#but i think it was more a case of making existing problems worse than inventing new ones

[valtsv]

honestly the terror didn't need an entire scene where dr stanley dismisses collins' concerns to demonstrate that mental health wasn't a priority on that expedition. the men they hired made that very clear from episode one.

[sirfrogsworth]

A Scam... Tutorial?

I was watching Photoshop tutorials and YouTube recommended this video to me.

And I was already skeptical. Clarity is an extremely powerful and useful adjustment in Lightroom and Photoshop and I could not think of a reason why anyone would recommend *not* using it to the extent they were using ALL CAPS.

But I was curious if there was a new technique I was unaware of. It's impossible to know everything regarding Photoshop and I learn new stuff all the time.

So I gave the video a chance.

To quote my late father... what a crock of shit.

I have seen a few scam videos in my time, but I cannot think of ever seeing a digital art tutorial scam. I found myself angry and a strongly worded comment just flew out of my brain.

I continued...

"First, no one should use clarity and texture at 100%. And I think showing the effects at 100%, as if that is a normal workflow, is highly misleading. You are creating a problem that does not exist and then offering a solution to it. And then you are using a provocative title to attract clicks. Not to mention you may be convincing beginners to abandon clarity and texture altogether when it is one of Camera Raw/Lightroom's most powerful tools. People should absolutely use clarity and texture. That is a crazy thing to tell people.

Second, high pass sharpening is… old school. It works but it can create a lot of nasty artifacts if overdone. (Personally I find it too crunchy and prefer smart sharpen on a smart object so it is non destructive). Clarity and texture are much more modern approaches to help bring out detail and I find they actually produce *fewer* artifacts than typical sharpening filters/techniques. And if you have trouble with clarity or texture adjustments in the bokeh areas, then use a local adjustment that doesn't affect those areas. You can even do a separate clarity and texture layer and use the opacity slider and the blend if and masking just like you did with the high pass. Why are you acting like you can only make a global clarity adjustment?

Essentially you are giving a worst case scenario of a clarity/texture adjustment just so you can make your technique seem like it is orders of magnitude better.

And what is even more infuriating is that you can do clarity/texture AND you can do high pass sharpening *together*. Why are you acting like it is one or the other?

I'm so confused by your motivations. Did you invent this clarity problem just so you could make a click bait-y title so you can then sell your little panel thing? And then you used an old school sharpening technique that many have abandoned so it seems like you have secret knowledge that was lost? And I could argue it isn't even a better solution. It's just a different way to achieve similar, if not worse results.

This is like if you put a pound of sugar in lemonade and then said, "Wow, this is way too sweet! You should try my superior lemonade that has a normal amount of high fructose corn syrup."

Lastly, if clarity and texture (set at a reasonable amount) aren't enough to produce sharp, detailed results, then it might be worth considering your actual photography techniques. Modern photography with modern sensors and lenses should be able to produce extremely sharp results without having to juice the hell out of sharpening filters in software. 20% clarity and texture (if that) plus a little bit of smart sharpen is usually more than enough to bring out detail in almost all of my photos and I have never been accused of having soft images.

So, if you are getting soft results, you might need to adjust how you are capturing your images. Are you using a very small aperture like f/22 on that macro image? That could be a diffraction issue. Perhaps it would be better to use a larger aperture at the lens's sweet spot and then do a focus stack.

I mean, I can't think of any other reason a person would need to do 100% clarity and texture unless they completely bungled the actual photography or were still using a kit lens.

I'm sorry but this video is a mess."

Let's look a little closer at what he did to his example.

He started with this.

Then he applied clarity & texture to MAXIMUM. Which, again, is like adding a pound of sugar to lemonade.

And by golly, it looks pretty bad!

Then he used his secret ancient high pass technique to get this.

Which looks a hell of a lot like the unsharpened image to me. And the high pass sharpening is probably only visible when zoomed in to 100% on the full resolution image.

Which is one of the issues with this technique. It isn't even noticeable on social media—the place where the majority of photos are viewed these days.

And then after showing you this groundbreaking effect that does almost nothing, he tries to sell you his Photoshop panel.

Yes, that' looks intuitive. Just hit the blue checkmark to do... something?

And what is this green eyeball with a crescent moon inside?

Only $50!

And if you want to know what the purple X button does, you need to pay another $15 for the tutorial on how to use it.

Neat.

Just to prove this is all a scam I'd like to show you an example of my own.

Here is a picture of Otis with no clarity, texture, or sharpening applied.

And here is a reasonable amount of sugar. I set the clarity and texture to where I felt they looked best.

Wow, that looks better. Not only that, you can actually see the difference at social media resolutions!

Now let's add a pound of sugar. MAXIMUM CLARITY GO!

Yep, that looks a bit rough. Because no one does this ever.

And now let's see his high pass sharpening technique.

Barely a difference on social media.

Okay, let's try zooming in 200%. Maybe that will give the high pass sharpening the victory.

Normal...

Reasonable clarity & texture...

FULL BEANS CLARITY & TEXTURE!

High pass...

Just as I said, the high pass introduces crunchy sharpening artifacts.

I can't speak for anyone else, but I much prefer the subtle clarity and texture. Perhaps the details in the eyeballs aren't quite as crispy, but in the version that isn't zoomed in, I don't think you feel like the image is soft and the normal clarity and texture adjustment added contrast and actually noticeable detail to the image.

In the end, except for the pound of sugar, these are all subtle adjustments and other photographers might be the only ones who would ever notice. The original Otis picture was probably fine to most people. So disparaging the clarity slider was even more unnecessary.

Why does this matter?

Being a beginner at photography is frustrating. There are so many resources to choose from and it's very difficult to know who is competent and who you can trust. If someone just starting out was recommended this video they could be easily be convinced it is legit. And it could set them back in their progress because they think useful tools will actually make their photos worse. They will waste a lot of time doing a time consuming old school technique in Photoshop when they probably never needed to even leave Lightroom in the first place. They could move two sliders to get similar or better results and it would only take literal seconds.

Time is valuable to a lot of people. And he seems intent on wasting everyone's time. And what sucks is that I have no real way of exposing this dude on a scale that would do anything.

I also just really hate the idea that educational content is being used to scam people.

This is some PragerU shit right here.

[elucubrare]

i'm conceptually pretty down for the prequel as a mode of storytelling - i think it's a fun exercise to show how the worldstate of the original work came about, and when it's about a specific character, I think it's a good reason to do a character study. that said, my reaction to mentor prequels tends to be "but why tho"

I think that's because

when mentors are interesting, it tends to be because a) they have goals that have some kind of mismatch with those of their mentee; b) they have a past with hints of seediness (or worse), especially in contrast to their current image; c) they have skills that are extraordinary in their intensity or their eclecticism; d) they're generally enigmatic and inscrutable.

Thus, it seems like it should be possible to write a prequel exploring either their past or how they acquired their skills, and it's not impossible, to be sure!

However, making the mentor the main character of the prequel tends to take some of the narrative interest of both the idea of prequels and the mentor themself. "how did the Archwizard become Archwizard?" well, probably they gained a lot of experience in magic somehow, or did a lot of political manipulation in their order.* Mentors tend not to have a lot of history, so we have to invent a backstory. Ok, so they came from rags to riches and forced their way into the Mage's Order. Then they did a bunch of cool things. Which is all fine! But by becoming a more straighforward coming of age and adventure story, it loses a lot of the pull of a prequel. 3a. I think there's room in there for the mentor to be doing cool stuff while the forces of history that create the problems their mentee will deal with are slowly moving pieces into place, but honestly that's really hard to pull off in a way i feel is satisfying.

I am thinking of this directly in contrast to villain prequels, which I think are, at least, conceptually more interesting. "what are the specific choices that led a person to become the specific villain they are in the main story" is a story i think has more meat to it than "how did a hero get their skills," if only because the second doesn't need to be attached to a specific preexisting story.

I also think that a lot of cool things in mentors' backstories are cooler if you don't see them on page - "That's Orstariy, who held the bridge at Terion, and who diced all night with a demon prince for the king's soul" is a complete story that I don't think is more fun with more elaboration, & in fact without more details lets me create the legend in my head, while showing it piece by piece would make it more ordinary.

In any case. It's not that it's impossible to write a good mentor backstory, I just feel like without a good reason to exist, they don't really capitalize on the parts of the concept of the prequel that I think are most dramatically juicy.

__ *honestly i would be pretty down for the Archwizard as mostly political office - it's not like the president of a university is the Best Scholar there

[mwagneto]

Just saw your post about the many sherlock holmes adaptations and their problems and wanted to ask, what do you think are the worst and best adaptations + your opinion on the bbc show vs guy ritchie’s adaptation

PHEW okay big question. so in my personal opinion my favourite adaptation is the ritchie one and my least favourite is bbc. objectively speaking the worst ones are ... well there's a lot I'm ngl I'm very picky but probably Holmes & Watson, the absolute trainwreck that some cruel force allowed to be made and released in 2018 which is awful in every single way like it's genuinely unwatchable. Granada/the Jeremy Brett one is probably the most faithful, but i think Murder by decree and Without a clue are great takes on it, and of course The private life of SH is iconic and Russian Holmes is close to my heart because the locations and architecture etc look really similar to where i live so it's really special that way. (i actually have a tierlist of almost every adaptation I've seen, there's been more since but I've been too lazy to update it lmao)

putting this under a cut because it got LONG

i think there's several layers to what makes an adaptation great, like to ME the most important thing is that they nail the h&w dynamic, either by using the one in the books or by making it clear that they understood what the dynamic was and chose to put a different spin on it but like. if they're not obviously "can't live without each other" friends and (at least) a little bit gay then what's the point. also with modern adaptations there's smtg I've literally only seen done right ONE time, which is Holmes's drug use where everyone adapting it to the 21st century insists on keeping it cocaine or smtg similar? which, like, no????? like ppl don't seem to realise that when he was written, cocaine was like. perfectly acceptable. and Watson still worries about it because he's a doctor but that's in no way equivalent to someone NOW using cocaine and their doctor friend worrying. there's that super old post that's like "modern holmes should be addicted to energy drinks" and well yeah. absolutely that, or the way House md solved it by having him be addicted to painkillers that he gets in a kinda shady way sometimes.

n then obviously there's the cases. again this is an opinion but i think it's good when they're straight up adapted, and i think it's good when they invent a brand new mystery, but i absolutely cannot Stand when they take an existing case from the books but put their own ~special smart boy~ spin on it cough cough MOFFAT like the worst examples of this are probably the way he butchered Baskerville and ASIB because he thought he was sooo much smarter than everyone and couldn't just adapt these extremely iconic stories straight up, nonono let's make them a billion times worse.

as for Ritchie vs BBC, i don't really think i can compare them, simply because I can't be objective? like the rdj holmes movies are easily among my favourite movies of all time, not because they're so outstandingly good but simply because I'm so attached to them, while even a mention of BBC can send me into feral dog mode. not to mention my history w them is 1. complicated 2. inherently tied to each other so yeah i don't think an objective comparison from me is really possible, at least if i want to avoid making this response a 10 hour read. but umm if i wanna go by key points:

1. i think rdj absolutely nails the h&w dynamic while bbc completely butchers it

2. rdj kinda expands his drug use but i think it works rly well with the kinda person his holmes is, i fucking hate the way bbc treats his drug use and the only slightly nice moment about it was in the unaired pilot that. well. didn't air

3. i haaaaate the way rdj handles irene and i fucking. despise beyond words the way bbc handles irene. i dont think i have ever seen irene adapted well it's fucking miserable

4. i think the cases in rdj are... fine? they're not good tbh as in like if i was here for a mystery I wouldn't really like it BUT they're original and written in a way where they give you, the viewer, all the clues that Holmes has, so you have the ability to figure out the solutions along with him, which is crucial to any sh adaptation (and mystery in general). it's also camp and fun and ridiculous which i really like so yea no complaints from me. bbc on the other hand. god. jesus. well i mentioned this before but i fucking hate the way they adapt every story to be almost the same but way way worse because they think they're so much smarter than the books AND the viewers. and this segways into

5. aka their treatment of watson. i fawking love rdj watson i think he's one of the best watsons out there and i like him coz of his whole attitude and personality but i also think he's written extremely well in that so often adaptations fall into the trap i mentioned in the other post where they think holmes is the smartest specialest boy ever and they're just like him fr and he doesn't need anyone so watson is either just some useless guy trying and failing to keep up with holmes or a straight up punching bag. but here they actually make Watson not just competent but absolutely indispensable to both Holmes and the story, it's clear that Holmes both relies on him in things he doesn't know as well as Watson does (crucial!!!!!) and trusts him (watson) to figure things out almost as well as he (holmes) can which i think are incredibly good and important things to put in an adaptation because at the end of the day it's holmes and watson not holmes and some guy who's sometimes there to be talked at and not understand things. which of course brings me to bbc where . literally the only thing john does is get kidnapped like he's barely even there for the cases let alone HELP in any way. so yeah.

this could go on to be incredibly long because i am. absolutely insane about sherlock holmes but I'm gonna end it here, if you have any questions feel free to ask, i (evidently) really love talking about them so

[edgybutnotveryedgy]

Just finished power players. Very good actually. Like surprisingly good. I wouldn't put it on the same level as miraculous or zak storm, but its just so campy and fun. I feel like it really captures what it's like to be a kid. Watching it i couldn't help but think of the games i came up with when i played with my own toys. It also has some really wholesome vibes, and there's a found family theme in it which i am definitely biased to.

That being said, i have so many questions that im not sure will ever be answered. Maybe one day zag will make another season? It is more recent then zak storm, so id say there may be hope for it?. Idk.

It really sucks though, because as much as i like miraculous, zag has some other shows that are overshadowed by its popularity. The worst case is Zak Storm, which is by all means a better show in most aspects than Miraculous, but i guess miraculous ended up being more marketable? From what i can tell, the networks that aired both zak storm and power players are not doing those shows any favors.

I believe zak storm aired on discovery kids or something? Which is a channel that i didn't even know existed. Then power players did play on cartoon network, but it looks like it was a show on their website, so it may not have even seen airtime on television. And if it did, it was probably aired early morning where cartoon network airs all the shows it doesn't care about.

As for ghost force, i have to say it is the weakest show from zag. That's not to say it's bad or that i don't like it, but it just has really weak writing at times, and the episode pacing is worse then miraculous. This would be understandable seeing as it is made to fit into the 11 minute segment whereas miraculous fits the 30 minute segment, but power players is also 11 minute episodes, and the pacing is far better. And by all means, even though power players does get repetitive in its episode formula, it feels far more inventive then ghost force.

I feel like the biggest problem that ghost force has though is that it is trying to be like miraculous. Like as different as the shows are, there are way more similarities then zak storm or power players have to miraculous. For goodness sake ghost force even has a food vendor character, and even though there are 2 other main leads the focus goes on the main girl (i do enjoy liv, but I'd like to see more from mike and andy), or should i mention how one of the main leads is rich and has a strained relationship with his single rich father?

I do think that one good thing going for ghost force is that since it is airing on disney channel, i believe it will get more eyes on it, which will give it plenty of room to grow into its own. Like there is a lot of potential there. So many of the story ideas and characters are interesting, and there are some interesting mysteries that I'd like to see solved. At the same time, it just really sucks that zak storm will probably never get the 2nd season it was renewed for.

[zukkacore]

Whitewashing in AtlaLok: the Western & Christian Influence on s2 of LoK

Ok, so i’m not a big brained expert on all things indigenous or even all things asian but I do think bryke's christian & western worldview seeps so far into season 2 of LoK that i think out of every season it’s by far the most unsalvageable out of everything they’ve ever done in the Atlaverse and is a very insidious kind of whitewashing. I know that sounds hefty but here’s what I mean

For the record, I’m a mixed filipino person & while there is religious diversity among filipinos, more than i think ppl realize or that the catholic majority is willing to let on, when we were colonized a large percent of the population was indeed forced to convert to catholicism so that’s my background, & i don’t know everything about taoism or the what the tai chi symbol represents but the way Bryke westernize the concept of Yin and Yang is honestly… kinda bewildering. They get so many details about yin & yang wrong?? & Yes, it’s possible they could’ve been trying to create their own lore that differentiates itself from the traditional depictions of Yin & Yang, but in the end i think it doesn’t matter b/c the lore they invent is a very obviously western interpretation of the concept of “balance”.

The most important and honestly worst change they make is that concepts of “light” and “dark” are completely oversimplified and flattened to represent basically “good” and “evil” (which, the light and dark side are a bit more complex than representing just “peace/order vs. Chaos” like the show might imply but we don’t even have time for that, but is funny how they get the genders wrong. Like. Traditionally, light is usually coded masculine and dark is usually coded feminine, but never mind that, that’s just a tangent). This really simplifies the nuance of the s2 conflict and makes it a lot less interesting, not to mention just—misrepresents a very real religious philosophy?

And for the record, a piece of media going out of its way to do "the show, don’t tell" thing of stating in the text that “oh, light and dark are not the same thing as good vs. evil” without actually displaying that difference through the writing is just lip service, and its poor writing. A lot of pieces of media do this, but i think s2 of LoK is particularly egregious. The point of this philosophy of balance is that you aren’t supposed to moralize about which side is “good” or “bad”, or even really which one is “better” or “worse”. Even if the show states the concepts are not interchangeable, if the media in question continually frames one side (and almost always its “chaos/darkness”) as the “evil” side, then the supposed distinction between “light vs. dark” and “good vs. evil” is made moot. And besides the occasional offhand remark that implies more nuance without actually delivering, Vaatu is basically stock evil incarnate.

This depiction of conflict as “defeating a singular representation of total evil” isn’t solely christian, but it is definitely present in christian beliefs. And I think those kinds of stories can be done well, but in this case, in a world filled entirely of asian, Pacific Islander & inuit poc, to me it feels like a form of subtle whitewashing? B/c you’re taking characters that probably wouldn’t have christian beliefs, and imposing a christian worldview onto them. Not to mention removes what could have been an interesting conflict of any nuance and intrigue… and honestly, sucks, because I do think s2 has the bones of an interesting idea, mostly b/c there are potential themes that could’ve been explored—I know this b/c they were already explored in a movie that exists, and it’s name is Princess Mononoke! It has a lot of the same elements—tension between spirits and humanity, destruction of nature in the face of rapid industrialization, moral ambiguity where there are no easy or fast answers and both sides have sympathetic and understandable points of view. (Unsurprising b/c Miyazaki is Japanese & Japanese culture has a lot of influence from Buddhism, Taoism, Shintoism, etc)

Bryke’s western & christian worldview also totally seeps into the characterization of Unalaq, the antagonist of the season which is a real problem. I’m in the middle of rewatching s2 right now and what struck me is that….. Unalaq comes across kinda ecofash AND fundamentalist which is 1) seems like an odd combination but maybe it really isn’t? 2) i think is a really tacky choice considering that the water tribes take the majority of its inspiration from inuit and polynesian indigenous cultures.

I honestly forgot abt this but Unalaq gives this whole lame speech abt how the SWT & humans as a whole suck b/c of their lack of spiritual connection & it was really eerie to me b/c "humans are morally bankrupt and they must be wiped out/punished for their destruction of the environment" is total ecofash logic bc it blames all of humanity for damage caused by those in power—be they capitalists or whoever. It’s a worldview that blames the poor and powerless for something they have no say in, and has real eugenics undertones bc with every implication of culling, there has to be someone who appoints themself the job of culling—of who is and isn’t worthy of death.

This belief also struck me as......... kinda christian in it's logic as well which is WEIRD b/c once again........ their cultural inspirations are DEFINITELY not christian...... The whole "man is inherently evil and must spend their whole lifetime repenting/must face punishment for it’s wickedness" thing and the way that christianity treats humanity as born with original sin or inherently corrupt—as well as above or separate from nature are really stronger undertones in Unalaqs worldview....... which isn't really an indigenous way or thinking.

I'm generalizing of course but from what I have seen from the indigenous people who speak on this is that (feel free to point out or correct me if i’m mostly generalizing abt Native Americans and not other indigenous cultures & there are some differences here) is that while native tribes are not monolithic and do vary wildly, there are a lot of common threads and that reverence and respect toward nature and your surroundings is an important tenant of indigenous beliefs. (I specifically remember the hosts on All My Relations saying essentially that we humans are a part of nature, we are not separate from it, and humans are not superior to animals—I’m paraphrasing but that is the gist of it)

So, yeah, I think it’s just really distasteful to write an indigenous character who is characterized in a way that’s way more in line with a christian fundamentalist & wants to bring about a ragnarok style apocalypse end of the world when that isn’t really a tenant of our beliefs? (btw, the way the end of the world is framed is also kinda fucked up? If i were being charitable, I could say that maybe s2’s storyline is a corruption of the hindu depiction of the end of the world, but even that sounds mildly insulting for reasons I won’t get into b/c i am Not The Expert On Hinduism. I will say that once again, the framing of the concept is all wrong, the show views the idea of apocalypse through a very western lense)

To wrap this up, I think the depiction of Unalaq could *maybe* work b/c he is the antagonist, so someone who strays from the NWT cultural tradition in a way that makes his view of morality more black and white wouldn’t be a *horrible* idea for the bad guy of the season. Especially because the introduction of capitalism to the A:TLA universe could probably cause a substantial shifts to… idk, everything i guess, b/c capitalism is so corrosive. Like. Sometimes people are just traitors. I do think it would be interesting to portray the way capitalism manifests in a society without white christians. Like… I do think there are a lot of ways secular christianity and capitalism are interlinked. But Unalaq is not portrayed as an outsider, he’s portrayed as hyper-traditionalist in a way that’s vilified? I guess rightly so, he does suck, but it’s just hard to conceptualize how a person like Unalaq comes to exist in the first place. In the end, I don’t really think it makes sense, in a world without white people, I don’t really know where this introduction of black and white christian morality would even come from in the avatar world?

TL;DR, Bryke applying western christian morality & world views to non-white characters in a world where white people have NEVER existed to affect our beliefs is a subtle form of white-washing. It imposes simplified “good vs. evil” world-views & cultural beliefs onto its characters. Any attempt to represent or even just integrate our actual beliefs into the A:tla lore are twisted and misrepresented is a way that is disrespectful and saps out any nuance or intrigue from the story, and alienates the people its supposed to represent from recognizing themselves within the final product. And Finally, on a more superficial story level, these writing choices clashe with the already existing world of ATLA--and is honestly just poor world-building.

[frumfrumfroo]

Can "masculine" and "feminine" Fandom ever truly coexist or are they always destined for conflict? Everything I've seen indicates that even if it only happens in a passive-aggressive way,, they will always fight until one pushes out or marginalizes the other (and the creators will probably take sides).

I think they do co-exist all the time. For example Star Trek and DBZ both have huge fandoms of both temperaments, despite the common stereotype that they're ploty techy manly franchises for boys and only male nerds like them. TOS invented shipping fandom as we know it. Nor is there usually much tension between the two camps. It's just that the streams don't really cross; fic/meta/shipping fandom is over here and speculation/powerlevels/trivia fandom is over there. You can be in both, but you do them separately and usually one is way more 'mainstream' as the face of fans than the other. Doctor Who is the rare case where it's equally infamous for its no-romo anoraks and its die-hard shippers.

The fact that those are ancient, venerable fandoms is probably a factor, because fandom as a whole used to be more compartmentalised. You only hung out in the part that interested you and could engage for years without interacting with anything outside that bubble. Things like zines and webrings and livejournal groups were split up by topic. Although people say the days of mailing lists were more like now because it was a niche and everyone had to scroll past everything. I wasn't there, so these are speculations.

But what's definitely different now is that the fourth wall has been completely demolished and whining on SM can change the direction of multi-billion dollar franchises, so the old need to 'win' fandom and feel like the loudest voice has become something with real stakes. If bullying the 'wrong' audience out of fandom results in your faction being catered to, that incentivises aggressive gatekeeping. Which people already did even back when it was totally delusional to think the creators knew or cared what fandom thought, so having it actually work is going to make it ten thousand time worse. Franchise writing by angry twitter committee is probably going to continue and this will lead to many more pieces of Extruded Movie Product dreck while Disney and Amazon buy up the entire global entertainment industry until the inevitable collapse of mega-budget Branded Content which can’t come soon enough.

Do I expect shipping and emotional analysis fandom will continue to get the shorter end of the stick and be mocked for caring even as being a massive anorak who's memorised every meaningless stat in every issue of Captain Bland's Monotonous Adventure becomes ever more mainstream and acceptable? Yep. But this has never succeeded in pushing shipping out of fandom and while certain kinds of ‘nerdiness’ have become ‘cool’ (much like it’s socially acceptable to obsess about sports but not Magic: the Gathering tournaments), the genuine weirdos still have far more in common with people who write fanfic than they do with the casual audience who are the true target demographic of any big budget film. A lot of the pressure which causes fandom infighting is being exerted from outside and when trends change, the need to guard your terf so that senpai notices you lessens significantly.

Although I should probably take issue with the idea that it’s a ‘both sides’ thing, because I know of no example, ever, of a ‘feminine’ fandom rejecting or trying to drive out ‘masculine’ interests. If you want to talk about who would win in a fight in a shoujo manga or discuss the worldbuilding logic of Labyrinth from a non-metaphorical perspective, absolutely no one in the fandom will have a problem with that. I knew a guy who was super into the ‘lore’ and non-romance plot of Twilight (how? idk), and he got no shit whatsoever for ‘doing it wrong’ from the fans because they did not feel threatened by his perspective.

A lot of these ‘boys club’ fandoms do feel threatened by shippers or literary analysis (because icky lady cooties mostly) and that’s what it comes down to. Same with antis and any other ‘you’re doing fandom wrong!’ group. They are afraid of not being exclusively catered to if they aren’t the overwhelming majority. That’s the only reason there’s conflict. If they weren’t worried about not being the default and not having their worldview constantly validated, they wouldn’t care about us.

[chroniclerdl]

Seven Fundamentals to Writing Better Yu-Gi-Oh Duelfics

Ever wanted to write a duelfic just as good or better than canon?

Done right, duels are memorable action scenes.

Done wrong, duels shatter the suspension of disbelief. It’s already a big ask to imagine the world revolving around a card game.

You don’t want the tragedy where your readers yank the scrollbar past your duel, or worse, close your tab. Even the small pool of duelfic readers/writers like me will skip huge chunks of your chapters when the duels sag.

By implementing basic storytelling techniques tailored to dueling, you can hook your readers into following the play-by-play.

High Stakes

Consistent Rules

Sneaks Checked

“Balanced” Gameplay

Foreshadowing Victory

Engaging Description

Dramatic Tension

1. High Stakes

When you advertise your story as a duelfic, your first duel tells readers whether or not what you wrote is worth their time.

If your characters duel without a concrete reason to rip the opponent’s throat, readers already know the outcome:

You lose.

Why? The game is pointless. Who’s dropping whatever they’re doing just to read the equivalent of your characters sipping afternoon tea? If you’re introducing the setting and characters, why can’t you introduce exciting threats?

No reader expects your first duel to decide the fate of the world, but your characters still need to bet.

Characters wager life chips.

If your character loses, they suffer death or suicide-inducing despair.

Is it too much to start with life-and-death? No. Think of the life chip as the culmination of hopes and dreams.

As the story progresses, the stakes will rise, must rise. How? Others will entrust the main characters with their own life chips, and/or the life chips acquire additional meaning. Consider this loose analogy: at the end of a poker tournament, gamblers sit at the final table with stacks built from the chips of others.

Life chips mean different things to different characters. Let’s take the Duelist Kingdom arc.

Yugi’s life chip is the hope to save his grandfather (and later, his own soul)

Joey’s life chip is the hope to win the prize money to fund his sister’s medical operation

Kaiba’s life chip is the hope to save his little brother (and later, his own soul)

You don’t even need your final showdown to revolve around the fate of world; it just has to be one or more things that matter to your characters.

Also, make sure to communicate the stakes, or why the characters accept uneven bets.

If you have the chops, you can also play around with disguising the stakes. As in, your character thinks they’re wagering something small, but it’s actually their life chip. However, your readers still need a vague reason to believe that a defeat will devour the character.

Always make sure the characters stake one or more life chips!

2. Consistent Rules

If you watched the Duelist Kingdom arc and tried to understand the moves everyone made, your head exploded.

Ask yourself: will the clever scheme that your hero invented drive readers crazy?

If I write a magic system that requires a wand, this applies to all. I cannot become a genius and suddenly wave my hands to cast magic.

Demonstrate the rules early, preferably in the first duel, and keep them sacred.

If you must make an exception, establish it early. In that case, the exception becomes a well-defined branch of the rules that the readers can anticipate.

Can the players magically draw the card they need, whenever they want?

If you can establish the when and why, by all means. The readers proceed with the understanding that the players can reach into their deck like a glorified toolbox.

For example, Duel Links has a concept called “skills” that function like a player’s special ability. At the time I wrote this, Yami Yugi’s “Destiny Draw” skill lets the player take any card from their deck once per duel after losing 2000LP (and even if they stacked the top of the deck earlier!).

Card should also have the same, predictable effect. If the card prevents attacks, I doubt the text discusses physical properties or mentions holding things in the air. But you knew that, right?

The rules are the laws of the universe.

3. Sneaks Checked

I love duels. I also love getting what I want.

Why does getting what I want have to be through a duel?

If we talk, maybe we can come to an agreement. If I blackmail you, maybe you’ll give in to my demands. If I shoot you, I can loot your corpse. Give the readers a good reason as to why your characters would bother with the hassle of honest dueling and can’t wiggle from the consequences of losing.

Often, the duel takes place in the context of a tournament. Hopefully, the tournament officials are keeping a good eye on the players and cracking down on cheaters.

However, even that’s not a guarantee. What’s the key concept?

Power.

The competitors have equivalent capacity for coercion (usually violence) or have a neutral referee presiding over the match with the most capacity for coercion (shoutout to gambling manga Usogui).

Anyone who enters a game otherwise has lost before the first move.

In Yu-Gi-Oh, magical and sci-fi enforcement are common. The Shadow Realm can trap the loser in a desolate hell. In a digital world, the loser suffers deletion. Or just have good tournament officials.

Be vigilant when your duel doesn’t call upon these tropes.

Your amoral characters won’t mind blindsiding your other characters, and they won’t mind blindsiding you with a plot hole.

If you’re not careful, the readers will ask you why they played uncharacteristically fair.

4. “Balanced” Gameplay

Duels should be fair and fun…for the villain.

Ostensibly, everyone plays a balanced game, designed to give both sides a sporting chance. In reality, the villain tilts the field to their favor with one or more tricks up their sleeves. Why would your villain ever fight fair?

But that’s fine. We love rooting for the underdog and watching the villain get their comeuppance.

Overpowered ability to let the villain read minds? Deck full of unbalanced cards that makes the villain’s monsters invincible with no drawback? Creator who knows every strategy in the game? Readers will turn the page as they wonder how the hero will prevail.

The more obstacles you can throw in the hero’s way, the better.

Got custom cards? No problem, just follow a couple guidelines. After all, some duelists are more equal than others.

The hero’s deck is full of regular cards that have a cost to use. For every play they want to make, their cards insist that they give up their attack, discard to play, etc.

The villain’s deck is full of rare cards that power up their game for free. So long as you can justify why the card made it to print, the villain can play whatever they want.

For every step your hero takes, the villain gets two.

5. Foreshadowing Victory

How many times have you watched a duel where the protagonist comes up with this never-before-seen card that does exactly what the protagonist needs to clinch the win? In the final showdown, no less? It’s like the writers begged to be called amateurs and idiots.

No other genre tolerates such laziness.

However, readers don’t want an infodump of the characters’ decks. Show the cards in action. To cover the deck, you'll probably need multiple duels.

This also implies you have more freedom in how your character defeats their early opponents in the duelfic.

Does that previous statement contradict what I said about never-before-seen cards clinching the win as the mark of laziness? No, because here’s the rule:

Tolerance for the hero’s new cards decreases as the story progresses.

(Notice that I specify the hero’s new cards; your villains exist to make life harder by inventing unfair tricks.)

When you must include new cards for the hero late in the duelfic, at least find a way to make them first backfire.

Now, some writers have lots of knowledge about the card pool and metagame. Can they assume the readers a priori know the hero has access to any of the available cards in a given archetype?

I’d err on the side of caution and properly foreshadow the cards before they appear late in the duelfic. Not every reader is a walking card database. They have no reason to assume something exists unless you show the card.

Take the tolerance rule into consideration when planning your duels. If you know the awesome combo you want to use for the final turn in the duelfic climax, that’s your cue to scatter the cards into the earlier duels.

Plan the last duel first and your early duels last.

6. Description

Every reader wants a front-row seat to the action.

They’re paying you their time, so make it worth the admission: sleek combatants & budget-busting fights. Kaiba invented Solid Vision technology for a reason, so help readers envision your duels.

Who’s fighting? Describe the point-of-view’s impression of the monsters’ appearances. Red-Eyes Black Dragon should be self-explanatory.

What about a decorated monster like Time Wizard?

You could go into detail about how the red clock humanoid has yellow gears that form epaulets and purple, pointy boots and a green mustache made from clock hands and so on, but such a level of minutiae bogs pacing and invites skimming.

Readers just need to hear about a purple-caped, red clock humanoid with a wand to form an image. Their imaginations can handle the little details.

Paint appearances in broad strokes and one or two brief sentences.

How are the monsters fighting? Duel Monsters is a game where the target takes the aggressor’s attack like a champ. That doesn’t mean you can’t spice it up.

For example, my opponent’s dragon attacks my weaker knight with a fireball. My knight, interested in not dying, raises his shield. Unfortunately, he screams as the flames engulf him.

You wouldn’t just stand still with a straight face if someone armed with a knife lunged for your gut.

A fight scene is a string of action and reaction.

Most people also experience life in more senses than just sight.

A dragon’s fireball is a bright reddish-orange, hot, dries the air, smoky, and explodes with a boom on impact. I never tasted a fireball, and I hope I never do, but that’s still four senses: sight, touch, smell, and sound.

Include multiple sensory details.

Let’s spare a moment to talk about the heads-up display (HUD).

In Yu-Gi-Oh, cards have multiple stats and abilities. You’re free to mention whatever you deem necessary. No set formula exists. On one extreme, you can mention nothing to keep the narrative clean at the risk of confusing the readers. At the other extreme, infodumps about the monster’s abilities provide great detail but wreck the pacing. But there’s a cozy middle.

State only what you need from the card.

If your duels occurred before the era of Synchro, you don’t need details about levels. You can just display the basic stats to determine the stronger monster. If a deck has Pendulum monsters, just mention the scale numbers when they're played as scales. And so on.

You can also make an index of new cards at the end of a chapter.

BONUS TIP! Understanding show, don’t tell.

What is show, don’t tell? At its core, this concept refers to immersing your readers in the senses and feelings instead of exposition. Unfortunately, that definition is a bit vague to execute. After writing for a while, I had my lightbulb moment.

Don’t TELL the readers how to think or force-feed them a conclusion.

SHOW your readers the evidence.

Here’s a written example from Joey vs. Rex in Duelist Kingdom. See if you can spot what makes this prose telling instead of showing.

“Joey watched nervously as Two-Headed King Rex stomped Baby Dragon. He messed up his Baby Dragon-Time Wizard combo!”

You can see two failures: “nervously” and the second sentence.

Adverbs like “nervously” and other “-ly” friends get a bad rep because rookies tend to use them as telling crutches (especially beware adverbs after dialogue tags!). “Nervously” tells me how Joey reacts. But what does “nervously” look like? One character might bite their thumb. Another might fidget in their seat. The adverb in this context lacks nuance.

We also have the second sentence: “He messed up his Baby Dragon-Time Wizard combo!” When you’re explaining the “why” to something, you’re telling. It’s like talking down to your readers.

Contrast with the next example.

“A bead of sweat rolled off Joey’s face as Two-Headed King Rex stomped Baby Dragon. He stared at the Time Wizard in his hand.”

The first sentence shows me Joey’s physical reaction. I see him sweating, so I think he’s nervous.

We also see a second physical reaction: “He stared at the Time Wizard in his hand.” This comes on the heels of the first sentence, and I also have knowledge of when Joey used the Baby Dragon-Time Wizard combo in a prior duel. Combined, I think Joey is ruminating about a missed chance.

Readers are smart; they’ll catch your intention if you show the proof.

7. Dramatic Tension

I bet you know what it's like to draw a bad hand.

Imagine: The hero staggers into the arena, and the villain just needs to win one duel to take over the world. The villain draws a bunch of powerups with no monster, but the hero draws a one-turn-kill combo.

Anticlimactic. The readers throw that duelfic straight into the trash.

Don’t just write real-life duels. “It really happened” doesn’t mean it’s emotionally satisfying.

That’s why we have literary structure.

Success and setback pace together with progressive intensity to maximize dramatic tension and emotional payoff.

I’ll spare the nitty-gritty theory detail, but your duels should look like this on a basic level:

Part 1: Villain’s basic threats. Introduces the villain’s deck and style.

Part 2: Villain’s minor strategy. The villain’s first serious attempt to defeat the hero.

Part 3: Villain’s major strategy. The hero’s reversal! But the villain has worse in store.

Part 4: Hero’s imminent defeat. The hero must break through, or else will instantly lose!

Ideally, you’re also integrating the story itself into the duel; themes and duels synergize to create a stronger effect.

You may notice how the format resembles the three-act structure.

Act I is Part 1

Act II until the Act II midpoint is Part 2

Act II midpoint until Act III is Part 3

Act III is part 4.

I’ll use Yugi/Pharaoh vs. Pegasus in Duelist Kingdom as an example.

Part 1: Mind scan. Pegasus can read minds to counter combos.

Part 2: Toon World. Indestructible, cartoonified monsters attack.

Part 3: Shadow game. Toons destroyed! But playing a shadow game weakens Yugi.

Part 4: Yugi passes out. The Pharaoh must find a new way to stop Pegasus’s mind scan!

Figure out each part of the structure for your duels before writing the turn-by-turn plays.

By the way, modern real-life Yu-Gi-Oh duels don’t suit drama because the rules provide weak constraints to creating strong boards. A good modern deck usually establishes a scary turn one board and jumps straight into Part 4, whereas other card games like Magic: The Gathering and Hearthstone force the powerhouse cards to wait several turns until the player builds the mana to pay costs.

You can still write a good modern duel. Here’s a basic outline of Arc-V’s duel between Sora and Shay. Technically, “tragedy” is the structure of this duel, so I’ll make Shay the “hero” to flip it and keep matters simplified.

Part 1: Basic monsters. These clash before a monster appears from the Extra Deck.

Part 2: Frightfurs. They come one after another to crush Shay’s Raidraptors.

Part 3: Sora’s wrath. Rise Falcon survives! But Sora’s malevolent nature comes to light.

Part 4: Frightfur Chimera. Sora chomps candy and summons his biggest fusion horror!

If following the four parts is too difficult for you, that’s okay. They're just logical extensions of one basic concept. Keep the following in mind, and you’ll never go wrong:

The villain’s subsequent threats become increasingly overwhelming.

Conclusion

Much of writing a duel boils down to storytelling technique.

Let’s tl;dr the main takeaways.

High Stakes: Minimum ante is the life chip, worth a character’s hopes and dreams.

Consistent Rules: Everyone plays by the same logic.

Sneaks Checked: Characters can’t skip the duels with violence and coercion.

“Balanced” Gameplay: Villains enjoy advantages.

Foreshadowing Victory: Readers have a chance to predict the winning combo.

Engaging Description: Immerse senses and invite reactions.

Dramatic Tension: The villain makes progressively stronger threats.

As a duelfic reader/writer, I can gauge a writer's ability by measuring their duels with the fundamentals. Many fan writers struggle; even the canon writers struggle.

But writing a duelfic isn’t rocket science. With practice, minding the fundamentals will become second nature.

And don't forget to tag your story as a duelfic. It's a whole genre in fanfic, so sort it properly and help readers from the future find you.

May the heart of the cards be with you.

…

Want to see in-depth examples of my advice? I rewrote the Orichalcos arc to reimagine its untapped potential without the failures of the canon presentation. You can find it on FFnet and AO3.

[thenextchapter22]

Angel of the Three Realms

Description: You were an Angel who went to the human world to escape punishment for loving Lucifer only to be brought back into his life, this time in the Devildom where you pretend to be human.

Warnings: Unrequited Love, Angst, WIP

Pairing(s): Lucifer/Reader

Word Count: 5334

Link to my AO3: Click Here

Author’s Notes: I’m pretty happy with how this story is going so far, and I really hope you enjoy reading it. I posted all the chapters I had written on AO3 here in one post, so expect a different post for the new chapter coming soon ;)

_+_

You had been in the Devildom for 6 months and it was going pretty well. You did above average in classes, got along with all of the brothers and the other students (although Solomon was strange and trusting him was a bit of a stretch). The only difficult part was being around one specific demon brother… Lucifer.

He had no idea who you really were. And how could he? It had been centuries upon centuries since he’d seen you, and he probably thought you dead after all that happened. He, in all probability, forgot all about you. That made you a little bit sad considering what he was to you.

Long before the Great War you had lived in the Celestial Realm. You were an Angel of God. A pure-hearted, innocent creature born with nothing but kindness in your heart. And the Angel assigned to you at your birth to train you and show you the way of the world was Lucifer Morningstar, the Light of the Heavens.

He brought you up. He was your whole life, always there to correct you if you were wrong, praise you when you were doing well, and he never failed in making you smile. Yes, you knew his brothers. Mammon especially, he was a good-hearted being who always protected you. And he did the same in the Devildom, so nothing had really changed there. But Lucifer was your main protector.

When you fell in love with him, you knew things would be difficult. How could you not fall in love with such a kind person, who always looked after you and his brothers, who always showed you so much attention despite what else he had to do?

It was forbidden for Angel’s to fall in love with other Angel’s. Why, you did not know. Love was something that should be allowed for all. It wasn’t easy living with this love, knowing if you let it free, that if you did tell Lucifer you loved him, you might be punished. Maybe even erased from existence. Your father wasn’t usually so cruel and hate wasn’t often found in Angels, but you hated him. You never wanted to hear him speak to you again. And so, with no way around it, you had to leave.

You fell to the Human world where you started a new life. And a new life again. And another new life after that. Always moving, changing, adapting. Humans were inventive and inquisitive by nature. You never lost the love in your heart for Lucifer, but you had a new life on Earth’s surface that you fell in love with, too. Eventually, this love favored the first, and you moved on, albeit regrettably. Occasionally you wondered how he was doing, and if he ever thought of you.

To say you were shocked when you first got dragged into this realm was an understatement. And you made the split second decision to go along with it all, pretending to be human. Was it stupid? Maybe. But you had spent so long being human, you couldn’t stop now. You knew of the war, you knew of the Angel’s falling to the Devildom, but seeing Lucifer, two wings less and darkened, ruby red eyes still as bright, and a curious black crystal on his forehead, was a shock. He was so beautiful in his new darkened form.

The love sprouted once more. And once more, you hid it. The pain in your heart was tenfold being close to him again in almost the same roles as before. He was your confident, your go-to in this Realm. He made sure you were treated well. Lucifer looked after you like his own blood, stricter than he used to be, and he looked tired most of the time. His newfound loyalty for Diavolo was strange, but you supposed it was a good thing being close to the eventual Demon King (where the current one was, no one knew).

Now, sitting in your quaint little room, looking at the sky, all you could think about was home. Home, the human world home.

One thing you missed was flying. In the Human realm you could visit the snowy mountains and fly around with some of the magic you were able to hold onto to cloak you in case humans saw. Before cameras you didn’t care to do that, but now you couldn’t risk it. Here it was impossible. Someone would sense the magic and find you out, and then what would happen. You didn’t want to think on it.

Another thing was your wings were itching. Grooming was hard throughout the years, but you found friends in the animals of the world, mostly the winged creatures. Owls were your closest friends in the animal kingdom. They helped pluck the old feathers as well as the twisted ones, and in turn you helped them however you could. Having not groomed them in almost 7 months now…

You longed to let them free, but could not. 6 more months and you would go back. But did you want to? Leave Lucifer, this place? You were learning so much from everyone. Lord Diavolo really wanted peace between all and it was incredible how he was connecting all types of beings. Demons, humans, warlocks, Angels.

Angels. Surprisingly, Simeon did not realize what you were. Or if he did, he never spoke up. Angels were pretty observant of other Celestial magics and you were using that to hide your wings daily and nightly here. At first it was only daily, up until Mammon barged into your room and demanded to sleep with you (not in that sense, thankfully) so you very quickly hid them. Lucky you hadn’t been asleep fully.

Wincing, you stretched your arms above your head. It was nearing midnight and you could not sleep from the pain that was ever growing the more you moved around. Maybe a late night snack would help, or something warm to drink.

Venturing to the kitchens, you were unsurprised to see Beel stacking a plate, his mouth stuffed with food.

He quickly swallowed and smiled at you. “Hi. It’s late, can’t sleep?”

You shook your head, smiling softly. “No, I thought I’d get something to eat or drink.”

Beel was so kind to you. You never had many interactions with him above, but when you saw him he always smiled and waved at you, his younger twin attached to his hand. They were inseparable. Nothing had changed with that. Only that Beel ate a lot, and Belphegor slept a lot. It was quite adorable.

“There’s some milk if you want to heat it up. I heard human’s do that to help them sleep. Or I could ask Belphie to help you?”

No, that wouldn’t be a good idea at all. Who knows what being put under by him would do, it may release the magic on your wings from too deep a slumber. “Thank you. I’ll try the milk first and then see.”

He nodded. “Okay. Night then. If I doesn’t work you can come to our room.” And he walked away with his plate of food, munching as he walked.

Chuckling, you shook your head. “Goodnight!” you called to his back.

The pain in your back was growing worse. Warm milk wouldn’t help much, you needed your wings to be freed. You grit your teeth as you moved about the kitchen, feeling the veil of magic rippling at your back. You set a pot of milk on the stove and heated it.

Moving about the kitchen was making you pant, and you had to brace your arms on the counter, keeping your back straight to try and keep the pain minimal.

“Hnng. Fuck.” Yes, in the human world you grew to love curse words. Your father never took your wings away or your immortality, so he must not have cared. Or maybe he didn’t notice.

“Are you all right, my dear?” Lucifer’s voice rang out in the echoed kitchen.

You stood up so quickly the pain was incredible. You felt your body tremble, and you longed to sprout your wings to ease some of the aching.

Lucifer wrapped his arm around your waist, and you held in a scream. He furrowed his brows and let go, instead taking your hand and squeezing it. “What can I do to ease your pain?”

You panted. “N-nothing. Please just g-go.”

He shook his head. “No, I won’t leave you like this. What ails you?”

Damn him and his kind heart. “You can’t fix it, I just have to deal with the pain for now.”

He helped you sit, but you did so stiffly and kept a perfectly straight posture. His hand never left yours. “I won’t accept that. There must be something we can do. Tell me what happened. Did you fall? Are you ill?” He pressed the back of his hand to your forehead, then down across your cheeks. “You have no fever but your face is contorted in pain.”

This was unbearable, having him coddle you when all you wanted was to jump into his arms and have him take care of you. He used to groom your wings when you were growing up, and he showed you how to do the same. His gentle fingers running through your feathers put you in a trance and he used to tease you about it.

Lucifer only wanted to see you well. The problem was, you could not allow it, lest he find out your secret. “I’m sorry, Lucifer,” you whispered. “Really I am. If I could let you help me, I would in a heartbeat.”

The pot with milk was over boiling now, and he quickly stood the take care of it. You lowered your face to the table and grit your teeth, sharp pricks at your back causing spasm after spasm. Tears fell from your eyes. The pain was steadily increasing, and you did not know why the timing of this had to be this way. Why he had to be the one to see you in such a state.

His hand on your shoulder squeezed lightly once before letting go. “Let me at least help you to bed.”

Bed, yes, that sounded fantastic. “Okay…”

He held your hand and kept one hand wrapped around your lower half, resting on your hip. It wasn’t near the area where your wings sprouted from so he could place his arm across you there without making you cry out in pain.

The trip back to your room was long and grueling. Lucifer kept a good hold on you, whispering softly each time you sobbed out a curse word or cried.

“I have you, sweetheart, take your time.”

You wished you could just tell him everything. How you were not human, why you were in so much pain, that all you ever wanted was to kiss and hold him and express your love. But you could only press you cheek to his chest and have him guide you to your room where he tucked you under the sheets and comforter.

You curled on your side, gazing at his dark figure towering over you. “Don’t leave me, stay…”

“I’ll stay with you, I promise.” He stroked his fingers over your trembling brow, and, with shock on your pained expression, he kissed the very same place gently, lips soft and warm.

You began to cry, overwhelmed with pain and emotion. He shushed your cries and wiped away the wetness under your eyes. “Don’t cry, my dove, just sleep and rest.”

Lucifer’s kind face, hovering inches from your own, was the last you saw before you fell asleep. The pain luring you into a dreamless slumber.

Waking up some hours later, you felt exhausted. The sun was rising through the window. Sweat gathered on your body. It was apparent what would happen the second you became aware. You had trouble keeping the magic holding your wings in. You shut your eyes with a sigh, and succumbed to the feeling of letting it all go. The choice was no longer your own, the magic was leaving you, and the wings you kept concealed away would burst free any minute.

They would all know. And you only hoped they wouldn’t despise you for what you hid from them. You prayed for the first time since falling from the skies that Lucifer would forgive you.

_+_

Lying in bed, coated in cooled sweat, waiting for the inevitable to happen, was honestly one of the worst things you had experienced. Considering you had chosen to fall from Heaven, that said a lot. It was right up there with loving Lucifer and not having the ability to tell him lest you be cast out or killed, and with the first days you had on the surface world where you had been so lost and alone, scrambling from town to town trying to find a place to belong.

The agony suffocated you. It effected your breathing, which was staggered and strained, and your muscles were tense. You felt a fever building inside of you as you tried to hold on and not go into shock. Your magic was like a thin sheet of breakable glass waiting to shatter. With all your strength, which was not much, you grasped onto it, wanting to keep normal for even just a little longer.

You shivered as you watched the sun rise higher in the window above your bed. It was red and bright and large, blinding you, but it kept you focused on one thing instead of being reminded of what would happen in the next hours, or even minutes.

The secrets would be out for all to see. You would either be cast out of the Devildom, possibly struck down by Diavolo for your lies, or maybe Barbatos would erase you from time itself. The thought was terrifying.

The only people you knew who wouldn’t hurt you or despise you were Simeon and Luke, and that was only because they were Angels. The possibility they would hate you was 1 in a million.

You moved to lay on your stomach. Slowly but surely you found a position that wasn’t too excruciating. Now you just waited. Time wasn’t something you looked at, even with the clock right there on your bedside table. It must’ve been time for everyone to be heading to breakfast by now. Lucifer would probably come to check on you as he had put you to bed last night. But you wondered who would see you first, and how they would react.

The magic was rippling, shaking around you. If you let it go voluntarily or not it would be the same result either way. Maybe if you had just let it go a few nights ago it wouldn’t have been so bad. But it was too late to dwell on the past.

Celestial magic exploded around you, and your wings burst from your back. You screamed, fingers clutching the pillow you pressed your face into. Your head spun, and your wings felt like the most fragile part of you, as if it was the first time they had been free. There was a scent of your blood in the air along with the scent of Celestial magic, a bitter coppery smell with a hint of cool air and crackling lightning. White feathers scattered around you, some tinged with blood. The air was like static electricity. Your wings lay limp, cascading down the bed to the floor. Tears filled your eyes, and you were sure you bit your tongue.

“Nnnggg…” you groaned, keeping still so as not to cause any more pain.

You had no idea how long you lay there. Twitching occasionally, throat clenched and burning. Eventually frantic knocks came on your door, and although your ears were ringing you heard the demon brothers’ voices asking for you, making sure you were okay, wondering what had happened. Why they couldn’t get in was strange, until you realized your magic had exploded outward and created a barrier that blocked the door.

“Move so I can open the door.” Lucifer. He sounded angry.

His infernal magic pressed to your own, and his power was greater than yours so it took no time at all for the door to fall.

You blearily glanced to the open doorway, the door flat on the floor broken off the hinges. And there he stood in all his demon glory. Light bringer Morningstar reversed, dark energy radiated from him. You watched as a smoky fog emerged from the diamond on his forehead. Was this the source of his power, where he held all his magic? The other’s stood behind him in a bundle, all in demonic forms, and all with shocked expressions at seeing you as you truly were meant to be. An Angel, albeit a broken one.

“H-how—?” Lucifer stepped in further, confused and wary. He glanced at your bent and bloodied wings, and then at your face. Searching for something, an answer maybe. You knew that there was no halo, that was something that disappeared as soon as you fell, but your skin was most likely changed, glowing with the light of Heaven, and your eyes no doubt were brightened as well. “How is this possible?”

You shut your eyes, your body shutting down. You couldn’t keep awake, it was as if the energy in your body was totally gone.

Your last words before you passed out were spoken softly and only towards one person. “I’m sorry…”

Darkness took you away, and you floated into it, happy to finally escape the pain.

_+_

Burning, you were burning when you came to. Did they shove you into the flames of Hell? Was this the repercussion you truly deserved for all the lies? It was harsh, but there was nothing you could do but burn.

Whimpering, you tried to move but a force held you down, a cool sensation on the back of your neck. You cried out, afraid of what would happen next.

“Shh. Your safe, calm down. It’ll be all right.”

Simeon? “Wh-what?” your throat ached, it was so dry. You tried to focus, and felt no flames licking at your skin, but a cushioned bed beneath you, where you lay on your stomach. You tried to open your eyes, but they felt glued shut from tears that dried up.

“Here, you need to drink water.”

A straw pressed to your lips, and you sucked in the refreshing liquid. Swallowing was hard to do, but the cooling feeling overtook the pain.

His hand was a cool on your forehead, you sighed in the brief relief of the heat. “You have a high fever. You need to rest some more.”

You trembled. “They hate me, don’t they?” the words were hard to speak, but you had to ask.

He hushed you once again, stroking your hair. “Just sleep now. When you’re well again we will talk.”

So you went back to your dreams, or rather, the nightmares that plagued you. Memories turned dark and evil, some of your time on Earth with friends, others of your time with Lucifer in Heaven. All happy memories that were altered to fill you with nothing but pain.

Your first day of flying, Lucifer cheering you on, clapping and smiling as you floated higher. Then, you fell, and kept falling down and down despite how strongly you flapped your wings. Lucifer was never coming for you, never reaching a hand to pull you back to him and into his arms. You ended up in a dark hole with nothing but bones around you of your once human friends. They die so quickly, humans. You were always alone. Meant to be alone forever. Never able to love and live with that love for the entirety of your lifespan, for it always faded and died. The only true everlasting love you had in your heart was never meant to be.

Voices sporadically came and went as you tossed in your dreamland.

Simeon. “She’s not doing too well. I’ll try my very best to heal her but holding this in for so long was not good for her health. Her wings are… in absolute disarray.”

Lucifer. “Why did she lie to me?”

Asmodeus. “She looks so pale and fragile. Poor thing.”

Mammon. “I remember her... we always looked out for each other. She was always so happy to be around you, Lucifer.”

You heard them speaking and longed to respond back, but you couldn’t find a voice. Drifting in and out, hearing voices, feeling soft touches on your skin and cool hands on your wings. There were moments of sharp pain sometimes when the fingers pressed to the spot where your wings sprouted from, but you were always quickly given a remedy of healing magic from Simeon’s talented hands. But you just wanted this to end and for the suffering to be done with.

It was many days later that you opened your eyes. Like a newborn for the first time, wincing at the bright lights of the room, struggling to focus. Glancing around, it was obvious that this was not your room. It was larger, with tall ceilings, and this bed was huge, your wings barely touched the floor compared to the bed at the House of Lamentation. Where were you?

“You’re in my home.”

You turned your head, still in a position on your stomach. It was Lord Diavolo. He was alone, strange as he usually had Barbatos with him. He wore his usual red suit, but his arms were crossed and he watched you with concern in his bright golden eyes.

You tried to move, to sit up and be a little bit respectful of the Prince, but he quickly strode to you and placed his large hand on your head gently. You froze. “No, don’t try and move. You’re still recovering.”

“I-I don’t—”

He sighed, and pulled a chair to sit next to you, careful of your drooping wings. He gestured to a pitcher of water on the side table. “Are you thirsty?”

You nodded shyly. He helped you drink some water with a hand lifting your head. You were sure you were blushing from feeling the demon Prince’s touch so delicately on your cheek. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He looked at you for a moment, and sighed, his eyes downcast and thoughtful. “This is an interesting circumstance we are in.”

You swallowed hard. “I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt anyone.”

He frowned. “My dear, all you did was hurt everyone.”

You winced. He spoke bluntly, and the truth, but it hurt a lot to hear it from his lips.

“Lucifer told me who you are. He thought you dead long ago. He was your mentor in the Celestial realm, correct?” You nodded slowly. “Why did you leave there to pretend to be human? He told me you were always so… cheerful. That you both were practically inseparable. The brother’s tell me the same. So why leave all that behind?”

You couldn’t answer him. He just sighed again. “I see. Well, I suppose that will be a conversation once you are fully healed. For now, I’ll have Simeon tend to you now that you’re awake.” He stood up and looked down at you. Diavolo’s gaze seemed to pierce right through your very soul. “Perhaps you will tell me more… or perhaps not. Only time will tell, I suppose. Rest well, my dear. We will speak again soon.” And his footsteps echoed the large room as he left, and you were alone with your thoughts.

What did he want from you? Would he let this be? Would he allow you to stay here? Doubtful, as it was an exchange program for humans and Angels, and you were one of two humans. And were you really counted as either, or both? Were you some strange hybrid being to them, because you lived under the guise of being a human?

There was one question that haunted over you ever since you felt your magic faltering. Would Diavolo take you away from the one place you truly felt at home?

_+_

You felt deflated when Simeon entered the room. Lord Diavolo made you worrisome for what would next happen, or at least what would happen once you were healed again. You found yourself avoiding the Angel’s eyes as he looked at you from his seat on the chair Diavolo just was in.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

You blinked at him, and licked your dry lips. “Sore. Tired.”

He nodded, his hands waving over your upper body, a soft glow emanating from his fingers. “Your feathers are a right mess, darling. Will you allow me to help?”

Help with your wings? You knew what he meant by that, and the question wasn’t startling as you knew it would come considering the damage your magic had done. But this was a very personal thing, letting others groom your wings. You only ever allowed one person to touch your wings: Lucifer. Outside of the creatures on Earth, that is, but they were only animals and it didn’t have as much meaning to you.

There was something inside of you that spoke a loud and firm denial, that no one’s hands would pluck your broken feathers unless those hands belonged to Lucifer Morningstar.

“I-I can’t…”

He sighed, and his gentle hand stroked up and down your exposed arm. “It has to be done. Tell me, then, who will you let help you?”

You felt burning tears fall down to drop onto the pillow. “H-he w-won’t…”

Simeon hummed. “He won’t, hm? I can take one guess as to who that person is. And he’s been so worried for you he has barely slept a wink, pacing the palace floors at all hours, and questioning me constantly on how your health has been.”

You perked up, sniffling. “H-he has?”

Simeon smiled kindly, and his healing magic coursed over your back, soothing the pinpricks of pain caused by your movements. “Lucifer cares about you. I may not have been around him as much since his fall from Heaven but I can tell he never stopped caring for you, my dear.”

“He forgot about me.” You said so dejectedly. If he hadn’t, he would have recalled your face the second you appeared in the Devildom, as the only thing that was different was you had no wings, halo, or heavenly glow around you.

“Dear, we all thought you dead. I assumed your soul was wondering the skies. I am truly sorry I never searched for you to make certain of that.”

Simeon wasn’t present like Lucifer was for you in the Celestial Realm, but he did watch over you when Lucifer could not. It was rare, but it did happen. You occasionally saw him floating around the sky doing work for Michael and your father, but mostly he wasn’t a part of your world, not like Lucifer or his brothers.

“Simeon,” you whispered. “He hates me. Don’t lie to me.”

The Angel’s light was blinding, and his true form revealed itself. You gasped in shock at the sight, it had been quite a while since you had seen any other Angel this way.

He had stunningly pure white wings that expanded outwards behind him, and his blue eyes shimmered like a bright burning star. The halo hovering above his head would cut anything that it touched, a perfect circle of glittering gold, showing his status in Heaven as one of High Regard. His dark skin was encased in an outline of magic so pure it stung your eyes as you hadn’t seen anything like it in so long. He was fierce looking, and yet not, being a creature of pure light. Simeon was as old as Lucifer, if not a bit older even, and he held strength like no one else.

He spoke with authority in his kind voice, booming almost in your ears. “I will never lie to you, nor to any other being. Hear my words because they are the wholesome truth. Lucifer will always have a place in his heart for you even though he has been brought to this darker world.”

You shook from the might in his words. He brought tears to your eyes from the power he spoke with. “Simeon…”

He cupped your cheek, the warmth shocking and overwhelming, his thumb caressing under your eye. He spoke softer, then. “Dear one, if you’ll allow me to I’ll bring Lucifer here to help you. Please let me do this for you. I don’t like seeing such a kind soul in so much pain.”

You pushed into his hand, craving the touch. His words put you under a spell and you couldn’t help but think, maybe he was right. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to have Lucifer here. Would it be like old times? You thought not, so much had changed. But you couldn’t deny the pounding in your heart that said you had to see him, and the truth that you really had no choice that if you wanted to heal, you had to have him aid you.

“Okay,” you answered softly.

He held your cheek for a moment longer, and you felt his magic cascade over you like a protective blanket. “I shall return soon with Lucifer. Keep still until then, your wings should not move lest they become more tangled. Don’t move, do you understand?”

“Yes, I promise.”

“Good girl. I’ll be back shortly. If you need me for anything, just call for me. I’ll hear you.”

He meant a prayer. He wanted you to pray for his help. You could not recall the last time a prayer had actually worked for you. Father had forgotten you, Lucifer had forgotten you… Praying was a waste of time.

The seconds ticked by. You let your mind wander to what-ifs, even though it hurt. What if Lucifer was so angry at you that he would take one look at your battered body and leave? What if Lucifer didn’t care for you like Simeon said, and instead hated you so much his magic would tear you apart? What if Lucifer, instead of plucking your feathers, he tore your wings from your body in a rage? These might have been insane imaginings, but they were not impossible. Lucifer had been a demon for a long, long time, and it was true he was still caring towards you while you acted human, but how would he react now? There was no way to know for sure.

Yes, he was your protector above. He was your everything; your father, your confidant, your friend, and your heart longed for him to be your lover.

Now he was something else to you. Still he looked out for you, kept you safe from other demons (not knowing you could if needed use your celestial magic on any who meant you harm), and he made sure you did well in RAD, and he, along with his brothers, thought of you as family. It was all you wanted, after years of searching for something to have as your very own.

Would it all disappear?

The door to the bedroom opened slowly, and you heard Simeon speak. “She’s exhausted emotionally and physically. Please, do what you can to make her well. She needs you.”

He entered the room. It was silent, and he didn’t move, simply watching you from where he stood before the shut door.

So you spoke for him. “Hello, Lucifer.”

Heels clacked and eventually he stood at your bedside. What an imposing figure he made. He looked at you with deep dark red eyes, near black at the pupils, and a massive aura of magic erupted around him. It wasn’t frightening, it wasn’t overpowering or dark. It was just… him.

He reached a hand to touch your hair, smoothing it back from your face to really look at you. “Hello, my dove.”

[arcticdementor]

I recently had Robin Hanson on the CSPI podcast to talk about futarchy. It’s one thing to spread knowledge on a particular issue, it’s another to invent a new technology to create more knowledge in the world, and help apply it where needed. That’s what I see Robin doing. He convinced me that although it may take a very long time, one day humanity will give less of a role to systems like peer review and unaccountable bureaucracy in determining how we understand the world, and more of a role to prediction markets. The logic is just too compelling. But sooner is better than later, and if you want to be involved, please reach out.

…

The first step towards this glorious future is convincing people that a world where more decisions are made based on prediction markets is desirable and achievable. In that spirit, below is a transcript of our conversation, lightly edited for clarity. To read more about futarchy, see here.

…

Robin: Right. This conditional market mechanism hasn't actually been tested out in the world outside of the laboratory tests in that we haven't been able to get people interested enough to try it. We've had a lot of tests of speculative markets that aren't conditional in the sense that we've had markets on deadlines, whether you make a deadline in sales and things like that.

We've probably had 100 different trials like that over the last few decades. Typically what happens is that if there's enough support for the market in order to induce an affectivity then again the price is about as accurate or more accurate than the status quo and most users are satisfied. The costs are modest. That's been the history for many decades.

However a key problem is usually the market gets killed in the sense that an organization says to stop and doesn't continue it. The main reason is that it's relatively disruptive. These markets are politically disruptive. The way they are disruptive is analogous to, imagine you put a very knowledgeable autist in the C suite, that is somebody in the C suite that knows a lot about the company and they go to the meetings. They just blurt out when they know things that it's relevant to the conversation but they have no political savvy.

They have no sense of, what does anybody want to hear, or who will be bothered by anything they say. That sort of an autist would not last long in the C-suite. They would be shunted aside and become an advisor to someone perhaps, trusted advisor to their side but they wouldn't be allowed to speak in the boardroom. But that's what a prediction market is. It has no idea who wants to hear what it has to say.

It will often say things that people do not want to hear, and that embarrass them, and that contradict what they've said. Then all the worse of course it will be proven right.

Richard: Yeah. But what's stopping the autist, or I guess what's stopping them is nobody has just done this yet? But theoretically you could imagine the autist setting up the rules for the corporation, right?

Robin: You might if they were in charge at the beginning sure.

…

Robin: Now we move to the question of like, what fraction of companies out there are actually maximizing profits?

Richard: Yeah.

Robin: It’s a very basic question in economics and in our world. We economists tend to assume as a simple initial working model that organizations that are for profit actually do maximize profits. That's the thing they usually do. If you give them a choice of A or B, and B is higher profit they'll choose B.

Here if you apply that model you say, “Well, this looks like it would give them key information to make key decisions like, ‘Will we make the deadline,’ and it will be valuable. The cost is relatively low so of course they would do it.” That's what you would say if you were applying that theory. Then here we have a case where it looks like, well it hasn't happened yet.

You might think, “Okay, innovation is slow. It takes a while,” but we’ve been waiting several decades. Honestly if I look across a wide range of other areas of corporate behavior I can't fully support this profit maximizing theory. I think I can find a lot of other places where what they do does not maximize profits.

I could give you a long list of examples. We could go through some of those but then the question is, “Well, how do I come to terms with it? What theory do I have affirms in the absence of profit maximizing to explain the behavior?”

…

Robin: I mean I think in fact the correct response is to say the free market version is probably the best. You just have no idea how much worse things can be. People often look at the status quo of a business world say that is relatively free market. They look at this up close and they go, “This looks terrible how could you possibly be defending this?”

The argument has to be, “Well, it would just be so much worse without this.” And in fact often if you look to large stable organizations like universities and government agencies, or churches that have been around for a long time it is in fact worse. I think that's roughly right. Another story might be we've hobbled some of the competition between firms that might solve some of these problems.

I honestly think one of the biggest wins we could do is to just allow stronger hostile takeovers. The laws at the moment make it harder to do hostile takeovers. They require a substantial tax on them in essence. If you see a badly run company and you have an idea how it could be run better the problem is how are you going to profit on that? But if you could just buy up the company, change its management and then sell it again after it was better that would be a big, powerful engine for making it better.

There have been times when that mechanism has been allowed to do more and it has made huge changes. That's what inspired people to lock it down and prevent those changes because they were scared it was coming for them.

…

Richard: I've seen stuff like who will win the tip off in basketball, and who's going to win the coin toss in a football game? Who's going to win first quarter?

Robin: I once looked onto doing this for war college war games. As you may know many war colleges have war games where they put teams on different sides and give them various equipment in a simulated war. They have them go to war. You could imagine, well letting everybody else who’s watching the war game give advice about particular strategies in the war game. That seemed plausible to me but then when I talked to people at war colleges I found that most of these war games are kind of fake.

Richard: Yeah.

Robin: They have a predetermined outcome that’s some lesson they want to tell, and so they aren't really letting it be open to winning one side or the other.

Richard: No, that's funny because you'll see headlines every now and then that'll say, “Oh, my God. The US loses to China in a war game,” and yeah I always thought that that’s…

Robin: I’m sure there probably are real war games somewhere. They just aren't at the war colleges. That's where I was thinking I could convince somebody to try this sort of thing.

…

Richard: What is the advantage of the blockchain? What is the difference between a blockchain say market versus just something like PredictIt?

Robin: Well, that's an excellent question. Initially the story was that blockchain was out of control, that it couldn't be regulated so you could set up a system on a blockchain. If the regulators didn't like it they didn't have anybody to go to stop it. The blockchain just kept going regardless of who didn't like it.

That was a big selling point. People said, “Well, look at all this financial innovation we can do because we are free from existing regulations on the blockchain.” That's what they said, and then a lot of companies formed on this basis.

But these companies didn't take personal strategies to match that rhetoric. You would think if your plan was to put a product on the blockchain and that you were going to say nanny nanny to the regulators because, “You can’t get me,” you wouldn’t have a big public presence with the headquarters, and your picture in the magazines, and show up in person at conferences right? Because…

Richard: Yeah. Sure.

Robin: ...well, that makes you more obviously a target right? That's what they did though, and then they sort of back pedaled and said later, “Oh, we're following all the regulations.” But you know people don’t really believe that. It's been this big question, to what extent will governments crack down on these blockchain things that at least from the government regulators point of view are not following their rules?

Richard: Yeah. Do you have in mind the Coinbase news that had come out the last few days, or was it today or yesterday that-

Robin: This is just a continuing issue. I don't have any particular recent event in mind but there are lots of stories about regulators thinking of doing a lot more regulating and cracking down more. This is a big question about blockchain is how far will they crack down, and what will be the consequences? Of course people say, “Well, in principle Bitcoin can keep chugging along even if they do crack down,” and no doubt that's true to some degree.

But the question of how much activity there'll be is still somewhat open. You could have it chugging along with a far lower activity because a lot of people have been discouraged.

…

Robin: Let me at this point admit what I would say is the biggest problem with futarchy and with some of these other decision markets, which is that they make hypocrisy harder, which is actually a problem. You might think, “Well, hypocrisy is a bad thing. Making it harder is good right?” Well, let’s walk through that.

At the moment, say ordinary people can claim to love trees and they just care a lot about trees. Trees real estate wonderful and they certainly wouldn’t want to have fewer trees. But then they elect politicians who have to make choices about trees versus other things. Those politicians can probably read the public and say, “Well, they say they like trees but they don’t really like trees that much, so I’m not actually going to go save some trees by interfering with something else.”

Then if the public ever finds out that somehow not everything was being done to save trees, the public can complain and say, “That damn politician! They’re corrupt! They were bought out and I sure hate them. Let’s throw them out of office,”right? Because the politician is allowing the public to be hypocritical, to pretend they care more about trees than they do.

…

Robin: The pandemic was not a big enough crisis that we fired people who did badly on it. Neither was Afghanistan. We’re in a world where we have these big things we do wrong but they somehow just aren’t bad enough to really scare us into trying different things. The question is where will we ever see some nation or big organization that’s scared enough about losing to be willing to roll the dice and try some big changes?

Richard: When you look at the American Military established under World War II I mean the military establishment was a new thing. You were building basically something from scratch. Now you have all these vested interests. You know it’s funny. The places, the countries with the most US Military… the most military personnel in the world are actually Italy, Germany, Japan, and South Korea right?

Robin: Those are risky, dangerous spots. You’d want troops there wouldn’t you?

Richard: Yeah. Well, maybe but if you notice they have something in common. Those are the Axis powers and the Korean War right?

Robin: Right.

Richard: Basically they’re the exact same place they were in 1945 to 1950 and so-

Robin: Hysteresis right? Enormous path dependence?

Richard: Yeah, exactly. Enormous dependence. Yeah, Italy. Is that obvious? The most dangerous place in the world. Maybe, maybe not.

Robin: No, and it’s not remotely obviously the most dangerous place in the world.

Richard: Yeah. Do you look around the world, and right now do you see variation in the extent to which countries are willing to not only take risks but take risks specifically along the path that you suggest?

[scullydubois]

Only the Light: Ch. 10

10/? | AU where Melissa moves in with Scully after Scully’s abduction | angst, msr slow-burn, occasional fluff | currently: s2, ep 12, Aubrey (post-ep) | T (for now?) | 4.5k | previous chapters | read on ao3 | tagging: @today-in-fic

Missy accompanies Scully to a doctor's appointment. Afterward, Missy confronts Scully about her feelings for Mulder, and Scully slips-up on the phone.

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

She digs through her suitcase, searching for the business card she tucked in the pocket with her underwear. A sharp edge penetrates her skin, stings immediately. Her fingers close around the paper card and pull it out. A thin red cut traces the length of her middle finger, blood begging to seep out. She ignores it and grabs the phone off her nightstand, plugging in the number for the Aubrey Motel. 

As she’s dialing, she realizes that it’s already past lunchtime in DC, and even though Missouri is an hour behind, there’s no way Mulder is in his room. She lets it ring anyway, then asks the man who answers for room 12. He patches her through, and sure enough, the line rings until it gives up. 

Impressed by her own newfound patience, Scully hangs up and dials Mulder’s cell instead. She’s not exactly sure why she didn’t just do this in the first place; maybe she likes the idea of Mulder being stationary without her, stuck in his room like a lost little boy with no one to guide him. Her heart sinks when she thinks about Mulder gallivanting around Aubrey, solving the case like there’s nothing to it, like he could have been doing it by himself all this time. She wants him to need her. Naturally, she is ashamed of this desire.

She hits the call button and waits while an invisible force shoots across states and connects her to her partner. She does not have to wait long; he answers after the first ring.

“Hello?” He sounds the same as always. Simultaneously there and drifting, one body split between two minds. 

“Mulder, it’s me.” 

“Hey Scully.” There is a lightness in his voice now, like a balloon cut free of its tether. He is smiling, she thinks...She hopes.

“I just wanted to let you know I made it home safely…” She trails off, not wanting to stop talking to him, but finding herself with nothing else to say. 

“I’m glad, Scully.” He always addresses her by name more when they are apart. This is a comfort to both of them. “How’s Melissa?”

Scully looks through the doorway, confirming that her sister is nowhere near to cause any antics. “She’s alright.” She deals in half-truths. “We’re going to the doctor later to get an x-ray, but I think it’s just a sprain.” 

“Well, keep me updated. I found a lead on the case--Harry Cokely, the suspect of one of the 1945 murders. I’m on my way to see him. He’s been out of jail since ‘93.”

Scully gulps. “Are you alone?”

“Uh-huh.” He senses her tension through the line. “But I’ll be fine, Scully, he’s an old geezer now. What kind of agent am I if I can’t defend myself against an eighty year old?”

“You could have taken BJ with you.”

“And put a pregnant woman in the line of fire? I’ll be fine, Scully. They wouldn’t have let him out if he were still a danger.”

“Okay, Mulder.” This is not what she means, but it has already been a long day, and there is too much left of it to get into an argument with him. 

“I might be able to come back tomorrow,” she blurts out, as if saying it will make it more true. “...I’d like to come back tomorrow.”

“Take all the time you need, Scully. I’ve got this.”

She knows he is trying to be accommodating-- though he so rarely is--but his casual manner confirms her worst fears about her own superfluity. “I want to work, Mulder, you know that.”

“I’m not gonna stop you.” Then, his voice uneven, suspecting but not willing to confront--”Just take care of Melissa--and yourself--okay?”

She nods into the phone. “I will.”  She is staring at the barrel of Mulder’s metaphorical gun, knowing he won’t shoot, almost wishing he would. Bleeding out feels like the simple solution. “Bye, Mulder.”

She is leaving so soon, he thinks, grateful to have had her voice accompanying him on the trip. “Bye, Scully. Call the motel tonight, will you?”

“Alright.” She kills the line, each extra second another thorn in her side, a lie allowed to linger. Sin multiplying.

She stands there, clasping the phone in her hand and feeling like a stranger to herself. Her sister thought she should tell him before she flew a thousand miles and let an hour fall between them, and she disobeyed. What Melissa didn’t understand was that vulnerability is not a word in her and Mulder’s shared language. There’s no way to spell out the situation, even if she had wanted to. And she didn’t want to at the time. Or rather, she had wanted to so badly that it was dangerous, that she knew she risked more pain by telling than by withholding. She would have had to invent new words in their language, expand its bounds, and who knows what would come next. Give someone the language to express their feelings, and they will say them. And what then?

She is scared of her own feelings--and his too--because she knows that admitting means losing, somewhere down the road, and she doesn’t ever want to be without him. If she had never met him, she would never have to live without him. This is the gun that is always pressed to her head. She and Mulder are both holding the trigger.

She doesn’t know if he has such a gun against his temple, thinks that maybe he doesn’t, hopes so at least. There have been others for him, she knows this. Phoebe and...well, Phoebe’s the only one she’s met, and she wasn’t that impressive. But he’s a good-looking guy, and a good guy at that, and the whispers of a dark-haired woman who broke his heart float up and down the hallways of the Hoover building. He doesn’t tell, and Scully won’t ask because she worries that the mystery woman is the gun he holds against his own head.

She sets the phone back in its receiver, tired of thinking about guns and triggers and brains blown out. For now, she is in one piece--she’s pretty sure--and she would like to stay that way for as long as her soul will let her.

Her sister calls from down the hallway. “Dana, are you ready?”

Scully managed to book a last-minute appointment with her OB-GYN, thanks to Missy’s insistence that it was an emergency. Personally, she wouldn’t use such a strong word--I mean, it’s not like she’s hemorrhaging or anything. It’s the absence of blood that’s the problem. But there are tests, scans, and probing of the like that can be done, and once Scully admitted this her sister would not drop the issue. Off to every woman’s favorite place they go. 

--------

The waiting room is a stepping stone, a purgatory, a beginning and an ending rolled into one. She has been here before, many times. In the past, it felt like an inconvenience, not a threat.

She makes an appointment every year, does everything exactly as she is supposed to do in between, and still she is here and scared. She is careful as careful comes, as prepared as one petite woman alone in the world can be. She can dislocate a jaw, strike a man’s legs out from under him, break a nose. And yet, and yet, and yet...Who first uttered “fairness,” thought it existed on this Earth?

Even so, the consolation of knowing lingers in the distance. Like the minutes between calling 911 and the ambulance arriving. Help is on the way. The nightmare will end, or it will settle in. Lucky or unlucky. Win or lose.

Scully is not sure what she wants to hear. Three tests is quite definitive; pregnancy is unlikely. And what else is there? That her cycle has been thrown off by stress, that it’ll come back on its own time, don’t worry about it? That’s no comfort. She doesn’t want something to be wrong with her, but she knows something’s not right, and what’s worse than knowing that you don’t know? She and Mulder have lived in that hell for years. She can handle mysteries of the outside world, but what a cruel trick for her own body to blockade her. 

Missy nudges her from the adjacent vinyl seat, elbow meeting bicep. “What are you thinking about?”

“How my mind doesn’t know what’s going on with my own body,” Scully replies dryly. “I mean, I know I have a tendency to close myself off, but I’ve cloistered myself so much I no longer know what I am.”

Melissa frowns. “Don’t you mean who? Who you are?”

“No.” Scully shakes her head, looks at her lap. In her darkest thoughts and most blistering nightmares, she is not human anymore. They desecrate her, ravage her body, and leave a memento in her skin, a touch of them. It’s so vivid it might be a memory. Mulder wants an alien; he may have one. That would be ironic, huh? 

Can you learn to believe in yourself when you become something you never thought existed?

Can you still believe in God?

Every job she has dreamed of doing involves solving. Knowing enough to know what you don’t know, then figuring that out. Taking the pencil lines, shading them in. Seeking and finding and never wondering why. She cannot keep this up. There has got to be a meaning.

It is not enough, anymore, to simply wonder for the sake of wondering. To cast light over the darkness because you are tired of the darkness. Why? Is she doing it for Mulder, for the traumatized twelve-year boy locked inside him? Is she doing it for herself, fending off the fallibility, reconciling her belief with proof so that she can get off her own back? Or is she doing it because she was told to, because she is still the daddy’s girl who wants to please? 

Twenty-nine years, and she is still coming to terms with herself. We are all our own x-file. We are all taking ourselves apart and piecing ourselves back together and looking for meaning and losing our minds. 

Missy reaches over the wooden arm of the seat and pats Scully’s hand. Scully is reminded that she hasn’t yet ruled out the possibility that her sister is a mind-reader.

“Dana?” a nurse calls. Her first name feels so secondary that Scully feels certain they’re calling someone else.

“Right here!” Missy responds, getting up and pulling her sister along with her. Scully tugs her sister’s sleeve like a child might, wonders if Missy has ever considered motherhood. 

Once in the corridor, they separate. The nurse takes Scully to get her vitals checked, while Melissa seeks out waiting room D, where the nurse’s flat voice--already tired from hours on the job--told her to wait.

It is not long before her sister joins her there.

“How was it?” Missy asks before Dana even manages to sit down.

Scully shrugs. She turns her left hand to show the pink bandaid on her index finger. “My iron levels are above average.”

“That’s not serious, right?”

“No, it’s usually a good thing.”

They sit quietly, listening to the staticky alt rock song coming through the speakers. They are alone in this particular area, but nurses and doctors bustle just around the corner from them.

Scully regards her sister with a latent curiosity. “Have you ever thought about having children?”

Missy turns to her, laughs. “What?”

Scully is somewhat perturbed by her sister’s nonchalant reaction. “Do you want to be a mother?” she reiterates. “It’s not something we’ve talked about since we were kids, so I was wondering.”

“If my life unfolds that way, then surely I think I’d enjoy it. But I’m not prioritizing it.”

“Ahh.” Her sister has always had a particular reverence for destiny. 

“And besides,” Missy continues, “it could be hard, you know, with Trinity and all.”

It takes Scully a moment to realize what she means. “Oh.” That’s something she’s never had to worry about herself. She runs her finger along the grooves of her bandaid, feels her heart clench up for her sister. “There’s always adoption.”

“Yeah, I guess so. It’s a long, drawn-out process from what I’ve heard.”

“Mmm.” Scully nods, wondering how two women could have two such conflicting problems. 

Before she can voice the irony of this, another nurse pops out from around the corner, peers at a clipboard. “Dana Scully?” Her voice is bright and chipper.

“That’s me,” Scully says, raising a hand to show the bandaid, her battle scar.

“I’ll show you to your room.”

Missy pats Dana’s shoulder as she stands up. “I’ll stay here. Come get me if you need me.”

“Okay,” Scully breathes, grateful to be given her space yet to know support is right around the corner.

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

For someone that went to medical school--and enjoyed it, for that matter--Scully always feels much too out of place in a gynecology office. It’s nothing she hasn’t seen before. In textbook diagrams, in wall art, in her own flesh. Yet the 3D model of the reproductive system, the color-coded illustration of the uterus, and the various pamphlets on everything from STDs to birth control to what to expect postnatal smother her, serving as a fresh reminder that Catholicism’s tendency to repress haunts her still. She’s more bothered by her involuntary discomfort than what she sees. 

Dr. Zapolsky enters, easing some of Scully’s nerves immediately. Tall and dark-skinned, she has been practicing medicine for 20 years, and Scully has been seeing her since she moved to Washington. She can be intimidating if you don’t know her, but she’s honest and extremely competent, two things Scully requires of her doctors. And herself.

“Hello, Dana.” Scully sits up straighter as the woman’s voice hits her eardrums. She’s admired Dr. Zapolsky for years, seeing her as an exemplary figure, someone that might have been a mentor to her had she put her medical degree to work. “What can I do for you today?”

There are few things Scully hates as much as being the patient. If she’s the patient, that means she has failed at being her own doctor. That means she didn’t know--and worse--didn’t think she could figure it out on her own.

She wrings her hands. “My cycle is over a week late, which is very concerning considering that it’s always been timely. I’ve been having migraines and nausea and nightmares, and I just know something is wrong.”

Dr. Zapolsky drops Scully’s file on the counter. “Well, the pregnancy portion of your urine test came back negative.”

“I took three drugstore pregnancy tests too, and they were all negative. That’s why I’m here.”

“Have you had any notable lifestyle changes over the past few months?” Dr. Zapolsky asks. “Anything out of the ordinary? Stress is a major contributor to fluctuations in the menstrual cycle, as I’m sure you know.”

Scully nods, gathers herself. Dr. Zapolsky is oblivious to the rabbithole she has just fallen into. “I was, um, abducted, about eight weeks ago, and I have no memory of it.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Dana.” Dr. Zapolsky wheels her stool beside the medical chair. “We have a bit of catching up to do.”

“Yes,” Scully looks at her feet. They dangle a few inches above the tile like a child’s. Nothing new. She glances back at her doctor. “There isn’t much to say. I don’t know anything about what happened.”

“Well, tell me what you do know.” Then, seeing the apprehension on Scully’s face--”I’m not trying to play therapist, I just want to understand.”

Scully blinks slowly to keep from crying. It goes like this, it always does: she can manage the trauma until she has to say it out loud. This is a story no one wants to be in, but everyone wants to hear.

“I was taken by a man involved in a case that I worked on. Well, that my partner worked on, actually. I got involved--and long and complicated story short--the man broke into my apartment, bound my wrists and ankles, and stuffed me in his trunk. That’s the part I do remember. After the trunk, it’s all a blur really.”

The doctor furrows her brow. “How were you found?”

“I wasn’t found, I was returned. To the hospital. None of the staff had any idea how I got there, and I was bathed and cleaned by my abductors so no trace evidence was collected.”

“So no rape kit was done, then?”

Scully shakes her head.

The doctor uncrosses her legs, recrosses them with the opposite leg on top. “How long were you missing?”

“About a month...My mother bought me a gravestone, she didn’t think I would be found.” This is a detail she has never spoken out loud. Saying it feels like letting air out of an over-inflated balloon. 

“I’m so sorry, Dana.” Dr. Zapolsky lifts a hand, then puts it back in her lap. “May I hug you?” Scully nods and lets herself be embraced, though she does not feel it necessary. “That sounds like a horrific ordeal.”

Scully shrugs as best she can with Dr. Zapolsky’s arms wrapped around her. “It comes with the job.” Always modest about her suffering, she is. 

Dr. Zapolsky speaks into Scully’s ear. “No, I don’t think it does.” 

The doctor lets go. Scully doesn’t say anything. She curls the fingers of her left hand around her right wrist and squeezes hard enough to be certain that it’ll leave a mark.

Dr. Zapolsky slides her stool back over to the counter, flips through Scully’s file.

“I’d say the best course of action is to start with a blood test. I’ll check a few hormone levels---follicle-stimulating, anti-mullerian, luteinizing. That’ll give some insight into your pituitary gland function and your egg reserve.”

Scully nods along. Those hormones are complicated names she barely remembers, but she trusts it’s the right course of action.

“With that, we can determine whether this is a symptom of a larger problem, or if it’s simply a result of the stress you’ve been under. It should only take a couple days to get the results back.”

Scully nods, bites her lip. More waiting.

“Have you been seeing a therapist by any chance?” Dr. Zapolsky asks.

Scully shakes her head. Dr. Zapolsky should know her better than that. 

“Well, I highly recommend it even to those who have not gone through any trauma. And for a survivor, it can truly be life-changing.”

A survivor. What is she, a war hero? That word is fitting for her father, who lived on the sea and sought eternal rest there. Not her.

“Thank you, but I’m okay.” Scully cannot meet her doctor’s glance.

“If you need any referrals, I can give you some names.” Dr. Zapolsky is just trying to help, Scully knows this, but this is not the help she came here for. 

“The FBI has an on-site psychologist,” she says to close the subject.

“Oh, what a wonderful resource.”

“Most definitely.” Scully smiles weakly and ducks her head, ready to get out of here.

-------

There are many things she is afraid of, but physical pain is not one of them. The unknown, slow but certain death--these are the things that spook Dana Scully. When you’ve spent years being told that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, you are prepared to suffer for honor. 

This is simply the prick of a needle, a relinquishing. Doctors used to prescribe it as the cure for any ailment, believing it to vanquish toxins from the body. Med school would have been a lot simpler if that were true.

She watches the blood flow out of her veins and into the vial. Some people can’t look; she can’t look away. Missy is seated in the chair next to her, chin resting in her palm after her offer to hold Scully’s hand was rejected. She traces the path of her sister’s blue eyes as they slide from her arm to the vial in the nurse’s hand. Dana has never been afraid to look--that’s the problem.

In an instant, it is done. The nurse smooths a bandage over Scully’s skin, tells her they will call with the results in a few days. And then it is two sisters, going, going, gone.

----------

They have a pleasant ride home, a soft and sisterly evening in. The prospect of Dana going back to Aubrey in the morning never even comes up, much to Melissa’s relief. Perhaps the illusion of normalcy her sister pedals in her head has finally given way to their unreal reality. They don’t waste a moment on the uncertainty circling them, instead curling up on the couch with popcorn and gummy bears for another Golden Girls marathon.

“Which one do you think Mulder is?” Missy asks during a slow moment in the episode.

“Huh?” Scully laughs. “Which Golden Girl, you mean?”

“Uh-huh.” Missy pops a red gummy in her mouth. “Or is he too interesting to be pinned down?” she teases, mimicking the swoony non-answer he gave about Scully some weeks ago.

“I don’t know honestly,” she says, pushing a blanket out of her lap. “I’m not sure that I know him well enough to decide.”

“You’re kidding.” Missy glares at her. Clearly her sister has not dropped the illusion after all.

“No, I’m not,” Scully intones, getting up to refill the gummy bear bowl. “And that reminds me, he wanted me to call.” She glances at the clock. It’s half past 8 there, so surely Mulder is back in his motel room. 

Missy isn’t letting her off the hook that easily. She follows her sister into the kitchen. “Dana, I guarantee that you know him better than anyone else in the world. If they conducted a test on every single living human being’s knowledge of Fox Mulder, you would get the highest score.”

“Knowledge isn’t the same as understanding,” Scully murmurs, dumping the remaining gummy bears into the bowl. 

“I’ll give you that, but you know what? You do understand him, you’re just too afraid to confront it.”

Scully wants to recoil, but freezes in place instead. It’s just as dramatic but gives less away. After a breath, she crumples the plastic bag into a ball and dunks it swiftly into the wastebasket.

She speaks rigidly, each word cutting through the air. “If I understood him, there would be no fear.” 

Missy feels this in her chest--the aching, the truth in her sister’s voice. Dana is as close to crying as she ever gets. Missy strides over, clasps her sister’s hands in hers. “You don’t have to be scared.” She pulls her little sister in, squeezes her heart to Dana’s own. “He loves you. And I’m not talking about in a romantic way--I don’t know, maybe--but just in general. He loves you, and he would never hurt you.”

Scully’s eyes are glassy with tears now, but Melissa cannot see this in the midst of their hug. “Haven’t you ever been hurt by someone who loves you?” She says into Missy’s ear. “We never mean it, but it happens. It happens all the time.”

“And then you apologize, and you go on. Being hurt once doesn’t mean being hurt forever.”

“It can.” Scully pulls away, wipes her cheeks before her sister can overanalyze. 

“It won’t, not with Mulder. I know enough about him to know that.” She brushes her sister’s hair out of her face. “If anyone was going to cut off the relationship, it would be you.”

“Wha--” Scully gives up the protest. She is partial to burning bridges that are prone to collapse, a last-ditch attempt at dignity. Yet Mulder doesn’t strike her as a bridge that would burn even if she set it aflame. Maybe that’s worse though, it prolongs the struggle.

“Hurting him would be worse than getting hurt,” Scully mutters. 

“Loving him would be better than not loving him,” Melissa responds.

“The correct phrasing of that argument is ‘loving him would be better than being loved,’ if you wanted to copy my logic.” Scully gets curt and analytical when she’s annoyed. 

“Hmm, well, consider that too.”

Their eyes meet and Scully can tell that neither one of them is going to win. “I’ve got to call him before it gets too late.” They both know who he is. She turns on her heels and heads for her room. 

--------

He didn’t pick up the first time she called, which scared her more than she’s willing to admit. She sat cross-legged on her bed until the phone rang again about twenty minutes later, until she heard his voice on the other line.

“Hey Scully, sorry, I was out wrapping up the case.”

“Wrapping up?” She doesn’t even bother to say hello. “It’s over?”

“Open and shut...or, err, something like that.”

“What happened?” Her voice strains for no reason. She clears her throat.

“I’ll catch you up some other time,” he says breezily. “How’s Melissa doing?”

For a moment, Scully forgets her lie and tries to figure out why he’s asking about her sister and not her. Then--”Oh! She’s okay, yeah, it was a sprain like we suspected. Nothing broken on the x-ray. She can just about walk normally now, I think she’ll be off crutches by tomorrow.” Embellish, embellish, embellish. Missy had taught her to lie in the 6th grade, and she finally had some use for that knowledge.

“That’s great! I’m flying back tomorrow morning, I can be at the office by 10 if you wanna meet me there.” 

“Will you tell me about the case? And BJ? How is she?”

“I’ll...I’ll tell you that tomorrow, Scully.” There’s a bit of gravel in his voice, which Scully has noticed comes out when he’s tired or holding back. 

“Fine. Should I assume that by 10, you mean 10:30?”

“Well, you know how the line at the Dulles Chick-fil-A gets,” he wisecracks.

Something goes wrong between her brain and her tongue as she goes to wrap up the conversation. “Alright, 10:30. Love you, bye.”

Mulder makes a noise like a stifled laugh or a cough that couldn’t be held in. “What was that, Scully?”

Her face is flushed, and she’s thankful he can’t see it. “Sorry, I’ve been talking to Missy on the phone a lot lately. Habit.” The voice flowing out of her sounds calm and collected, like that was just an honest mistake. In a way it was...a much too honest one that has made her anything but calm.

“Oh, is that who you say that to?” he teases. 

She laughs. Surely he couldn’t think there’s anyone else, could he? 

“Just Missy, and maybe my mom.” She says it like a promise. He hears it like a prayer. Unusual, for both of them.

“Bye, Mulder,” she says, ushering any sentimentality away. 

“Bye, Scully. Hate you. Oh, sorry--that’s what I say to my dad on the phone.”

Scully giggles into the phone. She’s still giggling as she sets the phone back on the hook.

Even after the call flat-lines, Mulder holds the phone against his ear like it’s a seashell echoing Scully’s giggle back to him.

[zuzuslastbraincell]

10 headcanons for Azula

missed this one! here you go:

1. Prior to her bending coming in, I think she got on really well with Zuko actually. I very much think she followed him everywhere and was fascinated with him as Zuko demanded so much of her mother’s attention as a sickly kid that she would sit with her mother and sing while he wasn’t well, and often take the viewpoint of ‘hm what’s so interesting about him?’. I think Ursa encouraged them to be close and get along and their early years, the ones they can’t remember, were some of the best.

2. She likes theatre equally as much as Zuko. As a young child, she used to play act a lot with Zuko as a child, and loved to play the bold heroine in pretend plays he’d invent for her (Zuko would play every other character and/or narrate Azula’s heroic deeds).

3. After she started firebending early, the dynamic changed rapidly. Ozai finally began paying attention. Azula was put on a rigorous training regimen and was isolated somewhat from her brother (who started bending later) and her mother. This isolation & focus on firebending is where the abuse began.

4. I think Zuko got a lot more precious at the things he was good at - e.g. theatre, music, hand-to-hand combat, etc. and didn’t want Azula to ‘impede’ and show him up (because Zuko has a very obvious chip on his shoulder about his firebending). She was put off a lot of these ‘frivolous’ hobbies in part by her father’s discouragement and her mother trying to get her to stop teasing her brother (even if a lot of this teasing might have started as ‘look at what I can do!’ and ploys for attention). I think music and theatre are things she revisits later when she’s a lot older (I wrote a whole set of hcs about her joining the Ember Island Players which I still love) and has distance from it, but as a child her focus was largely on academic subjects, on firebending, and on ettiquette - being a ‘proper princess’ (Azula is very hung up on this, imo!).

5. I personally think ‘your mother thinks you’re a monster’ was partially seeded by Ozai, because Ursa wasn’t present enough (again, partially due to Ozai), that there was enough doubt in Azula’s mind from those fuzzy memories of her mother that she genuinely believed that. I also personally think that Ursa wasn’t sure how to handle Azula’s growing cruelty as Azula was isolated from her and began to mirror her father & his tutors, as she was very protective of her son and found it really difficult not to snap at Azula / control her patience around her own child when she said mean things she’d repeated from her father. I very much think Ursa was led to believe ‘Well, Azula is his favourite’, or ‘If Azula does well, then Zuko will be safe’ and other dangerous thought patterns that caused her to make poor decisions and prioritise short-term safety of her more obviously vulnerable child over long-term safety of them both.

6. After Ursa left was when things got very bad between Azula and Zuko. I think Ursa was a very flawed parent but she did try to encourage them to cooperate and try and reprimand Azula (arguably, poorly, but we only see a snippet of her disciplinary methods in Zuko Alone) for her behaviour. Without Ursa, I believe Ozai straight up encouraged her and rewarded her for antagonising and outperforming Zuko. And Azula learned very quickly the easiest way to outperform him was to undermine his confidence. I think this is the most toxic their relationship was.

7. I think she always knew, deep down, though, that her father’s love was very conditional, and that relied on her being at her absolute best at all times. She knew on some level she was disposable if she didn’t perform adequately (i.e. like Zuko). That said, I think she genuinely did love him? And wants to be loved by him, because he’s the only person who hadn’t abandoned her (until the finale), the only person whose approval she *knew* she could win (until the finale). And while she knows that her father can’t love her, on some level, it takes her a very long time to realise that it is Ozai at the root of her problems, that it is her father’s abusive parenting that has caused this, and to let go of him.

8. She never wanted to be Fire Lord! I think this is actually supported in text: “Fire Lord Azula? It seems appropriate” sounds like she has never contemplated the idea before. I think Azula very much saw herself as a subject and servant of the crown, but the most important and most successful one. I very much think Azula saw herself fitting in the mould of a hero rather than a monarch (I like the idea that she still retained something of those childish stories about bold heroines).

9. I think the best redemption arc involves her giving up the crown, her royal titles, all the elitism that she genuinely believes in, away from the court. I think while Azula wants to serve her country and will desire a ‘return to form’, I think ultimately the palace would probably be a toxic environment for her (and Zuko, but that’s another post), and while she might attempt to get back into politics, it’d end up encouraging the worst habits and she’d end up having to cut herself off from it and form a new life elsewhere. I like the idea of Azula actually realising those childish dreams of being a heroine during her redemption arc, but without the glory that entails, without the status and the songs and the myths. To take a bit from the western genre here, I like to imagine her a bit of a wandering warrior - but rather than having a strict sense of honour and a code, she’s still trying to figure out & rewrite her own code as she travels, and sometimes does dishonorable things on her journey. Eventually, I think she might settle down with a more stable profession, but I think she has a long wandering arc first. The future, for Azula, is far away from the Caldera.

10. I see-saw on whether I consider it part of my ‘canon’ or not but I absolutely adore the ‘Iroh was actually Azula’s father’ theory. I actually think this makes Iroh & Azula’s relationship worse rather than better - best case scenario Iroh is ignorant of it, but it’s quite possible, especially if his affair with Ursa is short-term fling they both pretend didn’t exist, his coldness towards Azula is in part because he’s willfully in denial about the possibility that she could be his. Which is evil!!! Anyway. I do like the idea that regardless, Iroh actually gets the fuck over himself at some point and does repair the relationship with Azula, to the extent that during a period in the middle of Azula’s wandering arc, she ends up crashing at his tea shop and living & working with him for a short period while she can’t find other work. Largely because I think them trying to patch things up is more interesting than the alternative, but I like to imagine it’s something Iroh realises he should do and is part of Iroh’s much longer and wider and still unfolding ‘redemption arc’ to some extent (which extends prior to the show but is still happening in s2 and s3).

[ganymedesclock]

So... What do you think about revisiting Danny phantom in general? Revisiting the fandom I've noticed a lot of fanfic that have Danny's parents finding out his deal rather violently, or generally having more violence/angst than the original show..

I’m assuming you’re sending me this ask because of my recent burst of Danny Phantom art, so, it’s probably not a surprise to say I’m doing a certain amount of revisiting myself, and certainly not about to shame anyone else for it. It was a very dear cartoon to me in many ways and left some enduring hallmarks on my own writing, and I can absolutely understand people feeling the same way.

That said, as someone who’s been in this fandom for a while, albeit quietly- there certainly is a thread of macabre interest in fandom spaces, one I don’t always know that I agree with, especially when it comes to the Fentons.

My personal verdict on the Fenton parents specifically is I think they are not handled fairly by canon. This is a problem that Danny Phantom as a show shares with Fairly Odd Parents, though I would argue the Turner parents in FOP are quite a bit worse at this.

Roughly, I think how the Fenton parents are canonically depicted suffers from a phenomenon that affects many parts of the show: DP, as a series, has a bit of a sense of confused priorities between comedy and drama, and as a result, what’s 'real’ in-universe and what’s “just supposed to be a joke”. The kind of humor that DP tends to spring for is exaggerated or shocking behavior- it also tends to be a humor that hinges on the idea that other people are generally inconvenient to the main character. So humor-characterization is inconsistent here- Jack is negligent until it’s more inconvenient to depict him as overbearing (see: Girl’s Night Out and other cases he desperately wants to bond with Danny) he’s a recluse only loved by his wife until it’s more inconvenient to depict him as having an active social life (Masters Of All Time and that he and Maddie are going to a themed party so they’re dressed ‘weirdly’ in public)

A big victim of this is Jack’s sense that ghosts aren’t people and his desire to dissect them. Because here is the thing: it’s all talk, in the worst way. It hinges on the idea Jack- someone who knows enough of what he’s doing that along with Maddie and, in the past, Vlad- ripped two different holes in reality hard enough to permanently alter someone’s relation to undeath- has never seen a ghost before the series as he says in Mystery Meat.

The series has a big problem where it hinges on the Fentons’ inventions and expertise but also wants to treat them like idiots constantly. And if you notice how much I’m talking exclusively about Jack- that’s part of the problem. Maddie, in many ways, outside of episodes that throw her a bone, despite constantly being told by people she’s too good for Jack, is really treated as an extension of Jack. Masters Of All Time even suggests that her choosing Jack in the first place was just a path of least resistance between her two college friends, and she’d have married whichever one stuck around. 

The Fentons are not respected as experts, so Jack is given his ignorant line about dissecting a ghost. The Fentons need to remain exaggerated, ridiculous, an inconvenience to Danny- so they threaten his alter ego and point guns at him, but this is funny and not serious and not a reason to be worried about them as parents, because they are not on Danny’s level. Nobody is ever on Danny’s level. There is literally an episode called The Ultimate Enemy. The antagonist is an evil future Danny. The only person who could ever be Danny’s ultimate nemesis is Danny himself. 

And when the series stops milking the Fentons for jokes about how they’re so stupid and how Jack is an idiot and Maddie married that idiot but even she doesn’t respect him even though she loves him and dutifully follows him everywhere and god how can these people care about ghosts they’re so ignorant and out of their league- 

-then it kinda shuffles its feet awkwardly and goes, yeah. the Fentons love each other, and love their kids.

Yeah, Jack has framed photographs of Maddie, Jazz, and Danny on his personal workstation.

Yeah, in Mystery Meat Jack was seriously debating walking away from his lifework because it upset one of his kids. 

Yeah, every time in canon the Fentons find out Danny’s secret they’re immediately all in supporting him.

Yeah, even not knowing it’s Danny, Jack has an amiable conversation with him in Million Dollar Ghost and the ghost containment units designed by the Fentons get some jokes about that they’re a little cramped but they aren’t horrifying prisons of inhumanity- and as soon as Danny Phantom the ghost boy has a good point, Jack lets him go on purpose. 

Yeah, Jack is a competent ghost hunter who can take on Skulker and win as well as beat down the giant lake monster Skulker brought with him in Girls’ Night Out and would do this in a heartbeat, no jokes and no sidetracks, because that monster just chewed on his baby boy and nobody does that to his baby boy.

Yeah, Maternal Instinct is an entire episode of Maddie throwing hands with (or deceiving and manipulating) literally anything she thinks was responsible for getting Danny in this dangerous situation.

...And then the series says “but that’s not funny! Here, have jokes about the Fenton Stockades, that exist and have spikes and Jack wants to put his kids in them for time out, when the spikes apparently don’t hurt given Jack is not injured for being put in there. Here, have a joke about Jack attacking Jazz with a vacuum cleaner because he gets hellbent on the idea she’s possessed for no good reason. Here, have an uncomfortable joke about how badly Jack Fenton wants to vivisect a ghost while it screams. Funny funny funny. Why- why are you flinching?”

It basically creates a comedic situation where the show is constantly winding up like it’s gonna punch you- with the idea that the Fentons are bad parents and this has consequences for Danny and Jazz personally- and then laughs in your face if you flinch. It’ll never actually punch you- but it will sure keep swinging its hand really close to your face and laughing at your reactions.

This is, I’m just gonna say- one of the worst elements of the series, this weird relationship it has with “hahaha are we depicting an abusive family or not? ;)” where its actual point is that Jack Fenton is a person who should be shamed for being overzealous, for caring about this niche field, because nobody cares about ghosts! (unless the entire premise of the show does) Nobody wants to think about ghost science! That’s LAME! (unless Vlad does it)

So I think ultimately this creates a polarizing experience in the fandom. What part of this information do you take?

Do you take, say, my personal approach, which is: 

“Hey, so it’s pretty clear and consistent that the Fentons love their kids and wouldn’t hurt them. The Fentons are nice people. They can be obsessive or headstrong but there’s nuanced and salient ways to examine this in the basic framework that they care, both about their family specifically, and in general- and while I think they can have flaws or conflicts with their kids, and with ambient ghosts in the world, I really don’t think they’re in danger of torturing a sapient entity in their basement and it frustrates and annoys me that canon ‘makes a joke’ of them doing these things because it thinks they’re so incompetent that these things are not really malicious actions, when- whether or not you successfully shoot them, it takes a certain kind of person to point a weapon you know is dangerous at something that looks, and talks, like a fourteen-year-old, especially when you’re a parent who has probably at least once in your life worried about something happening to your kids, and the ghost of a teenager means something happened to someone’s kid, in a general sense.

So my end conclusion on the Fentons is I think they are being depicted in a kind of metatextual bad faith, that they are not cruel or malicious people, and in my personal take or understanding on the series, I’d massively dial down those elements, and if any remain, take them seriously as problems they have in their relationships with other people.”

Or do you take an approach more rooted in,

“If the Fentons are shown to be negligent parents they are negligent parents, I’m going to examine and depict them as that, and I find this very hard to forgive, so it’s going to have real and nasty consequences.”

Both are basically valid. The place where I tend to get a little uncomfortable is twofold:

First, I think sometimes people just really want some fictional tragedy to either create or consume, and to that end, you aren’t going to get much juicy drama out of the Fentons being reasonable people. This isn’t evil or unforgivable, but for me, it’s definitely my least favorite fannish content to create or consume. I’m no fan of angst for angst’s sake, and I feel like there’s enough misery and heartbreak in the world that I’m not interested in wallowing in it unless it’s got something interesting to say.

Second- and this is a point I’m gonna be saltier: A lot of abusive Fenton fics that refuse to forgive them for the poorer-taste jokes the series makes, simultaneously give Vlad a blank check, when he has done targetedly malicious things to Danny. 

Now- do I also have a more sympathetic read on Vlad, and feel like canon also gives him a bad rap? Yeah! But you can’t have it both ways. You can’t say, “I can’t forgive the Fentons for stuff that was tagged onto them because canon thought it was funny, but I’m gonna editorialize Vlad’s depiction to lionize him as the ideal parent figure for Danny to run into the arms of.”

And the main reason I get so worked up in this, is I feel like Jack in particular (when Maddie is characterized as subordinate to Jack, following his cues, etc., and that’s its own demon) is... characterized as kind of a mocking caricature of traits that I personally recognize as an autistic and ADHD person.

Because the reality is? In many practical ways, I am Jack Fenton.

I like a bunch of weird stuff people find unacceptable or gross, like bugs

I’m hyperlexic (that means I talk, a lot)

Scatterbrained, forget words or where I left something or, sometimes, to do something important

Passionate and excitable including and especially in situations where it’s not normal, or expected, to have this much energy

I absolutely can forget birthdays, even for people I love dearly that mean the world to me! It’s horrible! There’s almost nothing I can do about it! My brain refuses to hold onto this information reliably and no amount of caring fixes it.

And being this way, living like this? My worst nightmare has always been that people think I either don’t care or that I’m just too much of a stupid, flippant buffoon to get right.

The thing about Jack is he’s “a person like me” and he’s “a person like me” who was designed to be a joke. We’re clearly expected to view him as untrustworthy, stupid, just like a big dumb dog of a man who barks in the wrong directions, who sometimes, when it counts, fetches a stick like he’s supposed to. Good job, Lassie. You got little Timmy out of the well.

And I am going to say with certainty and confidence that feeling like this is how people see me is the most unbelievably crushing feeling I have ever experienced in my life. That my excitement and passion means I’m unprofessional, stupid, don’t know what I’m talking about. It’s nearly painful for me, as an adult, to watch Danny Phantom because the show can never get off Jack’s case. And the few times it does, he hauls overtime arduously to make a difference, to help, to build something that will protect others, to put his own life on the line to stop hostile ghosts.

And immediately, then he goes back to being stupid stupid dog man. ha ha. why does his wife love him? no wonder his kids don’t ever want to be seen with him. no wonder his best friend is trying to kill him and he doesn’t even know, the big idiot.

(never mind that we see a scenario where he does know. and admits he would’ve forgiven Vlad anyway. but he can’t forgive Vlad hurting Danny.)

So to rein in this wild tangent: I’m not saying all must love Jack Fenton and despair. I’m not even telling people to hide their angst. If I have a sincere request, it’s this:

If you’re inclined to thinking of Vlad as a cool, troubled, complex person (as I do!) and are haunted by the implications of The Ultimate Enemy specifically for Vlad, that when Danny lost everyone else in his life that Vlad really genuinely tried to help, and was not gloating and happy and victorious to have Danny as his protege, and when that went badly, he was haunted to the end of his days by not having been able to help-

-but immediately turn around and think Jack is just a rotten awful person who’d absolutely hurt his own kid in spite of canon to the contrary (when there’s just as much, if not more, canon of Vlad being willfully hostile)

It might be good to examine why you’re feeling this way, and if this might not come down to the fact that even when canon has people call Vlad a desperately lonely fruit loop, it has a lot more respect for him than it does for Jack, and this isn’t because it’s actually taking a stance against any of the qualities it gave Jack that someone might find disagreeable- it’s because Jack’s just “a big old fat idiot nobody likes, right?”

and that’s... not something comfy to buy into.

[caspia-writes]

Summer of Whump #8 — Allergies

Summary: A bad case of hay fever turns an idyllic day at the park into a lover's quarrel.

A/N: Right, this whole 'Summer of Whump' thing exists. Oops. I might try to do a few more before the month's over. Or just be that weirdo who takes the 'summer' part literally and writes some stuff on the topic after the official end of the event. Haven't decided. Also: Aromantic with no relationship experience tries to write two lovers having a spat. It probably goes about as well as you'd expect.

Content warnings: None...?

This entire situation was infuriating. Of course it was; hay fever was enough to drive a man mad on the best of days. But today was even worse than most of the other ones Ernst had been tasked with enduring as of late.

The problem was that today was the first time in several weeks he’d been able to set aside an afternoon to enjoy Ilse’s company. So what if she’d wanted to sit in a park? The weather was nice enough. He should’ve been able to tolerate it, for a few hours at least, instead of becoming a weepy mess that was one wrong breath from dissolving into catarrhal paroxysms. And the minute that he let on that he wasn’t feeling entirely well, even if he had every reason to believe it was hay fever and not a head-cold or the beginnings of influenza, would be the minute that Ilse demanded he go home and rest in bed, alone.

Perhaps this wouldn’t have been so bad, or at least easier to not mention, if Ilse had been in her usual talkative mood. Most of the times they saw each other, Ernst wondered if Ilse wouldn’t prefer he kept quiet entirely and simply listened to whatever struggles she’d encountered lately. Before there had always been something—a particular point of etiquette that she kept stumbling on, difficulty with her embroidery, a snide remark another woman had made to her at the women’s school. But it seemed that despite having had weeks to accumulate such complaints, Ilse had somehow happened upon an occasion where she had nothing to talk about.

Which, unfortunately, meant she would need to invent a topic.

Even more unfortunately, that topic had come to be Ernst. More specifically, his strange behavior.

“You’re quiet today,” Ilse said. She paused a moment, then added, “Quieter than usual, I mean.”

Ernst nodded. That was hardly a revelation to him. It’d been quite intentional; if he didn’t speak or make any noise, he might not cough and it wouldn’t be so apparent that his nose was clogged. So long as he kept quiet, Ilse wouldn’t hear the grating hoarseness to his voice either. Maybe she wouldn’t think he was sick.

“So what’s bothering you?” She plucked a daffodil and began twirling it between her fingers. “Did someone tease you about your accent again? I told you, you shouldn’t listen to them. For one, I like your accent.”

He couldn’t help it. Ernst immediately looked over at Ilse. He’d spent hours upon hours locked in freezing classrooms, well after every other pupil had left, being screamed at for his inability to stop trilling his r’s, to fully pronounce his vowels instead of swallowing or chopping them–and Ilse didn’t mind the accent? She... liked it, even? Of course she couldn’t be serious, no one could ever mean that sort of sentiment, but the very idea that someone found it nice to listen to was intoxicating.

That his eyes were brimming with tears didn’t occur to Ernst until the yellow daffodil fell back to the ground and Ilse’s hand found its way to his cheek. By then it was too late for Ernst to do anything to about it except look away and wait for the inevitable.

“You’re... you’re crying,” Ilse whispered. “Because—is it because I like your accent? That’s all it takes for you?”

Well, no. It wasn’t. Not exactly. But it still meant more than she knew.

And now there were a thousand things Ernst wanted to say, to ask. That this really was the first time someone, anyone, had claimed to like his accent. A brief recounting of how much he’d suffered over it. If she was serious that she liked it. How she could find any appeal in the speech of a bored, monotone man with a potato in his mouth. If, maybe, she could say that again, just so he could be sure he heard her correctly.

That he was sure now, if he’d doubted before, that he loved her. And could he please kiss her?

All the things Ernst wanted to say, but instead he sneezed.

Not only that, but he sneezed directly in Ilse’s face.

Her reaction was almost as quick as the sneeze had been. She recoiled and let out a shrill “Really?!” as she began wiping her face on her sleeves. Ernst would’ve said something, apologized at least, if he hadn’t been busy still sneezing into his hands and trying to keep his glasses from falling off.

By the time he managed to get a breath in and even consider saying something, Ilse was glaring at him. Not the glare he’d gotten before when he’d made an especially bad pun or purposely made his accent even thicker than it was already, but an ice-cold glare that left very little doubt as to the direction the conversation was headed.

Out of desperation as much as anything, Ernst pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and began dabbing Ilse’s face. “It’s only hay fever. You can’t catch it, I promise. It isn’t a cold—I’m not sick.”

“Ernst,” she huffed. He only got a few more dabs in before Ilse scowled and pushed his hand away from her face. “Really now. We’re in Altenstadt, not on a farm. There’s not enough hay around here for you to get sick from it.”

“It’s the damned trees!” Ernst ducked his face into his handkerchief to sneeze a few more times. Not the most convincing addition to his argument, he had to admit, but he wasn’t going to give up yet. “The trees give me hay fever. Not hay. I’m not sick!”

“How stupid do you think I am?” Ilse spat. “Hay doesn’t grow on trees, Ernst. You have a cold, and now so do I. If you knew you were sick, why didn’t you say that earlier and go home?”

“I...”

What was he supposed to say? If he couldn’t blame this on his hay fever, the best he could try for was a terrible head-cold. Which was hardly going to endear Ilse to him, much less under these circumstances.

“I’m sorry, Ilse. Really.”

That didn’t satisfy her. She wiped her face again and crossed her arms. “Never mind. Just go home.”

Go home. A simple and perfectly reasonable request. One he’d heard before from several different people. But this time it felt like a dagger between his ribs.

“Could—” No. The answer was no. But Ernst had to ask anyway, in case it somehow wasn’t. “Could I at least walk you home?”

“No.” She glared up at him, gritting her teeth now. “Just—go away. I’d rather walk myself home.”

He did his best not to wince at the dagger twisting in his back as he let his hand drift back to his side. It’d been a stupid question, of course. That much he’d known before he’d even asked. And he’d known exactly the answer too. Not that any of that made it hurt less now.

Maybe that was why he still hesitated for a few seconds before he turned and began making his way home, no longer bothering with trying to suppress his hay fever. To hell with everyone who shied away and whispered as he had to brace himself on trees or lampposts. It was still March. No one else would remember it being him specifically. Just another of the damned inconsiderate fools wandering around giving everyone a late spring cold, so far as they knew. His identity wasn’t half so important as his value as a scapegoat.

And at least this way, maybe he wouldn’t have to admit to himself that there could be other reasons for the dull aching in his chest.

[anomander-dragnipurake]

Vengeance and Ambition

This was supposed to be a full story with Fawful and King Boo being victorious in the end. I was super excited for it because it's my 2 fav Mario villains teaming up and winning. But then it slowly dawned on me that no one would care in large part because Fawful's not a popular character. And while I have no issues writing solely for myself (I stopped expecting any kind of substantial interaction with my writing a while ago now) how hard Fawful's dialogue is to write (I don't even know if I did it right but I tried my best) makes the fact that virtually no one's gonna read it quite demotivating, killing my enthusiasm. So, because I still really like the idea and worked hard on this part, I decided to just upload this.

~

Fawful came to as if waking from a long sleep, slowly regaining consciousness. Which… wasn’t right. One would expect oblivion on the other side of exploding what was left of the Dark Star’s power within themself. He’d been dying anyway so might as well go out with a bang and bring his enemies down too. But nope, he opened his eyes to see that he was in the courtyard of Peach’s castle, very much still aware. Which included awareness that something was wrong with his body.

A quick look down at himself confirmed his growing suspicions. He was transparent and floating, his body tapered off into a tail instead of legs. He was a ghost; dead but not gone… free of the Dark Star’s power though. Presumably it had dissipated, leaving him here, powerless and defeated again. … Maybe not entirely though; his foes could still be dead, he had to exploded himself right in front of them, there was no possible way they’d escaped… right?

What if they’d also become ghosts though? … He’d deal with that problem if and when it presented itself. He didn’t even know the criteria for when or why someone turned into a ghost upon death.

So, eager to know the full outcome of his last-ditch efforts for at least a partial victory, he started for the castle. Floating along was quite simple, it was just a matter of wanting and choosing to move forward. He could even ascend and descend freely; so much more convenient than his usual means of levitation.

Where the final encounter had gone down, he wasn’t sure, but judging based off the position of the sun in the sky it was late morning. In his last clear memories, it had been past sundown. Meaning he’d lost some time and thus whatever or whoever was left after his explosion would’ve likely been cleared away by now. With no clear leads on where to start looking for what he wanted to know, he’d head for the throne room first.

He was in luck, Peach was there. Along with her elderly Toad advisor and… the red and green plumbers. They were alive and well, seemingly undamaged by Fawful’s explosion. Ugh! Twice now they’d beat him down and took away everything he’d had, coming away unscathed from it. How? He’d worked and planned so hard to get them out of the way while he took over the Mushroom Kingdom. It had been the perfect plan and should’ve worked… it would’ve if Bowser hadn’t far surpassed Fawful’s expectations for him.

And now he was back at square one. Less than that actually because he was dead. He didn’t have even an ounce of the Dark Star’s power anymore.

Holding back the urge to curse and shout, he floated closer, intending to eavesdrop on his enemies’ conversation. He was too late though, they were already getting ready to separate.

“See you later,” Peach said with a smile as the brothers walked away.

They strode right past where Fawful floated invisible. Green slowed down as he looked around, pulling his arms in a little as if he were cold. His eyes slid right over Fawful of course but it couldn’t be a coincidence, he had some sense of Fawful’s presence and possibly of the hate Fawful was glaring at them with too.

“You okay bro?” Red asked.

“Uh… yeah, I’m just tired, I guess. It’s been a long day.”

With that, Fawful turned away from them as they moved on.

The throne room was still a mess from when he’d forcefully taken it over. Many of his statues were still up in here as well as outside. He’d had it in his grasp, he’d been so close. … Too close to just give up. He would take out the plumbers and he would take over the Mushroom Kingdom, he just needed a new plan.

 -

First things first, he went back to his workshop hidden away in the sewers. He got lost for a while phasing through walls and thus eventually settled on following the paths the way a living person would have to. He’d been so sure he’d never have to venture down here again but… ugh. Failure was even worse when he’d been the sole person in charge.

Maybe if he’d still been working with Cackletta things would’ve gone better. Two heads were better than one after all, right? It was impossible to say though and it wasn’t worth dwelling on; she was dead and gone, even her ghost had been destroyed. … He’d have to be careful to ensure he didn’t suffer such a fate.

By the time he reached his hidden workshop behind his mostly failed attempt at a shop – he’d had to settle for sneaking out to steal things instead until he got a bit more clout – he was equal parts anxious and furious again. He’d lost Midbus and his entire robot army that he’d spent so much time and effort building, how was he supposed to rebuild from here? He’d thrown everything he had at his plan and it wasn’t enough. How could he possibly have done anything more? Why did fulfilling his ambitions and getting vengeance have to be so hard?

 -

He may have allowed himself to wallow around in his workshop for a while. He deserved a bit of self-pity at this point though, didn’t he? And it wasn’t like anyone was around to see anyway so who cared? In the process though he found he could no longer sleep which sucked really hard because it meant no more breaks from his thoughts or anything else. It meant he had to get up and get to work sooner than he otherwise would’ve too because lying in bed unable to fall asleep was the worst.

What should he do though? Maybe look for Midbus, it was possible he’d survived and if so trying to patch him up was probably a good idea; he’d been a good minion. And if he was dead, Fawful was a ghost so maybe Midbus would be too and thus the same principle still applied.

 -

If he’d still had blood it would’ve been boiling at the sight of what was left of the Dark Star extractor. A group of Toads was dismantling it with all the technological grace of a particularly stupid mountain goat headbutting a brick wall until it finally broke. All the many, many hours Fawful had put into designing, building, and perfecting it – not to mention everything else that had gone into this plan as a whole – and they were just ripping it apart like it was worthless scrap. And to top it off, there was no sign of whatever had become of Midbus anywhere in the room.

He floated over to grab one of two the spare hammers left on the ground and flung it at the nearest Toad. Unfortunately, it missed, sailing right over his head, but he screamed anyway, drawing the attention of the rest of the Toads. Oops, maybe Fawful shouldn’t have done that. … Oh well, he was too mad to really care.

“The hammer levitated and flew right…” the Toad was saying, cutting off with a small yelp as Fawful lifted the other hammer to throw as well. This one hit the Toad squarely in head. He teetered for second before going limp into the arms of the Toad beside him who, along with the other two, screamed and bolted for the door, dragging the unconscious Toad with them.

Fawful zoomed over to grab the hammer again and throw at them. It hit the door right as they closed it though. Ugh!

He snapped back around to face his invention again. It was almost entirely dismantled, there’d be no saving it. Not that he had any further use for it anyway, the Dark Star had been destroyed and it was all Bowser and the two wretched fink-rat plumbers’ fault.

But… as angry as he was, he should focus on finding Midbus. His help would be nice for whatever Fawful’s next plan would end up being.

 -

After searching the whole castle and the ground surrounding it, there was still no sign of Midbus. He was either dead and gone, a ghost who’d decided not to stick around the way Fawful had, or alive and recovering from his wounds elsewhere. The latter two might be because Midbus had figured Fawful had been completely destroyed or as was more likely the case that he didn’t care enough to even think to look and was choosing to abandon Fawful.

It didn’t really matter though because no matter what Fawful for sure no longer had Midbus. Which was… fine, he didn’t care, why should he? He’d been on his own before and risen so far, he could do it again. And he’d be successful this time, third time’s the charm after all, right? … Hopefully.

***

Being trapped in a portrait was in some ways worse than in a vault and in some ways better. In the vault he could move even if there wasn’t much space to do so, and speak freely even if no one could hear him, but he couldn’t see anything that was going on outside. In a portrait though, while trapped and unable to move, he could see what was going out in front him.

E. Gadd could’ve easily put something over him, depriving him of even that. But he didn’t. Instead he’d hung King Boo up in the front part of his lab. There wasn’t much to see most of the time but it was better than nothing and he could bide his time here. He’d been dead for a long time so time meant little to him. … Except he’d always been impatient compared to how long he’d existed for.

One could only cycle through all the ways he could’ve improved his prior plans to make them more likely to succeed or about possible new plans and what he’d do to his enemies if/when he finally defeated them before even that got old. And now he was just thinking about being bored for the umpteenth time, making it a boring thing to think about too. Truly one could not get any more bored than that. And yet there was nothing else to do but think and think and be bored and hate the people who’d done this to him and be bored some more. If only something would fucking happen.

As if the thought had brought it about, the doorbell rang. It was most likely just Luigi coming for a visit because he did that sometimes or a door-to-door salesperson but it would break the boredom of staring at an empty room for a little bit at least. And if he was really lucky, Luigi might even glance his way with a nervous expression before following E. Gadd into the lab proper.

As was often the case, it took three rings before E. Gadd came out of his lab to answer it. He didn’t spare King Boo a single look as he walked over to open the door. “Oh hello,” he said in a tone that indicated that it wasn’t Luigi at the door. Which could only mean it was someone new. Awesome! Too bad King Boo couldn’t see them from this angle.

“This be the residence of E. Gadd, yes?” The voice had an odd quality to it almost as if it might be coming over a speaker or radio.

“Yes, now might I ask why a…” He cut off as a cloud of thick purple smoke engulfed him, centering on his head. “What is…” Another cloud puffed in from outside. Whatever was going on here was getting more exciting by the second.

Before the smoke had cleared, a little green drone flew into them room. It looked around for a bit before it seemed to freeze looking at King Boo. It zoomed over for a better look.

“Aha!” whoever was controlling it said through it. “I have success! … I think. It could be being a painting that is normal. Hopefully and probably not because why would E. Gadd be having a painting of King Boo if it is not being actual King Boo?”

Weird way of talking or no, whoever this fellow was had just made King Boo’s day. … Assuming he was here to rescue King Boo anyway, it was possible he just wanted to steal the portrait. But even that would be exciting and changing hands would increase the likelihood of his boos being able to come in and free him.

The ghost of a beanish person with swirly eyes, wearing a cape and holding what had to be the drone’s remote control floated through the still open door.  “Stay in corner,” he snapped at E. Gadd who was kind of just standing around now. “Fawful has no time for the gloating yet, in humans mind control spray be wearing off faster than the joy of eating the last cookie in the jar.”

“Yes, right away, Lord Fawful,” E. Gadd said, his cadence almost normal as he moved to obey.

Fawful then looked down at the controller to neatly land the drone on the desk. He placed the controller next to it before zooming over to pull King Boo’s portrait off the wall. He poked and prodded at it a bit before turning it over, presumably do poke and prod at the back too for a few seconds before flipping it back over.

“E. Gadd! How one be freeing King Boo from the frame?”

“Shine a dark light on it.”

“Where is dark light? Fetch it for me, quickly.”

The sound of E. Gadd walking out of the room indicated that he obeyed. He returned a few seconds later to hand one of his flashlights to Fawful. “The switch on the side turns on the dark light.”

“Good, go back to corner.”

King Boo was mentally vibrating with anticipation as Fawful leaned him back against the wall. Next, he floated back to shine the dark light squarely on the portrait. The sensation of being pulled out of it was odd and uncomfortable as always but as soon as he free, he was laughing with exhilaration. Freedom at long last was his!

The very first thing he did with this newfound freedom was levitate the now empty portrait out from behind him and float over to E. Gadd to put him inside it instead. It was harder to do without an enchanted crown to channel his magic through and lacking its stored power to assist him but he got it done. E. Gadd, still affected by the mind control spray didn’t fight it, resulting in a rather calm looking portrait of him. … Expressions of fear were preferable but whatever; King Boo was free and E. Gadd was trapped and that’s all that mattered right now. He might try to fix it later but for now…

Leaning the portrait against the wall to be retrieved later, he snapped back around to face Fawful again. “I appreciate the rescue. I know you didn’t do it for no reason though. What do you want in return?” As long as it was reasonable and within his means, he’d probably grant it. He was that grateful and being generous had gained him many loyal followers in the past and he was always open to more followers.

Fawful grinned wide, even chuckling a little as his ghostly tail curled in visible anticipation or perhaps nerves. “I have the wish to offer an alliance.”

King Boo had been down this road before with Hellen and that had turned out terribly but it didn’t hurt to hear him out. “What kind of alliance?”

“Well… as new ghost, Fawful was wondering around Peach’s castle unseen, hearing many things, seeing many more. Whispers about King Boo were common, your hatred for the red and green plumbers clear as a glass of wine after one has found nothing but sorrow at the bottom of. So the alliance: Fawful will be helping take down plumbers and at the same time, King Boo will be helping in the conquering of the Mushroom Kingdom for my taking.”

“You want to conquer the Mushroom Kingdom, huh?” King Boo wasn’t into kingdom conquering himself, he was perfectly content with the land he had and didn’t desire any more especially if it was infested with living.

“Yes.” Fawful nodded. “I be wanting a kingdom and I don’t be liking the red and green plumbers so I will be taking their kingdom. With our alliance like the icing on the cake, I leave the vengeance of them to you.”

Given how many times Luigi had sucked him up into that wretched vacuum of his, King Boo might actually be willing to go along with this even if to an outsider looking in, Fawful would appear to be getting much more out of it. But really, a good chunk of the work in taking over the Mushroom Kingdom would be done with just taking out Mario and Luigi. If it worked, King Boo desire for vengeance was more than strong enough to make assisting with the rest of it worth it. But… “How do I know you can carry your weight in such a scheme?” No way was he going to be doing everything himself with his supposed ally barely helping.

“Because if was not for a certain spiky snack being much spicier than expected, Fawful’s last plan would’ve been success.” With that, as if eager to share his tale, he launched into it explaining his last plan and how close he’d gotten to succeeding.

Honestly it was a rather entertaining tale, especially the way he told it. King Boo had been around more than long enough to know about the Dark Star so that gave credibility to his tale because few living knew of it by now. He had gotten rather close to succeeding though.

“And so,” Fawful said after his tale had winded down, “I be thinking in terms of evil schemes we are near equals. Our goals don’t align but they be overlapping like multilayered cake of ambition and vengeance. Working together we could perhaps be making a plan that is unstoppable like large boulder made of vengeance and knives rolling down steep cliff crushing any daring to be standing in its path, including nasty plumbers.”

Maybe King Boo should take a bit to think about this, confirm Fawful’s tale of near success over the Mario bros with one of his castle spies, but after spending who even knew how long trapped in a portrait after his third defeat, he was rather eager to set in motion some vengeance. Besides, he was starting to like Fawful, he was odd but in a way that made him interesting, far more so than Hellen – not that that was too difficult to do. And who knows, maybe all King Boo’s plans had been missing was a horde of killer robots. So… “All right, I’ll agree to an alliance.”

With an excited snicker, Fawful extended a hand out of his cloak to shake King Boo’s hand – something that stubby boo arms always made weird but he didn’t say anything about it – sealing the alliance. If this didn’t turn out well then so be it, it wouldn’t be the first plan or even first failed alliance King Boo had attempted. But it was worth a try in case it worked and regardless it should at least make for an interesting time. “First though, I need to free my boos. Then we can go somewhere to discuss the finer details.”

[raptured-night]

Hello, I have two questions this time. Why do you think we can’t really compare Death Eaters to Nazis? Why can’t we really compare purism with racism? Oh and do you think Death Eaters are more like nowadays’ terrorists or not?

So, it's no secret that I have drawn attention to the issue of Death Eaters being treated as literal stand-ins for Nazis or blood purism as a literal example of racism. Importantly, there is a difference between acknowledging the ways that Death Eaters or blood purity might work as semi-functional allegories for the Nazis and their ideology, white supremacy, racism, etc., and treating fictional representations of invented prejudices as if they were comparable or on par with non-fictional Nazi ideology, white supremacy, or systemic racism.

An article for Medium makes this point very well:

Silent resisters and ‘I don’t really care about politics’ people deserve our contempt. But what makes those who filter life through fiction and historical revisionism worse is that they are performing a soggy simulacrum of political engagement.

As a woman of colour watching, all I can do here is amplify the call to step away from your bookshelf. Let go of The Ring. My humanity exists independently of whether I am good or bad, and regardless of where the invented-fictional-not-real Sorting Hat puts me.

Realise that people are in danger right now, with real world actions needed in response, and not just because you want to live out your dreams of being Katniss Everdeen.

The problem with discussing Harry Potter’s fictional examples of prejudice as if they were literal or completely comparable with real-life prejudices is that it does lead to an oversimplification of the reality of prejudice (whether white supremacy, racism, homophobia, transphobia --looking at you Jo-- or otherwise) and the very real people who experience these prejudices every day. The fantasy of being Harry Potter up against Umbridge or Voldemort in a YA series where the line between the good and bad guys is almost clearly denoted by the narrator is a far cry from the reality of what activism is or what living under oppression is like for many marginalized people. 

I would argue that this is also a leading reason why the “social justice” (yes, in many cases I believe that deserves to be enclosed in dubious quotations) discourse in Harry Potter fandom trends more towards performative than it does sincere (one need only look at the defense posts for Rowling in response to real marginalized groups criticizing her for things ranging from her offensive representation of Asian people, Indigenous and Native peoples, or her failures in representing the lgbtq+ community particularly in light of her coming out as an open TERF and they can get an idea of how those “I’m an intersectional feminist/social justice ally and that’s why I read HP!” fans quickly shift gears to throw the bulk of their allyship behind Rowling instead) because when you spend all of your time debating fictional prejudices it’s much easier to detach oneself from the reality of non-fictional prejudice and its impact on real people.

Fiction has no stakes. There is a beginning, middle, and end. In Rowling’s fictional world, Harry Potter ends with Harry and “the side of light” the victor over her allegorical representation of evil and he gets his happily-ever-after in a world we are led to believe is at peace and made a better place. In the real world, decades after the fall of Hitler, there are still Nazis and white supremacists who believe in the glory of an Aryan/pure-white race and are responsible for acts of violence towards marginalized groups; even after the fall of the Confederacy in the U.S. we are still debating the removal of monuments erected in their honor (and the honor of former slave owners and colonialists like Christopher Columbus) while the nation continues mass protests over the systemic police brutality Black people and other people of color have long faced (not to mention the fact the KKK are still allowed to gather while the FBI conspired to destroy the Black Panther Party and discredit them as a dangerous extremist organization).

As a professor in literature, I’ve often argued that fiction can be a reflection of reality and vice versa. Indeed, it can be a subversive tool for social change and resistance (e.g. Harlem Renaissance) or be abused for the purposes of propaganda and misrepresentation (e.g. Jim Crow era racism in cartoons). So, I am not underscoring the influencing power of fiction but I do believe it is important that when attempting to apply fictional representations to real-world issues we do so with a certain awareness of the limitations of fiction. As I have already observed, there is an absence of real-world stakes for fiction. Fictional stories operate under a narrative structure that clearly delineates the course they will take, which is not the case for real life. In addition, the author’s own limitations can greatly affect the way their fiction may reflect certain non-fictional issues. Notably, a close reading of Harry Potter does reveal the way Rowling’s own transphobic prejudices influenced her writing, not least in the character of Rita Skeeter (but arguably even in her failed allegory for werewolves, which are supposed to reflect HIV prejudices, but she essentially presented us with two examples of werewolves that are either openly predatory towards children or accidentally predatory because they canonically can’t control themselves when their bodies undergo “transformations” that make them more dangerous and no surprise her most predatory example, Fenrir Greyback, seems to have embraced his transformation entirely versus Lupin who could be said to suffer more from body dysmorphia/shame). 

Ultimately, fiction is often a reflection of our non-fictional reality but it is not always an exact reflection. It can be a simplification of a more complex reality; a funhouse mirror that distorts that reality entirely, or the mirror might be a bit cracked or smudged and only reflecting a partial image. Because fiction does have its limits (as do authors of fiction), writers have certain story-telling conventions on hand through which they can examine certain aspects of reality through a more vague fictional lens, such as metaphor, symbolism, and allegory. Thus, the Death Eaters can function on an allegorical level without being problematic where they cannot when we treat them as literal comparisons to Nazis or white supremacist groups (particularly when we show a greater capacity for empathy and outrage over Rowling’s fictional prejudice, to the extent we’ll willingly censor fictional slurs like Mudblood, than we do real-world examples of racism and racial microaggressions). As an allegory, Voldemort and his Death Eaters can stand in for quite a few examples of extremism and prejudice that provoke readers to reflect more on the issue of how prejudice is developed and how extremist hate-groups and organizations may be able to rise and gain traction. Likewise, blood prejudice looked at as a fictional allegory goes a lot further than when we treat it as a literal comparison to racism, wherein it becomes a lot more problematic. 

I’ve discussed this before at length, along with others, and I will share some of those posts to give a better idea of some of the issues that arise when we try to argue that Voldemort was a literal comparison to Hitler, the Death Eaters were literal comparisons to Nazi, or that blood purity is a literal comparison to racism.

On the issue of blood prejudice as racism and Death Eaters as Nazis, per @idealistic-realism00.

On the issue of blood prejudice as racism, my own thoughts.

On the issue of Death Eaters and literal Nazi comparisons, per @deathdaydungeon and myself. 

Finally, as I have already argued, the extent to which fiction can function as a reflection of non-fictional realities can be limited by the author’s own perceptions. In the above links, you will note that I and others have critiqued Rowling’s portrayal of prejudice quite thoroughly and identified many of the flaws inherent in her representations of what prejudice looks like in a real-world context. The very binary (i.e. good/bad, right/wrong, dark/light) way that she presents prejudice and the fact that her villains are always clearly delineated and more broadly rejected by the larger society undermines any idea of a realistic representation of prejudice as systemic (we could make a case for an effort being made but as her narrative fails to ever properly address prejudice as systemic in any sort of conclusive way when taken along with her epilogue one can argue her representation of systemic prejudice and its impact fell far short of the mark, intended or otherwise). In addition to that, the two most notable protagonists that are part of her marginalized class (i.e. Muggle-born) are two comfortably middle-class girls, one of whom is clearly meant to be white (i.e. Lily) and the other who is most widely associated with the white actress (Emma Watson) who played her for over a decade before Rowling even hinted to the possibility Hermione could also be read as Black due to the casting of Noma Dumezweni for Cursed Child.

Overall, Rowling is clearly heavily influenced by second-wave feminist thought (although I would personally characterize her as anti-feminist having read her recent “essay,” and I use the term loosely as it was primarily a polemic of TERF propaganda, defending her transphobia, and reexamined the Harry Potter series and her gender dichotomy in light of her thoughts on “womanhood”) and as far as we are willing to call her a feminist, she is a white feminist. As a result, the representation of prejudice in Harry Potter is a distorted reflection of reality through the lens of a white feminist whose own understanding of prejudice is limited. Others, such as @somuchanxietysolittletime and @ankkaneito have done well to point out inconsistencies with Rowling’s intended allegories and the way the Harry Potter series overall can be read as a colonialist fantasy. So, for all of these reasons, I don’t think we should attempt to make literal comparisons between Rowling’s fictional examples of prejudice to non-fictional prejudice or hate groups. The Death Eaters and Voldemort are better examined as more of a catch-all allegory for prejudice when taken to it’s most extreme. Aicha Marhfour makes an important point in her article when she observes:

Trump isn’t himself, or even Hitler. He is Lord Voldemort. He is Darth Vader, or Dolores Umbridge — a role sometimes shared by Betsy DeVos or Tomi Lahren, depending on who you’re talking to. Obama is Dumbledore, and Bernie Sanders is Dobby the goddamn house elf. Republicans are Slytherins, Democrats are Gryffindors.

The cost of making these literal comparisons between Voldemort or the Death Eaters to other forms of extremism, perceived evil, or hate is that we impose a fictional concept over a non-fictional reality and unintentionally strip the individual or individuals perpetrating real acts of prejudice or oppression of some of their accountability. I can appreciate how such associations may help some people cope and for the readers of the intended age category of Harry Potter (i.e. YA readers) it might even be a decent primer to understanding real-world issues. However, there comes a point where we must resist the impulse to draw these comparisons and go deeper. Let Voldemort and the Death Eaters exist as allegories but I think it is important we all listen to what many fans of color, Jewish fans, lgbtq+ fans, etc. are saying and stop trying to fit a square peg into a round hole by treating these fictional characters and their fictional prejudices as if they were just as real, just as impactful, and just as deserving of our empathy and outrage as the very real people who are living daily with very real prejudices --because they’re not equal and they shouldn’t be.