#may this be my first addition to the suspender series

[usernamesuggestionsarefunny]

My avatar tla hot take ACTUALLY UNPOPULAR and not just minority opinion is that Azula is a terrible addition to the series. On her own? Oh, her character was great, complex, etc. She is a queen, a great diva, wonderful villain, interesting, deserved a great redemption too (She is 14! A baby!) etc. She just would have suited a magic girl show, a horror movie (in the typical scary, powerful little girl fashion), or a darker, more mature show with more characters like her, meaning child prodigies, better.

Combined with the rest of the atlab story? Kinda makes me laugh. She is such a ridiculous addition that makes it obvious this is a kids’ show. When I first watched the show, Zuko's father and the fact he had branded him was such a serious “oh shit” moment. Like, that is a father whose expectations are truly ridiculously high. It was scary. I mean who could meet them?

Zuko, whether a villain or an anti-hero, was a special, unique character the first few episodes because he was intimately acquainted with the scary main villain in a way no one was.

Then comes Azula. Come at me to debunk me (I may not even try to argue because this is such a weird opinion in the fandom, for real I haven't heard it) but she feels like a writer self-insert. Not a little kid’s writer self-insert, mind you, she feels like a well-written, dark, and complex self-insert or oc written by a talented fic writer in her 30s with years of experience that may become an original writer someday, but an oc nonetheless.

Azula feels like “oh, Zuko could never live up to his evil father’s ideals? Oh here comes my oc Azula, despite being 2 years younger she is soo much better at firebending and does everything better, even being evil, she is the main villain’s golden child and sidekick! And the sister of the main antagonist who interacts with him constantly!” (oh isn't that so cool?) “oh shit wait she needs flaws otherwise she is a villain Sue, let's see.… perfectionism! Perfect flaw! and at the very end after needing a 2 against 1 setting to be defeated she has a mental breakdown, perfect!”

“But gifted children and prodigies exist!!” you may say. Yesss I knowww. She is both too dark of a concept and too corny for atla. I see the flaws and contradictions in the ~vibes~ Azula gives me, thank you anyway. But regardless of rationally being aware of this, the reveal that this powerful character that comes to replace Zuko in causing the gaang trouble (Because let's face it, the beginning of Zuko's redemption arc and needing an even bigger bad to replace him and shock the viewers by how much more dangerous/powerful they are is the whole reason for Azula’s existence) is his 14-year-old LITTLE sister is so… dorky and laughable for me personally. And not only because of her gender in case you come to attack me from that angle. Zuko's prodigy little brother would perhaps have been an even worse and more ridiculous big bad replacement (Girls being shorter is understandable, but with a little brother we would visually see how much Zuko would be able to beat him if this weren't a kids’ show with magic, it would be even harder to suspend my disbelief to). Like, I am sure the reasons I hate the concept are the very same reasons some others love it, but you are telling me that the one capable of fulfilling the evil child burner father's expectations is… simply some rando younger child? It is not that Ozai was a freak who wanted the impossible, it is just that Zuko wasn't it. It is corny, it is dumb. It is so obviously meant for kids. Thanks, I hate it.

Azula also combines in a very weird and bizarre way with Zuko's tragic origin story (Also it is just another source of angst that is completely unnecessary, that distracts from what his father did to him and never living up to his expectations or being too compassionate for his own good, now there is a little sibling in the way being better than him at everything). Call me crazy, but Zuko as an only child, or at least a child without crazy op YOUNGER siblings would have had a MUCH more interesting relationship with his father. Perhaps an even ANGSTIER and more complex relationship where his approval is just within reach but also not quite there. Where it seems conceivable and yet out of reach. Where Ozai is the type of abuser who gives him praise when he does something right just to tear him down mercilessly when he doesn't.

What Zuko has in canon with Ozai and Azula is also interesting, painful, and angsty, but it is “never be able to be this other random younger child who happens to be a prodigy so what is even the point of trying when dad always reminds me of how meh I am compared to her” instead of “never be able to be like my father who is putting all his hopes and that of his empire on me, who at times seems to care so much”. That last one is much more compelling for me personally for a character that ends up being the opposite of his father and learns being like him is not a good thing, it also gives Zuko a good, believable reason to keep trying to please his father: there is actually a chance, there is no one there who has already won the race. Oh my, his search for the Avatar would have made so much more sense without Azula why does Azuka exist in this universe whyy 😭

Don't get me wrong, the sibling rivalry and abusers putting children against each other, having a golden child and a scapegoat, is realistic in many families, but from a storytelling perspective I find it VERY whatever, MEH. Like, the moment Ozai burns Zuko would have been a much greater instance of utter betrayal and shock if Ozai actually acted at times like he had some hope in his son instead of being constantly comparing him to his sister. Now everytime I am made aware of what Ozai did to Zuko I am like “duh” what were you expecting, Zuko, baby? It is still evil as fuck, but no longer shocking or a wtf moment, it is just the boring, edgy and predictable culmination of Ozai already having a “better” child he prefers to succeed him, a total overkill, and in fact, knowing Ozai, he should have done so earlier or straight up had Zuko killed, it makes no sense he is still alive when Azula is a much better successor from his perspective. It means nothing and Zuko should of fing course be traumatized and emotionally and physically distraught by the damage done to him by his own father, but he should not longer logically be that shocked or struck dumb. From a fictional, storytelling perspective, for me personally, the moment loses a tiny bit of its power, at least from the betrayal-someone-who-should-care-for-you—hurting-you—instead aspect.

If I had been there to write the ~big worse bad before Ozai~ meant to replace Zuko as he begins his journey of redemption, I would have chosen something much more serious (I get “abused child soldier” is serious, duh, I just mean serious in a way that makes me fear for the gaang being faced not with a peer but with someone bigger and much more experienced, and not just distract myself with how horrible it is that a “father” makes a 14-year-old girl into a soldier for an invading army). I would have chosen an equally or even more powerful, ADULT, right-hand man (or woman) of Ozai. If it really had to be a sibling of Zuko, it would have been a brother or sister 5 years OLDER, and that is AT THE VERY LEAST, perhaps the son or daughter of a minor wife or concubine (To fix the issue of why they are not the heir and why Zuko could be jealous of their much better skills while at the same time still having a good reason to keep trying to earn their father's approval, which is that there is still time to learn and improve as the younger party, this could have also made Ursa more sympathetic since the “evil” sibling is no longer a child of hers that she emotionally neglected). This could also give the character depth in the sense that they hate the fact they have no claim to the throne despite being older and “better”. They could still care for Zuko while having a love hate relationship with them, a sibling rivalry, Ozai turning them against each other, same as Azula, without taking away from Zuko's interesting relationship with Ozai (I just want his urge to overpower his better sibling to come from a place of his father actually expecting him to do it and be mad he doesn't instead of just Ozai putting all his hopes on the other sibling and Zuko for some plot related reasons still wanting his father's impossible approval despite never being able to earn it because Azula is there, better at a younger age, is that too much to ask? Like at this point Zuko should be smart enough to see that firebending skills are inborn and related to ~fantasy-version-of-genetics~, he should logically have seen it is not his fault and stopped trying to be Ozai or Azula MUCH earlier).

So in summary, believe it or not, I like Azula. I like the whole child prodigy golden child psychologically groomed and abused by evil father angle and I would love a redemption arc for her. I just don't like her AS an atla character. I feel like she does a disservice to Zuko by even existing due to how complex and interesting yet overpowered she is, actually. She ruins his motivations imo. Ironically enough, Zuko does not do a disservice to her, he makes her more interesting because he is a warning of what could happen to her if she is not perfect, he makes her vulnerable. But here is the deal, this would work better if she was the protagonist.

Edit: I just realized it is not just Azula who does a disservice to Zuko's story, it is the whole “Ozai straight up hated the little fucker since birth and tried to kill him before as a child therefore what he did to him was not a consequence of Zuko being compassionate as fuck, Ozai might as well have been looking for an excuse”. It just cheapens it immensely.

Zuko caring for those soldiers still counts just as much (of fucking course), but it would have been more poignant story-wise for his suffering to have also be a direct consequence of his first signs of goodness + his father being an abuser pshyco and not just the latter + Ozai always hated him because Zuko is the good guy and his father’s empire is evil so we need a way to make the children see Zuko is good and not like the rest from the beginning in a painfully simple way by making Ozai inherently hate him or smt because abusers “loving” their children in fucked up ways is too complicated

[dear-future-ai]

Late night ramblings:

Many media critical ideas floating around in my head that are loosely connected.

Many classic Disney villains were designed by a gay man, thus were not necessarily meant to be negative stereotypes but a pastiche of his life experiences.

80s post-apocalyptic media’s consistent use of studded leather and biker gangs feels like a homophobic cultural inclination as if to say the existence of leather daddies are an herald of the apocalypse or fall of civilization.

The cenobites in Hellraiser (1987) were admittedly a pastiche of leather culture but were erroneously appropriated into the horror genre.

Rocky Horror Picture Show (1975) walks a similar fine line between homophobic and queer, depending the interpretation… Who is Frankenfurter? Why are they a villain?

The final girl trope in horror is due to heteronormative purity culture idealization, not necessarily founded in reality.

“It Follows (2014) is 1.) anti-sex and 2.) represents the AIDS epidemic” is the leading fan theory.

The video game One Leaves (2019) is literally an antismoking ad (which is why it’s free)

The black guy dying first may not always be a racist power fantasy, but it is an ongoing trope to be conscientious of, when making narrative decisions.

If Buffalo Bill from Silence of the Lambs (1991) was allowed access to gender affirming care, they wouldn’t have turned to killing in the first place. They were denied multiple times and blacklisted: the system fail them.

Queerbaiting in the series Hannibal (2013), and it’s lasting affect on the fandom, and the view from outsiders.

Serial killers from real life helped inspire most slasher films of the 70s onward. Will our generations immortalize school shooters in horror films in the same way? And the additional fetishization and adulation of real world killers based on their documentaries, often against the bequest of family members.

Much of mainstream horror is based in Christian mythos. Even suspending the disbelief of possession, the original The Exorcist (1973) is not scary at all if you do not believe in Christianity, let alone Catholicism.

The rise of furry horror movies like Furry Nights (2016) where the killers are furries.

[westeroswisdom]

Abubakar Salim and Clinton Liberty portray Alyn of Hull and Addam of Hull – characters we'll be seeing more of in the remaining episodes of HotD Season 2.

[N]not only do the pair play bastard brothers in the new series of House of the Dragon, but the experience was so intense that they have become chosen family in real life. “It was a journey we started together,” says 26-year-old Liberty, for whom House of the Dragon represents a significant step up in scale after grounded Irish dramas such as Normal People and Holding. “And we bonded over how crazy it all was. Every day we’d think we were getting used to it, then it was just like … what is going on? Is this real? Are you sure?” [ ... ] Alyn is a sailor, a consummate seaman whose moment of glory came when he rescued his Lord, his Captain and – it’s hinted pretty strongly – his father, Lord Corlys, from drowning. Addam, meanwhile, is a shipwright, gainfully employed in the harbours of Driftmark. Both characters are more down-to-earth, more working class (if such a term existed in Westeros) than the Royals and blue-bloods we’re used to encountering. For 31-year-old Salim, a seasoned player in big-budget shows such as the historical drama Jamestown and Ridley Scott’s sci-fi series Raised By Wolves, the partnership with Liberty rekindled a love for his profession. “I may not have seen it all,” he admits, “but I’ve seen enough to be like: ‘OK, here’s another cool set.’ I wasn’t necessarily jaded, but it’s like you’re eating chocolate for the 100th time. You know you’re going to enjoy it. With Clinton, it was like this was the first time he’d ever had chocolate. He was in absolute awe. That excitement was really infectious.” He is not exaggerating: months after shooting wrapped, Liberty is still giddy. “The scale was so massive,” he beams, recalling the bustling Driftmark harbour set at Leavesden studios where the pair filmed their early scenes. “I mean, they built a full-size ship. And a whole village. For the first few days, I just had to give myself permission to nerd out. It was everything I wanted to do, as a kid who dreamed of being an actor.”

Clinton Liberty has rubbed elbows in the past with another ASoIaF actor.

“I worked with Conleth Hill [who played Lord Varys in Game of Thrones] on Holding, and the whole time we were filming I was asking him about it. What’s Kit Harington like? What’s the world like? I was such a fan. And I’d do these affirmations. I used to wake up every morning and say: ‘One day I’m going to play a lead character in an HBO show. I’m going to be a character like Jon Snow.’ I said it every day for two years. I was just talking to the wind, really. Then lo and behold … ”

Abubakar Salim has been a game developer in addition to his career in acting.

For Salim, the parallels between acting and game development could not be clearer. “It’s all world-building,” he says. “Jumping into these fantastical worlds, be it through a video game or a TV show, and using that to explore human emotions and human truth. My game is all about the journey of grief, it was inspired by the loss of my father. Then in House of the Dragon, my character experiences the loss of a parental figure in a different way, which is really interesting.” Other parallels between the worlds of TV and video games are less welcome. Salim recently posted a video on X railing against the racism still rife in gaming, and he is well aware that similar attitudes exist in television. “It’s been said before, but there’s this idea that you can suspend your disbelief with dragons, but when it comes to a Black guy with white dreads you can’t handle it?” he says. “You know, football was rife with racism, and it still is, but now you’ll get your season pass banned, you’ll get kicked out because it’s no longer tolerated. I think we need more of that for artists and creatives.” Overall, though, he has been heartened by the response from the House of the Dragon fans, and is still buoyed up by his experience working with Liberty.

Both actors are listed at IMDB as being in the cast for the remaining three episodes of Season 2.

[ibrithir-was-here]

Wow, longest one yet. Phew.

In which Daniel visits a memory of a certain fishbowl. Also farthest time jump so far in this series, Daniel is 20 here. (Also just went off the vauge theme of the prompt for an idea without trying to fit it in the actual text this time).

Mnemonic 

Daniel opened his eyes to curved glass and writhing shadows.

He was lying in the curve of a glass cage, suspended above the ground in a dark room lit only by flickering torches, that cast shadows in the vague shapes of men, floating around the outside of the glass, muttering muffled threats and jeers, occasionally floating close enough to leer in at him, their hazy faces further distorted by the curve of the walls. Looking up to his right Daniel could see what looked to be, blood dripping slowly down one side of the cage. And to his left…

"Dream?"

"Oh Daniel" 

Dream said his name with a desolate fondness, it made Daniel feel as though he'd disappointed the Endless being somehow, though he hadn't the faintest idea why. 

"Where are we?" He asked, eyeing their surroundings with a muted thrill of horror. 

"Is this--is this the cage Burgess trapped you in?"

"Yes. It is a nightmare of it, a memory, distorted."

Daniel gulped hard, he'd heard the stories of Dream's imprisonment, many times, with varying degrees of appropriate detail as he grew older. But to see it…

A chill ran through him that had nothing to do with the bitter cold that surrounded them.

"How are we here? How can you be in a nightmare?"

"I am nightmare. I am all dreams, my realm is myself and I am my realm." Dream said as casually as if they were in one of their many normal lessons, though his eyes tightened ever so slightly as he added " But sometimes my memories become…too much for my realm, for myself."

Well that wasn't very reassuring 

"Can we get out?" Daniel asked, looking out warily at the angry shadow men.  Their forms were beginning to become slightly more distinct now, and he really didn't care to see them when they fully formed. 

True they were only men, he'd seen Nightmares in much more fearsome shapes…but they were the shadows of men who had once hurt Dream, Dream who was so great and terrible--and because of that, Daniel had secretly always been a bit more afraid of that story then any other he'd been told. Even now as an adult, he still felt that cold pit of fear beginning to form in his stomach as he looked at them.

"Yes, we will eventually be able to break the glass. I have long since learned how to extract myself when these memories threaten to rise up, but it may… take some time"

There was the faintest edge to Dream's voice as he said that which did nothing to dispel Daniel's growing worries. His next words didn't help much either.

"And sometimes, additional help is required"

Daniel finally managed to tear his gaze from the shadow men to look at Dream, who he found was looking back at him, that same sad fondness in his eyes as before.

"Is-is that why I'm here?" Daniel asked with a mix of pride and embarrassment, "Did you call me? To come and help?"

Dream's sad look deepened, a shadow coming over his face that had no part in the flickering torches. After a long moment he said in a subdued voice: 

"No, no I did not call you. Not now… not before"

Daniel blinked. "Before?"

Dream hesitated again, he seemed to be battling something inside himself, trying to come to a decision that he did not wish to come to.

"You… have been here before" He finally said, looking away from Daniel as he spoke. 

"What?"   Daniel's mind was trying to make sense of what he'd heard, he'd never been here before. Not even in his own nightmares, and heaven knows he'd been frightened enough at the thought of what had happened to Dream, been worried sick the first time he heard the story that it could happen again that he ought to have had  nightmares about it.

But Dream was speaking again, his dark eyes fixed to the room outside the cage, seeming to see beyond the glass and shadow to something far, far away. 

"Years ago, when you first began exploring the Dreaming. The connection we share, both being of and made of the Dreaming, must have pulled you here, one night when my own memories became… too much, and I found myself trapped within this sphere once more, watching them taunt me curse me, watching…"

Dream's eyes flickered up towards the dark stain Daniel had seen earlier, before immediately looking away again. 

"I thought I was there again in truth, thought that perhaps I had never escaped at all. And then you were there." 

Dream finally turned back to Daniel, and Daniel's breath caught in his throat at the sight of tears  shimmering beneath the faded stars of Dream's eyes. 

"You were there, here, in this cage with me. Reaching out for me. And the thought of you being trapped in this crushing, airless prison, surrounded by the jeers of those demons in mens forms--"

Dream's voice cut off momentarily as those very sounds and shapes shot forward suddenly, slamming against the glass walls. Dream's eyes flashed dangerously, and the shadows withdrew, though they were perceptibly darker than before. 

Seemingly satisfied that they had slunk back for the moment however, Dream went on. 

"I could not allow myself to sink into the clutches of that memory again, not when it would mean dooming you to that captivity as well. So I held you close and found that I could shatter that vile sphere, as I'd longed to do so many times during my captivity." 

Daniel didn't know what to say, he had no memory of this dream event. But then he apparently had been very young when it happened, so it was conceivable he'd simply forgotten. And yet…

"...that wasn't the only time though, was it?" 

Dream looked at him for a long moment, before slowly shaking his head. 

"No. There have been others" 

It could have just been the natural progression of the nightmare, but the room seemed to get even colder when Dream said that, and it had already been plenty cold before. Daniel was having to clench his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering. At least it was winter out in the Waking so he'd fallen asleep in thermals but still... 

Dream however had taken notice of Daniel's discomfort and held out his hands to him, for all the world as though he were still a child of ten and not twenty last month. 

And to be honest, Daniel was too disquieted by this whole scenario to feel even the slightest bit of embarrassment as he scooted forward to tuck himself into Dream's side, Dream wrapping him up within his coat just as he'd done so many times over the years. It never failed to give Daniel a feeling of safety and security, and he desperately wanted to feel something of that in this freezing, darkening basement.

"Are you warmer?" Dream asked, running a hand through Daniel's hair as the other pulled him closer to Dream's chest, trying to share the little warmth he had. 

"It's better yeah thanks…you were saying?" 

Dream gave a low sigh, one that clearly said he'd hoped Daniel wouldn't ask more, but he went on, the words seeming to come as though dragged from deep inside himself. 

"I have found myself back in this room many times over the years. Perhaps there will always be times I do, no matter how much time passes. Sometimes I am able to free myself with ease, sometimes Hob has had to find me as he walks the Dreaming and bring me out again…and sometimes it has been you that finds me." 

"How many?" Daniel asked, looking up at Dream, still wracking his mind to see if he could recall this place. 

"There have been five times, before this one"

Daniel sucked in a cold breath, five??

"That first time, when you were still little more than an infant. Next when you were six, you were so brave, so fearless even then, you shattered the sphere from the inside with your own fists."

There was a glow of pride in Dream's voice as he said this that made Daniel's chest suddenly ache with the warmth of it. But he kept silent as Dream went on.

"Then next time when you were eleven, you couldn't shatter the glass, but you gave me your own blanket, pulled from the Waking to cover myself, and talked to cheer me, blocking out the taunts of the guards until I was able to rally enough to set us loose….

Then once more…when you were fifteen."

Dream stopped, swallowed, and suddenly he pulled Daniel closer, resting his lips against Daniel's temple, not so much a kiss as a desperate press, as though to try and assure himself that Daniel was still there in his arms. 

Daniel held his breath, waiting for Dream to go on. It took another moment but Dream finally seemed to collect himself, the faintest of shudders running through his body as he continued.

" That time you found me from outside, without being pulled into the sphere yourself. You tried to  rush the guards in the basement, tried to tackle Burgess himself…"

Dream stopped again, and there was a haunted look in his eyes as he looked down at Daniel, who's heart felt suddenly leaden as he forced himself to ask: 

"What happened?"

Dream had to look away from Daniel when he finally said it. 

"They killed you." 

Daniel's heart sank into his stomach. He tried to turn to wrap his own arms around Dream, but Dream had already pulled him close again, his face buried in Daniel's white hair, and Daniel's heart sank even lower as he felt wet drops of starlight tears falling down to baptize his head.

"I had suffered through watching them kill Jessamy, kill Hob, many times. But this…"

Dream's breath hitched, and Daniel almost told him to stop, that he didn't need to sat anymore, but Dream continued on again before he could.

"I had already lost one child, to see another cut down before me, even in only a twisted delusion of a memory…"

He was brushing Daniel's hair again, mingling his still falling tears with kisses as he did so. Daniel felt tears forming in his own eyes. 

"In my despair I shattered not only the sphere, but the whole acre of the Dreaming where the nightmare had formed."

At this Daniel couldn't help but pull back from Dream's embrace in shock. If his face hadn't already been it's now customary snow white, as it took on in the Dreaming, he would have paled considerably. 

"You could have seriously damaged yourself! You did damage yourself! Are you alright? I mean, you're alright now yes but ...."

Daniel trailed off, feeling a little foolish though the wave of concern that had risen up in him had yet to die down. But Dream only looked at him with that soft, sad fondness. 

"I am well enough now, yes. It took some time to heal, both from the damage I had caused to the Dreaming…and from…from having seen you…"

This time Daniel did pull Dream into an embrace, leaning forward to wrap his arms around Dream's thin waist, resting his head against Dream's shoulder as Dream's arms came up to tightly encircle him. They held each other in silence for a few more minutes, ignoring the deeping shadows that swirled around them, still mummering and muttering,  until Dream was finally able to begin again. 

"I had hoped that would be the last time, that perhaps by decimating the dream manifestation so thoroughly the memory would never be able to appear again…but it did."

Dream began rubbing circles into Daniel's back, and Daniel had the feeling that once again Dream was trying to ground himself in the reality of Daniel being there before he went on. 

"The last time was when you were eighteen."

Daniel stiffened. That was--that was only two years ago.

He leaned back, shifting himself so that he was of a height with Dream. 

"Why… why don't I remember any of this?"

Dream looked as though he were about to pull away himself, a flash of unmistakable shame crossed his eyes like a comet. 

"Dad," Daniel said softly.

Dream's  breath hitched as though Dnaiel had struck him, and he turned his face away as a sound of pain escaped his lips, low and deep enough to vibrate the glass that encased them, before finally: 

"I…I took your memories of each time after they happened. I did not wish for you to be aware of such darkness and cruelty as this memory contained at such a young age. It has been relatively tame this time but in others….The world would teach you of that well enough in time, I wanted the Dreaming to be a place of refuge and safety for you. I did not want my own turmoil to affect you, to…to taint your home for you. And then that last time…" 

Daniel swallowed. The memory of whatever came next was clearly terribly painful. He wondered what could have been worse than watching him die? He didn't want to push Dream, didn't want to cause him more pain but…but it was his memory. And despite their current circumstances, or what Dream might believe, he was no longer a child that needed protecting.  

His mind supplied him with the image of himself curled up against Dream not moments before. 

Well, he didn't need it all the time at least. 

"Please, if you can...what happened that last time?"

Dream sighed low once more, sagging as though a weight had settled down upon him. 

"In the last time, it was I who was outside…trying to get down to you. I knew you were there, knew I had to get to you. I tore Burgess's mansion apart with my bare hands as I went."

Dream had pulled back from his embrace of Daniel, and was staring down at his hand now as he spoke, clenched into tight fists on his lap, shaking slightly as the memory of the rage and fear he must have felt in those moments rushed once more through him. 

"I found you at last… trapped as I had been, as wasted and thin as though you had been forced to live through all the years of captivity that I had…But when I got you out,  when I assured you that I would never allow such a thing to happen to you …you said--you said  you hadn't minded, that you'd shifted the nightmare so that it would be you. The memory it was built on needed a Dream of the Endless trapped in a cage… and you said that I had been trapped in it long enough."

Dream looked up at Daniel now, and there were black tears running freely down his face as he looked with desperation into Daniel's own tear blurred eyes. 

"I have never wanted you to feel you had to take on my burdens, Daniel. To carry my pain. It never should have fallen on your shoulders to try to rescue me, especially not from that…not from myself"

"I didn't mind." Daniel choked out, though he had no memory of it, he knew his words were true. He would have done that and a hundred times more for Dream, for the only father he had known, who cared so deeply and had suffered so much, even before Burgess. 

"I don't mind now"

"I know," Dream said, sounding like it broke his heart to say it. 

He reached out then, cupping Daniel's face in his cold white hands, brushing away the stardust tears that fell from Daniel's eyes with his thumbs, even as he let ink black tears fall from his own void dark eyes, the stars in them so dim Daniel could barely make them out. 

"Oh my good good wonderful boy, It's my duty, my joy to look after you, not the other way around. All I want is to have the absolute blessing of seeing you grow into yourself. My dearest, my beautiful dreamer"

Daniel couldn't speak, couldn't manage to get anything out past the wave of absolute love and care he felt for Dream and from him, he wanted so much to say something, anything to express the depth of what he was feeling,  but all he managed to get out was: 

"Dad"  

Before once again falling into Dream's embrace and holding onto him as though the embrace was as necessary to the universe as Atlas holding up the sky. 

They stayed that way for a long while. 

Finally, with a wet laugh, Daniel managed to ask:

"You, you haven't messed with any of my other memories though, right?"

Dream didn't laugh back, but Daniel felt him smile that sad smile again.

"I swear to you the only memories I have touched have been the ones linked to this particular nightmare, one that should never have been yours in the first place."

Daniel nodded, pulling himself up once more to look Dream in the eye. "Well, that's alright then. But don't do it anymore, ok? I can't very well learn any lessons like dreams and nightmares are supposed to teach if I forget all the hardest ones, can I?"

"No, I suppose not"  

"Let's go home? Ok? It's got to be almost morning, and I don't know about you but crying always makes me hungry. If you have time to come over to my apartment I'll make pancakes? You don't have to eat them but you could watch me if you wanted to?" Daniel finished with a laugh. 

And this time, Dream's smile wasn't sad.

"I would like nothing more"

Daniel nodded, and took Dream's hands in his own as together they said:

"This Dream is Over" 

The glass shattered, the torches flared and the shadows fled.

And they woke up to sunlight. 

[miss0atae]

Random thoughts about SOTUS episode 2 :

In this episode we’re still seeing the consequences of the tough hazings the freshmen have to endure. Some of the students are able to face it easily while others have a harder time. This episode gave us more insight on secondary characters.

▪️ Among the students who have a harder time dealing with the hazing and also the seniors' attitudes, Wad is the first one that come to mind. We learn from him about his past when he was bullied by seniors from his high school and was suspended because of what he had to face. You can see how it shaped his views on what is seniority and how you can't really trust any seniors because they might hurt you. The episode don't go too deep on this matter, but it helps us understand Wad more. Bullying is still a high topic, especially in schools and I believe all around the world. I don't know if it's a sensitive issues in Thailand, too. Now, we get it, Wad had a good reason to not feel connected to the gathering and why he prefers to avoid it when he has the choice.

▪️ On the opposite team, aka the seniors, I feel we got more info about Prem. I felt like he had some anger issues. He lashed out so fast and was so hung up on the idea he wasn't given the respect he deserves. He made a huge fuss about Wad not giving him any “wai”. So, I knew, in Thailand, greetings are accompanied by a gesture, but before the series, I didn't know the name of this gesture is “wai”. Since then, I also learned a “wai” is often more than just a greeting, as it indicates the level of respect for another person. There are different levels and variations of the “wai”. Obviously, Wad ‘s wai wasn't enough to show his respect to his senior and Prem lashed out on him. In this episode, it felt like he was a tickling bomb ready to explode. I wonder if he is really that annoyed by the freshmen or is it because he has his own issues.

▪️ While I watched the show I also made a quick note on Bright and Knot. It seems Bright is the coming relief among the senior group and Knot is the voice of reason who can take a step back to analyze any situation. I already knew Off from other BL's shows that I watched before SOTUS and I have to admit these kinds of characters are not my favorite one from him. I prefer him in more serious role like in “Not Me” or a softer character as the one he played in “Cooking Crush”. As for the actor who played Knot, I've never seen him in any other series, but I looked on internet to see what he became and it seems he is not acting anymore.

▪️ Obviously the star of this episode remains Kong. The more I watch the series, the more I like him. He clearly understands he needs to be always prepared when he comes to the gathering because he is already on Arthit's radar. I have to admit I was impressed by him when he knew all of this about M. Okay they are friends, but I would never be able to recite the ID number of my best friend. Kong is also the kind of person who is not shy to apologize, as he did when he couldn't remember the name of his classmate, May, even though he is not really at fault. Who would be able to know all the names of their fellow classmates?! Especially as they are not a small group. I think Kong has good qualities: he is sociable, he is caring and he is also a nice person. In addition, he is not easily impressed of frightened. His self-confidence allows him to stand his ground and helps others.

▪️ I also like how he seems to have a better understanding than his fellow classmates of the true meaning of the hazings . When bonding with Wad over basketball or when he was drinking with his friends, he told them how to act. Do not be afraid and There is probably more than you can see. I can understand why the other freshmen would be lost because some of the activities the seniors force the freshmen to go through seem so pointless. They tell them it will create unity among the group but I failed to see how running would help get there. I wish they gave them better things to do, but it wouldn't be hazing, I guess.

▪️ This episode showed us a softer version of Arthit. In the first episode, I saw him as a domineering senior who seems to get off when he can intimidate his juniors. However, here, it felt like he was putting a mask to blend more with his role as the leader of the hazings. It also seems he is under some pressure to do well. His domineering personality is just a facade. He is a softy inside. I can remember two times where it showed a lot: first one was when they had a meeting with all the seniors and he admitted he did wrong at the beginning (I always love people who can recognize their mistakes and who try to do better) and the second time was when one of the freshmen was hyperventilating. He went to see her after to be sure she was alright, he brought medicine and when he was talking to the nurse senior he had this gentle voice, we're not used hearing when he is talking at the gathering.

We also know he was the one who gave the name tag again to Kong, even though he warned him he would punish him because he gave it to May. Kong is not fooled. I believe he knows. I also found Arthit cute when he gave the name of Kong to be the representative of the class, but he wanted to keep it a secret of his involvement (Thanks to the nurse senior for spilling the beans).

▪️ We also discover P'Deer and I have to say I wasn't impressed. He gave me a bad first impression. I hope the story will show me  that I'm wrong. Also, why are they doing their meeting in a dark room?! I felt I was back in the “Eclipse”.

▪️ I can't end this review without saying how much I like how Kong can make Arthit flustered without doing much. After the infamous “I just make you my wife” we got the “you look kind of cute when you put on your serious face”. Of Kong! You're flirting like it's second nature for you and Arthit don't even know how to react. I found that cute. Even endearing. Am I weird?! It's not much but the flirting is so good. Kong is so subtle, but at the same time you can't miss what he is trying to say.

I need to watch the other episodes soon.

[rjalker]

What would you do, if, like Quest, you were tricked, and your very Mind and Will stolen from your body?

The Stolen Mind, By M. L. Staley

From Astounding Stories of Super Science, January 1930

Almost 10,000 words long.

======

"What caused you to answer our advertisement?" Owen Quest felt the steel of the quick gray eyes that jabbed like gimlets across the office table.

"Why does any man apply for a job?" he bristled.

Keane Clason gave an impatient smile.

"Come!" he said. "I'm not trying to snare you. But there were unusual features to my ad, and they were put there to attract an unusual type of man. To judge your qualifications, I must know just why this proposition appeals to you."

"I can tell you that," nodded Quest, "but there's nothing unusual about it. In the first place, I knew that the Clason Research Corporation is the leading concern of its kind in the country. In the second place, this seemed to offer a way to obtain a substantial sum of money quickly."

"Good," said Clason. "And you feel that you have all the necessary qualifications?"

"Decidedly. I am 24 years old, athletic, and of an earnest and determined nature. Moreover, I have no family ties, and I'm willing to run any reasonable risk in order to improve the condition of my fellow men."

Clason smiled his approval.

"You say you need money. How much immediately?"

Quest was unprepared for the question.

"A thousand dollars," he ventured.

Without hesitation Clason counted out ten one-hundred-dollar notes from his wallet and laid them on the table.

"There's your advance fee. You're ready to go to work immediately, I hope?"

"Certainly," stammered Quest.

Stunned by the swiftness of the transaction, he sat staring at the money that lay untouched before him.

To accept it would be like signing an unread contract. But he had asked for it; to refuse it was impossible. Even to delay about picking it up might arouse Clason's suspicion. Already the latter had turned away and was opening the door of a steel cabinet. Quest had one second in which to reach a decision.... He crammed the currency into his pocket.

With delicate care Clason set two objects on the table. One looked to Quest like a miniature broadcasting tower or a mooring mast for lighter than air craft. The other was a circular vat of some black material, probably carbon. Within it a series of concentric tissues were suspended from metal rings, and in a trough outside ranged four stoppered flasks containing liquids of as many different colors.

"Look at these models carefully," said Clason. "They represent two of the most remarkable discoveries of all time. The one on your left is the most destructive weapon known to man. The other I consider the most constructive discovery in the history of science. It may even lead to an understanding of the nature of life, and of the future of the spirit after death.

"Both of these were developed by my brother Philip and me together—but we have disagreed about the use to which they shall be put.

"Philip"—the inventor dropped his voice to a whisper—"wants to sell the secret of the Death Projector—the tower, there—as an instrument of war. If I should permit him to do that, it might lead to the destruction of whole nations!"

"How?" demanded Quest "I've heard of a device called the Death Ray. Is this it?"

"No, no," said Clason contemptuously. "Even in a perfected state the Ray would be a child's toy compared to the Projector. This is based on our discovery that invisible light rays of a certain wave-length, if highly concentrated, destroy life—and our additional discovery that if these are synchronized with short radio waves the effect is absolutely devastating.

"We obtain the desired concentration of invisible light by using a tellurium current-filter under the influence of alternate flashes of red and blue light. The projector can literally blanket vast areas with death, up to a top range of at least five hundred miles.

"Just picture to yourself what this means! In a space of ten minutes two men can lay down a circle of destruction a thousand miles in diameter; or they can cut a swath five hundred miles long in any desired direction."

"Have you ever proved it?" demanded Quest skeptically.

"Yes, young man, we have," snapped Clason. "Right here in the laboratory—but on a minute scale, of course. However, there's no time to demonstrate now. The point is that my brother is determined to sell if he can obtain his price for the invention. He argues that instead of bringing disaster upon the world, this machine will forever discourage war by making it too terrible for any civilized nation to consider. In spite of my opposition he has opened negotiations with an ambitious Balkan power. He may actually close the sale at any moment!

"However," Clason drew a deep breath "you see this other device? Simple as it appears, it is the key to the whole situation. We can use it—you and I—to overcome Philip's will and prevent this unthinkable transaction. The two of us can do it. Alone I would be virtually helpless."

"Why not have the Projector confiscated or destroyed by our own Government?" suggested Quest. "That seems to me the only safe and sure way out of the difficulty."

"You simply do not understand," frowned Clason impatiently. "Philip is selling the plans and descriptions of the machine, not the machine itself. Even if this model and the larger test machine that we have built were destroyed—even if I were willing to have Philip sent to Leavenworth for life—he could still sell the Projector.

"But this other invention, our Osmotic Liberator, makes it possible for me to gain control of Philip and actually change his mind, through the medium of an agent. I have hired you to act as my Agent, Quest, because I can see that you are a young man of unusual character and vitality. And by way of reward I can promise you both money and a brilliant future."

The inventor poised in a tense attitude on the edge of his chair as though his body were charged with electricity. His eyes seemed to dart out emanations that set Quest's blood to tingling. Then for a moment the latter lost consciousness of his physical self. It was as though he had opened a door and found himself suddenly on the brink of a new and totally strange world. He dispelled this fancy by a quick effort of the will, for he knew that he had a delicate problem on his hands and that it must be solved within a very few minutes. However he proceeded, he must act without disloyalty to his Government, and at the same time without injustice to Keane Clason.

"Tell me," he said in a husky voice, "how do you intend to use me? I do not believe in Spiritualism. I would be a poor medium."

Clason gave a short laugh.

"You are not to be a medium in that sense at all. Spiritualism as practiced is just a blind sort of groping and hoping. Osmotic Liberation, on the other hand, is an exact and opposite physico-chemical science. Here—I will show you."

Into the outer cell of the Liberator he emptied the purple vial, and so on to the innermost, which he filled with a golden-green liquid like old Chartreuse.

"The separating membranes, you understand, are permeable by these complicated solutions. Each liquid has a different osmotic pressure and therefore should, under normal conditions, interchange with the others through the membranes until all pressures are equalized. I prevent such interchange, however, by maintaining an anti-electrolysis which retards ionization and thus builds up what might be called osmotic potential.

"Now if an Agent—yourself for instance—submerges himself in the central cell, at the same time maintaining a physical contact with his Control at the surface of the liquid, and if then the osmotic potential is suddenly released by throwing the electrolytic switch, the host of ions thus turned loose in the outer compartments make one grand rush for the center solution, which contains the cathode.

"Under these conditions your body becomes a sort of sixth cell, and your skin another membrane in the series. Properly speaking, however, you are not a part of the electrolytic circuit but are merely present in the action. Your body acts as a catalyser, hastening the chemical action without itself being affected in any way. Physically you undergo no change whatever; but in some strange way which is, like life, beyond analysis, your mind flows out into the solution, while your unaltered body remains at the bottom of the tank in a state of suspended animation.

"If no Control is present, all that is needed to return your mind into your body is a throw of the electrolytic switch back to negative, whereupon you emerge from the tank exactly as you entered it. But with your Control present and in contact with your submerged body, your mind, instead of remaining suspended in the solution, flows instantly into his body and resides there subject to his will.

"This can not be done, however, unless the wills of Control and Agent have first been brought into accord. To accomplish that, we clasp hands"—Quest grasped Clason's extended hand—"and look steadily into each other's eyes.

"Now, it is well known that the vibrations of an individual's will are as distinctive as the sworls of his finger-prints. What is not so well known is that the frequency of vibration in one person can be brought into accord with that in another.

"You consciously retract your will by concentrating your mind upon the thing which you know I wish to accomplish. Gradually while we continue in this position your vibrations speed up or slow down until they acquire exactly the same frequency as my own. We are then in accord, and when your mind is liberated in the tank it is in a state which admits absorption into my body. And it is subject to my will because you have purposely attuned it to my peculiar frequency. Immediately after the transfer there will be a brief conflict, due to the instinctive desire of your will to obtain the ascendancy. But of course mine will gain the upper hand at once, since both wills will be in my frequency."

Quest felt, rather than saw, a wall of alarm closing in on him. He tried to avert his eyes, to withdraw his hand from Clason's grasp. With a nostalgic pang in the pit of his stomach he suddenly realized that he could not do so. He had gone too far—farther than any man in his position had a right to go. Having deliberately weakened his will, it seemed now to have deserted him entirely. A prickling sensation coursed up his spine, his extended arm went numb, his hand trembled violently.

"Splendid!" said Clason, suddenly releasing both eye and hand. "Just as I foresaw, you will be able to attune yourself to my vibration-frequency with hardly an effort. Now please remain seated; I'll be back in a moment."

For a second after the door closed, Quest remained slumped in his chair. Then he was on his feet, shaking himself like a wet dog to free himself from the spell under which he had fallen. Something about Clason attracted and at the same time repelled him, fraying his nerves like an irritant drug and confusing his mind at the moment when he needed the full alertness of every faculty.

Invisible light—disembodied minds—will vibrations! Nothing there to get hold of. Were these things real or imaginary? Was Keane Clason a great inventor, or a madman? Would Philip prove to be a real or an imaginary scoundrel? Should he summon help, or go on alone?

Professional pride said: wait, don't be an alarmist! With his knuckles Quest tapped the table, half expecting it to melt under his fingers. The feeling and sound of the contact gave him a peculiar start. On the farther end of the table stood a letter-box—an invitation. From his pocket Quest snatched a slip of paper, and wrote:

6 stroke 4—9:45A—Hired. If no report in 48 hours, clamp down hard.

To address a stamped envelope and slip it in with the outgoing mail was the work of seconds. But he was none too quick. He had just dropped back into a lounging attitude when the door burst open and Clason flew into the room?

"We must act instantly," hissed the inventor. "Philip plans to close the transaction within a day."

In spite of himself, Quest jumped upright in his chair. Clason tapped him on the shoulder reassuringly.

"It's all right," he smiled, "I'm ready for him. We'll make our move this afternoon and beat him by eighteen hours.

"Let's see." He paused. "Oh! yes. I was about to explain to you that as soon as the will of the Agent enters the body of his Control, the latter can again transfer it into the body of still another person.

"Now you understand why I advertised for a man of exceptional character? As my Agent, I want you to enter the body of Philip, and your will must be strong enough to conquer his in the battle for mastery which will begin the instant you intrude into his body. You will still be under my control, but your will must be strong enough on its own merits to overcome his. I can direct you, but your strength must be your own. That's clear, isn't it?"

"I think so," said Quest slowly. "But what becomes of me after you have frustrated Philip's plot?"

"That's the easy part of the process," smiled Clason; "but naturally you feel some anxiety about it. I simply withdraw your will from Philip, return it to your own body, and pay you a reward of ten thousand dollars."

"You're sure you can?"

"Perfectly. I have merely to touch Philip's hand to recapture your will. Then I immerse myself in the tank with the switch at plus. The osmotic action will extract both wills momentarily from my body. But the presence of two bodies and two wills in the solution together forces a balance, and each will seeks out and enters its own body. Then you and I climb out of the tank exactly as we are this minute."

"If it weren't for my belief that anything is possible," Quest shook his head, "I'd say that your claims for this invention were ridiculous."

"And you couldn't be blamed," admitted Clason readily. "This toy of a model is hardly convincing. But come along with me and I'll show you how the Liberator looks in actual operation."

The office rug concealed a trap door which gave upon a spiral stair. Below, Clason unlocked another door and led the way through a narrow and tremendously long passage lighted at intervals by small electric bulbs. Presently another door yielded to the inventor's deft touch and closed behind them with a portentous chug. Here the darkness was so utter and intense that Quest imagined he could feel the weight of it on his shoulders. From the slope of the passageway and the muffled beat of machinery that had come to his ears on the way along, he guessed that he was below ground in some chamber at the rear of the factory.

He gave a low exclamation as Clason switched on the toplight. No wonder the darkness had seemed of almost supernatural quality! Even the hard white glare of the daylight arc was grisly. Its rays rebounded from the liquids of the great circular tank in a blinding dazzle of color, while the dull black walls and ceiling were so perfectly absorptive that beyond arm's length they became to all effects invisible. Even the ledge on which he stood—the shoulder of the vat—gave Quest the feeling that to move would be to step off into a bottomless pit.

But Clason took his attention at once, pointing here and there in his quick, nervous way to indicate how faithfully the Liberator had been reproduced from the model. In all respects the arrangements were the same, with the addition that here a long plank like a spring-board extended out from a wall-mount as far as the central compartment of the tank, and that from its end a narrow ladder hung down to the surface of the Chartreuse liquid. A double-throw switch fixed to the wall above the base of the plank was evidently the source of electrolytic control.

"When you throw the switch to plus," said Clason, pointing to the chalk-marked sign above, "you produce the violent electrolytic action needed to bring about a liberation. All the rest of the time it should be closed at minus, in order to maintain the anti-action which I explained to you.

"Now let's rehearse, so that when the time for the real performance arrives we can be sure of running it off without a hitch."

"All right, sir," nodded Quest, so dazed by the glittering light that he was hardly conscious of what he said.

"First," said Clason, running lightly up the steps to the plank, "you walk out to the end, like this, and start down the ladder. Then you lower yourself into the tank. The liquid is at body temperature; it's neither strongly acid nor caustic; it will cause you no injury or discomfort whatever.

"Meanwhile I keep in contact with your hand until the instant that you become submerged. Now your mind is in me, see?—ready for transfer into Philip, where it will act as my Agent. That's how simple it is! Come on up and we'll go through the motions."

Quest experienced a shiver as he mounted the bridge. Annoyed with himself, he shrugged the feeling off. There was no risk here. Moreover, it was a part of his daily work to take chances; he had done so a hundred times without hesitation. Now he moved all the more quickly, as if to belie the squeamishness that possessed him in spite of himself.

Swinging past Clason on the plank, he lowered himself without a pause to the bottom rung of the ladder, while the inventor, hanging head down, maintained contact with him.

"No need to stay here," he said in sudden irritation. "I understand perfectly what I am to do."

"I'm testing my own acrobatic ability," grunted Clason amiably. "Just a minute now."

He wriggled as if trying to adjust himself to a better balance, but in reality to mask the motion of his free hand with which he reached up and pressed a button in the side of the plank. Instantly the structure, pivoting downward on its wall-socket, plunged Quest to his waist in the osmotic solution.

"For God's sake get out of the way!" he shouted, trying to wrench his hand out of Clason's sinewy grip. "Let go, I tell you!"

But Clason clung like a leech, his teeth gritted under the strain. Again the plank lurched downward, and with a violent splash Quest vanished below the surface.

Quick as a cat, Clason scrambled up the ladder and back to the base of the plank, where he erased and interchanged the chalk-marked signs with which he had misled Quest. Then with a sinister twist of a smile he threw the switch to minus, and turned to watch as the plank slowly righted itself and the vacant ladder came clear of the liquid.

For some time he stood staring at the gleaming colored rings of his dissociation-vat like some witch over her cauldron, his lips working, his hands clasping and unclasping like the tentacles of some sub-sea monster. Then, as if the spell had suddenly broken, he turned on his heel and switched off the light. As he hastened down the passageway toward his office, the airlock sucked the door against its jamb with an ominous whistle.

In a twinkling, as Quest's shackled spirit writhed in its new housing, he knew that he was in bondage to a scoundrel. Formless and voiceless, he still fought madly for the freedom which the instinct of ten thousand generations made necessary to him.

At the same time he was furious at himself for having been tricked like an innocent schoolboy. The plank socket, the button which had tripped the supporting spring, the fake rehearsal, the tuning of his will to that of Clason—step by step the whole cunning scheme unfolded itself to him now.

But what could be the purpose behind this villainy? Only one answer seemed possible. Keane must be the one bent on selling the Death Projector, Philip the one who wished to frustrate the fiendish transaction! And Quest of the Secret Service—he was to be the tool to force the sale.

With the soundless scream of rage Quest's will hurled itself against Keane's. The two met like infuriated bulls, and for an instant too brief to be pictured as a lapse of time they poised immovable. But two wills can not exist on equal terms in a single body, and in this case the vibration of both was that of Clason. Quest had challenged the Master Will. He could do no more. It hurled him back, crushed him like foam, compressed him to the proportions of an atom in the background of his consciousness. So brief and unequal was the conflict that in the next breath Clason had all but forgotten the presence of the stolen will within him. When he was ready to use his Agent, that would be time enough to summon him!

Despite this suppression, Quest began to see dimly through strange eyes, and to hear vaguely with ears that were not his own. Feelers, tentacles, some intangible kind of conduits carried thought impulses to him from the Master Will. He received these impressions vividly, but those which he gave off in return were so weak, due to the subjection of his will, that Clason was entirely unconscious of any response. Quest was not enough of a scientist to be astonished at the ability of a disembodied mind to experience sense impressions in the body of another. He was only glad that the darkness and silence were growing less. Very, very slowly he was awakening to a new kind of consciousness—the consciousness of another person's Self. He hated and loathed that Self, yet it was better than the awful blankness that had gone before.

Suddenly, as light grew brighter and sound more clear and definite, a new element entered—the element of hope. At first it was feeble: its only suggestion was that sometime, somehow, he might escape this prison. But it was like water to a parched plant. It caused his will to expand, to extend its feelers, to press up a little more bravely against the crushing pile of the Master Will.

Now another surprise sprang upon him. He was moving! That is, Clason's body was moving in some kind of a conveyance, which was threading its way through crowded streets. Stores, buildings, buses, people—Quest remembered them all distantly as things he had known thousands of years ago. The driver turned his head, and his profile seemed vaguely familiar.

Now a rush of foreign thoughts drowned out his own. They were a sort of overflow from the mind of Clason. They thronged along the conduits that bound the two wills together, but only Quest was conscious of the movement.

Keane's mind was on his brother Philip: that much was particularly clear. And there was something about a telephone call. Yes, Keane had telephoned to the police, disguising his voice, refusing to divulge his name. He had said that a man by the name of Philip Clason was in trouble and had told them where to find him. Then the police had telephoned the factory, and Keane had pretended astonishment and alarm at the news. That's why he was here now—he was on the way to confer with the police. And he was chuckling—chuckling because he had fooled Quest and the police, and because now the hundred million dollars was almost in his grasp.

Cutting in close, the car turned a corner and drew up before one of a row of loft buildings in a section of the city which Quest failed to recognize. As Clason stepped to the sidewalk, Quest was more painfully aware than ever of his powerlessness to influence by so much as the twitch of a muscle the behavior of this hostile body in which he had permitted himself to be trapped. In his weakness he felt himself shrinking, contracting almost to nothingness under the careless pressure of the Master Will.

Clason glanced casually at his watch, and three men converged toward him from as many directions. There was nothing to distinguish them from anyone else in the street, but along the conduits it came to Quest that they were detectives and that they were there by appointment with Keane Clason.

"What floor?" asked the latter, with an excitement which Quest felt instantly was pure pretense. "Are you sure they haven't spirited him away?"

"Don't worry," replied the leader of the detectives. "The alley and roof are covered. We'll take care of the rest ourselves."

On tiptoe they climbed three long flights of stairs in the half-light. Clason held back as if in fear. He was a good actor, and Quest felt the shrinking and hesitation of his body as he crouched and slunk along in the wake of the detectives, pretending terror at what was about to happen, though he knew—and Quest knew he knew—that there would be no resistance up there—that Philip would be found alone exactly as he had been left by Keane's hired thugs.

On the top landing Burke, the leader, paused to count the doors from front to rear.

"This is it," he whispered to the bull-necked fellow just behind him.

The other nodded, and crouched back against the opposite wall while his companions placed themselves in position to cross-fire into the room the moment the door gave way.

Quest longed for the power to kick his hypocrite of a master as he still held back, cowering on the stairs, playing his fake to the limit. Then the door flew in with a splintering shriek under the charge of the human battering ram, and across it hurtled the other two detectives in a cloud of ancient dust.

"Here he is!" someone shouted.

"Phil! Phil!" Keane Clason's voice fairly quavered with sham emotion as he ran into the room and threw himself at a man tightly bound to an upholstered chair, which in turn was wedged in among other articles of stored furniture.

But Philip was too securely gagged to reply, and as Burke slashed the ropes from across his chest he dropped forward in a state of collapse. Stretched on a couch, he soon gave signs of response as a brisk massage began to restore the circulation to his cramped limbs. Suddenly he sat up and thrust his rescuers aside.

"What time is it?" he demanded with an air of alarm.

"One o'clock," replied Keane before anyone else could answer, patting his brother affectionately on the shoulder while within him Quest writhed with indignation. "By Jove! Phil, it's wonderful that we got to you in time. Really, how—you're not injured?"

"No," grunted Philip, "just lamed up. I'll be as fit as ever by to-morrow."

"If you feel equal to it," suggested Burke, "I wish you'd tell me briefly how you arrived here. Do you know the motive behind this affair? Did you recognize any of the body-snatchers?"

Philip frowned and shook his head.

"Yesterday noon," he said slowly, "I took the eight-passenger Airline Express to Cleveland on business. There were three other passengers in the cabin—two men and a woman. Right away I got out a correspondence file and was running over some letters. The next thing I knew I was approaching the ground in the strangest state of mind I ever experienced. My head was splitting, and everything looked unreal to me. Seemed as if I was coming down on some new planet."

"You mean the ship was gliding down to land?"

"No, no. I was dangling from a parachute.... By the way, where am I now?"

"In a Munson Avenue loft."

"In Chicago?"

Burke nodded.

"I guessed as much," frowned Philip. "You see, I came down in a field, and then before I could free myself from my trappings I was pounced on—trussed up and blindfolded—by a gang of men. I knew they had taken me a long distance by automobile, but I saw nothing more until they tore the blindfold from my eyes when they left me here."

"And they were all strangers to you?"

"Yes—those that I saw."

"Isn't this enough for just now, Burke?" interrupted Keane, and Quest received an impression of uneasiness that was not apparent in the inventor's tone. "After a good rest he's sure to recall things that escape him now."

"Just one minute," nodded the detective, turning back to Philip. "Can you think of no plausible reason for this attack? Is there no one who might possibly benefit by putting you temporarily out of the way?"

Philip gave a frightened start. Then he was on his feet, clutching at his brother's arm.

"Keane!" he pleaded, "Keane! What's happened? I know, I know! It's the Projector."

"Water!" roared Keane, and Quest felt the panic that coursed through him as he tried to drown out his brother. "Somebody bring water! He needs it!"

At the same time he snatched up Philip's hand in a grip of steel. Instantly the latter's wild eyes became calm, the flush passed from his relaxing face, and he slumped down weakly on the couch.

In that fleeting moment Quest surged into the body of Philip and confronted his will with a fierce and triumphant ardor. For now his will would have command of a body with which to fight his fiend of a Control.

With a sensation of contempt he met Philip's resistance and buffeted him ruthlessly backward, crushed down and compressed his feebly struggling will. And as Philip yielded, Quest felt his own will expanding to normal, taking possession of the borrowed body with hungry greed, and flashing from its faded eyes the spark of youth.

Burke stared in amazement at the kaleidoscopic rapidity of the changes in the rescued man's expression. Strange lights and shadows continued to flit across Philip's face as Quest's invasion of him proceeded, but with a diminishing frequency which soon assured Keane that his Agent was tightening his command.

The younger of Burke's aides stood fascinated, his mouth agape. The other spoke guardedly to his superior:

"Dope, eh!"

"Nah!" replied Burke, shrugging himself out of his trance. "Shock."

The actual duration of the conflict in Philip was something less than three seconds. It would have been more brief if Quest had exerted himself to the utmost. But his sensations as he first surged into this new habitat under Keane's propulsion were so weird and unearthly that for the moment he was lost in the wonder of the experience. For that short time, therefore, Philip was able to fight back against the onrush of the invading will.

In the next second Quest became conscious of the resistance. Urged on by his Control, he must push Philip back and quell him; but his sympathy for his opponent and his hatred of Keane roused him to sudden revolt. He wanted to disobey the Master Will, retreat, leave Philip in command of himself. But he could only go on, unwillingly thrusting back Philip's will despite the indescribable torment and confusion in his own. Then, with the feeling that he was ten times worse than the most inhuman ghoul, he took full possession of his borrowed body.

"I'll take him home now," said Keane composedly to Burke. "As you see, he needs a little extra sleep. Meanwhile, if you have any occasion to call me, I will be at the factory."

To the youthful mind of the Agent, used to the lightness of an athletic physique, the body in which it moved down the stairs to the limousine seemed strangely heavy and awkward.

"I'm badly done up, Keane," he said with Philip's lips as the car got under way.

"Bah!" snorted Keane, "you've had a scare, that's all. Go to bed when you get home and sleep till nine this evening. At ten a man named Dr. Nukharin will call for you. He will drive you to a garage, leave the car, and transfer to another one a few blocks away.

"Out near Marbleton you will find an airplane staked in an open field. Nukharin is a capable pilot. He will fly back southeast along the lakeshore to the meeting place. You should arrive about twelve-thirty. The test is set for one o'clock."

Quest listened in a state of abject rage. Lacking the power to resist his Control, he could only boil away in Philip's body like a wild creature hemmed in by bars of steel.

"Bring with you," continued Keane venomously, "the set of papers that you took from the safe in my office. Hold the other set in readiness to deliver to Nukharin to-morrow, after he has studied the results of the test and has notified Paris to release a hundred million dollars in cash for delivery at your Loop office at 3 p. m."

The murderous greed of the man maddened Quest. He tried to revolt, his will squirming like a physical thing, threshing the ether like a wounded shark in the sea. For a moment he felt that he was about to burst the bonds that his demon of a Control had woven around him. So violently did he resist that the immured and sporelike will of Philip forged up fitfully out of the blackness and joined his in the hopeless struggle. But along the attenuated conduits that still chained Quest to the Master Will Keane caught the impulse of the mutiny, and his eyes darted flame as he countered with a will-shock that paralyzed his unruly Agent.

"Listen! you whimpering dog," he snarled. "Think as I tell you—and nothing more! You are going to apologize to Dr. Nukharin for your previous unwillingness to sell the Projector. You are going to tell him that I am at fault—that I held out—but that you found a way to force my compliance. You understand?"

Quest could find no words. With Philip's head he nodded meekly. Just then the car stopped and the chauffeur threw open the door.

Dr. Nukharin flew high despite the masses of cumulus cloud which frequently reduced visibility to zero. He had merely to follow the rim of the lake to his destination, and an occasional glimpse of the water was sufficient to hold him on his course.

In the back seat hunched Philip, his body crumbling under the weight of Quest's despair. For hours the latter had gone on vaguely, hoping somehow to thwart this horrible transaction that was rushing the world to its doom, thinking he might grow strong enough to wrench himself free and so liberate Philip from the dominance of his conscienceless brother. Even though such a move should leave his own will forever separate from his body, he was ready and anxious to make the sacrifice.

Suddenly the crash of the motor ceased and Nukharin banked the ship up in a spiral glide. Quest had never been in the air before, and the long whirl down into the darkness on this devil's errand was to him as eery as a ride to perdition in a white-hot projectile.

His mind seemed to trail out in a great nebular helix behind the descending ship. He felt that he had suddenly crossed some cosmic meridian into a new plane of existence, where he was changed to a gas, yet continued capable of thought. But even here his obsession remained the same. Keane Clason—trickster, traitor, arch-criminal—must be destroyed!

"I'll get him!" vowed Quest in words that were no less real for being soundless. "I'll trail him to the end of space and bring him to account!"

Then wheels touched earth and the cold, bare facts of his destiny rushed in on him with redoubled force. He felt the nearness of his Control seconds before he perceived him through the eyes of Philip. With a sensation like a stab he realized that now he must speak, play his part, be any bloodless hypocrite that Keane Clason chose to make him. The silent order surged down the conduits promptly enough; he responded as an automaton obeys the pressure of a button.

"Well, Doctor," chuckled Philip with a cunning leer, "here's the magic tower, just as I promised you. We'll run it up in a jiffy. This test is going to be so vivid and conclusive that not even a hard-headed skeptic like you can raise a question."

"You misunderstand me," returned Nukharin in an injured tone. "So far as I am concerned this procedure is only a formality, but it is none the less necessary. Suppose that I should spend a hundred million of my government's money and the purchase prove worthless? You may guess that my folly would cost me dear."

Keane Clason was waiting on the platform of a giant truck, the motor of which was idling. All the apparatus was in readiness except that the three demountable sections of the tower had yet to be run up into position.

"One of the beauties of the D. P.," said Philip gleefully to the Doctor, while Keane smiled slyly to himself, "is that this pint-size dynamo provides all the current needed for the test. We pick the power for our radio right out of the air by means of a wave trap and mensurator invented by this bright little brother of mine," and he clapped Keane patronizingly on the back.

"Yes, ah—Dr. Nukharin," ventured Keane timidly, and at that moment Quest experienced the raging red hatred that causes men to murder. "Philip has promised me that you will employ this device only as a threat to hold the ambitions of the larger powers in check."

"Of course, of course!" replied the Doctor heartily. "But now let's have the test. Even at night I'm not too fond of these open-air performances."

The height of the tower as they ran the upper sections into place was forty feet. When all connections had been inspected, first by Keane, then by Philip, the former led Nukharin aloft.

As the climax of his plot approached, Keane's excitement bordered on a cataleptic state, hints of which came confusedly through the conduits to Quest. With a peculiar satisfaction he felt that Keane was suffering. The inventor's jaws became rigid, as though his blood had changed to liquid air and frozen him, and he had difficulty in controlling the movements of his arms.

Now he was afraid! Genuinely afraid, this time. Quest caught the impulse too clearly to doubt its meaning. This was no sham! Keane was doubting his own machine, fearing that in the crisis some element in the finely calculated mechanism might fail to operate, thus cheating him of the blood-money on which his heart was set. Then he was speaking, and even Nukharin noticed the tremor in his voice:

"These nine tubes, which look like a row of gun barrels, are molded from silicon paste. Each shoots a beam of invisible light and a radio dart of precisely the same wave length. The destructive effect depends chiefly upon this exactness of synchronization."

"A question occurs to me," said the Doctor: "will others be able to manipulate the machine as successfully as you can?"

"It's fool-proof," chattered Keane, almost losing control of his voice, "absolutely fool-proof. Surely you have scientists in your country who can follow written directions! Nothing more is necessary."

"Very well," shrugged Nukharin. "I only want to be sure that no unforeseen difficulties may arise in an emergency."

"See this range-setter?" continued Keane. "The thread on the vertical shaft enables us not only to limit the range by angling the beams into the ground, but it can also be disengaged and the Projector revolved in a flat circle for maximum ranges."

"And is there no danger of the machine going wrong—of destroying itself and us?" suggested Nukharin.

"None whatever, Doctor. There is no explosive force and no great electrical voltage involved. As long as we stand back of the muzzles we have nothing to fear.

"Now look. I have set the micrometer at three hundred yards, which will just about cover the stretch between ourselves and the lake. I will cut a swath for you—and every bush, every blade of grass, every insect in this swath will be withered to ash in the twinkling of an eye. The destruction will be absolute."

"Please proceed," said Nukharin grimly.

Keane pulled a lever in its slot, then pressed it down into its lock as his projection battery swung lakeward at the desired angle. Then with one hand poised on another lever, he pressed an electric button.

At the controls below, a bulb flashed on and off. The signal was superfluous, for already Quest had received his silent command from the Master Will. An icy dread fastened on him. He must obey the unspoken command; he had no will of his own with which to resist. The test would be a success; the Projector would be sold; the world would be turned into a shambles. And he, Owen Quest, would be the destroyer, the murderer, the weak fool who made this horror possible.

All this flashed through the Agent's mind in the fraction of a second that it took him to extend Philip's hand, close the switch of the dynamo, and snap on the alternating lights in the housing over the tellurium filter.

For an interminable five seconds he waited, in a ferment of revolt which the paralysis of his will made it impossible to put into action. Then again the command pulsed within him, the signal bulb flashed, and he reversed his motions of the moment before.

Cold sweat cascaded down Philip's face as Quest felt the ladder vibrating under descending feet. He longed for the power to hurl Keane Clason to the ground and turn the Projector upon him. But with an awful irony the Master Will forced him to his feet, and to speak in a tone that withered the manhood within him.

"Come," said Philip in a triumphant tone to Nukharin, "and I will show you that Clason inventions perform as well as they sound."

Flashlight in hand, he started toward the lake with Nukharin and his brother close behind him. Twenty paces, and the long meadow grass suddenly vanished from beneath their feet.

"See that!" whispered Philip excitedly, waving the light from side to side to show the forty-foot swath that stretched away before them. "Not a trace of life left, not a blade of grass—nothing but dust!"

The only response was a gurgling sound that issued from Nukharin's throat.

"Look!" Quest formed the word with Philip's lips under the urge of the Master Will. "Here was a tall bush. What do you see now? Just a teaspoonful of ash. When you examine the remains by daylight, you will find that even the root has disintegrated to a depth of two feet."

"Enough of this," croaked Nukharin in horror. "The deal is closed."

His face was convulsed with fear. Without another word he whirled about and fled toward his airplane. Philip gave a start as if to follow.

"Halt! you slob," growled Keane, whose composure had returned with the successful outcome of the test. "I have use for your company, even though you are as great a coward as our Slavic friend."

Coward! The epithet stung Quest like a flaming goad. One of the fine, intangible lines that bound him under the will of Keane Clason severed, and his own will exploded into action like a thunderbolt. With startling agility he whirled Philip about, the flashlight clubbed in his hand. But Keane was quicker still. A clip on the wrist sent the weapon flying. Then Philip reeled backward from a kick in the stomach, and his clutching hands beat the air as he sank unconscious in the dust.

With a violent tug, Quest lifted Philip's body to a sitting posture. The phone was ringing, and by the pull on the will-fibers he knew that Keane was at the other end of the wire. Philip's body was failing under the strain of the part it was forced to play, and the blow of the night before had further weakened it. Now he sat rocking his head painfully between his hands. But Quest lifted him to his feet by sheer will, and he staggered across the room.

"Hello!", he said in a hoarse voice.

"Get the hell out here to the factory!" rasped Keane, and the crash of the receiver emphasized the command.

It was one o'clock as Philip whirled his sedan into Olmstead Avenue. At three, reflected Quest as the car scorched over the pavements, he must be at the downtown office to deliver the papers and receive the money.

Then he was face to face with Keane, reeling dizzily at the hatred that blazed from the latter's accusing eyes.

"Double-crossed me, eh!" The voice was a low snarl, and as he spoke Keane thumped the extra outspread on his desk. "But you're not going to get away with it—neither of you!"

Dismay, hope, dread, wonder robbed Quest of the power to speak. But he whirled around behind the desk with such unexpected violence that Keane staggered back in alarm. Then he was devouring the screaming headlines of the newspaper. Three seconds, like a slow exposure, and every word of the Record's great scoop was etched upon his mind as if with caustic:

DOOM LAUNCH ADRIFT ON LAKE

Physician Baffled by Condition of Five Bodies Found in Craft

Blighted Area on Shore Said to Have Bearing on Tragedy

THAW HARBOR, IND., June 6.—Five Chicago sportsmen, most of them prominent in business and society, perished in the early hours this morning while returning in the launch of A. Gaston Andrews from a weekend camping party near Hook Spit on the Michigan shore.

The boat was towed into this port at daybreak by the Interlake Tug Mordecai after being found adrift less than a mile off shore. According to Captain Goff of the Mordecai the death craft carried no lights and he barely avoided running her down. The weather along the Indiana shore was perfect throughout the night and there is nothing to indicate that the launch was in trouble at any time. The bodies are unmarked, and this little community is agog with rumors ranging all the way from murder and suicide to the supernatural.

Dr. J. M. Addis of Thaw Harbor, the first physician to examine the bodies, says that they appear to have suffered some violent electro-chemical action the nature of which cannot be determined at the moment. This statement is considered significant in view of the reported discovery ashore of a large blighted area almost directly opposite the point where the launch was found. Joseph Sleichert, a farmer who lives in that vicinity, reports that this patch of ground extending back from the lakeshore was completely stripped of vegetation overnight. He ascribes the damage to some unknown insect pest. Others say that the condition of the ground indicates that it has been burned at incinerator temperatures. Nothing is left of the soil but a blue powder.

Philip faced his brother with eyes that were dull with agony.

"You have made me a murderer!" Quest forced out the words in painful gasps.

But Keane snapped back at him like a rabid dog.

"You did it—you did it yourself! You tampered with the Projector. You tried to spoil the test. You changed the range. You tried to kill me, and instead you killed these others. And you're going to pay—both of you. You hear me?—you're going to pay!"

His voice mounted the scale to a scream. It was a wail of unreasoning terror, of the dread of exposure, of the fear that he would fail to collect the fortune now so nearly in his grasp. The accident that had jarred his well-laid plans had unnerved him.

Frantically Quest strove to answer him, to explain his utter subjection, as Agent, to say that if he had possessed the will to oppose or trick him he would have turned him over to the police, or might even have killed him, at the very outset. But in his frenzy, Keane had so tightened his control that Quest was speechless. Now he tried to substitute gesture for words, but Philip was rooted to the spot like a statue; even his hands were immovable.

He might have remained in this state indefinitely had not Keane's fears withdrawn his mind from his immediate surroundings. Momentarily he forgot Quest, Philip—everything but himself and his predicament. And in the instant that his vigilance relaxed, Quest's enslaved will experienced a sudden lease of strength and hope. Independently of his Control, he found that he could move Philip's hand, could take a faltering step.

But now, what to do? How might he fan this feeble spark of volition to sufficient strength for decisive resistance? The idea came to him: if only he could place distance between himself and Keane, perhaps with one titanic effort he might launch himself against the Master Will, take him by surprise, crush him down, and reverse him to the status of Agent instead of Control.

With infinite effort Quest forced Philip's body step by step across the room. He must reach that window, get a signal of distress to someone in the street.

But Keane began to sense a mutiny. He followed. He crossed the floor with slinking, tigerish steps and snaking body. His wet lips writhed back over his teeth, and his contorted features wove the leer of the abyss. Now as his Control drew physically near, Quest felt his mite of strength ebbing fast. Slowly Keane reached up with his clawed fingers and grasped his Agent by the arm.

"Remember!" he hissed, "if these deaths are traced to us, you break down—you confess—you take the blame—you paint me lily white—you describe the cowardly means by which you moulded me to your will—you plead only for a quick trial and the full penalty of the law. You understand?"

Quest made no reply, but he understood all too well the hideous intention of his betrayer. What a fool he had been to imagine that Keane Clason would ever restore him to his body! Philip to the chair, Quest a homeless spirit wandering in space, and for the body at the bottom of the tank, the brief regrets of the Department!

A sudden rushing sound filled the air with a sense of action and alarm.

Two—three—four speeding automobiles swung in recklessly to the curb and shrieked to a standstill under smoking brakes. Men leaped out and deployed on the run to surround the factory. Keane darted to the door and twisted the key.

"Come on!" he spat at Philip as he snatched back the rug and threw open the trap door.

The command galvanized Quest to action. In two bounds he had Philip on the stairs. A heavy impact rattled the office door just as he dropped the trap into place over his head. Then, infected with Keane's panic, he was running down the passageway like mad.

Inside the tank chamber the brilliantly colored rings of liquid flashed back the rays of the arclight. Half crazed with anxiety, Keane danced on the black ledge like a monkey on a griddle. His face was ashen, drool ran from his twisted mouth, his eyes were two black pools of terror.

Again Quest experienced the peculiar sensation which came with the slackening of control. New hope sprang up in his agonized being as heavy blows boomed against the air-locked door. Great waves of fear poured along the conduits, betraying to the Agent the state of mind of his Control. Now what would Keane do? What could he do? Why, of all places, had he fled down into this blind burrow?

Thud, thud! Then came a series of sharp reports. Outside, they were trying to shoot away the deep-sunk disk hinges.

Still the door stood fast, but the fury of the assault on it whipped the faltering Keane to action. In a bound he was on the platform. With a lightning hand he threw the switch to plus, starting electrolytic action in the tank. Then he pressed a button concealed under the edge of the switch-mount and a panel slid silently aside in the wall, revealing a narrow outlet.

To Quest everything went a flaming red. He might have known that this fox would have something in reserve—a way of escape when danger threatened!

But his Control gave him no time for independent thought. He forced Quest to turn Philip's eyes up to his own. Without disconnecting that grip of his glittering eyes, Keane leaped back to the ledge. Quest felt the silent order:

"Get up on that plank! Dive into the tank! Get back into your own body, let Philip have his! Then come up—the two of you—and face the music. For I'll be gone, and your story will sound like the ravings of a maniac."

Quest took an obedient step toward the platform. But at the same instant a tremendous crash shivered the door. It seemed to unnerve Keane Clason. With a gasp he sank down upon the steps, his body doubled in pain, his hand clutching at his heart. Another crash followed, and he shuddered and cried out.

Instantly Quest felt an expansion of the will. Keane's sudden physical weakness had loosened his control. Philip's lips worked painfully as Quest forced him to pause, to disobey the command of the Master Will. In a spasm of will he fought to wrench himself free from the countless clinging tentacles of his Control. In great surges, Quest's reviving volition pounded against the walls of his borrowed body. Now he sought to force this sluggish body back to the wall, so that he might release the airlock and spring the door. But Philip seemed to ossify, every cord and muscle of his body frozen to stone by the conflict that raged within him.

Braced against the wall, Keane was rising slowly to his feet. His seizure was easing, and so he was able to exert a better pressure upon his rebellious Agent.

"Come!" he gasped, realizing that he lacked the strength to escape alone and must therefore change his plan. "Lift me—quick! Carry me out! Slide the panel back into place. We will escape together!"

The spoken command turned the balance against Quest. His will yielded to the master. At the same instant Philip's body relaxed like an object relieved of a great excess of electrical potential. Suddenly strong and supple, he lifted the trembling Keane and tossed him across his shoulder.

For a moment there had been a lull in the assault on the door. Now the battering resumed with a fury that jarred the whole chamber and sent ripples dancing across the varicolored liquids in the osmotic tank.

"Quick!" gasped Keane. "Move! I say. Carry me out."

But he was in a fainting condition. Crash after crash rocked the chamber, and with every blow Quest's will felt a stimulation that enabled him to stand off the commands of his Control. Then a wave of nausea swept over him and left him reeling. It seemed that Philip's blood had turned to boiling oil. A dazzling mist swallowed him up, and with a weird sense of inflation he felt full strength returning to his will.

A booming blow that bulged the door inward acted upon him like a stage player's cue. He leaped to the platform. The gurgling sound of remonstrance rattled from Keane's throat. But Quest paid no heed. Philip was walking the plank—away from the open panel—out over the tank.

Rapidly he dropped down the ladder to the bottom rung, snatched Keane's wrist in a gorillalike grip, and hurled him down into the vat.

Then Philip was clinging desperately to the ladder, his strength gone, his body shivering as if with ague.

"Go on up!" came a strange, impatient voice from below him. "For heaven's sake let me out of here!"

A downward glance, and with a shout of alarm Philip was scrambling up the ladder, for there was a head down there, and a pair of naked shoulders, and the face of a man he had never seen before. Hand over hand Quest followed. Philip had collapsed and lay prone on the plank. Quest lifted him to his feet and shook him anxiously.

"Philip!" he urged. "Philip! Can you walk?"

The tattoo on the battered door helped to revive the older man.

"Quick!" whispered Quest, kneading Philip's arms. "There's barely an hour left. Get to your office. Burn the papers. Refuse the money. Do you hear me?"

Philip nodded dazedly.

"Hurry!" puffed Quest, thrusting him through the opening that Keane had reserved for his own escape, and sliding the panel back into place.

Quest was himself now—young, strong, free. Instantly he threw the electrolytic switch to minus. For Keane had failed to emerge from the tank, and since he was submerged alone, he could not escape until electrolysis was halted.

Just as Quest leaped from the platform to release the airlock, the door burst in and three men with drawn guns rushed into the chamber.

The leader stopped with a startled oath and stood blinking his unbelieving eyes. Quest was poised like a statue, his naked body gleaming an unearthly white against the lusterless black of the wall.

"Quest," came from the three in chorus. Then a rush of questions: "What's the matter? What's happened to you? Where are the Clasons?"

Quest turned toward the platform, expecting to see Keane.

"Something's wrong!" he shouted. "Quick! Somebody get Philip. He's gone to his Loop office. Keane Clason's at the bottom of this tank. I'm not sure how this thing works, but Philip can get him out! I'm sure of it!"

Despite the confident predictions of both Quest and Philip Clason, osmotic association failed to restore Keane to life, and at last the coroner ordered the removal of the body. The autopsy revealed heart disease as the cause of his death.

For reasons best understood at Washington, the cause of the five launch deaths was withheld from the public. Quest's punishment for his part in the crime consisted of a promotion and a warm personal letter from the President of the United States.

[historyhermann]

Miss Hatchet, Kim Possible, the complexity of library classification, and technocratic libraries

Ms. Hatchett tells Kim that she has an overdue library book

Recently, I began watching Kim Possible for the first time, apart from one episode: "Overdue." I watched it before I began the series. When I first conceived this post, I thought that I would somehow change my opinion of Miss Hatchet. Long-time readers may recall I previously described her as a person who "rules the school library like a tyrant...[with] her own form of library organization." After watching the episode, I feel no differently about her as I did before. However, I would argue that her character and the plotline says a lot more about libraries than I had previously guessed, meaning that Hatchet is more than a smorgasbord of librarian stereotypes, especially when it comes to library classifications of materials within libraries themselves.

This post is reprinted from Pop Culture Library Review and Wayback Machine.

There is no doubt that this librarian is "wound pretty tight" as Ron, a friend of Kim Possible, and series protagonist with her, remarks later in the episode. She has strict rules, like having a zero tardiness policy when it comes to overdue books. She has an enormous amount of power in the school as she is able to suspend Kim from cheerleading because she has an overdue book! Yikes. All the students seem to fear her and she acts like a villain throughout the episode, first by making Kim shelve stacks upon stacks of books based on her own, and more complicated, library classification system, known as the Hatchet Decimal System (HDS). Second, she takes away Kim's communicator (equivalent to her cell phone) and makes her put adhesive labels on every book saying "property of MHS library." In the end, Ron appears to come to the rescue, returning the book, but it turns out that this is the incorrect one, as it releases evil spirits which terrify her and cause destruction to the library. Her fate after that is unknown. Presumably, Kim and Ron save her life, although that isn't shown on screen.

Even though she is one of the only Middleton High School staff employees shown in the show, Hatchet nothing much more than a basket of stereotypes harmful to librarians while acting like a supervillain of sorts, giving Kim busy work while in "library lockup," as she calls it. Nothing about her is redeemable. However, I would venture that the episode is pointing to something more: the complexity of library classification. This has been an argument that has been rightly pointed out about the Dewey Decimal Classification system (DDC) have made in the past. This is despite the fact that this library classification system organizes to materials by subject. It can be hard for those who don't know the intricacies of DDC, like ordinary library patrons, to understand how books are organized. [1]

In 2007, the Library of Congress warned of limiting the use of the number components field so that doesn't become "confusing and complicated." Some years earlier, scholars Luc Beaudoin, Marc-Antoine Parent, and Louis C. Vroomen described DDC as a huge and complex information hierarchy. [2] Additional classification systems have also been noted as complex. For instance, some said that the Library of Congress Classification System (LCC) [3] is more efficient and specific for new technical material and big collections but "more complex." Others described the effort by Belgians Paul Otlet and Henri La Fontaine, who used the DDC as a basis, to create the "complex multidimensional indexing system" known as the Universal Bibliographic Repertory (UBR). [4]

The Hatchet Decimal System on a book binding on the left and the DDC on a book bindings on the right. The latter is from this image on Wikimedia.

To come back to the episode, I would say that the focus on a classification system that Hatchet made by herself is meant to point to the complexity of library classification systems in general and how they can be confusing for ordinary people, in this case Kim. Her system is clearly more complex than the DDC and perhaps that is part of the point of this episode, which was written by Jim Peterson, directed by Steve Loter (who directs many of the episodes in the series), and storyboarded by Eugene Salandra, Jennifer Graves & Robert Pratt. It is incredible that Hatchet has enough authority that she can create her own system for organizing books in the library, which has become "her natural habitat" as it states on her short Kim Possible fandom page. Many librarians would not have that ability as their actions would be hemmed in by school administrators, school boards, national and state library associations, which have their own codes of ethics.

As Anne Gooding-Call has pointed out, "librarians of color don’t necessarily have the same support that white librarians enjoy," with the MLIS and middling wages as a barrier to many. This is undoubtedly the case for Hatchet, who the school probably would have treated differently had she been Black, Latine, or Asian, for instance, as most of the librarian field is composed of White female librarians. She would not have the social support of other White people, even if the students feared her. In one way, the library that Hatchet occupies appears to be a white space, meaning somewhere that Black people may be reluctant to ask questions or use resources. On another, since students generally fear her, no one, of any race, may be asking her questions or for any help. Instead, they are presumably trying to spend the least amount of time in the library as possible, as they are afraid of her. I would even argue that if she wasn't White, she couldn't be as mean and menacing to the students, at least I would hope that would be the case.

Beyond this, there is no doubt in my mind that Hatchet obviously blatantly violates tenets 1, 6, 7, 8, and 9, at minimum, of the ALA's Code of Ethics. This is not unique to her, as others are even worse offenders. [5] For instance, Francis Clara Censorsdoll in Moral Orel dipped "objectionable" books in kerosene and set them on fire. Cletus Bookworm in Rocky & Bullwinkle had no problem with an armed man taking two patrons of the library hostage. In fact, he encouraged their capture and applauded it. That's just two of the most egregious examples I can think of, although there are many others. Gooding-Call says that librarians are mostly "sincere people who mean well...eager to grow and improve" who can become "vehicles of empowerment." Hatchet does not seem to be this at all. Instead, she seems overly strict and harsh, not wanting to improve. She is the female equivalent of Steven Barkin, a former U.S. Army Ranger, who has a gruff, no-nonsense, attitude, and is abrasive with students in the series. Unlike Barkin, it is unlikely she has PTSD from wartime experiences.

There is the additional issue that the DDC system and other cataloging approaches were "designed in a racist and white-centered system," [6] building upon my post in May about fictional acceptance of the DDC. Hatchet probably didn't care much about this. Instead, what matters to her was lording this power over other people in a menacing way, or at least it appears that way. She says as much, as she declares to Kim that "There will come a day when you forget to return a book and I'll be waiting for you." It gives you the chills. Was she so self-centered that she created her own classification system? Did she care that DDC is, as Emily Ruth Brown points out, built around adult disciplines, is proprietary, and is negatively affected by changes in technology? We can't know for sure, as she is a one-time character who never re-appears in the series. This isn't surprising, given that Western animation has a habit of easily playing into librarian stereotypes, although this may be changing, with libraries shown much more positively in anime.

As I expected, not one person has written a fan fiction about Ms. Hatchet in Kim Possible on Archive of Our Own, even though it could make an interesting story to see things from her perspective. Clearly her actions toward Kim, and presumed other students, are irredeemable. Even so, she may be under a lot of stress as the only librarian of the entire Middleton High School library, at least the only one we see as the audience. If she had been trying to get Kim to do extra work, like shelving books, then this was definitely not the way to go about it. There are the other library scenes in the series, but she never re-appears. She is never given a chance to redeem herself or for the audience to see who she is as a person. She is just a bunch of stereotypes all shoved into one person. I admit that I may be reading too much into this 11-minute episode. At the same time, this episode may be more than what it appears to be on the surface and interconnects with issues surrounding library classification systems and even broader issues within the library field itself.

Ms. Hatchet pushes a book cart piled high with books

When I first composed and finished this post in later February 2022, my last paragraph was the end of the article. However, I see Hatchet's classification in a new light after reading a chapter by Rafia Marza and Maura Seale about White masculinity and "the technocratic library of the future" in Topographies of Whiteness. Although she is no technocrat, and neither are any of those on List of fictional librarians I have put together for this blog as most are either "old-school", "traditional", or "magical" for the most part, her complex HDS is akin to technocratic ideas. Marza and Seale note that as information technology has become a bigger part of librarianship in the 1990s and 2000s, the White female librarian has been replaced by ideas from Silicon Valley, with "technological solutions" which will supposedly free us. They further said that such a focus on technology as a "solution to complex social problems" is central to technocratic ideas, which is characterized by its "impartial, apolitical rationality," with those who are technocrats interests in politics rather than efficiency, thinking that technological fixes can be universal. However, this ideology is bound up in White supremacy because White men have historically claimed rationality and White masculinity has been able to function as the "universal form," while it can only claim to be neutral and objective due to Whiteness. At the same time it upholds patriarchy as well. [7] This interlinks with the historic investment of libraries in Whiteness and faulty notions such as rationality, objectivity, neutrality, and neoliberal tendencies. The latter is promoted by two ALA initiatives: Libraries Transform and the Center of the Future of Libraries (launched in 2015).

Such initiatives, Marza and Seale argue, engage internet-centrism, an idea described by Morozov as the idea that everything is changed and there needs to be fixes, while technology is permanent, fixed, has an inherent nature, and possess agency as it exists "outside of history." They are interconnected to technological solutionism, the idea that  all complex social problems can be neatly defined and have definite solutions or processes that "can be easily optimized," even though this can undermine support for more demanding or stimulating reform projects. [8] This comes with the assumption that it is neutral and objective, even though it is anything but that. This is reinforced by a focus on digital and quantitative skills, with an individual and "entrepreneurial" worker as the default, who are often male and White, especially when it comes to those in Silicon Valley, who are used as a basis for these "necessary" skill sets. At the same time, care and emotion work, service work, manual labor, and so on are seen as "feminized labor" At the same time, libraries are seen as akin those businesses in the so-called sharing economy, with racial prejudice as ingrained in such an economy, and labor of people of color and White women not visible due to the emphasis on technology and de-emphasis on the labor behind the technology itself, with its deadly environmental and labor consequences. [9]

While labor of those causing the technological solutions to be workable is erased, so is any quiet or reflective work, like that portrayed in Kokoro Library, while fewer workers are told to take on more work, leading to burnout. Additionally, libraries are viewed as platforms, like the sites created by Silicon Valley, which ends up prioritizing monetization and obscures any libraries seen as "non-technological," pay is low, and librarianship itself is devalued while technocratic ideology is risen, and the value of library degrees has declined while information technology is seen as even more paramount. This is only strengthened with a focus on "short-term results," market demands, just-in-time services, efficiency, and "return on investment," even as emotional labor of women and physical labor of people of color is needed to make sure libraries, and society as a whole, function. In the end, such technocratic ideas are embedded in systems of privilege, while technology itself is subject to the same inequities as the rest of the world, with a necessary situated and historic understanding of technology and librarianship, and ways that both of those concepts "intersect with dominant conceptions of white masculinity." [10]

Hatchet clearly does not embody any of this technocratic ideology, nor has any librarian I've ever seen in any popular culture I've come across to date. However, her ideas would fit right in with today's technocratic push in librarianship, with their own inherent complexity. In fact, if the episode was to be done again today, it would not be a stretch to see Hatchet using robots to shelve the books in their own complex way, or even sitting at her desk while she ordered a robot to snatch Kim and bring her to the library in punishment for an overdue book. That may be a bit extreme, but the point is that her ideas fit within those who espouse technocratic ideas about libraries at the present. Ultimately, I enjoyed reexamining this episode and I look forward to your comments, criticisms, and anything else you'd like to leave in response to this post. Until next time!

© 2022 Burkely Hermann. All rights reserved.

Notes

[1] Erin Sterling, "The Case of the Clunky Classification: The Elusive Graphic Novel," May 2010, accessed February 25, 2022; "Dewey Decimal System," ScienceDirect, accessed February 25, 2022; "Information Literacy Tutorial: Finding Books," University of Illinois Library, University of Illinois, LibGuides, Aug. 7, 2018, accessed February 25, 2022; Melinda Buterbaugh, "Lesson Three: Dewey Decimal Classification (DDC) and Call Numbers," Library Practice 101, accessed February 25, 2022; "Teach Me How To Dewey," Hillsborough County, Florida, Dec. 13, 2017, accessed February 25, 2022; "Why I Would Use Dewey," Technical Processes for Education Media, Oct. 29, 2011, accessed February 25, 2022.

[2] Luc Beaudoin, Marc-Antoine Parent, and Louis C. Vroomen (1996), "Cheops: A Complex Explorer for Complex Hierarchies," IEEE, p. 87; "MARC DISCUSSION PAPER NO. 2007-DP06," Library of Congress, Jun. 6, 2007, accessed February 25, 2022.

[3] Not the same as the Library of Congress Subject Headings (LCSH) which has "been actively maintained since 1898 to catalog materials held at the Library of Congress" and said to be the "most widely adopted subject indexing language in the world." LCSH describes contents systemically, while LCC is a library classification system. Its also different from the Library of Congress Control Number (LCCN), a serially based system of numbering cataloged record.

[4] Robert McCoppin, "Who's killing the Dewey decimal system?," Chicago Tribune, Feb. 18, 2011, accessed February 25, 2022; Gerry le Roux, "Melvil Dewey and the classification of knowledge," Science Lens, Dec. 10, 2012, accessed February 25, 2022; ; "How the index card launched the information age," Multimediaman, Sept. 10, 2016, accessed February 25, 2022.

[5] Discounting the shushers, the most extreme include the librarian in multiple episodes of Kick Buttowski: Suburban Daredevil, Rita Loud in a Timon & Pumbaa episode ("Library Brouhaha"), Mr. Snellson in a Mysticons episode ("Happily Never After"), Librarian in a Big City Greens episode ("Quiet Please"), Librarian in a Courage the Cowardly Dog episode ("Wrath of the Librarian"), and Bat Librarian in Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles episode ("Mystic Library").

[6] "Conducting research through an anti-racism lens," University of Minnesota Libraries, University of Minnesota, Feb. 15, 2022, accessed February 25, 2022. Others have claimed that DDC can be reformed with librarians who have "deeply held values of equity, diversity, and inclusion" while others have pointed to racism within the DDC, by Dewey himself, noted Dewey was a sexual harasser and a clearly a bigot without any question. Even conservatives have pointed out that Dewey is ingrained in librarianship and there is no escaping him.

[7] Rafia Mirza and Maura Seale, "Who Killed the World?: White Masculinity and the Technocratic Library of the Future" within Topographies of Whiteness: Mapping Whiteness in Library and Information Science (ed. Gina Schlesselman-Tarango, Library Juice Press: Sacramento, CA: 2017), pp. 175-177. They also say on page 175 that in the early 20th century, librarians participated in "civilizing" and assimilating the "tired, huddled masses into American democracy" as long as those people could become White.

[8] Mirza and Seale, "Who Killed the World?", pp. 177-181. Libraries Transform describes itself as "spreading the word about the impact libraries and librarians make every day...[and] advocat[ing] for the value of librarianship" but the about page almost reads like a corporate webpage, and not surprising as Overdrive is the lead sponsor, with other big sponsors including Capital One, Dollar General, Biblioboard, and SAGE Publishing. The same can be said about the webpage of the Center of the Future of Libraries.

[9] Ibid, 181-5.

[10] Ibid, 186-192.

[watching-pictures-move]

Movie Review | Miami Vice: Brother's Keeper (Carter, 1984)

This review contains mild spoilers.

This is the TV movie pilot episode of Miami Vice, a show I’ve been long aware of but am only beginning to make my way through now. (As of this review, I am still in the first season.) And coming to this show now, it is perhaps easier to appreciate some of its innovations on a conceptual level than to really feel their impact. The introduction of a cinematic-visual language to television. Now most TV shows look and sound like movies, although the question is in the air as to whether TV has rose to the challenge or movies have declined. The skewering of rigid formulas. Serialized and prestige television think in terms of seasons instead of individual episodes, although whether that means richer payoffs or a lot of blue balls seems to vary. As frank a handling of sex and violence and other unsavoury material as network TV will allow. To paraphrase John Mulaney, you can now show or say pretty much anything on TV.

What I think is much easier to feel than to merely acknowledge is the distinct aesthetic sense that defines the series. The mixture of daytime pastels and nighttime neon that explodes the previously brown sheen of network TV into something more atmospheric, more alluring, both seedy and opulent. The way the milieu, with its expensive houses with giant windows and great views and all the nice cars and boats and fashions become part of the visual style. I’d been roughly familiar with how the show looked and sounded as I’d played Grand Theft Auto: Vice City religiously during my teenage years, a game which takes after and satirizes the aesthetics and values of the decade and that show in particular. But it’s still something to be said for basking in this particularly decadent atmosphere, and the way the show can suspend you in pure mood, accentuated with some astute needle drops.

And there’s the way these elements push up against the narrative complexities. This episode finds Don Johnson’s Sonny Crockett dealing with a personal betrayal and Philip Michael Thomas’ Ricardo Tubbs failing to avenge the death of his brother. There’s a cynicism here to temper the aesthetic giddiness. And while you may have gathered that I have some skepticism about whether TV makes better use of its runtimes than cinema, this is a series where I think the episodic, semi-serialized format works in its favour. You get the sense that the characters have to live with the unintended consequences of their actions, that things don’t always go as planned and that lives are affected, that violence and criminality are pervasive and exist beyond the confines of this week’s episode.

The sequence that announces that show has truly arrived comes partway, when Crockett in his sportscar chases after Tubbs in his speedboat, a dynamic that deliberately invites comparison to the mismatch of vehicles in The French Connection. This is a new kind of policier, one that refuses to be limited by the confines of television. This is accompanied by the extended version of the show’s driving, densely layered synth theme, which was also released in a video version where Crockett and Tubbs chase after the most dastardly villain in all of Miami, legendary musician Jan Hammer.

A few additional notes:

In this episode you’re introduced to Tubbs’ Caribbean accent, which I’ve now heard him wheel out in at least one more episode when going undercover. My guess is that Philip Michael Thomas really liked doing that particular accent. And on that note, while they’re both super cool, I must assert that Tubbs is cooler than Crockett, although I’m biased because I think Tubbs has better fashion sense. (I’m not a fan of t-shirts with blazers. Wear a real collar, dammit.)

The villain escapes to the sea, and is later found to be in the Bahamas a few episodes later. The show captures a certain expansive quality of crime, that the criminality here isn’t limited to just Miami but is instead part of a greater global ecosystem. The episode “No Exit”, guest starring Bruce Willis as an arms dealer who does business with terrorists and South American factions, perhaps with the blessing of the US government. That episode also has Coati Mundi firing an M60 from the back of a truck as he’s chased down the street.

The show is known for guest stars, and here we have Martin Ferrero as a cross-dressing hitman, who kills an informant in an energetically edited beach scene. Ferrero would return a few episodes later as a different character.

At this point we still have Gregory Sierra as the police lieutenant, who I remembered as the really racist Groucho Marx lookalike mobster in Deep Cover. Sierra is entertaining to watch, but plays the role in the traditional sense, the loudmouth senior cop who chews out his subordinates and always seems to be in a foul mood. He seems curiously outmoded in a show that otherwise feels cutting edge. His character would be replaced a few episodes later by one played by Edward James Olmos, who brings a completely different energy to the role. He’s described as “Charles Bronson by way of Havana”, and brings the same sense of implicit violence with his presence. Crockett and Tubbs are cool and charismatic and extroverted, Olmos’ Lt. Castillo is calm, steely, precise. Every word he utters has the precision of a scalpel, every look as piercing as a knife. Their wardrobes offer similar contrasts. Crockett and Tubbs are flashy dressers usually seen in Italian tailoring, Castillo wears a black off-the-rack suit that matches his minimalist presence. I will see if later episodes reveal his secrets, but I would wager that this is somebody you do not want to fuck with.

[gie-gie-gie-gie]

little women, ep. 1

When I first watched the trailer for Little Women, I was intrigued by the premise of struggling sisters navigating the mystery around a huge amount of money, and how it changes the lives of these three “little women” in the midst of big people with power, connections, and wealth. It’s not entirely a new concept, but I am such a sucker for kdrama sister portrayals that this was a no-brainer addition to my to watch list.

Sure, one can first get caught with matching the characters and scenarios with the Louisa May Alcott source material (who’s the Jo? the Amy? the Meg? the Laurie? etc.), but by the second half of the first episode, you get the sense of considering the story on its own.

And it’s good. It’s so good! I don’t expect myself to be able to sustain an entire series review, but I’d like to be able to take notes along the way. It feels like it’s going to be a great watch ahead, and I just want to make something out of my excitement. That said, be warned that the series in itself has a lot of violence, which might come up in these recaps, hence the tw tag.

We begin with our three sisters: the Meg, the Jo, and the Amy. Poor Beth, no counterpart in here. Or maybe there’s more we don’t know, because mysterious baby picture, anyone?

Among everyone, it’s Kim Go-eun that I was really looking forward to the most. I have never watched her past dramas, but I’ve been itching to see any of her work, and I felt that this role might just be too good to pass. I love the seeming naïveté of her Meg, whose Cinderella fantasies of getting married and being whisked away from poverty translates fittingly into our series’ Oh In-joo, dowdy green vest and tacky tulle skirt included. At home with her sisters, though, she can be straightforward and determined behind the smiley and meek behavior she shows outside.

When she cried upon seeing the contents of the duffel bag her friend, Jin Hwa-young (played by Choo Ja-hyun), left her, I felt as if we were witnessing only the initial unraveling of her character.

Nam Ji-hyun as Oh In-kyung is also riveting. This is my third Nam Ji-hyun drama and the other two had her as the childhood-friend-and-fated-endgame of a wealthy amnesiac. Here In-kyung is barefaced, buttoned up, but not quite sober. She’s an investigative reporter with a deep empathy for people, and a righteous understanding of the pitfalls of wealth.

I loved her scene with Great Aunt Oh. They’re just having breakfast and talking, but the way this was set up made me wonder if we’re supposed to look at how In-kyung was influenced by her aunt despite not having had the warmest upbringing.

Great Aunt also meddles in her love life, and we see the Laurie for this series, too. It’s Kang Hoon as Ha Jong-ho. When they met each other under aunt’s ruse of bringing a mistakenly delivered package, we understand that there’s history between them. In-kyung is at the tail of a highly tense investigation, and we can wonder how this might affect their relationship as the series moves forward.

I don’t have much to say about Park Ji-hu’s Oh In-hye just yet, except that I can certainly understand her wanting to make her own money after seeing her sisters toil to provide for their family. She’s ambitious and gritty and I cannot help but wonder where the story will take her character, especially with her association with who seems to be Park Jae-sang’s wife and daughter.

Wi Ha-joon is another actor I was excited to see in this series. I thought his character in Romance is a Bonus Book was compelling enough. His role as Cho Do-il is obviously different so I also cannot wait to find out more about him.

It seems orchids is a recurring motif in this show. From trying to google ‘princess of thieves orchid’, I saw some twitter threads on the repeating symbolism of this flower on the show. Since I’m behind watching, I didn’t read too far and suspended spoilers. Anyway… too many orchids. From the orchids in the office in the 14th floor to…

the blue orchid tattoo…

the wallpaper in Hwa-young’s apartment (excellent mirror-threshold blocking, by the way)…

a blue orchid beside her fishtank…

and a blue orchid brooch on the suit of Park Jae-sang (played by Um Ki-joon). Yikes… Personally, I think orchids are also an appropriate motif in a tight environment of power and wealth. Orchids are expensive and requires a lot of precise care.

I cannot wait for the sisters to tie up the associations together. The context surrounding Hwa-young’s death becomes even more sinister in light of In-kyung’s investigation on the four money-related suicides from the Bobae Savings Bank Case.

Finally, what will In-joo do with the money that landed on her via yoga locker? Director Shin Hyeon-Min is after the slush fund, and it seems In-joo is in it now, too. Not to mention, she signed an account opening form for Hwa-young, so it seems like the money in the bag is not all there is to it.

[steponmesilco]

took a break from my main wip to do this quick sketch of our favourite crime daddy

[thesarcasticside]

Anything-$00000DDD

Summary

He could have been anything. When he looked inside his own mind, he dug through darkness. Memories like ashes, the particles filling his lungs were all that were familiar to him—and those only felt like nothing. No fragments, just a fine powder.

Janus is a cyborg who works for the Dragon Witch, a criminal mastermind who runs a company that designs cybernetics.

He meets Remus, a self-taught biomedical engineer, and a variety of other robotic and alien characters, all of whom are trying to convince him that he is more than just a cybernetic puppet.

But who is “Dee” if not an empty husk created only to be controlled?

General warnings

Psychological horror, body horror, cybernetics, missing limbs, artificial limbs, Non-consensual forced medical treatment, physical abuse, blood, violence, guns, mind control, permanent amnesia, manipulation, emotional abuse, gaslighting, nightmares, streams of consciousness, unreliable narration. Content that resembles depersonalization, derealization, or dissociation

More notes, links, and chapter text under the cut

AO3 Anything, AO3 series, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18

This is my story for the 2021 Storytime! Big Bang! @ts-storytime Thank you to @ben-phantomhive-trash, who is the artist I was partnered with for the event! They created this fantastic art!!!! I love it so much I can't even.

Thank you to PunkRock for helping me figure out the shorts characters and other plot things. Also thank you to AryaSkywalker, Thembo, and Carrotflowerking17 and the Big Bang 2021 discord for additional help!!!!

This fic is an alternative entry point to my (In Other Worlds) Series. This fic happens at the same time roughly as Millennia, a companion novel. You can read this fic and then check out the rest of the series, or check out the series and then read this.

Also, I don't use Janus's actual name throughout the fic for thematic and narrative reasons. You'll see. I hope that does not put you off too much. Consider it part of the angst.

Clarification of general warnings and pairings, minor spoilers

I added the tag unreliable narrator, but I will clarify that the narrator is not actively lying to the audience. This tag relates to Janus's memory issues and the uncertainty resulting from that. tbh I would not worry too much about the events being untrue, and more be concerned about these being Janus's imperfect recollection of events.

I think this fic is a bit more violent than Millennia at times, hence I added the archive warning for violence. I still feel like a teen would be fine reading this, so I am keeping the rating Teen and Up. This fic focuses the most on what I dub psychological horror (angst, mind control, memory issues, consciousness, nightmares, etc.). I also tagged this story with disassociation, and content in this fic may resemble derealization and depersonalization.

If you think I should warn/rate this fic differently, I am happy to hear feedback and reconsider.

I tagged this as Remus/Janus, but like, ya gotta squint. Mostly banter and being soft. I love romance, but I have a hard time writing it. Could be seen as platonic too.

HINT 1: KEY.

HINT 2: "kind of" not "kinda"

CHAPTER START

NAME J. D. Dedrick ID 25:35--25:44 / 51:09 ALIENRACE Dūcesnaca OCCUPATION Robotics Researcher

Chapter Warnings cybernetics, missing/artificial limbs (eye, legs), forced medical treatment/experimentation, amnesia, depersonalization/derealization/dissociation, unreliable narration, psychological horror, swearing Chapter Characters Janus, the Dragon Witch, Virgil (not by name)

He could have been anything. When he looked inside his own mind, he dug through darkness. Memories like ashes, the particles filling his lungs were all that were familiar to him—and those only felt like nothing. No fragments, just a fine powder.

He woke up to yellow in his eyes, stinging and unfocused. Lights beyond the veil flickered. He saw a figure move; he looked small. After a brief glance into the world, he began to drown. He threw everything into the yellow encasement, and after an agonizing struggle, the rush of acceleration threw him to the ground.

When the air touched his face, black fireworks exploded in his hazy vision, and the first memory he had was gone.

He woke up again, like a corpse left in the stale air for vultures: beaks plucking out his skin piece by piece. His vision blurry and halved, he stared up at the birds breaking his body into bits.

Reports say he was involved in a huge space crash. DRACANA has generously sponsored his artificiality.

That sounded like a lie. That sort of blatant untruth where there was no connection to reality tied to it. Everything his senses told him felt unreal, everything except the pain that grounded him like a shot duck.

Whispers like gossip broke into his mind between droughts of consciousness. His senses were pieced together and broken apart, like pieces of clay in a kiln shattering. Memories of vultures and lab coats glued together by agony floated through space until eventually he was awake.

Probably just one of her business rivals

Dei’dra—he knew her name—loomed over him, to his right. He could see nothing to his left. The light stung, he squinted and blinked his eye. He could feel nothing on the left side of his face. Dei’dra smiled at him.

“Wake up, dollface. Didn’t think you’d make it, but you pulled through.”

He did not know where he was. He did not know who he was. All he knew was that this woman was Dei’dra, the Dragon Witch, and he hated her.

“Well, he seems to be doing well. Might as well put him under and move onto the next stage.”

He lived out his days creating sand sculptures in his mind. He saw himself running in place, downloading skills and targets and concepts. The sand would blow away each day, leaving him with nothing to remember them by.

Between bouts of black unconsciousness, he saw grey, and white, and pale pink, brown, and blue. Abstract shapes morphing into creatures that prodded at him. Cold metal seething, machines twisting his body together like crochet. He gave nonsense names for some, not even names consisting of words, just pure thoughts.

Slowly, he lost sight of the sand in his brain, yet the grains still dripped from his ears when he shook his head. He became a part of reality. Or perhaps he became part of a hellish dream.

Darkness huddled in the damp sides of his eyes, danger snapping at his bruised joints and soles. Deep inside his chest, his heart damned, words mixed with intuitive instincts, daring his body to live beyond the yellow veil.

Stage One of Project $DEE has been completed.

$DEE was not his name. It was what he was called. One of the words that would echo in his brain. Dee. Dee. Dee. Like a rhythm, like the beeping machines. Like the ringing of the heart monitor. It was embedded in his ears. Baby words jumping around, forming pictures, babbling him into nothing.

Dee, his brain still a desert, started to make better sense of this reality he lived in. He could control his body sometimes. He could move his arms. Or what was left of his limbs. Or what they had lent him.

The second picture in his brain, the one after the yellow veil: it was the artificial lights on Lab C’s ceiling. Grey illuminated by white, he stared up at the square tiles and textured glass, like undulating waves of melted sand.

With how long he was locked in place staring up at this picture, he memorized it. He could close his eyes at any moment and picture it in its exact detail again.

“Time to get up, Doll-face. It’s time for your first mission.”

He saw Dei’dra’s face again. He felt his restraints loosen and break away.

His first mission was not all that glorious. He was lanky, unused to moving in his body. He was a wall of meat. Disposable. He followed a trail like a zombie. He barely spoke to the team he was placed in. He remembered their orders regarding him.

“He’s still pretty out of it. Give him some good experience, but we’d like to keep working on him so bring him back in one piece.”

Dee felt like a puppet, simply put. Some machine inside him aimed his cannons and lasers. He stood in place, shooting at targets. He was guided by an invisible leash by the team he was assigned to. He saw sepia shapes. Blurs of bodies. All he could feel was the emotions in his gut telling him, repeatedly:

Youaregoingtodieyouaregoingtodieyouaregoingtodieagainyouaregoingtodiestoppleasestoppleaseyouaregoingtodiestopstopstopstopstop.

He was kept suspended in place while his body completed the mission. And then he was back in Lab C, mind clearer.

He was thinking in sentences now. He could monologue, like any great villain. That is what he had become, hadn’t he? Why a villain? Where had he learned that word? The more he sifted through the sand, the more words he could find he no longer remembered learning. They were just there, connected to nothing. No memory. No past life.

He kept thinking these words. And then he decided that since his jaw was not glued shut, he would give speaking a try. Garbled and slurred at first, he kept talking as much as they let him.

They made him run between ceilings of grey. They made him speak between illuminated square tiles. He practiced lines of a script. Subterfuge settled in his brain like a mirage in the distance between the settled sand.

He could walk on the unsteady ground once again. He could see. He could hear. He could experience the world around him. He gazed up at the ceiling but was interrupted by a splotch of dark violet.

Another blot. Another vulture. He stood there out of the corner of his artificial eye.

“What are you waiting for? Get on with the tests.” His voice sharp, cutting through his tongue.

This was an unusual time of day for tests. To say it was a time of day was generous. It was more like he would be experimented on for hours upon hours and then suddenly they would stop. Nothing to do but bask in the nothingness it brought.

At this point, Dee thought that he was done with most of the tests. He had his limbs. He had an eye, which he opened wider to get a better look at the violet blotch. Something about the blotch was connected to something else in his brain, but he could not quite place it.

“Well, whatever it is, get on with it, it certainly could not have waited until morning.”

It shuffled closer to him. Less of a blotch now. He could make out shapes. He could recognize his face now if he saw him again.

Air escaped his lungs, and then he said again, asking, “Whatever might you need from me today, doctor?”

The blotch was shaking. “If you are just here to sight-see, I am going back to sleep.” His eyes weighed heavily on his face, eyelids falling through his willpower.

“Are you… okay?”

No, I am not ‘okay’. I am ‘$DEE.’

“Do I LOOK okay? Yeah sure, I am right as rain, having a grand old time—feeling peachy, even.” At this point, the words just spiraled off his tongue and through his teeth. The blotch made a sound, and Dee’s frustration grew, the pain of today’s tests ricocheting in his body.

“If you aren’t here to run another one of your little tests, then just get out. Go tell your superior, or better yet, go tell Dei’dra to go fuck herself and leave me alone.”

And he left him alone. He wondered vaguely what that was all about. He then fell asleep.

[pathogenliliaceae]

Thoughts on Jill Valentine

Hello, friends! My responsibilities for my trading company job have abated in the interim, so I thought perhaps I would come back around to Jill, as promised. 

Thoughts on Jill Valentine:

I will begin this by saying that it is appropriate that she was asked alongside Mia because there is one outstanding issue that I have between the both of them: The need to be saved. Though I find Jill to be leagues more competent.

We’ll get to it in full a bit later. 

I will make no secrets that Jill has never been my most favourite of protagonists. Most of those issues stem from “3: Nemesis” and Five, though I am not adverse to including bits from One and Revelations. In one word, Jill is tolerable. Though, if given a choice (depending upon who my choices are) I will usually pick someone else.

A bit of background on Miss Valentine: I am utterly convinced that Capcom has changed her birthdate. I remember quite vividly scoffing that they made her birthdate Valentine’s Day, but now that I look it up again it seems its in May. Well, that’s at least a half a point in her favour. It’s become less mind-numbingly stupid. She is French-Japanese-American, whose father was a professional thief. In addition, she received Delta Force training through the US Army. Unusually adept at lock-picking, she then (apparently) gains the moniker - the Master of Unlocking. She also, again apparently, is adept at bomb disposal, though I cannot remember an instance in which this is exhibited. Though I can remember many instances when this would have come in handy. Jill. 

Post-Delta Force and US Army tenancy, Wesker recruited Jill for STARS - described as an elite special forces operation for the RPD comprised of military veterans and weapons specialists (put a leaf in this for when I eventually get to Rebecca Chambers). Joining her in STARS are Forest, who she already had a friendship with prior to working together, and Chris. She is the only female officer on STARS Alpha Team, and works as a Breaking and Entering specialist. Forward onto the Mansion Incident.

Again, I’ve mentioned that if given a choice, I will usually not pick Jill to play as. However, that is not to say that I have not played Jill’s scenario in One. My primary complaint about Jill’s Scenario is as follows: It is fundamentally easier than Chris’. She’s got the lockpick set, so she doesn’t need to find Old Keys. She has more inventory space. In the space where she finds the zombie in the bathtub, she stomps his head mid-cutscene and does not have to fight him. She starts with the handgun and receives higher powered weapons whilst Chris has a higher chance of critical headshots. She can mix chemicals to weaken Plant 42 and cut the boss fight in half. Jill can skip certain puzzles in Arklay with Barry’s help, one under the guise of “saving” her from the falling ceiling where you retrieve the shotgun. No need to find the broken shotgun, and you have access to the shotgun as soon as you unlock the area which makes accessing the Armour Key much easier. I used to believe that this was a reflection of the character, but now I believe it is a bit of thinly veiled misogyny on Capcom’s part. ): 

About the opening to her scenario, after running amok in the forest and into the mansion - “There are only three STARS members left now. Captain Wesker, Barry, and myself. We don’t know where Chris is.” YOU’VE JUST HAD HIM AT THE DOOR! HOW HAVE YOU LOST HIM? Also, check your maths, Jill. That’s four STARS members. We have one negative point here in that she’s managed to lose her partner in the amount of time it takes to cross a threshold. Anyhow, like how it is when you play as Chris, the other is locked in the cell in the labs and must be released with the MO discs prior to the T-002 battle. Canonically, Jill escapes with Chris and Barry. Chris escapes with Jill and Rebecca. Rebecca does not make an appearance in Jill’s game, nor Barry in Chris’. Brad is there in the background, flying the helicopter he had damned them with at the beginning. It’s a bit of a flub.

Moving on to 3: Nemesis and the Remake and whatever happens in between the events of Arklay and the destruction of Raccoon City. Gathering from memos in Two and Three, shortly after the Arklay Incident, Chris and Jill take their concerns to Chief Irons, requesting the launch of an investigation into Umbrella and all the related shenanigans. Irons, being involved and heavily steeped in wrongdoing, denies this request. STARS all but disbands, as Chris leaves for Europe in August 1998, Barry moves his family to Canada and follows after Chris, Rebecca is doing fuck-all, and Irons has suspended Jill and ordered her confined to her flat. That leaves... Brad Vickers as STARS. The only member. In office. Everyone else is dead, suspended, or AWOL. I suppose one way to operate as a corrupt organisation is to keep the most inept person as your only functioning operative. I digress, this is about Jill and not the bucket of maladroitness that is Brian Irons.

Jill remains in Raccoon City under the pretense of attempting to locate NEST, with the intention of following behind Chris, Barry, and Rebecca(?) a bit later. I believe also she was intending to sort through the rumours of the development of Golgotha, but I cannot find accurate citation of that. Things that she manages to do whilst confined to her flat for a month behind the departure of the other STARS members: Not that at all. I have long wondered what it was that was actually keeping Jill in her flat, aside from orders from her no-longer boss, when she had intentions of leaving on 30 September. I don’t imagine that with what remains of STARS poking around, save for Brad, that Irons would put a definite date on the lifting of her suspension. “Yes, now you may leave to bring down the organisation that I am tangentially working for”. The Three Remake expands on this a bit, as it seems that perhaps Jill was not emotionally nor mentally suited for travel outside of the flat. In which case, I question whether steeping herself in all things Umbrella was perhaps exacerbating her condition. I do believe that there is a fundamentally large difference between Three: Remake Jill and 3: Nemesis Jill. First off, trousers. Enough said. I don’t do my personal investigations sitting in a pleather mini-skirt and a tube top with a rather practical jumper tied around my waist, and neither should you. I much rather imagine a suspension to be carried out in pyjamas, but again I am not the type of person to dress at home if I’m not needed to.

Secondly, Three: Remake Jill holds up much better against Nemesis without the help of Carlos (who is also rather incompetent and sexist), than her original counterpart. Her reactions to goings on are much more believable, and for much of the game she has absolutely no issue putting Carlos within appropriate boundaries. He tries to explain to her what a radio is, she snaps at him. He touches her, she tells him not to. You are a stranger, sir, please observe courtesy. Not to mention, a stranger who is working for the organisation we’ve just found out is responsible for the development of bioweapons and viral agents. At least bother to ask her name, first. A bit of a hint, Carlos: It isn’t “supercop”. If we are to continue on with this Jill further on in the series, I will support it. I would quite enjoy a long-standing female protagonist that has no issue scoffing at male protagonist foolishness and scolding their perspectives. Perhaps it is a good thing that she and Leon have never met in any official capacity.

Three: Remake Jill still falls prey to damsel-syndrome, as I’ll call it, upon being infected by Nemesis. Carlos comes in as the knight in shining armour, having become infatuated with her after knowing her for exactly four hours. I like to imagine that this New Jill could wake up from her comatose state, shout about her autonomy, and then go back to sleep. This is however, remedied by some sort of favour-trading as she does save Carlos in a quid-pro-quo a bit later. I do have concerns about how far Jill allowed Nikolai to get without shooting him down, but that’s unimportant in the long run. There is also a bit of inconsistency between games in how Jill and Carlos escape Raccoon City and what happened just prior, but those are unimportant to our examining of Jill.

All in all, New Jill is portrayed as a competent individual, which I think serves much better to support her character in instances such as the Fall of Umbrella chapter in The Umbrella Chronicles, which leads into the formation of the BSAA and her involvement with them.

Functionally, from 2003 until at least 2009, Chris and Jill mostly function as a singular unit. 2005- they work together to subdue T-ALOS. 2004- The Queen Zenobia, Queen Semiramis fiasco in which Jill carries Parker through a sinking ship as Chris slams doors in her face- as loving partners do. (I do want to mention in an aside that so many people find themselves in trouble whilst looking for Chris. It is the plot of NO FEWER than four games. One, Two, Code: Veronica, and Revelations. Maybe even a bit of Six. Call it four and a half). Revelations does delve into a bit of why I find Jill to be competent amongst the ranks of highly amateur BSAA agents. First off, she reads the manuals for things. She realises the importance of memos! Secondly, she is shown deducing and explaining quite a bit about the situation they find themselves in to Parker, who is often none-the-wiser. An argument could be made that Parker is a newly ported FBC emigre and therefore does not yet have the same expectation but I disagree having seen the... eptitude of other agents. She is rather instrumental in uncovering the whole FBC - Veltro - BSAA mess and quite honestly tends to hold her own in that installment. If only the dodge function worked better. Anyhow, back to her partnership with Chris- it canonically ends with the Lost in Nightmares campaign in Five. In which she quite literally bowls Wesker out of a window in defense of Chris and (sort of) the world. If there is any secret method of getting me to enjoy a character, it is self-sacrifice for the sake of another. There is something so beautiful about it. Except Ethan, nothing can redeem him. Jill functions best as a character when she is partnered with Chris. I cannot say that in any of these scenarios I have profound issues with her. Forward onto the events of Five and about where we will end this tangent.

Jill and Wesker, obviously, both survive the fall from the Spencer estate. Jill is kept for experimentation due to the existing muted strain of T in her body from the events of Three. The antibodies she possessed were used by Wesker in attempts to make Uroboros more accepting of human host bodies. During the time that she was “in his care” (poor choice of words, I know), he repeatedly injected her with Progenitor strains and took the resulting antibodies. As a result of the testing and antibody removal, Jill’s hair, skin, and eyes lightened in cryostasis (I am still trying to make sense of this bit). Once she had reached the extent of her usefulness, Wesker volunteered her for the P30 project, a Las Plagas extension that utilised chemical compounds for mind control. However, due to the high expulsion rate, the chemical had to be constantly injected, explaining the injector attached to her body.

This requires her, again, rescue at the hands of Chris and Sheva. Once the injector is removed, the other two move on after Wesker, and Jill promptly collapses into unconsciousness. She is found by BSAA Delta Team Captain Josh Stone, who escorts her to a helicopter and initiates a rendezvous with Chris and Sheva on the volcano.  I will stand up for Jill on this one- I do not at all believe that if Jill was on the helicopter, that Sheva should have been the one to wield the rocket launcher. That honour should have belonged to the two original STARS Alpha Team members alone. It’s simply poetic, and I am sorry for Sheva, but it would have been much more perfect. 

Currently, we’ve not seen anything from Jill since Five. The only mention to her current condition is that she is at the BSAA undergoing testing and rehabilitation for her time spent with Wesker. In her words: “...ever since getting back I've been locked up in this lab as they run tests on me day in and day out. It's every bit as boring as it sounds”. We leave Jill’s chronology with her being bored. Fitting. In short, I believe that Jill has quite a bit of potential in her competency, and I am actually quite interested to see what her reaction would be to the BSAA using bioweapons. We’ve not heard from her in twelve years, so one can only assume that she is still alive somewhere, being bored. If they are going to take her character in the same direction they appear to be going in the Three: Remake, I would not at all be adverse to seeing her again in a future standalone installment.  That being said, I have quite the backlog of characters to talk about! Please give me the benefit of the doubt when waiting on these. I’ve got work to do, tea to drink, games to play, and characters to analyse.

[satoshi-mochida]

Shin Megami Tensei III: Nocturne HD Remaster will launch for PlayStation 4, Switch, and PC via Steam on May 25 for $49.99, Atlus announced. The PC version is newly announced.

A Digital Deluxe Edition will also be available for $69.99, which includes the following:

-Full game download

-Exclusive access to the game four days early, on May 21

-Maniax Pack

Adds Dante from the Devil May Cry series

-Chronicle Pack

Adds Raidou from the Devil Summoner series

Note: The Chronicle Pack is available in the base game for PlayStation 4 and Switch versions. It is free downloadable content for the Steam version only.

-“Merciful” difficulty

Adds an easier difficulty mode

-Mercy and Expectation Map Pack

“Little Master’s Mercy”

“Master’s Expectation”

-Shin Megami Tensei Background Music Pack

“BGM Pack 1: Shin Megami Tensei” (two songs)

“BGM Pack 2: Shin Megami Tensei II” (two songs)

“BGM Pack 3: Shin Megami Tensei IV” (two songs)

“BGM Pack 4: Shin Megami Tensei IV: Apocalypse” (two songs)

Here is an overview of the game, via Atlus:

About

What begins as a normal day in Tokyo turns out to be everything but, when the Conception—an ethereal apocalypse—is invoked. The remains of the world are swallowed by chaos, as a demonic revolution descends into a broken city. Caught between a battle of gods and demons, the choices you make can bring life, rebirth, or death, and determine who triumphs.

Key Features

This genre-defining, infamously punishing RPG is back and now includes:

Remastered 3D models and backgrounds.

Additional difficulty settings for players of all skill levels.

Suspend save – save your progress whenever you need!

Voiced audio – choose between Japanese and English voice-overs.

An alternate branch featuring Raidou Kuzunoha.

This release features fixes as well as patches implemented since the Japan release.

Watch a video message from director Kazuyuki Yamai below. View a new set of screenshots at the gallery. Visit the official website here.

“Hello, everyone. My name is Kazuyuki Yamai, the director of Shin Megami Tensei III: Nocturne HD Remaster.

“The original Shin Megami Tensei III was released for PlayStation 2 in 2003. 18 years later, on May 25, 2021, the game will release in the west, and for the first time in Shin Megami Tensei history, globally on Steam! And you can pre-order the game now!

“Shin Megami Tensei III is a critically acclaimed title within Atlus’ history. It’s also the keystone RPG title that served as the basis for Persona 5, another title that fans love. As such, we truly focused on respecting the original game when remastering it. On top of that, we recreated the visuals in HD and tuned up many aspects of the game. I feel we were able to truly make a modern revival of the classic game. And we’ve also added an all-new voice-over track, as well as a new difficulty mode, ‘MERCIFUL.’

“With these new features, we hope any newcomers to the series can ease into the game and have an enjoyable experience playing it. To all of our longtime Shin Megami Tensei fans, and any newcomers who will be experiencing Shin Megami Tensei for the first time, we really hope you enjoy the unique world that Shin Megami Tensei III has to offer.

“It’s now only a few months until launch. But we appreciate your patience, and please continue to look forward to playing the game!”

[thegreymoon]

Hi!! I love your posts about Untamed and I thought about watching it but I wanted to ask, do you like actors' performance? It's just the gifs I see all look the same to me, I don't see any serious change in their face expressions, that bothers me a little. Like, you describe your reactions and I'd think the scenes would look intense but the on the gifs, characters just always look stony.

Hi, anon!

I absolutely love the actors’ performance (the main group, anyway), however, you have to take into account the genre and cultural expectations here. I have exactly one person IRL that I could recommend this to, expect her to enjoy it and not look at me as if I have gone insane fifteen minutes in. This is essentially a soap opera with zombies, and if you are to stand any chance of enjoying it, you have to accept it for what it is.  

First of all, the budget they had for this show did not even come close to matching their ambitions, so the monsters and the CGI are hilariously bad, which is unfortunate, considering the world it is set in. The battles are also rather sad, because they filmed with only a handful of extras, and I would be lying if I said that it didn’t show.

Another important thing here is that you have to completely let go of expectations that you have for western shows, especially the ones that are ‘gritty’ and ‘realistic’. We are used to our heroes being all sweaty, filthy and loud. The blood and the grime are a staple, and so is a whole string of vulgarities that writers rely on for shock value because they couldn’t otherwise write a coherent and satisfying story to save their life (TWD, GoT, looking at you 😠). In The Untamed, you will have your main characters make it through what is supposed to be a pivotal battle with not a single hair out of place and white robes absolutely pristine. Is it realistic? LOL, no. Do I care? LOL, again, no. 

However, I know a lot of people (men, especially) who would gripe endlessly about this and turn it into a mockery. What they fail to understand is that this is not ‘bad’, it is just a different way of doing things. If you cannot suspend your disbelief for things like that, flying swords and perfectly pitched music that kills dozens on the battlefield with a single note, then this show is not for you. Also, please keep in mind that what we may consider ‘bad acting’ is very often, in this case, simply a matter of a different acting style. 

As for the actors themselves, in the context of this show, genre and what is expected of them, I think they are fantastic. For comparison, none of them are, say, Colin Morgan, but they are all leaps and bounds better than, for example, Henry Cavil, who, once you get past his muscles, is as interesting as watching paint dry. The majority of them are also still very young (think early-to-mid-twenties) and for some of them, this was one of their first roles and I don’t think anyone expected The Untamed to blow up as much as it did. On the subject of performance, the only thing that actually throws me off from time to time is that the voices are all dubbed (this is just how it is done in China), so I catch some dissonance here and there. 

The main lead is very, very vibrant and goes through every emotion there is on screen and I find him incredibly adorable. His main love interest is the only one who may be described as ‘stony’ but this is very much intentional because he is playing a certain character type. When it comes to performance, he is one of my favourites, because he is playing such an incredibly complex character almost entirely through microexpressions, so when he smiles or cries, or shows anything at all, even though he barely moves a muscle, it is a huge fucking deal and an entire legion of fangirls worldwide squeals in unison. 

His brother (my favourite) is very similar and, again, this is intentional. The difference between them is that while the first one is ‘stony’, the other one is completely neutral. He always smiles pleasantly and radiates an insane amount of calming energy, and again, you have to rely on microexpressions to tell when he is a second away from going feral and committing murder. I am fascinated by both of them, in the sense that they both dress the same and act the same, yet one is vibrating with such intense murder energy the entire time, while the other emanates peace even under the worst of circumstances. 

Anyway, the point is, all of the characters are very distinct, their personalities are wildly different and their choices in life range from soft and benevolent to cold-blooded vengeance and unhinged murder. Another big thing in this show is how they portray the difference between good and evil, as compared to politeness and acting out of turn. They start with cookie-cutter, simplistic villains and move up in complexity. The story itself is very fascinating, not to mention, one of the best and most respectful portrayals of a gay love story I have ever seen on film in spite of the censorship and all the other limitations they had to deal with. 

Another thing that you have to be aware of is that the subtitles on YouTube are hilariously bad, but even if you watch it elsewhere, Chinese does not always translate particularly well into English. Also, the show is filled to the brim with tropes that are very familiar to the viewers in China, who get an additional level of delight from seeing them subverted, but which will be really unfamiliar to western viewers, who will often end up confused. It was only after I read The Dumb Husky and His White Cat Shizun (which is the same genre as the novel The Untamed was adapted from) that some of the things in the show suddenly made sense, so I can only imagine how many other little things just flew right over my head. 

Anyway, sorry for making this so long, anon, but if you do decide to watch this show, please keep in mind that the first two episodes are likely to be very, very confusing and strange. Just keep pushing! Everything becomes clear as you get further along, and at one point, those first two episodes just smack you over the head with how much sense they make retroactively and then you just want to sit down a little and cry 😢 

If, however, you cannot get past the messy CGI and the acting style, one thing I would like to recommend is trying the donghua (animated series) instead. I have not watched it yet, but it is really beautiful, and when I cried to one of my friends about this show, she told me, ‘Wait... that sounds familiar!’ and it turned out that even though she did not know about the drama, she has already watched/is watching the donghua, and she tells me that it is fantastic. 

Anyway, here are some ⭐⭐⭐⭐ for all of you who made it through my rambling here! How does one give short answers? Someone, please teach me how!! 😭😭

[soldouthaz]

Hey love! Can you give us a quick summary of all the fics you’re currently working on and also of those you kind of have ideas to write about in the future but haven’t started yet? I’m so interested in your writing 💕

ahh of course!!! I'll put it all below the cut in case anyone wants to be surprised :) thank you so much for your interest! I hope you’re doing well! 

okay, so aside from a couple that I'm keeping secret for now, these are all the ones that I'm currently working on! (I'll put my other ideas that I haven’t started yet near the bottom of the post! 

1. single dad fic 

this one and the next one will most likely be out sometime in the beginning of 2021 since I’ve already got a bit of them written! this one is abo too, which is also still kind of new to me! L moves in next door to H who has a daughter, and quickly becomes caught up in their lives, getting attached to both H and the little girl. there are a few twists and turns along the way though because I can’t help but write in some angst, and I’m excited to write these characters! I don’t think I've ever written a kid fic before, so this one is full of new concepts for me! 

2. look after you iii 

this one has been a long time coming, but I'm hoping to get it out sometime before march 2021 if all goes well! it’s the final addition to my look after you series, and I feel like it wraps everything up really nicely. it also shows a more serious and domestic side to those characters than any other part of that ‘verse, and touches on some important aspects of my own life like adoption and a few other things yet to be revealed. I always say that this series began as an excuse to practice writing smut, but it’s turned into so much more to me :) 

3. science & faith

I've mentioned this one a few times before as well! it’s STEM major L who has dedicated his career to proving that love doesn’t actually exist. H is a philosophy major that challenges him from the beginning, and through several interviews they become unexpected friends. cue major character development and wayyyyyy too much psych/philosphy conjecture because it’s my guilty pleasure. some of my favorite fics are the ones where they’re both insanely intelligent and debate a lot, so I've tried to mirror some of that in this! 

4. sitcom au 

okay, this is the first of several long fics that I want to write this coming year! this one is an idea that I've been obsessed with for nearly two years now, and I'm finally getting around to writing some of it! it’s loosely based around Friends, but very different I'd say. the entire gang are on a new-age sitcom and the fic explores their lives both on and off screen. it’s enemies to lovers (sort of) and has a bit of side ziam because it’s my guilty pleasure, and I feel like it’s one of the most real, raw, emotional pieces I've ever written. I am so so so so excited about this one, and I feel like people will really be able to relate to many aspects of it!!! 

5. love & monsters 

this au is loosely based around the movie that came out earlier this year (Love & Monsters) in which the world ends, but not entirely. I'm changing quite a few details about it though! the vibe here is very dystopian, everyone lives in bunkers, and there are giant, radioactive insects as a result of the world ‘ending’ (lots of world building which will be explained in detail in the fic!). this one features bunker leader H and traveler L, and it’s another one that is unlike anything I've ever written before! I have so many ideas for this one, and I've always wanted to try my hand at a dystopian type world! 

6. speakeasy au 

this one was inspired by the lovely, talented @loubellies !!!!!!! her fic was phenomenal, and it immediately inspired me to want to write a fic that took place in a similar ‘verse! mine will take some slightly different turns and hopefully won’t be too similar! as the rough title suggests, it’s based around a speakeasy and it’s also a historical au (I am going to try my best to make everything historically accurate, but I made a B- in history in school so - we’ll see!) so far it’s got lots of prohibition-era type themes, suspender-wearing H, and one of the most interesting L’s I've ever written, I think. oh, and LOTS of alcohol! I'm excited to try to write some crime/action more in depth! 

7. married in vegas au 

for this one I wanted to go back to my roots for another road trip fic! it’s strangers to lovers to enemies and then back to lovers (sorry for the slight spoiler, but you know I'm incapable of writing anything other than a happy ending) and features H&L both flawed and at some difficult parts of their lives, and they both find themselves in vegas hoping for a distraction. on the trip back to their old lives they both are forced to confront some things and improve themselves, and maybe also learn to love again while they’re at it. I adore road trip au’s and character development, so this is another one I'm really excited about! 

8. abo royalty au 

the last I'll share of my current wips for now is one that I've had in my idea list for a while, but randomly wrote a few thousands on over the past few weeks! it’s a historical royalty au that’s abo, featuring royal H. I don’t want to give away too much of L’s storyline just yet, but his character is one of my favorites in this one for sure! also, may or may not be written with my lovely friend @falsegoodnight .... let me know? ;) 

that’s about it for now! I have nearly 30 wips but I only counted the ones that have significant word counts here, and I'll put some below with the ideas! 

and then here are some in my list that have 10k or less that I want to write in the future (feel free to send me ideas or things you’d like to see in them, or to ask me for more info if you’re curious!): 

- ziam au 

- sterek au 

- fashion designer!L 

- rival CEO’s (this one has over 10k but it’s been abandoned for a bit! I need to get back into it!) 

-superpowers au 

- ghost writer!L / popstar!H au 

- *possibly* a triplet fic (nothing weird! strictly X/L | X/L | X/L) 

- witch!L 

- more vampy drabbles 

- a pride and prejudice au where L is mary

- phone sex operator!H but the hotline is for aftercare

- H is engaged to someone else (although ris @falsegoodnight knocked this trope OUT OF THE PARK and I don’t think I could ever do it justice after reading hers!) 

- some modern day fairytales 

- I'd like to do some more uni au’s as well! 

- a loosely inspired reversed Grease au where L is preppy and pretends he doesn’t know H when they get back to school, and H is from the ‘wrong side of the tracks’ and falls head over heels for L 

alrighty, I think that’s about it! these are most of my plans for the next two years or so, with the exception of some drabbles/pwp’s/some other works that I'm keeping private for now! if you see anything you’d like more info on or make any suggestions for, please don’t hesitate to reach out or send me an ask! 

and thank you again for asking me this, I've really been uninspired recently and I feel like I'm kind of dragging, but getting to talk a little bit about them has made me very happy tonight! thank you so much again for your interest, and I hope you have a lovely rest of your day/night! <3 

[bbq-hawks-wings]

On Hawks' Injuries

Alright, let's get this out of the way.

"His back... It's... gone!"

I may like to act like an intellectual, but no amount of analysing the color of the curtains changes the fact that I'm a married, mother of two, in her mid-twenties fixated on a fictional character from a series aimed at teenagers about superhero high school. The innuendo from Dark Shadow, the implications of what this means for Hawks on a personal and professional level - that shit stings and I might actually cry when this dumpster fire ends up in the anime in a few years.

We won't know about the extent of his injuries until he's been examined by a doctor, but considering how quickly his wings went up (this all happens in seconds which means those flames are extremely hot)...

...We're looking easily at huge patches of third degree burns with first and second scattered across his body. The area most affected is in the center of his back which does not have a lot of soft tissue to insulate before you're getting to very important nerves and organs, and the scar tissue that will likely form in the muscles and skin after healing may leave his movement heavily restricted.

Depending on how gruesome Horikoshi wants to be, Hawks not only will never get his wings back, but he could be looking at significant permanent disability for the rest of his life. This isn't even taking into consideration the acute complications he may face on the road to recovery including fighting off bacterial infections, fluid loss, and his immediate increased risk of hypothermia. Left improperly treated, someone with this level of burn injury faces an agonizing death (though, a quick one after passing out without treatment), and proper treatment would likely require huge amounts of pain medication to make the long road to recovery even bearable. This doesn't even take into account any additional injury he may have sustained when he hit his head after Dark Shadow dropped them off the balcony.

Remembering for a minute that this is a battle Shonen we're talking about, this is an absolute worst case scenario, and this post goes over how it likely won't end up this bad in the narrative, but that doesn't minimize the sheer brutality of the beating he just took. The fact that he only passed out after hitting his head is pretty miraculous in and of itself, but I'll force myself to suspend my amazement a little bit given the nature of the source material.

Let's assume at the very least his wings aren't coming back, and he'll need at least a week with good medical attention and healing quirks to just be able to get out of bed again. What then?

It should always be obvious when I predict the future that it's all speculation because I'm not actually clairvoyant, but you know disclaimer or whatever.

We have some nasty red flags staring us down in regards to where this fight is going right now. Shigaraki is awake. Dabi's words after Tokoyami escapes with Hawks insinuates there's an alternate plan than the MLA had, Gigantomachia is moving, and the tides are quickly turning for the heroes without even all of that. This fight looks like it's about to go south real fast.

If the heroes lose with significant losses - with any amount of death or injury - and with the added knowledge they at least partially relied on young, inexperienced kids to help bolster their numbers in the hopes to end this quickly, by the time Hawks wakes up he'll not only be staring down his own personal loss in the wake but the weight of the guilt of what he'll perceive as his own failure will crush him. I also sincerely believe that worst detail at the end of it will be him knowing he personally killed a good man for nothing to even come of it in the end.

Remembering also that the Hero Public Safety Commission is the one who tasked him with this mission in secret and the fact, again, that they pulled children into this failed fight - I do not believe they will take responsibility. This doesn't even take into account the fact he'll be useless as a hero and that they don't even know the extent of his knowledge of their inner workings which makes him a dangerous potential leak.

What's more, news of Hawks' betrayal of the MLA will spread through the ranks and file into the public consciousness. On every single side Hawks will be the scapegoat while he is fighting for his life from a hospital bed. He'll be in more danger without the fierce protection of trusted friends than he was while deep in enemy territory. If he doesn't have a tribe he can trust to keep him safe, maybe even going as far as to clandestinely steal him away where he can't be found, attempts on his life are not out of the question.

Hawks will have a choice to make - rise up and make some real god-damned change while we're already up to our necks or roll over and let the world come crashing down around him as he sinks into despair. He can either settle for being a symbol of failure or he can take the chance to rebirth himself.

Could Hawks' wings ever come back?

This injury is insinuated to be permanently damaging. Whatever mechanism grafted Hawks' wings to his back and allowed him to control them is implied to be damaged beyond recovery, if not completely gone.

However, given Eri's mere existence it's absolutely possible to rewind that injury. Before the battle began it was insinuated Eri will end up using her power again, perhaps even out of necessity. It's an absolutely broken quirk, to be sure; but running with the idea that at some point her power will be offered to Hawks to let him have his wings back - perhaps it's even her idea - I posit two scenarios:

Hawks accepts and he's given a second chance to be whatever he wants to be. His freedom completely restored to him physically and figuratively, he begins life anew with a zeal and solemn appreciation for life and the people in it because the opportunity to make a full return like this is a one in a million chance he's lucky to have.

Hawks turns her down, at least uncomfortable with the idea of using a child's quirk for his own benefit given his own history, even if she offers it freely with no additional obligation to herself. He takes a moral stand in the moment to say, "It's not your job to fix my mistakes and shortcomings" and lives as an example of accountability and living with the hard choices you've made in life and learning how to be happy despite the loss.

I would personally be happy with either if Horikoshi intends to take either route. It's more than possible neither will happen, but with the Eri angle, I hope the possibility is at least touched upon. Maybe it's a one-shot thing and he chooses to let her restore someone like Mirio instead. Maybe it'll get completely broken and bring back every hero - Hawks, Mirio, Mirko, etc. - perhaps even triggered by her own determination to help in any way she can. We'll have to see. The story can take any number of directions after this, and it's not so much where we're going that has me antsy as much as the wait it'll take to get there.