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I think a really underrated part of the TF2 comics is the way the relationship between Spy and Miss Pauling develops and falls apart. It's this rich little microcosm of Spy's heavily masked (ha) personality and Pauling's desperation for approval.
During their few interactions in the first three comics, they act accordingly to their given roles- they're coworkers, that's all. Miss Pauling has seven other mercs to locate and manage and Spy is busy wrangling Soldier and Zhanna.
That really changes in the latter half of #4- that's when things start falling apart for both of them. Miss Pauling, of course, is caught up in her hunt for more Australium- unlike Spy, this isn't just a job for her. She wants to impress the Administrator, to get her attention and praise. Both of their motivations shift completely because of their visit to New Zealand.
What I think most gets to Spy here is meeting Sniper's bio parents. One thing we can glean from subtext is that under the surface, Spy is a deeply caring person who's driven by love far more often than he'd like to admit. But he's also a coward, and doesn't see much of himself beyond being a spy. He defines himself by the harm he caused and the lives he's taken. I think what breaks him is witnessing how shitty Sniper's gene donors are- and he sees himself in them.
(One thing I've noticed- Spy smokes a lot, but when he's specifically shown lighting or touching a cigarette in the comics and animations, he's stressed, and when he rolls his eyes, he's hiding something.)
And I think this is the case because...
...he immediately chases after Miss Pauling when she puts herself in danger. And this is, typically, extremely out of character for him! In both Expiration Date and the Jungle Inferno trailer, when he feels he's in danger, he follows a specific pattern- he cloaks, and puts some distance between himself and the problem. (Hell, if you've played Spy in TF2, that's a tactic you'll fall back on all the time.) But, instead of securing the sub, he chooses to run headfirst further into a flooding/collapsing room to make sure Miss Pauling gets out of there.
We don't often see Spy touching anyone else, let alone so gently. He could have grabbed her wrist or her arm, but he's specifically drawn holding her hand. The only other instance that comes to mind is the way he holds Scout as he dies in #6.
This is really interesting to me, because his relationships are usually contextualized through violence. Yelling at or hitting his teammates, murdering to protect the people he cares about- even when giving his mask to Tanya in #7, at the most gentle he's ever been, he encourages her to play "princess assassin". (Worth noting that this is more indicative of his relationship with violence than anything about Tanya- any former little girl will understand the urge to play murder and violence with her dolls.)
Things also change drastically for Miss Pauling here. Her previous relationship with the mercs wasn't really explored, but it's hard to imagine she considered them as friends. She's consumed by her job, and while she recognizes them as people (as shown by the contract lines), it's worth entertaining the idea that she has a bizarre perspective on what a "person" is.
This is a woman who murders witnesses and buries bodies for a living. Everyone besides the Administrator is disposable- and that includes her. And the Administrator is like a goddess to her. Every ounce of her life is devoted to her. At the end of Expiration Date, she shows interest in spending time with Scout- she might've even been romantically interested in him- but that connection is strained and ultimately broken by her obsession. Whether they would've been anything more becomes a moot point. She grows to resent him because she has to be professional with him, and he can't handle that.
Another thing that could explain her perspective in this situation: she's a young, unmarried woman in the late 60s and early 70s. She is almost completely stripped of independence just because of how she was born. She can't even apply for a credit card. Obviously, she wasn't about to marry a man just to be recognized as a human being. But the situation she went into instead isn't much better. She's taken advantage of, made to work impossibly hard 364 days out of the year, for essentially no reason at all. She's not "just someone's wife", but she's "just the Administrator's assistant".
And I think this one act of kindness from the person she least expects opens up a world of possibilities for her. She's an equal to Spy. She's always been an equal to him, even when they were working together. He may complain and make sarcastic remarks, but he listens to her.
I think this is when it hits her all at once. Sniper is dead. He took her seriously, hell, he recognized her as a threat. She can't handle the idea that she's important, that she's worth something, and she threw away someone else who was worth something, too.
(And it seriously doesn't help that Spy has no clue how to speak earnestly to people. I like to think his frustrated expression in the bottom second panel there is him trying desperately not to let his expression slip into "ohhhh i fucked up again".)
Then, Spy doesn't make fun of her, and instead extends an olive branch again- drastic as this one may be. And I think, unfortunately, this causes Miss Pauling to latch onto Spy like she does with the Administrator. Not nearly as badly, but it causes a lot more damage as things go further. Because, after this, she starts looking to Spy for approval and attention.
This might be a reach, but that sort of sheepish, stumbling response feels a bit unlike her. Her speech is usually very quick and sharp, even when she's nervous. (Or dying in a hot dog eating contest.) This relationship has been established maybe a few hours before, and she already thinks she's messed up.
This one's also interesting. Pyro, Heavy, Soldier, Zhanna, Demo, and Spy all came with them, and Miss Pauling is most focused on Spy in particular. The way she says it makes me think she feels hurt. That also looks to be Spy's revolver she's using- take that as you will.
And after everything, she turns to Spy again. Look how happy she is at hearing his approval for the first time! This is probably the first compliment she's gotten that's not from Scout or about her appearance in a long time.
And don't let Spy's neutral expression fool you.
Once again, this is unusual for him. For the entire preceding battle, he was hiding, disguising, trying to avoid getting hurt as much as he could, up until he got shot. But the minute Miss Pauling is on her own and about to get hurt, he does something downright reckless to save her.
But the very nature of this relationship is fragile- once again, Miss Pauling defines herself as a tool for anyone she looks up to, and Spy defines himself as a weapon, something violent and unforgivable. It was always going to be self-destructive. And I think the moment it breaks is when the Administrator dies.
(I'm out of photos BUT I'll reblog with the rest.)
oh yeah also @tf2heritageposts i think you'd find this interesting. anyway
So- when Miss Pauling goes with the mercs to confront the Administrator, she makes a choice that she probably wouldn't have the strength to before all of this.
This choice is a combination of many, many things that have led up to now, but part of it is the three things I talked about- Miss Pauling has realized what it means to be a person, she's been recognized as one, and she's made a connection with someone else. Through this whole horror show, the Administrator has been her one light at the end of the tunnel- and even though it would be easy to fall back on her, Miss Pauling chooses to look forward to something else.
But, when all is said and done- even though Spy is the last to leave her side...
...he says nothing.
In the end, Spy's the coward he's always been. He doesn't tell Miss Pauling he cares about her. He doesn't tell Scout that he's his father. Despite everything, he's not going to forge a connection. As far as we know, he doesn't visit her or any of the others for seven years. We don't know if anyone even heard from him in that time.
And this is the final nail in the coffin for Miss Pauling. Even with all the Australium in the world- with that string broken, she feels she has nothing left.
That listless look in her eyes says everything.
But. Even after all that- or maybe because of it-
She chooses to build something new. To define herself by her own metrics, to take the worth she's found in herself and make something of it.
We don't see Miss Pauling after this, but she's able to send Scout a turkey for his Smissmass party, her name on it and all. Wherever she is- I like to think she's in charge of her own destiny now.
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Ive said this before but swear the biggest skill to learn as an adult is how to resist high-pressure sales tactics. You do NOT have to answer questions with anything other than "Sorry I'm not interested." No matter how nice they are or no matter how many follow up questions they ask or even how agitated they get when you stand your ground. Just keep saying I'm not interested. Don't answer their questions. Don't give them an opening to try to push back on your reasons. Be a fucking brick wall of I'm not interested.
When we bought our car, I told Sean to let me handle it. I walked in and said "We have X for a down payment and cannot pay more than Y in monthly payments." My Y number had some leeway, but I didn't mention that.
First thing the sales guy did after I laid down the rules was turn to Sean and go, "What's your number?" And Sean said. "Oh, no, you negotiate with Gayle."
So, strike one for the sales guy. Could not divide and conquer us by implying THE MAN would not surprised at what I laid down.
Sales guy then had to confer with his manager and left us at his desk for several minutes. I have a vague recollection (this was 16 years ago) of Sean and I amusing ourselves doing bits about the other people there to look at cars. I am sure we did not give off the stressed or nervous energy they were hoping for.
Guy comes back. His first offer is fifty dollars a month more than I told him we could pay. I looked at him and said "I gave you our upper limit."
"Well, but what's another 50 bucks a month?"
"Something I can't afford."
He didn't know what to do with my open and unashamed admittal that I had a budget because my money was finite.
He went back to talk to the manager again.
It took two more rounds of "I told you what I can afford" before he finally came back 20 bucks under what I'd stated as my max.
The trick to resisting high-stress sales tactics is doing the math at home, knowing exactly what you can afford, and then walking into the room and stating that number minus 15%. Then refusing to budge from that number. Never, ever, meet then where they want. Always meet them where you want. Because at the end of the day, you can walk away and go somewhere else and say "I told the people at Z what my terms were, and they refused to work with me. Here are my terms. Meet them, and you make a sale today."
Whatttt is with the tendency of Tumblr users to seek absolution from every single person who offhandedly posts about disagreeing with something they do
I say this not unkindly, but firmly: to function as a member of a social species, you have to get comfortable with the idea that not everyone will like you
u ever have on mutuals whos so deep in another fandom that u know absolutely zero about and they make posts that look like they speaking another language or some shit
i really appreciate the number of mutuals who are not in any of my fandoms sharing this post. its like a little hello nod as we pass each other in the hall
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was doing a first aid course and it kept talking about how when applying first aid to a child you have to ask the PARENT for consent and how the child's consent is not enough unless you cannot reach the parent. and then immediately after there was a unit on shaken baby syndrome, and then mentioned abuse as a common source of children getting injured. and they didn't see the irony there. i later asked the instructor what to do about parental consent if the medical emergency was from the parent abusing the child and she was like "you still need to obtain parental consent. you can report the abuse though" not even acknowledging how fucked the whole system is. i hate it here. youth rights now
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I spent a lot of time handcuffed and in a cage in high school, for a charity bit the grocery store I worked at would do
the bit was that I was "put in jail for having too big a heart" and customers could donate to my bail to get me out (and the money would go to a children's hospital or something)
now. I was very clearly a teenaged employee handcuffed inside a large cage. and I would honestly tell people that I had been in there for hours. and people would say, that's terrible! that's awful! and I would show them my wrists red from the tight handcuffs, and say but I'm sooooooo close to making bail.
and then they would dump some cash in the basket, I'd thank them, and they'd walk away.
and every so often, one of the managers would come by and collect some of the cash, so I could keep being soooooo close to making bail.
I was very good with this bit. Parents with small kids would pay $5-10 if I told their children I had been placed in jail for not cleaning my room/doing my homework, etc. For people in their 20s, I'd threaten that I was very bad at playing the harmonica, but I WOULD play it and we'd all suffer unless they paid me. and for the most amount of money, older men in suits would almost always pay $20s if I avoided eye contact and stammered a lot.
eventually, the managers started to feel bad because I was in the cage so fucking long and often, that I'd need someone to brace me when I got out because I'd have no feeling in my legs. wobbling like a newborn giraffe.
but I would also rake in at LEAST $100 an hour in charity.
so they were like, hey champ. can we, uh, give you a pillow to sit on. in the cage. would you like a pillow so you're not just sitting on a cold metal slab. can we give you a pillow.
and I had to explain to them that if they gave me a pillow, people would think I was more comfortable, so they wouldn't feel as bad, so I'd bring in less money.
the compromise was that they'd bring me a nice coffee every couple hours, which I would have to try to block with my body from the customers.
all this money went to charity. that's what the money was for. it's what was on the sign. but how much they were willing to pay was very contingent on how comfortable I looked, never mind the fact that I was still a teenaged employee handcuffed inside a cage.
and out of the dozens of shifts I did this on, not ONCE did ANYONE say, hey kid I'm going to go talk to your manager because what the fuck is going on here. they would just drop money in the basket, and I'd thank them and sip from my secret drink.
I actually had people get MAD at me that I told them I was far away from bail, they donated like $15, and then 20 minutes I got let out because my shift ended.
again. the money was for charity. it was on the sign that was very clearly placed on the upper half of my cage.
so yeah. even when people think they mean well. people can be really, really fucking stupid.
took me a bit but this is roughly what the cage looked like, without the middle platform
It was something that was originally used in the back for carting boxes, but was repurposed into a teenager cage
they'd wheel it out and the one open side would be backed against either a wall or a large display (like very tall rows of soda boxes or something)
Then I'd get in, they'd push the thing so it would be as flush as possible against the wall, and then I'd stick my hands through the bars for them to handcuff me. there'd be a sign up top explaining the bit, and then a shopping basket tied on front for people to drop the money into.
the handcuffs were fake, and I could unlock them myself for obvious safety reasons. I would get more donations if they were tight, though.
After maybe a month or two, I asked for a harmonica to sell the bit. they also tried giving me a mug, but it was too awkward with the handcuffs. I got kind of okay at playing the harmonica, but the main point was just to do one sharp blast to startle people into looking down, and then I'd threaten that I had no idea how to play, but would do so anyway unless they donated to my bail. managers actually got me a prison jumpsuit to throw over my uniform, but it was really fucking awkward so we stopped eventually. I also got a metric fuckton of mardi gras beads so I could lure small children over, to then mournfully tell them of my imprisonment due to not cleaning my room, etc. parents would be moderately irritated that I'd lured their children over with beads, but would respect the game that I'd given their kids a whole new fear. I had some parents even ad lib what I could have been thrown in prison for. guaranteed donations.
obviously, the prison bit worked best with younger girls. my roughly 50-60 year old manager once congratulated me on doing so well with the donations because I "looked like a cute sad little puppy in one of those RSPCA commercials. like a helpless puppy or a kitten." wearing makeup and earrings also increased the rate of donations.
had to explain to another girl how I regularly got $20s, which was when an older guy in a suit walked by I'd rattle my handcuffs slightly to draw attention. 10/10 times the guy would walk over, and I had to tell this girl like. If you avoid eye contact and sound uncertain you will get at least $20. I am sorry. this is for children's cancer research.
cannot stress enough that the other employees fought to get to be in the cage. customers were so awful and the weather was so shitty. jail meant sitting down with very few expectations, talking and joking with people.
Anyway. Shit was definitely not an allegory, though it could be used as one for about 11 different things.
are shows and movies allowed to be subtle and ambiguous anymore..... is that still allowed or does everything have to be a patronizing hand holding session. just wondering
âOne day there was an anonymous present sitting on my doorstepâVolume One of Capital by Karl Marx, in a brown paper bag. A joke? Serious? And who had sent it? I never found out. Late that night, naked in bed, I leafed through it. The beginning was impenetrable, I couldnât understand it, but when I came to the part about the lives of the workersâthe coal miners, the child laborersâI could feel myself suddenly breathing more slowly. How angry he was. Page after page. Then I turned back to an earlier section, and I came to a phrase that Iâd heard before, a strange, upsetting, sort of ugly phrase: this was the section on âcommodity fetishism,â âthe fetishism of commodities.â I wanted to understand that weird-sounding phrase, but I could tell that, to understand it, your whole life would probably have to change. His explanation was very elusive. He used the example that people say, âTwenty yards of linen are worth two pounds.â People say that about every thing that it has a certain value. This is worth that. This coat, this sweater, this cup of coffee: each thing worth some quantity of money, or some number of other thingsâone coat, worth three sweaters, or so much moneyâas if that coat, suddenly appearing on the earth, contained somewhere inside itself an amount of value, like an inner soul, as if the coat were a fetish, a physical object that contains a living spirit. But what really determines the value of a coat? The coatâs price comes from its history, the history of all the people involved in making it and selling it and all the particular relationships they had. And if we buy the coat, we, too, form relationships with all those people, and yet we hide those relationships from our own awareness by pretending we live in a world where coats have no history but just fall down from heaven with prices marked inside. âI like this coat,â we say, âItâs not expensive,â as if that were a fact about the coat and not the end of a story about all the people who made it and sold it, âI like the pictures in this magazine.â A naked woman leans over a fence. A man buys a magazine and stares at her picture. The destinies of these two are linked. The man has paid the woman to take off her clothes, to lean over the fence. The photograph contains its historyâthe moment the woman unbuttoned her shirt, how she felt, what the photographer said. The price of the magazine is a code that describes the relationships between all these peopleâthe woman, the man, the publisher, the photographerâwho commanded, who obeyed. The cup of coffee contains the history of the peasants who picked the beans, how some of them fainted in the heat of the sun, some were beaten, some were kicked. For two days I could see the fetishism of commodities everywhere around me. It was a strange feeling. Then on the third day I lost it, it was gone, I couldnât see it anymore.â
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I know that optics arenât the worst thing about President 47 but I wanna talk about the optics anyways and his insistence on personally supergluing gold to stuff is kind of a perfect encapsulation of why heâs such a weird phenomenon in presidential history.
Historically, the president of the United States has had the double role of being the executive/military leader of the country and being the spiritual leader of the country. The example of the American family. The (supposedly) humble servant of the American people.
President itself used to be a much more humble word before it got associated with politics. It was the title picked because it was used for stuff like the leader of your local horse riding club or whatever the fuck.
Like even if the president is an evil dirty rotten nepo baby, heâs supposed to be just some guy. A very powerful guy, but still just some guy.
Itâs like how during triumph processions in Ancient Rome they had a guy there to whisper in the generalâs ear âremember that you are only a manâ to remind them that this was a temporary honor and if they got too ambitious they would be put down.
A president needs to be seen shoveling ice cream into his face. A president lives in a relatively tiny apartment above the White House. A president lives in tasteful but relatively humble surroundings. The White House doesnât belong to him after all. It belongs to us. The Americans. And anything he does to fuck up the White House heâs doing to our goddamned house so heâd better watch himself.
President 47 is an extremely weird case. Because he wants to be a king. Clearly. But the White House is too humble for a king. Itâs not a white palace. Itâs a White House. Very important distinction. More important than you probably think.
It doesnât even belong to him though. So he decided to act like it belongs to him anyways. To treat it like a palace. And it looks bad and the courts keep blocking him from building his gaudy ballroom with real gold decorations.
Why the fuck are we paying for real gold decorations? Thatâs us paying for it. American taxpayers. Why does it need real gold? Genuine question.
It doesnât. That house doesnât need a ballroom. It doesnât need gold. The gold that heâs putting up is being held on by superglue.
Like his design sense is somehow the cheapest looking and most offensively expensive looking âimprovementsâ that have ever been done to the White House.
Previous presidents added like. A basketball court. A vegetable garden. Solar panels. Some offices. You know. Stuff youâd need in a big house that you invite guests into and also functions as a government office space.
This guy is adding⌠a ballroom? With gold hubcaps on the outside? Why the fuck do you need a ballroom in a house?
Answer: you donât. You might need one in a palace though.
The message is clear. Heâs not even trying to be just some guy. And does that matter?
Probably not as much as a lot of other things that heâs done, but still yes. Because since the very beginning itâs been fully understood that the president of the United States must constantly be reminded that he is but a man. This guy is doing his very best to remove all of those reminders and make himself the cheapest looking expensive palace he can imagine.
God damn the king.
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