me when i could say im going to do one thing and just see it through but my contrarian nature and sheer sense of audacity compel me to do the exact opposite for the fourteenth time this season

Title: Escalation Inevitable Pairing: Kid x Law Prompt: 9. Law gets sick, caretaker Kid Notes: Entry for one of the KidLaw Summer event put on by @kidlawevents. I’ve got a lot of drabbles to put up and then there’s the things I started for other prompts but am still working on.

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It's a cold. Nothing serious or chronic, and most certainly nothing to be worried about at all. Law is perfectly fine and can manage a simple cold by himself without any help at all.

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“Throw me over the side now,” Law says, voice thin and wavering as he looks out the nearest porthole to the more merciful and cold sea. “I demand to die with dignity.”

A cold and hard hand grips him by the back of the neck, and Law is helpless to stop himself from being picked up and dumped back in the bed he’d just fought his way out of. Kid looks down at him absolutely unimpressed. “I don’t want to hear your bitching. You’re a doctor, you should know how this goes.”

The bed jumps under the weight of Kid dropping down to sit next to Law. The large fingers of his metal arm spreading out over Law’s chest and using an insultingly little amount of force to keep him flat. Law bites back a cough and glares defiantly up at Kid. “I am a doctor, and I am perfectly fine.”

Law spits out the last few words through his teeth, hoping the rasp as the cough tries to escape will go unnoticed. Futile, he knows, because Kid is stubborn and not as stupid as most believe him to be. Law still tries though because he is sick. He knows he’s sick, and he hates the way that makes him feel. The way he loses control of his body a thing that feels all too familiar to him even after all these years.

The fever, the pain, the weakness almost feel like they never left him at times. All that’s missing is the faint taste of iron on the back of his tongue and Cora fretting over him at every wince or hitch of breath and he’ll be a kid dying of something incurable again.

Law is almost grateful to have Kid around despite the damage he’d done to Law’s door to get in. The man is mean and practical in a way that Law won’t ever be able to mistake as anyone else even if his fever spikes up enough to make him delirious.

“Fine my ass,” Kid presses down harder and the increased restriction rips the cough out of Law. He curls up slightly under the force of the deep, wracking outburst. Eyes squeezing tightly shut until it ends and he lays there panting. Kid, the utter ass, rolls his eyes as he lets up. “You're so fine your own crew had to call me in because you’re running yourself to the ground for no damn reason, and they’re too weak to pin you down.”

Traitors. They must have been planning this for days. Kid had taken off for the East weeks ago so turning back to find Law’s submarine would have taken time and effort on the part of both vessels. It's one of the clearest signs showing how out of it he is that he'd never noticed the change of direction or the multitude of lies everyone has been feeding him lately.

Law will bet anything it was Shachi who spearheaded this little mutiny. He’d been the most vocal crewmate the past few days about Law getting some rest. Laying down, wrapped up in a blanket, and sipping hot tea like they don’t have a time sensitive agenda they’re running behind on. Law sets the question of what to do about that aside for later consideration. For when he doesn’t have Kid manhandling him in a way that is entirely too patronizing for Law to enjoy.

“I have a cold, not a death sentence,” Law says when he finally gathers his breath enough to speak. His voice is louder and stronger now that his throat has been temporarily cleared. “They’re simply overreacting.”

“You’re one of those people, aren’t you?” Kid asks. A rhetorical question as he doesn’t bother elaborating or waiting for an answer. He’s up and across the cabin in two strides. Grabbing a sack near the door that rattles before returning. “Alright, you’re taking one of each of these,” pill bottles fall to the bed and Law recognizes from the label that they’re from his own infirmary, “and I dare you to refuse.”

Kid is grinning at Law as he stands above him with arms crossed over his chest. The sharp and bloodthirsty grin he gets when he’s about to violently rearrange the world to suit his whims. It’s often the last thing people see before being crushed by a wall of scrap metal. It’s a threat and a promise that Law will be taking the medicine. Willingly or not, and Kid will not at all be upset if it’s the latter.

Law takes a slow, deep breath –as deep as his beleaguered lungs and clogged sinuses will let him– and fixes Kid with his own look. The cold one that has cowed countless marines and stupid pirates over the years, and followed more than a few foolish people to their graves. The pills are the correct ones for his symptoms, and he would have eventually retrieved them himself. He knows how to treat a cold after all.

But he’ll be damned if he lets himself be ordered to do it by Kid of all people. Occasional ally and more frequent lover or not, Law will not roll over so easily. He pulls on his power and throws a Room up as he surges off the bed. “Don’t tell me what to do!”

~

Bepo watches the Polar Tang rock in the sea more erratically than the choppy waters can account for. The occasional blue flash of a Room flickering unsteadily through different portholes all the explanation needed for what is happening inside. There is no sound to be heard except for when the water displaced by the Tang crashes against the hull of the Victoria Punk. “I’m sorry, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.”

“You’re about three days late for that,” Penguin snorts from where he leans up against the rail beside Bepo watching the fight going on below them. His chin propped on his hands and hat tilted just right to block the last glares of the sun as it slowly sets.

“If you were just going to regret it you shouldn’t have called for backup, Bepo,” Shachi chimes in from his seat on the deck. Not nearly as interested in what’s going on between the two captains as he is with figuring out how to best cheat Heat out of the card game they’ve been playing since the crew boarded the Victoria for their own safety.

“Hm,” Killer hums, a near silent agreement from Bepo’s other side. The masked man gives off an air of amusement as the Tang rocks violently to one side, close to rolling, and Bepo cries out in alarm. He pushes away when the submarine rights itself with a wobble and flicks at one of Bepo’s ears. “Captain’ll get yours sorted. No need to stand here and worry over them.”

“I’m sorry!” Bepo rubs his ear and gives one last look over the railing before turning away to join the rest of his crewmates. Killer is right after all. It’s already been done and worrying about what might happen is useless, especially when he’s been promised there’s honey mead somewhere on the ship.

Joining the Game Late: S3E4 “And Now His Watch Has Ended”

Synopsis

Jaime’s down in the mud. Varys has the man who took his dick in a box. The Night’s Watch shovel pig shit before a funeral, and then it’s a free-for-all at Craster’s that Sam and Gilly escape. Bran dreams his mother pushes him out of a tree. Joffrey has a dead Targaryen boner while his mother talks wedding prep with Olenna and grimaces in Margaery’s direction. Theon monologues some more, then his plot goes symbolically circular. Brienne gives Jaime her best pep talk. Tywin continues his epic teardown of his children. The Tyrells and Varys have found a use for Sansa. Arya reaches back to the second episode to accuse the Hound before the Brotherhood of murder. Dany starts her revolution with fire and blood and multilingualism and it all feels very... *makes confused hand gestures*

Commentary

Most significant moment of the episode: the writers (either GRRM or the showrunners, I don’t know which) demonstrate through Olenna that they don’t understand why flowers make for such powerful heraldric symbols. Of course I sympathize with her complaints that she’s forever surrounded by roses, vastly inferior to lilies as they are, but the subsequent comparisons to the ferocious animals and imposing words of the other houses falls flat when such a large part of using flowers in that way comes from the deceptive appearance of innocence and beauty. It’s a political approach the Tyrells excel at in the story, so this just feels like baseless French-bashing by a character who is meant to be one of their own.

But anyway, the plot. The Tyrells do rather a lot of that as well. Margaery earns the ire of Cersei again by appealing to commoners, and she befriends Sansa by gently mocking her sincere piety (I was right about her performative devotion, ha) and telling her about the splendors of Highgarden which include a Mardi Gras equivalent as it naturally should. Olenna meanwhile hatches a plan to have Sansa married off to Loras to save her from Littlefinger’s machinations, and while I believe this is another result of the show compressing characters there’s probably some more gay angst to be milked from this plotline in the future. As it is Cersei is right to express concern to her father over the Tyrells’ growing influence at court, and all the flower bashing is almost worth it for that scene alone of another pair of Lannisters subtly digging at each other and their strained history. Cersei also brings up an interesting point that, although he claims otherwise, Tywin doesn’t seem all that pressed about getting Jaime back. Complicated though that situation has become by his escape and subsequent recapture, the King’s Landing characters have spent almost no time concerned about Jaime in what feels like over a season.

I haven’t got much to say yet about Jaime being brought to what might be his lowest point, or Theon’s comparatively tortured and circular plotline (although getting to hear him admit that he chose the wrong father between Ned Stark and Balon Greyjoy was a very human moment for him), or even the Night’s Watch hosting a funeral for one of their own before descending into a mutiny that kills off Craster and Commander Mormont while sending Sam and Gilly off into the woods on their own with a newborn. That seems like it’s going to end well. I think it’s a larger consequence of the show skipping over the battle that killed all those Night’s Watchmen a few episodes back, but the mutiny feels like it has almost no buildup apart from a single earlier scene. While sufficiently dramatic and violent, it’s a good thing then that the chaos at Craster’s isn’t the climax of this episode.

What is the climax on the other hand is an extremely powerful moment, even if I personally found it a little conflicted in terms of tone. Daenerys appears to trade one of her dragons to the owner of the Unsullied in exchange for the army, only to reveal that she had understood the Valyrian language all along - his expression when he realizes that she’s aware he’s been referring to her by a variety of degrading obscenities this whole time is great, by the way - and have her dragon burn him alive before sending it and the Unsullied against all the slavers of Astapor. This would make for a powerful mission statement for Daenerys, except for that little nagging problem I had back when the Unsullied were introduced. She makes a show of freeing them after the assault and exhorts them to follow her if they wish, but could slaves so thoroughly broken down and stripped of their free will even conceptualize the thought of not following her? The episode closes on a shot of the Unsullied marching out of the gates of Astapor as Dany’s dragons fly overhead and she throws the slaver’s whip down into the dirt, but the sight of this massive army in perfect formation doesn’t exactly convey the idea that Dany is a liberator. As with her big speech before Drogo’s funeral pyre and her posturing in Qarth, she’s framed as a conqueror with the freedom of slaves as more of a side goal. I should probably reiterate that I don’t consider that a bad thing - it leads much more organically into her eventual ending than if she’s been presented as purely heroic - but when welded to the anti-slavery rhetoric it can’t help but feel rather confused. Daenerys may have freed all the slaves of Astapor, but she did so primarily to acquire an army she can use to invade Westeros. It’s an interesting moral balance, to say the least.

Love, Blood, And Rhetoric, Ch 1.

Fandom: The Society.

Summary: Campbell's just trying to survive in the new world. He knows he can make it-- it's everyone else he's worried about.

Rating: Mature.

Tags: Canon Divergence, Mental Health Issues, Family Issues, Substance Abuse, Complicated Relationships, Consent Issues, Antisocial Personality Disorder, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, Mild Sexual Content, assuming Elle and Campbell are both 18 for the sake of things, Underage Drinking, PTSD, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, implied eating disorder, Fix-It, Campbell has mild ASPD, and is actively trying to not be awful

Word Count: 6061

Part One, Ch 1 || Ch 2 || Ch 3 || Ch 4 || Ch 5 || AO3

Disclaimer: This is part two of a three part series. Reading part one is more-or-less essential.

This is a canon divergent storyline for Campbell, using (in my experience) a realistic take on conduct disorder and ASPD instead of Hollywood "psychopath" stereotypes. While people with conduct disorder can be violent and abusive, the diagnosis does exist on a spectrum, and neither ASPD nor "psychopathy" should be diagnosed before the age of 18; this is one thing that rubbed me the wrong way on The Society. Campbell's power will be more in his ability to manipulate-- not "being crazy". Hopefully I can succeed in presenting a more understandable and less sensationalized vision of his behavior. Please note that I have no intention of making him a violent abuser, to bring his character more in line with my experiences of how an emotionally neglected teen with moderately reduced empathy would behave, provided they were actively attempting to help themselves.

Tl;dr I just wanted to make Campbell less needlessly shitty, because it makes me feel better as a person, and because I wanted one (1) antagonist who isn't just an evil, horrible abuser with a scary mental illness.

Thank you for reading, and leaving kudos/comments/likes. <3 

///

The bridge was quiet as a graveyard. It was something out of a science fiction movie, wasn't it? Alice in Wonderland type shit. Something happens, and suddenly the world goes inside out, with people transported to some other dimension. No one had said a damn word, but it was the only explanation that made any sense at all. It looked like home, but it wasn't home. Everything felt a few degrees to the side. Just a tiny bit abnormal. Forests that sprouted up around them overnight. Everyone else in the city, gone. The smell, gone. Gordie was the first to break the silence. "I mean, there's only so many options."

"Maybe we're dreaming," Allie offered. "It's the best option." Campbell rolled his eyes, but held his tongue for Cassandra's sake. They would all have to be dreaming the exact same dream at the same time, and that seemed far less likely than some sort of weird wormhole situation. Harry was sitting on his car hood, with Helena and Luke next to him. He ran his hands through his hair; he was still half drunk, and had no business being there, but there he was and he was freaking out. "Maybe this is just some elaborate fucking game. Like, someone built an exact replica of our town and just put it in the middle of nowhere, and if we just walk..." He paused, waving his hands towards the trees. "Like, this way or that way or any way, eventually we'll get back to the real world." Christ, that was an even worse theory. Campbell sighed. "An exact replica of the town," he pressed, "complete with all our family's cars? Our clothes? Our bathroom towels, posters, jewelry, stuffed animals, the food in our fridges?" "I'm not saying it makes any sense." Crossing her arms, Cassandra leaned against the bridge and frowned. She had that debate team look in her eyes. The look that said she was trying to dissect the situation in her mind. "There was a smell, and then it went away. It came back, and the buses came for us." Harry scoffed. "You're gonna just work this out, Cassandra? Like some logic problem? I mean, not a flicker of a doubt?" "The world doesn't just turn upside down without a reason. We're not in some play-within-a-play. Okay? Clever is not the same thing as true. There is a point to everything, there are answers." "That's right," Helena chimed in. "God doesn't just play games with people for fun." Cassandra clenched her jaw as she looked to Helena, then to Campbell. They had both stopped going to church a long time ago, and Cassandra had been the one to get religious-specific plays banned from school performances. Campbell didn't really believe or disbelieve anything, but he knew Cassandra and Helena had gotten into argument before about all sorts of things. LGBT rights, abortion, gun control... He could see that anger stirring up in Cassandra. It wouldn't be pretty if it got loose. Luckily, Luke seemed to sense the tension and butted in. "All right, look, Grizz and I will get a group together and we'll go hike out here through the woods, okay? Like a search party." Helena nodded. "I think that's a good idea." "Do you think it's safe?" Cassandra asked, frowning. "Yeah," Grizz replied, "sure." Luke tried to smile. "Grizz knows what he's doing. And if there's people out there, we gotta find them, right? You know. To get help." "I'm leaving." Harry got up off the car and headed towards the driver's door. His eyes were glassy, distant. It wouldn't be long before he imploded. "I'm hungry." Allie stood up, glaring. "You're leaving?" Campbell watched the bickering that followed, wondering when-- if at all-- they were going to ask his opinion. But he knew they wouldn't. They never did. If they would have shut the fuck up long enough to bother, Campbell would have told them that the horizon looked a little too clean for a West Ham summer. Too clear. He would have pointed out that there were no planes, no trails even, in the sky overhead. Wherever they were, chances were they were alone. Instead, he focused on his phone while everyone started arguing in full; Elle was trying to call. Can't talk now, he texted. At the bridge with Cassie and others. She replied quickly. Why? What's wrong? Not sure. All roads out of town are blocked. Blocked? We can't get out? Has anyone found our parents? Campbell rubbed his face with one hand. No, we can't. No adults or younger kids yet. Trying to figure out what to do. Oh. A long, long pause. Show me. Whatever was happening, Harry was officially done. His tone sharpened, and Campbell looked up to see him trying to collect Kelly. "You coming with, Kel?" He stood there, staring, when she shook her head. Ouch. Harry hadn't mentioned that they were on the rocks; he was being an unreasonable ass, though. Not a surprise. "Jesus christ, just get in the car." "Leave her alone," Will grumbled. "Hey, fuck off, Will." Harry looked to Campbell, seeking someone to follow him. Campbell just raised an eyebrow. Harry seethed, getting into his car and starting the engine. "Fine. Who gives a shit." He knew Harry would be mad at him for a while, but eventually he'd stop being a selfish prick and come around. Campbell needed to be there, to keep an eye on people and the situation; he needed to hear what was happening, and plan accordingly. If Cassandra couldn't keep herself together and all hell was going to break loose, Campbell needed to be ready. In the mean time... Cassandra blinked at him and he moved to her side, lifting his phone to take a picture of the blocked off tracks and road. "What are you doing?" "I'm just gonna send a text. Let everybody know how fucked we are." "Campbell!" she hissed. "Don't. Come on, let's think about this." But there was nothing to think about. Campbell pressed the send button, and his phone dinged in confirmation. He smiled at the look of horror on her face, sitting down on the sidewalk while he waited for Elle to reply; it wasn't often that he actually felt stronger than Cassandra, or even smarter, but it was one of those rare moments that he saw an opportunity and took it. Hiding the truth from people would only backfire. She'd thank him later, if she had the sense. Cassandra was still moaning over it. "Fuck. Why did you do that?" "Relax, Cassandra. I don't have many people on my contact list." "But they'll share it with their friends. It'll spread." "A slow, steady distribution of information is better than pretending things are fine." "Campbell--" "Look." Setting aside his phone, Campbell turned to Cassandra and held her gaze. "You, me, and like a dozen other people already know. How long do you think it'd be before one of them squealed, huh? Someone would let it slip, at some point. And if you go back into town, telling everyone it's all good when it's not, at some point they'll realize you lied. What do you think is gonna happen when three hundred teenagers stop trusting their student body president, Cassandra?" "I'm not student body president anymore. Harry said so, and it's true." "Harry's a shithead." "Then why are you friends with him?" "Not the point. You're one of the smarter people here. Gordie, Bean, Will, Grizz? They're amazing, but you were the closest thing to a leader we had back home. That doesn't just go away." Cassandra chewed on her lip. "I don't want to be a leader. I'm..." She pressed her hand to her chest. "I'm sick. What if I can't get my medicine?" "Tough shit," Campbell retorted. "Power is in your hands, and if you don't get a grip on it, someone else is going to put you in the dirt. All the medicine in the world won't help you if there's a fucking mutiny." "What do I do, then?" "These kids are gonna get scared, and they're either gonna look to you or they're going to challenge you. Pull yourself together." For a long time, Cassandra didn't speak. She sat next to him and gazed woefully at a small group of teens that were heading their way, some walking and others jogging. They were pointing at the road, and some began shouting. A few began to hover closer to her, looking nervous. "Well. Maybe you're right." "Usually am. Now if you'll excuse me, I have an acquaintance to console." Elle had arrived with the group, staring off the side of the bridge at the tracks. Other kids joined her nearby, and Campbell could hear them whisper as he approached. He was telling the truth. What does this mean? How is it possible? He ignored them, leaning against the railing next to Elle; she didn't look at him, but she leaned a little closer. "This is such bullshit," she said after a time. "What are we supposed to do?" Campbell shook his head. "Whatever is happening, if we're stuck with no way out, then we gotta do what you do in any survival situation. Secure resources. Shelter, food, water." "Should head to the store and grab some shit before people all get the same idea." "Probably, yeah." Elle glanced over at him. "You're pretty calm in all this." "Getting panicked or scared just means mistakes get made." He texted her a small list of supplies. "Go to the store. Bottled water. A lot of stuff can be frozen or dried. Get what you can, we'll figure out how to preserve it later." She nodded, turning and heading towards the closest market. Campbell waited for her to be out of earshot, then headed towards Cassandra, who was talking to Will and Sam. Everyone else seemed to have dispersed. They all glanced at him, but kept talking; Will was discussing the food situation, already, and Will specifically mumbled something about dehydrating and canning. Well, at least Will had some clue, then. "I saved a bunch of YouTube videos," he said, looking sheepish. "I always wanted to be a chef, so..." Campbell kept walking. They already were making plans; they didn't need him any, and he should go make sure that Elle was doing alright. He made it a few yards before Sam caught up to him, grabbing his sleeve to get his attention. "Where are you going?" Sam asked. "To get what I can." Campbell sighed at the way Sam's eyebrows knit together. There was no point in wasting time trying to explain, and besides, he had to make sure Sam wasn't gonna starve to death. "Coming?" There were a few different stores and markets in town, and while there was one close by, Campbell knew of a smaller one run by one of those doomsday prepper types. There wasn't as much variety there, but it did have gallon-sized bottled waters and things like powdered eggs. People went to it for camping supplies, but not much else; it wouldn't be the first place most would think to go to. Sam followed him inside, watching at Campbell began to fill a basket full of supplied. At least he didn't try and argue that it was theft or anything. "What are you getting?" "This is for you. A week of water. Jerky, nuts and seeds. Dried eggs. Dried fruit, some other shit. Keep it in the basement until you need it." "Why a week?" "Because if the utilities go and no one comes for us after a week, they're not going to." He didn't mean for the words to come out quite so grim, but it was useless to sugarcoat things any. "Keep using the water at home as long as you can. If it goes off, use this." Campbell grabbed some for himself, and they managed to weasel the baskets home without being seen. Probably because most of the other kids were at home crying or at the bridge by that point, who knew for sure. At least no one approached them. As they put shit away, Campbell made a list in his head of things in stores that would be in high demand. Toilet paper, first aid kits, batteries, medications, alcohol, anything for hygiene. Bleach, matches, lighters. And knowing his peers, condoms. If he got his backpack and headed out again, he could probably snatch a good stock before anyone else thought of it... Sam sunk onto the sofa once they finished. He tilted his head as Campbell got a couple backpacks, and made another list on his phone. "What are you going to do?" "I have some business to take care of." "Harry?" Maybe it was the comment itself, or maybe it was the eyebrow quirk of Sam's eyebrow, or some sort of tone his brother had. Either way, Campbell's mood soured on the spot. "Don't pretend like you know me." "I don't know you. That's what scares me." There was nothing to say to that, in the end. Campbell stormed out of the house, heading towards the pharmacy first. Most of what he wanted would be there, and the chances of anyone else being there already were slim. To his surprise, when he arrived, someone had already been messing with the lock; they hadn't managed to get in, whoever they were. Campbell slipped his lock picking kit from the backpack and made quick work of it. First was anything addictive, then meds that would be important. The pharmacy had a little book behind the counter that explained what everything was, and Campbell swept through as fast as possible to grab asthma medications, birth control pills, anti virals, whatever looked useful. He paused as he examined the shelves, seeing a prescription for Cassandra. Her heart meds. He tossed it into his backpack, and then found the rest of that medication and stole it, too. Harry's home was close by. Campbell headed there, knowing Harry would let him stash shit there until Campbell convinced Sam to get in line. When he knocked, though, no one answered. Sighing, Campbell found the hidden key Harry had made specially for him; the house was quiet when he came inside, with Harry nowhere in sight. He hid the backpacks in the attic first, then went hunting for his friend. "Harry? You were supposed to be here eating." A muffled sound came from the living room. Campbell found Harry laying curled up in a ball on the floor, under a blanket. "Hey, buddy. You don't look so hot." "Leave me alone, Satan," Harry slurred. "Are you high?" "Maybe." Campbell flopped onto the floor next to Harry, lifting up the blanket to peer in at him. "C'mon. Tell me. What'd you take?" "A xanax. From mom's medicine cabinet." A quick trip upstairs, to peek at the dose. Not worrisome, but definitely more than a beginner should take, and enough to knock Harry on his ass for several hours. Campbell went into the kitchen and made a can of soup. Harry's favorite, split pea with ham. He brought it to Harry and sat on the floor again, tempting Harry with it. Eventually, Harry crawled out from under the blanket and took the bowl. "She dumped me." Harry poked at the green mass. "Kelly. We found out her dad was screwing with my mom, and I don't know. She got pissed off at me." "You do stick your foot in your mouth regularly." "I didn't mean to make her mad. Now we're in this fucking nightmare world, and... what am I supposed to do? I can't do this alone." Campbell resisted the urge to gloat. He'd never really liked Kelly, anyways, and the feeling had been mutual. "Look, you two have been having problems for over a week now. This changes nothing." He reached over, snagging the spoon from Harry's hand and loading it up with soup. "Besides. You're not alone. You have me." Harry didn't fight as Campbell fed him the soup. "You know what I mean," he said through a bite. He suddenly stopped, swallowing and sinking his face into his hands. "Maybe you don't. Christ." "You're hung over and high. Eat your soup and we can talk later." He muttered under his breath, but Harry listened anyways. Campbell put on a movie, chilling while Harry ate; when Harry was done, he slumped against Campbell and fell asleep. Well, at least he couldn't panic if he was passed out cold. Hours passed. Harry eventually woke up enough to stumble into the shower and clean himself up, while Campbell made them grilled cheese sandwiches. Harry had just returned when their phones began to buzz. "It's from Cassandra." Campbell slid Harry a sandwich. "She wants us to get to the church as soon as possible." Harry shook his head. "Man, fuck her." "Quiet. She knows what she's doing." "Do you seriously believe that?" "Yeah, I do." Harry didn't say anything, but he tightened his jaw, and Campbell saw something in his eyes that planted another seed of worry. Rebellion. Fucking hell, it was starting already. Campbell headed towards the bathroom while Harry got dressed; it was a quick detour to the bedroom of Harry's parents, where Campbell knew Harry's mother kept a gun. The case wasn't locked. The ammo was right there. Thank fuck Harry never had the inclinations to kill anyone. Campbell made sure it was unloaded, then stuck the gun in his waistband and the ammo in his pocket, before heading back out. Harry was waiting on the porch, and they hopped in his car and made their way to the church. By the time they got there, people were starting to gather, but it was mostly empty still. Cassandra was standing by the water fountain, leaning against the brick wall and taking deep, slow breaths. Harry went on inside without waiting. Campbell hung back, sidling up to Cassandra when no one was paying attention. "I can't do this," she whispered. "I can't." Campbell nudged her shoulder with his own. "It's gonna be okay, somehow. If it makes you feel any better, I knocked over the drug store and stole you a few months worth of your heart meds." "You... What. No, no, nevermind. I don't want to know." "You're welcome. But seriously, just chill out. What are you even talking about?" Cassandra ran her hands through her hair. "Luke texted Helena. Helena texted me. We got ahold of everyone on the buses, but people all keep asking me what's going on. You were right. People are looking to me, and I don't know how to lead them." Campbell shrugged. "We're kids, okay? Most of us aren't used to living in the real world. They're gonna be worried about things like resources and safety. Guide them a bit towards ways to get or keep that, and they'll follow." "But why would they take my word for it? I have maybe five friends, Cam. There's over two hundred people coming, and I don't know how to trust them, or get them to trust me." Trust wasn't something Campbell was familiar with, but he knew no one would trust Cassandra if they saw her as weak. And if Cassandra didn't believe in herself, then weak was exactly how she'd come off. Cassandra had been tempered by her love for her family and friends. It was sweet, it was good, but sweet and good wasn't going to get shit done. The people in their town only understood wealth and power. But it was too late to talk more; dozens of people were heading their way, and Campbell knew better than to be seen lingering around Cassandra too long. He took a seat in the back, far from the Cassandra and her little herd. Sam was there, surrounded by Allie, Becca, Gordie, and Will. His actual, chosen family. Even Harry was up there, and Kelly. He felt a small stab of jealousy, but bit it back as soon as it reared its head. It'd do no good. "You could join them." Campbell glanced up at Elle's voice. She stood in the church aisle, watching him. "No, that wouldn't be a good idea. I don't want to be a public relations nightmare for my cousin." "Stay away from the alcohol, and you'd probably be fine." "Elle..." "No, Campbell, whatever you're about to say just don't bother. The best thing you can do is promise never to do that again, and then keep that promise, okay?" "I can do that." "Are you sure?" "Yeah." Campbell hesitated. He hated making promises, because he knew he could be unreliable and he hated breaking promises just as much, but Elle was worth the effort. "I promise." Crossing her arms, Elle looked down at the floor. "Alright. Well, Kelly invited me to sit with her. I'll let you know if they say anything good." She didn't wait for an answer. Elle peeked back at him as she headed up front; he tried to smile at her, and she didn't really smile back, but it was a start at least. Campbell turned his focus to the crowd in the church and their quiet whispers. Many were scared. A few were angry. Most just seemed confused. As time passed, they became restless. At least, that was until Cassandra stood, and began to speak. She stood in the center of the stairs leading to the podium. "Listen. Hey, listen up." Silence fell over the church. Cassandra continued, her voice shaking at first, but becoming louder and clearer as she carried on. "While we're all here, together, there are some things that we ought to figure out. Before we rip this place apart and maybe... you know, start hurting each other." She paused as quiet murmurs spread through the gathered students. "I don't know what the hell is going on. Maybe Luke will come back with some good news." Elle spoke first, her tone annoyed. "Maybe? Of course he will." "Yeah," Harry agreed. "Why don't we just wait and see, Cassandra?" Cassandra sighed. Her eyes darted to Campbell, for just a split second. "Because I would rather prepare for the worst before the worst happens." "What does that mean? Prepare?" Kelly wondered. "I don't know specifically, but I think it means we agree not to just take things when we want until all the food is gone and we starve." The murmurs turned into a panicked rumble. Campbell winced, but Allie, Clark, and Helena loudly agreed with Cassandra, and that seemed to quell the surge of fear... until Harry opened his goddamn mouth, just as Campbell knew he would. "This is bullshit." Will's back was to Campbell, but he could heard the disbelief in Will's voice. "Jesus, man, what is your problem?" "What are we agreeing to, Cassandra?" Harry turned to Cassandra, ignoring Will completely. Some of the students waiting in the pews began to yell in agreement with Harry. "Which one of us gets to decide who gets what? Your friends?" Becca let out a huff. "It's called democracy." "I'm not a fucking idiot, Becca." That was debatable, Campbell thought, but he kept quiet. At least for the time being, to see how things would play out. At least Cassandra seemed to have a handle on things, for the time being; Harry was getting flustered, especially when Cassandra brought out the coin she'd kept from the play. "How do you want to decide things?" she challenged. "Every person for themselves? Then we're back to where we started. Maybe you want to flip a coin to see who decides? You don't like democracy? How about random fucking chance?" Harry scoffed. "That's--" "Call it, Harry. Call it." "I'm not gonna do that." "Okay, okay. I'll call it for you. You get heads." Cassandra flipped the coin. "Tails. Still think it's unfair? Best two out of three. Oh! Tails." "I... I mean..." Cassandra flipped a third time, but this time, her face fell. "Tails." Harry looked frozen. The church had become so quiet, it was like no one was even breathing. Harry was thinking back to the play, and Campbell knew everyone else was, too. "Do it again." Four more times, Cassandra flipped the coin. Tails, tails, tails, tails. Harry stepped back from Cassandra, eyes wide. "Fuck." For a moment, Cassandra paused. She stared at the coin, and flipped it again; she closed her eyes, her hand over the coin for a long moment before she finally looked. "Heads." She held up the coin, and the crowd let out a long sigh of relief. She turned her attention back to them, lifting her voice once more. "It's all up to us. There's no civilization here, not until we start one. So what are we gonna do? First, I think we have no choice but to share. Share food, share resources." "Houses?" Harry asked. "Maybe." "Fuck you." Allie stood up. "Really? How much electricity do we have? Until it's all used up and everything goes dark? I think 225 people in 200 houses doesn't make sense." 239, but who was counting. "Keep what's ours!" some random fuckhole shouted from the other side of the church. "What is yours?" Cassandra questioned. "Do you have money? Who you gonna pay? The things that you need to live-- food, clothes, the stuff in stores-- no one owns them." Will and Harry erupted at one another over housing, and Campbell sighed, leaning back and closing his eyes. They were snapping and snarling, and the mood in the church was getting tense. Will on one side, arguing for Cassandra's view that there should be rules, organization, a method. Harry on his own side, screaming about how he should get to do whatever he wanted. Campbell understood. Harry was afraid, afraid of losing what was his and the comfy little life he had for himself. The big house and big bed and things were all he really had, in his mind. And well, men in general weren't great with sharing, were they? But Campbell knew history sided with people like Will and Cassandra. Capitalism, mine-mine-mine, greed. It never fared well in situations like the one they were in. No, they needed rules. They needed some sort of system, where everyone had an equal portion of things. And they had such a small, small window of time to get things going and working, before it all fell into chaos. Harry was yelling at Cassandra, getting ready to storm off like the entitled rich boy he was. Great. "I don't have to listen to this. Not anymore." "Harry, this has nothing to do with you," Cassandra snapped. "We need to--" "I don't need to do anything you say, you fucking--" Campbell had been busy loading the gun while the two argued, with the rest of the students starting to stand up and scream back and forth, too. He stood, pointed at the back wall's roof where it wouldn't hurt anyone, and fired a single round. The angry screams turned into screams of panic as everyone hit the floor. Some started crying, but everyone was staring at him, and no one was speaking. "Well..." Campbell took to the center aisle, walking towards his cousin. He had to act fast, before anyone recovered and tried to stop him. "Fuck this. Harry's right." Cassandra's mouth dropped open. "What?" "No one elected you king, cousin. Did anybody vote for her? Did they?" Campbell stopped in front of Cassandra and gestured to the cowering teenagers on the floor. "Anybody elect her to speak on your behalf? No?" "I... I don't want to be king." Campbell stared hard at Cassandra. She was stuttering. Oh, it wouldn't do at all for her to look like this in front of the people she was trying to rally. He cocked the gun again, but this time, he pointed it at Cassandra. There was no bullet left in the gun, but she didn't know that. No one did. "That's not what it looks like. Is it?" Allie jumped in front of her sister, glaring daggers at Campbell, but Cassandra gently brushed her aside. Something flickered to life in her eyes. Something courageous. Self-sacrificing. "I've thought a lot about dying. I've almost gotten used to that. But I don't like to be afraid." Cassandra looked down the barrel, then met Campbell's gaze. If she had any idea of the hand he was playing, she didn't give it away. She simply stood tall, steeling her voice and not flinching a bit. "Do you want chaos? Fucking shoot me." And there she was, the Cassandra he loved. Campbell chuckled, lowering the gun and giving her a little smile. "I don't want to shoot you. I wanted to get everybody's attention." Just one last part of the plan to put into place. "This meeting's obviously over. We'll be back when Luke gets here. Until then, if anybody else is tired of listening to her, you can follow me." Campbell turned and headed towards the door, knowing Cassandra would be watching and counting each and every person who left with him. She would know their names. Their faces. She would know exactly who was siding against her. Once he got to the exit, he glanced behind him. It was a good sign. Harry and Kelly. Seven others, of various genders. A tiny, tiny minority, and no threat to Cassandra at all. She would be safe. But then the church doors swung open with a bang, and Campbell fell back. Everyone did. Luke walked in, flanked by Grizz, Bean, Gwen, and the others that had gone out into the forest. In Luke's arms draped Emily's pale, limp body. Gasps and noises of despair rippled through the crowd, and everyone parted to allow Luke access to the table at the front of the room. Grizz cleared the table, and they all stood around, staring. Some started to cry. Some tried to check for her pulse. She was dead. It was clear the minute Luke came in. Campbell had never really known Emily, so he stayed near the door, letting everyone else have a chance to see her for themselves. Closure or whatever. "She died from a snakebite," Luke called out. "Her whole body just shut down. We did everything we could, but we couldn't save her." Grizz spoke when Luke sank to the floor. His voice was flat, cold. Practical. "So we're gonna bury her tomorrow, before it starts to smell. I'm gonna need a couple of guys..." "There's nothing out there, guys. Just a whole bunch of just... woods that go on forever. We're all alone. This isn't our home." This isn't our home. Those four words were all it took to shift everything. He looked to Sam, his thoughts already spinning. His little brother was huddled with Allie, Cassandra, and Becca, and Campbell could practically smell the fear on him. Alone. Sam didn't trust Campbell, and now they had to be alone together? They had to try and survive together? It wasn't going to work, not like this, especially when-- not if, but when-- things started getting cutthroat. Campbell was too bitter, too hateful, and he knew he wouldn't be able to handle the stress of worrying about them both. Especially if Cassandra expected people to start sharing houses. There was no way Campbell could do it. He would hurt someone, at some point. In the end, it was for Sam's own good. Campbell knew he, at some point, would snap. He would destroy Sam. He wouldn't want to, or even mean to. But if they were on their own, trapped, it'd be like too many rats in too small a cage. They'd turn on each other someday, and Campbell knew he would always save himself, without hesitation. Sam deserved better than that. So... Campbell eyed Cassandra and Allie as they walked past, heading to their home. They had already opened their home to Will. Safety in numbers, right? And Cassandra loved Sam. Allie was protective of her family. Sam trusted and loved them, too. They could keep him safe. They would take care of him, and sacrifice their own needs for him if it came down to it. They could be the home Sam needed, even if it was just for a little while. Campbell just had to hope that Sam was angry enough inside, hurt enough by years of distrust and backbiting between them, that he'd be happy to leave. He grabbed Sam's arm as Sam followed after their cousins. Campbell kept his face calm, his voice neutral. Maybe it would be simple. No need to get nasty about it, if Sam would go willingly. "Hey. Don't come home tonight." Sam tensed. There was hurt in his eyes, and the smallest glint of stubbornness. He was angry, but not angry enough. Not yet. "It's my house, too." Campbell studied Sam's face, choosing to dig a little deeper. Something more painful was going to be needed, obviously. "Ever since you were born, I never had just one day that was mine, until now." It was the truth, anyways. It had been the Sam Show from day one, and it was no secret that Campbell resented Sam for it. "Alright?" Sam stared Campbell down, not saying a word. Not at first. Finally, he shook his head. His voice was low. Pained. But he didn't look away from Campbell, not even a little bit. "No." So, that's how it was going to be. "Give me the key, you little fag." He had never called Sam that before, or anything like it. He'd busted plenty of people's lips for less. It felt dirty on his tongue, but it was the one thing that Campbell knew would hurt Sam past the point of forgiveness. And if that didn't work... Campbell shot his hand out and scruffed Sam like a petulant kitten, digging his fingers hard into the back of Sam's neck. "Give me the key." Shock was the first emotion that crossed through Sam's expression. Campbell had never laid his hands on Sam before, either. He'd never needed slurs or physical violence before. But persuasion wasn't working, and maybe shock was exactly what Campbell needed to bring Sam's rage to the surface. It worked like a charm; the fury finally arrived, hurt transforming into a deep, crushing hatred. It was the same hatred that Campbell had seen in Sam the night Oliver was found dead, and fuck, it wasn't what Campbell wanted to see. But it had to happen now, before it happened later. Before Sam got hurt worse. Sam handed over his key to the house, then shoved Campbell hard and walked away. Campbell watched him go. Sam didn't look back. Good. It stung more than Campbell had expected, in some weird, dull way, but it was necessary. Wasn't it? Sam would be with Allie and Cassandra, where it was warm and welcoming and loving. Campbell would be on his own, away from anyone he could easily hurt, with time and space to figure shit out. When he got home, it was dark. He turned on the lights, turned on some music. There was cold cheese pizza still in the fridge; he ate it, not bothering to heat it up first. It was late, and he was tired, but there was a restlessness in him that wouldn't let him sleep. He ended up standing in the living room a bit past midnight, with the lights turned off and just a little bit of moonlight streaming in through the windows. He'd turned off the music, and it was quiet. Perfectly quiet, like he'd always fantasized about. No one to interrupt him, no one to scold or condemn him or look at him funny, or bother him with questions or requests, no one to have to pretend around. Happy, relaxed, carefree... Quarantined. Campbell sat in the middle of the living room sofa, emptiness settling over his shoulders like a frigid, heavy blanket. For the first time in years, he cried.

Beyond the strife of fleets heroic

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17413445

                                                                                                    « Doctor Foster? A word, if I may? »

Jedidiah Foster looked up from his desk: he had been writing for what felt like hours, pen nib scratching steadily as he filled reports and signed forms, eyes straining in the dimming sunlight of the late afternoon, his barely touched tea long grown cold, and so he gladly welcomed the intrusion.

“For you, my dear Peaseblossom, always, and especially when there is such wretched paperwork to attend. How may I be of assistance?”

By now, she had learned to gauge his mood by the nickname he chose to bestow upon her. “Peaseblossom” was for the good days, those where his eyes shone and he appeared younger than his years, most often from a surgery performed successfully with innovative methods, or from simply having drawn a smile from Mary Phinney. “Hoopskirt Assassin” was for days where the dreary work and constant clashes with Dr. Hale brought out the caustic side of his humor. “Miss Green” was for most days, and the dire circumstances they faced: patient needs were high, chloroform and other resources were low, and humor all but extinguished. “Young lady” was for the very worse, those days of losses that should have been prevented, of battles that never seemed to end - both at the front and in the hospital - that left him fidgety and weary, eager for an escape, and the words were typically barked in reproach for a minor fault that he would have shrugged off any other day.

So Peaseblossoms it was today, and that was encouraging. 

She had hoped it might be so, from the lively conversation of the night before, the cozy evening spent with tea, cigar and pleasant company without a medical emergency or undesired intruder to disturb them, and was glad his good humor had not dissipated since.

Thus emboldened, she entered the room, closed the door and took the chair opposite him.

“Oh, a private entretien?” he asked, leaning forward eagerly over the desk. "Whom are we gossiping about?”

“No one,” she scoffed, then reconsidered. “Or rather, me.”

“Hmmmm… irregular, but intriguing. Go on.”

She took a moment to order her thoughts, wondering which best way to broach the delicate subject, and finding none. She settled instead for the familiar beats of polite conversation.

“Dr. Foster, you come from Maryland, don’t you?" she asked, her forced bright tone unconvincing to her ears. "From an old, slave-holding family?”

He frowned. “Yes, my family has owned Foster Plantation for four generations. And dozens of slaves along the years to work it. Not a particular proud point, as far as I’m concerned, but one rather necessary in our Southern ways.”

“Speaking of which,” she pursued, “why did you find yourself employed by the Union army? Why not be a surgeon with the Confederates, if that is where your family loyalties lie?”

The frown deepened. “My loyalties lie with my patients, be they from the Union or Confederacy. I only care of their welfare and relative comfort, which is not something that can be said for all doctors on staff here. I believe you know this quite well, and I fail to see how it pertains to yourself, Miss Green.”

At the increased crossness of his tone, Emma slumped somewhat in her seat, biting the inside of her cheek. Noticing her distress, he softened his approach. “Please, just speak plainly. If I can help, I will. What is troubling you?”

She raised her eyes to meet his, and could not find an ounce of judgement in them, only inquisitive kindness. She took a deep breath.

“Doctor,” she finally spoke slowly, almost wincing with every word. “What do you do, when everything you have always believed may not be true, nor even right?”

“Phew….” Jed exhaled, leaning back in his chair. “Quite the rhetorical topic, and I am but a simple man of science. Wouldn’t questions of morality better be addressed to, say… Chaplain Hopkins?”

“I do not want to ask him,” she muttered, remembering Henry’s fury at Tom’s death, his gentle touch at her father’s imprisonment, his so uncharacteristic demeanor the night before, in turns gallant, playful and self-dismissive, as he escorted her home, skipping across the flooded streets. Their joined hands, their final almost embrace, cut short by the rain. Her own almost admission, cut short by Belinda’s timely interruption. All conflicting situations, confusing feelings she did not wish to revisit right now.

Foster caught her embarrassment, and managed to keep his grin hidden. “No, I suppose you do not,” he agreed as seriously as he could, making an enthusiastic mental note of seeking out Mary Phinney as soon as the chance presented itself to share this new development. “Besides, what answer would a kindly Yankee preacher have that you haven’t already thought of yourself? Prayer? More prayer? Ha, great deal of good, that does. No, it is Judas’ opinion you seek. The other Southern traitor in your colorful entourage.”

“I’m no traitor!” she gasped. “I haven’t done anything to betray the Cause!”

“Maybe not yet, but to doubt is the very first step. No army wants its soldiers doubting the orders they are given. Anything short of blind obedience is mutiny. Outright rebellion.”

Her brow furrowed at this, the implications dawning on her bitterly. “What made you doubt, then?”

He shrugged. “I have always believed in the strength of the Union, of its greater possibility for progress and innovation. I’ve seen the formidable strides made forward in Europe with industrialization, modern medicine and improved hygiene. There is no such thing in the South. The Confederates would have slaves planting tobacco and cotton while they reaped the profits and lazily sipped on mint juleps until the end of days.”

“So your reasons are… purely economic?” she wondered.

“Economic, intellectual, political; humanist, even, in a way. One side fights to keep living in its past of privilege for a lucky few, and the other to ensure a brighter future for most through progress and prosperity. My choice was easy to make.”

“Even if it meant crossing your family?”

At this, Jed sighed, the memory of his last family reunion and the morphine-induced torture that followed it still cruelly felt. “Children rarely follow the course desired by their parents. You would not be the first, nor the last, pariah out of the South. It may prove quite difficult, as doing what is right typically is, but you may very well find yourself a new family along the way; one that will welcome you with all your rebellious ideas, and not despite them.”

To rebel against the Rebels. The irony of it was frightening, but perhaps not as much as it might have been a few months past. She thought of her parents, so steadfast in their desire to protect her innocence. Of her siblings, doing their best to support the Confederacy despite their limitations. Of Frank, of his alterego and undercover work, undertaking some secret mission right across the street from Mansion House. She thought of them, and could not face walking away from them, despite her growing doubts as to the righteousness of their Cause.  “I have not reached that point yet.”

“Maybe not, but -and I’m sure I speak for many others here-, please know that my door will still be wide open if ever you do.”

There was no mischief in his voice then, only friendly concern. She did not know what to respond to such an unexpectedly sympathetic overture, and all she could muster were mumbled gratitudes.

“Do not make too much of it,” he dismissed it. “After all, it would be foolish of us to turn you away now that you’re finally becoming an adequate nurse. And you challenge Nurse Phinney to keep a fairer disposition towards all our patients, which is how I prefer our Head Nurse.”

I could think of a few other dispositions you’d prefer her in, Emma thought wryly, but held her tongue and only smiled instead. She stood and smoothed her skirts. “Thank you again for your time and counsel, Dr. Foster. You've given me much to think about. I shall let you get back to your work.”

He rolled his eyes dramatically at the pile of forms before him. “I’d much rather you didn’t, but the men need your entertaining conversation more than I do.”

“I’m sure Nurse Hastings will be by shortly with a long list of recriminations,” she quipped slyly.

He groaned at this. “Then do be sure to call for my most urgent, non-negotiable help within a minute of her entry. God, that woman can be worse than paperwork.”

Her smiled widened, and she nodded. “Of course, Doctor. Anything for my Southern brethren.”

I’m going on hiatus

It has been two months since The Last Jedi came out and I still feel no desire to post anything related to SW. I hate to say this, but the movie drained my passion for the series.

Just to be clear, I have been a Rey Nobody fan since day one. The Force Awakens and Rogue One relighted my love for the franchising. For two years I couldn’t stop talking about Star Wars. I red the new novels, comics, visual dictionaries. I listened and red b-t-s, interviews, analysis, podcasts. I bought the merchandising and played the card game. Star Wars seemed to be in good hands and Disney proved to be in control of its investment.

Then TLJ came and I was left speechless by the lack of cohesion with the previous canon. What happened? Why did LucasArts allow Rian Johnson so much freedom to the point of writing a script that contradict previous established characterizations, goals, timelines and world-building? What was even the point to have a Story Group? LucasArts and whoever worked with them gave all the same POV on the making of the movies. Rian, by contrast, keep giving an opposite version. What the fuck is happening? Who is lying?

The joy of commenting, reblogging, following secondary projects, enjoying the bts, etc...is to get a better idea of what is happening in the movies and who the characters are. Now I can’t post or read anything without thinking: “what is even the point anymore? They may change things randomly anyway”. I was left with no desire to analyse and research. What is even worse is that I was left with no desire to see Episode IX.

I felt let down as a fan. I felt played.

As I also felt played by the script of TLJ.

There are some very beautiful and cool scenes, but overall it is didactic, overcrowded, rushed and at times stupid. I have already explained some issues in this post. It feels more like a draft than a final script. I couldn’t immerse myself in the story, because I kept seeing in front of me a list of plot-points that were progressively checked to get the to nth “cool moment”. With the exception of Kylo, who has the best arc, the characters are there just to let the story goes where Rian wants. Mark Hamill expressed the same issue: “[...] Rian needed me to be a certain way to make the ending effective. That’s the crux of my problem: Luke would never say that. [...] He’s not my Luke Skywalker, but I had to do what Rian wanted me to do because it serves the story well”.

The characters in this movie are not the same characters I liked so much in TFA, despite it been set right after it. Where is Rey? How could she behave like that? Why does she looks like that? but most importantly, why she is not the protagonist anymore? TLJ!Rey? I do not know her. I am too disappointed to even write down anything more.

Poe’s and Finn’s arcs were a mess as well.

I got the feeling that Rian doesn’t really care about Finn when he said that weird “joke” during Star Wars Celebration, but now it is obvious. Finn is a secondary character. He seems in the story only because he “has to be” in the story, but beside providing an useful intel about the FO, he spends the movie passively tagging along. Yeah, he has a “character moment” (the face-off with Phasma), but it is so short that is ridiculous and lacks any pathos, unlike the fight he had against FN-2199 in TFA. I get Finn needs to have a reason to stay with the Resistance, but he could had had an arc that does not treat him as someone who needs others to didactically explain things to him as he were a kid. One thing that really bothers me is that, while TFA makes the audience laugh with Finn or at what he is going through, TLJ makes the audience laugh AT him. I especially despise how his injuries are only there to serve as a comic relief. I have already said how disappointed I was of Rose’s out-of-the-blue kiss, but re-watching TLJ, even her’s final words (”That's how we're going to win. Not fighting what we hate, but saving what we love”) sounds off. At the very beginning of the movie Finn was doing exactly that: not fighting what he hates (the FO), but saving the one he loves (Rey) by bringing the beacon away from a doomed fleet. Even more striking was the lack of interest from Rian to make Finn react to the  the slave children in Canto Bright, despite the fact that Finn is an ex-slave child himself...but...like...who cares?

Poe. Poe was...I don’t know where to begin and I will offer links to others people’s posts to keep it short [ x x x x x x ]. The Poe of the previous canon didn’t need to learn “his lesson”. The Star Wars universe didn’t need sexism (one of the great thing about Star Wars was that its galaxy didn’t have a sexism problem)(or, if we want to split hairs, it was an issue relegated to “retrograde” Outer Rim worlds). As the granddaughter of a military commander and a partisan who fought against real fascists, I felt played by the Holdo/Poe plot. It is stupid and forced just for the sake of create a conflict. Based on real life war stories I have heard since childhood, Poe’s mutiny is comprehensible, not the total misstep Rian portraits it to be. Also, regarding Holdo, she didn’t need to die, not when the Resistance has droids. Set coordinates and press a lever is a simple task, there is no real reason for Holdo to do it herself. I hated to see her killed off right after her role (prompt up the male lead) was completed, especially considering how rare queer older female character in a leading role are. It was similar to what happened to Rose: she deliver her last “lesson” to her male character and then she is out of the picture. WTF? As a woman I felt mocked by Rian’s reason for Poe to despise Holdo. It is so stupid. What does “real feminine energy” even mean? What fuck up idea does he have about gender? Moreover, when I red that Rian wanted Holdo to wear an unpractical, out-of-place, floor length dress, without any belts or pockets, just to make her look “feminine”, I couldn’t not think of the times I and my girlfriends have been forced to dress and behave “feminine” just to be taken seriously or keep a job. Our personalities, tastes, comfort, health, they were all dismissed, because what was more important was to appear feminine. Like...fuck it! I didn’t need Holdo to wear an uniform (especially when in Star Wars uniforms are not mandatory for military leaders), but I would had wanted, at least, something that makes sense on a military starship under attack: a practical outfit with space to keep a com-link and a blaster. Instead I get the usual “gender over logic” rhetoric when it comes to female outfits.  ----------------------------

Hiring David Benioff and D.B. Weiss was the last straw. I lost any trust in LucasArts and any upcoming projects. Maybe Ep. IX will make me come back, who knows? but until then, I am out.

Romney’s New Year’s Greeting to Trump

LOS ANGELES (OnlineColumnist.com), Jan. 2, 2019.--Two days before 71-year-old Mitt Romney replaces retiring seven-term Sen. Oren Hatch (R-Ut.), he pens an op-ed in the left-leaning Washington Post defaming 72-year-old President Donald Trump.  Romney had no problems accepting Trump’s endorsement for Hatch’s seat last June, waiting only two days before starting as the junior senator from Utah denouncing Trump.  “Here we go with Mitt Romney, but so fast!  Question will be, is he a Flake? Trump tweeted, referring to retiring Sen. Jeff Flake (R-Ariz.), one of Trump’s biggest critics on Capitol Hill.  “I hope not.  Would much prefer that Mitt focus on Border Security and so many other things where he can be helpful.  I won big, and he didn’t.  He should be happy for all Republicans.  Be a TEAM player & WIN,” Trump tweeted, urging Romney to bite his tongue and contain any latent presidential ambitions for 2020.

            Publishing anything and everything negative about Trump, the Jeff Bezos, Amazon.com-owned Washington Post, leads the anti-Trump rhetoric in U.S. newspapers.  Romney’s critique makes headlines, just like it did when Trump ran for president in 2016. Romney was among Trump’s most vicious critics.  “Donald Trump is a phony, a fraud,” Mitt said March 3, 2016.  “His promises are as worthless as a degree from Trump University,” said Romney, referring to the now defunct real estate institute bearing Trump’s name   Trump. of course, has infuriated the mainstream press actually following through with most, if not all, of his campaign promises, including building the infamous border wall.  Why Romney chooses to denounce Trump only two days before joining the U.S. Senate is anyone’s guess.  Most speculate about his desire to run again for president.

            Expressing her displeasure, the Chairwoman of the Republican National Committee Ronna Romney McDaniel, Mitt’s niece, didn’t hesitate to put her uncle on notice.  “POTUS is attacked and obstructed by the MSM [mainstream media] and Democrats 24/7,” Ronna wrote.  “For an incoming Republican freshman senator to attack @realDonaldTrump as their first act feeds into what the Democrats and media want and is disappointing and unproductive,” expressing dismay at Romney’s comments.  Romney’s only motive would be a potential 2020 mutiny where several “never Trumpers” challenge the president for the Republican nomination, including Flake, Ohio Gov. John Kasich and possibly Mitt.  Romney’s banking on Special Counsel Robert Mulller’s final report making it impossible for Trump to run again.  Regardless of the motives, it shows Mitt’s poor judgment.

            Romney’s op-ed in the Post shows how he’s easily manipulated to make headlines, grab whatever publicity he can.  Like Sen. Jeff Flake (R-Az.), Sen. Bob Corker (R-Tenn.) and the late Sen. John McCain (R-Az.), Trump elicits strong reactions from GOP senators.  “With the nation so divided, resentful and angry, presidential leadership in qualities of characters is indispensable,” Romney wrote in the Post.  “And it is in the province where the incumbent’s shortfall has been most glaring,” mirroring the Post’s editorial board, uniformly against Trump. For Romney to sell out that quickly shows bad judgment as stated by RNC’s Ronna McDaniel.  No Republican, now or in 2020, could possibly back Romney for a primary run against Trump when he’s running down the president for selfish reasons.  Romney’s remarks have already backfired, raising eyebrows in Republican circles.

            Whatever differences GOP leaders have with Trump, there’s a way to air those differences at the right time-and-place.  No one expressed bigger differences with Trump over his decision to withdraw U.S. advisers from Syria more than Sen. Lindsey Graham (R-S.C.).  Instead of denouncing Trump to the press, Graham met with Trump in the White House Dec. 31 to express his views.  When he came out of the meeting, Graham expressed relief and better understanding of Trump’s decision.  Graham’s been one of Trump’s biggest critics but has learned the president’s receptive to opinions that disagree with his own.  Mitt’s differences with Trump have more to do with future political ambitions than anything related to current headlines, including the government shutdown over border wall funding with Democrats.  Romney’s acerbic remarks only make him look petty and self-serving.

            Finding himself sucked into the anti-Trump media, Romney should pause before it hurts himself and his home state.  Getting Trump’s endorsement when he ran-and-lost in 2012 to former President Barack Obama and when he decided to takeover Hatch’s Utah senate seat last June, Romney shows no gratitude for Trump’s endorsement, only leftover vitriol from losing a bitter presidential campaign to Obama.  “Mitt is tough, he’s smart, he’s sharp, he’s not going to allow bad things to continue to happen to this counter that we all love,” Trump said after endorsing Romney in 2012.  Whether Mitt has lingering hostility toward Trump is anyone’s guess.  What’s clear is that his recent words do nothing for his political future or people of Utah.  Letting himself get sucked into the Post’s vendetta with Trump shows that Mitt lacks the political savvy to know what’s good for his future.

About the Author

John M. Curtis writes politically neutral commentary analyzing spin in national and global news. He’s editor of OnlineColumnist.com and author of Dodging The Bullet and Operation Charisma.

Barnstock

The General was well known amongst his men. His men being a conglomerate of drop-outs, criminals, former war vets, and generally displaced people. Some viewed as a saint, some as a martyr, and some even thought of him as a fake. Today he sits in his aging cloth throne watching the flicks of an old television. Something seems to have bothered him though, particularly in the WVN Networks news broadcast. A report from I-66 showed a car that caused a pile-up overnight, the car had hit something the size of about a deer at full speed, it flipped over the car in a lo-fi phone filmed video. In the video broadcasted you see it flip at least 3-5 times whilst the car careens into oncoming traffic. Then it gets up and runs away, completely unscathed. The TV flickered a bit at the end of the broadcast. The General then un-pinned his medal of honor and looked at it in a trance-like state. He then looked up at his TV to see himself, about 20 years younger in the jungles of Vietnam. 

At that time it was Lance (soon to be The General), Corporal Johnson, Lance Corporal Blackball (that’s what they called him), Rifleman Davis, and Squidchewer. They all got drafted from the boredom of suburban homes, other then Squidchewer, he beat a guy up real bad and it was either prison or the service, so I guess he took the latter. They were a late deployment, and most of the napalm had well burned out by the time they arrived an vietnamese soil. Many of them came with the expectations of an organized battle, more glamorized in Hollywood renditions of jungle battles, The reality was quite the opposite. We were a specialized unit, so we didn’t see alot of the full frontal combat. In the case of Vietnam we came by the time most of the corpses were burning, the decrepit smell of flesh putrefying the air. You could find piles of arms, Children, Men, Women, all failed inoculations. The war you saw at home was much different, it was the guns and explosions, but not the blood and gore that followed that. My job was to capture this, as hard as it might be, and make sure The General’s mission was followed through. I had 3 or so Nikkon cameras fitted with different lenses, they were standard issue for the operation. My codename was and still is, Stryker. I got to know the General very personally on this operation. He was a man of his job and duty, but if you crossed him in the wrong way, he had no problem blowing a gun off right next to your ear to ring you out for a bit. He had done it to me a few times after deployment, I would always smart mouth his patriotic rhetoric in some odd way, and it would end with a gun going off right besides my head. At night, when we’d sit around the fire, he finally let out a bit of details about the operation.

“You know we ain’t here to kill gooks”,

“What are you talkin’ about Lance?”, I said to him.

“The gooks are all dead, not one bullet by fired of any of you. What do you suppose we’re here for, a jungle adventure? There ain’t nothing to clean up. What they have us hunting my friend, is an evil deep in the forest. You see all this death and blood and burning. Who the fuck do you think cleans it up and shuts it up? Us. And we don’t even get informed that’s what we’re doing here. These old temples we’re burning, they have demons deep in the wood. I thought it was funny, but I was deployed around Kwai before all of you were even in basic. They outfit you boys with cameras because the war is over, the only thing left to catch around hear is a glimpse of a ghost that’ll be turning one of our boys to the VC. Oh it starts with a minor disagreement with the abiding power then it ends one night in your sleep by the hands of someone you thought you could trust. Dragons and shit, I tell you, it’s a lack of patriotism, a lack of understanding most parent’s beat into their children, but you just got a few rotten eggs”, The General said.

I nodded in agreement, but that was just to avoid argument. He seemed to know more than me and I would not stand a chance against him. You could tell he was a man of power, and keeping his men in line was of the utmost importance, the slightest dissidence towards him would be routed right away. In my heart I knew though, he lived by his gun and man like him should, but when the time came that I would have to kill, I would have to do it with my heart, I was not ready like him to do it with my head. He would work the killing before it was even in front of him. It was like he was always 2 steps ahead of everyone else.

So what frightened him so, 20 years after the war on an old TV? In his own words years after the war. He explained that one night these demons possessed him. The day before he was reported to have been in an argument with Squidchewer, I heard parts of it whilst I was fishing nearby. 

“I don’t like this ‘Where the red fern grows’ shit you’re pulling Lance. We know you know why were here. That story you keep telling about your old dog, being the howling we hear. What the fuck is that howling really Lance? Every goddamned night”, Squid said.

“I tell you guys the story of ‘Where the red fern grows’ every fucking night to keep you calm. But you know what, that story of my old dog’s ghost following me around, that’s a damn true story. And I’ll tell you what it’s what put me in this damn service. Parents told everyone I ingested chemicals and I put my dog down with my daddy’s pistol. That’s not the case, the bastard near broke my hand, pulling my finger to the trigger so I could see that dog’s brains splattered out on the wall. And ever since that damn dogs spirit comes back as a demon, I’ll be damned if the day my Daddy’s truck was flipped and his head smashed in, that there was one of those damn dogs fixed to his grill. I saw the scene, he hit something, but nobody saw or said, it left before it could be reported. I even had this foolish thought we were all here to find that exact demon, because something told me it was just that, Simon. I called him”, Lance responded.

“I’ll tell you what, since we got off the boat, I think you’re losing it Lance. Day by day you’re getting worse, and when you fully believe we’re hunting your dead dog’s ghost, I’ll be leading this company, because you’ll be bat-shit crazy”, Squid said and smiled and Lance. Lance did not return the expression, and fixed his gaze on him like a hawk as he walked away. 

The next morning we awoke to the warm Vietnam sun. As we exited our tents, a horrifying sight was strung out in the tree above. Squidchewer was hung from a tree. Somebody had hacked at him a few times with a machete so blood was splattered about. The cuts were to the bone, and his face was frozen in a horrible expression of terror. I did unfortunately take a picture of it that would be more recognized than any of my other work. Lance had left without a word to any of us and we lost our leader. From that point on, I made a solemn swear to myself, that I would find the truth, and I would find Lance. Try as I might, throughout the war, I never did find him. It wasn’t until long after the war I found him, a now promoted General living in the forests of Colorado. Supposedly still on a government operation. I found him with the help of a government friend, and some deep searches in databases. Lance Parsons was as he was now listed.

I walked through the screen door of his house to find him, sitting, looking at his war medals, and crying. 

“I knew you’d come, the TV told me. It’s the only thing that talks much to me, these days, you want the end of the story I’d assume. The one with ‘the red fern’. Well, the boy puts the dogs down. But the one I was trying to tell you was a different fern. The fern I read, had a dog which came back. It’s furless corpse growing from the soil from the care and love which lead it to life. This thing is not a fable, it can kill men, and some men, they don’t even know it’s their pet. It comes when they are unconscious and fills itself with the flesh of your friends and loved ones. My father was the only one who was honest. You just have to shoot the damn thing, you can’t think about why. Otherwise it grows, and you have accidents like the one on I-66. Squidchewer was an accident just like that, the man was doing acid out in Vietnam, and that LSD it attracts those suckers in droves. I saved our whole company that night, but I had to put Squidchewer down. I woke up with his pistol to my head, it was sheer luck I pulled it back on him quick enough to defend myself. The work with the hanging and Machete was VC, as a sort of threat to you guys I’d assume”, The General said.

“Why wouldn’t they of killed us then and why did you leave?”, I asked.

“Fucking gooks. Who knows? I had it with the company long before someone in it threatened my life. I figured it was a mutiny, so I wanted out as quick and silently as possible. I was on other orders from the start. Usually it’s not so sloppy, we’d get a boy like Squid where he needed to be, slipped the dose then let the rest play out, but that night when those things came. Well they work like a parasite to host, if I didn’t kill him they would of surely killed you boys by the morning. What concerns me now, is these things are back, and out here. It was the same thing in the news report, and I bet you can’t find that footage anywhere now as it was live”, he said.

“So what are you doing now?”, I asked.

“I’m still hunting those fuckers. Just like before. I try to go into retirement then there is always some damn story of another Ungatu as I call them. Nobody knows how to hunt them, But just like with Squid, I do. I host this event where we get alot of the teenagers, about the age you and I were drafted, to micro-dose. but the trip is, is that they are all pre-selected for this event. So it’s basically completely legal and usually  a requirement to avoid jail-time or possible persecution. If we can save these kids, and we do, we do it mainly in the shadows now. Keeping things what they should be, American. That’s what I’ve always stood for. Thats why I run Barnstock, I have a whole team of specialists who not only bring in the goods but oversee the events from possibly becoming violent or volatile. Barnstock is at an actual Barn my family inherited, out somewhere in Dubuque, I keep the location undisclosed until I’m sure business is viable. Next week I’ll be skinning that fucker that caused the pile-up, already got it narrowed down to an Alex Horn who attracted that damn shadow in the first place. When he gets there, we’ll get some cute girls to suck him in, even offer the dose for free. 

The thing is, if he refuses, we’ll slash his tires, drain his battery, make sure that he remembers that night and the nights to come. The smart ones come back at that point.

All of this is to thank the glory of social media. Oh how modern Vietnam looks through an internet browser”