Reconstruction ended in the US in 1877, and during that year, as well as the years immediately post civil war, there was an especially huge push for black people to find loved ones who were sold off the other states or countries during slavery, especially those who had children fathered by their masters as their masters were the ones who sold off the child/ren or had the best information on finding them. People would send letters, put ads in newspapers, even take trips themselves to go find loved ones that they had lost due to the scurge that was slavery. And I keep thinking about Louis du pointe du lac, sending all those messages to find his daughter that was sent out of state by her white father

A Night To Remember

Pairing(s): Felix Escellun x Gn!Reader (referred to as mc)

Yes I did name it after Laufeys & beabadoobees song | Also I’m aware this is painfully similar to the last chapter but I couldn’t find any better event in the timeline to apply this scenario

It wasn’t a particularly good night, I mean so much chaos had happened.

Not only did Felix not have the ability to do magic anymore, but his father just made it worse.

Luckily he wasn’t as bad but his presence was still insufferable to both you and Felix. Not to mention the obvious disgust Felix would paint on his face whenever he’d see his father, mostly because of how close he was to killing you.

You opened the door to his room with a creak, studying everything you could became a nightly routine. You could tell how exhausted Felix was, especially since it’s barely been 2 days since the events had conspired.

“Hey” you sat down next to Felix, who was slumped down on the ground with his head hung in between his knees.

He grumbled but ultimately lifted his head and let out a sigh,” what is it?”

“Why don’t we stop for today? “ he immediately jolted “-and before you can protest, I’m tired and I’d rather have you there with me..ok?” You knew he’d most likely reject the idea of giving up if you weren’t the reason.

You could tell he was thinking of a smart retort before his shoulders slumped and he just nodded in defeat.

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face and you hugged Felix in gratitude to his compliance.

-

You and Felix ended up settled in bed, and although this was initially your idea… it was admittedly kinda awkward since you weren’t exactly sleepy anymore.

Felix’s sudden outburst of laughter brought you out of your thoughts. “What? What are you laughing at?” You said almost pouting.

“No, nothing at all but the fact that you brought me here without any other thought to what we’d do next, it’s almost like… you wanted me for something.” You could sense Felix’s flirty teasing from a mile away and you honestly couldn’t help but indulge.

“Annnnd what if I did? What then?” You leaned in and as fast as Felix’s bold side slept out, it seemed to disappear.

A blush instantly took its spot across his face and now it was your turn to laugh. Despite this fun moment, things returned back to that awkward silence that you hated so much.

And as did that expression on Felix’s face, the expression that told you everything you needed to know. You instantly reached and cradled Felix’s head into your arms. You felt his entire body tense but eventually fill with ease.

“I know it’s difficult for you now that you got stripped of your magic” he let out a laugh and something you only managed to hear because of your close proximity, “yes, I’ve noticed.”

It wasn’t rare for Felix to retort with passive aggressive comments nowadays but it didn’t stop you from feeling just a little bit hurt.

You leaned away from Felix so that you could see his face. Obvious regret on his face and eventually he just sighed and looked at you face on.

“I-I’m sorry, I know Im being difficult even if I don’t mean to” his eyebrows furrowed and he looked anywhere but you.

“im… being a brat” he pauses and almost lets out a bitter laugh “I’d understand if you left with zero interest in me anymore.”

This genuinely shocked you “Felix..” your face obviously portraying how you felt you decided to just give Felix the biggest hug ever, at that he let out a surprised whimper.

His arms reached toward your back and returned the hug, but as soon as you hugged him you put distance to look straight at him.

“Felix, I never will get tired of you, or leave, or just go anywhere else. I mean you practically had one of the things that makes up your identity ripped from you- I…I love you too much to let you go…”

You refused to look at him, I mean you just directly professed your love for him! You could clearly see the shock and flush in Felix’s face in your peripheral vision.

“Mc…” before he buried his head in your chest you could distinctly see his bottom lip wobble, even if just a little.

He hugged you in a way that you couldn’t see his face, just so his lips would hover over your ear.

…

“I love you too”

it was a whisper if anything, and you could hear the wobble in it but you loved it all the same.

It came from Felix after all

You began laughing in giddiness and pulled away to attack Felix’s face with seemingly endless kisses.

“M-mc! What are you doing-mnph-“ you abruptly kissed him on his lips and whether if it was to shut him up or to show him you loved him, he’d never know.

You completely dominated the kiss and when you separated, initially to your dismay, Felix then wrapped his hands around your neck and pulled you down. He kissed your nose, cheek, and forehead and lastly your lips.

His cheeks were ablaze but that didn’t stop his boldness

“I’m glad to have you as my partner, mc” he was obviously beyond coherent and his face was hot to the touch but he was still so sweet.

“Me too Felix, even more so than you” you said without thinking. Felix snorted and in usual fashion retorted “well…. I love you most”.

The rest of the night was spent with you tickling, spilling secrets and just lazily kissing. In the end though, you fell asleep with Felix in your arms and he slept as happily and secure more than he ever has.

———————————————————

Sorta rushed, pls forgive 😔

hwy so i saw ur poll ab arasol and f they were matesprits or not and ive been into homestuck for about 7 years and its a special interest and im autistic and thwy are my first and tbh only otp anf so if this is ok i wld like to infodump my opinion/hcs ab them bc i just 🥰 i love them sm 🥰 (def not frothing at the mouth at the idea of an audience for my opinions bc everyone irl is sikc of me lmao /lh)

ok so i deffo think they ar e matesprits BUT i think they never liie. clearly confirmwd it while aradia was alive. and once she became ghost aradia i think she got so distant and aloof (i think thats the right word?) about everytuing that it made sollux feel like she disnt love him anymore, and he eventually just had to move on, even thouvh it hurt. and feferi was there, not necessarily as a "rebound" but as a shoulder to cry on. someone for sollux to confide in, and to listen to him because he didnt have anyonw else he felt like woild. and i feel like feferi was def nto him and wanted to be his matesprit but i think sollux wasnt really. and i think they developed a kind of mixed/blurred lines relationship and the whole ghost and aradiabot phases pushed him and aradia furhter apart because aradia was dealinf wth so so much and in turn sollux was dealinf with the loss of his presumed (unofficial, wtv) matesprit, because that wasnt the aradia he knew and had fallen in love with. the ghost thing wasnt a bother - he loved her, not her physical form - it was the personality shift, i think.

and so when she reached god tier and regained her body nd her sense of identity, ithink they started to rekindle what they had nefore, if that makes sense? like aradia was his aradia again, an aradia interested in life and adventuee and archaeology and not this stupid, stupid game and suddenly not everything felt like it was collapsing around him and he felt like things could be okay again. and she helped him and he helped her and together they did make thinfs okay again. with each other.

and i think aradia's living>ghost>aradiabot>godtier timeline is a good allegory for depression and how it can absolutely shatter your sense of self and strip your world of colour and how that can make you push people away and self isolate and whatnot. idk thats just how i see it but :3 yea

i havet checkwd out the epilogues or homestuck^2 btw so this is based solely off of andrew hussie's homestuck bc i love it sososo much anyways yea !!!! tysm if anybody took the time to read this i love u all!! and ty for letting me drop this in ur askbox lolz and yea :3 srry if this isnt v comprehensive i just got off an 8hr closing shift at work lmao <3

this is a REALLY good analysis and i really love it, thank you for sharing! this makes complete sense to me.

aradia's depression being the catalyst for their split is very true! especially since she then sort of broke his trust with the whole sgrub thing-- and before that interacting with her was hard because sollux felt so guilty about what he did to her. it's just sad on all accounts, and i'm glad they both got better

honestly my poll was more to ask the question; "so we all agree that aradia and sollux were matesprits right because they do NOT act like moirails lol but it's funny because if they're matesprits that makes the feferi business weirder", but i don't think it came across in the post correctly, pfft

yes i definitely agree that they were matesprits, and also the idea that feferi was more into sollux than he was her is a really interesting one-- i also wonder if maybe feferi was maybe less into sollux than she thought, herself-- it's possible she threw herself into that relationship because she was just so relieved to be finally cut off from eridan and "allowed" to have relationships like that. but that's just my thought!

at the end of the day they're all just kids trying stuff out and it's kind of adorable and not that serious. i'm an arasoler at heart but there's nothing wrong with solfef either

I really like your Silm commentary and writing and I'd definitely be interested in hearing more about how you see the Valar

-@outofangband

There are lots of ways you can read the metaphysics of Tolkien's world. One common reading is what I will call the "naive Catholic" reading, which is basically this: Tolkien was Catholic, so let's import certain basic metaphysical assumptions from Catholicism into his world, like neo-Platonism and a moral law following from a divine natural order, and take at face value, as if offered from the point of an omniscent third-person narrator, all commentaries on how the universe works, both within published works and from those non-published works which can be made consistent with them: LACE, different Silmarillion drafts, etc.

This approach has some problems, IMO. Not least is that we know many of those unpublished works are transitional fossils in an author's evolving thinking about his own world, and were later discarded. Similarly, we know that the major narratives themselves are explicitly mythologized, at various times conceived of as being the mythology of the Elves, some of whom had contact with the Valar in Valinor, or even as the mythology of Numenor, who had these stories thirdhand from the Elves, and wrote them down in some cases millennia after. I think it's also evident, by the way, that while Tolkien was very Catholic in his thinking in some ways, he was less so in others; the picture of him that emerges in his letters is someone who is religious without being dogmatic or ostentatiously pious, someone for whom religion is an important part of his life, but is not so all-consuming he finds it impossible to relate to anybody who is not religious. He is, in other words, a complete human being, and viewing his work only through the lens of his Catholicism is quite in error.

Another way to read Tolkien--which is not in contradiction with the "naive Catholic" reading, it just receives it differently!--is what I think of as the "Lintamande reading": the Valar are bastards. Let's face it: as written, the way the Valar relate to the Children of Iluvatar, and especially the Elves, can rankle. They summon the Elves to Valinor as soon as they discover them at Cuivienen, essentially seeking to annex them to Valinor without giving them a chance to develop their own culture and identity. They don't offer support to them in situ (though this is within their power), and their attitude is essentially "come to us, so we can protect you, or be left alone in Middle-Earth, probably to have to deal with Morgoth on your own." Manwe is framed as a king, ruling Arda from Taniquietil; the halls of Mandos have a purgatorial quality, condemning the unrepentant to a tormented, bodiless existence, while stripping from those who do eventually reincarnate aspects of themselves the Valar find troublesome. The valar refuse to help the innocent or guilty during the centuries of struggle in the First Age, and it becomes clear when they finally do rouse themselves to act that they could have ended this long ago, and with much less suffering.

I find this reading dissatisfying. For one, while it makes Watsonian sense of the evidence on hand, it still treats the text as authoritative in a way that I think quite intentionally it was never intended to be. Mythology is inherently an unreliable narrator! Even in a world where magic and greater-than-human beings are baked into the conceit, we must acknowledge that myth transmits information unreliably, and it has an agenda. Two, from a Doylist perspective, the Silmarillion is grounded in its arcs of catastrophe and eucatastrophe, like music returning to the tonic, part of which is also the general character interpretations offered, and I'm interested in exploring readings that maintain those interpretations while also helping us to understand why, for instance, the Valar act the way they do, or are reported to act thus, and highlighting ways that the apparently authoritative statements presented about how the world works can be complicated.

One interesting point of entry is the word "king" and associated concepts like royalty. Manwe is the Elder King, the viceregent of Iluvatar; Morgoth seeks dominion over all Arda; the leaders of the Elves are invariably described as kings and high kings, all very medieval in character and in keeping with the vibe of a North European mythological past. But where mundane, mortal kingship (as among the humans and elves) intersects with more spiritual notions of kingship and royalty, I think a more complicated picture emerges, one that Tolkien's self-consciously restricted register of language, in keeping with the tonal examples of early medieval sources he draws from, is helpless to explicate very deeply.

In conceptions of the afterlife in the Middle Ages, royalty and signifiers of royalty feature heavily. A great example of this is in the Middle English poem "Pearl," which is about a father mourning his dead daughter, and a vision he receives of her in Heaven; they speak at length from either side of a river, and she is depicted as an ennobled figure, a royal bride of Christ, who in the end is called away to the new Jerusalem. Heaven is depicted as a place of wealth: earth and trees and stones made of precious materials and so forth, and it's interesting to ask, all right, what do all these signifiers of wealth and power mean? These are, after all, very earthly things, and it seems strange that in this Christian text, which is embedded in a theological tradition all about how the last shall be first and the first shall be last, and the human world isn't nearly as important as the spiritual one, that material evidence of luxury and power should be associated with spiritual paradise.

But I think this makes perfect sense, given the context. A hierarchical society, one that does not have a tradition of egalitarianism like we do--the closest it comes is perhaps the rota fortunae and the idea that you who are high might one day be low and vice-versa--can best signify release from the physical and psychic oppression of the world by placing everyone at the top of the hierarchy, and thus obviating the need for everything below. What does paradise look like? A world in which we are all royalty, i.e., we all have the release from the burdens of existence in the manner that in mundane life only (we imagine) kings do; that we all can enjoy that luxury, that freedom from worry about our physical needs.

In a spiritual sense, "kingship" is an effective symbol for things we carve up quite differently in semantic terms, including aspects of words like "freedom," "self-determination," "sovereignty," "independence," "power," and "authority." And this makes sense even when speaking of Jesus: Christ is King, not because Christ conquered the world and handed out large tracts of land as fiefs to his retinue; Christ is King because he is God, omnibenevolent and omniscient, the source of order and justice and goodness for the whole universe.

Royalty in the context of Valinor, especially among the Valar, but also I'd say among the Vanyar and Noldor who live there, seems to me to have much more in common with spiritual notions of royalty than it does mundane ones. Not least since Valinor seems to be what we would call a post-scarcity society. Certainly it's one where the constraints and hardships of life elsewhere in Arda do not apply, and even if it's not truly post-scarcity, the best analogy might be between our modern day, in terms of cheap abundance in the developed world, and the early medieval era, where the distinction for someone from the latter might be pretty theoretical at best. This isn't to say that Valinor is an anarchist utopia, a hierarchyless society--I don't think that reading could be supported by the text--only that Manwe is king of Arda in a very different way than Morgoth seeks to be, or even than Elu Thingol is of Doriath. And that I think is supported by the text.

Moreover, I think it's clear that the Valar are meant to have the tinge of tragedy about them: their vision of the world is incomplete, and though wise and seeing much, they genuinely struggle to understand what to do sometimes. They were wrong to call the Elves to Valinor. They thought they could protect them there, and keep the influence of Morgoth at bay forever, and they couldn't. The fate of the Trees and the Flight of the Noldor proved that. They withhold acting during the First Age because they know their power is too much: they don't want to cause more suffering by unleashing themselves on Middle-Earth than the wars in Beleriand are already causing. And yes, they're angry. But they're not God; they're not omnibenevolent. They have flaws, like the impatience of Aule, the aggression of Tulkas, the possessiveness of Yavanna, and yes, the hesitancy of Manwe. They're children of Iluvatar too, just older ones. And the Doom of Mandos isn't a curse or a punishment: it's a bare statement of fact. You are doing something inadvisable: here are the consequences we forsee. We cannot (or will not) help you.

And things which we might hold up as especially authoritarian qualities of the Valar, things like the Halls of Mandos "purifying" the souls of the dead, have I think to be understood in the context that, definitionally, no one who has ever been there for any length of time has contributed any information to the stories we are reading. And the stories we are reading are composed by figures who do not live in Valinor, who do not have the example of spiritual kingship to draw from, who have only mundane kings and mundane social systems to use to understand these concepts very remote to them in both time and place. These authors are going to have to do a lot to make their hardships in Middle-Earth feel more necessary and more meaningful, to try to speculate about why the world is the way it is, and to inscribe their own particular worldviews and ideologies onto far-off figures like the Valar to try to rationalize their imperfect understanding of them. And that's the only lens we're able to see them through, because Tolkien (who knew all this; but even if he didn't, this would be a reasonable Watsonian take) intentionally chose a documentary device as a core mechanic for his worldbuilding.

okay so I watched ouef (s1 ep4) last night and I only vaguely remembered it as the episode with the lost boys and the creepy family dinner, but now that I’ve rewatched it I’m losing my mind over how much it actually sets up/foreshadows mizumono, especially thematically. considering this, it’s surprising how little this episode is talked about so I’ve decided I’m gonna unpack it myself because I honestly see it as mizumono’s necessary counterpart. it’s first half, if you will

so let’s talk about oeuf

I think part of the reason why a lot of early s1 isn’t discussed as widely as the rest of the show (especially late s2 and s3 in general) is because of the prescriptive use of genre conventions that underpin the “monster of the week” format that, upon first glance, makes s1a seem a little less interesting. it strongly follows the rules and expectations of the standard crime procedural that we’ve come to expect from a show like this: first there’s a murder, then our cast of characters go to investigate, slowly unravelling the mystery while learning some lesson along the way, until finally they catch the bad guys and the episode ends with justice prevailing, resolving the initial injustice of the crime. overall we’re left feeling satisfied, but it’s nothing to write home about

nonetheless, it is very important that nbc hannibal follows this formula in s1 because it allows it to meet audience expectations while also setting up the building blocks for its later acts, which, as we know, (mostly) abandons this scaffolding entirely. you can’t break the rules unless you know the rules, and s1 proves this by luring us in through its promise of convention. you could argue that, in its own way, s1 is the show’s own person suit

that’s not to say the “monster of the week” formula completely hides the show’s gothic side. beyond the show’s visual aesthetics (dark colours, artistic murders, etc) and the almost supernatural quality of will’s empathy, each episode/murder so far has had an underlying “fairytale-like” quality to it that’s achieved through the use of specific allusions/familiar images. first it’s will describing abigail as willy wonka’s golden ticket, then it’s the mushroom garden, then sleeping beauty wakes from her coma, and now we have peter pan and the lost boys. considering how the rest of the show plays out, especially s3 where hannibal literally describes the italy trip and his perception of life as a fairytale, this seems intentional to me. I mean, he and will literally adhere to the beauty and the beast archetype, with both fitting either role depending on what aspect of their relationship you’re looking at

that’s all to say, it’s notable that mizumono acts as the literal gateway between the familiar world of s1 and 2 and the phantasmagoric beauty of s3, stripping both its main characters and the show itself of their person suits, which isn’t as jarring as it should be due to the particular way s1 is structured

which takes us back to what I really want to talk about: ouef

the episode opens in baltimore, where will tells hannibal this:

as will speaks, we see his house, lit up and observed at a distance in the middle of nowhere, caught in the vast, misty darkness he describes. linking the house with the boat is important, since this dual image develops throughout the rest of the episode. thematically, ouef is about family, as is represented through the monster of the week: the woman kidnapping the lost boys and manipulating them into killing their families. but as we said before, this scaffolding is designed to set up character specific concepts and themes that’ll be relevant later. for now, will’s home is only a safe space for him at an observable distance — only “safe” because it looks like a boat at sea, which is a positive association for him

houses traditionally represent the self. it’s an image commonly linked to identity, both on a literary level and oftentimes when interpreting dreams. and of course, when talking about the house we naturally think of family. will can only appreciate the intimacy of both himself and his personal connections from an observable distance. he does not feel safe doing otherwise. it’s why his house is located so far away from the rest of society: he’s in hiding

from here, hannibal is quick to change the subject, stating that will “stood in the breathing silence of garret jacob hobbs’ home”, or, metaphorically speaking, hobbs’ identity. in episode one, will saw the truth of hobbs more so than he’s ever seen (or embraced) the truth of himself. he was not at a distance. he was not safe

then hannibal asks, “did they speak to you?”

and will responds, “with noise and clarity”

he then follows this by saying he “tried so hard to know garret jacob hobbs. to see him” beyond the police tape and dead girls and photographs, all of which he considers superficial details. this particular phrasing is significant, since it directly parallels what hannibal later tells will in mizumono after he learns of his betrayal: “I let you know me. see me.” this scene lays out the dominoes for this chain reaction, all of which results in s2’s climactic moment, by showing hannibal’s desire to be seen, even if he doesn’t fully realise it yet, and will’s desire to connect with others like himself, if they even exist. as I’ve said before, will does not think monstrosity and humanity are separate concepts

so, by wanting to see beyond hobbs’ person suit, which in of itself is a metaphor for conformity, expectations, and the false self, will set aside his own denial and discovered something very ugly about himself. he murdered hobbs in his own home and, for the briefest moment, caught a glimpse of the truth of himself. “see?” haunts will for this reason. it’s something he carries for the rest of his arc

it’s important that this all happened in the kitchen, but I’ll get to that later

but returning to the scene. hannibal asks will how he felt seeing marissa, the girl hannibal killed last episode. there’s an unspoken question here: did you try hard to get to know me too? did you know me? see me? would I ever allow you to do so? under the copycat guise, and the person suit, is knowing me even possible? as we learn in mizumono, the answer is yes

will says he feels guilty and I don’t think he’s lying here the same way he lied when he told abigail murder is the ugliest thing in the world last episode. there’s a difference between feeling guilt and feeling remorse. he thinks he caused marissa’s death, and he feels guilty because he knows he isn’t feeling (or reacting) the way he should be. killing hobbs felt good, remember? he saw hobbs, and in turn himself, with “noise and clarity” and had a moment of chilling self awareness he can’t shake. this is what he feels guilty about. it’s not about “not saving her” it’s about the threat of his self-destructive nature burning everything around him, which is what he fears. he feels monstrous inside, due to his own sense of vindication and inclination towards righteous violence

for the rest of this scene, I’m going to pick apart the dialogue in a kind of skeleton structure so we can take what information we need from what they say. their conversation goes as follows:

“sometimes I felt like we were doing the same things at different times of day. like I was eating or showering or sleeping at the same time he was.”

→ will feels like he’s doing the same things hobbs was (showering/sleeping/eating) even after he was dead because he’s now sensing hannibal, the copycat. or rather, his own copycat/foil. they’re already connected and they already feel the same (he feels like he killed marissa even though hannibal killed marissa)

“even after he was dead?” / “even after he was dead.”

→ so it’s hannibal he’s connecting to now, even subconsciously

“like you were becoming him?”

→ the introduction of the “becoming” motif which, as we all know, is a central theme and another reference to their foil dynamic (hannibal has already said he and will are the same). note hannibal’s tone when he says this: he’s speaking quicker, unable to stop questioning. there’s another conversation happening just below the surface of this one. he’s curious about will and his ability to connect, which was established earlier in episode 2

“I know who I am. I’m not garret jacob hobbs”

→ links back to the first episode where will, out of his own free will, chooses to shoot hobbs. remember that in the opening scene of that same episode he himself tells his students that, according to his own worldview, by understanding the murder, we understand the man. this isn’t a matter of confusing his identity with that of a killer: will knows exactly who he is, and that’s what scares him. he’d rather stay in denial

it’s also noteworthy that will’s refusal to be seen as hobbs, or a copycat of him, mirrors hannibal’s refusal to be associated with him too, as we saw in episode three when he tells abigail “I am nothing like your dad.” it implies that reading either of these characters as a mirror of someone else (other than each other, of course) would be a misstep. for both will and hannibal, hobbs is just another layer of the person suit. something that’s brutally stripped in mizumono, as I said before

we learn all this in one scene alone. like I said, this episode is complex and packed. the rest of the episode simply expands on the concepts introduced in this one conversation. I won’t go into every scene because this post would turn into an academic paper, but I do want to spend time dissecting a few key scenes which I feel directly link back to mizumono specifically and highlight why this episode is so important: the family dinner scene, hannibal breaking into will’s house, will’s therapy sessions with hannibal, and hannibal and abigail making breakfast together

how will analyses the family dinner, as well as what we learn from this scene, adds to our understanding of how these characters interpret family as a whole. after all, this episode is about “the lost boys” which, to me at least, will and hannibal both are. it’s their lack of real connection that causes them to treat abigail in the idealised way they do, similar to how the woman tries to make her own found family with the kidnapped boys (although this parallel better fits hannibal than will)

within his reconstruction of the crime scene, will sits at the head of the table, saying he’s “brought his family to this home invasion.” of course he’s impersonating the killer here, but this use of the home again (and family) is enough to pay attention to

power and control is also brought up in this scene. will says he controls the turners with “threats of violence. threats that turn to action” which is how hannibal operates (although more psychologically considering his demeanour, he doesn’t seem threatening at first and rarely loses his cool) but he can’t control people that way, least of all will. in the end threats of violence don’t even work, because the more worked up you get the less in control you actually are

will then shoots mrs turner, who, as we later learn, forgives the act since she loves her son. forgiveness (and acceptance) being synonymous with love literally underpins the conflict of s3, which is triggered by hannibal asking will if he’ll forgive him for murdering abigail in mizumono, but it’s first shown here, of all episodes, in the story’s set up. because of this, hannibal killing abigail and stabbing will recalls this episode, perhaps more as an echo than a direct link, but is strengthened nonetheless by this subtle build. added to this, it’s notable that the threat of violence here is also due to a type of betrayal (“family dinner, I wasn’t invited”) but the lost boy sits at the head of the table anyway, where he belongs, much like hannibal does, both at the end of this episode and as the “paternal” father figure throughout most of the show

as will says, this whole sequence portrays family values. twisted ones, but values nonetheless. it’s why I’m more inclined to connect this episode to the s2 finale than I am the s1 finale (although it’s still relevant) because this episode is so strictly about family. mizumono is the same but in reversal: the ideal family hannibal dreams and tries to take control of, since he had no control of his own as a boy, is shattered before his eyes

the other largely significant moment in this episode is when hannibal breaks into will’s house and pierces his thumb on the hook, tying the fishing/boat imagery back to the house again and foreshadowing will as the “lure” (his s2 persona)

what’s important about this scene is that hannibal enters will’s world (his isolated identity) to plant the evidence that’ll later frame him for all the s1 murders, leaving traces of himself on will so that, for a moment, will too becomes the copycat. again, not the exact truth of him or his nature, but a fragmented replica. inauthentic. fake. another layer of the person suit, except this time it’s hannibal’s forced on will

but what’s interesting is that hannibal also gets caught in will’s web. there’s a lot of focus on the hook specifically, and the camera lingers on the feathers, which hannibal takes the time to touch and look at, until finally, he pricks his thumb and draws blood

the irony is that in this moment, before the game even really begins, hannibal loses. he’s already hooked himself. we saw hints of this in the first scene of this episode, how his fascination with will is unlike any other attachment, or lack of attachment, he has, and it encapsulates the whole reason for his downfall: his attachment and obsession. it’s beyond his control (“you cannot control with respect to whom you fall in love”) and humanises him in darkly twisted way. he cannot control his feelings, and he doesn’t know what to do with this

his fate is sealed in this episode, but he doesn’t realise it until mizumono

again, the boat imagery is another interesting thing to note. fishing/boats/anchors are all introduced in this episode as mild, safe things (seeing the house as a boat makes will feels safe, wanting to teach abigail how to fish, hannibal saying will needs an anchor, will and his dad at the boatyard, etc) but fishing has an insidious side, too. one hannibal isn’t aware of. it has a meek mask, and in its own way, acts as another type of security. does will feel safe within his own sense of control, too? that’s the whole point of the person suit, isn’t it? it’s an important question, because the fallout is explored in mizumono. like I’ve said all throughout this analysis: everything here is being set up for a single climactic moment

will also sails to florence later in a boat he builds. he returns to hannibal’s home in s3, sitting in the kitchen with abigail’s ghost, but it isn’t home if hannibal isn’t there, so he sails to find him. I hate to say it, but will’s insane little sailing trip to italy is actually symbolic too if you interpret hannibal as will’s home, and by going to find him will, in turn, is also going home

the scene ends with hannibal sucking the blood from his thumb, before we transition to the blood streaked family portrait, opening the next scene. having the frame of hannibal bleeding being immediately followed by the bloody family portrait seems deliberate to me, since, as we know, he kills abigail later and destroys their “family” because will “makes him bleed”. again, tying the events of mizumono back to the family values introduced in this episode

also, in the script the sound hannibal makes when he sucks the blood from his thumb is described as “not unlike a quick kiss” which is an odd way to phrase it within the literal context of this scene, but makes a lot of sense when you consider what it means symbolically. it’s a small detail, but it recontextualises will “luring” him in as a romantic act, as well as a romantic betrayal

continuing on, what family means to hannibal and his desire to both connect with will and manipulate abigail are both interweaved as the episode progresses. hannibal says that “children transport us to our childhoods”, reframes the idea that will’s family, who will jokingly refers to as a pack of strays, also includes abigail (and without saying it, himself) and that the woman who’s kidnapping the lost boys is engaging in a “perversion” of motherhood. all these things evidently reflect hannibal himself, and the specific trauma he experienced losing his parents and, more to the point, his younger sister. we don’t learn the specifics of this backstory until much later on in the story, but his behaviours (and the trajectory of his character arc) are influenced by it regardless

in contrast, will doesn’t seem all that interested in the concept. he sees family as an “ill fitting suit” (yet another reference to the person suit) and it’s an entirely foreign concept to him (it’s foreign to hannibal too, since they’re the same, but I digress). still, he tries to connect to abigail anyway, but this isn’t motivated by a want for authentic family or someone who understands him, but rather an ideal. will doesn’t want to see the truth of himself, it scares him. he doesn’t want to see the truth of abigail, either. he doesn’t want to see her as her father’s lure (again, fishing imagery) but as something innocent and divorced from what he knows of himself. he ironically buys her fishing gear in this episode (although he never gives it to her) in an attempt to associate her with the same meek mask we discussed earlier. but as we know, this “safety” too has layers

buying abigail a gift also mirrors what hannibal says to will in mizumono: “I gave you a rare gift, but you didn’t want it.” the rare gift is family, which is given value when will says “I can’t give them back what they just gave away” in relation to the lost boys and their dead mothers. it’s again another part of the family values introduced in this episode: family is a rare gift, but it’s not something you can force, which both hannibal and will try to do with abigail (like the mother tries to do with the lost boys)

the “I can’t give them back what they gave away” is particularly important, since it implies permanency and an inability to reverse the action. the gift of family and connection is only rare because once it’s taken from you you can’t have it back; you can’t reverse time; you can’t take back control

this is the crux of hannibal’s entire arc. the belief that he is in control of his life, since, in his mind, he’s godlike and exists beyond human folly and attachment, underpins every single one of his actions leading up to mizumono. for this reason, it’s significant that the teacups are introduced in this episode as a means (and symbolic prop) to control abigail. they are later related back to time but this is meant to be a symbol of hannibal’s power. he directly says that he wants to give abigail her ‘power back’ earlier in the episode, but he’s really just empowering himself. he projects his attachment to mischa onto her, something he pretends doesn’t affect him and he is above of (his approach to dealing with trauma is clear through his interactions with abigail — he thinks she shouldn’t be immersed in the tragedy of the past and should just ‘move on’)

in truth, hannibal wants to recreate the moment of tragedy (both his tragedy and abigail’s tragedy) in order to reverse time and have the perfect family, despite being incapable of this. he’s trying to escape how his trauma makes him feel powerless by attempting to take power back, no matter how futile it is

he attempts to do this here, in his home, by making them breakfast, since in his mind by feeding abigail the same (and last) meal she had with her family, he is in turn engineering a kind of ‘rebirth’ for her. he reassures that although this was the last meal she had with her family, it’ll be the first with him, and tries to take away her bad memories by replacing them with positive associations. the reversal of time is even clear in how he makes breakfast for dinner, flipping literal time on its head for his amusement

for the audience, in this scene we learn he’s a more skilled manipulator than the woman who took the lost boys, since he’s forcing this “blur” between abigail’s father and himself through the use of psychedelics and fostering dependency. he wants to replace hobbs without necessarily becoming him. again, he’s his copycat, not his replica

the fact that this all takes place in the kitchen is also important. it’s the same place hannibal will later kill her, proving he can’t reverse time and he isn’t in control, and that she was never reborn, and he was never her father. and returning to the beginning of this analysis (I said I’d come back to this) will also killed hobbs in his own kitchen, where he finally sees the truth of himself. in mizumono, a reversal occurs: hannibal is now confronted with the truth of himself and, like will, accidentally finds something very ugly by exposing himself

the episode ends with will separated from the ‘family’ and resting with his dogs, similar to how mizumono ends with will lying in his own blood, alone. in summary, oeuf quietly introduces and foreshadows key plot, character, and thematic elements through the conventions of the crime genre, and it’s fascinating to me how many links can be made between this episode and the bloodbath in mizumono

even down to the episode title: the newly formed egg and all the consequences that are to follow its hatching

What are some scenarios that could lead old man Terry to meeting his future beloved? Like where would that era of Terry most likely meet his beloved?

---

The most obvious answers could be something like; at the Country Club! Some exclusive Gala! A high-end garden party! A Synagogue! An art exhibition! An elite charity event! A corporate meeting! An auction! A Yacht! An invite-only gentleman's joint! An Opera, for all we know. Anywhere from Korea, Tahiti, Japan and back again! Anywhere in the world, globetrotter that he is. Wherever the rich and the famous might mingle --- a crowd where Terry very much belongs and finds himself at home with. But, I think that answer only covers a small percentage of the actual truth.

Why?

Because I think Terry Silver, unbeknownst to most anyone, mingles everywhere. And I do mean everywhere. Yes, often times dressed as a common, unassuming bypasser just minding his own business; now you see him and now you don't. Sometimes, he's driving a run-down blue Ford truck posing himself as a hard-done-by Dojo owner downtown and other times, decades later, clearly not having changed all that much from his old ways, he might just be some smartly dressed, not at all shabby looking old man at the local Mini-Mart, intimidating Daniel Larusso between the produce aisles and leaving without buying a single thing. That's just a casual Wednesday for him. Nobody suspecting this is one of the wealthiest men on the West Coast, if not much, much further.

I think Terry Silver likes to scope out ordinary people, just for the sake of it.

He likes to scope out ordinary places too.

I think he enjoys the sport of getting down there with your commonplace Joe-Schmoe, and just observe, like one observes a Safari of animals. He likes to feel the pulse of everyone around him. Seek out opportunity, even if that opportunity rears its head in the form of some kid he bribes at a random club in 1985 to tactically hit on some girl so he can agitate Daniel into violence, right before making his quick escape into a back-alley in the dead of night, having caused a ruckus on the dance-floor. Yes, why not. It is fun, and Terry Silver seeks fun. It is also an investment and he seeks that doubly so. He seeks chance. Out on the street, in unexpected nooks and crannies or at a parking lot at midnight, while the very next day, he might be on the cover of Forbes as the most, ehm, Charitable Man of the Decade, and an incidental pedestrian would be none the wiser. Or they might just see his face on front page and think that that looks awfully familiar to that one guy, borderline thinking they've gone mad and are imagining things. That can't be same person, right? That might amuse Terry, in the most perverse and chaotic sense. Give him a sort of power --- over his environment and everyone around him, even mere strangers he has no intention of seeing ever again, except for what research and amusement they provided in the moment. The gleeful satisfaction that he's so big and so important and yet nobody knows. Not unless he wants them to, being entirely in control of the narrative and his identity --- and how it is perceived. That his ability to camouflage, disguise and hide himself with just a few cleverly chosen fashion choices and a difference in bearing is that great that it can trick people. The world is a sort of playground for him, and day-to-day people tend to be hilariously prone to being bribed, threatened, influenced, swayed, talked into things and used. Their lives are raw and interesting in ways that are hard to describe and it is a special type of voyeurism Terry Silver has undoubtedly indulged in in one form or another all his life.

Didn't Roman Emperors occasionally disguise themselves to mingle with the plebian rabble too? Terry fancies himself similar. In fact, he knows he is.

He also might be something of an adrenaline junkie; where just minding his own business stripped down from the strappings of his wealth might be genuinely engaging and good sport for him because he gets to know exactly how he will be viewed when nobody knows he's a Billionaire. His fascination almost experimental in nature, bearing a mischievous, childlike curiosity, if not an off-shoot of his tendency to pathologically lie and fabricate whole entire personalities, changing himself and his colors like a chameleon. Almost like he's goading people to show him exactly who they are. What they're like. What they're true nature is when faced with just some guy they've nothing to gain from out there.

So, beloved? Beloved might meet their King Cobra anywhere.

Anywhere at all.

A prospect both exciting and in equal measure daunting.

Because one never knows...

---

(I write more about this topic in my fanfic right here x)

Loki meta. So much Meta. Part 1.

Loki’s story started with one simple plan: stop Thor’s coronation.

Sure, there would be collateral damage—the Destroyer would kill a handful of Frost Giants. A few lowly guards might die before the Destroyer did its work. But he deemed that acceptable. Because it would give him what he wanted: to prove to his father that the golden child, the favoured one, their heir wasn’t ready to be king. Might never be. And that he, the second son, was more than just the spare. That he was fit for more than standing in his brother’s shadow for the rest of eternity, offering wise council to temper Thor’s arrogant, reckless, dangerous nature. To be bound to a life of constraining, only existing for the sake of the growth of those around him.

Things were never supposed to get so out of hand.  They should never have reached Jötunheimr. He wasn’t supposed to allow Thor to bring Asgard to the brink of war after a thousand years of hard-won peace. He hadn’t intended Thor to be stripped of his rank, title, powers, and abilities and cast out, banished until he could learn humility.

He wasn’t supposed to learn that there was a reason he would never be more than what he was. That his parents had protected him from the truth because they never wanted him to feel different and apart. But it hurt because even when he believed himself to be Frigga’s son, Odin’s son, just as worthy as Thor and born to be a king, he was different. He had always been held different and apart.

He wasn’t supposed to in his explosion of grief and anger send Odin into the Odinsleep—a coma from which he may never wake. He wasn’t supposed to hurt his family. But once he had, he did absolutely everything he could do to keep them from finding out. He couldn’t bear the shame and regret, to be judged for his choices and lose what little standing he had in their eyes.

He had lost his identity, his sense of self. He didn’t truly know who he was, and what he wanted.

When he was handed Gungnir, and his mother looked at him with respect and love and addressed him as ‘my king’ and told him to make his father proud, Loki mistook that golden throne for what he had always truly desired: Love. Acceptance. Respect. Loki believed that the only way to get what he wanted was by amassing power—and doing anything he could to hold onto it.

He wasn’t supposed to sit on the throne of Asgard. But once he was on that throne, he believed it was his chance at last to prove once and for all he was worthy of the name Odinson, and the throne. And as events spiralled out of control, he asked himself who he was willing to sacrifice to keep what he had and get what he wanted. When he decided the answer was Thor, Sif, his friends, and an entire people—he deemed the loss acceptable. That it was just collateral damage. But it would be worth it, because he would finally have what he wanted. What he deserved. What he was owed.

That was why Odin said ‘No’ as Loki hung suspended over the dark void of space. Dangled off the broken bifröst by the tip of his father’s spear. Because you can’t earn love, respect, and acceptance by paying with someone else’s blood. That there is no such idea as an acceptable loss, victory without sacrifice.

That was why Loki let go. Because annihilation is easy. Leaving is easy. Staying is hard. Hope is hard.

Before this story, you could always trust Loki to act in his own best interests. So over the course of the first season—the swagger, the smarm, the pompousness, the superiority, the entire façade is stripped away. Underneath is someone who hurt other people because he had been hurt and didn't know how not to lash out because he was terrified that he was alone and always would be. He saw an entire drawer full of Infinity Stones mixed in with other flotsam, like the handful of paper clips, bobby pins, and scraps of paper you’d find in any junk drawer. He saw his own brutally short future, and experienced the one thing he wasn’t expecting: ego death.

The journey he was on was one of self-discovery, self-acceptance, taking responsibility for his actions, and finding a new purpose.

Loki makes Sylvie his purpose. At first it was merely a scheme—helping the TVA was just a way to stay alive. But while he worked side by side with Mobius, he became invested. Not just in besting his rival and proving he was the superior Loki. He became invested in the actual problem-solving because Mobius treated him like an equal. He wasn’t the sidekick; they were partners. He made a genuine connection with someone, because he wanted Mobius to believe in him. It gave him a reason to strive to become better, to live up to his expectations.

Then he and Sylvie are stranded on Lamentis and she goes from an abstract concept to a real person. At first all he can see if their differences. But then he begins to look at everything from a different perspective, precisely because they’re so different. When they are about to die, they hold hands and smile because for the first time in both their lives, they are not alone.

So her mission becomes his mission. Her goals become his goals. He feels needed, and has no problem taking a place at her side and following her lead. He puts her life ahead of his own, and would have allowed Alioth to devour him if it gave her the chance to bring the TVA down.

He admits that he had betrayed everyone who had ever cared about him. But he will not betray her, because that’s not who he is. He has changed. For the first time, he is acting selflessly, putting Mobius and Sylvie’s needs above his own. Even as Sylvie is shouting at him to fight her the exact same way he had once done to Thor in Heimdall’s observatory, he drops his sword and puts himself in front of her blade to try and stop her because he genuinely cares about her—but he also is finally seeing the big picture and it’s so much bigger than he’d realised. The stakes are so much higher because he has so much more to lose than before.

And neither of them knew that the TemPad He Who Remains had so conveniently removed from his wrist and placed on his desk, within easy reach was programmed to send Loki hundreds if not thousands of years into the TVA’s past. They didn’t know that he hadn’t been using a ‘time twister’ to avoid their blades. He had been timeslipping right in front of their eyes because he wasn’t ‘just’ a man. He had learnt how to control time itself.

And now, so would Loki.

No. But really. I am so categorically down terrible. But also for the game, the amount of fun facts I could compile, would, make google doc tremble with the sheerest of fear. And probably make me cry, I’ve already got all their D.O.B. All the dates and occurrences, done some guessing games. Did math for this stupid ass COD game, which is high praise because getting me to do math is like telling me to date a man. Which, y’know, is never gonna happen. Not to mention. The split-Bell au, duel-Bell au? Never figured out what we were gonna call that, can truly show the depth of the games options. Blake Miller — Aka Wolf — (fem!bell), is the lethal untameable of the coin who would send the team into its demise of it weren’t for Belvedere Grasso — Aka Bell — (mal!bell) who interjects after the subsequent interrogation after Blake fibs about the Duga-2 Array being the nuclear armaments host location. But what I think is interesting is that Bell no matter the options isn’t thinking completely coherently. I mean, literally. Imagine you’ve just been given a healthy dosage of a unknown and likely hallucinogenic or memory reactive drug, right through the cerebral no doubt. Y’know, casually, ADMINISTERED THROUGH THE EYE. That’s painful, and incredibly dread inducing. Followed by the occurrence of one of the most gut-turning memory sequences, and outwardly we hear that Bell undergoes seizures(multiple depending on the route what V/O you’re given), a quickened pulse and likely more unspoken of. But it’s all dependant on the path taken, you seem to have a much easier job if you listen to Adler. However, if you don’t. You go through a literal psychological horror, you go back to the point where it started. You go back to where your identity was stripped from its very core.

Which again is why I like two Bells, even if it’s complicated to establish. Especially when they’re half-siblings. You see: Blake, doesn’t listen. She doesn’t trust Adler, she disdains his existence. Every breath of smoke he extinguishes from his charred lungs. He projected on her gave her scars to remember. Belvedere does trust him, for god sakes he loves him of course his voice is a soothing guidance amongst a sea of otherworldly horrors. Put perhaps that trust is near religious in nature.

In other words, me and @ssmoki are terrible! This game has consumed my mind since 2020 when I played the game when I was sick and didn’t understand what the fuck was going on! But I may also write a whole fanfic for this AU. Which’ll be like making a Trojan horse by myself because, wow, that’s a lot of character deets! But all I gotta do is remember the painfully agonising slowburn I have for two special dumbasses. Well, one certainly isn’t a dumbass but Blake sure is. And ofc whatever the blazing glory star that is Bell/Adler. We love our intoxicatingly loving, near insane levels of Florence Nightingale syndrome lovelies! Anyways! Heres a fun fact — Adler was born in 1937 on February. During Fracture Jaw (January 26th, 1968), that would make him 30 as it takes place in January. I think, again I don’t do math. Also another one; I chose the name Blake for fem!bell (Her real name is actually Yelena Ivana Krasnova, which is a mouthful) when I was going by Wyatt. So now when I say Blake I get confused on whether it’s me or my own damn self-insert at this point. Which now that I think about it is really driving the ‘self-insert’ aspect. But hey, all OCs for media are conventionally self inserts! Let’s be honest..

Also I don’t use tumblr often so like.. Catch me anywhere else, how ‘bout that. And I am also, terrible with social interaction. Hey guys, how are you! /h /gen

If requests are still being accepted, would it be alright if you did a fnv react ask about the courier being nonbinary? I'd imagine it might be similar to the transgender reactions u did, however at the same time I've been trying to imagine how a person of that gender identity would be seen in the wasteland since a LOT of old war stuff was gendered and all, and I've got nothing :/ (sorry for the mini tangent it's just stuff like that intrigues me lol)

New Vegas and its surrounding communities couldn't get enough of the courier once they pieced together that the person who had saved Goodsprings and Primm, laid eyes on the smoking ruins of Nipton, and eventually made their way inside the mysterious Lucky 38 was, in fact, one person and not a handful of random individuals. As with anyone who set the dust of the wasteland swirling, their name popped up regularly in Mr. New Vegas' news reports, which earned them fans, would-be challengers, and curious eyes whenever they left House's casino with their face uncovered.

There were endless questions about their whereabouts and plans, of course - but there were also questions about who they were, where they had come from, and why they were so different from anyone who had earned a name on the Strip up to that point. They were an outsider in dress and mannerisms as much as they were in name and title, content to let the tall tales around them grow tall and wild as the trees in the mountains rather than give so much as a solid hint about their identity. Mr. New Vegas only fed the public's fascination by reporting on them as if they were a new, strange celebrity each time they made the headlines. Spotted trying on dresses at the same tailor's shop that the King visited regularly. Seen two days later dodging mortars in their usual duster and bandanna on a suicide mission to Nellis. Cool and calm the next week at Gomorrah, cutting as fine a figure in a suit as any of the Omertas. They waved off anyone who tried to chat them up about anything beyond business, and they flat-out refused to answer to anything but their own name or Mojave Express designation.

And all this interest in the courier and their refusal to clear up the mysteries surrounding them inevitably landed at the feet of their companions, for better or worse.

Arcade Israel Gannon: Arcade could deflect most of the courier's admirers the same way he'd deflected attention for years: By downplaying his own importance and turning up his pride in his work just far enough to scare off anyone who wasn't looking to talk about medical supply issues in Freeside. It usually did the trick, but as the situation at Hoover Dam grew more concerning, the visitors to his tent at the Old Mormon Fort became increasingly stubborn. It got to the point where Beatrix had to kick a few out every day, and Julie finally pulled Arcade aside and asked him if he could get his famous friend to do something about it.

"I don't know," he said to the courier later in the Lucky 38 suites, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. "Maybe do an interview with Radio New Vegas? Nothing you don't want to share, obviously, but you could tell the listeners enough basic info to get them off my back."

"Like what?" the courier asked, smirking. They clearly weren't taking this too seriously.

"I don't know." Arcade threw his hands up. "Where you grew up. How you became a courier. How you're not a man or a woman, and stop asking. Just give them something, or sooner or later one of them is going to start poking around in my past, and that... that can't happen."

The smirk turned into a grin. "You never asked me whether I was a-."

"I never needed to!" Arcade groaned and sank into a nearby chair, putting his head in his hands. "I didn't care. I only needed to know the important stuff, like where you'd just been shot. And whether you meant to kill me. Your goddamned pronouns never mattered."

"Hey." The courier crouched down in front of him and pried his hands away from his face. "I didn't mean to cause you trouble. I'm sorry."

Arcade eyed them defiantly. "Then prove it."

A few days later, while Arcade was helping to administer vaccines around the fort, Beatrix flagged him down and turned up the little radio that kept her company on guard duty. Mr. New Vegas was airing an interview he'd conducted recently with the Mojave's most wanted, full of juicy gossip that had nothing to do with the Followers of the Apocalypse and was sure to keep the desert abuzz for days. Beatrix kept glancing over at Arcade, raising her eyebrows every now and then. When the radio cut to commercial, she turned it down again and cleared her throat. "I know a few ghouls who went that route. Cast their old names and looks off and made new ones for themselves. I've thought about it myself, once or twice."

Arcade smiled and straightened his lab coat out. "Maybe you and Six can compare notes, next time they visit. I need to get back to work."

Craig Boone: After his time with the First Recon, Boone was used to keeping his mouth shut about his movements, his missions, and his teammates. The courier had their reasons for keeping some things to themselves, and the sniper was more than happy to silently stare any inquirers down until they beat a hasty retreat.

The courier did notice his refusal to acknowledge these questions though, and eventually they asked him whether he was curious himself. "You'd think I could land a steady relationship, with how many people are interested in what I've got below my ammo belts," they joked as they made their way down Highway 95. "You're one of the unconcerned few."

"Not my business," Boone grunted. "You're you. End of story."

The courier sighed. "I wish everyone saw it that way. It's honestly a wonder that you do."

They walked on in silence for a bit. Boone thought it over. He'd served with men and women as a sniper, ranging in personality, expression, and preference. The NCR drew from every corner of its territory to recruit for military operations, and not everyone within that territory had the same ideas about what it meant to be feminine, masculine, or what-have-you. The one thing that had united them was their mission, and how that mission's importance trumped everything, everything else. He'd seen it in Manny and how it had smoothed out the edges of a Great Khan upbringing, he'd seen it in Sterling's unwillingness to give up on his years of service despite horrific injuries from the Legion, he'd seen it in Betsy and how it became the life raft she clung to after enduring the worst the Mojave's raiders had to offer.

And he'd seen it in himself. In the weight he'd placed on the things he'd done, the relationships he'd maintained even after leaving the NCR, the sacrifices he hadn't realized he'd made until it was too late. In the dreams that wouldn't leave him alone. The mission was an anchor dragging him and his fellow soldiers down, but it was also their saving grace. It had to be.

"Hey." The courier nudged him. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," Boone said, like he always did.

Lily Bowen: Lily always proudly answered the admirers' inquiries about her grandchild, switching between details about Jimmy and Becky depending on what they asked. The courier seemed amused by this, and their fans always went away with confused expressions, but Lily was still flattered that they were so fond of her grandchild that they would ask an old woman some questions. "You're getting so popular," she would tell the courier afterward. "You'll be on the cover of magazines, soon."

The courier usually smiled at this, but in a way that suggested they weren't so sure. "If anyone wrote an article about me, it would only make people angry," they said one day. "I'm not who they want me to be. I'm not some pin-up heartthrob on a billboard or a ranger with a jawline like Mount Charleston's ridges and a voice like Elvis. I'm just a courier who doesn't fit the usual definitions."

"Now, now," Lily chided. "Things are different from when Grandma was growing up. Different can be good. Different can be open doors, new names, fresh starts."

"Different can also be threatening," the courier pointed out. "Scary enough to stamp out. Just look at how the Legion and NCR talk about each other. Hell, how they talk about me. To the NCR, I'm too different to relate to, and possibly a spy because I change myself like someone who wants something or who's got something to hide. To the Legion, I'm an abomination as bad as ghouls and super mutants, unless I settle down into being a soldier or a slave."

"Not in front of Grandma, they don't talk like that," Lily grumbled protectively. "Or they'll have words with Leo."

"Leo can't save me from public opinion, Lily."

"You listen." Lily placed her large hands on the courier's shoulders. "Do you want to be what people want you to be? Or do you want to be yourself?"

"It's not that easy."

"Life is not easy."

The courier sighed and placed their hands over Lily's. "Myself. Of course."

Lily squeezed their shoulders affectionately before releasing them. "Then be yourself. Let them gossip. Grandma is in your corner."

Raul Alfonso Tejada: True to his introverted self, whenever the crowds came his way, Raul fled the scene. The courier could handle themselves, and he had never liked being the center of attention. Or at least not since the Great War.

The courier always found him later, whether he was in his suite at the Lucky 38 or some abandoned garage on the outskirts of Freeside, under a car that was never going to run again. They never asked him what he thought of it all, but they brought him Sunset Sarsaparilla and maize from a local food stand, let him prop his feet up while they told him the latest gossip from the Strip. Raul got the sense that they worried that one of these times, he would just disappear.

He wouldn't admit it to them, but he had thought about it. Aside from the constant scrutiny and badgering, the courier that had freed him from Black Mountain had brought him far closer to the black hole at the Mojave's center than he had ever wanted to go. If he went much further, he knew he wouldn't be leaving on his own terms.

But on one of these occasions after the courier had tracked him down again, Raul realized the error of his own distance. The courier was in the middle of a story about a robot they'd dug out of storage for the Atomic Wrangler when they stopped short. "Are you ashamed of me, Raul?" they asked.

Raul choked on his sarsaparilla. After a mild coughing fit, he croaked out, "What did I say to make you think that?"

"When people want to know why I dress how I want to, when I say I'm not a man or a woman, you run. You always run."

"Mi-" Raul stumbled, coughed again. He thumped his chest a bit, then shook his head. "Mije, I didn't mean- you always seemed- no estoy-"

"Mije," the courier repeated, their eyes filling with tears. "You can say it now, but not out there."

"I didn't think... that you wanted an old ghoul defending you," Raul managed. "Por Dios, you know how I am with crowds, Six. You've never needed me to back you up, you're always saying-"

The courier hit his chest with a thump, wrapping him in a hug. Their tears faded into the worn fabric of his mechanic's overalls. "I don't need you there all the time, viejo. Just some of the time. It... it would mean a lot, to me."

Raul gathered them in further and cradled their head. He cursed his misinterpretation and tried to convey through his embrace that he wasn't going anywhere. "A huevo, mije. Next time they bother you, I'll tell them to find something else in Vegas to stare at."

Rose of Sharon Cassidy: Cass, for her part, was more than happy to dish out even more outlandish stories than the ones that made it to the radio, and even happier to scold anyone who referred to the courier as "he" or "she." The courier caught her at the tail end of one such encounter in the Tops, flipping off the gaggle of Chairmen that had dared to ask whether "House's bird was free to fly this evening."

"Here's your fucking bird!" Cass yelled after them, drawing the attention of most of the craps tables.

"Easy, Cass," the courier said, waving off one of the dealers who looked particularly annoyed with the caravan driver's outburst. "I don't think House taught them many gender-neutral 1950s slang words."

"Then they can damn well make some up!"

That brought a laugh. "You make some up, and I'll teach it to them," the courier suggested. "God knows I'll need to spend some more time here if I want them to play nice with the rest of the Strip. They're still pretty sore about that whole situation with Benny. Get you a drink?"

Cass gladly accepted the offer, and once she had her whiskey in hand she took a generous swallow. "Probably was easier, when you were just a courier," she guessed. "Fewer people gave a shit what you wanted to go by."

"Definitely," the courier agreed, settling onto a bar stool. "They just took their packages, chucked some caps at me, and gave me an odd look if that came up at all. Good times."

They lifted their own drink and studied the contents. "Now, I'm not sure Vegas will ever stop talking about it. You'd think the rest of my accomplishments would overshadow my nonbinary-ness, but nope."

Cass smiled. "New Vegas will get used to it. They got used to House, they got used to the NCR, and you can be damn sure they'll get used to you. The Mojave just needs something new to talk about."

The courier raised their glass and clinked it against hers. "Then let's give them something."

Veronica Santangelo: After the cold shoulder of many of her Brotherhood peers, Veronica found the interest in her and the courier entertaining at first. It was fun to talk in circles about identity and presentation, to try to trip the rude ones up about the way they thought people "ought to dress" by pulling at her Scribe robes and daring them to pick the outfit apart. Eventually, though, the questioning got old, and Veronica and the courier would reminisce about the days when no one on the streets would give them a second glance.

"It's ten times worse for you," Veronica admitted, staring up at the ceiling from the Lucky 38 casino floor one day while the courier aimlessly pushed balls around a pool table. "They look at you, and suddenly you're a challenge to their entire being. All they see when they look at me is someone who needs a new wardrobe and a reality check about the Brotherhood of Steel."

"As if you haven't already had that, several times over," the courier remarked, sinking a ball into one of the corner pockets. "You're right, though. People who ask me about it often have this... venom hiding behind their words."

"Ugh." Veronica shook her head. "Gross. Imagine being so self-absorbed, you think the rest of the world should conform to you."

The two chuckled, and Veronica raised a hand to her mouth. "Whoops. Do you think House heard me?"

"God, I hope so."

"I wonder what his views on gender are."

"Archaic," the courier guessed. "Or completely absent. He probably thought that sort of thing was a waste of time."

"Shame." Veronica tucked her arms behind her head. "I suppose it's not important enough to open his life support pod and ask, either."

"Nah, not really."

ED-E: The courier's eyebot was used to being overlooked - just another bot following pre-programmed routines - but lately, it had been an occasional target for those trying to get a closer look at the Mojave's latest celebrity. It had been fed no less than four holotapes that were meant to install surveillance tech, and one enterprising young man had tried to download the eyebot's data logs using ancient RobCo credentials from one of the Lucky 38's destroyed securitrons. ED-E was more than happy to give would-be hackers a zap from its lowest laser setting and its security protocols were advanced enough to stop the rest, but the little bot's threatened safety in public concerned the courier to no end.

"All this over basically nothing," they complained as they added a few homemade security measures to the eyebot's chassis. "I'm not hiding anything about myself, not really. Everyone who matters has put two and two together, but noooo, let's keep badgering Six's bot in case it's got all their secrets on file. What, do they think I uploaded my birth certificate to you?"

ED-E beeped its agreement, then shivered a little as they closed up its paneling. It shook itself thoroughly and rose into the air, then activated the brand-new shock system that was meant to deter wandering hands.

"There," the courier pronounced, satisfied. "We'll just have to test it out with someone who's willing to get about 4,000 volts to the fingers. Think Cass is up for it?"

Rex: If the questioners started getting a little too close, a little too demanding, Rex's hackles went up and he would wedge himself between the courier and the offending parties. If that wasn't enough, a growl and a snap or two of the jaws usually chased them off.

"I can take care of myself," the courier scolded the cyberdog half-heartedly, scratching Rex behind the ears. "I can pick the dangerous ones out, too. I've made it this far."

Rex licked their hands reassuringly all the same. He didn't know what all the fuss was about, but he did know that as long as his companion was safe, he was happy.

I think what I mean to say is that, while I'm not necessarily immune to it, I generally have little interest in Astérix things that treat it like a franchise or general pop culture icon rather than literature. I don't think I'd consider Astérix literature - not even because of the can-comics-be-literature debate but rather just because it relies so heavily on its visuals for the humorous delivery that it cannot be divorced from its status as visual art. However, just because it's popular doesn't mean it has to be treated like you'd treat Mario, like Spiderman, like Dragon Ball. Where much of the appreciation as a fan is about owning the action figures or shirts or any spin off in which they happen to appear; themes becoming irrelevant.

Astérix is already unique in that in lieu of being a face to which anything can be attached, the core of his identity is tied to three things: the apolitical yet satirical faire-rire, the homely simplicity of his life and its pleasures, and successful resistance to unnecessary change, adversity and oppression, despite looking tiny and unimposing - all the while taking pride in the very things for which you are persecuted.

To say nothing of how Astérix can be seen as a critique of the post WWII modernisation France faced to the detriment of the more basic and human underbelly of its culture, this means that general franchise shenanigans such as merchandise and games and theme parks which otherwise have nothing to say lose their inherent Astérix-ness by default. The entire reason Astérix is so popular and so brilliant is gone, and as such, the reason anyone should want to buy it is also gone. You could reply that even if all of this were true it is still enjoyable to appreciate the world of Astérix purely for affinity's sake, but to that I say : what world? Besides some very basic plot points which stay somewhat consistent, everything within Astérix is malleable to keep the pacing convenient and to align it with whatever's funny. Details that might render Astérix more grounded and unchanging are disregarded the moment it is more productive for them to be different. Those fandom-type discussions are wholly unproductive for Astérix because you will never get anywhere; those things were never the point. And that's probably why it doesn't have a fandom (again it's literally just me with an active dedicated Astérix account because I'm weird).

It's easy to not realise this because so many people grew up with Astérix, and hence don't necessarily appreciate it for its brilliance but rather just because it's What Was There in their childhood. Most pop culture is somewhat like that. But Astérix isn't selling a combined 200 million just because kids have it read to them at bedtime; it is genuinely stunning as a series. It's why parents speak fondly of it rather than "that stupid book you always read". Sure, other pop culture icons have their genuine merits, but I think you can get away with ignoring this the majority of the time. Like, Pikachu doesn't suddenly lose what makes him so iconic because you're wearing him on a t shirt as opposed to rewatching the scenes where he refused to get in the Pokéball. When you really get down to it, it's because he's cute and everyone knows who he is. Contrarily, what even is Astérix stripped of the series' context and humour? What reason does anyone have to appreciate him divorced of what made him rise to worldwide success in the first place?

This might appear like a You Need A Very High IQ To Understand Astérix sort of argument but I don't mean that. It is true that, in my humble opinion, Astérix is special and has more depth than most pop culture icons; but even assuming I did not believe that, I think it's just a matter of recognising the series has a very particular tone that cannot be translated into mass production.

YOU DIDNT ASK so im sorry in advance (especially because i wont be explaining this well) But. ill be so honest i dont think the t-shirt kon is bad in a vacuum like it could be cute 😭 i do think its genuinely kinda fun when the characters wear their own little merch. the t-shirt outfit is even kind of funny because hes literally just wearing a t-shirt and jeans 😭 i love kon no matter what!!

but in the context of the transition from young justice (the comic) and the gang "graduating" into the teen titans (vol.3) i feel like it was a regression for him. idk i read into kon and transness+being lgbt too much so ive seen interpretations of it being his internalized homo/transphobia because its also a time where he has a secret identity for the first time in small-town america... and i do enjoy that, but it was Not intended by the writes (especially considering who was writing him in the mid-late 2000s)

kon's character to start off is really about identity and the reclamation of it when he was intended to be a Thing, and how he struggled under the weight of acting like he thinks he should/expectations placed on him (especially because he did not have an alternate identity or a name at first, he was just superboy. THEN kon el and conner kent) and how he expresses himself by replacing a tag cadmus put on him with a gold earring and generally dressing in a flashy and flamboyant and alternative way

so then when we transition to the teen titans kon, they sort of......strip him of that expression of personality. hes put in a t-shirt and jeans. they take away his earring. hes put in a relationship w/ cassie sandsmark (who btw. is very wlw coded to match him in the YJ comic, and both of their designs suffered what we call the cishetifcation) that is ultimately so bad for their characters (meanwhile kon is written into the most gay coded friendship w/ tim drake for like. a decade.)

and the young justice cartoon is an adaptation that was attempting to take the teen titans run from the 80s i believe? and young justice 98-2003, AND the 00's teen titans run. (decades of story to work with and way too many characters and groups, leads the cartoon to, in my opinion, suffer from a too many cooks situation)

and it does not handle kons character very well at all either </3 AND they used the t-shirt design while sticking him in a very unhealthy relationship w/ a character hes never really interacted w/ much in the comics. so umm. TL;DR very mixed feelings on t-shirt conner

i do recommend reading young justice though <3 (AND IM GLAD YOU LIKE MY DESIGN !! tysm <333 the curly hair is a must <3) sorry for the essay i just wanted to expand on why i put the t-shirt boy in the "sigh" categories 😭

ah, when i said i liked t-shirt conner, i didn’t mean the outfit, i was specifically referring to the young justice cartoon’s characterization ^^; i do acknowledge that it was a mixed bag that was forced to cherrypick years of history as an adaptation, and i get why conner fans don’t see him as Their Conner, but i’m gonna be so real with you. i liked him a lot in the cartoon 😭 as a standalone show, the first season does a rly good job of letting you understand his struggles and thought process, there were a lot of moments that endeared me to his angst while also letting him still feel like a kid. but i think i’m also biased towards characters that default to anger as a trauma response (completely unrelated to recent events believe it or not! wacky coincidence tho! foreshadowing even…?)

conner and m’gann’s relationship was def not the most interesting to me, but it’s also not the worst one. i have other biases against. other couples. but i’m curious to see how it develops bc unhealthy or not, i wanna see how it affects the characters, ykwim? like i’m not in it for the shipping, even if we All know there’s a better conner ship U__U

idk i just feel worn out by comics cynicism bc while i get it (i’m a hal fan, by god do i get it), i also don’t want to treat anything in dc too sacred. it’s more fun for me personally to view new iterations/adaptations as puzzles to work out rather than view them as character assassinations if even that. there are some truly unsalvageable things out there, but i generally think there’s smth good to gain in everything. and the young justice cartoon gave me a t-shirt conner to gain in my heart, so i can’t fault his character change too much as drastic as it is

all of this to say tho: the alt look is obviously superior. NOTHING beats a cropped jacket <3

I know the answers here probably won’t be as deep as they where with the ask about the little brothers au but how would our Stepford Oblivion wives react to their clothing if they could theoretically be completely snapped out of it at some point?

So funnily enough, this is a question that had a canonical answer to it, at least for some of these wives. Because both Red Son and Huntsman did wake up, at different points. (And Shuyin went into this wide awake so she is happy to be dressed up however will make her ‘Lady’ happiest)

So when Red Son woke up, if we’re focusing solely on physical changes and not the whole, ‘oh shit I’ve been brainwashed and was forced to brainwashes someone else to keep my brainwashing intact’, then Red Son was actually mostly freaked out about his hair more than his clothes at first. Red’s hair in these AU’s is long. At first because Xiaotian didn’t think to cut it, and then because he liked being able to drag Red around by it, and then as a Wife because it was soft and pretty and both Red and Xiaotian enjoy it when Xiaotian brushes it out. But it was a big change and an indicator of how much time had passed, which got to Red.

Outfit-wise, Red is kept in slightly more traditional things, so that freak-out took a back seat to other things (freaking out about brainwashing, confronting Porty2.0 about said brainwashing)  but honestly wasn’t that bad. Red lived through the ear when ‘trousers’ were exclusively for those who rode horses, and, well...

Xiaotian liked him looking like this. Looking soft and lovely.

And by that point, even if there was brainwashing involved, Red did love Xiaotian.

(Which is what, coupled with his addiction and painful withdrawal symptoms, ultimately led to him asking to be put back down and turned back into ‘Wife’)

Now Huntsman? Huntsman BURNS the stuff he was put into. He hates it. It’s impractical and constricting and hard to move in, it’s overly cutesy and ridiculous looking, and it wasn’t even something Sandy liked. When he gets ‘rescued’ but is still technically brainwashed, he refuses to put on any of his old clothes, but ripping the dress off is one of the first things he does when he finally goes lucid (Right after he finishes flipping out about SQ re-dosing Syntax with more venom and wiping his memories)

For him the outfit is nothing but a sign of oppression, of how the psychotic child with the god complex reached into his head and tried to smother everything that was him and put a painted doll in its place.

Although interestingly, while he was able to fix his clothes, he still has panic attacks over trying to cut his hair, which ‘Shifu’ Red was forcing him to grow out to ‘fit the mold’ of what a Good Wife should look like.

Syntax waking up I think could be interesting. If it’s the Bad End where he’s constantly being hurt, the first thing he would be doing is scrambling to get the corset undone so he could breathe and not be in pain from his implants, but after that it would probably be a systematic shredding of the victorian gown he was in (possibly with said implants/mech-limbs if the pain isn’t to much or maybe in spite of it. He does end up with a terrifying pain tolerance in this ending just for the satisfaction of destroying the thing used to hide him with what they were trying to hide)

If it’s the Red Awakens ending, and things are softer for him, he’s still going to want to get out of that thing, but he’ll probably wait until he has something else to put on first, instead of wandering around in bloomers and nothing else like in the Bad End.

In the Bad End the outfit is designed as a constant punishment so getting out and destroying it is symbolic of breaking free and never deserving it a little bit, but in the Red Awakens end it’s more about keeping him sedentary and then matching with Huntsman. It’s still a symbol of oppression and having his identity stripped away, but there’s less of a visceral violent reaction.

Spindrax, if we’re counting her, could be interesting as well. In the Bad End she gets CyberPunked, which she would probably wake up with mixed feelings to. It’s not that much different than the things she normally wears (if more floofy and with lots of neon green) but it’s not... not bad. But also the being brainwashed ruins it, but since it’s similar to her actual stuff, she probably has a hard time with her normal clothes for a while, and either has to change her actual wardrobe up, or deal with a lot of triggers to try and fight through to claim her own style back.

(In any sort of potential Red Awakens Spindrax, if her outfit gets changed to that sort of gauzy dancer gear when she becomes a decorative pet, it’s only because she’s so broken that breaking her more isn’t possible and so Xiaojiao got bored of trying, and at that point, I’m not sure Spindrax could ‘wake up'. I’m not sure there’d be anything left to wake up)

Jacob Banks - Lies About the War

(Neo-Soul, Contemporary R&B, Singer/Songwriter)

A major label unable to contain his heart and ambitions, Jacob Banks' sophomore album and departure from Interscope establishes him as one of the strongest, most beautiful players in modern R&B and soul. With a singer-songwriter's intimacy and storytelling skills, Lies About the War's fusion of gospel, electronica, and folk into introspective neo-soul jams is nothing short of remarkable.

☆☆☆☆½

Jacob Banks has never been interested in pure commercial growth, and his step away from Interscope cements that. Though his 2018 debut Village came out polished, cleanly-produced, and full of color, it felt like his ambitions were stifled by the fact that his music had to fit as least somewhat within the boundaries of major label R&B - bombastic beats, dramatic vocal performances, huge choruses - even its quietest moments like Unknown (To You) barely had any space to breathe. And so, he left the world of major label music, bookending his time on Interscope with a lovely eight-song EP and starting his own label Nobody Records, exploring areas he couldn't until now ("...I felt like I was occupying a space that could go to someone who actually really wanted to be on the radio..."), the resulting album his best yet and a prime example of what leaning into your artistic inclinations and stripping your music down to emphasize them can do. Lies About the War doesn't always move at a consistent pace, and there's not much in the way of Village's cinematic gravitas, but what it has above anything else is killer songwriting and some of the most emotive and heartbreaking vocal performances this year. Lies About the War is a short, magnificent maturation for Banks as an artist, his willingness to dive into something new and unfamiliar the growth bed for songs that are as heartfelt as they are refreshing. R&B might not be a traditional U.K. sound, but Banks embraces that disconnect by bringing his own spin on the American folk and gospel music that shaped the genre decades back. Compared to the heavy production flourishes and noisy beats all over Village, Lies About the War is much more careful and precise with how it uses those bigger elements in the music. There's still electronic touches here and there - the rushing synth pads creating tons of tension and euphoric release in Just When I Thought, the massive orchestration that skyrockets the second half of Aim for My Head to heaven - but they're brought on in the context of neo-soul balladry, less the focus of the production as they were on his debut and rather dashes of digital grit and motion atop a largely organic landscape. Oftentimes, Lies About the War's beauty lies in the way Banks utilizes live instrumentation and delicate arrangements to give more presence to his voice and lend the album an extra layer of intimacy, By Design [Evel Knievel]'s R&B waltz driven by watery piano chords and glossy gospel organs that swell and contract as he carves out the song's peaks and valleys across its four minutes, and when he embraces plain acoustic balladry on the back half of the record from centerpiece Our Song to finale Here Lies the Man That Never Changed, the joy of listening is those finishing touches unique to each of the songs - the warped synth boiling under Our Song's acoustic guitars, Parachute's rich vocal harmonies in the chorus, the sunny nostalgia of Coolin bolstered by vocal support from Nigerian singer Adekunle Gold and London's Samm Henshaw - Banks might be playing it relatively straight throughout most of Lies About the War, but every song is given such a distinct identity with their own memorable moments, the album never losing its magic even when he's at his most reserved. And with all those musical changes comes a shift in his songwriting, too, less focused on social commentary (despite the album's title, somewhat ironically) as Banks retreats into himself, drawing short but vivid vignettes of intense emotional shifts in his life and the ways in which they've changed him over time. Even when he brings the outside world in on occasion, such as with the opening lines of Just When I Thought, they're never without context, Banks' inquiry of "do you believe in faith or science" preceded by him desperately trying to find any connection in a relationship that seems to have already crumbled at his feet - "I still wanna call it love / But I guess this is what we've become," he sighs in the pre-chorus. Other times, his stories are so naked and vulnerable that his velvety baritone voice stabs right into the center of your heart, Aim for My Head's simple lyrical knot of "But don't make me lose you / And find you off the ledge / Oh, don't make me lose you / And find you in someone else" that much more gut-wrenching when he's shifting in and out of that sensitive, quiet falsetto, and the baseline imagery he puts to use throughout Parachute sticks in your mind so well because he has the sorrow and passion behind it to make a metaphor so direct work so well. This kind of storytelling and ability to relay his emotions without having to add unnecessary amounts of detail has only come about because of his intentional move away from the major-label focus of radio hits and huge commercial success, Banks' commitment to storytelling and a genuine connection to his art paying off completely with an album that will only continue to get better with time. Songs as elegant as Won't Turn Back or as plainly lovely as Our Song could have come out decades ago and still be some of the most radiant songs I've heard in a good while - an accomplishment like that is worth more than anything else. Banks knew what he was doing when he stepped away from Interscope, and it's clear from Lies About the War's rounded and fully-realized vision that it was without question the right thing for him to do. Never before has his music been so soul-baring, so thoughtfully written, so emotionally resonant, and the tiny edges he carves into the sides of his songs don't sacrifice any of their beauty and humanity, his narratives placed at the forefront and the music doing everything it can to support that effort. With one of the most gorgeous voices out there and the diligence to see his visions through to the end, Lies About the War a powerful yet gentle reminder of the ways we carry ourselves through the world and what happens when we start to lose the things we hold dearest. Unhurried in his pursuit of healing and holding on tight to the reins of his music, Lies About the War Jacob Banks at his most personable and compassionate, an album that's absolutely impossible to not fall in love with and a monumental turning point for one of the most engrossing artists in contemporary soul. If this is just where his independent career is beginning, there's nowhere for him to go but up.

Fantasy in Rumination

It is easy for you to lose track of time.

Middle-management had never been your calling, and you weren't sure just whose it was exactly. When they had asked you "where do you see yourself in five years?" It had never been behind a desk, staring listlessly at the same spreadsheet as you had the day before.

You never really stopped to question what was being done with the reports. The rates of hundreds of workers beneath you, their usefulness as resources collected through arbitrary numbers. All of it to be read by people you'll never met and corralated in a system that was beyond you.

There was a hunger in you once, you think, one that had howled and gnashed desperately at any opportunity to be. You ate the first meal presented to you eagerly, oblivious to the hand that had given you it.

The blinking cursor waits for you silently. The empty white space beyond it daunting to look at. All that space waiting to be used with only your useless hand hanging lame across the keyboard.

You lean your head back in your chair, looking away from the monitor and its wants, as the world strips away. It's a slow rending, strips peeled down to reveal what is and what is beneath.

Daydreams were not the recognized domain of a god.

They existed in a perpetual nebulous space. Frenetic and ephemeral. only existing between concious actions, a sort of waiting line that anyone could step into but never see the end of.

The destination at the end of that line was formless, without story or myth to give it an identity, to be regulated and shaped to fit within the legal framework of the divine.

You worship despite this. In these small moments where work should be done. Your eyes focus onto the sterile nothing of the ceiling ahead of you as a means to view the blurry images of a life that wasn't yours.

His face is a little easier to recognize here. You made him out of the pieces of those who had caught your eyes before. Those you remembered as the could-have-talked-to and should-have-smiled-at.

Handsome and pale, he stalks forward without weight. He smiles and you can only barely retain the sight, like staring at the sun when you know you shouldn't. Only the impression behind your eyelids stays.

He speaks noiseless words that lose any sense, barely audible in your head, but every one is something you always wanted to hear. The adoration from another, unashamed and without end.

Thin hands hold themselves in yours, soft palms that are willing to join yours. You tighten your hold on the armrest of your chair, it is real and grounded, but you know it could be his touch squeezing back just as easily.

Your heart beats loudly against your chest and this is the reverence the destination requires of you. It melts across the inaccuracies and cracks in your fantasy like molasses, saccherine sweet filling to indulge in without regard to reality.

He and you can be anywhere and anything together. You meet him at his favorite quiet spot, it would be a bookstore or library, somewhere where you can share your interests more easily.

A shared smile between the two of you when you realize that you just have so much in common. You can breathe so easy around him and speak relentlessly without fear.

He is amazing already. He would have to be. You would be too here, where such a thing was possible. You can feel the giddiness that comes when you can impress him and be something shiny in his eyes.

He'll whisper your name with the same tenderness that you have for him. The longing that grips your very being will no longer be.

Value. The destination that all eventually try to come to.

If you simply had that in your actions, you know that this would no longer simply be a reverie. You know how pathetic you are when this is all you can attain in your placid state. Another foolish dreamer feeding the concept of a god.

You look back down to your monitor, the images built up across your mind tumbling down as you begin typing. A few minutes eaten away from the task at hand.

Fingers crash down against cold plastic rather than the warmth that could easily be upon them.

The last thing that leaves your mind is his eyes, waiting at the head of the line. The invitation to step within it again.

Deliver Me From Nowhere: The Making of Bruce Springsteen's Nebraska by Warren Zanes

Patty Griffin, who covered The River's "Stolen Car" on her 1000 Kisses album, was struck by the violence that runs through the songs:

I think when I was in my thirties and digging into Nebraska, I was really just in awe of the storytelling. I wasn't listening for a big picture. It hit me over the head more recently, though, pulling it out and really listening to it again. It's just violence, violence, violence all through it. Different kinds of violences. About half of Nebraska's songs are about people reacting to this thing that's destroying them by trying to destroy something else. It's a rare, rare thing to come across a record like that, any kind of work like that. And it's so well done. He paints his masterpiece of America as a brand and what it does to people. To me, Nebraska is an album-length description of how America has struggled to find its soul, has never had much of an identity beyond the brand that's been sold over and over again to people living here. But lives are lived behind the brand, and Springsteen is unearthing them, exposing them to the light. (pp. 137-38)

***

"My big mistake," [Springsteen] insisted, "was leaving the Nebraska version of 'Born in the U.S.A.' off of Nebraska. I should have put it on there. I could have easily had it on both records. It would have made complete sense, and it would have been a fine part of the Nebraska record. It fit perfectly" (p. 184)

***

WZ: In Homer's Odyssey, the hero recovers his place as a husband and father, finds his home, but only by reentering that home, after twenty years away, disguised as a beggar, anonymous, stripped of his former glories [pause].

SPRINGSTEEN: Go on.

WZ: After war, misadventure, temptation, struggles of ego and lust, various trials, Odysseus returns to Ithaca, his true home, but the place is filled with suitors, men who want his wife's hand and control of his household. He can't simply announce himself; he's far outnumbered and would be slaughtered. So he returns disguised as a beggar. Meaning, Odysseus can only recover his position by first being nobody, Nobody, which he failed to do at the outset of his journey in a fit of hubris after escaping the Cyclops. So Odysseus learns from that earlier display of hubris and allows the suitors to treat him as nothing, a beggar in his own home, as an almost invisible man. But his power comes from exactly this, the relinquishing. From that position, he kills off the suitors who have taken his home. The point being that the only way to restore his place as man and hero was to first be nobody.

SPRINGSTEEN: Incredible.

WZ: I can't help but look at Nebraska, leading into Born in the U.S.A., as part of an artistic trajectory that somehow aligns with this. Nebraska sets it all aside, all the glory and achievement, the studio gloss, the big sounds, the band, the picture of a hero on the front cover, the interviews in which you tell the tales of your travels. It's all set aside. The recordings are loose, muddy at times, unfinished. And then you return, with Born in the U.S.A., with all the heroic trappings. But, like Odysseus, to get to the one, the heroic, you first have to give all that up. That's Nebraska. For me, the entire scope of your career, everything, fits between these two projects.

SPRINGSTEEN: It does. To this day. My perimeters were set in that moment.

WZ: In your book you actually use the word "odyssey," saying that between those two recordings was the beginning of your personal odyssey.

SPRINGSTEEN: I know that with Nebraska I was interested in making myself as invisible as possible. I just wanted to be another ghost. On that particular record. It spoke to some need in me. Some roaring need. That might have been a result of having had the kind of success that I had. But I needed to know that I could go back and be nobody. If I really needed to. It was an interesting moment. And, yes, then Born in the U.S.A. became possible. (pp. 267-69)

Gender Bender

10/14/2023

merits:

writing: Well, I've gotta say. This one is pretty much a flop. There was an idea there, and it could have been good, but it didn't go anywhere. There's faux-Amish people, and they can produce pheromones, and regenerate their bodies and change sex, and they're aliens. Why are aliens religious? Is it just a front? I think the disappearing act is a huge cop-out. It would have been far more interesting to explore real human beings, in a type of society that tends to be very strict on gender roles, playing around with biological essentialism. Like, yeah you have this ability. But for what purpose? Is it, like the English world, forbidden, fancy? Useless and frivolous? Is it something given by God? Having Marty leave the community could have been connected to something like rumspringa, where he's given the chance to experience the world and choose how to use his ability.

There's also the treatment of non-consensual sex in this episode, which is to say...it's barely acknowledged. The Kindred's "ability" acts more like a rape drug: we see it work on Scully. She's almost paralyzed, though she does manage to say "no" as Brother Andrew forces himself on her. Other victims are shown to be disinterested until Marty uses his ability on them. At the very least, that's coercion. And does anyone in the episode talk about this? No. Scully says she feels embarrassed, as if it were her fault. Mulder asks her "what the hell she was doing" (though I attribute this more to his fear manifesting itself in anger, not necessarily at her). Nicholas Lea's character (hello, not-Krycek) is more worried about people knowing he almost had sex with a man or a transgender woman (however you choose to interpret Marty's identity).

In the end, nothing is really resolved, and no one is really the better for taking this case. While the episode is aesthetically very pleasing, the writing gets a generous 3 from me.

characterization/development: I don't think there's much to say about this episode. I kind of feel like Scully was the one who was put in the Brother Andrew situation because we're used to seeing women that way. If a Kindred woman tried to take advantage of Mulder and Scully had to save him, would that have been more interesting? Yes. But I don't imagine the writers were thinking that deeply about this one. So she takes the damsel role, breathless and young and feminine, Mulder all but scooping her up in his arms. I can't believe this one follows right on the heels of Beyond the Sea. 2.

emotion: It's tense, yes. Partly because you're waiting for someone to say something really bigoted the whole time. I wouldn't say there's anything overt, but Chris Carter sure would get ~cancelled~ if it aired today. Anyway, I felt horrible for Scully, who reached out to a withdrawn young man and got assaulted for her trouble. Everything else just felt glossy and shallow. 3.

antagonist/monster: See above. Sex-changing Amish aliens? There was too much happening. Brother Andrew was definitely creepy, and the two actors who played Marty did really well, but god what a mess. 3.

on set: Okay, here's where it finally starts to get good. This episode looks dope as hell. There's a gorgeous contrast between the club scene/city, with its bright, neon lights and concrete, and then the sprawling fields and forests under the overcast sky or in the lamplight. They could have really said something with this. They didn't.

There's certainly...sexual imagery to be had, though. The space under the barn is womb-like, yonic depressions and phallic protrusions. The substance the Kindred smear over the dying man looks like...well, cum.

Anyway. Backlit trees at night always get me, and there were plenty of those. David and Gillian looked great in this lighting. There were some beautiful closeups of Gillian in the alley, and one gorgeous wide shot with mist swirling around her. Love the orange strip of light illuminating their eyes through the barn as they spy on the Kindred as well. Really can't complain about the visuals, here. The nonsensical ending note with the crop circle is even lovely. 10.

music: Another thing I thought was actually really well done in this episode was the music. The song playing in the club in the opening sequence really caught me, and turns out it's a track by Mark Snow from a movie released the previous year called "In the Line of Duty: Street War." Love the industrial sound of it. Besides that, there are a lot of lovely ominous, brooding elements at play in the score: a repetitive two-note motif in a brass instrument of some kind, accompanied by bells, piano, wind instruments, or strings (maybe a harp?). At times the music is aimless, other times almost whimsical but with a note of foreboding. 10.

demerits:

boringness: Well, for all it's faults, it's not boring.

ccwfl (chris carter wankfest level): Alright. So Scully nearly gets raped, she never sees the "aliens", and there's a questionable analogy. It's not the worst he's pulled, but it ain't great. 5.

bonus points:

Extra point for the lovely nonverbal communication between Mulder and Scully as they go into the Hotel Catherine toward the end. You can see that they have a flow between them.

Bonus for a Mulder slideshow.

totals:

merits total: 31

demerits total: 5

bonus points: 2

episode total: 33/60

favorites:

"Need anything from the feed store?" Mulder asks in a stupid country accent, right before Scully has a little horse girl moment with Brother Andrew.

The town exterior filming location was also used for Storybrook main street in Once Upon a Time. I'd recognize that clock tower anywhere.

Mulder, exasperated, crumples the map, kicks it into the air and Scully catches it right on cue. They're adorable.

"We pray for the day of the coming, for the moment of our release." Okay then. Real subtle sexual metaphors here.

Almost gave this one a bonus point for being yet another episode about immortality, but I couldn't bring myself to.

"Maybe it's the sex that kills." [CELIBACY!!! .gif]