeezed gut wrenchingly, for months you pined for this truth. You yearned so deeply to now what he truly thought of you and everything you’ve done for him.

  “You’re always by my… my side. It’s two of us against the world. You’re the only person I want to do this job with. You’re a bright girl, with so much flair for what you do. And that’s not the only part,”

  You felt yourself drift higher and higher, and you were now a lightweight. Drunk on his words, you’ve never heard him speak so personally about you before. It was always sparse little words of affirmation sprinkled around sparingly. He was an incredibly stingy man. He was so ungenerous with praise. It was always snarky jabs at you. He always made you feel the need to prove yourself. But he was the first one who gave you the chance to.

  “That’s not what makes you special. I want you to remember our vision-”

  He implored earnestly. 

  “Our vision… has been tainted. But that doesn’t make it any more invalid. Sometimes... we do have to get our hands dirty, for-for the greater good.”

  He breathed, in between jagged gasps. If this was what he truly thought of you...

  “I’ll trust you again. To do the right thing.”

  Intently, you listened to his words, your eyes watering slightly. You tried internalising the wealth of what he said to you. It was a lot to take in, it all happened so fast. This conversation was happening prematurely. You had no idea who was playing the pipe at this point. Where was the sound coming from…? The alluring music converged from all corners, all directing to the source of the instrument in your hand.

  The clown behind you went uncharacteristically silent. He licked his lips slowly, studying the exchange between the two of you. Siege engine, huh? What a funny word to describe you with. Siege engines were colossal battering rams, castle forged and an exalted war machine that delivered victories to the warring states for centuries. Monumental goliaths, they were the front lines, the fortress breakers, the castle crashers, leading the furious charge on battlefields when zero hour arrived. They were medieval trebuchets of acclaim, a necessity for triumph in war. As glorious as they were, they could only be as great as their role allowed them to be. At the end of the day, they were nothing but a mere pawn of war.

  You slowly looked at Lau, and he no longer looked at you with that malice from before. It was replaced by a look that was… strikingly familiar. He reminded you of the mob bank teller days prior. Pleading, frightened, like a cornered animal, desperate and fighting to survive. His gaze pierced right through to your heart. This struck a chord within you. You observed how his eyebrows knitted into the shape of a mountain, quivering lightly. His lips downturned and parted slightly. His eyes were large. The look of a man whose life flashed before his life.

  Yes, he did cause you a lot of trouble at the office. He did utterly degrade and humiliate you. He made your job hard. The moment he stepped in, he made you hate your job. No actually, that’s the understatement of the century. He made you loathe your job, detest it, abhor it. Pretty much anything to do with a severe hateful feeling you felt for this job, where you used to feel joy or any small amount of excitement, he had killed it for you. But did he really deserve to die for this?

  “I-”

  A croak filed through your dry throat. It felt like a type of flesh eating insect was festering within your insides. Starting at your heart, they feasted at the tissue down into your stomach, and they were coming up through your gullet. The moral conscience weighed inside of you like a heavy pendulum, one swing away from breaking off from its support and crashing through to your very center. You couldn’t bear the moral weight of such a decision. This was not a burden you could carry for the rest of your life.

  “I can’t. I can’t do it.”

  John Blake looked at you while he sucked in a breath, unreadable. Lau fell to his knees, a wash of relief coming over him. He continued being kicked and kneed in the face by the goon wearing a clown mask.

  “Ah... you’ve already chosen unfortunate-ly. And you’re not backing out of this one, sweetheart.”

  You flinched hearing the voice that you had forgotten was there. This stirred something within you, and you refused to give into his demands. You would rather die than make a choice like this.

  “No, I am not giving into your stupid, twisted pseudo-social experiment-”

  You twisted the gun barrel to face yourself, and for once, you heard no more music.

  “It wouldn’t even matter who I chose anyway… would it?”

  Shakily, you looked into the head of the barrel, and you felt… grief. It was cold and empty looking. For the second time that night, it felt like you were looking death in the eye. A knot twisted in your stomach. Your tears spilled over your cheeks, flowing hotly. You wept silently. You were stubborn, you would go to this extent just to prove something. Your ego knew no bounds. Your hearing blanked out for a moment, and you vaguely heard Blake shouting at you. You suddenly plunged into purgatory, existing solely on the plane between life and death. You teetered on the edge. Lau looked on from the ground, body tense and deeply perturbed. This turn of events was greeted by silence from the clown.

  The clown stared, wide eyed. His face twitched. His lips quirked into a frown. Why… would you do something like that? His eyes narrowed a fraction. He couldn’t comprehend this. It wasn’t exactly easy to render him speechless. Why on earth would you throw your life away for another’s? This he could not understand. Humans are... selfish creatures. At the core of it, they were all rotten and purely motivated by self-interest. Then… then why?  Why hadn’t he been able to predict this? This ate at him. Got under his skin. It grinded his gears. His arms wrung around you tighter. He observed the pistol pointed at your forehead. This was pathetic. Absolutely ridiculous. Confusion quickly dissipated in his chest and boiled into a seething, frothy rage. His jaw jutted forth and tensed, trembling slightly, his lips pursing together. He cackled through his nostrils, sounding a little manic. If you really wanted death, he wasn’t going to just give it to you, no. Ah, ah, ah… I’m not letting you get your satisfaction out of this. He couldn’t let you off the hook this easy.

  “Well then, little girl. You can’t be a… a sore loser and quit playing our game now.”

  His lilt sounded crazed. He gripped your hands tighter, you felt the leather skirting against your skin.

  “I suppose-ah, I’ll have to finish your job for you.”

  He spat, his words practically dripping with pure spite and malice. He wrenched your wrist to aim the gun away from you. Alarmed, your senses were heightened and you let out a sharp bark. At a speed you’ve never seen yourself move at before, you bent forward and locked your jaw around his fingers, chomping down forcefully. Your teeth sunk into his leather glove, and clamped down straight into his last finger. Squawking, he was caught off-guard. You heaved your foot and aimed a kick at his crotch. He let out a muffled noise of pain, and you tried your damndest to take advantage of this and get out of this situation.

  You struggled in his grasp, elbowing around at the sides, hoping to worm your way out of it. Unfortunately, he was unrelenting. Your hands were still on the gun, your fingers idling at the trigger. He doubled over, sickling an arm around your neck and gripped tightly onto the pistol, a finger slotted between the gun hammer and the rear sight, pulling it back. While he was in his position bent over, he was looming over you, laughing slightly. You were choking, beyond freaked out at this point, not exactly getting the reaction you wanted from him, and now you were completely unsure as to what he would do. The feeling of confinement was too much and you were at your breaking point.

  “Y’know, forget being a siege engine,”

  He grabbed your jaw, forcefully burrowing his fingers into your cheek.

  “I think she’s more of a, uh, pinky bruiser.”

  He tore your head upwards, and latched his hands back onto yours. He yanked at them, and aimed the gun at Lau. Ready, aim... He fastened his index fingers around yours. You widen your eyes, panicked with alarm bells shrilling through your head. Fire!

  “No!”

  He pulled at the trigger. You jerked your arms violently to the left, frantic. Recoiling, you were sent careening further back into the clown. The sound of the gun shot pierced through the air like a firecracker. You saw the goon with the mask fallen to the ground, his denim jeans getting soaked through with a fresh, gurgling red dampness around his thigh.

  Before anything else could be registered in your mind, the brown-haired man on the right side of the room displaced John Blake’s leg, and grabbed his lower torso, flinging him over the ledge of the window sill. You tried to lunge forward, demented and crazed, you were quickly becoming hysterical.

  “Ohmygod John-”

  Completely out of control, a scream tore through with your whole body like a shard of glass, you took no notice of the pain in your lungs as you were rapidly turning unhinged. The man who flipped John over like he was a light, airy pancake, faced you and you heard the click of a gun.

  You saw the sight of a gun cocked in your direction. You felt tears well up in your eyes at this very fraction of time.

  Bang!

  You screwed your eyes shut, expecting the most intense agony you would ever feel in your life. But the pain never came. Your eyes fluttered open slowly, and you saw the goon drop unconscious like a fly zapped through an electric swatter, most likely dead.

  “Did I tell you to shoot her…”

  The clown behind you muttered to himself, the smell of gunpowder burning your nostrils and you saw streaks of smoke smouldering and rising from the gun barrel in his hands. You tensed your shoulders, mouth slightly agape in bewilderment. You mouthed something soundlessly, but words could not form. What are you doing-

  The crackle of wood being busted through splintered at your ears, the noise tearing through the room sickeningly. You didn’t even have time to decide whether you should feel relieved or not.

  “Drop the weapon, now!”

  Lieutenant Gordon came bursting through with a team of policemen, their pistols aiming at every figure present in the room. He looked at you and the clown, and kept his gun trained in your direction. He dared not edge closer, in case you got harmed.

  The clown, with his hold still vice-like on you, stumbled backwards pulling you along ungracefully. He still kept you imprisoned under his reign for one final moment in time. You were at his mercy.

  “Drop it now!”

  A pair of lips pressed intimately into your ear. You felt a shiver run down your spine.

  “You know pinky bruiser, you were a lot of fun today. Sorry for, uh, calling you a party pooper.”

  He rasped. A chuckle rumbled lowly in his chest.

  “I think... you and I both know―Fate wouldn’t have it if this was our last time together.”

  He murmured and you were about to pass out from this lightheadedness and claustrophobia. You were constricted for far too long. You were way past your breaking point. A huge force tipped you backwards. You grabbed onto the ledge of the window sills, your veins popping from exerting such a strong force on your arms. 

  All of a sudden, the clown’s hold on you was relinquished.

  Your lungs overflowed with air, and your body was dramatically jerked forward, pain flooding your systems as you dry-heaved. Gordon hurried over by your side, extending a tender hand to rest on your arm. Realisation dawned upon you, and you swiftly spun around, bending over the ledge, looking out the window. You craned your neck as far down as you could see, hunting down and examining the perimeter.

  Gone.

  Gordon was pulling you back, preventing you from falling out the window. He was trying to talk some sense into you, but quickly gave up when he realised your current, panicked state of mind. Your strength was fading, and you allowed Gordon to reel you back into safety. Why didn’t you just… kill me? You thumped, falling to your knees, grabbing your hands to your head, sobbing and whimpering your sorrows away. You finally allowed all the pent up emotions to crash, not that you could control it now, anyway. It felt like a mallet crashing through from behind your eyes and nose, the twinging sensation unbearable as you wailed. It should have been me, goddamn it.

  Gordon knelt down, sighing and furrowing his brows in sympathy. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, then closed his mouth. He felt useless in this situation, clearly unable to help clear your head of any type of trauma that resulted from this unfortunate event. He was aware of this. He hated feeling this powerless, he hated not being able to help. He had perhaps felt this way his entire career, with a town like Gotham so rotten, the GCPD was basically made a mockery at this point.

  Lau was about to be taken by the other cops back into custody. He ambled past you, and looked over you and your pathetic form. For once, his expression was not one of scorn. It wasn’t one of anything really, he just looked a shell of the person he was just moments ago. You were pushing it if you said he looked like he felt bad for you, and that he held a thankful expression at the same time. You weren’t sure if you believed him to be capable of that.

  You were escorted out the abandoned office building, swaying and staggering around. You went to pick up the devices strewn all over the soil, with some help from Gordon. When you saw a glowing cop car with shattered windows and John Blake being supported by two cops, relieving pressure off his shoulders, you quickly rubbed at your tear stained face and hobbled over as quick as you could, relief pumping through your chest as you were hopeful that he survived the fall.

  The paramedics were on their way, and from the looks of it, John had a mildly serious shoulder injury and got extremely lucky. He had fallen from a height of 1 story from the ground, but as luck would have it, his fall was broken by the cop car stationed coincidentally below the window. He also fell on his side, which allowed for the best chance of survival and led to the least immobilising injuries.

  You couldn’t help yourself and gave John a quick hug and squeezed him lightly, after hearing him speak about what you were to him, and after experiencing the fright and grief of losing him. You were met with an involuntary wince. That probably felt soul-crushing to him, taking into account that he just fell out of a building. The ambulance finally arrived and they proceeded to bring down a stretcher. You were glad it was over. But something told you this was not the last of the clown you’d see. You thought, I mean… he practically promised you that you’d be seeing him again soon enough.

  “I’ll be fine. Just go get some rest.”

  He assured you, idling around, not really wanting to leave. He tried prolonging his stay with you before they eventually persuaded him to get onto the stretcher.

  “Heh. This time you’re the one sending me off.”

  You smiled, wanting to follow but he refused. You weren’t really sure why he wouldn’t allow that, feeling a pang of hurt in your chest. He quickly convinced you that it was too late and you had your own injuries to recover from, not wanting to disrupt the healing process. You were doubtful, but you shrugged away this nagging feeling and tried to take his word for it, mustering a final warm smile on your wary face. Your eyelids were starting to droop. You bid him farewell for the time being and watched as he was whisked away. 

  You hated to admit it, but your mind was still plagued by that sadistic clown. Your mind raced with questions, and you wanted answers. What did he mean by his parting speech?

  You were disturbed from your thoughts as Gordon offered to send you home, but you couldn’t reject his sincere offer. You didn’t want to disappoint him any further. As much as you didn’t like to leech off his kindness, it was the least you could do to repay him with the validation of being able to do something right. You sat in the front seat of the car, preparing to be saddled with desultory conversations on the ride home. However, you realised perhaps things would be different with Lieutenant Gordon. He had a type of heartfelt presence within, and was incredibly perceptive. You rested assured in your car seat. Yeah, he was different.

  You heard the revving of the engine after Gordon slammed his front door shut. You stared out the window. The moon cast a buttery glow over the town, dancing in the velvety black-blue sky. The thought of the clown flashed through your mind once again. You closed your eyes, dispelling the cursed imagery. The blast of the air conditioner was adjusted to a pleasant breeze brushing lightly against your neck. Gordon placed his hand on the gear and recalibrated it. He breathed in, turned his head and landed his gaze uncomfortably on you.

  “So, you uh, from this town?”

  You felt something pleasant blossoming inside of you, being humoured by this awkward attempt at starting a conversation from Gordon. You chuckled lightly. You appreciated the effort.

  “Yes, yes I am. What about you?”

  You looked back and smiled politely. He stepped on the pedal and accelerated the vehicle.

  “Well, no. I moved here some decades ago with my wife…”

  You guessed it would do well to get to know more about your partners in crime fighting. You hummed, patiently listening. 

  Yeah, this wasn’t too bad, you supposed.

  Now, if only you could stop yourself from feeling like passing out in the front seat. 

  That would be great.

###

[cassatine]

In the spirit of avoiding behemoth threads, finishing with Chapter Two of Queen’s Shadow in a new post. Things got long. 

Starting with a mea culpa, because I done fucked up when I said “It’s also not specified whether she intends to free the slaves she’d buy”, it is in fact there! I even quoted it (”I can use the assets I have to free what people I can”) so very much my bad. I felt a bit bad over my ungenerous reading, but it kinda balances out because I was also too generous in assuming Padmé’s personal crusade was against Slavery, The Institution, rather than slavery on Tatooine, specifically.

It’s one of the bits that made me go ‘why oh why,’ not because I think it doesn’t fit with Padmé’s character, but because to me it reads like... in TPM she was surprised to find there were slaves on Tatooine: "I can't believe there's still slavery in the galaxy. The Republic's anti-slavery laws -”. And it is a bit weird: as a politician and then a head of state she’s supposed to have a decent grasp on the actual state of the galaxy at that point, not to be naive enough to be surprised by the state of the Outer Rim or to to think slavery doesn’t exist at all in the galaxy. Irony of irony, the Nemoidians are actually listed on the wookiee as practicing it around TPM, deliberately stunting the growth of some of their young to make them into labour drones the Trade Federation... brings into the Senate.

(Seems there’s another slavery-in-civilized-space example with Czerka Arms in Master & Apprentice, which I haven’t read, but as far as I’m concerned two examples are enough to point to the fact that slavery was far from being a Tatooine or even Outer Rim only issue before Padmé was elected.) 

In Queen’s Shadow we’re four years later after she first witnessed slavery does exist (even if only by happenstance; if there’d been no forced landing on Tatooine who knows when she’d have realized) and she’s still at ‘slavery’s only a problem on Tatooine’. 

It’s not just that, though. It’s that it’s four years after her planet was invaded and the Senate proved to be useless (at one point in TPM she straight up says the Republic is broken) and she still believes it is - “I know how the Senate works”. Not that she doesn’t have reasons to believe it; there was the invasion itself, and as we learn it’s Republic courts that handle Nute Gunray’s trials. Trials plural, we lean from Palpatine: the third, he says, just “ended in a hung jury. Not the best outcome, obviously, but not the worst, either, given the strength of the Trade Federation’s legal team. The Republic lawyers must regroup, but they are already planning their next moves.”

We are all extremely surprised! This kind of thing is why Padmé doesn’t trust the Senate with the question of Tatooine slavery in the first place, after all. And I’m not saying it’s not an accurate assessment, because it is, but her plan boils down to 'hey democratic institutions are fucked but I’m rich so trickle-down economics it is. let’s do us some charity baby.’

Okay that was a little mean. The point is Padmé has reasons to see the Senate as useless, and she does. And we, the audience, know any push for reform would be useless too - we know how it all ends already, we know that the Senate is paralyzed by bureaucratic inertia, full of corruption, and we know Palpatine’s there to stack the deck against any meaningful internal attempt at reform. 

Padmé doesn’t! Well, she knows about the bureaucratic inertia and the corruption. She’s supposed to be an idealist, and she’s a politician; fixing the actual institutions should be the first thing she looks to. Sure, even without Padmé knowing how much the deck is stacked against that fix happening, it would probably look like an impossible task, but I’m pretty sure Padmé’s never been afraid of impossible tasks. And the Republic she believes in is the one she invokes when she says it stands against slavery; the one that’s supposed to mediate between members to avoid things like invasions. TPM showed her wrong on both counts, and instead of choosing to fix it the Idealist Politician Way (doomed crusade) she went with private intervention for slavery on Tatooine and slapped some cannons on Naboo.

Yeah that happened, I haven’t gotten to it yet but I looked up a few EKJ interviews and at some point before the book starts Padmé had planetary defenses installed, and apparently that was part of the platform her successor ran on too. So much for Naboo’s pacifism - an easier position to maintain when the Republic can actually be trusted to make sure invasion and the like are prevented, I suppose. 

One thing I keep coming back to wrt Tatooine is "I can’t bring official political change, given the state of most Outer Rim planets”. Because if she knows the state these planets are in, shouldn’t she have an idea of why. One of the major factors is Republic politics?? Quoting the wookie again, on Tarkin deets this time, for an example:

Several years before the Clone Wars, those in the Outer Rim eventually came to believe themselves victims of economic and social injustices, as Judicials were often withheld in intervening in Outer Rim affairs after many far-flung worlds refused to provide the Core with profitable deals. (x)

(Softly, but with feeling:) That’s corruption. It’s part of the context that allows slavery to flourish, and that’s the kind of things that’s, huh, hard to change without some politicking. It’s not a Hutt problem, or a backward planet problem. It’s a Republic problem. (Then again, if Padmé doesn’t think of slavery outside the bounds of one planet, then she doesn’t have to consider it in terms of a systemic issue at the galactic scale.)

All in all, we’re four years after TPM and Padmé’s trust in the Republic’s institutions’ ability to function is somewhere close to zero; it makes sense that she never considered leaving it despite that. What reasons does Naboo have to stay, if the Republic doesn’t work? That they don’t like the Separatists? That one of their own is Chancellor? That even with that one invasion they still have it better with the Republic than without? Padmé still calls to the Republic’s ideals because she believes in them, and I do think that’s part of why its decay is hard for her to face, but if she could put how much she cares for the slaves on Tatooine on the side for four years because of her Naboo’s needs first policy, maybe that policy played a role in Naboo’s NoLeave position too. 

I’m not saying Naboo should have left, or that Padmé’s in an easy position, watching the Republic fall apart with little power to change things - sure she has more influence than some Joe Random but even as Queen of Naboo it’s not like she can snap her fingers and fix the Republic, or slavery, or economic exploitation of the Outer Rim. She was a local ruler, not exactly Queen of the galaxy, and moreover those are systemic issues, they don’t have quick, easy fixes. 

It’s still weird that Padmé just... only looks to Naboo. I know I just said she’s a local ruler, so looking to Naboo is her job, and her planet did have to recover from an invasion. But once she realizes the Republic is broken, it’s also part of her job to think of the consequences for Naboo if the Republic stays broken, which should motivate her to try all she can not to let that happen (the consequences are not good). And realize that in the long-term, slapping canons on her planet while doing shit-all to fix the actual underlying systemic issues makes her part of the problem. In-universe, the invasion of Naboo isn’t a small event: if corporate entities like the Trade Federation can go after Mid Rim planets instead of stopping at exploiting the Outer Rim like everyone else, and still keep the seats they shouldn’t even have in the Republic and make their trials for invasion drag on for years (and it’s Nute Gunray’s trial, not the Trade Federation’s), it’s bad news for a lot of planets. And if every rich, ~civilized~ Republic member does it like Naboo, and no one does jack shit to fucking reform the Republic, then they’re basically saying it’s every planet for themselves and letting free run to predatory corporations like the Trade Federation, and it all goes even downer from there, because why wouldn’t some use the opportunity to finally get their hands on that moon or that asteroid or whatever else. Etc. Padmé doesn’t know there’s an Empire just waiting, so if she thinks the Republic is broken she should be worrying about the breakdown of its institutions

(Also, the fact that Padmé slapped cannons on Naboo and then went on to campaign against the creation of a Republic army is kind of ironic, because one of the selling points for that army probably was protecting those planets that can’t do it like Naboo.)

For all the ranting - everything checks out with how I see Padmé; it’s not that she doesn’t mean well, but Naboo’s privilege planet without even accounting with the Naboo fuckery and Palpatine mentored her. She has blind spots and she’s very good at not looking at what she doesn’t want to see. 

What it doesn’t check out with is the framing. I’m supposed to think Padmé’s brilliant. I checked!!

E.K. Johnston: I think a lot of what Padmé does in the movies goes on inside her head. So her brilliance and her political acumen, you don’t necessarily see it play out in the movies. Because she’s so smart, she doesn’t explain what she’s doing. Getting to kind of get inside her head a little bit, and write from the perspective of inside her head, you sort of see how smart and how talented and how deeply compassionate she is. In a dress that weighs 80 billion pounds or in a suit for sneaking around or whatever, she has it covered because she knows herself and she knows her friends so well. (x) 

Look if you want me to buy political acumen and brilliance and whatever, then maybe that’s what you should portray. I’m not even done grumbling, because the next (and last) noteworthy bit is between Padmé and Sabé - who didn’t know about the scheme, Padmé didn’t share it with anyone before Palpatine asked.

“I don’t have enough capital to free them all,” Padmé said, still avoiding the word buy.

“Then we’ll find out what they want on Tatooine and sell it to them in trade,” Sabé said.

“‘We’?” Padmé said, her heart in her mouth.

“Of course we,” Sabé said. “You haven’t tied your own shoelaces in four years. You’re going to need all the help you can get.”

Just as well that Sabé decides to help out, because I peeked ahead and Padmé’s going to be too busy Senatoring, and just like Queen, Senator is a post that’s completely incompatible with any kind of action on Tatooine apparently, so ofc she’ll drop the matter altogether but in the meantime, she’ll put Sabé on it. 

(If I didn’t already know Padmé was going to drop it, I’d probably have been nicer. But between that and having seen EKJ explain Padmé’s lack of reaction at the AOTC Tusken slaughter and lack of intervention re: the slavery situation... no.)

Anyway! EKJ’s angle is girl power and friendship (and role models), but I’m disappointed there isn’t more on the plan, because it’s not exactly the worst moment to show Padmé’s done her research - and she should have, since she’s supposed to care and to be smart - and that she actually has at least the beginning of an idea of “what they want on Tatooine”. Or that she’s aware that “they” covers a range of people from Jabba, ie local Hutt lords that probably profit from the slave trade in the first place, and I guess would be interested in money, bling (ie status symbols) or ugly deals thanks to her influence and contacts; to the Wattos and moisture farmers who have slaves for their labour - what they’d want is to replace that labour force and come up with a profit since they’re at it, or enough dough (local currency, Watto doesn’t take Republic credits) not to need it in the first place and live better than they do with that labour; to the actual slave traders who’ll mostly be interested in keeping their business going, so again, it’s mostly money they’d want.

And for the other options, discounting political deals with the Hutts because I very much doubt Padmé would go there... I am not particularly good at The Economics, but it does seem likely there are chances that trading “what they want” with Tatooine locals for slaves still involves an exchange of money at some point, so what Sabé’s really offering comes down to adding an intermediary step to the exchange of goods and in no way does that solve the capital issue. Really - what’s Padmé going to offer the Wattos of Tatooine, who don’t even take Republic credits? Not political favours, that’s for sure. Her wardrobe? Tried that one. A week at Lake Cuomo - experience the wonders of civilization, one-time offer?

Water would be an option - worth a lot on Tatooine, so maybe she can drain the lake at her family’s home in the Lake Country, although after that unless the next Queen gives her free reign over the rest of Naboo’s waters we’re back to money. Also that’d fuck over every moisture farmer on the planet, so maybe it’s not the best idea ever. She could use droids to solve the labour issue, maybe she can even get a price if she places a big order - I’m sure the Geonosians would love to help out, I hear they’re good at mass-producing cheap droids. Clones? I don’t remember that she was very vocal about their rights. Most likely it’ll come down to counting coppers - there’s probably plenty of places in the galaxy where a new vaporator is cheaper than on Tatooine. 

But if that kind of maths sounds ugly, it still doesn’t solve the finite capital problem - and if the one thing steeped in practicality Padmé has to say about her plan is ‘I don’t have the money for everyone’ then maybe that’s another reason to reconsider other options.

I’m also gonna point out that Padmé plans to have a massive impact on Tatooine’s labour force without apparently having considered the vacuum that’d create on a planet she knows to be poor and more lawless than not. It’s Hutt territory ffs, who’s going to step in if not them - and Padmé’s strategy not going to hurt them. It’s not that Tatooine’s economic model is good in any way, but if you just waltz in, take an axe to it and waltz back to fucking Lake Cuomo and your silk sheets, what’s going to replace is probably either more of the same, or worse.

In a similar but why vein, she says of the people she intends to free that she’ll “find them new homes, if they wish it” and I guess it’s supposed to sound good except if you think about it we’re talking about people who have nothing. Anakin and Shmi’s hovel isn’t *their*, it’s Watto’s; Anakin’s pod was only his because it was built out of junk (and because Watto has a modicum of decency somewhere inside). Freeing people is all well and good, but if you’re not actually giving them the tools to do so then you’re not really giving people a new start in life.

All this is why without actual systemic change what Padmé’s planning here is just plain fucked up: she’ll be injecting her assets into the very system she wants to go against, and do zero against the conditions that allow slavery to continue. Buying people, even to free them, is going to do shit against the institution of slavery itself, and if Padmé’s political acumen is supposed to be worth writing home about, then maybe she should show some awareness that she’s pulling some First World bullshit.

Previous notes: Chapter 1 / Chapter 2.a 

[snowregent]

I feel like there’s a lot of people that don’t know that much about this version of Elena and I wanted to share a look into who this character is and my own opinions on her and the way I write her on this blog. As a forewarning, this post is rather long. 

“Elena had been like a force of nature: take her or leave her for the passionate, cynical, idealistic, self-centered, generous-to-a-fault, girl that had been her mortal self. A wild tropical storm rising in a millpond. An orchid in a field of daisies; a gryphon in a herd of sheep. Elena had never been like anyone but herself.”

     Elena is the quintessential golden girl, the girl next door. Initially, she can come off as selfish, competitive, proud, and headstrong, however, that does not take away from the fact she can still be considered a good and decent person below the surface-- her general alignment being chaotic good. To this end, she has referred to certain students as ‘minions’ as they would readily do bidding for the most popular girl in the school and had been willing to spread rumors to further her own agendas. That said, Elena also showed a willingness to help her friends and protect others when various threats arose which would see them harmed. Some of Elena’s more positive traits are that she is: outgoing, confident, brave, optimistic, ambitious, loyal, protective, and strong-willed. She is a very good leader and as a result, is good at leading most situations that require solid leadership.

“Noblesse oblige”, Meredith said softly. “If you’re going to be queen of the school, you have to put up with the consequences.”

________________________________________________________

“Somewhere in the middle of it, Elena realized that she was going to be all right. She was herself again, not lost, not a stranger, but Elena Gilbert, the queen of Robert E. Lee.”

     Elena cares about her social status, willing to do research and find out details in order to use them against enemies if need be. At times, this means Elena may be willing to manipulate for what she deems is a greater good or to maintain her social standing, however, in most cases, she still has lines she will not cross to achieve these specific goals. Elena is a girl with a plan for everything, sometimes not as readily willing to accept other's motives as pure unless she knows them well. She is a Queen Bee, bossy at times even giving edicts from the grave. Still, she would never change herself or do something she did not think was right (by her definition of the term).

The girls in the senior class, even the ones that had been nastiest and most spiteful, were crying and holding hands. Girls Elena knew for a fact hated her were sniffling. Suddenly she was everybody’s best friend. 

There were boys crying, too. Shocked, Elena huddled closer to the railing. She couldn’t stop watching, even though it was the most horrible thing she had ever seen. 

Frances Decatur got up, her plain face plainer than ever with grief. “She went out of her way to be nice to me,” she said huskily. “She let me eat lunch with her.” Rubbish, Elena thought. I only spoke to you in the first place because you were useful in finding out information about Stefan. But it was the same with each person who went up to the pulpit; no one could find enough words to praise Elena.

________________________________________________________

“A lot of people weren’t nice to Elena after Halloween,” she said, wiping her eyes and going on. “And I know that hurt her. But Elena was strong. She never changed just to conform to what other people thought she should be. And I respected her for that, so much…” Sue’s voice wobbled. “When I was up for Homecoming Queen, I wanted to be chosen, but I knew I wouldn’t be and that was all right. Because if Robert E. Lee ever had a queen, it was Elena. And I think she always will be now, because that’s how we’ll all remember her. And I think that for years to come the girls who will go to our school might remember her and think about how she stuck by what she thought was right…” This time Sue couldn’t steady her voice and the reverend helped her back to her seat.

     In fact, Elena is intensely protective of her friends and town and will typically not betray a loyalty unless she has been betrayed first. Even then, as seen with Caroline, even though Caroline had stolen her diary, plotted against her, and even tried to turn the town against her and Stefan, Elena still was compassionate toward her and wanted to help her. Another example of Elena's ability to be compassionate can be found in the final book when Elena goes back in time and, knowing what will happen to Vicki, makes the choice to include her within her friend group as the girls get ready for the dance. When she goes back in time, she puts aside her popularity, she has matured and only seeks to make things better for everyone that had been doomed in the original timeline, even if it means she has to give up her connections with them. Elena also always fulfills her obligations, as Stefan has said ‘even to the undead’. She is fully aware of the dangerous game she plays at times, her being very emotion-driven can, at times, lead to her taking action without considering others or the fallout from her decisions. That said, she is usually willing to take responsibility for these actions and choices and she is not above admitting when she is wrong.

“…she had been a different person then. Ice-cold outside, manic inside—or was it the other way around? Still numb from the death of her parents so long ago. Jaded by the world and by anything to do with boys…A princess in an icy tower…with a lust only for conquest, for power…”

     While having been nicknamed “The Ice Princess”, “Ice Queen”, and “Snow Queen” by many, for she sometimes possesses the impression of appearing cold, distant and aloof towards those who do not know her well, as time goes on her character evolves, learning to sacrifice for those she cares about and becoming a warmer and more mature person as Elena and her friends face various trials. She demonstrates a willingness to put her life at risk to protect others though is also, at times, willing to risk the majority to save one. This was seen in the series more than once including when she threatened a guardian (angel) that she would not use her powers to save humanity if they didn’t change her mission (which had been to kill Damon). She is extremely stubborn, so much so that when presented with the doom of those she cared about and her own death, she literally refused it and convinced a guardian to allow her to go back in time and alter the chain of events which led to this, thus changing the entire course of the series and resetting the timeline.

“I’d better stop writing now. Stefan’s leaving, and Matt and Meredith and Alaric and I are going to see him off. I didn’t mean to get so into this; I’ve never kept a journal myself. But I want people to know the truth about Elena. She wasn’t a saint. She wasn’t always sweet and good and honest and agreeable. But she was strong and loving and loyal to her friends, and in the end she did the most unselfish thing anybody could do. Meredith says it means she chose light over darkness. I want people to know that so they’ll always remember. I always will.”

     While Elena has openly admitted at the beginning of the series that she always used boys and treated the opposite sex as if they were prizes and trophies to boost her confidence and self-esteem none of the boys that she has ever encountered, met, or dated (including Matthew Honeycutt) has ever had an enormous, unusual, life-changing or highly influential impact on her the way that Stefan Salvatore, in canon, and in other specifically featured verses on this blog, Archie ( @skeletcnkey ), who has drawn out more of Elena's kinder side, and Kol Mikaelson ( @psychotickol ), who has drawn out more of Elena's true nature and tempted her by her own darker traits, have had. While having developed on her own, it must be acknowledged that, at least in part, Stefan, Archie, and Kol have inspired her to become more open-minded and spiritually awakened.

“I wanted to ask you something and it’s a little embarrassing.  I remember one thing Elena told me, and that was that you used to—well, to take on her discarded boyfriends for a little while, to comfort them, before turning them lose in the world again.  And I was wondering—could you think of me that way?”

Meredith’s eyes flew open and her held breath exploded in laughter.  “You!”

“I fulfill all the requirements, I’m sure.  Low self-esteem.  Can’t sleep, can’t eat.  I think about Elena night and day.  I can’t picture myself—ever—wanting another girl—”

Meredith laughed and laughed and the tension that had been holding her rigid broke.  “All right, all right.  You’re an Elena’s-ex.  Join the very large club.  But what can I do for you?”  

     In respect to Elena's loves both in canon and on this blog, many are driven by a key concept of the novels: THE SOULMATE PRINCIPLE which is an ancient theory frequently used in most of L.J. Smith's trilogies and book series. "It is the theory that two people who are true destined soulmates are connected by a 'silver cord', only visible to the destined soulmates themselves." It does not always mean that your connection to that person will be a romantic one, but could be that of a friend as well. The key point is, they are destined to be a part of your life in some fashion, to challenge you and to impact you in a profound way. Your soulmate can awaken more of yourself through your interactions with them. "Through the silver cord, soulmates can often feel what each other are feeling if the person concentrates through the strength this connection and how long it takes to uncover may vary... Exchanging blood is one way for a person to find out they are soulmates. Soulmates can often enter each other's mind and see their memories, thoughts, and feelings. Thoughts and memories can be blocked, though this takes concentration-- if the concentration lapse during the time that one person is in someone else's mind, the blocks will fall down to allow the other person to see everything. It is the idea that for everyone in the world, there is ONE soulmate who is perfect for them. You don't have to look like your soulmate, act like them, be the same age as them; you don't even have to like them at first, but from the moment you meet them, you know that you'll never be completely happy without them."

“Involuntarily, Stefan glanced up.  Yes, he’d had the strong feeling of her presence here tonight, too.  Elena.  Still scheming from the spirit world.  Elena couldn’t help him any longer with her blood, but that wouldn’t matter to her.  She had three humans that she could still influence, and that was fine.  It wouldn’t matter to her that Meredith got a bit of a shock or that Bonnie might be playing with fire, or even—well, she wouldn’t have done anything to destroy his friendship with Matt, but he hadn’t known that before.”

     All in all, Elena is a complex character who many often misjudge both within the series and by readers. She may not be perfect, is not always agreeable, and she even may not be the character that everyone even roots for right off the bat, but she does evolve. And as it's often said, she is not anyone but herself. She does not apologize for being who she is but she does own up to who she is and the choices she makes. Elena is capable of making the hero’s choice but is not always the hero of the story. Elena knows loss and is challenging and daring and brave. She learns and grows and becomes a woman who can be vain but giving, who can be selfish, at times, but still willing to sacrifice.

[talesofafangirlwithadvr]

MAY PICKS!

WELCOME BACK TO ANOTHER MONTH OF TV/MOVIE WATCHING! 

Does it feel like it was just April or that it can’t even be May and yet it is coming to an end? I get it. Quarantine is doing weird things to my head and I can’t believe how far in the year it’s been. Looking back on my picks for this month I noticed that I have seemed to escape the world through historical period shows or movies. But that isn’t the entire bulk of the month (just half of it). Without further ado, here we go!

As always..spoilers....

THE HALF OF IT

This Netflix original movie was an early watch for me during this month and it came at the right time. I was looking for a movie, rather than a TV show, and something that was contemporary and not overly serious (although, there are serious themes in this film). As it repeatedly says, “it’s not a romance” yet it has that YA/teen romance feel. (Yes, I used YA/teen in the same description.) I really loved the Elle Chu and Paul Munsky friendship. While watching the trailer, I could tell this film would be highlighting a healthy friendship as its focal point and how your other half doesn’t have to be a romantic soulmate. A lot of times, these kinds of stories can seem very repetitive, but with the new plot of Elle and Paul in love with the same girl we encounter a new kind of obstacle. I think the resolution was pretty solid for both plot lines and I liked the train scene at the end. Certain shots felt long at times. There were lots of pauses, which I didn’t 100% like. Also, the awkwardness could feel pretty cringey. Overall, it is definitely worth the watch. I liked it and would watch it again. Paul might be one of my heartthrobs of 2020. I’m always a sucker for a sweet jock with a heart of gold. 

THE OFFICE LADIES

Yes, I know I’m late to the show as this podcast started last year, but better late than never and what better time than quarantine. Plus, I don’t have to wait each week for a new episode (even though know I’m catching up, so eventually...) At first, I was worried when I would have time because of not spending as much time in the car for commuting, but I found it’s really soothing to listen to as I’m cleaning. It feels like I’m in the room with Angela and Jenna and we’re all BFFs. I love how they’re best friends in real life and how close they are. They give the trivia you really can only get from two people who were on the show. They also have several guest stars from actors on the show to writers, directors and producers. One of my most recent listens had Creed Bratton in the studio with them and they talked about the Halloween episode. It was great. Listening to their podcast is really making me want to rewatch the series for the 100th time. As an uber fan, I already get all of their references, but with the new Easter eggs I can’t wait to go back and see them.   

STAR WARS RISE OF SKYWALKER

Not just in honor of May the 4th, but to finish up the Star Wars watch through that I was taking with my sister. I hadn’t seen it yet and while not a die heart fan, I still wanted to see the conclusion. I liked the Force Awakens a lot, but felt eh about Last Jedi. In ways this one kind of felt like a stand alone. It had a different vibe compared to the previous two. After watching I heard there was a different director for all three movies, so that makes sense-I guess. (It’s weird they wouldn’t have kept at least one to do two of them.) It also had a kind of fan fiction feel. SPOILERS! SPOILERS! SPOILERS! Bringing Palpatine back reminded me of Lord Voldemort having a kid in Cursed Child. BACK FROM SPOILERS! I’m happy that Rey’s parentage/lineage was revealed because it was such a major point in this series. I loved the Rey/Finn/Poe relationship. It was great to see them in the same story line and reminded me of the original three: Luke/Han/Leia. Leia :( It was so sad, but I always knew it had to happen, due to Carrie Fischer. It didn’t make it any easier to watch. MORE SPOILERSSSSS! I knew Kylo would turn back. It was nice to see that his mom was able to spark that. I did like his fight scene. I just didn’t love the connection him and Rey have/had. LOVED the ending. I’m cool with her taking the Skywalker name and the suns shot with the force them at the end had me screaming. 

OPHELIA

From one Daisy Ridley film to another. This movie just recently got added to my list when I was channel surfing. I vaguely remembered it being advertised, but it felt like a while ago. I’m a sucker for a re-telling, so I was immediately intrigued to watch it. This film was adapted from a novel by the same name. It follows Ophelia from Shakespeare’s Hamlet and gives her more of a story and character development. If you are familiar with the original, you know that Ophelia is only briefly mentioned and her character’s motives are really driven by her love for Hamlet. Even her famous death scene is very ambiguous. When this film begins, a voice-over narration by Ridley immediately brings us to her death scene and tells the audience “that there is more to the story than we think we know.” I really loved the twist and re-invention of this story through her point of view. I think Daisy Ridley was fantastic in the role. I haven’t seen her in a lot of other things, so it was great to see her here in a completely different role from Star Wars. The re-telling is very creative and very feminist. You get to see how Hamlet and Ophelia meet and then see him off to school. With this addition you can really get behind this relationship and see the mutual attraction and feelings between them. When relating back to the original, I like how they cut out scenes that Ophelia was not physically apart of and instead rely the events that happened. (Specifically with Polonius’ death.) I also enjoyed the new perspective of scenes. You really can tell that Ophelia is not mad, but it is the mask she must put on to survive. The ‘get thee to a nunnery’ scene takes on a whole different meaning now. There’s also a lot echoes to other Shakespearean plays and tropes which were fun to explore. Whether you’re a Shakespeare/Hamlet fan or not, I would definitely check this one out if you’re a fan of the time period, re-tellings or a strong female lead.   

MEDICI THE MAGNIFICENT SEASON 3

I literally just finished this show this afternoon and I couldn’t wait to write about it. (Sorry if this post is pretty long, but that just shows you that you need to watch it.) I was very excited for the third and final season of Medici because I enjoyed season 2, so much. While this one might have taken me a little longer to watch, it was still a good time and I’m sad it’s over. 

Watching this season I was super impressed by Daniel Sharman’s acting. He has great range as he goes from a young Lorenzo in season 2 to an adult and father and then an elderly man. I think he was convincing throughout each stage and I’m happy they kept the same actor. His make-up to help him age looked a lot more natural, compared to Richard Madden’s, in my opinion. I feel on shows like this it’s often hard seeing a jump in time (it helps with seeing the kids grow up), so when Lorenzo starts to get sick/age I at first, was like whoa, but then it was further explained (by inheriting his father’s illness, etc.) 

Compared to season 2, I definitely liked the previous more. I not only enjoyed watching the more idealistic Lorenzo, but also plot-wise. In season 2 the Pazzi are the main antagonist/objective. Here in season 3 there were several obstacles/antagonists: The Pope, Riario, and Savonarola. Every time we thought there was a moment of peace...nope. Now, I get this is based on history and we need drama so you can only change so much, but I missed the Medici being at the top and being respected. I also know we covered A LOT of time. (I guess that shows you how connected I felt with them and the show.) 

All of the history Easter Eggs were cool. Obviously, the Renaissance was extremely relevant, but it was cool seeing the big names like Botticelli (especially with his painting at the end, which I recognized), Da Vinci, and Michelangelo. I can’t get over how many of these famous painters were recognized by the Medici family. It just shows you how important and influential they were. Also, when Nico revealed his last name as Machiavelli. JAW DROP! This show has continually brought me back to researching (and mainly using Wikipedia). The writing at the end was accurate to what I found. Wish we had another season with the legacy to see it continue. I’m surprised I got teary eyed at the end. 

WORLD ON FIRE

It may be listed last once again, this month, but it is definitely not least. The show may have finished its season a few weeks ago, but I still have two episodes left on my DVR. The last one I watched was when they were in Dunkirk and that was an intense time. I knew it was going to be, but it still didn’t prepare me. In this episode, we see many characters FINALLY meet up and join each other’s plot lines. I think that was one of my favorite parts of the episode/series. Some already knew each other, while others were meeting for the first time. While I am excited to see how it all turns out, I’m also not ready to say good-bye. Right now, I saw a potential for a season 2, but not sure if that was a fan made article or not. I’m hoping all of my favorite characters survive and get what can be considered a happier ending than what they are currently experiencing. I also hope we don’t end on too much of a cliffhanger. Either way, I’m happy I checked this show out. 

RE-WATCHING

iZOMBIE

Currently I’m in the beginning of the second season. Sometime last month I felt the pull to start re-watching this show. It’s one that I have tried once or twice to watch again from the beginning, but now that it’s been finished for almost a year, it felt like time. It was a great decision, although right now there’s some character plots that are frustrating me and that I forgot about. But there’s some great brains that Liv has experienced and it was great seeing Lowell again (for as short-lived as it was). I’m excited to continue re-watching. 

I DIDN’T DO IT

The re-watch for I Didn’t Do It basically began when it hit Disney Plus a few months ago. I just recently made it to season 2, which I remember enjoying more than season 1. One reason for this was because they get rid of the flashback format for each episode. I’m really early on, like episode 4, so I still have many more to go. Once I finish it I don’t know if I’ll explore a new Disney Plus show or watch another that I’ve seen before. 

I also have a few things on DVR that I’m still finishing up. I haven’t watched the finale of Batwoman yet and I know it’s going to be weird now that Ruby Rose has left the show. I just finished the Flash and felt blah about the whole season, so I’m unsure if I’ll watch next season. But I am enjoying Stargirl. You can find my thoughts on the first episode here. I’m excited to see the rest of the season. 

[atomicfilm]

The types as people I know

ENTP: dnd enthusiast, trying to sell the world on his beliefs, owns like 69 :0 rubix cubes so people will know he’s smart, probably wears a cloak when he’s home alone, loves volunteering at bingo w/ elderly people, always trying to compete w/ me to finish our work first/best and usually looses because he overlooks something, 98% of people are annoyed by his presence, likes to start fights/debates, actually super sweet and big on respect but misunderstood

INTP: we all adopt really random catchphrases (mine is “that’s hot” and my friend’s is “j’accuse”), we have very specific interests (”your thing is learning about concentration camps in the Czech Republic? Mine is 18th-century poems about cats in fishbowls”), devoted to comedy, going to vote but doesn’t openly support anyone because the candidate will mess up, caught between dreaming and reality, doesn’t really understand other people’s perceptions of them, built to withstand anything (and I mean anything, more on that later), managing my bookmarks is my routine chore

ENFP: stereotypical gemini through and through, I love her but I can’t stand to be close friends with her, has a bunch of plans to marry people and move in with friends later in life, friends w/ everyone she has ever met (if you say you don’t like her then you’re on her hit list), very nice but definitely scheming, attention split between 8,917 things rn, falls in love easily and obsessively, so so creative, great singer, wants to go into advertising but will probably become a pediatrician, loves babies and taking care of things

INFP: lots of feels, really into the arts, nervous about talking, people pleaser, writes poems in their spare time, would adopt 500 puppies if it made financial sense and wouldn’t stress them out, stressed out anyway, sees the red flags but ignores them, either your literal mom or the mom friend

ISFP: aesthetics-oriented, their room is really clean except for one area with whatever they collect (shoes, tchotchkes from Asia, snowglobes, ect.), usually overshadowed in the art department but turn out to be the best artist in the room, speak French and/or want to move to Paris (except it’s dirty, wah), they typically measure in oofs (”big oof”, “little oof”, “8 oz. of oof”)

ESFP: a new boyfriend every two weeks, eyebrow game strong, funniest person in the room (or at least that’s what they think), extremely sassy, watches videos of tobacco spitting contests in the Midwest for fun, 9/10 times (this is a fake statistic) they’re a theatre kid, forget who you are if they haven’t seen you in a year (even if you were close friends prior), drives fast (and poorly), hot (and knows it), very confident, their default state is shirtless, dramatic 

ISTP:  everything is an adventure, their ideal romance movie is Baby Driver, wants to learn how to hot-wire a car, doesn’t realize they look punk but they do, should be employed as a makeup artist, probably pretty kinky (or at least act like it), either a fake f-boy or a very, very real one 

ESTP: wants to be an architect or CEO, mostly wants to be paid to do nothing, most-often found asleep during class or telling a story in a crowd at a party, drives drunk a lot, already dating someone but tries to get with you anyway, straight male w/ dangly earrings (queer vibes), very hilarious and everyone knows who they are, their closest friends are introverts who they force to share the spotlight w/ them, either don’t show up or show up late, fun to be around, class valedictorian but everyone thinks it’s someone else

ESFJ: once had a nightmare where all of their friends got drunk and they had to take care of them, brings you cupcakes on your birthday, all of their friends are social degenerates and they don’t know what to do, watches children’s movies their entire life, has more stuffed animals than friends, everyone knows who they are 

ISFJ: their catchphrase is “I need healing” (warning: they will steal your catchphrase), carries a singular band-aid at all times, makes lots of jokes about Communism, makes racist jokes against themself, their extended family lives with them, uncomfortable about breaking rules, always wants to pay for things, everyone’s boyfriend but only dating 1 person/no one, big on the American Dream, literally Captain America, appears to be a virgin at first, makes lots of sex jokes once you get to know them, n e r d, good at everything /  you thought perfect people didn’t exist? you were wrong

ISTJ: ESTP’s best friend, the obviously intellectual one, does everything with amazing skill, supports their friends tirelessly, great at math, understand systems really well, the designated driver, try to follow the rules as best as they can, laughs a lot at other people’s engineering mistakes, quiet and unnoticed most of the time, surprisingly funny

ESTJ: give you advice even when you don’t ask for it, seem like they’re judging every decision you have ever made, won’t speak to you if you lie to them, the stereotypical club president, takes initiative, likes to mention that mission trip they went on very frequently, shops at Dillards (always hunting for good deals), has a very traditional sense of fashion until you see their crocodile cowboy boots, they have a very idealistic sense of society and if you don’t meet their standards they’ll yell very loudly, remembers everything, constantly fact-checking, actually should be president 

ENTJ: control freak, but only because they don’t trust you enough to make the right decision, ready to race you at all times, could probably run a mile in 6 minutes without breaking a sweat, confident, prefer strategy games like Settlers of Catan, if they were a society they would be Ancient Rome, want to motivate you to succeed, see themselves as the best but want everyone to match them, running out of patience, seems insensitive and ready to cut you off but probably has a warm, beating heart (idk I haven’t dissected them, personally)

INTJ: I don’t think they really exist, supposedly everyone on Tumblr is one but they only make up approximately .8% of the population, if I met one I would probably think they’re a weirdly assertive/controlling INTP, I think people mistype as one because their ideal sense of self is being an effective problem-solver who challenges tradition from the comfort of their home and purposefully does things (i.e. learning a new language for business) but are they really

Idk 

I can’t tell if they have a high sense of self or are trying to demonize themselves

INTJs are textbook villains in the movie world but also probably a lot of detectives or something

ENFJ: don’t know any of them/anyone I think could be one personally but I wish I did / I feel like if I met one I would want to be as good of a person as them all the time

INFJ: not very reality-oriented yet in love with science, wants to be a writer, curious, wants to figure everything out but primarily wants to love everyone, passionate about a few specific projects that they talk a lot about (social issues), always reblogs positivity posts, once gave a ted talk about mental health, he’s the debate captain yet cries every time he loses a debate (because he has a lot of self-doubt), prefers to nap than to talk sometimes, eventually realizes they wants to adopt all of the people younger than him and protect them from the world, easy to love, they may reflect your personality, may also have very particular body movements (the one I know does a lot of fan kicks), actually make NTs feel (like a lot, like a lot a lot, like real crying), eventually dates their best friend and marries them, doesn’t draw but collects art

[invokeinspiration]

Reflections on Orthodox Judaism/Hasidic Communities

Like many people during COVID, I am watching a lot of Netflix. I’ve finished the entire Vampire Diaries universe (The Vampire Diaries, The Originals, and Legacies), I’ve also binged on Hannibal (of which I am currently writing a very in-depth fanfic), and I have watched countless fantastic films. I’ve watched Ip Man 1 and 2 and will be watching 3 and 4 soon. I have watched The Lobster, Moonlight, Resident Evil, Adams Family, The Danish Girl, and The Hater. I have watched shows and movies that have made me cry, made me laugh, made me do some research, and made me think about the story and characters long after the end credits. But early into my quarantine period, back before April, I came across a trailer for the show Unorthodox and it began a journey that I’d like to share. 

Unorthodox is an American/German limited series on Netflix that follows the story of a young woman, Esther (Shira Haas), who begins a marriage in a Hasidic Jewish community in Brooklyn. She was a member of the Satmar sect that began with the Hasidic community in Hungary but migrated to New York after WWII. The Satmar sect is characterized as being more strict than the European Hasidic sects with a complete rejection of modern culture, fierce anti-Zionism, and strict adherence to male-only education. The story is based on the true life events of Deborah Feldman’s life depicted in her memoir. When I first saw the trailer, I was uncertain. I actually didn’t immediately watch it but after seeing the preview a few times, I thought to just take a risk and I am certainly glad I did. The visual style of the show was beautiful. There was an authenticity to the show that I was entranced by. I felt like I was truly in a Hasidic family and understanding Hasidic roots and traditions. I love it when good television transports me into a new world and allows me to really see all sides. 

Shira Haas was a breakthrough performer. She had a gentle brokenness that felt pure and raw. As a young woman, Esther wanted to be a part of her community but also felt a deep split emerging between her love for her culture and the desire for something that would break her from those roots. She made an extremely difficult decision by leaving her Hasidic family in Brooklyn for a life of uncertainty in Berlin. It was definitely a tale of an idealistic young woman following her heart, a story that we can all get behind. What was refreshing though, was depicting the reality of the loss of her community. It was never going to be a clean break and I’m glad the show told the difficult story as well as the happy one. 

She wanted to experience individual expression, something that was taboo in her culture where standing out made you troublesome and difficult. When her family told her to stop chasing after her mother that abandoned her for the secular world, she went anyway. When her family told her that her life goal should be to bear children and be a good wife for her community, she decided to chase her dreams of studying music. When she felt trapped in a loveless marriage, she wanted to find a passionate love. Even though she found moments of clarity and happiness, she still felt lost, trapped in between two worlds. The difficult decision of leaving home oftentimes made her feel confused and wanting to go back to the comforts of the only support system she thought she knew. Even though her husband came searching for her, she knew that she couldn’t trust that support system again. She had to create a new one.

As the story continued, not only about Esther but the dynamic characters that surrounded her, I became enveloped in the visceral empathy of their situation. I know that I am not a part of the community, but I could feel the turmoil as they were feeling turmoil. I could feel the frustrations from many sides as though I was feeling them. For example, Esther’s husband Yakov (played by Amit Rahav), was difficult to relate to at the beginning of the show. I know too many men in my personal life that have no interest in being truly sympathetic to women’s needs or follow along with the pressures of society without having enough courage to think for themselves. For the first few episodes, that was Yakov, but as the story continued, I began to see where he was coming from and felt like he was truly a good man. It’s not often that I see a beta male antagonist become a truly developed, sensitive man. It makes me feel hopeful that there may be more intellectual, loving, good men in the Hasidic community. These relationships, including every character’s relationship with God, were complex and ugly at times but it didn’t leave me with a bad taste in my mouth for the community. In fact, it left me curious. I wanted more. 

Netflix came out with a behind the scenes short documentary about the show and there was so much that went into the details of the show that really embodied the community as a whole. The writers and producers wanted to show as much as they could about the Hasidic community. They wanted to maintain respect for the community while also commentating on how the secular world sees it from the outside and how someone like Esther might feel trapped in between. There was still a whole universe I didn’t yet understand.

Since I, unfortunately, don’t have Hasidic friends to talk to about my new obsession for the community, I wanted to watch whatever Netflix had to offer. I came across the documentary, One of Us, which follows three ex-Hasidic Jews who left the community for a variety of reasons. Ari was a young man of about 19 or so who was sexually assaulted during his adolescent years and, after not feeling supported by his community, turned to alcohol and drugs. Etty, after years of suffering domestic violence in her marriage, decided to leave the community which left her in a custody battle of her five children, of which she subsequently lost. The third person, Luzer, decided to leave the community after he felt abandoned when he asked questions about God’s existence. Watching their stories also made me realize another piece to the puzzle of the Hasidic community. When I watched Unorthodox, I felt that it made most sense that women would be the ones to leave the community because they were significantly more oppressed than the men, as in most religious societies. However, after watching One of Us, I realized that men leave too. Men feel abandoned and invisible in the community just as women do. 

There was a point in the documentary where Luzer asked one of his Hasidic friends why the community is this way and his friend responded to say that, “it’s all about the survival of the Jewish community.” Without strict control, the community would fall privy to the secular world and lose its strength over time. It’s clear that the community leaders of the Hasidic community don’t want to lose people to the secular world. It is also clear that a lot of ex-Hasidic individuals miss and love their community, even with its problems and constrictions. I think that if the community wants to prevent more people from leaving, they may have to compromise by providing more support for people. There are times in every pious person’s life where there are doubts about God. For a lot of people, those doubts can be strong. 

For most Jews, there is profound respect for the rabbi and if more rabbis can encourage a more open dialogue about the doubts about God and the community, then perhaps people won't feel so isolated. For men and women suffering from sexual health or marital issues like abuse, there should be a trusted system in place to protect these individuals. It’s not the issues themselves that make people want to leave, it’s the feeling of abandonment of these issues by the entire community that make people feel isolated and wanting out. The specific issues discussed in the documentary may be why I have more specific ideas on how to approach a more progressive Hasidic community. This is what I gather from what I see in both Unorthodox, One of Us, and my own research. 

The end of One of Us left me to be more critical, rather than the appreciative aftertaste I got after watching Unorthodox. I appreciate that every religious community has its own faults, and harshly criticizing it hardly makes sense coming from a non-Jew. So, I return to simple appreciation, observation, and curiosity rather than harsh criticism.

If any individual reading this has any opposition, comment or question about my thought process on this topic, I highly encourage discourse. I love to be re-educated. 

However, my interest in the Hasidic community still has not stopped. It’s not because I am religious, but because I am deeply fascinated by the complicated world of Judaism and of strict religious communities. I also wanted to continue watching some of the more beautiful and interesting traditions that I grew fond to appreciate in Unorthodox. 

Which has led me to a bit of a different kind of show, Shtisel. Shtisel is an Israeli drama television show completely filmed in Yiddish. It’s a fairly recent show, with the first season released in 2013 and it’s newest season greenlit for production at the end of 2020. I’ve just started it but I am hooked. The actress, Shira Haas, who plays Esther in Unorthodox plays one of the supporting character’s daughters in this show.The show follows Akiva Shtisel, the protagonist, a young man who falls for an older, twice widowed woman. Though, his family disapproves, he can’t seem to get her off his mind. There’s lots of additional side stories that make the show interesting and I’m excited that a third season is coming. I’ve just started the show, but right now I am enjoying the story because it’s different than what I’ve seen before. I wanted to see more about the lives of people actually still in the community, rather than those who want to leave or have left. Shtisel is refreshingly different from Unorthodox, in the way that the Hasidic Jews in Shitsel are Israeli, which supposedly implies a more lax community. In some ways, I’ve noticed the changes. I noticed that there are women who work in the Torah schools and men who speak more freely about marrying for love rather than for community pressures, which seems to be different from the Satmar sect. 

I have a lot more I want to see and learn. I have a billion questions to ask about this world and I want to get to know more. I hope that more people become interested, just as I have. I want more people to find a new respect for the Hasidic community, the Jewish faith and of religious groups in general. I think the more we try to learn about each other, the closer we become as people. Sometimes, it isn’t as hard as we make it out to be. All it takes is a little Netflix surfing. 

Shalom.

[dianamjackson]

How To Achieve World Peace (2020)

I have figured out a few things that explain common phenomena in society but are routinely overlooked.

I can explain why conservatives and liberals have always existed, and why conservatives are often in power. I can explain ‘black sheep’ of families and why almost everyone has a ‘weird aunty’ or a ‘weird uncle.’ I can explain why artists are so often depressed, so creative and so misunderstood. I can explain conformity and non-conformity. I can explain Michael Jackson’s attraction to shiny things, and everything else about him.

The thing to remember is that we are animals like all the others, and that our evolutionary history shaped us — not culture. People who think culture is stronger hold that individuals choose their preferences in life, which is false. People choose the things they do because they’re programmed that way by evolution, and it is not one size fits all.

There are two main sorts of humans on the earth: family types (making up at least 80% of the population) and leaders (making up the rest).

Family types evolved to survive, raise families and do exactly what their parents did. For this reason they are conservative, incurious (because any new thing is a potential threat to existing conditions), blinkered and have a practical and deductive intelligence rather than a synthetic and inductive one. Leaders are explorers — their education never ends. Their permanent curiosity ensures they are forever exploring, making new connections and forming new hypotheses.

Without this neat ~80/20 balance, human society would not progress. Without the leaders, no new inventions would be created and we’d all still be living in caves. Without family types, nothing could be instantiated and there would be anarchy. Nature or God or whatever is responsible for the order we see in the universe worked this ideal ratio out so that beings could develop and differentiate and proliferate — basically, to make manifest the creativity of the universe.

I remember a few years ago reading Satoshi Kanazawa’s book The Intelligence Paradox, wherein he describes the traits of people with above-average intelligence: they are usually night owls, are less likely to marry and have kids, enjoy experimenting with drugs, are highly curious and creative. I think he was fired from Psychology Today for stating his findings. Ah, political correctness getting in the way of science, again.

Growing up I noticed a pattern in every family I encountered: the parents were normal enough (after all, they were parents), one child was robust and similar to the parents, and the other was a highly sensitive, interesting and curious type. If there were more than two children, there were more robust types than sensitive types.

Growing up I had a hell of a time in my family. I loved staying up late reading, writing and playing music. I loved the night so much that I covered my windows during the day, which is something Jimi Hendrix also did. My parents were dismayed and couldn’t understand why I was so different to them. I also liked going out for days, exploring and experimenting. I was, of course, extremely artistic from the beginning. I understood concepts at school very quickly, and got in trouble for breaking the rules and prioritising my own ideals over that of my superiors.

All these behaviours label children, and the adults they become, ‘troublemakers’ and rebels. “Why can’t they just behave?” parents and teachers lament. Well, because evolution programmed them that way. But back then I would’ve utilised a far shorter answer.

Leader types, being highly sensitive, experience the discord of growing up in families of followers very intensely and in far higher resolution. If a father is strict and domineering, the sensitive child will feel he is ruled by a tyrant. Off-handed criticisms will be stab wounds that are nursed for years and years. Their deep processing will have them mulling and stewing over the slightest things that followers forget in the very next moment.

Thousands of years ago, human tribes had to hunt animals, gather foods, build shelters, live in the shelters and raise families. Distinct human types evolved to carry out these different tasks.

Leaders are the hunting and exploring type. They were the ones who went out, probably at night, to look for food. To be good at this, they had to be highly sensitive so they could hear every noise, smell every smell, feel the vaguest touch on their skin and see the slightest movement. They had to be brave and bold to explore scary places. They had to be graceful and silent as cats to sneak up on prey, but aggressive enough to actually kill. They had to have loud, developed voices in order to communicate with other members of the hunting party. They had to be confident of their own opinion and communicate it effectively to others in order to lead.

They also had to be able to imitate other animals they encountered, to seem less threatening. They also had to be ingratiating in order to win the trust of people they only just met — and they would have met many people on their travels. They had to be highly adaptable to quickly get used to ever-changing environments. They had to be physically robust and agile to withstand the rigours of their itinerant hunting life. They developed the classic ‘rolling stone’ personality — Jimi couldn’t stand being in the same place for three months, let alone years. They also needed great and detailed memories, to remember where they’d been.

With their keen vision they would spot anomalous objects in the environment — shiny things might indicate water, and colourful things (especially red and yellow) would indicate food. Look at the colours and shiny things Michael wears and is attracted to. Watching him shopping is literally watching a leader type hunting in the forest thousands of years ago.

Their sensitivity is responsible for their artistry. As I read somewhere (possibly in Elaine Aron’s book The Highly Sensitive Person), not all highly sensitive people are geniuses, but all geniuses are highly sensitive. Charles Darwin lined his room with cork to keep the noise out. Jimi, as mentioned, covered his windows with black fabric. All this is to minimise stimulation. Because highly sensitive people take in so much more information from their environment, and process it so much more deeply, they need to restrict it only to what is most important to them.

Being a night owl, as Kanazawa found in his research, was related to higher intelligence. Much hunting probably occurred at night, when the animals were about, or it was easier to travel without being seen. The peace and stillness of the night also minimises stimulation for highly sensitive leader types. Intelligence itself is required to make connections between disparate phenomena, entertain several possible explanations, and synthesise information to decide on a verdict and course of action. The activity of hunting would have honed the intelligence of leader types. Any kind of physical bodily movement and coordination increases brain power — dancing for example. Moving the body in space. I relate this to moving ideas around in one’s head. This is how I did philosophy at university: I literally saw concepts as interacting forms in my mind. Einstein also thought in visual-spatial terms.

Something fascinating about stimulation is that leader types seem to become rapidly overwhelmed by experiences that family types consider quite routine and harmless, but at the same time, they crave intense stimulation. Paradoxical personalities, innit? Clearly, not all stimulation is created equal: a normal day in an office as an employee would be intense and overwhelming for a leader, but then they go out at night, attracted by the bright lights and shiny things of the city, loud music and the stage, and crowds.

A hypothesis of mine is that leader types are born with ‘happy’ neurotransmitter deficits. The strong correlation of substance use and abuse with artists, I think, is related to this deficit. In general, almost everything that makes us feel good — no matter what type of animal you are — does so because it fulfils some evolutionary prerogative. Leader types evolved to be sad — is what I’m saying. They are naturally sad. Therefore, they are forced to do things of a specific kind to alleviate that sadness. Michael is really good at being sad, but he’s also really good at alleviating that sadness. Drugs, alcohol, excitement, driving fast, athletics, dancing, bright colours, shiny things, movement, strong sunlight, making people feel and do things, eating certain foods, exploring, romance, helping and educating people, learning, discovering, conquering, mystery — all of these things alleviate the natural depression of the leader type. Fasting, too. What could more blatantly inspire a person to go out and hunt, besides hunger? Both Michael and myself had anorexia, but his was more extreme perhaps because he was more sensitive or his upbringing was more damaging, and he was constantly in the spotlight. But apart from the self-soothing reason, and the aesthetic reason (wanting a “dancer’s body”), I think we literally like to be hungry, as it were. I do believe he said, in his delightful hyperbole: “I hate food.” It keeps us searching. Anything that inspires a leader type to go out and be a leader will feel good, because that’s what nature wants us to do.

Mystery is integral for the leader type. It’s one of the main motivators of action and a guarantee of happiness and flourishing. I finally understand the propensity for this type to entertain idealistic romances and muses. Try making a person give up something that guarantees them happiness! As C. S. Lewis said so well “Desiring desire is the fullest possession we can know.” I finally understand this. What I want is to be in a state of desire, because it’s animating, life-giving, exciting. Why else would I love improvising so much? I love the mystery of not knowing what will come out of my guitar, what I will sing, or what dance moves I will come up with. I love mystery so much that all my essays are pretty much streams of consciousness.

Everything is on a spectrum, including family type/leader proclivity, and gender too. Effeminate men prefer masculine women; masculine men prefer feminine women. It’s all about balancing genetics to bring about the best complementarity. Who you’re attracted to is not a choice. Those with feminine hips are attracted to masculine hips; those with deep-set eyes are attracted to protuberant eyes; square-jaws are attracted to heart-shaped jaws; pinched-in cheeks are attracted to smoother, convex cheekbones. You can set your watch by this stuff.

Leader types also tend to be gender-indeterminate, or “in the middle” with respect to the male-female spectrum. This gives them the best of both worlds — e.g. deep empathy and nurture from the female side, and single-minded determination and action from the male. I do not think this is a degeneracy. Rather, in my view it is actually a requirement for leader types. To be too male or too female would be a hindrance for a leader.

In politics, there will always be conservatives and liberals, and more conservatives than liberals, because these represent the two primary types of humans, and their ratio, on earth.

The way to achieve world peace is to acknowledge the two broad types. Both are necessary for the survival and continuation of the human species. Conflict can seed change, but oftentimes we could do with a little less conflict and a little more understanding. Understanding of the millennia-old biology of our species that is — not politically correct ‘tolerance’. We need to understand things instead of merely tolerating them.

But the sobering reality is that family types can never fully understand leaders, and leaders can never fully understand family types. Each has a very different evolutionary prerogative that is very deeply ingrained. For one to understand the other, the one needs to literally inhabit the physical body of the other — which is currently impossible. Type ‘goes all the way down’ — the nervous system is different, the brain is different, the emotions are different, the values are different — everything is different.

This is why ‘black sheep’ — a derogatory term that betrays a lack of understanding on the part of the family types (but it is after all in their nature to demonise difference because it is threatening) — get along better with friends, aunties and uncles and other leaders unrelated to them instead of their own families. And it’s interesting that they’re called ‘black’: I have noticed highly sensitive leader types do often wear black, and I think this is to minimise stimulation. It’s one less item for them to process.

This is why certain kids act out at school, and why every person I admire from Debussy to Miles Davis to Isadora Duncan to Walt Disney quit the schools they were at. This is why Michael left the Jacksons and struck out on his own. This is why Zappa stayed up all night drinking coffee making the music he wanted to hear regardless of what other people thought about it.

This is also why the majority of people — the followers — shun, disbelieve and are afraid of leader types. The reason J. K. Rowling had to pitch her book to 200 publishers was because she saw the value of her work, but the publishers — who aren’t leaders — could not. The more innovative a thing, the less followers can comprehend its value. Followers are biologically programmed to play it safe and not take risks. This is infuriating for leaders, but the solution is not anger, but rather perseverance. Think of J. K. being turned away from the 199th publisher. Perseverance. Bang on long enough about something and family types will eventually stop feeling threatened because now you’re part of the furniture.

Another paradoxical thing about family types feeling threatened by leaders is that leaders are, in almost every instance, seeking to make the world a better place with their works. Think of Tesla. Leaders need family types — the two are in symbiosis — so it is definitely not in a leader’s interests to harm their followers. They are shepherds, not wolves. Empathy for their pack is high, because a leader who doesn’t care for their flock will not be followed for long. The extremely high degree of similarity between myself and Michael can be, to a great extent, explained by the fact that we are of the same human type (and probably share some genetics too). He has all the characteristic leader type qualities: he’s highly sensitive, an artist and a musician, he’s obsessed with the way people and animals move and is very curious. He loves bright colours and shiny things, which are food. I believe he said he loved Disney films so much “I could just eat (them)!” (I told a friend once that his photographs made me hungry; he looked at me like I was insane.) And of course the beautiful — Michael loves beauty — he goes weak in its presence. If there’s something he doesn’t understand, he’s fascinated by it and will obsess over it. He has a highly developed somatic-neuronal ability (that’s my term; I don’t know the correct neurological term), which is why his movements are so fluid and why he can imitate others so easily. He’s both male and female, has a great strong voice, resists authority, is ingratiating and immediately loveable, likes climbing trees and running around, staunchly believes in his own vision and he made looking after his ‘tribe’ the central mission of his life. He owned thousands of books and was constantly reading, usually by himself. All Michael’s searching made him very knowledgeable, of course. He liked to associate with fellow talented and driven people, from whom he gathered even more leadership advice. Michael’s not messing around — the advice he gives you is the advice he’s given himself. He experiments on himself. He’s a leader — a real leader — so he wants to help. One day I was dancing at home and came up with a certain move. Two weeks later, I happened to be watching a video of Mike’s and saw him do the exact same move. I couldn’t believe it. At the time I came up with it, I had no memory of having seen him do any such move. I was dancing in the mirror, and happened to trace the outline of my thigh with a finger — it was totally spontaneous and improvised. I liked that I was drawing and dancing at the same time — I do draw and dance, so it was exciting for me to do them simultaneously. In his video he was dancing to Dangerous, and he did that move. I thought “So now he’s copying me?!” This kind of thing happens often, and not just in dancing. For example, I’ll have some opinion about something, then later hear that he has the same opinion about that thing. Or I’ll happen to think of something I did when I was a lot younger, and it turns out he did the exact same thing. Then there’s the Star Wars thing, the one glove thing, the cape thing, the cutting the front of our shirts thing, the liking the same colours thing, the gum and TicTac thing, the similar music taste and compositional style thing, the sitting down with one leg or arm stretched out thing, the liking the exact same part of the flight attendant demonstration thing... We even have the same taste in women. Type, type, type. Once you know someone’s type, you can pretty much get out your checklist and starting ticking things off. Although, I don’t at this point know where type ends and genetics begin, because a lot of these similarities must owe to genetics, not type. I’ll work on this.

Being childlike is, I am positing, an integral part of the leader-hunter-HSP type. Mike and I both retained our childlike attitude to the world. For me, I distinctly remember the day I made the decision to never grow up. I was 14, on the basketball courts in junior high school near the end of the day. I thought “It’s just so much fun being a kid, I’m not going to grow up. Why should I?” It was also around that time that I decided what my life’s goal would be, having just read Freud: to be myself. I didn’t want to be a fireman or a lawyer or a teacher — I wanted to be myself, my truest self. Even back then, I knew this was a worthy goal, and I knew that it would be difficult.

Mike famously identified with Peter Pan, and passionately championed a childlike view of the world. He often claimed this was because he was denied a childhood, but I think there’s more at work here than that fact alone. Even if he had had a more normal childhood, he’d still probably have remained pretty childlike, because that’s an integral characteristic of the leader type. Being childlike — being open, innocent, relentlessly curious, able to withhold judgement, and trusting — is essential to being a leader. If leaders weren’t open to new information (i.e. adaptable), etc — they wouldn’t be effective leaders. If a leader didn’t trust his advisors, he couldn’t get anything done. Suspicion is poison.

It’s known that Mike was trusting. He advised his friend Brett Ratner that one of the big lessons he learned was “not to trust everybody in the industry; there are a lot of sharks.” But a person who is naturally trusting has a hard time trying to become the opposite, let me tell you. To be trusting is beautiful; when a trusting person is betrayed, it is not they who have erred.

It has fascinated me over my lifetime to observe the way sexual desire can be completely decoupled from child-rearing. Leader types definitely have sexual desire: just think of Jimi. Mike too, Madonna, Greta Garbo, Picasso. With men it’s fairly straight-forward, but I always wondered how female leaders could get away with it, seeing as they’d be having so many children but no desire to look after them — clearly a less-than-ideal situation. Maintaining a pregnancy and then a baby would definitely slow them down and make them vulnerable to attack. Nature may have solved this problem by making leader types infertile. After all, their genes will be passed on via their siblings’ children, so there’s no need for them to do it personally. It prevents overpopulation. And besides, their legacy is cultural innovation, not physical progeny. Some say that Mike was infertile. It could well be that this is by nature’s design.

Barbara Sher calls leader types ‘scanners’. Scanners are people who flit from one thing to the next, seemingly at random, are reading 50 books at any one time, and change careers frequently — you get the idea. But my contention is that leader types do this in order to get the best ‘lay of the land’. If they didn’t, if they were a specialist in some tiny nook of expertise, what would they know about the world? Nothing! All they’d know is their little area (which there’s nothing wrong with by the way, it’s just not the scanner approach). Scanners scan. They try to get the best view of everything — figuratively and literally.

I know this type is rare, but I don’t know how rare. I’ve certainly never encountered anyone as similar to me before, but then I don’t know everyone. Surely a person with such obvious and anomalous qualities would rise to prominence, almost by default. They’re generally in art, but not just anywhere. They’re in the ‘I’m either myself or dead’ camp. Michael’s well-known because he’s well-known, and because he so strongly felt the need to share his values with the world, he thereby revealed himself. There could be many of us. Some may prefer to remain unknown. I don’t know yet.

As I said before, everything is on a spectrum, so you could be a more or less extreme leader type, and a more or less extreme family type. There may be sub-types. The ‘lone wolf’ is an extreme leader type. Aldous Huxley said “The more original and powerful a mind, the more inclined it is to the religion of solitude.” I think lone wolves relate best to other lone wolves; other types will simply be too different. They’re introverted because there’s a whole world inside their heads, and much of the outside input they’d encounter would actually hinder their progress. As a leader, stepping outside of the leader pack can be incredibly demoralising. Out there, there's a flattening going on. If you have a sleepover with kids, all of a sudden it's about sex. If you say the n word, it's suddenly all about race. And you think, “Why is everything about sex and race? Are there not more things to discuss? Develop some granularity in your approach already!” The flattening is in full swing at the moment, with so many red herrings slapping around that you can’t hear yourself think. (Contemplating that kinda makes me hungry... All those shiny fish...) Maybe the majority do this in order to feel safer: if they can reduce indeterminate phenomena to something simple, then they can feel like they know what they're dealing with. Simplify and blame. It’s a stupid game, and so boring. I'm not at all surprised that artists feel the need to invent entirely new worlds to escape this shit.

So there you have it: there is a naturalistic, evolutionary explanation for so many of the specific human behaviours that we observe in society. The choices people make are, in large part, due to their evolutionary type. Encountering Michael was the icing on my cake of investigation, because I reasoned there had to be an explanation as to why we’re so similar and I knew that it wasn’t due to mere chance.

So if you’re a sensitive, introverted kid who likes doing their own thing and your family gives you hell for being strange and different — for God’s sake, understand that there’s nothing wrong with you. Nothing at all. You’ve been designed to be the way you are over millions of years of evolution, because this is the only way humanity can work. You are the reason we have electricity, cars, great works of art, beautiful films and music, incredible dancers and athletes, mathematics, poetry, physics, philosophy, engineering, comfortable houses and beds, heating, space exploration, wonderful stories and the rule of law. All of these things were invented by leader types. The most important thing is to know who you are. It’s Quincy Jones’ first rule too. Once you know that, you will make much better decisions in all areas of your life. “A guy can dig ditches and enjoy it”, as Jimi said. If you want to be happy and effective, you must be doing things that align with your particular nature.

Don’t waste years doing things other people tell you to do. What do they know about you, anyway? Do they know your deepest desires? No they don’t, because to discover them is long, personal work. No-one can do it for you. Your mum can’t do it for you. I don’t care if she’s your mother and she wants the best for you -- she’s not you. Don’t do things for extrinsic rewards like money or fame. I recall reading a teacher who complained that all his kids just want to be famous, but then he asked them “Famous for what?” People who become famous do so because they’re passionate and obsessed with something and thereby become very good at it. Don’t desire to be famous, desire to become obsessed with something. Fall in love with something. Then you’ll probably become famous anyway, but by then you won’t care, because all you want to do is the thing you’re obsessed with.

But family types are essential too. Just because they don’t innovate, they create a stable society in which everyone — including leader types — can live. They create and maintain order, follow instructions and implement your ideas. They start families and actually create the people society needs, including all future leaders.

The two types must know about, respect and be thankful for each other, for neither could live without the other.

Masses of conflict rage each day because people think that other people act the way they do by choice. But things are so incredibly ingrained, that it’s quite absurd to think that anyone makes any kind of choice. We do have free will, but can only exercise it to the point our fundamental orientation allows. Can’t fight one’s nature, as Orwell said. Fight it too long and she’ll make you pay, with your health or your life.

It is apparent to me that my entire discussion has remained completely materialistic. I’ve not touched upon so-called ‘supernatural’ phenomena at all. I don’t like the term ‘supernatural’ because, if something exists, it is natural — no matter how perplexing or odd, everything is Nature, everything is natural. It’s not like the earth and its rocks are natural, and then precognition of the future and witnessing midnight processions of long-deceased people — as Jung and others did, centuries apart mind you — are outside of the natural. Everything is natural. If it happened, it was natural, and there is an explanation.

Now it might seem boring to learn that all these things in fact have a boring materialistic explanation. But as usual, there are many more things that we don’t yet know. The perplexing nature of time, for example. I suspect that time is very different to how most people conceive of it, but that discussion is for another time.

Back to the strictly material. A few hundred years of culture won’t put a dent in millennia of evolution. Culture is itself an outgrowth of evolution, and it needs to humbly acknowledge this fact instead of thinking that now it is king. The patterns and drives of Nature are king, and they explain everything. DS 06-07/2020