#i think this is mostly americans too but the way they fucking render Everything and i mean everythinggg down to skin colour as if there

[oatbugs]

why is it that issues west asians face are only talked abt in the mainstream(ish) because of and in context of A Video Game . why does it take ur fav coroporation making characters too pale to even think abt our existence .

[sugar-petals]

can you give us more thoughts about domestic yoongles? the taemin's one (wich I love) just made me miss the cat boy so much ;o;

i have a phd in househusband yoongi so let me fire out some ideas for ya.

myg at home headcanon

🐱 word count. 1.9k | fluff, slice of life, slight nsfw mentions, x reader, bullet points

The doorbell sound is a recording of Yoongi imitating a doorbell. He’s such a meme. Ceci n'est pas une pipe.

Seemingly, he teaches himself a new recipe every week. To perfection. Yoongi is very particular about sticking to the recipe and wielding his kitchen tools in the right way. He collects knives, olive oil, and still hates cutting onions.

He separates sleep time, work time, and couple time as the holy trinity. For each, he switches his mood.

Blushes easily no matter for how long you’ve been together.

Establishes his own radio show where he DJs at one point.

Yoongi keeps an extreme track on the garbage schedule. He knows exactly what is due when. Separating the trash is a must. That includes sorting out fake friends trying to get between your relationship. Your social circle as a couple is extremely deliberate.

Yoongi deems himself a terrible host for guests. Unless Hoseok is there to drag him out, it's true he rather stays in the kitchen or at the barbecue preparing the menu courses rather than making small talk. He leaves the hospitality bits to you, however you want to go about it.

What he lacks in conversing with guests, he makes up in bed, God is absolutely fair.

He sings and hums pretty often and has his own vernacular of extraterrestrial uwu noises. It's an alphabet that you have to yet decipher but it's incredibly cute.

Self-made paintings everywhere around his house. 

Yoongi hasn't gone clubbing since grammar school. The most he does is going to a restaurant at lunch with very close friends. And always in a work context. His private life is so secluded from everything else and paparazzi just don't spot him anywhere, Dispatch thinks he must live abroad.

Very well, he does consider his big ole house a separate country. It's a living organism with a studio, gym, trophy room, small-size basketball court, and vastly equipped kitchen. A home theater as well, he likes American movies (like Inception) and Korean action genres, and you can stream whatever you fancy in there whenever you like. 

Yes, he has underwear with cute little bears on.

There's even a little pond in the backyard. Yoongi, Pisces he is, likes fishes after all. Sometimes he sits at the edge of the 'Little Ole Min Lake (LOML)' and stares into the water for literal hours with his chin parked on his palm.

His fridge is so high-tech and futuristic, even Yoongi is rendered clueless by its AI sometimes. The washing machine, too.

Yoongi watches RuPaul’s drag race. What did you expect? He finds it so humorous.

Owns lord knows how many comic collections.

Favorite holiday destination: New York.

Christmas is basically 50% you unveiling new music equipment to him in the garage and Yoongi almost fainting at the sexiness of it. The other 50% is spent holding hands and orgasm after orgasm until the new year since you loose track of time.

Goes on long rants why he’d marry you again every weekend.

Making you presents is his specialty. Always accompanied with a hand-written note. He writes a lot of things by hand for you in general. Texting, basically never. Always on paper.

No sex without a blanket and socks on. Yoongi gets cold very very easily and just doesn’t like showing skin. You buy him a heated blanket for his birthday, he even uses it in his studio chair.

Chronically addicted to making out.

Matching black outfits and glasses.

Laughs at even your worst jokes or phrases you didn’t expect you even uttered.

Yoongi owns the phoniest, most secretive-looking black car ever and nobody knows about it. Even he forgets he owns it, in fact he genuinely acts like it just doesn’t exist. Hilarious. And that guy has a level 1 Korean driver's license. Which allows him to drive trailers and busses and fucking trucks, and construction machines, let that sink in.

It's really a genius curse. Yoongi being put to the test will always deliver but he won't choose to execute his full skillset if he doesn't have to. Well, pragmatic. He's not as phony as he thinks he is, which is even more hilarious.

He uses that behemoth of a car so scarcely because he'd rather have things delivered to his doorstep and he's stingy with gas. Also, he doesn't like traffic and driving because of the traumatic shoulder accident and his tendency to space out. Translation: You drive that thing... that monster... it really is an impressive, fast, and scary machine. 

If someone devious ever even remotely manages to invade his privacy and get past the doubly-installed security system, he has enough money to deal with it no matter what.

If it concerns your privacy, he's a red belt. And owns Jin's number if a taekwondo master is required. Jimin's if it needs someone with kendo skills.

If Yoongi needs someone to go on a complete rampage, Jungkook lives just down the block. He can sprint to Yoongi's bunker I mean mansion within 45 seconds. 30 if it's very urgent. 20 if the reward is an instant ramen splurge with Yoongi's black card.

He has a sexy, glamorous sword collection hanging on the living room wall anyways, so. Who the hell is dumb enough to mess with him and his expensive lawyer in the first place.

But just in case, who knows... Yoongi settles matters shruggingly, anonymously, and with cash and he's too exhausted for violence, but don't underestimate his deter-min-ation and network for emergencies. Also, he is Agust D after all.

He will bonk a naughty burglar or kidnapper across the head with a wooden cooking spoon or take him down by throwing a basketball if the situation requires it. Damn, his reflexes are so fast, a feral cat in motion. So, lean back and sip on your drink of choice. Things are cared for.

If Yoongi is the one being kidnapped or a highly skilled stalker invades the property at night when he's fast asleep (nothing can wake this man during certain hours, strong REM right here): Don't forget that honeyboy is a Dodgers fan. There are signed baseball bats everywhere in this damn house.

In that sense, your parents visiting you here for the first time thought you were an undercover thug couple. Not to worry mom and dad, you both just like sports very much okay.

Yoongi walks around in all black clothes and the rooms are all seemingly dark. Even if you live together, you don't know his skin care routine. It's clear to you he's some sort of vampire.

Since Yoongi always forgets to remove his makeup, you made it a habit to wipe it down when he's about to pass out. He won't lie, he enjoys that kind of affection.

Holly is your resident child. You're essentially a family.

He insists to tackle this by himself, Yoongi sees his therapist monthly. Not shifting responsibility is something he's stubborn about and he pours his emotions into writing. You will do conversation about deeper stuff, but he says it's mostly up to him and his own mind. He dislikes burdening you or opening up too much and it's something to respect rather than force him about. If he wants to share a thought, he will. It doesn’t mean he can’t trust you or sucks at communicating (we know that he’s direct). Yoongi simply can’t put that much pain in such few words nor should you alleviate it for him.

Calls from the manager faze Yoongi as much as Jimin is bothered by gravity. If he’s busy kissing your body slow mo, who the hell dares to disturb his worship. 

This man had so many let-downs and interpersonal catastrophes in his life, he's super discerning with people. Because he rolls that way, during their first meeting Yoongi uses his psychology certificate on your friends. You see him squint at them, he listens very closely. After they pass the vibe check aka meow radar, he befriends them, too.

Yoongi doodles Grammy trophies everywhere to manifest them.

Yoongi shaves his legs.

All the sex toys he’s ever bought are black. Gotta vibe in style.

He spends ridiculous amounts of time in the studio but he's yours for the remainder of the night, breakfast, and he makes a lavish lunch and dinner.

Um, consider his head parked between your legs. The Hongkong line was not a joke.

Doesn’t mind you squishing his cheeks whenever and for how long you like. 

Every other weekend he gets flowers, vouchers, and gifts — not because of fans, they don’t know where his house is, but because he donates so much.

Namjoon often drops by and cleanses the area with his crystals.

Yoongi is a photography major so you can ask him to take professional, ceiling-high black and white shots of you.

Feeding each other food lovingly. Man, this guy got lips.

He set up a library just for you, in the exact historical aesthetic you like the most. Send him the link to any book you want, it's basically in the online shopping cart already. As I said, he wants to make you presents like every week.

Sometimes he sits on the other end studying English videos and vocab while you read. And yes, he's already 95% fluent but pretends being merely intermediate. He knows technical terms even native speakers have never heard of.

He collects pajamas and earrings.

Swears on the phone.

Namjoon being the horniest member is a cover-up story. Yoongi masturbates almost unreasonable amounts of times, by himself and in your arms when going to bed. Not gonna lie, it’s a sight to see his hands at work. He’s almost equally obsessed with fingering you once you ask him.

Yoongi was the one asking you to move in and almost had a nervous meltdown before meeting up with you to tell you just that. 

He’s the little spoon and of course a sleeping burrito to hold tight.

Finds you equally attractive in any state or styling. Yoongi practices what he preaches, he always reacts the same and says the same. 

Jams out to outrageous beats Namjoon sends him by dancing in the studio. You walk in on him every time. Was embarrassed at first, now you dance along.

Has bought you a life-sized Yoongi pillow and customized you a giant Shooky to hug when he’s not at home over night.

Owned a wine cellar until he quit drinking. Turned it into a piano room instead.

Only you know Yoongi has a serpent and dagger tattoo.

Scrubs the bathroom religiously.

The house smells like restaurant food and his extravagant perfumes half of the time.

Sometimes he has to remind himself he’s married to you and not his coffee machine. He shall be forgiven. You can’t complain that he doesn’t love you enough, nor is he ever not adorable when drinking his latte.

Never wears short sleeves. It can be scorching and he’ll wear a jacket. 

Tell him and the cap stays on during sex.

He grows his hair out and puts it in a low bun. The bangs remain.

Yoongi has installed the most fire-proof building in the entire city it seems. That he wanted to be a firefighter when he was young definitely shows. Figures the house has to be protected from heat: His blasting studio music and Yoongi himself are just way too sizzling.

Still melts into a puddle when you kiss his nose.

Couple sunrise watching. 

© submissive-bangtan 2017-2021. all rights reserved. do not repost or translate. all depictions fictional.

[thetriggeredhappy]

recently rediscovered your blog and read the fic from your dad spy au where scout starts out as the "guard" and then becomes scout from there and lemme tell you that shit put me on some s-tier brainrot. like a cranial decay type beat.

i had a concept in my head that instead of being hired as a guard, he could have been hired as a right hand man to the administrator like pauling, because i think hed be awesome in that position. like imagine having a personal merc who can get in fast and out even faster. but maybe he would stay in the base like the rest of them, sort of like a secret on call intel gatherer, who also maybe sometimes has to dig a couple graves. and also like, nobody on the team expects anything from him at first because its this 20 year old newbie kid. hes dressed in his formal clothes and he talks like somebody from relatively around boston but not quite. i can just imagine one day he comes back during a team dinner with his shirt half untucked and stained with blood, hair disheveled as he asks soldier if he can borrow his shovel, or him debriefing them for a mission when miss pauling is busy. same vibe as the fic i mentioned before but scout gets to have a job as cool as miss paulings. honestly id write it myself if i didnt have the attention span of a fly

anyways your scout content gives me life thank you

scout teamfortress but 20% more competent standing next to miss pauling teamfortress while she's doing her job and doing like silly quips and otherwise contributing nothing like it's a buddy cop film is literally my fucking ideal

(warnings for some canon-typical violence)

-

“Oh, Pauling, it’s good to see you again,” greeted the chairman, smiling in an imitation of a grandfather and clasping her hands perhaps too-kindly considering she barely knew him. “Young as ever, and still so stylish, I see. And who’s the new fellow?”

“He’s just here to help with transport, Mr. Montgomery, nothing unusual,” Miss Pauling replied, returning his smile and adjusting her glasses. “Heavy cases, you know how it is.”

“Of course, I remember you almost toppling clean over last time we made a trade!” Montgomery agreed, frowning at the memory. “You’ll pull a muscle that way, better to be careful. It’s a pleasure to meet you, young man. And your name?”

“Mr. Normandy, sir,” the new kid replied easily enough despite his slight East Coast accent, giving the man a firm handshake, expression neutral and stony, the picture of professionalism. Internally, Pauling breathed a sigh of relief.

“Firm grip there, young man,” Montgomery praised, nodding approvingly. “Tennis player, perhaps? Or golf?”

“Baseball, sir,” he replied, still evenly. “First baseman.”

“Ah! Of course! Were you any good?” Montgomery joked.

“At everything but playing in front of the crowds, otherwise I’d be in the major leagues,” he replied, tilting his head just slightly to imply that he was joking, his sunglasses glinting at the movement, and Montgomery barked a laugh.

“I like this one, Miss Pauling!” Montgomery said, and Pauling just barely caught herself from physically relaxing at it.

“We do too, Mr. Montgomery,” she agreed. “I was under the impression that you’re very busy today, so we won’t keep you for too long, we just wanted to sort out the final details surrounding the manufacturing rights for the—“

“—Pacific Northwest branch, up into British Columbia and Alberta, of course,” Montgomery agreed, nodding faintly. “Of course, of course.” He turned to regard his own man in a dark suit, the one standing to the right, who appeared to be unsuccessfully trying to stare down Normandy, who was completely ignoring him. “My briefcase, please.”

The man handed over the briefcase, and Montgomery put it on his desk, opening it and pulling out a sheaf of papers. “All our requests are submitted and approved, at this point we just had a few dustbins to take care of regarding initial percentages and making sure everything is wired to the correct accounts, which names are undisclosed, things like that,” Pauling explained as he glanced through the papers.

“Right, right, everything looks good here,” the man murmured, nodding to himself, sending his long-white hair just ever-so-slightly out of place. “I’m assuming these more sensitive documents should be sent some way besides through the mail?”

“If you finish them today I can take them with me, otherwise either me or Mr. Normandy can return to pick them up at your convenience,” she replied, to which Normandy gave a singular nod.

“Oh, it would only take me a short while,” Montgomery said, waving a hand. “We have a lovely lounge just down the hall from here if you’d prefer to wait there, it should only take me ten, fifteen minutes at most. In the meantime, I do believe there’s also the manner of payment for services rendered.”

Miss Pauling tilted her head just slightly to one side, confused.

“I arranged with Helen already,” Montgomery explained, not looking up from where he was initialing a few things. “The payment, rather than being wired, she asked to be made in material investment. A venture of mine from years ago that she’s willing to sit on. Rather than gold or bonds, she agreed to take some old currency of mine that my family collected, from early 18th century New Zealand and Australia. Monetarily it’s worth around the same, and I’m quite a bit attached to it to be entirely frank, but it was at her request to buy the whole collection from me, and after years of the work we’ve been doing together, well, I’d never trust it with anyone else.”

He gestured to the other man, the one on his left, who stepped forward to hand him a manila envelope, which he passed to Pauling.

“Inside is both keys, the door alarm codes, and all other security information for the building where the collection is being stored. They’ll ask for a few codes and confirmation of identity, only because several other art collections and artifacts are being stored there by other affluent individuals such as myself.”

“Thank you, Mr. Montgomery,” Pauling said, taking the envelope gratefully.

“Think nothing of it, my dear. Helen talked me into it all her own,” he said easily enough. “Now, gentlemen, if you would let Miss Pauling and Mr. Normandy into our lounge? I should have these wrapped up before any of us can even think about lunch, eh?”

One of the suits showed the two of them through the doors and down the hallway, through two doors bracketed by similar suits who simply nodded politely at Pauling and ticked their chins at Normandy as they passed them.

Normandy posted up beside the door for all of three seconds before they shut and Pauling pulled her glasses up, rubbing at the bridge of her nose and making a vaguely distressed noise. He then promptly relaxed, instead leaning his hip against an armchair probably worth the same amount as a small car. “So, uh, we’re glad that he’s giving us a bunch of commemorative coins from when dinosaurs still walked the earth?” he asked just below normal speaking volume, eyebrows raised.

“Yes. Very glad. Because unlike about six people total on the planet, he hasn’t figured out yet how valuable those are.”

“What, is a picture of a kangaroo on some copper really gonna make up for a couple hundred thousand American dollars?” Normandy asked, sounding doubtful.

“Not copper. Something else,” she replied. “I can’t tell you much more about it other than that, but these coins are made of something priceless to us. And to the Administrator.”

“…Love? Memories? The magic of family?” he joked, cracking a smile, and she rolled her eyes, moving to open the envelope and start reading the papers inside. “Hey, uh, not to question whether my job should exist, but what the hell am I doing here, exactly? Besides carrying a briefcase. Like, chivalry isn’t dead but I really don’t think you need me carrying your bags and holding the door for you.”

“You’re helping with security, basically,” she replied, adjusting her glasses to squint at tiny handwriting about the collection. “Mr. Montgomery is trustworthy, but he mostly hires out to… well, people like us. His security detail is mostly people we’d rather have screened, freelancers, stuff like that. A lot of people we contract out to are like that. Most of them have heard about me and know better than to try and pull something, since I can hold my own pretty well, but if they haven’t, seeing a second person might persuade them to think it over again.”

“Oh, so I’m like, uh, when it says ‘tow zone’ next to the no parking signs even though nobody checks, or when they’ve got a camera in the corner of the store that isn’t even plugged into anything,” he said, and the looked up at him, confused. “Like, uh, what’s the word… I’m a casual deterrent.”

“Sure,” she said, because it sounded like he knew what he was talking about, shuffling the papers back away and closing the envelope again, making a note to ask the Administrator if she should change their current containment procedures to be closer to Mr. Montgomery’s. “Just… if there’s a fight, you deal with it, otherwise you just stand there and look like you’re paying attention.”

“That’s what the sunglasses are for,” he agreed. “I was blinking morse code at the guy across from me literally the whole time.”

“You know morse code?” Pauling asked, surprised.

“Just the alphabet, ‘S.O.S.’, and ‘ass’.”

She rolled her eyes again, and that’s when the door opened.

She expected Mr. Montgomery, not one of the men in suits. “Excuse me, both of you, if you don’t mind,”the man said, accent having the slightest English tilt to it, a Londoner if Pauling had to guess. “You’re Miss Pauling, the Mann Co. affiliate, yes?”

“That’s me,” she agreed, hesitant, and glanced at Normandy.

“I’m afraid there’s been a mistake. Mr. Montgomery have you the wrong envelope on accident,” the man said apologetically, extending a hand forward. “We apologize for this unfortunate mix-up, it’s really quite embarrassing, but those documents are sensitive and we’ll be needing to see them back now.”

Pauling looked at him, and within a moment, shifted her expression. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” she agreed, nodding. “No, right, of course. These aren’t the papers for the currency collection?”

“I’m afraid not,” the Brit agreed, head tilting just slightly, hand still extended, moving a fraction further forward.

“Well, thank goodness we figured out now and not with us halfway back,” she joked, and moved to hold the folder closer to her body. “I’ll take this right back to Mr. Montgomery, then.”

“He’s sent me to correct the error,” the man explained simply.

“Right,” she said, and saw in her periphery that Normandy had already started sneaking a hand in towards his primary, clearly having pieced together something she was only suspecting. “We can bring this to his office, then, right down the hall.”

“You misunderstand,” the man said, taking a step forward again. “I’ll be taking it to his office myself.”

“That’s funny,” Pauling said. “I didn’t realize you had clearance to be in there. Or to be carrying a semi-automatic instead of a standard handgun.”

The Brit reached for the semi-automatic, and before he could even get it out properly, Normandy hit one clean shot to the side of his head and another to his thigh, sending him crumpling to the ground.

Pauling had only as far as pulling her own handgun free, thumb on the safety, and breathed a sigh of relief, glancing over at Normandy, shifting to more comfortably hold her gun. “Quick reflexes,” she noted.

“Just noticed a lot sooner, maybe,” he shrugged, stepping forward to glance over the body, tucking his gun back away.

“What was your hint?”

“He’s here to give us the right folder, yeah? Well, why were his hands empty, then?”

She was just starting to nod and realize that as well when a second man shouldered through the door, holding a gun at the ready. Normandy scrambled to draw his own, but Pauling fired a shot into his knee, shoulder, and neck to send him dropping before he was even close. “There’s quick on the draw, and then there’s prepared,” she said pointedly. “Gotta think of if there’s more than one, new guy.”

He nodded, and drew his gun again, bending to hit the guy on the ground at the temple hard enough to knock him out if he wasn’t unconscious already. He then glanced up at the sound of a shout from the other side of the door, two men shouldering through, guns drawn but lowered. It was only the firm eye contact they made with both her and Normandy that made her pause the millisecond it took to realize these ones weren’t trying to kill them.

“Pauling, what on earth is going on here?!” Montgomery demanded, entering the room and staring with wide eyes at the bodies on the ground. “What could’ve possessed you to—“

“He was trying to run off with these documents,” she explained quickly, gesturing with the envelope. “He knew whatever was in here was valuable.”

“He drew his gun, sir,” Normandy added, tipping his head down towards the body, and Pauling glanced down as well and found herself a little surprised. He’d rearranged the man just slightly, apparently, adjusting the arm to be holding the gun a bit further outward. “Other one was aiming to kill.”

“My, my,” Montgomery tsk’d, shaking his head as he surveyed the scene. “What a mess. My apologies, Miss Pauling, Mr. Normandy.”

“It’s alright, but you need to start doing more thorough checks on your staff, Mr. Montgomery,” Pauling stressed.

“He’s only been here two weeks, sir, he was one of the men we hired in a hurry after the incident last month,” one of the bodyguards said, and Montgomery shook his head.

“Thank goodness nobody was hurt,” he sighed. “Mutiny, and besides that, they’re bleeding on my carpet. Here are those papers, Miss Pauling—what a day, eh?”

“It’s really alright, we handled it,” Pauling assured him, giving her bravest smile, a little exasperated now.

“Right, right, you and the first baseman,” he agreed, and Normandy fought back an actual smile.

“If you’d like, we can take care of those for you,” Pauling said, gesturing at the bodies. “To pay you back for the carpet and the scare.”

“Sounds fair to me,” Montgomery agreed, clearly relieved.

-

“My dad’s gonna be pissed, by the way,” Normandy was so helpful as to say on the way back up the path to the base. “And you’re fielding that.”

“About the suit, or the fight?” she asked, glancing at his clothes where he was somewhat covered in a fine dusting of mud and grime from the gravedigging, shovel still in his free hand.

“Both. Mostly the fight. Your fault for saying it’d be an easy one to start with,” he said.

“If it was going to be that much of a problem, you wouldn’t have gotten this job. I’d just have made you go do dishes all day or something,” Pauling replied.

“Point taken,” he said, walking ahead to get the door, holding it open for her. “Wait, we’re allowed to mention what we do, right? Just not names?”

“Or locations, even with travel distance. Round up to the hour if it comes up,” she replied.

“Sure, sure,” he agreed, trailing a step behind her as she led the way through the base.

In the common area, there was a bit of a ruckus happening. Soldier, Heavy, and Demo appeared to be having some kind of arm wrestling competition on a rapidly-toppling table, the Engineer was on a stepstool trying to fix the ceiling fan, and Sniper appeared to be half-watching the beginnings of an argument between Pyro and the Spy regarding use of the oven as Medic patched up a burn on his arm.

“Hullo,” Sniper greeted the two of them, sounding a little bored, Medic giving them a brief, polite nod. Normandy’s eyebrows were raised pretty far as he surveyed the room.

“Hi, Sniper,” she greeted in return, then cleared her throat, raised her voice. “Team meeting in five minutes! New mission for next week!”

Groans from the room at large, the eight mercenaries starting to finish up what they were doing and filing out. Spy moved over, glancing over Normandy and starting to talk to him in rapid-fire French, picking smaller bits of gravel off of his suit as they walked.

“Alright,” she addressed the room, Normandy peeling off from getting mother hen’d by Spy to stand next to the blackboard with her. “Monday, you’re all going on a transport mission. Getting the truck from point A to point B with everything in the boxes intact. Already we’ve had to put up with some people trying to get ahold of these things, so bring your guns.”

“Oh, our guns, you said? Lads, this is a serious one, keep your heads on a feckin' swivel, she’s sayin’ we might even need guns, can you believe it?” Demo faux-gasped, and chuckled when Spy bopped him on the arm, rolling his eyes at the Scot's theatrics.

“Yeah, yeah,” she waved off, flipping through the papers a bit. “So Engie, I’ll need the keys to the truck, me and Normandy are going to be loading those tomorrow, all of you need to be at this drop point bright and early.”

“How early?” Heavy rumbled.

“Six. Hour and a half of drive from here.”

Some complaints from the room that she sighed at.

“Hey, hey, calm the hell down,” Normandy cut in, and she glanced over at him where he had his arms crossed and a stern look on his face. “You chuckleheads get to have all eight of you to unload the damn thing, me and Miss P gotta do all the rest of this on our own and probably kill twenty guys on the way there and back. She had to be up at 6 AM, workin’ since 7 AM, lunch break at noon and nothin’ else, and we just got back now at, what, fuckin’, 10, 11 PM? Any of you work her shift and then see if you even got the energy to complain about wakin’ up early, how about that?”

The room went utterly devoid of complaint or backsass. “Thank you, Normandy,” she said politely, and he just nodded once, glancing off to the side. “Anyways, anything new on this end? Spy, how are you adjusting?”

“Very well,” he said simply. “I have nothing pressing to say. Once I’ve been updated from the stock weaponry provided here to my requested preferred weaponry, I believe I should do just fine.”

“I see you already have Herr Normandy digging graves,” Medic chimed in. “Straight into the hard labor, ja?”

“Eh, hey, y’know, it’s why they keep us young people around,” he shrugged, grinning, and there was a brief uproar to drown out Medic’s entirely offended scoffing and Spy’s snort-laughing.

“Get ‘im, lad!” Demo cheered, and Normandy indeed looked fairly proud of himself.

“Monday, transport mission,” Pauling noted over the noise, writing it up on the chalkboard to hide her own smile from the room. “Normandy, you and me are doing the boxes tomorrow. Everyone on the same page? Good. Dismissed. Oh, and Pyro—stop taking the fire alarms down when they beep. They’re beeping because you light things on fire in the base. Do that outside.”

“Oh, hey, uh, helmet guy, All-American Beef,” Normandy called, and Soldier straightened up. “Here’s your shovel back. Gettin’ my own tomorrow.”


Soldier walked directly over to him, clasping a hand on his shoulder. “That’s a high honor, Cadet,” he said, tone grave. “Do not take this responsibility lightly.”

“I, uh, I won’t?” he said hesitantly, and blinked a few times as the shovel was carefully taken from him before it was promptly marched from the room in double-time. Only then did Normandy look over at her. “So he’s always like that?”

“You’ll get used to it,” she assured, dusting chalk from her hands. “You should get to sleep soon, we have to be up early.”

“Sure thing, Miss P.”

[im-just-a-random-fandom-girl]

trying to articulate my frustrations with Marvel’s treatment of female characters and characters of color

Hi, hello, hola, bonjour. I've been having a lot of thoughts about Marvel’s lack of diversity and of how they treat minority characters, so I'm taking a page out of Luisa’s (@its-tortle) book and just making a long, rambley post to get it all out.

Please bear with me while I try to encapsulate all of my frustration within the limitations of English language.

(ALSO, I'm white. I’m Spanish-American, but I do not have the ability to speak for fans of color and the other grievances they have. This post is just a combination of my own thoughts and what I've heard other people say on Tumblr, in YouTube videos, in articles etc.)

Now that we've had over week to collect ourselves after the WandaVision finale, because it was such a tearjerker and the end of a true masterpiece of a show, we really need to talk about how Marvel treats their their characters of color and female characters. I'll specifically be looking at Sam Wilson, Natasha Romanoff, and Monica Rambeau.

Let's start with Sam.

Until Monica Rambeau became Photon just a few weeks ago in WandaVision, Sam was THE ONLY Black superhero in the MCU.

He first appeared in Captain America: The Winter Soldier 7 years ago in 2014, and he's been in 4 movies since then (not counting the post-credits of Ant-Man).

Let's see what we know about Sam in the MCU:

He was a pararescue airman in the U.S. Airforce

His wing-man, Riley, died in combat, prompting him to leave active duty

He works at the VA to help other veterans adjust to civilian life

That's it. This is all we know about his backstory, separate from Captain America. However, the MCU decided to include these parts of his backstory, (and exclude others) because they make him a better supporting character to Steve.

Sam's a vet - so is Steve. They have the same, early-morning run routine that alludes to strict military training. Steve is still new to the future and hardly knows or approaches anyone, but Sam is wearing his VA sweatshirt, so there's some sense of connection, one that is furthered when they talk about their beds being too soft. Sam is someone who can understand him, aside from being a super soldier.

Riley, Sam's wingman, died in combat - Hmm, haven't heard that one befo - oh, wait. *Bucky waves from the abyss of the Alps*. Yeah.

I'm not saying that these connections are bad, in fact, I think the opposite. In terms of storyline, these connections are incredibly important for their friendship. Steve is lost and alone in the future. No one he knows cares about him for any reason other than the fact that he's a super soldier, nor can he relate to any of those people on any level. Sam just fits. He's funny and kind and although they are 60 years apart in age, he can, to some extent, understand what Steve is going through in a way they no one else can.

But for the last 7 years in the MCU, all he's been is Steve's supportive friend.

Almost immediately after meeting Steve, Sam is dragged into an end-of-the-world battle. He readily agrees to put his life on the line to fight by Captain America's side. After SHIELD falls, Sam gives up his life for 2 years to help Steve find Bucky. When they find him, Sam, without a second thought, becomes an international fugitive to protect Bucky and Steve.

I mean, he practically says that he lives in Steve's shadow himself: 

"Don't look at me. I do what he does, just slower."

Who does all this? Seriously? Sam is also a recovering vet. He, in theory, has a life, a family, a job, his own mental well-being to consider, but he immediately gives it all up to help Captain America, to follow in his shadow, to be his back-up and support in every battle. Marvel wrote him as a 2D character that lacks his own identity and agency.

Sam deserves his own storyline; he deserves to exist outside the orbit of Steve Rogers.

What Mackie has been able to do with the character is astounding. He took Sam off the page and truly brought him to life, turning him into a beloved character. I'm ecstatic that both Mackie and Sam finally (hopefully) get their time to shine in TFATWS, but it should have happened WAY sooner. Marvel has continuously overlooked Mackie, despite how much he brings to the movies and despite the significance of Sam as the only Black superhero. It's just so clear that they do not care about representation.

(And let's not start with the whole "Bucky should be Captain America" thing, thanks)

Next, let's talk about Natasha.

Nat has been in the MCU for 11 years, starting with Iron Man 2 in 2010. She was heavily featured in an additional 6 MCU movies (not including small cameos/post-credit sequences). She's one of the few female superheroes in the MCU, and the only one that's been there since the beginning. Nat was the only female superhero for 4 years until Gamora appeared in Guardians of the Galaxy.

Let's see what we know about Natasha's history:

She's a former KGB operative and assassin, trained in the Red Room project

When she was a part of the Red Room, she was sterilized

Clint Barton got her out of the Red Room and converted her to a SHIELD agent

THAT'S IT. The second point is actually nauseating because this is what she says to Banner when we learn about her infertility in Age of Ultron:

"They sterilize you. It’s efficient. One less thing to worry about, the one thing that might matter more than a mission. It makes everything easier — even killing. You still think you’re the only monster on the team?"

Like, actually, what the fuck? I remember watching this scene and having to rewind because I thought I mis-heard what she said. In truth, Natasha is probably referring to the terrible things she was forced to do as a KGB operative are what make her a "monster," but why in the world would they include this anecdote here?? It's just so distasteful and disgusting! It makes it seem like her infertility is what makes her a monster, perpetuating the misogynistic belief that the center of a woman's identity and purpose is to have children.

As Vox says in this article, the subject of Nat's infertility 

"rears its head sub-textually when Black Widow sacrifices herself for the Soul Stone. [...] It’s reasonable for Natasha to make the calculation that Clint’s kids deserve to have a dad when they come back to life after the Avengers complete their “time heist.” But because of that Ultron plot, there’s also an insidious implication that Natasha’s infertility renders Black Widow just a little bit more disposable than the rest of her teammates."

Furthermore, Nat's death in Endgame serves for nothing more than motivation for the other characters working in the time heist, WHICH ARE ALL MALE. Even then, the other characters talk about her death briefly (in a mostly unaffected manner), and by the end of the movie, she's been pretty much forgotten about,  completely overshadowed by Tony Stark.

I don't want to say that Nat shouldn't have died in Endgame. It caused me so much heartache and emotional pain, but I truly believe it was a great way to end her arc. CinemaWins on YouTube put it best:

"She needed to save her family, Clint included, finally wiping the red from her ledger. So much of her jouney in the MCU was trying to find her purpose, figure out which side she was on, and she finally feels like she's found it, just in time to die for it. 

"It's not wrong to feel cheated by her death, [but I think] she deserved this moment because of it's importance."

She says it in the movie: 

"I used to have nothing, and then I got this. This family. And I was better because of it."

Nat shouldn't have to die, but it's on her terms, and she is absolutely ready for it. Saving her chosen family... that is her purpose.

But altogether, over the course of the MCU, Natasha was cheated out of getting the storyline she deserved. Like Sam, she was relegated to the position of the supportive friend of Steve, but also of Bruce and Clint. For the audience, her identity is tied to this role that she plays. The identity and motivations she has independent from these other characters, her history, is skimmed over, and treated with immense disrespect.

It took 11 years, but it is thrilling that Scarlett Johansson finally gets to be the start of her own Marvel movie. There is no way that Black Widow will be able to completely make up for her and Natasha's mistreatment by the MCU, but I hope it will at least bring us some closure and allow us to have a better understanding of Nat's history and who she is away from the other Avengers.

Last, but certainly not least (despite what WandaVision may have you believe) is Monica Rambeau.

I spoke about this last week after posting about this review of the show, but it bears repeating.

Monica is a new character. You'd hope that, after 11 years of extremely limited diversity in the MCU, much to the dismay of fans worldwide, and after recognizing this and creating a movie with a cast like The Eternals, Marvel would try to get their shit together across the board.

Nope!

Monica was seriously the token diversity character of the show. It seemed like they would give her more depth after the episode during which they flashed back to the her during and after the snap, losing her mother, and seeing a little bit of what she's done as an adult since Captain Marvel, but that ended up being the most we got.

But why? Monica literally became a SUPERHERO. She became Photon! She deserved a much greater role in the show, especially in the finale, where she instead had maybe 5 lines and just stopped some bullets for about 30 seconds.

As the review I linked says, 

“There are so many black writers, fans, and critics noting how Monica got relegated to a complete lack relegated to meaningless best friend protector lacking in their own self agency and story except for making a shoehorned comparison of grief.”

Marvel made the same, bull-headed mistake that they made with Sam with Monica!

Let's do this again. Monica was snapped away for 5 years, and when she was snapped back, she learned that her mother had died. Losing someone you love and having the whole process of mourning and pain be complicated by the snap? What an interesti- oh wait. *Vision phases his head through the wall with a smile*

The only reason we got this backstory was because it made her a more sympathetic character towards Wanda. Her understanding of what Wanda is going through allows her to be the catalyst in the creation of the ideological fork in the road between herself, Darcy and Woo, who see Wanda as a victim of grief and loss, and Hayward and the rest of SHIELD, who see her as a dangerous threat.

How do you make the same, major mistake that you've been making for the past 7 years again? Guess what? You don't! Maybe it's not intentional, but Marvel, again, clearly doesn’t care enough about their characters of color to consider the roles they relegate them to in the MCU, realize what they've been doing is harmful, and then change it.

Hopefully, they will not continue to treat Monica this way and will remedy this in the next Captain Marvel.

In conclusion: MARVEL GAVE A FUCKING ROBOT AN ACTUAL ORIGIN STORY, A RELATIONSHIP AND MORE INDEPENDENCE THAN ALL OF THESE CHARACTERS.

But in all seriousness, Marvel needs to be help accountable for how they treat women and their characters of color in the MCU. I just looked at 3, but you could also make a similar argument about Rhodey, Hope van Dyne and Valkyrie, as well as Jane Foster, MJ, and Ned, although they are supporting characters and not superheroes. And I'm sure there are many others. Marvel (and Disney!!) has had an awful track-record, and change is long overdue.

[atmilliways]

Dethentine’s Day 1

February 8th - A Romantic Getaway

Today I give you what seems to be the first Lavona/Trindle fic posted to Ao3. It, uh, gets kind of dark towards the end, mostly for star-crossed lovers reasons.  You’re welcome and/or I’m sorry, whichever applies.

What Matters

The late evening air of Paris is clear and crisp as the two women exit the small museum shop that marks the end of the Catacombs tour, arm in arm. 

“Well, Liebling?” the taller of the two asks in German as they cross the street. “Did you like it?”

“It was fantastic.” Her companion, who has a definite American accent, is absolutely beaming beneath her black, touristy beret. The studs in her nose and bottom lip glint silver in the streetlight. “I’ve never seen so many femurs and crania in one place before. Thousands of human skulls and bones. Skeletal remains of more than six million people. You could just . . . feel the dead, all around you.” She sighed. “This entire trip has just been perfect, Lavona. I’m so happy you were able to take the time off.”

“Anything for you, Trin,” she replies with an indulgent smile. “I wanted to make this trip special for you considering the sacrifice you’re about to make for the cause.”

“You’re doing an amazing job.” Trindle beams at the nickname, as she always does. “Where to next?”

“Cantada II,” Lavona confirms. “It’s a heavy metal absinthe bar in the 11th arrondissement.”

“Ooh. So they’ll be playing. . . ?”

“Almost definitely.”

Lavona watches her eyes light up at the prospect of drinking to Dethklok music, and knows deeper than bone that Trindle was the right choice. The young woman has the right history, the kind that the band’s manager won’t think twice about when he orders the inevitable background search: goth since middle school, tattooed and splashed all over social media photos of copious concerts from high school onwards, putting herself through life as a cosmetologist and esthetician. She is, by all accounts, a member of one of Dethklok’s many key demographics. 

Which is exactly why Succuboso Explosion had reached out to her in the first place. She’s perfect. So perfect, in fact, that Lavona sometimes finds herself wavering in her single-minded pursuit of Nathan Explosion’s seed. . . .

Only sometimes. But it’s in moments like right now, drinking in the way Trindle’s normally pale face flushes with whole-hearted excitement. Poor girl has never been out of the United States before in her life. There’s a whole world to explore, and she has an enthusiasm for taking it all in that Lavona had lost a long time ago. If things were different, her first instinct might be to protect that spark, to nurture and tend to it until maybe, just maybe, some of it might rub off on and infect her too. 

But they had both agreed. The mission is what matters. Once they all truly become vessels that hold the future, maybe then there will be time, as pregnancy allows, but for now Lavona knows it’s best to remain as dispassionate as possible. 

So she hails them a cab, and they go to a moodily lit bar with blood red walls and unsettling artistic renderings of monsters and zombies on the walls. Trindle says she recognized it from some Anthony Bourdain thing, whoever that was—Lavona doesn’t own a television, so all she gleans from the comment was that the man had died since filming it, which seemed to heighten the appeal somehow. Excited to try everything, Trindle insists on working her way systematically through the drinks menu. It’s a good night. 

They returned to the hotel late, both slightly unsteady on their feet despite Lavona’s attempts to keep her head. Trindle had insisted that she take at least a sip of each with her, and Lavona hadn’t had it in her to say no. 

It’s far from a fancy suite, the group’s finances being mostly directed in other directions. Just a standard room with two double beds. Until tonight Lavona has kept to her own side of the room, but when Trindle tangles their fingers together and hesitantly tugs her to cross the invisible line with a hopeful smile . . . Lavona follows the pull. 

Later, after Trindle had fallen asleep on her side, Lavona sits up in bed and watches the gentle tide of her bosom. The sheets are thin enough that she can make out the heavy black shapes of her tattoos. A stray lock of hair drapes across her cheek, fluttering with every exhale; gently, so as not to wake her, Lavona brushes it back behind her shoulder. 

How odd to think that soon this view will be Nathan’s. She should be jealous of Trindle. She is—and isn’t. She’s jealous of them both, with a fierce ache in her heart and between her legs, but she also feels a peacefulness that she’s never known before. Dispassionate as possible. . . . Well, apparently that had always been relative. Maybe if the silly girl hadn’t mainlined lessons on both Duolingo and Babbel for several months and then surprised her with rough but promising conversational German, Lavona might have stood a chance. 

If she could, she would suspend this final moment of their romantic getaway in amber and wear it like a jewel. 

But Trindle had agreed. 

Lavona leans across to the nightstand between the two beds and retrieves a slim black case from the top drawer. Unzipping it reveals a pre-filled syringe, which gleams in the moonlight as she uncaps and flicks it to make sure there are no air bubbles. One quick injection and Trindle will stay asleep long enough for the next step. 

When it’s done, Lavona leans down and kisses Trindle’s forehead, kisses her closed eyelids, kisses her slack lips. “I’m sorry, Liebling,” she whispers. “Godspeed. The sooner the mission is complete, the sooner we can reunite. I . . . I hope you can forgive me.”

Then she dresses and goes to the door that connects their room to the one next door, knocks, waits to hear a reply knock, and opens it. The other four members of Succubosso Explosion file in, dressed in surgical scrubs, pushing a narrow stainless-steel table, and carrying trays of sterilized equipment. 

They had outvoted her on this, arguing that the mission was of the utmost importance. Ever since their initial failure with the Loin Extractor, knowing that an outsider would have to be recruited to infiltrate Mordhaus, most of the group’s budget has gone towards the development of behavior modification technology to ensure success even without the rigorous training they’ve all undergone for years. Trindle is merely a tool; this implant will endow her with a single-minded desire to collect Nathan’s spend as often and as diligently as possible, as well as adding a certain amount of “bimbo-ification” that will put her even further beyond suspicion than her otherwise innocuous history already does. 

It hasn’t been tested on human subjects, there simply wasn’t time. They have one slim window of opportunity, a rare and coveted backstage pass which Trindle will use to approach and ensnare her target. 

All Lavona can do now is hope that the plan will go off without a fucking hitch.

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 99

Here we have the aftermath of the Warlord Bowl. 

Here, we finally... FINALLY get to see Jokul as a person and not a far-off mysterious bad guy. Consciously, there was never any intent to compare Jokul to people who don’t understand how politics work: @zommbiebro​ isn’t even American, for one thing, and therefore neither is Jokul. However, reading it on the last pass before posting, I realized how it could be taken.

The part that isn’t relevant to the chapter: While I didn’t mean that comparison, please make sure you vote in any local elections available to you, if it doesn’t risk your life. No matter how much you feel your vote doesn’t matter, it does. If everyone who didn’t vote decided to do so, it would change the world.

In my own country, I’ll be taking time off work - because I have that ability - and taking local people to polls that ordinarily would be inaccessible to them within their district.

Back to the chapter relevant stuff: Thank you to @zommbiebro​ for giving me such a good character to play with, @charlylimph-blog​ for reading to ensure entertainment, and @baelpenrose​ for beta reading in every way that entails.

After a quick dinner at the first mess we came across - and true to my promise, I didn’t cook anything - Arthur, Antoine and I reconvened with Jokul in my office. As agreed, he brought only two of his own people, who sat on either side of him in a mirror to how I was bracketed by my own friends.

Unfortunately, they entered as I was mulling out loud the possibility of making hot pot for family dinner one night.  Even less fortunately, the ginger who I had thrown in the gym was one of the people who walked through my door while I was debating the logistics of meat versus vegetarian options.

“She doesn’t even take us seriously!” the nasal voice complained, interrupting me.

Simultaneously, several things happened. I opened my mouth to retort, Arthur put a hand over my mouth, Antoine pushed my shoulder back into the chair.

And Jokul spoke up.

“We agreed to meet with them if Farro beat me in combat.  He did, we are here, and there will be no further argument on the matter.” If anything, he sounded weary rather than angry. “She did not even request that we cease acting against her, only that we meet as equals. It is the least we can do.”

I didn’t even know forehead cramps were a thing until I gave myself one with the speed of my eyes widening. Slowly, Arthur lowered his hand so I could speak. “Right,” I coughed. “So, there are a few things I want to know.”

“Such as?” 

“Why am I your target?” I blurted out. Of everything, this was the one that was weighing heaviest on me. I felt if I could understand that, I would know how to tackle the rest. 

To my frustration, he fucking shrugged. “You are emblematic of everything that will destroy our chance at a new start,” he stated calmly, like he was telling me his name.

I sputtered before regaining my composure. “How? How am I doing something badly?”

“You only want to consolidate power, rule over the masses!” the red-haired toady honked at me.

The overblown statement and Jokul’s subsequent glare at his own man was a level of ridiculous I couldn’t handle at that moment.  Laughing ruefully, I wiped away a tear that warned me I was close to hysterical. “I don’t want to rule over anyone, dude.  If I had my preference, I would only decide what I want to eat once or twice  a week for the rest of my life.”

“But you rule over the Council,” Jokul pointed out in a confused tone.

“I don’t rule anyone, buddy. I am on the Council largely against my will, and mostly because no one else who is qualified even wants my job. Trust me, I’ve tried.” Gods had I tried.

His next statement was significantly less confident. “But you took the reins of power…”

“I am a glorified event coordinator and human resources officer. I have a staff of exactly two. One is my sister, who has been in her role longer than I’ve been in mine and only listens to me when it’s convenient. The other is my assistant, who is British as hell and listens to me on about equal level with my cat.”

“The Baconists! Your assistant was part of that rebellion! You must have known and hidden it from our hosts!” I had to give him some begrudging credit. Even he didn’t sound like he believed his own words, and if the smug look from Tweedledumb and Tweedledumber on either side of him was anything to go by, that wasn’t his own theory.

Time to set the record straight, it seemed. “Okay, quick reminder: that bitch tried to kill me,” I enunciated carefully, leaning forward as I spoke.  “She nearly succeeded. That wasn’t a cover up, it was her realizing that I talk to myself in the shower and listening long enough to hear me think through what was going on. As far as hiding her intent from our hosts… You’re only half right. Miys doesn’t read minds, contrary to what people think, they only read intent. That nutjob really did think she was doing the best thing for the universe by wiping humanity off the proverbial map. Nothing for Miys to pick up, she actually had what she thought were good intentions.”

“You have built yourself to be this legendary hero -”

“I didn’t build myself to be jack. Effing. Shit. If I had my preference, I would give you my position, and open a restaurant that does cooking classes.” When he opened his mouth to interject, I held up a hand to stop him. “Miys likes me because I talk to myself, even in my head, and so badly that they can still hear what I am saying when I don’t move my lips. I only survived being attacked by a crazy person because I treat the person who saved me like, you know, a person? Make sure he’s okay, give him his space when he wants it, sass him back when he wants to be sassy. It was just sheer, dumb luck, and I’m not even sure it was good luck, because voila!” I flung my hands wide at the current situation, forcing both Arthur and Antoine to duck. A quick glance at Antoine only rendered one of his eloquent shrugs. Must be handling the situation okay if he doesn’t think I need help.

I was less concerned with Arthur’s opinion, not because I didn’t care, but because I knew he would jump in when he felt it was needed, without prompting or permission.

“So you do not want to rule over us all?” Jokul asked carefully.

“I don’t even want to top one of my boyfriends consistently.”

“Sophia!” Antoine hissed with a miserable expression, while Arthur burst into a coughing fit. I wasn’t sure if the latter was trying to cover a laugh of choking. 

Jokul, on the other hand, seemed to take that at face value  “Then why are you in power? Explain that.”

With a heavy sigh, I tried again. “I’m not in power. Decisions are voted on by the Council. If someone brings me an idea for a class, or an architectural project, or a medical possibility, I pass it off to the Councilor who handles that and let it go from there.” Emphatically, I pointed at my own face. “Again, glorified events coordinator and HR.”

“And yet, you have your pet warlord sitting beside you. Explain that away,”Tweedledumb - the brunette on Jokul’s other side - accused.

I whipped my head to look at the subject of that statement before looking back across the table. “Arthur?” I asked, jerking a thumb in his general direction. “You do realize he’s a teacher first, right? Warlord out of need, but that ‘need’ was protecting the students in his history class when everything went to shit? Don’t get me wrong, we butted heads like you would not believe when we first met in person. But we realized halfway through what looked to be one hell of an argument that we knew each other for - fuck, like, a decade? Maybe less? - before the End. I didn’t ‘win him over.’ We just realized we’ve always been friends.” With a shrug I glanced back at Arthur, who also shrugged before nodding.

“Too convenient, Councilor.” Tweedledumb gloated. “You just happened to be friends with someone who - “

“Oh for FUCK’s sake!” Annnnd there it was.  Someone had reached his limit for diplomacy and stupidity. “We met on a fanfiction site writing a crossover of two of the worst pieces of science fiction ever written and mutually infected each other! FUCK!” Crossing his arms, he started muttering to himself. “Not like finding someone to kick your asses is hard…”

After a glare at the darker-haired idiot, and with an expression that looked like he was entirely regretting his choice of people for this meeting, Jokul schooled his features before addressing me directly. “Fanfiction?” he asked in a skeptical tone.

And the dirty truth comes out, I thought with another sigh. “StarDoc and Warhammer 40K, okay? It was fun, no fandom to cheese off, nothing smutty. Just… fun.” When the nostalgia threatened to overtake me, I shook my head vigorously. “The point is, we knew each other for years Before the world went to shit, and only realized when one of my friends landed in his class and there was a data error.  I don’t even like violence.” Antoine gave me a skeptical look so I clarified. “Usually.”

“And yet you are a combatant!” Jokul stated with certainty, clearly on more familiar ground.

Angrily, I scowled at Tweedle-the-ginger before leaning forward to look into Jokul’s eyes. “Look. I don’t know how it was in Canada, with your mooses and shit, but I really, really want to know: Do you honestly believe that anyone who got through the After did it without learning how to defend themselves? Even more, that any woman who made it, didn’t learn to fight dirty?”

“Not if you know how to have people defend you - “ Jokul tried before I cut him off.

“They don’t defend me because I’m helpless, let’s be clear. They defend me because I will only fight back if I know my life is on the line. But, on the same page, I will protect my friends and family from anything, without reserve, and die for them. No hesitation.” With a deep breath, I sat back rather than jumping over the table.  “I have my flaws, and my sister will tell you the biggest among those is that I trust too easily.  I assume the best in, literally, everyone.”

“Except smartass teacher, apparently,” Arthur said in a fake cough that fooled exactly nobody.

After making a face at my friend, I turned back to the moose in the room. “What that means is, I don’t try to defend myself until it is literally your life or mine. Or both. I don’t really care at that point, because I assume I’m not going to make it. I just want the person I’m fighting to go down with me.” Trying to imitate Charly’s most savage grin, I put on a forced-cheerful tone. “Now, tell me, Jokul. Who would rather have faced in that fight, knowing that?”

His eyes darted between Arthur and myself as he swallowed hard, mulling the implications of that. “You would kill and die for your friends’ safety and health, even if you would only protect yourself at the last moment?” Here, he scoffed. “There is nothing exceptional or even special about that. Many who were in power in the After felt the same.”

“Except I don’t want power,” I repeated in a tone that I previously reserved only for small children. “I just told you that.” In the corners of my eyes, I saw both of my friends nodding so hard I was concerned for their spines.

Before I could try to reason with Jokul any more, Arthur jumped in. “If you’re both done arguing righteousness, let me explain a few things. Jokull. First off, Soph actually doesn’t want to rule, or be on the Council. She told you this. She’s also bitched about it to me, her sister, and anyone else who will listen, at length. On top of being too trusting, her biggest flaw is actually an impulsivity problem, in general. But she’s not an autocrat.” As he gestured, I saw his eyes glaze over, his voice taking on a serene tone that was entirely too familiar. “If Soph was a real autocrat, she’d have let us have our little duel armed, with my sword and - I presume you’d have had an ax? Maybe a broadsword? You look like a broadsword guy... any rate.”

“However,” he continued, leaning forward with a thoughtful expression, like he was puzzling something out. “she made me promise not to kill you. Think about that. After you’ve been nothing but a headache and a threat to her and her family for months, she makes me promise not to kill you. I wanted to, you know.” The wistful sigh that accompanied that statement was entirely unnecessary and I was certain he only did it to irritate me.  “I wanted to kill you and have your lifeless corpse thrown out of the airlock like trash, not because of the Council, not because your Viking gimmick wears out in a hurry, but because you made the mistake of threatening a friend, then slapping a student. I had no idea if you were actually going to seriously harm any of them, and I didn’t care. The threat alone was enough to make me decide I wanted you dead.” Tapping his chin briefly, he pointed at Jokul without actually looking at him. “Because you were an unknown quantity, but no matter whether or not you were actually the threat you claimed to be, your corpse would be harmless.”

Arthur shrugged before looking Jokul in the face. “That’s how warlords handled things in the After, isn’t it? When someone threatened your people, or when someone threatened mine? I didn’t negotiate. I didn’t warn. I doubt you did, either. I took them at their word, and I did unto them first. And I’d bet you did the same. ‘Peace’ was what you called it when everyone who wanted to make war on you or your people was dead. That’s what the After taught me, that’s what it taught you.” After emphasizing his point by gesturing between the two of them, he shook his head.  “And that impulse, that set of lessons? That's not what humanity needs right now. Our skill set as leaders is not what humanity needs right now. If you want humanity to have a fresh start as you claim, drop the hostility, drop the self-righteousness, and actually try listening. Do you want a genuine peace with the Council?” Thoughtfully, he stroked the hilt of his sword where it laid across his lap. 

I knew it was the fondness of being reunited with a long lost limb, but Jokul didn’t know that. 

“Or a warlord’s peace with me?” In a creepy way, Arthur’s tone was downright perky. “I prefer a genuine one. A warlord’s idea of peace is one of the things I want to leave in the ashes of the After. That’s why it’s the Council who make the rules here - not warlords.”

With an alarmed expression, Jokul very slowly glanced at me. “Did he just threaten to kill me and shove me out an airlock?”

“No, he’s pouting because I wouldn’t let him do that,” I answered honestly.  The topic had come up, for a solid fifteen seconds.  I was even reasonably sure Arthur had been joking.

“I don’t - “ Arthur started  indignantly before being cut off by Jokul.

“He makes a good point. Our skills as warlords are not what is needed in this new world. I let myself believe people who told me that the Council in general and you specifically wanted to hoard power and privilege over us, just like the people who led Earth to where it ended up.” He glanced nervously at Arthur, who was still stroking his sword, before forging ahead in a somewhat squeakier tone. “If someone who has had real power agrees that you and the Council are the best option, then I will at least try to see how that would work.”

Here, Antoine joined the conversation. “Militant strength and ruling by force aren’t the only forms of power. We do not want that sort of power over us anymore. The Council leads because the people on this ship largely want to follow them.  That is the kind of power no one can force.  It has to be earned.”

“But the Council still makes decisions without our will - “

Shaking my head, I angrily flicked open my datapad and shot a file to him like I was thumping off an insect. “No, Bjornson, we don’t.  I was elected to my position - without my knowledge, might I add - by the people I represent to the Council. Every decision we make, the people on this ship get a vote with the exception of an emergency like what happened on Level One.  There wasn’t time to have a vote on how to handle that.”

“Although, we have had a lot of emergencies lately, so I understand the confusion,” Arthur interjected.

Is this what hallucinations feel like? I wondered. There was no way in frozen hell Arthur just made a point in Jokul’s favor, but the calm, resigned look on his face told me that, at some point, he seemed to have made peace with having to treat Jokul Bjornson as a sentient being. I was going to pass out if I kept sighing, though. “Okay, true. But everything else - Insert Winter Holiday, the swimming area, the diving docks, food festivals, permanent low stimulation areas throughout the ship, Galactic Core education - those were voted on by the people on this ship, with an overwhelming majority in favor.”

“What about the alarms?” Jokul pointed to his own head for emphasis.

“Also voted on, believe it or not,” I confirmed. “ And most of the ship agreed that there was more benefit in not running into people who would react badly to unexpected touch than there was discomfort at the alarms going off.”

“I tested them myself, monsieur.” Antoine offered. “So I am well acquainted with the volume they are calibrated for, and I do not appreciate you disabling them.  My staff have had to work around the clock to treat the damage your people have caused to others on this ship, who are terrified to leave their quarters now.”

Jokul looked a bit guilty at that, as well as his entourage.  Looked like he hadn’t considered that. “Would you believe me if I told you that was originally an accident?” he admitted sheepishly.  “One of the engineers thought it would be funny to shock another one in the neck with a low level electrical current, right behind the ear.” He turned his head and pointed to a small burn scar in the same place. “It took days for them to notice that the proximity alarm didn’t work anymore.”

To my shock, Antoine started swearing angrily in French, so fast even the translator couldn’t keep up. “Sophia, if I find out Charly Harper is the cause of this…”

Jokul shook his head vigorously. “I can assure you it was not Miss Harper.” His focus slid over to me, eyes wide.

Either this motherfucker just lied to keep Charly out of trouble, or she really was innocent.

“That explains why Derek and Zach couldn’t figure out how they did it,” Arthur pointed out. “You can’t hack into something that’s shorted out.”

Jokul spoke up again. “It also… may? Have caused some translation inconsistencies?”

“So the shock corrupted more files than just the alarms,” I stated in clarification.

“Several, in fact, yes…. Specifically signed languages and tonal languages.”

“That’s… that’s at least a third of the ship…” I couldn’t figure out if I wanted to sob in horror or laugh hysterically.

Jokul groaned before cradling his head in his hands. “I am aware, yes.”

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[incarnateirony]

Sometimes I feel like SPN’s greatest strength is its fandom’s weakness. And sometimes even the product itself.

When SPN started, it was very insular. The internet screamed at you in most parts of the world to connect. Cable was even pretty rare. It was on a small backwater channel and, even at its hottest fresh burst, was running 1/4-1/5 of the numbers of the leading competitors at the time. When SPN premiered just above a 2.x, Grey’s was running 9.x and was still well above 8.x by the time SPN fell to 1.x. It was a dedicated cult show, with fandoms communicating by postcard, huddled in moderated livejournal corners.

Kripke, Jensen and others have all mentioned SPN really getting its wings around S4 to have a sense of stability, and it even survived the digital conversion mandate, it survived the advertisement crash, it survived one of the biggest TV show culls in history while the landscape changed and, somehow, the ratings that year went /up/. But even still, just because it wasn’t riding the bubble anymore, didn’t mean it was huge.

It barely survived Ostroff’s mismanagement. It barely survived the season 7 crash under Gamble. And then CW struck a legendary deal, and binge watching became available on Netflix, while Carver shifted and serialized the show, now that both DVR and increasing-speed internet and streaming services became available. And within a year, SPN was an international phenomenon. Hell, by seasons 11+, it perpetually ran in the top 20 digitally called shows in the world, ranking higher each year.

I think this is really what caused, in every way shape and form, the constant fighting in fandom. 

I mean sure, we can talk about people who get stuck in ruts in what they think the show is supposed to be about. Those happen in every old as dirt fandom. For every Old School Fan in SPN I point you to Star Trek, to Star Wars, to whatever. You know, Back In My Day The Show Meant XYZ isn’t really a fresh thing to SPN.

But the fighting isn’t just about that. It’s about how to render characters. It’s about what makes good story flow. It’s about what dialogue means. In some corners, it’s about representation.

By and large the fandom endorses, “all interpretations are equal” -- which is valid to a point. Personally, I always asterisk it with “all interpretations are equal as long as your interpretation continues to work for you.”

But there’s some catch-22s to that. In a still developing piece, things change. That’s obvious. And what “works for you” seems to be difficult for some people to identify. I regret to inform you, if you have an interpretation, and yet the piece continues to divide further and further from your interpretation, and you continue to get angrier while the show seems to be going against your interpretation, then technically, no. Your interpretation is no longer working for you.

That is, if you choose to continue to consume content. There’s lots of ways to manage this. One can figure out at what point their interpretation broke away from the product and try to adapt -- you can take pointers from fandom, but realistically, it’s something to do yourself. Taking pointers from fandom tends to be what gets people into this mess where people get angry. You can choose to stop consuming new content and enjoy the canon within the sandbox that made you happy with your interpretation. Or yeah, you can stay angry and keep watching while you’re angry and refuse to figure out how to get un-angry, but I mean, why torture yourself. It’s your right and your decision of course, so I’m not going to tell anyone not to. That’s not the point of this.

Because ultimately that’s a small aside to the “interpretations are equal”, a general disclaimer appended, vs “still developing piece”, but the point I intend to make is it’s more than that. It’s more than Old Fan vs New Fan, it’s more than whatever weird totemic argument fandom ritualistically engages with and faps to. It’s...

A while back I mentioned offering to do an AV studies course. Technically drafts of it are still floating in my draft folder, just between life emergencies, life, covid pandemic, getting grossly ill, I’m just sitting here kind of empty. Full honest. But thoughts still come, so I blog, even while staring emptily at my half finished project in my video editor I don’t have the spoons to finish much less anything else.

But one of the things it was going to discuss was different things like Representations, Audiences, Ideologies, Language, and so forth. And this circles back to my point on this show’s strength and weakness, and how it falls into interpretation.

Two major impacts (I would be far from saying they are the only, or are they themselves laws that make someone somehow oblivious, but are major influencers when speaking of large groups of people) I’ve noticed are generation, and location. Such as... country.

SPN is a very Americana show. It’s filmed in America for America (hey, technically Canada is North America, but it’s definitely American oriented business/studios regardless of filming locale), often making American references, but even getting references doesn’t mean you’re really catching a lot. American shows do not follow the same time/format/delivery pattern as, say, Chinese or Korean shows. Go watch them, put them side by side if you have to of something in related-ish genres. Different cultures deliver their stories differently be it pacing, structure, symbolism and color, or whatever. What Japanese culture perceives out of the idea of a dog in symbolism is like wildly different than what American culture perceives out of a dog. 

Similarly each generation has its own language. I mean, watch boomers and zoomers talk right past each other and that isn’t hard to see in practice. 

Don’t even get me started on representation. America’s in a goddamn trashfire of Hays Code aftermath, which say, British people didn’t have to grow up with and may be used to entire other systems so they see Rando American Show elsewhere and go, well see! but that’s a whole other mess. Just... adding it to the equation (and vaguely thanking the Brits and other Europeans for shipping off so many gay ass films for decades that the MPAA couldn’t stop that they just gave up enforcing the code as much as letting cultural aftermath doing the work.)

So this show absolutely exploded, and like, it’s nobody’s fault that the entire sum of the fandom aren’t all like, media minds/eyes that pay attention to the different methods in international films. But it adds to a lot of talking past each other in the dialogue. It leads to a lot of expectations or readings that may be/seem valid to people because it’s what they know in their area. It leads to a lot of obfuscating of points, infinite carousels of suggestions and alternatives that, after dozens of millions of fans engage for a decade, just becomes a big relativistic vat, but a lot of lanes are now angry in every way. 

Like this isn’t a one-ship thing or one-lane thing, it’s a just about everybody thing. And it’s not about any one subject or angle or view of approach. These days, it feels like Everybody Is Mad About Everything. Their reads aren’t really working for them anymore, regardless of their lane (for every pissed off Wincester there’s a pissed off Destiel fan, for every pissed off Sam stan there’s a pissed off Dean or Cas or even Rowena stan these days). Everybody somehow seems permanently blindsided by Everything if you take the temperature of the sum of an entire lane as a general rule, rather than (impossibly) reading through every opinion in each lane and figuring out where people are still happy vs where they’re upset. Then of course groupthink kicks in and well, if Rando French Cas Stan is Outraged, I Should Be Too I Guess. Everybody’s mad, guess I should be mad, instead of trying to figure out why everybody everywhere is fucking mad.

So people each build interpretations, reasonable in their own way, from their own origins, in their own countries with their own styles, but somewhere along the line, there’s a fracture. The storytelling pacing they thought they knew vanished and turned out wrong. The character dialogue wasn’t what they interpreted out of it. The cinematic stuff they read was coded to a different language than they were used to reading (back to, say, dogs). People are flagged and pay attention to things that may mean nothing to a filmmaker in the area it’s made and other people completely miss things that may mean something to the filmmaker because it really doesn’t mean A Thing elsewhere.

Compound this by lanes, echo chambers, people collectively finding what they enjoy and is -- respectively -- convenient to their mindset. Add in ship warring, slap fights, wasted kilobits. Add in decentralization, globalization. There’s no leaders, no teachers, and frankly, there’s not even a real In The Know anymore. Most people are In The Know to some extent. Some more than others. Hell, the people who most loudly /publicly/ pose as In The Know are often hilarious bags of air that end up embarrassed a year later (here’s to looking at you, blogger that anti-ranted Friendship Fan now facing the return of the Subtweeting Turkey. You know who you are and what I’m talking about.) I mean sure, there are a few legit Secret Masters of Fandom. But that’s it. They’re Secret. You may kinda pick up the vibe between the lines, and maybe just maybe they’ll drop a few genuine hints here and there in public to try to tilt people ahead, but it’s not the clout chasing goblins around here that anyone really should listen to and I /think/ at large everybody’s kinda figured that out. Most SMOFs are just silent contacts that hide in DM boxes and casually ignore the raging thunderstorms in the wild.

So going back to how I started this post-- while SPN found its success mostly post-S8 from the globalization of the product making it a phenomenon -- more than any one ship (but that doesn’t help), more than any one demographic, it’s just... it feels like everybody’s talking past each other and nobody’s introspecting or considering that while, yes, people’s interpretations are valid to them as long as it works for them, that if it’s not REALLY working for them anymore, maybe they’re missing somewhere. Generationally. Culturally. Whatever it may be. And I don’t see any amount of me sitting here in a Thinking Man pose about it changing that, or changing a vast amount of minds, as much as I really just want to /speak/ the thought process.

Because like. I’ve always existed kind of in the grey space of fandom. I “ship” Destiel in so far as I simply can’t be budged from the value in the text be that by antis or honestly even shipping culture itself. I don’t escalate into rants just to prOVE the tRuTH. I write meta about mythology because it interests me. Who the fuck are you MikeDawg1783894jKFbetabitch82398123? why should I care, where is your self importance coming from. I am far too tired to bother explaining anything to anyone, and frankly, I don’t owe anybody jack shit. You know what, you do you. If you’re happy go be happy. If you’re not happy, stop spewing your misery at me. This isn’t hard. But people around here make it complicated for some reason.

The internationalism also harms the product to some extent. Parrot Analytics reveals that this Americana show with Americana origins and methods is also ... *primarily viewed in Russia.* Like, 3x the US audience size. SPN been running the top 15-20 digitally called shows in the world up there with big sling hitters like Grey’s Anatomy now? Grey’s, as I saId above, always dwarfed it. In live numbers we still do. But there’s that audience to account for online now, with SPN treading almost neck-and-neck with it.

Result? Well, with TV being a business, that means that they try to cater to Russia. And like, no hate on my Russian friends out there. ILU. There’s nothing wrong with you. But then it’s like trying to perform for an international audience that this studio is not designed nor predisposed to deliver content in the form of. Read as: whole new interpretive tire fire potential, new arguments. New mess. Just extra restrictions on a core business level about the do’s and don’t’s for authors. Cuz things that are cool in the US may not be cool in Russia and the other way around for that matter. 

So somewhere between “what business chooses to do” and “infinite cascade of fandom white noise, anger and confusion,” I feel lies in the same thing that has kept SPN so successfully on the air so long. It’s strength is it’s weakness, and it’s the international nature of it, the longer I think on it.

And no, I’m in no way implying international friends aren’t welcome or whatever. Most of my followers are international. That’s fine, I ain’t shitting on you or telling you to hang it up and go home. I just feel like a lot of this eternal static is based on this many cultures trying to argue interpretations of a work from an outside perspective with very few anchors on the methodology that drives it from within. And frankly, fandom hotbox dialogue doesn’t exactly lend itself to sitting and truly wanting to discuss the methodology, because people are so high-strung at this point, nobody wants to hear a POV that clashes with what they’ve built for themselves. Because you know, “my interpretation is valid.” I just... wish... people would assist their own health and mental health by, once it no longer is-- kinda figuring out why and where? be that for international reasons of film delivery, be that language, be that generational gaps, be that *WHATEVER* it may be. I feel like that’s a message not often-enough put out there in this fandom.

Like, hell, it’s okay to like. Just. Not watch new episodes. Play in the sandbox that worked for you when it still, like, worked for you. Watch it a million times. Write a million fics to it. It’s okay to not watch the Declared Popular Thing. You don’t have to shackle yourself to a piece when it’s no longer working for you, just like I don’t advise watching a show with a premise you hate only to yell about it from go. And furthermore-- if you do wanna keep going, it’s totally fair and okay to go, hm, I was wrong somewhere. Let me unplug this giant fandom screaming megaphone from my skull, go review, figure out for myself where the fandom egregore led me one way or another, let me find a new way to appreciate this piece as it continues to grow. But that ain’t gonna happen unless people truly want to surrender their current framing. And... you don’t have to. Not anymore than you HAVE to keep viewing. 

I’ve found, for example, a lot of internationals I talk to tend to be upset about something or another, or confused, or what have you. And the reasons vary. They aren’t dumb people. But somewhere they fell off the rails and struggle to get back on and whatever chamber of fandom they’re in isn’t helping. The internationals I find that don’t struggle with any part of it just outright tend to be people who like... specialize? be it film study or lit study or whatever the topic is that helps them bridge understanding; people who can discuss constructivist theory or have read enough books across their barriers that it all just kinda clicks. Doesn’t make them better or worse than anyone else. Not a better fan. Just... happier with the content, which is better for /them/. And that’s really what matters in the end, isn’t it?

So IDK what the solution to this musing really is, as much as trying to put my finger on the pulse, beyond the sticky underbelly that is shipping fandom and its many corners that people blame for a sum of it. And like. Yeah. Y’all know I’m not a fan of Shipping Culture. But I really don’t think My Ship Vs Ur Ship is all there really is to blame. 

The same reason for SPN’s success is often the same reasons for SPN’s fandom’s downfall, IMO.

[james-stark-the-writer-wips]

A Year At The Opera - Excerpt

Chapter 11, Part 2: Svetlana

WC: 2900 words. It’s not perfect but it’s here. I hope you like it :)

*

Svetlana

Going back like four days, back to the first day of school, we’re going to catch up on what’s been happening with her. So, Waverly, Sean and the rest had called her for a thing at the park, right? Well, she went home after school, asked her mom if she could go. Anya said yes but only if Svetlana would help her unpack tomorrow and after that, Svetlana drove out to the park. And that’s where we pick up.

Embrace Park was mostly filled with kids at this point, it being the middle of the afternoon and all, but Svetlana found the group standing by the large tree towards the other end of the park.

“You came!” Waverly said, walking up to Svetlana.

“I said I would.” Svetlana said, lightly hugging her. 

“Come on, everyone's waiting.” Waverly grabbed Svetlana's hand dragging her along to the others.

“Hello there.” Sam said, expecting a ‘General Kenobi’ back. His face immediately fell when she didn’t reply back.

“Hey.” Svetlana said. “Alicia isn't here?”

“General Kenobi.” Waverly said to Sam, giving him a quick peck on the nose and making him turn his face to hide the fact that he was blushing.

“No, she and Leo couldn't make it.” Britney chimed in. “She's got a date with her girlfriend who lives over in the next town. Leo never comes out anywhere.”

“Cool.” Svetlana said. “So, like, what do you guys actually do around here?”

“Mostly we just hang out.” Sean said. “Talk about shit like what our days have been like, what's been going on at home or whatever shit we've got going. Think of this as casual group therapy.”

“Isn't group therapy already casual?” She retorted.

Sean chuckled. “Fair enough.”

“So… what do we do now?”

“I guess we talk. Let's get to know each other.” Sean said. 

“Sounds good to me.” Svetlana said. 

The group spent the next few hours talking and complaining about their life and whatever they had going on. They talked about a lot of things I'm not going to go over because they'd literally take hours so I'm just going to cover the highlights. 

First. Britney filled in Svetlana about what happened to Waverly. Turns out, about three years ago, she’d gone on a trip where she’d decided to go swimming in the ocean and almost drowned. Since then, she’d been careful around talk of death and scared to go swimming. It had forced the group to adapt to some colorful expressions to talk about death around Waverly.

After that, the rest of them continued to talk about the mundanities of day to day life. Sam talked about his mom being a bitch, Britney complained about the lack of good looking guys and everyone rolled their eyes, basically telling Svetlana they’d been hearing the same thing for a long while and Waverly complained about her dad not liking Sam. They walked around the park as they talked. And finally, as the sun began to descend, Sean talked about a problem with his mom’s finances.

“She’s just been secretive, you know?” Sean said, “Like she’s trying to keep it from me, like she thinks she can hide it from me.”

“She probably just doesn’t want you to worry.” Sam said.

“Yeah well, it’s not fucking working. I took a peek at the bills yesterday. We might get kicked out, man.”

“You really think they’d evict you?” Waverly asked.

“If we can’t pay the bills, I doubt they have any other choice.”

“What about your dad?” Svetlana asked.

Everyone in the group stared at her awkwardly. Waverly inhaled sharply.

“Well, he left when I was five… so, he’s really not gonna be much help.” Sean said almost cheerily.

Svetlana got quiet. “I’m sorry.” She whispered.

“It’s fine.” Sean said, “It was a long time ago and there was no way you could’ve known.”

“So,” Brtiney stepped in to change the mood. “You’ve heard about our depressing problems, it’s only fair we get to hear yours.”

“Oh I don’t really have problems.” Svetlana brushed it off.

“That literally can’t be true. Everyone has problems.” Sam said.

“No, I swear. Home life is actually pretty good. And so far, so is the rest of everything.”

“You like the town so far?” Sean asked.

“Yep.” Svetlana nodded.

“Okay, so, if you don’t have problems right now, give us your tortured backstory.” Britney placed a firm hand on Svetlana’s shoulder.

“There’s not much to tell.” Svetlana began.

“So, you were born in Russia?” Sam asked inquisitively.

“Not really. Because my grandfather had married an American woman, my parents had come to live with them during the tail end of my birth so I was technically a United States citizen before my parents because I was born here. But, after I was born, my parents left with my grandparents for a year or so before they came back to get me. I spent about six years with them before they also migrated here. But they still have family there so they visit often and I go with them.”

“Cool!” Britney said.

“Not as much as you think.” Svetlana continued. “After we moved here permanently, we lived with my grandparents for a while but they died so we had to move away when I was about ten or eleven. My grandma’s parents really didn’t like us because they’re raging bigtots who think every russian is a communist and didn’t want us staying at the house so we moved to Philly for a bit then my dad got a good job working as a manager and we stayed there for a while and then my dad got a better offer and now we’re here.”

“That’s rough.” Sean said. “But I’m glad it worked itself out.”

“Hey, Sammy, what’s the time?” Britney asked.

“Uh, 6:05.” Sam replied.

“Shit! I have to go or my mom is going to strangle me. Bye!”

“Bye!” Waverly said as Britney ran off into the distance towards her car. 

“We should get going too. It’s getting a bit late.” Sam said turning to Waverly.

“Yeah, we’ll see you both tomorrow then.” She gave Sean a cheeky smile, grabbed Sam’s hand and started to walk away.

“So…” Sean hooked his fingers in his pockets as he and Svetlana continued to walk.

“So…” She bit her lip.

Sean stopped and took in a sharp breath. “Hey, I know this is kinda forward but like, do you wanna go on a date with me?” Sean asked.

Svetlana didn’t know how to respond.

Sean must have noticed her distress because he immediately added, “You don’t have to answer immediately, obviously.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I know it’s weird considering we just met today but its just that…” He let out a sigh. “I’d like to take you out on a proper date and give this a shot before we have to file for bankruptcy.” He laughed to himself.

“Sure, why not?” Svetlana said. This could be fun. If nothing else, she could get a tour around town and the proposition of free food was always fun.

“Cool. How’s friday sound?” He smiled. “I could even give you a proper tour of the town, then.”

“It sounds awesome.” Svetlana said. “But I’m paying. For any services rendered.”

“Any services rendered? Whoo, there. That might cost you.” Sean said sarcastically. “But, jokes aside, if you want to, it’s your prerogative.”

“That’s a big word!” She joked. “What, did you pick up a dictionary today?”

“Ouch.” Sean said. “Word of the day app.”

Svetlana smiled, looking away.

“Here, give me your phone.” Sean said taking out his phone and handing it to Svetlana. She gave him hers. They quickly exchanged numbers and wishing her a quick goodbye, Sean walked away with a large smile stuck on his face.

Svetlana checked the time. It was already close to 6:30 and it was starting to get dark. Time to get home.

-

Svetlana reached home a little later. As the car pulled up to the driveway, the tires slowly dragging along the pathway, she spotted the silhouettes of her parents approaching the door from the living room window. Oh no, the curtains are pulled. The curtains were never pulled in the Petrova household. Not unless there was an emergency.

Fuck. She thought as she opened the car door and got out. Quickly locking it, Svetlana hurried to the door.

“Gde ty byla?” The door opened before Svetlana could get her hands on it and the large, imposing, absolute unit of a figure of Anatoly Petrova stood before her.

“It’s only seven, papa.” Svetlana protested.

“Seven in a new city, dochinka!” The slight russian accent in his voice was in a weird middle ground to Svetlana’s non-existent and Anya’s moderately-heavy russian accent. The accent had certainly faded over the years, and his five years of study here had helped as well but you could still here hints of it on occasion when he was angry or stressed. Perhaps it was an internal instinct to stick with what you knew.

“Can I come in? It’s freezing out here.” She rubbed her arms and Anatoly let out a protesting grumble but moved aside to let her in.

“Where were you?” Anatoly asked again.

“I made friends.” She replied, walking into the living room. “They invited me to hang with them at the park.” 

“You could’ve called, Sveta!”

She looked over her shoulder just enough to see Anatoly in her periphery as she removed her phone from her low cut jeans and threw it on the couch. “I lost track of time. It won’t happen again.” She stated calmly. Fortunately, Anatoly was prone to freaking out about little things so Svetlana wasn’t worried much.

Anatoly walked in front of her to talk to her but before he could get another word out, Anya’s voice came from behind Svetlana. “We’ve been worried sick!” Anya’s tone was sharp and accusatory.

Svetlana turned to face her. Anatoly rolled his eyes. Anya continued, “Especially after what happened at your father’s job today and right on the first day too. This isn’t a good sign, devushka.”

“Whoa whoa. Stop.” Svetlana’s expression grew serious. “What happened at papa’s job?”

“You didn’t hear?” Anya asked innocently.

“It’s a little accident, don’t worry about it.” Anatoly said. “These things happen.” Unfortunately, Anatoly was also prone to making small things of big issues.

“What happened?” Svetlana asked again.

“A little accident? People are dead, Anatoly.” Anya spat.

“Whoa!” Svetlana stopped Anya. “Can you both just tell me what happened?”

“It is a massive radioaktivnoye leak.” Anya said. “Your father’s been cleaning up the mess all day.”

Svetlana turned to Anatoly. “God, are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” He reassured her. “I’ve just been trying to contain the situation all day. Thankfully the media haven’t caught wind of it yet.”

“But are you okay?”

“Yes, yes. The leak was taken care of quickly and the radiation was contained quickly. Somehow one of the tanks sprung a leak and flowed out but it didn’t do much damage to any important equipment. Ended up killing eight people though.”

Svetlana had to do a double take to even process how casually Anatoly said that.

“I’m tired. I’m going to bed. Have to get to work early tomorrow.” Anatoly said before turning to Svetlana and letting out a quick yawn. “And if you’re gonna be late, call before.”

“Yeah.” Svetlana nodded.

Anatoly climbed the stairs and made his way to his room.

“Come on, let’s get you something to eat.” Anya placed a warm hand on Svetlana’s back and guided her to the kitchen.

-

The next few days passed in relative silence. With the school closed for a while and not much to do, Svetlana spent the days helping Anya unpack and binging shows and movies and Youtube video essays about those shows and movies. But, time flew by and it was officially friday. The big date was here.

And, right on time, the bike arrived out Svetlana’s house.

“Mama, I’m leaving!” Svetlana shouted grabbed her jacket and reaching for the door. 

“Don’t be too late!” Anya shouted back.

“I’ll call if I’m gonna be late.” Svetlana said before exiting the house. 

Sean turned the key in the bike and shook his head to straighten his hair that had been tousled up by the wind.

Svetlana quickly jogged up to him.

“Ready?” He asked.

“As I’ll ever be.” She quickly answered.

She was certainly excited to be going on this little date but more than that she was really excited to be on that bike. It looked like a beauty, the sun glimmering off it’s glossy paint. The seat wasn’t too low which was comfortable for Svetlana’s tall 5’7 figure.

“Get on then.” Sean smirked.

“Where are we going?”

“I guess you’ll find out soon enough.” Sean said. “Grab on tight, we’re going fast.”

A smile crept on his face as Svetlana got on and put her hands on his shoulders.

“Here we go.” The bike sped off into the sunset.

-

As the sun flared behind them in the distance, Svetlana and Sean arrived at their destination about ten minutes later. 

“So,” Sean said, parking the bike. “Welcome to Chester’s: the supreme hangout spot for literally everyone and the best milkshakes in the state with pancakes to rival Rose’s, over in Tenebris.” His tone resembled an overenthusiastic advertisement.

“Well, I guess we’ll see, won’t we?” Svetana said quickly running a hand through her hair to straighten the rebellious blond strands that had flown everywhere as they flew through city traffic at high speed.

“Let’s head in then. You will never have milkshakes like this anywhere.” Sean said, stuffing the keys in his pocket.

“Thats’s going to be a hard challenge, I’ve had milkshakes at Vinny’s.” Vinny’s, as you probably know, is regarded to have some of the best milkshakes in the world.

“Well, I’m sure they can’t compare as far as taste.” Sean walked towards the door and opened it, letting Svetlana go in first.

“Ah, a gentleman, I see.” Svetlana joked.

“Perfect behavior.” Sean replied perfectly seriously, walking in with her.

“How delectable.” Svetlana muttered under her breath.

The sound of the bell above the door subsided as Sean turned to Svetlana. “So, where do you wanna sit?”

“Well, you’re the expert, where’s the best seats in the house?”

“That would be the far left booth but unfortunately, it seems to be taken.” Sean pointed at the booth.

Svetlana saw Mason sitting with Ingram, instantly identified with his fiery red hair, while the ‘Manic Pixies’ as Britney had called them, stood talking to the boys.

“So,” Sean continued, “Best seats in the house are probably going to be the second booth on the right.”

“Lead the way!” Svetlana said. 

But even as they walked, Svetlana couldn’t stop thinking about Ingram.

As they slid into the booth, she turned around for a quick glance at him. They were still talking to the girls.

“So, what do you want to eat?” Sean asked.

Svetlana smiled at her and whispered a quick thank you before turning back to Sean. “Well, what milkshake would you say is the best?” She looked over the menu.

“I’m biased but I’d personally take the strawberry. But, you know, chocolate chip is never a bad choice if that’s your thing.”

“Nope. Strawberry sounds good to me.”

“Great! Anything to eat?”

“I’m just gonna have some fries but you can get whatever you want. Or we could get a large fires and split it.”

“Shakes and fries? Sounds godawful.”

“FYI, It’s actually delicious. Chester always puts more salt on mine because he knows I love them and they go amazingly well with the fresh, fruity, sweet milkshakes.”

“Alright, if you say so. But I’m also getting a burger to go with those fries.”

“Cool.” He said. “Hey, Arlene!” He called out and the waitress from before quickly hurried over.

“Yep?” Arlene took out her notepad.

“Alright, so, two strawberry milkshakes, go heavy on the whipped cream, a little extra sweet. A side of large fries, half curly, half plain, extra salt and a burger for the lady right here.”

“Got it.” She quickly rattled off the order back to them to confirm it and then hurried off behind the counter. 

“And now we wait.” Sean muttered under his breath.

Svetlana’s eyes drifted off her menu to the Pixies who were starting to walk away.

“Hey,” She asked, “You mind if I go check up on him? I didn’t really get a chance to see how he is.” The words flowed out without a second thought.

“Uh, sure.” Sean said, visibly tensing up. “We have some time to kill before the food comes anyway.”

And Svetlana realized what she’d done.

“No, I’m sorry. I’m stupid. It’s rude.” She quickly said. Ugh, she couldn’t believe she’d been this stupid. God, she couldn’t even imagine how poor Sean felt. He must’ve felt she was ditching him.

“No, I swear, it’s fine. I have to call my mom anyway.” He said.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.” He said but he was still tensed up.

“I’ll be right back.” She was already off the seat before beginning that sentence and making her way to Ingram Shaw.

*

[bruciewayne]

nearly perfect

dyslexic steve rogers, steve + tony friendship, 1940s ideals, internal ableism(?) 

The Serum fixed so many things, and did more than fix. Erskine made him so much better than he ever could be, than he ever should be, really, and according to all the records, and all the posters and comics and black-and-white reels, he’s a perfect man. 

And he is. Nearly. He’s perfect in almost every way possible. Almost. If you were to look at him, nothing would be wrong anymore, if you were to tell him to run a city block, he could, fast enough to rival most cars, without breaking a sweat, if you were to send him to the front lines he could hold his own, he could lead, he could win.

But if you were to hand him a mission report, or a long list of European places along the front lines, or, hell, a list of all 48 American states, and tell him to read it aloud in a timed condition? The letters still swam and flipped and switched places pretty much however they pleased.

Didn’t fix that.

It was the very first thing he tested, after the whole street-fight thing. He pushed three cents into the hand of the first seller he saw and pulled the paper open to a random page (reminding himself to reign in his new strength) tried to read the article, he tried and he tried and it was like he was back in school and Miss Luthor was calling him stupid and striking him across the knuckles, and he was trying to defend himself and Miss was telling him to stop making excuses and Bucky was trying to defend him, saying that it wasn’t his fault, that he was just born like that, the way that his asthma wasn’t his fault, and Steve himself was just trying and trying to figure out the name of the author The Three Musketeers, wishing that he could just get it, the way everyone else could, the way he could look at something and copy it down on paper near-exactly with a blunt pencil.

Erskine made him look perfect, made him the perfect soldier, but he didn’t stop the letters from floating about and rearranging, and he didn’t stop him from looking at boys the way he should look at girls.

Didn’t fix that either.

But it’s fine. 

Because now, he’s actually respected, as a person and as a part of the US Army (he definitely won’t be if he tells them that other flaw), he gets the important stuff verbally, and just the details in writing, and even then, he can just pretend, and pretend and pretend, that he’s taking too long because he’s doing a thorough job (and he is, because he wasn’t about to lead his men, or send any men, into a place when he was absolutely certain that it wasn’t another place) and pretend that finally, finally, he’s just like everyone else (but he’s not, even though he was meant to be, according to Erskine’s journal that Howard gave him, he stood out, but nowhere near as much as he did before).

And then 70 years pass with him dead to it all.

He wakes up, and it’s not the first thing on his mind, but he hopes that he can just pretend again. Then he’s pushed into a room full of books and a slim metal thing that apparently has access to all the books in the world and then he’s given paper files about people he once knew and people he’s supposed to get to know.

The next few weeks are a blur, he overhears some people talking about how slow he is, and how bad his spelling is and how bad his handwriting is and one of the younger agents laughs and attributes it to his ‘old-man 1940s-ness’. He tries not to think about how that agent is probably older than him, technically. 

He’s grateful for that, in all reality, because he can carry on pretending, until, until when?

Until they realise that he’s far too dumb to be Captain America, he supposes that pretended could’ve flown in the past (barely a month ago), but now? Where everyone’s smarter and everything is faster and he’s expected to be smarter and faster, he’s not going to last. He’s just. Not going to last.

He makes it three months.

By this time, they (the Avengers) are all living in the (big, ugly, and straight from the future) Tower and Steve’s mostly caught up with the future. He’s allowed to like men now. Not that Captain America can be gay. But maybe Steve Rogers can.

Tony notices first. Not the gay thing, the other thing. The dumb letter thing.

“O, Captain! What do you think about it? Who we gotta send?” Tony asks as soon as the briefs are in their hands. The letters are still floating about, refusing to settle.

Steve tries to stall, because he can’t say ‘I don’t know’ (“Rogers! What on God’s green Earth do you think you mean when you say ‘I don’t know’? The words are right there, for God’s sake, stop horsing around for five seconds and actually try for once, maybe then you’ll have half a chance of living on your own dime.”), because he can’t seem utterly and completely clueless. He manages about three long and excruciatingly painful seconds (it’s been three months, it’s been long enough that he should be better, smarter, faster. And he is, but still only with the maps and the shapes and everything that isn’t fucking reading.), staring at the paper, trying to make sense of it with everyone’s eyes on him, before Tony breezes on, giving his opinions, as though it was Tony himself being slow (not that Steve has ever, in the short, short time he’s been here, seen him be anything under 70 miles an hour, even sleep-deprived and hungover, he’s always been so, so much faster than everyone else).

He hopes to God that he didn’t imagine that wink.

After the meeting, after they have a solid plan and a decent rollcall for the mission, Tony curls his hand and his elbow and tugs him back into the room just as he’s about to leave.

“I don’t wanna assume anything, and you can stop me if this is like, a whole galaxy off-base or something, but I made you something, uh, programmed really, the tablet’s been in circulation for a couple months already, made you a program, that dictates briefs, and whatever else you want to put on there, to you, ’cause, and uh, I’m not calling you stupid or anything, but I’ve noticed that you have a hard time with reading? So, here.”

Tony pushes a tablet in his hands and then steps away and rocks on the balls of his feet.

Steve takes it carefully in his hands. “I, uh, thank you, Tony, really, I, um, the whole reading thing, can you maybe… not tell anyone?”

Tony looks surprised but he agrees, “Do you want me to show you how to use it?”

“Please?”

Tony sits and gestures to a seat and launches into an explanation, “So, JARVIS pretty much runs this, you can type or talk and he’ll talk or type back…”

“...then I told her that the letters never stayed in the same place and--” Steve mimes a whip, “--right around the knuckles with the good old wood rule.”

“A wooden ruler!? I’ll be honest, a good part of me thought that that was fictional,” Tony admits, leaning back. They’re long past teaching Steve how to use the tablet and the sun’s long since on the other side of the planet, but they’re still in the conference room, far away from anything about personalised dictation programs.

Steve raises an eyebrow, “Well, gay marriage seems pretty fictional to me.” 

As soon as that leaves his mouth he feels his blood freeze and slow down in his veins, but all Tony does is nod, conceding, and says, “Touche.”

They’re silent, for a moment, watching the city below, before Tony speaks up again, “I don’t want to assume anything, but the whole letters thing sounds a great deal like dyslexia.”

At Steve’s blank look he explains, “It’s a thing, mental disability, that means you find it hard to read, that the letters move around. No effect on your actual intelligence.”

Steve knows that mental issues are treated much, much better nowadays, that Shellshock has a real name, and is a real Thing and isn’t ‘cowardly’ anymore (because there was nothing cowardly, ever, about kids waking up screaming because of the damn war). 

But taking in that he’s not entirely alone, or helpless, or downright retarded for the first time in his long twenty-five years? A fucking relief.

“Come to the workshop, I’ll have JARVIS run some tests, see if we can get you some overlays or something,” Tony says, standing up and reaching a hand out to Steve.

Steve takes his hand and lets himself be pulled up.

“You know,” Tony starts, when they sit back and wait for the results to render (and if, the results are already rendered, and JARVIS and Tony have a morse code shorthand, then that’s only something Tony and JARVIS know (and Natasha because she caught on the first time she was down here)), “I have anxiety, depression, PTSD, ADHD and alcohol and drug abuse on my file.”

“I’ve seen your file,” Steve says, confused.

“Dyslexia can go in yours and the only thing that’ll change is that anything printed, you’ll get on pink paper,” Tony explains, gently.

“JARVIS,” Steve starts, voice cracking a little, “official Avengers file change, Rogers, Steven Grant…”

-

‘insecurity’ for happy steve bingo

[renaroo]

SO... about that Titans Trailer...

Okay, so I wasn’t. Planning on giving this a review but then I watched it and you gave me an excuse. So. Here we are.

I hate teen drama shows but I live with my younger sister this summer so I’m constantly hearing them in the background and I know that I’ve not heard this weird song before but I also know that they allllllllllllll sound like this so there’s already. That creeping sense of 

Oh fuck it’s Riverdale isn’t it

Like. Costume design for superhero shit isn’t easy, you’ve got classic superhero looks that are purposefully garish and meant to stand out while celebrated costumes in visual mass media are toned down and realistic, fitting the style of setting. You can honor both traditions at the same time, what it requires is picking a color temperature for your set’s lights that are less noir mood piece and more lit like a musical. I actually think Moulin Rouge! is a movie where the cinematography deserves more credit for getting that mood balance because it’s definitely what I think of when I’m thinking of ideal lighting and color palettes for superhero live action. 

Marvel’s gotten a little better at figuring this out in the post-Iron Man 3 movies but they went a little too flat and bright in the first Avengers and too drab and dull in movies like the first Thor and the first Captain America.

The whole reason I’m thinking of this is because DC has never once figured this out save for Wonder Woman which had its coloring saved by choosing a sepia-esque lighting that wasn’t Sn*der-saturated so that Wondy’s costume and Themyscira in general popped while the warfront was still diferentiated but earth tones. I would actually point to DCEU movies being the pennacle of trying too hard for realism to the point of being visually embarrassed by their motifs. Which is also why the CGI rendering is always horrible in their movies. Suicide Squad was a little better but almost bipolar in how it snapped abck and forth between color saturation.

Anyway, this is a TV show and you would think that because TV shows are lower budget and more closed sets generally that this would actually be an advantage for the iconically colorful Titans teams because they’re likely to have warmer and flatter lighting choices. Except teen dramas lately haven’t been about that. They’re much darker and “more serious” and they mostly demonstrate that by darkening the lights and having everything go to dark blues with light temperature. That might work well in some places but it’s not good if you have multiple characters you want to show off with different color schemes that are wildly different from each other let alone from the blues. You can do it, but usually that involves introducing additional light sources to combat the darker lights, which is why in our Riverdale case study you have neons show up a lot, especially at Pop’s restaurant. Those neons introduce a “natural” secondary color and lighting source that helps make different hues exist more naturally in the environment without being garish and misplaced. 

I can tell that at no time is this show going to put an iota of thought into any of this sort of detail because in this BLUE ASS SHOT of this trailer they have Raven’s purple hair look like it’s been photoshopped in by me -- they managed to make an already cool color like purple look unnatural in a scene that has cool temperature lighting. This is going to be shot like complete shit isn’t it. 

What time am I at--

FIFTEEN SECONDS???

Dick’s a police officer so that’s a positive. I like the actor’s smile too, he looks just. Very Dick Grayson-- hahahahahahahahahhaahahahahahahahahahahahaha

oh my god

oh my god.  Was that supposed to be Robin jumping over rooftops in the background. Is that what that was. IT WAS AN UNMOVING BLUR. IT JUST KINDA WAS DRAGGED ACROSS THE SCREEN I CAN’T--

Oh jesus. Did Dick Grayson just step on someone’s neck and break-- FUCK BATMAN

FUCK BATMAN

HAHHAHAHA

HAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHA

I was wrong -- all that shit I started with? Obviously I was overthinking. This is a glorious comedy.

Okay all that aside we get rapid montage which is supposed to wow us with cameos for DC diehards and impress us with the quality of composition of shots and the special effects quality for people like my sister who don’t care about Comic Con because I’m playing trailers loudly on my laptop while she’s rewatching Pretty Little Life of the Secret American Teenage Drama Queen. 

It does none of these things. It’s no longer a comedy, it’s depressing because all that shit I said about the colors and mood lighting and temperature increases rapidly when you have terrible CGI transformations Beast Boy and... fire spouting... Starfire. Hm. Someone took that name a little literally didn’t they. 

Wait

Is that Dove. From Hawk and Dove? Killing people?

Um. I mean none of these characters save for Starfire and Raven are really all that down with killing under any circumstances in comics but Dove in particular... like why have Dove as part of the team if you’re not going to bother with the Avatar of Peace part and the eternal conflict ongoing of wanting to use tremendous powers while promoting nonviolence. I know this is something I tend to care more about than most people with superheroes, but that’s literally the only reason to have Dove in anything ever. A great example would be the single Justice League Unlimited episode involving Hawk and Dove which tackles that exactly. 

Who makes these live action decisions for DC. Is it Joffrey Johns? I bet it’s him. It has to be on some level. 

Oh my god this music is so bad. I listened to nothing but emo music for a solid 18 months of my life and my favorite band to this day is Nightwish and I find this unbearable. 

I 

what

Evil inside of me I kinda like it. I mean. I guess. That is... a conflict for Raven to have sure.... But it’s also way more boring and tedious than it was in the 80s? Like. There’s five million supernatural teenage dramas that have already done that exact conflict But With Vampires or But With Werewolves. I should know! My sister watches them in the background! I know all about Diaries of the Teen Dog Vampire. 

I’m hip

Oh and that scream. Okay, so also in film there’s this thing called a sound board and there’s a lot of cheap, royalty free sound mixes and noises that if you pay attention to editing and sound design there’s some sounds that have been really overplayed in media lately because people are too cheap to have their foley artist record a sound for themselves. 

That scream that Raven just did that you know you’ve heard before is one of those and there’s nothing wrong with it I guess it just. makes everything about this feel cheap. The writing’s cheap. The characterization’s cheap. The lightning’s cheap. The character design is cheap. This god awful song is cheap. 

they broke the glass

THEY BROKE GLASS. IS THAT FOR ME? WAS THAT MEANT TO MAKE ME FEEL BETTER BECAUSE THEY BROKE GLASS IN THE TRAILER. alright fine two points to Gryffindor. 

That puts them at -80 so everyone clap

Welp that was definitely a Thing I watched. Hope everyone enjoyed this educational review.

[callmetippytumbles]

☕️ on the ladies of court (Kiara, Hana, Madeleine, Penelope and Olivia)

So, Nonny, I am not sure if you meant my feelings on the characters of the court or how they are written.  Lucky for you my mouth is big, and I have opinions on both. Apparently a lot.  Get snacks.  

Let’s do this.

PenelopeHer Character: So listen, I know that homegirl has all kinds of anxiety, loves poodles, has some funny ass moments…you know, good/relatable things.  Here’s the thing, I am always going to look at her sideways.  Penelope set up the MC for assault.  People are going to say, she didn’t mean to, or she did it to stay in court.  I just hear “blah, excuses, fuckery.”  Her arm wasn’t twisted.  She could have opted out.  The part that really fucks me up about this is twofold.  Firstfold: After Penelope sets you up, she acts as if she did nothing wrong.  Bitch knew she set you up and was all like “congratulations on your dick and crown.”  That is beyond two-faced.  Secondfold has a lot to do with the writing (and I forgot my nonwriting point).

The Writing:  I want to get over the shit that Penelope did, but the writing makes sure that I don’t.  Not because the writers want me to forget, but the way that the plot disproportionately services her character compared to others (Hana and Kiara namely) keeps me from making that journey with them.  Penelope gets all kinds of attention, especially in Book 2 and Book 3.  Again, Penelope is the one who hired and paid for the photographer that took the scandalous photo of your assault.  She was the one who got Tariq in your bedroom as well.  These are actions she took.  Now, look at how Penelope gets treated.  We have to be super duper nice to her to get her to confess to her part in the bullshit.  Later on in the book during the nameless beer garden scene, Penelope along with Kiara thinks the MC is going to be mean to them because Madeleine, A Demon, is ousted.  No mention of her part in a plot that features assault.  I am not gonna let that shit die.  The writers do.  Other than the option at the tea party where you tell poor Penny that you do hold that shit against her (as well as the next generations), this is never brought up again.  

Also, they give Penelope a backstory of having crippling anxiety (which I can appreciate because mental health struggles are no joke), which conveniently comes to the forefront when we are about to learn that she did some fuckshit, and that takes center stage to lessen the blow.  Again I don’t hold Penelope having anxiety against her, I do dislike it being used to redeem or excuse shitty behavior.  Oh and the writers go out of their way to center her in her narrative.  Penelope needs a boyfriend?  Don’t give her Maxwell, he is an LI and for the MC only.  Let’s give Kiara a brother that we never knew existed.  He will love animals, and animal care and Penelope.  She deserves.  

OliviaHer Character: With Olivia, my feelings for her went through stages.  At first, I was like, “fuck you, and everything about you for the rest.”  I would choose all opportunities to be petty because fuck her.  Then around the apple baking scene, I still didn’t like her, but I didn’t hate her.  I think I started to love her Book 2.  When she directed that hatin’ energy to drag Drake and A Demon and not the MC, then I could like her.  Now, Olivia is a gem, and I love her.  I love her shade and that she is not the one to fuck with.  If I was about to go into a fight, I want Olivia on my side.  You know she carries a switchblade and subscribes to STAB HIM™ as a lifestyle.  

The Writing: I enjoy the writing too.  This is a redemptive character arc I can get behind.  Olivia starts off as a bitch, but over the course of the books, you get a lot of chances to sympathize and grow with her.  Over time she sheds her abrasive front and shows that she is fiercely loyal and dedicated, but will still cut a bitch because, again, she subscribes to STAB HIM™.  Also, Olivia’s growth is not at the expense of someone else.  To be fair, a lot of the opportunities for her to be vulnerable and have the reader empathize with her are centered on Liam.  Liam is the first person to stick up for Olivia in the series.  Her motivations for her involvement are focused on her feelings/loyalties to him.  Liam extends a lot of kindness to her.  Olivia’s relationship with Liam as a vehicle for growth is never for the endangerment of Liam.  You don’t look at their relationship as an abusive or potentially abusive.  Can’t say the same for all the ladies.

A DemonIT’s Character: I read TRR before RoE, and even with that in mind, I hate this heifer.  In Book 1, I disliked IT.  Book 2 cemented my hatred though.  A Demon in TRR2 escalated from fucking annoying to, for all intents and purposes, full-on sociopath.  IT plays with the people around her on a psychological level, using her increased access to power for the purposes of manipulation and control.  A Demon makes no bones about it either.  IT doesn’t pretend to act in anyone’s best interest but its own.  This is apparent before IT says what it says about Hana at the bachelorette party.  

For those that have forgotten, after faking a fatal chocolate allergy and publicly debasing Hana at an event she planned for A Demon, IT says to the MC that it intends to psychologically break her.  IT wants to do this.  For fun.  This is why from then on I call it A Demon because that is some fucked up evil shit.  I thought it was a narcissist, but I am now like, “this bitch is a sociopath.”  

While I am sure that A Demon is toxic and awful, I can also acknowledge that sometimes it’s on the receiving end of some shit.  She got dumped twice.  First Leo breaks off his engagement with A Demon to go on a cruise for an American (that may or may not chose him).  Then Liam dumps her for an American (that may or may not want him) after A Demon agrees to a nonmonogamous relationship.  I view her like Mellie from Scandal in a lot of ways.  They both are women who dedicate their lives to men who do not give a fuck about them.  Mostly for power.  Is Mellie from Scandal still terrible?  Yeah.  Does Mellie’s terribleness make Fitz any less of a fuckboy? No.  Liam is not a fuckboy, but he did like drop her out of nowhere.  Leo is kind of a fuckboy.  

The Writing: I feel a way about how Penelope is treated, but it pales in comparison to my feeling about the writing A Demon gets.  Especially this redemptive arc that they just have to do.  We can’t just fucking hate this Demon for the rest and leave it at that.  Nope! Nah! Nuh-Uh!  A Demon needs a multi-chapter narrative to have the reader feel bad and eventually like IT.  The fact that there is dedicated narrative bandwidth for this is terrible enough, but the lengths at which the writers are going to make this happen. [insert long exasperated sound of frustration of your choosing.]  

Look at everything that has to happen for “redemption.”

First, A Demon has to take a job IT does not need or want to force a closer relationship with the MC in an effort for them to bond or whatever.  I guess the idea is that A Demon is supposed to be so fucking good at being the MC’s press secretary that they become besties.  Sure.  Okay.  It’s such a shame that A Demon sucks in this role.  A Demon as a press secretary isn’t all that great.  IT has poor time management.   Who the fuck expects a client to read over 100 index cards or a textbook dossier just before an event?  Also, why put all your energy into such things when they can be rendered useless in a 5-10 minute conversation?  A Demon is also the kind of press secretary that requires you to do damage control for them. Fuck the fuck?  I hire you to spin for me, and I have to apologize for you?  Not to mention IT puts in me in outfits that don’t match the occasion.  Why are my titties kissing the breeze during a daytime luncheon?  Why?  (Also, why didn’t Liam want to kiss my exposed titties?  That bothered me as well.)  A Demon sucks.  Kiara or Justin (before he tried to shoot at me) would have been better choices for this job.  

The other significant effort made to make A Demon’s unsolicited redemption arc happen is a romantic relationship with Hana.  Yep.  The writers hint at this early in the drinking game diamond scene in Fydelia.  It was gross then.  Why?  A Demon has said that IT wants to psychologically break Hana.  For fun.  IT had taken actions to do that before that was uttered.  A Demon calls Hana a dog when commenting on agreeing to have Hana be part of her court.  That same chapter IT points out that if Hana does not get a match, she will be kicked out of court.  This doesn’t happen to Penelope or Kiara.  A Demon then fakes a chocolate allergy and then publicly humiliates Hana.  When confronted in front of Hana later, IT writes it off as hazing.  There is no apology.  It’s treated like whatevs, get over it girl.  So having the idea that Hana is being set up to date someone who once said and did things with the intent of psychologically breaking her is trash.  Setting up Hana for potential abuse is not cute or adorable. It’s troubling.  

Since the writers are really building this relationship to do the heavy lifting of this redemption arch, A Demon and Hana being a thing is brought up again during the Gala.  This time the writers know that we know about the psychological abuse.  So when the MC tells A Demon to stay away from her, A Demon merely says that Hana is over it.  Yeah, that sociopathic threat from the last book, entirely being written off as a non-factor so that this relationship can happen.  Kind of similar to how we are just supposed to be cool that Penelope helped coordinate an assault on the MC.  

Pretending that A Demon did not say that IT wanted to harm Hana and acted on it, does not undo it happening.  When A Demon was a clear antagonist, that line added to her villainy.  It built her up as an adversary to not just the MC but the women of the court in general.  Now that A Demon is not intended to be in opposition to the MC anymore does not make the things that she has said or done less painful.  

During the most recent chapter, this relationship is hinted at AGAIN.  If A Demon comes along for your bachelorette shenanigans, IT asks Hana to dance, after a wholly half-assed apology.  A Demon does not take ownership or responsibility for any of her actions.  Again.  IT says “if” like there is the possibility A Demon is not in the wrong.  (For those of you who need to be told, A Demon is in the wrong.)  The “if” communicates either A Demon either does not see what IT did as wrong or problematic (it was) or that IT knows that it’s wrong but feels ITs actions were in some way justified (they are not).  

So much time is spent trying to have the reader have a change of heart about A Demon it makes the negligence the other characters receive that much more offensive.

KiaraHer Character: Kiara is intelligent, strong, ambitious, and is not afraid to push back against expectations.  She does this a lot in the short amount of time that we see her.  Most recently in Valtoria, if the MC criticizes her and her father’s wishes for not being personal enough, Kiara counters that their wishes are personal to them.  Kiara has the building blocks to be someone fascinating.  She is a WOC in a predominantly white space, who is driven to serve her country despite her country not always seeing it for her.  Not to mention Kiara is a polyglot.  Also, her family is impossibly beautiful.  Especially her mama.  I wish I could say more, but I don’t get to say much else without speculating because she gets so little time.  

The Writing:  I have spoken at length about how the writers have treated Kiara.  I will not regurgitate the whole essay here.  I will say that I wish the writers would put as much effort into Kiara as they do about A Demon and Penelope.  Up until recently, the writers have gone out of their way to not write Kiara.  We have Zeke because Penelope just can’t have Maxwell and the writers did not want to talk about Kiara.  I will say the writers are better about this now.  Still not great.  (I have to watch you guys write romance for a sociopath but Kiara can’t get a hug from Rashad or Drake?  I call bullshit. #LetKiaraGetLove2K18)  The writers did make a point to talk about some of Kiara’s feelings and her trauma post Homecoming Ball and having the MC and Drake hear and validate her concerns.  That was nice.  I wished the writers did not have to be pressured to write about her.  

HanaHer Character:  Hana (like Kiara) is a WOC who is given all of the talents but none of the time.  I will say that some of the growth that we do get to see with Hana makes her that much more endearing.  Especially in Book 3, Hana gets to be funnier than we ever get to see her.  When she drags Drake with that impression of him during the drinking game is still legendary and will forever take me out.  “I would use whiskey for cologne, but I wouldn’t want to waste the whiskey.”  That is just funny.  Fight me.  Hana also has so many aspects to her.  She is a WOC who also identifies as LGBTQ+, she is working through a psychologically damaging upbringing (her parents deliberately sheltered their daughter so that she can be dependent/malleable to their control, which is fucked up) but she still has not let that corrupt her spirit in a way that it would someone else.  Like Kiara, a lot of what sets Hana apart does not get explored and does Hana a considerable disservice.  

The Writing: Woosah x 10^10.  I need all of the calming breaths for this.  If anyone in the TRR is done a disservice in terms of the writing, it’s Hana.  Kiara’s treatment is terrible, but this is amplified in Hana.  The problem is generally the same for both of them.  The times when the narrative should be about Hana, it is not.  Hana has so many opportunities where the focus should be on her, and the writers either half-ass it (at best?) or just drop the baton (at worse?).  Dropping the baton seems light.  They actually do not even extend their hands to receive the baton, let it hit the ground, urinate on it, then quit the race to watch Netflix and eat chips.

@lizzybeth1986 has done extensive writing on the many ways that Hana has been mishandled regarding how the writers treat her.  I really want to focus on the way the writers choose to utilize Hana to uplift or guide other characters that she does not get in return.  I am probably going to repeat a lot of Lizzy’s sentiments, but you asked for me to give my tea, so sit down, get your pinky out because I have some tea for you to sip.

I am going to start with the most frustrating thing about the writing for Hana, she is always positioned to be a tool.  Hana who is a love interest is written in a way that the only reason that we care about her is that she is useful.  

With the MC, the majority of her diamond scenes are about Hana giving the MC a leg up in the next chapter.  I can understand that this is done to get more people to buy her diamond scenes.  Hana is a female LI for a fanbase that is mostly straight women so I can see why the writers do that.  With that said, in Book 1, Hana’s second diamond scene is the Cordonian Waltz.  In that diamond scene, you learned a lot about Hana and got the skill.  Later diamonds scenes tend to lose the learning about Hana over acquiring the skill.  If Hana is your LI, you don’t always get to experience her romantically outside of the diamond scenes that are clearly intended to be sex scenes.  Outside of sex, the diamond scenes with her as your fiancée versus your friend are coded almost exactly the same.  Compared to the apparent difference between other LIs as your fiancée and your friend, it seems lazy.

Hana’s relationship with her parents is framed around usefulness as well.  The last chapter in Valtoria is dedicated to wrapping up the story arc of Hana’s relationship with her parents.  In Book 2, she is not on speaking terms with her parents after firmly rejecting Neville as a suitor.  This is after the build-up of the fact that her parents have trained (yep I said trained and not raised) her for the sole purpose of attracting and maintaining a relationship with a wealthy man.  A wealthy man that would elevate Hana and her family socially and economically.  

Xinghai, her father, makes a point to say that his daughter was not raised to be independent, which carries all kinds of unfortunate implications.  Lorelai and Xinghai have deliberately isolated and created dependency in their child, so she is compelled to obey and would be fearful to leave.  Hana’s parents read like destructive cult leaders.  The Lee household is a doomsday cult of 3.  The doomsday, in this case, isn’t the world ending, it’s Hana dying a spinster.  I kind of feel like I should expand on the crack theory of Hana’s parents raising her using the same techniques as destructive cult leaders.  

Hana’s parents come to Valtoria to make her come home or totally disown her.  The resolution one would think of is that her parents accept that Hana doesn’t have to marry and she is grown, or Hana lets her parents disown her, and she cultivates her own self-worth outside of her parents’ demands.  Hana does not exactly get either.  Hana proves her independence by showing that she can still be useful to her parents by getting Rashad to work with Xinghai’s company (using the flimsiest device, Hana knows the son of the Portera Group’s CEO).  Instead of Hana asserting herself as capable and willing to live without their approval or support, she goes out of her way to reinforce their belief that he is meant to be useful.  This allows Xinghai and Lorelai to continue to view her as an asset and does not challenge the terms of their conditional love.  

Hana’s conflict with her family being resolved in this way, as an afterthought, is unsurprising.  The opportunities to develop Hana outside of struggle or usefulness (like during the Shanghai chapters) are just not taken.  

While the writers do not want to take the time to explore Hana’s experience as a WOC, talk about her sexuality or being in the closet (Hana’s parents exclusively speak about male suitors.), they are willing to use Hana to lay the groundwork for A Demon to come out and complete a redemption arc no one asked for.  This is disturbing.  

Hana has to form a relationship with a woman who wanted to abuse her.  How is this healthy or good, or even acceptable?  Throughout a great deal of Book 2, A Demon continuously berates and humiliates Hana, publicly, as part of a plan to push Hana over the edge mentally.  For her entertainment.  When given the opportunity to take ownership of ITs past actions, and actually show remorse or regret, A Demon does neither.  Instead, the writers are going to put Hana in the position of having to forgive her abuser to redeem her abuser.  This is not something that Hana would do for her own benefit.  

You can’t even say that this is for the power of love.  How does Hana building a romantic relationship with a woman who used to torment her do anything good for her?  That is not even taking into account that Hana is a Chinese woman being put in the position of forgiving a White woman who wronged her.  People of color, particularly women of color are consistently practically required to make public statements of forgiving people (usually white) who have grievously wronged them to position themselves as worthy of someone giving a damn.  You see this again and again.  The most recent that comes to mind is when families of the Charleston Church shooting victims saying that they forgive Dylann Roof.  If any of them showed visible anger for what that man has done, the anger would not be seen as righteous or reasonable it would be seen as stooping to his level.  POC cannot even be angry when they should be because their anger is a threat and reason enough to diminish them.  Hana showing anger would be a threat to A Demon’s attempt to rebrand herself as a romantic option.  Hana has yet to take A Demon to task for the way IT has treated her.  She may not know about the true nature of the threat that A Demon made, but Hana definitely knows about all of the other ways that IT was shitty to her.  The threat was not an idle one.  It still doesn’t matter, Hana will be asked to place her pain to the side where no one but her can see it so that she can outstretch her arms to embrace A Demon, then scissor into the sunset.

Penelope would never be asked to not only make nice with someone who tormented her but initiate a relationship with them.  She had her grievances with A Demon’s treatment of her addressed with the WHOLE GROUP vying to protect her.  Penny got a whole brother out of thin air that wears his durag every night to lay his hair because she deserves nothing less.  If they can make an entire person appear to romance Penelope, why can’t they make a stud, a stemme, or a man to sweep Hana off of her feet?

The part that makes this even shittier, yes that is possible, is that the coming out story that A Demon is likely to get, Hana should have gotten.  Hana’s sexuality in terms of her past or even that much of her present is not explored.  We as the reader are just supposed to believe that Hana is a virgin that has only been set up to be in a relationship with a man, but she somehow knew that she was gay, dealt with and adjusted to that despite a lifetime of isolation.  Makes sense to me!  Her parents as recently as Chapter 15 STILL talk about setting her up with men.  There is nothing to indicate that she is out to them.  I don’t even think if the MC is her fiancée, that the relationship is presented as more than platonic.  

Hana is not even the only Asian Woman in the Choices universe that has dealt with her sexuality and growing into it or questioning.  Kaitlyn has a whole coming out arc that was given time and nuance in The Freshman.  It wasn’t to serve anyone but herself.  Kaitlyn coming out was not a device to explore introspection with Arjun. You as a reader are not entertaining a plot where Kaitlyn says she’s gay and the rest of the time we spend teaching Arjun not to be a homophobe as opposed to Kaitlyn publicly accepting this part of herself.  Yet Hana has to be a part of A Demon’s coming out/redemption story.  Okay.  I see you.

Those are my thoughts  

[radramblog]

Album Discussion- Steal this Album!

I’ve delayed long enough. Too long, actually. I gotta start pumping through music posts if I want to gover everything I want to cover, and even then, I still may not make it. This is mostly on account of committing to a bunch of things at the start of the year, and not realising my completely fake deadline was a bit realer than I would have thought, right near the end of it. So maybe if you’re someone who’s here for that specifically (which I think statistically is…nobody?), then you might be in luck- more half-formed music thoughts inbound!

Anyway let’s talk about System of a Down.

The One Thing on the To Do list where I was like…yeah, I feel like talking about that now, System are kind of a classic at this point as far as 00s alternative metal (I refuse to refer to them as nu-metal) goes, though I can’t think of any that got as big as they did, nor any that got as outwardly political as they did. Like, there was Rage Against the Machine, but by the turn of the millennium, they weren’t exactly at their peak.

The obvious choice would be to talk about Toxicity, but who the fuck goes for the obvious choice? I’m going to talk about Toxicity 2 instead. Er, Steal This Album!.

(I’m not going to keep putting the exclamation point in, because Word will yell at me for it!)

Toxicity is pretty unquestionably System’s biggest album, what with it going triple Platinum in the USA and Australia (and double in Canada and the UK (and single in New Zealand and Italy)) and having massive smash hits such as the title track, Aerials, and, oh, fucking Chop Suey on there. Even despite (or even possibly as a result of) releasing exactly a week before 9-11, an event that led to Chop Suey getting pulled from a lot of stations and making System’s aggressive politics unpopular in America’s horrific cultural zeitgeist, this album was undeniably massive.

And so it should be no surprise that, when a bunch of unfinished “leftover” tracks leaked the year following under the name Toxicity II, people were pretty excited about it. Shit spread everywhere fast- at least, as fast as things could spread in the age of Napster and Limewire. The band themselves were like, well, sure, whatever, would like to actually finish that album, though- and so Toxicity II became Steal This Album.

The image above is the official album art, but it’s a bit of a cheeky render done for the internet- the actual disc itself is designed that way, to look like a stolen/pirated bootleg- but there, um. Is no cover. It’s a clear plastic case. There are special edition versions of the CD with sharpied art by the members of the band, but those are…actually a lot less rare than I thought they were, fuck, maybe I should grab one of those. Serj or Shavo, if I had to choose.

Anyway lets listen to some fucking music.

Steal This Album opens with Chic ‘N’ Stu, a track that somehow manages to be an obscure (to an Aussie Gen-Z, at least) basketball reference, a critique of American consumerism, and an banger of a track despite also having what sounds like a shopping list in the lyrics. I’m not sure I could pick a better opening song from any System album- not to keep bringing up Toxicity (it’s inevitable!) but while Prison Song very blatantly introduces their sound and political stylings, it doesn’t also expose you to just how goddamn silly these songs can get at times- not to mention the quiet section in the bridge, where Serj actually gets to flex his more subtle vocal muscles for a bit.

As a fun aside, Chick ‘N’ Stu might be the first System of a Down song I ever actually heard. When I was younger (say, late 00s) I spent a fair bit of time on Newgrounds, but very specifically watching Mario flash parodies. And somebody used this song in one of them (mostly for the PIZZA PIZZA PIE bit), and it stuck in the back of my mind for years afterwards. The only reason I don’t know whether it was first or not is because I’m also fairly sure someone (maybe the same person) used Chop Suey in one of those too. I’m sure if I really tried I could find that animation…but I’m not sure how much cringe I want to expose myself to in the process.

Moving on to the album’s first single, Innervision. Actually, it’s the only single, despite not being the one song on the album with a music video (it’s because it was a promo single). It definitely fits as a single- I do think it’s one of the better songs on here. A lot of really interesting guitarwork, with Daron’s signature chugging style working its magic, and the two getting some proper vocal harmonics going for much of the track. It also manages to have a bit of a groove to it, something a lot of System tracks don’t usually go for. I do kind of wish the drums were doing a bit more- there’s this particular style John Dolamayan ends up playing a lot, that I don’t know how to describe, but it’s something I associate a lot with some of the band’s works. Like, it sounds like the drums from Chop Suey, but playing a bit of a different rhythm, if you get me. Anyway, despite that little snag, it’s a good track, would recommend.

We next hit Bubbles, a short little uptempo ditty with guest vocalist Arto Tunçboyacıyan contributing for the third time (he’s on Aerials and…Science, apparently), though if you’re not paying attention, you’re going to miss it. Honestly, if you’re not paying attention, you might miss this whole track- it’s just shy of two minutes, after all, and it’s not quite as memorable as the songs surrounding it. But it’s a ride for those two minutes, so sure, thumbs up.

Ah, Boom!. Probably System’s least subtle track*, made much more obvious when the music video is literally filmed at a protest (with footage of several others) and with quotes from a bunch of people there (including some helping with the lyrics!). Honestly, it’s a pretty fun video! And I think the song still manages to hold up without it. It’s a bit unfortunate to have the song’s topic (that is to say, uh let’s not go to Iraq for war! Please!) be still relevant (if not more so) today, but that does make the utter righteous fury of the track ring even truer. There are a few times Serj goes for the spoken-word delivery, although this is more of a rant, and frankly I’m all here for it.

(god, I forgot about the animated bit, what the fuck)

*as a more general note, System tracks tend to flip between metaphor and subtlety versus blatant “lmao fuck this” on a song-by-song basis, so an unsubtle political rant isn’t exactly out of character. with that in mind, Boom! still stands out as really blatant for obvious reasons.

Basically, it sucks that the track is still basically completely true and necessary, but that does mean you can play Boom at anti-war protests still, so it’s impossible to say whether it’s bad or not.

There’s a few songs on this album I definitely forgot about, and Nuguns was one of them for sure. It’s an Album Track, babyyyyy. This one does have a solo by a very unique sounding instrument- an oud, apparently, the plucky, folky tones of which contrast really well against the angry instruments it’s backed by.

A.D.D. (American Dream Denial )(that’s not what that stands for) is a song I mostly remember for the prechorus and chorus vocals- because, uh, they’re really sicknasty. They’re also really fucking hard to sing along to, because it’s basically a rhythmic, constant flow with no actual break before the tempo shift into the much more rapid chorus. Many times listening to this in the car I definitely risked a bit of danger trying to hold my breath long enough to pull it off, so fun tip, don’t do that. Listening to the song again with fresher ears, yeah, still sicknasty, fuck, noticed the drum thing again. Moving on.

Track 7 (oh there are like 16 on this album btw) is Mr. Jack, and relistening to this song reminded me of one notable fact- I haven’t listened to this album in a while, and I am significantly more radicalised than I was then. The song is about police brutality, and while a younger me thought screaming “Fuck you, pig” four times to end your song was A Bit Much, the me of today gets it. Hard not to, in Current Year. Said track is fairly low and grim for most of it, but with this appropriately menacing vibe as it trudges steadily towards completion. There is then, of course, the rapid buildup of the bridge, that opens in literal whispers before very suddenly transitioning to the howling finale, which is probably one of the sickest moments on the whole album. I mean, I don’t know if I can recommend this track to anyone who isn’t thoroughly based, but if that’s you, then you know what to look out for.

Next is I-E-A-I-A-I-O, and in case Boom and Mr. Jack were too subtle, then here’s a song where you can’t understand half the lyrics and the bridge is literally a code. Possibly. It’s speculation. I kind of wish the chorus had a bit more going on, because said incomprehensible gibberish (actually a mix of tongue-twisters and…Night Rider references?) is impressive and neat, and the bridge is delightfully deranged. By contrast, the chorus is big, swelling, and notably more sing-along-able, but it’s just a bit less interesting instrumentally and vocally than the rest. A shame, but still one of my preferred ones.

Track 9, 36. Named such as it’s the 36th song in album order (…wow those first albums were really long too, huh?), and also only 36 measures long. And 46 seconds, god damnit guys, you could have sped this up. It’s short, it’s silly, but also wouldn’t go for this outside of the album probably.

Pictures would be notable exclusively for that little “ba-ba-ba-bahhhh!”, along with Serj singing the word real like it’s being censored. That’s, kind of the only reason this one stands out, actually. It’s another mix of silly and serious that you’re probably used to at this point if you’re listening along, so it again ain’t much to talk on.

Highway Song has, despite still having many of System’s trappings, a much more chilled, in some ways mysterious vibe running through it- chords left to hang in the air for a bit, Serj’s vocals sounding confused and a little tortured. It somehow manages to come out of left field and fit completely at the same time, not to mention the…okay, it’s not a harpsichord, but I don’t know what else to call that instrument popping in at the end of the first solo. There is definitely a piano behind the bridge, though, and it’s really subtle and really good. Honestly, so is the solo, so is everything else, I think this is the once-per-album-review song I forgot about and really like now.

F**k The System is the next track, and that censorship is not mine. I’ve always felt the delivery on this track was kind of making fun of the person who would read a title like that and go like damn that song must be intense, because it’s really fucking funny. Like, sure, the chorus goes fuck the system! a bunch of times, but the verses are downright cartoonish in places. It’s probably for the best that this song is relatively short, because it could very easily get old- it doesn’t really develop much beyond its Bit, with the bridge having the twist of saying that you need to fuck the system (and like, a cowbell?), but when you have a song that doesn’t break 2:30ish, you can kinda just run with the one idea you do have.

So Ego Brain has a theremin on it. This most accurately compares to Aerials in sound, with this very Big Thoughts, eerie sort of verses (though Ego Brain honestly sounds a bit more folky) building up to this big, harmonic chorus. Honestly, while the prechorus is kind of whatever, the chorus on this track is really good- the bendy riff works really well with the meter and it gives this whole lurch to it that I enjoy.

Track 14 is Thetawaves and it feels a bit weird in the middle here, since it’s a much more standard-sounding track in the middle of a more experimental second half. I remember really liking this, but I honestly couldn’t tell you why? I think it’s something to do with the bridge- the section where it all just cuts out into this very staccato plucking (with a triangle for some reason) is really cute? I dunno. I do like the way it just ends mid-sentence, though it’s so suddenly that it might genuinely be a mistake that got left in, so.

Roulette gets us back to more of the weird stuff, except in this case, weird for System of a Down is actually just a very normal song. The lyrics are literal, the instrumentation is acoustic guitar on strings, the vocals are calm. It’s pretty emotional- it turns out you get a lot out of switching “I know” to “I don’t know” between lines in the chorus- and the solo- because even though it’s an acoustic track you still gotta have a solo- is this very wistful thing. Honestly, my only gripe with this song is how nasally Daron is singing, because I have no idea why he’s doing that. Like, I don’t think he does that in any other song, System or not? Ah well, it’s a Choice, might work better for other listeners.

Finally, we reach Streamline, the last song. It’s kind of between the last song and the rest of them in terms of lyrical complexity, but it’s a similarly simple emotional track- just with a mix of that acoustic instrumentation and the rumbling metallics. Honestly, this song would probably sound really weird were it not for Roulette before it- like that song is very deliberately a shock to the system (heh), especially if the cutoff is intentional, dragging you into this surprisingly personal mood, and Streamline feels like that but with ideas and elements from a whole bunch of tracks dragged in. despite not having much emotional or lyrical connection to the album, it does genuinely feel like a culmination- especially with how massive the final moments feel.

Also, it’s always fun when you have something like this- an album that ends on a literal goodbye.

Thus, Steal This Album concludes. It’s kind of interesting, because even though it wasn’t really originally intended to be an album (I think?), it does flow very well as one- and I’m not going to discount one of a band this big’s very few actual albums on the basis that it may not have been quite as intentional. Steal This Album is something I’ve always felt was overlooked a little bit- Hypnotize and Mesmerize were obviouisly an intended double album, and tonally/sonically the self-titled lines up with Toxicity, which leaves STA somewhat on its lonesome. It’s kind of stuck halfway between them, too- a bit of the experimentality of the later era, a bit of the sound and theming of the earlier, but with enough of everything System to be absolutely worth the listen regardless.

It’s the only album not to have a song in the Spotify top listened to, also. Come on, that’s just mean. I mean I love Toxicity, and I love the songs on it, but is ATWA really that much better than the best Steal This Album has to offer? Which statistically, is, I-E-A-I-A-I-O, apparently, okay, sure, whatever. Go listen to this album if you haven’t already- though these days, with the power of the internet, you at least won’t need to steal it to do so.

[whitelippedviper]

Mobile Suit Gundam: The Origin. Fuck war, love comics.

So I’m making my way through Yoshikazu Yasuhiko’s Mobile Suit Gundam: The Origin and like I’ve seen Yaz’s work before.  I have the first volume of Venus Wars--but it just didn’t click for me. MSG: The Origin tho is goddamn sorcery on the page. You need to know this first off, you don’t need to know anything about Gundam to read this.  The whole thing is this is the book retelling the story that started it all but like Yaz’s from the heart version.  And two volumes in, which is like...1000 pages of comics, and this is a masterpiece.  

I’m mostly going to talk about the art, but story wise, military stuff is generally not my bag.  Unfortunately, it’s a genre that is grossly popular in American comics, not just in straightforward military stories, but superhero comics as well.  Too often these heroes have design updates that are all too happily to enlist heroes whose past models leaned more heavily into daredevil circus performers or wrestlers.  You know the look.  When your favorite hero goes from tights and a cape look to body armor looking shit everywhere.  War on crime right? And then these companies on their film side have all kinds of connections to the military industrial complex--hell these companies often employ ex-military, or in some notable cases ex-CIA to write the damn books.  And when you couple that with how interested the military has always been with warping people’s brains to keep the war machine humming(they once put acid in a whole town’s water supply just to see what would happen!) it’s quite unnerving!  So besides being extremely anti-war in practice, I’m also pretty tin foil hat when it comes to seeing the edges of the military in pop culture, particularly when the message is like “look how cool this is!”

Which as a sidebar is one of the things that makes the Aubrey Sitterson GI Joe thing complicated to me, because like...I don’t think GI Joe is a good thing, and I don’t believe leftists should be getting their pay pushing paper for something that could not BE more military industrial.  Like let's make kids think how cool being a soldier and going to war is--and then those kids grow up, and what a surprise we are in like ten wars that we know about, and will be for forever--and you get this kind of brainwashing that turns Kapernick trying to say “hey, maybe cops should stop shooting black men” into a debate about “respecting the flag” because the NFL is in bed with the military….agh.  I hate it.  I hate it all.  From Operation Condor, the firebombings of dresden, hiroshima and nagasaki, the genocide of the american indian, fallujah, Abu Ghraib, our complicity in Saudi atrocities in Yemen and Qatar...we are not the good guys of history!  We kill for empire, but our empire isn’t colonies, it’s more war. Our chief export is war.  And I would love to expatriate to a country that doesn’t have these values, but I don’t know if even then I could shake that shit from my stomach.  And even more insidious than our war is our financial arm, our banks and investors who have killed as many people with pens as any soldiers with guns.  We are an empire of atrocity!

So when I see military comics, or cop comics, it just reminds me that I live in the most warlike country of the last 100 years, and all of those innocent people that are caught up in our bombs, and the way we turn whole regions into chaos to serve our ends and make more money--my relative prosperity as an American is built on the bodies and bloodshed of innocents the world over.  I mean why is America what America is?  It’s because WW2 basically moved europe's wealth to the US, and then we spent it on more bombs and we stepped in not because of any real moral thing--we stepped in because england owed us too much for us to let them go down.  We as a country became a world superpower, the world superpower, through war profiteering and slavery.  That’s a huge aside, but I’m saying, I fucking hate war.  And maybe find ways to not contribute to more of those sort of comics?  But more than that in an aesthetic sense, the codes for military in American comics are so bland and it seems half the time to justify not having to do interesting character designs. So surely there is a better fit for someone like Sitterson who has the politics I do, I think, than writing war comics to a patriotic pro-military audience, so I wish him the best, but fuck GI Joe. (And as an aside aside, if it were Frank Miller and not Aubrey Sitterson with the controversial opinion that book isn’t getting dropped--these companies only do these things as financial calculations, and if you are a big enough cash cow you can say or do whatever you want in comics for the most part but if you aren’t--you better protect your neck because these companies don’t have your interests in mind. And we live in stupid times) So I can fuck with Gundam because 1) it hates war as much as I do. And 2) they’re not trying to make everything look like utilitarian military shit.  They’re about looking goood while they are hating war.   The story is really rich, background characters positively radiate and each have their own character which comes to the fore at different parts.  In some respects, Amuro Ray haunts this comic like death, because he’s the end of so many terrific characters that you really grow to love, and the Federation cause is somewhat murky at best, as is their exploitation of kids like Amuro. I kind of think Yaz does my favorite faces in all of comics, unseating Jose Munoz:

This kind of caricaturing is really lovely for a story this rich and dense, because you get so much just from how a character looks and the faces they make, and it’s quite appealing to look at I think.  There are characters you fall in love with just because you want to see Yaz draw their face again.  The range of expressions he has in the toolkit is amazing to me. Yaz’s style in general to me is like magic.  Lines don’t connect, and it’s like he can just shift around these minimal set of lines and accomplish anything on the page.  It’s like he has a set number of lines that he’s working with on every page, and he just dips his brush into the page and waves it around and those lines bend and contort into perfection.  He’s one like Kirby where he kind of just sits down at a page and the images come out of his brain.

 It’s not overly rendered, but it still is textural and inky.  I think this also has my favorite lettering in comics.  I don’t know who was responsible for it in english, but I love the obvious care that went into varying the lettering, and just how gentle and elegant it is.  It probably was just a font in a computer--but it doesn’t FEEL like that, which is cool. Oh also Yaz watercolors various pages in the book, and they are almost all stunning.  I’m planning to read his Joan of Arc book which is all watercolored, so that should be interesting. But I think what comes across more than anything reading these books, because of not only the comic, but the production value of the books themselves--the hard cover, the essays at the back, the slick pages, the thoughtful lettering--what comes across from stem to stern is that these books are a labor of love and passion in a way that you would not expect from the retelling of a decades old giant anime franchise!

Hideaki Anno said in his essay in the first book: “And I sense a certain good grace.  He decides to draw Gundam--well known to the masses as a premier franchise of the plastic model and anime industries--not from weariness, not as expiation, nor to return to his roots, but in earnest as a work of his own” and I think he’s absolutely correct.  There’s a love and attention to every inch of these books that is really inspiring to behold whether as an artist or in whatever you do to fill out your days--seeing something, anything, done by a master, with care and concern is a special thing to behold.  I mean I don’t know for sure that Yaz actually gives a shit about this book--but that’s what comes across on the page.  It comes across that he cares about these lines, about these stories, vividly, and even more surprising, the people whose charge is getting the work out to others, they seem to care just as much, so what you get is a very very special book.

In some ways, these dueling masters, Char and Amuro Ray, also express this concern and care.  At one point Char loudly criticizes Amuro Ray for his lack of style.  And while Char’s vanity, his secrecy, his romantic rogue ideal is extremely alluring, and any scene he’s in, I’m pretty glued to the page--he’s like Harlock or Queen Emeraldas.  We don’t have these kind of artist villains in American comics for some reason.  The closest I’ve seen was Ron Wimberly’s Prince of Cats which has characters who besides their bloody monstrous ideas, consider style to be important.

But even with all of that going on with Char, I’m surprisingly drawn to Amuro Ray--who is a character even without watching the original Gundam series(something I’m planning to rectify this winter--trying to finally knock out all the Gundam I’ve put off for years) that you just kind of know even without ever knowing why.  He’s a legend.  Like Luke Skywalker.  Even his name when you say it, you feel like you are speaking the name of a god.  But he’s a punk kid who has been dragged into this war against his will, and is desperately trying to balance doing the right thing, and keeping his identity.  I love that sometime he just refuses to go out in the Gundam which puts Ltg Bright in these particular binds(Bright might lo key be my favorite character in the series weirdly, for how he kind of morphs through being a snotty prick, to being in over his head, to being someone capable of real genius creativity. I’ve been watching Iron Blooded Orphans which is a Gundam series about child soldiers and is really brutal and depressing, and Orga is kind of like Bright mixed with Char.) His mercurial nature speaks to the nature of his art versus Char.  Amuro Ray belongs to the fickleness of inspiration, so because of that he’s not really reliable, but when he shows up he’s capable of things Char isn’t, moments of improvisation and grouchy genius that are the linchpins of the romantic appeal of the series.  

Versions of this character archetype I feel usually are supposed to be incompetent or dumb to those around them, but their conviction carries them, they have the most will--but in Amuro Ray’s case, he’s just an asshole.  The despair of it all, which is never lost on Amuro is that whether he does something, or doesn’t do something, people are going to die and it’s going to hurt.  And knowing that, that in the end horror is inescapable, and that death is undefeated--like what do you do?  How do you function?  What do you choose when there are no good choices?  Char is a little different, because his aim is revenge.  Which that side of Char that he hides behind his rogue’s grin, and devilish acts is really stunning when it first comes out in these early books.  He’s so careful to let that out, and when it does, you’re like “oh man, Char isn’t playing the same game the rest of you are”.  Agh.  It’s soo good. Comics like these keep the fires going.  There’s an infinity of them out there to be sure, but nothing makes me happier than a truly great comic.  Those comics that years after you remember the experience of reading them, where you were, what music was playing.  A great comic is a great lover.  It won’t last forever, though there’s a LOT of this book still for me to read--and I get in this mode where I both want to just inhale the whole comic as fast possible, and I don’t want this experience to end.  This is that sort of thing.  Which should be evident, since I bothered to write about it, haha.  I could never just review comics.  I’m like Amuro Ray with comics criticism, I need the right situation to be compelled to climb in and do it.  I don’t fundamentally love writing comics criticism--but when I experience something great, I have to talk about it and write about it.  Comics like these affirm everything about being involved with comics for me.  Check it out, see if you feel the same way.

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[blessuswithblogs]

On the anti-imperialist roots of the Super Robot genre

Tadao Nagahama is probably not a name you're familiar with. I won't reproach you for it, it's been a while, I had to look it up myself to help me remember. However, Nagahama is an extremely important person for my current subject of discussion: the anti-imperialist, anti-war roots of the Super Robot genre. Shinzo Abe, the current prime minister of Japan, probably most widely known in the west for wearing a Mario hat to promote the next olympic games, has been in his own quiet (and not so quiet) way contributing to the rise of hard right nationalism, historical revisionism, fascism, and a whole bunch of other nasty isms that have found traction in today's sociopolitical climate. Recently, I saw in passing a tweet about how the ever-popular, ever-mystifying Kancolle had an episode where Japan ended up winning the battle of Midway. Propaganda in media is nothing new, but that was quite egregious, even by my desensitized standards. It got me thinking a little bit about my own niche anime interests and how the common perception of the mecha genre is probably one either of random Gurren Lagann bullshit or simplistic, thinly veiled pro-Japan ideology packaged in a kid friendly, larger than life veneer. In a lot of ways, early Super Robots shared more in common with classical American Super Heroes than actual Japanese Super Heroes like Kamen Rider, which evolved into their own tokusatsu genre quite distinct from either paradigm.

I cannot rightly dispute these preconceptions as wrong, but I do want to at least bring up that some early, influential franchises rejected this narrative. One of the first of these, of course, is Mobile Suit Gundam. While now we have the distinction between Super Robot (robots that are like larger than life super heroes) and Real Robot (robots that are presented in a realistic context as weapons of war using standardized technology employed by military and paramilitary forces to project force) for tedious nerds to bicker over indefinitely, in the days of the original Gundam, that distinction did not exist. Indeed, to play for ratings, Yoshiyuki Tomino, famed creator of the Gundam franchise, had to make many concessions to his sponsors and make Amuro Ray's Gundam more like its more popular contemporaries, with goofy mid-season combination upgrades and some extremely anachronistic weaponry like a beam trident and a huge, MS sized ball and chain. On the back of his later success, Zeta Gundam and the seemingly never ending number of side-stories like War in the Pocket and Stardust Memory, Tomino would actually go on to revise the original series in a definitive movie compilation that cut out a great deal of filler and blatantly unrealistic (or at least immersion breaking) elements. This version is extremely good by the way. Give it a watch if you're interested in the genre's history or if you just like old sci-fi.

The reason I bring this up is sort of my roundabout way of arguing that while the Gundam of today is made of entirely different stock than Super Robots, the original article deserves a space in this discussion. The discussion being, of course, the distinctly anti-nationalist bent of a lot of early Super Robot shows. In all of its many incarnations, good, bad, and inbetween, Gundam is a story about war really sucking and how tragic it is that we fail to understand one another because it's easier to just kill one another instead. Now, of course, a lot of fans are either too thick to understand this subtext (and text-text) or simply willfully disregard it because they like cool robots that shoot lasers. Basically think of Dan Ryckert's relationship with Metal Gear. While certainly not all Gundam series have been good, they have always been faithful to these ideas, which is laudable. In broad strokes, anyway. SEED Destiny was pretty weird in spots.

Mobile Suit Gundam 079, which chronicled the One Year War, was not at all shy about this. The One Year War began as a movement for Spacenoid (a slightly ridiculous term for a person living in a space colony or on the moon) independence from the hopelessly corrupt Earth Federation. Naturally, the Federation did not take kindly to this and moved to suppress the movement, but found itself overmatched by the Principality of Zeon's advanced Mobile Suit weapons. To keep an even footing in the war, the Federation resorted to using nuclear weapons and other atrocities on largely civillian colonies to buy time as they developed their own brand of Mobile Suit. In retaliation, Zeon counterattacked with an even more devastating new weapon: dropping space colonies on earth. All told, the One Year War was not a good time to be alive, and nearly half of the Earth Sphere's total population died in one way or another. While all this was happening, the original founder of the independence movement died under suspect circumstances and power was seized by the Zabi family, who were Really Bad News. The Federation, meanwhile, turned to conscripting child soldiers in a desperate bid to keep pace.

This all culminated in the creation of the Gundam by Tem Ray, Amuro's emotionally absent father. Due to Circumstances, Amuro finds himself in the cockpit and becomes the most important soldier in the war overnight because the Gundam is several orders of magnitude more powerful than anything Zeon can field. The character of Amuro is explored most fully in Char's Counterattack, when he is a fucked up adult instead of a fucked up kid, but from the outset, Amuro is defined by forces completely out of his control and his fatalistic acceptance of his own lack of agency. Despite his nigh legendary piloting skills, Newtype powers of precognition and telepathy, and status as hero of the One Year War, Amuro might actually be the most passive motherfucker in the god damned galaxy. This puts him immediately at odds not only militarily but interpersonally with the dreadfully overambitious if mostly well-intentioned Char Aznable, his lifelong rival. Their entire history of conflict is based entirely upon the simple irony that they both want the same thing but, despite being Newtypes, lack the ability to understand this. The One Year War's violence and brutality defined them and their relationship to another, because of a petty twist of fate that put Amuro in the Gundam's pilot seat instead of some other sap.

Gundam uses many more overt methods of conveying that the One Year War is not glamorous or cool or just. Characters die regularly on both sides of the conflict, oftentimes for no real reason other than "this is war, sucker." Tomino developed quite a reputation for this style of storytelling, earning the moniker Kill-'em-all Tomino, especially in some of his non-Gundam works like Aura Battler Dunbine and Space Runaway Ideon. The entire continent of Australia got rendered uninhabitable by colony drops. The White Base, the federation battleship housing the Gundam, is crewed and staffed almost entirely by people who have yet to reach 20 years of age and they've got a pack of prepubescent toddlers running around on the ship because they've got nowhere else to go. I personally find the interpersonal conflicts acting as microcosm for ideology and war to be the most interesting, and most intrinsically Gundam thing about the franchise, but you don't have to go looking between the lines to find evidence of the show's ardent anti-war, anti-nationalist proclivities. The intensely nationalistic Zeon is surreptitiously usurped by a power-mad dictator without anyone even catching on after Ghiren Zabi uses a giant ass space laser to kill both his father and an influential Earth Federation general while they're trying to broker a peace deal. The death of that general, in turn, allows the worst elements of the Federation government to run amok and eventually create the deeply fascist Titans in Zeta Gundam, who make it a point of policy to oppress spacenoids as brutally as possible.

So Gundam, at least, has profound roots in the denunciation of military power as a metric of moral superiority. That's not really news to most people. Oddly enough, it's the most obsessive of fans that tend to miss the memo because they're presumably too busy making sure Mobile Suit measurements are exactly as documented and all character motivations are completely rational and logical, like them. Let's dig a little deeper for some more surprising examples of this kind of ideology in unlikely places. It should be noted, of course, that I am not heralding Gundam as some sort of bastion of progressive thought. Tomino's sexual politics are located roughly in the Stone Age until about 2000's Turn A Gundam, where they progress to about on par with inudstrial revolution social mores. Progress, I suppose. This is a problem with a distressing amount of media, especially in the 70s and 80s, but I'm trying to look at the bright side of things. At least it's not Cross Ange, right?

Moving on, when we look at the genesis of Super Robots as a genre of animation, we will invariably look to Go Nagai. Though a number of shows about large robot men fighting evil like Tetsujin 28 and the live action Giant Robo came first, the seminal Mazinger Z had the popularity and iconic staying power to define everything that came after. Though I could write a great deal about Go Nagai and his Dynamic Robots, they don't really pertain to my particular topic of discussion today because Go Nagai was about as progressive as a sack of bricks. His work was largely apolitical, at least in the sense that he did not intentionally make his stories about contemporary political issues, so at very least Kouji Kabuto never waxed nostalgic about the time Japan was allied with Nazi Germany. In fact, one of the show's major villains, Count Brocken, is a reanimated SS officer cyborg who carries his head around with him because of a decapitation in a previous life. Generally speaking, not a good or sympathetic guy, despite his protests to the contrary. Go Nagai focused on themes of brotherhood and being outcast by society for just being too damn hotblooded and having sideburns that were just too damn thick, though these mostly manifested in his manga. The TV adaptations of Mazinger, Getter Robo, and Grendizer were largely sanitized and inoffensive.

I mentioned Tadao Nagahama at the beginning of my piece, and it is now with him we come to a very important point in the genre's history. Nagahama was the director of three particular Super Robot shows: Combattler V, Voltes V (here the V is treated as the roman numeral, so it's really Voltes 5), and Toushou Daimos (roughly, Brave Leader Daimos). Colloquially, these three are known as the Nagahama Romantic Trilogy, and they are denoted not only by the iconic designs of the robots themselves, towering, blocky things made out of many constituent parts in a fairly sensical way (as opposed to the famously Unpossible Getter Robo), but also by the injection of genuine interpersonal and ideological drama into the proceedings. They were also super popular in other areas of the world, much like Go Nagai's Dynamic Robots. Voltes V in particular was popular in Southeast Asia. Combattler V was instrumental in cementing the notion of The Honorable Rival in the genre, a character aligned with evil that still conducted themselves with decorum. While you would find few such characters in the ranks of Dr. Hell's armies or King Vega's invasion force, in the Romantic Trilogy, they were critical to the show's success. Combattler V was not especially revolutionary, but it laid the groundwork for Voltes V, which in many ways was.

Voltes V is the tale of the Boazan Empire, an interstellar civilization with an expansionist streak and a highly stratified caste system. Unlike previous villainous organizations, the Boazans are noteworthy for being three dimensional and not painted in shades of black and white. The Boazans invade earth for the purposes of annexing it to their growing empire, with the crown prince Hainel leading the charge. Their battle beasts are too much for earth's military (and the militaries of many other planets), but the super electromagnetic robot Voltes V, piloted by a team of five headed by Kenichi, appears to beat them back. Things become interesting when we learn about Kenichi and his two brother's lineage. Their father, the brilliant scientist behind Voltes V's construction, is actually a Boazan expatriate. Not just any expatriate, but former royalty, no less. Boazan's strict caste system is based solely upon whether or not a citizen has horns. If they do, they're nobility. If they don't, well, uh, sucks to be them. Such a system, already untenable, is exacerbated by the fact that the vast majority of Boazans don't have horns. It's a rare genetic mutation. The whole Boazan war machine is powered by a gigantic underclass of slaves-in-everything-but-name. Kenichi's father believed that this was morally reprehensible and that reform was necessary. Unfortunately, this was not a popular opinion among the nobility, and he was disgraced, de-horned, and ousted for his ties to rebellion movements.

Complicating matters even further, he had a son while on Boazan, the aforementioned Prince Hainel. After relocating to Earth to escape persecution and devise some way of bringing change to the empire, Kenichi's father settled down and had a family. Now bereft of horn, he was largely indistinguishable from the average earthling. Parallel evolution is a concept emrbaced heartily by old sci-fi in both Western and Japanese media, probably because people thought alien babes were hot. Fair, honestly. At any rate, Kenichi engages in mortal combat with his half-brother's forces on a regular basis, which creates interpersonal tension mostly lacking in earlier shows. Sometimes Duke Freed got snippy at Kouji for being all love and peace at the Vegans but that was usually resolved at the end of the episode. Hainel himself gradually changes, too, starting out as arrogant, dismissive, and openly ashamed of his connection to a disgraced expatriate and his sons but gaining more depth as time goes on. The end of the show takes place on Boazan itself, with Voltes V spearheading a hornless revolution while Hainel turns on the emperor, vengeful and disgusted by his cowardice. Or maybe it was a movie. Look it's been a long time and I'm going from memory give me a break.

For a kid's TV show at the time, this was honestly pretty wild. Voltes V was not shy about displaying its moral core: people are not defined by the circumstances of their birth, and systems of government based upon the oppression of an underclass deserve only to be destroyed. Voltes V is not as morally complex as Gundam, but it is leaps and bounds ahead of many of its Super Robot contemporaries. Nagahama believed in a sort of fusion of genuine human drama and moral complexity with the more simplistic, bombastic style of storytelling common to his predecessors, and it resonated with viewers all over the globe. At the time of airing, a number of Southeast Asian countries were under the thumb of repressive dictatorships, and the final episodes had to be heavily censored and edited so as not to promote seditious ideas. That, more than anything to me, is the mark of something that is genuinely anti-nationalist in nature. Who would know better than fascist dictators themselves?

The final entry in the Romantic Trilogy, Toushou Daimos, continued the trend of creating morally and politically complex circumstances in which the karate robot made of transforming trucks must punch bad guys. The aliens of the day are the Barmians. The Barmians, however, buck convention and come to earth in genuine peace. Their story is a tragic one - their planet was destroyed in a catastrophe, and the survivors were evacuated on the aptly named mobile space city Small Barm. Due to severe space and resource constraints, a billion Barmians have to remain in cryogenic sleep while a skeleton crew of nobles and military officials keep Small Barm afloat as they search for a place to live. Naturally, they find earth to be a charming place as any to settle down (as it must have seemed in the early 80s before the environment started collapsing) and initiate negotiations with the governments of earth to try and accommodate their people. Expert martial artist and principle protagonist Ryuzaki Kazuya is the son of a brilliant scientist who created the robot Daimos and the special Daimolight energy that makes it so scary strong. Said scientist is part of the diplomatic delegation sent from earth to Small Barm (in some universes alongside the illustrious Rilina Peacecraft, but that is a story for another time entirely) and is a major proponent of the Barmian's request for peaceful integration into earthling society.

Regrettably, this all goes awry when the Barmian hardliner military faction assassinates the King of Barm during the meeting with poison and blames the earthling delegation on it, engineering their own perfect casus beli for a war of domination against Earth. Fascists are remarkably bad at sharing and getting along with others, as has been demonstrated. Prince Richter, the honorable if somewhat dim and hot tempered son of the King wasn't too hot on the assimilation idea because of his prideful belief that the superiority of Barm's culture and technology should allow them to dictate more favorable terms, but was ultimately loyal to his father above all else and acquiesced to the idea. When his father is assassinated, of course, he flies into a rage and declares earth to be the enemy of Barm and kills Kazuya's father. So there's a lot of bad blood between the two of them. Kazuya and Daimos stand up against Barm's battle beasts and prevents the invasion from progressing. He eventually meets and falls in love with princess Erika, Richter's sister. Where Richter is brash and hasty, Erika is intelligent and patient, and much more compassionate. These qualities allow her to see that the circumstances of the King's death, and any motivation the Earthling's might have had to assassinate him, were extremely suspect. They part ways, but Erika eventually joins a resistance faction on Small Barm against the military hardliners who had assumed power. Richter continues to dance to their tune, too consumed by misplaced anger and vengeance to see what is really going on. Erika's relationship with Kazuya only makes him more unreasonably mad.

Of course, Earth has its own hardliners, and in his battles, Kazuya not only has to contend with Barm's battle beasts, but General Miwa, an odious Earth-supremacist convinced that all Barmians, regardless of their disposition, must be eliminated immediately and without mercy. If we want to talk about more alternate universe scenarios, for reference, Miwa was a fucked up enough dude to cast his lot in with the Blue Cosmos organization after his Barmian extermination ambitions never panned out. He really fucking sucks. Ultimately, Kazuya and Erika manage to uncover the plot to assassinate the King, defeat the military holdouts, and bring the peace their fathers wanted about. Where Voltes V presented a scenario of a civilization run by ultra-nationalists needing to be restructured from the ground up, Daimos offers the inverse: a peaceful, tolerant civilization in a time of crisis gets hijacked by a few selfish, warmongering fascists and nearly destroys itself. Coming to understand and love one another, even when from different planets entirely, is an even bigger theme in Daimos than Voltes V, and is in many ways a more personal story. A romance, if you will, for a romantic trilogy.

Nagahama's Romantic Robots were well loved around the globe and left a lasting impact on their genre, encouraging those who came after to experiment with more complex themes and characters, even in the larger than life universe of Super Robots. While not all (or even very many) of these successors live up to this high minded ideal, it's an important part of the history of Japanese animation, proving that drama and politics were not just for Gundam or more "serious" shows. We can see the legacy of Nagahama in a number of more contemporary titles. Evangelion is so much more about interpersonal conflict than actual robots that the final episode of the TV series didn't even have any fighting in it (albeit mostly due to budget constraints). People hated it, of course, and Hideki Anno went on to make End of Evangelion to either appease or piss off further the angry fans, but it happened nonetheless. Gun X Sword represents an evolution of the genre into that of a pseudo-western, where heroes and villains are separated by the thinnest of ideological margins despite the fantastical robots and setting. Gurren Lagann briefly flirts with political complexity before promptly imploding on itself (maybe this one is a bad example). Even Shin Mazinger, an unabashed love letter to older Go Nagai properties, managed to create a surprisingly affecting and compelling character (dare I say, Protagonist?) in its reimagining of Baron Ashura.

The Mecha Genre used to be, and still kind of is, one of my big guilty passions in life. This essay is more personal in nature than a lot of my others, because from time to time I feel like I have to justify to myself why I like this garbage even when it's weird regressive shit. I guess the compromise I have found is that, in certain circumstances, it can be weird progressive shit, too.

[helshades]

I mean, is it really so clear cut that reality only shapes fiction and never the other way around? Look at the US, the power they wield over the world. Yes they have resources, but how much of their power really depends on the image they created and exported of themselves?

I’m not going to answer this in a satisfying way, because there are entire books devoted to that discussion, but at least I can say a few things.

There certainly is a distinction to be made between fiction that carries a political message explicitly and fiction that conveys ideas mostly reflecting the current material reality of a given society. One would argue that ideas conveyed implicitly might have almost a greater impact, considering how pervasive they can be, and I would actually agree to an extent. The thing is, people who tell you that fiction isn’t made in a vacuum completely overlook, for some reason that I can’t quite fathom, the fact that, yes, only not quite in the way they think. Fiction couldn’t even be comprehended if we, the public, didn’t come into the theatre, or open the book, or turn the screen on, didn’t carry with us ready-made keys for understanding it.

In the case of violent material, for instance, the crux of the matter is that it won’t have the same impact on two persons with a different psychological and cultural background. Education teaches us discernment, normally, and prevents us from accepting everything as real uncritically. Education is supposed to teach us emotional distance, intellectual stand-back, a prerequisite to objective (not the same as neutral) analysis. Nowadays... we always favour affect over intellect, feeling over logic, sympathy over empathy, and we tend to replace civic values with communitarian ones, ethics with morals.

Insert a whole fucking book on the intellectual ravages of capitalism as it has been globalised, ‘worldised’ to render the French equivalent. And, indeed, it would be hard to deny the influence of American television programmes and films on basically everybody on the planet by now but really remote people. I mean, it ain’t called ‘soft power’ for nothing. On the other hand, it’s not the fiction itself that is the problem so much as the sheer onslaught of it, and the lack of opposition—of quality opposition. We probably ought to question right now how exactly we want to perceive ourselves as nations—and if possible exclude the actual nationalists from the conversation most of the time—in front of that gigantic cultural road roller that is mainstream American culture.

But that’s a question of education, of instruction, first and foremost. This is about preparing minds to recognise patterns and specificities. When Tumblr people are chanting that ‘fiction matters’, I don’t think they realise that they are too often only demanding that Hollywood or some other fiction-sprouting entity hold a mirror for them to gaze at themselves in the best angle, which is not always the most game-changing political move one can make in social matters...

Humph. To be continued indefinitely, I guess.

[autumn-oceanopromises]

(366) an interpretation of (365): towards mastery

for today’s word-outpouring, I thought I’d reshape the last one into something a little less trite and a little more concrete. something for the rationally minded, shall we say? Also, these were mostly regurgitations of stuff I found elsewhere, that you might have, too; so, a brief explanation for people who might not have seen them before, or, at least, my opinion of the explanations for it:  what is mastery?:

the simple, the complex, the simple, the complex, the simple.

This is a Taoist phrase; I’d like to call it a koan but it’s not, because it’s not really an anecdote. It’s an observation - what is mastery? the simple, because one knows nothing at first. the complex, because to the completely ignorant person being dipped into the minutiae of any trade, science, or art, it’s complex.

the simple again, because someone who understands boils down all the minutiae to the Most Understandable And Useful Rules, generally speaking, of the basic stuff, and then moves onto the next level. They have mastered the basic level, so to say. They also make that learning unconscious, subconscious; the complex into the simple.

the complex again, because now we’re tackling the next level, the intermediate level - but also, at the state of self-actualization, it can be useful to take the simple and make it complex, like zooming in on a digital painting to make tiny changes at small levels, which can affect the viewpoint of a whole picture. Little details matter. the simple again - the big picture, the next level, so on, so on. 

it’s one view of mastery.

It’s Taoist because - you know the yin-yang symbol? More than just a comparison between the light and the dark, male and female, the yin-yang symbol speaks about constant movement and constant change, and how one side feeds into the other. In the essence of the simple is the complex, in the essence of the complex, the simple, and one changes into the other very easily, but there is a line between the two. 

what is mastery?: understanding form and content.

This is a more personal observation, specifically in relation to writing or the arts in general. like complex and simple, form and content are related to each other. It’s also a very Greek - Aristotelian - thing. Form is structure, content is what the structure holds. In poetry, rhyme-schemes are form, emotion-words are content; in free verse, words are form, emotions are content. You can go very very deep. Mastery of form will create content, mastery of content will create form. I’d go into it more here but this is already going to be a very long prose-poem as it is, so i’ll explore this one more another time.

what is mastery?:

learning the rules, learning when to break the rules, learning how to break rules, learning break rules correct way for purpose, learning to break the rules for beauty, art, unification of rules of sub-topic into big topic.

This is me, ineptly trying to exemplify what I mean by breaking the rules. First, learn the rules. Then, learn when is appropriate to break the rules. Then, learn how to break the rules in a pleasing manner. Then, learn to break the rules for a specific purpose (in this case, to talk like a stereotypical Chinese master), then, learning to break the rules for the purposes of speaking a commonality of everyone - I said beauty, but it could equally have been “joy”, or “terror”, or “coziness”.

Then, art. Something which is universally acknowledged as being outside of the usual thoughts of a complete outsider looking into the trade.

Then, the unification into a bigger topic. Someone who masters, say, ballads, will have insights into rhyme-schemes in general. Someone who masters, say, hammering a nail into plywood (which by the way is fucking hard to master, given all the variables), will have insights into hammering a nail into balsamwood when they begin in balsamwood. Someone who masters baking cookies is going to have insights into baking bread. Sometimes, not very useful insights, or even actively contradictory insights, but they’re going to have it compared to someone who hasn’t done the cookies first.

The aim, I think, if you’re looking to constantly rank up in mastery, is to keep going to bigger and bigger umbrella categories. But of course the path you choose up is entirely up to you - which is something I’ll cover more a little later on. Like immediately after.

what is mastery?: the glimpse of the highest mountain while succeeding at larger and larger ones.

This is kind of a follow-up to the previous paragraph, in that mountains are continuous things; it’s not a - I descend off the mountain, forget everything, and climb the next one. No, you don’t discard the lessons you learned climbing the first mountains, or at least you shouldn’t be discarding them; mastery is building on what you did before, but also discarding the stuff that no longer works for you, but not forgetting them because what if a bigger bigger mountain needs those skills, those tips and tricks, again?

this one’s a little more concrete than the previous paragraphs.

Also the thing about choosing which mountain to navigate up - let’s say you master baking a particular cookie recipe. What now? Some people start experimenting with flavours; others with chewiness, others still with different types of cookies; swiss ones, french ones, american ones. some people start varying temperature, ingredients, storage containers - who they give to, where they give to; they start to bring in different shapes, different meanings, contexts. all this is in mastery, too.  the combination of two wildly different concepts can bring greatness, which, by the way, is completely separate from mastery, since it’s a completely different set of skills. See: E. L. James. No one can call her a master of writing alone. But marketing, and specifically marketing-related writing? Weow. 

what is mastery?:

tips and tricks of understanding. those who know, do. those who understand, teach. those who don’t know and don’t understand, generally coach gym 80% of the time.

a bit more of the concrete again, this time about the first paragraph: rendering the complex into the simple usually manifests as tips and tricks. For instance, I have one when it comes to finding rhymes; recite the alphabet in the relevant rhyme - “aone, bone, cone, done, eone, fone, goan, hoan...” etc. For instance, my mother can get an exact teaspoon out of the tilting of an oil bottle by knowing down to the millisecond, subconsciously, and angle, of the pour. admittedly she’s also used the same oil bottle for years, washing and refilling it every time. That too is mastery.

“those who know, do - those who don’t, teach,” is a corruption of the original phrase, which is as above, albeit, I added one phrase for humour, which I found on Reddit. 

Subconscious doers cannot teach what they do; they’re the “naturals”, the “talented” ones, the “draw-the-rest-of-the-fucking-owl” people. But every skill can be learned, except for the different starting points, the time that no one has, the effort no one wants to put it into; we can all navigate blind and deaf and mute, just no one wants to learn because why the fuck would we, until we have to?

what is mastery?: turning the abstract into the concrete into the abstract into the concrete.

same as the first paragraph, except a slightly different axis, and, also sort of re-explaining all the other stuff too: the abstract - “a rule” into the concrete “an action” into an abstract “tips and tricks” into the concrete “a specific action for higher efficiency” into the abstract “making changes in thinking” into the concrete “action”. It also applies to other things like self-actualization and philosophy and activism and belief and all those other fun things.

what is mastery?:

action without action, thought without thought. more concretely: action without conscious action, thought without conscious thought.

Very Taoist. Subconscious action. Flow state. All very similar things. But this, too, has a higher mountain; the end goal is to hit doing everything by almost doing nothing at all. 

what is mastery?: doing without talking about it first.

Ultimately, a very, very concrete thing: 

talk less about doing a thing, just go and do it. I mean, still think about it, still think before doing it, but brag less about doing something, and just do it.

I’m very hypocritical about this, but I occasionally still do something without talking about it to other people first.