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incarnateirony · 4 years

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S15 Remaster: Grace, Souls, Conversion; Effects of the Fall; The Journey of Man; Self-Godhood and Free Will.

Alright, so over in another thread (x) @curioussubjects evoked an interesting take about the effects of the fall vs grace/souls and the meaning of the two, and I remembered having an old post that was a bit of a mess from early S13 where I applied Qabbalistic concepts to SPN not long before the actual... Qabbalistic and Hermetic elements started manifesting (The Shadow, the Empty/Ain Soph, etc) and before I pretty much started flipping theological shit.

The other thread was already becoming titanic with a hodge podge of other philosophical musings between users (I think @winchestersingerautorepair and @thecoffeebrain-blog are still pending to add their additions to it once life clears them), so we sort of mutually agreed to save this discourse for another thread while I took some time to remaster and update the old talking points.

It's a fundamental point that is generally vaguely brushed over, or often has modern concepts plugged into it in streamlined media form rather than exploration: What makes a soul, what makes existence, what makes meaning in our lives.

This, in fact, is the fundamental question and exploration *of* the soul, which Dabb's SPN seems to be tackling fairly directly.

So let's explore the differences and transitional conversions of grace and soul as we've witnessed in SPN. I'll be starting with my take, but of course, as all philosophical discussions go, this is best a conversation of shared concepts.

Also uh, this post was kinda on-request but is literally ridonculously long. Fuck Andrew Dabb for being the only person on the face of the goddamn planet that can make me write infinite words about esoteric philosophy about a TV show.

So this conversation gets a bit difficult to even know where to begin. I'm going to notch a few notes for everybody to keep in mind: Season 6: Death can not destroy souls. Souls are the most powerful known force in the universe, and he who has the most Is Become God. Season 13: Only god can create new angels, they are the biological definition of an asexually reproductive species (as opposed to sexual orientation identity) -- they are unable to create among themselves, and must be created by a supreme force in command of the grace that creates them. This will passively brush over the oft-discussed topic of angel sexuality as well, but that is far from the core point. Season 14: God calls souls "complicated" to handwave away making new ones. Season 15: Yet again, Belphegor tried to consume souls to become a great power, reflecting S6/7 Castiel's arc.

Now that I've sort of dropped those as a lead-in of applicable concepts, I'd like to move forward.

Now as per my S13 listing, we've all seen this fandom turn over and try to apply human sexuality and identity labels to angels over and over again and, while I understand that and mean no offense to that in general, I feel like approaching it from that angle of the human perspective and lens makes a great deal of the substantiative qualities of SPN's discussion of the human soul vanish into the aether. How are these things related? Let's talk!

Sex isn’t the only part of this discussion. As they are wavelength lifeforms, rather than biological, they aren’t really dependent on biological functions. Many of their native elements pass to their vessels: They don’t eat, sleep, or have general body functions… normally.

Their senses are all sorts of different, too. They see in the astral, they taste and smell in molecular compounds, and especially early-vessel-claiming, they seem to have next to no actual pain response. It’s like, well, some giant wave form stuffed in a meat sack they use like a marionette more than having genuine attachment to. Early on angels could waltz through gunfire without flinching and take a knife to the chest with a very bland look of, “Really?”

When it comes to discussing angels and grace, I'm going to pull some sections from the linked post at the start of this:

We know the biblical concept that all things are made by grace; we know Chuck controls his fake construct, but not the free will of the human soul. Consider Gabriel’s constructed worlds where he can manipulate the fake people inside it and snap them away in veils of blue, they’re just pieces of a machine. “I’m the cage.” The human body is part of the sandbox, but the soul is something beyond it.

If angels are living aspects of grace, wavelengths of celestial intent for Chuck’s machinations, the programs that keep the matrix in order – and fallen angels are the rogue programs – they’re still relatively connected to being just… an animated, if intelligent rock or any other piece of the universe. To use more Matrix terms: Just more lines of code. But Castiel’s break in that was contact with his profound bond with Dean that left a mark on him, a brand, just like Balthazar’s soul claims. This tie was powerful enough to be stronger than even Amara’s connection to Dean, for example.

The human soul is the essence of the one true good, realistically – The One Thing that exists, truly, by which all other things come, the Prima Materia – “What Jack did wasn’t evil, it was the absence of good.” – this is actually a hermetic concept but that’s a whole other bag of words, that’s how I quoted that line before the episode aired from the title alone but MOVING ON

If we look at Eileen for example, her ghost is still deaf. Her body/cage/vessel in life never introduced her consciousness, her humanity, to the tactile sense of sound as it exists within Chuck’s sandbox, ergo her spirit doesn’t know it. But it is the soul, like the sleeper, seeking the meaning of its existence and where it is home that commands the body, and leaves the body, and ends up in chuck’s other matrixes of control like heaven and hell that keep people distracted, keep humans from returning to the primordial man that rivals or maybe even betters God.

That all said, human Cas for example suddenly had the full awareness of experience, rather than an autonomous sentient part of the universe chained to divine intent, free or not; that freedom and liberty came by way of the human soul. (Per metatron, Season 8 finale, “When you die and your soul comes to heaven,”) But with his tie to Dean, and humanity, and a soul his hands laid on, the extraction of his grace also left… but what? A soul born of Dean, really.

Whenever his grace came back, that universal power and awareness, he lost those senses, but he didn’t lose many of the attributes that came with. In fact he pined for them.

Also if we go Jungian with the inky man/shadow as the primordial man or spirit of man, Anthropos, while it didn’t reflect Lucifer, Billie, or soulless Jack it reflected Castiel.

I’ve held the theory that Castiel still has a soul like the nucleus of an egg buried beneath a titanic presence of universal power.

I’d also further endorse this by pointing out while metatron cited Cas having a soul in the S8 finale, when Jack lost his, neither Dean nor Cas thought Cas could empathize as well as Sam could.

In example, Castiel is the only one the Shadow reflected, not Billie, not Soulless Jack, not Lucifer, just Castiel; I’ve even gone so far as to speculate that the smiley attempt at communication was the sort of subconscious borg having the essence of Jack’s soul trying to communicate with his spirit/mind otherwise alert based on consumed grace in the Empty. Speculation, yes, but… potentially loudly resonant.

The journey of man to self-godhood is a complex and tangled affair, traveling through facets of the self represented by a wide array of *ideas* we have begun to face in the show (including color schemes Dabb has actively employed)

If you venture into my shorthand visual post about The Shadow, Anima, Animus, and the Self (x) you'll find how the show has chosen to address this. Similarly, the masculine and feminine paths of universal progenation would be worth a cursory read (x).

Similarly, @winchestersingerautorepair recently sent me a chart from a 1973 book titled "The Colors of Love" discussing Hellenistic use of color in association (which, minding alchemy's growth path through time, is hugely relevant). As Maeve said, "John Allen Lee is the mvp by the way. Hes at the crossroads of psychology and LGBT concepts of love and sexuality, and has a fascinating career and life story."

Before I fully locked on to just how loud Dabb was being in his use of alchemy rather than casually tapping on it, you may remember a series of color metas I built specifically on these very colors (and, let's face it, black light doesn't exist, but blue does, and has similar psychological associations). Click this (x) to go to my color metas on tumblr regarding Optimism, which follows this path. Unfortunately my Nihilism one is either untagged or I only posted it on Pillowfort. But you’ll take note I just sort of avoided/dodged/ignored established fanon color meta in favor of other stuff, just a heads up there if you’re expecting me to follow anyone else’s pre-existing fanon -- it ain’t there.

This is all an aside to the actual question of *souls*, but an important framework to how Dabb is choosing to explore the journey of the soul through its many aspects of Being.

To defer back to what I quoted from my other post about Gabriel's universes: What makes humanity different from the moving bodies performing functions of controlled story, rather than guided elements, inside Gabriel's world? If we were to, say, drift into Doctor Sexyverse, or Cop Proceduralverse, nobody seemed to flinch or even be aware of Sam and Dean breaking the script, they continued on their own paths until Sam and Dean "played their parts". But what made Sam and Dean *different* from them?

Explaining freedom to angels is "a bit like teaching poetry to a fish," said Castiel, now bound to humanity since laying his hands on the human soul in hell that, even the S8 DVD commentary mentions, is how he has come to know, love and, as they say, be "enamored with" humanity. We have seen it now-- blank stares of confusion from breaking their course of action, their function. Their predesigned purpose that they were wavelengths of intent for within the machine. They aren't all so different from Gabriel's creations in the end, with Doctor Sexy's Nurses being not too unlike angels to Chuck. They are there for a path and a reason, and should they be somehow interrupted from that function, they seem to lose all purpose.

To convert this to another method of understanding than "matrix code", in case that isn't sinking in with anyone, think of angels as forces of nature. The hurricane means no malice, it simply exists as a function of or even result of universal laws, and often evokes great rebalancing effects that change the course of history for a huge amount of humans and other creatures that it's basically oblivious to. The hurricane does not understand your feelings much less care about them. It is here to do what it does until it is done with what it does. This very concept is why so many ancient gods are primitive archetypes of natural forces.

If we cease trying to box angels into human perceptions for the want to identify with them in such a representation-light landscape, the field opens up to something infinitely more complicated. Such as: what makes Castiel so different? I've already addressed that, of course, in this post, but let's pitch that as a conversational hook again.

"You want to know why we're meant to stay away from those humans? It's not because we're a danger to them. It's because they're a danger to us."

Now BECAUSE sexuality is the angle this fandom has heavily thrown its discussion chips into beyond the other senses, I'm going to move forward into that topical field:

Anna, talking to Dean, lists a long flurry of reasons to become human, among which sex was stapled. In later seasons, Cas comes up with a different list, but it’s more reflective of his emotive view of humanity, and doesn’t include the sex. Either way, it actually leaves interesting take on the human soul’s function (which is also a silent part of something I’ll get to later** ) as per the trinity of mind-soul-body sometimes called “The Threefold Nature of Man” in a lot of classic mysticism. **

So why would Anna include sex in the list if others can enjoy it? There’s various reasons of taking this into consideration, and I consider most headcanon potentials valid since… you know, there’s really no clear statement on this.

- Most angels have a copilot and that’s just creepy AF - It could be subliminal commentary of wanting to enjoy a native drive for it rather than a learned one, since affections and emotions are also canonically attached to the human condition (as well as the 3fold Nature discussed later). - It could have to do with gradual humanization effects (will discuss shortly) - Misc other.

Barring our specific presumption of why this hangs in the air, the detail is that it simply *does*. Perhaps the truth is between all of these, with each angel unto their own.

Anna lurked, invisibly, on earth observing men as long as she knew. Now, gradual humanization effects is a complete headcanon proposal associated around all elements to be covered in this discussion. That is to say, most angels that have exhibited sexual behavior and enjoyment of various goods have either been fallen or in their vessels for a LONG TIME, perhaps gradually removing the disassociation from the body and gaining familiarity with its functions.

Yes, we can evoke Balthazar’s sexual activity, but we must also evoke his appreciation for wine and food and music and all of the other things that we have canonically, even mechanically witnessed in Castiel (inability to appreciate food or drink, in example, as an angel.) So WHAT makes Balthazar different that he CAN experience all of these things (beyond the potential of Plothole AF)? There is literally something he has that other angels don’t. The second Cas clicks back to angel, he can’t appreciate food anymore and beer does nothing for him, but Balthazar can enjoy alcohol? There is LITERALLY a difference of template of EVERYTHING going on here, not just sexuality. We can postulate it all we want, but the only one that immediately comes to mind is “gradual humanization”, as we haven’t the FOGGIEST idea how long he has had his vessel. Unless we assume various appreciations of his are Just An Act, but then why not assume it’s performance behavior on the sexuality too? Pick one or the other, don’t run the line on both. (Also if you want to be under the assumption that despite terminal soul dealing it was his first vessel run, I’m going to leave this as a note, and a REMINDER of his meddling in attachment to, handling, trade and use of human souls for his own means, and tuck this aside until we GET to the meaning of human souls.)

The VERY SAME can be said of Gabriel. And Gabriel we KNOW has been on earth as Gabe for a VERY. LONG. TIME. His sweet tooth is what got him busted. Again, it’s not just about his sexuality, it’s his entire composition is somehow DIFFERENT from otherwise canonical function of angels.

Again I point out there’s also a big ??????? on Naomi because again… 400 year old Crowley in Mesopotamia. We have no educated way to even ADDRESS that one because… is it a time warp? WTH??? Even Mark called this a plothole. Literally we have to headcanon how they were even there together before we headcanon what was even going on in a big old pillar of ridiculous headcanon, so I’m going to float that off in a box labeled with a question mark and admit, it’s just random AF. The “fling” is also implied and unclear. So I mean- we’ll just… note that and keep moving on why it’s never impacted my perception of this much.

How long fallen was Lucifer?

Hannah brings an obvious question to mind in challenge to all of my surrounding premises, but this is literally where “choice of experimentation within a vessel” comes into play, as with all of them. I’m human now, this seems like a fun thing to humans, let me try the thing; that’s all I’ve ever read that as. You may have your read of it otherwise, but angels try a lot of things. And I’ll bring this up during canon talk.

The concept of humanization-with-time does have some further established presence of S13. When Lucifer is still an angel but largely drained of his grace, he too begins feeling compulsions of hunger, cold, and basic human instinct he was previously immune to. Diminished power, and the closer one comes to being of Soul Rather than Grace, the more they seem to resonate. Anna carved out her grace to fully enjoy humanity and was born into it, experiencing its gifts of awareness. Cas can no longer fully enjoy humanity as an angel. We don’t know what Balthazar’s status is. And so on. But it appears that by VARIOUS METHODS, such as the depletion of grace or just being a long-assed time to attach to a specific vessel, they do end up ATTAINING various behaviors.

Preparing to speak on Humanized Angels.

What really triggered this premise to me was the recurring humanization of Castiel. And again, this goes far beyond just sexuality preferences. I’m going to do a brief break to get to that ** I marked above about the threefold nature of man before expanding.

** Mind-Soul-Body trinity:

Angels have the mind/spirit (grace) and body, but lack a soul; grace is closer to their natural body’s composition than molecular and transmits a wavelength thought into whatever sack they’re using to operate. But there’s a disconnect here in classic mind-soul-body structure (which is sometimes alternately listed as Body-Spirit-Soul, with Soul as the mind instead, and Spirit in place of the alternate listing of Soul? People swap these terms interchangeably but you’ll find a common pull). There’s multiple takes on this. For example, we’ll go with the standard accepted biblical take as a first ideation of it, considering the various judeochristian influences of SPN.

Please NOTE I’m going to list several variations of this, and have no hard cast “this is the exact model” they’re using, as much as “this is a recurring theme in religion and philosophy”, which, while SPN is rarely 100% accurate to any one specific model, they often call on.

The EXACT itterations of this vary, and there’s no real saying which exact respective “silent ven diagram” they’re using, but as if a triple circle overlapped with Mind, Body, Spirit with the balance we as humans know at the core. Removing a rung of this strips out major overlap of function.

The inner spirit, insight, will and memory reaching from spirit/mind to body by WAY of the soul, for the spirit to engage the human senses within the constructed universe

CASTIEL

Well, perhaps I’ve been down here with them for too long. There’s seemingly nothing but chaos. But not all bad comes from it. Art. Hope. Love. Dreams.

HANNAH

But t-those are human things.

CASTIEL

Yes.

To fully understand this chart, I again point to (as earlier in this post) this previous post about primordials, explaining the chain (x), Anima Animus and the Shadow (x) and also its association with the paths on way to enlightenment at the source of creation which is explored, for a particular path, right here (x)

Just another way to stack out this chart, including the adventure of Anima and Animus, as well as the id/ego/superego I’ll discuss soon; However, you can see the literal concept is the same. There’s an inner mind, a central essence of the inner court that reflects close to the aspects of Humanity Cas told Hannah, and then the “living room” of the body, and the senses. Same deal. Again, "I'm the cage."

You see a running theme here?

The Soul is essentially commonly received as a vehicle between the higher mind and the body (as well as possessing aspects of our emotion, and sense of self, such as how Sam lost parts of himself without his soul) That, without which, we are lacking various critical anchors of the human experience that we often see lacking in angels.

This therein raises the challenge, “But Soulless Sam was ALL ABOUT the sex.”

That’s where species difference comes in.

We’ll talk psychology a bit, wherein we have the psychological variances of id, ego and superego rather than just body-soul-mind/spirit. They essentially perform the same functions (base instinct drive, early personality function, learned and refined function with choices etc, to boil it down to super-simplistics).

“According to this Freudian model of the psyche, the id is the set of uncoordinated instinctual trends; the super-ego plays the critical and moralizing role; and the ego is the organized, realistic part that mediates between the desires of the id and the super-ego.” – Freud, Sigmund. The Standard Edition of the Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud. Vol. XIX. Translated from the German under the General Editorship of James Strachey. In collaboration with Anna Freud. Assisted by Alix Strachey and Alan Tyson, Vintage, 1999. [Reprint.] ISBN 0-09-929622-5

A Sam with no soul has his base species survival instinct but his acting mind. A Cas with no soul has HIS base species survival instinct (in lack of sexual reproduction as much as potential learned appreciation under the above spoken methods) for an id, if any, and a curiously arranged body until other elements come into play. The ego and superego, such as the application of a soul, leaves room for the gradual inclusion of preferences to anything within this model, such as angels developing their own ORIENTATION once having a vehicle by which to come through.

There’s a few other points to notice about the transition. The Mind/Spirit is capable of questions and doubts, or faith. “I’m not a hammer, as you call it; I have questions, I have doubts.” - S4 Castiel.

The mind is capable to think and to reason, but complex emotions are a challenge to it without a soul, which also filters our thoughts and memories from upper mind into the body, wherein we gain connectivity to the physical senses and the realm we experience.

But the universe -- the wavelengths of intent that make it function -- simply can not experience itself, any more than any other code running on your computer can experience itself. It is you, the human, that experiences the results of that code, and views and understands it and reaches out to aspects of life through it. Grace, should all things be made by it and through Chuck, as the thing that creates this code/intent of angels -- it simply is, and runs, and functions.

So BACK TO THE HUMANIZATION OF ANGELS,

Castiel has humanized or near-humanized three times and we're pending on a fourth. Briefly in the hospital, he was braindead (lacking Jimmy’s brain function, but instead having his own mind) while his heart remained pumping, meaning the body/vessel was alive, but the remaining grace WAS in fact functioning in place of a mind.

CASTIEL 5.21 I just woke up here. The doctors were fairly surprised. They thought I was brain-dead. (…) CASTIEL You could say my batteries are – are drained. DEAN What do you mean? You’re out of angel mojo? CASTIEL I’m saying that I am thirsty and my head aches. I have a bug bite that itches no matter how much I scratch it, and I’m saying that I’m just incredibly… DEAN Human. Wow. Sorry.

However, it was depleted, and this is addressed in effect later on by Metatron removing grace. As grace is removed,

METATRON 8.23 And now something wonderful is going to happen, for me and for you. I want you to live this new life to the fullest. Find a wife. Make babies. And when you die and your soul comes to Heaven, find me. Tell me your story.

Now Castiel goes on to return to himself by going all cannibal and whatnot, but that’s its own story. The simple fact of it is, with the mind housed in a vessel, but the grace attached to it depleted, the body seems to generate something like, equivalent to, or equal to a human soul in its function.

Now to reflect back

2014!CASTIEL 5.04 So, in this way. We’re each a fragment of total perception—just, uh, one compartment in that dragonfly eye of group mind. Now, the key to this total, shared perception—it’s, um, it’s surprisingly physical. 2014!CASTIEL spots DEAN. 2014!CASTIEL Oh. Excuse me, ladies. I think I need to confer with our fearless leader for a minute. Why not go get washed up for the orgy? The WOMEN leave. 2014!CASTIEL You’re all so beautiful. 2014!CASTIEL stands and stretches his back, grunting. DEAN What are you, a hippie? 2014!CASTIEL I thought you’d gotten over trying to label me. (…) 2014!CASTIEL I wish I could just, uh, strap on my wings, but I’m sorry, no dice. DEAN What, are you stoned? 2014!CASTIEL Uh, generally, yeah. DEAN What happened to you? 2014!CASTIEL Life. (…) 2014!CASTIEL You want some? DEAN Amphetamines? 2014!CASTIEL It’s the perfect antidote to that absinthe. DEAN Mmm. Don’t get me wrong, Cas. I, uh. I’m happy that the stick is out of your ass, but—what’s going on—w-with the drugs and the orgies and the love-guru crap? 2014!CASTIEL laughs. DEAN What’s so funny? 2014!CASTIEL Dean, I’m not an angel anymore. DEAN What? 2014!CASTIEL Yeah, I went mortal. DEAN What do you mean? How? 2014!CASTIEL I think it had something to do with the other angels leaving. But when they bailed, my mojo just kind of— psshhew!—drained away. And now, you know, I’m practically human. I mean, Dean, I’m all but useless. Last year, broke my foot, laid up for two months. DEAN Wow. 2014!CASTIEL Yeah. DEAN So, you’re human. Well, welcome to the club. 2014!CASTIEL Thanks. Except I used to belong to a much better club. And now I’m powerless. I’m hapless, I’m hopeless. I mean, why the hell not bury myself in women and decadence, right? It’s the end, baby. That’s what decadence is for. Why not bang a few gongs before the lights go out? But then that’s, that’s just how I roll.

Now, we can try to extrapolate that it’s “all the drugs,” but drugs or not, while decadence includes MORAL decline, it also is this:

dec·a·dence ˈdekədəns/Submit noun moral or cultural decline as characterized by excessive indulgence in pleasure or luxury.

And Cas doesn’t get words wrong (unless he’s trying to make an awkward conversation starter with Dean as what’s almost a routine for them, always in idioms and never in definition). In fact, he has a very on-point vocabulary. How often does someone evoke “Insouciant”?

Calling it decadence defines this as a luxury to Castiel. The entire episode is like One Giant Exposition of the differences: being breakable, prone to decadence, bang a few gongs on the way out. Yes, it includes drugs; hell, he’s now subject to being INFLUENCED by drugs, contrary to being able to drink down the entire bar before “starting to feel something” or needing to drink the whole liquor store before the grace stopped implicitly filtering it enough for him to stagger in on Sam. At some point, Castiel decided these were ALL his coping mechanisms, but this is an adaptation of some period of humanization between late 2009 and 2014.

This could be considered a one-off of Zachariah’s manipulation or whatever if we choose to ignore Edlund saying it was a real universe, but then we get the SAME THING hitting us again in season 9, if under a different, immediate scope rather than “end result.”

9.01 CASTIEL looks at his bloody palm. CASTIEL It hurts. (…) MAN How about we get you some water, hmm? CASTIEL I, uh, I don’t drink water. (…) CASTIEL It’s okay. I don’t eat.

and

9.03 CASTIEL (Chewing on the toothpaste) I’ll be moving on tonight after work. It’s time. The MAN nods and hangs up his towel. CASTIEL Can I ask you something? MAN Sure. CASTIEL walks into one of the bathroom stalls. CASTIEL Do you ever tire of urinating? I’ll never get used to it. (…) HOMELESS MAN You’re new at this, aren’t you? CASTIEL Food… sleep, or passing gas, it’s all very strange. And it’s occurred to me that one day I’m gonna die. CASTIEL and the HOMELESS MAN just look at each other curiously. CASTIEL Well… I better try falling asleep. It’s quite a process, isn’t it? (…)

Now, we’re going to take to the raw moment of Castiel and April,

She kisses him gently on the cheek, but stays close and eventually kisses him on the lips. CASTIEL seems surprised at first but then joins in.

Cas is surprised… and then joins in. Castiel did not expect this, but falls into it of his own action. No force was implied, and the moment leading into it was all of a few seconds, rather than any persistence or insistence.

A few more bits,

APRIL So, that was okay? CASTIEL Very much so. Um… what I did, that was, uh… correct? APRIL Very much so. CASTIEL (Smiling) (…) APRIL So what happens next for you? CASTIEL More of this, I hope. They smile and start making out again.

I don’t exactly get the feeling that she’s entirely leading this situation on all by herself, to the dismay of several gatekeeper ship or sexuality stans.

More elements with regards to humanity in this episode,

CASTIEL I am really enjoying this place. Plentiful food. Good water pressure. Things I never even considered before. There really is a lot to being human, isn’t there? DEAN It ain’t all just burritos and strippers, my friend. CASTIEL Yeah. I understand what you’re saying. SAM You do? CASTIEL Yes, there’s more to humanity than survival. You… look for purpose, and you must not be defeated by anger or despair. Or hedonism, for that matter. DEAN Where does hedonism come into it? CASTIEL Well, my time with April was very educational. SAM Yeah. I mean, I would think that getting killed is something. CASTIEL And having sex. DEAN chokes on his burrito for a second. DEAN You had sex with April? SAM Yeah, that would be where the hedonism comes in.

This isn’t just Castiel talking about having sex for the first time. This is Castiel acknowledging the allure of hedonism for the first time (…not minding the timewarp of 5.04, which didn’t happen Because AU.)

And here, also 9.03, before meeting April CASTIEL is once again wandering through the noise and the people. He is trying to take everything in – he glances from a hot dog stand to a woman’s breasts to a supermarket. The whole place is noisy and crowded and confusing. He is overwhelmed.

In 9.03, among this onslaught of Castiel’s change in visual, sound, sensory, and other instinctual acknowledgment of a change in the senses (see back to the 3Fold Nature and the acquisition of a human soul), we also get Castiel rubbernecking at a woman’s chest for the first time, before encountering April; the transcript doesn’t do the moment proper justice with the pure level of focus directors and editors called to it. In fact, we get slow camera pan and a rubberneck that might as well have ended with him walking-flipping into a trashcan blindside.

With all of these stacked connotations aside, I find it difficult to interpret anything but it being installed as a yet-again evocation of a difference in function.

Episodes 1 and 3, the first two episodes Castiel is in during season 9 after losing his grace at the end of season 8, DELUGE us with a current of differences of all of his sensory faculties.

Once his state is “corrected,” (for lack of a better term - Castiel seems to yearn for his humanity back through the show) the show makes a point of showing us a reversal as applicable,

SAM What? What are you talking about? CASTIEL When I was human, you know, I had to eat constantly. It was kind of annoying. SAM Yeah, a lot of human things are pretty annoying. CASTIEL But…I enjoyed the taste of food – particularly peanut butter with grape jelly, not jam. Jam I found unsettling. SAM [sitting on the table next to CASTIEL] So, what? Now you can’t taste PB and J? CASTIEL No, I-I taste every molecule. SAM Not the sum of its parts, huh? CASTIEL It’s overwhelming. It’s disgusting. [looks longingly at the sandwich] I miss you, PB and J.

Once again, paradigm shift. What he once appreciated, amidst the VAST wash of senses they told us about, just seems… null now. Something is missing, and something is different. Again, the universe can no longer experience ITSELF.

Now, I’m going to fall back a bit to cover what would possibly be framed as an argument against all of this, but frankly builds into it,

Back in season 6, Meg was UNABASHEDLY FLIRTING WITH CASTIEL and trying to prompt him to “move some furniture around,” and, in a learned “last night on earth” move, Castiel makes a motion in 6.10

Meg grabs Castiel by the neck and kisses him, at the same time removing his sword. Castiel pushes her up against the wall and returns the kiss with interest. MEG: What was that? CASTIEL: I learned that from the pizza man.

NOTICE. LEARNED THAT.

With FORWARD PROMPTING from Meg, and existing example (porn), Castiel did in fact make a move. That is to say, “learned behaviors” and “personal orientation” beyond “species reproductive instinct”. But as made clear by April, this never led anywhere particular, never completed, and while he expressed wanting repeats with April during being human, this is the only actual example we have of it.

In short: throughout the show, Castiel finds new things and tests new things. These new things become bizarre little childlike obsessions at times even. This one… obviously a little less childlike. (clears throat) But again, this is a process of “learned motion.” (though I’m somewhat disturbed that canonically Emmanuel-Cas sees her face and is absolutely horrified at her appearance, meaning this is also not likely even by nature of physical/spiritual attraction as much as personal, almost a demisexual trait with experimental curiosity which, as an independent idea beyond “holy shit she’s a demon”, is a healthy phase.)

But by way of learned motion/acquired taste and function, we then have the question of “why doesn’t Cas repeat this if he clearly enjoyed season 9?” Well, I can name a few. We can go over the fact that Cas simply doesn’t explore social venues that make it ready. Or we can mention his seeming lack of compulsion for it which ...is a topic of this post. Or we can simply reflect to the *challenges* of hedonism and what it will, in this post, continue to implicitly adventure as the cage and trappings of the human body and experience within what we call “life”, which the human soul extends well beyond.

But it leads us to an interesting series of questions about Castiel and Dean’s seemingly changed interactions in season 12, on a subliminal level.

And no, I’m not implying they’re boning. When Dean is no longer getting strung across a variety of cosmic elements to save him directly from the crosshairs of, or from himself, we’re getting this weird vibe of gruff jealousy, bickering, and infighting. As if Castiel, settling in more among them, is channeling increased humanity. Despite being an angel in some crippled capacity still, personality traits acquired from his human period are still there, leading to believe the soul element never ENTIRELY disappeared, as much as with further ding-dang-donged up grace, we have to wonder - is this almost a sliding scale? Or can both run mutually when one doesn’t overshadow the other? The exact specifics of this mechanic would be unclear.

But all of these complexities is why I find it nearly impossible to, in my head, reduce it to the simple “well some like it and-” because I have always read an intentional base-beat of differentiation between the human and angelic experience including, but not limited to, sex.

There’s a subtle hint of some osmosis of this in what I mentioned above with Hannah. “Perhaps I’ve been with them too long.”

CASTIEL

Well, perhaps I’ve been down here with them for too long. There’s seemingly nothing but chaos. But not all bad comes from it. Art. Hope. Love. Dreams.

HANNAH

But t-those are human things.

CASTIEL

Yes.

And so why I find it impossible to just address “angel sexuality” as its own topic. This may just be my brain at work, but I don’t see all of this effort in dividing their experiences, in a show that addresses theology and concepts like the human soul, to be arbitrary and random and I just see SO much beautiful complexity IN the shift of his sexual behaviors, among other operations. It’s not just about Castiel’s sexuality, it’s about addressing the complex creatures that are humans, and what builds us at a core. Frankly, from that end, it doesn’t matter if Cas is bi, ace, straight or pan – Castiel has been human, and wants to be so again. And it, along with other things littered throughout the show, have given us great insights on the soul, or the lack thereof, and all of these beautiful building blocks.

And so to roll away from approaching sexuality so heavily, and instead ball and bundle that up as part of the human experience within the body, the reflection of the human soul, I hook again: The universe can not experience itself more than Windows OS can experience itself; it requires the essence of man to experience the result of the work of grace and by which it finds many things of itself, even within the trappings of a human life.

The fact that humans are afterwards caged elsewhere is a whole other discussion me and others have been holding in the original linked post, so let's step away from that and instead go back to the concept of, far and away beyond sexuality, what makes a soul, and how is it different from the created universe.

If we were to apply these concepts -- angels, bodies of grace, as parts of the universe and how it functions -- versus the irrevocable free will fundamental to the human soul, dividing bodies from just being roving parts of the construct like Gabriel's realms -- to our dialogue in regards to Castiel as our seeming oddball with a crack in his chassis, "And the universe came to humanity, and laid hands on humanity, and fell in love with humanity to come to know it; it abandoned its own purpose and functions due to this connection to the concept of the human soul, and began to live and dream and love as a man, rebelling against its predesigned function; and one day, the orphic child of both the universe and man looked through the eyes of the universe to first see man, and itself was born from the universe unto man, to live and learn as a man and hold its dominion of both human sovereignty and creator of grace, mastering both realms." in regards to Jack's very creation, and why he is such a huge threat to Chuck's power and control of his realm.

As a powerful creature of grace, he can take and reroute those elements without issue by authoritative command of the independent liberty of the human soul, free thinking and not just a Doctor Sexy Nurse in motion.

But the question is conversion, which we've seen in both directions, be it Castiel acquiring a human soul or Jack converting humans into angels with his command of both of these dominions. The best I could liken it to is AC/DC energy conversion. It is worth noting, however -- grace can be drained without permission, it is not tied to freedom. Humanity is the body of choice: be that humans choosing to surrender that in the name of glory and power to simply become part of universal functions, which isn't so different from choosing to burn one's own soul away in the name of spells, magic or other power; or the human spirit attached to its cage of a body and life still needing to concede and give permission to be taken BY the forces of the universe, surrendering the potential impact of their own choices within their own moving cage to what the universe would will of it.

Ironically, if you use an AC inverter to power a computer or television, the power supply in the device is converting the 120-volt alternating current into a much lower voltage direct current. The sensitive electronic circuits in these devices need low, regulated voltages to work, so you're actually converting DC to AC so it can be changed back into DC again. You can't use straight direct current without the AC to DC inverter because the device's power supply needs the AC power in order to properly step down and regulate the voltage. That is to say, in conversion parts are lost, but they can still be transmitted; so while Castiel was subject to the human experience, he still struggled with parts like dreaming. It was a young, small spark of a soul, converted from another energy form, and likely with his connection to Dean acting as the inverter.

Demons go to the empty; demons are former human souls that corrupted and lost the light that made them inherently "good." That which defines them. They have collapsed to the pressures of Chuck's universes and let their flame go out. But realistically, that's also antagonized by other human souls in hell trying to escape their own torment.

It has been seen, time and again, that the only thing that can destroy a human soul is... the human soul.

*takes a breath*

And now to explore what @curioussubjects has been saying about The Shadow as a recycling Bin of souls, which would predate the universe and even Chuck, I simply repeat this segment, to help master-off this post:

If we take the Shadow as the reflection of the collective soul, which then becomes the substantiative Prima Materia through which all things come (x), including even the potential of Chuck and Amara as manifestations of the primitive concept of masculine and feminine, light and dark as among the first thoughts in the cosmos. But in such by it all things are born, even the universe or the gods, in this proposed theory. It is the primitive self asking (per the far-above chart), first–well, WTF, why am I thinking, but after that – who are they, and then who am I, and then eventually who are you, before the end of the soul’s journey on its path is Who Art Thou, long ventured within the constructed realm to learn what it means that we even exist.

Those first thoughts then create the totemic pillars of creation by which it can explore the very meaning of existence, even if its own thoughts have made cages and trappings for itself in the expansion of infinite time, but those cages are themselves the vehicles of higher learning and experience, and without those cages, the rest is for naught.

This is the nature of the Prima Materia, the One Thing by which all comes which I linked above. If the soul and Prima Materia are synonymous, then while the universe comes by grace, then all things -- even grace -- come by way of the raw template of the collective soul, which then structures all resulting thought and experience through an infinite series of independent human experience that defines who were are, independent to ourselves, beyond the vat of primitive consciousness that binds us.

The question even comes, why not just reset time? But I am good with who I am. I am good with who you are. This isn't just a story. It's our lives. So god or no god, you go to hell.

And so the reincarnate journey of the man, through the many deaths and rebirths of Sam and Dean and lessons gained within the universe, begins to lock on to the meaning of the independent self in what it means in full, beyond the challenges sent by the creator that may very well be a reflection of our own primal thoughts, our doubts, our fears, our internalized challenges not too unlike the Shadow which again I raise, and point back to the above-linked protogenic discussion of the masculine and feminine paths: In this premise, are Chuck and Amara anything less than the Animus and Anima of humanity, should the Shadow be their forefather?

The path of alchemy, before it became pursuit of literal gold, was about self completion and sovereignty. The phases I have listed above, as well as a brief overview of Dabb's use of it, but if anyone wants a visual aide in these, check out these three videos (x) (x) (x) and remember that Chuck desperately wants them to believe that nothing Gold can stay, should it complete this path; because should man become Gold, they also become God, and he has no authority here. Because in the end, if we abandon the cages -- be it human bodies or heaven -- in here, in this headspace that is Chuck's, we're all just projections of the primitive man trying to find our independent meaning in life. So in here, we're all the same. So in here, Chuck's all talk. And Chuck's afraid, and even wounded by elements of his own creation fallen into the free hands of man.

And so to FULLY hook back, the effects of the fall --

To be detached in various tiers from the divine spheres of constructed intent, and surrendered unto man, or touched by man, or tied to man, or even converted unto man simply seems to be removing the lines of code that defines the constructed universe and instead leaves only the experience of soul, be it directly gained or by proxy. And with that comes many things -- be that the oft-discussed sexuality of angels or any of their other senses, but also their ability like Castiel to understand "complex" ideas like independent thought and function that is otherwise like "explaining poetry to fish" to his kin. I remind you of Agent Smith in the Matrix, who was essentially infected with the power of the One that completely started warping the laws of the universe and, eventually, left the universe, to become the body of man outside of the universe.

It is the universe falling into man, as man at some point seems to have fallen into the universe. And their child now waits beyond the universe, holding council with Death and the Inky Man over what to do from here.

The human experience is double-sided. By it we learn, experience, and exist; but as chuck designed the sandbox, so too did he the bodies as cages. So be that "hedonism" or anything else, these are limitations and bindings. It is not the limits themselves, as much as what we learn in facing them, that becomes who we are as people, and what meaning we bring to our own existence. And this, some angels themselves have chosen to convert and surrender themselves to, some more successfully than others, but the ultimate point between all of them is "Free Will", whether they like PBJ, sex, or good water pressure at the same time -- something that only comes from divorcing themselves from the divine spheres, when otherwise they're numb to bullets or a knife through the heart. The universe simply operates. Man experiences. The universe learns more of itself only by way of man, as man learns the universe.

There are those who fall that do not embrace humanity, but instead explore their creation. These are rogue programs, but still limited in their function. Be that angling out a line at a river, or just needling humanity as lesser ants. But these do not come to the same essence of humanity that those who choose to fall into it and truly experience it do. They still lack a great deal of motivation or purpose, as in breaking away from their programming without gaining genuine compulsion to want, to seek, to find, they find fascinations between their own strips of code that immerse themselves in, and sit, and observe, still not too unlike Anna before completely divorcing herself from her grace.

It is humanity, be it indirect or direct, that proxies the ability to experience, desire, and enjoy, and that more than anything is the nature of man and his power. It is the path of the Soul between Gevurah and Hesed; from the divine spheres descending, passive intellect and active intellect from the different pillars, and hidden higher learnings, reach by way of Spirit and Mind towards the individual self, strapped across passive and active emotion to learn the individual self. From the angle of man, in the material world, and the body as a manifestation of it, our ego, identity, and other evolutions of the mind TOWARDS the self of individuality lead from Tiferet, by path of the soul, into those emotions to climb the tree towards the divine self. Hell, I'll repost the chart so you don't have to scroll.

Castiel, the consciousness of the divine, with active spirit and mind, and intellect, descended towards the individual self within the realm of ego and super ego, and learned of them through Dean Winchester, while hedging at the sphere of emotional complexes and the identity of the self by which he chose to fall into the world and humanity, into and below and between the cross paths of the soul, and in those paths attained a soul. Dean Winchester, on the other hand, was lifted to explore the upper spheres in reverse, to understand the divine self gradually, and with time, as we now prepare to face within season 15.

Man is freedom. And some fall into it. But man can conquer the tree of his own ironic fashioning. The only absolute is what thou wills of it.

The rest is commentary.

Let there be gold. But all that is gold does not glimmer.

#supernatural #spn #meta #my meta #mine #pagan life #souls #angels #the fall #tree of life #spirit #mind #body #physical realm #hermeticism #qabbalah

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seenashwrite · 5 years

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Notes From Nash: Season 15 Episode 2

We're back! And by that, I don't mean back for episode #2, I mean we're back in the little town, same little town we were in for the majority of episode #1. And as far as how ep #2 compares with ep #1.... um.....

The writers ain't in no damn rush to advance the plot or further character development, are they? So this is basically ep #1 all over again with some guest star overload as a substitute for those two very important aspects of storytelling I just mentioned.

[stares at date]

They've got *how* many eps to wrap up the show?

Hoo-boy.

Spoilers below the cut.

Changing it up from last time (see link at bottom), I thought I'd go in order of the ep this post. All right. Let's roll.

From the mom who gets 86'd in the opening------

And, PS: That's not disemboweled. Don't use the word if you (a) don't know what it means and/or (b) won't let make-up/effects do their job.

-----to the rest of the people, I care nothing. There was no point giving all these extras lines and whatever little backstories, I give no fucks. Mainly because, gee, I don't know, I signed up for a show about two brothers goin' out there and gettin' after it, and thus far we've gone about two inches and gotten nothing.

Are we still in this little town?

More questions, borrowing from the dialogue some here:

"Remember when we did the thing with Amara?"

"God's sister?"

"And the soul bomb? And here's how it worked? Remember? Because you participated? REMEMBER?! I'm not just saying this for the benefit of, oh wait, no one, because the chances of brand new viewers coming into the game this late is virtually nil, so everyone - including us, here, in this scene, our characters - already know this backstory, ergo the only reason for exposition anvils is to benefit those viewers, who - as we've already established - likely don't exist. So let's run through this for the benefit of, I have to assume, the writers who don’t actually, you know, watch the show as evidenced by--- well, we’d be here all day."

Nope. No, no. Those aren't questions I had. Because I've been watching the show for a good while now. This exchange should’ve been something to the effect of - “I was thinking - remember how we did the soul bomb, with Amara? Do you think you could pull off something like that? To trap them?” and then Rowena responds with uncertainty but will give it a try, etc. I mean, the writing in this ep is thus far pedestrian.

There's still no explanation for why these ghosts - especially these super notorious ghosts like Ripper and Lizzie and who-fuck-ever - were lingering so close together that they were able to be trapped by the stupidest ex machina spell in the writing world. And what of the others? The entirety of hell escaped. We've seen, what, maybe 20? Could there maybe have been a throw-a-way line to Belphagor something like “Did you corral the worst douchebags together”, or “Is there a bar in hell where the worst douchebags hang out or something”, or “this is just our luck that the worst douchebags landed here” or WHATEVER, just SOMETHING to acknowledge they (the writers) recognize that Convenient Super Bad Ghosts Are Convenient.

IT'S KETCH, BITCHES!

I love this character. What a breath of fresh air that snarky piece of ass has been. I hope he doesn't get killed. He will. Because we can't have anything good. But there is some good, which is the Ketch-Rowena flirting. Honestly, I'm fine with Rowena getting action from anyone. She's awesome and she's earned it. Ketch is primo catch, though. (I'm not sorry for that sentence. I am, but I'm not.)

The repeated use of Belphagor's name pleases myself and my podcast co-host. Should you wish to know more about that demon, please do check out our podcast. Don't look him up first, trust us. That they have chosen this particular demon's name is just *chef's kiss*, though I do hope it's not a foreshadowing for how the rest of the season is going to go. Okay fine, I'll spoil it: he's a shit demon. He deals in poo. Literally. I'm not lying. Go forth to the podcast @youtotallymadethatup - just about every post links you to where you can listen. /shameless self-promo

IT'S AMARA, BITCHES!

Let's hope that wardrobe does her better than that ill-fitting black dress this go 'round, she deserves better.

"You're the darkness, I'm the light."

STOP IT. STOP. FUCK. STOP.

Are we still in this little town?

Blah blah blah Castiel Dean angst repeating essentially what's already been said at the end of 14 and last week blah. "You know what's real? We are." Not if it's an alternate timeline, my love.

I keep forgetting just how many spaced-out chains you need to have strewn about your standard meat packing plant and/or factory, well played, set dec and props. That.... that was sarcasm.. (Look, I got no beef with the crew, they're just playing the cards they've been dealt, and their hands are garbage, just a pile of same ol' same ol' stereotypical, unimaginative stuff, so bless them. I hope every single one of them has a job lined up next year, truly. They have more than paid their dues and earned it. Lord knows especially since certain parties took the reins, good night nurse. I've digressed. )

IT’S KEVIN BI----

This is dumb. This is actually dumb. In case you didn't see my half-time post, and I quote:

That is *three* in under twenty minutes. Like, it’s episode 2. You’re blowing your wad. Pace yourselves. AND MAYBE SOME STORY ADVANCING, THAT WOULD BE AWESOME

This bullet thing could be hella interesting. It *could* be. I wonder if it will be.

These ghosts are painfully uninteresting. The guy playing the Ripper is horribly miscast. This needed to be someone who... who.... I dunno, is a good actor. He's not. Sorry, Pops. I mean, even Osric (who is an excellent actor) couldn't elevate that scene.

This episode is painful.

Are we still in this little town?

Ketch got knocked out, left alone with ghost, deffo gonna get possessed.

Are we still talking to these ghosts? Why? Why is Kevin thinking he can go up against them alone? I'm not exactly sure what threat they are to him, can't he just disappear and whoosh somewhere else? I missed something, I must've missed something. It doesn't matter, none of this matters.

Okay, Belphagor says there's at least a hundred. Still, what would that be, like 1/2500000000th of hell? Why are the Winchesters, of all people, and now Rowena concentrating on this stupid little town----

Are. We. Still. In. This. Little. Town.

---why in the fuck aren't the most renowned hunters of modern time and their angel friend and the powerful witch friend and the friend with immense tactical knowledge regarding weaponry for supernatural shit not at the bunker strategizing and planning and... and... and.... I just....

Lookit, I've said this before: especially in fantasy/sci-fi stuff, if you are logical in every possible place you can be, if you nail the simple shit, then the audience is exponentially more likely to buy into the fantastical stuff, and also to be more forgiving (or not notice altogether) when you inevitably whiff, because nobody's perfect, of course. But this show in later years has notoriously screwed the pooch on the easy stuff, and here we are, in some needlessly convoluted mess right out of the gate in the last season ever.

::sighs::

Oh, look. Because of course he's possessed. You left him alone with a ghost. I'm neither a professional writer nor a psychic, I'm just thinking "What is predictable as possible?" and saying that. You try it. It's worked for me so far.

"I tried to heal him it didn't work" - well maybe he's still residually possessed. Or maybe you suck. Sorry Cas, you don't deserve that. It's not you. It's not me, either. It's them. It's the writers. I don't know what this line is about unless they're teeing up Cas to be even more neutered than he already is. I legit don't know, I can't think, I'm so irritated right now.

"Nothing to hold you anywhere" - what? Really? Seriously? So what are you and Dean? Y'all ain't his family? Let that little badass haunt the bunker. He'd be the most awesome research assistant ever. Now THAT is a good plot point, have ol' Kev be home base, helping coordinate whatever's coming. Oh here we go, swishy swishy hand, magic hole, nobody knows why this demon can do all this shit, and Kevin's gone. Why? WHY. My idea is better. No way Osric would blow your guest star budget, it appears to be shaping up to be immense, especially with all the money you've saved so far on location(s).

Shoulda kept him rest of season, let him assist, then his final reward is getting into heaven for reals when Cas (they'll probs kill him, tho) or Amara (maybe, seems too obvi a choice tho, and she doesn't give a shit about beng a ruler, we knew that back in whatever season that was) or Jack (because why not, it's the most ridiculous idea, since he's got the mind of a toddler, meaning it's something the writers would think is a great idea) or Billie (wild card guess) is the new God. Or have him brought back to life, fuck, I don't care.

So is the bullet trapping Chuckster on earth, is the question, and if so what kind of all-knowing deity puts a weapon in the hand of a potential enemy that could render him even a *touch* weaker? Where's the long game, there? What could any possible reasoning be?

Okay, well, the scenes between Emily and Rob have been the best part of the episode, as well as the interaction with Ruthie and DHJ. Everything else fell flat. J2M seemed to be bored and phoning it in, and it's not often that can be said about any of those three.

I swear, if the preview shows that we're still in this little town for episode #3.... wait, is that the crypt from ep #1?.... are.... are we.....

ARE WE STILL IN THIS LITTLE TOWN

What have we learned? Other than Chuck, no character development. The plot remains that some ghosts-interchangeably-used-with-souls from hell are trapped in a confined area, and it was via a tenuous spell provided by a demon whose motivations are unknown, and there's something up with that bullet wound. We knew those already.

(There's possibly something wrong with either Cas or Ketch -- or else that's something that will be completely forgotten was ever mentioned -- but we don't know either way and we don't know what it is, therefore we didn't learn anything; if this does ultimately turn out to be something, then we'll count it as a learned item for that episode.)

So, minus learning that Chuck is weakened somehow and that at least for right now Amara’s not exactly in his corner, we're in the exact same place story-wise that we were in last week.

And looks like we'll be back there again next week.

See you next week, I guess.

=================================

Past posts, from newest to oldest (and I sometimes do addendums if a response warrants)

Episode 1

#Supernatural #SPN #15.02 #SPN Spoilers #SPN Season 15 #SPN S15 #SPN XV #Nash Notes #Queueby Dooby Doo #Dad's on a blog post and #he hasn't been queued in a few days #Nash Recaps #sort-of

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reyloisblessed · 5 years

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Fic Recs List #3

** MIND THE TAGS FOR SOME OF THESE!

IN CANON / CANON DIVERGENT

Astrometric Binaries by pontmercy44 // COMPLETE // Some stars, if observed repeatedly over time, show a perturbation or wobble in their proper motion. If this is a periodic occurrence we can infer that the perturbation occurs due to the gravitational influence of an unseen companion. She’d fought tooth and nail to deny him his dying wish – just to die, rather than to rot away in a cell, alone, cut off from the Force, haunted by ghosts, eaten alive with guilt, and, judging from her apparent predilection for sadism, tormented by her. He’d underestimated the scavenger girl.

Broken Accidental Stars by @thisgarbagepicker // IN PROGRESS // During the standoff on the bridge at Starkiller Base, Kylo Ren yields to the light within him and accepts Han’s plea to leave with him, no questions asked. With the map to Luke Skywalker secured, the Resistance hastily relocates to an island planet in the Outer Rim, spurred by unsettling intel about recent First Order developments in tracking technology. Meanwhile, Rey—untrained and stronger than she knows—grapples with the awakening of her power in the Force and struggles to determine where her path must lead. As uncertainty and strange dreams compel her to seek Kylo’s help, one thing becomes clear to them both: Whatever passed between them in the interrogation room was only a beginning, and the will of the Force is rarely easily understood . . .

Made by @ever-so-reylo // COMPLETE // “I think…” He closes his eyes, then opens them—but doesn’t meet Rey’s gaze, choosing instead to look down at his hands. “I think I can make it good. For you.” (In which aliens make them do it, and Ben and Rey are mostly okay with it.)

This Way Lies Ruin by @lilia-ula // COMPLETE // The months to come found him haunting her, studying her life as if his depended on it. The girl was exquisite. In her innocence, she beckoned to him from across the galaxy, her own heady blend of dark and light inescapably fascinating. It was a dichotomy he was intimately familiar with, though her balance opposed his own; she cast a myriad wholesome light, with only a touch of shadow trailing in her wake. Observing her only served to inflame him, stoking his desire to possess her.

FANTASY AU

Flawless by @strawberrycupcakehuckleberrypie // Sci-fi A/B/O // IN PROGRESS // Empress Omega Rey, heir to the Venus Crown was educated abroad but has come home to claim her throne. Choosing a tournament winner as consort is theoretically simple. Alphas fight, omegas choose. And now it’s Rey’s turn to pick.orThe fantasy post-apocalyptic, intergalactic A/B/O royalty romance where alphas are gladiators raised on Mars and omegas are rare and powerful goddesses raised on Venus.Alphas fight for omegas, for a change.

Nominis by @ohsnapcrackle // Harry Potter // IN PROGRESS // He has a reputation. It’s not a good one.When Professor Skywalker partners Rey with the notorious Ben Solo for occulmency lessons, something goes wrong (or very right) and now their minds are bridged. Between sharing thoughts, inconvenient astral projections, and bedsharing Rey starts to learn that while Ben Solo deserves the reputation he has built, he also deserves the opportunity to change. AKA: The force bond Harry Potter style.

The Witch King by @nite0wl29 // Lord of the Rings // IN PROGRESS // The fight for Middle Earth begins as the Ring of Power has been found. Once forged by the Dark Lord Sidious himself, his watchful eye upholds an iron fist over the kingdoms while 9 servants, doomed to eternally serve the Dark Lord and the One Ring, spread terror and violence throughout their tireless search. While the fate of Middle Earth rests upon the shoulders of those in the Fellowship of the One Ring, a lowly woodland elf holds onto hope that her lost love is alive after years of being presumed dead when a scouting mission goes awry. Little does she know that the deceased Alderaanian Elven Prince - Ben Solo - resides as Kylo Ren, the Witch King of Mustafar and Leader of the Ringwraiths, wreaking havoc and chaos across Middle Earth. Can the soul of Ben Solo be saved from the partial wraith he's become, or is it possible that he'll remain bound to an eternal life of darkness?

Wicked Game by @winglessone // WoW // IN PROGRESS // They say to keep your friends close and your enemies closer, which is exactly what Rey intends to do when she learns that a demon hunter has been sent to kill her. How long will she be able to keep her true identity hidden? What would happen should she start developing feelings for her would-be assasin? This will surely be an adventure that neither of them could possibly anticipate.

MODERN AU

Bad Neighbors by Amy Beegood// A/B/O // IN PROGRESS // Omega Rey's neighbor is the absolute worst. He's arrogant, rude, and selfish. And Alpha Ben apparently hates her as much as she hates him...What happens when their neighborly bickering becomes all-out warfare right before the snowstorm of the century?

NOT REYLO

Traditions by @raven-maiden // Harry Potter: Dramione // IN PROGRESS // She straddled him slowly, still biting her lip, her hands on his shoulders. He held her hips tightly as he stared up at her.“So beautiful,” he whispered, and she flushed prettily, like she always did from his compliments. “You never need to hide from me.” (Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy fell in love during the war. One year later, they're heading home for the holidays so he can finally meet her parents. There's just one teeny little problem: her parents think they're both Muggles.)

SHAMELESS SELF-PROMO

Hieros Gamos by @reyloisblessed // Aliens+Ergo Proxy AU // IN PROGRESS // A futuristic hellscape with loads of possessive monster Kylo and moments of soft monster when around his precious queen, Rey.

> > > OTHER FIC RECS < < <

#reylo #reylo fanfiction #reylo fanfics #reylo au #my fic recs

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authorpocketcow · 5 years

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Avengers AU

I had a very specific vivid “cinematic” (according to @sui-me-away) dream about a wild course of events that would change the entire MCU, starting in Captain America: The Winter Soldier

and on request of my friend who I sent this to, I am posting it here:

SPOILERS for ENDGAME, INFINITY WAR, CIVIL WAR, and of course TWS

So... to start with, Steve and Sam are gay. That opening scene with the “on your left” and talking about over there versus here? That already is kinda gay. Especially like... he already knows where Sam lives by the time he and Nat are running? Gay.

Anyways, so my dream took it even FURTHER. They still do the flirting with the On Your Left and talking about how the beds are too soft... and they also talk about how lonely it is at night without a bunch of your Friends to talk to and be close to and stuff. Then Steve offers his Support... and this cute lil’ gold and red decoder ring with his address and phone number hidden in it in code, (and the camera really focuses on the ring at a certain angle where he is out of focus but his hand and the ring are in focus... more on that later)

And he’s like "I'm here for you, PTSD is some real shit and both me and my wife have it, we have both been through a lot." Because for SHIELD reasons that Fury won’t disclose, he has demanded that Natasha and Steve ‘get married’ but my gal is a bisexual mess with a huge crush on Maria Hill and Steve is a gay baby so it’s a nice best friend QPR WLW/MLM solidarity thing. They’re like insanely loyal and love each other but all platonic.

And Sam's face is like really surprised and sad, and he’s like "Uh your wife?"

And Cap just gets all flustered and goes "Oh no no no, it's a mandated thing from shield, we aren't really married... I mean, we are, but we're not... in love. I'm gay."

And Sam just goes "haha yeah... wait what? Uh, yeah me too."

And they kinda just smile at each other before Nat shows up for Steve and then Sam says "Hey you know that decoder thing you do for Anxiety Safety? I do it too." and hands him a silver and blue ring with HIS number in it.

So most of the rest of Winter Soldier remains the same except that at the end, Natasha somehow dies saving Bucky... and nobody will believe Cap and Sam that it wasn’t Bucky who killed her unless they can prove it was someone else. So it changed the whole course of Civil War because everyone on Tony's side is accusing Bucky but it really wasn’t him! And that’s why Bucky is on the run!

Now Clint is the one who was on Tony's side but switched sides to protect Bucky from T’Challa... because at that point you find out that it wasn’t Bucky who was responsible for Natasha’s death, but someone deep in Hydra/SHIELD.

But when she died Cap got Very Depressed... Sam helps him with the guilt he has because she dies rescuing Bucky so Steve has SO Much Guilt...

But Cap and Sam knew where Bucky was the whole time and that’s what everyone is mad about because they’re like “He killed Natasha and you’re defending him???”

But near the end of Civil War you also find out that Natasha isnt actually dead because Nick Fury said “Nah bitch.” (My dream was actually not specific about this part, but I imagine it’s similar to Fury’s death in TWS)

So civil war is about Natasha's death, T'Chaka's death, and the murder of Tony's parents. That's why Clint was on Tony's side. He love his Nat.

But they get it all solved with Zemo and with Nat’s death Not Being Bucky’s fault... but they still have a time with Bucky and Tony anyways because yeah he did still kill Howard and Maria Stark and Tony is LIVID

So that part essentially remains the same.

And then at the end of Civil War, after they escape the prison... Steve proposes to Sam with the red and gold decoder ring, with the same camera angle as before because Cinematic PARALLELS

He buys a real ring don’t worry but the decoder ring means more

So Bucky is happy and supportive and also maybe has a thing for Natasha but don’t ask him to admit that out loud because he will shoot your kneecaps (he won’t, Cap said no kneecap shooting, but he will seriously consider it)

Natasha does really think Maria Hill is hot but also she does like Bucky because she understands him (much like her with Bruce) and they do that “are they aren’t they” thing instead of her and Bruce...

Anyway yeah that's the first part...

So. Onto Infinity War and Endgame.

Peter Parker was fighting Thanos on Titan with Natasha and Bucky and the Guardians but Tony was not there.

Natasha sent for help with a Redwing-like droid she had from Sam when Thanos threw a fuckin moon at Bucky... but nobody came in time

So when the Snap happened Tony knew where they were and immediately did everything within his power to get to Titan immediately and turns out he has a suit that can go to space and turns out he made TWO of them

So he and Pepper show up there in their Spaceman Iron Man Suits and they find the Guardians disappearing and Bucky is gone too and Natasha is hysterical

And Pepper goes to soothe Natasha who has never been to space before and just lost her Bucky and everything else as far as she knows...

“It’s all my fault, it’s all my fault Pepper, don’t touch me Pepper I don’t want to lose you too, quit telling me it’s not my fault, you don’t know that, it’s all my fault, I should have been more careful, we should have gotten the gauntlet off of him, it’s all my fault Pepper, he’s gone because of me, they’re all gone because of me, I’ll never see Bucky again and it’s all my fault, how do you KNOW it’s not my fault Pepper you weren’t even here--”

And Tony goes to Peter who tells him what happened, in a slow shaky voice... and he is shaking badly, and he’s getting really pale... and he’s like “Mr Stark I don’t feel so good...”

And you can tell he's fighting it off with all his strong boy Spidey powers... and then he falls into Tony and Tony lays the boy down and is trying to be Strong but also crying because that’s his boy! He should have been here to save him!

And he’s like “Mr Stark I'm Scared I don’t wanna Go”

And he keeps getting paler and shaking more and more and his skin is starting to crack... and obviously fighting it is making him more in pain, so Tony through his hysterical tears is like "it's ok, Peter, you can rest now" (TO PARALLEL HIS OWN DEATH IN ENDGAME)

And then Peter visibly relaxes and closes his eyes and then dusts away...

So the only thing that really changes in endgame is that Steve is way more visibly upset about EVERYTHING because my boy has lost everybody... his Sam, his Bucky, and ergo his Natasha because girl is long gone mentally for a while

Even once she gets a bit more recovered Nat is vaguely hysterical the entire time because she lost her Bucky and she has so much guilt and PTSD from Titan but she gets better when they find Clint... and she still sacrifices herself. Mostly in hopes to see Bucky again.

And Steve just fuckin loses it when Clint comes back without Natasha, he has now lost everybody, he fucking decks Clint in the face and he’s just absolutely pissed but everyone realizes it’s not personal so Clint isn’t mad but someone still needs to pull Cap off of him because dude WILL kill Clint by accident so Bruce pulls him off and then Clint (nursing his black eye) just... holds Steve while he cries, dude has also lost absolutely everything, he gets it.

Then when Bucky and Sam come back in the final battle Cap is all happy and shit

But after the battle he has the unfortunate task of telling Bucky that Natasha is gone and Bucky just breaks. He’s broken. He is Done with Life and Done with Everything. But then Clint tells him the full story and he gets an idea.

So actually... Bucky... is the one that goes back in time.

He goes back with the soul stone last and meets the red skull and first things first fucking decks him in the face for WW2 and he’s like “I'm giving you back the stone give me back my Natasha”

It takes some arguing and a bit more punching but he does agree to it

And so they come back and he has Natasha and everything is solidly okay

Steve still wants to retire... but with Sam. They both have been through enough and they just want to be happy together and start a family and whatever.

So he passes the reigns of being Captain America to Bucky.... And they go “Off The Grid” like Clint's family. Someday they’ll start their own family but right now Uncle Sam and Uncle Steve have to help Pepper and Happy take care of Morgan with Tony gone. (Yes he’s still gone, I’m sorry that’s what my brain said)

(I didn’t mention this before but Stan Lee made a cameo in my dream, he’s an onlooker when Steve proposes to Sam in the park where they first met and he says, “Back in my day, men weren’t allowed to do that. I’m glad it’s changed.” Anyway I think this dream is a message from the ghost of Stan Lee goodbye)

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thefudge · 6 years

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TLJ thoughts, post-viewing

sooo, i have a lot of feelings about a lot of things. also the subtitles didn’t prepare me. for a lot.

this movie is made up of many quiet, non-verbal moments and rian johnson lets those moments sink in and dwell with you and that’s great

rey exploring the workings of the force, for example. there’s a really cool sequence where she’s trying to find out who her parents are and she lowers herself in the embodiment of the dark side and it’s very trippy and cool. it’s not rushed and it’s v atmospheric. she gets the incentive to do that thanks to kylo. his revelations about luke and his general aura of “troubled darkness” inspire her to dig deeper.

i think what i liked most about reylo was its sense of gratuitous intimacy. what i mean by this is that they seemed to connect without effort, without having to manipulate the plot to make it fit. they seemed be in their own little movie, dealing with things beyond the usual surface level of star wars ‘good vs. evil’. kylo’s philosophy about letting the past go is definitely flawed, but the way the movie frames reylo, they do seem to “let go” of their surroundings and circumstances when they’re together. it’s sort of timeless.

i will say, i don’t think the romance was that "romantic”, if that makes sense? and i think it’s a good thing. their bond is very real, but it goes beyond “romantic drama” and your usual hero/villain trope. it has shades of that, ofc, and there is palpable sexual and romantic tension, imo. but i sensed something more mature and interesting between them. it could go either way. do i want reylo to have a future in ep 9 and after? yep. is it possible they won’t? also yep. mainly because kylo let rey down. and here’s the kicker: it’s not rey that really rejects him. it’s him that rejects rey. because she tries quite a few times to bring him over to her side, and i think her anger and sadness stem from the fact that, ultimately, kylo didn’t choose her, and ergo the light. he’s still v much conflicted and i think she can sense that. but rey is hungry. she wants all or nothing. she can’t have half of him. so she doesn’t reject him as much as tell him straight up that she won’t stand for being second. for instance, she expects him to fold to her side immediately after taking down snoke. when he doesn’t, she’s quite literally in tears. this hurts her on a deeper level than “oh no, the dark side won and the resistance lost an important ally.” no, this feels like her parents all over. leaving her, deserting her. that’s how i read it, tbh.

and kylo does some reprehensible shit in the latter quarter of the movie, lol, like i won’t woobify him, since i like my antiheroes to be antiheroes. but he's not quite villain level? if u look at snoke, if u take that cool, collected snarky asshole - that’s a villain. he knows who he is, and what he wants. kylo is hopelessly confused and always looking for validation. he tells rey that she’s the one always looking for father figures - but oh, benny ben. it’s actually you. he wants someone to really see him, and that’s why he’s drawn to rey. but just to clarify: he doesn’t have it in him to kill his mother. he has an open, unambiguous chance and he stops. he is willing to destroy her when she stands behind walls and is shielded by the resistance. yet when she’s in the open, no. that was my read on it.

his fight with luke is...very much one-sided. luke appears as a force-hologram to fight him and kylo just wants to obliterate him for very, very personal reasons. kylo is not the cool, collected new emperor who is going to “kill the past”. he lives so much in the past that he doesn’t even realize luke isn’t even there.

and btw, kylo doesn’t kill luke, though he wishes he had. early on we get this foreshadowing. when the first force-bond happens between him and rey, he goes “no, you’re not doing this. the effort would kill you.” meaning that, to transport yourself through space via force (without a bond) takes a looooot of energy. luke goes on a suicide mission, basically. he knows using the force like this will kill him. he’s almost having fun toying with kylo at the end.

when kylo realizes he’s a force-hologram, luke smiles and says “see you around, kid.” not exactly anakin vs obi-wan, if u know what i mean.

and then back on the island, we see luke peacefully give himself over to the force and vanish. it’s v tranquil and quite satisfying and the original star wars theme is used so well, imo. do i think we could’ve had more of luke? sure. but he went out on his own terms. that’s the whole point - kylo didn’t kill him. he killed himself.

again, i want to emphasize that kylo is still very much an antihero, dipping his toe into villainy (and failing - which makes him more angry, which only makes it harder to be the villain he wants to be haha). he’s not a Good Guy. many posts will crop up in the tag about what a poor, lost soul he is. yes and no. rey actually understands him when she closes the falcon door on him. she knows him and appreciates him. he will never really be ben solo and that’s a good thing. trying to be ben solo so hard is what got him in this mess. he isn’t supposed to be a Good Guy. so no, i don’t want him to “turn” (see my thoughts on “turning” below). i want him to truly move beyond the past and reform himself on his own terms, just like luke. because hey fam, luke isn’t a Good Guy in this movie either AND THAT’S GREAT. anyway, i certainly won’t be romanticizing him (kylo). he’s a compelling antihero who definitely has baggage and trauma (luke did try to kill him as a boy, though he has a wildly dramatized version of the event lol) but he is also someone who has to help himself. ultimately, rey’s goal isn’t to “save” him but to push him to save himself. honestly, if kylo had followed her and “turned” and reluctantly joined the resistance, it would’ve been a total let down and a betrayal of his character. him “turning” wouldn’t help him. he’d still have that darkness and that anger inside of him, multiplied. boy needs therapy - aka working through his issues, not ignoring them and joining the Good Side.

Other things I liked:

- admiral holdo’s arc - beautiful, well-done and surprising. laura dern kills it.

- benicio del toro!!!!! no small parts with this man. he is delightful. imagine rick from “rick and morty” but way hotter lol. he was probably my favorite addition, after rose. he’s the middle-ground guy, he’s more han solo than fucking han solo. he doesn’t believe in good guys vs bad guys and he shows both finn and the audience that the two sides err because they believe their path is the only path. he perfectly encapsulates the very real contradictions in modern-day ethics and how our “pure and wholesome” activism often shields us from some terrible truths. he does have a semblance of a heart underneath his cynicism but i love that in the end he doesn’t suddenly discover the power of friendship with finn and rose. he’s a jaded asshole with shades of good, who’s probably seen some rough shit. BUT, he has this super cute moment with rose before things go to shit regarding her necklace and it’s !!!!!! it shows how much he understands human nature. i kinda ship them. aaaanyway. i definitely think he will return, his arc is not done.

- ROSE TICO SMILING AND BEING HAPPY. ROSE TICO RIDING THAT KANGAROO CREATURE AND ENJOYING LIFE. i treasured those scenes a lot. she’s a great combo of feisty and childlike, tough and innocent. gosh, she reminds me of bonnie bennett so much ;___;

- general hux. yall, it’s true. it’s all true. hux may have won me over. hux in TFA was just a lite over-the-top villain imo. but here??? he’s such a fun, dynamic character, rian gave him a lot of fun, humorous moments. and honest to god, he’s also given some humanity. when kylo takes over, he is genuinely affected and disturbed by his level of aggression. and he’s....idk, much less evil in this one. probably because of the humor. he just seems like a man dead-set on fulfilling his mission, brainwashed to the core. and underneath the brainwashing, he seems to be your average overwhelmed white dude. i don’t think he’ll be redeemed or anything but...it’s weird how at the end of TLJ he is probably the MOST reasonable dude from the first order???

- there’s this great little message about failure. i think here TLJ was inspired by Rogue One. because a lot of the characters in this movie learn to let go and accept defeat. you can’t always save everyone, you can’t always fight back. sometimes, the brave thing is to retreat and treasure the ppl you love. so i def liked that.

- GODDAMN GHOST YODA. i honestly thought i’d hate it because...gimmick, amirite? but that scene with luke was SO emotional and also funny and visceral and just - i was a bit teary-eyed, ME, THE GRINCH. i was suddenly nine again, watching star wars for the first time. ANYWAY.

- luke skywalker deserves a separate entry. mark hamill did so much with this character in the last few scenes. also some of the stuff he says about the force in this movie is legit beautiful and i love how he criticizes the vanity of the jedi - because this was what was missing from the prequels. anakin fell because the council was tone-deaf. the jedi are often responsible for their own doom and so they must always be vigilant - which is a goddamn thankless job. i love that luke acknowledges this.

-luke/leia moment. GAAAAH. HE KISSES HER FOREHEAD GOODBYE AND SHE KNOWS HE’S NOT COMING BACK FROM THIS. I DIED.

- in that order of business, leia finally FIIIINALLY gets to show off a bit and use the force in a pro-active manner. it’s also clear to me that episode 9 would’ve been the story of her and “ben” and i think she would have been the catalyst for his eventual development. but sadly, we’ll never see that ;____;

-there is some gorgeous cinematography and visual direction in this movie. particularly in the third act, on that salt planet? the red trails? shivers.

-i didn’t hate any of the new creatures like i thought i would??? probably because they were used sparingly and with a sense of humor.

Stuff i kind of didn’t like:

- phasma. phasma, phasma, phasma. WHAT was that??? like tell me that wasn’t anticlimactic as hell. she was, sadly, a pointless character. unless she somehow survived the fire and destruction, which i doubt, i really don’t see the point of casting wonderful gwendolyn christie just to stand there in armor.

- MAZ KANATA. is barely in this. i call bullshit.

-sigh, okay so i loved rose to death, but her arc revolved way too much around finn. on the one hand i get it, on the other hand.... i was hyped because ppl were saying she gets this big moment to shine. and granted, imo, she shines every moment she’s on screen. but i think her climactic scene was... *fart noises*. it’s completely centered around finn. she saves him basically, and it’s definitely heartfelt and lovely but also...it’s finn’s moment 100%. because it’s him who has to learn about his own worth. i do think they make a good team and i ship them a little bit, but the one-sided kiss was not satisfying and i’m tired of having to watch my darling woc give their love and devotion freely, only to be tertiary characters in their own story. like, imo, it should’ve been rose who flew straight into that cannon and tried to take it down for her sister. she should’ve been the one determined to take it down. and it should’ve been finn to save her and tell her they must find meaning in other things. finn definitely cares for her and in the last scene we have of him, he’s tending over rose and waiting for her to wake up BUT. will rose ever be number one for anyone, like the white girls, i wonder? eh, i’m probably just grumpy old aunt. she does get to have an internal world, she’s a believable human being, she matters. the thing is, white girls in these movies can bend their little finger and they’re considered worthy and complex. rose has to jump through hoops to be seen the same way. anyway.

- i liked poe dameron’s arc, which is “hey, maybe i should stop posturing and listen to women more lol” which is “learn when to retreat and stand down” but...honestly, you hire gorgeous oscar isaac who can give you real emotional weight and you just...kinda under-utilize him. yes, he did a lot of stuff, but he...didn’t take time to internalize it. this dude feels like he’s got a lot of demons and conflicting desires and a rich inner life, yet we only skim the surface of that. like, he’s aways in go-mode, we rarely get a quiet moment with him. like pls fix this, episode 9.

-luke’s reaction to han’s death is pfffffffffffff. maybe we’ll get more in a deleted scene?

- also....can we stop pussyfooting and legit talk about han as a dad? because they keep hinting he wasn’t a good one, nor a very good husband to leia. but...it’s very unsatisfying to keep hearing about it without good storytelling to back it up.

- the world-building & the origins of the first order. i had problems with this in TFA and, big surprise, i still have problems with it here. basically, why has the first order taken over the new republic? how did they gain support? were there remnants of the old empire that survived and thrived as the first order? what about the knights of ren? luke mentions kylo took some students with him when he destroyed the jedi temple, so....what about those guys? like, this very fraught and war-torn landscape doesn’t have a solid history. how did A become B? why is every corner of the galaxy oppressed? why are some planets thriving more? are they all arm-dealers??? i find that hard to believe. yeah, we have the expanded universe for that, we have books and comics etc. but i need these movies to give us a sense of their own universe. i’m...still not convinced.

-lolol, snoke dies like a bitch. and it’s so anticlimactic and duuuumb. dude, a five-year old coulda seen that coming but your ancient super powerful ass couldn’t? laaaame. he’s like “oh, yes, i sense no more conflict in you, kylo ren. just a deep certainty”. YES FOOL, because he’s decided to remove u, because he’s confident he wants rey, and not you, by his side. it was soooo lame. but i guess we had to remove him to make the audience think kylo was turning good for a second there.

-which reminds me... and you probably saw this coming, i hate the idea of “turning”. rey keeps talking about ben turning to the light. and this verb annoys me to no end. it’s made clear that they both already have a lot of light and darkness in each other. it’s about finding balance. where’s my grey jedi??? episode 9 pls????

Extra Reylo stuff i didn’t see mentioned which i adored:

- during their first force-bond moment when they sense each other, kylo ren runs out of the medical unit and into the corridor like a goddamn luckless teenager, expecting to see rey pop up in a prom dress. it’s precious. i love awkward!kylo. also rey tries to shoot him bc she thinks he’s actually there and kylo bends down, thinking he was shot. it’s a rly cool moment. and it doesn’t feel malicious like, he doesn’t expect anything less from her.

- there’s so much charged electricity between them and it’s not all sexual. it’s kinda mystical and i dig it. i’m weirdly reminded of xavier and magneto??? as in two enemies who have such a rich history and whose bond transcends human morality.

-OKAY. i saw no one talking about this but THAT GODDAMN SNOW WHITE SCENE. so rey decides she’s going to turn kylo to the light because that’s their one hope of defeating the first order etc. luke tries to stop her, but she’s like i’m going after my man. okay. she gets on the falcon, then she puts herself in this casket-like pod and AND. we get this lovely, breath-taking sequence of her arriving at the first order base, slipping gently into the hangar in her casket. and she’s def nervous. AND THEN. she looks up through the glass and there’s steam at first and through the steam we see kylo’s face, looking down at her wistfully. IT’S SO WEIRDLY FAIRY-TALE WTF. and then ofc the guards come in to shackle her. BUT JESUS. the prince looking into the casket to find snow-white WHAT ARE THESE AESTHETICS. it felt like a nod to the infamous scene in TFA where he carries her bridal style. it’s very fairy-tale-esque.

- i love that in the scene with the multiple reys, when she reaches through the mirror to see her parents, the shadowy figure who appears and touches her hand seems at first to be kylo and then she realizes it’s herself. i also love that she talks to kylo about that experience. GAH.

- i just rly loved that there was so much humanity in their interactions.

Reylo stuff which sort of bothered me/left me wanting more:

- like excuse u rian, during the praetorian guards fight, i needed more moments where kylo looks at rey and is worried for her sake. i needed that fight to be a bit more visceral and about the two of them and their survival. they do fight together and it’s great but then...they’re sort of separated and carry their own small battles (i did love how rey saved him with that lightsaber throw)

- the whole “you come from nothing, you are nothing.” yea yeah, he’s a dummy who doesnt know how to express his feelings, he’s mr. darcy x 1000 of faux pas. but i still think adam driver’s acting went a little much there. the way he delivered that line was a bit off for me. ofc, he follows it with “but not to me”, because he’s basically proposing to her, but i needed a bit more, an extra line from him confirming her importance. or maybe no extra line, but a bit more feeling. did i mention i love wrecked!kylo? the “please” killed me haha.

Final thoughts:

- enjoyed it more than i expected to, and it does operate with way more nuance than TFA but it stiiiill fell short with some characters. it didn’t have the weight of rogue one for me, but it’s more lighthearted and entertaining, which i appreciate, cuz it reminded me of my childhood. and ultimately, whether we like it or not, disney does operate on nostalgia. all in all, it’s a worthy star wars movie, 8/10. rian deserves an A-. (he also wrote this thing and whoaaa...i wonder how much more ambiguous and dark this movie woulda been if he’d been given full non-disney freedom)

#tlj #tlj spoilers #reylo #i also talk about other characters and plots but i'm a reylo person so ppl are gonna probably be annoyed if i tag the characters sigh #tlj review #my thoughts

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electraposts · 7 years

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AIC 26

“That one.”

Inoichi gave him a sidelong glance that was far too expressive for 5 in the morning. “As you say, Hokage-sama.”

Minato considered explaining. He was too tired.

'Kushina, I wish you were here for this. You're laughing at me, aren't you?'

There was no sign of her, of course, other than the ache in his soul where they should be touching. He pressed his lips together and waited for the genin he'd chosen to be brought in.

When he was led in, the boy had his shoulders back just a little too far and his hands were clearly aching to make fists. He was defensive. Not overly fearful.

'Is Naruto like this boy? Would he be wary of me, too?'

Minato smiled brightly. “Please, have a seat.” While the genin was dithering, he made a point of glancing down at the clipboard he was holding. “Inai-san, right?”

His daughter's favored student sat down with slow, deliberate movements. He straightened his back. He didn't make eye contact. “Yondaime-Hokage-san.”

'That's exactly the minimum amount of politeness required,' Minato thought. 'How familiar.' He didn't let the ghost of a smile reach his face. “How are you finding your stay in Konoha?”

Inai Yuusaku swallowed whatever smartass remark he'd been about to make. “Acceptable. How is yours?”

Well. Maybe he hadn't swallowed all of the sass.

'Disorienting. Highly concerning. I don't have the time or freedom to conduct the research I'd need to know what exactly has gone so wrong here.'

He felt his eyes crease in a smile. “It's beautiful, isn't it? I missed the plum blossoms last year.”

The Kiri genin gave him a mildly disbelieving look. “So you did. Maybe some other things too, but mostly the plums.”

Minato crossed his ankles underneath his chair. “I hear good things about Kirigakure lately. Is there anything you particularly like to do at this time of year?”

It was sort of cute, watching the kid strain to understand what Minato was hoping to glean from that question. In the end, he played it safe. “Not really.”

“How did you end up training under the Mizukage?” Minato asked casually.

The boy gave him a sharp look. “I am lucky to have a skilled teacher.”

He was neither confirming or denying that Aiko was the Mizukage. Even after she'd given her implicit permission for her team to talk about it.

“Of course,” he agreed politely. “But you shouldn't be so modest. I hear good things about your performance in the second task of the chuunin exams, in particular.”

If he hadn't already known the body language in that recorded fight belonged to Aiko, the stiff and defensive set to the genin's shoulders would have confirmed it.

“Thank you,” Inai-san said. He made eye contact and then looked away as quickly.

“Uzumaki-san was in Kirigakure's Black Ops, wasn't she?” Minato tried.

The shrug the genin gave seemed genuine. “I am not privy to the career details of my seniors.”

“Of course.” He uncrossed his ankles and adjusted his feet to be the perfectly proper four inches apart. “But it's an open secret, isn't it? It is unusual for someone with such a low-profile career to be welcomed into the upper echelons of government. There's not many other confidential departments where a shinobi can become powerful enough to become a kage.”

Inai probably didn't realize that he gave a minuscule nod of agreement. He believed that theory, then.

That was... Well. He hadn't expected that Aiko would have been honest about where she had come from. A classified career was the most comforting explanation that Kirigakure could come to.

“How long has she been your teacher?”

“Only since the weeks prior to the chuunin exams.”

'Aiko specifically told them to be honest about that, then. He's hedging ambiguous answers where he isn't sure what she wants and spitting out what he's sure is safe.'

Minato nodded and gave a conversational hum. “Is she a good teacher?”

Inai gave an answer to that easily, in the affirmative. But of course he would.

“Thank you for your time,” Minato decided. He stood up and resisted the urge to put his hands in his pockets.

The genin looked relieved. He actually gave a half-bow from his seated position.

Minato let his posture relax as he pulled open the door. “Goodbye.” He nodded to the foreigner. “Before I go, I have one last question.” Minato tossed it out as though it was an afterthought. He rubbed at the tendon behind his right ear. “If your teacher decides she wants me gone, how would she do it?”

He pretended not to notice how incredibly tense that was making the observing ANBU.

Inai Yuusaku seemed more than a little confused by the question. His eyes narrowed, looking for the trick. “I'm afraid I've never seen her in a difficult fight,” the genin hedged. “I can't say what she would do.”

Minato nodded. “Thank you. Have a good day.” He let the door shut behind him and immediately set off to his temporary office, not the conference room behind one-way glass. Yamanaka-san would follow after the genin had been taken back to his cell. He only had to wait a couple of minutes before Inoichi slipped inside with a mild expression and let the door shut quietly.

“Yondaime-sama.” Inoichi nodded. The way his long hair slipped over his shoulder was the same way Minato remembered, even if the wrinkles and scars were new.

He managed a thin smile. “What did you think?”

The Yamanaka took a moment to respond. “I do not think he gave any information that Uzumaki-san would have forbidden him to give,” Inoichi said.

'He thinks I made a mistake in choosing that genin to interrogate.'

Minato nodded. “Yes.” He folded his arms and leaned against the wall. “He did a good job.”

Inoichi looked at him, perfectly steady. There was no judgment in his clear blue eyes.

Minato snorted and made a waving motion. “You think I'm an idiot.”

The younger man shook his head solemnly. “Not at all, Yondaime-sama.” Inoichi let one corner of his mouth slip up in a smile. “I'm waiting to hear what you wished to accomplish.”

He eyed Inoichi, but indulged. “I didn't need any classified information that a genin would have been privy to.” Minato scratched the back of his neck. “But he did inadvertently confirm that Uzumaki-san has revived the dead before and that he believes the process to be permanent. I'd say that the breakdown of what Uzumaki-san did and did not classify would also indicate that she has dug her heels into Kirigakure, but has not been transparent about her history. She isn't especially friendly, but she hasn't ruled out cooperation with Konohagakure.”

He was hungry, again. That was so odd. It was a strange feeling to get used to again.

“I see,” Inoichi said slowly.” A frown line formed. “I had made the first connection myself- his answer about how Uzumaki-san would get rid of you was phrased ambiguously to protect knowledge of her fighting style, but clearly assumed that a fight would be necessary.” He tilted his head. “I... can see hints that evidence your later conclusions.”

Minato didn't answer the implicit question. He was going to have to, eventually. It hung like a rock in his stomach. He just... He needed some time to gather more information and come to a conclusion about what needed to be done.

“Thank you,” he said. He heard that his voice came out wooden, but didn't muster up the energy to falsify emotion. “That will be all for now. I'll speak with the Sandaime soon, but you may as well go first.”

Inoichi didn't bother to deny that he would be reporting to the Sandaime. “Very well, then.”

He couldn't work up the emotional effort to be offended that the Sandaime was distrustful of him. It made sense. The situation was incredibly suspicious.

'It's really starting to look like an alternate timeline situation.' Minato slowly collapsed to a seated position on the floor and ran his hands up his hair. 'Aiko, what have you done? Do you even know?'

She was different from the 14 year old girl he had briefly known in Rouran. At least, in presentation. It was a fair assumption that a lot of the same neurosis and traits were present, just better hidden. Less raw. He could easily see where the same need for control was playing out in this genin team she had adopted, the same protective desires towards younger and more vulnerable children. The oddity was that she had ended up bonding to persons in Kirigakure.

'If I can get her to come to Konohagakure, that would be best. I don't know if she can be convinced to leave.'

It was completely mad that this situation existed and he didn't even get the luxury of feeling confused about it. There was a terrible certainty in his gut. He knew what had happened- what linked him and Aiko. It was so terribly vulnerable to extra variables, simply because it wasn't meant to be subverted at all.

Minato wasn't under any illusions about what he was. He was walking and breathing and his heart was beating, but his soul belonged to the death god. He'd been given physical form to bear witness, but he hadn't truly been revived as one of the living.

The only question, really, was why Aiko had come to this place. Had it been an accident, like what had happened in Rouran? This was absolutely another dimension- there were only two live hiraishin seals in existence. One was in Kakashi-kun's possession, and the other one was being kept alive by the natural chakra in Rouran. Aiko had made certain that he wouldn't do that, ergo, there was either no Aiko belonging to this universe or at the very least, she was not the same as the Aiko he had encountered.

It seemed likely that he had never had a daughter in this universe, and not simply because no one seemed to think Naruto had a twin. Why else would Aiko have found herself in this specific timeline? This proved that alternate realities exist, and that probably meant infinite realities. Unless it was pure chance drawing Aiko to this universe, then there was some other factor involved.

Minato pieced listlessly through the reports he'd already studied. He kept coming back to focus on one paragraph in particular- Aiko had rather baldly interrogated a genin about siblings.

He wanted to think that her lack of subtlety meant that she had been upset or surprised by what she had learned- that perhaps she had never considered that there would have been no Aiko in this universe. Or that she had strong reason to believe she had a counterpart?

'She should be conversant with this theory.' Minato leaned back and ruffled his hair up. 'She's capable of adapting and using hiraishin. Maybe it's not her focus area, but I doubt that. So why wouldn't Aiko have learned about multiverse theory?'

From that he could posit two possible solutions- option one was that her fuinjutsu education was bizarrely inconsistent and patchy. Given that she should have been reared by Jiraiya, he would have said that was impossible. Of course, now in this universe he had seen that Jiraiya had abandoned his responsibilities to Naruto. Grimly, Aiko's selective ignorance was not as far-fetched as he would like.

Option two was that she had been upset by Naruto's answer because she specifically had reason to believe she had a younger counterpart. That was interesting. If there really was another Aiko in this universe, where was she? Why hadn't anyone ever mentioned Naruto's twin to him, if only to explain why she was absent? Why would Aiko know when no one else seemed to?

'Or Aiko could have just panicked. People do foolish things and forget obvious information when they are panicked.'

That theory was less interesting. Minato bounced his right leg a few times. He frowned when he caught himself fidgeting.

This office was a third the size of the Hokage's office. It felt like he was working in a dark cave and the walls would come down at any mo-

Minato dismissed the thought. He took deep, calm breaths. He did not ruminate on the soul that he'd never encountered in all his years wandering and reconnecting. It made some sense that forgiveness was still coming. Avoiding someone who got you killed was reasonable. Perhaps after a decade one's resolve might fade, but- it was what it was.

The walls were a pale green, textured with dust that made them scratchy. It was rather tasteful. He looked at them for a while, pushing down the blackness. If there was a window, he would have opened it. Or maybe he would have jumped out of it and chosen not to use any chakra.

That, he reflected, was possibly why there was no window.

He wasn't going to kill himself. Probably. He had a bone-deep terror that he wouldn't be able to pass back to where he belonged. Would his soul be trapped in limbo? Would he intrude on this Minato and Kushina's afterlife? Would Kushina wait for him until the world shook apart and death was unmade?

The only person who might be able to give him a hint was in Kirigakure playing at Mizukage. He was grudgingly, confusingly proud of her for achieving that. Aiko was a very odd person, but she didn't lack for ambition, did she? She was definitely his kid. And she seemed more stable than she'd been as a teenager. That was a good sign.

Talking to her in private would be... not impossible, but difficult. And unwise, given that the Sandaime was trying to figure out if Minato was under her control, as well as what had possessed him to keep a child completely secret and send her off to Kirigakure.

He hadn't asked yet, but he probably would, once investigation turned up nothing. It would have been a very strange choice, so Minato couldn't blame the Sandaime for wondering.

Would it be better or worse to tell the Sandaime that he was misplaced in dimensions? Would Sandaime believe him? Would sharing that information cause harm to Aiko?

Minato cleared his throat. “Excuse me.”

ANBU boar obediently entered the room.

“I want to interview the genin who wrote this report.” Minato handed it over. “Have her brought to me, please.”

The shinobi gave the report a cursory glance and then handed it back. “Of course, Hokage-sama.” He bowed and left quickly.

Minato spared a moment to feel a bit sorry for how alarmed that girl was going to be when told that the undead Hokage wanted to talk to her about a mission months ago. In all likelihood, she wouldn't remember anything more detailed than what she had written in her report. But if there was a chance he could push her to remember more details, specific wording that Aiko had used or facial expressions- well. It could help him.

He occupied the late morning and afternoon with the materials the Sandaime had arranged in order to help him understand the current political and social climate.

Three sharp raps on the door made him look up. That was Boar's hand, but he wouldn't be knocking to enter.

“Come in,” Minato called, more on reflex than as a decision. He frowned immediately. The list of people who was approved to come and see him was short. Who was- oh, already?

The door took a good long second to open, during which time Minato twirled his pen and leaned back in his chair.

“Please excuse me.”

He had melted at that timid little voice before he had a name to go with that pink hair. “Haruno-san,” Minato said gently. Just looking at her made him feel a bit squishy and parental. She was rather small. “Thank you for coming so quickly. I read your reports and had some questions for you. Please, have a seat.”

She gave the chair a fearful look.

Um. Maybe she was too polite to sit in her Hokage's presence. “Or you can stand.”

Sakura gave him a wobbly smile. After a moment's deliberation, she sat. She did not relax in the slightest.

Alright, then. He dug out the relevant report. “You mentioned that Uzumaki Aiko exhibited attachment to members of your team,” Minato started, as though he wasn't very aware of why this would be true. “Did you at any time have the impression that she might be willing to come to Konoha for the chance to be near anyone?”

Sakura twisted her hands in her lap. She looked up and then down quickly. “It's possible, Hokage-sama. She was kind to Sasuke and I, but I think she was very protective of Naruto.”

'Yes,' Minato thought dryly. 'She would be. She was worried about him when they were the same age. Now that he looks like a child to her, she would be more alarmed. My best guess is that she was checking to see if this Naruto had an Aiko to take care of him- she would have come back to Konoha at that point if she could have. But now that the shock has passed, she could have rationalized that he isn't in danger, or that she can protect him from afar.'

She was projecting those feelings onto her current genin team, most likely. But the bond there wasn't as strong. It couldn't possibly be.

The trouble was deciding what to do with that information. He wasn't willing to hurt those kids on the off chance that Aiko would come to Konoha without them to mother. Was separating them more or less likely to help? Should he keep them apart as long as possible and see if her attachment faded? Or would it demonstrate more goodwill to give them back to her?

Had he made a mistake by not removing the hiraishin seal Aiko had left on her genin? Had that been a message, or had she really forgotten that it would be no barrier for him?

He had to admit that he didn't really know his daughter well enough to guess. It left a bitter taste in his mouth.

'She might return if Naruto asked her to. She wouldn't do it for me.'

Minato sighed. “How do you think she felt about your sensei? Was she relaxed? Fearful? Interested?”

Consternation crossed the genin's face. “Ah. Kakashi-sensei?” Sakura furrowed her brow. “She wasn't deferential at all, even when she was pretending to be a civilian. She might have...” Sakura looked a bit ill. “She might have flirted with him a bit. She exhibited a pattern of being apparently dismissive and disinterested, but she was very aware of him.” Sakura folded her hands more demurely in her lap. “And she took interest in ensuring his health, when I don't think it served her purposes.”

Well. He could see why she would make certain her genin sensei was healthy, even without a direct benefit. But still, Minato wondered at that possibility.

'Aiko could well have a crush on Kakashi. Or it could just be her familiarity and trust with her Kakashi bleeding over and looking odd to anyone who doesn't know why she cares about him.'

“Did you notice any concrete signs of attraction?”

She looked as thought she would very much prefer to forget this conversation. “Um.” Sakura grimaced. “She and Tsunami-san may have exchanged some meaningful looks and comments. But I didn't think it was serious.”

He mercifully abandoned that line of questioning for now, suppressing any amusement. For the next ten minutes he picked Sakura's memory. She did surprisingly well at repeating what seemed to have been verbatim quotes, and could recall specific body language.

When he finished, he leaned back. “Thank you, Haruno-san. You've been very helpful.” He tapped his pen against the paper where he'd been taking notes. “Do you have any questions or comments for me?”

Her eyes widened. “Hokage-sama,” Sakura said, as thought she was newly realizing that was who she was talking to.

He resisted the urge to see if someone was standing behind him. “That is me,” Minato said cautiously.

She gave a polite little bow, as though pre-emptively apologizing for the rudeness of daring to speak to him. Her hair swept forward to cover her face. “Yondaime-Hokage-sama.” She stopped. “I do have a question.”

“Yes?” he prompted, trying not to smile.

The girl put her hands behind her back and lifted her chin. “I want to know why no one has told Naruto that Aiko-san is his sister.”

He dropped his pen.

“What.”

The girl barreled on. “Naruto deserves to know. Does Aiko-san know for sure? I'm worried that will come around and cause political trouble down the line.”

'Good god, Kakashi. You trained this girl? I didn't give you enough credit as a teacher.'

Minato folded his hands on his desk, a plain one with the cheap plastic cover. He took a moment. “You are very small and frightening,” he told Sakura. “That's a good combination. Have you considered your career path?”

Her brow furrowed. Oh god, her big green eyes glinted when she looked at him so suspiciously. He wanted to give her an ice cream and teach her to make explosions.

He wouldn't have been surprised if Kakashi or Jiraiya had figured that out. But this little girl, who didn't have the extra hints of the connections between Minato and both of his kids.... How had she done it? Minato considered what she could possibly know and how that could point in the right direction. “Why do you think that?”

Haruno glanced down at her sandals. “Strong circumstantial evidence implied that she thinks she's Naruto's sister. She could be wrong, but she seems like she knows what's she's doing.” She dug a toe into the carpet. “Superficially, there are also some similarities in appearance and personality. They've got the same smile, for one thing.”

He'd never registered a particularly memorable smile from either of them. Minato tilted his head. “You know, I want a detailed explanation of the evidence and logic that lead to your conclusions.” He raised an eyebrow. “Can you have that on my desk today?”

“Um. Yes?” Haruno seemed a little confused, but that was alright.

“Just come back whenever you're finished. I don't know if Kakashi-kun is a good teacher for you, but I hope he's proud of you,” Minato told her. “You're going to have a great career. Thank you, you may leave. Please keep this meeting and all contents to yourself.”

Flustered, Haruno bowed far deeper than was necessary. She was rapidly turning a shade that threatened to compete with her hair. “Ah, yes. Thank you Yondaime-sama. Goodbye, Yondaime-sama.”

“Have a nice day,” he said.

“Yes, Yondaime-sama.” She closed the door.

Minato didn't bother to conceal a smile. He sat very quietly, leaning forward a little to listen for the sounds of the girl gathering her wits enough to leave. After two seconds, there was a quiet, “Damn.” Then she left.

He huffed out a laugh. “What a sweet kid.”

The morning dawned sullenly. Or maybe that was Aiko projecting on it. She struggled her way to the office and only remembered she was supposed to have fed Gaara as she was taking a report from Saito-san's hands. She accepted the papers with both hands and a guilty feeling.

'For two shining days in a row, I was a responsible adult,' she thought. 'I've hit my peak, it's all downhill into garbageville from here.'

“Saito-san, please have Sakurai-san report to me as soon as he comes in,” Aiko said. She transferred the papers to only her left hand. “When is my first appointment?”

If it hadn't been for the wrinkles that said otherwise, Aiko would have been forced to conclude that Saito had never smiled a day in her life. “From 7:45 until 8:05, you have the three hospital administrators. At 8:10, you could see Sakurai-san until 8:40. After that, you have three consecutively scheduled appointments in half-hour blocks that would begin at 8:50 and last until 10:30am. At that point, your schedule opens up until after lunch.”

Aiko eyed her. “The last appointment is with you, isn't it?”

Saito-san nodded sharply, but her halo of tight gray curls didn't bounce a millimeter.

“I'll look forward to it.” Aiko ran fingers through her hair, pulling it all to rest over her right shoulder. “Who is the young man who brought my coffee yesterday?”

“Kouzui-kun. Was there a problem?” There was a hint of teeth in that question.

“No problem at all,” Aiko said mildly. It seemed more politic not to express surprise at the slightly inauspicious name. But, really? Unless it was a really strange spelling, his name had to be Flood. What family living on an island would want to be named 'Flood'? “Please ask him to prepare refreshments for my first meeting, and to bring it in at 7:44 to signal the start of the meeting.” She tapped her reports against her left hip. “Thank you, that will be all for now.”

Saito bowed her way out of the office. Not two seconds later, she was barking out orders to someone who wasn't using both hands to transport boxes of mission scrolls. Aiko pressed her lips together tightly even though no one was around to see her smile.

In the brief window of time she had, Aiko managed to read through the missions report data from the last week. It painted a picture that was incrementally better than last week's, but formed a stronger pattern of improvement when she remembered what these had looked like when she had first started reading them. Her personnel had been engaged in 2409 missions during the course of the week, 2089 had been completed and 1988 of which had been completed successfully.

It was a far cry from the 100% efficiency mark of managing 3577 weekly missions, but it was better than she had seen in past.

The numbers were artificially inflated by the bloating of D-class missions, of course. On average, a team could complete 4 D-class missions per day, and ideally that would form about 15% of the overall mission intake. With 23% of the mission requests coming for low-paid D-class missions, the treasury wasn't repleting properly, and shinobi who really ought to be doing C and B class work were being pulled to missions below their skill level. If she-

“Mizukage-sama.” She looked up at the voice that came before two polite knocks on the door frame.

“Yes?” Aiko kept her tone mild to conceal the sharp spike of irritation she felt.

Nishikawa-san pulled the door open and gestured behind him. “Sanno-sama, Eirei-sama, and Namamura-sama are here for your meeting.”

“Of course.” She stacked the papers together and slid them into a folder. Then she came around her desk to greet her guests. Eirei relaxed during the pleasantries of bowing and being seated, but Namamura and Sanno were unperturbed from the start. That was a little off-putting, since Eirei was the only one who she had met prior.

“Mizukage-sama.” Sanno was the one to begin, once they were arranged in the trio of chairs in front of her desk. “Let me be the first to thank you for the honor of the invitation to talk.”

Aiko folded her hands in her lap unconsciously and ducked a couple of seated bows. “Not at all, Sanno-san,” she deferred. “I am pleased that you could find the time in your busy schedules.” The door slid open quietly. She glanced behind her guests to see that Kouzui was carefully balancing a tray in both hands while Nishikawa silently shut the door behind him. She turned her attention back to her guests. “The aim of our meeting today is to go over the new direction for the city hospitals. I would like your concerns, as well for you to communicate the new direction to the head of the hospital.”

The three-person board of directors must have already designated Sanno as spokeperson, because he didn't glance at his fellows. “I regret to inform you that the senior management is missing key personnel that will make enacting a change difficult. We are in the process of internal review to begin promotion, but it could take some time to complete hiring and other necessary changes.” The big man leaned slightly out of the way as Kouzui placed a cup and saucer on the sidetable at his elbow.

“I'm aware.” Aiko said evenly. “I consider filling the position of Head Doctor your most immediate concern. I would like to request that you waive the two-month probationary period in favor of immediately assigning one of the seniors to the role on a temporary basis. In my opinion, Kamimura-sensei would be suited to overseeing the changes I have in mind, as interim head or whatever designation seems appropriate to you.”

Kouzui left as silently as he'd entered. Sanno glanced backwards before making a moment of eye contact with Eirei.

“What did you have in mind for the hospital this year?”

Aiko glanced down at her desk for an instant to be sure she was handing over the correct papers and not her missions efficiency reports. “It's a two year plan, with a review scheduled in 3 months. I want to construct a new, more modern building for the main hospital within the year, and the two satellite clinics to be completed after that. I'm concerned about insufficient corridor width in the burn ward-”

Eirei was nodding as he passed the last paper on to Namamura. “Yes, I see,” he agreed. “That was renovated from an older section and it's really not up to code. But this project sounds prohibitively expensive, Mizukage-sama. Our current budget is not sufficient for 3 new buildings within two years, much less maintaining the current ones concurrently until the transition can be made.”

“Which I why I want you to direct the financial review to come up with a projection of expenses.” Aiko took a sip of her coffee- 3 creams, 4 sugars. Someone in the office was feeling kind this morning. Or trying to kill her gradually with too much sugar. Could the two be compatible? It might be Mei.

“That projection will need to account for additional hiring and training as well. I'm aiming to increase the staff by 2% this year, and 3% the following year.” She gestured at the notes she'd handed them. “I want to make a career in the medical sector more appealing to draw in more candidates to reduce the workload and head off the burnout. That's going to involve more aggressive recruiting and some mandatory aptitude testing, as well as a slight salary and benefits increase. Once we've dealt with the current glut of D-level missions, I think suitable candidates could be drawn from our genin population as well as aiming further recruitment into the Academy.”

“And the funds for all this?” Eirei was carefully neutral in tone, despite pressing the point.

Aiko favored him with a slight smile. “This is one of my highest priorities. If I find the budget requests reasonable, I will find a way to fund them. Additionally, the costs for the construction are not going to be on the hospital budget. I need your cooperation for drawing the blueprints to ensure the facilities will be adequate, but your other responsibilities for that project will be minimal.”

The meeting went on along those carefully polite lines. It wasn't ideal that they were too cautious to offer many thoughts, but it was efficient. She'd take it and probably miss it later, when people got bold enough to argue with her.

Kouzui slid open the door at 8:04 to begin collecting dishes, and wow she could get used to staff that insightful. The silent prompting helped draw the meeting to an easy close and usher the trio of older men out on their way only two minutes past the designated ending time. It took one minute for Kouzui to remove two of the chairs to the storage area and refill her cup. She leaned back and rubbed at her head in the two minutes before Sakurai let himself in.

“Good morning, Mizukage-sama.” He barely glanced at his inviting seat, with coffee steaming on the side table.

She gestured for him to sit. “Good morning, Sakurai-san. Did Gaara-kun report to you this morning?”

His mouth twitched. “He reported directly to Tazuna-san, Mizukage-sama. I have received his verbal report about his orders and aims for the day.”

Aiko tilted her head, prompting for further thoughts.

Sakurai didn't take the bait, because he wasn't a sucker.

Fair enough. She could go to the source for information, later.

“I've decided on your role going forward, based on your experience with international trade in past.” Aiko gave him a smile. “For now you'll still be handling the infrastructural projects, but we'll be moving new projects over to Utakata in future to free you up for setting up a financial department. Do you have thoughts about who you would like to work with?”

Sakurai blinked once, twice. He pressed his lips together tightly. “What would this position entail, precisely?”

“You'll be developing and implementing policy for ship-based trade,” Aiko explained. “That would involve working closely with the Treasury, as well as several civilian industry leaders.”

“I see.” He didn't move for a moment. Sitting straight and perfectly still like that in the sunlight, Sakurai cut a rather heroic figure. Aiko had the frivolous thought that the off-white stone of the Hokage monument wouldn't do justice to the dramatic warmth of his complexion but she didn't know what material would be better.

“May I speak freely?”

Aiko frowned more on instinct than displeasure. “You may. What's on your mind?”

Sakurai, impossibly, sat even straighter. “I would like to respectfully decline this assignment, if I may. I believe that my skills are better used in the area where I am currently working.”

What.

“The reconstruction won't be indefinite,” Aiko pointed out. “Tazuna and his team will leave. It won't keep you busy.”

“It's true that our immediate concerns will be addressed in short order,” Sakurai agreed levelly. “However, much of our infrastructure and housing is old, built according to out-dated standards. Our city planning does not reflect the standards of one of the greatest nations. We need a long-term plan to rejuvenate Kirigakure and bring our institutions, cultural and functional, to the pinnacle of modernity and international dignity befitting our status.”

She rested her arms on her desk. “You've been thinking about this,” Aiko said slowly. “What would you term as our priority long-term and short-term concerns?”

Sakurai didn't fully conceal a spark of victory in his expression. “Our waterways are relics made of inferior and unsafe materials, our flood protections insufficient, and our electrical infrastructure woefully inadequate. Our natural resources are not being efficiently utilized, and frankly, much of the capital city is dingy and depressing. Parks and other sites requisitioned for training grounds and bleak government buildings have reduced the visual appeal and affected morale and quality of life. We do not offer secondary education and other resources that would improve the quality of life here, and so we lose talent to minor nations that can offer other opportunities.”

Aiko licked her lips. She rested her chin on her palm, leaning into the conversation for the first time. “Utakata has some papers that you'll be needing. When can you have 2, 5, and 10 year plans on my desk?”

She only knew that the meeting time must have been up because Kouzui came in to take one of the guest chairs and accompanying table out from storage and whisked away Sakurai's untouched coffee. Aiko was sort of sorry to see Sakurai go, but she used her ten minutes of free time to scratch notes down and take out what she would need for her next consultation with the newly chosen Academy principal and the vice principal. After that meeting, Chojuro came in. He was adorable, and obviously passionate about outlining a system for recruiting more students to be mentored in swordsmanship.

But he was also obviously unprepared and off-kilter in the more general assignment he'd had to outline and staff parallel programs for other advanced skillsets.

“A very nice young man, but goddamn if he isn't a little bit narrow in his approach to problem-solving,” Aiko muttered to the closed door after he left. Someone else was going to have to pick up that slack. “Not every problem needs a hammer, you soggy daikon. Dingus. Parakeet.” She leaned back in her chair and hooked a foot over the support bar under her desk. “Poorly-wired waffle iron.”

Sanbi finally woke up enough to register some vague confusion and disapproval, but no actual disagreement with her analysis. He did the bijuu equivalent of rolling over and going back to sleep, because some people were unemployed slobs and could do that.

She waived off the next coffee because she'd had four and it wasn't 11am yet. Kouzui actually frowned at her, but he returned with water. She gave a little more weight to the theory of slow-burn assassination by sugared coffee.

Aiko snuck off to her home for a hasty bathroom break before Saito knocked on the door for their meeting.

Saito wasn't pleasant on a personal level, but she exhibited a sort of ruthless competence that Aiko appreciated in her staff. She didn't trust that Saito would call a doctor if Aiko had a heart attack in her office from drinking way too much caffeine, but she felt a bone-deep certainty that all the missions paperwork would be filed, insightful notes on staffing trends would be made, and and no jounin would hand in a mission report with fudged details while Saito reigned. That was, generally speaking, more important. If a little unsettling.

Aiko shook off the jitters that came from a closed-door meeting with someone who likely wanted her dead. She felt like stretching her legs, so she ran out to check in on the harbor. The lack of news was encouraging, because someone would probably have come to find her if Gaara had killed Tazuna.

She arrived to find the work crew continuing whatever arcane science would complete the pump and lock system while Tazuna sat cross-legged on the ground and monologued while drawing something. Gaara was crouched on the other side of the paper and leaning ever so slightly in.

Cheered, Aiko chose not to disturb whatever momentum they had going. She'd asked Gaara to report to her later. Nosing in would steal his thunder and probably undermine the whole damn point of entrusting him with a little bit of autonomy. And nobody looked even a little bit dead, so it was clearly going just fine.

“An absence of murder qualifies a project as acceptable? I notice that this is a different metric than you applied to the Chojuro,” Sanbi commented. “Is Gaara not being trained for a higher level of responsibility that would seem to require higher standards? Please explain.”

'Chojuro is a name, not a title,' Aiko corrected. 'Also, shut up. The 'no murder so far' thing is a very preliminary observation. I'll have more details about Gaara's competency later, whereas Chojuro is a grown-ass man who had a month to come up with something to impress me.'

The leader of the three-man team that Mei had personally picked to watch over Yamato gave her a nod when she went to the last residential complex next. Yamato, dripping sweat already, took a couple of seconds to notice her.

“Hello.” He glanced back to his work and used what she recognized as excessive dramatics in laying out the floorboards for the eastern section of the third floor.

Aiko folded her arms against the breeze and considered the even, smooth layout of the single piece of wood flooring that covered half of an apartment complex. She felt the left side of her mouth pull up. “That's impressive. Do you need to rest before you do the next part?”

Yamato tossed his hair and inadvertently flicked her with sweat. “Not at all,” he said levelly.

She stepped behind him and focused on what he was doing, because she was a cheating piece of garbage and her Rinnegan were basically souped up sharingan.

He flinched at the reach of her chakra, but he had absolutely no way of knowing there was a chance she could gain from testing the way his chakra felt as he worked. So he laid out the next floorboards and built up the ceiling on the next level before he pleaded exhaustion to take his break.

“Thank you,” Aiko said, because manners mattered even when one was secretly stealing another person's technique. “It's a pleasure to watch you work. I'll stop back in this afternoon to watch some more, if I have the time.” She'd make the time, if it was at all possible. She might be giving him back to Konohagakure any day now.

His ears reddened.

Aiko nodded to his handlers and left. She felt a little bad about benefiting from his obvious years of hard work, but she didn't have time to be that diligent just for the sake of it. Her guilt didn't stop her from going to her private training grounds to replicate what she had observed about manifesting uniform, strong wood instead of a gnarled mess.

It went very well.

'Intellectual theft is very useful. I sort of get the Uchiha now.' Aiko guided a ring of stone up with her left hand and whacked it into the dirt with mokuton. It made a pretty inset. Contemplatively, she warped the wood and convinced it that it would like to be a decorative arch over the stone. It took a minute or two for the wood to agree with her and bend into a tall “U” shape, burrowing sturdy legs into the ground as a base.

Someone should put some flowers inside it or something. Actually yes, she'd do something like that when they got around to improving the city parks. She was going to have so many decorative bridges and pavilions. She could be just as classy as Konoha. She'd have so many unnecessary gardens. It was going to be great.

Every attempt to replicate what Yamato had done was vastly superior to her amateur fumblings in the dark. Aiko made a mental note of it: Stealing really paid off. She wasn't keeping track of time while she experimented with control and power, but it was at least 12 when someone came to find her.

After about 2 minutes of standing silently, Terumi cleared her throat. “Mizukage-sama,” she allowed. Her tone was bland. “There's someone at the gate claiming to be your guest.”

“That's... bold.” Aiko blinked excess power through her body and concentrated it in her hands. She molded it into heat and pressure and pushed it out as a white-hot ball of fire that consumed her experimentation. Mei watched this with no particular expression at all, but Aiko was feeling slightly proud of her improvements with both the wood and the fire element, thank you very much. “I should go say hello, see if they need to be taken out to lunch or imprisoned or whatever.”

Mei might have betrayed some irritation in the twitch of her eye, but her tone was implacable. “As you say.”

“I remember that struggle,” Aiko said absently. “You're too used to using the mask as a crutch for hiding your thoughts. Work on that.” She let her hair out of the ponytail she'd used to keep it off her face while she trained and shook it out with her fingers. There were only a couple of splinters in it this time. Nice.

Mei's mouth neatly dropped open in outright outrage, but Mei didn't deny the criticism. She followed Aiko on the run to the gate and fell behind a polite couple of steps only when they reached the small cluster of wary shinobi at the city checkpoint.

“She is my beloved sister,” Karin said, in the tone that meant she was daring someone to disagree with her. “We are very close. She would want you to give me tonkatsu. Probably ice cream, too.”

“So you have said,” one of Aiko's shinobi said. “Many times.” The man was wearing the pin that identified him as from the outer patrol and a long-suffering expression that identified him as the poor bastard who had carted Karin to the main island.

Mei looked a bit ill when Aiko glanced back. Perhaps she hadn't heard that Karin was claiming to be related to Aiko. Or maybe she just hadn't believed it until she saw them at the same time.

She considered, for a moment, that Karin was almost certainly here to spy for Orochimaru. The chances were like, 98%.

“That sounds like a problem.”

'Not really.' Aiko turned on her sunniest smile. 'She's not as slick as she thinks she is. She's 12. But her scheming is absolutely adorable, you'll love her.'

“Karin, I'm glad to see you.” Aiko waved off the tense gate guard overseeing the potential disaster. “Stand down, everyone. There's no problem here. I've may or may not have some relatives that might show up from time to time.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Karin sniffed. “Can't the Mizukage's sister get some respect around here? A hot lunch?”

Aiko rolled her eyes. “I'll treat you to lunch and we'll talk. Terumi-san, thanks for bringing the situation to my attention. And-” She gestured a question.

“Kamimoto,” said the man who'd escorted Karin. He probably needed hazard pay and a hot drink.

“Kanimoto-san,” Aiko continued. “Thank you for your diligence and bringing her to my attention. Stop in to my office before you return to your post.” She slung an arm around Karin's shoulders and began steering her away. “Afternoon.”

They didn't talk after that. Karin was perfectly capable and appeared a lot more confident than she was, but even her iron will was apparently a little tested by the sudden awkwardness of reaching the kage to whom she'd claimed a relationship. Aiko steered them into a restaurant that seemed decent. She and Karin were ordering drinks when Utakata strode in and seated himself.

Aiko noticed something very interesting on the menu that required a lot of her attention.

There was a very long, very uncomfortable silence. The waiter shifted on their feet.

“Hello,” Karin broke in. She kicked her heel against her chair. At least, that was probably what the little thump from under the table was. “Are you going to order something, or do you just subsist on hair cream and the smug satisfaction of being where you aren't wanted?”

“I'll have tea. Hot.” Utakata didn't take the bait.

The server beat a hasty retreat.

“Aiko-san,” Utakata said, in an incredibly pleasant tone. “I believe that we have had a very similar conversation before. May I request clarification? I had previously assumed that this issue was concluded.”

“I didn't kidnap this one, either,” Aiko defended. “She came here. And it's not even a lie. She's my relative, look at her.” She gestured. Karin preened on reflex. “Those cheekbones are telling the truth, Utakata. The pretty, pretty truth.”

“She's your sister,” Utakata said with no inflection.

“Oh.” Aiko shrugged, checking that no one was within hearing distance. “That's a lie.”

“Then it wasn't the truth,” he said patiently.

“It was basically the truth. It's close enough.” Aiko tilted her chin up, combative. “What the fuck is this? Do you tell me what to do now?”

He leaned in. “You can depart upon whatever course of action suits your fancy, but it would be helpful were I to have accurate information so that I might support you.”

She bristled.

“Mom, dad, I hate it when you argue.” Karin rapped her knuckles on the table. She raised an insolent little eyebrow.

“That's ridiculous,” Aiko rejected. She leaned back from Utakata's personal space. “I'm not old enough to be your mother.”

“Unless you are,” Utakata muttered.

“Maybe I am,” she allowed the possibility. “I could be as old as fifty.”

“Is she older or younger than your other ambiguous sibling or offspring?”

Aiko eyed Karin up. Side by said, she'd be able to pass Karin off as a year older than Gaara, but not the other way around. “Older,” she said, and that was true. She was pretty sure. “Or they could be twins. Depends.”

“You must choose one story.”

“Why?”

“Because-”

“I'm really starting to feel left out.” Karin sounded more bemused than anything. “Are you two actually married? Should I know you?”

“Yes,” Aiko said, because she couldn't parent two teenagers alone. “That's your stepdad Utakata, a great big slug person who likes to blow bubbles. He's a very nice man and you'll be helping him imprison some nice Konoha nin. Darling, sweetheart, please tell my sister daughter person all about your current project and have her show you how she can help.”

There was a lull around the table, but Karin and Utakata were probably reacting to different things.

“Goodbye. Enjoy lunch.” Aiko stood up and waived the server over. By the speed with which they made it over, no one had quite managed to forget the just who she was. “These two are having a working lunch, I'm afraid that I have to back out of. Please send the bill to my office, I'll balance the account within an hour of receiving it. Excuse me.”

She beat a hasty retreat.

When she made it back to the office, Gaara was waiting for her. She guiltily ushered him in, because it was a total fluke that she hadn't left him waiting through the lunch hour. If she hadn't fled Utakata and Karin, he'd be sitting here alone. How sad.

“Good afternoon, Gaara.” She stopped herself from patting his head as she passed by. “What did you think of Tazuna?”

Gaara considered this. “Old,” he said. “Knowledgeable. Lacks the self-preservation of a sand vole.”

She blinked. She thought about that for a moment. “Fair enough. I guess that's all empirically true. I was hoping to hear about his plans for city development.”

“Ah.” Gaara nearly let his eyes close. “Today, I learned....”

Silence stretched out while he mulled over his words. Aiko used it to check hopefully if someone had brought lunch yet. Nope.

“Irrigation and drainage,” he said.

Apparently he considered that enough.

“That they're important?” Aiko prompted. “Or you learned about the basics?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“I will drain water where there is too much. I will bring water where it is scarce.”

“How?”

“Through drainage and irrigation.”

She threw a pen at his head. The sand caught it and crushed it to pieces.

Gaara might have been smiling, but it was way deep on the inside. His actual expression remained impassive.

“You are a little shit,” Aiko informed him. “I saw you having a perfectly civil interaction with Tazuna-san earlier. I am asking for macro-level analysis.”

He made the saddest little motion with his shoulders. It was probably meant to have been a shrug. But it was so slow, small, and controlled that there was no possibility it was anything but a calculated imitation.

“I'm going to put you in the ocean,” Aiko said calmly.

“I will practice drainage.”

She blinked. “What, what?” She felt her brow furrow. “I don't think you can drain the ocean.”

“Do you suggest irrigation instead?”

The worst part of his insolence is that his tone was perfectly level, and his expression was the same as ever. Aiko crossed her arms and sat on her desk, on top of her folders. She looked at Gaara long and hard.

He was waifish and adorable, really, with his oversized clothes, mop of hair, and sleepy eyes. He was also the child of a kage, brilliant and damaged and separated from everyone he had ever known in a situation where everyone treated him differently than before. He was deeply suspicious, waiting for the other foot to drop.

He was imitating her interactions with Utakata as a way to relate to her, because he had few models of positive interaction. Probably he felt that she would abandon him if he offended her, and he was desperate to change his entire being in order to find a new purpose. He both admired and feared her.

She felt... sad, suddenly.

“You are a lot like me,” Aiko said, meaning absolutely nothing to do with the way he'd been needling a powerful figure. That wasn't really him, or at least not necessarily him.

Gaara gave her the same black stare, but there was somehow disbelief in it now.

“You're a good kid,” she said. She averted her eyes, because that was edging dangerously close to forgiving herself for having once been young and vulnerable. “I'm really starting to wonder if lunch is ever coming. I did ask for that to be brought here, didn't I?”

“Yes.” Gaara finally gave her a straight answer. “You did not give specifics. Therefore, my preference was asked.”

“Oh.” Aiko pursed her lips. “That's just fine. What are we having?”

“Rice, barley tea, tsukemono.”

She waited a couple off seconds for him to continue, but he didn't. “...Is that all?”

He frowned at her.

'I should have eaten with Karin after all. I'd be having pork.'

“Alright, then.” She brought her legs up onto her desk to sit more comfortably. “While I have you here, I wanted your thoughts on something. We need to contact Suna, to ensure that they won't count you a missing-nin once they realize you're here. I think being proactive is better. Who would have the clout to legitimize diplomatic action?”

The list was short, and the names he thought of were the same ones she knew. The two elders would be able to lend weight to anything, but were unlikely to get involved. There were some senior jounin who might be able to gain public trust and authority, but no one truly stood out.

“So... To be honest, your genin team might be the biggest concentration of influence,” Aiko half-asked. It was what she'd wanted to hear. “Temari is not a genin in anything but name. The 16 year-old heir of the last Kazekage, an experienced jounin, and her 15 year old brother- it would be hard to countermand them, if they had some assurance of support or influence?”

“You want to lure Temari to Kirigakure.”

Aiko frowned at her apprentice. “Lure is a strong word. I'm going to send an invitation from the newly inaugurated Mizukage to Suna no Temari, eldest child and presumptive heir of the 4th Kazekage. To be honest, it's a bit rude, but it would be hard for other interest groups to protest it. They won't want to outright offend me, but it would make it very difficult for anyone to limit her influence by claiming she's an unknown. She probably won't want to come, but it would be hard to turn down that golden opportunity to position herself as an authority.”

Gaara did not seem impressed by this logic.

“I think that Suna and Kiri can benefit each other.” Aiko crossed her legs. “We have too few personnel to handle our mission load and reconstruction, which means that higher level contracts are getting filled slowly and in fewer numbers. That will hurt our clientele and influence them to take their business elsewhere. Suna, on the other hand, has been hurting for lack of missions to support the populace.”

Gaara startled, green eyes firmly fixed on her.

“It's obvious,” Aiko dismissed. “Do you agree with my suggestion?”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “How many?”

She bit her lip for a moment. “Twenty, for now. Including you.”

Someone knocked on the door. They both ignored it.

“How long?”

“Six months, to be re-evaluated later.”

He shook his head. “Far too long. Shifts of two month, in three waves.” He frowned. “Staggered, so that more experienced shinobi can help the newer ones acclimate.”

“Are you supervising them?”

Gaara actually grimaced, which was hilarious.

“Point taken.” She leaned over to pat his head. He accommodatingly moved his head forward just enough that she didn't overbalance and fall off the desk. “I'll draft the letter requesting that your sister visit.”

Saito-san pushed the door open and gestured a genin in with two trays of food. She didn't even pretend that she hadn't been listening in. “I could have a messenger sent to the business district, Mizukage-sama.” She sounded incredibly, depressingly resigned.

Gaara's eyes widened.

“Other sister,” Aiko said hastily. “Karin.”

“How many are there?” Saito-san asked, but she didn't seem to be talking to Aiko.

“Karin?” Gaara said quietly. His brow furrowed.

She considered fleeing this interaction, too, but actually she was pretty hungry. So she slid off of her desk and cleared off a space for her tray and Gaara's. The genin set them down and began backing away. “Itadakimasu.” She picked up her blue chopsticks, noted the slightest scent, and sighed. She set them down. Gaara had never made a move for his own food. “Saito-san.” Aiko made eye contact. “Are you trying to poison me?”

The older woman was very still. “I am not, Mizukage-sama.”

That was the kind of statement that compelled her bodyguards to come out, even before Aiko had to beckon.

“I wondered how long this would take,” the Sanbi said cheerfully. “I was surprised no one had tried to kill you all this time. Admittedly, you were out of the village often.”

Aiko kept her stare as cold as possible. “Please take yourself and your assistant out. Provide these professionals with a list of the people who provided the food and utensils. I hope to see you tomorrow morning.”

Saito was so pale as to look ill. “Mizukage-sama, my loyalty to Kirigakure is absolute. I have nothing to do with this.”

“I hope so.” She waved the requisitioned Hunter-nin out. “I think that Gaara and I will find another lunch.” Aiko watched her office head escorted out of the building in custody, head held high.

“Fuck,” she said. “Who is going to finish that report before my meeting tomorrow?”

“Aiko-sama?” Gaara's arms were crossed again, body language closed off.

It probably wasn't a good time to try touching him. She took a moment to really fucking hate whoever was trying to kill her this time. Gaara had been relaxing, before. Fuck.

“Goddamnit,” she said, apropos of nothing. Aiko sighed. “At least I know you can sense poisons. I smelled it, did you-?”

He shook his head. “There's grains of something plant-based in the tsukemono.”

“It's sweet,” she agreed. “Too sweet for daikon. Goddamit.” Aiko gritted her jaw. “Let's... go out for lunch. You should meet Karin.”

“Who is my sister?” Gaara said, dry as the desert he came from.

“Probably.” Aiko locked her office door from the inside with a sharp, irritated movement. “I might change my mind on that, so don't quote-”

The ichibi rose.

She darted to the side before turning, but the sand wasn't aiming for her. Gaara was stretching his palm towards Obito. He was sitting on her chair.

Her shoulders dropped. “Rude. That's just rude.”

He didn't smile at her. “Good afternoon, Aiko. You should go rescue your brother before he dies.”

“Brother?” Gaara asked, but she couldn't tear her eyes away from Obito.

“Explain that.”

“I believe that Itachi went to check in on his younger brother under the pretense of pursuing a target and gathering information on a target that has disappeared,” Obito said, not sounding especially interested in any of this. “He met with several Konoha shinobi, and has taken a hostage. A summon conveyed this information less than an hour ago, as well as the fact that they have left Konohagakure but not Fire Country.”

“Where is he going?”

Obito snorted. The answer was obvious.

“There directly?” Aiko demanded.

“I believe so,” Obito said. “Akatsuki would be most prudent to go in order, but Pein has been angered by the disappearance of a target whose location was thought to be fixed.” His one-eyed gaze rested on Gaara. “Taking the kyuubi at this juncture can be explained as opportunism, by a man with a grudge against Konoha. It won't send the other jinchuuriki to ground.” He huffed. “Last I heard, they were planning to pass the 3rd border patrol between Shi and Sho stations. They're probably through already, but you could pick up the track there.”

She grabbed his arm, thinking of probable routes that Kisame and Itachi would take out of Konoha. “I'll need you. I can't fight them both.”

Obito pulled his arm away gently. “I have a cover to maintain.” He gave her a one-eyed squint. “I'm hoping you'll help me deplete Akatsuki's ranks, but I can't be associated with your efforts if one of them escapes. Happy hunting, Aiko.”

She nodded, reluctant. “Thank you.” Aiko swallowed. “I appreciate the information.

He gave her a thin smile and then melted away into Kamui.

“Aiko-sama?”

“I need to go.” Aiko gritted her teeth and tried to remember the most likely location to cut Itachi and Kisame off. If they'd left Konoha with Naruto hostage, they'd be traveling fast, directly to Ame. Once they made it past the final rings of tight security, they'd travel fast until they hit the border.

She needed backup.

Gaara was too young, and a jinchuuriki besides. She wouldn't bring another target to Akatsuki, which ruled out Utakata except in direst need. Mei was probably trying to kill Aiko. Ao was her man, she didn't trust Chojuro would do any damn good against a more experienced swordsman, and-

“Right,” Aiko said, slightly regretting what she was about to do before she did it. But the list of people who were powerful and trustworthy for this was rather short. Okay, so she'd go get him, rescue Naruto, and then- right. She'd almost forgotten. Aiko pointed at her apprentice. “Gaara, my wallet is in the top left drawer, go get lunch.”

He scowled.

“I love you, be good,” she said quickly, and then she was gone.

It was hard not to flinch when a hostile suddenly appeared behind you. Yamato kept down the grimace and turned to face his visitor. “Mizukage-sama,” he said mildly. “You look well.” The sweat running down his back itched.

Uzumaki-san glanced around the area, checking 1-2-3 on the guards. “Yamato-san.” She gave him a thin smile. Something about it sent a warning to his hindbrain. “I'd like to make a deal with you. I need to deal with a – threat to my personal interest,” she said. Her pulse was jumping. “Two powerful figures have taken the kyuubi jinchuuriki, as part of their campaign to acquire all of the bijuu.”

He felt the blood drain out of his face.

'If she's telling the truth, this is bad.'

“Neither of us want that,” Uzumaki-san said. She wasn't wrong. “Come with me. You can escort Naruto back to Konoha.”

“Who are we talking about?” Yamato pushed his hair back, missing his happa. “I'll need my equipment.”

'This feels like a trick, but I can't see what benefit she could get from it. Why would she choose me? To legitimize her presence in an operation in Fire Country? Because she can't trust her people to keep a Konoha jinchuuriki safe? That could be it. But it would imply she doesn't have good control over her people. Interesting, if true.”

Uzumaki nodded sharply to the closest guard. “Get all of his equipment,” she ordered sharply. “Bring it here. And you, pass over your soldier pills- medkit? Yes. You, come with us.”

The Hunter-nin scattered to do her bidding, which did make this seem convincing.

She finally turned her purple gaze back to him. “Akatsuki's Uchiha Itachi and Hoshigaki Kisame are the enemy,” Uzumaki-san said. “Leave Uchiha to me. I suspect that Hoshigaki will be carrying Naruto. You two will retrieve him safely and occupy Hoshigaki until I can help you.” She paused and addressed the nin whose equipment she was requisitioning. “You take a message to Utakata once we've left here informing him of where we've gone. I'll be taking your other teammate as well.”

“Two Hunter-nin and I against Hoshigaki?” Yamato asked. Hoshigaki, Hoshigaki. “He was a hunter-nin too, wasn't he? He'd know the tactics well.”

“Yes,” Uzumaki said shortly. “That's why you'll be taking point while my people run interference and backup.” She gave the remaining hunter-nin a look over Yamato's shoulder. “Is that acceptable?”

He wasn't certain she was talking to him, but he nodded just the same. “I want my teammate as well,” Yamato tried. “I'll work well with him.”

“He'll just get killed,” Uzumaki-san said shortly. “He's weak against water jutsu.”

'How does she know that?'

She appeared to dismiss him- ah, the hunter-nin had returned. Yamato got changed as quickly as possible, shucking the sweat towel around his neck in favor of his flak jacket and hastily fastening weaponry and equipment pouches. He pulled his uniform pants on directly over the pants he'd been given, because he wasn't flashing his underpants to the Mizukage. She waited with what he was now recognizing was tightly leashed violence, not calm.

'She seems to think she'll be able to take on Uchiha. I don't like making a plan based on that assumption. If she's wrong, things will turn ugly quickly.'

But she was taking him back to Fire Country. He'd get no better offer than that. As a Konoha nin, he couldn't pass up a chance to escape custody and aid in retrieval of a Konoha shinobi.

“I'm ready,” Yamato lied, feeling his stomach clench. The Mizukage held out her left arm to her hunter-nin. After a pause, they both took hold of her forearm. The two gloved hands dwarfed the Mizukage's arm, making her look disturbingly fragile. Yamato copied the gesture when she reached out with her right.

And then they were in a forest.

#extracontent #aiko in canon #26 #hey yo #it up #waaaaaaaaaaaaaaay late #slightly sorry about that

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Walker Percy's Funny and Frightening Prophecy

New Post has been published on https://funnythingshere.xyz/walker-percys-funny-and-frightening-prophecy/

Walker Percy's Funny and Frightening Prophecy

Walker Percy’s Love in the Ruins: The Adventures of a Bad Catholic at a Time Near the End of the World, a finalist for the 1972 National Book Award, remains even more acutely prophetic now than when it was published almost five decades ago. “The novel is not saying: Don’t rock the boat, cool it, be moderate, vote moderate Republican or Democrat,” Percy declared at the NBA awards ceremony. “No, it rocks the boat. In fact, it swamps the boat.”

William F. Buckley Jr. wryly suggested that all future presidents should be required to swear a double oath of office: not only to uphold and defend the Constitution but also to have read, marked, learned, and digested Percy’s Love in the Ruins. “It’s all there in that one book,” said Buckley, “what’s happening to us and why.” Indeed, Percy’s novel reads as if it were written in anticipation of the 2016 presidential election.

“A serious novel about the destruction of the United States and the end of the world,” Percy declared, “should perform the function of prophecy in reverse. The novelist writes about the coming end in order to warn against present ills and so avert the end.” He isn’t writing as a biblical prophet, but neither can he deny that his allegiances are fundamentally Christian. His own vision of reality is confessedly “incarnational, historical, predicamental.” In an increasingly pagan and hostile age, Percy doubted the efficacy of a serene Christian humanism. Better to serve as the canary in the coal mine, so as to detect the asphyxiating gas that sickens unto death.

Like his fellow Catholic writer Flannery O’Connor, Percy believes that the novelist “should shock … his readers by speaking of last things—if not the Last Days of the Gospels, then of a possible coming destruction, of a laying waste of cities, of vineyards reverting to the wilderness.” Percy adds, “Unlike the prophet, [the novelist] does not generally get killed. More often he is ignored.” Already one can detect Percy’s irony within his gravity. He is not writing in the fashion of Orwell or Huxley, depicting totalitarian or technological nightmares. Love in the Ruins concerns a cataclysm that doesn’t happen. It’s a country club apocalypse, a lawn party catastrophe.

♦♦♦

Walker Percy (1916-1990) was a non-practicing physician who never lost his desire to “thump the patient and figure out what’s wrong.” He also wanted to know what went wrong with America, the country Lincoln called man’s “last best hope.” How and why have things fallen apart? Percy transfers his befuddlement to his narrator/protagonist, Dr. Thomas More, a psychiatrist living and working in Paradise Estates, a dubiously named subdivision of a New Orleans suburb. More gets his own name from Sir/Saint Thomas More, the Catholic humanist and martyr.

Unlike his eponymous forebear, this latter-day More is neither gentlemanly nor godly. His life is a mess, as he drolly confesses: “I love women best, music and science next, whiskey next, God fourth, and my fellowman hardly at all. Generally I do as I please. A man, wrote John, who says he believes in God but does not keep his commandments is a liar. If John is right, then I am a liar. Nevertheless, I still believe.” In that final sentence, Percy offers a scintilla of hope that something good may emerge from this suburban Armageddon set sometime around 1983, on the brink of Orwell’s apocalyptic year.

The poor U.S.A.!

Even now, late as it is, nobody can really believe that it didn’t work after all. The U.S.A. didn’t work! Is it even possible that from the beginning it never did work? that the thing always had a flaw in it, a place where it would shear, and that all this time we were not really different from Ecuador and Bosnia-Herzegovina, just richer. …. What a bad joke: God saying, here it is, the new Eden, and it is yours because you’re the apple of my eye, because you the lordly Westerners, the fierce Caucasian-Gentile-Visigoths, believed in me and in the outlandish Jewish Event, even though you were nowhere near it and had to hear the news of it from strangers. But you believed it and so I gave it all to you, gave you Israel and Greece and science and art and the lordship of the earth, and finally even gave you the new world that I blessed for you. And all you had to do was pass one little test, which was surely child’s play because you had already passed the big one. One little test: here’s a helpless man in Africa, and all you have to do is not violate him. That’s all.

One little test: you flunk! …

Flunked! Christendom down the drain. The dream over. Back to history and Bosnia-Herzegovina.

Tom More here names chattel slavery and its dread aftermath as the flaw in the American fabric that has caused it finally to shear. Who can doubt that racial injustice, with its sorry continuing legacy, remains the distinctive American sin? And as if there were any lingering dream of American exceptionalism, Wendell Berry claims that our destruction of Native Americans amounts to our own holocaust. Percy identifies slavery as “the egregious moral failure of Christendom. It is significant that the failure of Christendom in the United States has not occurred in the sector of theology or metaphysics … but rather in the sector of everyday morality.” When Tom More quotes from 1 John about his own mendacity in failing to keep God’s commands, he surely remembers this codicil: “for he who does not love his brother whom he has seen, cannot love God whom he has not seen.” Hence Percy’s own confession in an essay about Love in the Ruins: “White Americans have sinned against the Negro from the beginning and continue to do so.”

Yet America’s racial sins are peripheral to the novel. While the narrative is set in Louisiana, it offers no searing indictment of the Southern sins, such as can be found in William Faulkner’s Go Down, Moses. The race riots of the 1960s, especially the burning of the metropolitan ghettos, were sufficient signs that the racial problem that was once regional had become national. “It’s not that the South has got rid of its ancient stigma,” Percy writes, “….It’s rather that the rest of the country is now stigmatized and is in even deeper trouble.”

Percy’s philosophically astute psychiatrist identifies this far deeper trouble in a single lapidary claim: “Descartes ripped body loose from mind and turned the very soul into a ghost that haunts its own house.” Dr. More traces our illness to René Descartes, the 17th century French philosopher whose notorious motto was “Cogito, ergo sum: I think, therefore I am.” Descartes’ animating idea marked a fundamental “turn to the subject,” a relocation of ultimate authority in subjective human consciousness rather than any transcendent reality.

It is safe to say that, prior to Descartes, human reason seated itself either in the natural order or else in divine revelation. In the medieval tradition, reason brought these two thought-originating sources into harmony. Thus were mind, soul, and body regarded as having an inseparable relation: they were wondrously intertwined. So also, in this bi-millennial way of construing the world, was the created order seen as having multiple causes—first and final, no less than efficient and material causes. This meant that creation was not a thing that stood over against us, but as the realm in which we participate—living and moving and having our being there, as both ancient Stoics and St. Paul insisted. The physical creation was understood as God’s great book of metaphors and analogies for grasping his will for the world.

After Descartes, by contrast, the sensible realm becomes a purposeless thing, a domain of physical causes awaiting our own mastery and manipulation. Nature no longer encompasses humanity as its crowning participant. The soul drops out altogether and is replaced by disembodied mind. Shorn of its spiritual qualities, the mind becomes a calculating faculty for bare, abstract thinking. To yank the mind free from the body is also to untether it from history, tradition, and locality. After Descartes, the mind allegedly stands outside these given things so as to operate equally well at anytime and anywhere. Insofar as belief in God is kept at all, it is an entailment of the human. Atheism was sure to follow. Marx made truth itself a human production, whether social or economic. Nietzsche went further, insisted that nothing whatever can stand over against the human will to power, not even socially constructed truth. Hence the cry of Zarathustra: “If there were gods, how could I endure not to be a god!”

♦♦♦

This double revaluation of mind and nature that began with Descartes resulted in a radically new conception of human freedom as sheer individual autonomy, the right to determine one’s own identity and destiny. Hence our ever-greater disregard for communal responsibilities and obligations—except for those that, in our sovereign subjectivity, we select for ourselves. Until recently, such potential hyper-individualism was held in check by our reliance on a generalized set of religious beliefs and moral practices to which most people gave their consent, if vaguely. These universal first principles provided the constraints and directives that enabled human beings to flourish or fail. Such classical liberalism undergirds all Enlightenment democracies. But now these checks and balances have been largely removed. The triumph of sovereign subjective preference has resulted in what Percy called “a tempestuous restructuring of consciousness,” a shift in human existence that amounts to the invention of a virtually new species. Percy calls it “a strange Janus monster,” both haunted and paralyzed with self-transcendent longings and fears that mere animals do not experience.

Love in the Ruins locates this strange new creature on the progressive left no less than the regressive right. Our alleged opposites are in fact cohabiting twins. Percy refuses to treat these bedfellows with grave solemnity, dignifying them with an undeserved seriousness. Instead of waging a proleptic culture war, he resorts to raucous ridicule and withering satire of both right and left.

Consider, for example, Tom More’s report that the Roman Catholic Church has been hijacked by the radical right and renamed the American Catholic Church, now headquartered in Cicero, Illinois. Its logo is defined by an image of a suburban house surrounded by a white picket fence. It celebrates Property Rights Sunday, and the American flag is raised at the consecration of the Host. So have the old Republicans adopted an infamous phrase from Barry Goldwater’s 1964 presidential nomination speech as the basis for their new name. They call themselves the Knothead Party. They have distributed millions of buttons reading “Knotheads for America,” and they wave banners proclaiming, “No Man Can Be Too Knotheaded in the Service of His Country.” These same Knotheads have enacted laws requiring compulsory prayers in the all-black public schools, while also making funds available for birth control in Africa, Asia, and Alabama. Conservative Protestants, in turn, devote themselves almost entirely to entertainment, as Percy prophesies the rise of the theatrical megachurches. These comfy evangelical clubs have developed golf courses that can be played at night, “under the arcs.” Their slogan is “Jesus Christ, the Greatest Pro of Them All.”

Political and religious liberals fare no better. Catholics on the left are agitating for the right of divorced priests to remarry. One of these priests, Father Kev Kevin, operates the orgasm console of a sex clinic, as salvation has shifted definitely downward. Liberal Protestants nowhere appear, perhaps because they have been absorbed into the Democratic Party. Like the Republicans, these new Democrats have chosen a new label; they call themselves simply “the LEFT.” They have shortened their acronym from the original LEFTPAPASANE: “Liberty, Equality, Fraternity, The Pill, Atheism, Pot, Anti-Pollution, Sex, Abortion Now, Euthanasia.” Their chief political accomplishment is to have stricken “In God We Trust” from pennies.

Both camps rely on proctology as the reigning medical science in this brave new America. The liberal ailment is diarrhea, since liberals can’t hold on to anything. The conservative complaint is constipation, of course, since conservatives won’t let go of anything. Tom More declares a plague on both of their colon conditions, making wry reference to William Butler Yeats’s celebrated poem, “The Second Coming,” where Yeats prophesied the monstrousness that will be loosed upon any land where the center does not hold, despite the outward signs of health and prosperity:

The center does not hold.

However the Gross National Product continues to rise.

There are Left states and Knothead states, Left towns and Knothead towns but no center towns…. Left networks and Knothead networks, Left movies and Knothead movies. The most popular Left films are dirty movies from Sweden [e.g., depicting fellatio being performed in mid-air by parachutists.] All-time Knothead favorites, on the other hand, include The Sound of Music, Flubber, and Ice Capades 1981, clean movies all….

Percy was vexed with the question of how properly to name our Cartesian sickness unto death. Repeatedly he lamented that our theological and political vocabulary has lost its purchase. Sin and salvation, grace and redemption, are coins whose faces have been worn slick by a devaluing overuse. Thomas Merton put it well when he said that the command to “Love God” has no more force than “Eat Wheaties.” Neither is there any moral trenchancy left in such phrases as “the dignity of the individual,” “the quality of life,” “self-evident truths,” much less “Nature and Nature’s God.” Such phrases have slipped whatever metaphysical moorings they may once have possessed.

How to name it? As an astute reader of Kierkegaard, Percy invented a new set of diagnostic terms derived from The Sickness Unto Death. Kierkegaard had also sought fresh metaphors for ultimate matters, and so he spoke of despair rather than sin, seeking to enliven a vital term that had been worn slick by familiarity. Authentic selfhood thus became Kierkegaard’s synonym for salvation. Despair, by contrast, signifies damnation. Original sin is manifest not in immoral acts so much as in refusing to become a true self existing transparently before God. Percy, in turn, identifies the twin forms of inauthentic selfhood (despair) as angelism and bestialism. Accordingly, Dr. Thomas More examines his patients as being afflicted with one or the other of these twin Cartesian conditions.

More’s angelic patients, for instance, have attempted to re-invent themselves out of whole cloth, floating untethered in the realm of infinite possibility, denying their created condition as finite and embodied souls. They abstract themselves from the traditions and convictions that root them in time and place, becoming virtual angels hovering above the earth. His bestial patients, by contrast, seek to plunge beneath their condition as ensouled bodies by living in consumerist contentment, immuring themselves in comforts and conveniences, money, and possessions.

As his satirical name suggests, Ted Tennis is a gameplayer, an overly intellectual graduate student so obsessed with the theoretical possibilities open to him that he orbits the earth in sheer angelic abstraction. Rather than making husbandly love to his wife Tanya, he quakes with terror at having sexual intercourse, fearing that he could not (to use his words) “achieve an adequate response.” He thus hopes that Dr. More will fit him with a penile “training organ” that will cure his impotence. Instead, More assigns him an ordeal of immersion into radical finitude and utter unselfconsciousness. Rather than sending Tennis straight back to Tanya, gliding along the interstate in his bubble-like sports car, More insists that he walk home through the dense undergrowth of a boggy bayou. More hopes to reel Tennis back to earth from his seraphic abstraction. The result is wondrously and comically efficacious:

The six miles took him five hours. At ten o’clock that night he staggered up his back yard past the barbecue grill, half-dead of fatigue, having been devoured by mosquitoes, leeches, vampire bats, tsetse flies, snapped at by alligators, moccasins, copperheads … set upon by a couple of Michigan State dropouts on a bummer who mistook him for a parent. It was every bit of the ordeal I had hoped…. So it came to pass that half-dead and stinking like a catfish, [Ted] fell into the arms of his good wife Tanya, and made lusty love to her the rest of the night.

As his name indicates, P.T. Bledsoe is one of P.T. Barnum’s pathetic “suckers” whose very soul is hemorrhaging in bestial rage, despite his considerable business success. He is so sunk in finitude and necessity that he believes that the world is closing in on him, threatening him on all sides. He has turned paranoid, convinced that everyone is out to “get” him. A hardcore Republican who despises Jews and blacks, Bledsoe wants to relocate to Australia so as to preserve his hard-earned wealth and pure bloodlines. It’s clear that Bledsoe is barely a self at all, since he has no consciousness of his despair, the real cause of his misery. Dr. More comically recommends that Bledsoe emigrate to the Outback, “especially if there is not a Jew or a black for a hundred miles around.” Rather cynically, the psychiatrist concludes that “a doctor’s first duty to his patient is to help him find breathing room and so keep him from going crazy. If P.T. can’t stand blacks and Bilderbergers, my experience is that there is not time enough to get him over it even if I could.”

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How might Walker Percy, if he were living today, update Love in the Ruins? I believe he would warn the angels of the left against flying above our finite estate, lest they abstract us from the concrete circumstances of our lives. How, he might ask, do such goods as diversity and inclusion threaten to produce an aerial existence that takes flight from the traditions and convictions that root us in time and place? How do they threaten to impose on us an egalitarian and relativist tyranny, flattening the hierarchies and dichotomies necessary for a well-ordered polis? How do well-intended social justice warriors assume their seraphic purity and unfallenness—when they tear down monuments honoring those who served nobly, albeit in defense of impure causes? How does their angelism seek to deny the insuperable tragedies of life, those incurable conditions that are often worsened in the attempt to correct them? What might they learn from Freud, who saw that unhappiness is endemic to human existence? Or from Kierkegaard’s view that anxiety embraced in the right way is the path to peace? Or from Scripture, that man is born to trouble as the sparks fly upward, and that patient forbearance is one of the highest virtues?

Percy would be no less alarmed, I believe, by the ways in which the bestialism of the right would plunge us fatally beneath our self-transcendent character. A brutish vision that does not rise above the world of getting and spending, as Wordsworth called it, lays waste to our powers of spiritual liberty by enslaving us to comfort and convenience. Why, Percy might ask, do bestial folks on the right define freedom as the acquisition of wealth and power so as to control and dominate others? How do they trample the little people of the earth—the poor and the hungry, the lonely and abandoned—in order to make big money for the sake of big pleasures? How are they turning us into swine with snouts buried in the trough of animal desire? Why do they seem to give not a fig for righting the historic wrongs accruing from the nation’s unjust racial and economic regimes? How does a Cartesian separation of their souls from their bodies account, at least in part, for the election of a self-confessed “pussy-grabbing” president?

Thomas More becomes impatient with such questions, if only because he is himself afflicted with both forms of our Cartesian sickness. On the one hand, he is a self-pleasuring bestial creature; he seeks sexual favors not from one but from the three women whom he has sequestered in the ruined Howard Johnson’s motel whence he has fled from the physical and political apocalypse he fears will soon be unleashed. More is also addicted to gin fizzes, even though their egg content triggers hives, sending him into anaphylactic shock and endangering his life. At the same time, More is angelically bewitched by the encephalographic machine he has invented. He calls it his lapsometer. He takes its name from the Latin lapsus, or fall, for it allegedly can detect the extent to which his patients have fallen away from an invisible dividing line, causing them to become either airily angelic or brutally bestial. More refuses the moral and religious therapies that require the long haul of history for their efficacy. Instead, he is filled with a proud Faustian desire to cure no less than diagnose. And so he seeks to make his machine omnicompetent—aiming to stimulate certain control centers of the brain so as to heal the riven psychic state of his patients. He would become a technocrat of the broken human soul, welding it together once again.

One of the novel’s largest ironies is that More remains a physician who, even if he could heal others, cannot heal himself. Of all men in Paradise Estates, he is perhaps most miserable. Desperately torn between his own angelism and bestialism, More slashes his wrists on Christmas Eve. He turns what should be the world’s happiest hour of birth into his own sad hour of attempted death. Wondrously, More recovers from his failed suicide. Lying in a hospital bed, lusting after his buxom nurse, he discerns the real answer to our cultural death knell. He does so by pondering Blaise Pascal’s maxim that we humans are ne ange, ne bête, neither angels nor beasts:

Later… I prayed, arms stretched out … tears streaming down my face. Dear God, I can see it now, why can’t I see it at other times, that it is you I love in the beauty of the world and in all the lovely girls and dear good friends, and it is pilgrims we are, wayfarers on a journey, and not pigs, nor angels. Why can I not be merry and loving like my ancestor, a gentle pure-hearted knight for our Lady and our blessed Lord and Savior? Pray for me, Sir Thomas More.

To know the good is not necessarily to do it, as St. Augustine learned in a Milan garden in August of 386. More wants to become a pilgrim and wayfarer without a price, to be delivered without undergoing drastic transformation. In his split Cartesian condition, he prefers to remain a fornicating alcoholic and a salvation-peddling scientist than to have his loves radically reordered. More makes this darkest of discoveries when he contemplates his reasons for not wanting his fatally ill daughter to seek the miraculously curative waters at Lourdes:

I don’t know Samantha’s reasons [for not wanting the baths], but I was afraid she might be cured. What then? Suppose you ask God for a miracle and God says yes, very well. How do you live the rest of your life?

Samantha, forgive me. I am sorry you suffered and died, my heart broke, but there have been times when I was not above enjoying it.

Is it possible to live without feasting on death?

For Walker Percy, this is the chief question of our time: How might we cease gorging ourselves on the twin forms of death that threaten to dehumanize us, turning us into maleficent angels and beasts? What would it mean to be transformed into wayfarers seeking the welfare of the earthly city, while also living as pilgrims bound for another City, one not made with hands but eternal in the heavens?

The novel’s barely glimpsed hope is figured in another dark scene, an episode concerning Father Rinaldo Smith, the pastor of a small remnant parish of faithful Roman Catholics. When Fr. Smith stands one Sunday to deliver the homily before serving the Mass, he falls stone silent, unable to utter a word. His parishioners rush him to the sacristy, assuming that he has suffered a sudden seizure, perhaps even a collapse of nerves. Later, Fr. Smith gropes to explain why his tongue froze in the pulpit. He has not suffered aphasia, as his attending doctors suspect, the brain malfunction that causes speechlessness. Smith makes the strange claim, instead, that he couldn’t speak because “they’re jamming the air waves.” Nor was it electronic gremlins that had hacked into the speaker system. Fr. Smith insists that he was made mute by the “principalities and powers.” He’s referring, of course, to the demonic forces that, according to St. Paul, we always struggle against. Precisely because devils are deprived of substantial being, they rule the world almost wholly undetected. It was these satanic powers that had silenced Fr. Smith. “They’ve won and we’ve lost,” he laments. The priest concludes with a haunting confession that Percy the prophet requires his readers to confront: “I am surrounded by the corpses of souls,” Smith says. “We live in a city of the dead.” So late is the hour, so dreadful the calamity, that Percy identifies our massive cultural death as deriving not from winged creatures with horns and spears and tails, but from ordinary human beings whose souls and bodies have been so riven as to make us sick unto death. The subtle principalities of the angelic left, like the gross powers of the bestial right, have made us dead to ourselves, dead to others, dead to God.

Tom More can find no exit from such a hellish culture of death in either of the available ecclesial and political alternatives; they are but mirror images of each other. His only hope lies in his early confession that, like the father whose epileptic son had been healed by Jesus, he remains a believer even in his unbelief. Fr. Rinaldo Smith’s faithful renegade flock of remnant Catholics are the only vital believers to be found. And so, in a redemptively reverse manner, More finds himself backing into the Kingdom. When Fr. Smith seeks to shrive him on Christmas Eve five years after the novel’s main action closes, More confesses his sins in a single sentence: “I do not recall the number of occasions, Father, but I accuse myself of drunkenness, lusts, envies, fornication, delight in the misfortune of others, and loving myself better than God and other men.” Though More can make his confessio oris, he is powerless to exhibit any contritio cordis. He has no sorrow of heart. He is ashamed not of his sins but of not being sorry for committing them. Father Smith knows that, in the mathematics of the Gospel, such a double negative constitutes a miraculous if minuscule positive.

Accordingly, the humble priest assigns More an appropriate satisfactio operis: this barely contrite psychiatrist must make public penance by dousing his hair with ashes and wearing a sweater made of burlap. And so More attends midnight Mass for the first time in many years, once again eating Christ (as he says) and thus having life restored to him. In the meantime, he has married his nurse Ellen Oglethorpe, the only one of his sequestered women whom he had never bedded. They, in turn, have enshrined their hope for the future by naming their young son Thomas More, Jr. Yet the elder More is no instant saint, as he still lusts after a neighbor’s wife across the backyard fence, still swigs from his hidden bottles of bourbon, still hopes that he might make his lapsometer work. Even so, he has begun his pilgrimage away from the angelism and bestialism of his former life, making his way toward la nuova vita, as Dante called it.

Barbecuing in my sackcloth.

The turkey is smoking well….

The night is clear and cold. There is no moon. The light of the transmitter lies hard by Jupiter, ruby and diamond in the plush velvet sky. Ellen is in the kitchen fixing stuffing and sweet potatoes. Somewhere in the swamp a screech owl cries.

I’m dancing around to keep warm, hands in pockets. It is Christmas Day and the Lord is here, a holy night and surely that is all one needs.

On the other hand, I want a drink. Fetching the Early Times from a clump of palmetto, I take six drinks in six minutes. Now I am dancing and singing old Sinatra songs and the Salve Regina, cutting the fool like David before the ark or like Walter Huston doing a jig when he struck it rich in the Sierra Madre.

♦♦♦

As Wordsworth said of Milton, so might we plead: “Percy, wert thou living at this hour!” Though it’s 28 years past his death and 47 since publication of Love in the Ruins, he might call Christians to a similar kind of hope. Though he would be witty rather than solemn, I believe he would summon his fellow believers, not to a culture war against the twin evils of the left and the right, but rather to a drastic renewal of our badly fractured churches. Father Rinaldo Smith’s tiny flock might find its successors in small gatherings of Christians from across the denominations in order that the Gospel might survive amidst the Dark Ages that have already begun. Aboard the church’s rickety ark riding out the storm, these remnant Christians would create communities of refuge for those who desire “a better country” (Heb. 11:14) than our bestial and angelic Cities of the Plain.

For nearly a half century, Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI has been making a similar summons. He has confessed that we Christians are likely to remain a permanent minority from here on in—barring, of course, a miraculous outpouring of the Holy Spirit in a phoenix-like rebirth from our moral and spiritual ashes. We Christians will never be in charge of things again, the future pope acknowledged. We seem to be back where we began—as a minority faith in an overwhelmingly pagan world. Hence these startling words from a 1969 radio address entitled “What Will the Church Be Like in 2000?”:

She will become small and will have to start afresh more or less from the beginning. She will no longer be able to inhabit many of the edifices she built in prosperity. As the number of her adherents diminishes, so will she lose many of her social privileges. In contrast to an earlier age, she will be seen much more as a voluntary society, entered only by free decision. As a small society, she will make much bigger demands on the initiative of her individual members…. The Church will be a more spiritual Church, not presuming upon a political mandate, flirting as little with the Left as with the Right. It will be hard going for the Church, for the process of crystallization and clarification will cost her much valuable energy. It will make her poor and cause her to become the Church of the meek…. But when the trial [of] this sifting is past, a great power will flow from a more spiritualized and simplified Church.

Yet it’s not as if two millennia of Christian existence have made no difference. In a 1997 interview with Peter Seewald, a German atheist reporter, Cardinal Ratzinger declared that we have been given two unparalleled gifts wherewith to build such enclaves of radical Christian excellence: (1) the inexhaustible fund of Christian thought and art, and (2) the unsurpassable witness of our saints and martyrs. On a sure prophetic and sacramental foundation, such mustard seed churches will “live in an intensive struggle against evil.” They will seek to keep “what is essential to man from being destroyed.” They will bring “good into the world,” prophesied the future pope, and thus “let God in.”

The God of the Gospel is no bully. He will not force his way in. He knocks patiently at the door. As in the case of Dr. Thomas More, the Lord often makes backdoor entrances, through redemptive defeats rather than pyrrhic victories. “Despair,” the wizard Gandalf declares in Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings, “is only for those who see the end beyond all doubt.” So does Walker Percy summon his present-day readers to a deeply ironic but no less bracing hope, by way of his funny, frighteningly prophetic novel of 1971—to make both life and love in the ruins.

Ralph C. Wood is University Professor of Theology and Literature at Baylor. He holds a B.A. and M.A. from East Texas State College (now Texas A&M University-Commerce) as well as an A.M. and Ph.D. from the University of Chicago.

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