#and then my brain clearly just...jettisoned it

[docholligay]

I wish I had the time (or inclination) to reread GtN, before reading this. The pool scene left SUCH a sour taste in my mouth it seems to have erased a number of details from the book. I genuinely cannot remember who some of these people are in position to the first book.

PLEASE DO NOT SPOIL ME I'M LIKE 80 PAGES IN

[fascinationex]

I've started so many fics recently ;—;

This is three excerpts, 2 simpatico and 1 megastar, beneath this cut. There's sealpatico slowly happening also but it'll be too long if i put everything in. I'm not sure if I'll finish any of the below. Oof.

Very very mild nsfw below.

1. A cute simpatico cabling fic feat the mortifying ordeal of being known (and loved)

Brainstorm didn't usually cable—it was a bad habit for someone with secrets to keep. But he didn't usually spark merge, either, and after he and Percy had done that, suggesting he plug in seemed... pretty mundane?

Anything seemed mundane after a spark merge, which had turned out to be a thing that occupied a weird experiential niche between religious ecstacy and overloading so hard his processor crashed.

But this assumption had some flaws.

There was nothing mundane about this.

In part, because nobody cabled like this.

People had firewalls, they had adaptors, they had partitions and careful protocols in place. They did not just give over complete direct processor access to anyone. Not even medics.

Mnemosurgeons, maybe. But that wasn't usually on purpose.

Brainstorm's frame was warm, his brain was on fire with a confusing mix of horniness and acute embarssment, and there was nowhere to hide a single one of his processes.

He felt like... goo.

Mortified, squirming goo.

Perceptor could only be intimately aware of this, too, because he was burrowed deep in Brainstorm, delicate electrical fingers inside all his core processes.

Brainstorm was suddenly and intimately aware that his ego survived primarily through the grace of people never knowing him well enough to know what he was, you know, actually like. His closest friends found him basically incomprehensible, which was... simultaneously how he liked it and also absolutely unbearable.

And now Perceptor could just read all this straight from his brain!

Haha. Ha.

"I take it back," Brainstorm said thickly, "this was a terrible idea."

2. Simpatico not-quite-sex pollen

The crack of glass—glass, not even acrylic—was extremely loud.

Brainstorm and Perceptor both looked down at the canister. A long crack ran through it.

"Oh," said Brainstorm.

It... hissed.

"Glass is not an acceptable storage material," Perceptor noted faintly.

Brainstorm didn't even get to say anything too devastatingly clever in response, because the klaxons began to shriek. Alarm lights flashed. The blast door slammed down, cutting the laboratory off from the rest of the ship so securely that they could have been jettisoned without losing atmosphere.

The ceiling growled as decontaminant sprayed with surprising force down upon them, warm from its long proximity to the lights.

It was too late, of course. From that first 'oh,' Brainstorm had already seen the changes in his internal read outs. His biological systems were streaming errors so fast he wasn't even reading them properly, just discarding them in batches so they didn't impede his processor function.

His plating shifted all on its own: wings up, cockpit cracked open, vents yawning wide. He logged a note to find some way to store that decontaminant at about two degrees above the freezing void of space, in future. More warmth, especially in such a slick and slippery form, was not what he needed right now.

He turned the klaxons off with an authorisation code, and then had to wait for Perceptor to submit his, too. All such emergencies required more than one.

His blast mask clicked and he pulled it free. The nanites were clearly reproducing at a ferocious rate. He needed the ancillary vents to cycle cooler air.

"You know," Brainstorm began, before Perceptor could say anything, "I know you're going to say this is my fault, but—"

"That's an accurate assessment," interrupted Perceptor. "I am definitely going to say this is your fault."

3. Megatron and Starscream run into trouble together

Megatron suspected the ambush was not, in fact, some absurd ploy of Starscream's. This was because he'd been caught in it, too. Starscream would risk anything but his own interests. They had been walking back from an inspection of Shockwave's stasis facilities, bickering about how many flight hours were really necessary for the seekers. Megatron had been fully prepared to let Starscream decide that, given that he was both a jet and the commander of the Decepticon air forces, but he'd said "at least forty hours a week," a number Megatron was absolutely certain he'd just pulled from his own afterburners. "That's absurd," Megatron protested, unable to stop himself. The seekers had been fine with as low as five hours a week, before. Well... not fine, exactly. But fit for combat, certainly. If anything, it made them more aggressive. "Since you're an expert on the matter, it's a wonder you asked for my lowly opinion, lord Megatron," Starscream mocked. Starscream had an ego and a contrary streak five mechanomiles long. Megatron already regretted how much he liked it. "On what basis do you say forty?" "Well," Starscream began, already sounding alarmingly prepared to answer this question. That was when the gunfire started. The first shot went right through Starscream's wing, leaving a hole Megatron could have stuck three fingers through. There was a single hanging second in which Megaton just looked at the wound. Starscream's shriek left his right audial input glitching. Megatron flinched away from the sheer pitch of it, which was probably what saved him from an explosive round to the face.

[commander-coppercogg]

because my brain decided to inflict pain on this day, if you want it, bertie + storm tracking @kerra-and-company

Hello! Thank you so much for sending in this ask and I’m so sorry it took this long to answer it. But! I am very excited to present the longest thing I’ve written in a really long time and something that I’m honestly really proud of. So thank you so much for providing me the opportunity and inspiration to write this. Enjoy!

“Don’t be mad. I lied.”

It was difficult to hear Blish’s voice over the rumbling and the shattering of crystals. Bertie was having a hard enough time keeping his raptor, Kerfuffle, following Syrryl on his jackal. Holding up a conversation at the same time made his brain feel split in two. “What? What are you saying?”

“The power source is dead. I can't fix it.” Bertie gritted his teeth and gathered the reins in his hands, ready to turn around and go back for Blish. They could come up with another plan, they could try again, they just needed a little more time- “But my golem body can power the tracker, indefinitely. I just have to... take my higher functions off-line. Permanently.”

“No!” Syrryl’s head swung around to look at him, eye widening as he realized what was happening. “No! Blish, you can’t!” Bertie squinted through the swirling sand, mind racing as he scrambled to form a blueprint in his head of Blish’s body and how it could be modified. “No, no there’s gotta be another way, just give me a minute. Uh, ok, jettison your body’s limbs so it uses less power! Could you use one of the Branded crystals as an alternate exterior power source? Maybe-“

“Stop. Please,” Blish cut him off. “I'm just one person. We're talking about the end of the world. If I can buy you time to stop Kralkatorrik, then—“

“No!” Bertie yelled, causing Syrryl to slow his jackal until the two mounts were side by side. Bertie looked to his friend, his shadow, for support but saw in his expression the same resignation in Blish’s voice. He shook his head, refusing to give in. “There HAS to be another way. I'm not letting you do this!”

The communicator fizzed and popped for a moment and Bertie wondered if the connection had been broken. Then, “With all due respect, Commander….Bertie….it’s not up to you.” Blish continued in a rush, clearly desperate to get the words out. “Take care of Gorrick. Tell him—tell him his big brother is sorry.”

The words hit Bertie like a physical blow and he clutched at the reins tighter. Old childhood memories he hadn’t thought about in years, discarded after an unsatisfactory reunion and bitter arguments, returned to him. Bronn. His own brother. Bronn, who had protected him and raised him, who had then left him and never once apologized for it, who could be alive or dead or anywhere in between as far as he knew anymore, who had never answered the few short letters he’d tried to send, who he’d once been as close to as Blish and Gorrick were now, Alchemy, how was he going to tell Gorrick… So caught up in his own thoughts, Bertie almost missed the fact that Blish kept talking. With a sharp shake of his head, he forced himself to listen to his friend’s last words.

“And... Taimi, too. After you beat Kralkatorrik, keep fighting—until you've made a world worthy of them. And...stop keeping secrets from each other. All of you.”

In a turmoil of grief and confusion, Bertie turned to Syrryl, the question of what Blish meant already forming on his tongue, then stopped. The look on Syrryl’s face was almost frightening in its intensity. His usual deadpan resolve was gone, shattered away by something Blish had said, something that Bertie now realized held some meaning he couldn’t parse. In its place was a moment of pure vulnerability, an expression so filled with raw emotion that Bertie had to look away, feeling as though he’d intruded on something private.

The air around him shook with a sudden increase of crystalline ringing. Off to his left, he heard Syrryl cry out in alarm. Head snapping around, he could only watch as Syrryl’s jackal crumpled to sand beneath him as the Brandstorm attempted to corrupt the construct. The small asura rolled as he hit the ground and came up running, dodging the flying crystals as best he could.

“Syrryl!” Bertie yanked Kerfuffle’s reins, pulling the protesting raptor into a skidding turn. Mind blank with terror at the thought of losing not one but two friends in the same moment, he locked the fingers of his prosthetic arm around the horn of the saddle and reached outwards as far as he could with the other. Leaning dangerously off balance, he watched, heart in his throat, as Syrryl leaped towards him. There was an agonizing moment of stillness before the distance between them closed and Bertie felt Syrryl’s hand in his. Throwing his body weight in the opposite direction, he hauled the both of them back up into the saddle and urged Kerfuffle on. “We have to go back for Blish!” He yelled over the raging storm, one last attempt at denial.

He felt Syrryl’s arms lock around his waist, pressed tight against his back. “There’s no way! It’s all been Branded.”

“But-“

“Bertie.” Syrryl’s voice in his ear was quiet and firm. “We have to go. Now.”

Tears finally start to build as the reality sunk in. Another one. He was going to lose another one. “T-the sand’s clogging my glasses,” he choked out. “I c-can’t see to steer.”

He was grateful that Syrryl didn’t point out his lie. The sniper shifted behind him, pulling himself up so he could see over Bertie’s shoulder. “I can see. Have Kerfuffle jump.”

“What? To where?”

“Trust me. Jump. Now.”

——————————————————————————

The sand crunched under his feet as Bertie paced back and forth, back and forth, arms wrapped tight around his chest, mind so full that it felt like if he leaned over too far everything would go spilling over. He reached the cool stone wall of the small chamber in Sun’s Refuge he currently occupied and turned, retracing his steps for the next uncountable time. Eyes half focused, he forced his breathing to remain steady and regimented, five seconds in, five seconds out, repeat. He needed to calm down. He needed to calm down now, so he could go be the Commander again, go be an actual person again and not a mute blank shell that couldn’t even comfort his own daughter when she told him she was dying—

He hadn’t realized he’d gotten so close to the rock face until he collided with it. It jolted him out of his head a little even as it knocked the air out of his lungs. Slumping against the wall was uncomfortable, the skin on his palms scrapping against the round surface, but grounding in its own way. The solid pressure against his back made focusing a little easier so he stayed there, eyes closed, head tilted back, counting his breathes. Five minutes. He would allow himself five minutes, no longer. Braham and Syrryl were with Taimi now, they could look after her for the time being. At least she wasn’t alone.

As he counted down the time in his head, Bertie gradually became aware of a sound of to his right. Opening his eyes, he realized the noise was coming from a small narrow passage in the rock that he hadn’t noticed in his distracted state. Pushing away from the wall, he crept down the passage. Falling into the rhythm of patrolling for enemies and perimeter weaknesses was so second nature it took him several minutes to realize that he was moving.

The passage twisted and turned, far too small for anyone other than an asura to use. Eventually, it opened up into a wider space filled with equipment that Bertie recognized as Gorrick’s lab space. The source of the noise was Gorrick himself, moving back and forth from table to monitor to scanning device with the same barely contained frenetic energy Bertie felt in his own body.

A stab of guilt lanced through Bertie. He had been so distracted by Taimi’s revelation that he hadn’t thought to send someone to go check on Gorrick. The losses had stack up so suddenly it was difficult to keep them all in line. As urgent as he was to go and check on Taimi, he couldn’t in good conscious leave Gorrick alone. He at least needed to apologize for getting his brother killed, he thought dully as he stepped forward into the cave a little more.

“Gorrick?” His raspy voice, roughed by sand and yelling and his own faltering control of his emotions, startled the both of them. Gorrick spun around to stare in his direction, eyes almost immediately sliding off Bertie’s face to focus on a point nearby on the floor. Bertie couldn’t blame him. He didn’t think he’d be able to manage eye contact at this point either.

“Oh. Hello. Commander.” Gorrick’s voice was stilted and distracted in a way that most people would read as rude. “I’m….busy right now.”

“You…you don’t have to be,” Bertie said cautiously. He still didn’t know Gorrick all that well, if he were honest with himself. He knew they thought in similar ways but that didn’t mean they had the same reactions to loss. “You should…could take a break?”

Gorrick shook his head, ears flapping. “No! No I think…I think I’ve found to way to track down Blish!”

Bertie’s heart sank. It wasn’t that he didn’t hope desperately for it to be true. It was just that even he could hear the note of denial in Gorrick’s tone as he tripped over himself to point at a monitor. “If, no, when Kralkatorrick is dead then maybe we can use the remaining signal to track my brother down and rescue him!”

Bertie nodded slowly as he turned Gorrick’s words over in his mind. “Ok….” Speaking was still difficult but he forced himself to do it. “You’d- we’d need at least another point to even try and triangulate that…”

Gorrick spun and pointed at a half assembled contraption on a nearby table. Even from a distance, Bertie could tell that is was…rather hastily put together. And that was putting it politely. “I-I’m working on a p-probe that would do that, it could work…

Bertie slowly approached the table, not wanting to upset Gorrick even more. But there was no way that the construct would be able to survive the harshness of the desert outside of Sun’s Refuge, let alone the chaos of the Mists. He bit his lip, sharp teeth pricking the skin as he struggled to find something to say, some comfort to give. “What….what are the base line calculations of-“

“I don’t know!” Gorrick wailed suddenly, making Bertie jump. “B-Blish did all of the math and the golemancy and the talking to people, I just do bugs, a-and bugs can’t help him, bugs can’t help anyone, I can’t help him or anyone and now he’s gone and I can’t do anything about it…..”

It hurt. Oh it hurt. Losing Blish was awful but if anything seeing Gorrick like this was worse. Because it was familiar. That overwhelming need for it to not be true, to be some kind of trick. Desperate denial slowly giving way to the shattering realization that this was the way the world was now. That your brother was gone. Experiencing it personally had been staggering for Bertie. Watching it happen to someone else was…

He moved entirely on autopilot, driven by instinct and the need to provide the comfort he hadn’t gotten. Wrapping his arms around Gorrick, Bertie pulled the younger asura into an awkward hug. “I’m sorry, Gorrick,” he said, barely able to get the words out. “I’m so sorry.

For a moment, Gorrick stood tense and silent, arms rigid at his side. Alchemy, he’d overstepped. Bertie cleared his throat awkwardly and was on the verge of pulling away when Gorrick let out a muffled sob.

It was like seeing cracked glass finally shatter. Gorrick slumped against him, tears coming stronger and faster as his shoulders began to shake. His hands clutched at Bertie’s heavy coat and Bertie tightened his grip in return, wondering if Gorrick found the pressure as soothing as he did. The other asura’s glasses were digging uncomfortably into his shoulder but he refused to pull away, taking the additional weight easily even as he struggled with his own emotions.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, no longer knowing who he even spoke to anymore. Gorrick, Blish, Taimi, himself, all of Tyria… it had all gotten so big and his words felt so small. But they were all he had right now. So he spoke them again and again as his friend continued to mourn and just hoped they did some good.

[w0lp3rtinger]

Shadow never actually knew Maria or Robotnik.

That’s a bold-ass claim. Allow me to elaborate. 

You can read the Archie comics for SA2′s launch here, but my main concern is what happens a few pages in. 

Starting on Page 19 of issue #98, where we see what happened aboard the ARK so many decades ago, we’re greeted with this this statement bold and right smack dab where you cannot miss it. 

So and from the text, we can see that Gerald is just about to ‘turn on’ Project Shadow for lack of a better description. He talks about how he’s about to find out whether or not Project Shadow is even going to work- as in, wake up and be functional. Clearly, he has not done this yet. Between his commentary and that tagline in the keystone there, Shadow, effectively, has yet to be born. 

Gerald throws the switch, there’s a power surge, and miraculously, Shadow is alive. This is the moment he actually wakes up. (I will also point out- Gerald calls him, ‘it.’ There’s no friendly connection there. There’s no real emotion. Shadow is a project, a means to an end. Yes, Gerald is clearly connected with his work, but only because of Maria. He doesn’t feel for Shadow. There’s no joy that Shadow is alive because SHADOW is alive, but because his project WORKED and immortality has been unlocked.)  

The power surge startles Maria, who reaches out to her Grandfather to make sure that he’s alright. In the process, she drops the news that there are military grade ships coming up to the ARK. Gerald panics. (As an aside, I like how Maria looks kinda weird in this version? She also has her cousin Ivo’s reddish brown hair, which I like much better than the blond, honestly.) 

We also see at this point that Shadow is still in his incubation tube. Awake though he may be, he hasn’t even had a chance to towel off yet. The man LITERALLY just became conscious. We also see Gerald make an interesting statement about him being unstable. Clearly, though Shadow is viable, he’s not ‘done.’ My personal theory on that alone? Yes, Shadow was fully formed and functional, but cognitively, there was a lot to do. Just because a brain is formed doesn’t mean it works, or understand how to process input, or, you know, do anything much more than have some basic functions and a general grasp on the fact that you are capable of willful motion.

We then see this, and I’m just going to leave this page in its entirety.

It should be noted that we cannot tell if Maria intentionally set off the capsule by closing the door or not. All we can see is she hit it as she went down. 

Try to keep in mind- Shadow does not know these people. He does not know what is going on. He was just born, and he’s already told to run for his life only to watch the one person that was being somewhat patient, helpful, and kind in the maybe 5 minutes he knew her get shot. Look at his eyes there. He’s horrified even if he doesn’t know what’s going on. Then, he’s jettisoned out to Earth.  

There are no beautiful goodbyes, there are no pleas for a the people of Earth, there is none of that. There is just the callous murder of a child and then space. 

Gerald is taken by gunpoint to Prison Island. Eventually, they find the capsule, but Shadow is not in it. When Gerald asks about his granddaughter, he is given a throwaway remark about how she was killed. And thus begins the end. 

They do find Shadow. I know in the game, I was personally confused as to whether or not it was him or something Gerald created after the fact, but they do in fact capture Shadow and bring him back to Gerald to finish so that they can use him as the weapon they intended him to be. 

However, right away, things start going pear shaped. Gerald knows what the ARK is capable of, and with a few small adjustments, he makes it so that when activated, there’s no going back. We also see how his statements about Earth and the destruction of it are able to be broadcast after the Eclipse Cannon is activated. In the game it doesn’t make a lot of sense since it looks like, at least to me, he’s before a firing squad and those are his last words, but whatever- now we understand how that happends. 

Do you see the bit about the Bio-Matter Download being put into Shadow? How that will ensure his revenge?  

That’s the broken and weird memories of Maria that Shadow has, as well as any other flicker of recollection when it comes to life aboard the ARK. They’re all false. None of them are real, or at least, real to Shadow. Maybe Robotnik found a way to make a copy of his own memories and implant them but the point still stands- whatever memories were in that Bio-Matter Download are not genuinely Shadow’s.  

Then, we see why the project was shut down AGAIN, even when they had Robotnik. Honestly, I’m glad they added this in the comic. I had no idea why they did this in SA2 and this part of the narrative made a lot of sense once it was added. 

So what are we left with? Well, here is where I will blend the facts listed above with some personal opinions and theories. 

Shadow the Hedgehog is born. Within the minute, Gerald is alerted of military forces approaching the ARK. Fresh out of the tube and ‘not yet stable’ or, in my opinion, ‘not yet fully cognitively aware,’ Shadow is basically lead by Maria, who ALSO doesn’t quite know what’s going on, through the base as fast as they are able to go to the escape pods. There, with no fanfare, He watches her die. 

ShTH actually has the closest recreation based off of this comic.

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That clip is only 20 seconds long, and it’s only that length because  she gives that classic ‘give them a chance’ bit, but that’s FAKE. That didn’t HAPPEN. You remove that and all you have is a lost and confused CHILD essentially watching a stranger who was just helping him get shot and then he’s yeeted off into Space to suffer a horrible and very frightening decent and impact, his journey ending terrified, confused, and alone on a planet he does not know.

He’s then tracked down by military forces that very clearly do not care about the sanctity of life, captured, and forced to undergo MORE experimentation in the hands of Robotnik who decides to give him brain damage by implanting a bunch of fake, haphazard memories that don’t amount to anything, don’t lead anywhere, and don’t give a clear picture of what was going on. The clearest memory is the only one that's really his, which is watching Maria get shot and die, but even that is corrupted.

What Shadow should have experienced was a nurturing environment where he could grow into his brain and understand the world around him, but that’s ripped form him in favor of jumpstarting a revenge plot because an innocent child was in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

Shadow never got to know Maria. Met, yes. Knew, not at all. He probably also never got to know Robotnik, really. Everything he knows about his life on the ARK is a lie. 

And the best part? The saddest part? Shadow was going to destroy mankind for a man who was no father to him in the name of a child he didn’t even really know, but he chose to SAVE IT because something innate within him reworked the false memory and he changed his mind. Through his interactions with Rouge and Amy, his chats with Sonic, and whatever else that happened off screen that we don’t see, he, Shadow, overrode Robotnik’s Bio-Download and became a hero. 

His backstory of being loved by Robotnik and Maria is a lie, a lie he has made into his own. That doesn’t undermine his deep capacity for love. That doesn’t throw away his understanding (wrong though it may be) of his history which helps him become the hero that he is now. If anything, it strengthens it. he made it himself. It's his. He decided he was born out of love, and in his own way, he will share that love.

(Sonic the Hedgehog, Archie, Issue #171 Pg 20. He goes to look at an old diary of Gerald's that is corrupted and he has to personally interface with it. The full-body interface with the diary starts breaking around him and honestly, I think that’s largely due to the fact that HE is accessing it with HIS BRAIN and HIS BRAIN is corrupted due to the Bio-Download.)

Yes, he still believes in Maria. Yes, in the end of SA2, he willingly sacrificed himself for this girl he never got to befriend let alone talk to, but the truth of the mater is, he proved Amy right- that everyone has the capacity for good. 

I know Sega and its mandates write him off as a villain and a one dimensional rival to Sonic, but whatever dumb decisions they make, THIS Shadow, this guy, he’s a hero, and that’s why so many of us love him. 

But yeah thanks for coming to my TED talk have a nice day <3 

[magicofthepen]

Gallifrey Relisten: Spirit

This reaction post is almost 4,000 words long, which, given the episode in question.....is very on brand for me. So here have a whole lot of ramblings, in which I go back and forth between “I love this so much” and “hmm yes I do think Spirit is overhyped by virtue of being The Romana/Leela Episode,” and back and forth between “I will be objective and not get overtly shippy about this” and “I’m definitely getting overtly shippy about this.” 

(Includes discussion of The Apocalypse Element, the rest of Series 2, Intervention Earth and Enemy Lines, also a bit about Time War 3, but only in the last section.) 

Things that are absolutely not overrated and deserve every bit of the hype:

1. The premise

Like, hold on. Hold on. Here we have an entire episode resting on the premise of “Romana wants Leela to stay on Gallifrey so badly that in spite of being y’know, the President of a planet, and specifically a planet currently undergoing major social changes and dealing with evil eldritch beings, the #1 most important thing for her to do with her time is take Leela on a private vacation off world to convince Leela why she should stay on Gallifrey.” (Hint: it’s. it’s for Romana.) 

She also then proceeds to be very bad at using her words when it comes to this premise because Romana is all into grand gesture and very little into actually talking about her feelings. Of course. But in an episode that rests on the idea of Romana as the Rational, Logic-Driven One, and Leela as the Instinctive, Emotion-Driven One, it is very good that the premise of the episode is entirely driven by Romana’s emotions. (Wait. Am I going to talk myself out of the idea that Spirit creates these overly simplistic contrasts between Romana and Leela by arguing that it also muddies them at the same time? .....I still think the “overly simplistic” thing is true to an extent. But stay tuned.)

2. The core emotional story

I’m deeply into Gallifrey for the relationships between the main characters, so Spirit is vastly appealing on that front. 

The central question of Spirit is: can Leela trust Romana? Leela’s been deeply betrayed by her husband, she feels lost and adrift and she’s doubting her own ability to judge people. (“He stood before me as Torvald, and I did not know him. I had thought myself to have a keener eye.” / “But is his the only trust I may have given in error?”) Leela’s doubting her own instincts specifically, which is why it’s so important that this episode has Romana move from being more dismissive of Leela’s instinctive, emotional approach to the world, to understanding where Leela’s coming from and appreciating her instincts and worldview. Leela needs to trust not just Romana, but also herself.

And it is 1. important to explore this! Shoutout to Gallifrey for not brushing aside the emotional repercussions of Andred’s betrayal on Leela’s close relationships in general and her own image of herself! and 2. intersects in super fascinating ways with Romana’s trust issues.

Romana gets a hard time for the “valuable asset” thing, which. Fair. But I think it is important to acknowledge the premise here — the whole vacation, everything Romana is actually doing screams “I care about you very much on a personal level,” and just because she isn’t saying that doesn’t mean she isn’t showing that. Because she has her own baggage when it comes to friendship and trust, and a lot of that does loop back around to “being imprisoned for twenty years and having no one come to save you really messes you up. on so many levels.” 

(Also I have to mention the end of The Apocalypse Element because that last scene with the Doctor and Romana really established how I looked at Romana and her close personal relationships moving forward. Because yeahhhh maybe having the one (1) person who is specifically your Friend (and not your colleague, or advisor, or anything related to The Presidency) go “yeah you can clean up this mess right! cool bye!” after you’ve gone through decades of trauma immediately followed by needing to repel an invasion of your planet....maybe that might make you distrust that anyone in the universe is actually going to care about you as a person anymore, and not see you as The President of Gallifrey first and foremost). 

Bottom line: Romana really, really likes Leela (.....we all can decide in what way....), but also has a whole lot of doubt that other people could care about her as a person, doubt that it’s even worth letting herself be that emotionally vulnerable with someone else, because what if they throw her trust and care back in her face? And so this whole episode, there’s this undercurrent of wanting to trust each other and wanting to care about each other simmering under the surface for the both of them, but they’re both having trouble really seeing and believing what each other is feeling and I love it. I love this kind of interesting, complicated relationship struggle so much, and I love how Spirit has a positive ending, where they both manage to convey to each other in one way or another that they really do want to be around each other. ( “I was so alone in the world of dreams when you left. The wildlands were dark and so quiet. I do not wish to be alone.” / “There will be a place for you with me, for always. Whatever face I wear.” ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh) 

(Sure, the later episodes of the season fuck everything up again, but we are Not Talking about Insurgency/Imperiatrix here.) 

(We are also Not Talking about Intervention Earth/Enemy Lines....okay I’ll talk a little about IE/EL, but only because when relistening to Spirit there’s this sort of elephant in the room with “There will be a place for you with me, for always. Whatever face I wear.” And that elephant is the writers deciding that when Romana regenerated, she would abandon Leela, which...hmmm. To be fair, I have lots of more complex, specific thoughts about what might have happened emotionally and literally in that thankfully jettisoned timeline, but the bottom line is that I was and still am very *side eyes* at that writing choice.) 

3. The chair scene

Oh my god. Oh my god. This scene is actually brilliant and delightful on every relisten, I want it framed please?? 

I think it’s probably iconic because it’s just so happy, and it is so so wonderful to have a moment like that, with the two of them making up a silly story to Hallan about what happened to the window and laughing about it. And it is good! It’s so good! (A side note: Romana in particular in this episode has that “audibly smiling” tone of voice so so much more than usual, in addition to her overall tone having very clearly shifted away from “presidential” for the majority of the episode and y’all.....it’s so excellent to hear, that is such a rare thing.)

Also specifically, it’s the fact that Leela is like ugh this room is too stuffy :( and Romana immediately is like “I must fix this, I need to make her happy” and does something so ridiculous and impulsive just to please Leela.......again, this episode is pulling a Romana Has Too Many Feelings and is acting on her emotional instincts thing......yes. 

“You’re a breath of it yourself in the Capital.” “Oh Romana, nice words will not make me stay.” I’m sorry but Romana’s delivery of this line is so flirtatious? (And Leela going ah no, you can’t flirt your way out of this.) 

Things that are......not good:

1. The science vs. spirituality dichotomy (and how it makes the characters look)

The whole evolution vs. creation discussion thing not only feels too simplistic for the characters, but it also feels like it’s deliberately painting Leela in a negative light? To have Leela specifically going I don’t believe in evolution when the audience is going to disagree with her and bounce off of that....yeah. It also feels like the whole exaggerated ~super in tune with nature, doesn’t know or believe things about science~ thing is leaning into the racist indigenous stereotypes her character is too often linked to.

And on top of that, it doesn’t feel in character? Classic Who episodes don’t stick in my brain that well so my memory isn’t super clear on the details, but Leela was banished from her tribe for questioning their beliefs. Plus she learned that her society’s social divisions were based on misinformation and forgotten history (having more information was important, it changed things for her world). And she was the one who wanted to leave and travel, and also has always showed a lot of interest in learning new things. To have Leela so deeply clinging to the beliefs she learned when she was young, without any of that questioning or the nuance of weaving in new things she’s learned with the old......it feels reductive. (There could be so much more nuance here re: how living so long away from the Sevateem and having to defend her background so much on Gallifrey has affected her relationship with the culture and beliefs she grew up in, but Spirit has none of that.) 

2. The mindswap’s lack of nuance 

There’s a similar issue here with the mindswap, where Leela especially comes off as over-simplified. I don’t know if this was an acting choice or a directing choice, but the over-the-topness of Lalla’s performance during the mindswap really feeds that (the way Romana’s voice sounds so different when she’s “acting like Leela”, while Leela still sounds fundamentally like herself when she’s acting more like Romana — why the difference?). Also, Romana is a lot more helpless and distressed when she has part of Leela in her mind, which again, does not make Leela come off as especially competent (even though she is). There are times when this episode feels like it’s trying harder to put Romana and Leela into these boxes than it is at trying to break down those boxes and yeah, all around I wish there was more nuance.

3. The interrupting of the vacation date, damn it, do you think I care about a “plot”?

Alright, alright this one is not in the same category as the other two. It is absolutely not a valid criticism, it is purely the “I want this audio to cater to me, personally” part of my brain getting disappointed every time I relisten when Wynter crashes the vacation. Specifically, when they’re all alone in the woods together having important personal conversations and Leela’s decided that they’re camping out for the night....maybe I just wanted to hear the overnight camping trip, y’know. Maybe I just wanted them to cuddle beneath the stars. (Also this will come back big time next episode, but I very much back away from horror of Wynter’s mutilation, I am a squeamish person and the Wynter thing is not my favorite plot.) 

Misc liveblogging things: 

“I’m sorry I had to have you dragged here to my quarters. I have requested an audience with you several times on a matter of security but have received no answer.” — It’s unclear exactly how much time has passed between Lies and Spirit, but not too long(?) and Leela’s been trying to track down Andred a lot during this time (which means that once again, Romana’s specifically taking Leela away from looking for Andred....).

Leela scathingly calling Romana “Madam President” oof. (I think this moment may have been what I was thinking of re: Leela only uses Romana’s title when she’s annoyed or angry, will have to note if/when it happens again.) 

“It is your world and not mine. Although I have lived here for many years it has never been my home. And I am unhappy.” I know I’ve said this before, but Leela’s concept of home is very much the people she cares about and hhhhh so many feelings about this throughout the series.

Oof Darkel’s got Romana pegged with the “how far will she go” thing.

Is Narvin......being nice re: Romana having a trying time? Or sarcastic? Or is he just like oh thank god she’s off the planet for a hot sec I can take a breath. 

Brax saying it was him that recommended Romana leave and insisting they don’t talk about it — he’s sooo covering for her, but also I want to know how that convo went....how exactly did Romana explain the “I’m going to take Leela on a private vacation off-world for.....personal reasons.....please cover for me slash be my emergency contact” thing? 

“So I can only conclude from your recent behavior that you’re experiencing a considerable amount of pain.” — I mean, Leela did explicitly say earlier that she was unhappy. Still, it is a really good moment here — Romana saying I see that you’re hurting and I want to help. 

.......and that’s right before “valuable asset” line. You were doing so good, Romana. (She does say friend though! I mean, she says it like it’s an ordeal, but she does immediately course correct to admit that Leela’s her friend.) Also....I’m having some kinda thought here about the “asset” line — how she compliments Leela in terms of her usefulness is icky, but I think Romana often judges her own worth based off of how useful she is to Gallifrey? I think there are several moments throughout the series that point to Romana basing her worth as a person off of her work and how successful she is at protecting her world and making it better, which is just an overall unhealthy mindset to be in (and this says something about the toxicity of Gallifreyan culture possibly but also something about the lingering trauma of Etra Prime and living for decades in a place where her life itself (whether she survived) was directly tied to her usefulness...going to mull this over more, but I think there’s something here). 

Hallan is so awful about Leela, and he goes on for a bit about how he should be watching the president at all times — aka there is definitely resentment within the Chancellery Guard towards Leela for taking the role of bodyguard to the president. And this is mixed in with nasty comments about Andred, former member of the Chancellery Guard, for marrying an alien. 

“A marriage is about maintaining the power of the chapters, strengthening alliances between houses” — it is interesting how more than once in the audios they talk about marriage as primarily a political thing in Time Lord culture (at least among the elite), with love being an exception and something disapproved of. 

The “Leela’s been on Gallifrey for twenty-five years” math......does not work. Between The Invasion of Time and the Gallifrey audios, Romana left Gallifrey, ended up traveling with the Doctor for a while, stayed behind in E-space for a while, returned from E-space to Gallifrey, became President, got captured by the Daleks and held prisoner for twenty years, and according to Square One I believe it’s been “years” since The Apocalypse Element.......and apparently only twenty-five years have passed on Gallifrey? Even if we pretend that no time passed on Gallifrey during Romana’s adventures with the Doctor and in E-space, that timeline is still questionable. Leela has to be on Gallifrey for a lot longer than that. 

“I’ve searched for [my purpose] in many places.” — It’s interesting that Romana lists off the places she’s tried to find purpose, but doesn’t say anything at all about Gallifrey — Leela is the one to say that Romana has found her purpose on Gallifrey, Romana never actually says that. (I have...lot of feelings about Romana’s very complicated relationship to Gallifrey.) 

Romana mentions Pandora predicting that she would rule over Gallifrey, and predicting that Romana would let that happen — Romana is worried about Pandora in particular, and also there’s the implication that she wants Leela to stay to help her hold onto herself and prevent that future. 

Just ahhhh the scene by the fire where Leela decides, after avoiding too much discussion about what she’s feeling, to be emotionally honest: “It frightens me to think that I have spent so much of my life with another in a trust that I believed was true and strong, one that could not sicken, and that I was wrong.”; “You are my friend. I know that, for all we disagree on. And yet, if tomorrow you grew sick, you could throw off your form like an old sheet and be a person I would no longer recognize, not with my eyes nor with my heart.” It’s a good scene!!

The whole “who is the broken man?” mystery is good on first listen I suppose, but I’ve never quite bought that they can’t ID him. Can the Time Lords not do a quick DNA test or something? (To be fair, these are the same people who missed that Andred was impersonating someone else for months, but at least here they actively know that they need to be figuring out who he is.)

The herbal remedy — “The outsiders use it when in pain or distress.” Confirmation that Leela does hang out with the outsiders on Gallifrey. 

“I’ve been inside these things I don’t know how many times and I assure you nothing could go wrong.” Post-Etra Prime Romana trying to get some sleep for once tbh (also okay she does have some healthy coping mechanisms apparently). 

“It speaks to your innermost wishes and wonders and indulges them while you dream” “There is a wild woman inside me” I’m so sorry but did they really not intend to making the sensory tanks and mindswap sound incredibly erotic because

“It is winter here.” *eyebrow waggle*

I do not like hearing stabbing sounds! (Also apparently this season has a thing for Romana kinda sorta killing people with knives.) 

Leela wakes up a bit later than Romana (she stays in the dream space longer), and she says she heard Pandora’s voice — Romana dismisses that, but I do wonder what exactly happened in the dreamspace after Romana woke and what additional things Leela might have heard/seen??

Hallan is so shitty, kick his ass Leela.

I do wonder why the subplot with Melyin and Hallan was included? Was it to introduce Hallan as a character and flesh out the side characters so we know them a bit better when they’re around with the Wynter subplot? (Personally, I don’t enjoy how earlier in the episode they keep cutting away from Romana and Leela’s really important and interesting conversation to those two sides characters, so I’m not sure they needed that storyline?) But there is this sort of interesting moment where Melyin talks about freeing herself from this place where she’s isolated and Leela sympathizes — and yet at the same time is choosing to go back to Gallifrey. There is potentially an interesting parallel here, but I’m not exactly sure what the parallel is supposed to be saying about Leela.

“And what about you? Back to Gallifrey and your husband?” “I am returning to Gallifrey, yes. It is not yet time for me to leave.” Leela expertly dodging mentioning Andred in her response or referring to him as her husband. Actually I kinda want to pay more attention to when she does or doesn’t refer to Andred as her husband. I’m pretty sure she calls him her husband after he dies because that is who she’s grieving, but in this episode she talks about wanting to confront him and hurt him or make peace with him, and in A Blind Eye she was all “my husband is dead” (and I think there are some things in Insurgency about this) —there is a question here about whether or not she still considers herself married to Andred at this point.   

How did the knowledge of events get out on Gallifrey? Brax says if people were watching his movements closely it wouldn’t be hard to put things together — but also he probably knows that Romana needs to return for Gallifrey for events to play out, so it seems quite possible that he essentially leaked the info himself (knowing that the events of Pandora are coming....oof). 

Leela talks about returning to Gallifrey avenge the broken man — in series 2 and 3, she frequently turns to vengeance as something to give her motivation and purpose when she’s unhappy and grieving, but I forgot it came up as early as Spirit ahhh yikes. 

The (shippy) elephant in the room:

(Includes vague mentions of Time War 3.) 

As a final thing, I do want to mention that while this episode has a reputation of being really gay (because yep it so so subtextually gay)....I do always remember that it is only subtext. Specifically in a “isn’t it interesting that other ships between main characters get clearly teased as romantic possibility, but when it’s the core relationship of the show that just so happens to be between two characters played by women, they would never explicitly hint that there might be anything romantic going on there” way. (For a long time, I tried to convince myself this didn’t bother me. It does.) 

Like don’t get me wrong, I adore their friendship and I am very cool with their relationship being entirely platonic in the audios. However, my feelings are also very context-dependent, and the context is an audio drama series in which the only explicitly queer characters are side/minor characters who die horribly (and also only exist in the very recent releases). There are no canon f/f relationships or canonically queer women in the entire series (no, Leela/Veega doesn’t count, they were pretty explicit on that being not canon), in contrast with plenty of canon m/f relationships. This is also why I say that I’d be 100% unbothered if Gallifrey really was equal-opportunity devoid of romance (I really genuinely enjoy the friendship-centric narrative of this series, it’s so good) or even had significant canonically queer side characters, but when there’s such a pointed ignoring of any queer subtext and a general ‘would never ever make any main character canonically queer’ vibe throughout the whole series (I am looking at you Unity) it’s.....hmmm. It just doesn’t feel good, you know? 

To end on a lighter (ish) note, going to talk about shippy things for a sec — so I have many headcanon universes that float around in my brain, but generally speaking when I’m writing Romana/Leela fic or thinking about the possibility of their relationship being romantic at some point, I tend to go for things happening between them later in the audios (ideally post-Enemy Lines), with the early series just being endless unresolved tension. But gosh there is a part of me that’s interested in the disaster universe where they do get romantically involved with each other post-Spirit (because as far as the early series go, it does feel like it has to be post-Spirit, when Leela does make the choice to stay with Romana/for Romana on Gallifrey) because oh god that’s so emotionally messy. (It’s only been six months and change since Leela’s husband first disappeared! We’re only two episodes away from Andred’s death! She’s not in a healthy emotional space to be doing this right now, and neither is Romana, frankly! Especially given what’s going to happen in the next several episodes.....but oof wow there’s certainly a story to explore there). 

This was not a lighter note, I’m so sorry. Anyways, friendly reminder that I’m always down to go on and on about Romana/Leela, I have....so many feelings about them. Also if you’ve actually read through this entire post, wow and thank you??

Previous Episode Reaction: Lies

[dopescotlandwarrior]

Unforgettable-Chapter Four

Previous chapters on AO3    A special thanks to @statell​ for all your help

Chapter Four

Claire pulled her mascara wand out and it was dry. Damn she thought, I don’t suppose there’s anywhere to buy makeup around here. She threw it in the waste container and dabbed on some lip gloss. The laptop was set up on her small table and she dialed the number with shaking fingers. She sent Jamie a text early in the week asking to Skype on Friday night. She wondered how he would get away from what’s-her-name, but he agreed so she didn’t care.

Her laptop flickered a couple of times and then he was there, smiling at her like she was right in front of him.

“God made eyes that color for one person only Sassenach.”

“Who?”

“Ye of course. How is it going over there? Is the hospital in a safe zone?”

“Sometimes. The second night I was here we had casualties from a raid nearby. Quite an initiation.”

“What kind of work are ye doin there, do ye like it?”

They stared at each other and their mouths moved but the action was happening in the heart. Jamie felt himself slipping back under her spell and Claire wanted to tell him about all the feelings, wars, doubt, and capitulation she was going through. They kept the conversation light.

“How can you be so far from the laptop and I can still see you clearly?

“I use my smart TV, and you are life-size as I watch ye.”

“Wow, that is awesome. Tell me about Edinburgh.”

And so it went, the benign conversation of two people in love that were not willing to expose themselves to the other. They would both feel the immediate vacuum sucking them out of the happy zone the minute Skype was closed.

They talked every week on Friday, afternoon for Claire, evening for Jamie. A package arrived for Claire and she ran to her room to open the box, so thrilled because it could only be Jamie who sent it. She pulled out a state-of-the-art laptop with a seventeen-inch screen and an exceptional camera. It was loaded with trending software and numerous picture files of his football team, Lallybroch, his camping trips, the fish he caught and the amazing sunsets from the top of the world. The card was handwritten; For the Sassenach, to remind ye of civilization and Scotland. I hope it makes ye happy. Claire hugged the card to her chest and rolled her eyes when someone knocked on her door.

“Claire! Let us in!”

Joe grew impatient and Claire finally opened the door to both of them. Kevin’s eyes lit up when he saw the new technology and he rushed to the laptop to investigate.

“It’s just lovely, I think Jamie is more than a friend all of a sudden.”

“No, it’s a friend present, nothing more. He is getting married, remember.”

“What, so he’s gonna Skype with you all the way to the alter?”

“Something like that.”

“Hey, he set up a gmail for you and sent a message.”

“Really? Claire rushed to the laptop to read it.”

Sassenach, I dinna ken yer email and I dinna like to wait. Send me a picture of the jungle! JF

Someone was knocking on the door but this time she could hear the urgency and pulled the door open.

“Report to OR on the double, Doctor Anderson is waiting.”

Cutter had already completed ten hours of surgery today, and so had she. She closed the door behind her and ran to the surgical wing. For the next two hours, she, Cutter, and another nurse worked hard to save a young man who came in with a meat hook stuck in his abdomen. Claire was clamping blood vessels as she found them, her arms deep in the abdomen, hands, and forearms covered in blood as they raced to stem the bleeding from multiple ruptured vessels. She and Cutter on opposite sides of the table, both suturing tissue as fast as they could.

Claire was the last to leave the OR and she was exhausted as she pushed into the scrub room and pulled her gown and gloves off. She held onto the scrub sink like she could collapse any moment and closed her eyes with the water running in front of her. The room was dimly lit, and she washed quickly so she could collapse in her Lazy Boy.

Joe’s phone had a high megapixel camera and he was quite good at using it. The close-ups he took of Claire, her eyes tired and grim, as she leaned over the washbasin on her forearms. Asleep in the Lazy Boy with her hand on Luna, surrounded by villagers, all needing something, were telling the story of Claire’s existence in this place.

Kevin joined the cause and had a folder full of Claire in action. Cutter was recruited to catch Claire with her two favorite men, Joe and Kevin, goofing off and teasing each other.

Joe recognized the signs of a man in love and sent Jamie the photos from Claire’s new laptop while she was working.

Claire pulled her new laptop closer and dialed Jamie. His face looked different, contemplative, and Claire’s heart rate shot up making her feel weak. He’s going to tell me he’s getting married she thought. Her instincts were shouting for her to disconnect. When you don’t want to hear something, don’t listen. She stared at him with wide eyes and he stared back.

“What is it Jamie, you look different.”

“Sassenach, I dinna have words to describe what your pictures showed me.”

“What?”

“Ye are the bravest lass I’ve ever known and the strongest. I had no idea what life was really like there. I am in awe of ye lass.”

“So far, you have not made a lick of sense Jamie. I didn’t send pictures to you. What are you talking about?”

“Well, someone did it for ye. They were in my email yesterday.”

Claire grabbed her phone and checked the sent emails, there were numerous emails to Jamie with picture attachments. Claire opened them and flipped through the pics with mounting concern.

“Jesus Christ, I wasn’t aware these were being taken, or sent. I’m sorry Jamie. My friend Joe had a very bad idea. I was not aware.”

Jamie leaned closer to the camera, “this is the real you as ye go through the day. I have an accurate account of the struggles ye face. Your work in the OR, yer haunted eyes when yer about to collapse and those two guys who hang on each other and make ye laugh. It’s incredible what I’ve learned about ye with these pictures. Yer amazing Sassenach.”

Jamie’s comments broke through her fantasy of killing all who conspired in this clandestine photo shoot. She heard compassion, pride, and love in Jamie’s voice. She looked up at the camera again and suddenly felt overwhelmed with love for the guys and appreciation for Jamie’s reaction.

“Ye dinna ken how special ye are, or how much ye deserve the best life. I…I will be happy to know ye finally get it, Claire. I feel emotionally invested somehow, please agree to be my video friend or pen pal for life. I’ll always wonder if ye don’t.”

Claire was surprised at Jamie’s reaction and she tried to rally her friend-face, control her expressions, and maintain composure in front of the camera. She looked into his eyes and wanted to shout at him that she was more than a friend. Jamie’s words were hitting her like bullets because he was now an observer trying to help her somehow, not harboring his own crush. At that moment she subconsciously jettisoned away from him, to the place she had been since the video calls started. In a box of his acquaintances he would remember from time to time.

Jamie continued to sing her praises and Claire did her best to cover the disappointment and hurt from misunderstanding his interest. She tried to rally but finally begged off with an excuse to feed the baby.

“Until next week Sassenach, take care of yourself.”

Claire slammed the lid on the laptop, “like you’re my psychiatrist or something? No thanks, I’ll be my own support thank you. If this is your entertainment to share with miss perfect, you will have to find something on television from now on. I am out.”

When Jamie saw the blood drain from Claire’s face, he knew she was completely in the dark about the pictures. That made it even more real for him and he silently thanked Joe for letting him into their world. No wonder she couldn’t settle in Edinburgh, it would be like putting a gorgeous butterfly in a jar, to slowly die from the lack of flight. He was deeply troubled that he had touched a dream girl, his dream girl, and the world had no equal.

The door opened and he looked at Geneva, here for a night of cat and mouse, and he was the mouse. He took a deep breath and suddenly wanted to be in a meadow, full of fish, where he could spend time with his memory of Claire and say his truth.

Jamie rose from the couch and kissed Geneva, promising a five-minute shower before they left. But the whole time, he was missing the girl who danced with a fish in his kitchen.

Claire looked at Joe with a laser sight on his fertile brain and fantasies of torture danced in her head. Joe retreated and disappeared before she got to him. She would have followed him, but she was pulled away by an unexpected visit from Luna’s mother.

Claire felt her tears drop onto her shoulders making her scrubs wet. She was always afraid this day would come, her miracle baby leaving with her biological mother. She pulled the baby to her and kissed her cheeks, repeatedly. She assembled multiple bags packed with food, diapers, blankets, and supplements that would sustain her. She would send her away and never know what happened to her and that was breaking her heart. Cutter pushed into the nursery and looked at Claire with compassion.

“Let me take her Claire. Kiss her one more time, then give her to me, he said quietly.”

Luna held Claire’s hair and yanked it trying to get her mother’s attention, the only mother her infant life knew. In her limited world, one face had always been there to give love and smiles and food. Claire broke down and Cutter pulled the sweet baby from her, pulled the bags of supplies onto his shoulder, and then left.

Claire sank into the Lazy Boy arms wrapped around her stomach and cried like she was mortally wounded. She bent over and her tears puddled on the linoleum floor. Her heart was breaking and there was no comfort to be had, just misery, her miracle baby was gone forever.

Claire laid curled up in the Lazy Boy and wondered how much grief one person could take in a day. “UNCLE”, she whispered, “no more for today.” The room grew darker as the sun set, and Claire remained until the door opened and a hand pulled her into the lighted hallway making her squint painfully. The hand pulled her forward and outside where it was easier to open her eyes.

Claire looked at the picnic table with a lantern on it and looked up at Cutter.

“What’s this?”

“A request from Joe, to get you talking and forgiving before you end his life for the pictures.”

He pushed her onto a bench and sat across from her with his hands folded on the table.

“Shall we begin, I rather like Joe, so let’s figure this out together.”

Cutter smiled and waited patiently.

“What? Um, I was mad at him for sending the pictures to Jamie. It was a sweet gesture, but it brought out Jamie’s true feelings for me and I was mad about that. I have the right to punish Joe because he’s my best friend.”

“What true feelings did Jamie reveal?”

“He wants to be pen pals, or video pals, so he will know when I find happiness. He doesn’t want to wonder about me for the rest of his life.”

“Jesus Claire, you had to let go of Luna right after that?”

“She wanted and needed my attention as I got her ready, but I couldn’t stop crying. I miss her so much already and I will never know what happened to her. I can’t take not knowing, Cutter.”

She stopped abruptly and looked up at her friend. The comparison of the two statements sinking into her brain. Her eyes got wide as she compared Jamie’s statement to her own. She loved Luna with her heart and soul, and it broke her heart realizing she will never know how she was. Could Jamie feel the same about her? She stared straight ahead and climbed out of the picnic table. She patted Cutter on the shoulder but missed and patted his face as she left.

“What about Joe? Can he come out of hiding now?”

“Mission accomplished soldier, he’s safe.”

Claire had a strange look on her face, but it wasn’t sorrow that Cutter saw, it was more like she just figured out the double-helix of DNA. Something wondrous.

Claire laid on her bed for the first time in four months and sighed deeply. Whatever Jamie felt for her, was big, that she was certain of. She will keep Skyping on Friday nights and maybe send an email occasionally if there was something exceptional or interesting that happened.

Jamie climbed in a thickly wooded area with a punishing pitch, feeling strong and healthy, as long as he didn’t start thinking. The woods were healing him of the past months of partying, drinking to excess, dealing with Geneva the shape-shifter, and his little Claire showing her heart and comfort to him. Breathing deeply in the crisp mountain air he felt capable of anything. Later in the afternoon, he laid back in the sun to rest. Winter was well on its way and pushing through his comfort limits, so this would be his last trip for a while. He would miss his time out here in nature. He paid dearly for it with Geneva but he didn’t care, it was bringing him back to who he really was.

Claire sat down next to Joe and across from Cutter at dinner. They had been in this medical camp for nine months, she could hardly believe it. The guys were displaying an air of excitement and fist-bumping Joe, well, Kevin was giving cheek kisses and Cutter did the bumping.

“Wow, I’ll bite, what is all the excitement about?”

“Jamie entered one of my pictures of you in a competition, and I won!” Joe was laughing. “Something Apple was doing to promote the camera in the new iPhone. Pretty cool, ha, and I get ten grand for first place!!”

“Jamie did that for you? Interesting. Whatever would make him even think of such a thing?”

Claire stared at Joe, letting him know she would not look away until he explained himself. She was making him antsy and nervous so this would not take long.

Joe sighed and told Claire about the photo lab tech who blew the picture up for Jamie asking all kinds of questions about the camera.

“He called me, told the lab tech it was an iPhone camera, tech said put the picture in the contest, he did, I won, and that’s about it.”

Claire picked up her tray and stood up, “Imagine that.”

The three men gaped at her as she walked away. They didn’t know what to expect from her, but it wasn’t that.

Claire smiled inside wondering how Jamie and Joe became telephone buddies. She was the common denominator and that’s all that mattered to her. She wiped the sweat off her face about to say goodnight to the guys when she thought of some cool relief.

“Cutter, remember that swimming pool I jumped in and you morphed into the incredible hulk?” What was that place?”

“Cutter looked around the room thinking about honesty versus a good night’s sleep for her. “It was my overreacting is all. I thought it was something different.”

“I do believe that is first time you have lied to me Cutter. I’ll ask again, what was that place, and…be honest.”

“It’s a rebel stronghold Claire. The attack on the villagers when you first got here, was perpetrated by that group.”

Claire’s eyes went wide, and her voice panicked, “they’re right here in our backyard? Jesus Christ, it’s no more than a few miles from here! If I had been caught in that pool they would have killed me, wouldn’t they?”

“Drop it pea,” he growled. “That’s enough on the subject.”

Cutter left the table cursing himself for telling her, thankful he left out the torturous death of women prisoners. They would have made it last before she drew her last breath and he would be dead trying to protect her.

Claire stared straight ahead, trying to wrap her head around their proximity to the enemy. She shivered with a full understanding of Cutter’s reaction that day.

“Jesus Christ,” she whispered.

Joe had heard things, from the villagers, delivery drivers, and the news when they could get it. He had already put in a request to get them out of there. It was first come first serve and everyone was bugging out of Honduras. He intended to talk to Claire and Kevin tonight about leaving their post before replacements came. It was feeling creepy around here and his instincts were screaming it was time to go.

[witharsenicsauce]

(XCOM) Chosen Stories From the War #3: A Deal Too Good to Refuse

The silence in the Chamber was broken by an explosion and a waterfall of blinding light. Gur-Rai Madron got to his feet just as his brother appeared in a similar spectacular array before him. He waited a moment for his sister to follow.

She never did.

Gur-Rai, his hood covering his glowing eyes, scanned the room cautiously, half expecting her to appear behind him with her knife to his face. But Kon-Mai was nowhere to be seen.

“Where is she?” His brother’s booming voice echoed through the empty room, and Gur-Rai shrugged.

“Maybe she’s hiding from you.” He chuckled.

“Then she is a coward.” His brother’s hands lit up with psionic energy, just as the image of the Elders appeared before them. Quickly, the Warlock and the Hunter moved to their places, bowing respectfully to their masters. The Assassin’s spot stood empty.

“Our children.” Their “mother’s” voice dominated, as always, but today it seemed heavy. “We come to you this day with news of great woe. Kon-Mai Mordenna, your sister, the Assassin, is no longer of this world.”

Gur-Rai blinked in surprise, the shock settling on him slowly. His brother seemed just as taken aback as he was.

“Even now we feel her absence, her voice silenced forever.” The Elders spoke softly.

“She’s...not...really.” Gur-Rai shook his head. “She can’t be.”

“Brother, silence yourself.” the Warlock growled.

“She was taken from us a fortnight and 10 days ago, by the Commander Senuna and her XCOM rebels.” The Elders continued. “It falls to you to ensure they face justice.”

“She’s the Assassin.” Gur-Rai smiled as though he had figured out the joke. He pointed to his brother; “Dhar-Mon, would YOU expect her to go down so easily? To be laid low by a tribe of squabbling humans? No, because she’s our-”

The feeling of his skin being pulled from his body shut him up, as the Elders’ light descended from the heavens and slammed into him, knocking him to the ground. Gur-Rai pushed himself up against the weight, just trying to keep his face from being smashed in, but the crushing blow had disoriented him.

“YOU DOUBT US?!” He heard his “fathers” voices now as well, meaning he’d angered the whole crew. “YOU DOUBT OUR SIGHT, OUR KNOWLEDGE, THAT ONE OF OUR CHILDREN IS DEAD.”

The light abated, and so did the weight, but Hunter was still breathless from the pain.

“We mourn the loss of our daughter.” His “mother” said. “As should you. Use this as a lesson. Do not fail us, for there will be no return.”

The Chamber went dark, and Gur-Rai heard Dhar-Mon approach him.

“I’m fine, thanks for asking.” Gur-Rai mumbled.

“You should know better.” His brother growled. “You provoked them on purpose.”

“Oh did I?” Gur-Rai finally got to his feet, staggering. His skin still felt hot. “Tell me, brother, do you have so little faith in our sister?”

Dhar-Mon bared his teeth at his little brother. “If the Elders say she is dead, then…” He seemed to swallow, hesitating. “It is so.”

“Is it? She was one of the best, quite literally. A human taking her down?” Gur-Rai shook his head. “No, something else happened here.”

“You let grief cloud your judgement, Gur-Rai.” Dhar-Mon said.

“Grief? An adorable concept.”

“You two may have been close-”

“She tried to kill me more than once. And I, her.”

Dhar-Mon glared at him. “Nevertheless. You were close in age. You saw her as an equal. You merely mourn the passing of someone you saw a friend.”

Gur-Rai shook his head. “If that’s what you want to believe.” He turned away from his brother and the Elders they worshiped. “But I don’t. Not for a second.”

.

.

Kon-Mai crossed her legs, getting as comfortable as she could. To the right of the Commander stood a young, strong-looking woman with a face like stone: Jane Kelly. To her left, a grizzled middle-aged man was staring at her with crossed arms and sympathetic eyes: John Bradford.

She knew these two well. She’d read their profiles. And now she could put faces to names.

“How are you?” The Commander spoke up. She was seated behind her mahogany desk, her white hair draped over her shoulder like a cape. Her green (blue?) eyes were bright enough to pierce Kon-Mai’s soul.

“...What?”

“How are you?” Senuna repeated. “How do you feel? Are you enjoying it here on the Avenger?”

Kon-Mai snarled. “You act as though I am not a prisoner on this ship. As though I am not at your mercy.”

Senuna’s cheerful smile fell. “...I’m sorry.” She stood. “I didn’t want to give off that impression.”

“You brought me here against my will.” Kon-Mai snapped. “And for what?”

“You were dying.” Senuna shrugged. “I gave the order to save you.”

“Why?!” Kon-Mai cried. “You spent years hunting me. You had exactly what you wanted: I was no more. Dead. I would have been out of the way and you, Commander, would be prime to take over this world once again. Why is this known universe would you save my life?”

Senuna noticeably frowned, and Kon-Mai faltered noticeably. The coldness in the Commander’s eyes was literally chilling.

“I gave the order” she repeated, “and my soldiers do not question my orders. I saved you for my own reasons, Kon-Mai.” She took a deep breath, letting her body relax. “You are a weapon. A weapon we could use.”

Kon-Mai sat back and pressed a finger to her temple. “You wish to use me?”

“Yes.”

“Against the Elders?”

“Yes.”

“No.” Kon-Mai went to stand up, but a sharp pain in her wound site caused her to gasp and sit back down.

Senuna looked her over. “You’re still having pain?”

“I am...perfectly well.”

The Commander stood and walked around to where Kon-Mai sat, and the Assassin found herself leaning away in fear as Senuna reached out for her.

“Let me.” Senuna placed one hand softly over the scar on Kon-Mai’s belly. The sharpness of the pain began to dull, then fade, then ebb away completely. Kon-Mai let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

“It’s not healed.” Senuna said as she pulled away. “But it won’t hurt as much, at least not for a while.”

Kon-Mai looked up at her, blinking. “...What ARE you?”

Senuna smiled. “Psionic. Kind of.” She giggled. “Though, I let the Templars handle that on the battlefield. I just call the shots, and sign the checks~”

Kon-Mai watched in reverence as the Commander sat down again, leaning forward on the desk.

“Miss Mordenna.” Bradford began. “Or...what should we call you? Assassin? Just Mordenna?”

Kon-Mai pursed her lips. “...Any title you prefer.”

“Okay Assassin.” Bradford uncrossed his arms. “We want you to join XCOM.”

“Why?”

“You’re strong, coordinated, you have some pretty impressive abilities, and I won’t lie, a lot of our soldiers admire your skill with a blade.” He smirked. “Now that your...uh...contract with the Elders has technically expired, we’d like to hire your services.”

“You assume much,” the Assassin crossed her arms “to think that my pact with my masters can be broken so easily.”

There was a collective silence. Senuna seemed to bite her lip. Kon-Mai’s resolve began to falter once again, and Jane walked around the desk and handed her a PDA.

“According to ADVENT’s records, you’re already considered dead.” Jane said.

Kon-Mai looked down at the PDA. This was ADVENT’s internal affairs website. And that was her profile, almost fully blacked out except for one word: DECEASED.

In the back of her mind, she knew this would happen. That pessimistic side of her figured that as soon as her chip was disconnected, so would their link. But she had hoped, hoped beyond hope, that it wasn’t true. That after all this, she could return to her Elders and resume her normal.

“...How?” Her voice sounded as small as she felt. “They should be able to feel me…”

“We think taking out your chip had something to do with it.” Bradford said.

Kon-Mai growled at him. “Then this is your doing.”

“We had to.” He stood his ground against her. “Your chip was creating a feedback signal right to your brain. Muscle spasms, seizures, if we didn’t remove it, you’d ACTUALLY be dead.”

Kon-Mai sat back, staring down at her file in complete silence. It all made sense: the way she’d reacted, the pain she’d felt as she fought against her injury and...whatever her chip had been doing to her. It was a failsafe. Meant as a last resort...

“We want you here.” Senuna said.

“...I will go back.” Kon-Mai said quietly, and realized she didn’t sound convincing at all.

“You could.” Senuna nodded. “But we both know they wouldn’t take you.”

“They will. I’m their Chosen.”

“And you failed.” Jane hissed. “The Elders will look at you as another experiment gone bad. You go crawling back to them, and they’ll light you up like a dumpster fire and jettison your corpse into space.”

“Jeez, Jane, could you be a little more blunt?” Bradford sighed. “She’s right though. You’re literally dead to them. They might take you back, but more likely...they’ll just kill you.”

Senuna reached forward. “But you’re not dead. We saw to that for a reason.”

“You said you hoped we would reclaim this world.” Jane said. “Help us do that. Put your money where your mouth is.”

The Assassin weighed her options, like she weighed the PDA in her hand. In one, was her life with the Elders, who had lost.

No, she’d lost. They had not…

They had lost. She was an extension of them. She was the best they had to offer. Her brothers were talented but she was made to excel. And the humans had brought her, quite literally, to her knees.

She looked up at Senuna. The woman was terrifying, with eyes like lasers and a smile that could melt steel beams. Kon-Mai could feel the power the Commander held in her hands. The Elders didn’t stand a chance.

She tossed the PDA back onto the desk and sighed. “Clearly, you are the superior warriors. It appears I have no other choice.”

“Well, you could just leave.” Bradford shrugged. “We won’t force you to stay.”

“And go where?”

“Exactly.”

Kon-Mai bit her lip. “...I accept your offer, XCOM, for the honor and the fight.” She held up a hand as it looked like Senuna was about to let up a cheer. “But I do have one condition.”

The three exchanged glances. “Yes?”

“My brothers.” She growled. “You’ll bring them in alive.”

Senuna raised a brow. “Oh? I thought you hated them.”

Kon-Mai shook her head. “They are stubborn, arrogant lummoxes who have no business being employed as troopers, much less Chosen. But they are my kin, and I...care for them. Both of them.” She hesitated. “There is an unspoken rule between us. No matter how we disagree, how our anger swells, we shall do each other no harm. They may vex me greatly, but I don’t want to see them die.”

“That wasn’t in the plan.” Jane said.

“But theoretically, it’s doable…” Bradford scratched his chin. “That’s all you want?”

“Yes.” Kon-Mai nodded.

“Then that’s good enough for me!” Senuna chirped and stood up. She pressed a button on her walkie-talkie. “Molly, your patient is all done if you want to come get her~”

“I’ll draw up a contract for you later this evening.” Bradford said, holding out his hand to help her to her feet.

Kon-Mai definitely stood without his help. “That will not be necessary.”

“I wish that were true, but the Council wants it for their records.” Bradford said. “We’re just happy to have you on the team.”

“Jane, get together a squadron of Reapers and set a course for South America.” Senuna winked. “We have a Chosen to pick up.”

The door opened and Malinalli rushed in, looking around and smiling when she saw Kon-Mai. “So?”

“So…?” Kon-Mai raised a brow.

“She said yes!” Senuna beamed.

“Oh, awesome!” Malinalli shared Senuna’s look of joy. “So you’ll stay then?”

“You knew about this?”

“Uh…” Malinalli looked around at Bradford and Jane. “...Technically no.”

Bradford chuckled. “Yes kiddo, she accepted the contract.”

“IF you retrieve my brothers.”

“Right.” Bradford shrugged.

Malinalli looked to the Commander. “Is there anything else you want from me, Madam?”

“No sweetheart, that’s all.” Senuna beamed at her. “Take it easy down there, okay?”

“I wish I could.” Malinalli gestured to Kon-Mai to follow her. “Betos told me to move your bed out of the infirmary and into a separate room. It’s a bit far…”

“I will be fine.” Kon-Mai assured her. “The pain has...subsided.”

“Oh, that’s good!” Malinalli kept talking as they began to walk, but Kon-Mai was distracted by Betos, standing on the other side of the hallway, back against the wall.

The two passed each other, and as they did, Kon-Mai saw Betos mouth the words “I told you so.”

.

.

.

.

.

(Posting this one a bit early because I have a dentist appointment tomorrow, so I'll be out of commission all day.

I dunno what else to say except the Assassin has finally joined the Good People team! Next chapters will probably be more Hunter focused and I'm sure the community will love that.)

[coramatus]

So my brain’s been in overdrive as of late in terms of Lego Movie AUs and it’s come up with something like “what if human/no-meta au where Rex just ditched Emmet to suffer the same way he did in Undaar?”

Well I ended up with Desertpunk!Emmet and a de-aged Rex so take this as you will:

Basically Rex shoves Emmet into an escape pod and jettisons his past self off to Undaar while he slips away to bring hell on the heads of his once friends. Just like before, Lucy and the others have no way to find Emmet, but this time by god do they try. It takes four years of searching and blatant sabotage attempts by Rex, but they eventually catch a signal beacon out further than they've ever been.

And that's how they find desert wanderer Emmet, older, wearier, but still firmly Emmet, as he absolutely refused to stoop to Rex’s level. It was a hard 4 years and Emmet did his damnedest to survive, constantly trying to boost a signal beacon until it could be picked up and living off of poisonous sand worms as his only source of food and water on a planet lit in eternal twilight. He has absolutely no idea how long its been. But it’s enough know that when he sees his friends again, he starts crying and hugs them desperately.

When he’s finally found, Emmet is close to skeletal, tiny scars littering his face and body from bad sandstorm encounters. He’s draped in a patched and frayed canvas cloak, his clothes little more than rags and pockets filled with machine parts. His face is covered in a long scarf, though one of his eyes is covered in a loose bandage, sealed shut from a nasty eye infection (he suspects the eye itself still works). He’s surprisingly clean shaven and his hair cut short and jagged, a clear act of defiance to not echo Rex whatsoever. He keeps a weird set of goggles meant for a three-eyed alien, repurposed to wear in sandstorms. Always in his hands is an odd metal staff/harpoon he made for hunting, which he has a hard time letting go of. Unfortunately, he's also partly forgotten how to talk, not helped by his voice being reduced to a raspy whisper after a bad poisoning. But he's still his sweet, loving self and is far more tactile, soaking in as much physical contact as he can. And he is startlingly relentless in his positivity. When they ask him how he stayed sane, stayed himself, Emmet just smiles and whispers he did it because he knew it would make ‘him’ mad.

And he made absolutely certain that he could never become Rex, mainly by actually learning how to regulate his emotions and figuring out the whole ‘deal with frustration in a productive way’ by himself. Because he could bitch and moan and lose his temper all he wanted, but shit still won't get done. So he kind of starts disregarding his anger, tucking it away until there's an appropriate time to use it.

Any time he felt close to losing hope, he’d remember that horrible sneer on Rex’s face right before he jettisoned him. And by god did he want to wipe that smug look off his face with the most spiteful optimism he can muster. He ends up weaponizing 'kill them with kindness' to incomprehensible levels. (“I’M GONNA HUG AND KISS THAT GUY ON BOTH CHEEKS AND TELL HIM I FORGIVE HIM BECAUSE I LOVE HIM! HE’S GONNA BE SO PISSED!!”)

But things are still hard since Emmet has to relearn how to be around people and was clearly traumatized by the isolation, needing almost 24/7 physical contact lest he break down crying.

Not too long after Emmet returns home, he’s still adjusting to enclosed spaces and having to talk when the Systarians offer him something that could help ease the transition: An orb encasing a rare magical time spell that could rewind the clock on his life, making it so that the years he was lost never happened to him, physically and mentally. Emmet is hesitant about it, not really sure if he wants to do something so drastic, but the Systarians reassure him that even if he decides against it, they’ll understand. They just wanted to give him more options moving forwards and if he doesn’t need it, they’ll be happy to take it back and recalibrate it for someone else. Though uncertain, Emmet chooses to keep the spell on the off chance he changes his mind.

Of course, Emmet’s return doesn’t go unnoticed by a certain someone...

When returning from a day of therapy, Emmet is only half-surprised to find Rex already in his room waiting for him.

And Rex is pissed.

His ploy didn't work. Years! Wasted!! All of this in the hopes that Emmet would crack, but no! He was too stupid to!

Emmet just rasps he refused to give up, which was a lot easier when he realized what the simplest way to push Rex’s buttons was. With his warmest, happiest smile, Emmet just tells Rex: “I forgive you.”

The enraged scream Rex makes barely sounds human as he moves in to kill Emmet, knife in hand. But Emmet doesn't go down easy, raising his staff/harpoon up in defense and drive Rex away with it’s reach. Their fighting destroys a good portion of the room sending things flying, including knocking  the little spell orb loose. Emmet grabs it, but then Rex has him in a choke hold and is about to jam his knife straight into Emmet's throat.

So Emmet smashes the spell orb in Rex's face.

Rex has no idea what this is, but then magical lines and symbols spread over his body, lighting him up in a magical glow. Emmet gets released and he can only watch as Rex begins panicking because he can feel the spell affecting him, “What did you do to me?! WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME???” Rex starts looking younger and younger, his angular face turning soft, adult hairs falling away as he screams at Emmet, his eyes wide with horror even as the lines around it fade, “What is this?! What the fuck is this???!!! You can't do this! I am your future! I am everything you’re supposed to be! This isn't supposed to happen, why is this happening?! I c- I can’t… why? Why?? WHY???!!!”

Emmet tries to calm Rex down, but Rex is watching himself as his cheeks turn soft and rounded, the last of his jawline eroding away, his clothes sliding loose and baggy off his shrinking frame, his gloves and boots easily sliding off, his hands and feet missing all sign of wear, now unblemished, soft, and small. The years keep melting away as his mind fails him, his breath hitching as he sobs uncontrollably, his voice turning to a high-pitched childish wail. He feels everything slipping away from him, the world now looming terrifyingly large around him. He’s lost and confused and scared out of his mind, “Wh-Wh-why c-can't I remember?! I-I-I’m s-sup-supposed to… I-I want my mommy… no-! no... please... I-I… d-don’t wanna die…”

Then strong arms wrap around him and he hears a man shushing him, telling him it's OK, he's safe, he's going to be OK, it's going to be OK.

And the little boy, too confused and frightened, just whimpers his last hiccuping sobs as his eyelids grow heavy and slip shut, everything fading away to nothing soon after.

Emmet is left holding an unconscious six-year-old, horrified at what he's done. He didn't think the spell would work like this, he thought it'd only go back before he became Rex, but apparently just how far wasn't specified. He breaks down sobbing against the boy’s still body, begging Rex to come back, he’s so sorry, please just come back…

Lucy and everyone are just as baffled when they burst in on the scene and even more so when Emmet tells them what happened. While they run diagnostics on the boy that was Rex, Emmet is consumed with guilt. He never meant for this. Does this mean Rex doesn't exist anymore?? Is the boy just a young Emmet now?? He’s so sorry, he wouldn’t have done it if he knew. Emmet can’t stop crying. He forgave Rex, he was always going to, but now it doesn’t matter because he killed Rex completely.

Lucy reassures him this is probably for the best. Rex wasn’t willing to change, wouldn't compromise, not after how Emmet so thoroughly defied him. At least this way, Rex gets a clean start again.

Emmet goes stiff and grabs Lucy, insisting Rex can't go into foster care again, it nearly broke them the first time and he's not going to let it happen to him again. Lucy calms him down and says that's fine, but what? Are they going to take care of him? Everybody in the room turns to them just as Emmet says with his desert stubbornness, "If I have to, then of course."

How well do these idiots do raising a babby Rex/Emmet? Well that’s probably for a second part, because uh.... Rex isn't quite done yet...

[mechacicada]

009

“Hm. Mrm,” grunted the platoon commander, pacing noisily, yet in perpetual marching rhythm, around my lab. She was pressing her face very close to the glass, something I would have angrily cautioned others against as it is clearly labelled on the signs nearby, but I had no voice but fawning acquiescence for the commander. I stood at the front of the room, both hands behind my back, clutching my own wrists tightly while they couldn’t be seen.

“The specimens seem to be doing… rather well,” mused the commander.

“Yes! Ah, I’m glad their health is recognizable,” I spouted, quick to build a conversation about my expertise. “They’ve all only received one injection so far, and yet they are recovering at an unforeseen pace!”

“Indeed…” said the commander, peering at a rather large rat that was in the process of grooming itself. They had been doing very well, and I was pleased to show them off. I was even more pleased that the commander seemed to acknowledge the positive results.

“Where is Dr. Layantelle? I thought I asked him to accompany you during your work hours.”

The commander’s blunt “question” snapped me out of my proud daydreams. My lip twitched a bit when she mentioned Marcus’ name, and I had to force myself to maintain my smile.

“Ah, yes. He was called out on other business today, commander. Usually he is with me in the lab.”

Always asking about Marcus, her little pocket scientist. Trying to rein me in. It soured me to think about it, to think about his blank eyes, robotic face following my movements, the pretence of apprenticeship so thin that I felt like I was looking through a security camera when I spoke to him. Not that I did so often. I answered his rote questions with the most basic of responses. I was not the specimen here!

The commander approached me, back straight and eyes gleaming as always. The fingers of her right hand drummed against her thigh in some practiced position. I swallowed painfully obviously, all thoughts of Marcus jettisoned out of my brain as I tried to match her immaculate posture.

“Take it slow from here, doctor. Make sure Dr. Layantelle is present for any future injections, and if possible, other staff members to properly record and document the process. I want every detail. Do you understand?”

I saluted hard, knocking my own head back with the force.

“YES, commander!”

“Good. Keep up the good work.”

She heel-turned and left the lab, letting the door seal shut behind her with the familiar sucking sound. When it had clicked, I slumped, exhaling hard. Then I frowned.

I knew what would happen. The achievements of the one would become the whole. First it would be attributed to the lab, then the outfit, then the entire movement. My own name would be lost, despite not a single other brain contributing to the formula, to the experiments, to the science! This was my claim, and any lies I had to tell to get there would get told.

With the commander’s viewing completed and my reputation raised yet closer to its deserved spot, I calmly pried the case I had previously prepared out of the cooler safe. The rack of syringes sparkled as the swirling liquid refracted the gleaming white light of the overhead LEDs. The pale hum of relative silence. The soft clink of glass upon glass.

Cheers, I thought to myself.

The second injection procedure went just as well as the first. Not a single specimen had an allergic reaction or suffered any kind of trauma. In less than an hour, the entire lab had been properly administered to. I sat back in my chair after the clean-up. Nothing out of place. White lights, white walls, white floors, white rats chittering quietly and rustling about in their tiny cells.

***

Black lights, black walls, black floor.

I woke up in my adjoining bunk, horrified. I lay down with my eyes wide open for a long time, staring at the ceiling. So long that I forgot what I had dreamed about, and had calmed down, at least a bit.

Recently I had begun to worry that some side effect of a chemical I was working with had been deviously tampering with my mental well-being, causing me to have frequent nightmares and even moments of sudden paranoia while awake. However, I had done a thorough inventory of my materials and nothing stood out as a potential problem, so I had ended up chalking it up to stress. Probably all that time I spent cursing Marcus out in my head while placating him as neutrally as possible in the lab. I rubbed my eyes. But…

I had felt this before. Some kind of nagging, biting, nibbling at my brain. I remember the other night, where I had the same feeling, and I immediately rushed to the lab to see if something was amiss. Naturally, it had been nothing. Nothing but the row upon row of tiny glassy eyes that stared back at me. Not very helpful, those creatures, save for advancement of science.

I tried to ignore it now, but it quickly grew so potent, like an itch, that I exclaimed loudly in frustration, threw off the cover, and stood up to change my clothes, grumbling at myself incessantly.

Down the hall. Turn right. Touch the panel. Hear the sucking sound. Enter the lab.

I peered into the lab, eager for the gnawing to desist. Nothing here. Not anomalies, no explosions, no leaks. Nothing.

No rats.

I blinked. Well, no eyes. Perhaps today’s injection had caused lethargy, and they were all sleeping? Uncharacteristic, but possible. I moved towards the light panel, but winced as the irritating notion in my head had evolved into fully-fledged pain. I pressed my hand against the wall to keep myself standing, the other hand against my head, as though I could clutch at the pain and pull it free. I fumbled more for the panel, but the pain increased. I realized that a blast of light now could knock me flat, with this kind of migraine, and I stumbled back down the hall instead, looking for my bunk.

Down the hall. Turn… left. Touch the panel.

The eyes were there to greet me. Hundreds of them, it seemed, like stardust scattered about. It was pretty, I remember thinking. Pretty. Like space.

The chittering had become a low rumble, like an ancient automobile sputtering on fumes. I collapsed, gracelessly, on my behind, holding my head to my knees, wanting the pain to go away. That was all I wanted. But I was not blessed with that grace that day.

[nototherwisespecified]

🔥

my best friend in college was briefly very into the idea of being a propane artist. note the distinction: not into the idea of propane art, which is a real thing, but of being someone who does propane art. notably, his thing with it started near the middle of my junior year, when I was starting to get sicker than I could handle while sustaining a reasonable level of interest in things that require high-quality heatproof welding, so my involvement was essentially limited to going “cool, dude” after he picked the brains of whichever burners were around. however, he had no such limitations and also disposable income, which is a dangerous and stupid combination, and although he never did anything with it he did secure one (1) propane tank that he was going to mess with during our january term. except, like, life happened, and he didn’t get around to it, and for awhile he was able to keep the tank in the dorm’s grill storage room until facilities announced spring cleaning aka the jettisoning of everything not clearly labeled as dorm property

so then he just had a full propane tank, and he was like, shit, I don’t have anywhere to keep this full propane tank without having to pay for it, so, hey, sr, wanna store the propane tank under your bed in your dorm room?

I had a lot of underbed space and the risk-analysis capacity of a suicidal flatworm, considering everything I had going on, so I was like, sure, whatever, as long as I don’t have to touch it, and then basically forgot about it because my life was collapsing

cut to end of august: I have lost 20 lbs, spent a month total in the hospital, acquired an autoimmune disorder diagnosis, begun targeted chemotherapy, been ingesting painkillers at a fantastic rate, successfully withdrawn from school, basically done nothing but cry for six weeks straight, and had my heart broken by my best friend. I am now essentially watching my parents pack up my dorm room so they can drive me back to DC and have me be sick there

mother: ...honey, can you tell us why there’s a PROPANE TANK under your BED? me: .......................it’s n’s mother: is it... empty? me: .......................no mother: how long have you been sleeping above a FULL PROPANE TANK? me: .......................five months? mother: is he HERE? me: he’s.............. at burning man

because of course he was at fucking burning man.

the tank went to another friend’s dorm room, considering n’s absence; I went home; n eventually picked up the tank; several years later, dude didn’t even tell me when he moved away from the city. the friends you make in college are just as flaky as the ones you meet any other time in your life but they are far more likely to produce dumbass stories

[chrisengel]

A careful, philosophically nuanced reading of late nineteenth century neuropsychological writings shows that, far from being hard-nosed materialists, most of Freud’s intellectual community were dualists. And a careful reading of Freud’s early neuroscientific works shows that Freud fell in with this orthodox position.

The writings of the important British neuroscientist John Hughlings Jackson—who was a major influence on Freud—are instructive. Like most scientists of his generation, Jackson was philosophically educated (sadly, that’s no longer the case for most scientists), and was alert to the philosophical implications of scientific discoveries. He recognized that Descartes version of dualism was inconsistent with the Law of the Conservation of Energy in physics—the principle that the quantity of energy in the universe remains constant—and therefore that Descartes’ theory had to be rejected. But like many other scientists of the day, he simply traded it in for a different version of substance dualism. Jackson opted for the theory known as “psychophysical parallelism”—the thesis, derived from the seventeenth century philosopher Gottfried Leibniz. It’s the weird idea that physical brains and non-physical minds don’t interact but merely run in parallel, precisely coordinated like two synchronized clocks. Jackson and others resorted to notions like this because the materialist alternative was just too challenging to seriously entertain.

There was another part of Descartes’ legacy that was giving the neuroscientists and psychologists trouble during this period: the idea that the human mind is transparent to itself. This is basically the notion that the human mind is all conscious, and therefore that we can investigate human psychology by introspection. If true, this would place psychology in a category that’s different from all the other sciences. Generally, in science, one tries to draw conclusions that are objectively true. This is only possible if there is intersubjective agreement—which is a fancy way of saying that the thing that’s being observed can be accessed by more than one person. For example, if I’m performing a chemical experiment, other people can repeat and observe what’s being done and what the result of the experiment is. They can validate my observations or hold my feet to the fire by challenging what I claim to have observed. But all of that seems impossible for a subjective method like introspection. And this raises questions about whether it’s even possible to have a science of psychology.

During the nineteenth century, evidence was piling up that the idea that human minds are transparent to themselves was just wrong. Methods of experimental psychology that relied on exposing subjects to stimuli and then having report on their experiences produced wildly inconsistent results, and observations of mental illness and the effects of brain damage demonstrated quite clearly that we don’t have access to a lot of what’s going on inside our own minds. Finally, studies of hypnotic suggestion demonstrated that our behavior can be powerfully influenced by ideas of which we are completely unaware.

Still, the idea that all cognition is conscious was hard for scientists to let go of. To do so required a paradigm-shift of major proportions. In his early years as a neuroscientist, Freud fell in with the conventional view. He believed that mind and brain were two distinct things and that all mental processes are conscious. This all changed in 1895, when he jettisoned the whole Cartesian package and moved to the view that all mental processes are processes in the brain, that all cognitive processes take place outside of consciousness, and that introspection does not give us access to what’s going on in our own minds. This was an extraordinarily radical move, and it coincided with the birth of psychoanalysis.

[golittlebiggirl]

“Trust in Allah...and tie up your camel” - a tip for living in Limbo Land

(This is not Limbo Land, this is the bloke whose life I saved a year ago). It was exactly a year ago that I saved my husband’s life. I could’ve left him to it, choking on his fatty beef but, in that split second when I realised he might actually die, I decided not to leave it entirely to fate. This is something we still joke about and probably will for evermore. He told me afterwards it made him realise I really must love him and want him around, in spite of lockdown! I performed my first Heimlich manoeuvure, so forcefully that immediately after the gristle was jettisoned and we’d all managed to breathe clearly again, our son said to me: “I can’t believe you lifted daddy up like that!” I had literally lifted him off the floor with my upward thrust (possibly not textbook technique but it did the trick). I’m being flippant but it was actually a very, very scary episode for all three of us. I mention it now because an early morning brain-churn recently brought a piece of wisdom to mind. It was 4am and my darling brain was up and at-em, planning my morning, and my day, and my next day, and my next week. Reviewing in detail all that occurred yesterday and analysing the nightmare I’d just had, which was induced by watching Line of Duty at an ill-advised hour of the day. My brain can wade into such a thick, syrupy fog during these first waking moments that I can be stuck there for ages before I’ve even really realised I’m awake. But through the fog, in popped this little line and it wouldn’t leave me. Trust in Allah…and tie up your camel. Now, I know exactly where it came from but I have no idea why it appeared. But it succeeded in getting my brain out of the syrup (or the syrup out of my brain). It’s something a very wise woman once told me, I forget why she thought it was useful at the time but it surely was, and has continued to be, over and over again. I do not have religious faith, however I do find that there is much wisdom to be gleaned from all sorts of religious writing and this one - attributed to the Prophet Mohammed - is a favourite. “Trust in Allah… and tie up your camel.” My interpretation of this translates as: “If you don’t want your camel to run away or get nicked, by all means say a little prayer, but also, bung a tether on it, yeh, just in case?” In other words, absolutely, put your trust in your God but also, do what you can do to affect your situation – if you combine both then it’ll likely turn out okay. Be prepared and then leave the rest to fate/God/the Universe. Administer the Heimlich on your husband and then hope for the best. As I say, I’ve no idea why this little nugget forced its way through my curdled Thought-Soup the other morning but here I am writing about it. Until very recently I – like much of the planet – have felt stuck in Limbo Land. And if you’ve been there, during this pandemic or at any other time, you’ll appreciate that it’s like the very worst land to find yourself in at the top of the Magic Faraway Tree. The land none of those adventurous Enid Blyton children would have wanted to visit but they all ended up stuck there. If you’re unfamiliar with this classic series, you just need to know that if you can manage to climb to the top of the Magic Faraway Tree there’s a magical land in the clouds and it changes every time you visit – often it’s a fantastically fun place to be but sometimes it’s laced with dangers. In my Limbo Land, there are none of the joys of the Land of Goodies or the Land of Dreams; nor the delights of the Land of-Take-What-You-Want (where my son lives 90% of his days) or the Land of Do-As-You-Please (where my son would like to live 100% of his days). When you’re in Limbo Land, you cannot do as you please or take what you want because you’re not the one in charge. Someone else has control over your life and ain’t nuffin you can do about it. Hate that. [Listen, is that the sound of a distant control freakery klaxon?] I run a camping and glamping site with my husband and we’ve spent a fair chunk of the past 13 months in Limbo Land. We are extremely fortunate because we are still in business and we are also among the first tourism businesses to reopen this season. But the ‘will-they-won’t-they’ elements of waiting to find out if, when and to whom we can reopen has not got any easier and that’s the part of Limbo Land I’ve despised the most. Along with the ‘when the hell can my kid go back to school?’ part. But what I have slowly learned is that when there is so much uncertainty and no end in sight, and the ball is not in your court, it’s fruitless trying to figure out or look for an escape route… you just gotta roll with it. If you don’t roll with it, you’ll roll under it, as I heard music legend Dr John once say. Last summer and now this spring, we gave ourselves false deadlines to get our campsite ready to reopen, rather than wait to be given a date and find we suddenly had about 3 days to do everything. As it turned out, we wouldn’t have known until the day before that we could reopen, so it was a good plan. It was our way of trusting in Allah and tying up our camel. The decision on whether or when we could reopen was out of our control, but what we could do was get prepared and leave the rest to fate. I follow this advice fairly often in another way too, if I am feeling overwhelmed by the sheer amount of ‘stuff’ – and especially worries – in my head. I write a list of all the things I am worrying about. This can be an extensive list, ranging from “My kid hates me (and OMG I hate him back!)” to “We haven’t got a day off until October, I won’t make it through this season,” to “My friend is so sad and I can’t help her” (this one can quickly morph into the “I’m such a bad friend/person” one). Then I write another list underneath it, a list of what – if anything – I can actually do about each item. If I find there is nothing I can do about it, which does happen, I cross it off. Gone! Filed under ‘Allah’. If there is something I can do about it, even a tiny thing, I put it on my third list – the To Do List! Then I do it, and I cross off the worry. It might be as simple as texting that sad friend to say ‘I’m sorry you’re struggling and that I can’t be with you/call you just now but I am thinking of you and we’ll talk soon.’ With this ‘control what you can control’ approach, more often than not my list of worries is soon a lot shorter, my To Do List is clear and my brain is a lot less frazzled. My husband turns 50 tomorrow. I’m glad I kept him alive so we can eat more beef together (that’s genuinely what he wants for his birthday tea!) I’ve been doing weights so it’ll all be good, with a little help from Allah.

[digitalhovel]

Cats 1983: The Musical: The Album is pretty good

So. I just listened to the 1983 official soundtrack to the Broadway musical Cats. And let me tell you, it was pretty good actually.

This will come as no surprise to anyone who knows me, but, alas, despite my BFA in acting, I have seen about ten musicals in my life, none of which were Cats in any form. My only experience with this musical was the incredible review of the musical by Polygon’s Simone de Rochefort, and the awe-inspiring twitter thread by the person who saw the 2019 movie rendition three times in one day. Until now, I kept myself free from any actual Cats content directly entering my eyes or ears.

The official soundtrack isn’t perfect. I read along with the Wikipedia synopsis, so I could understand what was happening, because if I didn’t, I would have no idea who Munkustrap is. I still don’t. But that’s okay. The official album doesn’t include the Pekes and Pollicles song, but that’s also okay, because this musical is about Cats, and a song about dogs is just wrong, right?

So. The music.

The instrumentals are neat, but I have no way to critique them. I have no knowledge of music or how it works, or even whether it sounds good (a matter for a different time). Anyways, they’re there, and that’s fine. I would also argue that “The Naming of Cats” isn’t a song; it’s a chant with which to grant your housecat sapience and the ability to kill you if it desires. As such, I recommend keeping it from the ears of your pets at all times, lest they grow too powerful. However, do let them listen to “Jellicle Songs for Jellicle cats,” because that song slaps, and I broke out into dancing while it was playing because Jellicles can and Jellicles do, and that’s the sort of enthusiastic attitude we all need while trapped inside and bored out of our gourds. Finally, the biggest musical number I heard, “The Jellicle Ball,” was a solid series of instrumentations that projected excellent colors on the inside of my brain (no drugs necessary).

Now, the cats of Cats. A review of this music would not be complete without an attempt to parse what has happened and who deserved to be the Jellicle choice.

Munkustrap is clearly showing favoritism to JennyAnyDots, otherwise he wouldn’t have her in mind. While she has done something impressive by orchestrating cockroaches and mice, unless she creates a business reviving dead dinosaurs, she’s not a true venture capitalist. Munkustrap is a mystery; he is the omnipresent narrator, the audience stand-in, the ringleader of the program, even if he doesn’t have Jellicle authority. As such, he is the wizard behind the curtain of the Cats universe, and therefore is incredibly powerful and probably deserves reincarnation, but his services to Cat-kind would be a loss. Also, I imagine he has no physical form, and is just an ethereal voice, so he can probably float to the Heaviside whenever.

I really didn’t expect to be annoyed by Rum Tum Tugger, but I was. I mean, clearly the song is about a cat who is annoying to its owners for always being contradictory. It’s a real thing, so it’s funny. But I cannot listen to this man list things he likes and doesn’t like and then list them in reverse for four minutes without wanting to disown this cat because it’s a jerk. The Rum Tum Tugger is a curious cat, but he’s also like that friend who agrees to go see a movie then starts complaining on the drive there because it got bad reviews and it’s not even a Tarantino for Christ sake so what’s the point.

Edit: upon seeing a visual of Rum Tum Tugger, I get it. He’s still a nasty, horny lad, but I get it. So he’s fine, actually.

Bustopher Jones and MungoJerry and RumpleTeazer sit together in my mind. They’re fun, they’re entertaining. They’re chaotic, and they know what they’re about. But also, they are clearly too materialistic to be jettisoned into the glorious skybox that is the Heaviside layer. Similarly, Mr. Mistofeles does cool parlor tricks, but he probably just laces the other cats’ food with catnip and then lies really good about what he does. Also, he issues seven new kittens into the world using only his hat, which is a crime against the earth and a hostile opposition to TNR programs and everything Regis Philbin stood for.

          So, who deserves to go into that beautiful clown circus in the sky that is the Heaviside layer? Skimbleshanks. He provides a good service to the world and is proud of it. His pride isn’t the self-involved absorption of narcissism, but the healthy self-contentment of seeing and owning the products of one’s labor. However, he can keep that up for a while, and he should. Unionize the cats, Skimbleshanks. I believe in you.

So, the three cats of an appropriate age for recycling are Old Deuteronomy, Grizabella, and Gus. Macavity may be old enough to be reincarnated into a small glowing cube of fur and joy, but he’s a criminal, an adulterer, and a tax evader. We don’t support dirty capitalist criminals here. So, the other three. Gus: an old theatre actor, but probably a racist (this album included the tale of Growltiger, the only song I didn’t finish because it was fucking racist). Old Deuteronomy: Who said he can’t pick himself? What if Deuteronomy looked around, found out everyone else was kind of annoying and self-centered and left them to burn instead of teaching them about life and loss and the meaning of happiness? Finally, Grizabella: enigmatic, tragic, sorrowful.

          About halfway through, I was rooting for Gus. He’s an old, old man, and he deserves a break from life and a chance at being great again. But then his bravado and bragging became an entire musical number, and no one likes the actor who keeps reminding people of that time in college when he played Seymore in Little Shop. Old Deuteronomy clearly has to stick around because he’s the only hope of teaching the other schmucks about life. So, let’s lay it out: Grizabella’s voice is a moving powerhouse. She laments, or praises the fact that she still has the memories of her life. She has lived a full life of experience. Now, that aforementioned twitter thread suggested that she was ignored and deserved to be reinstated with the Jellicles. But, she clearly wants to leave them. She knows what her life has been, and she wishes to see beyond, to see the sun, the moon, the true face of things. She wants access to the test room where all the good assets are held, uncorrupted and perfect. Grizabella is old, frail, and dejected. Is it kinder for them to let her back in? Yes. But even she’s dejected, and instead of trying to make her feel like she matters, the Jellicles give her what she wants: escape from them and their bitter, self-centric dance-routines.

          Grizabella is the most mature of all the cats. She demonstrates acceptance with her life and also with the idea of leaving her memories and her past behind, despite the beauty she once had and all the good times before everything went south for her. As she is absorbed into that godless place beyond space and time, she leaves behind her memories. It’s a tragedy, but she is happy for her new life, and probably to be rid of all the Jellicles, who are largely mean to her and nuisances.

          So, what did I learn? Well I learned that Jellicles can, and Jellicles do. I learned that happiness is the maturity to leave your past behind and accept a new day, and I learned above all else, that cats are not dogs. In general, this album ruled, and it was a good listen for an hour-and-a-half while I twiddled my thumbs and tried to avoid doing other things. One day, I’ll watch the other Cats products, but for now, I’ll let this one float around for a while, until I’m ready to move on and look fondly back on the memory.

[trebaolsmovingcastle]

@saint-just

Alright, so we functionally agree, I can’t find anything inherently wrong with your arguments. I can’t say that your opinion on a future divorced of the ills of generations of the past isn’t completely on point.

I can’t say I love your condescension. I mean...God knows I’ve heard enough about you to think I could love your...you-ness. But doesn’t the level of hopeless guilt you’re all wrapped up in just...grate?

I’m not saying I don’t agree, clearly both of us are better off dead. I don’t have friends, I don’t have some dedicated base of people patting me on the head giving a cookie on good conduct. I just don’t see a life lived miserably in the shadow of hopeless self loathing beneficial. I mean...it takes a lot of types, it takes everyone all fulfilling roles and existing to make existence...I just...want...

I don’t know, understanding, I want to understand you, which I will pick my brain and life apart if I can, because you feel strongly, speak strongly, you are so committed that you have to be acknowledged.

I feel like what society needs is idealism, tempered by reality. I feel like this constant sniggering self loathing that pervades everything, this academic nihilism has killed us. Fine, again, we both want what comes after, we want a world that exists after the current selection of -ism’s is passed. But what if...what...what if your cold angry fury is what sets us noble apes to eating each other in our own bitterness? White guilt can be transformed into anyone’s guilt over a long enough time. The oppression, the systems, they can all come back, and they’re all made by people, thinkers, folk. Groups who share ideals, who share opinions, their images of the future. These images get passed on.

Maybe I’ll try this from a different approach.

I think that when an idea comes about...that when I think of something, the odds stand someone else has thought of that idea...in close order to me. Maybe I’m first, maybe I’m last in a line of people. It’s the invention of radio, but on a grand scale. We are basically playing out equations, problems posed by generations past get the answers and new formulations in you and me. When we introduce our ideas, our views, goals, etc...we are subtly, but inexorably building the future that will come after us. Other people besides us, around the world, will come to our same conclusions, and some of them will connect, some will unite, these ideas will be passed down, they’ll return, reform, change.

I am trying to live the answer to the problems I see in this moment, with a hope for the generation that follows. I am trying to factor as much as I can into living now, and trying to encourage the success of the people in my life so that they can continue to contribute the ideas that they embody. Because I feel like living in the far off future is a disservice to people living right now, because history is so complicated, societies, and the changes coming are so convoluted that they can’t be adequately predicted. People are begging for help now, begging to have us, you and me, white knuckleheads to do something with all this accrued privilege. You sound like your whole ideology is to brush them off you like they’re peasants and you know better, that your jettisoning yourself from the whole discussion is better for them...they’ll get it in a few generations.

So in trying to...right now, do something that eases suffering for however many people I can, which includes peddling the concept of hope...hope that we aren’t just going to languish in misery forever then die...in trying and doing what I can, even if all I can do is take suicidal phone calls or talk my way through an acquaintance trying to understand why maybe black americans have it hard, I’m trying to give a future a shot.

I understand, our time has passed, it’s for everyone else to build the future, but we are still part of it. Talk to me, I want to understand you, I want to agree with you and fold your view into my own...but you sound self annihilating, like in the white guilt way...where you’re so absorbed with guilt over the crimes of men, despicable men, white men...whiteness...that all of your anger has become this image that the future can be solved by everyone else better. That by some unseen grace anyone who isn’t white gets it and will do a better job of making a perfect society than either of us could. We don’t need a seat at the table, but we’ll still be there regardless, and a genocide of all white people wont make the world a utopia either, so wouldn’t standing up and being a part of the world be better than a utopic vision of being taken completely out of the equation?

I definitely don’t feel like this is what you think, but fuck my dude, it’s how you sound. You shit on me, because of your perception of how I sound, I’m sorry if you feel like I shit on you for how I think you sound. I don’t want to shit on your views...I want to know their boundaries, their shape, how your ideals play out when presented with actual real world problems.

We are alive. We are on the stage right now, even if you don’t want to be, we exist, and live now, we can stand aside for everyone else...but we still have to have ideas and feelings and goals...within our own extent community, and the extended community around us. We can’t escape ourselves, or what is happening, now, right now. 

All that aside...I need you to understand, that if anything I said is an insult that misses your actual views so completely as to be an ad hominem...then talk to me. I don’t reject you, your views, your anger, what feels like isolating self annihilation, I am thinking, or trying to. I know you’re good, second hand, I think...so I don’t feel incensed by you, attacked, insulted...maybe I should? I dunno, I’m just interested, in you.

[inhumansforever]

The Royals #4 Review

spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers

After a thoroughly mind-bending third issue, Ewing, Silas and Charalampidis et al. offers up a shorter, more straightforward adventure entailing the Royals' return to the former Kree throne-world of Hala and the very much changed Ronan the Accuser who awaits them.  Full recap and review following the jump.

Once more the issues starts off with a cryptic prologue set thousands of years in the future.  The last Inhuman (whom we now know to be Maximus) looks over a battered and altered world (which we now know to be Earth).  A sickly giant riding atop a mutant pterodactyl ferries Maximus toward an alien vessel.  The narration mysteriously indicates that the last Inhuman is on his way to meet 'the accuser.'  

The scene shifts to the present and the scorched, deadened world of Hala.  The former capital planet of the Kree Empire had been attacked and laid barren by The Slaughter Lords during the Black Vortex story-arc (a cross-over that ran through the pages of Captain Marvel, Nova, All New X-Men and Guardians of The Galaxy a while's back). Ronan himself was greatly empowered by the celestial energies of The Black Vortex, yet he was ultimately helpless to prevent Planet Hala's demise.  

Alone and besieged by grief, Ronan now spends his days walking amidst the smoldering ruins of Hala.  His solemn task to roam the immolated world and recall the names of the countless dead.  His solitary vigil is interrupted as his heightened senses detects the approach of The Inhuman vessel, The Asterion.  

Aboard the Asterion, Captain Swain is tasked with plotting a landing trajectory whilst also putting up with the near constant nattering and insults offered up by Maximus.   Swain has little choice but to keep Max in the cockpit with her, the nature of the two Inhumans' powers act to cancel each other out, mitigating the threat posed by the treacherous Maximus.  

Of course this is all much to the consternation of Gorgon, who would much prefer Max locked in the brig (or better yet jettisoned out an airlock).  Maximus is quite happy to offer Gorgon an acerbic retort, stating that their mission is a scientific one with little use for a muscle-brained enforcer with a bad back.  

Their spiteful patter is interrupted by a proximity alarm and Swain's announcement that the allegedly dead world of Hala has fired an attack.  Evasive maneuvers prove fruitless as Ronan comes hurdling into orbit and uses his hammer to tear through the starboard wing of the craft, causing catastrophic damage to the Asterion.  

For a brief instant Swain mistakes Ronan's hammer for that belonging to Thor, wondering allowed whatever it may have been that elicited the wraith of the god of thunder.  

The damage to the ship has taken out the escape pods and the ship and its crew barrel toward the surface at what will surely be a terminal velocity.  Marvel Boy, Crystal and Flint dash into the control bay, yet there seems to be little anyone can do to save them.  

Confident he has the solution, Marvel Boy utilizes an advanced tool derived from the alternate technology of his home reality.  It's called the 'pocket battlefield.'  

This difficult-to-describe weapon first showed up in the pages of the original Marvel Boy miniseries; and then once more in the miniseries, Civil War: Young Avengers/Runaways.   Fastened into the circuitry of his wristband, the pocket battlefield allows Noh-Varr to extend a spherical field around him and anyone in his vicinity; within this sphere, Noh can control and manipulate the properties of time, gravity and inertia.  The effects only last a matter of moments, but it is long enough to enable The crew to survive the turbulent crash of the Asterion completely unscathed.  

Armed with laser rifles, Medusa leads the squad from the wreckage of the ship, ready to take on whatever foe had fallen their ship.  They discover that this adversary is their one-time ally and the former husband of Princess Crystal, Ronan the Accuser.   Yet it is a very different version of Ronan.   His transformation via passage through the Black Vortex has remade him into a veritable giant, possessing a host of new, formidable and mysterious powers.  

Ronan is displeased to see The Royals.  Not only are they trespassing on the sacred memorial of the dead planet Hala, but Ronan holds the Inhumans as in-part responsible for the fate that had befallen his home-world.  

Following the War of Kings event, The Inhumans of Attilan had been granted lordship over the war torn remnants of the Kree Empire.  Black Bolt ultimately relinquished Inhuman dominion over the Kree as part of a pact with The Supreme Intelligence... and yet The Supreme Intelligence is now dead and Ronan accuses The Inhumans of growing bored with their responsibilities to The Kree, abandoning them to their fate and just as guilty and culpable for Hala's fate as those who had destroyed it.  

Ronan's claims are baseless, clearly warped by his anger and grief.  Crystal, his one time love and wife tries to reason with him, but it is of no avail.  Gorgon losses his patience and attacks, yet he is ill prepared for Ronan's impressive new abilities.  

Ronan strikes down his hammer and a mysterious energy exude by from it, seizing each of The Royals in their tracks.  The energy appears to place its victims in some sort of trance where they are engulfed by hallucinations centered on feeling of intense guilt over past actions and feelings... each drawn psychically from their memories and imaginations.  

Gorgon's hallucinogenic experience is shown first and foremost; it’s a scene that introduces readers to his beforehand-unknown wife, a horned Inhuman named Myrra.

Writer, Al Ewing had hinted that Gorgon was going to be revealed as a widower, but here it is confirmed, with the additional tidbit that she is the mother of both their children (both the older adolescent, Alecto, as well as her younger brother Petras).   This suggests that Myrra died sometime shortly before or right after Attilan's relocation to the Blue Area of the moon; although the circumstances of her death are left unrevealed.   Within Gorgon trance, Myrra berates him for having forgotten about her, for finding comfort and distraction in his love for another.  

The others experience similar hallucinogenic trances, each focused upon feelings of guilt, accusation and betrayal.  

Swain sees Panacea, accusing her of wishing for a girlfriend more able to reciprocate her feelings of affection in a traditional fashion.  Flint sees his adoptive parents condemning him for his negligence over never saying that he loved them.  Maximus sees his parents accusing him of his various malicious schemes; stating that it was him not his brother whom they should have been worried over (Max seems utterly unfazed by the matter).  Noh-Varr sees Kate Bishop, haranguing him for having broken her heart.  And Medusa sees Black Bolt who accuses her of betraying him, sending him into the blackness and breaking his heart.

And finally there is Crystal.  She is not effected like the others.  She is left to speak more privately with Ronan.  He accuses her of leaving him, of turning her back on true love. And the issue ends with Ronan demanding to know how she pleads to this accusation.

A very fun issue and truly my only complaint is just how short it was.  Although granted the matter is likely influenced by my near-insatiable hunger to see more of where Ewing and company is going.  Understanding the full context of the story sort of requires one to be fairly well versed on events that occurred in both the Black Vortex cross-over as well as parts of J. Hickman’s run on Fantastic Four.  This was no problem for me, but I can imagine that other readers might have been a bit puzzled over who Ronan is, his connection to the Inhumans and how Hala was destroyed.  

Al Ewing is clearly having a lot of fun writing Maximus and it shows.  Max gets all the fun and funniest pieces of dialogue.  This is great, but it does detract a bit from the continued character development of the other players.  I have been hoping that these chapters would more focus on Crystal, who has thus far been the least utilized member of the cast.  Bringing back Noh-Varr’s pocket battlefield was super cool, but there’s no reason why it couldn’t have been Crystal who stepped up and saved the others when The Astern was crashing.  The cover for next issue (wonderfully illustrated by Kris Anka) focuses on Marvel Boy and while it’s a great cover, it leaves me further worried that Crystal will continue to take a back seat int he narrative despite the fact that her past relationship with Ronan should place her front and center in the plot.  I suppose we will have to wait and see how it all pans out.  

Silas and Charalampidis do terrific work on the art.  Silas particularly excels at larger scenes, such as Ronan standing before the Royals and his initial attack on The Asterian.  A touch less so in terms of facial expressions and I’m not a huge fan of the use of accentuated shadow covering much of the characters’ faces (particularly their eye-sockets.  My sense is that Ewing wrote this script with Jonboy Meyer’s art style very much in mind and Thony Silas as had to accommodate his own style to fit.  Yet this is totally speculation on my part.

some interesting side notes:

How neat to see Gorgon’s wife.  His being a widower is a completely new wrinkle to his character.  Not necessarily a retcon, but an addition that reframes much of his past behaviors in a new context.  Many past tales have shown Gorgon as a hedonist, always on the look out for good time, lots to drink and sexual companionship.  Perhaps all of these behaviors were less about him just wanting to have fun and more about him desperately searching out distraction to keep him from dwelling on the pain and sorrow of having lost his wife.  

In that scene, Myrra accuses Gorgon of having fallen in love with another.  This is all just a hallucination, but to whom might Myrra be referring to here?  Is she talking about Gorgon’s affair with Mynxi (the two had a relationship in the pages of Inhumans: By Right of Birth) or is she referring to something else.  Of late, it seems that Gorgon has been quite dutiful and attentive of Medusa.  Is it possible he has fallen in love with his cousin’s former wife?

The hallucinatory visage between Swain and Panacea is the first time where the two are officially connoted as girlfriends.  The matter has been rather obviously implied, but sometimes a fully unambiguous canonization is needed for naysayers.  Ash’s accusing Swain of wishing she could more conventionally express her feelings of love may rub some the wrong way.  It suggests that those in relationships with people who are neuroatypical may wish their partners could be more ‘normal.’  I don’t feel this is the intention.  I believe Swain truly loves Ash for who she is, but a certain degree of ambivalence is bound to exist in any relationship and I’m certain a part of Swain does long for Ash to be able to say ‘I love you’ in a more conventional fashion.  

It’s a bit of a stretch to say that Noh-Varr broke Kate Bishop’s heart.  I think she was saddened when he ended their relationship, but not really heart-broken.  Perhaps this is just how Noh sees it; or perhaps the thematic of a broken heart is being superimposed by Ronan.  

In the Black Vortex cross-over, Hala was destroyed at the behest of Mr. Knife, who was secretly J’son of Spartex (Peter Quill/Star Lord’s father).  J’son paid for this crime at the end of the story, but apparently Ronan’s thirst for vengeance is far from quenched, leaving him to add blame to The Royal Inhumans.    

Being the Captain Marvel fan-girl that she is, I’m kind of surprised that Swain didn’t recognize Ronan’s hammer right off the bat.  

The title of the chapter is ‘Dust and Roses.’  This is not the name of a David Bowie song but rather a lyric from Bowie’s ‘Big Brother’ from Demon Dogs.  It’s an interesting choice, more so in the context of the full stanza of the song…

“Don't talk of dust and roses Or should we powder our noses? Don't live for last year's capers Give me steel, give me steel, Give me pulses unreal.”

The ways in which the future-oriented prologues and the main story connect appears to be rapidly coming to ahead.  Yet the matter of how exactly they relate remains completely mysterious.  

Definitely recommended.  Three out of Five Lockjaws.

[nostalgebraist]

I was reading something tonight that happened to trip a switch in my brain and activate a feeling which used to be very important to me, but which I now only feel a few times a year at most  -- this desire for a “community,” a “place I belong,” “finding my people,” all that.

(Which for me is has all sorts of other associations: getting fascinated with the details of community history and shibboleths, people’s stories of “what it was like” in the group in earlier days, a peaceful reverent sense of the expanse of history associated with the “expansive” feeling I get on sunny summer days.  I sort of wrote about this here)

It was a shock to feel this again, because I had forgotten how intense it was.  It feels more powerful and profound, more richly textured, than the more mundane emotions that pervade my life today.  It seems to be the rule that younger versions of myself had more beautiful and complex emotions on the basis of dumber and less mature thoughts and aspirations.  Like there’s some conservation law ensuring that more nuanced perceptions of human reality are paired with less nuanced emotions.  (This is probably a common observation.)

Anyway -- this feeling had to be jettisoned as I matured, I think, because I’m just not the sort of person who is at his best when he’s identifying most clearly with some community.  I can be in communities, and some times this works out very well for me, but my role in the community is never as a prototypical member, it’s just as me-being-me.  Typically I am “the odd one out” in some ways even in communities where I belong, it’s just that I’m “the odd one out” in some way that’s useful to the community (and to me).  I’ve learned to seek places where my traits are valued, and not to further hope for places where my traits are just the default, or where I can lose my ego in a collective that feels right (no collective ever feels right).

I’ve never found “my people,” just people who I like and who like me, distinct though we are.  And so I’ve learned, I suppose, that people who find “their people” are . . . not my people.  Still, I can remember the summery dream of my youth, and it’s powerful.

(It occurs to me that I am, now -- like, on tumblr, among the people I talk to here -- the kind of shibboleth-speaker and injoke-maker that my younger self would have obsessed over and internet-stalked.  Like, it seems so trivial to me at the moment, but if my younger self had encountered me now, he would probably have imbued the “#quotes robnost style” thing with magic significance, and thought of me as one of the magic tradition-making people he might one day become if he could just develop this magic skill of “belonging.”  And he’d talk to me about this, and I’d be all like, “what?”)