#but I’ve seen it echoed by many disabled people

[daffodil-screaming]

There’s this narrative that’s so pervasive, that chronically ill and disabled people will one day find their perfect coping mechanism and that it will make their life easier. If they “just” eat better or “just” stretch every day it will unlock a secret shortcut to being able bodied but it’s just not true.

You can do everything right and still be ill.

Sometimes it doesn’t matter how hard you try, how many different methods you use, how frustrated you are. And even when you find something that works it doesn’t work 100% of the time, sometimes it makes things worse! And it’s completely random! Please can we end the narrative of “if you just learn enough about your disability you can overcome it” because it’s exhausting and frankly impossible to try and live like that.

[xoxoladyaz]

AU-gust, Day 9: Cleaning Crew

A/N: Avengers Crossover and allusions to smut, ahoy!

This ended up way hurt/comfort/fluff than I anticipated and there were almost no sexy times? And it was definitely the Avengers cockblocking Eddie and not the other way around so if there's still interest in that, I could see me writing THAT AU in the future! I just wanted Steve to be properly appreciated, you know? Anyways, happy AU-gust Day 9!

“This is the weirdest NDA I’ve ever seen.”

“Question, how many NDAs have you seen?”

Nancy Wheeler’s pinched face glared at Steve through his Starkphone. “Enough.” She rolled her eyes at Steve and restarted her perusal of the hefty contract Steve had emailed over to her (that she’d insisted on printing and making notes on, because even ten years removed from high school, Nancy Wheeler was thorough.) “There’s some things here regarding interpersonal relationships that seem a little unprecedented.”

“But?” Steve Harrington echoed, his eyebrows near his hairline.

“But you are dealing with the world’s first literal superhero team so these probably aren’t unreasonable requests,” she finished between gritted teeth.

“Great, so I can sign it then.”

“Steve,” Nancy sighed, and she pinched her nose between her eyes, “are you sure you want to do this? If it’s a matter of money - ”

“It’s not, Nance. Neither one of us has to work,” Steve argued back and hey, he wasn’t wrong. The government had been obscenely generous in their payouts after they’d finally defeated Vecna. And, okay, was it a little weird that instead of going to a fancy school or kickstarting his musical career or buying a weed farm that Steve rented a normal apartment and put the rest away into an investment fund? Maybe. Did he need to work, let alone work as a glorified cleaning service for the one percent? No, not at all.

But maintaining one of his (recently-divorced) mother’s properties had turned into a prosperous career because hey, it turns out all of those years spent cleaning up after the kids (and the interdimensional monsters they kept as pets) meant that he was, like, really good at cleaning. (And he was still incredibly insecure about his intelligence, or lack-thereof, and he didn’t want to be the only one who didn’t get into the dream school he applied for.)

And now he’d been personally asked – by Pepper Potts herself, of all people (who apparently played bridge with his mom?) – to take over the general care and upkeep of the personnel apartments at the newly re-christened Avengers Tower in New York City.

(Thank God he’d been out of town at one of Lucas’ basketball games when the whole attack happened; not that he wouldn’t have been willing to help but man, fighting monsters takes a toll when you’re not a superhuman. And he was only thirty.)

“This just feels like a cry for help, Steve. Do you really want to look after the world’s most difficult group of people?”

Steve stared at Nancy without blinking. “I babysat Henderson for years. I feel like I’m still babysitting Henderson.”

“I know, it’s just – I’m just worried that you’re not moving on, Steve.”

And, well, that hurt. Because sure, he didn’t have a doctorate like Robin or Dustin and he wasn’t playing professional sports like Lucas or spearheading global disability rights campaigns like Max or running a prosperous weed farm like Argyle or was part of the reporting and photography duo that was Nancy and Jonathan, nor was he part of a Grammy-winning rock band or a retired superhero or –

(It’s just, at the end of the day, Steve didn’t have really big dreams. After years spent fighting interdimensional monsters that liked to crawl their way out of walls, all of the other stuff – fame, fortune, money, a legacy – it didn’t really feel important anymore. All Steve wanted now, and truthfully, all he really wanted then, was a place to call home and people to belong to.

So honestly, it was really fucking rude of Nancy to judge him for just wanting that. And he was going to be working in close proximity with the Avengers of all people, like, how was that not success? Sure, he’d essentially be a live-in maid, but it wasn’t like he wasn’t doing important work.)

Steve didn’t say any of this to Nancy, of course; he didn’t need to. The looks on her face – shock, and then guilt – said enough.

“Steve - ”

“Thanks for your help, Nance,” he replied quickly, and then he hung up the phone.

(They were all split up now, they had been for years. And keeping them all together, staying together, being a family? That had been his dream for years.

But maybe it was time for a new dream now.

And maybe the Avengers Tower was the perfect place to start.)

/////

Working at the Tower meant that sometimes Steve felt like he was cleaning a frat house, mainly because the communal kitchen was usually covered in junk food wrappers and empty beer bottles and days’ old coffee mugs.

(“Trust me,” Pepper Potts had said drily the first time they’d had a check-in meeting, “this doesn’t come closeto a Tony Stark frat house party.”) 

Still, he was on time every day, kept to himself, and most importantly didn’t sell out any information to any of the many, many media outlets that sent him offers. That, along with the fact that apparently Steve had an obscenely high security clearance (thanks, Hawkins!) meant that he was asked to officially move into the staff quarters of Avengers Tower within his first month of work.

(Which had the added effect of him actually meeting the Avengers and, well, it was a little weird.

Because if Steve didn’t know any better, he’d say that they were flirting with him. Or, even worse, that they were staking some sort of claim, and that didn’t make sense, right?

Right?)

/////

1. Tony Stark

“Hey honeybun, how’s it hanging?”

“To the left,” Steve replied absentmindedly as he disinfected the industrial-grade espresso machine.

Someone choked behind him and – shit.

He’d just said that to his BOSS.

(His incredibly hot, incredibly wealthy, incredibly smart and powerful boss.

SHIT.)

“Mr. Stark!” Steve exclaimed as he spun to face his employer. “Mr. Stark, I am so, so sorry, that was so inappropriate - ”

“First of all, please for the love of god call me Tony,” Mr. Stark – Tony – ordered with a smirk as he leaned on the kitchen’s island. He was dressed in an old AC/DC tee that sent a pang through Steve’s heart because wowit reminded him so much of Eddie (although that’s where their style similarities ended, because Eddie always wore loose bottoms and Tony’s pants were always fitted to accentuate his ass.

NOT THAT STEVE HAD BEEN LOOKING.)

“And second of all,” Tony purred as he leaned further across the island, getting right up into Steve’s space, “don’t tease me if you aren’t going to follow through, sweetheart.”

Steve didn’t need a mirror to tell him that he was flushing bright red. “I – I - ”

“Mister Harrington, sir,” JARVIS spoke – which was a fully functional AI that Dustin would die to know about – “there is a call waiting for you on your personal line, a Mister Edward Munson.”

Speak of the devil.

“Oh,” Steve murmured, his face cooling off as quickly as it had heated and he spun around, hands shaking as he looked for a towel. “Yeah, let me just get a towel - ”

“JARVIS, put the call on my line,” he heard Tony order, and then a warm hand was at his back. “I’ve got this, handsome.”

Steve turned just in time to see Tony shoot him a wink and pick up his phone. “Eddie Munson, huh? I’ve heard a lot about you,” Tony started and then he was gone, disappearing out of the kitchen and towards his lab.

“I – JARVIS?”

“Mister Stark is a mystery to behold,” the AI replied with a sigh. “How about a glass of champagne?”

You know what? Fuck it.

“That sounds great, J.”

2. Steve Rogers

“ – and I said, ‘excuse me, but only one of us outsmarted some leftover commie bastards at the age of ten and it wasn’t you, Professor.’”

Steve snorted, listening as Erica detailed her most recent argument – and victory – with her prick of an international relations professor. (A few days after his weird interaction with Tony in the kitchen, he’d been granted access to accept personal calls in the main Avengers spaces, which meant that he had more time to catch up with his friends while cleaning which was a blessing because some of the dusting in this place? Took hours.)

“Doesn’t that break your NDA?”

“Please,” Erica snorted over the living room’s loudspeakers, “I’ve got Owens wrapped around my finger, just like you with a certain member of the one percent.”

“Sorry, what?” Steve paused mid-wipe, looking confusedly at the now-gleaming metallic coffee table in front of him. “What are you talking about?”

“Tony Stark, your knight in iron armor?” Erica replied in her best I’m-talking-to-an-idiot-right-now voice. “Or did you forget that he’s screening your calls?”

“He’s screening my what?”

“Please, we all heard about his little talk with the Nerd King,” she scoffed and oh yeah, he’d forgotten about that. (Honestly, he had no idea what those two had even talked about; when he asked Tony, the older man had changed the subject and ordered super fancy sushi instead.) “Now, if you had a bodyguard like that back at Starcourt, maybe you wouldn’t have gotten your ass kicked by the Russians.”

“What Russians?”

Steve didn’t scream, but he might have let out a high-pitched noise of surprise at the sound of Captain America’s voice. He turned around to find Steve Rogers standing at attention in the living room, his eyes glaring at the speakers overhead.

“Steve,” Erica’s voice echoed slowly, “am I hearing Captain America right now?”

“Just Steve Rogers, ma’am,” the tall blonde replied automatically.

“And just how long have you been there, Just Steve Rogers?”

“Long enough. Now, what is this about the Russians?” He asked, and his piercing blue eyes dropped onto Steve’s face and his heart was beating fast because he was nervous and for no other reason.

“Seriously? How do you not know? Haven’t you read Steve’s file?” Erica asked incredulously and okay, this conversation needed to be done immediately.

Piercing blue eyes grew shocked and Captain Rogers looked, well, sick to his stomach. “You have a file?”

“Okay!” Steve jumped up before this could spiral any further out of hand. “Erica, it was great talking to you, I’ll call you later, uh, Captain Rogers - ”

“Please, call me Steve.”

“Right, Steve, there’s nothing to be, uh, worried about - ”

“She said Russians,” Cap pointed to the ceiling, “so there’s definitely something to be worried about. Does Tony know about the Russians?”

“I’m sorry, did somebody say my name?” Tony popped his head into the room because of course he was also nearby.

“Did you know about this?”

“I know a lot of things, Cap, you’re going to have to be more specific.”

“Did you know that Steve was attacked by Russians?”

“Steve was what?!”

(Steve was then treated to the sight of Iron Man and Captain America reading his security file, staring at him in shock, and then stomping off to do something about their fury? The last part of that entire thing didn’t make sense, but JARVIS sent him some whiskey so hey, it could have been worse.

And if he let Captain Rogers tuck an extra blanket around him during movie night, well, that was just his business.)

3. Natasha Romanoff (and Clint Barton)

“I heard you lost a fight with some Russians.”

“JESUS!” Steve startled, barely stopping himself from dropping Tony’s mother’s expensive China all over the floor. (The porcelain set hadn’t been looked at in years and Pepper wanted to use it for the next investors meeting, so of course this is when the infamous Black Widow approached him.)

“Okay, first of all,” he said after he had set down the dishware and turned to face the smirking redhead, “I didn’t lose the fight, I knocked one out.”

“And then you got surrounded, captured, and were tortured for a total of two hours in a hidden bunker,” she finished. (How did she get her eyebrow to quirk like that? And why did he feel like she was flirting with him but also being mean?)

(And how could he get that skill?)

“I – yeah, you’re not wrong about that,” Steve muttered, glancing away from Natasha. “At least we all made it out alive. And we survived the whole Hawkins earthquake thing.”

Natasha snorted and murmured something under her breath that sounded like Russian but also sounded like metal and frankly didn’t make a lot of sense. She cleared her throat and spoke up and, well, whatever she said before must not have been important. “It’s a good thing you have us to train you.”

“Yeah,” he murmured absentmindedly. Then – 

“Wait, what?”

Which is how Steve started spending two hours out of every afternoon “training” with Natasha in the official Avengers’ sparring room. Honestly, he wasn’t sure how much good it was doing, given that “training” mainly consisted of Natasha throwing him around the room and giving him bruises.

(Okay, that he was into, and she knew it too, judging by the wink she’d send him every time he headed off to the showers.)

After a few weeks, when she’d deemed him “competent” enough, she had Clint Barton start “assisting” as well, meaning there were two of them beating him up now which meant twice the embarrassment and twice the bruises.

(And twice the amount of time jerking off in the shower.)

(This was really starting to get out of hand.)

4. Thor and Bruce Banner

“This is really starting to get out of hand.”

“What is?” Robin asked as she poured the last of her Flaming Hot Cheeto dust into her mouth. She was the first person Steve had been able to secure a visitor’s pass for; Dustin was next on the list, followed by Max and Erica and then the rest of the gang (although according to JARVIS they were running into some sort of problem with Eddie’s pass, which could take up to an additional two months? He didn’t fully understand it, JARVIS had told him during breakfast a few days ago and he’d gotten distracted by Natasha throwing knives at Clint’s apple strudel and Steve accidentally breaking the toaster again.)

Steve grimaced as he watched her lick her fingers. “You mean aside from your Cheeto addiction?”

“Hey, this isn’t an addiction, I can stop any time,” she replied with a snort before tossing her empty bag at Steve. 

(Gross.)

“Sorry, what were you saying dingus? Something about things getting out of hand?”

“I don’t know, I just,” Steve set down his feather-duster (that he hadn’t even been using, he’d just been tossing it around like his old ice cream scooper) and got close enough to Robin so she could hear his whisper, “I might be reading things wrong, but I’m almost getting the feeling that they’re into me or something?”

Robin frowned. “Who, Eddie?”

“Eddie?” Now it was Steve’s turn to be confused. “No, the Avengers.”

“The AVENGERS?” Robin squeaked just as the door to the elevator banks opened. Steve and Robin whipped around to see Thor enter the main atrium with Dr. Banner on his heels.

“Steve!” Thor shot him a blinding smile and strutted over. Upon reaching Steve he wrapped him up in a hug and lifted him off the ground.

“Hey Thor!” Steve wheezed, trying to pat what he could of Thor’s back.

“How I have missed your countenance, my friend,” Thor boomed, and then he was setting Steve back on the ground – 

And kissing him on the lips. 

Thor leaned back and beamed, ignoring the fact that Steve was openly gaping at him. “It is good to be home.”

“Yeah? Yeah,” Steve breathed before shooting a quick look at Robin who looked completely and totally dumbfounded.

“And you must be the Lady Robin!” Thor said, turning his mega-watt smile upon Robin who flushed bright red. “Steve has told us of your exploits and your intellect. You would do well amongst the heroes of Asgard.”

“Thank you? I mean, thank you,” Robin squeaked.

(If Steve wasn’t in a state of complete and utter shock, he might have laughed at her, but he couldn’t move.)

“I have also seen the flag of your people,” Thor continued, like he didn’t notice Robin’s utter embarrassment, “and I have a lovely friend named Val who is searching for a paramour of her own. Do you think you would be interested? I could arrange a meeting.”

“Val. Val? As in - ”

“Valkyrie, yes,” Dr. Banner finally cut in sheepishly. “Also, hi, I’m Dr. Banner.”

Robin could only muster up a wave.

“Uh, hi, hi Bruce,” Steve shook his head, forcing himself to get it together it was only a kiss.

“Hi Steve, good to see you,” Bruce replied, and now he was bright red and well apparently Thor was the only person who wasn’t blushing right now and Steve needed to get a handle on this stat.

“That would be great, Thor!” Steve cut in, saving Robin from having to respond. “Robin’s going to be in town for a few more days.”

“Wonderful!” Thor said, turning back to beam at Steve. “I shall invite Val for dinner tomorrow but for now, I shall allow you to return to your revelry. Lady Robin,” he said with a bow towards Robin and then, turning to face Steve, he shot Steve a smug wink. “Steve.” And with that Thor was gone, headed towards Tony’s lab with a still-blushing Bruce Banner hot on his heels.

Steve turned to stare at Robin.

Robin stared back at Steve.

“Holy shit.”

“Holy shit.”

5. The Team

Surprisingly – or unsurprisingly – Robin’s date with Val had gone really, really well; in fact, it had gone so well that Robin transferred her graduate credits to NYU in a matter of days and moved into the Tower as well.

(“Steve. Steve. She’s a literal alien warrior goddess. Who cares where I work? I don’t even need to work.”

Still, the NYU transfer went incredibly smoothly, so smoothly that Steve confronted a certain genius billionaire playboy philanthropist about it. Tony had denied any input and distracted him with more sushi and a thorough tour of his sportscars which had ended up lasting for hours.)

Anyways, with Robin now living as an occupant of the Tower and the rest of the Avengers fully settled in and in agreement on a chore chart, Steve was starting to wonder just why he was still employed; like, what purpose was he serving? He really did try to stay on top of the cleaning, but the others were pitching in almost constantly, and it was a miracle if he was responsible for cooking even one meal a day.

“I just don’t get it,” he finally said to Robin on a particularly hot day in July. They were the sole occupants of the Tower’s rooftop infinity pool (as the Avengers proper were spending the day in a series of meetings), so this was the closest Steve was going to get to having a private conversation with Robin.

(Like, he was really, really glad that Val was so obviously head over heels for his best friend, but it definitely cut down on his and Robin’s cuddle time.)

��Don’t get what, dingus?”

Steve shrugged and ran a wet hand through his drying hair. “I don’t know, why I’m still here? I mean, they aren’t really using me as a cleaner anymore, and I mean, Bruce is a way better cook than me and he’s pretty much taken over so, like, what am I even doing here?”

Robin turned and pushed up her sunglasses so they were making eye contact. “Seriously? You’re serious right now.”

Steve nodded.

“You really don’t see it?”

“See what?”

Groaning, Robin slid her sunglasses back onto her face and turned back towards the horizon. “I’m not going to be the one to spell it out for you, dingus. You’re going to have to do this on your own. Or, better yet, why do you just ask?”

“Uh, maybe because I don’t want to get fired?”

(Robin shoved his head underwater at that which, frankly? Was incredibly rude.

He got his revenge later by knocking her into the pool after she’d finally dried off.)

+ 1 Bucky Barnes

Being fresh off of a highly-advanced plane-ship-thing from Wakanda meant that Steve hadn’t seen a whole lot of James “Bucky” Barnes. He’d sat next to him at dinner a few times, shared a couch during their re-watch of Game of Thrones, even sparred a bit at Natasha’s direction during Steve’s “training,” but they hadn’t really talked, which made the fact that after Steve’s un-helpful swim with Robin, he found said super soldier waiting for him in the hallway outside of his bedroom.

“Bucky, hi,” Steve nodded, rubbing his towel across the back of his neck. “Sorry, did you need something? Is there a problem with - ”

“No problems, doll, I just wanted to have a chat,” the dark-haired man purred, and Steve?

He felt his stomach tangle up in knots.

“A-about what, exactly?”

Bucky hummed and uncrossed his arms, the vibranium arm shimmering under the light. “Well, a little birdie told me you had some questions about what your place is here,” he said, a playful sparkle in his eye. “And,” Bucky stepped closer and backed Steve up until Steve was leaning against the door to his own apartment, “since it seems that my teammates haven’t made your position entirely clear, I thought I would take matters into my own hands.”

Steve didn’t even get a sound out before Bucky was surging forward, planting the sort of kiss on Steve that he knew he’d never recover from because for as forceful and passionate as it was, it was gentle too: the way Bucky’s cybernetic arm wrapped around Steve’s back and help him up; the way his other hand cupped the side of Steve’s face; the way Bucky hummed, like Steve’s lips were the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted; 

The way he lifted Steve up and kicked open the door.

“I – I - ” Steve panted out as the door swung shut behind them. “I still - ”

“You’re home, doll,” Bucky murmured against Steve’s lips. “That’s what you are.”

And, well.

Steve couldn’t not kiss him then.

(And he couldn’t not give him every piece of himself in return underneath his silken sheets.)

Four Months Later

“Okay, now this is the weirdest NDA I’ve ever seen.”

Jonathan snorted from across the room as he fiddled with his camera. 

“Hey, you were the one that wanted the exclusive,” Steve replied. “I could have told you it would be more intensive.”

“Yeah, yeah, and who’s fault is that?” Nancy teased with a glimmer in her eye. “I’m not the househusband here.”

“Umm excuse me, that’s my job?” Robin piped up from her spot on Val’s lap. “Steve is obviously the trophy wife.”

“Hey!” Steve exclaimed, but then a pair of godly arms wrapped around his waist, a cybernetic arm wrapped around his shoulders, and a pair of expensive lips pressed a hot kiss to his cheek.

“Best trophy wife a guy could ask for,” Tony crooned in his ear and then laughed at Steve’s blush.

(His partners weren’t the good guys, they were evil.)

“Dude, Eddie would shit a brick if he saw this,” Jonathan said with another snort.

“Oh, how is - ”

“Who do you speak of? I am not familiar,” Thor cut Robin’s question off loudly, his thundering voice vibrating up and down Steve’s back.

“I think he said Freddie - ”

“Oh, like Freddy Krueger – Cap, we need you to watch A Nightmare on Elm Street - ”

“ – after the shoot! Do you think Tony will order us sushi again?”

“ – Steve first, Steve, are you in the mood for sushi?”

Steve felt Nancy nudge him, and he turned to see her smiling. “Hey. I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks, Nance,” Steve smiled back.

“It’s good to finally be home.”

[laz-laz-ace-pilot]

Clones and life-limiting illness

I know it’s nearly the end of Disability Pride Month, and its taken me most of the month to work out how to properly articulate what I want to say, but here goes nothing!

So there’s a common trope in the Clone Wars fandom and writing spaces of creating a cure for the clones’ accelerated aging, and while I can totally understand why people would want that – its natural to want an easy solution! – I’d just ask people to be mindful of how much importance you place on needing a cure, and whether your story really needs it.

Because the reality for me, and for any people, is that there is no cure. And if you don’t live with or know someone with a life-limiting disease, you might not be aware of how much stigma is attached to it. So I’m going to try to break down some tropes to be aware of – not that you can’t use them, but just think critically about how and why you are using them.

-          Hopefully this is obvious, but not every moment of our lives is tragic. Yes there are sad, tragic and traumatic moments, but that’s equally possible in an abled person’s life, and there are so many brilliant moments of joy and happiness, just like in an abled person’s life! This is possible in the clones’ lives too.

-          Relationships – so apparently this is a surprise to some people, but its common for people with life-limiting diseases to be told you can’t (morally) have a relationship with someone, and there’s an echo of this in fiction. There is an expectation that its ‘noble’ or ‘moral’ to avoid initiating relationships to spare your partner the ‘burden’ of your disability. Let me say this now – this is absolute bullshit! People will tell you that its cruel on your partner to be with them, or that you should ‘out’ yourself on a first date so they can make a choice about being with a disabled person – this is ableist shit and please avoid these people at all costs. They do not have you or any partners’ best interests at heart.

-          Adding on to this; our lives have worth throughout our lives – whether before or during severe illness. I’ve seen so many fics where the clones are only considered ‘dateable’ or ‘attractive’ (or even people) while they are still young and abled-bodied – please think before you write off the latter parts of their lives. There are plenty of accounts from real people talking about how their relationships with their disabled partners actually improved while undergoing treatment or in palliative care – if you get a chance, I really recommend watching/ reading some.

-          The ‘noble death’– please don’t romanticise the idea of someone ending their life to avoid being a burden on their loved ones. Again, not only is this weirdly common in fiction, but is often parroted to life-limited people in real life.

-          ‘Being a burden’ – this is a huge problem that many disabled people are encouraged or forced to internalise, and while it’s highly probable that the clones would also internalise this, it doesn’t make it true. Disabled people are not a burden, and many loved ones want to support and help, and enjoy doing so! There are so many opportunities for character growth and happiness and connection in the midst of illness – please don’t discount this part of our, or the clones’, lives.

-          People have complex relationships with their life-limiting disabilities – there can be anger, frustration, denial (and a lot of internalised ableism) but there’s also acceptance too. Please don’t only characterise us as constantly angry and bitter at the world for our ‘misfortune’.

-          And hopefully this is obvious, but please don’t place all the clones’ worth on whether they’re ‘hot’ or not. I get it, people want to write smut and things that appeal to them, but not only does this fall into many of the racist and fetishist problems surrounding clone depiction, but it also reinforces the idea that once someone becomes ill/ old/ disabled, then they’re unattractive.

I know this is a long post, and thank you if you’ve read this far, but I really needed to voice this. This isn’t an attack on anyone whose written clones being cured or avoided writing older, less abled clones, but rather a call to really consider why you think these things are necessary and whether you’re writing the disability out of your characters.

PS. This is not an invitation to ask me about my disability. If you take this as an opportunity to attack me or anyone else discussing disability, kindly fuck off.

Thank you to @clone-bar-79s for helping me sort my thoughts out on this and listening!

[cafffine]

idk exactly how to put this, but I’ve just seen and received so many rebuttals and arguments about unwhitewash the bad batch that are completely missing the actual issue at hand, and I do think some of it may be ignorance so here goes (also I am white and only speaking from the POV as a white sw fan):

The fact of the matter is, Dave Filoni and crew have been trying to include white clones in star wars for years and finally got what they wanted through racist writing and an animation crew with no spine (See the original clone design and their decidedly more European features when compared to Tem, Boba’s repeated whitewashing in TCW, Dee Bradley Baker’s casting, ect).

And, yes, there are some (total bullshit) in-universe reasons why tbb are whitewashed (they’re defective, Echo’s been in cryo-freeze, ect.) but that’s all they are, in-universe bullshit.

These ‘excuses’ for racism and whitewashing being made in the show should not be something that we as viewers feel comfortable accepting or repeating. All explanations provided for tbb’s appearance were made by racists to free themselves of blame and to be used as a shield when being criticized. If your response to UWWTBB includes any mention of ‘canon cloning techniques’ or Echo being tortured or anything that the show has tried to feed us, you’re off-base and need to re-examine why you’re speaking over fans of color.

The actual issue (in its simplest form) is with real life people in the writers room and on the animation team deciding that they wanted tbb to be white men, and the weak loopholes they created in the plot to do so.

We’re not angry that tbb being white isn’t canon-compliant (though, it really isn’t), we’re angry that tbb’s whitewashing was intentional, and expected to be overlooked.

Racism is not something that should be talked about in terms of Star Wars canon, or treated as fandom discourse. UWWTBB is about the genuine harm being done to fans of color, disabled fans, jewish fans, and anyone that has the capability to internalize the biases on screen.

So please, don’t drag the conversation being had by the UWWTBB campaign into fictional explanations made by well-documented racists. Listen to fans of color, educate yourself on whitewashing and the racism that Disney has perpetrated since its creation, sign the petition, and do what you can to support UWWTBB.

links:

unwhitwwashTBB carrd by @/milfcaptainrex

UWWTBB petition

Bad Batch fan survey

[madfantasy]

I haven't seen you post in a while, I hope you've been doing okay? How is everything? Hope it's been a good year so far for you 💕💕

You're too kind, u & everyone who made inquiries, bless ur hearts.. im sorry for disappearing, but yeah, I don't have net— using my phone credit and hope this posts..

I tried to record my voice answering this, like I sometimes did on tik, suddenly ended up trying to muffle the floods of my burning tears, so now I have an awkward vid of me talking then weeping out of nowhere, which a good reason for me to keep up the no cry habit, heh.. but seriously, I suppose I'm fine till I be conscious of it.. its much easier for not to talk .. even tho I'm aching to be back in thy company, lonely in my foresight to catch on to the present that joins us, hand held out to reach like minded souls but shying from the fear of forgetfulness occurring..

I'm fine tho, did few new stuff, merely drowning in too muchness and nothingness as usual, this month I guess you could say I took an act of mad fury in search of any happy source because the echoing silence and the swarm of sadness nipping on my brain cells thickened, and the reasoning merged with the obscene. So instead of giving my guardians the usual of 3/4 of my earnings last month for net and groceries, I spent it all. Ya know, as it was told to me it mine to do as I please? As being prevented any chance of work if it was possible, 't was supposed to be spent on art supplies & measly delights craved for years ?

Before hand, I've been begging them to take me for months to get any clothing or whatever, be it the first time I ever see a shop, then just to drive around, then just me peaking to the outside when the front door is open, merely seeking change I suppose. They kept vaguely promising me until they refused point blank— getting tired of my nagging, then their car just stopped working till this day. Its in the workshop rn..

Anyway, befouled by despair, needing the mere basics of life and not granted, I was delighted when i found a site to buy from cheap & pretty, I pressed buy without any further considerations, or taking their permission and thrilled to be able get gifts for my siblings too. I say gifts but really they are deprived necessities too and not even much just one each cuz well, they are 5 of my babies and to start with the top of priorities; we all draw

I could already see it, they can't help themselves; heck seeped through the clenched gates of their mouths, trying desperately to poison me with undirect attempts this time, cuz I bought for my sibs they're out of the option of calling me selfish. I was upping the same trance like state of vague existence dealing with them, absorbing their insults and degrading just to make sure my shi arrives safe.

Unfortunate for me, the site chose the worst carrier in this country

I did everything in my power to make it into their convenience, by embarrassingly messaging the carrier daily, they took a week of promising to deliver and flanking so my guardians reached a heated level of threatening, waving their hands nd almost tossing shi at mE saying that they don't care if they came and if i dared to order something again they'll do this and that. Not allowing me to open the door for the delivery guy when he comes, blaming me for missing vaccination dates (they kept missing them even before)& missing going to important places(again, they just didn't go to for ages), made them loose sleep, etc etc— in turn, I seen red and regretfully blew up.

I screamed at them its literally the only time I ever did this, it BECAUSE it easier on them & I'll do what I want whatever anyway, & to stop interrupting me while I try to explain things , then they suddnly back done and be like I'm not mad at u I'm mad at the delivery ppl, that they are proud of me for being able to do all this, and such sort. I left them to cool in my room, Idk how I did it but must have slam-gripped something so hard it chipped most of my short nails & cracked one, was glad I didn't hurt my drawing hand but yeah, goofy mani

They robbed me of the joy of anticipation & the dissipation of apathy, I started to lose sleep again and my liberating dreams left me and I don't think I remember leaving bed.

But still, If not force myself to do things.. there'll be nothing for me if I don't.. at least I know im able of that

I got my guardians happy tho after another tiresome refusal, by trying out one of those Uber-eat like local apps here, since they have no car and being disabled & ill, I ordered McDonald's for the first time. Slythry behind their backs per habit, told them someone coming and they had that look again, but thankfully the guy came through and didn't steal my money, heh. For a big 1800 calories meal I suppose it was passable, the happy fam faces I got was the real treat..

Oh with that thing with the credit card stating I owe them money, waited weeks & nobody got back to us? They started taking from my guardian's account directly to pay it, saying oh we did send you warnings--- TO THE SHADOWY LINES OF THEIR POSTERIOR A.K.A NOWHERE. Thankfully the account is mostly empty nd just for random transactions, i alerted my guardians not to use it. And again, my god, another round of endless calls and promises started, and we wait again so they just don't act as if we owe them a frking 17k dollars that we don't have.. was panicking cuz I have nothing and but my guardians were weirdly comforting about it and told me not to worry

One thing good bout no net is it made me stop thinking about life in general, and stop the tiny unnoticeable prick of misery when I have no input to share, trying not to helplessly compare people just living, in inflated style or not, in media, to my isolated-most-of-my-life style and missing much of that organic "life experiences and chances", heh. At least, my situation would be favorable to me if it was ever possible for it to let me have peace, or have the simple knowledge I'm not virtually imprisoned and have never familiarised with nothing of this world but the surrounding walls.. its nice to have more time to be consumed by muse and day dreaming that flutters life through my dull being and sing chorus of inspiring means for art to flow and finds its way delicately onto my realised canvas.. but no, I continued drawing whilst sight blurred with salty droplets contradicting that happy tintin dance on tiktok I worked so long on just cuz I couldn't stop, not the tears or the mad scribbles of determined intention to visualise the mourned excitement I need, hating everything I make

Somehow the lilac dream still intrudes, visualising me friends, living, in a quaint home, maybe we roommate, arm in arm we go to make every fracture of fate's encounters a disgusting adventurous thrill, like building a maze of cardboard or chasing each other in the dark.. maybe getting that half bleached head and endless ear pericings ... then it dies and I totally forget it..

But what those awesome headphones helped me do, literally blocks all their voices listening to Sev losing it and I can Waltz around not feeling gutted to go and interfere or play the referee each time. But I can't wear them forever, gives me a bad headache, and honestly; I can't be too neglectful.. my sibs hates me for it already hehe

At least these clothing came true to their measurements, felt the new sensations on how everything I wore hugs me & learnt the baffling ways on how "gender" and region plays different tunes on the same measurements. Getting fitting things felt like suddenly there's hope to be, for myself to be me, and ease this severe disassociation between who I am, and what my body is .. from how little I see myself nd consider it worthy of anything because of how long it been living like a phantom among people.. to numb this dysphoria until it be gone one day

Saddened that the only site I can't order from again if they keep using that awful carrier

...

I missed our country's 91 national day, too. They made sales everything 91 riyal so.. but knowing the sellers here, I don't think most of em went true with their offers.. Horrible news tho on the celebrations, sigh

I turned this into a dear diary, guess bothered you enough today, sorry

So thankful to yous, Idk if I can be back, but I'll remain creating, and will keep the thought alive of being tickled when sharing my creations with your viewing pleasure somehow

'till then my precious dears, take care 💛🙏

26.9.2021, 8 pm, sleeping

[lorenfangor]

this is in the vein of my post from earlier, but -

the thing about Animorphs and disabiity is that the Yeerks are both heavily coded to be disabled and intensely, fiercely ableist toward themselves and everyone else. both of those things are textual. Aftran talks at length about how it’s unfair that she has to be blind in her natural state and she and the other Yeerks ignore or kill disabled people rather than infest them.

this thread of internalized ableism runs deep through every book, and it shifts the whole focus of the conflict.

the Yeerks are not true parasites. at no point in their life cycle do they need to take a host. perhaps they evolved the infestation traits to avoid predation or to achieve a symbiosis with the Gedd, but they do not have to take hosts. they take hosts because they enjoy the process of taking hosts (I’ve discussed host addiction before) and they feel like they’re only deserving of joy and happiness when they have the capacity to see or taste or speak or whatever. the Empire’s propaganda relies upon the self-hatred of its citizens, and Yeerks who refuse to take hosts are in fact forming an ideological threat to the regime. The YPM genuinely can’t do much except exist as an opposition force since they refuse to take hosts, but that opposition force is imo enough - they’re proving they can live happily without senses, without a host body. They’re proud of who they are as they are, much like disabled people on Earth are. they don’t have eyes, but they don’t feel they need eyes to be happy.

it’s not shocking that Taylor is the most dedicated voluntary Controller we meet, when canonically her villain origin story is being subjected to intense and frighteningly horrific ableism from her former friends and her former peer group - she’s ripe for exploitation, because she buys into the core ideology of the Yeerk Empire, which is “you are not good enough as you are and you must meet specific standards to deserve to live”. she already believes that, which makes her the perfect soldier. in fact, I daresay she probably hates herself enough to suppress her own existence and her own mind - why not just let the Yeerk use your body and be you, since the Yeerk values your physical form more than you do?

I’m on this train of thought because there’s an argument I’ve seen that basically states the whole series is fundamentally ableist because the Yeerks are coded as disabled, but are also villainous, and many of them achieve peace by going nothlit in bodies that aren’t their own (which supposedly sends a message that their bodies as they are aren’t good enough).

I can’t in good conscience do anything but wholeheartedly disagree - yes, the Yeerks are disabled, yes, the Yeerks are villains, but that’s the whole point.

disabled people aren’t possessed of magical get-out-of-atrocities-free cards that render us incapable of being terrible, and what’s more, the Yeerks’ disabled-coded status is a major reason why they’re villains in the first place. their terrible nature is the direct result of self-inflicted internalized bigotry, which is very common in marginalized spaces. on top of that, the solutions of the Yeerks returning to the homeworld and their natural state and psychologically deprogramming from harmful propaganda or bigoted mindsets or the Yeerks addressing lasting issues by voluntarily changing their bodies echoes the conflicting access needs and different perspectives across the disabled community when confronted with internalized ableism.

I don’t think this makes them more justified, more understandable, or more sympathetic. that got bolded because I feel very strongly, lol. in fact I dislike them more now - I’m disabled, and the Yeerks being disabled doesn’t make them want to kill me any less. they’re not my people when they think I should be dead for not having a functioning body or brain. but I think it’s interesting that a series criticized for its messy and problematic handling of disability actually has a lot to say regarding societal assumptions about how disabled people should be, and how harmful those are.

[mi6-cafe]

WEEK 3 DRABBLES ARE HERE!

Now, let’s refresh your memory about the prompt

We have asked our writers to write between 100 and 150 words of an acrostic drabble for NO TIME. (We wanted each paragraph to start with the given letters.)

THEY DID SUCH AN AWESOME JOB!

Now, how to vote?

Yup, that’s pretty much the method, although the writing of the individual feedback full of love is very much optional. (And yes, we’re reusing this meme from last week.)

Read the drabbles below the line (or on wordpress) and GO VOTE when you’re done!

#1

Title: Little Prick Author: sorion Warnings: none Summary: Just some bondy banter.

Now, that was just rude, Q thought, sipping his tea with his eyes on the computer screen and giving a weak attempt at not looking amused.

Other than the potted plant in the corner, nobody was convinced of said attempt, and neither was Bond at the other end of the satellite connection, and he couldn't even see Q.

The hand gesture Bond waved at the hidden camera was still rude, though less original.

"I can hear you laugh into your tea; don't think I can't," Bond's crystal-clear voice echoed through Q-Branch.

"Mmm," Q hummed in agreement. "I have to get my kicks from somewhere, Bond, and you're usually a reliable source."

Ever the gentleman, Bond conceded with grace. "Alright, you win," he said. "Provided, of course, that you stop laughing for long enough to get me out of here, so I can come home."

#2

Title: White Knight Author: sunaddicted Warnings: none Summary: bratty agents really do get on Bill’s nerves

"No."

"Oh, come on!"

Tanner arched an eyebrow at the raised tone of voice 009 was directing at him: he definitely didn't appreciate being talked to in such manner by a bratty agent - how the man was Q's favorite (besides Bond, of course), Bill would never know.

 "I'm not messing around with the line-up just because you want to go to Malaysia." 

M cleared his throat from the entrance of Tanner's office, looking coldly at 009. "Of course you're not. You should go get kitted for your own mission, 009: I believe R is waiting for you in Q-Branch."

Exhaling loudly, 009 pursed his lips and left with a stiff and parting nod - it was absolutely satisfying to watch. "You didn't have to come and save me," Bill pointed out, smiling up at the other  even as M bent down to kiss him. "Thank you, though."

#3

Title: Another Door Opens Author: soufflegirl91 Warnings: None Summary: Eve contemplates a door, and what led her to it

Now or never.

One way or another, things were about to change forever. In a way, everything from the moment she had shot James Bond off that bridge in Turkey had been leading to this.

The door loomed ahead, waiting for her to take the next step. There had been a time when she thought that with that one shot, she had ruined things forever. That any opportunity she had to prove herself in the field, any chance of a career, had crashed into the water with Bond’s body.

Instead, it had merely opened another door for her. Given her a chance to learn things she never would have in the field. The people, the politics. All the little games the field agents never saw.

“M,” her secretary greeted.

Eve nodded back at her, and walked through the door to her new office.

#4

Title: Inside Information Author: starrboned / MrKsan Warnings: content warning: alcohol Summary: Bond is back again and bets are placed.

“No,” Q said over his glass of gin, finishing it off in one swig. “Not doing this again.”

“Or you could stop being such a wet blanket and place your bet already,” Moneypenny said, poking him in the ribs. He swatted at her, scooting closer to Tanner. “We all know Bond will ‘retire’ soon enough.”

“That’s all everyone’s talking about,” Q huffed, staring at his empty glass. “He’s back, he’s off again - it’s a never-ending cycle.” Almost wish he'd stay gone, he didn't say.

“It is,” Tanner sighs, nudging his half-full pint towards Q. “But even Mallory wagered a full six months."

“Mallory did?” Q almost choked on Tanner’s beer. “That’s - that’s unusual of him.”

“Eh, said something about how ‘Bond has something to prove' this time around.“ Tanner grinned. Q felt his cheeks warm under his knowing gaze. "Maybe he has some inside information, huh?"

#5

Title: No Time Like The Present Author: storm_of_sharp_things Warnings: none Summary: Felix had been wondering if it was ever going to happen

“Not that you need to answer, but did you ever sleep with him?” Felix looked up from his glass as MI6’s Chief of Staff dropped into the chair next to him at the bar and quirked an eyebrow. It wasn’t how Felix would’ve started this conversation, but...

“Once,” he admitted. He tossed back the rest of his drink. “You?”

Tanner nodded, his gaze distant. “Once,” he said with a faint smile. “Seemed a good idea at the time.”

“I don’t regret it,” Felix said. Then he shrugged and smirked. “I think we’d have shot each other if we’d really tried to make it work. But I do miss him.”

“Me too.” Tanner paused long enough that Felix wondered if he’d follow through. “Listen, I’ve got some good bourbon back at mine. Want a drink where it’s quieter?”

“Easy answer,” Felix grinned. “Hell yes, thought you’d never ask, let’s go.”

#6

Title: Entanglement Author: Nana-chan Warnings: Summary: In which 007 and Q trade places...

“Now take your clothes off slowly,” said Bond softly. “Goddammit, Q, I said slowly.”

“Oh, do piss off, Bond,” Q hissed, dropping his shirt to the floor while Bond continued to watch him through the CCTV live feed. “Now, help me with the leathers.”

“That actually sounds very sexy, coming from you,” Bond said conversationally, his eyes drifting all over Q’s bare midriff before focusing on the contraption strapped to him.

“I suppose it does, yeah,” replied Q archly. “Never mind my predicament.”

“Mm-hmm,” said Bond, unfazed. “Not enough time. The straps will have to stay for now. I’ll start, then.”

Entanglements such as this were usually Bond’s lot, not his, but what was he to do when someone had attached an IED to his person? At least he’d dispatched his would-be kidnapper. He sighed, relieved, as Bond typed in the code he’d devised to remotely disable the ticking bomb.

#7

Title: Time Well Spent Author: IrishWitch58 / captain-magicalkitty Warnings: None Summary: A conversation over coms.

“Nine bloody days and the target hasn't moved at all.” Q could almost see the exasperated expression. Bond hated the need for surveillance and made his displeasure known.

“Once he does, I'm sure the resulting excitement will more than make up for your current boredom,” Q soothed. He managed to hide his smile from the rest of the branch late shift.

There was a disgusted snort from the coms. “You'll have to do better than that to make this up to me.” The tone was suggestive but only in the general Bond default setting. Q wasn't concerned about anyone overhearing.

“If you're still angling after an exploding pen, dream on.”

“Miser,” Bond accused, fond tone at odds with the statement.

Eventually the target would move and Bond would get the job done. Until then, they enjoyed time spent together, even far apart.

#8

Title: N O T I M E Author: hexiva Warnings: Character death Summary: Bond confronts Blofeld.

No time to think as James rounds the corner, gun in hand, and comes face to face with Blofeld, with Franz. 

Only hatred in Franz’s eyes, he reaches for his gun.

Trigger burning against James’ finger, all he has to do is pull it, end this, end this, but - 

Ivy leaves underfoot, the sky blue above them, and they’re bickering but they’re just children still, not the killers they will become, and Franz laughs as James trips, and he reaches down to offer him a hand - 

Many years ago, they were brothers. Franz knew him before he was 007. He’s the last man left who did. Everyone else is gone, and James is tired of being alone and tired of being a killer.

Every muscle in his body aches with weariness as he lets his gun drop. And he looks Franz in the eyes as Franz pulls the trigger.

#9

Title: A Change of The Story Author: scarytheory Warnings: (a little bit of) sci-fi Summary: She has seen the future. What she’ll do with it is up to her.

No time to waste when she’s got a glimpse of the future. She had seen Bond devastated by loss and full of rage. She had seen Q who was absorbed in his job, bitter and sad. And herself – composed and nice and so, so lonely. Or was it possible to change it? She decided to go to that beach instead of Bond. But before she left, she whispered to him: “You’ve got a secret admirer in the Q branch.” Will it be enough? And the girl on the beach… will she manage to save her? “Tracy!” she screamed as she was trying to get her out of the water.

“I don’t know you.” Not yet.

“Moneypenny, Eve Moneypenny.”

Eve decided that this time she wasn't going to let them be burned by the inevitability. This time, Tracy would live.

#10

Title: Let the Record Show Author: anyawen Warnings: None Summary: They've read the same reports, but have arrived at differing conclusions.

"No, I don't think so," Q disagrees with forced lightness. "Not this time."

"Oh, honey," Eve sighs, not fooled in the least. She reaches across the table to squeeze his hand. "Every time. He always comes back."

"There's no reason for him to come back, not anymore," Q insists. "M is dead, and he's finished the last mission she ever gave him. He can retire now. Live a peaceful life with a beautiful woman. And a beautiful car."

"If you think he'll be happy with a peaceful life, you don't understand him as well as you think," Eve laughs.

"Maybe he doesn't want peaceful," Q allows, "but we've read his file. He doesn't want m— this either, or he wouldn't keep trying to leave."

"Eventually, he will come home. And when he does," Eve says, sitting back and angling to speak to someone over Q's shoulder, "you should tell him."

#11

Title: TO DIE Author: Merc / moon_of_mercury Warnings: This one is depressing. Sorry! Summary: The End.

Never again...

Observing from behind his screen, Q takes in the smoking, crumbling scene of destruction. Police cars with flashing lights and blaring sirens swarm the streets. A familiar silhouette blends in with the by-passers, slipping out of his view around the corner.

This is the last time James Bond holsters his gun, dusts off his suit, and heads for the airport to catch a flight Moneypenny arranged for him.

“It’s done,” Q says into the expectant stillness of the room. It hurts a little, even though he’s relieved. The showdown could have gone so much worse, but this is just as final.

Memories of this mission will haunt him for different reasons than usual. Their blazing victory is a bittersweet consolation.

Everything ends here; even those things that never began.

#12

Title: Mission Goal: Ideas Author: Venstar /1amvengeance Warnings: none Summary: well someone had to think of something.

“Now you're just showing off.” James’s voice drawled against Q’s ear.

“Oh, I'm showing off. Did you have any other ideas? No. Spies should have faster reflexes than asking me to 'Quick hide us!' My time and equipment are very expensive.” Q hissed quietly. They were still on a mission after all.

“That kiss was a far better idea than anything I had in mind. I'm happy to pay your asking price. Are you okay Q, your face has gone all red.”

“I will murder you in your sleep. I will end you. I will scatter your body parts to the farthest corners of the globe as a warning to those that think about blaming me for coming up with all the ideas!”

“Maybe instead of murder, you should think about our target. He’s escaping.”

“Escaping my arse. Someone is going to pay for your lack of ideas.”

#13

Title: Losing and Having Author: solarmorrigan Warnings: None. Summary: Bond reflects and knows he can't have it any other way.

Never in all his life had Bond felt quite this level of terror.

Or – well, no. That wasn’t quite true.

There had been one other time.

In the murky water, watching everything he’d allowed himself to love and depend on slip away into oblivion. The fear had clutched him then, shaken him and wrecked him.

Maybe he should have listened to his own damn self when he’d designated the heart as nothing but a target.

Even so, even knowing this, Bond clutched Q’s hand, eyes locked on his bruised and battered quartermaster who had only just returned to him, and knew it was worth it. The fear of loss was nothing against the euphoria of having.

#14

Title: Dreisamkeit (Or: Bliss comes in threes) Author: Misha / artsytarts / jelly-mish Warnings: Sickly sweet fluff, watch out for cavities Summary: Della, Felix and James are toying with the idea of having a lazy day in.

Nestled between the warm bodies of her boys, Della felt content.

“Occasionally, I’d like to just... stay here. All day.”, she said, letting her fingers brush through their hair in lazy strokes. James tightened his grip around her and made an approving noise.

Then the beeping started. Felix moved, banging his fist on the alarm clock. “Gosh darn it,” he growled. Della pouted in response, until a thought struck her. What if they took a sick day? Food poisoning? Good enough story. She suggested it out loud.

“If you take the blame,” James mumbled sleepily.

“Me? If anyone, it’d be Felix,” Della grinned at her husband's dirty look and carried on: “Remember when you forgot to add water to the pasta? The fumes were noxious.”

Eventually, reluctantly, they broke up their haven of safety and rolled out of bed. Della sighed. There never seemed to be enough time.

#15

Title: Augment Author: oldestcharm Warnings: n/a Summary: Every week Q argues his case and wins. "No," M says, squinting and displeased. "Absolutely not."

"One million," Q attempts with a half-hearted smile, but he knows well enough that it wouldn't work in any other situation. He's not even trying that hard at this point, because he knows he'll win this argument every single time. "It's not that much. I should probably ask ten times that with the amount of shit Bond breaks. Remember last week? I deserve a better budget."

"Then stop supplying him with expensive equipment," M suggests, unsympathetic at best.

"I'll have you know he'll get his hands on it whether I supply it or not," Q says crossly.

"Maybe you aren't doing a good enough job at security."

"Exactly, I need a better budget!" Q insists, eyeing M with a bit of a manic expression as he sets down the tablet in front of him. "Now sign it or deal with the consequences."

Go Vote!

[astrognossienne]

scandalous star: spencer tracy - an analysis

“I’m tired of pretending that everything’s fine just so I can please everyone else.” - Spencer Tracy

This is an understatement. The total opposite of his shadow sign, Libra, two-time Oscar-winning Aries actor Spencer Tracy definitely wore his heart, his temper, and his feelings on his sleeve. As such, Tracy is perhaps one of the most brilliant and natural actors of all time. Admiration and acclaim surrounded Tracy during his long acting career; his image on-screen was that of a self-reliant man whose sense of rectitude toward others was matched by his sense of humour toward himself. His eight Academy Award nominations were the most ever accorded one performer. He appeared in 74 films from 1930 to 1967. He was also a trainwreck of a human being: he was not a likable man; Ernest Hemingway, for one, disliked him because he was “a man who could not hold his liquor” and thought miscast in “The Old Man and the Sea” — though he finally changed his mind about that film. Tracy, a true Aries, was a volatile, forceful, and insecure man. Despite his great success, Tracy was moody and a worrier off the screen, often whining and complaining about his life. He was a very complex and very private man, that was deeply haunted, but he also was surprisingly a kind and gentle soul that was very sensitive. I pitied the man, wondering why he would continue to hurt those closest to him. His will was as strong as an ox at times, and yet as fragile as an egg waiting to crack under the pressure at any given moment. He was a nasty drunk who rarely was able to sleep more than five or six hours a night. However, it is the 26-year love affair and nine-film collaboration of Spencer Tracy and Katharine Hepburn that is probably the one thing most people remember about the man whom theater legend George M. Cohan called in 1926, at the outset of Tracy’s career, “the best goddamned actor I’ve ever seen.” The tribute was echoed by directors, colleagues and audiences for the next 41 years.

A true earth and water dominant, like his famous partner Hepburn, he was a prickly and deeply private character that often kept to himself, shunning publicity and never a personal press agent. He read voraciously and took drives. Tracy was long estranged from his wife, Louise Treadwell, whom he married in 1923 after they met in a stock company. Tracy had affairs with other actresses including the equally unlikable Ingrid Bergman, as well as Joan Crawford, Gene Tierney, and a semi-serious affair with Loretta Young, among many others, but he also had an advanced Irish-Catholic sense of guilt. And one source of that guilt was the congenital deafness of his son, John. Louise devoted her life (and much of Tracy’s money) to the clinic that she founded to deal with childhood deafness. Tracy, however, had an emotionally distant relationship with John, and he blamed himself in some way for his son’s deafness. One wonders if Tracy's alcoholism, his depression, his violent mood swings, and his inability to sustain meaningful interpersonal relationships weren't caused by something other than his son's hearing loss. He certainly was not the first father to grapple with such a setback, yet other parents have dealt with far worse disabilities and challenges with much more grace, maturity, and courage. At any rate, to the very end, Tracy held onto the beliefs he was brought up with, although his actions were rarely in keeping with the beliefs.

Spencer Bonaventure Tracy, according to astrotheme, was an Aries sun and Gemini moon. He was born in 1900 in Milwaukee, the son of father John Tracy, a truck company sales manager of Irish descent and mother Carrie Brown, who came from a wealthy Presbyterian family and traced her American ancestry to colonial days. Tracy also had a brother named Carroll, who was four years older. His boyhood was marked by truancy and fighting. He was difficult and overactive, with sporadic school attendance. And twice he ran away from home. As a teenager, Tracy attended various Jesuit academies and his grades improved. He later attended Marquette Academy, where he met future actor Pat O’Brien. In World War I, he enlisted in the Navy but never saw action. He was still a student when the war ended and was discharged when he achieved the rank of seaman second class. Later, he finished high school and entered Ripon College in Wisconsin. It was at Ripon that his professors interested him in dramatics, and in 1922 he transferred to the American Academy of Dramatic Arts in New York. He lived there in a furnished room with O’Brien. In 1923, Tracy married Louise Treadwell, who held on to the title that she prized for the next 44 years, even though they began to lead separate lives off and on as early as 1933. 

He and O’Brien landed roles in a Theater Guild production—as robots at $15 a week. But before the play closed, he won a small speaking part, and when the show went on the road, he got a featured role for $42.50 a week. From there it was a steady rise on Broadway. And then came Hollywood. Tracy was scouted by director John Ford, who saw him in a Broadway play called The Last Mile. Though Tracy was content with working on stage, he was married at this point and had a son who was deaf and recovering from polio. His financial woes led him to sign with Fox and ultimately make the move to California. At Fox, Tracy was typecast in comedies and appeared in mostly unpopular films. He began to struggle with alcoholism and his contract with Fox was terminated by mutual consent. His 25 films for Fox mostly lost money at the box office. He also appeared in nine films with Katharine Hepburn. As fate would have it, Tracy and Hepburn began a relationship while working on their first film, though Tracy never divorced his wife. Tracy’s wife, Louise, stated that she would be Mrs. Spencer Tracy until the day she died. Tracy claimed that he could get a divorce whenever he wanted to, but he and Hepburn were content with their arrangement. Hepburn never fought for marriage. When Tracy was working on Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner (1967), he informed the press that this would be his last film. Tracy was in poor health and could only film for a few hours each day. Seventeen days after filming his final scene, Tracy died of a heart attack. Tracy passed away on June 10, 1967, at age 67. 

Next, I’ll cover a woman with the most perfect figure since Marilyn Monroe; the queen of the pin-ups: Taurus Bettie Page.

.

STATS

birthdate: April 5, 1900

major planets:

Sun: Aries

Moon: Gemini

Rising: Capricorn

Mercury: Pisces

Venus: Taurus

Mars: Pisces

Midheaven: Scorpio

Jupiter: Sagittarius

Saturn: Capricorn

Uranus: Sagittarius

Neptune: Gemini

Pluto: Gemini

Overall personality snapshot: If he was reading this he’d likely wonder: ‘Quick, quick, what does it say about me? Brilliant! A load of old cobblers!’ The thing is, if he slowed down a moment, he may have learned something. He had immense dynamism and nervous energy and a very sharp mind, but he could lack focus and stamina. He bored easily, be it in work or relationships. Variety was the spice of his life, so whatever he did, he needed to be in situations and with people that kept him on his turbo-assisted toes. He could have made an asset of the fact that he was a starter rather than a finisher. Simply by working with someone who could carry things through from where he left off would have greatly enhanced his self-esteem. Not that it needed enhancing, but there were moments when he wondered why nothing has come of yet another brilliant idea. He was one of the great persuaders. Words were his greatest gift. As with everything else, he was a fast mover – fast-talking, witty, with a love of, indeed a veritable flair and inspiration for, slang and witticisms. He would have been tops at telephone selling, indeed selling anything to anyone at any time.

His vital, lively, witty joie de vivre made those with whom he came into contact feel more alive. Great! The problem was that he could get carried away with his own wit and eloquence and talked himself, as well as everyone else, into shooting off after his latest enthusiasm before the last project has reached its prime. He could, and did, reach for the stars, but he simply played the star with his ready quick quips and ease of self-expression and forgot to put in the solid homework or appoint the helpers who would ensure the goods got delivered. He enjoyed herself and wanted others to enjoy themselves. He could be the life and soul of the party – a bit crazy, but definitely vital, alive, light, bright and vivacious. Whether he was partying, playing or working he liked to keep things bubbling along. There was something of the eternal youth about him: vivacious, outrageous, highly vocal and eternally optimistic. He was probably naturally creative in many directions, and not least musical. Top of the pops, or top of the classics, here he came. When he focused his attention and gifts on some idea or experience that captured his imagination, he was capable of formidable creative outpouring. But again he had to ask himself whether he was seriously ambitious or simply doing it for the laughs and because it came easily.

His bone structure was distinctive, and he probably had good teeth. His shoulders may been rounded, and physically he tended towards a wiry and lean frame. There may even have been a certain devilish look to his face. Just as his life improved after the age of roughly forty, so did his looks lighten up, and he seemed younger and more frivolous than years earlier. He was intuitive and artistic and, at times, over-sensitive. He could also be a little secretive. He had a flexible and easily impressionable mind. His mind worked in many ways and on many levels. It really depended on his mood as to how well his thought processes operated. His forte was dealing with details, the trickier the better, although he could get caught up in them. To a degree, he felt that he needed to be in control, or else the dangerous outside world will destroy him. To gain control over his environment, in particular over his working environment, he either sought to gain power and control over those around him, or withdraw entirely. Either way, a powerful self-protection mechanism was evident. He approached his work with an intensity that really came to the fore when any kind of research or investigative type of work was called for. He loved his freedom and would defy anyone to try and stop him. In whatever he did, he liked to know what was going on from the broadest outline down to the smallest detail, because he liked to be informed. This applied to all his interests. He had a very optimistic and philosophical outlook on life that supported his large-scale ambitions and visions. He simply didn’t believe that he wouldn’t succeed, so consequently he rarely failed. Sometimes he could be a little reckless and boastful, with a casual attitude to his resources.

Worldly success was well within his reach, because he possessed all the necessary talents to gain power, influence and status. He was practical, determined and patient. When there were hitches in his plans, he simply worked around them. He knew where he was heading to, and had already figured out the best way to use his talents to reach his goals. He belonged to a generation with fiery enthusiasm for new and innovative ideas and concepts. Rejecting the past and its mistakes, he sought new ideals and people to believe in. As a member of this generation, he felt restless and adventurous, and was attracted towards foreign people, places and cultures. As a member of the Gemini Neptune generation, his restless mind pushed him to explore new intellectual fields. He loved communication and the occult and was likely also fascinated by metaphysical phenomena and astrology. As a Gemini Plutonian, he was mentally restless and willing to examine and change old doctrines, ideas and ways of thinking. As a member of this generation, he showed an enormous amount of mental vitality, originality and perception. Traditional customs and taboos were examined and rejected for newer and more original ways of doing things. As opportunities with education expanded, he questioned more and learned more. As a member of this generation, having more than one occupation at a time would not have been unusual to him.

Love/sex life: He was a doubly sensuous lover, capable of making sex both physically pleasurable and emotionally fulfilling. More importantly, he was also a very practical and grounded lover. He did not let his emotions run away with him and conducted his sex live in a reasonable and generally cautious manner. Of all the lovers of this type, he was the one most likely to make his sexual allure and emotional sensitivity work for him and not against him, revealing the true depth of his luscious sensuality only to a chosen few who, through loyalty, commitment and proven honesty, have paid the price of admission. The problems in his sexual nature were rooted less in his emotional vulnerability than in his self-indulgence. His sexual impulses were so immediate, so intense and so deeply entangled with his emotions that they tended to absorb him completely. Even though he was very sensitive to the emotional needs of others, it was nearly impossible for him to think of anyone but himself when his own sexuality was engaged. He should have guarded against letting the power of his desires drive him to unwise and selfish extremes. Tracy’s wife, Louise, was widely regarded as a saint within their Hollywood milieu because of her selfless devotion to their son, who was born deaf. Tracy, on the other hand, was a noted sinner; a combative drunk who frequented houses of prostitution and was notorious for   accosting unsuspecting starlets and extras. It was only the tireless devotion of his famous lover, Katharine Hepburn that kept Tracy from complete self-destruction. Though Tracy obviously loved his frequent co-star (something that was obvious to anyone who saw them together on the screen) the guilt he felt toward his long-suffering wife and handicapped son kept him from marrying Hepburn.

minor asteroids and points:

North Node: Sagittarius

Lilith: Virgo

Vertex: Leo

Fortune: Scorpio

East Point: Aquarius

His North Node in Sagittarius dictated that he needed needed to develop a broader vision and learn to approach issues from an overall perspective, rather than getting bogged down in details or allowing himself to get side-tracked. His Lilith in Virgo ensured that he was dangerously attracted to women who exhibited a Madonna-whore complex; his type of woman made her way through the world with her sensational wits and she had no time for constricting judgments. She confronted the grittier facts of life, especially sex. She was good at sex but not as a form of sappy emotional expression. His Vertex in Leo, 7th house meant that he had a regal need to be recognized for his innate superiority on all levels. As such, this placement reflects the fantasies of a child who works incredibly hard to be praised and loved. His desire to be cherished and almost worshiped was intrinsic, and the truth is that such approbation might well have been deserved. He bestowed a loyal commitment on his partners and in his eyes they could do no wrong. He was always in a partnership of one kind or another (if only in his head), there was a sense that he was not really complete unless he was intimately involved with someone. On some levels, there was an irrational fear of ending up alone. The dark side was that he could get highly self-righteous about acceptable modes of behaviour in interacting with others and thereby alienate the very people he longed for.

His Part of Fortune in Scorpio and Part of Spirit in Taurus dictated his destiny lay in cultivating ambition and power as he fearlessly delved into the unknown. He attempted to use his power wisely. His joy was found by stripping away the outer layers of experiences and getting to the core. No plan or plot was too complex to use in his pursuit of happiness and success. His soul’s purpose asked him to create and comfort for himself and those around him. He felt spiritual connections and the spark of the divine in the tangible things around him—what he could taste, touch, smell, see and hear. East Point in Aquarius dictated that he was more likely to identify with his uniqueness, his individuality and his feelings for justice and fair play. He may have enjoyed shocking others occasionally with unconventional behaviour, designed to prove that all rules can be broken. He may have been very unique and inventive or simply eccentric and strange. He may have been rebellious in a number of areas. He was likely to identify with his mind; he may have been a great rationalizer—able to intellectualize everything.

elemental dominance:

earth

water

He was a practical, reliable man and could provide structure and protection. He was oriented toward practical experience and thought in terms doing rather than thinking, feeling, or imagining. Could be materialistic, unimaginative, and resistant to change. But at his best, he provided the practical resources, analysis, and leadership to make dreams come true. He had high sensitivity and elevation through feelings. His heart and  his emotions were his driving forces, and he couldn’t do anything on  earth if he didn’t feel a strong effective charge. He needed to love in  order to understand, and to feel in order to take action, which caused a  certain vulnerability which he should (and often did) fight against.

modality dominance:

mutable

He wasn’t particularly interested in spearheading new ventures or dealing with the day-to-day challenges of organization and management. He excelled at performing tasks and producing outcomes. He was flexible and liked to finish things. Was also likely undependable, lacking in initiative, and disorganized. Had an itchy  restlessness and an unwillingness to buckle down to the task at hand.  Probably had a chronic inability to commit—to a job, a relationship, or even to a set of values.                                                            

house dominants:

2nd

5th

11th

The material side of life including money and finances, income and expenditure, and worldly goods was emphasized in his life. Also the areas of innate resources, such as his self-worth, feelings and emotions were paramount in his life. What he considered his personal security and what he desired was also paramount. His life had an emphasis on creativity and self-expression. This included new beginnings; in fact, it included any way in which his creativity manifested itself. It showed how he was special and stood out. Also indicated an emphasis on leisure activities and holidays, gambling and speculation, romance and courtship, entertainment, sport, and sex. Globally aware, he put emphasis on  his friends and acquaintances, as well as the influence of groups and  societies on his life. His general hopes and aspirations revealed  themselves, as well as how well he functioned as part of a system. This extended to how he manifested his creativity against the background of  the community.            

planet dominants:

Saturn

Venus

Mars

He believed in the fact that lessons in life were sometimes harsh, that structure and foundation was a great issue in his life, and he had to be taught through through experience what he needed in order to grow. He paid attention to limitations he had and had to learn the rules of the game in this physical reality. He tended to have a practical, prudent outlook. He also likely held rigid beliefs. He was romantic, attractive and valued beauty, had an artistic instinct, and was sociable. He had an easy ability to create close personal relationships, for better or worse, and to form business partnerships. He believed and practiced dynamic expression. He was aggressive, individualistic and had a high sexual drive. He believed in action and took action. His survival instinct was strong. He wanted to take himself to the limit—and then surpass that limit, which he often did. He ultimately refused to compromise his integrity by following another’s agenda. He likely didn’t compare himself to other people and didn’t want to dominate or be dominated. He simply wanted to be free to follow his own path, whatever it was.

sign dominants:

Capricorn

Gemini

Pisces

He was a serious-minded person who often seemed aloof and tightly in control of his emotions and his personal domain. Even as a youngster, there was a mature air about him, as if he was born with a profound core that few outsiders ever see. He was easily impressed by outward signs of success, but was interested less in money than in the power that money represents. He was a true worker—industrious, efficient, and disciplined. His innate common sense gave his the ability to plan ahead and to work out practical ways of approaching goals. More often than not, he succeeded at whatever he set out to do. He possessed a quiet dignity that was unmistakable. He ventured out to see what else was there and seized upon new ideas that expanded his community. His innate curiosity kept him on the move. He used his rational, intellectual mind to explore and understand his personal world. He needed to answer the single burning question in his mind: why? This applied to most facets of his life, from the personal to the impersonal. This need to know sent him off to foreign countries, where his need to explore other cultures and traditions ranked high. He was changeable and often moody. This meant that he was often at odds with himself—the mind demanding one thing, the heart demanding the opposite. To someone else, this internal conflict often manifested as two very different people. He needed to explore his world through his emotions. He felt things so deeply that quite often he became a kind of psychic sponge, absorbing the emotions of people around him. As such, he gravitated toward the arts, in general, to theater and film specifically. He could be ambivalent and indecisive simply because he was so impressionable. He also tended to be moody because he felt the very height of joy and the utter depths of despair. Love and romance were essential for him. These fulfilled him emotionally, and he generally flourished within stable relationships.

Read more about him under the cut:

Spencer Tracy was the second son born on April 5, 1900, to truck salesman John Edward and Caroline Brown Tracy in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. While attending Marquette Academy, he and classmate Pat O'Brien quit school to enlist in the Navy at the start of World War I. Tracy was still at Norfolk Navy Yard in Virginia at the end of the war. After playing the lead in the play "The Truth" at Ripon College he decided that acting might be his career. Moving to New York, Tracy and O'Brien, who'd also settled on a career on the stage, roomed together while attending the Academy of Dramatic Arts. In 1923 both got nonspeaking parts as robots in "R.U.R.", a dramatization of the groundbreaking science fiction novel by Czech author Karel Capek. Making very little money in stock, Tracy supported himself with jobs as bellhop, janitor and salesman until John Ford saw his critically acclaimed performance in the lead role in the play "The Last Mile" (later played on film by Clark Gable) and signed him for The William Fox Film Company's production of Up the River (1930). Despite appearing in sixteen films at that studio over the next five years, Tracy was never able to rise to full film star status there, in large part because the studio was unable to match his talents to suitable story material. During that period the studio itself floundered, eventually merging with Darryl F. Zanuck, Joseph Schenck and William Goetz's William 20th Century Pictures to become 20th Century-Fox). In 1935 Tracy signed with MGM under the aegis of Irving Thalberg and his career flourished. He became the first actor to win back-to-back Best Actor Oscars for Captains Courageous (1937) and, in a project he initially didn't want to star in, Boys Town (1938). During Tracy's nearly forty-year film career, he was nominated for his performances in San Francisco (1936), Father of the Bride (1950), Bad Day at Black Rock (1955), The Old Man and the Sea (1958), Inherit the Wind (1960), Judgment at Nuremberg (1961), and Guess Who's Coming to Dinner (1967). Tracy had a brief romantic relationship with Loretta Young in the mid-'30s, and a lifelong one with Katharine Hepburn beginning in 1942 after they were first paired in Woman of the Year by director George Stevens. Tracy's strong Roman Catholic beliefs precluded his divorcing wife Louise, though they mostly lived apart. Tracy suffered from severe alcoholism and diabetes (from the late 1940s), which led to his declining several tailor-made roles in films that would become big hits with other actors in those roles. Although his drinking problems were well known, he was considered peerless among his colleagues (Tracy had a well-deserved reputation for keeping co-stars on their toes for his oddly endearing scene-stealing tricks), and remained in demand as a senior statesman who nevertheless retained box office clout. Two weeks after completion of Stanley Kramer's Guess Who's Coming to Dinner (1967), during which he suffered from lung congestion, Spencer Tracy died of a heart attack.  (x)

[caerulea-divilu]

FYI: Spoilers ahead.

So, I know people are praising this weeks episode because they decided to give us fodder for the king. Yay he showed up. He was on screen. We've finally seen him. He's talking to Ahsoka at the end. He's helping start the rebel alliance. Big whoop dee do.

But we seem to be overlooking what everyone's been saying they wanted in exchange for yet again glorifying the deus ex machina on the show.

I read comment after comment about we want to see Echo and Rex on screen, we want them to talk about Fives, we want discussion between them.

Fun fact: they speak what one passing line to each other in regards to Fives and then it's back to Oh-hell-no.

This show is centered on that twerp. Don't believe me? Hunter literally says to Rex "its not about us anymore". As if this show was ever anything more than recyclable plots where Oh-shut-up goes against what Hunter says and then saves them anyway. Which is interesting for a special force team who's gone on so many missions Hunter's lost count and had a 100 percent success rate, yet now they can't figure out which end of the blaster is up. And people will argue that they've never dealt with the Empire, but we forget the Seppies are the Empire and so far were batting just about 0-7 on how well the team can handle things. (While Oh-my-Gawd has a perfect 7-0) But I digress.

My point is, I read so many posts about Rex and Echo's reunion and what people wanted. Now people are wearing rose colored glasses because Rex shows up in ONE episode and we've forgotten we wanted all these other things.

Where is Crosshair? Do the creators even know he exists? I do. I remember. I'm still looking for you, Crosshair. I want your story. I want to know what you're up to. I want to see your redemption arc. And if they kill you off as part of that shame on them.

Why did Rex and Echo act like they pretty much didn't know each other? Sure, Wrecker gave Rex a big hug, but Echo? Echo who he spent countless hours with? Echo who he created strategies with? The same Echo he watched grow from shiny to ARC trooper? Echo who he went on a crazy mission just to save because only HE believed Echo has to be alive? THAT ECHO???

And then we just sweep Fives under the rug. How much does Filoni hate him to keep doing him so dirty?

And why is Echo yet AGAIN getting sidelined? Every single week. I've read how people are upset because he's disabled, etc. Totally support. We also forget that Echo is an ARC trooper. He's capable of so much more than they've currently reduced him to. Funny how Pixar could show Nemo with his fin doing great things, or Hiro was allowed to be a smart kid but also grieve over Tadashi. Echo, on the other hand or socket, seems to be worthless to the writing team (and I wouldn't be surprised if he ends up dead in order to save the brat). Clearly there's no regard for him and never was.

Wrecker, who laughed when the LAAT/i was going down in s7e1, was suddenly terrified of crashing in an earlier episode, which brings me to another side note that the writing and characterization is SOOOO inconsistent. Like, they can't remember anything they've done.

Case in point Rex is suddenly a generation 1 clone? There's evidence to prove otherwise, but okay.

Tech is shoved off to being some stereotypical asshat who finally remembered to finish the chip machine this week because the plot suddenly needed it. Usually, he's just short and snippy. A far cry from his character setup in season 7 where he was intelligent and adorably nerdy.

Hunter is...dad. That's it. He's not a leader. The only time he shows off his skills is when Oh-kill-joy is gone. I mean, I really have never seen him use the enhancement they said he has. God forbid I see the awesome knife throw maniac this man is and fully see how his enhancement works.

Again, all the boys have to be shoved into the background to let the Mary Sue shine since week after week comes to the rescue of boys who are supposed to be an elite squad.

What was marketed, is not what was given. We were told it would be about The Bad Batch and you might argue that it is, but again, Hunter says this week it's not about them. When a character is telling you something like that, it's best to listen to the writers. They're letting us know god-sue will continue to save them week after week and I wouldn't be surprised if the others died to spare her.

She is no Grogu, but they're pretending like she's that loveable and important.

I might reorganize these thoughts later. Might add. I like pictures, they make things pretty, but currently, I'm so irritated over what happened between Rex and Echo and how they did my boys dirty I could spit. I'll probably rewatch stupid for my boys and say something later about that.

Anyway, what a pity.

At least there's fanfiction...

[gumnut-logic]

Can I be cheeky and ask for a wheel spin for Scott? ^^"

I did the spinning thing and got ‘concussion’ and ‘office cubicle’

Here be the result.

Spin the wheel and send me a prompt with a character :D

-o-o-o-

Carly had been through a lot in her short time at Tracy Industries, but this took the cake.

“I assure you, Tracy, if you give yourself up, everything will go much, much better for your employees.” The man’s voice was gravelly as he projected across the office space. She couldn’t see him from where she was crouched in a random cubicle, but she didn’t need to.

The man was a villain straight out of a movie – dark-haired, more muscle than brains, he even sported a moustache out of the eighteenth century. Carly had seen one like that on one of her great times whatever grandfathers.

Mom was really into genealogy.

But none of that was important.

What was important was her boss. Scott Tracy, a man she admired beyond belief, was curled up in the cubicle with her, his head in her lap.

Of course, this was a position she may have daydreamed about at some point, but those dreams usually involved summer days and lazing in a field under a tree with a picnic rug and a bottle of bubbly.

It should also be noted that they were daydreams that were likely shared by ninety percent of the female staff in the building and in no way ever considered an actual possibility.

And never involved a gun man or his six equally armed cronies.

Mr Tracy had simply been walking towards his office. He made a point of making his way through the cubicle forest and saying good morning to any he encountered. Those who had been here long enough claimed that it was a tradition sprouted by Mr Tracy Senior before his tragic death.

Every one knew how good the Tracys were.

She had never worked in an environment where so many people so admired their employer. Even if he wasn’t in the building very often, he still put in effort. There were teleconferences, his hologram was a familiar sight as were the interruptions followed by some dramatic news story where X amount of people were saved by the same man and his brothers.

They were led by a hero.

And their work reflected that aim. Tracy Industries was a massive engine churning out so much good into the world. It still worked as a business. It had to, to stay solvent and stable in a world much less kind than the Tracys themselves. But it was the small things. The disability aids, the charity work, the environmental projects, the doing simply because there was a need. The profit margin kept so much going that was so needed in the world.

And in the middle of her office stood a man who wanted to take that all away.

“C..arly.” Fogged blue eyes searched for her as his head bled on the print of her dress.

She touched a finger to his lips without thinking. A motion she would have done for her boyfriend and never for her boss, but the massive presence of Scott Tracy had been reduced to an injured man who had almost died as the bullet clipped his temple.

There had been so much screaming as her workmates dove for cover. Whether the gunman wanted Mr Tracy dead or for some other nefarious purpose, she didn’t know. She would say she didn’t care or that it was irrelevant, but it did matter as she had seen enough movies to know that that would affect what the asshole was willing to do to get to her boss.

His hand reached up and took her finger away. “Help me up.” And he was straining to climb to his feet.

“No.” It took very little to hold him down which only proved that he should stay down.

“He’s going to hurt pe’ple.”

Carly pressed her lips together as she caught the eye of Barb in the cubicle across from hers. “You let us worry about that.”

His eyes widened and he shook his head, only to have to close his eyes at the movement.

She brushed a hair off his forehead.

“Scott Tracy! Is this one your secretary?” A woman’s cry echoed across the room. “She is very beautiful. You picked a nice one. A dead one if you don’t show yourself by the count of five.”

Scott tried to get up again, this time opening his mouth to yell something.

She clamped her hand down and muffled whatever he was trying to say just as the gunman squawked in pain. “You bitch! You bit me!” There was the sound of a scuffle and the gun went off.

Silence followed.

Mr Tracy’s eyes widened in horror and glistened in the overhead lighting. Again, he tried to rise, but couldn’t.

Carly shook her head and mouthed a silent ‘I’m sorry’. She had to blink away her own tears.

“You’re not going to find him.”

Carly blinked. That was Marcus, the guy who fixed her computer. Ever the nerd, he wore a Trek tie to work almost every day and the days he didn’t, it was a Doctor Who tie.

She bit the inside of her cheek.

The click of the gun. “And who is going to stop me?”

Barb scuttled out of her cubicle, her headset on her head whispering ever so quietly. Her eyes pinned Carly and clearly told her to keep their boss safe.

Carly swallowed hard.

The shift of an office chair. “I will stop you.” The voice shook but held strong, this time a woman she didn’t recognise.

“Me, too.” A wavery male voice.

“And me.”

“And me.”

Then there were many voices filling the audio space of the room.

“Then we will kill you all.” The gunman yelled over the ruckus, only to scream out in pain. Anger and screams overtook and Carly clutched her boss to her, tears running down her cheeks.

A roar suddenly drowned out everything. A roar that every employee knew well.

The roar of a Thunderbird.

The sound of breaking glass.

More yelling.

But no more gunfire.

Mr Tracy’s blue eyes were wet and struggling to focus on her.

Until they closed and didn’t open again.

Shit.

Her fingers scrambled for a pulse as her own staggered until she found it.

“Please, Mr Tracy.” She brushed that same stray hair off his forehead and it stubbornly flicked back.

Barb suddenly appeared, a woman in IR blue-grey beside her. Security.

“John, I’ve got him. We need Virgil in here.”

“FAB.”

Carly barely registered the exchange, only that there were suddenly hands attempting to take her boss away.

Her unconscious and possibly dying boss, Mr Tracy.

She struggled a moment, but the woman’s grip was like iron and Barb grabbed Carly, soothing words spilling all over her.

A man in green and blue appeared with a stretcher. Curt words, an examination and Mr Tracy was whisked away.

Carly found her hands empty.

“Are you okay?” A young man, blonde, blue eyes, IR uniform slashed in red. His hand gently urged her to stand. When she did, she rose into a world that was no longer a cubicle forest and more like a war zone.

Office furniture lay scattered everywhere. Several cubicle walls had been pushed over. Everyone was milling about, some angry, some crying. IR security was everywhere, intermixed with Tracy Industries security.

“Ma’am, please sit down.” A chair was found and she was deposited in it. Alan Tracy, because that is who he was - Carly knew that, as much as she knew she was likely in shock, she was shaking so much. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head. “Mr Tracy was shot.”

“We know. Virgil’s on it.” As if on command, Thunderbird Two, which had been hovering outside the windows, spun midair and tore off into the distance.

The absence of its engine roar left a gap that had many of the people in the room muttering.

“What happened to the bad guys?” She blinked.

“They didn’t stand a chance.” The youngest Tracy was checking her pulse and frowning at her.

“Who got shot?”

Barb answered. “Julie from social networking was shot in the shoulder.  Ms Kyrano says she should be okay. Took a chunk out of the bastard’s arm with her teeth though.” Barb was actually smiling.

Alan was staring at Barb, frowning.

The office coordinator caught his stare and threw it back at him. “We take care of our own, Mr Tracy. No asshole is going to mess with our family on my shift.” She squeezed Carly’s arm before turning back to the chaos and began issuing orders.

Alan turned back to Carly.

“Wow, she’s a little scary.”

Carly straightened, finally finding her spine. “We’re all the same, Mr Tracy. You don’t mess with Tracy Industries.”

Her lip trembled as his blue eyes widened.

She swallowed suddenly aware of exactly what she had been willing to offer. “We protect our own.”

-o-o-o-

[virlath]

Analysing Solas' new mural

One of the first things I noticed about Solas’ new mural is that it echoes a mural he did in DAI. 

A mural that seemingly depicts how to gain access to the Black City....🤔

The composition alone looks like his DAI mural flipped upside down. (this is found in the Shattered Library in Trespasser)

The Black City is now at the bottom, breached by the dread wolf himself. The spheres above the eluvians now corresponds to two elven figures that are flipped upside down, with their hands crossed as if they are in uthenera. 

Cole: He hurts, an old pain from before, when everything sang the same. Cole: You're real, and it means everyone could be real. It changes everything, but it can't. Cole: They sleep, masked in a mirror, hiding, hurting, and to wake them... (Gasps.) Where did it go? Solas: I apologize, Cole. That is not a pain you can heal.

🤔 🤔 🤔 🤔 🤔 🤔 🤔 

If anything this is further evidence to me that Solas’ plan actually does include breaching the Black City himself once the veil is destroyed. 

Why / what is he planning with the black city?

I think Solas wants to restore the world of his time because removing the veil is the only way he can access the black city to destroy it. I’m guessing the main motivation for his current actions is personal responsibility.

He saved the physical world by creating the veil and quarantining the blight, but the blight managed to spread from the fade to Thedas anyway despite his best efforts.

Theoretically, if no physical being ever managed to cross into the fade, Thedas wouldn’t have to contend with the blight. Entering the fade physically was thought impossible...and yet...

The old gods managed to persuade Corypheus to break into the city to claim ‘godhood’, and as a result they brought the blight to the world. There were mortal beings after all, and we know now that red lyrium only affects organic matter. It was also Solas’ act of giving the orb to the Venatori that caused the breach in the first place, enabling the growth of red lyrium in the physical world. 

Solas simply underestimated the tenacity and will of mere mortals, because he didn’t have a true understanding of them before DAI.

So after all this, I can understand why Solas is so resolute in his dinan’shiral. I just wonder what his plans are for dealing with the evanuris. From the concept art it seems like they have plans to escape.

As to what he intends to do within the Black City, I am guessing he wants to destroy the city by means of a “sun”, or titan heart, the thing at the center of many of his murals that emanates light. His orb was likely one such thing he could have used to enter the city, as shown in his mural with the orb/eluvian, but with that gone he likely has to resort to a more brute force approach.

"Pulling back the curtain. Let the light in. Let it burn."

The two elven figures

The elements in the new artwork I am most interested in are the two elven figures on either side of the artwork.

These two figures look super important when accessing the Black City, because they seem to be imprisoned within their own eluvian and not within the Black City itself, almost as if they are gatekeepers. It also makes me wonder if the monster Tamlen saw behind the blighted eluvian in DAO was in fact one of the imprisoned evanuris.

There also definitely seems to be something evil about them. The left figure in particular is depicted in another concept art captioned with ‘...the evil gods...’ in the new concept art book.

But their actual end goals and alignment remains to be seen. Are they really just evil villains hellbent on power and control, or did they actually have a good reason for wanting to disable Mythal and her source of power? 

Personally I would love to hear an opposing viewpoint to Solas and Mythal because I don’t want to believe they are all straight cut-and-dry evil. 

Light vs darkness

At the center of the black city seems to be a “sun”, symbolised by a circle with sunrays. This element is echoed in the newest trailer, behind the logos.

It is an interesting detail because not only does it echo the chantry logo and chant of light, the theme of light vs. darkness looks like it will culminate in DA4.

It is said Elgar’nan threw down his father, the sun, into the abyss. Lusacan, the dragon of night, has yet to rise. And Drakon’s prophecy foretells the return of the Maker where light overcomes darkness.

And those who slept, the ancient ones, awoke, For their dreams had been devoured By a demon that prowled the Fade As a wolf hunts a herd of deer. Taking first the weakest and frailest of hopes, And when there was nothing left, Destroying the bright and bold By subtlety and ambush and cruel arts.

I feel like this describes a lot of Solas’ own modus operandi and it’s kinda creepy how this aligns with the evanuris’ propaganda on him in Trespasser.

Beware the forms of Fen'Harel! The Dread Wolf comes in humble guises, a wanderer who knows much of the People and their spirits. He will offer advice that seems fair, but turns slowly to poison.

This is why I wonder a lot about the treachery of the wolf, and how it could be so accurate in describing the events of the Inquisition. Like, has he pulled his Solas act on the evanuris in the past???? And in what manner?

Drakon’s prophecy also describes the return of the ‘Maker’. I seriously doubt Bioware will go anywhere near defining who or what the Maker actually is, but revealing the light trapped within the Black City seems to be important in overcoming the darkness.

In dread I looked up once more And saw the darkness warp and crumble, For it was thin as samite, A fragile shroud over the Light Which turned it to ash.

Remember in DAI, the creepy chantry lady following us around in the Hissing Wastes?

In the absence of light, shadows thrive.

I’ve long thought Arlathan was built around the heart of a titan. Perhaps by using Arlathan as a quarantine zone for the blight, Solas inadvertently allowed red lyrium to thrive by sundering the titan into two, trapping light in darkness. 

By releasing the light and restoring equilibrium of both light and darkness within the titan, perhaps the titan (and its children, the dwarves) will be free to repair some of the damage the blight did to the world. 

The Stone has a will that surrounds and directs; she guides even when we are willfully blind to her influence. But she is not pure. The Stone bears a corruption as old as balance.

Anyway these are just some thoughts I’ve had about the artwork now I’ve had a proper chance to look at it. I have a lot more things I could write about but I’ll save all that drabble for separate posts.

I mean, I just have so many questions. Who are those elven figures? Is Minrathous built on top of Arlathan? Is the archon up to something dodgy? What are those wavy lines? Are the executors associated with Ghilan’nain? Ahh I have so many ideas. 😂

[hypnoticwinter]

Down the Rabbit Hole part 35

Just looking at Makado makes me realize how incredibly tired I am. “Makado,” I say, trying to put a little bit of that weariness into my voice, “please, I just want to get Elena out of here.”

“I don’t give a fuck,” Makado tells me. “Take your helmet off.”

“Makado,” I start, but she raises the gun and coaxes a threatening-sounding click out of it.

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, and reach up and pop the helmet open. 

“Now take it off slowly and drop it.”

The helmet thuds to the floor with a dull clunk. I keep my hands open, bent at the elbows, roughly shoulder-height. I guess it’s a testament to how often this has happened to me lately that I’m not particularly panicked or flustered, even though she has a gun on me. I look into her eyes; they’re about as kind as a brick wall, a far cry from the Makado I knew - well, that I thought I knew. I don’t think she’ll shoot me but I don’t want to push her. 

“Makado,” I try again, speaking softly, “I know that you’re upset, but -“

“Upset?” she laughs. “That is a big understatement, Roan.”

“As if you have any right to be upset at me,” I snort. Makado’s eyes flash but I press onwards anyway. “You’re the one who was trying to literally fucking frame me for all the illegal shit you were doing -“

“You got Peter killed,” she says. My mind goes blank for a moment before I nearly laugh. I choke it back down; if I started laughing, either out of terror or nerves or just pure exasperation, I know I’d never stop, and I know Makado would probably shoot me.

“Makado,” I say, stammering a little bit, “I didn’t - there was nothing I could have -“

“Then how come you lived and he died, huh?” she says. I think I hear a crack in her icy demeanor and I look at her - really look at her. She glances away after a moment or two, and when her gaze swings back and hits mine whatever I thought I might have seen, whatever small vulnerability, has already faded away. “How come you lived?” she asks. 

The barrel of the gun trembles gently.

“Mak,” I start. I want terribly to be angry at her but something about the way she’s acting is just making me sad instead.

“Don’t call me that!” she yells. She slips her finger inside the gun’s trigger guard and I feel my breath catch. Maybe she really will shoot me; if she’s mad enough, if she thinks that somehow I caused Pete to get…to get leeched, or whatever the hell…

“Peter was the only one who ever called me that,” she murmurs. I know I’ve called her ‘Mak’ before and she never made a fuss about it but I guess this is special circumstances.

“Pete is - was - a fully trained ranger with dozens of expeditions under his belt, he might have - “ Makado licks her lips and tries again - “he might have gone a little downhill after 2007 but he was still sharp. He would have gotten out of there no problem. But he dies and you live?”

“Was that the plan?” I ask. If I can keep her talking maybe I’ll be able to pull something, but deep down I doubt it. “You send me down there hoping I’d die in an accident or something?”

“Of course not,” she says. “But if I had to choose between you and Peter…”

“That’s cold,” I tell her. She starts to say something, but I continue before she can. “But I get it. You loved him, huh?”

“Of course I loved him,” she says, sounding mildly scandalized. “You wouldn’t understand, I’m sure.”

“Why, because I - ? Oh, whatever,” I grunt. “Whatever, Makado. Just shoot me and get it over with.”

“I don’t want to shoot you.”

“Right, of course,” I snarl, putting as much venom into my words as I can. “You want to hand me over to the feds so I can suffer for your sins, right? That’s the endgame here, right?”

She has the good graces to flinch, at least. “I don’t -“ she starts, but I shake my head.

“Whatever,” I tell her. “What happened to Elena?”

Makado looks round, her eyes resting briefly on the wreckage of the autodoctor unit. “I don’t know,” she says. “When I got down here it was like this, and Elena was gone. I was going to -“

“Kidnap her so you’d have some leverage?”

“Bitch, will you stop fucking assuming the goddam worst of me? I was planning on tracking her down and getting her out of here.”

“I don’t believe you,” I tell her, my voice flat. “How did you even know she was here?”

“Because I heard the two of you sopping all over each other on the radio,” she tells me, her voice hard-edged with disdain. “Soon as I heard she was here in DUSA, I split off from my team and rushed up here. Guess I was too late.”

“Goddam it,” I mutter. My cheeks are burning a little from the knowledge that we’d been overhead; I guess I could have assumed, but it still had felt like it had been something private, something special we had shared. Maybe I wouldn’t have broken down quite so hard if I’d known Makado had been listening in. “It must have been the Leechman,” I mutter, glaring at the gaping hunk of metal torn away from DUSA’s hull. My eyes are stinging and I wipe them hurriedly, not thinking, and when I take my hands down Makado is glaring at me very seriously over the sights of the pistol, and I realize that the quick motion nearly made her shoot me. My stomach does a backflip and I stammer out the beginning of an apology before she mutters a curse and takes a length of rope from her suit pocket.

“Hands together,” she orders me, and with a sigh I slap my wrists together and hold them out to her. She comes to me with the rope and hesitates for a moment; I know it’s because she’s only just realizing that she will have to put the gun away to tie me up. 

“I’ll hold that for you,” I offer, and in spite of herself she laughs.

“Turn around,” she says. “Hands behind your back.”

My heart is thumping heavily in my chest as I do. I am trying very hard not to imagine the Leechman bursting into here like a demon straight out of a horror movie and swallowing Elena up into its swollen leechy body. I can feel my hands trembling as Makado takes my wrists and lashes them tightly together. The rough synthetic fiber cuts into my wrists and I grunt. Makado steps away from me and I flex my hands experimentally but it’s no use, she’s tied me tightly enough that I’d never be able to free myself unless I had a knife. She’s already taken mine from the sheath on my belt and tossed it casually to the dusty, oily floor.

Elena’s dead. I can’t stop the thought from echoing around my skull, increasing in severity with each impact. She’s dead, she’s gone, I was too late. If I had just been a little quicker, if I hadn’t stopped to sleep, if I hadn’t…

“Hey, what are you - oh, Jesus Christ,” Makado grumbles. I sniff and look away from her. I try to keep it down but a quiet sob bubbles out of my throat.

“Goddam it,” I mumble. I can’t even wipe my eyes. My shoulders are shaking with the weight of it, with the weight of knowing that -

Makado sighs behind me. “You didn’t kill her,” she says. “If she’s even dead. We don’t know.”

I let out a terribly mirthless laugh. “You didn’t kill him,” Makado continues, begrudgingly. “I know you didn’t, it’s not like you put a gun to his head and shot him. I just…”

“Don’t want him to be gone,” I suggest, and out of the corner of my eye, through a veil of tears, I can see her nod.

I feel as though I might rip in two the next time someone touches me, but in spite of everything I do want to reach out and touch her, brush my thumb along the knobby edge of her wrist, feel her warmth near to me. Maybe it’s pathetic and stupid, maybe I should be spitting and cursing and swearing revenge but I can’t bring myself to. I want to just curl into a little ball and cry. 

Makado is rustling around behind me, and then I hear the click and crackle of a radio. “Peterson, Rodriguez,” she says, enunciating clearly. “Status check, over.”

A moment passes and then the response comes burbling up through the airwaves. “Peterson, checking in. I’ve got Rodriguez here with me but he’s carrying the crystal so he couldn’t call himself. Everything’s good down here. ETA 20 minutes to DUSA. Over.”

“Thanks. You were able to disable the specimen? Over.”

“Hard to say. It backed off but Emmanuel is hurt pretty bad. One of those leeches, it got into her suit and chewed the hell out of her leg. We’ve got her on a stretcher and we’re bringing her back but I don’t know if she’ll make it. Is the autodoc functional? Over.”

“Negative,” Makado says. Her voice is tight and fraying. “Negative, it’s smashed. It looks like the Leechman got here before we did. Over.”

“Shit. Well, Emmanuel is fucked, then. Do we have support from topside? Over.”

I hear Makado mutter a quiet curse below her breath. “Give me a second,” she says. “Out.”

I sniff hard and duck my head down into my shoulder, try and wipe my eyes against the rubber of the ranger suit. Makado is tapping at the pad in the arm of her ranger suit; she’s put the gun away at this point, tucking it into her holster at her hip. I could make a run for it, I reflect. Instead I fold my legs beneath me and sink into a huddle on the floor a little like a gazelle bedding down for the night. Makado glances over at me and then back at her screen. “Who’s Emmanuel?” I ask. My voice creaks partway through it, and when I clear my throat it comes back thick and congested.

“None of your business,” she tells me, a little absently. “You’d better stop crying,” she adds. 

“Fuck you,” I tell her, but I can’t put much heart into it. “Fuck you for trying to walk all over everything and try to do it your way. You walked all over me, you walked all over the team, you walked all over Peter -“

Makado looms over me, ruddy bolts of fury sparkling behind her eyes. “You have no idea, you have no idea -“ she starts, but I roll my eyes at her.

“Do you have any idea how many people are dead because of you?”

That catches her, and I get a vicious little thrill out of seeing how it impacts, how she absorbs it, how her eyes grow even wearier. She starts to say something but I start listing off names.

“The Sergeant. Peter. Slate. Erica and Marcus. Klaus. Crookshank. Euler. Ellis. Emmanuel, whoever that is. And El - Elena,” I say. I have to swallow hard to get that last name out but I manage it. “They’re all your fault, Makado. If you hadn’t gone off the deep end because of this stupid fucking crystal none of this would ever have happened. Does it really matter? Does it really matter this much? Is it worth it? Tell me. Please. Do you even know?”

“They knew the risks,” Makado tries to say, but she isn’t meeting my gaze. “You wouldn’t understand,” she says, a little bit of strength returning to her voice. “You don’t know what it’s like to -“

“To have an obsession take over your life?” I finish, and she blows a breath out.

“I’m the only one trying!” she yells. “I’m the only one fucking trying to stop all of this! That crystal is the only thing that we have that we know can shut down the Pit if it wakes up again. Getting it back should be our top priority -“

“And the last time one of those crystals was used,” I point out, “it infected - I’m sorry, how many people? - with a fucking personality-destroying disease that spreads when you feel emotions and forces you to crawl into the Pit to die.”

“We know better now,” she says, hands on her hips. “We know what we did wrong. If we don’t shatter the crystals -“

“How do you even know? Aren’t you just guessing?”

“You have no right to tell me how to do my job,” she tells me. I can see her knuckles whiten with rage. “I’m doing what needs to be done. If the Pit woke up and became fully ambulatory, it’d be the end of the world as we know it. If you think that isn’t something worth stopping by any means necessary, then you’re either stupid or insane. Maybe both. If I -“

“Okay, Makado. Whatever,” I tell her. I feel as though if I shut my eyes I’d be able to fall asleep in about a minute. My heart hurts. 

Makado glares at me and for a moment, just a moment, I think she might be about to draw her leg back and slam the hard edge of her boot into my gut, but instead she spins on her heel and walks away, fishing the radio out of its holster on her belt and talking quietly into it.

I think for a while about struggling to my feet and just walking out. I don’t think Makado would shoot me, I really don’t. I think she wouldn’t have the heart for it. Maybe she’d just let me go.

Elena’s dead. You haven’t seen the body, a little voice whispers in the back of my mind, but I don’t need to see the body. If the Leechman got her, I’m not sure I want to see the body. I would want my memory of her to remain clean. I want to remember her in the tent smiling down at me, I want to remember her hands on my body, the way her lips felt when she kissed me, the way my heart felt when she kissed me. 

I spend the next twenty minutes or so agonizing myself before the clunk and hiss of heavy machinery, burbles glutinously up from outside the rent in DUSA’s hull. With a little difficulty I manage to sit up and look outwards, and I see three orange figures in ranger suits marching up out of one of the vents leading to this organelle. Two of them are carrying a fourth on a stretcher, and the third…

My mouth drops open. The third is incredibly bulky, far more so than a normal person in a suit, and as they come closer and step into range of DUSA’s flickering floodlights, I realize that they are wearing something like a white enameled arthropod over their arms and legs, a squat mechanical spider perched on their back like a backpack. Its limbs extend along the ranger’s arms and fill out into armored gauntlets encompassing their hands.

And in their hands, hefted with an assurance and strength borne, I imagine, solely from their armor’s assistance, is the crystal, green and spiky and menacing, with an ugly luminosity flaring somewhere deep inside of it. I think again that I can see something moving within its murky depths.

Makado rushes out to meet them, leaving me forgotten, and again I consider getting up and just walking away. I think I’ve missed my chance, though; if it was just Makado, she might let me go. With everyone else here, all of these other rangers, there’s no way I’d be able to get away with it. And who knows if she’d have any compunctions about letting someone else shoot me.

Makado, to her credit, only paused briefly to tell the ranger with the crystal where to set it down before rushing to the ranger on the stretcher. Even from a distance I can tell that she’s hurt badly; her orange suit is splattered with blood and there is an enormous hole in her side. I think I can see teeth marks. One of the rangers shows something to Makado; it looks a little like a very thick, dark length of rope, and I realize with a horrible twist in my gut that it’s a dead leech. It looks to be about three or four feet long; it’s head has been torn off and it trails a thick, foul-smelling ichor behind it in a long oozing trail. 

The huddled conversation over the wounded ranger continues a while longer before the group breaks apart. The ranger with the exoskeleton carries the crystal into DUSA, moving with almost exaggerated care through the hole in the wall. He looks down at me as he passes, craning his neck around the crystal to make sure he isn’t going to bump into me. “You alright?” he asks. He has a thick Texan accent that makes me smile in spite of myself.

“Yeah,” I tell him. “Do you think you could untie me?”

He pauses. “You’re tied up?” 

“Yes,” I say, rolling halfway over and waggling my fingers at him. “See?”

“Why are you tied up?”

“It’s a long story.”

“You’re Dzilenski, aren’t you?”

“I, uh. No.”

“No? What’s your name, then? I haven’t seen you around before.”

The weight of the crystal doesn’t seem to be troubling him at all. He cocks his head at me.

“Merriweather,” I tell him. “I’m new.”

He waggles a finger at me; the servos of the exoskeleton make little whining noises as he does. “Nice try,” he tells me, but I can tell from the shape of his voice that he’s grinning. I shake my head a little and give him a halfhearted smile.

“Can’t blame a girl for trying,” I suggest, and he laughs as he stomps off towards the stairwell, the crystal glowing malevolently in his arms. 

A few moments later someone is taking me roughly beneath my armpits and hauling me to my feet. I stagger a little but keep my balance. I look over and see Makado glaring at me from a few inches away, but it seems as though her temper has died a little; there isn’t quite as much venom in her gaze as before. Without uttering a word to me she marches me out of DUSA and towards one of the rangers, standing on a small, bulgy lump of flesh with their hands on their hips. I feel a spike of fear in my stomach. “What are you going to do with me?” I ask her.

I can see Makado’s lip curl out of the corner of my eye. “I’m not going to kill you,” she tells me. “Peterson there is just going to take you up to the surface and give you back to the feds, that’s all. Then this whole stupid thing can be over and done with.”

“So that’s it, huh?” I ask, breaking out of her grasp and turning to face her. “You’re just going to throw me to the wolves? You really think that you can get away with this?”

“Roan,” she groans. “Do you think I want to fuck you over? Do you think I want to do this?”

“Well, from the way you’re acting -“

“This thing is bigger than you or me,” she says. “And I’m - I’m sorry,” she tells me. To my immense surprise I actually believe her. “I’m sorry, and I don’t want to ruin your life like I know I’m going to, but I - I have to do this. I’m sorry.”

Before I can say anything Peterson takes me firmly by the arm. Makado swallows hard and nods to him. “Take her up. There should be a contingent of FBI agents somewhere up there, I know it’s a mess but they should still be hanging around, probably yelling at Admin. Let them know she’s Roan Dzilenski, they’ll take it from there.”

“Right,” he says. “Come on, then.”

I stare back at Makado all the way over to the vent leading up to the passage out of here; she refuses to meet my gaze.

“I’m sorry about all this,” Peterson mentions, adjusting his grip on me to push a hanging fold of flesh out of the way.

“If you’re so sorry, let me go,” I tell him. He has a quiet, apologetic tone.

“I’m not that sorry,” he explains, and I can’t help but roll my eyes. “Look on the bright side,” he suggests. “You’ll be out of here soon. I’m sure that will be a relief.”

“Yeah,” I snap, “I’m sure that -“

Something falls onto my shoulder and I let out a shriek. It rolls off and slaps onto the ground with a wet, meaty thump and slithers away.

“Are you okay?” Peterson is asking. “What was that?”

I look up, knowing what I’ll see, but the Leechman actually comes at us from the side, the leeches boiling out of the fleshy wall with a noise like a million hungry mouths gnashing and chewing and slurping simultaneously, leaving the wall pockmarked and collapsing. Peterson blurts out a surprised curse and lets me go, his hands darting to his holster, but the Leechman is faster. It reaches out with a massive, dripping, writhing paw and fixes it around his head, lifting him bodily off the ground. Rodriguez screams and I hear commotion from behind, in the main organ housing DUSA, but his screams quickly become muffled and gurgly and thick. His hands and legs are shuddering and jolting like he were being electrocuted, and then my stupid, shell-shocked nerves finally, finally kick into motion and I stagger backwards. My foot catches on something and I fall; the ground comes slamming upwards to meet me and the breath whooshes out of my lungs just as the Leechman drops Peterson. The helmet of his suit is bent and crushed and although he lands on his feet, his body sways gently back and forth like a wind were catching it. The Leechman stomps past me and I cringe away from it, but it ignores me entirely. Its footsteps resound through the meaty floor and rattle my teeth in my jaws.

I am so scared I think I might throw up. Every fiber in my body is screaming at me to get up and run away, but I can’t force myself to move. “Hey,” I whisper, as the Leechman ducks its broad, wormy head and pushes into the organ. “Hey, uh, Peterson, are you okay?”

Rodriguez turns and looks at me and I scream. His face has been eaten away to nothing and his jaw is hanging from a few stringy tendons on the left-hand side of his skull. He shambles towards me and I scream again, and I hear my screams echoed from back behind me in DUSA’s chamber. It’s only a few moments later that the gunfire begins.

I kick my feet and try and push myself away from Rodriguez’s corpse. As I watch a leech crawls out of his mouth and plunges its snub-nosed head into the wreckage of his eye. The body lurches closer to me and into the light and I get a better look at him; my stomach nearly turns. I scream again and try to kick at him but he just catches my leg and drags me closer. The bone of his skull and the scraps of meat and flesh on his face are stained a dark, inky black with a dripping, noxious ichor. Without any preamble the body straddles me and shoves its fingers into my mouth. I choke and cough and try to kick and bite but it’s simply too strong. My eyes are filling with tears but I can still see the body’s cavernous mouth yawning and yawning and the body of an enormous leech slowly struggling up Rodriguez’s pitted, masticated throat. Though it has no eyes or face I imagine it leering at me, and though I redouble my efforts to get away, my throat convulsing in anticipatory terror, I can do absolutely nothing to stop what is about to happen to me. At the very last my courage fails me and I just squeeze my eyes shut and wait for the leech to barrel down my throat, wait with an anticipatory cringe to feel its needle-sharp teeth dig into my insides.

Instead I feel more than hear a horrific, bone-shuddering crunch from just ahead of me, and when I snap my eyes open it takes me a moment to comprehend what I’m seeing. Jutting from Rodriguez’s chest amid a thorny cluster of broken ribs is a bulky mechanical hand absolutely slick with gore and ichor. With a harsh mechanical whine it makes a fist and withdraws from the grapefruit-sized hole it made in Rodriguez’s chest and then seizes the body and flings it off of me. The body lands against the side wall of the vent with a wet crunch and then flops to the floor and lays still. 

“Joker,” I breathe. The robot’s blocky, flat-panelled head is staring down at me with what I imagine to be a rather odd expression. It’s pitted and stained and rusted and every couple of seconds sparks burst from its torn left arm socket. Its armored torso is battered and dented and it moves with difficulty, but it still leans down over me and with incredible gentleness tucks its blood-drenched hand beneath me and brings me lightly to my feet. A moment later it has untied my hands and I can feel the blood rushing back into them with a clustering ache of pins and needles.

I can scarcely breathe I am so relieved but I still manage to reach up and put my hand on the machine’s metallic chest. “Jesus Christ,” I tell it. “I am so fucking happy to see you.”

But before I get any more out, a tall, blonde-haired blur slams into me and wraps me up in long, strong arms and lifts me off of my feet and nuzzles her face against mine. “Oh god,” Elena says, and before she can say any more my greedy, bruised lips find hers and for a moment, just a moment, amid the gunfire and the screams, I feel completely okay.

* * *

When we finally break apart and Elena sets me down on my wobbly, weak-kneed legs, I reach up and take her face in my hands. I still can’t quite believe that she’s here, that she’s alive, that she’s okay. My heart is beating so quickly that I almost feel nauseous and I don’t trust myself to speak. Elena’s eyes are wide and slatey; they flicker over me, dancing like roulette balls, just as she runs her hands over my arms, my legs, my sides and back. “Are you okay?” she asks. Her voice is shaky. I try to speak a few times but I can’t get any words out so instead I just nod. Elena leans in and kisses me again, briefly this time, and then, with her lips brushing my ear she murmurs, “I was so scared, Roan, I was so scared that I had lost you, I thought -“

“It’s okay,” I tell her. There’s another scream from DUSA and we both jump. I grab onto her desperately as she starts to pull away. “Listen, are you alright? The gunshot -“

“I’m okay,” she tells me. “I promise I’m okay. Jesus Christ I thought I lost you. Let’s get out of here.”

Next to her, Joker shifts on his damaged heels and creaks forward further down the vent, towards DUSA. Elena curses. “Hey, wait. Stop. We have to go.”

Joker ignores her. “Elena,” I ask, “what the hell happened? Why is Joker -“

“Whatever the Leechman did to him down in the barrows jarred something loose or damaged him somehow, he’s operating completely autonomously.”

I stare at Elena. “You’re not controlling him?”

“No,” she says. “He - I think he heard our conversation on the radio, that’s how he knew to come to DUSA to get me. It’s a good thing he did or Makado would have gotten me. He burst right in through the wall, it was fucking terrifying.”

“Joker did that? I thought it was the Leechman, I thought you were dead -“

“No, no, it was Joker! Oh, god, baby you must have been so scared -“

“I’m just glad you’re okay. Where did he take you?”

Joker looks back at us, then returns his gaze to the scene inside the organ ahead. The screams have largely died down now, but I can hear Makado shouting something, and a high-pitched electric whine that sets my teeth on edge.

Elena shakes her head. “He must have been monitoring Makado’s transmissions, I think he has to have a radio receiver in there somewhere. He grabbed me and brought me down to a little organelle maybe a mile away and we just sort of hunkered down there for a while.”

“Did he hurt you? If he -“

“No, no, he didn’t, it’s okay, I’m okay. Joker!” she yells. “We have to go!”

Joker ignores her. There is a curious sense of animation about its pose and its motions, quick and precise and birdlike. As I watch, its fingers flex tightly enough to dig deeply into the fleshy wall it rests against. Again its head swivels and glances back at us and I think I can feel its nonexistent gaze resting on me. “Elena, if you’re not controlling it, then who is?”

“I don’t know,” she says, glancing over at me. “I think nobody.”

“But how could it -“

“Roan, listen, forget about that for a moment.” Her lips are tugging upwards in an irrepressible smile and I can’t help but mirror her. I want to hold her and kiss her and - “there was something I needed to tell you, something I needed to tell you face to face,” she says. My stomach swoops upwards in a surge of delight and I reach out, take her hand in mine. 

“Yes?” I ask, trying to sound innocent and oblivious.

“Roan, I -“ she starts, but before she can get more than a few words out, there is a whipcrack of thunder in DUSA’s chamber, and Joker bolts forward like a sprinter off the starting line, and we both scramble into action and chase after him.

DUSA’s wet, fleshy cavern is in utter disarray. Dead leeches are littered everywhere and there are massive stains of ichor and blood splattered all across the cavern, as though someone upended buckets of paint and flung them. A crushed, distended corpse in a black-stained suit has been driven so deeply into the flesh of the floor that it has nearly been snapped in two. Of the Leechman there is no sign, but as we watch, Makado and three other rangers come storming out of the other vent and take up defensive positions around it, hunkering down and training their weapons on DUSA’s hull. Makado is carrying a long grey brick of a rifle, bulky and supremely un-ergodynamic, with what looks like a lens in place of a barrel. I wonder about it for a moment before a sickly green glow floats into view and the Leechman emerges from DUSA, ducking its titanic head, with the crystal beneath one of its arms, held as casually as one might carry a basketball. It pauses there for a moment, peering out at the four small figures opposing it. 

Makado looks scared; her face has paled to a sickly white and I can see the rifle shuddering in her trembling hands.

I can’t see where Joker’s gone; I catch Elena’s eye and frown, but she nods upwards a little, and I see the robot just above us, clinging to the ceiling like a monkey. It seems content to wait for someone to make the first move.

Behind the Leechman an orange-suited figure takes a juddering, unsteady step into the light, and I can see the limp exoskeleton clinging to its limbs like a length of sodden rope. Another figure follows, and then another, and even in the dim half-light, lit by strobes and flashlights and headlamps, I can see their bodies bulging and throbbing with the gallons and gallons of leeches seething beneath their skin.

My stomach betrays me and I bend double and vomit, trying furiously to wipe the image from my mind, but I can still see the man’s distended belly glistening beneath the orange ranger suit, pregnant with its load of parasitic cargo, and the thought sends a wave of furious revulsion scurrying up my limbs, coaxing rank, cold sweat out of my pores.

The Leechman takes a deliberate step forward and Makado pulls the trigger on her rifle. A  coruscating lance of blinding white light jolts from the barrel with the same deafening whip-crack we’d heard before and spears the Leechman through the core of its body, blowing a meter-wide hole open clean through it and filling the air with the smell of burning leeches. The Leechman staggers back a step or two and reaches out to steady itself, dropping the crystal; it clunks to the floor with a strangely musical tinkle and I can see a few of the spikes shatter and fall to pieces.

Makado rises to her feet, a little color returning to her cheeks, and fires again. This bolt catches the Leechman through the head and forces it down to its knees. It puts one massive hand forward to catch itself and Makado burns it off. She advances on the Leechman, firing again and again until the thing is just a pile of writhing, dying leeches, slowly burrowing into the ground and the walls and the ceiling, trying to escape. The bodies of the parasitized rangers shudder and twitch but they hesitate, standing still as though bereft of any governing intelligence.

Finally Makado pulls the trigger and the gun hisses a loud, screeching complaint and vents an enormous gasp of steam from recessed ports in its side; through them I can see the gun’s innards glowing white-hot, and Makado tosses it aside after glaring down at it in disgust. She draws her pistol from her holster and trains it one-handed on one of the rangers, squeezing one eye shut and glaring down the sights.

I open my mouth to suggest to Elena that it might be time to leave, but before I can get a word out the Leechman charges past us, out of the mouth of our vent, forcing a shriek from my mouth, and bowls into Makado headlong, sending her flying. She slams into the wall on the far side of the organ so hard that I can see a Mak-shaped bruise forming in the Pit’s flesh when she flops to the floor, limp and helpless, either stunned or unconscious or dead. 

The rangers open up on the Leechman but if the laser wasn’t enough to kill it, bullets clearly aren’t going to be enough either. The three parasitized rangers surge forwards as well, wading into the fray, but the Leechman is doing the heavy lifting. I cringe back against Elena as I watch it pick up a hapless, screaming ranger and pull him in half, a spray of gore and guts flooding from the man’s cleft torso and legs. I clutch at Elena, trying desperately to get my legs beneath me, and she pulls me up and steadies me.

“We have to go,” she says. I can hear a note of hysteria in her voice. I take a shaky step backwards into the vent and feel a leech writhe and squirm beneath my cleats. Another one leaps at me and thuds into my back. I can feel its jaws working to pierce the thick latex of the ranger suit, and I hop frantically, trying to reach backwards and dislodge it. Elena brushes it off of me and crushes it beneath her boot just as the Leechman vomits a tidal wave of blunt, wriggling bodies into the pried-open chest of another ranger, struggling weakly in the creature’s squirming grip.

More leeches patter against us, driving us unwillingly out of the vent as we crawl and duck and dodge, trying to avoid them. A nerveless, exoskeletoned paw swipes at me clumsily and I scream and throw myself out of the way. From my vantage point on the ground I see Elena shove the infested ranger back and unload the entire magazine of her pistol into his gut, but the body staggers towards us still. I can see Elena’s teeth bared, a mad glint in her eyes, and I know that she is about to charge the thing and I know that it will kill her, but I haven’t enough breath to tell her not to.

Deeper in the chamber, the Leechman plucks the head off of a ranger’s pinioned, struggling body as easily as separating an apple from a tree and fling the chunk away like a bloody comet. It slaps wetly to the ground only a few feet away from me and I roll back from it, nearly mad with terror. I can see the Leechman slowly turning towards us and I am so afraid I think I might die just from fear alone.

“El - El - El - “ I try, again and again, but I can’t breathe, I can’t speak, I can’t think -

Joker drops from the ceiling directly onto the parasitized ranger, landing with a sickening crunch and a whine of servos. Its head snaps upwards and regards the Leechman with a calculating stare, and the Leechman, impossibly, stops. It seems to cock its head at Joker, and then it takes a step forward, heavy and inevitable and menacing, but before it can go any further Joker launches itself at it with a scream of straining metal and whining pistons. I struggle to my knees and brush the leeches off of Elena, checking her suit for holes or punctures.

Joker is losing. The Leechman has torn its other arm off and tossed it aside, and now it’s yanking at Joker’s leg. Joker is lurching spasmodically back and forth, trying to get free, but the Leechman has too strong a grip on it. The leeches are flowing over the robot’s metal form and in a few more moments it looks as though it’ll be enveloped entirely. I can see Joker’s head turn with what seems like a titanic effort and peer back at us, and then it disappears beneath the surface of the Leechman.

I tug Elena to her feet and take a few faltering steps back towards the vent before there is a colossal wave of sound and light and heat from behind that bowls me over and knocks me face-down in the sopping, bloodstained flesh. Elena falls over me with a scream and for a while all we can do is cling to each other and pray that whatever the hell happened is over quickly.

A moment passes, then another. I roll over and, with more than a little trepidation, sit up. 

It looks as though a bomb has gone off. There is a bloody, charred crater in the floor, and all that remains of Joker are a few metal fragments, embedded like shrapnel in the floor and walls and ceiling. The parasitized rangers have all been cut down, most of them separated into small pieces of flesh, both leech, and human, smeared across DUSA and the organelle like daubs of lumpy paint.

Of the Leechman there is no sign, and when I glance over at it, I realize that the crystal is gone as well.

After another few minutes of utter stillness, Elena and I look at each other. “Are you okay?” she asks, and I glance down at myself.

“Somehow,” I say, “I think I am. Are you?”

She pats at herself cautiously, peers down at her legs, wiggles her foot. “I think so. Did Joker - ?”

I point to the crater. “He must have exploded. Either there was some kind of self-destruct or whatever engine or motor it used was damaged, or…”

“Jesus,” Elena breathes, getting shakily to her feet. She offers me a hand and helps me up and for a little while all we can do is survey the carnage. I feel as though I want to cry and laugh and throw up all at the same time. 

I squeeze Elena’s hand. “What were you going to tell me?” I ask.

“Is now really the time?” she smiles, and I bite my lip to keep myself from grinning back at her.

“At this rate, if you don’t say it now you’re never going to.”

“Roan,” she says, putting a hand on my cheek, “I -“

There is a groan from across the cavern and we both snap around. Over there, on the far side of the wall, Makado is starting to sit up. She looks shaky and shell-shocked and terrified. She sees us and tries to get to her feet, but her leg buckles beneath her and she falls back to the ground. Elena’s eyes narrow and she lets me go, starting towards Makado, her hands curling into fists. I have a knot in my stomach.

“Elena, wait,” I call after her. She spins and stares at me and then shakes her head.

“Don’t look,” she tells me, and for a moment, just a moment, I think of going after her and stopping her from - from doing whatever she’s about to do.

But instead the coward in me wins out and I avert my gaze, squeezing my eyes shut, my insides tensing in anticipation of a gunshot. I hear Makado cry out weakly, and I shudder.

There is a loud, satisfying smack, as of fist on jaw, and then a flopping sound. I look up and see Elena wringing her hand, cursing beneath her breath, before she flips an insensate Makado onto her stomach and, folding the woman’s hands behind her, begins to lash her wrists together with a length of paracord. She looks up and sees me staring, registers the expression on my face and gives me a laugh.

“You thought I was going to kill her?” she asks, and I blow a breath out and try to calm myself before I answer.

“I didn’t know what you were going to do,” I say, truthfully.

“I’m not a killer,” Elena tells me, hefting Makado’s slim frame onto her shoulders in a fireman’s carry. “Jesus Christ,” she adds, adjusting her load a little. “This little shit is heavy.”

I kick at a piece of wreckage, a folded metal panel, bent from the force of the blast, and then reach down and with difficulty pull Joker’s battered torso out of the crater. Elena sets Makado down none too gently and comes over and squats beside me.

There’s something that looks a little like a car battery, jammed into a slot in the torso. I tug at it, using my foot to hold the hunk of metal steady, and it breaks free with a hiss like a seal being broken. “What is that?” Elena asks. I shake my head.

“BCPU - Property of Anodyne Berlin,” I read. “Mind Impulse Unit - B. Walken.”

“Walken?” Elena asks, incredulous. 

“No,” I say, “this can’t - no, that’s ridiculous.”

“What is?”

“Burt Walken was Erica’s husband,” I tell her. “B. Walken, Burt Walken. She told me he died from the psychic illness from 2007, that Anodyne had never returned his body.”

The top of the box is translucent plastic, but it’s too dark to see inside. Elena reaches down and grabs her flashlight and shines it onto the box, and we both squint at it. When I comprehend what I’m seeing I nearly drop it - for there inside the box, soaking in a briny, gelatinous fluid, festooned with wires and covered in metal electrodes and circuits, are the ridges and folds of a clearly human brain.

* * *

“What were you going to tell me?” I ask Elena again once she gets off the radio. She’s spent the last fifteen minutes begging and cajoling and cursing someone on the surface to try and get them to send someone down to get us and finally, finally gotten a begrudging affirmative. I can slowly feel my spirits rising, and Elena even gives me a secret little smile as she comes to sit next to me, sinking down against the wall of the vent with a groan of relief. I lean my head on her shoulder and she kisses me gently on the forehead. A wash of warmth floods down my arms and legs and I have to restrain myself from seizing her and clutching her to me.

“You sure I shouldn’t just leave it a mystery at this point?” she asks, and I elbow her lightly in the ribs.

“Tell me,” I insist.

Elena leans back and takes my chin gently in her hand, inclining my face upwards to her. I can see her studying me, see her pupils dilate as they flick from my eyes to my cheeks to my nose to my lips. “I love you,” she says, and my heart jumps in my chest as though struck by lightning. I can feel myself grinning madly, and then our lips brush and then fit together as though they were made to do so.

And then, when our breath has finally grown short enough to force us to break apart, we slowly rise, Elena’s hand in mine, scarcely daring to tear our eyes from each other, and begin to gather our things for the long journey up.

Continue with the Epilogue

Back to Table of Contents

[ben-10-setting-omnicrom]

Hey there, you made a post recently bashing one of mine. Totally fine to disagree but bashing other people's posts aren't the way to go about it. Both posts you were bashing were speculation and if you really had a problem with it, you could've left a comment to open up a real discussion about it on my post or the other person's.

I think you misread some of the tones in the posts. We were exploring political themes in a fictional universe. These sorts of things aren't for everyone and there's a wide variety of perspectives on the subjects. The other person's was, as I interpreted it, a "hey what if this happened" sort of post. Mine was a theory about the dynamics between species based on what we see in canon. I don't think either warranted the reaction it got from you, especially considering the fact we're talking about a cartoon. Perhaps they are darker interpretations but not impossible. No bold, declarative statements were made. No one was pushing their thoughts on others. Both were just people sharing their thoughts on possibilities we could not see in canon.

Again, it's okay to disagree. You, however, took it a step further. I deal with discourse on subjects more serious than a cartoon so I really don't care if you think there's something wrong with this but I'm getting the sense you are trying to start drama in the fandom which really isn't appreciated. This is generally a positive space and it's not hard to match the tone, even when you don't agree.

If you keep this up, I'll just block you so we don't see each others posts. Can't speak for the other person, of course, but they're a respected member of the fandom so I'm sure people would also appreciate it if you didn't go after them.

But I will ask two things of you. If you continue making posts like this, consider using a more respectful tone. I have no idea how other people you have bashed reacted but you are saying these things about real people, many of them likely minors. It's not hard to be courteous.

The other thing is to not use the delusional tag or call people insane. Maybe some people have some hot takes or discuss theories in a sphere a bit extreme for a cartoon but that does not mean it's okay for you to directly attack them. And, some of the words you used are ableist language. I am not disabled so I am not necessarily affected by it but a bar must be set and I'm setting it pretty low. You can continue what you're doing but do not disrespect people or use ableist language. Even if you don't care what I think, note that chances are people will not take you seriously if you sound like a child throwing a tantrum or speak like you're trying to hurt someone.

Even though I disagree with your tone, I will admit you weren't completely off target. You had some good points. And if you had brought them up in a respectful manner, I would have been happy to have a discussion about it. But, you didn't and here we are.

Where the hell do I even start with this?

Ok, first of all NO I'm not trying to start drama. I'm expressing my distaste on a trend I've seen in posts in the Ben 10 tag where this echo chamber perpetually spews out ridiculous baseless shit.

"A generally peaceful space" lmao, you mean like the time several users INSISTED Cracker isn't a slur and you can't be racist to white people, after a user called another one it while shamelessly and without irony claim they wouldn't stoop to bullying like @xcatxgirlx was wrongly accused of? Or the fact several users adamantly and insistently warp and twist her words to fit their delusional narrative where she's apparently the next spawn of Satan or whateverthefuck? Or the fact if you disagree with said echo chamber they'll call you bootlicker and say you have brainrot.

Also can you quit with the victim complex? I'm not going after anyone, I'm refuting claims and headcanons by pointing out no such thing is even remotely hinted at in canon.

Gods at this point I'm going to have to pin dictionary.com with how often I've had to quote people the definitions of words.

having false or unrealistic beliefs or opinions:

In other words ideas not based in reality or that can be gleaned from pertinent information. Reality in this case being the canon of the series.

Saying Ben wanted to kill Kevin because he was jealous of him saving the day in the Forge of Creation episode is FLAT OUT DELUSIONAL. Full stop.

Saying the Plumbers would practice brutality and gay bashing at the drop of a hat DURING PRIDE MONTH is utterly baseless and ridiculous, not to mention actively insensitive to irl acts of such. Their WHOLE THING is keeping the peace and anyone practicing police brutality would get jailed JUST LIKE THE NUMEROUS TIMES IN CANON THEY'VE DEALT WITH EVIL PLUMBERS.

Saying the Galvans are totally discriminating against a entire species is absolutely baseless especially when shit all is preventing said species from basically doing whatever the fuck they want. Baz-El is literally a damn archeologist after all.

You want to know what all those things have in common?

They take the flimsiest of "evidence", ignore context, and actively distort facts to shine things in the worst light possible, like a corrupted fun house mirrors from hell.

Also why would I ask for permission to document for posterity posts I reference? I'm literally only doing that shit so they can't say said posts didn't say what it did or if said posts are erased. It's no different from using the Way Back Machine to check on old posts.

Also also, like for future reference PLEASE add spaces to your posts. Your ask was honestly kind of hard to read.

[aster-aspera]

Forget-me-nots

CW: major character death, character with little regard for their own life, mentions of injury, explosions, minor original characters

Relationship: romantic DLAMP

Song is Elsa's song by The Amazing Devil. I highly recommend you go listen to it, not only because it's an amazing song but also because it plays a big part in this chapter.

Masterpost for the rest of my superhero AU (this chapter isn’t part of the main story)

Patton felt his chest squeeze tight when the message came in.

“Suspected bomb in the university, time to ignition unknown.” Aisha’s voice reported.

“Who’s closest?” Virgil asked.

“Pathos, but he’ll need assistance, the unseen have blocked all the ways out and there’s loads of civilians trapped there.” He heard the tapping of keys and assumed Aisha was coming up with a battle plan.

“Okay, Prince, Storm, you guys head over there, engage the unseen. Deceit and Vortex, you head over once you’re done and help get the civilians out. Pat, I need you to get into the uni and disable the bomb.”

Patton swallowed nervously. “Me? Wouldn’t Logos be better?”

“Ideally, yes. But he’s engaged at the other end of the city, the unseen are literally everywhere.” Aisha groaned in frustration.

Patton felt like echoing that groan. He really wasn’t qualified for this, he wasn’t very good at technology, that was Logan and Aisha’s area and he didn’t have the nerves of steel required to calmly defuse a bomb. He was really just the sniper of the group. He hoped he wouldn’t mess up this job too badly.

I can hear the cannons calling  

As though across a dream

He stared at university, where members of the unseen were walking around, herding students into the central building.

“What is their plan?” He asked aloud, mostly just to get the question off his chest. With the unseen, it was almost always impossible to know what their plan was, sometimes it wasn’t even clear after the fact.

“I have no clue.” Aisha confirmed his musings.

“Okay, there’s a sky light you can use to get in undetected. I think the bomb is in the library, so you’ll have to get there without being discovered.”

Patton looked at the map Aisha had sent him. The skylight was two floors above the library.

“Is there no way directly into the library?”

“There’s three doors, one of which is unguarded and accessible through the only other unguarded point, the sky light.” Aisha explained impatiently “So, no. There’s no other way in.”

“Alright, I was just asking.” Patton tried to defuse. He wasn’t hurt by Aisha snapping at him. The situation over the whole city was tense, with the unseen somehow managing to hold three different areas at once. The whole team had been working non stop to take back control of the city, and everyone was tired.

And I can smell the smoke of hell      

In every stitch and seam

He hesitated a moment.

“Pathos?” Aisha prompted.

“Yeah, sorry, just nervous about the bomb thing.”

“Hey, don’t worry about that, I’ll be here to guide you.”

Patton felt a bit foolish being comforted by a teen who was about ten years younger than him. He shouldn’t be placing that burden on her, he was the experienced one, he was the mentor, he shouldn’t be relying on her for comfort. Regardless, he felt steadied by the knowledge Aisha would tell him what to do and quietly headed in.

And like flowers, the bodies tumble    

Around this muddied lot      

He stared in horror at the device in front of him. He had seen and defused bombs before, but this didn’t even look remotely close to anything he was used to.

“Um, A?” He asked, sending a scan to her.

“Oh, wow.” She gasped “Okay, well uhm… That’s not ideal.”

“Not ideal? I think this is a little more than just not ideal.”

“Yeah, hold on, I’m working on it.”

“What do I do? We need to get the civilians out.”

“Prince and Storm are nearby, they’ll start evacuating, I need you to stay here and be my hands.”

“Okay.”

He heard Aisha frantically tapping at the keyboard and occasionally she would ask him to send pictures or scans of a specific area.

“Sure you can’t find a countdown anywhere?” She asked for the fifth time.

“No.” Patton sighed.

The lack of a countdown was unnerving him. While a clock slowly ticking towards your doom wasn’t exactly reassuring, it was better than sitting next to an explosive with no idea when it could go off.

Noise echoed from somewhere on the campus: gunshots and screaming.

“A? What’s going on?” He asked, shooting upright.

“We’re here.” Roman’s voice declared triumphantly, then cut off with a yell.

“Prince, you alright there, kiddo?” Patton asked, vaguely worried.

“He’s fine, just needs to pay attention more.” Virgil sighed.

“Pat, look at that red wire for me please.” Aisha cut in.

“Will you be okay?” Virgil asked.

No, I don’t know what I’m doing, I’m nervous, I’m really not qualified for this Patton thought. But he just brushed Virgil off, they’d been doing this for years, he could handle this. He had to handle this, the others were counting on him.

I cannot hear them scream    

‘Forget me not.’

What felt like hours later, but in reality was probably closer to half an hour, they still hadn’t gotten it. Aisha was groaning in frustration and cursing her wheelchair.

“If I could be there in person, I would have solved it already.” She griped.

Patton tried not to flinch at the reminder of his uselessness, she probably wished it was Logan in this room, not him.

Janus and Kiara had arrived by now and the evacuation was in full swing. The fighting had stopped abruptly a few minutes ago, when all members of the unseen had mysteriously fled. That really wasn’t helping Patton’s confidence.

Your voice it carries over

The hubbub and the hum

“Are you guys getting anywhere?” Janus asked.

“No, I can’t figure it out, I’ve never seen anything like it.” Aisha answered.

“Well, you better hurry, the evacuation isn’t going as smoothly as we would like, it might take a while longer.”

“You guys be careful, be ready to get out of there if we can’t disable it.” Patton said.

“We’ll be safe, love, but what about you?” Janus asked.

Patton ignored that question, clicking his comms off and focusing on the bomb again. There were too many civilians still in the building, he couldn’t leave till he knew the bomb wasn’t a danger anymore or everyone was a safe distance away.

And it paints the sky and circles high  

Like the beating of a drum

“Pat, you might have to consider leaving. We have no idea when it can go off and we might not figure it out in time.” Aisha said.

“There’s still too many people here, we have to keep trying.”

He wasn’t leaving yet, he had to help these people. If he stopped now, how many lives would that cost? It was his job as a hero to save them, even if it cost him his life. It wasn’t like he mattered that much anyways. He had no special skills, the team wouldn’t even have to find a replacement.

“Pat, please, it’s been almost an hour. It isn’t safe anymore, you have to come out.” Virgil pleaded.

Patton stubbornly ignored their comments, snapping at Aisha to stop worrying and stay focused. They were nearly there, they had to be.

You will scream ‘I won’t forget you’  

But I’ll cover my cold ears

“Patton, how many times have I told you it’s okay to put yourself first. You’re not going to save anyone by letting yourself get blown up. Please just listen to us and get out of there.” Janus pleaded.

Patton groaned in frustration. “This wouldn’t have happened if it was anyone else. I just can’t figure it out, I’m useless.”

“Nonsense.” Logan snapped, presumably following the conversation from where he was making his way over to them. “From the description A gave, I doubt even I would have been able to figure it out. It’s not your fault.” He finished gently.

Patton got up, feeling miserable and useless. How many people was he leaving here to die? But they were right, he wasn’t doing anyone any good staying here.

“I’m coming out.” He announced.

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

“I thought you did that years ago.” Roman joked. “I mean, you are dating four guys.”

Patton chuckled, then whirled around in horror as the bomb started beeping behind him.

“Aisha?” He asked, panicked.

“Shit! Run!” She yelled and in that moment, Patton knew he was done for.

“I love you guys.” He breathed and could hear various yells in the earpiece before the world exploded in fire and pain.

It cannot be a lie  

If no-one hears.

~

Patton watched miserably as Roman gently cut away Logan’s sleeve. Janus sat perched on the counter, watching them intently. Logan followed Roman’s movements, his eyes blurry with pain. Patton felt his chest squeeze when Logan bit back a groan at Roman jostling his arm.

“Sorry.” He muttered “Painkillers haven’t kicked in yet?”

Logan just shook his head.

Patton curled his fingers around the chair in guilt. It was his fault. He should have paid attention, should have been faster.

A roar from the entrance snapped him out of his thoughts. Virgil kicked the bike stand down and strode over to them, his hair mussed from the helmet.

“What happened?” He asked, focused and direct as always.

“Acid, Logan got burns all over his arm.” Janus explained.

“It was my fault, I should have paid attention, I should have stopped it.” Patton said miserably, then curled in on himself when all eyes turned to him. Now he was just being whiny. They all knew it was his fault, pointing it out like that just sounded self pitying.

Of course, Janus immediately started to refute it. They always made an effort to make him feel better, it was sweet. He just wished he was worthy of their praise.

“Patton, you know it’s not your fault, right?” He started gently.

Logan hissed suddenly.

“Can you watch out with that?” He snapped at Roman.

“Well, sorry I’m trying to save your arm, microsoft nerd. I can also just leave it like that!”

Janus sighed as Roman waved him over to help. Patton breathed a sigh of relief at that topic of conversation being over. Only Virgil hadn’t let it go yet.

He sat down on the armrest of Patton’s chair.

“You okay?” He asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He brushed off.

Cos although you say good day to me  

I know I don’t belong

Virgil clearly didn’t believe him and took his hand. “It’s not your fault, Pat. We can’t always see everything coming.”

“Right, because if it had been you or Janus then you definitely wouldn’t have seen such an obvious trap coming.” Patton laughed bitterly.

“There’s no guarantee we would have. Even we fuck up occasionally.”

“Language.” Virgil rolled his eyes.

“And we have years more training, it's not fair to put yourself down like that.”

Right, because even after years of being a hero, they were still making excuses for him. He still wasn’t good enough, fast enough, smart enough. Everyone in the team had their specialty, Virgil was their best fighter, Logan was smart, Roman was their medical expert and Janus was their former crime boss. They were all good at something, and where did that leave him?

He could shoot, yeah. But who needed that when Virgil could just kick all their asses by hand, when Janus and Logan could set up elaborate schemes that didn’t even require any kicking of ass to get the criminals in jail?

And although you hold my hand and say  

‘I love you’, you are wrong.    

Patton was on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He should go downstairs, join the others. He could hear their chatter all the way up in the bedroom.

The mood had lifted a bit after Roman had declared the burns on Logan’s arm weren’t that serious and they were having their customary ‘someone got hurt comfort dinner’.

Patton didn’t really feel motivated to join.

Because love does not exist here    

In this garden there’s no feeling

The door opened and Logan popped his head around the corner.

“Oh, hey Lo.” Patton tried cheerfully, but it came out sounding a bit shaky.

Logan smiled gently. “May I come in?”

“Course, it’s your bedroom too.”

“Are you alright?” He asked.

Patton felt like sighing at those familiar words. He’d heard them so many times tonight and the nights before that. Always that concern for him, their weakest member. Even though he didn’t really deserve it, even though most of the time it was his fault.

And you say the words so often    

That I barely know the meaning

“I’m fine.” He groaned “Why do you guys keep asking?”

“Because we’re worried about you.”

“Me? You’re the one who’s hurt.”

“Roman said I would be fine, the physical wounds will heal. I’m just worried about the mental ones.”

“What? Mental wounds, I’m fine Logan. It really isn’t that serious.” Patton laughed.

“It’s not the first time you’ve blamed yourself without any cause for it. I just want to make sure you’re aware it wasn’t your fault.”

“I’m aware.” Patton said. Did he really believe himself though? It always felt like empty reassurances when they told him he wasn’t at fault.

He wanted to believe his lovers wouldn’t lie to him, but they were all just so kind. They wouldn’t want him to feel guilty, even if that meant they had to lie. He wondered why they still let him come along. He just got in the way.

And when all the flowers are rotten    

And all the cannons shot  

“Will you come downstairs and join us?” Logan asked.

“Yeah, give me a minute, I’m coming.”

I’ll scream, but you won’t hear    

‘Forget me not’

~

In the end, ten people still died. Figures, even in death Patton had failed. Even then he hadn’t been able to save them. Maybe it was better, at least now, he wouldn’t be able to mess things up anymore.

His family didn’t take it well, of course they didn’t. They always cared too much, even about him.

And in years to come you’ll wander

To the place up on our hill

He wished he could hold them, just one last time. Tell them ‘it’s alright, don’t mourn, you’ll be alright’.

He watched as the Rewind team, the teens they mentored, fought with more vigour than ever before. They took the job of the grieving heroes, of him, and carried them out with a sense of honour. He felt proud, looking at them. They were so much more than he had ever been, they would lead this city towards a better future.

Aisha visited his grave, drove her car all the way up country and rolled her wheelchair along the muddy path to the spot they had buried him. It was near his family home, where his mothers could visit frequently, where he was surrounded by the familiar forests.

She cried for a while, apologized, said she should have figured it out faster. He wished he could tell her it wasn’t her fault. She had tried so hard, she was just a child, she couldn’t always save everyone.

And then you’ll cry to our painted sky

‘I loved her then, I love her still’.

The others visited too, Logan quiet, reserved, emotionless. Patton ached for him. He had lost so much in his life. It wasn’t fair that Patton had taken this away from him too.

And you’ll strew some sage and lilies ,

Roman, his tears and anger burning as hot as his love once had. He still went out to the streets, despite Janus’s urging not to. His anger needed a way out. Patton was scared for him. He would let his rage burn him up over this grief.

And roses where I rot

And Janus, sweet, caring Janus. He kept the family together, somehow. Bottled his grief up somewhere deep and drew his lovers into his arms. He only dropped the mask at Patton’s grave, surrounded only by the evergreens and spring meadows. Let the grief consume him for just a moment, cried till the pain that had curled itself up in his bones drowned him in her violent throes. And then he got up, gathered himself and walked back to the car. Now that Patton wasn’t there anymore, someone had to keep the team alive. Patton was grateful to him.

Of all the flowers you picked,

Virgil came last, after months of the others coming and going. He barely glanced at the grave. Just sat down a few meters away and stared out at the trees.

“Why did you do that?” He asked the empty air, his voice filled with tears.

“Why did you leave us like that? It’s not fair. We were supposed to grow old together, get married.” His voice picked up in speed and volume, his breaths coming quicker.

“You said you were fine! You told me it was alright to place myself first, place our family first. Why couldn’t you do that? Why couldn’t you listen to your own damn advice and think of us for once?”

‘I wanted to, god, I wanted to’ Patton wanted to tell him. He wished he had left the building sooner, wished his death hadn’t been so meaningless. He saw the pain he put his family through. Maybe he didn’t fully see his own worth, but he saw how much he meant to them. He wished he hadn’t taken so much from them.

I knew you would forget

Forget-me-nots.

[crossoversfics]

Boy Genius (Chapter 3)

(Spencer Reid x Malcolm Bright)

He had seen them arrive and when JT went over to greet the FBI agents Malcolm stayed put. Making nice with the agency just wasn’t on his to do list today. That did not, however, mean he hadn’t begun to profile their new coworkers the moment they showed up. It was less than a minute before JT was calling him over, but it was enough.

Malcolm turned and walked over to them, making sure to keep his micro expressions in check. In a matter of seconds he would learn whether these agents knew about him or not, and he wasn’t looking forward to it.

JT introduced him, “Agents this is Malcolm Bright, NYPD profiler. Bright this is-.”

“Agent Morgan,” Malcolm stuck out his hand, and Morgan shook it firmly, “And Dr. Reid”. He did not extend his hand to the doctor, but nodded instead, to which the doctor replied with a small smile.

A sideways glance told him JT was confused, he sighed, “Detective, I’m not deaf, I heard your conversation when they arrived.” 

The response was a massive eye roll from JT and a chuckle from Agent Morgan. So far so good. Neither of the agents had seem startled by his presence. 

“All right, smart ass,” JT grunted, “Let’s get to work then.”

He led both agents over to the dump site with Malcolm following just behind. 

“Both bodies were found lying in this hallway. It had been closed due to construction so that’s why the bodies hadn’t been found before we were called.” JT explained.

“Did the Unsub leave anything behind? Footprints, fingerprints, DNA?” Agent Morgan crouched looking up and down the hallway.

“Nothing that we have identified yet. What did you mean by Unsub?” JT inquired folding his arms.

“It means Unidentified Subject of the Investigation.” Dr. Reid said absently as he walked down the hall a bit, “Have we gotten anything from the CCTV footage?”

JT shook his head ruefully, “There was no footage. The techs said that the cameras had been disabled just before the phone call came into the station.”

Agent Morgan stood, “Surprise surprise, but all the same we should have it sent to our tech analyst Garcia. She might be able to make something of it.” He put his hands on his hips, “This hallway is a dead end, so the only way he could have dumped the bodies here was through the entrance we just came through. There would have been too many people.” He stopped and called out to Dr. Reid who had wandered down the hallway, “Hey, kid what’s going on in that big brain of yours?”

“Just a hunch.” The doctor replied.

“If you’re looking for the trapdoor it’s not above you,” Malcolm spoke after watching them for awhile. He made his way down the hall and gestured to the large tile squares beneath them, “Its below.” 

He knelt down and ran his finger above the cracked sealant around one of the squares, “I haven’t pulled it up yet because the forensic team needs to go over it but I’m sure this is how he got in.”

“He most likely made the phone call from here too and then he could reconnect the cameras and watch us find the bodies.” Reid surmised looking down at him.

Malcolm nodded, “That was my thought as well.” He turned to JT and Morgan, “He spent a long time planning this.”

Neither of them replied. Malcolm swiveled back to Dr. Reid who was looking at him intently.

“Do I know you from somewhere?” 

Malcolm felt his temperature rising, but the very next second he willed himself to remain completely calm, “I can’t say I’ve had the pleasure, doctor.”

Reid nodded slowly, his mouth slightly agape, “Yeah, sorry must just be my brain mixing you up with someone else.”

Malcolm forced himself to smile, “Not a problem.” He brought himself to a standing position and shoved his right hand in his pocket, “Is there anything else either of you would like to see?”

Agent Morgan shook his head, “I think we’re good for now, how about you, kid?”

“Yeah, all good here.” The doctor replied still glancing at Malcolm.

“All right then we’ll meet you guys back at the station.” JT said to Agent Morgan.

“Sounds good.” He replied.

                                                                  ~

Reid finished rereading the last of the case files they had on Dr. Arthur, and glanced at his watch. It had taken him thirty minutes and forty-six seconds which was a lot longer than it normally took him. His gaze drifted to the same thing it had been ever since they had arrived at the station. Or rather the same person. 

“This is Malcolm Bright, NYPD profiler.” 

Bright was sitting across from him going through his own stack of case files, seemingly absorbed in his work. Reid wasn’t sure what it was that bothered him about the man, but there was something, off. At first, he’d thought it was some sort of vanity on his part. It was overtly apparent that Bright was the NYPD’s darker, more worldly version of Reid. The way he read a crime scene without much more than a glance spoke of immense talent and he was clearly intelligent, probably more than he let on. 

The more he thought about it, however, the more he didn’t think it could be all excused away by something as petty as jealousy. The one thing he was sure of, Bright did not care for the FBI. Reid had watched Bright bristle in a conversation with Rossi over why he hadn’t applied at the BAU. It was the smallest clench of his right fist that gave it away. There was something there...

“Dr. Reid?” 

A voice floated past him and then echoed in his head as he realized someone was talking to him.

“Yes, sorry.” Reid blinked and his eyes focused in on Bright’s questioning expression.

“No problem. I just wasn’t sure you heard Dani say they got ID’s on the two victims.” Bright handed him another file.

“I did not, thank you.” Reid took the folder and opened it. Time to focus, he chastised himself. After he finished, he looked up to see see Bright eyeing him with a raised eyebrow.

“I’ve never actually met someone with an eidetic memory before. I’d imagine it would be very useful.” 

Reid smiled slightly, “Yes, along with its fair share of drawbacks, and the statistics for an adult having an eidetic memory are-”

“Less than one percent,” Bright finished for him. 

Reid pressed his lips together and nodded. He didn’t try to contain his surprise that Bright knew the statistics, instead he moved back to the case.

“Speaking of memory, all of the victims have a lot of background in research or the study of memories. All of them were highly educated, successful, and popular.” A thought struck him, “You know, early on in this case we theorized that Dr. Arthur wasn’t his actual name and that he was most likely not from the same pedigree as his victims.”

Bright nodded while he massaged his right hand, “That could lead to a couple of possibilities. He could have been undereducated or poor and he resents those of a higher social, educational, or economic status than him. The problem with that theory is all of these victims seem, specific. They don’t read like targets of opportunity.”

Reid agreed, “So he must stalk them then. In all cases, the victims weren’t missed for several days and that takes extensive planning.”

“Yes, but why?” Bright stood up and inspected the board, “There’s no criminal history, no dirty laundry in the families, and none of them are involved in any type of ground-breaking research or controversial studies. The last two, Tate Medford and Juan Santos, were still working on their PhD’s.”

Reid tapped his finger on the table as he thought, “The torture clearly makes him a sadist, and we established that he is a pyromaniac just based on his obsession with fire and explosions.”

“So its safe to say he was probably abused, probably by a male figure, a father maybe. I’d say an intelligent one too.” Bright mused.

“What makes you say that?” 

Reid glanced over his shoulder and saw that Hotch, Lieutenant Gil, Detective Powell, and JJ had come in. It was JJ that had asked the question.

Bright was now facing them too, “Well, just based on the victims he chooses. They all scored in the thirty’s on the ACT or over 1100 on the SAT, they all went to Ivy league schools or were enrolled in one, salutatorians, valedictorians, debate team champs, editors of the school papers, top athletes, they had scholarships, and I could go on and on and on. It looks like he is obsessed with what society deems intelligent or smart.”  

Reid licked his lips, “I agree. It all points to him being angry or at the very least needing a substitute for someone in his life that was very smart.”

“Well why does he need two of them then?” Detective Powell asked with a frown, “and then why does he just go bomb random buildings?”

“That’s the part that just doesn’t make any sense.” JJ replied, “You would think that if it was intelligence he was targeting then he would be bombing schools and museums, but its just old warehouses or apartments.”

The Lieutenant sighed, “I’d say there is a whole lot more that doesn’t make sense besides all that.”

A phone went off and everyone turned to look for the source of the sound. It seemed to be coming from Bright.

He pulled out his device, glanced at the screen, and frowned, “Sorry, I have to take this.” 

Reid noted a look that passed between Lieutenant Arroyo and Bright before he left the room but it was gone as quick as it appeared. 

Hotch sat down in a chair next to Reid, “A bomb will be going off without warning any time now. If we want a chance at stopping it we need to complete this profile so the police know what they are looking for.”

Everyone nodded and got to work. As he started reading the file on the two new victims again he realized that the uncomfortable feeling he had about Bright had temporarily disappeared but that phone call had brought it back. He needed to know why.    

[noddytheornithopod]

Okay, now that I’ve gotten all the Bad Batch controversies out of the way... I can finally talk about the actual damn episode properly.

Like I said on my whitewashing post, overall I liked it, but I am kinda hesitant for reasons I explained there. I now want to focus on the actual story itself on its terms, and see how I feel about that. Apologies if I jump all over the place.

Probably my biggest issue narrative wise was that I felt some of the stuff around Crosshair was a bit contrived. Like, I was fine with him going full GOOD SOLDIERS FOLLOW ORDERS and all that, my issue is that I feel like the others took a while to realise he was following Order 66. Like, Tech even says he can’t be certain their mutations entirely screwed up their programming, with the camera even cutting to Crosshair. And like, before that Crosshair is berating Hunter for letting Caleb escape. When Tech said what he did, I feel like Hunter should’ve probably said something like “that must be why Crosshair tried to kill the Jedi”. Granted, it probably would’ve then led to questions like why Crosshair’s genetics let his chip work and not the others (something that isn’t answered, but it’s not something I felt that needed to, different genetics affect things in different ways we can’t always predict), but like, when they’re on Onderon and Crosshair’s like “yeah let’s shoot literal child refugees”, I feel like they shouldn’t have just conflicted with him, they should’ve outright wondered if he was falling for his programming. It doesn’t break the episode for me and I guess they probably just assumed Crosshair was being his usual dickish self, but I guess that also is a reminder that this is the second time we’ve seen him, so we don’t know if he’d normally be up for killing innocents if a mission requires it (since TBB are still given missions, their thing is they just do them the wrong way). It’s just like, you’d think at least Tech would make some comment about it. As Saw said, he’s supposed to be the smart one lol.

On the topic of inhibitor chips, I was surprised that Crosshair’s was only partly working. I guess it’s because he still had a level of personality to him? The more you know, I guess.

I do think the Bad Batch work better here as many have said, I guess probably because they’re the focus of the story so they have more room to show who they are and nuances to that. My favourite is probably Tech, I tend to gravitate to the nerd characters in things. Shame he has to look so fucking white for being a clone of a brown man though. :/ Kinda like Wrecker too, even with the issues HE has too. Great, even in my main comments my issues with them are popping up. :v

On that note... I do appreciate the idea behind the Bad Batch, being clones who turned out different and it’s about accepting and embracing your differences. It’s just in execution, it’s a bit of a mixed bag. Like, it could be a commentary on things like ableism, but thing is, these characters are basically superpowered (if people weren’t fixated on bashing women they don’t like and were equal in their vitriol, you could EASILY call the Bad Batch a bunch of Gary Stus). It’s one of those things where a sci-fi/fantasy allegory is well intentioned but because of things that don’t apply to our reality, the allegory kinda falls apart. Like yes, “be nice to people different to you” is one thing, but it does lowkey feel a bit like “they’re judged because they’re better than everyone else, those stinkin regs are just jealous”. Well no jealousy is shown in the episode, in fact a normal clone calls them defects... which is weird because even if yes TECHNICALLY they are, they’re basically presented as turning out different, but those differences are things that are beneficial to them, and not impairments. I guess I feel like the message would be stronger if they actually had major weaknesses, aka why they’re “defective”, but their strengths are something they excel at so much they’re allowed to serve (which I GUESS was the idea, but we don’t know what made them defective originally and what got their mutations enhanced). And yes, you can infer things like Wrecker being “dumb” (which has its own issues, and even then he’s still competent enough on a battlefield, honestly he might even be more just impatient and impulsive and thus can’t sit still to learn more complex things), but yeah. It’s kind of a mixed message here, I appreciate what they’re going for, but like many fictional allegories, it kinda falls apart and it’s also presented in a very individualistic way.

Okay let me say something positive: AZI-3 IS BACK! I assume he got memory wiped so he wouldn’t have any memory of Fives, but I really liked him in the Order 66 arc of The Clone Wars so I was happy to see him again. Well, until he was hit with that stun blast. I hope he’s okay and able to be repaired!

Echo’s attack with his probe arm thing is pretty cool. It was also cool seeing how he was integrating into the Bad Batch. I also theorised he was most likely to be immune to the inhibitor chip out of the group, because while I felt the Kaminoans wouldn’t overlook inhibitor chips in even mutated clones (they do explain that they kept them around because they were always successful at what they do despite their unorthodox tactics), I had a feeling that the Techno Union putting all those cybernetics in his head maybe screwed with or even removed the chips. Get the poor guy some skin colour though.

I have also seen some people bring up the potential issue of ableism with Echo given he’s an amputee with prosthetics, but I don’t have much to comment on in that regard. But yeah, using disabled bodies for shock value and it being seen as a measure of humanity like in The Bad Batch arc of TCW is a trope I could really do without.

I’m liking Omega so far. She’s definitely got a different vibe to other kid characters we’ve gotten in these shows, probably because she was raised on Kamino. Also appreciate that her voice actor is New Zealander too (she’s not Maori which would’ve been the ideal, but was born to Indonesian Chinese parents). Her curiosity makes a lot of sense, she’s not just mischievous because kid. Was nice to see Hunter open up to her too.

I’m intrigued to see where they take Crosshair. IDK why his genetics allowed his chip to still work, but it’s nice to see at least one of the Bad Batch follow Order 66. I guess they decided against it for more (as much as I’d liked to have seen it) because Order 66 doesn’t just make clones decide to kill Jedi, it basically removes any level of humanity and personality they may have developed and makes them basically stormtroopers. That, and well they want our heroes of the show to be the Bad Batch, and that can’t work if they’re now the goody two shoes batch.

On the topic of Crosshair, my favourite scene in the episode was actually when Omega talks to him. She tries to empathise with him, and whether she’s just naturally intuitive or is Force sensitive in some way, she can tell that Crosshair despite everything seems to be struggling, and it’s ultimately beyond his control that he’s like this now. And then he’s off to get his chip working at full capacity and is now a full on Imperial, RIP.

Also yeah, I’m on team “Omega is Force sensitive”. It’s possible she just has some heightened abilities because she’s an enhanced clone, but the way they framed her firing the blaster especially just screamed Force sensitivity to me.

On the topic of inhibitor chips, Crosshair proves that it’s possible to make them stronger, so it does potentially mean that if members of the Bad Batch are captured, their chips could be dialed up to make them loyal Imperials. I guess one could also wonder if they could be slow for the effects to come into play for some of them, so some maybe slowly turn later on? I doubt they will go that route because they probably want to keep all our heroes around, but it’s something, especially if they eventually conclude they have to remove their chips to be safe.

Seeing Saw in the first episode was surprising but also pretty cool, especially with how the model is transitioning from his Clone Wars appearance into Forrest Whittaker. Love how he sees right through Palpatine’s bullshit, especially when he makes that jab at Tech that seems to be a bit of a blow to his ego, lol. Some have wondered why he’s so chill here, but you have to remember this is early days Saw. He’s still cautious, but he’s not paranoid and overly violent. The way some of those refugees reacted to the clones does make it seem like there’s already Imperial forces occupying Onderon (well, they’re literally out in the forest at a camp). Mainly bring that up because I have to wonder how much time has passed, and how quickly Imperial forces showed up to Onderon.

Seeing Tarkin be a dick is always glorious. He just goes everywhere and KNOWS he’s in charge, lol. It was also interesting how even if he’s feeling like he’s ready to abandon clone forces, he sees potential with Clone Force 99 if they can follow Imperial doctrine.

The Kaminoans also seem distrustful of the Empire, not because they’re against it but because they want to keep their current deal. Maybe if Tarkin heard them out the Empire would have a better army, lol. Taun We from AOTC even cameoes. I do wonder what’s eventually going to happen though, given the clones are obviously abandoned in the end, I wonder how the Kaminoans are going to take it.

Also, Nala Se is back. Yeah, THAT Nala Se. Wonder what she’s doing with Omega as her medical assistant, lol. Oh yeah, she also stopped the doors and let the Bad Batch escape. I have no idea what she’s planning, but I feel like she’s being shady, given not only the Fives stuff but also because despite having a fondness for Omega she does seem like she’s very controlling of her (after all, she’s just property to her), hence why Omega wants to get out and be with the Bad Batch.

Okay, I think that’s everything I wanted to say? But yeah, have a lot of reservations, but still curious to see where this goes despite that.