#this organization is seen as like a second government all over the world. except for this island called Alcester

[fishtank32]

Some old oc drawings

[linkspooky]

Hello! I Just discovered your blog and you did a lot of interesting work on jjk(I want to fully read your Fanfictions soon!) Since you did a lot of work on jjk side characters I wanted to ask how did you come to the characterization of the secondary/background characters especially the members of Zen'in family and If you had any tips about writing them. I'm plotting a Fanfiction with them as the main villains(except Maki and Mai that are "positive" characters) but I'm a bit scared to make them ooc.

Thank you! If you do end up reading my fics soon let me know what you think and leave a comment. As for the Zen'in, Gege killed them a little too fast before we could ever really learn what the Zen'in family was like in story, so I can describe my process for writing them if that helps!

There are inspiration I took from other media when expanding upon the Zen'in Family dynamic, the first is the Washuu Family from Tokyo Ghoul. In the manga Tokyo Ghoul the Washuu are an extremely rich and traditional patriarchal family who are also the heads of the CCG or Commission of Counter Ghoul the government sponsored organization that hunts down ghouls. Basically, they fight ghouls like the Zen'in Fight curses, but ghouls are sentient with human emotions so they're an even more brutal and unsavory family.

Over the course of the story we learn the Washu isn't just the main house, there are several branch families who are all considered a part of the "Washuu." The house in order to maintain their power commits the ultimate taboo of arranging marriages, some of them even consanguineous marriages in order to breed for stronger child soldiers to fight ghouls. These children were then raised in a place called the "Sunlit Garden" solely for the purpose of becoming ghoul investigators when they were over. However, only the really good ones got to join the CCG, the rest of them had to be secret agents only working in the shadows. They also, as a curse only got to live short lives.

So, you can see the parallels with the Zen'in Family right away.

"If you're not a Zen'in then you're not a sorcerer, if you're not a sorcerer then you're not even human."

If you're a member of the Zen'in Clan you basically have no choice to be a sorcerer, according to Mai the other option is being treated like a household servant, which also implies women are seen as second class citizens who are only there to support the home if they don't become sorcerers.

Which means just like the Washuu, if you're born into the Zen'in you are going to be a child soldier, you'll be sent to Jujutsu High with little choice for the direction in your life. The Zen'in are also the most militarized of the three families. It's one of the few things Gege emphasizes about them in extra-canon materials.

"The Zen'in Family: Sorcerers who place an emphasis on ability above all else. They will even oppress their own family and relatives. They hold a self-righteous and old-fashioned ideology but their battle strength is high: they construct their unique battle organization in order to support the Jujutsu World."

Here we have more parallels to the Washuu, they are basically producing sorcerers / child soldiers to support the Jujutsu World the same way the Washuu creates ghoul investigators. There's also a very regimented caste system, only the best of the best get to be actual sorcerers, those without cursed techniques get shoved down to the bottom while the elite serve in the Hei with Naoya. The Zen'in also value inherited technique above all else, which is why they cast out people like Maki and Mai and yet elevate Megumi who's a complete stranger to clan head. This is an extrapolation but considering that Naoya makes offhand combats about marrying his cousins, then arranged marriages to produce children with better cursed techniques is probably a thing too.

The only reason I draw long comparison between the Washuu and the Zen'in though is because they are both families that basically exist to produce sorcerers / ghoul investigators and raise them up. All of their power and privilege in their society is given to them because of their ability to do this. All prestige in the clan comes from sorcerer technique and ability, which is why if you're not a sorcerer you're not even human. You weren't born as a child to be loved, you're born to be useful to the family.

The Zen'in is a place for raising sorcerers not children, which is why it's such an extremely loveless environment. Men marry women to take care of the household and raise up children, men only pay attention to their children who are sorcerers, children are all raised with the expectation of being a sorcerer or they're failing their parents. The Washuu and the Sunlit Garden particular have a theme that it's such a toxic environment that every single person who's raised there is poisoned. Everyone. There are no exceptions. No matter how kind or soft a person you are, if you are raised from birth to be a child soldier and shown no real empathy or love you're not going to be able to function as a person. There are characters who actually rebel against the Washuu, but they're still very much showing signs of the environment they were raised in, they're still toxic, violent and use power to get what they want.

Which is why whenever writing the Zen'in I used the maxim "There are no good Zen'in" which means no matter how good-intentioned they are, even if they have more sympathetic traits, no one can come out of the Zen'in unscathed. Y

Yes, even Maki. Remember, she murdered a whole bunch of people. She recreates the violence of her clan the same way everyone else in the clan does, even when she's trying to break that cycle she repeats it.

The exception would be Mai who never wanted to be a Zen'in in the first place and only wanted to a normal life, but Mai can be toxic in her own way. She's codependent, she blames others, she's incredibly self-loathing and dysfunctional and in canon in the end she chooses to kill herself. So the one example we have of an "innocent" Zen'in literally dies and is consumed by the whole clan.

Now, this is the part of the post where I'm going to blow your mind, a character doesn't have to be good or even redeemable to be a good character. They just need to be complex. The biggest problem of Gege's characterization of the Zen'in is not that they're all irredeemable people, but that they're irredeemable and one-note.

Ogi wants to kill his daughters to become clan-head. Jinichi was apparently Toji's brother, has a face scar, and wanted to go along with that plan. In extra-canon materials it's mentioned that most of Jinichi's direct subordinates think he's a nicer guy than Naoya.

Naoya's the most complex character out of the bunch, and he works as a good example to outline how you can make a character complex while having them be completely unsavory. Naoya, despite being spoiled is as tragically a product of his environment as much as any other Zen'in is. As I outlined above no one comes out of the Zen'in untouched, if you're raised in an incredibly insular clan with no access to the outside world, and every male figure around you is a misogynist then you're going to turn into a misogynist too. You are educated and taught to behave by the adults around you in your life.

Naoya is really the ultimate foil to Maki in that they are both the ultimate products of the Zen'in Clan toxicity, it's just Naoya was the golden child of the entire clan and Maki was the scapegoat. It's obvious Naoya's upbringing has ruined his entire personality and made him the embodiment of entitlement. One thing I like to say is that Naoya acts like Gojo, but he doesn't have the swag or charisma to back it up so while Gojo gets away with it Naoya continually gets his ass kicked. But in that sense Gojo is also the person who he is because he was spoiled and the golden boy of the Gojo clan.

Let's look at who Gojo is. Emotionally stunted. Incredibly lonely. Thinks no one can connect to him because no one is strong / good enough. Despises the sorcery world and the clan system. Full of barely restrained anger that comes out in fights. Isn't particularly liked by the people around him but they all still need him. Has no life outside of being a sorcerer.

Naoya has all these qualities too he's just an asshole so the audience is less inclined to sympathize with him. Think about Naoya this way, he despises everyone around him, his own family, his fellow sorcerers, he has no friends and no connections to other people. He openly mocks everything and laughs and constantly makes quips like "my brothers should just hang themselves and die" but a person so full of hatred isn't really enjoying their life. He wants to become clan-head beause he thinks he's entitled to that position and he's been told since birth that it's his... but why does he even want it? He hates the Zen'in, he knows their full of shit for looking down on Toji, he hates the other sorcerers around him. He follows and repeats the toxic Zen'in Ideology despite knowing that it's bad for him, but why?

Naoya becomes a very nihilistic character in that light, there's no love or happiness in his life, there's nothing he likes, he just believes in his elitism because that's all he has. He's the perfect Zen'in set to inherit the clan but he's nothing else, he's nihil as a person, he has no identity outside of being a sorcerer and he doesn't even seem to really like anything.

He longs to be as powerful as Toji and Gojo, but once again why? Does he think being able to look down on everyone from above would at least liberate him from the toxic cesspool he was raised in? Would that validate him somehow because he derives no real enjoyment from life?

While not sympathetic a person like that is pitiable. It's impossible not to feel bad for someone miserable, even if that person is the architect of their own misery. Anyway, you can draw a lot out of a character even Naoya who's basic role in the story is just "Naoya always talks shit and then immediately gets his ass kicked."

As for the rest of the clan, like I said they have no canon material so it's basically impossible to write them as out of character. They have no characters in canon.

For Jinichi I chose to focus on his relationship with Toji, because it would serve as a good parallel to Mai and Maki. My idea was to show Toji and Jinichi actually caring about each other as rothers to show how the Zen'in can ruin relationships even when there is love. The Zen'in Clan is a poisoned earth, everything that grows in that garden is poison so even loving sibling relationships are poisoned.

Jinichi can care about his brother, he can be much nicer to him than their father, but eventually their father's mistreatment of Toji and their father pitting them against each other is going to drive a wedge in their relationship no matter what. As much as they want to be they can't be a proper family, because the Zen'in Clan aren't a family they're a bunch of soldiers.

Which again parallels to Maki and Mai who love each other clearly, but are inevitably driven apart by their family circumstances. All the love in the world doesn't make a difference for the both of them because number one they are pitted against each other by the clan and outside environment and number two they are two different people coping with their trauma in different ways.

For Toji and Jinichi, and then Maki and Mai I chose to basically show that these are two twins who are inevitably unable to have functional sibling relationships with each other despite the love they might have because despite being twins they are not the same person. They are inevitably two different people reacting in different ways and therefore they're driven apart by it.

Ogi is the last one I gave any real characterization in my fic, by not actually giving him characterization at all. That makes sense I promise just let me explain.

Ogi's the kind of man who is willing to murder his own daughters for what he thinks is a shot at getting him clan head. These are children he's spent sixteen years of his life raising, and he has no hesitation whatsoever in doing that. Sure, Jinichi goes along with it but those aren't his kids so he's at least got a reason for being impersonal.

What kind of person can do that?

Well my idea was that Ogi's just not really much of a person to begin with. At least Naoya is grappling with inner turmoil and negative emotions whereas Ogi just seems to only care about his standing in the clan and his desire for clan head.

He probably never formed an attachment to his daughters, so he handed them off to his wife to raise. He probably didn't want daughters and twins on top of that in the first place, but when they turned out to both be worthless as sorcerers he probably stopped regarding them as his children whatsoever.

So everything in Ogi's life is just about playing a role in his clan. His marriage is probably arranged, and one where he has all the power in the house considering how Matsuko is scared into just going along with his plans. He only had children out of obligation to produce more heirs to raise up as sorcerers, and those failed so they're not even his children anymore. He doesn't have anything he wants, besides his desire for clan leadership but only because he believed he was unfairly passed over.

He's someone who perfectly fits the role of a traditional man of the Zen'in, but he's absolutely nothing else. He's got no personality, no motivations beyond ascending the ranks, he's just a cog more or less. Which is why in the end he's not even that important or complex a character, Maki just kills him in an instant because he's a nobody.

Those are the ideas I came up with in fleshing out the Zen'in as a household, I hope that helped you even a little bit, anon!

[the-masked-ram]

Patreon Update

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Blurred Lines Chap 4- College AU! Touya x Fem!Reader You could just make out the mop of white hair, the gold decorated face, and the eyes that stared with a bit too much heat at your blurred silhouette behind the fogged gloss. “Oh my god… Touya!!!” your voice rose from a scandalized whisper to an unholy screech within seconds. “Ouch, doll, that’s some pipes you got there,” he huffed out with a chuckle. You could see his arm moved to the side of his face. Likely to do some sort of dramatic ear rubbing. You rolled your eyes. “Get out, you fucking pig! Get out now!!” you snarled, your hands cradling your chest and your thighs crossing. You heard the distinct click of his tongue and his sigh of disappointment, “No fun. You give me a show, but won’t follow through? Not fair, dollface.”

--- When the World Ends Chapter One- Sebastian (stardew) mech mechanic x fem reader mech pilot

Your family worked in the agricultural district. None of them ever understood your love and fascination with the intelligent machines known as mechs. You had moved away to put space between you and your family. But this was the closest pilot school in your sector. This was the only station you could stay at. You hadn’t even told your family you’d been accepted.

You stroked across the typed words with fondness, a sense of pride ballooning in your chest. You’d been chosen. Maybe a handful of people were chosen each year to try their luck at the pilot’s exam. It was extremely dangerous, but you found it worth it. To be able to do what you felt you were made for.

“I just can’t farm,” you whispered. “Agriculture isn’t for me.”

That’s what you had told them the day you’d left with nothing but a destination in mind.  You’d arrive several stops away and made some sort of life for yourself. Though it was lonely, it was all working towards your future. Working towards this letter in your hands. --- Original Content Feed the Rich- Chap Six

            He ducked under the tape as it was lifted for him and then walked to check out the splatter of human remains on the ground. He could see their torsos, or what was left of them. It reminded him of the crime scene he’d seen a little over a week ago. Before he went to go see Terrance.

            That person had been smashed to bits too. These people, there were three of them, seemed to have become a part of the pavement. Blood pooled across the ground, guts were strewn about, large gashes exposed bone and ripped muscle, and bones splintered over the streets. Levi couldn’t believe such a violent crime could be committed and there seemed to be no witnesses.

            Though the officers were canvasing the crowd, there was no one that had been pulled aside and most people looked confused with just a tinge of disgust as well. That seemed normal though, Levi would be green around the gills too if he hadn’t seen similar things already. Hell, he’d seen someone run over by a truck before. That had done a very similar type of damage, except the person had seemed to pop like a balloon instead of being pulverized with a massive, clawed hammer.             He frowned, scrunching his nose in process. It smelled like bile and organs, crushed bone and meat. He shook his head; how could three people not have been claimed? He watched as the cleaners took the bodies. Tagging them as unclaimed and scooping them into coroner’s bags before putting them on a government truck

[freifraufischer]

A Gymnastics Mystery: Was the 1981 World Championship Stolen?  Part 2 - A Nearly Perfect Year

In our last episode I introduced one of the greatest mysteries in gymnastics history.  Did the East German government ask Maxi Gnauck to fake an injury thus taking herself out of the 1981 All Around World Championship which was held in Moscow and won in a podium sweep by the Soviet Union.  To understand why this is even a question we first have to examine the 1981 elite season (and some of the insanity that happened during it).

The previous year the 1980 Olympics was an unseemly mess where the Romanian vice president of the Women’s Technical Committee held up the All Around for almost half an half an hour trying to get Nadia Comăneci beam score raised so that she could win her second Olympic AA.  When she couldn’t convince the judges and technical officials to raise the score she simply refused to the score into the computer.  Meanwhile on the sidelines Bela Karolyi was screaming about corruption and unfair scoring against his gymnasts including Emilia Eberle in the uneven bars final.  The winner of that final was 16 year old East German Maxi Gnauck and she also had to share the AA silver with Nadia.

If the drama and ill spirited corruption was at unprecedented levels during the 1980 Olympics, things just got worse (and stranger) at the beginning of 1981.  In January 1981 the Romanian gymnastics team, coached by Bela Karolyi, visited the United States to attend an invitational competition where their headliner was to be Ekaterina Szabo, the reigning junior European Champion.  Except the girl carrying Szabo’s passport wasn’t Ekaterina Szabo but Levinia Agache (another future Olympic gold medalist).

We’ll never know why the Romanians did this.  Some people have suggested the meet organizers were aware of the deception though Kathy Johnson on twitter strongly denied that, saying the only reason anyone knew something was wrong was because an American gymnast in the crowd had seen Szabo at a previous meet and alerted officials.  But as the passport was issued by the Romanian government and they had no more proof of the impersonation the matter was dropped for the time.  Two months later the Romanians would return to the United States this time with the real Ekaterina Szabo and Levinia Agache carrying her own passport.  Because.... why... anyway it was on this trip that Bela Karolyi and his wife Marta would defect.

A few months later the first major gymnastics meet of the year the European Championships was held in velodrome in Madrid.  [As an aside, for some reason velodromes were very popular for hosting gymnastics meets in the 1980s, not only the 1981 Euros, but the 1985 and 1987 World championships and I seem to recall at least one other Euros that decade were held in velodromes.]  At this meet the USSR did not send Olympic AA gold medalist Elena Davydova, but instead 3 rising talents Alla Misnik, Natalia Ilienko, and a “new senior” age falsified Olga Bicherova.  It’s important to remember that in an age when the sport was dominated by European gymnasts the European championships was a bellwether for the winners of world and olympic competitions.  Nadia Comăneci announced herself to the world, not at the American Cup as the American gymnastics federation liked to say, but rather at the European Championships before the Montreal Olympic Games.  It can be assumed that the Soviets wanted to use the event to introduce their new stars to the world.

The only problem with that plan was Maxi Gnauck turned that Spanish velodrome into her personal stage to demonstrate her dominance.  She won the AA by .3 over Romanian Cristina Grigoras, with Misnik and Ilienko come in 3rd and 4th.  Bicherova had a disaster of a meet and came in 23rd.  Gnauck also took 3 of the 4 event gold medals, having to settle for “only” a silver on vault.  Now one of the great things about 1981 Euros is that we have incredibly high quality film of the event (without commentary so you can hear how incredibly loud it was whenever anyone landed a vault or a beam dismount).  it’s worth looking at those event finals to see what kind of shape Gnauck was in.

Let’s start with vault, the only gold medal that Gnauck did not win...

Skip to 13.37 for Gnauck’s vaults, if you want to watch the entire final I suggest you skip ahead in the video as it includes both the beginning sound test and the full warm up period.  The things I want you to see here are just how much power she had coming down the runway and how good her form was.  Remember this was an age before Yurchenko entries where gymnasts had to get all their power from a handspring block. Gnauck would tie for silver with her countrywoman the amazingly named Birgit Senff.  

It’s as good as any time to talk a little bit about ties in 1970s and 1980s gymnastics because they can be an indication of corruption in that a rightful winner wouldn’t be denied outright but would have to share their win with the favored gymnast.  But generally I think modern viewers just don’t realize how easy it was to tie when scores could only be given in increments of .1 and there were only 4 judges two of whose scores were dropped.  There were only so many possible scores and so you were simply mathematically more likely to tie before the judging panel was expanded and deductions could be given in increments of .05.  It also helped that no one seemed particularly interested in breaking ties.

After that “disappointing” silver we move onto Gnauck’s stroll through dominating the entire European field.  Skip to 20.08 for her bars routine.  As with her 1980 bars I’d like you to look at how good her form is, and let me repeat again this bars set was so consistent that you could essentially pick any competition between 1979 and 1984 and see the same thing from her.

Next came the balance beam.  Start at 19.21 for Gnauck.  Now Maxi is not the kind of beamer that you will want to write poetry about, and she has two significant balance checks here.  She barely won this title by .1, a margin she carried over from the AA (a routine you can see here at timestamp 2.01.31).  I urge you to look at the AA beam performance without the balance checks to understand just the high level of beam tumbling difficulty Gnauck had in 1981.

At this point you may be wondering about the socks/ankle taping, since the question of the injury at worlds was her ankle.  But this kind of extreme ankle taping was not just common but basically universal among East German gymnasts.  It’s not evidence of an injury.  There is a reason I will sometimes describe a heavy ankle tape job as “being taped like an East German”.  But hey if you are doing that level of beam difficulty and landing on those cardboard mats I think you might proactively tape your ankles too...

And then we come to the floor final which she wins by .2, not entirely by her carry over score (she did better in the final relative to the silver medalist and lost ground relative to the bronze medalist).  The European Championships was an optionals only competition (the AA acted as qualification for EF and the scores carried over) so you couldn’t hide score fixing in compulsories like you could at the World Championship.  You can find Gnauck’s routine at 7.00 minutes into the video (the floor silver medalist Alla Minsk of the USSR is at 10.40, and the floor bronze medalist Cristina Grigoras of Romania is at 31.39).  I think you can understand the placing simply based on landings and tumbling difficulty.

Normally this is the point when I talk about East Germans that I have to try and make an excuse for their weird floor music and chorographical choices.  Gnauck has her share of them and I wouldn’t call her balletic.  But she is performing, clearly has dance training, and I think if you look at her and think about any “power gymnast” of the modern era you can understand her.  As it happens at this competition I don’t feel the need to defend her choreography given that the Soviets were in their disco period and the Romanians were still using Geza Pozsar choreography (he had defected only weeks before).

I think there are arguments to be had about Eastern Bloc leotard bonuses at Worlds (and I think in particular Ma Yanhong had legitimate grievances over it), but the thing I want to emphasize here is that the people Gnauck was beating here weren’t the Chinese or the western Europeans or the Americans.  She was beating the Soviets and the Romanians.  Even if the East Germans were overscored they weren’t being overscored over the Soviets or the Romanians.

Gnauck came out of the 1981 European Championships with 4 gold medals, and 1 silver medal.  She had come away from the 1980 Olympics with 4 medals as well as a 4th in the Balance Beam final that Nadia won IMO on reputation (only .1 of a point covered 1-4 in the 1980 Olympic Balance Beam final).

Coming into Moscow there would have been no question that she was the prohibitive favorite to win the World All Around.

Next time:  The world’s most comically corrupt elite gymnastics meet and the strange events of the 1981 World Championships.

[sloptime]

I that it’s wierd you have an issue with HtR hunters, but not like mortal hunters

then again you do seem like the person who would berate someone for joining the second Inquisition

I would berate someone for joining the IRL FBI, CIA or US military, so yeah a right wing vigilante group known for drone strikes, bombings and arsons on US soil? Against civilian targets? With such little regard for collateral damage or how many of their own people are sacrificed to bring down a handful of vampires? I'd have a problem with that, for the same reasons I have issues with right wing militias and the War on Terror (and the War on Drugs) now. You seem like the type of person to think the Imperium are the unironic good guys in 40k, and that RoboCop was an aspirational movie.

I think mortal hunters are fine, because plenty of vampires and shit are evil, and people have a right to defend themselves. There needs to be consequences for breaking the masquerade or flexing your powers without being careful or the game doesn't work. I just think the SI works best as an antagonist, being made up of evil real life organizations known for brutalizing civilians, deep corruption, and a jingoistic attitude towards military engagement. It makes sense to me that mortal hunters who join are gonna be used as disposable foot soldiers by an organization like that. Plus vampires VS the government? Pretty cool, and it makes sense. The department of defense would cream their pants if they found out that vampires are real, and they could leverage all their spending on 'terrorism' against the new threat. It's the modern war hawk's wet dream.

Imbued I think are dumb because I dislike it when people have super powers that don't come with inherent drawbacks and don't have a Halloween monster theme in World of Darkness, a game about monsters. They read to me like a weird Christian fascist fantasy about being some kind of paladin who hunts degenerate urbanites, and seem more at home in some kind of flash-in-the-pan marvel Disney+ series than a horror role playing game. Does it not kind of ruin the point of being a disadvantaged mortal fighting back against the monsters if you're just another supernatural, except with no cost to your powers? If you're not a Hunter because you've faced abuse from a monster and chosen to fight back with what little you have, but because an angel told you to be? It's like you won't play the hardest WoD game line without cheat codes. Lame. I have similar issues with most sorcerers in oWoD, kinnian, and mummies. From what I've seen CofD does a much better job in making sure that no supernatural power comes without a cost. That superhero shit is lame and makes the whole setting feel so dated and juvenile. Take that shit back to Mutants and Masterminds where it belongs.

Not to mention, there's no theme that the Imbuned cover that Werewolf doesn't cover better. Zealotry, the downfalls of a good vs evil ideology? The inherent issues of a warrior culture? Trying to square being a holy warrior against evil with the shades of grey the real world is cast in? It's all in werewolf, and with much more dimension and depth. HtR hunters can't even claim the underdog title over the Garou because they have the aforementioned superpowers with no drawbacks.

WoD got big back in the day because it felt cool and contemporary. If you want it to retain that effect for a modern audience, you have to cut the stupid shit that makes it feel dated and the Satanic Panic era propaganda is the second thing that's gotta be cut to do that. (The first thing being the rampant orientalism and racial stereotyping that soaks the setting). I'm sure in 10-20 years lots of stuff in the 5th Ed line will need to go through some kind of pruning again to fit whatever the shape of the world is by then. Having "modern" in the description line of your game just comes with that consequence.

And I don't wanna hear about how the drawback is they "know about the supernatural now" every single WoD player character deals with that, mortal or otherwise. It's not a drawback, it's an inherent part of the setting.

Unless you were talking about my issue with HtR5th in which case I think you misunderstand me, I don't really have a strong opinion on 5th edition Hunter other than that I'm glad they cut out Imbuned.

[readingforsanity]

The Andromeda Strain | Michael Crichton | Published 1969 | *SPOILERS*

This book recounts the five-day history of a major American scientific crisis. As in most crises, the events surroudning the Andromeda Strain were a compound of foresight and foolishness, innocence and ignorance. Nearly everyone had moments of great brilliance, and moments of unaccountable stupidity...

Thus begins this extraordinary novel of the world’s first space-age biological emergency. 

The Andromeda Stain sets forth with almost documentary verismilitude the unfolding story of Project Wildfire - the crash mobilization of the nation’s largest scientific and medical resources when an unmanned research satellite returns to earth mysteriously and lethally contaminated. 

Four American scientists, chosen in advance for their experimental achievvements in the fields of microbiology, epidemiology, pathology, and electrolyte chemistry, are summoned under conditions of total news blackout and utmore urgency to Wildfire’s secret laboratory five stories beneath the Nevada desert. 

There - surrounded by banks of the most sophisticated computer-assisted equipment, and cleaed off from the outside world except for a telecommunications link with the national security apparatus - the work against the threat of a worldwide epiddemic to find an antidote to the unknown microorganism that has inexplicably killed all but two inhabitants of the tiny Arizona town where the satellite was retrieved. 

Step by step they begin to unravel the puzzle of the Andromeda Strain, until, terrifying, their microbacterial adversary ruptures the hypersterile seal of the laboratory and their already desperate search for a biomedical answer becomes a split-second race against an atomic deadline. 

With its narrative force, its scientific detail, its suspense - as four brilliant indivialists work together under ultimately pressure - this novel makes real for the reader the real world of today’s science and medicine at the top-secret levels of the Science-Space-Military high command. 

Discussion Questions 

1. The Andromeda Strain, written over 40 years ago in 1969, remains a classic in the scientific-thriller genre. What is its lasting appeal? Does it have relevance to the 21st century? I think the appeal is that is brought something extraterrestrial to earth, and wreaked havoc for a period of 5 days. Nothing crazy, but still something that nobody could fathom happening, especially in 1969. Does it have relevance today? I’m not sure. Government secrets are still heavily guarded, and whether or not they have other life forms hidden away remains to be seen. 

2. Research some of the scientific technology - then in its infancy - mentioned in the book. Trace the development, for instance, of remote surveillance, voice activation, computer imaging, handprint identification, and biosafety lab procedures. Was Crichton a visionary...or were these inventions already on their way to common usage? I think back then it was visionary. Some of the items within the book weren’t something believed to have been invented by then. At least not in my own knowledge. 

3. Are extraterrestrial microbes an actual, potentially, serious threat today? I believe that they can be. Do I believe in aliens and all that? Sure. Much like the ocean, the entirety of space hasn’t been examined, and anything can be out there. 

4. What current governmental bodies are chartered to control epidemics - extraterrestrial or earthbound? How equipped are we as a society to cope with a major epidemic? Have the dangers of a planetwide diease lessened or increased since Andromeda strain was published? Given the major pandemic we just went through, we’re not very prepared. We have the World Health Organization and the Centers for Disease Control that are meant to be well-prepared for things like this. But, with the eruption of the coronavirus in 2020, it doesn’t seem like we were very prepared at all. Unfortunately, a lot of lives were lost. In this story, they worked around the clock to find answers that only took them 5 days? That is completely unheard of. 

5. Crichton wrote The Andromeda Strain shortly after the end of the Vietnam War. In what way does that war influence the tone of the novel? In other words, how is Crichton’s personal attitude toward the military reflected in the novel? Does his skepticism seem relevant today...or outdated? Crichton finds the military very useful, otherwise he wouldn’t have used them within the novel. I don’t know how this question is relevant as I didn’t think he was skeptical of them to begin with other than the President’s orders. 

6. Jeremy Stone believes that human intelligence was more trouble than it was worth. It was more destructive than creative, more confusing than revealing, more discouraging than satisfying. Crichton’s book explores the limits of human intelligence: its vulnerability to self-delusion and irrationality...it’s capacity to destroy the planet coupled with its incapacity to control the danger...and its suscepticility to malfunction under stress. How does this idea or ideas play out in the novel? Do you agree with Crichton’s/Stone’s concept of human intelligence? Or is it overwought? I don’t think that human intelligence is something that we should mess with. Obviously, there are incredibly intelligent and smart human beings, so I do not agree with this assessment. 

7. Talk about the Odd Man hypothesis, which seems authentic and factual. Is there any truth at all to the theory, or is it purely fictional? If the latter, why the ruse to make it sound plausible? I believe this. I have heard of this hypothesis in the past, but never in real life situations. But, it makes sense. Someone who is unmarried is the one who has to make large decisions such as to stop or continue a self-destruct phase. 

8. This novel might be viewed as a cautionary tale. If  so, a caution against what? - disease, preparedness, government secrecy, the limits of human intelligence, scientific and technological overreach? Something else? I think it is a cautionary tale to be more prepared. Obviously, they were prepared for the potential of other lifeforms being found, therefore they created a laboratory specifically for it. In such a short span of time as well. 

9. Stone comments at the end that the important thing is that we now understand. What exactly is understood? They understand how the Andromeda Strain works. 

10. Describe the moral dilemma the scientists face regarding the destruction of the Andromeda Strain? It is something that they could continuously look at, to learn from and could lead to other insane revelations over time. 

11. Does something like Project Scoop exist today? Should it exist? Is it possible for civilians to know whrther or not something like it might exist? To what extent should government keep secrets from its citizens...as well as potential foes? It is possible. There are civilians contractors working for the military all the time. Does something like this exist? Sure. I’m not one of those specialized civilians in the know of everything, so I can’t say for sure. 

12. Crichton was writing science fiction. Yet a contemporary reviewer wrote in 1969 that the author had convinced him with his copies of Government files and memos and computer-based output mapping, with his reference notes to actual scientific papers - hat it was all really happening. Do you find this same degree of realism in Crichton’s novel? Or has th enovel become less realistic, less plausible after 40 years. The computer programs used, and their print outs and messages within the novel are something I’d believe were true if I didn’t know otherwise. Crichton is always great at including the realism in his novels, which I think really set him apart from other authors. 

13. What about the ending the book? Science fiction thrillers usually end with the defeat of either humanity or the threat. Is the ending dispapointing? Is it, as one reviewer puts it, a series of phony climaxes, and a huge biological cop out? Or does Crichton resolve his plot satisfactorily - with a conclusion that flows logically from events in the novel? I thought it was very disappointing, very anticlimatic. Unfortunately, I was hoping for a different outcome, either the end of the threat or the self-destruction of the facility in general. We got neither of those things, and it ended on sort of a low note. Some great things were beginning to happen, and I felt like it ended incredibly abruptly. It was unfortunate. 

[muchadoaboutbucky]

all the time in the world | oneshot

PAIRING: Bucky Barnes x Native American!Reader WORD COUNT: 3,954 WARNINGS: slow burn, eventual smut, fluff, minor injury NOTE: Imagine if Bucky hadn’t been injured in Civil War and went on the run with everyone else. The reader’s face claim is Crystle Lightning. I also used Sebastian’s “Destroyer” look for inspiration as well. Enjoy!

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I do not consent to minors (17-) reading my work.

It’s been six months since Siberia. Six long, rough months of dodging the government and living off the grid. No phones, no computers, no connection to the outside world other than the daily newspapers you manage to pick up. 

Living in close quarters isn’t the easiest. The jet doesn’t have the best sleeping quarters, just five open bunks on the lower level. The other two have become storage, a cluttered mess of papers and empty weapons boxes and ammunition that has yet to be organized. 

It doesn’t help that you and Bucky have become a little more than friends.

He’s become different since you went on the run. He’s quiet, broody, and absolutely merciless when it comes to getting a mission done. To say the sight of the former assassin taking down the bad guys with nothing but a couple weapons and his bare metal hand doesn’t get you all kinds of riled up. 

The five of you have just finished up a weekend in Portugal. A weapons bust had gone almost perfectly to plan, with the small exception of you getting a bullet graze on your thigh from one of the barely-alive arms dealers on your way out the door. You’d hit the ground hard, and before you could say anything or make a move to recover, Bucky scooped you off the ground and took the fire escape all the way up to the roof and into the jet without a second glance back.

Fortunately the medical bay’s been fully restocked, and Nat quickly gets you on the examining table while Sam takes off, the jet’s cloaking technology vanishing instantly into the dark three-am sky.

“Suit off,” Nat directs, reaching into one of the storage cupboards for a prepped cleaning kit. You strip out of your suit, wincing as the fabric grazes your wound. Natasha bends to examine the wound, gently pressing along the edges with a gloved finger.

“No stitches, please,” you mutter.

“Nope, you won’t need those.” Nat grabs an antiseptic wipe. “Just some bandages and you’ll need to take it easy for a couple days.”

You grumble. “Gross.”

“Could be worse.” Nat dabs the antiseptic wipe along the thin red line of your injury, and you wince, trying not to jerk away. “So… you and Barnes, huh?”

You frown, glancing down at the shimmer of her red hair. “What?”

She chuckles. “He carried you outta there like his ass was on fire. You two’ve been dancing around each other for a couple months.”

Your cheeks flush hot. “We just… it’s complicated.”

“How complicated can it be?” She smiles. “Two people like each other, they go out on a couple dates, maybe they fall in love.”

“It’s not like we have a lot in common,” you explain. “It’s just fooling around, right now, at least.”

If ‘fooling around’ counts as the time he pinned you up against the side of the jet and kissed the shit out of you with his thigh between your legs… or the time he’d waited for everyone else to be occupied with organizing the weapons closet before tugging your panties aside and sliding two fingers deep inside—

“You don’t have to bond over all the bad stuff.” She tosses the wipe into the trash and peels the wrapping off a patch of gauze. “Maybe you have small similarities. Maybe you both like chocolate, maybe you used to go to the same park as kids. It’s the little things.”

As slick and smart as she is, Natasha has no idea about the dirty things you and Bucky have done in the dark.

“I’m just not sure it would work.” You peer down when she lays a pair of large Band-Aids over the patch of gauze. “He’s a little more rough around the edges than I am, he’s still adjusting to this whole modern-life thing, I’m not sure saying ‘hey, you wanna be my boyfriend’ in the middle of it would be smart.”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “Oh please, he knows what he wants, he’s just afraid to ask for it. Men are like that.”

The privacy curtain slides back, and you and Natasha look up so fast you both nearly get whiplash. Bucky’s standing there, eyes wide as he takes in the full sight of you sitting on the table, clothed only in a plain black bra and panties. 

“Oh.” He swallows, and his cheeks flush bright red. “Never mind, I was just—”

Natasha grins. “Barnes, if you have something to say—”

The curtain swishes shut, and the heavy tread of his boots fades away. You giggle, raising a hand to cover your mouth. He’s never seen you this degree of undressed before, much less seen a naked woman in the last several decades. 

“Teach him how to knock,” Natasha jokes, sweeping the used kit into the trash and tugging her gloves off. “I’ll grab you some clothes, we don’t need all the men stroking out from seeing a pair of boobs.”

***

You emerge from the medical room dressed in a pair of pajama shorts and a tee shirt. Steve and Sam are settled comfortably in the pilots’ seats, and Natasha herself has changed into flannel pants and a one of the tee shirts she’s stolen from Sam. 

Bucky’s nowhere to be found.

“We’ll find somewhere to land in a couple hours,”  Steve says, glancing back at you. “How’s your leg, kid?”

“Hurts, but I’ve had worse.” You offer a smile before turning to Nat. “Where’s Bucky?” you ask her silently. 

“Downstairs,” she replies, the corner of her mouth turning up into a little smirk. “Alone.”

You roll your eyes, cheeks burning as you head to the descending ladder for the lower level. Bucky’s sitting on the floor, earphones on, eyes closed. He somehow hears you approach, because he opens his eyes and reaches up to pull the scuffed headphones off and pause the old cassette player clutched in his left hand.

You’re so used to him being big and strong and dominant. Now he just seems… weary. A side you don’t see very often.

“Hi.” You slide down to sit next to him. “It’s late, Nat and I are going to bed, you should wash up and get some rest.”

“I’m not tired,” he replies softly. 

“Are you worried about walkin’ in on me half naked?” you ask, reaching up to run your fingers through the longer hair at the top of his head. Since almost shaving it off, it’s grown back, and he almost looks like he used to back in his time.

His cheeks flush. “You were a little more than half naked.”

“It’s not a problem, I didn’t mind.” You rest your head on his shoulder. “You look exhausted, you should really get some rest.”

“I’m not tired.” Bucky sets the cassette player and headphones on the floor next to him. “Been trying to get some alone time with you for a long time, and tonight when you went down… I just got a lot of ‘what if’s’ goin’ on in my head.”

You hum. “I’m fine. My leg hurts and Nat’s gonna kill me if I don’t take it easy, but—”

“I wanna take you somewhere.” He turns to face you. “I hate dancin’ around like this, and I get that it’s risky for us to be… involved, or whatever we’re trying to be, but…” he swipes his tongue over his lower lip, “I think we deserve one night where we aren’t gonna be sleeping in these stupid bunks. Just you and me.”

You wrap your fingers through his warm metal ones. “We do have that tent in the storage cupboard… we could make a camping night of it?”

He sighs. “I want a real bed. In a real… house, or hotel, or whatever, but I wanna be alone with you. We deserve that, we’ve been playing back and forth for the last six months and I’m tired of it.”

Smiling, you press a gentle kiss to his cheek. “What else do you want?”

He lets out a soft breath before tipping his head back against the wall. “I wanna make love to you, and I can’t do that in a stupid little bunk where three other people can see us.”

You stifle a flustered giggle in his chest. “We can still fool around, Bucky.”

He grunts, dissatisfied. “Can’t you pretend your leg is worse than it is and they can drop us off somewhere?”

“I don’t know, they’ve seen me walking just fine.”

“You could be in shock and not know how bad it is.”

“Bucky.” You slide onto his lap and cup his face. “I’ve been in shock before, several times, and I’m not in shock.”

He smiles lazily, skimming his hands up your sides. “Really? You look a little cold.”

“Because we’re at fifteen-thousand feet,” you kiss him softly, wincing when your bandage pulls, “and Sam’s slacking on fixing the temperature regulator.”

“Maybe I should take you somewhere with a fireplace.” He peers at you through the dim light. “I could do a lot with that.”

“Oh yeah?” You run a finger over his cheek. “Like what?”

He grins wolfishly. “Put some blankets out in front of the fire… get you all warm and toasty before I make love to you.”

You bite your lip, shifting on his lap. “Bucky…”

“Hmm?”

“Hearing you talk about making love to me isn’t making the fact that I really want that right now any better.”

He chuckles. “I can be quick, you know that.”

“I’m not having our first time on the jet floor.” You stand up, pulling on his metal arm. “Come on, let’s get some sleep.”

He stands obediently, eyes raking up your bare thighs and the bandage on as he rises. “You know, you look really hot with a bandage on your thigh.”

“Oh, so you’re glad I got shot?”

“I didn’t say that.” He wraps his arms around your waist. “I mean I like seein’ you with things on your thighs. Holsters… those thigh-high socks you wore a month ago, that made me…” he shivers and digs his fingers into your hips.

“Freak,” you giggle. “Bucky, if you don’ let me go...”

He raises an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Mmm.” You slip a teasing finger into his belt.

He grins, slowly backing you up until your shoulders press against the steel wall. In a playful attempt to duck away, you try to slip just to his left, and warm metal wraps around your arm, pinning you firmly in place. 

“Hold on,” he mutters, “you think you can just do that and walk away?”

You let out a long, soft moan when he presses his lips to yours, stepping up so close you can feel the firm heat of his body. Your fingers twist in his shirt, and he slots a knee between your thighs, careful to avoid your injured one as flesh fingers twist into your hair. He hums when you give an instinctual push of your hips against the rough fabric of his pants, and you 

“Better rest up, then, honey.”

You giggle when he lands a firm swat on your ass and scamper up the ladder, heaving yourself onto the upper level with Bucky close behind you. The grin on Bucky’s face earns you a quizzical look from Sam, but you roll your eyes and head down to your bunk, making sure that nobody can see before stretching up on your toes and giving Bucky a goodnight kiss. 

***

The jolt of the jet landing just over four hours later wakes you. You sit up, almost banging your head on the top of your bunk, and curse Sam for winning Rock Paper Scissors for the top one. You emerge blearily, shoving your privacy curtain aside with a grimace as a ray of sunlight smacks you in the face.

“Ow,” you mutter as Sam drops down from the bunk above you, “what time is it?”

“It’s late morning,” Steve replies, emerging from the cockpit. “We’re in Austria. Found us a place to lay low for a couple days. We’re gonna have to do a little bit of hiking and wear disguises when we check in, but the jet’s on stealth mode. Town’s about a twenty-minute walk away.”

Town. Thank God.

The four of you stumble around, stuffing things into your bags and checking your nanomasks before stepping off the jet. It’s a brisk morning, and you tug a jacket over your shoulders as you take in your surroundings. 

Steve’s touched down in a large field of flowers. The jet’s invisible to your eye when the hatch closes, and you set off to the East, keeping your heads low as you head into a more-populated area and onto busy streets. There’s a market across from the closest hotel, and you make a note to sneak out and get some of the pretty fruits and breads on display.

When you get up to the counter, Steve shoves a wad of cash from his duffel bag at the attendant and asks for two rooms, which you get with a three-night guarantee.

“Okay,” Sam murmurs once you’re in the elevator heading up to your floor, “who shares with who? I’m not havin’ Barnes hogging all the covers again.”

“Mmm, you won’t.” Natasha slips you a sly look. “Barnes and Y/N together, I’ll share with Steve, so you, Sam, can have all the covers you want.”

You cast a quick glance at Bucky and find his cheeks stained bright pink. “That’s fine,” you cover when he fails to respond, “we’re gonna get some rest anyway.”

Nat smirks when the elevator doors slide open, and you roll your eyes before accepting the key card Steve offers you. “Sure, sure,” she replies, “make sure it’s a good rest.”

You give her a playful glare as she follows Steve and Sam into their room and closes the door, leaving you and Bucky to slip into your room across the hall with burning faces.

It’s definitely not the biggest—or best—room that you’ve ever stayed in, but it’ll do the trick. The bed is king-sized, with several lumpy-looking pillows stacked on a thin white comforter. You set your bag down on the floor and toe off your boots, stretching your arms over your head while Bucky goes to inspect the bathroom. 

“It’s not bad,” he calls out, “just a shower stall, no tub.”

“That’s good enough for me.” You tug a fresh set of clothes out of your duffel and snag your almost-empty toiletries from the front pocket. “You wanna go first, or…”

“Nah, you.” He runs a hand up your back and leans in to press his lips against yours. “I’m gonna try and get some shut-eye. I never sleep well on the jet.”

You hum against his mouth, grateful for the sudden solitude. “I’ll be out in fifteen. Knock if you need anything, ‘kay?”

He smiles and slumps down on the bed, watching you slip into the bathroom and leave the door slightly ajar. 

The water pressure isn’t too bad. It’s been a few days since you’ve been able to properly clean up, and your hair gets washed thoroughly, pits get shaved, well… everything that isn’t permanently done gets shaved, and you emerge from the steam-filled shower dressed in panties and a tee shirt, towel held to the now-exposed wound on your thigh. Bucky’s stretched out on the bed, a pillow tucked under his head, eyes closed. The medical kit’s in his bag, and you tug it free and watch one crystal-blue eye open as you perch on the edge of the bed.

“How’s that?” His eyes rake over the bare skin of your thigh as you pull it away to inspect the slowly-scabbing graze. 

“Healing.” You gently poke at the angry bruise along the side and wince. “I still need to bandage it.”

Bucky sighs, watching you tug out a roll of gauze and tape. “Want some help with that?”

You smile gladly in return. “Please?”

“You got it.” He slides off the bed and reaches for the paper-wrapped supplies. Nimble fingers tear open the packets, and you lean back as he kneels on the carpet, flesh hand gently splayed out against your knee as he gently lowers a folded strip of cause to cover the exposed flesh. Medical tape snaps off between his teeth, and you watch him lay four strips, one on each side until he’s satisfied that your injury is sufficiently protected. 

“Thanks.” You reach over and rub the top of his head. “So walking in on me in just my bra and panties didn’t… that didn’t bother you?”

He chuckles. “No, it didn’t bother me. Just surprised me.”

You giggle. “Really? ‘Cause you looked like a total virgin.”

“Shush.” He kisses your knee and gazes up at you, eyes wide and almost deceivingly innocent. “Not a virgin, honey, just… you look hot in that suit, and seeing you out of it was… a shock. Good shock.”

***

The rest of the day passes slowly, with you and Bucky dozing in and out of naps until Sam knocks on the door, asking if Bucky wants to go to the market outside. You watch him leave, donning his nanomask and swiping a couple bills from the plastic bag he keeps in his duffel before slipping out the door. 

He’s back in an hour, carrying a large paper bag full of what looks like bread and fruit and all kinds of goodies. You eat slowly, sneaking kisses between bites of fresh, juicy watermelon for a mock-dessert. 

Around six, Natasha comes by, inviting you to the other room for a much better dinner of pizza and drinks… which, as it turns out, hasn’t even been delivered yet. You and Bucky spend the first ten minutes enduring innuendo from Natasha, which Steve is quick to defend, although he snorts at one comment about peaches that makes Bucky choke on his bottle of ale.

The pizza finally arrives, three boxes to cater to two supersoldier appetites, and you’re able to unwind, laughing and joking and teasing each other until it’s late and Sam starts to yawn incessantly. You and Bucky make an excuse for being tired as well, and Natasha watches you leave with a glimmer in her eye as the door swings shut.

The moment you and Bucky are safely tucked in the seclusion of your room, he pulls you into his arms and plants a warm, sweet kiss on your lips.

“Baby,” he breathes, “we only got three nights here and I… I wanna take you, tonight…”

You giggle. “Bucky, we’re not in your time anymore. You can tell me what you want.”

He swallows, metal fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt. “I wanna make love with you.”

You roll your eyes and wind your arms around his neck. “Is that all?”

He grumbles. “Baby, you’re making it harder than it needs to be.”

“Sorry.” You stretch up on your toes and kiss him again, hips rubbing deliciously against his. “Only thing I need to be hard is this… and looks like you’re way ‘head of me.”

Bucky groans, breaking away to tug your shirt over your head. “If you keep doing that, you’re not gonna feel it for a while.”

You bite your lip, watching him strip his own shirt and toss it to the ground. Before you can do anything else, he lifts you up, careful to avoid your injured thigh, and lays you out on the bed, reaching for your pajama shorts and tugging them down to leave you in just a plain pair of panties. 

Now he’s nervous, you can see it in his eyes. He’s had you open before, got his fingers wet inside your pussy, and kissed the shit out of you until you could barely breathe, but he’s never had you completely naked and exposed.

“Hey.” You reach for his hand, guiding it to the little blue bow between your hips. “It’s okay, baby.”

He chuckles, easing his fingers beneath the elastic and watching with held breath as he teases them down, letting them fall off the edge of the bed with a soft pat. His palms smooth down the insides of your thighs, spreading you open, and when he trails the pad of his thumb over your clit and you press your hips up to get closer, he lets out a strangled groan and curls over you, completely helpless. 

Your hands push at his sweats, and you giggle when he clumsily kicks them down over his feet, leaving himself completely bare for you as well. When your fingers drift to wrap around his thick, heavy shaft, he stops, gritting his teeth against the side of your neck.

“Baby…” he clears his throat, raising his head to look at you. “We’re not movin’ too fast, right?”

“Don’t get soft on me,” you reply, “we’re good, Bucky, I’m happy, I wanna feel you…”

He nods, pressing a quick kiss to your lips. “Good, it’s just… it’s been a long time and—”

“Shhh.” You rub your hands over his hips. “I don’t care, I just want you.”

Bucky’s eyes darken, and he reaches down to grab himself, experimentally running the swollen tip of his cock through yout pussy until he finds your opening, and you grab on tight, a cry of pleasure dying in your throat as he pumps his hips forward and sinks in. 

“Ahh, fuck—” he grunts quietly against your lips when your nails dig into his ass, “baby…”

You can’t even find the words to reply. He’s so deep, thick and hot and pulsing inside where your body grips him tight. All you can do is give a little tug, trying to urge him on, and he gives you what you want without question. 

All sense of awkwardness or anxiety melts away as he props himself up on both arms, watching your body roll and move under his as he searches a rhythm, inexperience getting the better of him when his hips stutter and slide. He finds it, a steady, rough beat back and forth that makes your clit rub against the skin above his cock and high-pitched sighs and whimpers to rattle in your throat.

“C’mere,” he pants, hooking his flesh arm under your shoulders to keep you close, and you brace yourself as his thrusts grow hard enough for your bodies to slap together. It’s been so long since you’ve been able to feel this good that when his lips find one nipple and latch on, your body decides to follow its own path. 

All it takes for you to cum is a few quick rolls of your clit under your fingers, and Bucky lets out a choked gasp when he feels the rapid contractions, burying his face in the crook of your neck and matching your moans with his own, panting harder and louder as he stutters, pushes in as far and hard as he can, and cums with a growl that resonates deep in your soul as you wrap your legs tight around his waist.

You come back to reality slowly, sweaty bodies sticking as he drops down over you, pressing a lazy kiss to your lips. 

“That was fast,” he murmurs, “sorry, baby, I couldn’t—”

“It’s okay.” You run your fingers through his hair. “It’s been a long time for me too, it was… that was good.”

“Good.” He chuckles and pulls away, watching the first dribble of white slide from your core. “We got three more days to make it longer, huh?”

“Yeah.” You reach for his hand, fingers intertwining with his. “Right now, we have all the time in the world.”

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[corvus--rex]

The first part of this is already on Ao3 as part of Julance 2021, and I wanted to throw it up here with the second (unfinished) part of the chapter. It's sleeping for now, but I really want to come back to it. If you've read the first part on Ao3, I said that Keith's a little dark at first, but that he has his reasons - those reasons come in in his part. It is an Omegaverse, with Alpha Lance and Omega Keith. As usual, please feel free to skip it if it's not your thing :)

~*~*~*~

Part 1: Sharpshooter

Unilu was an old neighborhood. One that didn’t care where you came from or where you were going. Didn’t care about dynamics. Didn’t care about where your money came from. The density of the buildings made the area dark even in the middle of the day. The stories said that Altea had been a beautiful city, light and free. That was impossible to see anymore. Daibazaal Industries had taken over long ago, running the nanny-state government from boardrooms.

This was the world Lance McClain navigated through on his way to a bar called Baku’s Den. He was supposed to be meeting up with Florona, a girl he’d been put in contact with. She had connections to a job he was interested in. Omega trafficking wasn’t an uncommon practice, but it was usually female Omegas that were targeted. Some bullshit about delicate beauty and submission he didn’t believe in. Lance’s mother was an Omega, wherever she was. He hoped she was safe; he hadn’t seen her in 8 years. But this trafficking ring was pretty new, and dealing exclusively in male Omegas. Lance had a feeling he knew why.

The Daibazaal state had mandated sterilization for all Betas and some female Omegas. Male Omegas were safe from the invasive procedure. The official reason was that there was a population issue and the city was over-crowded, and that, although unfortunate, it was necessary for even resource distribution, and the statistics showed that male Omegas were far less likely to have children. It was total bullshit. The birth rate had been dropping steadily for years. Some once-thriving neighborhoods had become ghost towns. The only reason a place like Unilu was still holding on was because they looked the other way on most things, becoming a haven of sorts for people like Lance. The Alpha had always had an innate talent for firearms of all types. It was a talent he’d honed into a finely-sharpened skill. One that he used to chip away at Daibazaal and the atrocities they allowed to go unaddressed, like this trafficking ring.

He’d left his hoverbike a few blocks away, making his way to Baku’s Den on foot. He stiffened when he caught the scent of someone coming up beside him, but relaxed when he realized he knew the Beta. It was another runner who went by Rolo. Lance and Rolo had first met when Rolo and his girlfriend Nyma took off with Lance’s hoverbike. He’d gotten it back from the Beta pair and their cyber-terrier Beezer, and they’d eventually become friends of a sort.

Rolo casually sauntered up beside the Alpha. “So, where ya headed?” he asked.

“Just drinks with a girl,” Lance answered. Meeting a contact,was the translation.

The Beta understood. “She pretty?” One of your usual contacts?

“Don’t know. Blind date a friend set up.” No, but I trust the one who set up the meeting.

“Well, good luck with that. Never can tell with some girls. Gimme a call if you need an excuse.” Watch your back. Call if you need backup.

Lance chuckled at the surface sentiment. “Sure. Thanks, man.” Will do.

“Well, I better take Beezer for a walk. Gettin’ late.” Doing a hacking run tonight, but I’ll be nearby.

“Have fun with that. Watch out for any stray cats.” Good luck. Keep an eye out for security bots.

“Eh, they’re easy to scare off.” I can get around them.

By then, they’d reached the block Baku’s Den was on. Lance nodded toward it, Rolo understanding that this was where his meeting was taking place. They parted ways, Lance headed for the bar, and Rolo disappeared around the corner. The sign hologram on the dark grey concrete building sat over the heavy steel door. The sign read Baku’s Den in a stylized typeface with a three-jawed serpent weaving through the letters. The serpent flew – swam? – through the bar’s name on a continual loop, executing a barrel roll around the name every third loop.

The interior looked very much like most other bars Lance had been to, whether meeting fixers or just relaxing. A dark concrete floor was easy to clean (and hide ingrained blood stains) after the inevitable bar fights. Dim lighting was both a blessing and a curse since it kept things more intimate, but it was also harder to spot a weapon. Booths were the same way. Made things more private, but also gave someone the chance to ambush a target. Lance’s cursory sweep was more tactical than he let show. He noted all exit points, where was best for cover, who looked the most dangerous. He also spotted his contact.

Florona sat at the edge of the booth in the back corner. She had closely cut maroon hair except for a white swath down the middle that was cut longer and swept to one side. Her gloss black cybernetic eyes had no visible sclera or iris, but he knew she was looking at him. He could see her brown leather jacket with dark red accents and skin-tight burgundy pants and heavy boots. It was also a pretty safe guess that she was armed. Just as it was a near certainty that Florona wasn’t her real name.

Lance McClain certainly wasn’t his. But when he was separated from his family at 16, he left Leandro Dávila behind. He made a new identity for himself, one that let him not stand out at all, one that let him hide. He wasn’t even sure if there was anything left of Leandro in him. Leandro had been a hopeful, optimistic child. Lance was hardened by years of fighting, jaded by harsh reality. Leandro would have been afraid of Lance. It was a smart thing to be.

Some people, like Florona, wore their cybernetics for the world to see. Implants and attachments that were blatantly obvious. Rarer were those like Lance. He’d lost his eyes after a run gone wrong. The crew he was with sold him out when they thought the other side would pay better for it. They blinded him, but even without sight, he was still able to take them out and escape. He’d called his fixer, who got him help. His cybernetics looked natural, as close to his original blue as they could get. But they were fully functional cyberware. Top of the line a few years back. Night vision, infrared, zooming, even the ability to limit the amount of light received – all linked in. By blinding him, his old crew made sure he would never be blinded again. Not too long after that, he lost his left hand. That run was successful, but Lance had gotten caught in crossfire and an unlucky shot blew out his wrist, shredding tendons and splintering bone. The new one was indistinguishable from his right, the artificial skin blending seamlessly with the organic.

Lance had no choice but to slide into the booth facing away from the door, forcing him to trust Florona with his personal safety. He nodded to her, careful not to say a word until he was seated. “Florona.” It was a statement, a greeting, a question, a confirmation.

“McClain,” she returned, “Or would you prefer Sharpshooter?”

He put on the illusion of relaxing, something he never truly did. “Lance is fine,” he said casually.

Florona’s lips twitched with an amused huff. “Alright, Lance. I’m going to order us drinks while we wait,” she said, signaling to the aqua-haired waitress.

“Waiting for what?” This wasn’t what Lance was expecting, and now he was getting nervous.

“Your partner.”

“Partner? That’s news to me. What can you tell me about them?”

The waitress came over, waiting for what she was sure would be Florona’s usual order. “Nunvil,” Florona said – no surprises there. “And bring the bottle.”

Lance whistled low. “You go hard.”

Florona raised a perfect eyebrow. “And you don’t?”

“Never said I didn’t. So, what about this partner?”

She leaned back, throwing an arm over the back of the booth. “Best fuckin’ swordsman I’ve ever seen. Stealth type. He’s got this one blade – let’s just say I never want to be on the wrong side of it.”

The waitress returned setting unopened bottle and a pair of glasses on the table. When she left, Florona made a show of breaking the seal on the bottle. She poured both glasses, and Lance idly played with the rim of his.

“What’s so special about this blade?” he asked. He was genuinely curious, but made sure she didn’t know that.

“Ultraviolet hard-light. Keeps it maglocked to a sheath on his back. Bio-activated so no one but him can use it. I got to see what happens when someone tried to take it once. Wasn’t pretty. New guy tried to hit on him. Pretty forcefully, but he didn’t know what he was in for.”

Interesting information. This mysterious partner of his was a known factor here. Lance wasn’t sure if Florona had mentioned that part to remind him that he was an outsider in Unilu or if she just considered it part of the story.

“I should tell you what to expect from him before he gets here. You're an Alpha, and he may take offense to that. He’s an Omega, and a lifetime of bad experiences makes him resent Alphas on sight.”

“That’s fair,” he said, and finally picked up his glass. He actually enjoyed the silky burn as it went down. “Anything else I should know?”

“Don’t piss him off. He’s not likely to actually kill you, but the threat will be there.”

“Anything else that’s not vague and threatening?” Lance asked, draining his glass.

“Mm, nope.” Florona refilled both their glasses, and Lance saw the tiniest movement of her looking to the bar. “Except that he’s coming over. Better get ready, he’s an experience.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Part 2: Samurai

Keith stashed his heavily modified hoverbike in an alley barely a block away from Baku’s Den, activating the chameleon hologram that would keep it out of sight. He was familiar with both the Unilu neighborhood in general and Baku’s Den in particular, and knew to be cautious. It wasn’t just the relative lawlessness of the area that kept his guard up. Nowhere was truly safe for a male Omega in Altea. Not anymore, not with the disappearances that he now knew were a major Omega trafficking ring.

Knowing that the upper echelons of Altean society were buying and selling male Omegas like prized pets made his blood boil. It was assumed they were being taken as breeders, to be used to give the city’s elite heirs until their bodies gave out. But Keith had seen the kinds of things that happened to Omegas, male or female. Breeding was only part of it. He was lucky that he hadn’t been taken, but he’d freed more than a few who were in similar situations. Kidnapped or given away to Alphas, and even Betas, and abused into being the “perfect” Omega. It varied depending on the human garbage controlling the Omega. Docile, submissive servants, hypersexualized walking sex toys, psychologically broken breeding stock for their Alphas, and that was the better end. He’d seen Omegas so physically, emotionally, mentally broken that there was no saving them. Death was a welcome rest for them, but not for the abusers. He felt nothing for them as people when he put them down, only a sense of relief that they would never harm another Omega.

Keith was mainly a runner specializing in stealth and close combat. Taking out low-level Omega trafficking was what he did between runs. If working opposite Daibazaal Industries and its only subsidiary, Galra Technologies, was what amounted to Keith’s day job, his vigilante justice for trafficked and abused Omegas was his passion project. It was what made him jump at the chance to at least help bring down the biggest trafficking ring the city had ever seen. He didn’t know Florona well, but he trusted her boss Luxia, and she was the one who first had the intel for the run being offered.

The exterior of Baku’s Den was its usual façade of calm, as much as a high-class dive bar could be. Keith knew as well as anyone that a fight could break out at any time and for any reason. Just walking in made him uneasy, especially when he opened the door to a loud argument in progress between members of a runner team he’d seen there before. Almost subconsciously, his hand went toward the hard-light blade he kept sheathed on his lower back at all times. The near-fight ended with raucous laughter and a call for another round of drinks. He dropped his hand with a relieved sigh and made his way to the bar, intentionally catching Florona’s eye on the way.

“Keith! Haven’t seen you in a while,” Luxia greeted him.

“Yeah, been busy,” he answered, “Just finished another run last night. Anything I should know about this guy before I head over?”

She shrugged. “Experienced runner. Long-range firearms specialist. Got a couple cybernetics, but nothing obvious.” Luxia knew Keith’s preferred drink, and set the glass of SilveRing down in front of him, the dim lighting of the bar illuminating the juniberry-distilled, deep magenta alcohol from within and highlighting the silvery ring settled around the perimeter of the liquid surface. “Just so you know, he’s an Alpha, but I can tell he’s not just in it for the money. Don’t know what his deal is with that, but he seemed legitimately pissed at the idea of Omegas being trafficked.”

“Good to know. He’s still an Alpha.” Keith finished his drink, Luxia refilling it without a word. “Well, better head over there. Run’s more important than some Alpha.

~*~*~*~

Links to the rest of the series:

1 | 2 | 3* | 4 | 5* | 6* | 7 | 8 | 9* | 10 | 11 | 12* | 13 | 14 | 15* | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19* | 20* | 21*

[causeimhappinesss]

Like Adam & Eve (Chris Redfield x Sherry Birkin)

Pairing: Chris Redfield x Sherry Birkin

Warnings: age gap + smut + wrap your biscuit, please

Request:

Disclaimer: I’m french and even if I’m learning English for ten fucking years, it’s not perfect and I’m sorry if there are spelling or grammar mistakes. If English is your native language (or if you’re bilingual), I would really appreciate it if you could help me by correcting my errors. Just don’t be too harsh, please. :)

****

He was beautiful. So handsome. Tall. Muscular. In his early 40s. Intelligent. Open-minded. Honest. Brave. Selfless. All this despite his impulsiveness.

She had known him for years. Since 1998, after the events of Raccoon City and Rockfort Island, when she was under government protection. On several occasions, Leon and Claire had come to visit her; him with them. She was only 12 years old at the time. He was already 25. He saw her as a scared little girl. A child to defend from this cruel world, from her past with her parents... In 1998, the attraction she had developed towards him was only innocent, of course. With no ulterior motives.

The years passed and the number of meetings multiplied. The more she became a woman, the more she wanted to attract his attention, joking with him, telling him about her boyfriends to spark off some kind of jealousy deep in him. She voluntarily wore clothes that emphasized her feminine attributes, although she didn’t have JLO's curves...

For four years, their paths didn’t cross again, until June 2013. President Benford's death, Simmons' betrayal... But there he was. They hadn't been teammates because they didn't share the same mission, but the same conflict had brought them together. Once again, she had not been able to enjoy his presence, to savor it, except on the plane back to the United States.

Sitting between him and Jake, she chatted with Chris Redfield, Wesker's archenemy, her former godfather and her late father's best friend. She was talking to him, her eyes sparkly, her lagoon-colored doe eyes riveted on him, while a smile stretched her rosy lips. Her features, still somewhat juvenile, despite her 27 years, gave her a baby face. She was beautiful. Radiant. In spite of all that she had lived; horrors. He also had his fill of BOWs. Together, they were making up for the time and she even caught herself, almost innocently, sliding her hand over his bicep as she reassured him. Redfield was still not out of his mental breakdown. It had been going on for months and getting back on track was proving difficult.

"Would you like to drink a beer, one day?" she asked in a honeyed voice.

"Oh... I don't know, I'm exhausted..."

Yet his answer didn't make her face fade. The young blonde needed more.

"Oh, come on, Chris! Please, it's been ages since we've spoken... When's the next time? When there will be another bioterrorist attack?"she sighed with a pout.

"Well... Okay, but only once. I have a lot of work to do, you know."

A smile triumphed on Sherry's face as she simply nodded and thanked him. The brown hair man took advantage of it to go towards the toilets of the private jet and at the moment he disappeared in this cabin, Jake patted the shoulder of the blonde. A malicious smile stretched the fine lips of the redhead, clearly amused by the situation. He wasn’t blind.

"You devour him with your eyes, Birkin... What are you waitin’ for to ‘sweet-talk’?"

"I... He's not interested..." she stammered, embarrassed. These simple words reminded her of the day when Redfield had pushed her away, indirectly, without her knowledge. Jill and him were talking, in Claire’s garden, because she had organized a party where all her friends, fighting the bioterrorism, had been invited. It was a mistake. She just wanted to get some fresh air... A bad mistake.

It was hot. Way too hot inside. Sweat was clinging to her skin and even her glass of iced water, after the two glasses of alcohol she'd ingested, wasn't helping to bring her body temperature down. The summer of 2009 was proving to be more overwhelming than she had anticipated. The hubbub in the room was giving her a headache. Leon already seemed to be completely drunk and Claire was chaperoning him. Meanwhile, Sheva and Barry were talking to each other. There were also other agents she only barely knew. Discreetly, she fled the house and, immediately, her body tingled with the coolness of the night. It was pleasant.

Once again, she brought her glass to her lips and the cold liquid flowed down her throat. As she listened to the song of the crickets, whispers made their way to her ear canals. Curiosity overcame her and she moved towards the two voices; a woman and a man. She pressed herself against one of the walls, silent, and recognized who the voices belonged to: Jill and Chris.

"Don't you see how she's looking at you? Chris! You're blind!"

"Jill... Seriously, I think you're fretting over nothing. Sherry sees me as a big brother and I see her as a little sister or a cousin."

A sigh escaped the brunette's lips.

"I'm not fretting. There are looks that don't deceive... Look, I'm not jealous, but I'm telling you what I see. Put up barriers before she takes it as... An invitation."

"All right, if it makes you happy."

Heartbroken, hands shaking, stomach clenched, throat knotted, the little blonde went back inside and no one seemed to have noticed her short absence. She sat down on the sofa, next to Claire, putting back on her mask... The mask of a happy person. The man she had been interested in for eleven year saw her as a little girl, a sister.

What were you thinking, Sherry? He's been with Jill for ages, she's gorgeous, she has the look of a real woman... She's full of qualities. She's not a Birkin! her conscience shouted.

The barriers he put in place? He hadn't seen her in years. Four years, to be exact. It was extreme, and even though Jill had told him it was too much, he'd felt it was the right thing to do, if his girlfriend's assumptions turned out to be true. And while Chris had tried to reassure Jill, when they were still together, he was reassuring himself at first. He had observed her chest and her bottom, on several occasions, during a few seconds. He had almost drowned in her cerulean eyes too. It had become so difficult not to look at her.

Now, Chris, needed to be alone. Only two minutes and the bathroom would prove to be the perfect excuse. Now, in front of the stall mirror, he watched his reflection. Droplets of blood adorned a part of his right cheek. His blue eyes looked tired, lost.

You accept once and you make her understand that there will never be anything between you... Right?

There had to be. He couldn’t allow himself to build a relationship with a woman he had known as a child, it would be indecent and would call into question his image, his values. He was afraid of looking like an old pig, of proving Valentine right, even though they had broken up in November 2012. All these thoughts provoked profusions of sweat, that he tried to mop up with his back hand. When he closed his eyes, for a moment, the features of the beautiful Birkin came back to his face like a slap. Her angelic eyes, her superb smile, her cleavage, her butt... A bump formed inside his boxer, and his eyes widened.

It is tiredness, nothing else... he reassured himself.

And, in a vain hope, he imagined his grandmother in atrocious underwear, until his erection disappeared. Once sure of himself, he left the toilets, went towards Sherry and whispered: "we’ll agree on the place and the hour for the beerby message, tomorrow" and he moved away to find Leon, in full discussion with Helena.

Move away... Move away... Move away...

*

Sherry had done everything to make him come to her house, to drink the beer. She had tried to put on clothes that would highlight her, a simple skirt that didn’t reveal too much and a simple crop top with straps. He had arrived with five minutes of advance and quickly, the beer had been consumed. She hadn’t left him time to speak, to express his desire to break off all ties, to explain her there would never be anything between them, that she started up a movie. A comedy focused on sex, a strategic way to relax the atmosphere that was getting heavier. Indeed, the more she stayed by his side, the more she dreamed of letting her graceful fingers run over the protruding muscles of the man, from his arms, to his torso, passing over his thighs that she dreamed of straddling until the orgasm. She often dreamed of him, of what he made her, his dick inside her. From minute to minute, discrete, she approached him, by light movements, in natural although calculated appearance... Her ass was close to him, to the crotch of the B.S.A.A’s Captain.

He, Chris, had understood the stratagem. However, impossible to emit the least remark. Every time he opened his lips, he was unable to... hurt her. He knew if he said what was in his mind, he would hurt the young woman. Not to help, his cock was so close to Birkin's tender buttocks and her jasmine scent intoxicated him. She nibbled on her lower, wet, luscious, lower lip; a call to kiss. A new erection showed up and he was quite happy that the covers above them prevented the blonde from noticing it.

He tried his best to be focused on the movie, until a sex scene appeared on the screen. Embarrassed by this scene combined with his proximity to the blonde, he cleared his throat and looked away at Sherry's coffee table. Her crystalline laughter attracted his attention and he gazed at her. His cock continued to tense; it was becoming disturbing. The desire was growing and he was struggling. An internal struggle he wasn’t winning.

"Chris! Don't be embarrassed, it's only a movie and then... Well... I think it's funny how they make some positions look simple!" she said while batting her eyelashes. If she didn’t know yet the power that she possessed, it didn’t change the fact he wanted to devour her. To jump on her. Kiss her.

"That's because you haven't found the right partner..." he whispered.

He couldn't help it. It was the truth and... And what? His brain wasn’t running smoothly anymore. If only someone could shake him, slap him, to bring him back to his goals.

"Oh yeah? Explain to me..."

The blonde turned around and in her swiveling, her buttocks rubbed against his hard cock. The way she had rubbed herself wasn’t accidental, far from it, it was guessable. And he guessed she had felt his erection. A smile stretched Sherry’s lips who slid a hand on the thigh of the soldier, so close to his erect member. The blonde's eyes sparkled with excitement as she leaned over him. Chris gulped with difficulty. He dreamed to stroke her breast, to sink into her, to show her he was right.

"Show me, then." she added, of a suave voice.

She was the one who initiated the kiss by pressing her lips against his. With this last lost control, he let his hands wander on her beautiful body. His thick and calloused hands sought her chest, under her crop-top, whereas she wasn’t wearing a bra. He quickly removed the garment and tossed it somewhere in the living room. As he kissed Sherry, he titillated her breasts, her erected nipples. Soon, their lips pulled apart and he licked her nipples, drawing sighs of pleasure from his partner.

He no longer cared about what was right or wrong. If she was too young or not. If he had known her as a kid or not. It didn't matter.

Meanwhile, Sherry took off Redfield's shirt, slid her phalanges between each line of his abs, before attacking his belt. Once rid of this one, she opened the button of his jeans, then took his zipper down. She didn’t seek to get rid immediately of his pants. Instead, she stroked his hard cock through his boxers for a few moments, which made Chris sigh. Finally, she freed his cock from this confined place to admire it, her mouth watering. It was very thick, probably 7,4inches (19 centimeters) long, completely hard, veiny, with a pink head. Some pre-cum covered the tip. With a false look of innocence, she ran her fingers over his balls, on his cock, to the head, then placed kisses on it.

"Sherry..." breathed Chris, his eyes half-closed, watching her. She looked up at him and licked his cock. Again and again. After titillating him, she took him her mouth, her perfect lips wrapped around his member, moving back and forth with wet noises. She insisted on the most sensitive places, in particular on the tip, while she massaged his balls. Her heart beat was off the charts, following the example of that of his sexual partner.

She did everything to please him, to receive his compliments and when the first ones came, such as "nice girl", "oooh... perfect...", her heart swelled with joy. When he asked her to stop, she complied, moved her thong to the side and came to rub her wet intimacy against Redfield's penis as he grunted with excitement... With anticipation... She was having fun rubbing his head at her vagina entrance. She was torturing him.

"Chris... Tell me you want me..."

"Sherry..."

"Please. Say it. I want you so much... If I could make you my God, I would..." she squeaked without stopping her movements.

"Goodness, yes! I want you Sherry! I want you like I haven't wanted a woman like that in so long!"

That's all it took for the blonde to impale herself on Redfield's cock, not waiting for him to finger her. It was a waste of time in an unexpected situation she never thought she'd ever succeed to provoke. There she was, straddling his cock, with delicious moans. Sometimes, she threw back her head, sometimes she lowered her eyes on their sexes, watching this huge cock moving inside her, stretching her in the most pleasant way.

Chris couldn't believe it. It was as if he was a spectator... As if he was possessed... Yet he was heaving a great time and his thrusts joined Sherry's movements to help her. His hands had found their way on Birkin’s milky hips. Then, he made her roll and lie down on the sofa. He got rid of his pants and his boxer, just like her thong and the skirt. He penetrated her again in a grunt, folded the thighs of the blonde against herself and pounded in her of brutal pushes. Fast. A pleasant revenge for having provoked him... To have made him leave the right way.

She was Eve. He was Adam. The forbidden fruit? Her pink pussy, martyred by his cock.

The blonde moaned and she didn't need to play with her clit to get off. Chris was naturally gifted, as she had imagined in all her dreams since she was a teenager. He was hitting the right angle, the G-spot. It felt so good that she couldn't say anything except let her vocal cords do the talking... Just her luck that her downstairs neighbor had gone on vacation!

"God... Chris... Keep going... Like this...!"

He didn't stop, he let the pleasure continue to climb, until they were close to orgasm. He closed his eyes as her vaginal walls pulsed around him, like a soft vise around his cock, a sign that her orgasm was hitting her hard. She was cheering him. Struck by his own orgasm, Chris grunted and let his seed paint the blonde's walls. His cock throbbed after the four hot spurts of cum. With a sigh, he pulled out and opened his eyes again. His cum was flowing out of her still convulsing pussy in the most erotic way possible. Gradually he caught his breath and let Birkin's legs fall back. The latter was smiling, her face and chest pink.

My God, what have I done...?he thought.

Yet he didn’t escape like a thief.

*

No, instead, they often slept together. If he tried not to have any attachment, he couldn’t help but stay always longer than he should, whether it was in Sherry's bed, in her shower, or inside her. The more time he spent, the more addicted he became to her, like a drug. It was worse than meth. He couldn't get off it. Little by little, he was falling. No, in fact, he was falling in love with the one he had always denied himself.

Asleep, Sherry was sleeping naked, stuck against him, their legs intertwined, under the moonlight that filtered into the room. She hadn’t closed the shutters. One of her hands were flattened against one of his biceps. He contemplated her curves and her angel face. Tenderly, his fingers slid along the spine of his partner. He didn’t manage to sleep, torn between his duty and his desires.

He had obviously spoken about it to Claire who... Didn't see any harm in it. In fact, really open-minded, his young sister had advised him to start a relationship with Sherry, if he liked the blonde.

"You deserve that! Nobody can judge you when you bleed to save the world every day!" she had whispered while hugging him.

Did he love Sherry? Yes, he recognized the same signs as he had for Jill a decade earlier when he realized he was madly in love. Today, his heart claimed Sherry. Deep down, he knew she was waiting for this, she would accept to start a relationship with him, she was dying for it and if it frightened him a few weeks earlier, now the idea warmed his heart. In a tender gesture, he placed a kiss on Sherry's forehead, whose eyes fluttered as she awoke from her sleep. Slowly, her eyes opened and locked with Redfield's.

"What is it Chris...?"

"I'm sorry I hurt you so much..." he whispered in a husky voice.

The woman's eyebrows furrowed, and she straightened in the middle of the bed, inviting him to continue.

"All these years I knew you wanted me and I acted like I didn't know anything about it, pushed you away as much as possible and... Even though my heart was taken, I regret it. Sherry... I..."

He straightened up in turn and his thick hands framed Sherry's face.

"What I mean is... I love you. I'm a loser when it comes to love confessions, but it's been said."

The blonde burst out laughing then stole a soft kiss from him.

"All that matters now is that we're together. Okay?"

In the end, yes, that was all he cared about. Chris knew he had to think of himself and that meant loving Sherry without any remorse.

***

My AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/users/BetrayedWriter/profile

[zeldasayer]

I transcribed and translated Pedro’s interview from GQ Germany for all of us. I tried translating as good as possible but bear with me, English is not my mother tongue. By @sixties-loser

Pedro Pascal, the star from “Game of Thrones”, “Wonder Woman” and “The Mandalorian” talks about becoming an adult, film, fashion, corona – and a painful surgery in the exclusive GQ interview.

It seems almost eerie how empty the streets of LA are in the sunshine. Meanwhile a new normality seems to be coming to Europe, most people in L.A. are still cutting their own hair. Many have not seen their friends for half a year. The pandemic is out of control. The reaction towards it too. Inviting someone into their garden for a “distance drink” can cause the same distress as suggesting to switch spouses.

Therefore, it was particularly surprising that Pedro Pascal immediately accepted. He accepted the drink, not to switch spouses. He is one of the rising stars and newcomers this year – if it wasn’t for corona sending the whole film industry into a forced vacation, there would most likely not have been time for said drink. After having his skull crushed in “Game of Thrones” followed the lead role as a DEA agent hunting Pablo Escobar in “Narcos” in 2015 and now he is stepping towards big Hollywood films. From the 1st of October onwards the Chilean-born actor will be starring in the blockbuster “Wonder Woman 1984”. Moreover, the second season of the “Star Wars”-series “The Mandalorian” on Disney+ starring him as the lead is going to air in October this year – but he will be underneath a helmet. Well, we all are under a helmet in 2020 in one way or another. We want to meet the man who a few years ago still worked as a waiter in New York, whose parents were political refugees who found asylum in Denmark and settled in Texas and whose son one day signed up for a theatre group in High School.

Then, the cancellation! While we were in the middle of fixing up the house and the garden for the drink with Pedro and organizing the fashion shoot, which was not easy considering the safety measures in L.A., his management called with an unfortunate message: Pedro – no, not sick with corona – had to get emergency surgery because of a damaged tooth and was lying in bed with a swollen face that was hindering him from speaking and taking pictures. The sun is shining onto empty streets. And our empty garden.

A few days later he nonetheless arrived at our front door without a swollen face but still with threads in his mouth. He was not chauffeured by a limo-service but he came with his own car – he even picked up his make-up artist. He is helping her carrying all of her utensils into the house and declares: “I’ve got time today!”. What a celebrity! It seemed like we did not want to ask him how he made it to the A-List of Hollywood but he wanted to ask us how we made it to the A-list. Pedro Pascal! Yes, what kind of a celebrity?

Pedro Pascal: Sorry for messing with your plans. The surgery was an emergency.

GQ: Really? We were wondering whether the swelling wasn’t the product of a secret visit to the plastic-surgeon. Apparently, they are drowning in work because of the quarantine in Hollywood.

PP: I have to disappoint you. A few days before our appointment I was rushing to the hospital with a fractured tooth and the worst pain in my entire life – a hospital in which treats people with severe cases of corona. I was unable to reach any dentist! Right in front of the parking lot a specialist called me back. The pain was hell despite the ten injections I got. The doctor said I was not an exception because a lot of people are grinding their teeth because of all the stress.

GQ: What are you most afraid of at the moment?

PP: How the government is handling the pandemic is worrying me more than the virus itself. This shortage of intelligent management of the crisis is a moral shame. The leadership crisis in this country is turning us all into orphans – destitute and abandoned.

GQ: How did you spend your time over the last few months?

PP: I spent it with frozen pizza and sweatpants in Venice Beach. I live in a rear house that’s in a family’s garden. Actually, there are a lot of good takeout places nearby but for some reason I just love pepperoni pizza from the supermarket.

GQ: That does not really sound like movie star-lifestyle. What does it feel like being suddenly stopped from top speed to zero?

PP: Regarding what is going on around the world one should hold back one’s own mental turmoil. I would be lying if I was saying that I am not disappointed. The whole team put a lot of heart and work into the production of “Wonder Woman 1984”. We had a lot of fun on set. I wished to travel around the world and introduce the film with the same lively energy.

GQ: You come from a politically engaged, socialist family that fled from the Pinochet-regime in Chile. What do you remember from that time?

PP: My sister and I were born in Chile but I was only nine months old when we first found asylum in Denmark. From there we quickly came to San Antonio in Texas where my dad started working as a doctor at the university clinic.

GQ: Texas is not known as a socialist utopia. How did you assimilate?

PP: San Antonio is not a Cowboy-town but very diverse with big Asian, black and Latino communities. I remember it as a romantic place, culturally open. The culture shock only came as we later moved to range county in California. There the atmosphere was suddenly white, preppy and conservative.

GQ: How were you received in California?

PP: I’m still ashamed of the fact that I did not correct my classmates when they kept on calling me Peter. I am Pedro. Even if I didn’t grow up in Chile the country and the language are still a part of me. I was very unhappy in that environment. However, I was fortunately able to go to another school close to Long Beach where I felt more comfortable. Through the theater group at that school I found my way.

GQ: Were you able to visit Chile as a child?

PP: Yes, when my parents made it to the list of expatriates that were able to travel to Chile without consequences. First, there was a big family reunion and then my sister and I stayed there for a few months with relatives while my parents went back to Texas. They likely needed a break from us. They got us when they were very young, had a buzzing social life and my mother was obtaining a PhD in psychology.

GQ: Was your mother a typical young psychologist who wanted to apply her theoretical knowledge at home?

PP: You mean, whether I was her guinea pig? For sure! I remember strange tests and sittings that were disguised as games where someone was watching me react to different toys. I cannot have been older than six but I was already aware of the dynamic. My favourite thing was being questioned about my dreams. That was a wonderful opportunity to come up with fantastic stories.

GQ: Was that your first performance?

PP: Of course! My mother worried about my strong imagination because I was living in my own fantasy world rather than reality. I hated going to school. I was always categorized as the troublemaker. At one point, the topics at school became more interesting and my grades also went up. There are so many kids that are unnecessarily diagnosed with learning disabilities without considering that school can be abhorrent. Why is it so accepted to be bored in class when there are so many stimulating ways to convey knowledge?

GQ: Considering al that has happened this summer around the world: Do you believe that we can seriously demand social change now?

PP: I Hope so. After lockdown, the first time I went out was to protest for “Black Lives Matter” on the streets. The energy was peaceful and hopeful until the police provoked severe conflicts. Nevertheless, we cannot run from problems like we used to this time and we cannot distract ourselves from them either. It seems like the pressure of the pandemic led to a new clarity: We cannot go on this way.

GQ: The “Wonder Woman 1984” Trailer revives the optimism of the 1980’s. From today’s point of view, it seems almost nostalgic.

PP: That’s right. You really are happy for two hours. The director Patty Jenkins created a film full of positive messages. We shot in Washington D.C., then in London and Spain – this sounds like I am talking of a past time.

GQ: Do you miss traveling?

PP: I’m just now realizing the privilege of just packing up one’s stuff and being able to fly anywhere. An American passport used to guarantee unlimited travel. And that’s why it the small radius of our lives is actually unimaginable. Over the last years I often retreated for a break after shootings because I was constantly on the move and overstimulated. My friends were already complaining I had become too comfortable. We all took social contact for granted and are only realizing now how dependent we actually are on human contact. Over the last weeks I often longingly thought about all the parties and dinner invitations I declined.

GQ: In L.A. people spend more time at home or nature than in other metropolises that are more geared towards public life. Could this city become your second home after New York?

PP: My Real Home are my friends. I have been a nomad since I was little and I do not have a place where I have put down roots. Up until not long ago my physical home was a place in between departure and arrival. Therefore, it was something I did not want to complicate through the accumulation of stuff. On the contrary: Without having read Marie Kondo’s book I have freed myself from excess baggage over the last few years and I lived relatively minimally.

GQ: Is there nothing you collect or something you just can’t throw away?

PP: Books! I even still have the literature I read when I was a teenager and when I was in college. Recently, I stumbled upon a box full of old theatre manuscripts and materials from my time at the New York University. I also cannot part from art easily, just like I cannot part from lamps or old photos. On the other hand, I can easily get rid of furniture and clothes.

GQ: Do you remember roles that were really only completely defined through the costume?

PP: Yes, I am particularly thinking about “Game of Thrones”. At that time I understood for the first time what it meant to be supported by a look. This is thanks to the costume designer Michele Clapton. She created very feminine robes and brocade coats for my character that nevertheless looked masculine when worn and I felt very sexy in them. Of course, Lindy Hemmings power-suits and Jan Swells bleached hairstyle for the tycoon-villain in “Wonder Woman 1984” were very important as well. At first I did not really see myself in the role because the cuts and colors of the 80s do not really fit my body. I’m more the 70s type.

GQ: Do you incorporate those inspirations into your personal wardrobe?

PP: In my free time I choose comfort over a cool look these days. Sometimes I miss the times when I expressed myself through a certain style. It is hard to imagine that I went to Raves as a teenage in the 90s; I was a real club kid with ridiculous outfits: overalls, balloon pants, football shirts and a top hat, like in Dr.Seuss’s “Cat in a Hat”. Later in New York I was hanging out with a group of people that felt it was very important to have a certain style. The fact that I am basically only wearing sweatpants everyday is actually tragic.

GQ: whoever plays roles in comic book adaptations becomes a bodybuilder and eats ten chicken breasts a day. You don’t?

PP:My body would not agree with that. It is hard enough to stay in shape normally. When you’re in your mid-forties you have to live with a lot more discipline. Up until before my tooth-incident I worked out with a trainer in my garden multiple times a week to keep the quarantine body in check.

GQ: Apart from the personal trainer, are you in a steady relationship?

PP: I am not ready for that yet. Maybe at some point I will be but until then I’ll let it be. I can’t even offer you absurd corona dating stories.

GQ: What would annoy you the most if you were your own roommate?

PP: I can be quite controlling. I have to conjure all my humanity to prevent myself from going through my entire film collection. When I don’t want something I cannot keep it to myself or be passive-aggressive, I always have to take it to the frontlines. Other than that, I tend to have tunnel view: when I am not feeling well I cannot imagine to ever feel better again. I have trouble relativizing my emotions or to wave off problems. Method-acting would really not be for me. This is why I try to only work on projects that feel good, where there is mutual support and encouragement.

GQ: When we were trying on the clothes earlier you spoke of a lack of self-confidence. How does that get along with a career like yours?

PP: Isn’t it interesting how these characteristics and circumstamces relate? Self-worth comes from inside but it is also influenced by what society values because we often internalise the public gaze. I have lived in New York for 20 years, I studied there and made a living by working as a waiter until my mid-thirties because the theatre and film jobs I got did not pay the bills. There were so many times I was almost there. The disappointment of having missed the perfect role or opportunity by a hair’s width can be crushing. When should you give up and what is plan B? That is a question that is not only on many actors‘s minds but also on many others minds who struggle for a living – no matter how much potential they have or how close they seem to be to the top. We are seeing now how our narrow definition of success destroys society. At the same time, we are realizing that where we come from and the color of our skin still decide whether we can exist with dignity.

GQ: What are the positive aspects of a relatively late success as leading-man?

PP: I feel like I can decide over my own life without the pressure of having to accept projects or to have to present a certain identity on social media. This is for sure also because I am a man. Regardless of age, Women have to try harder to stand out.

GQ: Life always consists of risk management – now more than usual. For what would you risk losing something?

PP: Generally, when you never risk something you might never get ahead. That is for friendship, love, work and creativity. I have to be ready to take risks for the things that really matter to you.

[antoine-roquentin]

Weber’s book is about state engagement in the market, most immediately through price controls. It focuses on debates among Chinese economists in the 1980s under CCP leader Deng Xiaoping that steered China’s economy away from radical price liberalization and helped construct a political economy that facilitates productive state-market relations. Weber details the process by which Chinese reforms and leaders grappled with—and ultimately resisted—the neoliberal prescription of a sudden freeing of prices meant to “shock” the economy out of planning. She shows that rather than adopt the reform advice of the World Bank and Western economists, reformers pursed a path of gradual change by slowly liberalizing markets and ownership and relaxing price controls in stages.

This process unfolded over the long 1980s and was akin to “groping for stones to cross a river,” as key reformer Chen Yun put it at the time. Reformers worked to identify the best practices for economic growth and forged ahead “seeking truth from facts,” in the words of Deng Xiaoping, rather than following orthodox economic theory on marketization. Although the reforms began with the simple aim to improve the economy and living conditions of Chinese peasants, the piecemeal, gradualist approach—as opposed to a complete overhaul of all economic institutions and practices, as international organizations and neoclassical economists such as Milton Friedman recommended—resulted in a dramatic transformation of the Chinese economy. In 1978 China had a centralized command economy with controlled prices, state-run markets, and no private enterprise; by 1993 markets were open, prices were liberalized, entrepreneurship boomed, and Deng Xiaoping had toured southern China, touting Shenzhen as one of the world’s most successful free trade zones.

The resulting political economy is certainly not neoliberal, however—at least not in any simple sense. As Weber points out, the economic orientation is not a “full-fledged institutional convergence with neoliberalism” but rather a mixed arrangement whereby the state actively engages in the market to fulfill developmental goals. Like the industrializing economies of the nineteenth century and the East Asian and Latin American developmental states after World War II, the Chinese state participates in the market by creating favorable conditions for its firms through investment incentives and developmental practices. Beijing’s recent intervention in the commodity market is one exhibit of the continuing legacy of this economic model, where the state engages the market through the release of built-up commodity stock and price-lowering among state firms, rather than subsuming the market and forcing desired price controls. Neoclassical economics would have us believe that state action in the market is an aberration, and almost always harmful. But there is significant historical precedent for state-market relations—including in the United States—and Weber reminds us that state engagement in markets has been the norm rather than the exception for much of human history.

The book opens with a chapter on the Guanzi, a Warring States treatise (475–221 BCE) advising a ruler on how to run his state in an age of warfare and economic transition. The message is to actively manage supply-and-demand conditions by controlling the “heavy,” or important, essential goods, and releasing the “light,” or unimportant, unessential goods. This counsel was put into practice in the grain market, whereby the state purchased surplus grain from the peasants at the time of the autumn harvest when prices were low, or light, and money was heavy, thereby propping up the price of grain on the market and protecting peasants from selling too low to merchants. In the spring, when supplies dwindled and grain prices rose the state released grain and balanced the market. Institutionalized in the “ever normal granaries,” the practice was most effectively used by the Qing state, facilitating the prosperity of the Qianlong period.

A more recent example is that of the United States during World War II. Drawing out the universal character of market engagement for state identified ends, Weber shows how the United States instituted prices controls to balance wartime production needs with consumer demand. In 1941 the newly formed Office of Price Administration created constraints on 40 percent of wholesale goods and then moved to set a ceiling on prices. At the same time, wages were frozen and public stocks of grain and cotton were put on the market to stabilize agricultural prices. The result was low inflation, stable prices, and exponentially high production output. So successful was this practice that the United States instituted a similar system of price controls during the Korean War and the Vietnam War. Of course, none of it was specific to the United States. As economist and politician John Kenneth Galbraith put it, “Controls over prices and wages were the rule.”

It is unclear whether the Chinese reformers at the heart of Weber’s book were aware of these practices and history, but it serves as herbackdrop. In 1949, for example, many of the people who would become key actors in the 1980s reforms cut their teeth grappling with the problem of runaway inflation in the new People’s Republic of China. Having inherited an economy in tatters, where the population had no trust in the currency and was prone to panic buying and hoarding, CCP policymakers moved not to assert political command over the economy but rather to intervene in the market to shore up prices and restore financial trust. Drawing on CIA files from the time, Weber shows that they did this by issuing price lists to state retailers for essential goods but not imposing these prices on private firms or other sellers. State traders would then distribute goods at list prices through the state retailers. Once the public began to see consistent price stability and have faith in the currency, the government gradually released prices back to the market. “This practice prefigured the dual-track price system of the 1980s,” Weber writes.

from the book:

Besides recognizing grain as the “people’s Master of Destiny” (ibid., 384, 77), the progression of the seasons is another condition that qingzhong economic policies take as a starting point. We read in the Guanzi that “the climatic changes of the four seasons and the rotation of day and night were objective laws. They could not be decreased if they were oversupplied and could not be increased if undersupplied” (as in Hu, 2009, 105). From this, the following problem arises: qingzhong suggests that the price depends on whether something is oversupplied or undersupplied. Depending on the season, grain is oversupplied (harvest) or undersupplied (spring). As a result, the price fluctuates—which is bad both for peasants and for urban consumers. Thus, the ruler faced the question of how to balance the price of grain throughout the year.

According to the Guanzi, “states that adhere to the way of a true king act in accordance with the seasons” (ibid., 1998, 365). This suggests that, in general, the state must “make use of what is valued to acquire what is not valued and what has been acquired cheaply to ease the price of what has become too expensive” (ibid., 381–382). Furthermore, “when the prince mints coins to establish a money supply, the people all accept them as a medium of exchange” (ibid., 380). Hence, the prince can issue money. “Therefore those who are skilled in government manage mediums of exchange in order to control the Masters of Destiny” (ibid., 378). The government has a responsibility to stabilize the price of grain in order to stabilize the overall price level and the value of money.

This principle manifested as government purchase of surplus grain from the peasants in autumn, at harvest time, when it was oversupplied and its price was low—in other words, grain was “light” and money was “heavy.” By demanding relatively large amounts, the government drove up the price of grain. It thereby balanced the relative quantities of money and grain in the market, prevented the downward movement of the grain price, and protected the peasants from selling their grain at overly low prices to private merchants. In each locality, the government established public granaries to store the grain. In spring, when the farmers were plowing and sowing, and in summer, when they were weeding, their grain reserves would run low. The supply of grain on the market was short, and the grain price was high. At that time, the government used parts of the grain stored away to increase the supply in the market. The government balanced the upshot in the price of grain and protected the peasants from having to buy grain at very high prices from private merchants.9

This scheme stabilized both the price for grain and the general price level. First, we have seen that in the Guanzi, the prices of all things depended on that of grain. Second, by participating in the market for grain, the state adjusted the money supply. Since the value of money, like that of all other commodities, was found to depend on its quantity, a change in the money supply would affect its value in relation to all other goods. In other words, it would change the overall price level.10 According to the Guanzi, “When grain is cheap, he [the prince] exchanges money for food” (Guanzi as in Rickett, 1998, 377–378). In such a situation, money would be “heavy” and would buy a relatively great amount of grain, hence the price level is low. As the state bought a considerable amount of grain, the price of grain rose, but the value of money also fell, and hence a deflationary tendency was balanced. The opposite occurred in spring and summer, when grain was expensive. The state balanced the price of grain in money and the price of money in grain by balancing the quantities of money and grain in circulation. This is how the Guanzi envisioned the government to “manage mediums of exchange in order to control the Masters of Destiny” (Guanzi as in Rickett, 1998, 377–378). Beyond the immediate effects on prices, this scheme of grain price balancing had important implications for state revenues, inequality, and famine prevention through countercyclical policies.

First of all, although the state balanced the price movements, it did not aim for complete stability—“When water is perfectly level, it will not flow” (ibid., 308). The price of grain in autumn would still be higher than in spring and summer, but the price difference would be smaller than it had been without the state’s participation in the market. As a result of the price difference, the state participation in the grain market generated government revenues. The state did not have to impose any direct taxes: “By taking advantage of government orders to move goods and money back and forth, there is no need to make any demands on the people in the form of special taxes and levies” (ibid., 392). The rulers of Western Zhou had fixed prices by decree and extracted surpluses from the people by direct taxation. In contrast, the new art of government was to use price fluctuations to enrich the country without undermining the enthusiasm of the peasants. Mastering this new “art of planned fiscal management” was “not something to create resentment among the people or ruin their aspirations” (ibid., 362). Instead of taking away from the people by command, the state sold grain to the people when they needed it, thereby lowering the price, and bought grain from the people when they had it to sell, thereby raising the price. Instead of being subjected to direct taxation, the people would experience the state as a benevolent government. In sum, this approach would create “stability similar to placing a square object on the ground” (ibid., 367).

Furthermore, the policy of balancing grain prices prevented the most severe forms of inequalities without making all people equal.11 At the time, a class of private merchants was rising. In fact, the government learned the techniques of market participation from the merchants. As prices were not directly controlled by the state any longer, it became apparent that “[a]s the harvest is bad or good, grain will be expensive or cheap” (Guanzi as in Rickett, 1998, 379). If the government did not utilize these price movements to generate public profit, private merchants would do so: “if the prince is not able to control the situation, it will lead to large-scale traders roaming the markets and taking advantage of the people’s lack of things to increase their capital a hundredfold” (ibid.).12

The pursuit of profits was not condemned in the Guanzi but was taken as a given reality: “it is the nature of men that whenever they see profit, they cannot help chasing after it” (Guanzi as in Rickett, 1998, 219). The task of the ruler was hence not to appeal to the morality of the people but to use the prevailing interests and “regulate the people’s profits” (ibid., 379). In order to do this, the state had to “maintain control over policies affecting prices” (ibid., 366). Land reform was not enough to prevent inequalities: “Even though the land may have been divided equally, the strong will be able to gain control of it; even though wealth has been distributed equally, the clever will be able to accumulate it” (ibid., 379). If the government failed to balance the grain price, “it will only result in the people below enslaving each other.” When such “great inequality exists between rich and poor,” the “multitude is not well governed” (ibid., 380). Hence, “[s]hould the prince fail to maintain control over policies affecting prices … the economic policy of the state becomes meaningless” (ibid., 366).

Finally, and most essentially, the participation in the grain market allowed the state to accumulate grain in each locality and protect people from the consequences of natural disasters. An elaborate system of famine prevention worked hand in hand with a countercyclical fiscal policy. The government’s task was to protect the people from the changes of the seasons, climate, and the market and to ensure their access to daily necessities at all times. The state employed the people when the seasons did not require them to work in the field. In this way, the state prevented the source of wealth from drying up. The ruler was to practice frugality in normal times so as not to divert too much of the people’s time from the fundamental occupation of agriculture. However, “prodigality should be adopted in a special situation” (Hu, 2009, 116). If the people lost the foundation of their livelihood and could not work their land because of natural disasters, the state should offer them employment. At such times, the state should also encourage the rich to create work—for example, by encouraging them to have lavish funerals (Guanzi as in Rickett, 1998, 319). In sum, the Guanzi holds that those “who are good at ruling a state simply depend upon the situation to relax or intensify their demands” (ibid., 415).13

9 The basic principles of this policy of grain price stabilization are repeated in almost all the qingzhong dialogues in the Guanzi. This is a summary of the basic principles by the present authors. Variations on this scheme include (1) the use of loans to the peasants paid out in spring in grain and pegged to the high money price to be paid back when the price of grain is low in the fall (Guanzi as in Rickett, 1998, 343–344, 377–380), as well as (2) the state purchase of clothes when they are cheap because grain is expensive; they are then sold by the state when clothes become expensive in the fall, at a time when grain is cheap (Guanzi as in Rickett, 1998, 362, 367, 384, 391). Similar, yet less encompassing, policy proposals had previously been put forward by Fan Li (Chen, 1911b, 568; Hu, 2009, 35–41; von Glahn, 2016, 64) and Li Kui (Chen, 1911b, 568; Hu, 2009, 179–184; Li, 2013, 190; Spengler, 1964, 228; von Glahn, 2016, 55).

10 In the light of this insight, the Guanzi is found to be one of the earliest articulations of the quantity theory of money (Hu, 2009, 131; Nolan, 2004, 129; Rickett, 1998, 4). If we consider the suggestions for countercyclical government spending, discussed later in this section, and the elaborations on hoarding, together with the grouping of different types of money according to their liquidity, a question for further research emerges: Might we find not only the earliest articulation of the quantity theory of money in the Guanzi but also, thanks to its focus on transitional effects, a precursor to the breaking of a pure quantity theory as in Keynes’s (1936) General Theory?

11 Or, as Hu (2009) puts it, “The writer of Guanzi asserted that this inequality between rich and poor was an objective social reality, but his solution to the problem was merely to mitigate the antagonism, not to wipe it out entirely” (111).

12 Such great inequalities are, for example, reported in the Han Shu to have occurred in the period 246–207 BCE. After the selling and buying of land was allowed, some individuals became very rich and brought both land and natural resources under their control. The poor had to cultivate the land of the rich and “had to give five-tenths [of the crop] for rent (shui)” (Han Shu as in Swann, 1950, 182, insertion in original). “In profligacy and dissipation they [the rich] overrode government institutions; and they overstepped extravagance in order to outdo one another” (Han Shu as in Swann, 1950, 181). “Consequently the poor people wore at all times [garments in quality fit only] to be covering for cattle and horses. They ate, moreover food [of a standard suitable only] for feeding dogs and swine. … The people, brought to grief, had no means of livelihood; and they became thieves and robbers” (Han Shu as in Swann, 1950, 182, insertion in original).

13 This proposal for a countercyclical policy of government spending clearly anticipates, by 2000 years, Mandeville’s (1970 [1724]) Fable of the Bees, Malthus’s letters to Ricardo (as in Keynes, 1936, 362–363), and Keynes’s theory of effective demand. In light of Keynes’s 1912 review of Chen Huan-Chang (1911b), which contains a treatment of grain price policies (568–85), the question emerges whether Keynes might in fact have been inspired by ancient Chinese economic thinking.

turns out that socialism with chinese characteristics was invented 2000 years ago

[opbackgrounds]

This might be a weird one or long but we all know Oda reuses the same plotline every. Single. Arc. (For the most part). A country falling into chaos saved by Luffy through circumstances. Yet we’re not sick of this plot, can you do a commentary on how Oda chieves this? I have some ideas myself but can’t articulate as well as you.

A couple things here: While it’s true that there are several country-wide escapades for the Straw Hats to muck about in, there are plenty of arcs with much lower stakes. For example, Little Garden, Thriller Bark, Punk Hazard, and of course the Davy Back Fight. You’ve got war arcs and arcs where the Straw Hats are the destructive force (Enies Lobby says hi) and arcs where the island they’re visiting doesn’t really change, except for a few select individuals. Some of these arcs are set ups for larger conflicts, but they’re necessary to help break up the flow of the story, variety being the spice of life and all that jazz. People don’t like the Davy Fight Back, but the story needed a place to breathe between two long, emotionally draining arcs. Same goes for Thriller Bark. You can’t go from the emotion of Water 7/Enies Lobby to the darkness of Saboady/Impel Down/Marineford without a little bit of levity in between. It’s a pacing issue, releasing tension before it can be built back up again. 

(Also this is another reasons why One Piece has a much more organic power creep than some other series. Not every villain has to be stronger than the last)

Secondly, “country falling into chaos saved by Luffy through circumstances” is pretty broad as far as descriptions go. You’ve got Point A and Point Z figured out, but all that stuff in the middle is up for grabs. How the Straw Hats go about saving Skypea is pretty different than how they end up dealing with Crocodile in  Alabasta. They’re different places with different characters dealing with different sorts of problems. Freedom is a major theme of the series, so it stands to reason that the crew is going to deal with a lot of characters trying to take away the freedom of others. Different arc villains do this in different ways, allowing Oda to explore his core message in a nuanced and deep way. 

Thirdly, Oda’s world building is second to none, and he does a really good job making his audience care about secondary characters and the dozens of different factions that influence the plot as much as the main cast. I get more excited about post-arc chapters than I do anything else because you know Oda’s going to throw curveballs at you that you never expected. 

Sometime you don’t notice that a plot line is similar to something you’ve seen before because you’re super invested in what’s going on In the present, or the settings are so different you don’t think to compare them. For example, I think there are some interesting parallels between Totoland and Thriller Bark, but their aesthetics couldn’t be any more different. 

Many of One Piece’s strongest arcs draw connections not just between Luffy and the big bad. The Guest Star Party Member is just as important. I noted it in East Blue that the villains were all foils to Luffy and the crew member he was recruiting, but when you think about it it carries over into the Grand Line. You can make just as many connections and comparisons between Vivi and Crocodile as you can Luffy and Crocodile, and it’s this sort of multi focal writing that really makes it easy to care about someone you know won’t be around after their arc is over. 

Lastly—and this isn’t directed at you, op—I’ve seen people complain about Luffy going around to all these islands saving the day and I’m like. What do you expect? He’s the main character, of course he’s going to do stuff. What I like about One Piece is that there’s a sense of progression. Luffy has always been working toward a goal, and though sometimes advances are slow, he is always advancing. First he had to prove he was ready for the Grand Line. Then he had to be able to fight Warlords. Then you bring in the giant, globe-spanning military might of the World Government. Then he got strong enough to challenge an Emperor’s strongest commanders, and by the time Wano is done he’ll be able to fight an Emperor (or two) and win. Luffy never feels stuck, is never retreading old ground or spinning his wheels. You know he’s going to reach his goal, it’s just a matter of getting there. 

[yukipri]

Marco’s Bauble Part 3 - a One Piece Mermaid AU Text Story

Here’s part 3 of the Marco’s Bauble story, posted last month on Patreon!

Finally, an appearance from Marco himself ^ ^

Contains mention of Marco x Luffy.

Continues off of, and should be read after:

👒🐟Marco’s Bauble Part 1

👒🐟Marco’s Bauble Part 2

~~

Namur takes great pride in being a fishman in the Whitebeard Pirates.

Fishmen and merfolk are usually usually reluctant to join human-dominated organizations, and with good reason, given their long and painful history of suffering prejudice. And for those few who do feel the call of pirating, joining Jinbe and the Sun Pirates to be among their own kind is a natural and comfortable choice.

Jinbe's a good friend, and Namur has nothing but the highest respect for him and Aladine, but he's already chosen who to follow.

Pops, who stood up and protected Fishman island with just one word. Pops, who lets them keep his flag on the island without any tribute, which not even the world government would allow. Pops, who personally brings the wrath of colossal waves and quaking earth every time humans try to bring trouble to the undersea oasis.

Namur knew that he'd be alone among humans, but he trusts Pops, and trusts those who follow him and protect his home alongside him. And given everything he's done for Fishman Island, Namur feels it only fitting that fishmen be represented on the crew.

And so Namur became the first Fishman to join the Whitebeard pirates, but he wasn't the last. By the time Namur had been raised to the rank of 8th Division Commander, a handful of others had joined, along with a number of other people from various tribes considered not quite fully human. Some minks, some longarms, even one guy from a sky island.

In a crew as massive as theirs, diversity isn't surprising, and Pops has ensured they've never been alienated. Even so, the 8th Division became a natural gathering spot for those seeking others who are also a little different, and Namur's damn proud of his versatile, unique division that can handle missions that no other group can.

Namur's happiest aboard the Moby, and it's his one true home now. But at the same time, after spending so much time away from Fishman island, he sometimes misses his birth homeland and culture.

Which is why it feels like reverse culture shock when something familiar appears in front of him with no warning.

Like right now. On Marco's desk.

"Uh," Namur says eloquently, reports in his hand forgotten, eyes glued to the Thing that Marco's now wrapping in what looks like a letter, written in Marco's unmistakable elegant cursive.

"Sorry, I'll be done in a second, yoi," Marco says, and Namur freezes, realizing he must have intruded on possibly a very private moment--except Marco doesn't seem particularly bothered.

Well, even if Marco doesn't mind, Namur still feels awkward, and forces himself to avoid looking at the now-wrapped Thing. He really feels like he just saw something he shouldn't have. Had he knocked before coming in? He thought he had. He thought Marco had told him to come in, but now he's not so sure, because dropping by Marco's office to hand in reports is so habitual. Namur begins to sweat.

"Alright, what is it?"

Marco turns around, and he's wearing those glasses he always wears when he has to pour over documents for hours, that somehow make the legendary Phoenix look less like a terrifying warrior and more like an exhausted secretary. He's wearing his usual open shirt, Pops's mark proudly emblazoned on his chest, and his head still looks like a tropical fruit, and his face still looks kinda stoned. So, the usual Marco. Nothing amiss.

But maybe he's just hiding it. Humans can be so hard to read at times, and Marco wears his poker face better than most. Even though Namur's been his crew mate for roughly twenty years now, he still can't really see through it. Namur fidgets, palms feeling slick.

"Reports from the Eighth's last mission?" Marco prompts, and Namur flinches because oh, he'd been staring.

"Uh, yeah," he forces out, and raises his arm mechanically to pass over the bundle of documents he'd spent the entire morning writing up.

He notices that Marco uses his right hand to take it. He's heard that sometimes, humans wear the equivalent of the Thing on their left hand, and Namur realizes he hasn't seen (or perhaps just hasn't noticed) Marco's left hand in a while. He wonders if Marco's actually hiding it, and sneakily tries to peek at Marco's left side.

Apparently not sneakily enough, because Marco's sharp eyes flick to his side to try to catch what he must have thought Namur was trying to see, and Namur hastily straightens.

They stare at each other and the silence stretches awkwardly, and oh, Namur can tell this one, Marco looks very Confused. It comes off as sorta constipated, but Namur knows Marco well enough recognize the emotion on his questionably human face, and immediately feels bad. He didn't mean to act suspiciously, or snoop in Marco's personal life, but...he's so unbearably curious.

Namur supposes honesty is better.

"Marco," he tries to choose his words carefully, "that, on your desk..." Namur makes a vague jerky motion at the Thing.

"Oh, this?" Marco plucks up the little bundle that's now tied off with twine. "I was just going to send it off to Thatch."

Namur chokes on his own spit.

"You're, Th-Thatch?" Namur wheezes. "You're giving...to him?!"

Namur feels like he's just been sucked into a whirlpool, his world's suddenly tilting in every direction all at once. He doesn't have a problem with them being, y'know! Of course not! He supports his friends! It's just, well, he's surprised, because he'd never even suspected these particular brothers were anything but close friends, because it's Marco and Thatch, and he's been living with them for twenty years and--oh no, did everyone other than Namur actually know all along, is this Human Stuff again--

"Oh, no," Marco says with a soft laugh. "This isn't for him, yoi. He's just delivering it for me. It's for Ace's little brother."

Namur heaves out a huge sigh of relief. It's not Thatch. Oh thank goodness. Not that he doesn't think that Marco and Thatch wouldn't be great together. But. He's glad it wasn't just Namur misunderstanding...

Namur chokes on his own spit, again.

"Ace's little brother?" he tries hard not to shriek, and it comes out even tinier than expected, barely a whisper of a strangled sardine.

Marco frowns a bit at Namur's weird voice and offers him a bottle of fresh water from his side desk, which Namur shakily accepts. This is a lot to process.

"She's...ah, Ace said it's alright if Division Commanders know, but try not to spread this around too much. But she's a mermaid. I thought it'd be fitting," Marco says, shrugging nonchalantly.

"Ah," Namur nods, feeling numb. That does make a lot of sense, far more sense than giving That to Thatch at least.

A mermaid. Ace referring to his mermaid sister as "brother" also makes plenty of sense, given how vulnerable mermaids are in the world of pirates. In fact, it makes so much sense, and Namur wants to applaud Ace's discretion, he didn't seem the type to have that kind of tact and Namur's genuinely impressed, but his mind's also kind of overloaded right now.

"Although, Namur, since you're here..." Marco looks down at the parcel, dwarfed in his palm. "Do you think she'll like it? Or is it too bold, from someone she's never even met?"

It might be a trick of the light but...does Marco look, demure?

Namur's eyes bug out.

Holy shit. This is the real deal.

Namur's never known Marco to have a personal life or interest in anyone, the man's the definition of dedicating his life to the crew. But perhaps he was just being discreet, because surely everyone has a some soft spot or another, and Namur has just found Marco's.

And they've never even met?! They have a long distance relationship too. She's all the way in East Blue, and they correspond via letters and packages. All those oceans between them...

And on top of that, a mermaid and phoenix. She, bound in water, reaching up for the unattainable, while he, bound to the sky, doomed to drown if he touches her domain...like epic lovers torn apart by fate, just like the fairy tale of the fish princess and the bird, beloved by all fishmen and merfolk...

Namur feels his eyes sting a bit from the tragic romance of it all. But now Ace and Thatch have gone to retrieve her, and she'll be coming home to the Moby Dick soon. They'll be united. They'll get their happy ending.

Namur reigns in his overflowing emotions, remembering that he has an important task.

Do you think she'll like it? Or is it too bold?

Marco has consulted in Namur, his closest friend, his fishman expert confidant. This is his time to shine, his chance to give back a little for all the kindness and support Marco's shown him all these years. And Namur will not disappoint.

Namur composes himself, and then takes his reports back from Marco's hand, letting them go because they're suddenly utterly unimportant in light of Marco's blossoming future. He then grasps the now-empty hand, so warm and human, with both of his webbed ones. Marco's eyes widen in alarm as the papers flutter all around them, but Namur ignores them.

"Marco, I promise you, she'll love it," Namur pours every ounce of sincerity he has into his words, and feels his eyes begin to water again from the weight of it all. "I just want to say, I'm super happy for you, brother, and you can come to me for anything."

Marco stares at Namur, and Namur wills him to understand the depth of Namur's dedication to helping his dreams come true.

"...Right. Thanks, yoi?"

Namur doesn't see Marco's eyebrows climb up into his little mop of hair, doesn't notice him try and fail to extract his hand, doesn't notice him looking completely and utterly lost.

Because Namur's so overwhelmed. They grow up so fast! His friend's taking his next big step in life! And Namur gets to see it through! Being alive is incredible!

~~

Namur leaves eventually, and Marco stares blankly after him, hand still cramped from being death-gripped by the fishman for who knows how long.

He has no idea what just happened.

He then looks at the reports that are now scattered across his entire office.

"...He could have at least picked them up, yoi..."

~~

~~

~~

Namur is this guy here.

While he's a canon chara, he's also bg, and like most of Whitebeard's crew other than a core handful, we know very little about him and his personality and backstory is entirely me making it up ^ ^;

Next up in Marco's Bauble #04:

Namur values his crew's privacy. And given that he doubts he was even supposed to see Marco's secret, he absolutely can't disclose it to anyone.

Which is why he's snuck into Izo's room at ass o'clock in the morning, when everyone but the morning shift is asleep, but Izo's awake because he takes a few hours doing his hair and makeup.

Anyway, if you got through to the end, thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed!

As always, comments/reblogs/tags always immensely appreciated!!! <3 People sharing their thoughts with me motivates me to write so much more, and update more frequently, so thank you so much for everyone who’s so kindly done so in the past!! ;A;

(and if anyone wants an early look, the next parts are already up on my Patreon ;D)

❀ ❀ Send YukiPri an Ask! ❀ ❀

Read the next part: Marco’s Bauble, Part 4

~This ask has been added to the Mermaid AU Text Headcanons Compilation post~

[ververa]

“Everyone Finds True Love Or At Least A Dancing Partner” part 2

Part 1

A/N: Thank you for all the comments and reblogs!! Your kind words motivate me to keep writing and make me really really happy. So, please don’t stop <3

Sorry if this is boring or bad. I didn’t rewrite this part - this is the first and the only version of it that I have. But I decided to post it without making corrections or any changes, mainly because I feel kind of guilty for taking so long finishing my works. Hopefully it’ll do. 

Also this whole story is going to be longer than I’ve initially planned, but I regret nothing. 

@misssmephisto​ once again THANK YOU SO MUCH for helping me with everything!!! <3 

Hope you enjoy it!!

Cordelia Goode x fem!reader

Word count: ~4,000

Cordelia might not have realized how loud her thoughts were. But you did. For you they were as loud and clear as if someone had been whispering into your ear. As a matter of fact, you were sure Elliot was talking to you, though you obviously were wrong. Much to your dismay it was Cordelia’s mind that you heard. You tried hard to make it stop, to get the control over it and somehow shut it off. But nothing worked.

It was disturbing and made it hard for you to follow the music. If it hadn’t been for years of practice and the proficiency  you acquired, you most likely wouldn’t be able to keep dancing. It was hard to finish the performance and Elliot could tell you were struggling for some unknown to him reason. Yet you managed to do it. You managed despite your mind being derailed by the other woman’s alcohol intoxicated subconsciousness. 

It made you confused. You were a witch, of course, and it shouldn’t surprise you. Though it had been years since you had used your powers to the fullest. You had almost completely stopped using them and you were quite content living without them. You didn’t necessarily appreciate the fact of you being a witch. Of course, it wasn’t the end of the world and you would be lying if you said that they weren’t useful at times. Yet still, you wished to be just like everyone else and not have any supernatural powers. You wished there was some cure, but you were aware there was none. Whether you liked it or not, you had to withstand it. And so you kept pulling through no matter what, except you had never even considered meeting the Supreme, the most powerful of all witches and you definitely hadn’t thought of what it could do to you.

But there you were - at work, in the middle of the performance, struggling with figuring out what was actually going on and what was the reason for the sudden awakening of your gift. You tried to act as natural as possible, while you were discreetly looking for the person whose thoughts kept flooding your already crowded mind.

You scanned the room and finally spotted her - the stunning blonde stuck in the crowd with one of very few people you actually despised. If you were being honest Adam’s company was the only thing you didn’t like about her. He just didn’t match with her. She was the embodiment of elegance. A walking poem, a perfect beauty. Her skin was flawless and pale. So pale that against the light it seemed as white as porcelain. And there was that glow. As if all the magic was floating around her enclosing her in some kind of halo. You had never seen anything like that in your whole life. Probably no one had, it appeared to be just you - the privilege of being a witch, one would say. And maybe this one time, you would be willing to compromise with them and admit it was a positive trait.

You didn’t know her at all, but one look was enough for you to be able to tell she wasn’t like the others. If you’d have to compare her to anything, you would definitely compare her to a butterfly. She was like one of those rare butterfly species. Surrounded by all those rich and second-rated people, she truly seemed flawless. A butterfly among moths.

But even though your eyes were blessed, your mind was still burning. All her thoughts added to your worries and problems were like a lethal mixture. It was a lot to take, yet still something was dragging you to her. You kept watching her out of the corner of your eye, wondering why she had such a strong impact on you.

You didn’t mean to interfere or do anything about the whole mind reading situation - hoping it would solve itself, praying for it to stop and for your powers to subside again, so that you could come back to your normal life. Though you couldn’t just watch Adam trying to walk away with her. For some odd reason you felt incredibly protective of the woman. Was it the unexpected access to her mind that made you feel obliged to help her? Or maybe the fact that you knew Adam well enough to know what he was capable of? You didn’t know. It was an instinct.

You escorted her to her room. You made sure she was safe. And that was it. You didn’t plan on meeting her ever again - for your own good.

She was absolutely perfect and adorable and funny, especially in her drunk state. But meeting her was overwhelming for your mind. Your powers were all over the place. You thought that maybe it was just her presence. Though ever since your meeting you were unable to make it all stop, you couldn’t shut your powers off no matter how hard you tried. Whatever she did to you wasn’t fixable. Apparently, she was a gasoline to your fire. And as much as you wanted to, as tried as you might have - it was impossible to ignore it. It was impossible to just like that ignore and forget the fucking Supreme Cordelia Goode.

 _

Cordelia with no doubt was a master of organizing things. Order and neatness - the governing principles, were supposed to bring nothing, but peace and quiet. And she never went against her principles. Not until that one evening. Not until all those drinks she had. 

It was truly incredible she didn’t have a hangover. In fact, the only malfunction her disheveled self could register in the morning was that... she didn’t remember.

Cordelia put her hand on her head and closed her eyes trying to focus, trying to recall the events of the previous night. But everything was so blurry and confusing. She couldn’t say what was for real and what was just a dream. It felt as if half of her mind faded to oblivion.

Cordelia liked things to be crystal clear, but at that very moment it wasn’t even close to comprehensible. Nothing made sense as her mind was full of incoherent images. She was a mess and it caused her a lot of distress. She knew very well that she was far from innocent and flawless, but for God’s sake it was only the beginning of her stay there and somehow she already made it even harder and more complicated.

She really tried to remember, but no matter how deep inside her subconscious mind she thought she managed to reach - the only things she could recall was sitting at the bar and dancing with Adam. And that was the kind of stuff she wished she could forget.

The thought of his hands wandering on her body made her sick. She wanted to rub it all out, but she knew there was more than that. Something more had happened the previous night and she could feel it. She found herself longing for something she didn’t even remember. But she knew it wasn’t just her mind deceiving her. It was real and she was desperate to find out what it was.

Cordelia kept thinking of all the options she had. She was getting ready for another day, which - she already knew, was going to be hard. She started with cleaning, collecting her clothes, when suddenly a vivid vision, of a man with a beard carrying her, hit her. It lasted only a few seconds, but made her remember, not everything, but definitely the presence of someone that affected her. She looked down at the material in her hands - her dress. She smelled it and a distinct scent of cigarettes mixed with female perfume overtook her for a moment.

You were there with her - she established. Yet the memory of you was more like a wind. She couldn't see it, but still felt it. And her intuition was telling her that you were closer than she thought.

Cordelia made up her mind rather quickly - she was going to find you and figure everything out. Considering how her powers worked with the dress, she decided to use them around the hotel, hoping they would help her find the answers she needed. Though it wasn’t all that simple. She spent a few hours wandering around the hotel and nothing happened. Well, except for people looking at her as if there was something terribly wrong with her. Yet she wasn’t going to give up. There was still one place left - the restaurant.

Cordelia wasn’t happy going there. She really didn’t feel like meeting Adam again, but that was the only option left. She walked to the bar. The place full of people, was now empty. Cordelia sighed with relief. She was about to touch the counter, when a male voice drew her attention.

“They’re still closed” he stated

“Excuse me?” Cordelie turned to face him and almost immediately recognized him - the man with the beard “It’s you!” she exclaimed standing up

“Me?” he asked confused 

“You carried me to my room yesterday”

“Ooooh. Yeah, I did. I mean I carried you to the hotel and Y/N took you to your room” he shrugged

“Y/N…” Cordelia repeated after him “And where is she now?”

“Look, don’t get me wrong… but I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to tell you. You caused her enough problems. You know, you did that thing to her head…”

Instead of answers she needed, there were only more and more questions. What problems? What thing…?

“Wait. I hurt her?” Cordelia asked already worried

“No! I mean not physically… I don’t know. You’re a witch, you should know such things…”

“That… That makes no sense”

“I’m sorry. I wish I could help you, but I really can’t, Miss Goode”

Cordelia just nodded, making her way back to the hotel. She was frustrated even more than before. She was so close, yet so far. 

She could use her powers to make him do whatever she wanted - just like Fiona had done. But was she really able to do it? Could she use her powers in such a way? She was nothing like Fiona. She was nothing like any of the previous Supremes. Or maybe she was? Cordelia still didn’t know it. That was something she still hadn’t figured out. Where were the limits? What were her limits? And were there any limits at all? Any boundaries or certain rules? Any guidelines she was supposed to follow? You either were or weren’t the Supreme - that was a fact. And as the Supreme you were supposed to take care of the Coven and protect the witches. That was it. All that she knew. But there was no one to tell her if she was doing all of it the right way.

 “Miss Goode!” Gerald’s voice brought her back to earth “Are you enjoying your time?”

“Yes” she lied offering him a small smile

“I’m glad. If you need anything, you know where I am. Just ask and I’d be more than happy to help”

“Actually, there’s something…”

“Yes?”

“Yesterday, there was the performance at the restaurant. There was a couple dancing there”

“Yes. Y/N and Elliot. And what’s with them?”

“Well, I want to know where I can find Y/N”

“Ahhh, Y/N. Our sweet Y/N” he chuckled sitting down next to Cordelia “I know her since she was a little kid. I watched her growing up. Her grandma - Helen. She’s absolutely amazing. She brought Y/N and her brother up and taught them how to dance. She used to be a dancer herself. And let me tell you, when she was dancing… watching her was a pure bliss”

Cordelia couldn’t help the smile on her face. Listening to Gerald was probably the nicest thing that happened to her that day.

“She’s gifted”

“What do you mean?”

“She’s like you…”

“You mean she’s a witch?”

Gerald nodded.

“And where is she now?”

“She died a few years ago and ever since then things seem to keep falling apart, especially for Y/N. Now she’s the one who takes care of everything and everyone. She’s our star. People come here just to watch her…”

You seemed so mysterious and Cordelia kind of liked it. You were a mystery woman, almost like a phantom. Her own enigma. 

“And to think she almost became one of the Castle’s. Ahh, memories… Anyway, what were you asking about?” Gerald’s voice brought her back to earth

“I… I was asking where I can find her”

“Oh, she should be in her studio. I can ask Adam to take you there”

“No, no, no” Cordelia protested, repulsed by the idea “I’ll find her on my own, but thank you”

“Whatever you need, Miss Goode”

-

Cordelia managed to find the studio quicker than she thought she would, but she didn’t enter. She stood in front of the building suddenly engulfed by uncertainty. Why was she even doing it? Why did she want to meet you? Maybe she didn’t really want to know what happened? If only she knew what was that something dragging her to you, maybe then she could just walk away. But she didn’t. She didn’t know what it was and so she didn’t walk away.

She could hear a music coming from inside and noticed a slightly ajared window. Taking a look wasn’t a crime, right? She thought to herself coming closer. Peeking seemed to be just slightly inappropriate and maybe a bit disturbing. But only a bit. Just one look - it wasn’t that much. It wasn’t any invasion of privacy. It wasn’t illegal either. It was just Cordelia’s inner curiosity, that you awaken. Whether it was reasonable or not, Cordelia was standing there, unable to walk away.

There you were - laying on the floor with a cold pack on your head. 

“Uhhh. Shut the fuck up!” you growled standing up

Cordelia watched your every move. You slowly came to the stereo and turned the volume up. You closed your eyes taking a deep breath. It seemed to be your way of tuning into the music, because soon you began moving to the beat. Cordelia watched you dancing again, though this time she was sober and you were there alone. You looked tired. You were a bit sweaty, your top was sticking to your body and a few strands of your a bit damp hair were sticking to your face. But despite it you were still dancing.

Cordelia felt like she could watch you like that for a whole day. Only then Gerald’s words hit her for real. He was talking about your grandma, but apparently it was something that run in your family - watching you was a pure bliss. 

Watching you swaying with your hands above your head - one could think that dancing wasn’t hard at all. You made it seem so easy. And she was entranced. It felt as if her mind was spiraling. Sinking in the temptation to know you, to feel you, to touch you.

Cordelia wished she could stay there just to admire, but more and more people started appearing - as their course with you was about to start. And so the Supreme made her way back to her room. She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t notice Elliot. Cordelia bumped into him and was forced to come back to not so delightful reality.

“You really want to meet her, huh?”

Cordelia nodded looking at him. And if Eliot did pay attention he would probably notice a little blush on her cheeks.

“You’re quite stubborn, but that’s good. It’s not easy to get to her”

“Any advices?”

“Don’t disturb her while she’s working and if you want to keep her, you better know how to dance”

“Okay. I’ll keep that in mind. So, when does she usually end work?”

“That’s a good question. Listen, we’re having dinner tonight… Y/N will be there, so you can come and talk to her if it’s really that important to you”

“Thank you”

“Oh no no. Don’t thank me and forget this conversation happened. She’d kill me”

“Then… why are you doing this?”

“Do I know? You just seem nice and already have that effect on her. Who knows maybe you’re the one”

-

Cordelia couldn’t help the smile that remained on her face for the rest of the day. She was filled with the kind of excitement she hadn’t felt for a long time and she couldn’t say why she felt that way. She didn’t know you and yet she was longing for you. Longing for that power you were supplying. The kind of magic she couldn’t even name. All that she knew was that you made her recall the thing that was gone from her. She was moved. Moved in the ways she had never been before. It felt funny, but it would be a lie if she said she didn’t like that feeling, that thrill. It was divine.

She didn’t know what to expect and if she even could expect anything. But despite it she made sure she looked presentable. She definitely failed to make a good first impression, she did realize it, and so she wanted to at least try to make up for it. Cordelia was sure all her nervousness was gone, but as she made it to the given place the feeling of uneasiness was back. But she was an open-minded woman. She was the Supreme and there was nothing she couldn’t take, right?

The place wasn’t as fancy as the whole hotel, but it was its crowning glory, the biggest asset. It was so cozy and had that nice aura, that made her relax as soon as she entered. She walked down the long corridor, towards the sound of conversations. She made it to a big room, but before she made her entrance she heard your voice.

“What is she doing here?” suddenly all the eyes were on her, everyone stared at her - everyone except for you. You sat there, among a group of people, your friends probably. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath.

“Well, I guess she’s here for you, bug” Elliot stated

“You don’t say!” you rolled your eyes at him and put down your knife and fork

The Supreme was frozen in her place. She didn’t move even a bit, waiting for what you’d do next or just any sign at all.

“We’ll leave the two of you alone” Elliot said standing up, giving the others a signal to follow him “We’ll see you later, at the party”

You nodded looking at your plate. Cordelia waited for the rest to make their leave, before approaching you and sitting opposite. You didn’t say anything and neither did she. You just sat there in complete silence. 

Cordelia watched as you began eating again, completely ignoring her presence. A small grin appeared on her face. She wasn’t used to watching girls close to your age eating, not like that at least. They all seemed to have really tiny appetites and rarely eat together, almost as if they were ashamed of it. And you - you weren’t even slightly bothered by her presence and kept chewing on your food. It was such a simple thing, but she found it absolutely adorable. She watched you for a moment, before taking a notice of your mug. There wouldn’t be anything extraordinary about the vessel if it hadn’t been for a teaspoon in it. The teaspoon that was stirring the beverage itself. Cordelia smirked at that small sign of your powers. 

“So… you’re a witch” she stated and watched as you swallowed hard before replying

“I don’t know what you’re talking about”

Instead of arguing and giving all her reasons to proved her point, Cordelia only glanced at the mug - drawing your attention to it. You immediately placed your hand on it, making the teaspoon stop. You straightened up and looked at her.

“What do you want?” you asked examining her face

Cordelia already knew that you could see right through her and that made her even more nervous.

“First of all I want to thank you for helping me yesterday. And... I want to apologise"

"What for?" 

“My behaviour?”

“What kind of behavior do you mean? Your attempt to flirt or creeping earlier this day?”

Your response definitely wasn’t what she had expected. 

“I…” she couldn’t even find the right words. She didn’t know what she should say. How was she supposed to explain her spying on you? As she sat there and thought about it, she realized it was kind of disturbing and pretty weird actually. Cordelia began nervously playing with the rings on her fingers. She looked everywhere, but your eyes. Could things get even more embarrassing than that? Well… yes. They could and they did.

“Where did that bold Supreme ready to help me with getting laid down go, hmm?” you teased standing up and moving towards one of the windows.

Cordelia’s eyes widened. She had absolutely no idea what you were talking about.

“I… I guess I was just curious” Cordelia gulped watching as you lit a cigarette 

“Don’t you know that curiosity can get you in trouble, Miss Supreme?” you asked pulling at your cigarette

Cordelia slowly stood up and followed you to the window. She stopped right next to you - leaning against a windowsill.

“I couldn’t help myself. You just seem to be quite interesting person”

“As a matter of fact, Miss Supreme” you starter pulling at the cigarette again “I’m exactly the kind of girl you would not be interested in” you finished letting out a puff of smoke

“I beg to differ”

You raised your eyebrow as she moved closer. Your eyes locked with hers, as Cordelia leaned in -  dangerously close to your face. Your gaze shifted to her hand, when she took the cigarette from you, her delicate fingers gently brushing against yours. She brought it to her lips, your eyes followed the movement of her hand. Cordelia put the cigarette in her mouth, glaring at you - still focused , intently observing her actions. She was waiting for your reaction, but your face remained unreadable. You seemed so stoic… until she pulled at the cigarette. Her eyes filled with tears as the smoke tickled, irritated her throat. She tried to hold it back, she couldn’t. Cordelia choked. She began coughing abruptly. A few tears escaped her eyes and flew down her cheeks - breaking the tension. That didn’t go as planned.

You chuckled watching her the tears with her palm. It was hilarious, but also kind of adorable. The way she tried to get your attention and impress you so badly. And why? What for? You were nothing special. There was nothing you could possibly offer her. She probably already had everything anyway.

Cordelia took a few deep breaths - trying to ease the weird feeling, to get rid of that kinda bitter, awful taste in her mouth. So embarrassing. She looked down, refusing to meet your eyes.

You pretended you didn’t hear her thoughts and smiled sympathetically. You felt bad, maybe even a bit guilty - knowing it was her attempt of getting your attention. You slowly leaned in, the same way she did before. Cordelia looked at you again. She glared at you expectantly.

“Smoking is not your thing, Miss Supreme” you said taking the cigarette from her

Cordelia crossed her arms across herself once again watching you exhale a puff of smoke, before you stubbed the cigarette on the ashtray.

You moved ready to walk away and get back to your routine, though something made you stop. You couldn’t stand seeing her so perplexed, biting on her lip nervously. She got so shy around you that you couldn’t help and wanted nothing more, but to take care of her, embrace and hide from the whole world as if she was the most precious thing you had ever seen.

“If anything...” you spoke up drawing her attention back to yourself one more time “it was adorable. Yes, maybe a bit embarrassing, but still cute as fuck” you winked at her, seeing a small smile forming on her face.

You mirrored her smile and for a moment, just a few seconds her eyes lit up.

“Come on, you still owe me a dance, Miss Supreme”

Tag list: @midnight-lestrange​, @natasha-danvers​, @stopkillinglilyrabe​, @welshdragonrawr​, @saucy-sapphic​, @yang12e​

[thebibliomancer]

Essential Avengers: Avengers #244: "AND THE ROCKET'S RED GLARE!"

June, 1984

The Wraiths walk among us!

Actually, the Dire Wraiths would be a good answer for what the imposters in Among Us are. They're imposters, they can shapeshift, and they have deadly tongues.

I think I've cracked this case wide open.

Anyway, we go straight from Secret Wars into another event, although this is a crossover called Wraith War and mostly a story arc in the ROM book but with tie-ins to Avengers, X-Men, and Fantastic Four. In fairness, we were told the Avengers would be getting involved with the Dire Wraiths before Secret Wars went on sale.

That's the life of a superhero. One day, getting raptured to a toy commercial and the next, fighting alien shapeshifters who aren't Skrulls or Space Phantoms.

Last time: half the Avengers were involved in the Secret Wars, the other Avengers hung around and had small adventures. Then the first half of the Avengers returned. And Wasp quit as chairperson so Vision could take over with his big plans like establishing a second Avengers team.

This time: a nice boat.

The nice boat is chilling on the Banana River outside the John F. Kennedy Space Center when a ball of light swoops down on it.

But with Captain Marvel on the Avengers, sometimes a ball of light is her and not the Beyonder bodyjacking people.

Monica returns from patrol to report no suspicious activity at the space center and also to compliment this sweet boat.

Remember how she was in the market for a boat as part of whatever new job she’s cooking up for when she’s not Avengersing.

Well, this is Wasp’s yacht and it’s real nice.

Vision pops up through the deck to tell the two to join everyone else below for a strategy sesh.

It’s kind of a casual strategy session. Half the Avengers are dressed down.

Wasp is in a bathing suit with a neckerchief around her neck. Wanda took off the body stocking part of her costume so looks like she’s wearing a swimsuit despite the boots. And Starfox decides when in Rome and takes his shirt off.

Wasp isn’t even chairperson anymore and she’s still telling some men to undress and this time its Steve Rogers. She only gets him to take off the civilian clothes that he’s wearing above his costume though.

And only as a concession to the heat. They’re in FLORIDA and he’s dressed in layers. I live in Florida and sometimes one layer is too many layers.

Also, Steve America muses on how they were only back from Secret Wars a few hours when Wasp stepped down as chairperson in favor of Vision but he describes Secret Wars as “our confrontation with that... that Beyonder” which is technically accurate but not really how I would describe Secret Wars.

But that’s the hazard of writing about something in the past that hasn’t come out yet. Can’t really have Steve say “that confrontation with the most recent time Doom swallowed an energy field bigger than his head” because that would spoil the game and also maybe that plot point didn’t exist yet. Although the seeds are there from the start.

I would have just had Steve say “back from that Secret War TM” or “back from being kidnapped by the Beyonder.” Go with what’s clear and obvious from issue 1.

New Chairman The Vision summarizes the plot.

New Chairman The Vision: “All right, Avengers... just as a review, we’ll be meeting at the cape with General Bridges within the hour to discuss a number of supposed accidents... Accidents which Washington suspects may be sabotage caused by alien creatures known as Dire Wraiths. The government has managed to suppress information of most wraith activities -- but the space center is too much in the public eye. Eventually, word will leak out. We must do something!”

Captain America: “You’re right on that count, Vision! If an alien life-form attacked the space-center, there could be worldwide panic!”

And as soon as he says this, there’s an explosion on the test-pad.

Talk about timing!

The Avengers leap immediately into action!

Wasp just heads into action in her swimsuit because its not the first time she’s had an adventure in her swimsuit. Her powers are entirely internalized by this point. But its impressive for Wanda because she puts the bodysuit part of her outfit back on without seemingly taking off the leotard part.

Chaos magic? Chaos magic.

Also, they leave Wanda to anchor the yacht and then follow in a skiff so its not like she needed to get dressed magically between panels. She just decided to.

When the Avengers arrive there’s a massive cloud of smoke covering the launchpad and they spot some men dashing into the smoke instead of away from it.

Captain Marvel returns from scouting and mentions that the damage is confined to the test-pad gantries and that there’s not all that much damage.

But then there’s a loud KROOM second explosion which takes down the main supports. The rocket booster on the test-pad starts tipping over so Starfox, Captain Marvel, and Vision rush to try to stop it.

One of the attackers, the Rocketeers, says a few more mini missiles will take the launch-pad out of commission but exposition isn’t a free action and he gets WHUNK’d by Captain America’s mighty shield.

And if that weren’t enough to make him yield, Wasp shoots him in the nipple.

Wasp: “Let’s have no complaints out of you! I can make my Wasp-stings a lot nastier than that!”

Yeah, that guy is lucky she didn’t use one of her patented ‘can blow up a small house’ Wasp-stings. His nipple would never have been the same.

Vision and Starfox catch the rocket booster before it smashes into the ground but Captain Marvel zips around it and spots major fuel leaks.

Since it’s going to explode even if they gently set it down, the two huck it into the Atlantic.

Then the three start lifting rubble and rescuing those injured from any of the mini-missile explosions.

Over at Cap(tain America) and Wasp, they’ve beaten up all the Rocketeers but one. Good job you two! By some accounts the two least powerful among the Avengers present and yet you’ve kicked some ass.

The Last Rocketeer: “You may have stopped my buddies, but you won’t stop me!”

Wasp: “Oh, brother! If you only knew how many times we’ve heard those words -- !”

Captain America: “Don’t embarrass the man, Wasp! He’s in enough trouble as it is!”

Wow, if its not enough that they’ve beaten up all his friends and are about to beat him up, they just burned him so bad that I don’t know if he’ll survive.

The guy throws a lawn dart bomb at Cap and the Wasp. Cap tells Wasp to get behind his shield but the bomblet sharply veers up with a ninety degree turn.

Wow, how improbable!

If you guessed that Wanda showed up after parking the yacht, you guessed right.

And then Wasp shoots the Last Rocketeer in the eyes. His goggles did nothing.

Even though the Rocketeers were wrapped up pretty easily, Vision suggests that they had help since they knew exactly when and where to strike.

But a Dire Wraith shaped silhouette watching this fight from afar reflects that the Avengers are skilled and decides to unleash THE MISTS OF THE DARK NEBULA.

Which is a thick fog. But wait! There’s more! The fog is like a mind-numbing gas and makes the Avengers slow to respond, even Vision who only breathes out of social obligation. And it rouses the Rocketeers who escape into the fog.

Vision follows after them, less affected than the others, but he gets bowled over by the Rocketeers taking off with their rocket packs which presumably given them their names.

As soon as the Rocketeers escape, the fog conveniently disperses.

The Avengers go around making sure they’re all alright but when Cap(tain America) asks Vision, he claims that he is a lot more resilient than “an organic man” and tells Cap not to waste concern on him when there are injured people to be helped.

Wasp, in her thoughts: “Sounds like the only thing wounded was his pride!”

While the Avengers carry injured people to arrived ambulances, Vision castigates himself for the failure.

Vision: “We failed! My first official battle as Avengers leader, and the enemy got away! I suppose I should find solace in the knowledge that the sabotage was cut short and lives were saved... but I cannot!”

“I must not allow myself to be satisfied by anything less than total victory... Not if my long-range plans are to succeed! The Avengers must ferret out the power behind the Rocketeers and bring it down! The trust of the world could depend on it!”

That’s a completely non-ominous thing to think, Vizh.

Also, maybe you could help?

Meanwhile, over at Los Angeles International Airport, Hawkeye and Mockingbird arrive traveling as a perfectly normal couple. Hawkeye wanted to bring his arrows on as carry-on but yeah. Hard to explain that to the TSA.

... Wait, did the Avengers not have a spare Quinjet to send Hawkeye in?

Anyway, Bill Foster meets them at the airport. He’s local to LA and has been checking out some real estate leads for the West Coast Avengers base.

WEST COAST AVENGERS!

It continues to be approaching.

Are we going to get Bill Foster on the team? We haven’t seen him in Avengers for what feels like ever.

But enough of West Coast Avengers, there’s more Dire Wraiths plot to do.

Back at the Cape of Canaveral, General Bridges introduces the Avengers to the very high-strung Dr. Woodrow Cather, the highest ranking civilian scientist.

Cather flips out on seeing the Avengers and asks why they’re here. I guess nobody debrief him on all the explosions.

General Bridges has a slideshow for just this instance and activates a projector to show everyone a Dire Wraith.

The ROM Space Knight and Dire Wraiths plot has been going on for about fifty issues in ROM’s own book by this point so there’s some amount of exposition that just shotgunned in one page.

The Dire Wraiths are an offshoot of the Skrulls, apparently. Except instead of just shapeshifting they have a more predatory method of camouflage. They attack a victim with a drill-like tongue, eat their brains, and assume their forms while the original person is reduced to ashes.

At least, that’s how female Dire Wraiths work.

The Dire Wraiths are like the Badoon in having some truly wild sexual dimorphism and a high degree of hostility between the sexes. The female Dire Wraiths prefer sorcery and the males SCIENCE. Except there was a war of the sexes over differences in their plans for conquering Earth and the women Wraiths won and became the dominant Wraiths.

The Rocketeers that attacked the launchpad today are similar to a group of male SCIENCE Wraiths who also called themselves Rocketeers and attacked Clairton, West Virginia.

So Vision suspects that a group of male Wraiths survived the war of the sexes and are up to Something.

General Bridges isn’t really concerned with the nuances of who and how people are attacking the launch site. He just wants it all to stop.

Dr. Cather is leading the ion-drive project and its already in trouble because most funds have been diverted to the space shuttle program.

General Bridges doesn’t think the ion drive is a target, OR worth attacking (ouch), because none of the sabotage has struck it yet. Bridges thinks the Space Shuttle should get priority attention and decides he’ll call a full battalion to help the Avengers guard it.

Vision disagrees.

He pulls rank and forbids calling in any backup.

Captain America: “You’ll have to excuse us, gentlemen! Our chairman... has plans of his own!”

I BET HE DOES!

Meanwhile, continuing the Quicksilver subplot, it’s Quicksilver.

He Lockjaws down to Transia, Earth to go recruit Bova to be nursemaid for his baby but to his startlement he finds that her cabin has been destroyed.

Big mystery for Quicksilver but followers of this going-slightly-above-and-beyond liveblog will know that Magneto trashed it while interrogating Bova for information about his children.

Wanda and Pietro already rejected Magneto as their dad for being a jerk plus the jerky way he’s treated them. I imagine learning he terrorized a poor cow woman won’t soften their hearts to him.

Anyway, back to the Dire Wraiths plot.

The Rocketeer Dire Wraiths are sitting around and complaining about how the Avengers kicked their butts and they didn’t know humans could be so strong. But what they’re really concerned about is the Dark Nebula Mist.

That’s clearly the sign of the Dire Wraith sisterhood but why would they help the science Wraiths if not some weird mind game to flush them out.

One of the Rocketeers declares that the sisterhood’s intervention gives them a chance to complete their work. Sure, overt sabotage will be hard with the Avengers hanging around like they don’t have anything better to do. And sure, they’ll set up detection equipment. But the Avengers won’t suspect that the Rocketeers will have jamming watches that’ll let them avoid detection.

That’s why Science Wraithing is so rad.

The next morning, the Avengers are spread out throughout the Space Center.

Captain Marvel is standing sentry on top of the vehicle assembly building. Starfox is at launch complex 39A thinking patronizing thoughts about the Space Shuttle.

Starfox: “They call this a space ship? Charming.”

And Wasp watches over the ion-drive rocket.

Meanwhile, Vision, Captain America, and Scarlet Witch are in the security command post watching the cameras with the special detection systems.

If I remember Linkara’s Romtrospective, the special detection systems are probably based on Rom’s Analyzer, which he let SHIELD examine.

Anyway, Scarlet Witch switches to a random monitor to demonstrate that so far so good, pointing at monitor three and its entirely unsuspicious group of technicians.

Vision: “No problem?!? There’s a very big problem!! Can’t you see?!”

Turns out that Vision has better vision, hah, than a human. And with his special eyes he sees that those four technicians are NOT WHAT THEY SEEM.

He immediately grabs the microphone to the PA and announces DANGEROUS INTRUDERS and for everyone to evacuate the area immediately.

The four intruders make a mad dash to the ion-drive ship but Starfox does them a drive by punching.

Starfox: “Good morning, gentlemen! Since you aren’t evacuating the premises, might I assume that you’re our intruders? Hmmm?”

I’ll reveal a cursed secret. If it weren’t for Starfox’s special pleasure beam powers, I wouldn’t have a problem with him. He can be pretty fun sometimes.

Captain Marvel also zips over in light form and then re-assumes her meat form.

One of the Dire Wraiths: “Strike while she is helpless in her corporeal form!”

Captain Marvel: “Helpless?”

Never assume Captain Monica Marvel is helpless just because she’s made of meat. She was a boat cop, dammit.

Its a well known fact that all boat cops that get superpowers and join the Avengers, know how to flip a jerk.

Anyway, Dr. Woodrow Cather, the highest ranking civilian scientist, also runs towards the ion-drive rocket despite the evacuation order.

Dr. Woodrow Cather, the highest ranking civilian scientist: No need to worry soldier! I won’t be long at all... Once I’ve cut my ship off from ground control! I’m glad I returned to the test bunker last night. Otherwise, I might have been found like that the others! Their sabotage missions brought them to a bad end, just as I’d hoped! Now, their capture should be all the diversion I need -- to get away scot free!

Gasp! Dr. Woodrow Cather, the guy who was alarmed to see the Avengers involved is one of the Dire Wraiths and he’s dicking over his alien invader associates!

Is there no honor among alien invaders?

Scarlet Witch and Cap(tain America) arrive in Jeep to where Starfox and Cap(tain Marvel) are kicking the Dire Wraith ass. Scarlet Witch uses her do-anything powers to force the Dire Wraiths to assume their natural lumpy orange forms.

But then Dr. Woodrow Cather blasts off in the ion-drive rocket, luckily managing not to either blind nor burn to death anyone on the ground.

Captain Marvel zips after the rocket because speed of rocket is still way slower than the speed of light.

God, I love Monica’s powers.

The Dire Wraiths start bemoaning how they’ve been abandoned and betrayed but worse than that DOOOOOOOMED.

Cap(tain America) is like ‘come again?’

The Dire Wraiths explain that the ion-drive is actually a secret star-drive, that they cobbled together using whatever ‘backward technology’ they could get and sometimes just steal from other projects (I guess thats what the sabotage was? Covering the thefts?). But uh the red glow from the not-ion-drive exhaust is a bad sign.

It means that the engine is unstable and could explode like an anti-matter bomb at any time.

And to complete the hat trick of ‘rocket stolen’ and ‘rocket gonna explode and destroy a chunk of Earth’, Wasp was watching the rocket and is now trapped inside the command module, squashed against the bulkhead from the acceleration.

THE WORLD IS IN DANGER BUT MORE IMPORTANTLY, THE WASP IS!

DAMN YOU DR. WOODROW CATHER, IF THATS YOUR REAL NAME!

Follow @essential-avengers​ because we like Wasp here. Wasp should be in more stuff in modern comics. Like and reblog as well but only if you think that the post is likeable and slash or rebloggable.

[thevividgreenmoss]

The more I see from Mark Fisher the more fruitless his writing seems in terms of actual implications for theoretical/practical future movement of any anti-capitalist politics...like for all his talk of the impotent paralyzed state of a left unable to escape or meaningfully able to learn from its past, beset by circular patterns of discourse and movement it's tied itself up in as a result of cultural fixations/conflicts and stifling insular academic and/or online intellectual developments that are often completely detached from the actual political sphere, unable to formulate an actionable political programme that can genuinely confront power, have no relevance to the social base of a potential anti-capitalist movement, etc, like for all the talk of that shit his own critiques of those things tend to essentialize them as inextricable, even inevitable features of capitalism itself and as a result cultural or intellectual trends that are not intrinsic to but symptomatic of a system based on this particular mode of production, and that develop as a result of the interplay between societal elements existing within and formed by that system in a given time and place, are posited instead as defining features of that system (for example the insistence that regurgitation of past cultural forms must be seen as inevitable features or tendencies of capitalism - and that that alleged fact has some fundamental explanatory power - rather than being seen as trends that have come to prominence, and cyclically have become prominent before as well, due to the ebbs and flows of accumulation of intellectual property & consolidation of productive/investment capital etc and that at times have given way to or existed alongside dominant cultural/artistic movements outside of that retrofetishistic lane. Which like even when that was the case capitalism was still bad...like the problem is not encapsulated by the culture's perceived failure to find the next jungle music, nor would it be solved or meaningfully altered were the next jungle music to be found). And in that process you're bestowing an undue sense of significance upon and giving a completely misplaced centrality to things that you're purporting to be criticizing on the grounds that they distract from and are unproductive when it comes to dealing with the pressing core issues by which we're actually faced, while completely failing to incorporate the breadth of actual political & economic shifts, movements, conflicts, etc both against and in favor of the expansion of capital within your analysis in the same way that the individuals/organizations/institutions that you started out critiquing are guilty of. And that related failure to genuinely consider political reality as it exists outside of certain insular left spaces & discourses as well as the left spaces & discourses being used as the basis for the critique being advanced largely neglects anything that might be going on outside of metropolitan centers within advanced western states (and even then it seems mostly confined to the anglosphere) that might complicate or even outright contradict the narratives being advanced, which idk may also contribute to the tendency to grossly generalize and even essentialize specific aspects of society or culture that have taken shape in the first-world as being endemic to capitalism itself as it exists and must exist everywhere at all times...and even if that's being done based on the view one sometimes sees that as capitalism advances then the societal condition of the global south will come to resemble that of the current north then it's still bullshit because while of course that does and will still continue to happen in some respects, there's no broad convergence of that sort in sight at all and given increased pauperization already in motion as a result of ongoing economic trends and mass migrations as a result of accelerating climate change the future of LA or Berlin might look more like the present in Rio de Janeiro or Mumbai than vice versa...idk like there are genuinely interesting discussions of music and evocative (though by no means novel on the level or either tone or content) descriptions of a certain kind of prevalent malaise and ennui peppered throughout Fisher's work but his analyses of the way those things reflect and/or are produced by capitalism itself either fall off the mark or, again, aren't advancing any ideas that haven't long been circulating either in the marxist critical tradition or in any others that have in differing ways been in some form of dialogue with or have to some degree been influenced by it (even those that either explicitly/self-consciously or not find themselves in opposition to marxism, poststructuralism being probably the most obvious/notorious example) right down to the concept of capitalist realism itself, which as elaborated by Fisher offers nothing that isn't present in the diverse and even divergent analyses & conceptual frameworks surrounding ideology, consciousness, hegemony, the ~real~, etc that were already there in the work of everyone from Marx himself to Lukacs to Gramsci to Althusser, Baudrillard, Jameson, Eagleton or numerous other notable figures even just within the western intellectual realm. Like the only distinguishing feature of Fisher's capitalist realism is his contention that in the aftermath of the USSR's collapse, not only has the social reality generated by capital successfully naturalized itself in various pervasive ways as it has been doing for the past five hundred years, but now there's been a crucial turn in that since 1991 there's been an additionally ingrained negation of our ability to conceive of or pursue alternatives to neoliberal capitalism on a collective level, which allegedly wasn't there before...which like I'm sorry but that's a ridiculous fucking claim to make especially in light of the fact that shortly before his death Fisher said that the movements behind/supporting the rise of Jeremy Corbyn to labour party leadership & the 2016 Bernie Sanders campaign represented breaks in and the beginning of the end of the era of capitalist realism, which like. If that's the standard then how does the latin american pink tide of the late 90s-late 00s, which involved much larger popular movements that were much more firmly rooted in and directed by the working classes and peasantry and that pursued much more radical goals and even in the face of counter-revolutionary forces that have been ascendant in recent years still succeeded in attaining significant tangible gains for themselves, especially when compared to the negligible results that revived new deal democratic or midcentury labour agendas have had so far in the US & UK, like how did that shit not contradict capitalist realism well beforehand...or the fact that in Cuba the first post-Soviet decade entailed a renewal of genuine socialist energy & societal transformation of a kind not seen since the first 10-15 years immediately following the revolution, or on the other end of things, the clerical authoritarianism that existed in iran already at the time, or the terrifying rate at which the genuinely fascist RSS consolidated popular support and came to have an increasing hold over the various institutions governing Indian society, especially since the early 90s, until at this point there's no significant challenge to their power within the second most populous country in the world...like all those things seem to be much greater refutations from so-called capitalist realism to the point that the concept seems to have no meaning or utility at all...like whether intentionally or not,  Fisher's ~acid communism~ basically leads to the same endpoint, perhaps with different aesthetic trappings, as FALC bullshit, where residents of the first world are freed of the labor and alienation of the past by a super expanded version of the welfare states created by postwar european social democracies and can both go to raves and consume as often as we want. The problem wasn't the violent abstraction of commodified life, the value form, whatever it was that we couldn't pursue and indulge in the thrills and pleasures that per my mans Lyotard & Nick Land are undeniably present in capitalist consumer society except now we can, thanks to those beefed up fully automated welfare states, those indulgences are no longer simultaneously a source of malaise and depression as they previously were when the free market barred the masses from partaking of them with the freedom and reckless abandon that are necessary in order to give us that truly liberated libidinal fulfillment. What the effects of the magically automated extraction of the natural resources necessary to maintain that steady flow of goods and resources to the fully automated luxury acid communists might be on the environment, how that might impact the people that live in the places where extractive industries tend to be based, how they might fit into this acid FALC utopia, whether they'd be forced into ever more menial forms or labor building or providing upkeep for the robots that replaced their former fellow proletarians in the first world, whether their labor might itself be the supposedly 'automated' part of fully automated luxury communism, whether they might legally be recategorized as robots so as to prevent that seeming contradiction from shaking things up, no need to trouble ourselves with that