#half propaganda half bad record keeping

[badassbutterfly1987]

Summary: Justine plans for the fute while Thomas ends up looking back.

[fangirltothefullest]

Little reminder for anyone thats of voting age in the USA- election propaganda is already starting and the fear tactics will start flying.

So let's remind everyone what's been happening from Republicans recently because they try to insist they are saints and victims every election.

Republicans took away abortion laws and the human bodily right to choose whether or not you keep your baby. Whatever you believe for yourself, whether you, yourself, thinks its wrong, taking that right away from other people is cruel because it forces rape victims to have their babies, forces children to suffer, forces women to have no choice in the say of their own bodies and that just isn't right.

Republicans insisted that student debt could not be forgiven at 50k or 20k so Biden caved and settled on 10k which Republicans said would be acceptable. Republicans then decided everywhere to challenge the ruling and people are still struggling in various places to get their promised forgiveness in a lot of places.

Republicans are pushing to get rid of, and have gotten rid of, many child labour laws because instead of making businesses pay decent wages which would bring more workers they decided to bring in children which is cruel and they can easily exploit. Note! These laws were put in place to stop the exploitation of children! If a child cannot sign a legally binding contract without their parent as a witness, why the hell should they work a job like an adult?!

Republicans are choosing to ignore school shootings over and over and over again CONSISTANTLY in favour of allowing MORE guns and trying to force teachers to be armed as if that insane concept is normal. Democrats are pushing for gun reform, and Washington state has passed a ton of laws recently to regulate guns. Republicans refuse to do that and would rather our children die over and over and over again and send "thoughts and prayers" instead of doing anything about it. This has been a consistent thing since Columbine.

Republicans say Democrats are doing bad things and want to take away your rights but consistently the Republicans have been hindering progress at every turn, fighting against progressive legislation and blocking it whenever Biden and the other democrats suggest anything. This also happened during Obama's time in office.

This is not a recent thing- deregulation happened because Republicans wanted businesses to be able to do whatever they wanted. Tricklw down evonomy is fucking bullahit ans hasnt trickled down to anyone.

That republican-backed deregulation is why employers don't have to pay you right and why they treat you like a replaceable cog in the machine and why they hate unions so much.

Democratic states do have a record of preserving your rights and fighting to grow them. Take a look around right now and tell meqhich states are safer for lgbtqia+, which states are safer for people who aren't white rich white men. Take a look at which news programs are consistently using fear-filled language and fearmongering tactics and promoting fear of the other and tell mwwhich companies, which people, which white wealthy men are in control of them.

Do not let yourself be fooled. Yes democrats are also not saints. They do a lot of bullshit too. They promise to do a lot and then sort of piddle and poke and half assembly do things. But a little half-assed progress is better than regression. Small progress ia better than no progress is better than reversing progress.

They've already tested the waters and we saw how much terrible bullshit they could do, how much progress they could reverse, under Trump. You do NOT want that again. You do NOT want someone just as unhinged but only able to disguise it better.

Please stay informed, do your research and do not vote for the party that has time and time again consistently shown they want everyone to suffer but themselves.

And remember- If they were not afraid of your vote, they would not be working SO hard to suppress it.

[freakingoutthesquares]

Ten Years In A Jumbo-Collared Shirt Words: John Mulvey, Photographer: Peter Walsh Taken from the New Musical Express, June 1992 Transcription: Acrylic Afternoons

"Pulp is... being an anachronism of any kind... living in a dream world... being totally unrealistic... making contact with beings from other planets and snogging them... it's not being different for the sake of it - that's immature... it's all of these things and more - but most of all it's about you and us, and what we can get up to together - OK? - alright, here we go..." (Pulp propaganda)

Today, Pulp is... trying to be superstars in your hometown... organising party games for drunks... loving Des O'Connor and not having to say you're sorry... being fantastic... being mundane... being fantastic and mundane at the same time... dreaming of space-age Sheffield...

"Sheffield's full of half-assed visions of cities of the future that turn into a pile of rubbish," Russell Senior reflects, standing on the biggest traffic roundabout in Europe. "We grew up reading the local paper and seeing 'Sheffield, city of the future,' with a map of how it's going to be and pictures of everyone walking around in spacesuits, smiling. But we're the only ones who took it seriously..."

"When I was younger I definitely thought I'd live in space," says Jarvis Cocker ruefully. "But when you realise you're not going to, it colours your life; you can't think, 'It's alright if I'm signing on because I'll be on Mars soon', you have to try and get it down here." So what are you getting into at the moment? "Cooking. It's very good. Cooking for your friends is very therapeutic, and they always say it's nice, 'cos they're just pleased they didn't have to get out of their seats to help."

Pulp - singer Jarvis, guitarist/violinist Russell, Nick Banks (drums), Steve Mackey (bass) and Candida Doyle (Farfisa, Korg and Stylophone) - are sitting in a dressing room at the Sheffield Leadmill with a pointless prop - a large, silver, faintly sinister head - for company. It is a special day. In the afternoon, hundreds of balloons have been released to mark the debut of their new label, Gift, a perverse indie spin-off from local Techno-vendors Warp. Later, they will play a dizzily great set of twisted disco melodrama. For now, though, they have a long ten years - and extraordinarily unsuccessful career to explain.

"Music's the only thing that can keep you going," says Jarvis, reassuringly clichéd. "If you're not getting paid loads of money and not getting loads of girls sayin ' You're smashing', that's the only thing to fall back on. When I was at school I had specs and bad teeth and was a bit lanky, and so no girls were really interested, but I thought that if I was in a group they'd think I was good... So on that level I've failed miserably. But that's why all sad kids do it, innit? Standing on the stage is like wanking off in front of a mirror. People in bands are social misfits aren't they?"

Looking at Jarvis - still wearing specs, still lanky (I didn't check his teeth) - and the rest of Pulp clad in a hundred shades of brown, a bit of lamé and countless other '70s synthetic atrocities, it's hard not to conclude that they're proud to be social misfits. Russell, meanwhile, is musing on how a band who haven't released an album since 1985 have kept going. "A band that's been together for a decade and has never sold any records is either very, very crap indeed OR they've got something strong keeping them together. I can't make up my mind which of those two it is yet."

"It's about not being able to make it in the real world," reckons Jarvis, back on his misfit tack. "I haven't got a City & Guilds certificate or anything, I haven't got a skill." What about film work (he and Steve are fully trained and occasionally practising video-makers)? "Oh yeah, I have got that," he admits bashfully. "But that's why I went to college, 'cos you do see sad characters walking around who used to be in a band about five years ago, and they always look like a dog that's got lost."

Pulp are currently busier, in bigger demand, than ever before. There's a frantically groovy new single, 'OU', about someone woken up by the sound of his girlfriend leaving him and wondering whether to chase after her or stay in bed; plus there's an album recorded in 1989, 'Separations', finally set for release on their old label, Fire. Both are tense, funny, fizzily danceable and flamboyantly out of step with most of the world, let alone the music scene.

"I like the light entertainment, Des O' Connor feel more than the greasy 'I'm on Highway 66, man' feel," says arch-crooner Cocker. "It's something that's going to die out. You listen to radio 2 - well, I do anyway - and they play Matt Munro, Engelbert Humperdinck and stuff that doesn't really get made anymore. It's a bit clichéd, and that's why people think it's cheesy. But the reason why people performed in that way is 'cos it's quite effective; if you can break through the cheese barrier, you can make contact..."

And so they go on. About people who find their balloons will be treated to a night in with Pulp, to listen to sports themes and BBC Radiophonic Workshop records, and play Stereo Ker-Plunk. About how Choppers are better than Grifters, and how Russell once smashed up the Leadmill dressing room in a fit of pique, only to be caught the next morning sneaking in to replace the bulbs he'd broken.

The last I see of Jarvis, he's standing on the bar at the after-show party, trying to organise the drunken liggers to play musical statues for a can of beer, while 'Nevermind' stops and starts incongruously in the background. It is, like a knackered redcoat struggling to bring culture to barbarians, not a pretty sight. The last I see of Candida, she's leafing through the Leadmill's visitors' book. Amidst pages of revealing scrawls - Spiritualized's inscrutable squiggles, Sultans Of Ping FC's unfunny cartoons - Pulp are there again and again and again; strange, sardonic, not all there but always bloody there. Whoever said all good things must come to an end was a useless liar.

[quinloki]

Family Ties

Fem Reader x Donquixote Doflamingo

CW: Language, violence, blood, moral ambiguity, murder, sexual themes and situations 18+ only

Chapter 1 - Table of Consent -

Chapter 12: Emotions

Dinner at the Donquixote estate was a practice in barely restrained chaos. Sugar had demanded you sit by her, which ended up with her in your lap about half-way through the meal. Dellinger had seated himself on the other side of you and spent as much time arguing with Sugar as he did talking to you.

Trebol and Diamante, two of Doflamingo's closest officers, snapped at each other's heels almost the whole meal, though most everyone else seemed to ignore them. Baby asked you a least 30 times if you needed her for anything, and you were legitimately convinced she was a hired maid for a good while, before Violet set you straight.

Monet sat near Sugar and did her best to help you wrangle the little rugrat enough that the two of you could trade off on eating. When you heard Machvise had personally made your dinner you praised him appropriately – you didn't want to unload a lot of hot air, but it was delicious food. You even admitted that while you weren't a fan of peas personally, the split pea soup was unexpectedly tasty.

Pica, Giolla, Senor Pink, Gladius and Buffalo were there a well, but your interactions were fairly limited. You feel like the younger ones had claimed you, and everyone else was just trying to make sure you weren't overwhelmed.

"Miss (Y/N)?" Sugar asks near the end of the meal.

"Miss Sugar, you can just call me (Y/N)." You say for the twelfth time, and after the third time you had started calling her 'Miss Sugar'.

"This bracelet is nice, where'd you get it?"

You realize she means the carnival gift, and you're suddenly glad to be a few seats removed from Doflamingo. "I got it as a gift."

You seem to have caught Dellinger's attention with this statement and he looks over. "From who?"

You gave a nervous laugh and smile as soon as you did Sugar pipes up. "Oh, was it the young master?" You hear someone choke on a drink, and you're pretty sure it's Monet. You're a bit sad your back's to her, she's been so composed the whole dinner it would've been a treat to see.

And people tell me I'm intuitive.

"Indeed." You answer with a smile. "It's a very special gift," you say with some drama. Sugar's attention is completely yours at this point, and even Dellinger looks like you're about to perform magic.

"What's it do?" Sugar inquires softly.

"It becomes more valuable with time." You answer, in your best mystical whisper.

You were fully rewarded with two awe-filled 'woooooah's' from Sugar and Dellinger. The conversation changes, the table was cleared, and after the meal you managed to find Monet without Sugar immediately in tow.

"I have a question for you, if you have a moment to spare." You ask and she gives you a smile.

"Anything for our new resident magician."

You grin. "Doflamingo told me you had dug into my history." Your expression didn't change, you weren't trying to make her feel bad. "I've... never looked, and while I know what happened, I don't know what the official story was."

There was a pause as she processes what you were asking and then her face became serious. "When you were six?"

You nod.

"I couldn't find the truth, and I knew I had only found propaganda when all the reports said you and your mother were killed during the Moim, and that your father had killed your killer. None of the records had anything else in them. Apparently, there's a memorial on Mary Geoise, honoring you and your mother's sacrifice." Monet's tone was usually flat, but there was a snarl in her last few words, as though the whole thing turned her stomach even as removed from it as she was.

You couldn't help the wave of emotion that went over you. Aggravation, anger, frustration, an odd pang of sadness and then anger again. He'd been able to keep climbing the ranks after the incident, you knew that much, but you didn't realize it was because they'd created a false tragic hero out of him. You had just assumed no one had known or cared – or that maybe the guy he murdered your mother to get was infamous enough for it to not matter.

"This... was a bad time to ask that, can you... I mean, is there somewhere I can go to cool off?" You question. Your fists are white-knuckled, and you're struggling to keep a neutral face.

"Of course." Monet takes you by the wrist and leads you through the estate until you come out the backside of it. The garden sprawls out before you, illuminated by the full moon, with a clear backdrop of stars. She points to a large tree that wasn't too far away.

"The old Wisteria tree always helped comfort me when I needed it. I'll keep most of the family at bay and give you a few minutes."

"Thanks."

You walk toward the large tree, feeling your anger melt away a little just from the cool air and the promise of quiet near the tree. Everything made more sense, and you hated that it made more sense. You stood under the tree, looking through the branches and blossoms, letting the moonlight fall over your face, you cry.

"May he live in agony." You whisper your wish up to the moon above, and your anger rushes back in.

"May he die in agony." You growl, your nails biting into the meat of your palms. Your shoulders shook, you wanted to unleash violence, you wanted to fight, you wanted to crush the old man's bones under your anger.

"Fuck." You croak the words, trying to keep from screaming. "Fuck."

"Rage is better released than held." Doflamingo's voice was quiet, as though he wasn't sure if he should even speak.

"I... don't..." You look over at him and your breath hitches. "I don't know what to do with this! I want to hurt him! I want to feel pain in my fists from the damage I would do his bones! I want his soul to shatter beneath my fury! I want his blood to feed the worms!"

Tears cut lines down your face as Doflamingo stands in front of you silently. If your words were affecting him, he made no outward show of it. "I want every breath he takes to cut his lungs with glass! I want the world to know what a terrible fraud he is! I want his heart's final, worthless, twitch to be between my fingers! How is this emotion simple rage?! How is this emotion even human!?"

Your tears stop. "How can... how can you hear me say all that and not flinch? Not back away? Not – not banish me from your home? How can I be so angry twenty-gods-be-damned-years-later?"

You sit on the ground hard, and it's the first time he so much as twitches, reaching out as if to catch you. Instead, he steps closer and kneels before you. His glasses are off and tucked in his shirt pocket. He offers you a handkerchief and gives you a moment to clean up your face and catch your breath.

Your mind comes back to you, and you look down at the ground. "Did it feel like this for you?" You ask quietly.

"Mmm," He reaches out and tilts your face up with a gentle touch, until you're looking at him. "It was different, but similar. My anger didn't simmer for 20 years until it boiled over. I was able to release it, and resolve it, in a smaller amount of time." His thumb caresses your cheek, wiping away an errant tear. You turn your head and nuzzle your cheek into his hand.

"I realize this is a bad time to say so, but you could just crush my whole head in your hand." You lean back, holding his hand with both of yours. "I wasn't able to really appreciate how bloody big your hands are until now."

The velvet rumble of his soft chuckle makes you feel warm. "Feeling a bit better?" He asks, standing up and offering you a hand up.

Smiling, you accept his assistance. "I am, thank you." Stretching a bit, you chuckle. "Painful truths over sweet lies, what a legitimate sentiment."

"If you're up for it, there's been an offer of dessert." He says with a devious grin, and continues before you can say anything. "The kind you can enjoy in the company of the family."

You blush a bit despite it all and laugh. "Sure, yes. They say sweet things are good for the soul anyway, so dessert-mffmph!"

Warm lips press against yours, and a strong hand presses into your back to steady you against the surprise. When he leans back you grab his collar and pull him back in, causing the softest sound of surprise to escape him. You press your tongue against his lips, and he lets you in. You didn't control the kiss for long, but you didn't care. Being devoured by this man wasn't the worst that could happen to you.

"My apologies," you breathe, as the kiss breaks, your eyes shifting from his lips to his eyes. "I'm sure you had something about you being good for my soul on the tip," you lean closer again, your eyes back down at his lips. "Of your," you ghost your lips past his, biting your lower lip lightly, before backing away entirely.

"So, dessert?" you prompt, with a great big smile on your face.

He chuckles, putting his glasses back and gesturing back to the estate with a small flourish, "My dear."

You got a step ahead of him and hear his voice rumble in his chest. "That won't be forgotten," he promises, and you weren't sure you were as scared of that as you should've been.

Dessert was a delicious strawberry shortcake, and a more subdued conversation with Monet, who apologized for delivering her new so bluntly. You also get to speak more directly to Trebol, Diamante, Pica and Giolla.

Leaving for the evening was a little bittersweet, but when Doflamingo didn't tempt you to stay, you realized just how busy his own job was keeping him. He did walk you to the limo, pinning you against the door and finishing the kiss from earlier before allowing you to slip away for the evening. You were in the backseat without a chance to request different, and sure enough your mind wandered to what had been done before, and what could be done in the future.

Tuesday came and went with little incident. You sporadically texted with Doflamingo, worked your jobs, and took an evening to yourself. You had every intention to vegetate on the couch and watch cheesy action movies. When you got home Tuesday evening, you saw Zoro in the driveway, looking at his phone and leaning against his delivery van.

"Hey, Marimo," you greet, jogging the last few steps to reach him. "What's up?"

The grin that spread across his face made you tilt your head in confusion.

"Special delivery, Mouse." He teases you back and hands over one of Robin's flower arrangements. You realize from his smile that he knows what the hyacinths meant as well as you did. You hold the flowers nearby and appreciate the scent.

Your face goes red and all you can murmur is a small, "Thanks."

"Least I could do." He replies. "It was my last delivery of the day, so I decided to stick around until you got home. Things run long at Eustass' shop?"

"Not overly. I ended up kibitzing with the guys for a bit, but admitting that my stray had turned into a more permanent sort of trouble was what kept me."

Zoro snorts, "Yeah, I'm sure a couple of those guys will be drowning their sorrows tonight."

You laugh, "If they felt that way, they should've said something sooner."

"As long as you're happy," he shrugs.

"Nervous?" you question, shifting the topic of whose relationship was being discussed.

Zoro looks away and rubs the back of his head. "Maybe a little."

You pat his shoulder. "She's only had a thing for you, for like, the last year at least. You'll be fine whatever you have planned."

Zoro groans. "Did I really not notice for so long?"

"I blame time spent hanging around Luffy and Ace." You say, "They're both dense as tungsten."

Zoro laughs and leaves you to your thoughts and flowers. Hyacinths, your loveliness charms me. There's a definite skip in your step as you go into your home.

(Y/N): I see you have responded in kind.

You send the text and set the flowers on your coffee table and do a silly happy dance for a moment before your phone vibrates.

Trouble: I was told a simple reply would suffice.

(Y/N): I only have so much space for replies.

Trouble: I was reminded repeatedly by your florist friend.

(Y/N): I would like to reply in a more direct way, but you must promise me something.

Trouble: I shall do my best, my dear.

(Y/N): Do not answer your phone for the next twenty minutes.

You were skipping up the steps to your room waiting for a reply. It took so long you were a bit concerned he wasn't going to agree.

Trouble: Very well, I promise.

Utilizing the toys you had available, you brought yourself close to orgasm before dialing his number. You tried to calm your breathing in case he picks it up, so you could scold him without giving your intent away too obviously. Once you heard the customized voicemail greeting, you had a feeling he at least had an inkling as to what you meant to do.

"Leave your messages as you please, kitten."

Caught or not, it didn't matter. You let the pleasure in your voice sing out for him. You were so close you didn't think you were going to need multiple messages, just the knowing sound in his voice was enough to get your heart racing. Your imagination brought his presence into your room, looming over you and telling you to scream for him. Purring softly in your ear with need in his own voice for you to cum for him.

The idea of him watching you while you did something like this drove you over the edge in a rush. You mewl his name and cry your orgasm into the phone as best you could with your hands preoccupied. Panting and enjoying the rush you pick up the phone properly and left the only fully formed words of the whole message.

"Just some of my charming loveliness, Doffy."

Hanging up the phone you laid out on the bed and basked for a moment before dragging yourself into the shower. As you were coming back out of the shower, you noticed a missed called and a new voicemail message. Your face flushes as you press play, unsure of what to expect.

"There is a fine line between divinity and torture, Miss (Y/N). One you seem to be alarmingly skilled at walking. I do hope you're available tomorrow, I would hate to have to kidnap you, my dear."

You sent a text, not wanting to risk your voice betraying you. You also wanted the chance to pick your words, and not vocalize the fact that you wouldn't have any issues being kidnapped by him.

(Y/N): I promised Pop's some of my time tomorrow.

(Y/N): Is after dinner acceptable?

The lack of a reply stretches out more minutes than it ever had before, so you decided to continue.

(Y/N): It seems I've bordered closer to cruel than I meant. I could, graciously, get someone to cover my café shift Thursday, so that I could stay the night.

The last few words were hard to type, not because you were against the idea, but you were a little worried you misread his delay. You wanted to jump in with both feet, you didn't want to leap into concrete on accident.

The response was almost immediate.

Trouble: Then I shall graciously accept.

You bit the bottom of your lip, and preemptively apologized to the Boys that you wouldn't be as focused on visiting as you usually were.

[uncle-fruity]

Honestly, I hope all the corporate art fails. I dream of the day that Disney is little more than Ozmandias's leg stumps in the sand. I hope I never have to see the sanitary polish of a big budget film again, or the same conventionally attractive Broadway casts over and over. I hope all the soulless cash grabs out there flop so hard they bankrupt the greedy suits who pushed for it. I hope every writer, musician, and artist breaks away from the mainstream and starts making the weirdest project they harbor in their minds & hearts. I hope the people will stop giving their money to big publishers, big movie studios, big record companies... and will start investing in independent artists across the board so that these talents don't have to default to accepting a paycheck from The Industry in exchange for the censorship of their souls. I wish people would put a little fucking effort into cultivating their media intake to include an overwhelming number of indie artists, and reject the convenience of capitalistic art. I'm talking 90% independent art, and 10% whatever bullshit the companies churn out -- and that 10% is generous.

I'm tired. Tired of how little support an artist without a giant marketing team gets. Tired of something that's rough around the edges being deemed "bad" or "cringey" or whatever bullshit terms the haters like to use. Tired of getting stereotypes and half-baked narratives trying to pass themselves off as "diversity." Tired of people complaining that the companies who care about NOTHING but their profits don't have enough representation when there are SO MANY INDEPENDENTS who are making mountains of actually satisfying representation in their work. Tired of judging a project's worth by how many people are talking about it on the collect-your-data-to-sell-it socmed sites, or how much profit it generates from the masses.

Art isn't meant to generate profit. Art is for the soul. Art is to connect us to each other. Art informs us about the world around us, and all the types of people who exist and all the points of view those people have. Art teaches us the truths of the world around us. And if all you're consuming is (Christian) family-friendly, greatest-common-denominator, majority white/cis/het cast, imperialist propaganda shit that these companies churn out, you are going to just keep perpetuating those ideals.

It's sickening.

[constantviewings]

The TV Show Trials - Black Mirror

Black Mirror is a British anthology television series created by Charlie Brooker. Individual episodes explore a diversity of genres, but most are set in near-future dystopias with sci-fi technology.

Is this weeks late? Yes. Do I care? No. Is it even finished? Also, no; but I will update this as I watch what’s left. For this review I decided to switch it up a little bit, I’ve watched the majority of Black Mirror before so instead of just reviewing every episode; I’m ranking them from worst to best.

The Waldo Moment

A failed comedian who voices a popular cartoon bear named Waldo finds himself mixing in politics when TV executives want Waldo to run for office.

It’s very difficult to make audiences care about fictional, local bi-elections and this episode is definitive proof of that. This episode is a major let-down not only as a season finale but being in-between the powerhouses of White Bear and White Christmas. Overall, it’s just a bad episode...

The Entire History of You

In the near future, everyone has access to a memory implant that records everything they do, see and hear. You need never forget a face again - but is that always a good thing?

While the concept is solid, and provides the baseline of technology going forward, the episode itself is too slow to justify its 50 minute runtime. While the stakes feel high, I’m not invested enough in the relationship to feel bad at its demise. Also, I think Charlie Brookers takeaway is bullshit, he thinks it’s Liam’s fault for looking for information that will upset him and that Claire just has ‘secrets’ and ‘still loves him’… she cheated on him while they were trying to have a baby! She’s just as bad as he is.

Men Against Fire

Future soldiers Stripe and Raiman must protect frightened villagers from an infestation of vicious feral mutants.

While not boring, I don’t really care for action and war heavy narratives, the message redeems this episode a lot for me. The idea of war propaganda dehumanising the ‘enemy’ to make it easier to kill them or wish for their death is portrayed to its extreme here.

Be Right Back

After learning about a new service that lets people stay in touch with the deceased, a lonely, grieving Martha reconnects with her late lover.

Another slow episode, but this is better than The Entire History of You because it focuses solely on the relationship and the aftermath of Ash’s death. Hayley Atwell and Domhnall Gleeson absolutely kill it as Martha and Ash; but can we expect any less from them?

Arkangel

After nearly losing her daughter, a mother invests in a new technology that allows her to keep track of her.

I know this episode is pretty divisive and, while I don’t find it particularly entertaining, the concept and discussion that it prompts is worth having. Like, is the Arkangel moral, does some of the footage count as CP, if giving someone emergency contraception against their will a human rights violation? It’s just unfortunate that the discussion surrounding the episode is more entertaining than the episode itself.

Playtest

An American traveler short on cash signs up to test a revolutionary new gaming system, but soon can't tell where the hot game ends and reality begins.

I feel like my reviews are already getting bad, and we’re only six episodes deep… Anyway, this episode is pretty scary, so it does its job as the sole horror episode of the series.

Fifteen Million Merits

In a world where people's lives consist of riding exercise bikes to gain credits, Bing tries to help a woman get on to a singing competition show.

Okay, time to get a little controversial. I think this episode is good, but not great. Daniel Kaluuya is phenomenal, and you can really see how far he’s come while also retaining those trademarks of his performances; especially with his eyes. My problem mainly lies in that it’s only really entertaining in the last half; but I don’t know what I would cut to make it shorter…

Hated in the Nation

In near-future London, police detective Karin Parke, and her tech-savvy sidekick Blue, investigate a string of mysterious deaths with a sinister link to social media.

Once again, another good episode, it’s just too long. I think it’s done a massive disservice by simply being known as ‘the killer bee episode’ because it’s so much more than the bees; but not much more to impress me.

Hang the DJ

Paired up by a dating program that puts an expiration date on all relationships, Frank and Amy soon begin to question the system's logic.

This episode and the next one are pretty evenly matched, I just like this one slightly less. This is mostly because the episode lags in the middle compared to the beginning and end.

San Junipero

When Yorkie and Kelly visit San Junipero, a fun-loving beach town full of surf, sun and sex, their lives are changed.

It’s just a good episode… can you tell I’m getting sick of writing these reviews?

Nosedive

A woman desperate to boost her social media score hits the jackpot when she's invited to a swanky wedding, but the trip doesn't go as planned.

I think this episode is great, especially as the introduction to this ‘new’ phase of Black Mirror on Netflix. Bryce Dallas Howard knocks it out of the park and the concept is great; espacially because it isn’t too dissimilar to how we currently live.

Crocodile

An insurance agent investigates a minor traffic incident using a device that manifests peoples' memories, but one of her witnesses has something to hide.

This is just fucking grim, isn’t it? While this episode is insanely devistating, that’s one of the reasons I rank it so highly, especially because it isn’t afraid for it’s main character to just be an awful and selfish person with no redemption. It’s really great to see.

Black Museum

A woman enters the Black Museum, where the proprietor tells his stories relating to the artifacts.

Where this episode’s strength is in the way they tie each story to each other. It could come across as a slap-dash clip show to fill out the season but those connections in the form of Rolo Hayes takes it beyond into being a great episode.

USS Callister

Capt. Robert Daly presides over his crew with wisdom and courage. But a new recruit will soon discover nothing on this spaceship is what it seems.

I’m going to be completely honest and admit that I was dreading re-watching this episode as I didn’t like it the first time around; but I can confindently say my opinion has changed. It’s way funnier than I had remembered it and Cristin Milioti does a phenomenal job, a stand out scene being the one in the lake.

The National Anthem

Prime Minister Michael Callow faces a shocking dilemma when Princess Susannah, a much-loved member of the Royal Family, is kidnapped.

We all knew this was coming but I bet you weren’t expecting to see it in my top five, were you? I could go on for eons about how this (and the rest of my top five) perfectly encapsulate the soul of Black Mirror as commentary on technology, polotics, and interpersonal conflicts; but you don’t want to hear that, you want to hear my defence. I think this episode is the perfect episode to start the show with, it’s shocking and a bit gross but it hooks you so quickly that you can’t help but watch ‘til the end. And let’s be honest, it’s exactly how society would react to this situation...

White Bear

Victoria wakes up and cannot remember anything about her life. Everyone she encounters refuses to communicate with her, and they all seem to know something she doesn't. But what?

You don’t need me to tell you how good this episode is, the rest of the internet can do that for me...

White Christmas

Three interconnected tales of technology run amok during the Christmas season are told by two men at a remote outpost in a frozen wilderness.

This is another episode where the internet can tell you how great it is, so I want to focus on something different. Like The Entire History of You, I don’t agree with Brooker’s interpretation of the conflict, sure Joe doesn’t seem like the best guy but his partner cheated on him and had another man’s child while blocking him and refusing to work things out like an adult. And while he may be an unreliable narrator, when you don’t give me anything to hint at the reality, I’ve got no choice but to believe the narrator...

Shut Up and Dance

When withdrawn Kenny stumbles headlong into an online trap, he is quickly forced into an uneasy alliance with shifty Hector, both at the mercy of persons unknown.

I’m sure you saw this coming after seeing where I put The National Anthem... I love this episode and and the way it draws you in to care about Kenny until you start thinking ‘the video’s pretty bad, but surely it’s not wirth all this right?’ all the way up to dropping the bombshell on what he was actually doing. And, even on rewatch, that reveal still makes me unbeleivably nauseous.

[hillaryisaboss]

In order to distract from inciting his cult to attempt to kill Pence & Pelosi on the January 6th insurrection of the capital, & the reporting that he shred official White House documents down the toilet, Trump & his echo-chamber are rallying his supporters against his arch nemesis: Hillary Clinton.

A desperate & typical tactic for a former “President” who lost the popular vote not once but TWICE.

Donald lost by 3 million votes in 2016.

Donald lost by 8 million votes in 2020.

A charlatan propaganda artist who started the racist birther lie against President Obama.

A failed BANKRUPT businessman.

A failed leader who made COVID way worse than it needed to be.

Donald failed the Presidential leadership test just like he failed to ever win the popular vote or to create a business without bankruptcy & fraud.

Oh, and…

Donald was also the first President to be impeached not once but TWICE.

Lost the popular vote twice.

First to be impeached twice.

P.S. (side-rant):

If you believe any of the GOP-manufactured “Clinton Scandals,” you have been played for a fool.

Nothing Hillary has ever done has resulted in a trial.

Nothing Hillary has ever done has resulted in a guilty conviction.

The FBI ended its investigation into Hillary’s e-mails. They found no evidence of intentional wrongdoing.

Hillary destroyed the GOP during her brilliant 11-hour Benghazi testimony.

No one on Earth has been investigated more than Bill & Hillary Clinton.

The Clintons jokingly say they are the “most investigated innocent people on Planet Earth.”

I’m still waiting for Hillary to be charged & convicted. Hasn’t happened for 30+ years.

It’s sad that hundreds of millions of tax-payer dollars have been wasted just to damage the reputation of Bill & Hillary Clinton.

One of the easiest ways to prove Hillary is extremely smart & effective is to look at how hard the GOP has tried to keep her from the White House.

Ever since Hilary burst onto the scene in 1992, the GOP has stopped at nothing to slander & smear the woman everyone knew was smart enough to become the first-female President of the United States.

The last thing on Earth Republicans wanted was The Clintons back in the White House.

The GOP remembers the 1990s & how pragmatic & successful the Clintons were:

—4-balanced budgets due to the compromising ability of Bill Clinton

—A surplus

—22 million new jobs

—7 million fewer Americans living in poverty

—Minimum wage up 20%

—Assault Weapons Ban

—Brady Handgun Violence Prevention Act

—Closet we have ever been to peace in the Middle East

—Northern Ireland peace process

—Campaign Against Teen Pregnancy: all-time low abortion rates

—Office on Violence Against Women

—Violence Against Women Act

—Children’s Health Insurance Program: 8.9 million children insured

Too bad so many Americans forgot about this impeccable record from the ‘90s & drank the anti-Clinton kool-aid ;(

Remember: the Clinton Foundation has a higher charity rating than the Red Cross & provides 11.5 million people with access to HIV/AIDS medicine — that’s more than half of all those affected by the virus worldwide!

All of these “Clinton scandals” have been designed to keep Hillary from reaching the White House. Even if the scandals aren’t true, the GOP knows they damage her politically. That was the admitted purpose of the Benghazi hearings — to make Hillary’s poll numbers drop.

To this very day Republicans still want to investigate Hillary. Just watch Fox News. They think Hillary is the President and should be impeached. It’s a truly sick & sad obsession.

Bill was lucky to not have to face Fox News in 1992.

Just make sure you always do your own independent research when it comes to any claim against the Clintons. Most of the claims usually turn out to be false.

Granted, it can be hard to decipher between fact and fiction. There has been a multi-million dollar anti-Clinton cottage industry at work for decades.

The abuse and brutalization Hillary has faced from the GOP is unmatched.

Yet she still won in 2016 by 3 million votes.

Without Comey & Russia interfering, she would have won the Electoral College, too. Outside forces won the election for Trump. He is an illegitimate President.

2016 was stolen from the 3 million majority in favor of a 6-times bankrupt mentally ill racist propaganda artist. Good job America!!

[rotshop]

get prankt this isn't an angst fic lol ,,

ANYWAY ,, i realized earlier that i could've just been calling 'auditor reader' employer reader this whole time and then i had a funny silly goofy little idea and now we r here,,,lol,,, ill proof read this later but i did this in one go no breaks so . help.

I might continue this later so!! consider this a sort of 'introduction' if u will,,

note ; auditor uses he / she / they pronouns in this bc ive decided im just going to push my propaganda onto all of you <333 also Hank uses he / they / xe

tw ; dissociation, dereality, some light body horror

Bloody Management

"This is out of your jurisdiction. You've wasted enough time here," you seethed dryly, staring down at the shorter being. "You've made no progress and have only proved your operation to be a strain on our relations and resources."

"Out of MY jurisdiction? YOU'VE never even been there before! You think you can just storm in and suddenly kick me out of my own work?" Auditor shot back, hands slamming down on the mahogany desk in front of her.

"Yes, actually, I do," you snapped, eyes narrowing. "I think you're forgetting just who you're speaking to. You've let this drag on for far too long and your ego has grown in tandem with its pointlessness."

Sighing, you leaned back in your chair, pinching the bridge of your nose as you continued. "Look, I understand. You put effort and thought into this little pet project of yours, but the results have all proven zilch. You fucked up, that's fine, but you can't keep meddling with this reality in hopes something will suddenly work again! All you're doing is tearing and poking holes the rest of us will have to deal with later."

"If you just gave me a little more time I could-"

"We've been giving you time. We've given you more time than we've ever given any project like yours," you gave a desperate look, "It's over. You tried and we tried, there's nothing that can be done. If you just worked with us then we could help you."

There was a long silence as they faltered, hands falling into their lap as their gaze followed, landing on the floor.

"And what happens to my Nevada?"

"We'll try and clean it up again. Return it to..some sort of normalcy," you hummed, "Though, with some of those tears in the fabric it'll take a bit longer than anticipated. That..clown, is proving to be rather difficult."

You paused, grin finding it's way onto your face.

"It's been tricky, if you will."

"Not the time."

You gave a 'tsk' in response, shrugging lightly, "I don't regret it."

"You'll be going back to our depths, effective immediately. While this project was a failure, we're still curious to see if there's anything else that can be done in a different time and place."

"And what about you? Are you going to sit all pretty in this fake office for the rest of eternity?" She questioned sarcastically, eyes dragging up to meet yours.

"God, I wish. I mean, seriously, you have no idea how nice it is to have some peace and quiet after dealing with that fuckin' office."

With a dry snicker and -presumably- an eye roll, they finally stood accepting their defeat.

"I presume I'll be seeing you?"

"If your little posse doesn't cause me too much trouble, yes."

"Have fun with that, I do hope it's as grueling as possible," he hummed, turning and striding towards the door to nothing.

"Thanks, was nice seeing you too."

The door peering to the void shuts soundlessly.

.

.

.

"Was the pun really that bad?.."

---

"What do you mean they're just neutral suddenly? It's not like they all just suddenly unionized or sum' shit! There's gotta be something going on," Deimos groaned, irritation dragging onto him and clinging desperately.

"Well- What do you want me to say! I'm just as confused as you are," Sanford huffed back over comms, making a vague gesture with no audience.

Hank stood in the other room, staring down at the few agents that were on their knees with their hands held tight behind their heads. They'd made no attempt to attack Sanford and xem, simply staring in a bit of surprise when the two'd busted in. It'd completely thrown the raid off, leaving them both in a state of stunned confusion. The agent that they'd asked about the sudden change in demeanor just gave some shaky shrug, stammering out that they'd all received an order to not attack under any circumstances from some unknown contact. 'They really just listen to anyone then?..'

It was hard to believe, hard to find any reason or meaning in that lead to any conclusive endings. Which, had lead to a small dispute going nowhere and fast. Hank only picked up on little parts of it, the words being muffled and distorted through the wall. Xe didn't really have much interest in getting a clearer reading of it though, it didn't sound like it meant much.

"Look, I'm just going to try and look for any documents or actual recordings of this apparent 'ghost order,' alright?..." A pause. "Deimos? Are you there? Shit- Of course the line dies now of all times."

The line wasn't dead. It was somewhere else, some-when else.

---

The ground felt cold.

.

.

No, was it warm?

Wait- No no no, it wasn't warm..

.

.

.

Was it even the ground?

.

.

Did it even matter?

.

Deimos could fuzzily recall it. Arguing with Sanford over the line. The points he made exactly didn't seem to ring through the fog of confusion and numb in his mind. Something about the Auditor, the agents, blah bla..something.

He'd been making to say something else when he'd seen it, something off in the corner of his eye. It wasn't anything huge, if you asked him he wouldn't even be able to tell you what it was. There was something wrong, but there wasn't. The ground was cold, but it was warm.

Something was wrong.

Everything is fine.

He'd turned around, looking around for whatever in his vision wasn't right.

That's rude to say, you know.

He'd never found it, something reaching from the depths to grab him.

You're making me sound awfully cruel.

With a groan, he picked himself up off the ground to observe his surroundings. White and black stretched infinitely around him, the 'ground' underneath him was the deepest of not-color while the 'sky' was its blinding twin. A building stood in front of him, a mix of ivory and ink twisted to form its structure. The door faced him, standing tall and straight as a soldier in spite of how tilted and off the world felt.

Before he could even really register it, something was pulling him up off the floor. There were no hands or strings physically attached, nothing sticking from him to drag into the infinite beyond his comprehension, no no. It was something quiet, a ghost or a whisper in his mind that pulled him through the ocean and to shore. The door grew larger- closer. His mind grew blanker. His hand twisted the knob.

Color flooded into his vision finally, the room in front of him coated in it graciously. The floors were a velvet carpeting, a wine red that felt of lavish and glitzy. The walls were lined in bookshelves, each filled to the brim with titles somewhere between poetry and latin white noise where imagination fell. At the head of the room stood a desk, polished mahogany standing tall and still, frozen indefinitely in time. Behind it, you.

Me.

Once again, he was pulled forward. Each step fell in front of the other, unsure of weight behind them and noise that followed suite. He felt half there. Half of a man and half of a void. It was..something.

Not pleasant, not bad.

The ground wasn't cold, wasn't warm.

It just was.

He finds himself meeting your gaze as he plops down into one of the seats in front of you. He finds his neck straining and bowing under phantom limbs that aren't there. He finds his eyes training on yours which stare back pointedly, finds himself between hot and cold. He finds himself sitting down before you as he watches from the window.

There's no window in the room.

"You must be so confused."

Your voice is in front of him, right? That's where you are, so your voice should be coming from there. It isn't though. It's around him somewhere. Even as you tilt your head to the side the noise of your own voice doesn't seem to follow it.

"Don't think too much on this all, alright?"

You mutter something. 'These grunts really weren't made for this- to be here. I'm surprised he even woke up.'

Someone nods in agreement.

"Wh..who are you?"

Is that his voice? It is. It has to be, it fell from his own mouth. He barely even felt it move. Is it his mouth? It has to be.

You pause for a moment, seemingly caught off guard. He doesn't know if its because he spoke or because of what he asked. Nobody clarifies.

"Why don't you call me [name]? That'll be easiest for you. I do apologize for dragging you here rather than appearing there," you hum, leaning forward on your desk. "I just wanted to make sure we had the utmost privacy."

I wanted to make sure you wouldn't be able to forget.

"Now, Deimos," is that his name? "I need to tell you something, I have to work on restoring things for you, so I can't deliver this message to everyone myself in the most..effective of ways. You won't mind filling your friends in for me, right?"

He doesn't answer. He can't. His tongue is lead and his mouth is stuck shut, if he opens it will surely be left that way for the rest of infinity- for the rest of this place, this time. Someone says yes in his voice.

"Good. Now, try to listen carefully..."

---

He wakes up on sand. He's sitting up quickly, stilted as his mind finds his body. His tongue is lighter, teeth separated once more as his jaws are their own entities again. The cliff is still under him, wind passing by him peacefully. The horizon stretches infinite.

The ground is warm, there's no mistaking it.

"Deimos? Are you there?"

He pauses briefly.

"I need to tell you guys something."

[nevermindirah]

I've been drafting and redrafting this meta post for weeks now. It's about to be 5781 and my country that was founded on settler colonial genocide and slavery and a deeply flawed but fierce attachment to democracy might go full dictatorship in about 6 weeks and it's time for me to post this thing.

All our immortals are warriors, all have been traumatized by war. But only three of them died their first deaths as soldiers in imperial armies. This fandom has already produced gallons of meta on Nicky dealing with his shit, because Joe would not fuck with an unapologetic Crusader. But there's very rich stuff in Booker and Nile's experiences and the parallels and distinctions between them.

Nile was 11 when her dad was killed in action - that was 2005, meaning she and her dad both died in the same war that George W Bush started in very tenuous response to 9/11. Sure, Nile's dad could have died in either Iraq or Afghanistan, or in a training accident or in an off-the-books mission we won't know about for a hundred more years, but he died in the War on Terror all the same. I had to look it up to be sure because Obama "drew down" the Afghanistan war in his second term, but nope, we're still in this fucking thing that never should've happened in the first place. The US war in Afghanistan just turned 19 years old. A lot of real-life Americans have experiences like the Freemans, parents and children both dying in the same war we shouldn't be in.

I know a lot of people like Nile who join the US military not just because it's the only realistic way for them to pay for college or afford decent healthcare, but also because they have a family history of military service that's a genuine source of pride. Military service has been a way for Americans of color to be accepted by white Americans as "true Americans" - from today's Dreamers who Obama promised would earn protection from deportation by enlisting, to Filipino veterans of WW2 earning US citizenship that Congress then denied them for several decades, to slaves "earning" their freedom through service in the Union Army and in the Continental Army before it. As if freedom is a thing one should have to earn. Lots of Black Americans have the last name Freeman for lots of different escaping-slavery reasons, but it's possible that this specific reason is how Nile got her last name.

Dying in a war you know your country chose to instigate unnecessarily and that maybe you believe it shouldn't be waging is a very particular kind of trauma. It is a much deeper trauma when your military service, and your father's, and maybe generations of your ancestors', is a source of pride and access to resources for you but your sacrifice is nearly meaningless to the white supremacist system that deploys you. That kind of cognitive dissonance encourages a person to ignore their own feelings just so they can function. How do you wake up in the morning, how do you risk your life every day, how do you *kill other people* in a war that shouldn't be happening and that you shouldn't have to serve in just so that your country sees you as human?

We see Nile do her best to be a kind and well-mannered invader. Depending on your experience with US imperialism, Nile giving candy to kids and reminding her squad to be respectful is either heartwarming or very disturbing propaganda. We also see Nile clutching her cross necklace and praying. From the second Christianity arrived on this land it's been a tool of white supremacist assimilation and control, but like military service, it's a fucked-up but genuine source of pride and access to resources for many Americans whose pre-Columbian ancestors were not Christian, and it's a powerful source of comfort and resilience. This Jew who's had a lot of Spanish Inquisition nightmares would like to say for the record that it's not Jesus's fault that his big name fans are such shitty people.

Nile is a good person trying to do her best in a fucked-up world. "Her best" just radically changed. Her access to information on just how fucked up the world is has also just radically changed, because everything's so fucked up a person needs a lot of time to learn about it all and not only does she have centuries but she won't have to spend that time worrying about rent and healthcare and taxes, and because she now has Joe and Nicky and Andy's stories, and because she now has Copley's inside scoop on just what the fuck the CIA has been up to. Like, I want a fic where Copley tells Nile what was really behind the brass's decisions that led to her experiences on the ground in Afghanistan, that led to her father's death, but also I Do Not Want That.

Nile was 19 when Alicia Garza posted on Facebook that Black Lives Matter. She grew up in Chicago well before white people on Twitter were saying maybe police violence against Black people is a problem. She knows this is a deeply fucked up country, and she put on her Marine uniform and deployed with her team of mostly fellow women of color, and maybe she and Dizzy and Jay marched in the streets between deployments, maybe they texted each other when a white manarchist at a protest sneered at one of them for being a Marine. Nile's been busy surviving, and she knows some shit and she's seen some shit but she hasn't had much time to think about what it all means. Now she's got time. And Joe, Nicky, and Andy are willing to listen. (Is Copley willing to listen? I could see that going either way.)

Booker might also be willing to listen. The brilliant idea of cleaning up the rat Frenchman so that Nile can have millennia of emotional support and orgasms sent me down a Wikipedia rabbit hole, and holy shit do Booker and Nile have a lot of shared life experience as pawns of imperial wars. Obviously Booker is white and a man and that makes a very big difference. (Though G-d help me, Booker could be Jewish and France was knocking its Jews around like ping-pong balls in the 18th-19th centuries. Jewish Booker wouldn't make him any less white but it does add a shit ton of depth of common experience: military service as a way for your country to see you as a full member of society who matters, because who you are means that's not guaranteed.)

Booker was hanged for desertion from the army Napoleon sent to invade Russia as part of his quest to control all of Europe. We learn in the comics / this YouTube video that Booker was on his way to prison for forgery when he was offered military service instead of jail time. While we don't know how he felt about the choice beyond that he did choose soldier over inmate, it's unlikely he thought invading Russia was a great idea, given he tried to desert because Napoleon like a true imperialist dumbass didn't plan for how he was going to feed his army or keep them from freezing to death in fucking Russian winter.

I find it very interesting that the French Empire was at its largest right before invading Russia and fell apart completely within a few years. My country has been falling the fuck apart for a while now - see aforementioned War on Terror, growing extremes of economic stratification in the richest country in the world, abject refusal to meaningfully deal with climate change that US-based corporations hold the lion's share of blame for - but between Trump's abject refusal to meaningfully deal with the coronavirus and strong likelihood that he'll refuse to leave office even if a certain pathetic moderate I will hold my nose and vote for does manage to earn a majority of votes, ~y~i~k~e~s.

Our only immortals who have never known a world before modernity and nationalism happen to have been born of wars that were the beginning of the end for the imperialist democracies that raised them, and I think in the centuries to come that's going to give them some very interesting shit to talk about.

Nile's a Young Millennial, a digital native born in the United States after the collapse of the USSR left her country as the world's only superpower. She's used to a pace of technological change that human brains are not evolved to handle.

Napoleon trying to make all of Europe into the French Empire was a leading cause of the growth of European nationalism and the establishment of liberal democracies both in Europe and in many places that Europeans had colonized. Booker's first war produced the only geopolitical world order Nile has ever known and I just have so many feelings ok. Nile the art history nerd is probably not aware of this, and why would she be? This humble meta author is, like Nile, a product of US public schools, and all they taught me about world history was Ancient Greece/Rome/Egypt/Mesopotamia and then World War 2. Being raised in The World's Only Superpower is WEIRD.

Nile the Young Millennial is used to the devastating volume of bad news the internet makes possible. But she has absolutely no concept of a world where the United States of America is not The World's Only Superpower. In order to get up in the morning and put on her gear and point guns at civilians in Afghanistan, she can only let herself think so much about whether that American exceptionalism thing is a good idea.

She's about to spend many, many years where the only people who she can truly trust are people who are older than not only her country but the IDEA of countries.

She's got time, and she's got a lot of new information at her disposal. But there comes a point where my obsession with her friendship and eventual very hot sex life with Booker just isn't about sex at all. Nile needs someone to talk to about the United States who Gets It. Booker the rat Frenchman coerced into Napoleon's army, and Copley the Black dual citizen of the US and UK who's retired from a CIA career that he half understands as deeply problematic but half still believes in hence his mind-bogglingly stupid partnership with Merrick, are the only people on the planet Nile can talk to honestly about, and really be understood in, all the thoughts and feelings and fears and hopes of her experience as a US Marine.

And one more thing before I go get ready for Rosh Hashanah: Orientalism was a defining element of the Crusades and that legacy is painfully clear in current US-led Western military activity in Afghanistan, Syria, Israel/Palestine, you name it. Turns out memoirs by French veterans of the Napoleonic Wars are full of Orientalist language about Russia as well. I am maybe/definitely writing a fic where Booker spends his exile reading critical race theory and decolonial feminism and trauma studies monographs because he can't be honest with a therapist but maybe he can heal this way and become the team therapist his own damn self. I just really need him to read Edward Said and Gloria Anzaldúa and then go down on Nile, ok?

[ofhouseadama]

could I dm you this? yes. but also asks are fun even though this question is mean so. how do Ed and Lorraine react to the Vietnam war?

Okay so my Ed and Lorraine are absolutely Kennedy Democrats, are both very excited and enthusiastic about the first Catholic president, but both are against the Vietnam War and US military intervention from the start. Ed's already fought in one imperialist proxy war, he's got the PTSD to prove it, and Lorraine just is truly repulsed by violence of any kind.

And also like, to go completely left field for a minute -- I've been thinking a lot about how teenage Lored were effectively trapped at 17-19 years old. Mostly financially, and in different ways. in 1951, Lorraine wouldn't have been able to have her own bank account. Women wouldn't have the right to open their own bank account until the 60s or have a credit card until the 70s -- her money would have been her father's, effectively. and while probably not maliciously, since she was a young woman she likely wouldn't have had much access to her pay checks unless she was cashing them directly. Ed, meanwhile, while trying to survive a negligent/abusive household, absolutely would have been spending money on things most teens wouldn't have to in order to survive... and that's before getting the draft notice from the Selective Service, which took away even more control of his own life.

So I see Ed and Lorraine getting married young (even for the 50s, they're a few years younger than the median, though the war was actively driving that age down) mostly out of making the most out of what they could together. Ed putting Lorraine on his bank accounts and asking her actively to manage them while he's away, and her depositing her paychecks into his account would give her more financial control in her life than most women of the era. Lorraine's engagement ring (the size of that goddamn rock) is even an insurance policy most women her age and demographic didn't have -- often when women fled marriages, it was only with their jewelry to sell. It's half about Ed's possessive streak, half him showing he's not afraid to give her the money to run, if she needed to.

Anyway -- the trauma of their late teens and early twenties is entirely rooted in the rising Cold War anxieties and the locus of harm done to women in the 50s and I fully see their pursuit of demonology and the supernatural as something Lorraine initially started while working as a secretary for the Diocese, something she did to stay late at work and help people she could physically reach while Ed was away at war. She initially started staying late on the days she knew Father Gordon would be bringing in a scared family or terrified couple or frightened soul in through the back door hours after everyone had left, staying to pray and keep herself nearby, to be an observer to a fight she could be party to. Father Gordon figures her out quickly, of course, asking what interest she has in demons and exorcisms, and figures out she's clever with records and archives, almost to an uncanny degree.

And then figures out to exactly what uncanny degree.

After Ed came home and became the husband instead of the boyfriend, it turned into something Ed could throw all his metaphorical demons onto and a healthy way to exercise his control issues and fear and anxiety that doesn't (generally) affect Lorraine because she's fighting with him side by side in this, when before they were separated by thousands of miles -- the beginning everyone's favorite Catholic battle couple very much rooted in Ed and Lorraine parsing out who brought home metaphorical demons from the war, and who brought home literal ones, and bringing them to Father Gordon when necessary. Rooted in Ed needing to be useful, to dusting off his Catholic school Latin and reading everything he could get his hands on so that he could continue to help, continue to fight.

Lorraine would have been pregnant with Judy during the heightening tensions with Cuba and as Kennedy is sending more and more military "advisors" to Vietnam and Cold War tensions flared the hottest they'd get in the 1960s and I can just see both of their control issues revving up, especially with a few-months-old baby in the mix. Just the two of them laying bed, looking down at their three month old baby girl, wondering if they'd all get nuked tomorrow. If war would be declared tomorrow. If they'd all be dead, if they brought her into the world just to die violently. It's like taking guns off the street. They can't control the White House, or the Soviets, or Cuba or China or or or -- but they know about demons, they know about spirits, they know about taking these bombs off the battlefield, in the war of good against evil, and this is a war they can be foot soldiers in together.

Lorraine would get a bit of relief in the March of '63 when Kennedy dropped married men with children to the bottom of the draft pool, and then dropped the age of the draft pool to 26, aging Ed out of the Selective Service entirely. And then in November, JFK would be assassinated, and the photo of Jackie Kennedy covered in blood, leaving the hospital hand-in-hand with RFK, would be on the front page of every newspaper in the country. It would be a jolt for both of them -- but it wouldn't fully hit Lorraine until seven years later, when she'd have her first vision of Ed's death and fully understand Jackie Kennedy's weary, "I want them to see what they have done to Jack."

After the Gulf of Tonkin Resolution in August of 1964, they fully throw themselves into taking cases almost full time. As the war heats up, Ed pulls back from teaching art classes at the VA. If he spends too much time there, he has to face how pointless the violence has been. If he spends too much time there, now, he has to face that he still doesn't know why he survived. Why he lived, and everyone else on board the ship with him died. Because he still doesn't know, he still is fighting to make his life matter in a way that makes sense to him. All he has is his sense of duty, a couple of college credits, and his hands. On good days, he knows that he's loved -- that Lorraine loves him so much it makes it hurt to breathe, that he's a good father to his daughter, who will never be afraid of him.

Ed has a complete PTSD relapse in 1966, with the beginning of the ground war and the full-throated resurgence of the American propaganda machine and military recruitment. He's back in the guilt spiral, the "I never had it that bad, I was only in the Navy for two years, I never had it that bad," just feeding into "why did I live when everyone else I fought with died," back and forth until he can't sleep, can only sleep when Judy sleeps, accidentally ends up adapting himself to her nap schedule and has to sleep with his hand on her chest, feeling her breathe.

Lorraine calls in Chief, after Ed can't get out of bed for 72 hours and misses mass for the first time in his life. Chief, who comes up from Brooklyn to remind Ed of the time their entire ship exploded and Ed treaded water for eight hours and everyone else died. How they spent the next six months getting drunk whenever they weren't on duty and picking fights they couldn't get out of, and that one time they got thrown in the brig because Chief struck a superior asshole and Ed just followed him into the fight. (No, Lorraine does not know about that time Ed and Chief ended up in the brig. She will never know about that time. Judy will at some point in her early 20s learn about that time, when she needs to learn about how her parents are people, who have absolutely made mistakes in their lives.) "You and I spent six months drunk," Chief says, bouncing Judy on his knee in the kitchen over a cup of coffee, Ed refusing to look at him as he deep cleans the stove. "And then your dad died, and your sainted wife handled everything for you, and we realized we couldn't send you home to her like that."

"I still don't know why I lived."

Chief shrugs. "It doesn't matter why, son. The same reason any of us live, and any of us die. It doesn't matter. You have a little girl now who depends on you. She matters more than any goddamn reason -- you live for her, and your saint of a wife, and for all the people that you help. So that you can look them in the face, say you've been down in the hole that they're in now, and you know the way out."

Lorraine calls in Chief, because she absolutely picked a fight after mass that day without Ed, with Judy on her hip. Overheard Dorothy O'Malley running her mouth in the pew in front of her sounding like a national security ghoul and didn't even think before she opened her mouth and unloading the full force of her anxiety and anger on her. Only stops because she feels a gentle hand on her shoulder and Father Gordon murmuring in her ear, "Okay Mrs. Warren, you've made your point," while leading her away. It's the "Mrs. Warren" instead of the familiar "Lorraine" that jolts her back to herself, kissing Judy's head as she tries to shake herself out of it.

"Thank you," she tells Father Gordon, defeated.

He shrugs. "You don't come to confession until before Friday night prayer service. I didn't want you stewing on this all week." Pausing, he takes a moment to fondly tug on one of Judy's pig tails, making her laugh. "If Ed's not... feeling well, I know about that."

Lorraine bites her lip, knowing full and well that Father Gordon served as a chaplain in World War II. That seeing the violence of the Nazis firsthand is what convinced him that the Devil was more than a metaphor, that evil truly walked the Earth. Sent him on his own path, chasing darkness.

Lorraine nods.

"I could talk to him," Father Gordon says. "But it would likely come better from someone he served with."

When she gets home, she finds Chief's number in their phone book, and calls Brooklyn for the first and last time. He comes up the next day, and shoos her out of the house to do something for herself for the first time in months, telling her that he's more than equipped to look after a single three year old.

Ed goes back to teaching at the VA a few months after that, teaching art to the new round of mentally scarred children returning from war. He concedes to group therapy, and a few sessions with the VA psychiatrist to get something to take the edge off. He teaches at the VA until the troop withdrawals in 1970, reducing his class load as he and Lorraine take on more and more cases -- verging towards a hundred a year -- for the Catholic Church, and the media attention that comes along with that, the publicity engagements that help keep their bills paid, the articles and academic talks.

Even still, Ed occasionally brings home someone for dinner, just to make sure that they've only brought metaphorical demons home from war with them, not literal ones.

Sometimes it's literal ones.

[flowerflamestars]

⭐ do you have any crumbs about tidal? ⭐

TIDAL MY MONSTER CHILD MASTERPIECE

Endless crumbs, but I'm going to try to remain circumspect. Three fun scenes. Bold for commentary from here on out!

Cassian knew all the rumors.

Cassian has been ACTIVELY SEEKING OUT THE RUMORS. Their careers circle each other- their stats make them nearly level on a playing field that barely even exists. Cassian thinks Nesta in combat is like...the platonic ideal of a drift pilot.

All the stories- Serene Majesty’s design included armor made from Kaiju bone (TRUE, THANKS PROFESSOR VANSERRA), Serene was painted to match the exact blue shade of her older pilot’s eyes (False, but a very sexy coincidence that absolutely made it into war propaganda), Serene’s nuclear core was the oldest still running, and they were lucky she hadn’t melted the ocean floor of the Bering Strait right down to the mantle.

Fact: Nesta Archeron had solo piloted forty-one minutes longer than the nearest record holder, who’d died in minute sixteen.

Can you hear Cassian's admiration? That LONGING for partnership. The raw appreciation of skill. MHM BABE YOU ARE NOT LOOKING RESPECTFULLY AND YOU KNOW IT Story: Nesta Archeron called him a patchwork dickbag within moments of meeting him, and proceeded to kick his ass, before they even let them drop test.

Picture, if you will, the very Fun Mako/Raleigh fight with the poles? the compatibility test? Right. That. Tank tops. Barren light and sweaty skin. REALLY GOOD HAIR. But a hand-to-hand fight.

Cassian: oh fun yes fuck let's do this lets see how we move together, come play Archeron

Nesta: walks right up to him and clocks him

The first thing Elain said when she saw Asani was, “Oh, Nesta.”

And despite the fact that Nesta felt more like climbing bare through the Breach than getting in a jaeger with the man, she knew what her sister was seeing. The smile- two dimples on the right but one of the left. Close-cropped dark curls getting just long enough to assert themselves.

Shoulder and arms and everything that matched the face saying- you’re looking at a sculpture. You’re looking at a person whose whole being might as well have been idealized from an artists eyes.

14 drops, 12 kills. Only two back to back drops in the same jaeger.

Hand to hand combat elite. Muay Thai. Second generation marine.

Charm that had cracked Amren.

Elain: Nesta that man is more your type than Your Type. HE CAN KEEP UP WITH YOU. He's not afraid of you. “I know,” Nesta said. Nesta: YES I WANT TO CLIMB THAT MOUNTAIN

Elain arched a pale brow- different color, same shape- and hummed. “And he’s?” Elain: a perfect lock, a fucking doom, a sync so deep and long lasting you probably can't drift with ANYONE ELSE? “Yep.” Nesta: Yes. Nesta to Nesta: SO I'M PROBABLY GOING TO END UP ACCIDENTALLY KILLING HIM IN FUCKING DRIFT LIKE I DID YOU- THAT PERFECT STUPID ASSHOLE- Quietly, Elain swore.

She stole the binder out of his hand- they both pretended he hadn’t already been holding it out, that their reaches hadn’t perfectly, on time, overlapped. STILL GHOSTING BESTIES

She opened it. “Mhmm. Where are we from? Easy, we’re both American. Do we have siblings?” She snickered. “Yes. Where did we go to school? Places that are under the ocean now.”

GUYS guys guys they are both from places that no longer EXIST. They both came of age in war! they both, in a fucked way, thrive in the war. It's what they have- the infinite drift, purpose, and their siblings who are a direct part of that. Cassian tried to take the binder back. She shut it on his hand. “That gave us the childhood trauma book?” AMREN IS GOOD AT HER JOB (AND FUCKING WITH NESTA) She flicked the hand he hadn’t moved, lodged between the pages. “Origin stories, Asani.” Nesta is a fucking NERD and she likes the shape of Cassian's name in her mouth. “We already know all of this, Archeron,” He sighed, and she finally let him pull back. “Wanna flip?” It seemed like a trap- it felt like…fun. Cassian had the distinctly wild thought that Nesta must have been a nightmare in first level training, and half wished he’d seen it. Had her voice already contained that murder drawl at sixteen?

The only thing messier than baby! Feysand would have been Baby Nessian. It would have been on sight. It would have been a CATASTROPHE. they would have fucked it up so hard and then longed for each other for years until like...out of the blue eloping the very next time they crossed paths. No hesitation.

Cassian leaned forward, propped elbows on knees. “Go ahead.” He might have said it like a challenge- Nesta’s face might have brightened in catlike pleasure.

“Cassian Karam Asani. Twenty-seven years old, in service since your eighteenth birthday.” She was watching his face, and Cassian could do little but stare back. “You grew up on the East coast. Have an older brother. You’re a caffeine addict who likes to box. Dad died when you were ten.You have your mother’s green eyes and your paternal grandfathers face.” Her gaze flickered up, caught him.

Cassian could hear his heart hammering in his chest, pull from the rise and fall of his ribs too fast. “That’s not in my file.”

Cassian to the world: calm, cheerful, good at his job. Cassian to himself: Sure I'm Good at this Sure I Can Feel Her in my BONES- sure i definitely fucked this up- there's no way nESTA WANTS TO KNOW ME- SHE CAN'T POSSIBLY-

Nesta: it's real bitch “We dropped, Asani.” More than a drop, a successful drift. He didn’t need to say it, Nesta was already sniping in victory. “You love strawberry matcha cake.” “I can make it, too,” Cassian shot, with forced lightness.

Cassian: I COULD MAKE IT FOR YOU? what else did you see? if I'm yours...you're mine? please.

“Nesta Iseult Archeron. West Coast. Your mom taught literature, which is how you got that name. She died when you were twelve. You’re the older sister. You’re also a caffeine addict. Three tattoos. You miss sparring with your sister, and it makes you feel like shit. You horde Korean moisturizer.” “Eight tattoos.” She didn’t mean herself. SHE'S GOING TO LEARN THEM WITH HER TEETH YALL

“You hate the color blue.” hELLO, Trauma She laughed, and it wasn’t particularly joyful. “Your brother’s downstairs in the labs.” “Wrong.” Realer smile, he wanted to keep talking, “I have two.”

Nesta recrossed her legs, the entire table monopolized. “Middle child?’

An outstretched brown hand, tilted back and forth, “Azriel is only a year older than me. My other brother is…more complicated. Much younger. Az and I half raised him, but we don’t really talk.” And Nesta, mystifyingly said, “Me too. Two sisters, I mean.” She rolled her shoulders, made a face that said fuck, as her mouth continued with, “I’ve been trying to keep her out of a jaeger since she was fourteen.”

Nesta casts them IN THE SAME ROLE in her head. The middle child thing trips her for precisely two seconds and then. of course. Yeah, of course. “Three Archerons in the corps? Thats”- “The Admiralties wet dream, I know. She’s good- she’s so, so good, but I’m trying to make sure she grows up first.”

Nesta: OVER MY DEAD FUCKNG BODY WILL MY BABY SISTER GO FIGHT THIS WAR

“Rhys can’t drift. He’s Airforce now, incredible- twenty years ago, he’d be on tract to be an astronaut, but now-“ I loved making Rhys finally bad at something? He's a smart, angry kid thrashing around in a difficult world. He's SO CLASSICALLY YOUNG AND STUPID ABOUT EVERYTHING “Now the world is gone to shit?” “Tried to, at least.” Her laugh was nearly silent, small. Real.

Cassian looked at Nesta, and Nesta looked at Cassian.

The Look. The i SEE YOU AND YOU SEE ME, no this changes nothing, no this changes everything Look-

Amren is very, very, VERY good at her job, have I mentioned that?

[suburbanbeatnik]

The short and very miserable life of Napoleon II, aka the Eaglet, aka Franz, Duke of Reichstadt: PART TWO

Although the beatings had ceased, Franz’s life continued in refined isolation until his fifteenth year, when his cousin Franz Karl married the beautiful and charming Sophie of Bavaria.

She was only six years older than he, a fine, pretty girl of sweet features and merry lips, with light chestnut brown hair arranged in great loops on her temples. She had done away with the stiff sumptuousness of her apartment at the Burg, and refurnished it in a more intimate atmosphere. In her salon, with its mahogany furniture covered in yellow velours and minus the usual gilding. Reichstadt would often come and sit beside her, looking through the pictures in her albums while she would paint, or play graceful Italian airs on her piano. And they would talk. She sided with him when things went wrong, pitied him, loved him. She was the only one to whom he could talk to with an open heart. Thanks to Sophie, in those troubled years of adolescence when the child is disappearing and the man is trying to find himself, he had at last found what had been refused him for so long: a friend.  [Aubry pg 140]

Franz was growing into a handsome young man, with his mother’s blue eyes and blond curls, but his father’s striking bone structure and deep-set eyes, and the emotional Bonaparte temperament. Though he was robust and “glowing with health” as a baby, by the time he was an adolescent he became more frail. Doctors said he had a “scrofulous tendency,” which was 19th century medical gobbledygook for some sort of disorder connected with the lymphatic glands. It seems to me that this kid was isolated and beaten for years, and suffered from pretty severe depression— on top of that, he didn’t eat (Aubry records that he had “a poor appetite”). Throw in an inherited tendency from his mother to have lung trouble, I’m not surprised he struggled with illness going forwards.

Apart from Sophie, there was no one to really look out after him. She encouraged him, his interests, his passions, his keen desire to be a soldier, his love for his father and of France, helping undo all the years of Habsburg brainwashing. As the years passed, he even learned how his father’s executors were continually frustrated in trying to pass on the legacy his father had tried to leave to him. “They had been kept away, or driven away: or else the relics they had brought had been politely taken from them and stuffed away into strongboxes, thus cheating the son of the only material inheritance his father had left him. Who had so ordained? Metternich, none other!” [Aubry pg 154]

Metternich, the true ruler of this not-so-holy and not-so-Roman empire, was the one man who had schemed and plotted to keep Franz so isolated and alone. Metternich, and this is no exaggeration, hated every atom of Franz since he was a baby, and he never let Franz forget it. Franz was under police surveillance at all times: the Chancellor had the Corsican’s son in his grasp, and would not lose him. He wouldn’t even allow the young man contact with his own grandmother, Letizia, Madame Mère, now eighty years old and blind from cataracts. He wouldn’t even allow a single letter— a single sentence.

That statesman, who had a government for a soul, had made Austria a prison for him instead of the home it should have been! Metternich had been his father’s enemy; he was his enemy too, and always had been! The young man felt the hostility underneath the Chancellor’s icy courtesy, and he hated him. Altogether without basis in fact are those accounts of numerous conversations between Metternich and the Duke of Reichstadt during this period. Prokesch maintains that the Minister talked to the Prince just five times in seventeen years. Far from seeking to influence the Duke of Reichstadt during this period, Metternich avoided all contact with him. He hated him as he hated his father. The likeness to the Corsican which he found again in the young man’s features offended him like an insult. He could not bear the sight of that forehead, the sound of that voice. At a Court reception on the evening of the Duke’s eighteenth birthday, the Chancellor paid the obligatory compliments and turned away hastily. Those who spoke to him immediately afterwards found him more distant than usual. As soon as he could do so without attracting attention, he left the palace. [Aubry pg 162]

After years of being force-fed Austrian propaganda, Franz had started reading as much as he could about the greatness of Napoleon— obsessively reading Las Cases’ Memorial of St Helena, which he found on one of the top shelves of the library. Imagine his feelings when he read his father’s will for the first time, discovering what affects and relics were left to him, but which he would never see, thanks to Metternich’s machinations (and Louise’s clumsy attempts to lay claim to Napoleon’s inheritance, which had sabotaged the work of the executors in the first place, did not cease until 1837). Franz, fascinated with his father’s campaigns and personal history, threw himself into his studies. Through books, he vicariously experienced Lodi, Arcole, Marengo, the Pyramids, Jena, Austerlitz… He became drunk with the glory of the past. A spell had been cast, and Franz became determined to make his father proud of him. When one of his tutors began to lecture him on his father’s shortcomings, Franz replied impatiently:

“The actions of great men are not to be weighed with ordinary scales.” [Aubry pg 156]

Franz was slowly shedding the relationships of his childhood. When, upon Neipperg’s death in 1829, he had discovered his mother had contracted a morganatic marriage with the one-eyed Neipperg, he “felt deeply insulted and humiliated.” He was enraged enough to discover just that: of course, keep in mind he had no idea that she was sleeping with Neipperg and had given Franz two illegitimate half-siblings while his father was living with the rats on St. Helena. I doubt he would have ever talked to her again if that was the case. Even without knowing that, he withdrew, “his letters were less affectionate and he mentioned her name more rarely. She had been expected at Schoenbrunn for the summer. Her son learned with relief that she preferred to take a cure in Switzerland.” [Aubry pg 160]

Of course, Louise kept doing her thing, weeping for Neipperg over “gay dinner tables and at the opera,” being annoyed whenever the name of Napoleon reached her ears, and then finding “a substitute for the one-eyed general in the person of the Count de Bombelles, at first Grand Master of her Household, then her lover, and then finally her third husband.” [Aubry pg 161]

Meanwhile, for years Franz had struggled with depression. The July Revolution had happened, with the kind and comfortable Louis-Philippe installed on the throne, and even though the King of Rome was still a popular figure in France, with perhaps a chance to ascend the throne, Franz was still, for all intents and purposes, a prisoner. And the older he got, the more obvious this became. Suggestions to become a monarch in Poland or Greece were pushed asides by Metternich. Attempts by his uncles Lucien and Joseph to discuss Franz’s future with Metternich were completely blocked. All he wanted to do was to start his military career, and make himself useful, but he couldn’t even join his regiment, or even visit his mother in Italy. His health was floated as the reason why he should stay inactive, but Franz doubted this was the only reason. Bouts of rage alternated with deep sloughs of “sadness and tedium,” and he could barely summon the interest to hold a conversation. Not surprisingly, his mother lacked sympathy. In 1830, when Louise was summering in Baden, taking the waters, she “rebuked him for his apathy. She could not understand why her son could be ‘so little like other young people.’” [Aubry pg 181]

It grew worse a year later. Italy was on fire with the revolutionary activities of the Carbonari, and Louise had fled Parma in fear of her life. Franz pleaded with his grandfather to let him go rescue her, but Metternich intervened. Let the son of Napoleon, the King of Rome, go to Italy, where his father won his own fame? Of course not! Emperor Francis gave into Metternich, and poor Franz was left feeling torn between misery, fury and desperation. Even Prokesch, his best friend apart from Sophie—a major in the Viennese army, a loyal soldier, scholar and diplomat who had worked for Metternich, but had defied him on a few occasions-- couldn’t calm him.  

His despair was palpable. He knew he would spend his entire life bound and trapped, with Metternich as his jailer.

The young man had sealed himself up in a silence that was almost complete, venting his feelings at the most in talks with Sophie and Prokesch, during which he expressed many severe judgments on members of the Imperial family. He loved Sophie and he had an affection for his grandfather, but he did not like the Empress, fond as she was of him. He thought the Archduke Ferdinand, heir-apparent and King of Hungary, was a ninny. [Editor’s note: Ferdinand was actually a brain-damaged hydrocephalic epileptic who couldn’t even consummate his own marriage with his wife Maria Anna, married in 1835.] He hated the Archduke Franz Karl, Sophie’s husband, calling him deceitful, mean and vulgar. Table conversations at the Hofburg were stupid, the Court life was cheap and in bad taste. Comparing himself with those pious, submissive and conceited Archudukes and those ugly, insipid Archduchesses, he felt himself of a superior race. He even said one day— and Prokesch recorded the words in his secret notes:

“If Josephine had been my mother, my father would not have gone to St. Helena, and I would not be languishing in Vienna. My mother certainly has a kind heart, but no backbone! She was not the wife my father deserved!”

And he added, burying his face in Prokesch’s hands:

“You do not respect her, do you?”

And Prokesch replied:

“She was what she could be. The woman your father deserved for a wife did not exist. But he chose her, and she is your mother…”

Reichstadt was now weeping, and a long silence followed. [Aubry pg 207]

And that was when he seriously began to think about escaping.

While the two began to consider exactly what they could do, Franz decided that he had had quite enough of the chaperonage of Count Dietrichstein, his head tutor. This was the man who whipped him when he was five, who thrashed him when he was ten, who drilled him for countless hours on his German and his Italian translations and all the minutiae of court etiquette. He claimed to be utterly devoted to the young prince. Maybe he was, in his own weird way. But Franz was spreading his wings (or at least attempting to— even when he was 20, his imperial grandpa was still prone to treating him like a child, forcing him to dine with him in austerity if his own personal dinner parties became, in Francis’s opinion, too extravagant). In addition to the sensible and devoted Prokesch, Franz had befriended a few other young men, rakes and dandies all, like Neipperg’s eldest son and the young Esterhazy. Franz was gorgeous, brooding, romantic, and with perfect manners, and the women were obsessed with him (a Polish nun who had never met him but only saw him from a distance once swore undying love, even writing letters to this effect).

There was one woman that Franz danced with at a masquerade ball, a certain Naudine Karolyi, black-haired, handsome and bold, and not only did they manage to dodge Metternich’s spies, but they exchanged a lot of letters. This was 1831, and he was 20. But Dietrichstein soon found out about the correspondence.

At any rate, he strode into the Duke’s room, began rummaging through his desk, and finding a drawer locked, commanded him to open it. Reichstadt did not dare refuse— he obeyed, and his governor saw before him a pile of letters from Esterhazy. He opened a few, ran through them, and turned around livid with anger:

“What?” he cried. “You have a love affair?”

“Yes,” replied the prince coolly. “You can see with whom.”

“Do you write to her directly?”

“No, sir.”

“Then through an intermediary? Someone I know?”

He was besides himself with rage and almost shouting. Other persons had just entered the room and stood looking on in surprise at the strange scene. Reichstadt begged the Count to calm himself.

“Come downstairs with me,” he whispered. “You shall have all the letters afterwards, I promise you.”

The Count mastered his anger and went down with him to the Emperor. On the return, the Duke scrupulously handed him the entire correspondence, and it was forthwith consigned to the flames. [Aubry, pg 212]

But this didn’t stop Dietrichstein from trying to intercept Franz’s personal letters. At one point he saw that Esterhazy called him “the old woman,” and Dietrichstein was “extremely hurt.” He tried everything he could to break up the friendship from that day on, but didn’t succeed, as Franz could be extremely stubborn and loyal to a fault.

The affair with Naudine didn’t go anywhere, but there were others— there was even a reputed bastard daughter who later called herself the Comtesse de la Pommiere— but no matter what happened, his heart belonged to Sophie.

* * *

I’m cutting this off here, because LONG POST IS LONG, but more angst and drama will be coming with the next post!

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

[hana-bean]

Close to you (1/7)

Hi everyone! Happy SeiUsa Week 2021! Please enjoy this seven-chapter installment in celebration of the ultimate OTP!

~~~

Everyone walks on To meet just one person someday

---

“Boo! You suck!”

Seiya ducked to the side to avoid an oncoming empty beer bottle flying his way, shattering as it hit the stage floor. He scowled as he grabbed the microphone with the other hand still on his guitar neck.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Get off the stage!” Another bottle started flying, this time in between him and the second guitar player, Yaten.

The bar owner soon sprinted toward the musicians and on the stage, trying to avoid various other objects projecting through the air in the meantime.

“Guys, you got any other songs to play?”

Taiki, who was standing in the back at a keyboard, walked up to join the conversation. “What other songs? This is all we know.” He explained while kicking off a half-eaten chicken wing that landed on his shoe.

“You play the same set every night. They want something fresh.”

“Well, maybe you need to get more patrons instead of the same ones every night,” Yaten growled with a lime green twitchy eye. “It’s not our fault your regulars live here.”

“Listen,” the owner paused to grimace in figurative pain as he felt something wet hit his back. “You need to mix it up.”

“We can’t,” Seiya replied firmly. “We need to play these songs.”

“Then pack it up. The show’s over.”

Yaten released his guitar in order to gesture to drive his point across, letting it hang on his neck. “No! You need to let us play!”

“Not a chance, Napoleon. You’ll drive away my tenants!” The owner glared.

That was it—and not that it usually took very much anyway—Yaten was over the edge. He lifted the strap over his head and tossed his instrument to Taiki before tackling the owner to the stage floor with his standard flying squirrel technique.

“Yaten, what the fuck?!” Seiya removed his guitar and went to work trying to pry his bandmate from atop the owner, or at least he tried; Yaten had the grip strength of a coconut crab despite being the smallest of the three of them.

But that was all the patrons needed as a reason to get in on the action. They stormed the stage with their rage and beer bottles ready, even turning on one another and the instruments. Some who didn’t choose violence for a Tuesday night contacted authorities on their crystal cell phones as they made their exit; the other portion used them to record the melee from their tables.

Seiya soon felt the weight of three men come at him at all sides; his only instinct to protect his head before the four-person clump of testosterone toppled two feet down and off the stage. Immediately, he felt a pain shoot from his knee all the way up to his hip as something heavy and drunk landed on his leg. Seiya wriggled and scooted as much as possible to free himself, but since his body was the one that absorbed most of the impact, the attacking men had the advantage to quickly begin their beatdown.

He managed to curl up in the fetal position as feet and fists made contact with every part of his exposed body. But then, allowing himself to only feel like a failure for a few seconds, he made a quick decision and reached within his jacket for his headset.

“Fighter Star Power, Make Up!”

As the transformation alone knocked the three men on their backs, their world was forever rocked when they looked upon a leather-clad woman standing in place of the male musician once the music and sparkles had faded.

“He’s a guardian?!” One yelled, completely stupefied.

Sailor Star Fighter cocked an eyebrow as she smirked, her Star Yell ready in hand.

“Remind me again: what do you think of my songs?”

By then, three police officers had come through the entrance. Their hands floated above their holstered guns on their hips as they were visibly surprised and uneasy.

“Guardian! Put your weapon down!”

“It’s the cops! Run!” A voice shouted. The chaos simply transformed from scuffle to stampede as people began to book it for any exit they could find.

The authorities were soon knocked down from the rush, however one was able to take out her radio and plead into it, “Ten-seventy-five! We need guardians! Get us guardians!” until it was kicked out of her hand from an escaping patron.

Taiki and Yaten came up behind Star Fighter—donning a few scratches, cuts, and tousled hair—all the while still moving pretty well.

“Seiya, you dumbfuck, why’d you transform?” Yaten chastised.

“I’m the dumbfuck?” Fighter gave her crazy eyes. “They were going to kill me!” For a split second, she forgot about her leg and put weight on it while yelling back. However, the appendage was quick to remind her that something was wrong. She winced and seethed in a breath as she fell on Taiki for support.

“Let’s get out of here,” Taiki suggested calmly as he wrapped Fighter’s arm around his neck. Yaten followed suit on the other side.

They only had to contend with navigating through a few scattered stragglers before the three made their way toward the emergency exit by the stage. Taiki kicked the door open only to be met with two obstacles standing in their way, both clad in Milky Way guardian uniforms. One was in a dark blue and yellow color combination with short blonde hair, the other in dark blue and teal with medium-length teal hair.

“Not so fast.”

---

Seiya sighed as he dropped his head on the headrest in the backseat of the police car. The authorities were escorting him from a hospital where his wounds were attended to, and he was now alone. Or rather, separated from Taiki and Yaten. His only company was the two guardians from the bar—whom he was squished in between—and a uniformed officer at the wheel.

He cleared his throat to get attention from anyone. “What did you do with my friends?”

“They’re at a detention center.” The blonde guardian answered, void of emotion, keeping her focus out the window.

“A detention center? Why?”

“Because they’re here illegally. You all are. You should be there, too.”

Fuck, that’s not good. That’s not good at all… But it still didn’t explain… “So where are you taking me then?”

“The queen would like an audience with you.” The teal-headed one answered while busy on her crystal smartphone, having removed a glove for her screen to sense the natural heat of her thumb. A half-filled plastic grocery bag also sat on her lap.

“The queen?” Seiya tried to use his hands to emphasize his confusion, however, his handcuffs clanked in protest. “What does she want with me?”

“It doesn’t matter what she wants—she calls, you come.” The blonde turned her head to look at him with stern blue eyes.

He knew there was no use prying anymore. The blonde had already knocked him around a few times before getting to the hospital, so he knew he risked further physical punishment if he did so. Any other day he would find the pain worth it if it meant annoying her, but his body was already unbearably sore in places he didn’t realize he had.

Meeting with the queen also had him a bit concerned for his well-being. He figured it had something to do with being a guardian, but what exactly does she plan to do with him and that information? He had heard she was a kind and just ruler, albeit young, but from his years of intergalactic travel before ending up in Crystal Tokyo, it could very well be propaganda.

He guessed he was about to find out.

Once the car made it to the bridge that led to the palace, one needed two hands to count all the checkpoints. The palace seemed to be built specifically to reflect the moonlight, producing a daytime-like glow once they were on royal grounds. However, the car parked in front of an inconspicuous building behind a row of trees a couple of minutes shy of the actual palace, and then the blonde dragged Seiya out of the vehicle by his handcuff chains, causing his shiny black cane to drop on the ground. Diagnosed with a temporary disability from his hurt leg, the doctors issued the walking aid to help with his mobility for the next couple of weeks, but the blonde didn't care.

“Haruka, be gentle.” The teal-headed guardian chided.

“Why?”

“You know how handcuffs can hurt if you’re too rough.”

“And you will know, too… once we’re done tonight.”

Seiya raised an eyebrow, wondering if they knew their whispering wasn’t really whispering; he even caught the driver looking back with a nosy eye. Feeling a sense of dread of being transported to a second location, he limped along slowly, following the driver inside the building while trailed by the guardians.

He was led to a room that was comfortably simple and aesthetically feminine—its motif included ribbons, swirls, and florals in a combination of white and pink colors. And a small white round table sat in the middle of the space with four plush boudoir chairs surrounding it. Seiya even picked up on the scent of stargazer lilies before he noticed them sitting on a side table by the door.

But apparently, there was no time to take in his surroundings as he felt a shove on his back, forcing him to keep his balance with his bad leg. He turned around to glare at the blonde guardian.

“Hurry up!” She pointed inside the room with irritation emanating from her whole body. “The queen is on her way!”

Seiya grumbled and hobbled over to take his place in a chair, releasing a tired sigh. All he wanted was to get this over with and back to his mission. He hated how his only hope rested within the hands of the queen; it made him feel helpless and idle.

It wasn’t much later when he heard the front door of the building open, followed by both guardians bowing on the other side of the threshold at an unseen presence. Assuming the queen herself had arrived, Seiya pulled himself to his feet with the aid of his cane and the table.

"Uranus! Neptune!"

“Neo-Queen Serenity.”

---

---

If you would like to follow this story, I will be updating the rest of the chapters under the tag: hana-bean close to you and other iterations of the spacing. I love you all!

[shiny-procrastinates]

(re)Watching Magia Record S1 - part 1

Hello and welcome everyone to the first post on this watch-along commentary of the first season of Magia Record! Whether you are just now watching it for the first time, or are re-watching in preparation for the second season, or have only played the game and are curious about the anime (in which case I'd be surprised you even exist) I hope you can have some fun reading these ramblings as I try to put my thoughts into words  (actually turned more into narrating the show) throughout all 12 13 episodes.

Before we can get to it, though, I have a few warnings to give:

1 - As much as I'd love to be able to memory swipe so I can watch this fresh all over again, such an ability is sadly still beyond my grasp. In other words, this isn't my first time watching (or second, for that matter; more like the sixth… or seventh…). That being the case I can't claim that these are my first impressions and it's very likely this commentary will be somewhat biased by my previous knowledge. However, I can guarantee one thing: I will do my best to keep this spoiler-free, so you don't have to worry if this is your first time watching.

(I will, however, be assuming that you have watched the OG series and Rebellion, so beware of that).

2 - Please don't come into this expecting it to be Madoka 2

Also no, this is not a continuation of the OG, it’s an alternate universe spin-off.

This one's for first-time viewers.

Well, ok, this sounds like vague tweeting and I'm kind of whining here, but I have seen a number of peeps on the internet saying that Magia Record is bad only for their argument to boil down to "because it isn't OG Madoka!"

Yeah it isn't. I'm pretty sure there's "Side Story" written somewhere in the title too.

Leaving aside the matter of nostalgia glasses and whether the original series was that much of a masterpiece or not (it's been over five years since I last watched it, so I can't say anything either way.) it seems kind of weird to me that someone would bash a spinoff on the grounds of how close it is to the original. Because here's the thing: to me, the whole point of spinoffs is taking an already existing scenario and putting a spin on it to make something new. That's exactly what makes them fun!

MagiReco didn't need to be a Madoka clone or to try hard and beat the original. That would probably have made it bad, actually. What it did need to do was to create an interesting story using the world set up by the OG Madoka and the other spinoffs, and that, in my opinion, it did, so I hope people can give it a chance and judge it on its own merits rather than only compared to the original. I'm not saying you can't hate it, either, I myself have my own problems with it, it's just that I want to see more reasonable reasons than "it's not the OG so it's bad".

3 - As you can probably already tell from these warnings, these posts are bound to get looong, so I'd recommend setting aside a fair amount of time and getting real comfy if you're gonna read it all. I also don't mind if you just skip ahead and only read the interesting parts, I'm not the internet police.

3.5 - I don't want to use it as an excuse, but I think I should make it clear that English is not my native language, so I apologize in advance for any mistakes and awkward/stilted text. It's hard to tell by myself, so feel free to correct me if you find something.

SO, with that out of the way let’s get down to what’s really important:

Puella Magi Madoka Magica Side Story: Magia Record Episode 1

Whew, now that’s a mouthful.

You know, in my mind I always thought a “side story” was something that happened alongside a “main story”, like another POV, so I’m not sure that’s the most appropriate title, but who am I to judge?

So here we go, we’re off with some beautiful futuristic scenery already, that’s the Madoka series I know.

As the classic Sis Puella Magi plays in the background, two unseen narrators tell us the tale of the so called “magical girls” as we are shown the reality of being one, meeting our first witch for this series.

Risking your life to save a cat doesn’t seem like the smartest of things. Rather, witches eat cats? That’s mean.

No, you really, really don’t. This narration definitely seems made to make everyone who saw the original say this, particularly with how silly are the wishes these girls suggest. 

And hey, look, even this girl who supposedly had her wish granted doesn’t seem very happy.

Hang in there, this is only the first episode.

Man, this scenery really is pretty though.

After an exciting fight with a witch in the train, our girl here silently goes home to find

Whatever the heck this is.

So, our girl here seems to be having strange visions whenever she enters her room, that is very very suspiciously cut exactly in half. Protagonist, you sure have an unique sense of interior decoration.

She goes on with her day, makes two lunchboxes and… oh, it seems she’s all alone.

Is this something you should be telling your own daughter?

Long story short, Iroha’s parents are abroad right now (as is suspiciously the case with many a anime protagonist parents). I actually love the parallel this scene draws with OG Madoka: whereas Madoka’s parents seem responsible and Madoka even looks up to her mom and they’re a happy united family, Iroha comes off as being the responsible one in her family and her parents are gone from the get-go. This way, the lonely atmosphere of the previous scene also starts making sense.

So, it seems like there’s something Iroha wants to do here, and that’s why she decided to stay behind.

Perhaps. Did you wish to save a black cat?

Wow, this teacher is speaking fast. Calm down lady, we’re not here to speedrun the content, geez. Though I guess we should be happy she’s at least giving a proper class, unlike a certain other teacher…

Oh great, it's this guy.

Ok, Iroha doesn’t remember what she wished for and Kyuubei doesn’t know either, although he knows she used her wish for the sake of someone. Kyuubei theorizes that the reason she doesn’t remember might be that not remembering was part of her wish, but Iroha doesn’t think she’d wish for that. I don’t think you’d ever think to wish for something like that until you had to wish for something like that though.

She’s got a fair point. After all, wishing in this universe is basica— the heck is going on in the background there?! O-kaaay…

Iroha was having a weird think-spot mental conversation with Kyuubei there, and missed speedrun teacher’s lecture entirely. Being meguca is suffering.

We get some school motto propaganda, and now we’re on the roof. Oh? Where did all the friendship stuff from the propaganda go? Seems like Iroha’s not following the school spirit. Unless she considers the white weasel a friend, so that’s why she gave him her extra… wait, Kyuubei can EAT? I thought he was some alien machine-like being. H-Huh...

Classmate A: Tamaki-san, maji tenshi!

She’s probably just shy. According to her classmates, Iroha used to be busy doing something or the other, but no one can remember what that is.

Cute. 

But maybe don’t do that somewhere someone could easily walk in on you, Iroha.

Iroha gets a call by the girl from the combat scene from before, whose name is Kuroe. I couldn’t tell from their conversation if they’ve known each other for a while or if they just met each other for the first time in the fight before.

On the train, although she’s the one who called her over, Kuroe remains silent. Iroha, clearly uncomfortable, tries her best to make conversation. Poor Iroha, I know the feeling.

We learn from her that the number of witches around has been decreasing. She comments that being unable to get Grief Seeds is troubling, but it’s better than having witches causing trouble. Poor girl has no way to know just how much of a bad news it is running out of Grief Seeds.

What’s with pink-haired girls and lacking self-esteem? Iroha, are you sure you didn’t wish to save a black and forget that you did? You did save a white one just before.

Kuroe finally decides to talk, and she tells us this:

If you go to Kamihama, you’ll be saved. To anyone that saw the OG, the first thought that comes to mind is that they’ll be saved from their destiny of turning into witches, but it seems Kuroe doesn’t know the truth yet. She just doesn’t want to fight witches anymore. I think.

The train lights up, and…

...this is extremely unsettling considering the truth about witches and the conversation they’re having right now. There’s a lot of this, but this just hits different having watched the original.

Iroha’s not inclined to believe what Kuroe’s saying. Of course, despite not remembering her wish, she’s the type that’s happy with fighting witches if she can save someone, and Kuroe’s not being very convincing either. The whole thing is apparently a rumor spread by some girls who saw a dream that told them that.

Except that Kuroe actually had the dream too.

Like most magical girls, Kuroe made a short-sighted wish, and regrets it. She now wants to be saved, so she’s going to Kamihama.

...or she was, but before that, they’ll have to defeat the witch they let escape the other day, ‘cos she’s back for more.

I actually have so many questions about this scene. Weren’t Labyrinths pocket dimensions? How come this one’s moving in physical space? We know witches themselves move and their Labyrinth goes with that, but I thought it was more, like, the entrance to the Labyrinth moves. Then how come witches can escape if magical girls get carried with their Labyrinth when they move…? Just... just... what?

The answer to all of that is probably “magic”.

Like that, Express Witch Labyrinth crashes right into what seems to be a train station. Labyrinths don’t have brakes, confirmed.

Brutal.

Looks like it’s not only magical girls who have territorial disputes going on. Although it’s nice that they won’t have to fight two witches at the same time, this is not exactly a relief when you consider these two were already struggling with the previous one, and this one just ripped it apart like crab.

As expected, Iroha’s arrows do no damage at all. When all seems lost…

A wild singing mini Kyuubei appears! Is this a shiny?

The singing Kyuubei distracts the witch and jumps towards Iroha, who uses her pro white cat catching skills to grab it, and… something happens. Whatever this Kyuubei did, Iroha’s having some flashbacks now. Sadly, the middle of a battle isn’t the best time to be having a BSOD and, despite Kuroe’s attempts to snap her out of it, they’re sitting ducks right now, a black and a white one.

Thankfully for them, though, they’re not alone in this barrier. This mystery blue haired girl spams flying spears and makes short work of the witch Iroha’s arrows didn’t even scratch earlier. She’s clearly at a whole ‘nother level.

Also, chibi Kyuubei’s gone. Totally not suspicious. Nope. Not at all.

So, from this OP miss get-the-heck-out-of-my-territory, who didn’t even bother saying her name, we learn that not only there is no salvation in Kamihama, there are more, stronger witches, and there are currently no Kyuubei. She gives them the Grief Seeds from the two witches before, and passes on a warning to them. Not the friendliest of magical girls. Though if you consider what happens when you run out of Grief Seeds, one could understand why it’d be undesirable having too many magical girls in the same place.

With this, Iroha and Kuroe take the train back to their town and things are totally awkward again.

Welp, seems like Kuroe doesn’t want to chat anymore, so we’ll have a dream sequence instead.

Forgive my lack of words, but this scene doesn’t need them. This is just… you couldn’t ask for a better representation of what being a magical girl wishing for salvation is like. Everyone has their own reasons, but in the end, having known despair, these girls are desperately clinging to this last hope called Kamihama. It’s almost a pilgrimage.

“Let’s go to Kamihama. We’ll be saved there”

And in the midst of all that is the mysterious girl from Iroha’s dreams.

(the track here, Paradero de Memoria, is also great btw)

Now, with various wishes written all over in the background, we get Kyuubei’s spiel about magical girls. I think this is word-by-word the same from the original too.

We now get to finally know what our protagonist’s wish was.

So Iroha wished to cure her younger sister’s illness, but the sister in question is now nowhere to be found. Worse: everything related to her is gone. Even Iroha, who made a wish for her sake, didn’t remember her existence until now. Oh man, that’s no normal disappearance. What happened? Guess that’s what Iroha will have to find out now.

With that, we conclude the first episode of Magia Record(’s s1)!

This is a really strong first episode in my opinion. It decently introduces our protagonist, sets up the mysteries we will be dealing with from here on and also manages to trace connections with the original, while using the viewer’s previous knowledge to give a whole different impression to some scenes. You wouldn’t be like “hell no” at the rumor there at the start if you didn’t know the truth about magical girls, and I doubt that final scene would hit that hard either. It’s just really good at this and it’ll continue doing that from now on. I love it.

Speaking of the final scene, me having watched the original over five years ago might also be part of it but that is really my favorite scene in Madoka overall. I just really really love that scene. (Seriously, I’ve watched this scene so many times I know it by heart now. Help.)

Alas, I lied, the episode’s not over yet, we still have our classic anime first episode ending-opening to watch. So let’s listen, to Gomakashi:

This logo’s real pretty.

So yeah, pretty standard anime opening. If you pay attention, there are some references to Connect too, what with the selfcest and whatnot. Although I managed to mistake this when I first watched, this one’s actually sung by the trio TrySail rather than ClariS. That’s the VAs for Iroha, Asakura Momo; Yachiyo (the get-out-of-my-territory girl), Amamiya Sora and Natsukawa Shiina, whose character we’ve yet to meet. TrySail has a lot of cool songs, so do check them out if you haven’t already. (free ad)

This time, in fact, the episode is over! Whew, I did say this was going to be long, but not even I thought it’d be this long. By the time this is posted I should have a backlog of these, so my plan is to post one everyday until we are done. I hope you had fun reading this here rant and I’ll be looking forward to meeting you guys again tomorrow, same place, maybe same hour, so we can go on and watch episode 2 together!

(P.S.: I am considering doing a series of posts at a later date comparing the anime to the game, but we’ll see. The first few chapters are fine, but the game is stupidly long, so I feel it’d take a lot of motivation and stamina I’m not sure I have at the moment. There’s also the possibility watching the first arc again would bring back my yt copy-apocalipse grief back and that’d suck, definitely don’t wanna go through that again.)

[hillaryisaboss]

In order to distract from inciting his cult to attempt to kill Pence & Pelosi on the January 6th insurrection of the capital, & the reporting that he shred official White House documents down the toilet, Trump & his echo-chamber are rallying his supporters against his arch nemesis: Hillary Clinton.

A desperate & typical tactic for a former “President” who lost the popular vote not once but TWICE.

Donald lost by 3 million votes in 2016. Donald lost by 8 million votes in 2020.

A charlatan propaganda artist who started the racist birther lie against President Obama.

A failed BANKRUPT businessman. A failed leader who made COVID way worse than it needed to be.

Donald failed the Presidential leadership test just like he failed to ever win the popular vote or to create a business without bankruptcy & fraud.

Oh, and…

Donald was also the first President to be impeached not once but TWICE.

Lost the popular vote twice. First to be impeached twice.

P.S. (side-rant):

If you believe any of the GOP-manufactured “Clinton Scandals,” you have been played for a fool.

Nothing Hillary has ever done has resulted in a trial. Nothing Hillary has ever done has resulted in a guilty conviction.

The FBI ended its investigation into Hillary’s e-mails. They found no evidence of intentional wrongdoing.

Hillary destroyed the GOP during her brilliant 11-hour Benghazi testimony.

No one on Earth has been investigated more than Bill & Hillary Clinton.

The Clintons jokingly say they are the “most investigated innocent people on Planet Earth.”

I’m still waiting for Hillary to be charged & convicted. Hasn’t happened for 30+ years.

It’s sad that hundreds of millions of tax-payer dollars have been wasted just to damage the reputation of Bill & Hillary Clinton.

One of the easiest ways to prove Hillary is extremely smart & effective is to look at how hard the GOP has tried to keep her from the White House.

Ever since Hilary burst onto the scene in 1992, the GOP has stopped at nothing to slander & smear the woman everyone knew was smart enough to become the first-female President of the United States.

The last thing on Earth Republicans wanted was The Clintons back in the White House.

The GOP remembers the 1990s & how pragmatic & successful the Clintons were:

—4-balanced budgets due to the compromising ability of Bill Clinton —A surplus —22 million new jobs —7 million fewer Americans living in poverty —Minimum wage up 20% —Assault Weapons Ban —Brady Handgun Violence Prevention Act —Closet we have ever been to peace in the Middle East —Northern Ireland peace process —Campaign Against Teen Pregnancy: all-time low abortion rates —Office on Violence Against Women —Violence Against Women Act —Children’s Health Insurance Program: 8.9 million children insured

Too bad so many Americans forgot about this impeccable record from the ‘90s & drank the anti-Clinton kool-aid ;(

Remember: the Clinton Foundation has a higher charity rating than the Red Cross & provides 11.5 million people with access to HIV/AIDS medicine — that’s more than half of all those affected by the virus worldwide!

All of these “Clinton scandals” have been designed to keep Hillary from reaching the White House. Even if the scandals aren’t true, the GOP knows they damage her politically. That was the admitted purpose of the Benghazi hearings — to make Hillary’s poll numbers drop.

To this very day Republicans still want to investigate Hillary. Just watch Fox News. They think Hillary is the President and should be impeached. It’s a truly sick & sad obsession.

Bill was lucky to not have to face Fox News in 1992.

Just make sure you always do your own independent research when it comes to any claim against the Clintons. Most of the claims usually turn out to be false.

Granted, it can be hard to decipher between fact and fiction. There has been a multi-million dollar anti-Clinton cottage industry at work for decades.

The abuse and brutalization Hillary has faced from the GOP is unmatched.

Yet she still won in 2016 by 3 million votes.

Without Comey & Russia interfering, she would have won the Electoral College, too. Outside forces won the election for Trump. He is an illegitimate President.

2016 was stolen from the 3 million majority in favor of a 6-times bankrupt mentally ill racist propaganda artist. Good job America!!

[thanksjro]

Dark Cybertron Chapter 12: That’s the Power of Love, Babeyyyyy

Thank fucking god, it’s almost over.

Our issue opens up with Ironhide deadnaming Slug, like the out-of-touch grandpa that he is. Everything is going to shit, the whole city’s covered in lasers like the world’s worst rave, and someone thought it was a good idea to let Swerve have a gun.

As the Ammonites try to murder everyone in sight, Whirl and Arcee have a little chat about how Whirl’s seemingly caused every problem ever in the last four million years.

…Whirl, you have been keeping up with your appointments with Rung, right? Like, I know he’s not the best therapist around by any stretch of the imagination, but surely something would be better than nothing in this case.

On the Lost Light, Hound, Perceptor, and Mainframe are keeping track of how many Ammonites have been killed. Everyone is extra British in this bit. Perceptor basically calls Hound a fucking idiot, because even with all the guys who’ve been taken out, there are still literally BILLIONS of these suckers running around.

Which seems a little overkill to me, but what do I know? Warcrimes aren’t my specialty.

Meanwhile, in the Mystical City of Making Science Cry, Starscream apparently knows what cosplay is, and takes a potshot at Jhiaxus for stealing his look. Metalhawk explains how the Ammonites got here in the first place, which, y’know, is cool. Love me some technobabble exposition.

I don’t actually love it.

I’m sorry for lying.

I WOULD ALSO LIKE FOR METALHAWK TO PUT A STOP TO THIS

BUT WE’VE GOT ANOTHER 19 PAGES TO GO

SO I GUESS LIFE JUST ISN’T FUCKING FAIR RATTRAP

While Metalhawk contemplates ending the comic event early, Starscream is getting his ass kicked by an old man who spent the war sitting on his butt in the Dead Universe.

Over with Team -Imus, Brainstorm’s taking a breather after getting Robertsed at the end of last issue. Ultra Magnus makes a pun, I guess to cope with the fact that he doesn’t understand anything that’s going on. Cyclonus is still dying, but this isn’t about him. Nightbeat is also dying. Oh, and Kup. Turns out, being a part of the Dead Universe is sort of an issue when you’re out of it.

Even though Galvatron was fine. And Jhiaxus. And Nova Prime, for the little bit he was out of it.

I feel like this plot point kinda just shows up when it’s convenient.

Anyway.

Brainstorm has shit in his lab that can help them not die, but he and Skids are gonna need help to get all these undead morons back to the Lost Light, which means that only two folks would be going to face Shockwave in this final confrontation.

Speaking of Shockwave, he’s gone full Burning Justice with that time drive shoved into his chest, as he makes fun of Megatron for being a dumb stupid idiot who gave him everything he needed to end the universe. He reveals himself to be a nihilist, claiming that a Cybertron which only exists for existence’s sake- and without any form of life- is the ultimate in perfection. Also, he’s a communist now. A nihilistic communist.

Just… whatever, Shockwave.

Megatron’s annoyed by all this posturing- which, same- but enough about him, it’s time for Ultra Magnus and Optimus Prime drop down from… somewhere… to kick some ass. Shockwave promptly shoots Magnus, and is about to do the same to Optimus, when this starts happening:

Huh. Wonder what all that’s about.

Shockwave snaps out of his stupor and proceeds to fire on Optimus, yelling about being the only thing that exists as he does.

Over with Rodimus and friends, Cyclonus is bitching about Rodimus not leaving him behind so he could go fight Shockwave. Nightbeat, who I guess just doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut, tells Cyclonus to quit it, because they all know that he just misses his boyfriend. Cyclonus, though blatantly annoyed, doesn’t actually refute this claim. Brainstorm wonders aloud just how this gaggle of assholes managed to escape the Dead Universe without murdering each other.

Rodimus explains that when they heard the singing at Swerve’s, it proved they could still get out of the Dead Universe, so they desecrated Nova Prime’s corpse to make a space bridge. Brainstorm became a doorway, because he’s very nearly dead, and oh yeah, he should probably fix that when they get back to the lab, and also reconsider his lab safety protocols.

The gang reaches the outside world, and Rodimus is given a chance to spout off his personal philosophies.

Fantastic, you funky little man.

Then everyone looks up in the sky and sees some real bullshit.

Hey, Cahill? I just wanna talk, man. Just wanna talk about this boobie Windblade you’ve cursed my eyes with.

Back over with Jhiaxus and Starscream, Jhiaxus just cannot shut up. He just keeps waxing poetic about how smart Shockwave’s plan is. I couldn’t even tell you what the guy’s saying- my eyes glaze over whenever he gets a speech bubble.

Metalhawk at this point has had quite enough of all this nonsense, and decides he’s gonna throw himself into the equation that allows the Dark Cybertron prophecy to manifest.

By killing himself.

He just fuckin’… tosses himself into some heavy machinery and explodes, and that throws all the ores out of wack, since he’s got the Resurrection Ore in him. Jhiaxus is distracted by a man just straight-up dying in the same room as him, and this give Starscream the opening he needs to stab Jhiaxus in the gut.

Then the background just straight up disappears, as Rattrap lets everyone know that it’s all still going to shit, but in the opposite direction.

Really not sure about this art direction, but whatever. I’m over it.

Back outside, all the Ammonites are exploding. All of them. Billions of the little suckers, just popping off like fire crackers. The environment’s going to be ruined at this rate. Metroplex is having a great fucking time. Happy for him.

The Lost Light calls the ladies inside Metroplex’s brain room, and lets them know that they’re gonna break up Monstructor like the mediocre boy-band he is, though not without Mainframe being difficult beforehand. The ladies jump out and enter the fray, admiring Arcee’s style as they do.

Back with Rodimus and pals, Nightbeat’s being fucking cryptic, and Brainstorm gets to work making it so folks aren’t dying from being in the wrong universe, after a little prodding to his ego.

Back in Shockwave’s Super Saiyan Energy Bubble of Pure Unadulterated Logic, Shockwave says that’s he’s fucking ripped, and Optimus couldn’t beat him in a fight. Clearly, this means we’ll have to use our words to resolve this, like adults. Optimus isn’t too sure about that option, however.

I mean, do I even have to- Optimus, that’s GAY.

I have the sneaking suspicion that Roberts wrote this portion of the script. Y’know, just given his track record.

Then Megatron blasts Shockwave with his fusion cannon, and makes fun of Optimus for being a sentimental fool.

The fact that “Dark Cybertron” is telling me this makes me so mad. Like, you don’t get to talk, Exposition Central.

It’s at this point that Megatron drops a bomb on everyone present- he’s done with being a Decepticon. He’s gonna be an Autobot now.

See, ol’ Megsy here has seen the error of his ways- that by fighting the Senate, he allowed them to change him into a murderous warlord. To prove how much of a nice guy he is, he’s ripped the Autobrand off of Bumblebee’s lifeless body and duct-taped it to his chest.

Which seems a tad disrespectful, but okay.

…Megatron, you do realize that, as the leader of the Decepticons, you could just tell everyone that they need to be nice, and that would more or less be the end of it, right? You could just say “not evil anymore, I want to be loved now”, and everyone would be all “sir yes sir.” This is going to be a PR nightmare, I can already tell. Shockwave certainly seems to agree with me.

I really like this panel structure. Want to say this is the only place it happens, too. It’s just too bad it lives in “Dark Cybertron”.

Shockwave’s not having a good time right now, and he’s convinced that Optimus and Megatron have teamed up just to make him upset so he loses control of the time drive. The two spout off a little Autobot propaganda, and then Shockwave Remembers™.

Shockwave, having had his shadowplay reverse violently and abruptly, is horrified to find what he’s become. Alas, it’s too late for him- the only way to stop the time drive is for Optimus to kill him. Optimus promises to remember who Shockwave was- a callback to the line Shockwave gave him back before his empurata- and then shoots the everloving fuck out of the guy. Megatron helps.

And that’s a series wrap on Shoc-

-holy fucking shit.

The gang high-tails it outta there, IDW Optimus once again proving to be the shittiest version of everyone’s space-dad, as he leaves Bumblebee’s body to be consumed by the Shockwave Singularity. It’s looking pretty hopeless, but luckily none of these bastards can die without fucking up Season 2 of MTMTE, so the Lost Light swoops in to save the day.

Down below, Soundwave and his gaggle of small children and animals watch as the Lost Light fucks off into the distance. Soundwave’s having a time and a half, as he realizes with his balls-to-the-wall senses that Megatron’s joined the Autobots. Galvatron shows up to try to work out a deal. We won’t be seeing where this goes, because that’ll be covered later on.

The Lost Light lands in front of Metroplex, and over to the left of that are Rattrap and Starscream, climbing over the wreckage of the city. Rattrap tries to warn Starscream that things are gonna be tough, now that the Dark Cybertron prophecy has come to pass, but Starscream isn’t really having it. He’s gotten very paranoid, likely due to stress, and tells Rattrap to not play this game, because he’s the best player who’s ever lived. Then the Lost Light gang shows up and we get this face:

Sure.

Later on, Megatron and Optimus are hanging out in the Sky Roller, not-talking, until Megatron tells Optimus to get on with it, since the issue’s about to end. Megatron was totally serious about becoming an Autobot. Optimus isn’t really sure what to do with that. I don’t think anyone’s really sure what to do with that, to be honest.

Megatron, in turn, asks Optimus if he really could look past all the bullshit Shockwave pulled in the last several million years, and he gets a non-answer, because addressing your feelings is for losers, clearly. The two exit the ship, and I guess everyone else was just… standing outside waiting for them to talk it out. Weird.

...And with THAT, I am finally released from Comic Event Hell!

If you hear any distant, triumphant screeching right now, that’s likely me.