#I’m beyond done with people using the r slur

[blodeuweddschild]

Huh I don’t know much about MrBeast but this video looks semi interesting and I’ve always had a bit of discomfort around him anyway and this guy seems to be making good points and…

Oh. Ok then. Fuck off and die

[oathkeeper-of-tarth]

The d’Avenir Treatise on the Essentials of Monster Hunting (Vol I) - Preface and Introduction

The timing of this whole thing with the campaign is pretty amazing, as it turns out. In the middle of absolute work hell and attempts to sort out my general apartment/living situation, a little while ago I entered a fic into the /r/CurseOfStrahd second annual fanfic contest. It was one of my attempts to kind of write out and process the way our own run through the module went, stretch out some poor, suffering, unused writing muscles, and it was also super duper self-indulgent. So I'm very, very proud to say it won first place amidst some really great competition, and super happy to rep my best girl Ez.

Summary: In the aftermath of Strahd's destruction and the not-quite-loss of her mentor, Ezmerelda d'Avenir sets out to tie up loose ends and lay some ghosts to rest, and continues carving out a path for herself in the Domains of Dread.

Word count: 9999, as there was a 10k limit. I had fun.

Rating/Warnings: T, with canon-typical violence, and dealing with death and loss in a general gothic horror setting. Spoilers for the Curse of Strahd module.

---

The d’Avenir Treatise on the Essentials of Monster Hunting (Vol I) - Preface and Introduction

Being a compendium of successes, failures, tricks, and warnings relating to detecting, tracking, fighting, and ultimately destroying undead, fiends, lycanthropes, and assorted monstrosities.

-

1.1. Introductory remarks

Their ride back to town is a quiet one. The silence is broken only once they are sitting, their hunting and travelling gear half-unpacked and strewn about, in the library just above van Richten's herbalist shop.

"Were we in any other profession, this would be a cause for celebration," van Richten's lips twist into a bittersweet wisp of a smile, and he pushes a warm cup of tea into her hands. "A demonstration of pride in an apprentice's first job well done, for all to see and revel in."

Ezmerelda tries to look up at him and meet his gaze properly, but her shoulders, her head, her eyes all feel too heavy. A leaden weight seems to have settled on every bit of her. She is tired, bone-deep, but the very thought of lying down and closing her eyes to attempt to sleep fills her with disgust and no small amount of dread. She knows exactly what she will see. The man, just on the cusp of middle age, entirely unremarkable at first... features quickly twisting into a mask of monstrous hunger, then to wide-eyed horror, and, finally, resorting to desperate pleas for mercy as the stake hits home and his screeching form dissolves to ash. 

It feels like the ash still coats the back of her mouth. The tea smells of strong herbs, with just a whiff of something even stronger that van Richten must have snuck in from the liquor cabinet. Her hands clench around the cup, and a burning need to justify and defend herself drives her to finally speak up.

"I was ready," she insists. "I am ready."

"I know," van Richten replies, softly, sadly.

The tea scalds her tongue, but she drinks it anyway.

---

Getting up from the damp, cold floor of the tomb again feels like an impossibility. She can barely keep her head above the ground, eyes stinging with a mixture of blood and sweat and the glare of pure, magical sunlight. The clawed gashes on her ribcage burn with every weak, hard-won breath, and a metallic taste coats the back of her tongue.

But she is not done yet. She has one last lightning bolt left in her, and Strahd and his dusk elf lackey are so beautifully, perfectly aligned. Ezmerelda can't keep her lips from curling up into a smirk as she raises an arm and mutters her incantation, feeling that familiar tickle of static rising all around her.

She holds on, builds it up as much as she can, teeth grinding together, ears buzzing - until she can hold on no longer, and the energy flies from her, the flash near-blinding, the roar of accompanying thunder ringing in her ears.

She sees it hit home, the first traces of foggy vapour swirling around Strahd's convulsing form, and a beautiful satisfaction fills her. 

Then, she lets herself go.

An instant or an eternity later someone is shaking her into jarring and painful wakefulness, jostling her head against the rough floor. Her mouth is filled with the bitter aftertaste of a potion, and she grimaces as she feels the familiar residue on her lips and chin.

"Fine, fine, old man, relax, I'm up," she manages, slurring the words, struggling to blink her eyes open and into focus. "I'm awake. Stop it."

But it's not him.

It is Ireena, wide-eyed gaze somehow growing wider still at her words. The reason for this becomes abundantly and agonisingly clear as she points to somewhere behind Ezmerelda... to where Rudolph van Richten lies, very pale and very still, a greater and more profound calm upon him than she has ever witnessed.

"No."

She didn't even see him fall.

"Why didn't you help him?" Ezmerelda knocks the empty potion bottle away, and it clatters loudly against the stone, finally finding rest near a streak of dark ashes. "What are you waiting for, what--"

"I tried. It was... it's too late," Ireena whispers, "I'm sorry." 

Ezmerelda feels shame flood her immediately at the misaimed anger. "No. No, I'm sorry. It's not your fault. I'm sorry. I just-- wait." Awareness of just where they are and what they were in the middle of doing suddenly overwhelms her, and she feels panic crawl up her spine. "Is it over? Did you stake that bastard once and for all?"

Ireena nods, mouth curling in visible distaste. "I did, just like you said to. Your last hit - it was enough to force him to turn into mist, and then, when... when he reformed in the coffin, I did it."

The relief Ezmerelda feels at that is so bitter it burns. "I missed it, then," she murmurs, and feels ridiculous immediately afterwards. Ireena shakes her head, and helps her sit up.

She allows herself a few precious moments of rest against the cold, damp wall of the crypt, eyes painfully locked on van Richten's still, still form. As soon as she feels half-capable of moving, she all but drags herself to his side. Feeling for a pulse, a breath, anything at all to help her disbelieve what is plainly before her eyes.

She finds no such thing. He's dead, and it feels like a stake through her own heart. After all her efforts, after getting into Barovia just to get the damned foolish old man off his self-destructive warpath and out, only to lose him now, to fail right at the end...

A pale shimmer falls over the scene before her, like a curtain right before her eyes. Ezmerelda blinks and shakes her head, but can't make it go away. She reaches up, and--

Erasmus all but swoops down to be face to face with her.

It takes her a moment to properly grasp what she is seeing. Erasmus. Somehow still there, his ghostly form hovering over his father's body. Gesturing at her wildly, pointing down at something, and, finally, using his ectoplasmic paint to draw... a circle within a circle, hanging in mid-air.

She follows his wordless instructions to the best of her current ability and, with some painfully suppressed reluctance, looks down at van Richten. And there on his finger is a ring that was certainly not there before.

Erasmus seems insistent and quite unusually agitated, so Ezmerelda takes the ring, trying not to register the coldness of the hand it was on, and puts it on numbly, feeling utterly beyond thought.

Suddenly, cutting through the fog that seems to have descended upon her mind, bubbling up like an idea from her own consciousness, a thought - a voice. A familiar voice.

'Ezmerelda? Ah. I see. Well, that could have gone decidedly better.'

She feels tears welling up in her eyes, an unstoppable burning in her chest. She wants to laugh until she can't breathe, or sob her lungs raw. 

Instead, she sits back against the cool stone wall. As the adrenaline wears off, she becomes more aware of the extent of her injuries: the sting where foul claws raked across her midsection and upwards; the burns of magical fire on her palms. She fishes out the last potion from her pocket, and downs it in one greedy gulp. The relief is near-instant.

Her faculties at least somewhat returned to her, she opts for a laugh as she recognises the ring for what it is. Ireena looks at her with some concern, but Ezmerelda waves it away.

"A ring of mind shielding. Protect the mind, and store the soul, should the worst happen. Of course you of all people would come so prepared."

Ezmerelda twists the ring on her finger, marvels at the detailed engraving.

"Should I... we could... there's ways. To get you back. I mean..." 

She trails off, and there is a brief pause before the voice in her mind pipes up again. 'No. No, I think, at long last, it is time for me to stop. And rest.' 

Even though her entire being wishes to rail against this, to insist on the need for Rudolph van Richten to exist, and protest the injustice (just when she'd gotten him back!), Ezmerelda manages, barely, a soft, "I understand." 

'There is still some work to do before that, though, no? Loose ends for us to take care of before, well...' 

That, she feels far more comfortable with. It almost comes as a relief. "Yes, of course. First order of business, we will sit down, and we will work out a plan. And we will stick to that plan." 

There is a soft chuckle in her mind. 

"What's so funny? You love plans." 

She imagines, in better, happier days, the old man - only slightly less old - shaking his head at her with a long-suffering smile. 

'Thank you for humoring me, is all I'll say. Now, go handle things here properly and finish up, while I think of a list of priorities for us. Miss Kolyana is waiting for you.' 

-

1.2. A brief reflection on personal experience

Ezmerelda is pulled into a room, hand clamped over her mouth. The door slams shut, and she almost stumbles as she is suddenly released.

"What in all the realms are you doing here?" The colourful half-elf carnival master hisses at her in a voice decidedly unlike the one he was just using in the downstairs taproom. Now that they are close, she can see the magical disguise of the Great Rictavio is utterly impeccable, but the eyes... the eyes are unmistakable. 

They are also flooded with the closest thing to panic Ezmerelda has ever seen in them.

"I'm here to help you. You don't stand a chance on your own."

"How did you find me?"

Ezmerelda shrugs noncommittally, and doesn't look behind him. "I have my ways."

He shakes his head. "That isn't good enough. If his agents - and there are many, I assure you! - catch even a whiff--"

She finally glances at the ghostly form of Erasmus, just barely visible over Rictavio's shoulder, unable to be perceived by the one man he wishes he could reach out to and reassure. He meets her eyes and holds his finger up to his lips.

"I recognised your horse," she says, at long last. 

"Dear Drusilla? Oh..." Rictavio seems to almost deflate at that, though his nervous pacing doesn't slow. 

Erasmus' visage shows what has to be gratitude, or relief, or both. Then he closes his eyes, seemingly tired, and the shimmering remnants of him disappear from view. 

"Damned stubborn, foolish girl..." Rictavio moves deftly around the small room, securing the shutters on its single window, locking the door from the inside, gaze darting around wildly. Then he reaches up and removes his hat, and Rudolph van Richten, looking more old and more worn than Ezmerelda was perhaps ever prepared to see, stands in his place.

"I had a plan, you know," he sighs, tossing the hat onto the bed. "One that I can now no doubt forget about entirely."

"There's no time for your endless preparation and planning. Any waiting game we try to play is a losing one. There's a young woman who desperately needs our help, a legendary weapon to be found, and there's a monster to hunt, feeding on an entire land. I've been to the castle, scouted out--" 

"You've done what?" 

Ezmerelda doesn't look at him and chooses to pace a small circle around the room herself. "The castle. Ravenloft. Getting in was a breeze - getting out was the hard part." She suppresses a brief shudder at the memory of her invisibility spell running out and Strahd's eyes boring directly into hers, as if he'd known she was there all along. "But, well, I managed. And more importantly, I found a way into his crypt."

Van Richten sits down on the bed, rubbing circles into his forehead.

"Ezmerelda, you can't be here." His voice sounds pained, almost. "You know you are not safe near me. My curse--" 

"Sincerely, fuck your curse," Ezmerelda spits. "After all these years, it can wait a few days before striking. Can't be worse than what will happen to both of us and anyone involved if we can't manage to work together on this. We have to. I tried, by myself, but..." 

She tries not to dwell on the terribly brief confrontation, the bite of the cold, cold grasp that seemed to steal the very life out of her, and her rather desperate escape.

"Ezmerelda," van Richten starts again, then pauses, and just looks at her - a long, heavy look. "Why?"

"There are still people who care about your well-being," she replies simply and softly, "no matter what you may believe." 

Then she straightens her shoulders and allows the steel back into her voice. "So listen to me. We are going to stake that devil in his lair, and we are going to get out of this cursed land. Together."

For once, he doesn't argue.

---

Their lord and master may be gone, but there are plenty of foul things still crawling around Castle Ravenloft - and occasionally crawling out of it as well.

How lucky for the Village of Barovia, then, to have a monster hunter visiting.

"...so I think that should do it for that particular area of the barracks," Ezmerelda flicks a stray bit of zombie gunk off of her bracer, then casts an apologetic look at Ireena. "But who knows what else he has buried under there."

Ireena Kolyana, the girl haunted, hunted, and tormented by the vampire, deciding she's had enough of running, turning on him and wielding a sword of pure sunlight against him. Poetic justice, if Ezmerelda fancied herself a poet.

Ireena Kolyana, looking exhausted in a very different way, now caught up in burgomaster duties, barely finding time in her overstuffed schedule to hear about the results of Ezmerelda's latest expedition to the castle.

"You know," Ezmerelda begins, eyeing the stacks of papers and growing chaos on the desk between them, "if you ever get really tired of this, and miss life on the road..." she nods towards the window, and the wagon just outside it. "I have room for one more. And could always use a deft hand with a sword." 

Ireena smiles, but the sadness underpinning it is palpable. "I can't, not now at least. There is too much to take care of here. And without Ismark..." a shadow falls briefly over her face, then she visibly forces it back. "Some day, maybe. I would honestly love to." 

Ezmerelda nods, then moves to stand up, and holds out a hand expectantly. "Come on, you have time for a walk. A minute to escort me out and say goodbye, at least."

Ireena chuckles quietly and shakes her head, but pushes away from the desk and takes the proffered arm. 

The sunlight is bright, tempered only by a wisp of white cloud here and there. Ezmerelda feels a light pull on her arm as Ireena stops on the threshold of the house for just a fraction of a moment. The hesitation is brief, barely noticeable, but the pause as if needing to catch her breath and the subsequent dawning joy - pure, almost radiant by itself - as the sunlight hits her skin--

Ezmerelda realises she's staring, blinks, and makes herself look away.

Their stroll is indeed brief, and as soon as they turn the corner and reach the parked wagon, Ireena sighs and stands half-ready to hurry back to her office and her duties.

"Hey," Ezmerelda puts what she hopes is a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "I know you can handle all of this. Never doubt that." 

This wins her a sincere smile. "Thank you."

Knowing there's no more point in delaying, Ezmerelda pulls away, moves to arrange her things around the wagon and prepare to leave. 

"The offer stands," she says as she climbs into the driver's seat. "Keep it in mind."

"Maybe next time," Ireena replies with another sad smile. But then she pauses for a moment, almost as if thinking something over. Then she darts in quickly, and kisses Ezmerelda's cheek.

"Don't stay away too long," she says, quietly, then draws away again. Ezmerelda nods her agreement, and takes up the reins of her conjured horses.

Ireena waves her goodbye, and stands, looking on, bathed in sunlight. 

And then the road turns, and she disappears from Ezmerelda's view.

'Well.'

"Shut up." Ezmerelda can feel her face burning. "Absolutely no need to read into things." 

'You know I mean no offense. I only want the best for you.' 

"I am perfectly fine," Ezmerelda grumbles. "Besides, this is the last thing she needs right now." 

'You don't know that. Ask her sometime, perhaps, to tell you herself. Too many people have assumed too much about that young lady, I think. Myself included.' 

"Oh, what do you know..."

There is a distinct sensation of stinging grief, never quite healed, as the voice comes again. 'You seem to forget I was young once. In love once. More... than once. And though it never ended well, like few things in my life did, the only thing I have ever regretted was not acting sooner. And regret is...' 

"... the enemy of progress. I know." Ezmerelda sighs, the old man's oft-repeated saying rattling around in her mind as she snaps the reins and takes them down the road westward. "Maybe next time."

-

1.3. Materials and methods, an overview

Her balance is off still, but the past few weeks have brought incredible improvement. She flicks her rapier upwards, then lunges - back, forth, back, forth, fully and properly bearing weight on her right side in the training yard for the first time in months. The new prosthetic is truly a work of art and a masterful display of craftsmanship. Ezmerelda feels almost giddy at the sensation of ducking and weaving under the wooden limbs of the training dummy, feinting deftly, ignoring the burn in her arm and shoulder. The maneuvers are not yet close to her peak speed and fluidity and elegance, not after the long, arduous recovery she is only now reaching the end of. But it is all so very, very promising.

It also brings to mind - because how could it not, when for the better part of the past half-year she has had more time to think, and remember, and reflect than in her entire life? - van Richten's drills. He was always far more of a theoretician than practitioner of swordfighting, but he was certainly no slouch with a blade. The precision and perfection of form he insisted on instilling in her initially seemed to clash with her more free, improvisational, off-the-cuff approach, but ended up blending with it to great effect in ways that occasionally surprised them both.

She goes through attack patterns he's drilled into her and realises she misses him, the cantankerous old man and all his frustrating ways, and suddenly finds herself fervently wishing she wasn't doing this alone. She spares a moment to imagine the amount of fussing over her he would likely have insisted on, with his overprotective bedside manner that she used to chafe and scoff at whenever one of their hunts went badly for her. She thinks of all the lovely, fleeting drawings Erasmus would have made for her.

Her next step is careless, thoughtless, distracted, and as a result only a little off. The lunge is misaimed, unbalanced, and her knee twists unpleasantly. For the briefest flash of a moment she could swear she can feel the teeth sinking in again, and the horrible tearing.

Ezmerelda winces, fingers clenched around the rapier's handle, knuckles white. Her teeth grit as the wave of pain subsides so very, very slowly, but doesn't quite go away. She remembers, belatedly, that she has an audience.

"Ah, almost there," she calls back to the artisan eagerly awaiting her feedback, voice forcefully kept steady, without turning to face them, and taps her rapier on the metal plating running up from the heel. "We'll need to make another slight adjustment to the ankle joint, I think. But this is definitely and by far the best one yet. Let me get some more practice first, and we can go over the details in the afternoon."

Ezmerelda doesn't wait to see if her words are acknowledged. She hefts the rapier back up.

---

Before she reaches the first crossroads west of Vallaki, she turns the wagon south and into the woods.

"I have some unfinished business of my own to settle first," Ezmerelda states very matter-of-factly, preempting any interrogation from the ring's general direction.

The wagon trail to the top of the hill is easier to navigate than ever, and the camp is abuzz with activity, as it usually is. But this time the feel of it all is a bit different.

Ezmerelda knows it well; the air of a caravan packing up to leave.

Arabelle sees her weaving through the horses, strolling towards the large central tent, and darts towards her immediately, then freezes not three feet away. Ezmerelda can tell plain as the new Barovian day that she is torn between looking dignified and throwing herself at her in a hug.

So she crouches down and opens her arms first, and is almost knocked over when Arabelle rushes in. 

"I want to show you something I've been practicing," Arabelle whispers conspiratorially, "but you'll need to lend me a dagger."

Ezmerelda's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but she obliges the girl after only a moment's contemplation, still crouched down and one arm around her narrow shoulders.

The dagger is one of the smaller ones she usually keeps concealed, but even so it seems far too large in Arabelle's hands. Nevertheless, in a few surprisingly dextrous motions with only a couple of moments of hesitation, she seems to make it disappear - then produces it again as if out of thin air.

"Huh. Impressive. Did your uncle teach you that little trick?"

Arabelle nods, but her pride is palpable. "Papa was so mad! He says that both him and you are a bad influence and I am far too young to be handling blades."

"There's no such thing," Ezmerelda scoffs, but motions for her dagger back and tucks it away safely. "Where is your father? I wanted to speak with him."

"Luvash is busy," another voice cuts in cooly, and Arrigal steps out of the fading, scarce shadows, somehow slipping under her notice even with the bright streams of sunlight all around. "But you can speak with me."

Ezmerelda stands up slowly, and can see him sizing her up.

"Run along now, Arabelle," Arrigal says in a much warmer tone of voice, but without taking his eyes off Ezmerelda for even a moment.

Arabelle gives her one last look as she turns to leave, and Ezmerelda tries to give her a reassuring smile - but then she realises Arabelle doesn't seem concerned or reluctant or... anything at all. She seems supremely calm, and not seven years old at all.

Arrigal steps forward and, even as uncannily quiet as he always is, it startles her back into the moment. Then, he reaches out a hand.

Ezmerelda meets his gaze, steps forward, and takes it. The handshake is firm, and she smirks. "Looks like you backed the losing side, cousin."

The term of address rolls off her tongue with some bite of irony in it. Arrigal inclines his head in acknowledgement. "You can't say it wasn't a fairly sure bet. A matter of survival, of course. We do what we must to keep our people safe. But," and he draws a bit closer, as if letting her in on a secret. "I'm glad he didn't send me after you."

Ezmerelda nods, and decides she isn't in the mood for a debate. "You know, so am I. I would have hated having to kill you. Instead, here you are, in an excellent position for a little introspection, changing your ways... much better this way, isn't it?"

He shakes his head with a grin, and finally lets go of her hand. "You are a menace. But we follow the traditions, and you have a place here. Where are you going?"

"Borca," she says, and pointedly doesn't elaborate further.

Arrigal laughs. "Off to more of your grim business right away! Well, one has to admire your tenacity. You can stay, of course, and leave with us tomorrow. We will share the road at least part of the way."

So Ezmerelda stays, and exchanges news of recent caravan routes and planned Mist-traversal with Luvash. The fire roars to life as the sun sets. Tales are told, and she contributes some of her own.

"Regale us, cousin," Arrigal says, grinning wolf-sharp, arms open wide as if to encompass the entire camp, "with the story of the fall of the devil Strahd." 

Arabelle is a delight, as always. The truce with Arrigal, if it can be called that, is uneasy, but holds. The ring is quiet.

Arabelle insists on riding with her in the morning ("You did fish her out of that lake... brought her back to us," Luvash grumbles. "I suppose there's no harm... I'll have none of that monster-hunting nonsense, though!"). Her delight at the summoned magical horses is palpable, even as she tries to hide it. Ezmerelda gives her the reins until they need to enter the Mists, and is only slightly surprised to see her managing well, with just a few pointers here and there.

The whole way, Arabelle demands stories of her and van Richten's exploits very matter-of-factly - interrogates, almost, at times. Her eyes are large, intent, focused, as Ezmerelda obliges, for hours. 

"I knew you would win," Arabelle says at one point, breaking a rare longer stretch of silence between them. "Uncle didn't want to listen to me, but I knew."

Ezmerelda looks at her, matches her seriousness. "I hope he will learn to listen, one day soon."

-

1.4. Common pitfalls

Ezmerelda inches back to consciousness more than wakes, and hisses as she almost reflexively tries and fails to sit up. She recognises her own bed in the former guest room above the herbalist shop, but the details of how she got there are fuzzy at best, completely absent at worst. She is, however, very aware of a merciless pounding in her head and that she has most certainly just pulled some fresh stitches.

A swirl of colourful ectoplasm greets her when she next opens her eyes, Erasmus' fleeting but always lovely and cheerful greetings hovering above her.

Well. Ezmerelda forces a pained smile at him, knowing that if he is here, his father cannot be far, and--

Ah. Familiar footsteps on the stairs, and the distinct creak of the second one from the top, as Rudolph van Richten enters the room with uncanny timing. 

He doesn't seem to be surprised to see her awake as he gives her a quick look-over, even as concern and frustration clearly war on his face.

"I thought we had reached an agreement," he begins at last, very deliberately calmly.

Ezmerelda doesn't reply.

"I thought," he continues with that same calm tone, "that we had made a plan. That was my distinct impression of our last conversation."

Ezmerelda clenches her teeth, then grinds out, "I couldn't just stand by and let that beast--"

"You could have voiced your disagreements with the plan and brought your concerns to me, instead of running off on your own in the middle of the night," van Richten is clearly struggling to keep his voice level. "You almost died."

"Fine, I am voicing my disagreements. We know it's a wereboar. Just go at it with our silvered weapons, set up an ambush where we found its lair... why wait? Why give it more chances to hurt people?"

"To be absolutely certain we have all the information. That we have looked at it from every angle, that we have not overlooked a crucial detail. Minimise its chances to hurt us."

"But by then it might have mauled half the village to death, or worse!"

Van Richten's gaze on her is sharp. "And if we get ourselves pointlessly killed, are the villagers any safer for our hasty, brash, ill-thought sacrifice?"

"Hasty, brash, and ill-thought. Fine, if that’s how it is, how you think of me," Ezmerelda throws her hands up, and wishes she could march off, slamming a door shut behind her for good measure, as childish as the thought makes her feel.

Van Richten sighs deeply, and pulls up a chair to sit next to her bed. Ezmerelda recognises it as one from downstairs, and feels a small stab of guilt at the thought of him setting up a vigil at her bedside.

"We can't go rushing in on half-checked information," van Richten begins, after a brief silence, looking down at his hands. "We can't, because... because I have done that, in the past. And people - good, brave, dedicated people who chose to stand against evil, people who trusted me - died as a result."

"I have been wrong," he continues, still not looking up. "I have followed faulty sources without the due diligence of thorough enough vetting. I have overlooked things, and I have lost many. I will not and cannot allow that to happen again. We have to be careful, patient, and vigilant, always."

"I'm not advocating for blindly rushing in," Ezmerelda protests, "I'm merely--"

"I won't have you on my soul as well. I have far too many already."

"And I won't have any more innocents on mine! We had all the relevant information two days ago. Four people could have been alive today if we had acted on time. We were right."

"And what about when you aren't, Ezmerelda? What about when you aren't?"

Ezmerelda looks him right in the eyes, steely. "Then I will make sure I am the one who pays the price for my own mistakes."

"Oh," van Richten smiles sadly, "If only that were possible."

---

The letter arrives just as she is preparing, to her great relief, to leave Port-à-Lucine for good. It is hand-delivered by an ostentatiously dressed man in a stylised fox mask, entirely - and Ezmerelda feels her lips curl in annoyance - unassuming and usual for the land of outrageous pretense that is Dementlieu. The way he seems to disappear in the moment it takes for her to glance down at what he has thrust into her hands is also something Ezmerelda finds hard to marvel at anymore.

Overjoyed to be able to return to the relative privacy and safety of her wagon, she tosses away her old harlequin mask in the sincere hopes of never having to put the damn thing on again. Then she throws herself on the bed and focuses on tearing into the sealed envelope, absorbing its mysterious contents.

After she reaches the end of the letter's brief text, she stays very still for a long while.

'Not a name I thought I would see again, if I am to be honest,' van Richten's voice comes slowly, sounding very wary.

Ezmerelda breathes out a frustrated sigh, an unidentifiable jumble of feelings warring in her chest and burning up her throat. She tries to reply several times, then stops, and closes her eyes. Collects herself, at least somewhat, and decides to focus on the practical. "How do we even know this isn't a forgery, or some sort of trap?"

'We don't. But it is a loose end I, for one, am not prepared to simply overlook.'

"She's tried before, but I never... I don't have time for this right now, I--," she throws the letter and the shredded envelope onto the chest at her bedside, and runs an annoyed hand through her hair, again, and again, and again. Thinking, or at least trying to. 

'We have time. You and I both know it's not time that is the problem.'

They are nearing the end of their planned journey, finishing up their business with Alanik Ray and Arthur Sedgwick's latest investigations and bidding farewell to Dementlieu. And then it was supposed to be on to Mordent, to call in at the Mordentshire shop briefly, and afterwards to Darkon - to Rivalis, and the villages surrounding the old Richten estate. Some ghouls to fight off, wraiths to purge, ghosts to lay to rest, to help the villagers out, before... well. They'll come to that when they do.

Ezmerelda can't deny the detour would only be a brief one.

"A 'loose end'," she huffs. "Really."

'I am just trying to help you. Don't waste years of your life like I have, either bitter or wondering or fleeing. Confront your - our - past, at least this part. Lay it to rest, if you can.'

"The past does not lie behind us. It is part of what we are, and part of what we always will be," Ezmerelda recites, then sighs again. "Old Vistani saying."

A moment of silence. 'Make sure it is a good part, then.'

-

Ezmerelda's memory of her mother feels... not fuzzy, but perhaps a bit tweaked and twisted over the years, more by feelings overtaking it than by any fault of recall. The images of what she remembers and what now stands before her don't match, but have a strange, dissonant overlap, leaving visible in the centre a woman Ezmerelda could almost, almost imagine seeing in the mirror. One she hoped to never see again after that night of wordless parting, many years ago. 

Years of imprisonment seem to have been surprisingly kind to Madame Irena Radanavich. She has wormed her way into some kind of favour with someone powerful here, no doubt, as has always been her utterly unscrupulous way. The cell is clearly a formality, more of an office than anything, a parlour for receiving agents and lackeys, as well as bosses. There is even a chair - a worn, old wooden frame with faded red upholstery - placed a little ways away from the bars, facing them. Ezmerelda also gets a distinct impression that the guard standing in the corner is not there for any visitor's safety or protection.

The woman in the cell seems to light up the moment she sets eyes on Ezmerelda strolling into the cell space with a pretense of casualness.

"My, how you've grown! My, and yet-- oh, darling," concern seems to flood her face and voice, and - there, a subtle, wry twist - Ezmerelda thinks she catches a false, even mocking undertone to it. A flash, and it’s gone, and perhaps she merely imagined it, or even wanted it to be there, an ache for some semblance of simplicity to box this woman in. "There's both more and less of you than last time I saw you." 

"Really?" Ezmerelda scoffs, and almost wants to laugh. "All those tales I've heard of your vicious, clever, insidious scheming, and that's the best you can come up with?" She crosses her arms, and clicks her metal heel against the floor loudly. "Not an angle you can use against me, I'm afraid. Try again." 

"You wound me!" A dramatic hand placed over her chest. "Treating your own mother like that, who has never had anything but your best interests at heart. Who you've never even come to visit."

Ezmerelda slips the opened letter through the bars, letting it land on the hewn stone on the other side. Then she moves to sit down on the solitary chair.

"I'm only here because I got your letter."

"Oh! Good. My dearest Ezmerelda, I was--"

"I am here to tell you I want you to leave me alone," Ezmerelda continues, acting as if she hasn't heard a word. "For good. Forget I exist, preferably. I want nothing to do with you, and I never will. And the only thing I might want to do with your plotting and scheming is foiling it, so it is in your best interest to leave me out of it all. And van Richten..." 

The saccharine smile dips down, almost into a scowl. "And here I'd heard you'd finally seen sense and parted ways with that old fool." 

"You hear much, I see," Ezmerelda replies, cooly.

"I have my ways. My sources. People loyal to me, who have yet to abandon me."

Ezmerelda feels the swipe like an airy almost-cut of a dagger that just barely misses. "Well, here's something new for you, then. Something your little web-weaving spiders seem to have missed. You'll be happy to hear he's dead." 

"And right away you come back to me! Time to end your silly games, eh, Ezme? Good, good. A start--" 

"You have no right to call me that," Ezmerelda cuts her off, rapidly losing her will to restrain herself.

"Come now, dear. That's no way to talk to your mother, your own flesh and blood. It's about time we set all this nonsense aside, don't you think? Your family--" 

"You're no family of mine." 

"Please," she scoffs loudly. "You sound like an angry child. And... oh, really, what kind of name is 'd'Avenir' even?"

"My name," Ezmerelda replies, perfectly matter-of-fact, and refuses to even entertain further discussion of the matter.

"I wonder how you'll do," Madame Radanavich smiles, but this time the threatening edge is obvious, pretense briefly abandoned, "all alone. Playing your little games of pretend with your make-believe name. You'll come crawling back to me yet." 

Ezmerelda finds herself thinking of Erasmus, and almost believes she can see him, out of the corner of her eye. Tries not to think of what this confrontation might be bringing back for him. Thinks of the Martikovs welcoming her with open arms and offering shelter even in the darkest and dourest and most dangerous of days; thinks of Ireena with the sunsword and an entire wealth of feeling tangled in a tired, relieved smile somehow brighter than the blazing sunlight itself. Of nights around the fire in the camp outside Vallaki, and little Arabelle pulling on her coat, extorting promises of lessons in both swordfighting and divining. Of Arthur Sedgwick and his honest, caring eyes, and his patient instruction in properly using a flintlock, as his husband gleefully offers detailed scientific explanations of the weapon's workings from the side. She twists the ring on her finger.

"I'm not alone," Ezmerelda says simply, and feels resolute steel pouring back. She stops to consider her next words more carefully.

"I watched your actions and your curse destroy a good man's life. But I want you to know that you wanted to take from him, and in the end you took from me, the daughter you profess to care about so much. And now you crow at me about flesh and blood and expect me to, what? Beg you to let me come back? Back to what? A mouldy cell and as short a leash as the current master feels like giving you?"

"Bold words for one given to following an old wretch around like a sad pup, even as he keeps trying to kick you away," Radanavich sneers, then shifts back to sad pity in the blink of an eye. "Oh, yes, my dear, it's so very tragic... I've heard it all. Look at you - you're wasted on him."

"Oh?" Ezmerelda raises an eyebrow cooly, clamps down on the sting to her pride and the deliberate scrape against old wounds, and almost wanting to scream you are the reason he feared that daring to care about someone would be a death sentence for them. "And what would you prefer to be using me for?"

"How dare you! After all I've done for our family, while you throw your lot in with the man who killed your brother and imprisoned your mother!"

Ezmerelda feels suddenly tired, more than anything. "You know he did no such thing. And I've done very well for myself, despite you." 

"Have you, now? What price have you paid for your... profession? What has it cost you already?" 

"Nothing I wouldn't be ready to pay ten times over if it meant ensuring the safety of an innocent, or beating back those such as you. You still don't understand," Ezmerelda just smiles sadly, allowing only the slightest undercurrent of danger. "I'm neither lost, nor settling for anything, nor desperately grasping at a chance, nor tragically misguided. This is what I want. This-- this cause, this fight, this is exactly what I was meant to do. And I am very, very good at it."

"Oh, Ezmerelda, if excitement and adventure and glory is what you are after, I know of much that you could do! So many causes that your... talents... would be an excellent match for. You do have a certain reputation, and I know several highly influential actors who'd know exactly where to put your skills to use, no matter how they were acquired. You could do so well for yourself! Rise right to the top of the ranks in the blink of an eye, become truly great."

Ezmerelda shakes her head, and sighs, and moves to get up from the sad, solitary seat. 

"Ezmerelda--"

She quickly turns towards the bars and leans in, baring her teeth and grinning widely. "I killed the devil Strahd," Ezmerelda smirks at the look of shock she gets in response. "I think your petty schemes are a little below me, don't you?" 

She turns to leave, not waiting for a response. The guard leans back in his corner as she moves away from the bars, waving him off.

"Oh, do feel free to let your masters know," she tosses over her shoulder nonchalantly as she makes her way out. "Though I have to say I haven't really looked into whose lapdog you are nowadays." 

Ezmerelda hears a frustrated growl behind her as the sickeningly sweet, pleasant mask falls for good. As the door slams shut behind her, she doesn't look back.

She lets the noise of the city drown out her thoughts as she slowly makes her way back to her wagon, more than ready to be on her way elsewhere. Until, after a while, a familiar voice comes swimming up through her mind.

'How do you feel?' 

"I don't know," Ezmerelda murmurs, after a long silence. "Ask me tomorrow."

-

1.5. Notes on useful classification and categorisation

As she finishes rattling off the information she's gathered on a series of apparent annis hag encounters that van Richten asked her for, he looks-- well, 'impressed' is the only word Ezmerelda can think of to describe it.

In the ensuing moment of quiet, he takes off his spectacles, fidgets with them briefly, polishes off a smudge with his handkerchief. Then, he looks her right in the eye. "You, girl, are a veritable sponge."

Ezmerelda flashes him a smug smile, then remembers the other matter she wanted to bring to his attention. She clears her throat, and begins, with uncharacteristic hesitance. "I've also been looking into some... other things. Another way I can contribute, I think." 

The only reply is a raised eyebrow, so Ezmerelda steels herself and decides to go forward with her planned demonstration. She quells the nervous fluttering in her stomach, and instead focuses on the points of her own fingers as they trace well-practiced patterns in the air. With a final flick and a quick mutter of the incantation she's quietly recited so, so many nights in her room when she was supposed to be asleep, the very air around her right hand shimmers with heat. A few tense moments later, a small mote of flame appears in her palm.

Ezmerelda bites back an exclamation of joy at the success, tries to keep her expression fairly neutral, and looks to van Richten expectantly.

His eyebrows are, very amusingly, trying to climb into his hairline. "Where in the world did you learn to do that?"

She lets the little flame dance between her hands, casually skip from one to the other, flickering giddily, and feels an odd sense of relief wash over her.

"I saw it in one of your books. Almost by accident, and it... it just made a lot of sense to me, even just skimming over it. So I thought, why not? If I could get a handle on a few of the spells, I could complement your arsenal quite well. Bring more to the fight."

Van Richten nods, but there is a wary undertone to his words. "As long as you aren't making any ill-advised deals and pacts - which, I'll remind you--"

"-- are all of them. I know. Don't worry. I'm only interested in things I can glean by myself."

"Well, I'm not much of an arcane practitioner, though I am quite familiar with a lot of theory. I'm afraid I won't be able to provide any elaborate training or instruction--"

"That's fine," Ezmerelda rushes to say. "I can continue like this. The research, the books - it's..." 

She trails off, not quite knowing how and what to explain. Arcane magic is fascinating, surprisingly enjoyable, and strikes a deeply satisfying balance between being hard-won and feeling like it comes naturally to her. 

It also feels... hers.

"It's very engaging material," she finishes after a little while. She moves to close her fist and extinguish the tiny fire, but something stops her at the very last moment.

"Indeed," van Richten replies simply, and gets up from his seat. "Well, I do need to go tend to the shop, but rest assured we will discuss the tactical applications of this later today." 

Just as he is out the study door and about to start down the stairs, he pauses, and turns back to look at her, a bright and sincere smile on his face. "Very well done, Ezmerelda."

The flame flickers, ready to fly from her fingers, bursting with potential.

"Thank you," she murmurs long after he is gone.

---

It is deep nighttime when Ezmerelda shakes off the last tendrils of the Mists and sets eyes on the cliffs of Mordentshire. The wagon's wheels clatter over rain-slick cobblestones as she navigates the still-familiar streets of the seemingly unchanging harbour town. The cold sea wind makes her tighten her coat around herself, to very little avail. 

She can't say she's missed the weather.

By the time she spies the sign neatly painted with the words Herbalist - Dr. Rudolph van Richten, she feels soaked through and entirely miserable, and spends only a moment giving the place a quick look-over.

The shop is in fine shape - if she didn't know better, Ezmerelda could easily believe its owner closed it up for the night and left just yesterday. The wolfsbane and garlic in the planters underneath each window are flourishing. She makes a mental note to make her first order of business in the morning calling in on the neighbors and discussing further arrangements with Mrs. Polk, in whose capable hands van Richten has been leaving things for years.

In the meantime, she fervently hopes for dry clothes and a workable fireplace.

A quick rummage between two bushy wolfsbane plants - the second and third one on the right - produces a spare key, and Ezmerelda remembers with mild amusement her shock at this mundane weakness in van Richten's usually impeccable and overthought defenses, years ago.

"Keys," he'd looked at her over the rim of his spectacles, "are hardly a problem for things that truly want to harm me."

The little bell chimes as she opens the door. Catching a glimpse of herself in the very precisely placed full-length mirror just opposite the entrance, she wastes no time before going upstairs. The second stair from the top creaks its old, familiar reassurance.

Ezmerelda enters the room that used to be hers, in between harrowing hunting trips and trying adventures, during her years training with van Richten. It doesn't seem to have changed much - nor does it seem to be in use as anything but spare storage space.

She does her best not to think about how empty and quiet the house is, or how she's never truly been alone in it. Instead, she hangs up her coat, rolls up her shirt sleeves, unpacks some of her things, and, by the time she gets a proper fire going, realises sleep is the very last thing she feels like doing. Her eyes alight on the small desk in the corner, and she instead decides to do something she hasn't in a while.

She sits down to write. 

First, Ezmerelda takes off the ring and sets it aside, muttering a quick good night, Doctor under her breath. Then she takes out some of her collection, observations accumulated over the years - jotted down on everything from thick parchment to old wrapping paper. Combining it with the wealth of van Richten's remaining material and into something eventually coherent will no doubt be a challenge, but a challenge is not something Ezmerelda d'Avenir has ever shied away from.

It is just haphazard, quick notes on anything of consequence that comes to mind at first, carried by an odd nervous energy. A more systematic approach will have to come at some later point.

While knowledge is a key weapon in any hunter's arsenal, honing one's body as well as mind is absolutely necessary, she writes, tapping her foot on the wooden floor in a way that often drove van Richten to distraction. Many of the creatures of the night become, in their cursed states, inhumanly strong, and in such instances one must be particularly careful of engaging them in close quarters, for even the greatest strongman would be at a disadvantage.

However, not all of these encounters need be solved by violence. Many ghosts 

She pauses, pen slowly dripping ink onto the half-filled page before her, and sees Erasmus out of the corner of her eye. She turns her head to face him, and for once in their long and unusual life-and-afterlife-spanning acquaintance, she finds she can't quite read him.

Many ghosts are held in their in-between existence due to unfinished business. Tethered to some regret or incomplete task from their mortal lives, they seek resolution and closure. Many hauntings can thus be resolved by investigation, and what I must term a primarily sympathetic approach. Of course, one must also always be wary and on the lookout for deliberately misguiding spectres who seek to play upon one's pity.

The first signs of dawn creep into the room by the time she has moved on from ghosts to wraiths to trying to sort out her notes about creatures that lurk underwater - old notes that have been, to her chagrin, very appropriately and unsalvageably waterlogged.

Ezmerelda manages to light another candle just before her current one sputters out, and rubs at her tired eyes. Then she pauses, gazing idly at the ink stains on her fingers.

She reaches over for a new page, setting her current work aside. There is something else she wants and needs to write, something other than dry facts or hopefully helpful guidelines. The first few sentences come in fits and starts, but soon enough she finds them flowing out of her pen almost of their own accord.

What I would like to make clear is that this is not an inherently bad place. The lands themselves can be beautiful - wondrous, even. Worth living in, and worth fighting for. And the people who live in them do not deserve to live in fear. I, and many others, could simply leave for some better, tamer prospects, yes - but then what? Nothing is gained if we merely surrender an entire world, a collection of lands so fantastically varied and so full of promise, to a cruel, merciless, hungry night. It can't all be abandoned as collateral damage in a great punishment intended for a horrible few. I can't, and won't, allow this to happen.

Maybe the foes are overwhelming, and the fight endless. But a life saved is a life saved. A victory is a victory. One innocent snatched away from a grim fate, one tendril of darkness beaten back - that is enough. But only if we persist at it, day after day after day. And evil may be impossible to ever completely destroy, but it is far weaker and less widespread than it could and doubtlessly wants to be, in at least some small part thanks to our continued efforts.

A dour prospect? Perhaps, for some. Ezmerelda smirks to herself, and gazes down at her veritable manifesto, and thinks back to that cell in Il Aluk. 

What better life is there to lead? None, for her.

I, for one, don't intend to give up anytime soon. I hope that in you, dear reader, I can find one of like mind. And perhaps one day we shall find ourselves standing together.

She lights another candle, and continues.

-

1.6. Conclusions and remarks on future work

She clenches her hands as she steps into the sitting room that morning, decisions made after a long, sleepless night of contemplation. As if fate is conspiring against her, the first thing she sees is Erasmus, hovering over his father's shoulder. He turns to face her as soon as he notices her, a bright smile he saves just for her on his pale, ghostly face. She knows what a struggle it is for him to manifest this way, how much it takes out of him. The thought of his precious few minutes today being this... 

It takes immense effort to speak up, interrupting van Richten's apparent focus on the post strewn about the table in front of him.

"I think... I think it's time for me to go."

"Go? Where?" He blinks, looking up from his papers.

Ezmerelda swallows, but hesitates only for a moment. "I don't know," she answers, chin tilted up, almost proud. "But I know we can't go on like this. I don't want to go on like this."

They butt heads and scrape against each other constantly. Chafe and grate and, and, and. She can't remember the last time they agreed on even the most cursory thing. It has reached a level where she fears his presence will become intolerable, and anything binding the two of them together become irreparably soured and tainted.

She refuses to allow this to happen.

Erasmus has drawn a coin. Two sides. He indulges in a small, semi-teasing pantomime, pointing at the two of them as his shimmering, ectoplasmic drawings hover briefly before vanishing like so much smoke, and Ezmerelda shakes her head sadly.

"I don't want to come to resent you, that is all. I don't think I could bear it if I did."

"If you think it for the best, by all means," van Richten says simply, and leaves it at that. He never turns to fully look at her. There is an undercurrent to his voice Ezmerelda can't quite place - something deeply tired, and far more complicated than plain sadness.

It rains heavily that morning as she sets off, as if the world itself wants her to rethink this. The muddy road squelches almost threateningly under her horse's hooves as she leads him forward.

Van Richten doesn't come out to see her off.

"I'll miss you," she breathes to herself, and half-hopes it somehow reaches both of the companions she is leaving behind. But she has only the rain and her horse's steady trot on the trail for company. 

It is quiet.

---

Finally, the familiar mists of Darkon, and the countryside of Rivalis, lie before them. The inevitable, at a familiar estate fallen into quite a state of disrepair. 

'No, leave it be,' van Richten said, at her hesitantly presented idea of including returning Richten House to at least some of its former glory on their list of unfinished business and loose ends.

Still, this is where he wanted to come. At the end.

Ezmerelda never saw it in its prime. She was a mere child then, kept well away from her family's machinations. Until she was (inevitably, irrevocably) drawn in, her fate forever entangled with that of the van Richten family. But even now, in all its disrepair, rich traces of what the gardens, the orchard, and the house itself used to be permeate the atmosphere, like ghosts themselves.

She walks across the hills of the grounds, all the way around the mansion to the family cemetery. She slows as she moves up to the two most recent graves, so easy to find, and thinks, briefly, of the body van Richten insisted on being burned before they left Barovia, just in case. 

Just in case, she agreed, knowing all he knew about what foul magic and foul intentions could do to physical remains in the wrong hands, and built him a pyre.

The headstones before her are simple but elegant, as is the tidily engraved lettering on them.

Ingrid van Richten

Erasmus van Richten

'Well, here we are.' For a disembodied voice softly projecting into her mind, almost as through a mild haze or over some great distance, it is one of the heaviest things Ezmerelda has ever heard.

'A few words, if I may,' van Richten's request comes, gentle, and she nods, finding herself oddly wordless.

'I am so proud of you,' he begins, and the ferocity of it almost startles her. 'I hope you know this, always. If I have ever made you doubt this, as I pushed you away - I am sorry. I regret many things in my life, as one does, no matter what I like to say - but most of all I regret that I didn't tell you this sooner. 

You are the best of my life. But more than that, you have grown far beyond me, into a finer person than most could dream of being. And I am sorry I wasn't there for you, that you had to do so much of it on your own. But know that when I see you... I couldn't be happier, or more in awe.' 

There is a very brief pause, and then the voice softens again.

'I love you as my own, and am deeply honoured you would consider me, and that I get to consider you, family.' 

Ezmerelda swallows once, twice, struggles, then finally lets her tears fall freely. 

'Look at you. You don't need me anymore. And I can only hope your legend will far surpass anything I have ever done - there is so much ahead of you! Your light stands so very bright against the darkness. But I am glad, so very glad - selfishly, perhaps - that we were there together, at the end.' 

"So am I," she manages a whisper. "Love you too, old man." 

'Now I suppose it is time for me to go.' 

Erasmus looks at her, bittersweet pouring from him in waves, and he gives a small nod. His form flickers, and then disappears, and Ezmerelda knows she will never see him again.

She knows how the ring works, too. The soul within it can choose to depart whenever it wants to. She knows she doesn't need to do anything - that she couldn't, even if she wanted to. It brings with it a strange sort of peace. 

Ezmerelda inclines her head. "I hope you see them soon." Tell Erasmus I'll miss him, she wishes she could say. 

She spins the now-inert ring around on her finger, a habit she will need to break. She wants to tear it off, and throw it as far away from herself as she can. She wants to never take it off as long as she lives. 

A soft rain starts up, and Ezmerelda feels oddly grateful for the feel of it on her face, even as she knows there is no one here but her.

It is quiet.

---

With gratitude to the notes and tutelage of the esteemed Dr. Rudolph van Richten, whose guidance and wealth of knowledge have proved invaluable on countless occasions, and whose friendship changed the course of my life more than once.

[bi-bard]

You’re Better Than This- Roman Sionis Imagine (Birds of Prey)

Title: You’re Better Than This

Pairing: Roman Sionis X Reader

Requested: Nope

Word Count: 2,025 words

Warning(s): Depictions of violence, manipulation

Summary: Everything was in order and relatively logical... until a drunk Harley Quinn stumbled into the picture. After that, everything was a mess and (Y/n) started asking a lot of questions that had never really been raised before.

Author’s Note: Hey! I’m just letting you, I may be posting a little bit less. I’m trying to apply to college and scholarships, so everything is a little hectic. Thank you for understanding.

Buy me a coffee? https://ko-fi.com/khoward0

-----------------------------------------------------

I jumped when I heard a loud scream over the music of the club. I had been in this scene for a while but there wasn’t usually a lot of violence in the club. Roman tended to keep a close eye on that. 

I looked up to see Roman already walking over to where the scream came from. There were men helping Roman’s driver out and Harley Quinn was casually lounging on the sofa in his place. I walked over quickly, wanting to know everything I could.

“Where is that little partner of yours,” was the first thing I heard out of Harley’s mouth when I walked over. “Oh, hiya, (Y/n).”

“Hey Harley,” I grinned. Roman stood up straight and looked at me. “So, what’s going on here?”

“Nothing, dear, driver’s mistake,” he shrugged. I raised an eyebrow.

“He called me a slut,” Harley added, waving a hand at me. I nodded.

“Well, our apologies then,” I said. Roman had turned around and told Victor to find him a new driver. “Enjoy your evening, Ms. Quinn. I’m sorry again.”

“Aww, it’s alright, sweetheart,” she promised. 

Roman nodded his head before placing a hand on my back and gently leading me towards the bar. He stopped for a moment and turned to the still silent crowd. 

“What’s a party without a little drama,” he shouted happily. “Play the music!”

The party was immediately back on track. I waited until Roman and I were both at the bar before I held a hand over my mouth and laughed quietly. 

“She really is something else,” I said. Roman tilted his head at me. “Your driver was an ass, Roman, I told you that. I had my money on this happening eventually.”

“I should’ve trusted your intuition,” he replied before kissing the side of my head. “I have a brief meeting to go to. Are you going to be alright on your own?”

“Of course I am,” I nodded. 

“Okay,” he said. “Don’t leave the bar without Victor and keep an eye open. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“I won’t get hurt,” I promised. “Now go do your business thing so I can have an evening with you.”

He nodded before walking off. I turned to the bartender and asked for a water. The drinks here were fine but I was already tired tonight. Roman insisted that I went. I was quietly giggling at the people dancing when I saw Dinah walked over to the bar. She sat down next to me.

“Hey, you sounded amazing tonight,” I complimented. “If I had your voice, I’d never stop singing.”

“Thanks,” she replied awkwardly. 

“You want some food,” I asked. “I can get us something really fancy... or just junk food. Whichever you prefer.”

She chuckled at me. I think Dinah knew that I meant well. I wasn’t trying to manipulate her. I just wanted her to be happy... or as happy as possible.

“I’m alright but we should try-”

Dinah was cut off by Harley running into her shoulder. I sighed and looked down.

“Singer-lady-woman,” Harley shouted. I chuckled at her, sending Dinah an apologetic look.

Dinah traded a few half-hearted responses with Harley before just kind of ignoring her. Harley slid even closer to her. 

“Do you know what a harlequin is,” Harley slurred. 

“A janky ass clown with bad eye make-up,” Dinah asked sarcastically. I covered my mouth to hold in the embarrassingly loud laugh that I almost let out. 

“Ooo, ouch,” Harley said. “A harlequin’s role is to serve. An audience. Her master. A harlequin is nothing without her master. And no one gives two fucks who we are beyond that.”

I was gonna roll my eyes and ignore her when I spotted Roman. He was chatting with a couple of women at one of the tables. I bit my lip and turned around. 

“I don’t know who you think I am, lady, but I’m not her,” Dinah replied.

I stood up and waved at Victor, who was standing off to the side of Roman. I pointed towards the penthouse and he nodded, understanding what I meant. The last thing I heard before I was out of earshot was Harley saying that she and the Joker broke up. 

--Time Skip--

“Roman,” I called as I quickly walked into the room. 

“What is it,” he snapped at me. My shoulders tensed and I tilted my head at him. 

“I had something interesting for you,” I explained.

“One moment, we’re discussing the crossbow killer,” he held a hand up to me. I sighed, rolling my eyes at him. 

“Roman,” I said after another minute of his senseless rambling. “Roman... Roman!”

“What,” he yelled back. He grabbed my upper arms. “What’s so important?”

“Harley and the Joker are done,” I replied. “I heard it from her.”

“Really,” he asked softly. His grip loosened on my arms and I nodded. “Oh, this is brilliant.”

“It’s open season on Harley and she called it on herself,” I chuckled. 

Roman’s hands moved to the side of my face, squeezing a little bit harder than I was okay with but I didn’t question it, “I love you, you know that, right?”

“Of course I do,” I mumbled. He kissed me gently before turning to Victor. 

“Go get her, would you?”

“Yes boss,” Victor nodded his head before leaving the room.

“God, I owe you a ring,” Roman said, throwing his arms out to the sides.

“I’ve been saying that for months,” I shrugged. “You’ve bought me enough gifts for a lifetime, Romie.”

“Don’t call me that,” he snapped quickly before shaking his head and smiling again. “I’ll continue giving you presents for as long as I can... and I promise the next one will be a ring.”

“Oh, I’m so going to hold you to that,” I laughed before hugging him tightly.

--Time Skip--

I scooted as close to the opposite door as I could as Roman shoved the kid into the backseat. I saw something fall out of her pocket. A grenade. I leaned down and stashed it in my pocket as Roman was getting the door shut. 

“Where are we going,” I asked as Roman told the driver to go. 

“An old dock,” he replied. “It’s close and it’ll be easy to dispose of the kid.”

“Roman, she’s a child,” I said through gritted teeth. “Why would you-”

“She swallowed the diamond.”

“That doesn’t-”

“One more word and I will shove you out of the car.”

I bit my tongue and looked through the back window just in time to see the car behind us crash. I placed a hand over my mouth.

“Harley and the Crossbow Killer,” I said simply. “Gaining!”

“Drive faster,” Roman snapped at the driver.

I watched Harley fling herself onto the trunk of the car. 

“Shoot her,” Roman told the man in the front passenger seat. The man leaned out the window and started shooting as we got closer to the docks.

I looked at the kid, who just looked back at me in fear. She was just a small pickpocket. I was too... years ago. She didn’t mean to get wrapped up in this. She stumbled into it by mistake. I gave her an apologetic look before turning back towards the front of the car.

I quickly covered my head, bending over as Cassandra grabbed Roman’s gun, trying to save Harley. There was a reason I told Roman to give me a gun and he always refused. What an idiot.

The door next to me opened and Harley went over me to punch Roman. Why exactly did she not grab me? 

“Uh-oh,” she mumbled, diving away from the door. 

I looked forward and panicked. As if it was an instinct, I pulled Cassandra over, hoping to protect her from the inevitable car crash. Roman leaned into the front of the car, steering us away. We still hit a statue at the entrance of the pier but it was better than death.

“Let’s go,” Roman snapped, pulling Cassandra from my arms and onto the pier. 

I followed quickly, now confused and scared and secretly hoping that Harley would get here. I didn’t want this young girl’s blood on my hands.

Roman dragged the girl over to the edge of the pier between two of the statues. I hide around the one next to him. I heard Roman’s speech echoing from all ends of the pier. Something about Harley not being able to stand on her own two feet. I could hear Harley’s monologue, jumping when a gunshot hit a statue. 

“Hey,” I shouted when I heard the gun cock again. “Harley, just put the gun down.”

“Out of bullets anyway,” Harley admitted quietly. 

“That was super embarrassing,” Roman said through a laugh.

“Sure was,” she shrugged. 

“You think you can beat me,” he asked. “You’re a fucking moron.”

“I’m sorry kid,” she looked at Cassandra. “I’m sorry that I tried to sell you. That was a dick move. For what it’s worth, you made me want to be a less terrible person.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Roman shrugged off her little speech.

“(Y/n),” Roman stopped when Harley said my name. “Are you really okay with this? You and I both know that you’ve never liked the killing. You just accepted it because you thought Roman was what you wanted. Can’t you see? You’re Roman’s harlequin! You don’t want this girl’s blood on your hands. You just wanted love and acceptance and Roman made you think he was the only one who was going to give you that. Well, it’s bullshit! Stop him now and you’re your own person. You’re better than this.”

“I don’t have time for this crap-”

“Roman, wait,” I snapped. His eyes widened at me.

I walked over and I cupped the side of his face. He grinned at me, moving the blade from Cassandra’s throat so he could carefully touch my arm. I smiled back, tears building in my eyes.

“Roman,” I mumbled. He raised his eyebrows and hummed as a sign that he was listening. I slowly and carefully moved my other arm, making sure his attention was still on my face. “You forgot the ring.”

“I get the ring as soon as we’re done here,” he promised.

“You don’t have to,” I shook my head, stepping back a little before holding up the ring of the grenade. “I already got one.”

In Roman’s moment of panic, I pulled Cassandra back with me. I hugged her tightly, mumbling “I’m sorry” more times than I could count. Harley obviously noticed what happened back her next move was to basically chuck Roman over the edge of the pier. I closed my eyes as I heard the grenade go off behind me before stepping back from hugging Cassandra. 

“Thank you,” Harley said as the other women helping her walked over to us. 

“Thank you,” I replied. “I guess I just needed someone to say what I’d been thinking.”

“So, what’s next for you,” Dinah asked as we all started walking away. 

“I don’t know,” I shrugged. “I have a criminal empire that thinks I watched the love of my life die. Roman gave the order that I was in charge if something ever happened. They’re probably waiting for my call. Or...,” I looked over at the cop that was with us, “I could turn in the entire operation and get a hefty reward.”

“I’d wait,” the cop advised. “Your life may end up on the line if you turn everyone in.”

“We’ll be here to help you,” Dinah promised. “I’ll even sing at the club.”

“Oh, I’ve gotta redesign that,” I chuckled. “You guys want to redo a bar?”

“Do we get free drinks,” Harley asked.

“I’ll give you two free drinks,” I said. She giggled and hugged me tightly. “Thank you so much, Harley.”

“You’re welcome,” she replied. “You’re better than him. You’re the boss now.”

I smiled and nodded. I glanced back at the pier for a moment. I was in control now. Everything was my call... and I was going to do a far better job than the man before me. 

-----------------------------------------------------

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[the-resurrection-3d]

so what was ever good about acotar anyway?

For some reason, I’ve been very tempted to reread ACOTAR lately, and so I’m going to just make a quick list of what I remember specifically endearing the book to me back when I first read it in 2016 so we can compare notes later. This will, however, also include some retroactive criticisms now that we’re four years on from ACOWAR ruining everything forever. 

Twigger warnings for discussions of abuse, csa and neglect, as well as me using my complimentary R Slur Pass.

For some context: 

>Be 18yr me in 2016. 

>Be in your first semester at college. 

>Be so fed up with YA romance that you avoid books just for hinting at them in the summary. 

>Be also brainstorming a series with your roommate called The Cuckmaster Saga. 

This is probably going to sound embarrassing, but I’m being completely sincere when I say that part of why this book excited me was simply the novelty of finding a YA romance book that I liked. 

I’d fallen out hard with YA in general by this point in my life, partially because of a string of fairy tale “retellings” that clearly gave zero fucks about the source material beyond using the iconography in its marketing. Folklore had been my special interest for a while, and my excitement for the series and all its little extra niche references coincided with finally getting to study folklore in a true academic setting.

Which leads me to point one:

I love the idea of combining BatB and the Tam Lin ballad. I know some people have complained about this, but honestly, I enjoyed finding a retelling that mimicked the mix-and-match structuring of a lot of folktales. ACOTAR isn’t even the messiest or least coherent mash-up by a huge margin. Unfortunately, this aspect of the series severely lessened as it went along — remember when we all thought ACOWAR was going to be a Snow White retelling and then there was just one scene with poisoned apples? Lmao.

[If anyone wants an author who does YA mash-ups that are actually YA, I’d recommend Rosamund Hodge, whose books are always interesting in their sheer weirdness even when the story itself slightly falters. I mean, I wrote a whole 20-page thesis on her Red Riding Hood/Maiden Without Hands retelling and still didn’t cover everything I had thoughts on. (Tragically, however, I must inform you all that she is a Catholic Reylo. Rest in pepperoni.)]

It is fucking hilarious in retrospect that SJM clearly knows a bunch of different folktales and folkloric creatures but thinks it’s believable for shadowsinger powers to have no theorized origin “even [in] the rich lore of the warrior-people” (ACOFAS 65). Bro fuck outta here. 

But this leads into point two — Feyre and her family. It’s very obvious that SJM based Nesta and Elain’s dynamic with Feyre off the common folktale trope of having the youngest sibling be the only competent person in the room (and Katniss Everdeen). I thought it was honestly a lot of fun to see this trope done with some interiority; you can practically hear Feyre seethe about what useless hoes her sisters are between every line. I genuinely giggled through these parts on my initial readthrough. 

I’ve seen some people complain that Nesta and Elain’s behaviors aren’t realistic in this situation, but au contraire! Nesta and Elain’s actions in book one are (...almost) perfectly realistic. Without revealing too much, my grandmother grew up in poverty with a few older sisters, and yet my great-grandmother would make her do all the work and constantly force her to give up her possessions (like her car) to the older sisters whenever they wanted them. Even to this day, when they’re all in their 70s and 80s, one of these sisters still relies on my grandma to do basic shit like balancing her checkbooks. I’ve also observed similar dynamics play out plenty of times between an adult child and an overindulgent parent, with people literally ruining their lives and bodies all for the sake of sitting at home all day buying furry porn off the internet. 

Nesta and Elain are basically the psychology of this type of person split in two — Elain the soft, delicate, perpetually victimized front they put on for the world, and Nesta the ice-cold, bitter, and aggressive bitch they truly are. 

Honestly, the only thing I would change about this set-up is either keep Ma Archeron alive or give Papa Archeron more personality than a plank of damp wood. What’s truly missing here is a parental figure enforcing this fucked up dynamic — I don’t remember it being clear that Feyre’s always had this role, just that she took it on after her mom’s death. Making it clear that Feyre’s always been forced to be this way — alongside giving the mom more characterization — would have gone a long way towards making this dynamic feel more realized and less like the narrative using trauma and pity as a shortcut towards reader engagement. 

Then again, that would require SJM to have a female villain in this series who isn’t a rapist, and quotes I’ve seen floating around from ACOSF make it pretty clear SJM doesn’t know same-gender sexual abuse even exists. 

Anyway. 

Point Three (or rather 2B): Feyre realizing she doesn’t have to hang around her family just because she feels obligated to love them was a fucking banger. I loved it so much; having a story, especially a YA story, that showed you aren’t obligated to love a family that treats you like shit was so special to me. Especially since I was also leaving my family for the first time, and going home to visit them every other weekend felt like being hit point-blank with a Psyduck blast. 

Thankfully, my relationship with my family has gotten a lot better, but I’m still really disappointed that Nesta and Elain were forced back into the story, rather than them reaching out to Feyre and making amends because they wanted to do better.  The closest we got to this was the revelation that Nesta almost made it to the Border by herself after Feyre was taken, which was definitely badass, but also unfortunately the only Nesta scene I’ve liked in this entire fucking series. If SJM was going to force Feyre to regress into being Nesta and Elain’s tardwrangler again, then she should have followed up on Amren’s line in ACOWAR that Feyre treats Nesta and Elain the way Tamlin treated her. 

“I asked them to help once—and look what happened. I won’t risk them again.”

Amren snorted. “You sound exactly like Tamlin.”

[. . .] and I said, “She’s right.”  (169-170). 

But I’m sure everyone who’s read ACOSF knows how well that’s going. 

Point Four: the femindhjdfhfdh I can’t even write that with a straight face. I mean let’s be real, I too enjoy seeing female characters I like become queens and all that other stuff, but it was clear to me even on my initial reading of ACOMAF that it was all shallow and designed to help delineate good guys from bad guys without much in the way of nuance. It certainly took me out of the experience a little, but at least it ties into the books’ themes of recovering from abuse and shacking up with a Certified Women Respecter. 

My actual point four: Truthfully I only bought this series for the meme of having the first shitty love interest getting cucked in the second book. ACOWAR gave me some complicated feelings on Tamlin, and I honestly think he should have just stopped appearing in the series after that — BUT, having him be dragged back in once per book just to call him a cuck and cockslap him around a little bit is fucking hilarious. Pointless! But hilarious.

I also think that this kind of arc is a great critique of the standard “happily ever after,” acknowledging that in real life, you’re much more likely to just pass from one abusive household to another because you don’t know what healthy love, communication, and boundaries are. (Arguably many folktales are the fantasies of women who are well aware of this reality but want to imagine a world that’s otherwise). I definitely have a lot of problems with SJM’s claims of “sex positivity,” but acknowledging that Feylin used sex as a means of avoiding communication was another great touch.

I wish that this whole King of Hybern shit was completely cut just to focus on these themes more; it’s very clear SJM only included it because fantasy series = BIG EPIC WORLD-ENDING STAKES!! I've read maybe ten pages of Throne of Glass, so I can't speak for how she handles epic fantasy there, but I know for me and a lot of other stans, the Hybern plot had licherally nothing to do with what we liked and connected to in these books. 

But I must soften here, because I totally empathize with feeling like big stakes are “necessary” for a fantasy story and that no one would want to read your books without them. YA fantasy is the reason why TV Tropes coined the term “romantic plot tumor,” after all. (Source: I’m making shit up.) 

What else… what else… uhhhhh. I think that might be it, at least for substantial things I don’t have to qualify too much. I of course have plenty of little things I used to like but have now been tainted because ACOWAR ruined everything forever and ACOFAS danced on the graves (such as how I liked Lucien but everyone in the books shits on him now to the point it’s stopped being funny). But this post is too long anyway.

[lonely-xplr]

Influencers we love that do not-so-loveable things:

tw: slight mentions of r*pe & homophobic slurs

it really sucks seeing people that you love and care about say stupid things. in my opinion, i don’t think everyone should be “cancelled” for any inappropriate/insensitive thing they say (unless it’s unforgivable of course). let’s take trash brennen for example. he’s said and done countless horrible things that go beyond just making a “dumb joke”. we all know he’s simply a terrible person, but what about the other people that we trust have good hearts but maybe say an insensitive slur or make an inappropriate joke?

aryia for example said the f slur many times in a video talking about his past. now in context, he said it without censoring because he was explaining what he had been called and didn’t want to censor himself. now although he said it in a story context, it still hurt many LGBTQ viewers to hear the word, that is so often used against them, without any censoring. instead of acknowledging his fault and apologizing, he defended his actions by saying it was the truth of his past, while also saying the word again multiple times without censoring in his explanation.

although i can understand wanting to be raw and honest about your past, we’ll get the same message if the word is censored. and if you acknowledge your mistake in the explanation with a real apology and censoring, then you can easily be forgiven without a problem. the disappointment comes in when even after having tons of followers and fans tell you that you hurt them with that word, no matter the context, you still choose to ignore it and think as though you’ve done nothing wrong.

i love aryia and i truly feel he’s a good person, but if i’m being honest, that love is now tarnished with the memory of him refusing to apologize, to those who actually love him no less. we’re not just “haters” who are trying to give you a hard time. i really don’t understand the thought process of not wanting to apologize to the people who care about you most AND got you to where you are now. same with elton (and corey) and his “r*pe joke”. sure it was you mishearing what someone said, but was it really necessary to laugh at the word like it was the greatest joke you’ve ever heard?

i’m sorry this is long, but this has been stuck in my head a lot recently, especially today. this weird feeling of me knowing you did a shitty thing, but it’s not at the same level as say shane or brennen, so i don’t think you should lose your career because of it. however i do think you should apologize because it’s simply the right thing to do. i’d like to think i’m a good judge of character, so i feel they’re good people who can do great things for their supporters, but the fact that they can’t see when they’re in the wrong rubs me the wrong way.

i’m stuck in this place of “ugh i hate that you did this bad thing” yet “i still kinda love you because i know you’re not a shitty human being like other influencers”. they need to get rid of these selfish tendencies and start listening to those who provide them with a job in the first place. if they don’t, i’m afraid they’ll lose their platform for good in the future.

[seeaddywrite]

overcome by shame, can i ever change?

part 1/6: five times Alex stopped Michael from doing something stupid, & one time Michael returned the favor. 

warnings: for this part -- grief, allusions to depression, unhappy ending (for the moment), alcohol abuse. michael isn’t in a good place & it shows.

part II will be up tomorrow! you can also read/follow on AO3, if you prefer.

The first time Alex stops him from going too far, Michael’s standing over a bleeding redneck in the middle of the Wild Pony, fist raised to land the blow that would cross the line between ‘drunk and disorderly’ and ‘assault.’ It’s a line he’s usually careful to avoid — he’s accepted his role as the town drunk and has no problem throwing a few punches when they’re well-deserved, but Michael has never wanted to end up in a cell for longer than one night.

But less than a week after he’d watched the prison holding his mother explode less than twenty yards in front of him, Michael’s no longer thinking about the consequences of his actions. He’s stuck in that moment, watching it happen over and over, and even the two full bottles of acetone-laced whiskey he’s consumed aren’t enough to end the cycle. Instead, he’s just light-headed as the grief, the guilt, he’s been trying so desperately to suppress begins to morph in his chest. Maybe he would’ve been able to handle it, or at least leave town before he lost his mind, if someone hadn’t bumped into him, splashing a wave of Max’s favorite beer all over the back of his unwashed t-shirt.

Unwanted images flood Michael’s mind, brought on by sense memory he hadn’t even realized existed. Max, shooting beer cans out of the sky with a backwards baseball cap and a wide grin. Max, sitting across from Michael at one of the stupid high school parties Isobel dragged them to, that same beer in his curled fingers, only half-consumed because Max had always been afraid of what would happen if he got too drunk to control himself in public. Max, sitting at the firepit in front of Michael’s trailer, a pyramid of beer cans to one side of his chair and the perpetual tension in his shoulders absent for once as he and Michael stared silently up at the stars, both asking questions the universe refused to answer.

Michael blinks rapidly, determinedly ignoring the sting in his eyes, and gives up on trying to hold himself in check. The surrender is all the impetus Michael’s grief needs to change completely, and the moment he regains his balance, he whirls on the man behind him, ignoring the slurred apologies to shove him, hard. He’s conscious of eyes on him — bystanders and bartenders alike. Maria is by the door, and vaguely, Michael hears her calling his name, telling him to cool off, but her voice just adds to the maelstrom raging inside him. He’s been using Maria, looking to her for distraction and something easy, when everything else in his life is fraught with pain and complication, but it’s not working anymore, and the guilt of knowing that he’s going to hurt her only adds to the weight he labors beneath.

“Man, what the fuck is your problem?” Michael’s victim demands, hitching up his worn Wranglers and squaring his shoulders in challenge. “I said I was sorry!” 

Words are beyond Michael now, and even if he could find them, he wouldn’t waste one on this man. He simply lashes out, kicking the man’s knees out from under him hard enough that his skull strikes the wood floor with an echoing thud. The alcohol makes it hard to maintain his own balance after the sudden movement, but his misdirected fury has burned off the worst of the buzz, and Michael keeps his footing. He lunges again, blind in his determination to make someone else hurt as much as he does in that moment, and his opponent gets to his feet just in time to save his nose from being broken by the heel of Michael’s shoe. He bellows in outrage and lands a punch of his own. Pain sparks along Michael’s cheek, but it’s barely noticeable in comparison to the invisible, gaping wound in his chest and doesn’t slow him down in the slightest. 

His arm draws back, muscles taught, fingers clenched. There’s a voice in the back of his head that sounds painfully like Max’s lectures every time he entered the Sheriff’s office to find Michael waiting for him in a cell. You’re better than this, Michael. One of these days I’m not going to be able to stop you from being sent to a real jail — and we both know you don’t belong there.

Max was right, to an extent. He isn’t here to stop Michael from being sent anywhere now … but any question of whether Michael belonged in a prison died with the mother he failed to save. Prison is the least of what he deserves. 

Voices, some familiar, some not, add to the cacophony of emotional noise in his head, but none of them matter enough to stop him. None of them even register, really, aside from grating on Michael’s ears. 

In the end, it’s one word that stops him -- his name, only his name, said so evenly that Michael shouldn’t have even been able to pick it out of the noise of the crowd. 

“Guerin.” 

A steady hand clamps around Michael’s wrist, familiarity evident in the touch. There’s no hesitation, no tremble or sign of fear -- just the slide of callouses against the sensitive skin of his inner wrist, warm and anchoring in a way Michael’s never quite understood. He allows the hand to push his arm down to his side, to spin him around until he’s looking straight into Alex Manes’ too-solemn face that he can’t mistake, not even drunk on acetone and a surplus of emotion. 

Stunned, Michael stares at his ex … something, because ‘boyfriend’ is never going to be the right word to describe Alex, and ‘lover’ makes their affair sound like something more than it was. It’s the first time they’ve seen each other since the night Max killed Noah, and Michael can’t imagine why Alex is here, stopping him from fucking up again, when he could be literally anywhere else, where he wouldn’t have to deal with Michael and his bullshit. 

The thought, and the guilt that rises like bile in his throat, kickstarts him from staring to action. Michael wrenches out of the hold, but makes no move to advance upon either Alex or his earlier opponent. Any urge to do violence is gone, leaving him feeling hollow and empty. His wrist burns where Alex’s hand had been, not from pain, but from the absence of the touch, and Michael hates himself even more for wishing Alex would reach out again. 

“I think you’ve had enough,” Alex tells him calmly, and nods toward the exit to the bar. He’s wearing a leather jacket, Michael notes distractedly, and his hair’s gotten longer. Just slightly out of regulation parameters, whereas before, it would’ve been cut at least a week ago to avoid that. Alex is getting on with his life, moving away from the military rules and routines impressed upon him for years, and Michael can’t help but resent that Alex couldn’t have made that decision when it was possible for Michael to move on with him. 

But resentment and heartbreak pales in comparison to the grief and anger that have taken root in his chest, so Michael stops trying to think and allows the light-headed, overheated feeling of over-indulgence to lessen it all. But even then, Michael’s not drunk enough to miss the softness in Alex’s eyes where they linger on him, nor the hesitance in his body language as he reaches out to rest a careful hand on Michael’s shoulder. 

“Come on, I’ll drive you home,” he offers, and the kindness is almost unnerving when Michael expects the opposite.  

“I --” Someone’s bound to have called the police, Michael thinks, even as he tries to slow his racing mind in order to answer. He knows he can’t just go home. He’s got to answer for what he’s done — that guy hadn’t even done anything other than make Michael remember things he didn’t want to, he’s got to —

“Kyle’s handling it,” Alex says, interrupting Michael’s painstaking thought process. It takes him a minute to realize that he’s been speaking aloud, and Alex’s grip on his shoulder has tightened in concern. He hadn’t noticed earlier, but Valenti is standing in front of the guy with the bump on his head, arms crossed and a scowl on his face severe enough to keep him from coming at Michael to blacken his other eye. 

“Michael? Are you okay?” 

The laugh in response to such a stupid question is short and bitter, and makes his nose ache where he’d been struck. Michael nods anyway, an automatic, ingrained response from years of pretending that nothing could touch him. He flicks his curls out of his swollen eye with a clumsy  hand, trying to focus on Alex. Apparently, his reaction hadn’t been particularly reassuring. Not if Alex’s wide eyes and thin lips are any indication. 

Great. Now he’s scaring Alex, like standing him up and betraying him hadn’t been enough. Michael inhales sharply, trying to summon the strength to apologize, to tell Alex that he’s fine, that he should go and stop letting Michael trample all over his heart, but Alex speaks first.

“No one’s arresting you tonight, Guerin. Sheriff Valenti knows about what happened to Max,  and —” 

Michael shoves away from Alex abruptly and pretends not to see the flash of hurt that crosses Alex’s face before he schools his expression. He hates seeing it, hates hurting Alex, but that’s all he can do lately, it seems. Hurt the people  he cares about. Maria. Isobel. Alex. Even Liz. He’s pushed them all away and hidden behind the tall, thorny walls of his own pain. And the walls have grown so tall, so labyrinthine, that even Michael himself can’t escape them now.  Hearing his brother’s name is too much on top of everything else, and no matter how his heart screams for him to burrow into Alex’s chest and beg for forgiveness, for comfort, Michael’s not nearly drunk enough to believe he deserves either.  

The crowds part around him as he moves gracelessly toward the bar’s exit. Maria holds the door for him, tries to say something, but Michael just pushes past her and out into the night. 

No one comes after him. 

[lonelyshrimp]

What happened with your roomies if you don’t mind me asking...?

 Yknow what I’m in a mood and they don’t know my tumblr (haha they think I’m a cisstraight girl lol) so let’s get into some shit. Imma put everything under a read more bc imma rant a bit and this is gonna get long.

TW: food, unsanitary (general things not being kept clean, typically bathroom and kitchen related), drug use, fighting, slurs

tl;dr if you dont feel like reading this beast:

They steal what food i dare leave out in the kitchen rather tan keep in my room

They slam doors excessively, fight, yell horrible things to each other, have friends over yelling at like 2 am (last night for example)

Leave the doors unlocked and open?? We cant even lock the front door anymore??? (Dw the doors to our rooms all have locks. If I’m in my room or out of the house, my door is locked)

Constantly throw around the r slur. Like. All the time. Including one person having called me it. Y i k e s

One person keeps smoking in the house even though i’ve asked numerous times (and even have a note on my door) asking people to please smoke outside, it gives me headaches. You are physically hurting me stop.

Don’t Clean Anything. The kitchen is a wreck. The toilets are constantly clogging, I Am In Hell.

For context: the house is a one story house divided into a main floor and finished basement. It’s a rooming house and the basement is largely seperate from upstairs. (They have a kitchen door that they keep closed and locked.) The stairs to the basement are split into two smaller flights, with a landing in between the floors. That’s where the side door is. The public spaces upstairs are the kitchen (connects to stairs), the hallway, and the two bathrooms (big main one, tiny water closet by the front door). The rest of the upstairs is split into five rooms. For comprehension sake, we’ll call my roommates: The Couple (M&F), A, T, and J.

Mmkay lets start with the least egregious and move our way up, shall we? Theft! Of anything and everything! No one can have anything out in the public areas if they actually care about it. It. Will. Get. Stolen. Now, I have a mini fridge and the second biggest room here, so I’m lucky in that 99% of my groceries, as well as all my other belongings, fit in my room. There’s just a wee problem: I don’t have a freezer. Not to fear, past naïve me thought, I’ll just clean out and use the locked freezer since I still have the keys for that fridge! (We have two fridges and food theft was a problem beforehand and so me and my friend who lived here cleaned out the second fridge to use as our own and kept it locked.) I decided to do this after I had bought myself some ice cream, wrote my name on the top, and put it in the main freezer. I go to have some ice cream later that week, I open the tub for the first time (as in I removed the seal holding the lid onto the tub) to find that someone eaten half the tub of ice cream while making it seem like it hadn’t been opened. I know it happened at home bc the spoon marks were clear as day and I have to walk 20 minutes back from the grocery store. That woulda melted by then (Also I would’ve noticed at the store that. The tub was hella lopsided??? And way too light???) So yea of course I’m ticked now, I spent 6 bucks on that bro like just ask or get ur own??? So I put it the other freezer, and for a while it’s fine. Next month I decide to treat myself to some frozen waffles and some chicken strips and come home to find that the hinges holding the locks onto the doors of the fridge were torn out of the fridge/freezer doors. Like. The screws were pried outta this metal door rendering the locks completely useless (to the point i wouldn’t even be able to put the hinges back on.) And the cherry on top?? My ice cream was gone!!! Hope u enjoyed it, asshole. So whatever. Fine. I put my food away and. a week later?? Im like “Man i could go for some waffles rn”. I bought 2 8 packs. One chocolate chip, one cinnamon (y’all i literally buy the cheapest ones Zehrs sells. 2,19$ a box y’all. not even eggos). Surprise surprise!! The entire box of choccy chip ones GONE. Mind u, i wrote my name on all of these boxes, as well as a very large “DO NOT EAT”. so i begrudgingly had a couple (note that, 2) cinnamon waffles and move on. A couple days later I go to have some more and. The waffles are completely gone. Out of a total of 16 waffles, ya boy got a solid 2. (It’s worth noting that there was a single waffle left, but at 0,27$ a waffle, I didn’t mind leaving the box on the table with a note basically reading “these are cheap af, buy ur own bitch”.) (I didn’t swear that much tho)

I’d add the bike to the list but i can’t confirm nor deny that one of my roommates stole my tires and seat off my bike (although M does work on bikes all the time so man idk.)

Next up: wow people here are l o u d. I’m talking slamming doors all the time, slamming things around, yelling, playing music wildly loud. It’s awful. Like. You can just. Close the door quietly? Stop slamming things around please? It’s awful because loud sudden noises make me panic and lemme tell ya, wakin up at eight am bc your a-hole roommate decided to slam the door eight times bc the front door is broken because someone took the border around the jamb off instead of fixing it so we can actually?? lock that door?? because it doesnt quite fit in the jamb and so the only wat to lock it was the chain lock and. someone took that too so thats fun :)))))). The side door isn’t that much better. We have a code lock and. No One Ever Locks It. Like. I’ll come outta room and?? It’s just open????? Close the door???????????

The worst, however, is the fucking fighting. The Couple love to argue all the time. and yell at each other and slam the doors or smashing shit and they yell pretty awful things to each other. Like. I’ve heard M call his gf some awful shit. It’s worse when they have people over too. The other day there were like. 14 cops in here bc of them at like 2 am. Cue me, 2 am, trying to watch a livestream and seeing like??? Six cop cars pull up????? Wh a t????? Not fun not good for my brain.

God and. What is with everyone and the r slur??? Like what?? there are so many words you can choose stop using that word. Like okay the other night someone?? took the dc adapter for the wireless modem and one of the dudes downstairs as well as the couple were looking to see if they had a compatible dc adapter and so i just decided to wait?? and i just spaced out a bit okay whatever i was lookin at the wall like i do and fuckin. the couple had a couple friends over and one of em was chillin between the kitchen and the hall and M yells out from his room “Hey don’t you feel weird with this creepy ass bitch standing next to you? Like what is she, m*ntally r*tarded?” like wow okay dude i’m literally not doing anything. Luckily his friends reaction was basically “?? She lives here?? She can stand there if she wants??” (wow referring to myself as she feels weird and wrong).

A big problem I have is I feel like theres a community in this house that I just don’t fit into? Part of it is I’m like. the only person here who doesn’t do drugs of any kind?? Like I have nothing against ppl who use drugs like whatever bro, but it feels super othering to me when i can’t relate to anyone here because of it. That and. Getting T in particular but really just anyone but A to respect me asking that if you’re going to smoke anything to do it outside because weed and to a lesser extent cigarette smoke trigger my sensory disorder and causes me pain and causes sensory overload and I still find myself asking people to smoke outside.Like I’ve never been unreasonable and said “no drugs in the house” or some bs. I’m just asking u to respect my disability thanks.And like?? I’ll get into this in a second but there were needles in the toilet?? Bro throw them out properly.

And now: Hell.

Can no one clean up after themselves?? Do your dishes. If theres food left on your plate, throw it out first, don’t dump it in the sink. Seriously the kitchen sink is fucked. The kitchen is gross. The microwave ugh ugh ugh no thanks. No one can clean everything. This is why all my cookware and dishes are in my room. That way I can make sure I 1) Still Own It and 2) Its clean and usable. I clean them as I go and just use my own shit.

Nothing compares to the bathrooms, though. It seems like every other day one of the toilets are clogged. Last week there were spoons in the sink?? Like at least 10 spoons. In the bathroom sink. The floor is dirty because no one owns a mop and?? there was one in the kitchen?? I haven’t seen it in like a month. And the worst of all. Okay, it’s really bad when every one up here is between like. 16 and 19 I think? And I had to put up a sign in the bathroom asking people to flush when you’re done??? And I still have to flush before I can use the washroom???? And it feels like every week or so. The toilet’s clogged. Oh! I forgot to mention that the water closet doesn’t even have a doorknob anymore. Someone took it. But wait, it gets worse. Seriously if extremely unsanitary things bother u, stop reading now.

Twice in the past month I’ve had to contact the landlord because the toilets were beyond clogged. The first time was bad but oh lord nothing compares to the second time (aka last week). The first time was your pretty standard toilet clogs and backs up and its very gross. I contacted the landlord and it was fixed the next day and it was fine. For. Two Days. Im serious. See. People here have a real issue it seems of “The person before me didn’t flush so neither will I”, leading to a toilet bowl full of like. a half a roll of toilet paper and waste. F u n. What that led to was the toilet clogging, people not doing anything about it, and continuing to use it. Eventually the toilet bowl was full, so trow a shopping bag over the lid to mark the toilet as “Out of order” and move on to the other one.Both toilets were completely unusable. I emailed the landlord and i don’t know if either they or one of the people living here contacted them, but the old landlord and old property manager were here the other day to clean them out and fix them?? and yea among all the standard waste you’d expect in a toilet, there were needles? Like buddy theres a trash can right there? I know u had the needle caps bc they were in there too. just... disgusting...

bro this is just what i can think of off the top of my head i know theres more but oh no this is so long now. just. this is a lot more detail than u wanted but i wanted to get this out of my brain??

[ultralunary]

my apology

tw for racism, rape jokes, biphobia, ableism and nbphobia. i’d like to start off with that i am very sorry for all that i have done, and in this i will explain what i did and why it was wrong. saying sorry a bunch of times will not fix it, and all of this is my fault, and if i didn’t want any of this to happen, i would’ve thought about what i was going to say and don’t hit enter. i am taking full responsibility for all of this. i have harmed so many people and it was very wrong for me to say any of these things. especially the white guilt breakdown. there is no reason for me to message someone and talk about that stuff. i shouldn’t vent, or have someone to talk to about this stuff. i just need to think about what i did was wrong and improve on it. and i have been very rude, for no reason, to people. it’s not like it was a tiny mistake. i should not have made a rape joke in front of a csa survivor. it was plain cruel of me. and it wasn’t like i didn’t know. it is very clear as day that what i said was a rape joke, and i knew that they were a csa survivor. and it is my fault for hitting enter, or even thinking that the “joke” was a good idea. and i made fun of someone with an eating disorder about their weight. also clear as day, i knew about it, and very wrong of me. it shows how offensive and ignorant i am, towards people with eating disorders and csa survivors, making fun of what they go through and what they went through. and it will never be excused. and how i “reclaimed” slurs with very heavy quotation marks. this was probably the worst of all. there is no excuse to say such things to people, even if i can reclaim them, and even if they are my friends. i missed the whole point of reclaiming slurs, and turned it into a joke that made lots of people uncomfortable, especially professionally diagnosed people, as i am only self diagnosed and i shouldn’t be using the r slur in the first place, even if i’m self diagnosed with autism. it is not the same as being professionally diagnosed, even if i share similar behaviors with a professionally diagnosed person, i might not have autism or adhd or whatever i self diagnose myself with in the first place, and i will never be discriminated against for it. thankfully i am not like that now and i realize the point of reclaiming slurs. now for the worst of it. yes, it gets even worse. i have been especially cruel towards poc and it is very funny, taking how i seem like i’m the opposite, reblogging posts about uplifting poc, donating to them or trying to shine light on them. asking, to say the n word, or asking an asian that isn’t japanese if they knew japanese. and making fun of a jewish person’s name, as it was the same name of an attack on titan character. it shows how even more ignorant i am, how i don’t know their name is actually a jewish name. and my apology (if you wanna call it that) was low effort and i really could’ve tried better. and i knew they were vietmanese, not japanese. i act as if i am not white, as if i’m better than other white people even though it’s been laid out that i will forever be white and nothing will separate me from my race. i act like i’m cool around poc, trying to seem woke by pointing out racism and other things like i’m trying to get their attention and approval, like i’m trying to distance myself from being white. this will never make me cool, racism isn’t something that i should use to get attention. and asking for a black person say the n word will forever be wrong, no matter how long ago it will ever be. even if this callout becomes a year or two old, i believe that one should stand out most of all, no matter how much i grow. this will never be excusable and i am very sorry for even thinking that was okay to even ask. but sorry will do nothing in this situation. i have deeply hurt people in more than one way, and i would say that this was the worst of it. i have no idea what it even feels like to be called a racial slur, let alone the n word. the weight it holds is beyond me, and it is horrendous that i would even think about typing that. and the talking about very sexual things and posting sexual images in front of minors. this is obviously very uncomfortable to look through and i understand why people would be uncomfortable with it, and i am not like this anymore. it is also disgusting of me to even post those pictures when they look particularly underage, and i changed this behavior quick, but that does not matter when i was told the first time and continued to do it after. and i have been very rude towards other members of the lgbt community. i have made very ill mannered jokes about hating bi people, disrespected a nonbinary character by using he pronouns and made a bad joke about mitski saying "lesbian rights" when she's bi. it was stupid of me to invalidate these people's feelings about their representation and just the person in general.  in conclusion i am very sorry for all of the people i have hurt, but a simple sorry will do nothing. i was conscious for all of this and i could’ve easily just brush the thought off or not send it in the first place. i must move on from all of this, learn why this hurt people and learn to never do it again. this apology is just to show that i acknowledge what i’ve done is wrong. this apology will not fix anything, it will not make everything suddenly good. and the post is to warn people about me, because of what i've done and they don't want me to hurt other people. take what you will with this apology.

[som3thingcr3ative]

Khaleesi

This was a totally self-indulgent idea I had. I don’t fuck with season 8 of GoT, so this is set in two different times- in Westeros, Daenerys has just freed Mereen and is staying there for a little while until she has gathered her strength for a play on the Iron Throne. Beyond that, this will be pretty canon divergent. GRRM himself will even make an appearance in later chapters. 

Synopsis:  It started at a party one fall night. Everything can be traced to this fateful day- the time travel, the wizard, the magic, the dragons… even the government involvement. It all started here.

Rhaegar Shade has never truly known what it is to be normal: he’s never looked normal, he’s never acted normal, and he sure as hell doesn’t have normal pets. He has tried to fit in, but he never truly found a place where he belonged- until the Mage George R. R. Martin decides it’s time. D&D aren’t taking GoT seriously on screen. Up until now, they were showing what needed to be shown- but GRRM knows exactly what will happen if they remain in control, so he does the only thing he can about it. 

He adds a pawn to the board, one who was removed from play long ago, if only to keep him alive. 

Pairing: (In later chapters) Daenerys x Jon Snow, Rhaegar / Daenerys and Rhaegar / Jon.

Warnings: Concussions, break-up, almost-rape, self-doubt, bad coping mechanisms (running away from problems)

Game of Thrones season seven episode seven played on the massive television attached to the wall of Rhaegar Shade’s basement as the twenty-somethings assembled there became increasingly drunk. 

“Cheers to our own Targaryen, Rhaegar the King of Parties!” One frat boy loudly announces, standing on Rhaegar’s couch with a sloshing red solo cup of beer in one hand. Rhaegar smiles and nods graciously, used to this at his age. His white hair and violet eyes had won him the name from his adoptive mothers, who were massive Game of Thrones fans at the time of his adoption. Two years old and diagnosed with Alexandria’s Genesis, there was no doubt that the name fit. He truly did look like a Targaryen. Now twenty-three, an ER nurse at the local hospital, Rhaegar had submitted himself to a night of torture- but only for his girlfriend. 

“Cheers!” Jasmine yelled, squeezing her boyfriend’s middle with the arm wrapped around him, raising her own, well-policed red cup in excitement. Rhaegar smiled at her, this time a true smile. The two had met a year before and had been dating for seven months at this point, Jasmine instantly taken with his unusual looks and sweet demeanor. She was the reason for the party. Twenty-one years old, in college for graphic design, she had decided to host a viewing party for the infamous show before the eighth season came on. Rhaegar thought it was useless; everyone there -save himself-would be too drunk to remember what happened. 

His girlfriend, thoroughly intoxicated, slipped her hand down his back to squeeze his ass- he flinched, watching her stagger away toward the alcohol. He followed, grabbing her hand to stop her. 

“I think you’ve had enough.” He says, turning her to face him. 

She rolls her eyes. “Babe, don’t you think it’s about time we had sex?”

He flinches again, watching her sway in place. “No,” He says, entirely sure, “For two reasons.” Jasmine frowns, reaching around him to grope him again- he smacks her hand away. “You’re drunk, and you know I don’t want it.”

“You’re a guy, you’re supposed to want it.” She complains, her words slurring. “I think it’s just an excuse.”

“You’ve had enough.” he repeats, sick of this same conversation. Every time she has a drink, the ‘issue’ of his sexuality- or lack thereof- comes up. Every single time, she complains about his Asexuality, despite their agreement. He knew, reasonably, that she would have needs that he didn’t. Instead of letting it fester into a problem, he’d told her that should she have those needs, she was free to have sex with other people- so long as she was safe and he knew where she was. When she was sober, it was never an issue. Now, however, she was getting handsy and disrespectful. He takes her drink and sets it on the nearby counter, then, guiding her by the hand, takes her up to his room to sleep it off. 

While she stumbles up the steps in front of him, he keeps a steady hand on her back. She mumbles something under her breath that he can’t hear. 

“What?”

“I said… I said I want to have sex!”

He shakes his head, keeping an eye on her feet and the stairs. She trips, but he quickly catches her and sets her right again. “I’d say there’s plenty of guys around, but they’re all drunk and so are you. You can do whatever you want in the morning.”

“I don’t want them, I want you.” She complains, turning around to him, nearly falling backwards. 

“We’re not having this conversation on the steps.” He says, finally just lifting her bridal-style in his arms and carrying her the rest of the way. Once she’s safely on the bed, he lets her go. “You’re not like this sober, Jasmine.”

“But I want you…”  She purrs, grabbing him by the front of the shirt and kissing him- hard. 

Rhaegar can taste the alcohol on her breath. He knows, logically, that when she’s sober, Jasmine is sweet and kind- but this side of her, the drunk side, the side that he’s seeing in a new light- this side scares him. He pushes her away, but she only rears back and smacks him across the cheek. 

Shocked, he simply stares at her. 

He closes his eyes and turns away from her. For a split second he feels her hand against his back, but he moves away- she knows better than to force him, he thinks. She respects him more than that- but he’s wrong and her hands return, insistent, tugging at his jeans. 

“Jasmine,” He growls, “Let go!” He grabs her wrists, trying to release her grip on him to no avail, so he takes her shoulders and shakes her lightly. “Stop!” 

She only becomes more and more aggressive- she smacks him again, then kisses him. He pushes her away, tells her no, tries to leave, but she’s stronger and more angry when drunk, and the logical, sweet woman he has come to trust is gone. 

His breath coming too quickly, Rhaegar shoves her away a little harder than he should- a little harder than he intended, but it does the trick. She backs into the headboard, staring at him with lust-blown eyes. He stares back, trying to remember to breathe through the realization that he was almost raped. 

Still, her next words hurt. “I’m done.” she says. “With this. With you.” 

“What?” He breathes, head spinning. 

“We’re breaking up, dimwit.” She says. 

He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes and gathers his thoughts. “Because I won’t have sex with you?”

“Because you’re a broken toy and I’m done trying to fix you.”

“I’m not broken.” He growls, fists clenching. Targaryen fire, he thinks as his blood heats. Maybe my moms were right about that. “There’s nothing for you to fix. We’ll talk about this when you’re sober.” 

She huffs, but slips under the covers nonetheless. “Find somewhere else to sleep.”

“It’s my bed,” he protests, but even as he says the words, he realizes he doesn’t want to be near her. Rhaegar still places a cup of water and tylenol on the nightstand for her, a trash can beside the bed. He leaves the room quietly, his heart still pounding. 

In the basement, the party has continued unrelenting. The credits are rolling on screen, so he shuts off the TV and climbs onto the sofa.

“You guys know the drill.” He says, loud enough for the party to stop around him. “Call your Ubers, finish your drinks before they come. I’m not going to have any drunk drivers.”

He climbs down from the couch amid the groans, but the drunks pull out their phones anyway and arrange for their rides. He’s quiet as he starts to clean up- unattended drinks get poured out and thrown away, trash collected, the passed-out party-goers left where they are. He gets Ubers for them himself, then makes sure each person goes into the right car, awake enough to get home safely. 

When everyone is gone, Rhaegar falls into his couch and stares at the ceiling toward Jasmine. 

“Seven months.” He mutters. There’s a dull ache in his chest, the crash of adrenaline still in his veins. Just how much he didn’t want what happened can’t be overstated- he didn’t have the urges everyone else seemed to have, didn’t want the same things they did. For him, things were simpler- he was driven by work, a passion for what he does. He worked so that he could live comfortably, so he could pay for his animals- the horse and his two wolf-dogs. He hadn’t been looking for a relationship when he met Jasmine, but it seemed that they were a good match. 

At the time, he thinks bitterly. Yeah, he realizes, It’s over.

He can’t be with someone who almost raped him. 

And he can’t tell anyone, either. He knows that it wasn’t his fault- he’d told the exact same thing to rape victims all the time at his work- but when he was the victim, it was harder to believe. 

He stops himself from thinking what if- he shuts down the part of his brain that is telling him he’s weak for being at her mercy. I didn’t want to hurt her, he thinks. Even though she was hurting me.

Rhaegar won’t be that guy. He’s not a violent person, despite the occasional anger. He’s never hit a girl outside of the sparring ring- jiu-jitsu, karate or muy-thai- and had never raised a hand against Jasmine. 

Shaking his head, he resolves to go do the one thing that never fails to clear his mind. 

He leaves a note on the counter for Jasmine-

Gone riding. Be back tomorrow. -R

Then Rhaegar Shade, his mind in shattered pieces, packs a bag, gathers his two wolfdogs and leaves his house behind in favor of the barn.

The barn is quiet when he arrives at four in the morning. He lets the dogs out of the trunk of the SUV, then takes his bag and walks into the main barn, heading for the last stall in the row. Around him are the calming sounds of horses chewing hay, nickering to each other or sleeping. He flicks on only the most necessary lights to avoid bothering them, then sets his bag down and opens the stall. 

Runar, his black friesian, greets him with a puff of warm air. Rhaegar’s heart finally slows at the sight of his horse, his long-time companion. He takes a deep breath of the barn’s warm air and wraps his arms around the horses’ large neck. 

“Hi buddy,” he says. “I missed you.”

Runar nickers, folding Rhaegar against his chest and raising his front leg in a hug. Rhaegar laughs, feeling the weight on his shoulders and heart lift. Clarity is an odd thing, but it comes to him in that moment. He realizes that he’s better off without Jasmine. He doesn’t need someone who pressures him to have sex- he doesn’t need someone who thinks he’s broken or in need of fixing. Before her, he’d had plenty of time to come to terms with the fact that he’d never experience sexual attraction, that he could very well be alone all his life because of it. 

He realizes that he doesn’t need to worry about it. 

With Runar in front of him and the two dogs sniffing around behind him, he realizes that everything he needs is right there.

So it’s with a smile that he grooms his horse, with a calm heart that he puts on the saddle, breast collar and bridle, then the saddle bags with his phone, water bottle, pocket knife and snacks. Rhaegar leaves a note for the barn staff that he’s out on the trails and won’t be back until that night, just so that they won’t worry about the empty stall. He leads Runar and the dogs out of the barn, then puts on his backpack, mounts his horse and rides off into the first rays of morning light. 

~

Back to reality, Rhaegar slips into his house quietly, having put the wolf-dogs in their enclosure in the backyard. It’s seven in the afternoon, the outside world is dark and he’s pleasantly tired- but when he looks up, he sees Jasmine leaning against his kitchen counter, still in the clothes from the night before. She’s nursing a drink.

“We need to talk,” Rhaegar says, dropping his keys into the basket by the front door. He takes an immediate right into the kitchen, digging through the fridge for a snack.

“That’s never good.” Jasmine replies, raising her eyebrows at his back.

He doesn’t bother to answer her snide comment; when he turns to face her, his eyes are dark and emotionless. To her credit, she notices and seems to realize that he’s being very serious. “What do you remember from last night?”

Jasmine frowns, her eyes losing focus as she concentrates. Slowly, the words come. “I remember…the ninth episode… A couple of shots from Brad, a drinking game.” She pauses. “I remember trying to get some, then waking up with a hangover.” Again, she stops. “Are you mad that I had sex? I thought we had a deal?”

“You didn’t have sex last night.” He answers, matter-of-factly. “When the last episode was over, you were wasted. I took you up to my room to sleep it off.” Her eyes widen.

“I tried-“she stumbles over the words. Then: “you?”

“Me.” He affirms, his gaze stone-cold. “You tried to force me.”

She just watches him for a very long second.

“I can’t do this anymore Jasmine. When you’re drunk, you’re brutally honest- I know you can’t either. We’re done.” Rhaegar turns away from her, intending to get a plate from the cabinet when something breaks over his shoulders- there’s a sharp sting as glass cuts his face and neck, then shock as he raises his hand to the cuts. The alcohol in whatever she was drinking soaked the back of his shirt and added an extra insult to injury. He looks at her without feeling anything- anything but cold. Rhaegar leans against the counter, supporting his weight on his arms. “You need to leave.”

Jasmine spits at him- he flinches, but otherwise doesn’t react, doesn’t even move until she has gathered her things and slammed the door behind her, leaving him to clean up her mess once more.

He gets every last piece of glass from the floor and counter, then cleans up the mess in the basement almost robotically, the whole time feeling cold and empty. How did I ever fall for her? He wonders, thinking about the abusive qualities she showed from the very beginning; she was manipulative, bitchy, vain and untrustworthy. There wasn’t any substance to her- she was shallower than the kiddie end of a swimming pool, with all of the bland personality of a stale ham sandwich. What did I ever see in her? He thinks, numb. I guess I was attention-starved. Makes sense.

When his mind threatens to drift to the night before, he shuts it down, turning instead to other things; he has the next three days off from work before working 18 hours straight, so he decides he’ll spend it with Runar and the dog-beasts in the woods. That thought in mind, he cleans up the basement, puts the trash on the curb, then starts packing for an overnight trail ride.

 ~

The next morning cannot come fast enough. There’s something in the air, something he can’t quite define that sets his senses on edge. He hadn’t slept well, plagued by nightmares. All of these things make him eager to get out of the house- with his bags packed the night before, Rhaegar gathers the dogs and leaves for the barn.

Runar seems to feel the uneasiness as well- he’s pacing in his stall when Rhaegar arrives, puffing at the window. He only calms down long enough to be groomed and tacked, then sets off at a trot toward the state park lands.

Barely two hours in, Rhaegar’s skin prickles with electricity. He turns in his saddle, staring up at the trees and the sky beyond- nothing. They are about half an hour out from the electric lines and there’s not a cloud in the sky- and he’s not alone in feeling the odd sensation. Fenrir, the darker of his two wolf-dogs, snarls into the tree line, hackles raised. Runar stops suddenly, leaving the four in a small clearing. Bane joins Fenrir, the two circling around Runar’s legs. 

Something’s off- Rhaegar knows that. He can feel it deep in his bones. Anxiety creeps up his limbs as he checks the woods. There’s nothing around for miles. Most of the other riders aren’t at the barn until the afternoon, and none of them ride as far as he goes. He could be gone for days at a time and no one would think to look for him. 

A tree cracks behind him with an earth-shattering sound. He hears it whistle through the air, hears the wolves bark and snarl as they retreat from it, hears Runar scream in a way only horses can scream- and then he feels the horse rear. Everything happens in a split second. The first tree slams into a second tree as a rip appears before him- a black, writhing mass in what had been open air, like a claw rent through fabric. The electric charge runs through his body and muscles that had been holding on for dear life suddenly go slack. He can’t do anything as he falls off backwards, sliding over Runar’s back to the unforgiving ground. 

Rhaegar doesn’t even have a chance to yell before his head slams into the ground and he is rendered unconscious. 

[gimmetheheadcanons]

Sinners & Scapegoats 1/?

A/N: This is a multi part Richonne fic. It is an AU mystery drama (with romance) and I began a while ago but decided to come back to only recently (and finally post). I will be posting maybe twice a month until it’s done - so heads up there. Let me know if it is worth continuing. (Trigger warnings, contains violence and racial slurs).

1.     Prying eyes

 Rick Grimes’s job was a job.

It was supposed to be a career, something with a purpose beyond the practical nature of a pay check. Protect and serve the community, there was no greater honor for a man of his caliber than being a deputy sheriff in a county full of fools apparently. Nothing more satisfying than chasing petty bike thieves all over town. Or breaking up a ‘salacious’ Sweet Sixteen Birthday Party that was misidentified as an ‘illegal kegger’ by a preachy passer-by. And to finish of this day of dunces, the most dignified activity of all! Once again, calling in at the request of anonymous white folk, unaware that the phrase ‘suspicious activity’ was not an umbrella term for any and all things any person with a ‘darker complexion’ may be doing.

In this case it was the nefarious action of a thirty something years old black woman in a casual, loose white blouse, ripped denim jeans and brown open toed sandals, putting up a couple of posters which needed immediate police attention. Thank the Lord for the ever vigilant residents of Winter Oaks Avenue!

“Oh for Pete’s sake.” Rick muttered under his breath, furious with himself for even taking the call from Diane at dispatch when he should have known better. Had he not been on his way out of the office he wouldn’t have. But here he was, once again at the beck and call of small-minded racists, trying to work out how best to handle this situation without offending this probably innocent woman or enraging the majority of the town’s voting pool in an election year. The Powers that Be at King’s County Sherriff’s Department would undoubtedly fail to thank him for once again “pandering to the so called PC culture of ill-informed progressives instead of serving the good folk of this county, the ones with real concerns about the increasing crime rates”.    

Ah yes, the things that go bump in the night. Rick grimaced to himself as he looked at the well lit and virtually empty street. There was no mistaking this woman for a dangerous trespasser and yet somehow, in this community – with that head full of dark dreads at least, she was. Rick glanced down at his wrist watch, it has just gone a little past seven. The sun would be gone in an hour or so and Rick wondered where this woman lived and if he could be so lucky as to have caught her just as she was about to finish up putting up the last of her posters before retiring for the day – none the wiser about the nastiness of her neighbors.

Fifteen minutes had passed and Rick just sat in his vehicle with the key still in the ignition. He simply observed the situation, each moment toying with the idea of just driving off. Just give it another minute, he told himself, then he could finally get his ass home to his family – and on time for dinner for once. It was another ten minutes into his ‘minute’ when Rick realized he had been caught by the woman. She was peering back at him from across the street, a curious frown visible on her face, even from this distance and Rick knew had no choice but to get out and face her.

Even if it was just for the purpose of damage control.

Be the change you wanna see.

After a long, tired sigh, Rick put on his wide brimmed sheriff’s hat and made his approach adopting a casual non-threatening strut which hopefully would signal his intent to talk and not escalate the situation. As expected, there was a flicker of blinds from several of the homes he passed. The skin on the back of his neck, accustomed to the fieriest of Georgia’s summers, burned with intense dislike and discomfort. He ignored the rows of narrowed eyes peering from behind the slits, instead firmly keeping his gaze on the perplexed woman he was about to approach.

“Evening ma’am.” He greeted her with a friendly yet still somewhat carefully crafted smile.  

She wouldn’t grace him with the same, her response was firm, respectable yet wary. “How can I help you officer?”

Rick maintained his smile, upholding it against the scrutiny of her heavily lashed dark eyes. “Actually, I was hoping I could help you.”

If she could roll her eyes, Rick knew she would have. Scoff at him and rightfully tell him to state his real intent. But this was King’s County and Rick could sense the tension in the air as she carefully contemplated her next move. Rick wanted to make it easier on her, feeling the burden of the situation and knowing he was responsible for it.

A little less forced and a lot more friendly, he attempted to disarm her cautiousness with old fashioned, gentlemanly charm, the kind his dear grandmother taught him to embrace. “I was just on my way home when I saw you and thought; Hey now Rick, what better way to earn them shiny stars pinned to your shirt so handsomely than to assist this young lady on this fine evening.”

He was careful to introduce himself using his Christian name, trying to distance his true self from the uniform he wore. Yet he could do nothing to shield her from the truth. Her expression, still every bit as guarded signaled to him the realities of the world she lived him. She was tall, taut and terribly beautiful even in her indignation.  

The woman replied almost instantly in a Northern accent betraying her as a newcomer. “I’m almost done so no need to bother yourself. Thank you for your time Officer.”

Dismissed but not defeated, Rick pushed forward. “You sure?” He asked because he knew he couldn’t walk away. Not with an audience as enthralled as Romans spectators, ready to rate this performance with a devastating signalling of their thumb. No, he could not leave her, not to the lions.

“Am I under arrest?”

“Excuse me?” Her bluntness surprised him.

“If not, I’d like to be on my way.” She was smart enough not to move until he gave the okay. Rick felt increasingly uncomfortable with the choices he was being presented him.  

“Look, there is no need to worry. Like I said, I was on my way home when – ”

“I heard you.”

Again, Rick was surprised. She cut him off mid excuse – mid lie. Despite her disinterest in his self-serving speech, Rick still foolishly believed he could walk away from this interaction smelling like roses. Sincerely and softly, he made his final mistake. “Then what’s the problem ma’am.”

Then, finally, came the scoff he deserved.

“I could ask you the exact same thing. Which one called you.”

It was enough to render Rick speechless. The jig is up, the measured tone she spoke with could not hide the fury behind her words.

“Which of those disrespectful racists, cowardly peeking from behind their blinds called you.”

Rick did his best not to flinch at her use of what would be deemed the real hard R in these parts. He swallowed hard, truly hating this place and the people in it.

“I just wanna know how I can help with these posters.” He tried again, wanting to so desperately distance himself from the truth. He was their tool, but he could also be here for her. If he could just stop her from tarring him with the same brush. “Maybe even show a taxpayer like yourself that I take my job seriously.”

She wasn’t the problem, Rick wanted to tell her but at the last minute deciding to keep his mouth shut.

She hesitated for a moment, not speaking again but Rick got the message loud and clear.  

You expect me to buy this bull?

Please do, Rick’s eyes begged.

The desperate look in his eyes may have done the job as she sighed and shrugged her shoulders. “Fine you’re gonna protect them. I get it. But I need to know for real, am I being arrested?”

It was a sincere worry and Rick knew he could no longer disrespect her by dodging the question. He shook his head and continued to offer further clarifications on his part. He took a step closer, careful not to spook her but also trying his best to create some privacy before confessing his truth.

“It’s an election year.” He whispered.

“Honestly it’s a pain in the behind trying to be that extra police presence.”

“An election year.” She repeated, a frown forming on her face as she processed the meaning of his words.

“Yep. The bosses got a burr in their saddle about it. So unless you have a baby I can kiss or a hand I can shake – I’d like to do my job and help with those posters, if you don’t mind that is.” Rick’s charm finally worked, he could tell by the relaxed look on her face as she nodded in agreement.

Grateful for the reprieve, Rick nodded courteously before helping her gather her bags, papers, and stapler to move onto the next row of bare lampposts. She had every reason to continue to hold him at arms length for what almost transpired this evening, yet past experiences and perhaps a kindness in her heart had told her that Rick was one of the good ones.

Or at least he was trying to be, her slightly raised eyebrow revealed as they walked, side by side, still somewhat uncomfortably.  

“So, what are we dealing with, a runaway pup or –

“A ‘fly out of the window of a speeding car’ teddy bear.”

“Ah an exotic pet.”

She managed to crack a smile for him and Rick’s heart fluttered slightly.

They decided to set up at the first of the lampposts, the joke acting as a much needed ice-breaker and allowing them to work quickly in perfect coordination; Rick passing her the sheets of paper and her carefully using the staplegun.

The teddy bear photo was printed in black in white, a small scruffy looking thing being held in arms of a toddler with big eyes and an even bigger grin on his face. Underneath, a description typed out with love and desperation – Help Mr. Bear come home to Andre.

“He belongs to my son. He’s three and I really need it back.” There was a real grief behind her words, her dark eyes not watery but not very far from it.

“I get it.” Rick said staring at the side of her face as she turned away from him. “I really do.” He repeated, careful to just be expressing empathy from one parent to another and internally reminding himself of his own commitment as a father and husband. “He can’t sleep without it right?”

“Something like that.”

“Right. Well let’s get this street and the next done, so you can get back home in time for tuck in time.”

“Thank you, Officer.”

“You’re welcome Ma’am.”

Things were going well and soon this watchful stranger was replaced by incredibly interesting company. 

Pulling a face of mock disgust at the proper way he continued to call her Ma’am, the woman finally just told him her name. It was one he’d never heard before but liked the sound of anyway. Michonne from Manhattan. An art teacher and painter looking to find new inspiration in the Deep South. A mother. The new owner of the Old Kent Farmhouse, self-renovating the crumbling place after the death of the owner and looking to make a home here in this town. Rick listened to her talk and was surprised to see how animated and easy going she was. Deep within him, he felt the shame rising up again from their initial introduction. Her hostility had been understandable, his behavior had not. Still, he was glad he took the call and glad it was him that got the chance to meet this charming woman with the most infectious smile.

She asked him about this town and Rick told her that despite all its faults, it was home and he hoped it could be hers to. She responded optimistically and Rick fought back the urge to apologize for what he knew she had already figured out about the people that lived here. Instead he told her tales about his own son Carl, now twelve years old but still somewhat sentimental about his favorite childhood toy – a dusty blue, stuffed elephant called Frump. He made sure not to tell her about his wife Lori, who had won the stuffed toy at the summer fair when they were seventeen and still in love.

If his job was just a job these days, then his marriage was one too. It was exhausting knowing what waited for him when he arrived home later. For weeks now, his wedding band pinched at his finger uncomfortably, from the weight gained from the drive-thru burgers he ate in his car as he agonized over the state of his marriage with his bachelor pal and partner Shane Walsh. Today, however, he had made plans to make it home for dinner and face the problems head on. Instead here he was, cherishing a few moments of casual conversation about his day that dazzled Michonne but would’ve drained Lori.

And to Rick Grimes, Christian, Father, Husband – this was was devastating.

Still, they got talking and Rick had almost gotten away with it.  

That was until reality came crushing down in the form of the always delightful Ed Peletier, marching up the street like a bull. Red in the face and practically foaming at the mouth, Ed did what Ed always did.

“Sheriff Grimes.”

Rick managed a curt nod in response for a man he so openly despised. “How can I help Ed?”

“I’d like a word.”

“Sure thing, as soon as I finish up with Michonne here. She’s new to town. Michonne, this is Ed Peletier – local entrepreneur of sorts.”

Read between the lines you redneck asshole. Rick begged, hoping that by revealing Michonne’s status as a homeowner and a part of this community, the information would be enough to put a muzzle on Ed.

Ed however was predictably impatient, after darting a brief but filthy look at the hand Michonne had courteously extended, the gruff man continued to completely ignore her and keep his wild eyes on Rick, whose own hands were itching to punch the man.

With a resigned expression and a quick apology, Rick handed back the posters and followed Ed across the street to the front of his house. There they were met by Carol Peletier, Ed’s patient wife, standing at an open door with a concerned expression on her face.

“Evenin’ Carol.” Rick called out, a genuine warm smile on his face. As much as he despised Ed, he pitied Carol. A small, fragile looking woman with graying hair beyond her years.

“Hello Rick.”

Pleasantries aside and out of Michonne’s earshot, Rick turned to the man who dragged him away from her. “What do you want Ed.”

He dropped the friendly act in favor of a venomous look, bearing no good will for Ed Peletier and the company he kept in this town. 

“I wanna know what you’re playing at Grimes.”

“Families live here. Children.”

Rick could barely maintain his composure, his head tilting at the implication of Ed’s words.

“You have a job to do. Get rid of her.”

“Now on what grounds would that be Ed?” Rick asked. His voice now a low, menacing growl. Ed’s blue eyes were bulging out of their sockets at the audacity of Rick’s question. All too familiar with her husband’s temper, Carol Peletier, placed her hands bravely onto Ed’s arm, holding him back for his own sake.

Rick scowled, frustrated at the woman’s gesture. Carol had no business protecting a man who put her in the hospital on more than one occasion. Despite their struggles, Rick couldn’t even imagine ever laying a hand on his wife. Still, despite the help offered to her, for a reason only known to her – Carol Peletier remained the dutiful wife.

It was a heartbreaking reality Rick had come to accept.

Carol’s actions worked, the brutish looking man was reminded that Rick Grimes was not a friend of his and if given the excuse, would be more than happily fire six warning shots into the thick head wearing that Braves’ baseball cap. Breathing heavily and polluting the air with whiskey fumes, Ed made his next move.

“She don’t belong here.” Ed finally spat out, unable to put things anymore delicately than that.

“She’s passing through.” Rick said firmly, his eyes unblinking and angry. He remained as calm as possible, knowing he wouldn’t have to do much when it came to Ed Peletier. Sooner or later, he’d be hauling his fat ass into that patrol car and back to the station. It was a dance that was all too familiar to the three figures standing at the doorway of the Peletier residence.

Ed was never a measured man and Rick’s challenge made him foolish enough to continue shooting his mouth off. “She’s loitering! Her and that garbage she’s pinning to our lampposts.”

Ed’s bellowing was drawing an audience from his young daughter, Sophia. The girl was the same age as Carl but with a sadness in her eyes that aged her the same way it did her mother. The shouting was enough for a curious and concerned Michonne to abandon her things, cross the street and walk towards the Peletier’s house.

“Is everything okay?” Michonne asked, politely leaning in over the fence stopping at her waist.

It was an innocent enough query and the woman never entered the property but as far as Ed was concerned she had crossed a line.  

“It’s your job to do something about shit like this. Fucking negroes encroaching upon our domicile like this! Disturbing the peace! It’s not decent I tell you!”

Rick snapped at the slur. “Decent? Like your wife-beating, racist, drunken ass would know the meaning of the word!”

And that was all it took.  

The situation escalated in mere minutes. Ed, ready to swing a fist at Rick, only to be intercepted by his quick thinking, self-sacrificing wife. The small woman clung onto her husband’ ham of an arm for dear life, causing him to explode in further fury and her at the receiving end of a closefisted hit from the free hand. It would have been enough to stop there, for Ed to realize he made his point as Carol fell back toward the open door, into their hallway and onto the hardwood floor – taking their poor daughter down with her. But in the eyes of Ed Peletier, any act against him was unforgivable insubordination, something he could not let go unaddressed.

Rick and Michonne were no longer on his radar.

Within seconds, he began shamelessly pounding on his wife with everything he had, completely disregarding the fact there were witnesses standing a few feet away, one of them being an officer of the law.

In between a flurry of violent, merciless kicks and punches, Ed managed to call his blameless wife a stream of obscenities, ignoring the desperate screams coming from his terrified young daughter and the shout to desist from Rick.

It took a full minute for Rick to finally pull Ed off of Carol and away from Sophia. Furious at how much damage Ed managed to inflict, Rick didn’t hold back when he had the chance, roughly shoving the bastard’s face into the gravel of the footpath outside the house. Ed struggled under Rick’s weight, choking on the stones and dirt he was getting a mouth full of. Still full of rage, he continued to make threats against his wife who was covered in red welts and bleeding from a bust lip and cut eyebrow.

Rick expected to see Michonne still standing at the gate, shell shocked at what just occurred before her or at least in angry tears at the racial slurs that were being hurled in her direction. Instead, Rick was surprised to see, she was knelt by his side, stone faced and strong – helping secure Ed as he put on the handcuffs.

She had his back during the struggle. Leaping into action the way only a trained protector would. She told him she was an art teacher, Rick thought briefly, curious to know the rest of her story once all of this was over. 

Ed, unlike Rick, did not appreciate Michonne’s proximity to his sweaty, dirt covered body. Despite being cuffed and beaten, he managed to turn his head just enough to spit violently at Michonne’s chest and face.

In that moment, all Rick saw was red. His weapon was drawn in an instance and threateningly pressed against the back of Ed’s neck.

Michonne jumped up and away from Rick but he could barely register the look of shock on her face at the way events escalated. It was Sophia and Carol’s screaming, however, that he found harder to ignore.

The mother and daughter were pleading with Rick – for Ed’s life. Tears streaming from their face and their anguished cries of “Please, please, please! Jesus Christ – oh God, no please” drawing a crowd. Suddenly, the street was flooded with residents. Curious murmurs turning quickly into panic. But Rick couldn’t see the faces of the community he swore to protect. He could only hear their voices.

“Someone do something!”

“Someone call the police.”

“He is the police.”

“What is happening Honey?”

“Who is she?”

“Rick.”

Her voice, in a sea of buzzing white noise, it cut through to him and for a brief enough moment, Michonne brought him back. 

Suddenly, Rick was surprised more by his own actions than the reaction of the people around him. Ed was scum but he was handcuffs. This wouldn’t be self-defense but a coldblooded murder. 

“Rick.” Her voice again but this time in his own mind, gently trying to remind him of what had promised her. 

He was one of the good ones. 

That thought was enough to finally sober Rick’s mind. The deafening drumming inside his skull stopped, rage no longer pumping blood and adrenaline to his trigger finger. In between deep breaths he managed to calm himself enough to place the gun into its holder.

Ed, who had been as stiff as a corpse finally relaxed as Rick stood up. Carol threw herself onto her husband’s cuffed body, sobbing still, her eyes never leaving Rick – more afraid of the man protecting her than she was of the man who hurt her for years.  

For a while, no one spoke. They stood there, processing what just nearly happened.

Finally, Sophia stepped forward.

“Leave.” She said looking Rick in the eye. “Before I call the police again.”

Again.

Rick couldn’t hide the surprise on his face. So it wasn’t any of the people gawking or some ignorant prejudicial neighbor from across the street who had called the station; it wasn’t even Ed, an out and proud white supremacist – it was this small, fragile, eleven years old girl. 

“Please.”

She wasn’t begging him. Trembling slightly, she straightened her shoulders to face down a man with a gun, a man she admits to having called in the first place.

But why?

Rick wanted to ask, but it took a quick look at the deep purple older bruises on Carol Peletier’s exposed shoulders and the evil the mere presence Michonne had brought out in Sophia’s father, for Rick to realize the answer for himself.

She was trying to protect them, including Michonne. 

The crowd was growing, neighbors having knocked on other neighbors doors regarding the drama Rick knew they deep down had been expecting – but probably with Michonne as a tragic player not a baffled bystander.

Distracted by the righteous anger beginning to bubble up inside him, Rick decided to address the prying eyes.

“Alright folks, now that Ed here’s calmed down a bit I’m sure you can all agree there are more interesting things that await you inside your own homes.”

“I think we’d just like to know what all this commotion is about Sheriff Grimes.” A familiar voice asked.

Rick felt a twitch in his neck, but replied as calmly as possible to the elderly man with questioning eyes sitting under a dark set of eyebrows and sunhat. “Ah I’m sure you all already do, Dale.”  

Dale let out a sad sigh, showing some humility and awareness. Rick had run into him on previous call outs to this neighborhood. He knew the retired educator to be a good man, taking it upon himself to help out Carol on occasion - administering First Aid or giving her a car ride to the hospital. That said, the same couldn’t be said for the rest of these vultures.

“You heard me first time people. I won’t say it again. Clear out. NOW!”

Rick stared down the residents, knowing very well this would find a way of getting back to his superiors but frankly not giving a shit.

“Right now, let the officer do his job. Come now, time to get out of this heat and back to our couches.” Dale’s mild waves had the power to disperse a crowd far quicker than a water canon and Rick was grateful for the powers of the former school principal.  

The elderly man was about to make his exit when Ed piped up again.

“Where you going you old Jew bastard?” He cried out, flailing on the floor like a sea lion. “You all saw what he did, he’s not a cop. He’s a thug. You’re my witness!”

“Oh Edward, you were a bully in school and you’re just a bigger one now. Don’t make things worse for yourself.” With a disapproving glare and a sigh of disgust, Dale Horvath returned to his own home, a couple doors down from the Peletiers.

Relieved the excitement was drawing to an end, Rick let out of a sigh, he turned to Michonne, who during the uproar had returned to the guarded state he met her in. She was however gently tending to Sophia, her arms protectively around the girl’s shoulders. 

“You okay?” He asked and she relaxed, reassuring him with a small smile.

“You okay?” She asked him back and he did the same.

Rick then turned to the little girl in Michonne’s arms, knowing he too needed to somehow comfort her. “I’m sorry.” He told Sophia, truly meaning the words. “But I’m taking your father in. I have to and I think you agree.”

The girl glanced down at her mother’s battered body, lain over a man who continued to curse under his breath about being betrayed by his own blood.

“Mom.” She said weakly. “Please.”

When Rick began to approach Ed, Carol didn’t start up her screams in defense of her husband. Her daughter’s plea had rendered her speechless. Michonne stepped forward, carefully placing her arms around Carol’s shoulders and with gentle words coaxed her away from the toxic man she had married, instead steering her toward the daughter that needed her. The three women, then stood by, letting Rick do his job. Neither his daughter nor wife were treating Michonne with the same revulsion Ed had, instead grateful for the cover and calm she provided them with.

Rick knew it was a sight that in the future would cause daily bitterness to the prick he had just dragged up from the ground and that warmed his own heart significantly.

Heading to back to his police cruiser with Ed Peletier in tow, Rick Grimes felt a burst of optimism. Maybe things could be different in this small town full of stone throwers. Perhaps some honest to God good could be done, by those willing to commit to acting on their conscience. Something to shock the small minded, their stale sermons and suspicious stares.

Rick took one last look at the trio of women in his rear view window. The sun was almost gone, but as he drove away the white of Michonne’s blouse remained visible in the amber rays. Striking as a knight’s armor, Rick thought, affectionately thinking back to her noble quest for a lost bear.  

“That bitch made the mistake of her life tonight.”

Ed Peletier said from the back of the car, spewing his hate like the last rings of smoke coming from a defeated dragon. His intoxicated, blood shot eyes reflected back at Rick’s calm blue ones but there was no need for a response as Ed slunk back into the seat looking smaller and more wretched than he’d ever looked before. Nothing but a pain parasite, severed from its source of strength.

It had finally happened.

He was finally done counting the times he had to let this man go back to hurting that family all over again.

Rick told himself this lie with little else to fear.

But with all things concerning this town of his, this job of his and this frequently disappointing life he was committed to – Rick Grimes’s optimistic outlook would be a premature one. Just over the horizon there waited the all too familiar failure of busted jaws, and broken promises.  

In a month’s time they’d end up in back in this place.

And the month after that, Rick would be praying to be back here once. Back to a time where things weren’t all that bad – dealing with bruises instead of a bloated, lifeless body. 

[galakzee]

paige redoes a tag oops

so i’ve done this once before already but it was a few months ago so i thought i’d redo it. why not. most of the answers will be the same but some have probably changed which is why i’m redoing it. i got tagged by the lovely @rainb0wguy and @renee-gracie thanks guys!! <3 <3 oh i might also add in some xtra info since i’ve answered all these q’s already lmao

Rules: tag 10 followers that you would like to know better

Name: Paige (my middle name is Elizabeth and my last initial is P. so i heard many a PP joke in elementary school.)

Gender: Female

Star Sign: Gemini (my bday is 6/6!)

Height: 5 ft. 5 in.

Have you ever had a crush on a teacher? this is still a hard NO lmao. i always saw my teachers like parents, not peers.

Where do you see yourself in 10 years? this is the same! i am a concurrent major in marine biology and environmental science. so i’d like to have a post grad degree in marine bio and i’d like to be doing research! i also want to have many pets. i want a doge and a birb and a really heckin cool fish tank like Taylor Nicole Dean.

Your coolest Halloween costume: none of mine were really that good tbh. like none really stick out in my mind. oh one of the last years i went trick or treating i was a shadowhunter with a friend

Favorite 90′s show: still Charmed lmao. 

Have you ever been stood up? no but i had a friend/ex-girlfriend tell me that she was “booked for the month of september” when i said something like “i miss you we should hang out more”

Favorite pair of shoes: still birkenstocks. i also have a really rad pair of Doc Martens with renaissance art on them

Favorite fruit: still have a phobia of all fruits LMAO. like i swear it used to be really bad. in elementary school if i was sitting next to someone eating fruit at lunch i would literally start to gag and dry heave.

Favorite book: princess bride, pride and prejudice, the mysterious benedict society, percy jackson and the olympians, the uglies series. the book that fucked up my mind the most was without a doubt brave new world by aldous huxley.

Stupid thing: since it’s mental health awareness month, i’ll share this about myself! under a read more bc it unintentionally got long as hell oops

i made one post touching on this a long time ago but there might be followers that dont know this about me. in 10th grade i fell into a very severe depression where many days i didn’t have the energy to get out of bed. i also had (still have) generalized anxiety disorder and panic attacks. from january to the beginning of may, i was in partial hospitalization, where you basically do group and solo therapy along with other stuff like art during like normal school hours. in that time i also found out i have a genetic condition in my MTHFR gene! long story short, i have to take a drug called l-methylfolate for the rest of my life to a) help my antidepressants work and b) avoid certain complications that can happen during pregnancy (just as an example bc my memory is shit). why am i saying this? because during this time, the lowest point in my short life, i didn’t picture myself having any sort of future. i literally could not see myself going to college. i couldnt see beyond the depression and my low self-worth. but it’s been 3 years since i was discharged. i consider my depression to be in remission, and i have the tools to deal with my anxiety and rare panic attacks. don’t be afraid to get help if you need it! talk to someone. please talk to someone. therapy literally changed my life. if you know people dealing with mental illness, please be supportive. feeling like nobody believes you and you’re all alone is already a part of depression but if people actually don’t want to support you it makes it all 200% worse. i also want you to remember to be kind. think before you speak. is there a better word you could use to express that statement? i challenge you to stop using harmful slurs like r******* and even words like insane, psychotic, crazy. and don’t casually say you’ve got adhd or ocd if you don’t. stereotypes only hurt those of us with mental illness even more! just remember, even if you don’t believe it, depression will not be forever. you are more than your mental illness. and i support you, wherever you are in your journey, as someone who’s been there and back :)

[yeonchi]

2020: Red Pill Year

At the end of every year, I write up a post to sum up what I did this year and share my (controversial) opinions of the year’s current affairs. My original plan was for this to be part of my end-of-year review post, but since it started getting long, I decided to split it into two posts. In this post, I’m going to be talking about current affairs; my wrap-up of the year will come in another post to be released on New Year’s Eve.

I’ve experienced a lot through my ten years on social media, but the events of the last four years (since graduating high school) have changed me a lot and led me to take the red pill on a few things. I suspect that being sheltered and isolated from society for at least 20 years contributed to some of my feelings and opinions.

From this point on, I’m going to be giving my opinions on current affairs, and I’ve been really looking forward to writing this given the year that we’ve had. Everything that’s happened feels like a perfect storm that if you were to go back in time and warn people of what would happen in 2020, you would be labelled a conspiracy theorist. Because I have a lot of things to talk about, I’ve split them up into sections under headings.

Let me warn you now, some of the things I’ll be saying will be controversial and there may be a few censored slurs in this. I’ve also peppered a few jokes here and there, so if you don’t get them, that’s on you. You are free to stop reading here, but if you decide to keep reading and you want to discuss anything about what I’ve said, I’ll only accept comments from people who have the ability to debate calmly without resorting to insults or are open-minded about their views. I have no time for idiots or brainlets.

My justification for using the n-word

I feel like I should address this before I go on. In January 2017, I shared an infamous Chris Rock sketch from 1996 where he decries African-American people whose actions spoil other peoples’ impressions of their community by acting in a criminal or stereotypical manner. As an Asian of Chinese ethnicity with family from Hong Kong, I have to admit that I’ve used the n-word (both soft-a and hard-r versions) to decry the actions of mainland Chinese people whose actions taint my view of them, or the stupidity of politicians in Hong Kong. I even started another page just so people on my news feed didn’t have to read some of the toxic shit I had to say.

Later that year, some gaijin bitch I was having a feud with found that page and reported every post where I said the n-word (that page barely had any fans, btw), which led me to be postblocked three times. He only agreed to stop when I called him out for being an asshole and told him to kill himself (like iDubbbz did Keemstar).

From that point on, I resolved to be less hateful online and one thing that I did was to stop using the n-word. However, the news that followed in the years after that made me realise that in insight, I was somehow correct in my justification and that the other guy was, whether intentional or not, being pro-China. The current climate of the internet, where censorship is rampant and people have a tendency to overreact to things that aren’t as much a problem as they think, has discouraged me from talking about current affairs like I used to and led me to doing so in these yearly posts instead.

“BUT YoU Can't USe THE N-Word, tHAT's oUr woRD” Shut the fuck up. Either everyone can say that word or nobody should be allowed to say that word (in any of its forms). This includes black people. iDubbbz’s Content Cop on Tana Mongeau made me realise this concept of gatekeeping over words because some people “own” the word or want to “take it back” is bullshit and dare I say, racist. The n-word has been used in songs and non-black people are known to listen to them, so how would you stop them from singing the word when it comes up?

In Chinese, the n-word translates to “black ghost”, but I prefer to define it as “black-hearted ghost” in order to cover “black-hearted” people of any race.

The homophobic f-slur (not to be mistaken for the f-word) is also a word of contention, particularly because of its initial usage on 4chan as an insult, which began to spread to the rest of the internet from about 2014 onwards. In my opinion, there’s not as much uproar over the f-slur compared to the n-word, particularly nowadays when there are more pressing things to be worried about.

If you keep reading on, you’ll get to see how angry I feel about certain things, particularly in some topics where I make reference to the n-word.

Coronavirus

Naming and pandemic management

In January, we were still dealing with fires that were burning various regions of Eastern Australia. I was on a cruise ship (not Princess Cruises) coming back to Sydney from New Zealand when I heard that biosecurity officials were starting to screen flights coming from Wuhan. Near the end of 2019, I had heard inklings of SARS-like pneumonia cases coming from Wuhan on Facebook pages about Hong Kong. Before we knew it, the coronavirus had become a worldwide pandemic.

The term “COVID-19″ was coined in February to describe the pneumonia caused by the virus, which was coined “SARS-CoV-2”. To be honest, I’m not fond of the terms “COVID” or “COVID-19” because even though it does make sense when you think about it (Coronavirus disease 2019), I honestly believe that this was an act of political correctness by the WHO and China to protect people’s “feelings” by obscuring the fact that the first cases of the coronavirus were found in Wuhan, putting the blame on other countries for creating the virus and brushing off the effect that this virus has had on the people of Wuhan, China and the world. Therefore, I believe that the virus started in Wuhan until there is proof beyond all reasonable doubt that the virus came from somewhere else. Pro-democracy supporters in Hong Kong and Taiwan still refer to it as the “Wuhan pneumonia” (武漢肺炎) because of these reasons whereas officials and pro-establishment supporters refer to it by its politically correct name (新型肺炎/新冠肺炎). I’ve referred to it as the “Wuhan coronavirus” once at the start of the year, but I just refer to it as “coronavirus” now. Frankly, it would have been better if we all just called it SARS 2.0. Given “SARS-CoV-2″, it makes sense. Hell, I’d even call it the “n-word f-slur virus” after iDubbbz’s favourite compound slur, but I digress. For the record, I’m not too keen on Trump naming it the “China virus” over “Wuhan virus” or any other name.

This wasn’t the main thing that pissed me off about the WHO, however. Taiwan had managed to manage the epidemic quite well early on, which only resulted in 7 people dying (since May 2020) whereas the virus is still rampant in the US and Europe at the time of writing. In an interview with Assistant Director-General Bruce Aylward on 28 March, he awkwardly denied to respond to comments regarding Taiwan’s management of the epidemic and whether the WHO would consider giving them membership. Later, on 8 April, WHO Director-General Tedros Adhanom claimed that he was subjected to racial abuse coming from Taiwan.

If I could use the n-word to describe China, its government and the people who support them, then the WHO are a bunch of n-word-lovers, which is really ironic given that a literal n-word like Tedros is running the fucking WHO. I’m sick of Taiwan being portrayed as the underdog by China and n-word-lover countries breaking ties with Taiwan in favour of China. And frankly, a fucking crybaby like Tedros deserves all the racial abuse he gets for that allegation about Taiwan.

I don’t deny that the WHO has done good for the world over the years, but when it came to the coronavirus, it’s like they’ve been deliberately trying to appease China. China’s initial management of the coronavirus has been less than ideal, which is why I still point the blame at them for allowing the pandemic to get to where it is now (apparently they did similar things back during SARS, but I digress). I suspect that there have been more cases and deaths in China than what has been reported, but since many countries have had more cases and deaths than China at this point, I truly believe that we shouldn’t be pointing fingers until the pandemic has been suppressed.

Racism

Moving onto coronavirus racism now and dear god, I wish Asians living in Western countries would just shut the fuck up about coronavirus racism and check their privilege. As an Asian living in a Western country (ironic, I know), it honestly bugs me how much I see Asians crying and playing the victim card (particularly on NextAsian, whose audience is the Asian-American community) when I haven’t experienced as much racial abuse from other people in my life (probably because I haven’t been going outside as much during lockdown, let alone before). Look, yes, I’m not denying that racism still exists, but people need to understand that changing attitudes in society have led to cases of racism falling over the years and there are Asians living in Asian countries who are probably more oppressed than your house being graffitied or a Karen at the supermarket calling you “coronavirus”. If you call out someone for doing or saying something racist, like making squinty eyes in a photo or being white and selling Asian food at their restaurant (particularly if the comment or action is not directed at you), then you’re just taking someone else’s problem and making it yours. People need to learn to mind their own fucking business.

I remember arriving at the train station on my way to uni one time and hearing a man ranting about “fucking Japs” as he walked past. The comment wasn’t directed at me (I’m not Japanese btw), he didn’t make eye contact with me and I don’t recall him coming back or saying anything else either, so I just let it go. In short, it’s not just Westerners or the media who needs to change their attitudes of racial perception. Much as I hate to say it, Asians living in the West need to change their attitudes as to how they deal with racism. Here’s a tip - just say “ok cracker” and move on.

Don’t get me wrong, I agree that Chinese people shouldn’t be blamed for starting or spreading the coronavirus. But were Middle Eastern people blamed for starting or spreading MERS back in 2012? No, they weren’t (or at least I haven’t heard anything about it because racists were still worried about Muslims being terrorists). This comes back to my complaint about political correctness in naming the virus and my point that we shouldn’t be pointing fingers until we have the pandemic under control.

Lockdowns

Taking a look at lockdowns now and as I said, the lockdown has given me a good excuse to do a lot of things as a NEET that I would have doubts doing otherwise. I’ve been trying to find a job for years with no luck and right now, I’m on the cusp of getting one, which is why I’m aiming to finish my personal project by the end of next year. Weekly hotpots and takeaways became staples for my family during the lockdown and because of that, I hope to get back to the gym soon, as the one I go to is right in the city and I still have a lot of unused visits on a pass I bought at the start of the year (if I had known things were going to end up like this, I probably would have forgone gym for the year).

As a university student, I can say that I dodged a bullet, because there was a risk that Grade 6 and Year 12 students would not be able to attend their graduation ceremonies. I had planned on doing two additional subjects this year in addition to the one I still had left, but the lockdown quashed those plans and I decided to end it there. To be honest, it could have been worse. Someone on CUHK Secrets who was born in 1997 was talking about how they were unable to attend their graduation ceremonies because of various factors; they couldn’t attend their kindergarten graduation in 2003 because of SARS, they couldn’t attend their primary school graduation in 2009 because of swine flu, they couldn’t attend their secondary school graduation in 2015 due to bad timing, they couldn’t attend their undergrad ceremony in 2019 because of the protests, and they couldn’t attend their masters ceremony this year because of the coronavirus.

There have been a lot of people who were affected by the lockdowns, whether it be losing their jobs, businesses or loved ones before they got a chance to see them among others. The lockdowns have particularly made an impact in Melbourne, where the second wave has led to compulsory face masks, a nightly curfew and a “ring of steel” with regional Victoria. My sympathies go out to everyone affected and I want to say that if there was an easier way for us to get through lockdown, maybe by allowing people to see loved ones out of our travel zones, then we would probably have taken it. People advocating against lockdowns and people advocating for or defending lockdowns are two ends of the spectrum; if we tried to find a middle ground, then we would probably have gaps through which more cases could come in. I don’t doubt that the lockdown has helped get the numbers down and allowed us to get back to normal quicker, but I wish that there would have been a way for people to see their dying loved ones in person. Are lockdowns a conspiracy to get us to stay at home? I disagree. I’m pretty sure that even evil overlords would want us to get back to buying and consuming things as soon as possible, though maybe I’m being a bit too optimistic.

Hong Kong

The situation in general

Taking a look at the situation in Hong Kong over the past year and everything that’s happened just proved my opinions right. Protests aside, the way that they have managed the coronavirus has been subpar to the point that they are now dealing with a fourth wave when Melbourne has just managed to overcome the second wave. The situation is more precarious in Hong Kong not only because of population density (there are lots of residential high-rise flats there), but also because they’ve been through SARS, bird flu and swine flu before. The main reason why we’re in this situation is because not only did the government not close the border to mainland China, but the exceptions they imposed were too lenient that they were allowing people to come (back) into Hong Kong without having to observe 14 days quarantine. And on top of that, they’re offering $5000 HKD subsidies to positive cases in an effort to encourage the lower class to get tested, like that isn’t going to lead to people purposefully trying to contract the virus just to get their hands on that money, given the mentality of these people. At least other countries have guidelines and strict criteria with their subsidies.

It’s interesting that this perfect storm and the protests that started it all were a result of a cuck patrolling a thot, the thot’s mother going to a pro-Beijing party to seek justice and the government exploiting this whole situation to push the extradition law, then exploiting the chaos caused by the protests to push the national security law before throwing the thot’s mother away like a used condom. Nice to know that incels and MGTOWs have the power to change society, but not in the way they would probably want it.

Jokes aside, there have been so many things that have happened over the last 18 months that it would be impossible for me to state them all, like boomers wearing white clothes lynching young people wearing black clothes (KKK vibes, anyone), riot police entering a train station and attacking everyone inside and the police siding with boomers, gangsters and the government against young people. More recently, there’s the 12 young people who were arrested at sea as part of a government conspiracy to get them arrested in Chinese waters, the saga over the pro-democracy politicians resigning en masse and all the police shit that’s still going on.

I don’t blame anyone who has decided to leave Hong Kong because of all this, and I don’t blame anyone who has decided to stay, maybe because they don’t have the ability nor the resources to move or maybe because they want to be there when we get to the end of the tunnel, or rather, the bottom of the pot as they would say. My family moved to Australia in the 80′s because my grandparents were concerned about what would happen to Hong Kong after the handover; if they were still alive today, they and probably many others would have been proven right.

I know a lot of people say that it’s bad to attack your opponents, but these events have made me so angry that I have to say this (besides, I’ve held these views since 2014 and don’t tell me you wouldn’t attack a Trump or Biden supporter this way because let’s face it, you probably have). If you don’t want to talk about the Hong Kong protests, that’s fine, but if you decide to stand against the protesters (or stand with the Hong Kong government, the Chinese government and/or the police), then you are an n-word if you are Asian or an n-word lover if you are not and I have no sympathy for black-hearted ghosts like you.

Some people have said that these protests were more successful than Occupy Central and I have to agree. While we did make an impact on the international stage, not very many of us were united in our goals or willing to keep the movement going, so Occupy Central basically ended in failure. This time around, governments around the world have started taking measures against China, resulting in their crybaby spokespeople condemning foreign interference every time the US or some other country announces sanctions or other shit towards China. It’s really funny that this is all they can do without being the first country to trigger the start of World War Three; if the sanctioned individuals don’t have interests or assets in foreign countries, then why are these n-words so concerned about this?

A philosophy that the protesters have adopted is the doctrine of laam chau (攬炒), also known as “phoenixism” or “if we burn, you burn with us”, a line from The Hunger Games. Both the Hong Kong and Chinese governments have criticised this doctrine because they believe that they will only end up destroying Hong Kong themselves, but has it ever occurred to anyone that, given everything that’s happened over the past 18 months, including the arrests and whatnot, it is actually them who are laam chau-ing us (and the world as well)?

Families have also been split over this entire issue as well. It’s honestly bullshit how some people, particularly boomers, put their patriotism and support for the police over the rest of their family, particularly those who support the protesters. It’s no better than disowning your child just because they came out as LGBT. Frankly, if I was that petty with parents who supported the government and the police, I’d just dump them in a home and never visit them. It’s the most humane thing I’d probably do, but I wouldn’t do it because a) my parents aren’t that stupid and b) I care enough about my parents to not be petty over this bullshit.

It’s honestly weird and fascinating how boomers can parrot the government’s (or any other pro-government organisation’s) position on anything and be smug about it. The only reason why boomers can be so “passionate” about being patriotic is because they’re usually coaxed with free money and free food. At any other time, they don’t need to do anything because the government are on their side so they can do all the heavy work for them. Their lack of education and addiction to TVB news also contributes to this.

Speaking of TVB, the mainstream media in Hong Kong is no longer our friend. The only media outlets we can still trust are those who are pro-democracy or those who are still trying very hard to remain neutral, such as Apple Daily or RTHK. Now TV and Cable TV were touted as alternative news sources, but they’ve been taken over by executives who used to work for TVB or aTV (remember when it was still a thing?). When the protests started in 2019, there was a movement to boycott all businesses advertising on TVB or having TVB on their televisions because of their bias toward the government and the police. The organisers of the Facebook page behind it were arrested in April, but another page sprang up soon after. Some artists and employees working for TVB were shelved, had their contracts cancelled or decided to resign because their views did not toe the party line. Good on them for resigning, I’d say, because there are many better places they could be useful at. God, it’s so weird how a cultural institution that defined our childhoods has now become an enemy.

Hong Kong protests vs. Black Lives Matter

When the Black Lives Matter movement came back to prominence in May following the death of George Floyd, I feared that this was an attempt to derail the Hong Kong protests by providing the world with a “convenient” distraction. I mean, people love black dicks more than Asian dicks, amirite? However, I was surprised when BLM protesters were willing to learn off HK protesters, because it shows that they must have been doing something right, I guess.

In spite of this, I have to say that BLM haven’t gotten enough ideas off of Hongkongers. BLM supporters encourage the boycotting of stores and businesses that are against BLM and the support of those that support BLM, but do you have any centralised platforms to collect that information? That’s right, I’m talking about the yellow economic circle of Hong Kong, where we boycott (read: “renovate”) stores and businesses that are pro-police or pro-government and support (read: “punish”) stores and businesses that support the protesters or embrace similar pro-democracy ideologies.

Funnily enough, pro-establishment politicians, supporters and media mock and laugh at us for our economic circle, but I don’t see them trying to copy us even though we’ve compiled a list of stores and businesses that are on their side so we can boycott them. Consumers have the right to procure goods and services from any business they choose, regardless of political stance; to condemn consumers for choosing businesses based on their political stances is not only biased, but anti-consumer. If BLM can put out an app that serves the purposes of the BLM economic circle and, at the same time, piss off Republican politicians and supporters (not just Trump supporters), I can finally say they’ve done something right. 

One thing that really pissed me off was that n-words and n-word-lovers were actually saying that the Hong Kong protests should not be compared with the BLM protests. Through a quote tweet, I’m going to debunk their claims of the two being “polar opposites”, skipping over things (mostly related to BLM) that are already obvious.

The first thing I should point out is that they state “Minneapolis riots” when they’re obviously trying to support BLM. Doesn’t BLM disavow violence and rioting?

Racism: How are the Hong Kong protests “racist”? If this is about “racism” towards Mainland Chinese people, then your argument is invalid because they are the same race and that’s not what the word means. If this is about minorities living in Hong Kong, then that’s beside the point of the protests. If anything, Hongkongers have connected with minorities more than ever before.

Trump: Face it, the only reason why the Hong Kong protests are “pro-Trump” is because he’s been vocal in his opposition to China and “orange man bad”. Activists are seeking bipartisan support because they don’t want to see Hong Kong become a bargaining chip between two candidates and importantly, bills and acts regarding Hong Kong have received bipartisan support in Congress.

White-Americanism: Where the fuck do they get this from, honestly? Is this another “all white people are racist” argument?

Colonialism: This argument cannot be used for BLM because it’s centred in America, a country which the US government obviously owns. As for Hong Kong, I’m gonna have to play devil’s advocate on this one. It’s extremely wishful thinking to think that the UK or US will send their forces in to Hong Kong because China can easily send out their troops, who have bases in Hong Kong. Therefore, it’s also extremely wishful thinking to think that they will take control of Hong Kong in any capacity. Some people support this international intervention in the hope of eventual independence, but it’s wishful thinking as well with China as they are now.

Capitalism: Honestly, they’ve got it backwards here. Many companies in the US (and the world) have spoken up or taken steps in support of Black Lives Matter while many companies in Hong Kong tend to support the government and China. It’s not really a case of pro or anti-capitalism, but rather who has capitalism on their side.

Funding: Personally, if the Hong Kong protests were funded by the CIA (or NED), then there would have been something on WikiLeaks and the mainstream media (despite people’s disdain for them) would have covered it by now and not just the Chinese media. Therefore, I’m sceptical of this because it’s not common knowledge proven beyond all reasonable doubt. As for BLM, the same thing can be said of them apparently being funded by Chinese interests.

Spontaneous vs. Intricate: Doesn’t an uprising or protest need planning? Wouldn’t the “spontaneous risings” of BLM also be “intricately organised” as well? Weren’t the “intricately organised riots” in Hong Kong also “spontaneous”? This is going into conspiracy territory, which makes them no better than the conspiracy theorists they disavow.

Weaponless vs. Deadly Weapons: Like bricks, umbrellas and other things can compare to tear gas, rubber bullets and water cannons. Yes, there were molotov cocktails and shit, but the point here is to not excuse one protest and criticise the other when there have been documented cases of violence by both police and protesters in both protests. To that point, I believe that no revolution can happen without violence on both sides.

In short, the people who made this are n-words and anyone who unironically believes this are n-words who get their news from n-word sources. The claims made are very superficial and no attempt was made at backing up their claims, even outside of Twitter. Also, I find it ironic that these people are showing their support for one marginalised group while perpetuating hate for another when the whole point of Black Lives Matter and other similar movements is about fighting against hate and injustice (though I guess I shouldn’t be surprised by these people, especially given that there have been cases of anti-black racism in China). Yes, the Hong Kong protests and the Black Lives Matter protests are different, but there are common factors in both of them and supporters of both groups should stand together against hate and injustice. To stand with one but not the other is nothing short of hypocrisy, and I say this not just for those who support BLM but not HK, but also for those who support HK but not BLM. Even if you only believe in the underlying causes, namely being against racism and police brutality (and also violence), that’s all that really matters.

All lives don’t matter until black lives matter and all lives don’t matter until (young) Hongkonger lives matter.

In regards to ACAB

At the start of the year, in my review for the Doctor Who episode Orphan 55, I said that climate change protesters should check their privilege in regards to police brutality. This was because Hongkongers have suffered more compared to those vegans and if their countries were in the same situation as Hong Kong or China, they wouldn’t be able to protest in the first place. After hearing of the police brutality at BLM protests and weighing everything up, I’ve become an ACAB person now.

I’ve held this attitude in regards to the police in Hong Kong since 2014, but I’ve been iffy to say the same for police in places like the US or Australia. An old friend of mine from primary school looks like the type of person who would support ACAB, but she is actually against it. I never understood why until she posted some toxic tweets on her Instagram story showing some ACABers celebrating the death of someone’s father, who was a member of the police force, and explained that she didn’t support ACAB because she didn’t support the toxicity surrounding the people who support it.

Over time, I’ve come to realise that ACAB symbolises a deeper problem that can’t be solved by only dealing with the shallower problems. As the saying goes, “a few bad apples spoil the barrel” - good cops will eventually become bad cops as they are silenced into submission to cover up the actions of other bad cops. In Hong Kong, there is another saying - “好仔唔當差”/“Good men don’t become cops”. Look, I don’t deny that there are good cops and bad cops and that it is the system that is corrupt. That can be said for other countries, but for Hong Kong, I believe that the notion of good cops still existing there is well and truly dead. That notion is so dead that some Hongkongers mock the police and their families with phrases like “while the cop’s on overtime, the wife has a threesome”.

Anyone who mocks ACAB by saying things like “well, what if you really need the police someday” is missing the point. Yes, we need the police force and there are good cops out there, but what ACABers are looking for is a change in the system so that there is more scrutiny over police being held accountable for their actions. If it means calling for an independent investigation/inquiry into or the disbanding of the (current) police force, then so be it. How can we trust the police to enforce the law if they can’t uphold the laws that they are beholden to?

Last year, I read a tweet from a Mainland Chinese person living in Australia who is supportive of the pro-democracy movement in Hong Kong. He says that any person who supports the police is an idiot because if their enforcement of the law is lawful, then they don’t need your support, but if their enforcement of the law is unlawful, then you might be the next person to be beaten up by them.

Speaking of climate change protests, Greta Thunberg finally said something useful that isn’t about climate change- wait, you say she was nominated to say it? Oh well, it was a nice try.

Oh, and by the way, Leticia Lee (李偲嫣), a pigfucker who has been supporting the Hong Kong police since before Occupy Central, has died of what is suspected to be the coronavirus. All cops are bastards and so are the people who support them.

The US elections

I never thought I’d be saying this, but I honestly hoped that Donald Trump would be reelected for four more years. I honestly hoped that the left wouldn’t learn from 2016 and not attack people who disagree with them, but yet they still managed to get Joe Biden elected while still attacking those who disagree with them. You could say that BLM was what turned the scales, but I think that Trump’s management of the coronavirus was what did it. I guess you can manipulate elections by manipulating people’s feelings, only this time around, Trump wasn’t good enough in that aspect.

On a side note, has anyone ever considered that some people can’t accept other people’s opinions if they aren’t willing to compromise and look at things from their point of view? These people wonder why others can’t accept their opinions and viewpoints and then get surprised when they say “fuck it” and double down on their own opinions and viewpoints while completely rejecting the opinions and viewpoints other people want them to even consider.

When Trump was elected in 2016, I only saw it as an ironic meme in that there would be a rise in unemployment figures as Trump personally went to every workplace and told everyone “You’re fired” given how he used to host The Apprentice. A lot of celebrities and people around me on social media started becoming anti-Trump like it was a meme. I’ve never been a fan of Trump myself, but SJW bullshit aside, seeing the measures he (and the Republicans) took against China in response to the situation in Hong Kong gradually warmed me to him. He was the one who led the US to take the first step when no other country was brave enough to. It’s the reason why some Hongkongers and Taiwanese people feel the same way.

I’ve heard some people say that Trump isn’t really going to help Hong Kong and that he is doing all this just to benefit himself. Firstly, it’s not just Trump, but also other Republicans (and maybe even Democrats) who are pushing for action within the US government, and secondly, what makes you think Biden will do anything for Hong Kong after Obama never did anything following Occupy Central? I thought that a second Trump term would be the best thing for Hong Kong, but now that things have ended up this way, I hope that the Biden administration will be just as hard on China compared to now (given what I said about bipartisan support). If Biden decides to reverse the sanctions on China, well, don’t say the right didn’t warn you about “China Joe”.

Do I believe that the election was rigged? Maybe and maybe not. The left was crying about Russian interference back in 2016 and yet here we are. Frankly, I can accept the result of the election because I have a bad feeling that, according to some on the right, Joe Biden will be deposed in favour of Kamala Harris, who has been elected vice-president. On one hand, I don’t believe it will happen because it sounds like a conspiracy theory, but on the other hand, I don’t think Biden will serve out the whole of his first term or his second term if he gets reelected.

As I’ve said for two elections in a row on the Waifu Network: Well may we say “God save the world”, because nothing will save the United States of America!

China (and why I’ve used the n-word in relation to them)

With China seemingly being victimised daily by “attacks” and “interference” from other countries, it’s hard not to think of them as absolute crybabies. It’s essentially how I feel about Asians living in Western countries and crying about racism (see above). It’s not the first time these Ken/Karen-like attitudes have been put on show and they certainly won’t be the last. But how did mainland Chinese people become such Kens and Karens (if you want a better term other than “n-words”) after a glorious history of ancient knowledge and understanding? People have discussed this over the years and this post is an attempt at distilling what I’ve read and what I think. Information has been sourced from this Reddit ELI5 post, this blog by Jeraldine Phneah and this article from The Diplomat.  Hopefully you’ll understand all of this after you read it.

From 1839, there was a long history of violence and instability in China that took a particularly dark turn when the CCP took power in 1949. Movements like the Great Leap Forward and the Cultural Revolution not only killed a lot of people in an attempt to modernise China with Western influences (if it weren’t for that, Chinese people would probably still be wearing changshans and qipaos like in historical dramas instead of using computers and smartphones), but drove a lot of people into fear and poverty as food was rationed, salary was standardised and people were encouraged to dob in other people for being intellectuals, disagreeing with the government or hiding their wealth from the government. This resulted in society becoming “every man for himself” as people were forced to do anything they could to survive. The hukou system back then meant that people couldn’t move from place to place, so many poor people ended up working in factories and living in crowded dormitories where modesty is neither a privilege nor a right. On top of that, not many people back then were able to get a good education like we do today, so lower-class people were encouraged to mimic what upper-class people did. Given the living conditions of Chinese society back then, one can only imagine the kind of corruption happening amongst the upper class that would be mimicked by the lower class.

During the Deng Xiaoping era of the late-70′s and 80′s, China saw large growths in economy, production, infrastructure and technology. While the quality of life did begin improving, a lot of the mentalities of the Mao Zedong era remained. Regulations couldn’t keep up with industry and the environment became polluted as a result. Factories began cutting corners and as a result, subpar quality, if not fake, products began appearing on the market. Poor people became rich very quickly and the “every man for himself” mentality became inherited into materialism. People began buying impulsively and buying more daily essentials than they needed even though there was no crisis and life had improved since the Cultural Revolution. If you people thought toilet paper shortages were the first of its kind, then you don’t know about formula shortages. If you thought the rise of daigou services in the past five years were the first of its kind, then you don’t know about parallel trading and the 2008 Chinese formula scandal.

Now we get to the main point of the topic. With the economic boom in China, more and more people began travelling to other places where people lived better lives in the past than they did in China. However, due to the lack of education and/or exposure to foreign cultures for many people, they were never taught the etiquette of being wealthy or being in another country. While some tourists try to understand the history and culture of other countries, mainland Chinese tourists tend to just buy expensive shit because they’ve apparently got a lot of money to waste. On top of that, there are tourists who tend to gravitate towards their own culture, for example they might eat at Chinese restaurants instead of trying out other places that aren’t Chinese. It’s why their market is so lucrative to many businesses and companies because these n-words will spend money on anything (or if they can get it for free, like buffet food on cruise ships, they’ll gorge on it).

In Chinese culture, loudness and positivity (熱鬧) is a good thing to them because it means that everyone is happy and whatever they are doing is fun. It’s why you tend to hear them being loud; it’s because they’re happy. But what they don’t understand is that not everyone likes this noise pollution and so, they end up thinking that Chinese tourists are annoying. As for modesty (i.e. going to the toilet on the street), refer back to the crowded dormitories bit from earlier; in fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if families have three or more generations living in the one house nowadays.

From this, you can see where Hongkongers’ sentiments on mainland Chinese people come from. In the past, people were fleeing to Hong Kong to escape communist rule; following the 1997 handover, 150 people are migrating to Hong Kong every day while people are fleeing to other countries for a better life. With more and more mainlanders moving to Hong Kong, “mainlandisation” measures such as the use of Mandarin instead of Cantonese in schools and national education is causing mainlander immigration to become cultural enrichment (at least in my opinion). This is part of the reason why Hongkongers tend not to identify as Chinese and why all these protests have occurred over the years.

I’m gonna have to call this post here because it is getting long(er than usual) and I need to write my end-of-year review post. There are two things that I also became redpilled on, namely Doctor Who and censorship, particularly on the internet, which I’ll cover in the post to be released on New Year’s Eve.

I’ve tried my best to cover everything I could in this, but I make no guarantee that I’ve covered everything I wanted to cover because there is just too much. I hope people can understand why I feel a certain way about certain things and be civil in their discourse.

I look forward to cranking it on the moon when the struggle in Hong Kong is over.

[raccoonsinqueen]

So Close, Yet... Part 4

Summary:  It's a little hard working two jobs, but you manage.

Notes:  Sorry no skelebros this chapter like what am I even doing

“Eyyyyyyy, dame.” The crass monster slurred as you set down his food. He was beyond wasted as his eyelids were half lidded and he was having problems remembering he had a tongue in his mouth. “Wwwwhat time ‘ou gettin’ off t’night?”

This was actually more than common. Mobsters that come in here would get drunk to drown out their criminal tendencies and moral ambiguity, and they would either pick fights, hit on you or Grillby, or bust into tears and tell you their life stories. You much prefered the latter one, seeing as it not only provided you with info, but you also liked hearing other’s problems and being there for them. You know, when they're not murderers or rapists.

But today it looks like you were going to have to deal with your least favorite. The ones who think their being suave.

“Much later than you will be awake for, sir.” You smiled.

“Awwwwww nah, com’on!” He swatted the air a couples times, and then a couple times more. “Ima show ‘ou the time of ‘yer lifffffffe.”

“I'm fine, thank you.” You rolled your eyes. Despite his non threatening appearance, you still couldn't help the unwanted feeling that his advances left up your spine.

“Heheheh...” The monster blinked at you. “‘Ou are fffiiinnnee. Very very fiiiinnneee.”

You almost laughed, “Thank you, sir.”

“Come wit’ me tonight!” He said, joyously, before he started hushing himself and leaned towards you. “I can chhhhaange your worrrlldd.”

“Uh huh.”

“Eva hearda pink botttles, dame?”

You wanted to laugh so bad, but you held your tongue as you heard Grillby call you in the back. “Y/n? Can you come here?

“Sorry, sir.” You winked at your patron. “Boss’s calling.”

“Noooooo,” The drunk monster protested, his forehead smacking to the table. “Come baaaaack!”

You ignore the protests that came from the monster and walked back to the counter, where your boss quirked a brow at you.

“What is it, boss?”

“I don't get why you talk to them, just ignore them.” Grillby said, his even voice ever so stern.

“Did you call me here to judge me or to tell me something, Mr. Grillby?” You teased poking at your boss.

“Tonight.” He ignored your pokes. “A reservation is coming at ten.”

“Ten? Why so late?” You knew why. To keep discretion.

“None of our business.” Grillby simply stated.

This could give you an opportunity. A reservation for Grillby’s Bar? It had to be some big shot bosses, with that kind of money, not to mention a reservation means big talk as well. If you could catch even just a couple snippets of their conversation as their waitress, it could prove very very usefull. Drug shipments, money laundering, maybe even human or monster trafficking? You’d be able to destroy them .

“What do we need to do to help?” You smiled.

“Make sure everyone’s gone by 9:45.” Grillby said. “You included.”

Oh, poo! Grillby, why do you always have to ruin everything! “Why? Don’t you need help?” You feigned ignorance.

“No.” And that was that. The unfortunate thing about Grillby being a monster of not many words is that he leaves no room for negotiation.

“Fair enough.” You said with faux smile. “Don’t worry Grillby, your best gal is in the job! Everyone will be out by 9:45.” It was times like these when you wished you could have some sort of fancy spy tech! You heard that the police have these cool gadgets that let you listen in on peoples conversations, like the radio or something alike. But where would you get something like that? The grocery? You don’t think so!

For just a second, you could’ve sworn you saw some affection in his fiery gaze, “Thanks, love.”

“Love?” The smile grew on your face as you leaned toward your boss, your chest of the counter. “Don’t tell me... Have I finally grown on you, Mr. Grillby? I have, haven’t I?”

The affection soon turned neutral once again as he turned back around, “Make sure to lock the doors save for the front door when you usher everyone out.”

“Aw! Don’t be so cold with me, Mr. Grillby!” You called back to him, the smile still growing on your face.

“You sound like Sans.”

It was cold. The air was frosty. You didn’t mind it, it heightened your senses and kept you focus on edge.

You were in a dark warehouse. Faint voices could be heard beyond the crates behind you, and you dared to slip past another row. Said voices grew louder.

“Ya got the stuff.”

Oh boy. Now we’re cooking.

“If you got the money, we do.” Ew. That voice sounded like the person was gargling an octopus. Weird.

You could hear footsteps coming closer to you. Some grunt or guard of some kind. You hid behind one crate, counting his steps along with your own calm, low heartbeat. You can keep this silent.

1...

2...

3...

4!

Just as he stepped in your line of sight, you lunged for him as you grabbed his mouth and felt the flesh of his throat slice beneath your knife. He didn’t put up much of a fight other than haggard breath, but just as the deed was done, he went motionlessly, almost as if he was fast asleep.

Great, one down.

“Show me the cash.” You moved closer, slipping past one more aisle.

“Julius, come here.” You paused. Maybe that guy you just put to rest wasn’t Julius?

You looked at the body. There was a briefcase. So maybe he wasn’t just a guard, so what? People make mistakes!

“Julius?”

Nothing but silence.

You heard the gravel-like voice exhale, “I swear to... Tommy, Butch, go get him.”

Yes, please. You’d love to meet this Tommy and Butch.

Step after step you heard them... Closer and closer. The thrill was exhilarating, but you held no fear. You wondered why that was. But as said Tommy and Butch walked forward to their untimely demise, one seemed to have stepped right past your aisle without noticing a thing. You felt a little ignored, but you wouldn’t let it hurt your feelings too bad.

Mostly because the other walked right down your alley, as you hid behind your crate. Just as Julius you waited until he was just in your reach. The key was timing, the key was patience, you could only get those two from practice when it comes to exciting ventures like these.

And with one final step, you pulled Tommy or Butch down by the tie and slice straight up under his jaw. You were lucky he didn’t make a sound, but the skin under the jaw was always an easy access to the brain without having to deal with that nasty skull of his.

You set Tommy or Butch down slowly and silently, before maneuvering past your aisle. Now, you could let the other Tommy or Butch find you, but why do that when the hunt was so much more thrilling? Not to mention the fact that he might find Juli-

“What the f-!”

With a swift and graceless movement, you jumped out to wear the late Julius’s body was and stabbed the other Tommy or Butch’s neck in. You had been careless, you should’ve gotten to him faster. But he was still alive. He weakly tried to grab your wrist in an attempt to survive, but you stabbed him again and once more before he finally stopped moving.

His blood was warm even against your gloves. The warmth didn’t reach through your mask, but you knew it was painted in it.

“Butch?” The gravely voice questioned.

“What’s going on?” Ugh, there’s that gargling octopus again.

“This isn’t apart of- .... ” The gravely voice hissed, before stopping himself. “I don’t think... We’re alone.”

How cute. His voice sounded determined. Like he was going to do something about it. Fat chance.

“Cops?” The octopus voice questioned.

“Maybe.” You heard the sounds of guns clicking and locking. You hated that sound. The steps went light and near silent, but you could still tell where they were.

“Or maybe not.” You couldn’t help yourself, you had to say it. I mean, what else were you supposed to do, stay silent and ambush them? Not likely!

And in seconds gun fire littered the boxes, almost poking a thousand holes in your lovely red cloak if you weren’t so good at dodging them. You rushed out from under the crates and dove past the aisle in front of you. In one glimpse, you caught the remaining silhouettes. Three on the left side, one on the right. You must’ve finished off the right side’s men. Good for you.

And then you were back racing down the second aisle, gun fire trailing your feet, the sound deafening. But you knew it wouldn’t last for long. Bullets are finite.

Deciding to skip the last aisle, you jumped past the last crate and landed behind the man by himself. He turned around alarmingly fast, but you were even faster, grabbing him by the neck and using his body as your shield from the other bullets. You thought you were doing pretty well for yourself, until a searing heat clipped your side. And then another at your legs. And another at your shoulder.

You faltered. You... got hit. And it hurt ! You would commend them if you weren’t searing with hatred . Okay okay, calm yourself. No need to be hateful. You probably deserved that one. Heck, taking on seven armed mobsters at once? Have some temperance!

And just like that, the deafening sound of bullets ceased and was replaced with the empty and useless clickings of their weaponry. You threw the lifeless body in front of you down, but was shocked to see what was in front of you.

“Monsters.” You laughed. “No wonder you sound like you're gargling an octopus.”

The leader, a monster that looked like tentacles were coming from his face, shifted at the sight of the body in front of you.

You stopped yourself. “Wait. Was that offensive? That was probably super racist... speciest? Right. Sorry.”

One of the monster grunts, this one with looking like a five foot tall rat, stuttered to himself. “R-Red Reaper.”

“Oh?” You said, delighted. “I’ve never even touched a monster gang before, and even you guys know me?”

Octopus-Throat took a hesitated step forward, a hand on his large knife on his belt. “That’s right. You’re monster friendly, right?”

“Monster friendly?” You smiled. Not like they could see, with your mask and all. “Of course! Why would I have any reason to harm you?”

You could see the relief on their shoulders. But that relief was short lived when you lunged for Octopus-Throat, a long slash across his chest. Surprisingly, without hitting any vitals, Octopus-Throat let out a sharp yell that shook the entire warehouse before disintegrating before your eyes, startling his coworkers. Guess what they say about Monsters is true. All you need is intent to kill them.

“Except, you know, the fact that you’re all rotten .”

It was an easy fight. The other two monsters had tried to run. You locked all the doors before you came in, so it wasn’t too bad of an issue. They seemed to die with one hit. They were either really weak, or maybe intent really was a scary thing for monsters. No wonder they always seem to run from you. You were just too good at your job!

But now you were facing another problem...

Piles of dust.

How were you supposed to perch these up against a wall? Should you... Draw a picture of them in the dust sitting peacefully? No, that’d be weird... And also probably offensive again. Didn’t Monster scatter the dust of their loved ones over their most prized possession? Maybe they had their prized possession on them? Maybe you should just... fold all their clothes and stuff?

You exhaled. You had no choice, that was what you were going to have to do. Maybe nobody will think it’s too lame...

[equivvitch]

Fassathon: A Summary (Part II)

or, to misquote John Mulaney: “you have more than ten movies left and it gets worse”:

Eden Lake (Also Steve)

Rating: 7/10

Quick Summary: Jenny and Steve take a weekend trip to a place called Eden Lake which used to be a nice camping spot but is soon going to be torn down to make room for a housing development. They have some difficulty reaching the place as it is technically a construction zone, but eventually make their way deep into the woods and find a place on the shore to set up camp. Soon they’re joined by a large group of obnoxious and antagonistic teenagers who heckle the couple, refuse to turn down their music, and seem unlikely to leave anytime soon. Any attempts to reason with them are ignored and the couple eventually gives up and tries to enjoy their day anyway. They continue to encounter the group of kids and tension grows between them with the teenagers growing violent and threatening. Steve decides to confront them despite Jenny’s protests and it doesn’t go well. All this results in the two running for their lives, trying to escape the group at any cost.

Some Thoughts: This is the better horror movie on here. It’s well-done for the most part. Fassbender’s character is kind of a dumbass and there are some cliché moments in there, but it’s fairly original and doesn’t rely on jumpscares hardly at all. It’s really more of a thriller than a true horror movie, a survival film I guess, since you know who the enemy is and well….it’s just a group of delinquent children so there’s no real inherent fear there. I definitely got caught up in it and had a few good jumps and moments of shock. I wasn’t really impressed with the ending, but since I don’t have the most experience with horror I can’t say whether it was to be expected with this kind of film or not. It’s definitely frustrating at times and the characters make a lot of idiotic choices, but it’s a suspenseful ride. It’s an interesting commentary on mob mentality as well, since the group of kids starts to fracture early on. The theme ties into the ending as well which I won’t spoil. It’s definitely an “oh no we’re trapped in the woods and someone is chasing us” movie but the performances are good and it didn’t become too predictable, at least for me. A solid film all around in my opinion.

Warnings: This is a pretty bloody movie. It’s not as bad as the other horror movie on here, but there is blood and mild torture and immolation. Also animal death because these movies can’t cut them a break. It was accidental in this case, but it’s there. Also just disturbing imagery in general. It’s a horror movie. You probably know if you can handle that or not.

Recommend?: Sure, if you like horror films I think this one is a less well-known one that’d be worth giving a chance. Also it’s pretty short so there’s that.

12 Years a Slave (Epps)

Rating: 9/10

Quick Summary: Solomon Northup is a free man and an excellent musician living in New York with his family when one day he’s propositioned by two men who own a circus in Washington to come and play his violin for their show. He agrees and all seems to be going well when suddenly he finds himself kidnapped along with a good number of others and sold into slavery in spite of his protests that he is free and has proof of it. He ends up enslaved on a plantation owned by a man named Ford who favors him to some degree, desperate to escape. He ends up in a confrontation with one of the overseers on the plantation and Ford, supposedly for the sake of his life, hands Solomon over to Edwin Epps. Epps turns out to be a despicable man and Solomon struggles to survive while under his thumb, all the while attempting to escape and return to his family.

Some Thoughts: Nothing I can say about this movie would really be worth anything, so this probably won’t be that long. This is one of those films I’ve needed to watch for a long time and I don’t mean to lessen its importance by doing it in the midst of this. I’m very glad to have finally watched it and really I’d like to rewatch it here soon to really let it sink in, since I sort of took it in short bursts the first time around. It’s an incredibly impactful film and one I think every American at least should see. McQueen is truly at his best, unflinching as ever and putting his distinctive long takes to impactful use. Chiwetel Ejiofor as Solomon does an incredible job of grounding and guiding the film even when he doesn’t have much dialogue a lot of the time. Lupita Nyong’o is absolutely incredible. I cannot believe this was her first appearance in a feature-length film. She is such a strong presence on screen even though her part was comparatively small. To comment briefly on Fassbender himself, this part was kind of beyond words. He really plays the worst of the worst and not to say anything good about the character himself, but he does it very well. He doesn’t come in until about halfway through the film and….thank goodness he doesn’t jfc… Anyway, it’s a very important movie and very much worth the difficult watch.

Warnings: A lot of disturbing imagery, including lynching and general humiliation of the people who are enslaved. A great deal of blood and abuse, including a drawn out scene where a character is whipped. Warning as well for r*pe/sexual assault. Lots of slurs and violent racist behavior. I’m sure most people get the picture.

Recommend?: With the warnings in mind, yes. Like I said, this is one all Americans should see once they’re old enough.

Jonah Hex (Burke)

Rating: 4.5/10

Quick Summary: Jonah Hex is a bounty hunter who had everything taken from him by a man named Turnbull. While strung up, branded, and forced to watch his family burn alive he ended up with the power to seemingly evade death, as well as talk to the dead for a brief amount of time. He goes around hunting Turnbull until one day learning of his apparent death. After this, he is directionless and mostly hunts criminals, making a name for himself. Soon enough however he finds out Turnbull is alive and attempting to steal and use the most dangerous weapon ever invented to Blow Up the World™. The government enlists Hex to help them stop him so he sets out to avenge his family and apparently also save the world.

Some Thoughts: So this is officially the worst rated movie on this list, but I really don’t think it deserves that title. It really is a stupid movie, but that doesn’t stop it from being occasionally enjoyable. I probably rated it a little too highly but I think comparatively it deserves the praise. Jonah Hex is an actual DC anti-hero from what I can tell and this is, kind of hilariously, an actual DC movie. I really know nothing about his canonical portrayal, but the x-ray thing you get when you rent/buy a movie on Amazon told me that his power to speak to dead people isn’t in the comics which….makes me wonder what he actually can do. But I digress. Hex himself is actually a pretty decent protagonist. He sort of hits a Wolverine-esque level of brusque irritability over everything that he uses to mask his usually good intentions which I kind of appreciated. That said, almost everyone is checked out in this movie. It works for Josh Brolin playing Hex but not as much for the others. John Malkovich as Turnbull isn’t over the top but it’s sort of a tired forgettable performance. Megan Fox plays Sexy Lamp with Knife which is not her fault but she’s also 1000% checked out. To her credit she does useful things, but her relationship to Hex is never explained, there’s no chemistry, and she’s used as an object more than once which is annoying. Fassbender is really the only one who seems to be having a good time which makes his character kind of enjoyable even if Burke is a Bitch. He kind of has an Alex from A Clockwork Orange vibe about him in that he so thoroughly enjoys doing what he’s doing. His Irish accent is really ridiculous, but god, at least it’s entertaining. He seems like he actually wants to be there which is more than I can say for anyone else. He’s having a good time and well…good for him. There is some genre-typical racism in the movie which is a pain in the ass and one really what-the-fuck scene that I wish hadn’t happened. The conflict kind of suffers from Suicide Squad-syndrome in that it’s too big for its britches. There was no need to have it be a destroy-the-world kind of movie. It could have been destroy a town. That would have worked. Also The Weapon™ is stupid and ridiculous and makes no sense and is basically just a bomb in the form of Dragon Balls. It’s not the worst movie on here by far, but it’s not good. It was at least mercifully short and had a few fun moments littered throughout. I wasn’t suffering while watching it by any means. It didn’t really do much for my opinion of DC movies though fjskal;j

Warnings: Some blood and violence. Also the scene where Hex gets healed has strangely disturbing imagery that kind of came out of nowhere.

Recommend?: No, but it’s not the worst thing out there.

A Dangerous Method (Carl Jung)

Rating: 8/10

Quick Summary: Carl Jung takes on a new patient named Sabina Spielrein who is seemingly hysterical, but also very intelligent, even dreaming of becoming a doctor herself one day. Together they work through her past trauma using Dr. Sigmund Freud’s revolutionary “talking therapy” and make excellent progress. Jung encourages Spielrein to pursue her dreams and the two form a strong friendship over the course of their interactions. Some years later, Jung and Freud finally meet, taking on a sort of father-son relationship as would be expected. Some of Freud’s ideas trouble Jung, especially concerning the relationship between him and Spielrein. However, Freud’s predictions come true when Jung and Spielrein start up an affair in spite of Jung’s initial resistance. The remainder of the film follows the disintegration of both these relationships, while also touching on the career paths of all three doctors.

Some Thoughts: This is a really excellent movie. I hadn’t heard really anything about it, but after watching it I’m really surprised I haven’t? It’s definitely one of my favorites on this list. It is a thought-piece and is a little bit more slowly paced, but that didn’t really bother me. It is a highly sexual film in nature, so that might be off-putting but it’s also fascinating. The interactions between the characters are interesting and it’s unclear where the story is going (in a good way…I mean that it wasn’t super predictable). I really….don’t like Freud at all and I was sort of worried that would ruin the movie for me, but it didn’t bother me much. No one escapes this movie uncriticized, which is good. I really, really like Kiera Knightley and she does an excellent job playing Spielrein. She sinks into the role well and pulls it off convincingly. I was impressed with how they handled her character actually. Fassbender did a good job as Jung as well. I almost think playing a real person helps him to get into character more completely sometimes. I liked watching the evolution of the relationship between Jung and Freud, some of their conflicting ideas, how they interact. The movie brings up a lot of interesting ideas, and sort of shows a bit how the fields of psychology and psychoanalysis developed. It might just be because I’m interested in the topic that it appealed to me so much? It’s a very solid and very nice-looking film as well so I’m a little surprised it doesn’t get that much attention. Is it because Fassy has a dumb mustache the whole time? It’s the mustache isn’t it.

Warnings: The nurses at the mental institution treat Spielrein a bit roughly sometimes when she won’t cooperate but it never escalates to full-on abuse. There is a lot of sexual content in this movie as well, so maybe take a peek at the parental advisory on IMDb before watching if that bothers you.

Recommend?: If you’re fine with the warnings, yes. I’d really say give it a chance if the subject interests you. I think it’s a movie that deserves more attention overall.

Blood Creek (Wirth)

Rating: 3/10 (that’s me being generous and taking into account the other worst movie on here)

Quick Summary: This fuckign movie I swear to god…………. It has the dumbest conceit physically possible. So Nazis want to take over the world or whatever and to insure their success they decide to go snooping around in the occult. They discover that our great Nordic ancestors have left these rune stones (more like rune walls but whatever) inexplicably around rural America and deploy some guys to go look for them and learn how to do that. They do this by paying farm families to take in the men. One family takes in Richard Wirth unknowingly and immediately regrets the decision. Flash forward to some indiscriminate time in the future, Forgettable Protagonist #1 has somehow lost his brother, Forgettable Protagonist #2, in a river or some shit and he’s very Sad over it. Then one night FP #2 returns! He drags FP #1 out with him to do some Secret Thing and FP #1 goes because of Familial Guilt. They end up at the farm where apparently people have been disappearing for years. The family’s still alive and immortal thanks to Wirth. They help him catch people to eat for their own safety. Unfortunately FPs #1 and #2 have arrived just before a lunar eclipse! This is Bad because through muttering and blood Wirth plans to open a literal third fucking eye in the middle of his fucking forehead to ~reach the beyond~ as one of the farmers explains after FP #1 demands an explanation four hundred times. But it can only be done during a lunar eclipse!!!! Which is tonight!!!!!! Anyway they have to stop him or whatever and also he can bring shit back to life with his muttering.

Some Thoughts: ….this movie is fucking stupid. Also it probably wins for hardest one for me to watch because it’s kind of a gore fest. I thought it was the worst one on here but………shockingly no. Its narrative might be really, REALLY stupid, but it at least makes sense. It has a plot. It’s a dumbass plot, but it’s a plot. The lighting is atrocious in this movie and so is the cinematography in general, but considering the director I guess that’s to be expected. It’s inexplicably in black and white for like the first ten minutes then flips to color to show time has passed. Get it. There’s a lot of shaky-cam and super dark shots which, while a sort of relief since it means you can’t see anything, it also means that you can’t fucking see anything. This movie rides the edge of almost being funny sometimes which can be kind of enjoyable, but really it’s just over the top but not in an entertaining way. There is an actual zombie horse in this movie which busts through the wall and proceeds to attack the family and it’s played deadass straight. Also the CGI is ridiculous at some points. There’s a lot of yelling for no reason and people refusing to explain anything. When people finally stop yelling and explain stuff you sort of wish they hadn’t because a) nothing they’re saying actually helps you understand what’s happening, they’re just saying words together in approximations of sentences and b) it’s so ridiculous that you might as well just not have known. I can’t say it was actually that scary, just kind of nauseating because of all the blood and gore, though that was partially just me. I’m usually okay with that stuff, but this one was too much. That’s really subjective so keep that in mind I guess. I really can’t imagine what this movie is good for except if you like really stupid horror movies and don’t care about the blood? Even then there has to be better ones you could pull for your bad movie night. I guess Fassbender as Wirth is sufficiently intimidating, though really it could be anyone in that makeup and he has about four total lines that aren’t muttering. (I guess kudos to the makeup team….they did their job fine.) This was seriously in my top spot for Actual Worst Movie on this list. The fact that it got topped sort of tells you how horrible the other one was but….we’ll get to that soon enough.

Warnings: Lots of blood and gore. Also animal death. And rebirth but mostly death. Just gross shit in general. Also CGI zombie horse.

Recommend?: Don’t do it buddy. I suffered so you could live—save yourself.

Slow West (Silas)

Rating: 5/10

Quick Summary: A boy named Jay is riding across the Old West™ in search of a girl named Rose he’s infatuated with who moved from their home of Scotland to America. Along the way he runs into a Silas, a gruff, quiet man who all but forces Jay into paying him to act as a guide and bodyguard on his travels. Jay doesn’t have much choice but to accept and the two set off. Jay is idealistic and pretentious, particularly when it comes to his ideas of love and Silas is uninterested in forming personal connections, so the two don’t get along well. Still, begrudgingly they form a bit of a father-son relationship as they go. Truthfully, Silas has his own reasons for helping Jay outside of making a quick buck: Rose and her family have a fairly large bounty on their head. Along the way, however, they run into a group of bounty hunters Silas used to “drift” with who are also hunting Rose and her father and Silas begins to have a change of heart.

Some Thoughts: I really wanted this movie to be good. In fact, I sort of thought it would be? Ultimately it was pretty disappointing. It’s a really well-shot movie, but it’s sort of a case of interesting concept, poor execution. None of the characters speak like normal people in this movie. Jay is our protagonist, but he’s often insufferable at the best of times. He’s meant to be young and stupid with stars in his eyes, but it gets irritating after a while. He’s chasing after his manic pixie dream girl who’s already moved on without him and probably didn’t like him that much in the first place, but the movie doesn’t really address his flaws or do much with him at all. Silas is kind a stereotypical tough guy who’s been forced to harden his heart to survive, but we learn almost nothing about him so it’s difficult to be very sympathetic to his cause other than he’s much less insufferable than Jay. There was so much opportunity for interactions between the two of them, but?? They really fell flat. There’s a couple short exchanges but there were entire conversations missing from this movie that could’ve helped to develop characters and relationships. More than anything it needed some good fleshing out. A lot of stuff just sort of happens in the film as well and you have to accept it. Silas showing up and extorting Jay is funny but also completely unexplained. At one point a German dude in the middle of a field steals all of Jay’s belongings after they talk a while and is never mentioned again. The group of bounty hunters Silas left seem interesting, but we don’t ever get to learn about them. More than anything, the movie is made up of long shots of people riding across landscapes and that’s about it. There’s no real heart in it and it’s really a shame because it could have been something great. It’s not the worst one on here, but it’s definitely the definition of mediocre.

Warnings: Some blood and violence, mostly due to shoot-outs. Nothing too horrible.

Recommend?: Not really. I guess if you want to see it it wouldn’t hurt since it’s short but it’s nothing special.

Song to Song (Cook)

Rating: 4/10

Quick Summary: This movie is...sort of plotless but I’ll try anyway. Basically it follows the romantic/sexual escapades of a woman named Faye, as well as those of the people she becomes involved with. Faye is a skinny, white, quirky hipster-type living in Austin, Texas for some reason doing very little other than standing around and thinking about how messed up she really is. She begins with Cook who is a Douchebag with basically no redeeming qualities and therefore, by default, a music producer who seemingly ruins everyone who comes near him. Meanwhile she starts seeing BV who at least seems like a decent person if also completely lacking in personality. The rest of the film really is just about their relationships and is mostly composed of very pretty if unrelated shots of the actors standing around posing and wanking on about love/sex and the meaning of life or whatever.

Some Thoughts: From what I can gather this is sort of film is kind of typical of this director. The movie is sort of a collage of unrelated shots, all of which are very beautiful, but that’s about as deep as it goes. There isn’t really any normal interaction between characters, just monologues where characters philosophize about pretentious topics for hours without ever really saying anything of meaning. Really there aren’t characters in this movie, just paper-thin facsimiles of characters. They run around doing quirky things like writing in lipstick on a mirror and chasing each other around the middle of the desert, but never actually interact in any normal way. The narrative is there, sort of, but it’s not interesting in the least. Really it’s a vapid bunch of nothing with a shiny topcoat sprayed on. By forty minutes in I was exhausted and this thing is two hours and ten gotdamn minutes long. I think if it was a shorter maybe it’d be a little more excusable? Probably not. It’s the sort of film you’d expect from a pretentious film student in an attempt to create True Arte and there’s definitely an audience for that sort of meaningless, shallow thing, but not much. It was just sort of exhausting to sit through in the end. It’s never explained why anyone is the way they are, particularly Cook who I guess has been Ruined by the Music Industry and poisoned by Greed or something. I guess I should point out that all this is accompanied by some decent music and is supposedly set against the background of Austin’s music scene. It has nothing original to say and goes on for way too long. Yet another in the category of “look pretty and do as little as possible.”

Warnings: Lots of sexual themes, drug usage, and warning for themes/mild depictions of self-harm. Also just warning for the pure lack of substance this “movie” has.

Recommend?: No, don’t subject yourself to this. If you want to watch an Art movie, there are better ones and shorter ones to boot.

Angel (Esmé)

Rating: 4.5/10 (the variance in my ratings leaves something to be desired I’m sure but a lot of these really are just okay)

Quick Summary: Angel is a young, self-righteous aspiring writer who succeeds in her dream of becoming a great author and gets rich doing so. Because of this she meets Nora and Esmé, brother and sister. She becomes good friends with Nora who is a great fan of hers, even taking her on as a personal assistant. In contrast, she fawns after Esmé, a typical tortured artist sort whose paintings are misunderstood by the general public and whose attitude leaves something to be desired in spite of Nora’s warnings that he’s something of a playboy. Angel flatters her way into a relationship with him, mostly by pretending to like his art and the two end up engaged and married. After the initial honeymoon stage, Esmé begins to lose interest in Angel who is as narcissistic and vapid as ever. A war begins and he goes to fight in it despite Angel’s protests, which turns out to be only the beginning of the troubles their relationship faces.

Some Thoughts: This movie is a melodrama straight up. It rides the edge of humorous sometimes, but could have done with a bit lighter of a tone in my opinion. In a lot of ways it was a breath of fresh air after the complete lack of any normal human emotion in the past two movies I’d watched (more so in Song to Song but still) so I probably was little more endeared to it than I would have been otherwise. Really I was sort of hoping for a Meg Ryan-esque movie where Fassbender was the alluring man-prize and Angel was the witty, endearing protagonist chasing after him. But……that is not what happened. Angel herself really…is not a likeable character. She’s rude and narcissistic and shallow and she’s rewarded for it. She gets everything she could ever want and never learns or changes until the very end and even then it’s arguable how much she actually learned. As a child she’s insufferable and she just never grows up. Esmé is an asshole and very much the stereotypical misunderstood artist type. His paintings are dark and therefore a reflection of his empty soul you see. Angel panders to him and at first it sort of seems like they deserve each other since they’re both awful. Ultimately Esmé wins out for biggest piece of shit however which maybe garners Angel a bit of sympathy. Nora and the editor are both decently likeable characters and the scenes with them in them aren’t the worst. I sort of liked Esmé and Nora’s relationship in that they actually acted like siblings most of the time. It’s just a sort of silly melodrama with a couple of strange dark elements thrown in without explanation. The backgrounds when they’re driving around are hilarious, I’ll give them that. But otherwise, the protagonist is annoying and learns nothing and that’s a pretty big issue. If you don’t mind melodramas/soap operas maybe you’d like it okay? Otherwise it’d probably just be irritating after a while.

Warnings: Attempted r*pe and depictions of suicide. Also ridiculously fake backgrounds

Recommend?: Not really

The Counselor (The Counselor)

Rating: -300/10 1/10

Quick Summary: I couldn’t explain this movie to you if you paid me actual money. It has no conceivable plot. It’s about drugs, supposedly, but who could say for sure? Unfortunately someone messes with the drugs which makes people not happy which means something Bad is going to happen, but off-screen somewhere, you know, where all interesting things in this movie happen. Brad Pitt is there. So is Penelope Cruz until she gets fridged. Michael Fassbender is The Counselor™ and that’s literally all I can tell you about his character or part in this movie. Even this much is probably speculation. It doesn’t matter anyway nothing fucking matters let’s just move on please god I’ve wasted too many brain cells on this already—

Some Thoughts: FUCK THIS MOVIE AND ITS NO REDEEMING QUALITIES. I thought Blood Creek was the worst…….how little I knew….. this really was the worst, and by worst I mean The Fucking Worst. This may well be the worst movie I’ve ever seen. This movie make Suicide Squad look like a masterwork in cinema. Its plot is completely incomprehensible. It seems as if they filmed everything, cut the parts they didn’t like, accidentally deleted it, then said “Fuck it” and just scooped everything up they’d cut off the editing room floor and used that instead. The cinematography was horrible. The lighting was shit. The dialogue is atrocious. It goes nowhere and is baffling constantly. The characters just stand around and ramble on like they’re all in freshman philosophy class. You don’t know anyone or why anything’s happening. I swear to god they never tell you what’s happening or why. Not once. They never explain anything beyond the fact that there are some drugs and then something goes wrong with the drugs. What? Who knows. How? Like we’d fucking deign to tell you. People come on screen who you’ve never seen before and never will again. Nothing in this movie matters. The characters are all sex-obsessed and insufferable. Everyone in the cast deserved better than this movie, even Brad Pitt who’s playing Billy Ray Cyrus as a drug lord. I have never seen Fassbender so fucking checked out of a movie. Usually even when everyone else is dragging along he’s putting in some effort, but not here and god do I not blame him. His character is just…..inexcusable. He does nothing but stand around and ask dumbass questions. Nothing ever happens to him. HE IS THE TITLE CHARACTER OF THIS MOVIE AND HE DOES NOTHING. BRAD PITT DOES MORE THAN HE DOES. He just listens to other people talk and then is sad. Boy is he sad. We don’t know what he does or how he does it or how he got into this or why the fuck we should even care. He doesn’t even have a real name. Poor fucking Penelope Cruz is in this mess as well and is nothing but an object for man-pain. I’d also like to point out how ridiculously sexist and pretty racist this movie is?? Because it is. Cameron Diaz…..I’m so sorry sweetie……. There are no words for how horrible your treatment is this movie is. You see, she’s terrible because she’s a Bad Woman and therefore Evil and Conniving. She uses her Womanly Wiles against poor innocent men who don’t know any better. No words could describe how terrible this movie is. The fact that anyone would try to defend it is beyond me. I’m cannot believe I wasted two hours of my own human life on this nonsense. This one really is the worst of the worst, the indubitable worst movie on this entire list which, considering some of its competition, is mind-boggling. Blood Creek at least has a plot, stupid as it is. It knew what it was going for. Things happened and made sense. You couldn’t pay me to sit through this again. I have no idea what Scott was going for and I don’t want to know. I fully plan to repress this movie from my mind and never think about it again. Next person to mention it to me again will be blocked so help me god I don’t want to hear another word about it ever. This topic is banned for eternity.

Warnings: There aren’t enough warnings in the world that could prepare you for this shit

Recomm—I BEG OF YOU DO NOT WATCH THIS MOVIE PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD SAVE YOURSELF IT’S NOT EVEN FUNNY WATCH THE ROOM OR SOME SHIT IF YOU WANT THAT KIND OF LAUGH THIS IS EXCRUTIATING DO NOT PAY TO SEE THIS PLEASE I SUFFERED SO YOU COULD LIVE HEED MY WARNING, YE WHO VENTURE HERE. PRESERVE YOUR INNOCENCE AND AVOID IT AT ALL COSTS PLEAS—

The Light Between Oceans (Tom Sherbourne)

Rating: 8/10

Quick Summary: Tom Sherbourne returns home after several years fighting in the war and takes a job watching over the lighthouse on Janus, a small remote island. It’s a lonely job, but one Tom welcomes readily enough. Before he leaves he meets Isabel Graysmark and the two become interested in one another. When he returns again in order to accept an offer to keep the job for a longer period of time, they go out together and begin a romance. They send letters back and forth when Tom returns to the island and eventually get engaged and marry. Isabel moves out to Janus with Tom and the two are happy. They try to start a family with little success. After two miscarriages Isabel is discouraged and somewhat depressed as having children is very important to her. As if by fate, right after they lose the second baby a boat washes ashore on the island carrying a dead man and an infant which somehow survived. They take in the baby for the time being and Isabel is ecstatic, but Tom warns that they must report the incident and turn the child in. Isabel is desperate however and the two end up conspiring to keep it a secret and pass the child off as their own, burying the man despite Tom’s continued guilt and protests. Little do they know this will lead to greater consequences than either could have ever imagined.

Some Thoughts: In spite of the mixed reviews this movie got, I really enjoyed it? It was the first decent movie I’d watched in a while during this escapade so that might have contributed to it, but I thought it was a really enjoyable, if bittersweet story. It is a romance, but it’s also a drama and it’s not really that predictable. It’s a beautiful movie and an original story, at least to me. I agree that it’s sort of slow-paced, but I didn’t mind it. It sucked me in from the beginning and held my attention until the very end. The chemistry between Alicia Vikander and Fassbender is obvious, and the beginning of the movie is almost sweeter now that they’re married. They make a lovely couple on screen and off. I really don’t relate at all to Isabel’s desires or motivations, but she was still a sympathetic character and Vikander did a great job playing the role. I was glad to finally see a movie of hers. It was also kind of nice to see Fassbender play a genuinely good person, not that I don’t usually enjoy his armada of morally grey parts. It was just a change of pace I appreciated. I thought everyone’s motivations were clear and I was excited to see where the movie would go with itself. It definitely got some tears out of me and while it’s an emotional ride, I don’t think it was overdone necessarily. The ending was as good of one as I could have hoped for considering the plot of the thing. It was a strong film with strong performances in my opinion. I enjoyed it even though I’m usually not one to favor straight-up romances. I’d also like to add that seeing that shit mustache shaved off on screen was incredibly cathartic and this movie deserved an award for including that scene alone.

Warnings: The miscarriages might be off-putting for some people but otherwise, it’s pretty clean.

Recommend?: Yeah, if you like dramas at all, this is a good one.

Haywire (Paul)

Rating: 5.5/10

Quick Summary: Mallory Kane is a special-ops agent of some sort working for a private company. She’s known for being very good at her job, and is hired to rescue a hostage in Barcelona. The operation goes smoothly enough, and she decides to take a break, but is approached immediately afterward by her boss Kenneth. He begs her to take one more quick job in Dublin, working with an MI6 operative. She agrees begrudgingly since she has plans to quit her current job and move on, and heads out. However, once she arrives she finds herself suspicious of the operative Paul and their mission. Her suspicions are soon confirmed as she finds herself under attack without warning from all sides, forcing her to go on the run where she both struggles to survive and find out who wants her out of the way and why.

Some Thoughts: I was actually really interested in this movie, just from the premise and it turned out to be alright. I wouldn’t say it was disappointing, but it wasn’t anything special. Forgettable is probably the operative word. It sort of felt like a 90s movie for some reason, and as though it had a smaller budget than it actually had. Still, even if the execution was kind of shaky with the acting usually mediocre at best in spite of many big names taking part, the concept was one after my own heart. I really like female-led action/spy movies and I gave it props sort of because of that. This movie sort of felt like a precursor to something like Atomic Blonde which was similar in concept but better executed, having come out more recently. Gina Carano is really incredible, just in general, and she plays Mallory. I believe she did most of, if not all her own stunts and that’s always amazing to me. She is as stoic as any James Bond-type and, shockingly, is not sexualized at any point in the film. Frankly Fassy probably won that award since in the 15 minutes or so he was on screen he managed to come out wearing only a towel for no discernible reason. Fassbender has another bit part here, probably even smaller than the one in Inglourious Basterds. He’s fine and just more of a plot device than anything else, on and off screen real quick. It is true that a lot of the characters are plot devices and not that complex. The plot is all eventually explained, but it walks a binary of being too obvious and then too vague. The cinematography was sort of strange, as was the music. It was oddly silent for the most part, like they shot a scene then forgot to add the soundtrack. What music is there is sort of ambient and ill-fitting usually. It was pretty short and that helped it not be weaker than it was. Sort of another nice concept, not great execution sort of film.

Warnings: It’s rated R but it has no reason to be imo. The violence is moderate. There is fighting but not a ton of blood. I was dead-ass serious when I say the most risqué thing was Fassbender’s towel scene.

Recommend?: I guess in the same way I recommended Centurion, if you’re just looking for something to watch this one isn’t the worst. Maybe watch it to see Carano at work.

Assassin’s Creed (Cal Lynch)

Rating: 5.5/10

Quick Summary: Cal Lynch finds himself on death row having been charged and found guilty of murder. Just as he is about to be euthanized, he finds himself rescued and drug off into a strange facility. There he meets Sofia who insists he’s been saved to help them in their quest to bring an end to all violence in humanity. He resists but is forced to help them anyway. He finds himself attached to a machine called the Animus which links him to his ancestor, Aguilar and allows his memories to be viewed. Aguilar is part of a group of people who call themselves assassins. They fight against the Templars in a battle for free-will. The rest of the movie plays out as Cal struggles with his past and must choose between helping Sofia by going against everything his ancestors stood for or becoming an assassin himself.

Some Thoughts: Some background: I was probably, somehow, the perfect person to watch this movie. I assume there are others like me, but probably very few. The thing is, I have really positive memories about Assassin’s Creed. It holds nostalgia for me because I used to like watch my dad or brother play it, but never played it myself because I’m Shit at video games. Therefore, I know nothing about the plot and thus can’t contradict them for getting stuff wrong, but have a fondness for the series that would make me interested to see the movie nonetheless. I suspect that’s why I didn’t hate it as much as everyone else. It really isn’t the worst thing ever. I would say I even enjoyed the first three-fourths or so. The last fourth was a mess, but I’ll get to that. It felt like a strange case of poor concept, good execution. All the acting was really good. I can’t believe they dragged Marion Cotillard into this, but boy did they. She did a great job as usual at least. Her arc really was the more complete one in comparison to Cal’s. Fassbender does a good job as well. I actually kind of enjoyed the fight scenes, endless cutting notwithstanding, and you could tell a lot of work went into them. The atmosphere and cinematography was nice I thought, or at least reminiscent of the game. I could tell they were trying to make it look similar. The actual plot was where it fell flat. The McGuffin was stupid and made no sense whatsoever. The whole idea of violence and free-will being genetic is really dumb and sort of offensive? I don’t know if that was part of the original plot or not, but still.

Cal’s arc really made no sense. (Also jeez, what a shitty time they give him, dragging him straight off death row, into a strange place, straight into a weird gigantic machine….) The first half was fine, you get why he’d want to go back in the Animus and screw the assassins, but then he suddenly changes his mind. That flip, along with the ghost parents and all the other assassins suddenly trusting him after he fucked them over makes no sense and was not explained. The whole end scene was inexplicable. How’d they get there? Why’d they all go if Cal was only gonna kill the one guy? The fact that it was a clear bid for a sequel was….unfortunate and embarrassing. Overall, it wasn’t the worst. I do think people are being a little hard on it, but I’m probably biased since I really don’t know what they got right and what they didn’t. As a layman, it was tolerable. I was expecting it to be The Worst, and since my expectations were so low, I ended up having an okay time.

Warnings: None really. Maybe some blood, but it’s a pretty clean movie.

Recommend?: Not really

BONUS

A Bear Named Winnie (Harry Colebourn)

Rating: 8/10

Quick Summary: Harry Colebourn is part of the Canadian army being deployed to help fight in World War I when, on the way, he finds and saves a bear cub from being skinned. Unable to leave her, he brings her with him, naming her Winnie and declaring her the division’s mascot. Responses from superiors range from begrudgingly accepting to upset and demanding he get rid of her, but he keeps her around anyway. The division grows to love Winnie and Winnie becomes fully domesticated. This poses a problem when they have to head to the front and are unable to take Winnie with them. Harry and the others must find somewhere she can be safe and live a good life without them.

Some Thoughts: I thought I was done but…..this one was free on prime and it just looked too cute to pass up. Really this is a kids’ movie but it’s really adorable and pure. The bear cubs are actual bear cubs and they’re great. It’s like a horse movie, or a dog movie, but with bears, which makes everything hilariously ridiculous because they’re just going around with an actual-ass bear acting like it’s all chill and not a problem. Fassbender is so young in this it’s fun to watch after seeing all the other ones. If you’re interested in just watching him play with bear cubs for an hour and a half this is the movie for you, and really, who wouldn’t? The army subplots in the background are….kind of stupid and go nowhere but again, it’s a kids’ film so that’s sort of to be expected. It’s actually based on a true story and Winnie is the bear who Winnie the Pooh was based off of which makes it that much more adorable. Really it’s just a heart-warming, good time if you like animal movies. I cried at the end because I……am not allowed to watch animal movies I swear to god even happy ones destroy me. I clearly have nothing bad to say about it, it’s cute and good and free. This was the True Good End to the Fassathon we all deserved.

Warnings: None this is seriously the cleanest movie on this list. It’s rated PG or some shit which is unheard of….

Recommend?: Yes it’s really cute

(previously: pt. 1 / cont. in pt. 3)

[reyphorian]

ok so today, and i have no idea why i have literally never known this until now, i learned about the context behind the native american slur r*dskin, and that it had nothing to do with the color of their skin as much as the blood covering their skin from being scalped and if that's not enough of incentive for people to stop using it and to ban it as a sports team name you have some serious issues like we literally have a football team whose name comes from a racial slur that originated from a brutal act of violence and people are throwing shitfits over it and claiming that it's a homage to native americans it's like using a sterotypical representation of a jewish person and naming the team some kristallnacht (i hope i spelled that right) or something similar from the holocaust and it's beyond fucked up and i'm kinda angry that i've never actually learned about this until now and it should be used way more often in arguments against naming sports teams with it and using the slur even in a casual manner but it also kinda makes me realize now how little people actually care about treating native americans decently bc otherwise i might have actually know about it. more people need to start caring about native americans and doing what they can to help bc we've (white people) already done enough awful things to them and it's beyond high time we actually do something

[toadcourse]

moving my "i hate dr*am and dr*am stans" thoughts here so my friends can just scroll past it instead of being yelled at over discord against their will. this is literally just for me to vent so if you do read it then like sorry if it looks bad or i dont cite things or whatever i just wanted to scream

its genuinely just the stupidest fucking cycle at this point. dream does something shitty, and then his fans defend him and say he's changed and then a few weeks pass and he just does something else thats shitty. the mfer is in some sort of controversy every other week and not once do these people stop to consider that the common thread between all of dream's scandals is that dream is fucking involved in them.

like genuinely the only content creator(s) i can think of that are involved in a similar amount of scandals are the fucking paul brothers. yknow, the assholes who still regularly stir up shit with anyone they can so that they stay relevant? the same shit dream's doing? which, coincidentally, is also the same shit trump did while he was president?

and if anyone ever brings up the pattern of what dream's done in the past it gets labeled as haters starting shit by bringing up stuff "he's already addressed/apologized for" (blatantly ignoring the fact that 9/10 times the shit he pulls arent things that his audience are in any position to be accepting apologies over but whatever.)

like youd think if he actually gave a shit about changing he would:

stop queerbaiting his audience!

stop publicly going after smaller creators on his streams just because they disagree with him!

stop defensively tweeting about bullshit any time it seems like he might face consequences for something!

do anything to spread/share his fame/wealth with the marginalized communities he used to treat as punchlines and objects!

because at this point it's fucking indisputable that he used to be a bigot, between the r-slur thing, the native american thing, the notch video, and now the "old reddit account was a blatant trump supporter" thing.

the problem now is he has done absolutely jack shit beyond making half-assed apologies either over twitter or in a video, and his actions have done fuck all to back up his words. i dont give a shit about how late it was when he made a fucking twitlonger or how many times hes said "im sorry :(" about something. just speaking purely for myself, i dont want him to keep apologizing for shit! im not just bringing shit up expecting him to "apologize every day of his life" or whatever other stupid shit his fans spout. you think i like seeing him on trending every time he apologizes for something?

i want him to fucking do something. do literally anything tangible about the shit he stirs up. people are constantly saying he's apologized and changed for this shit and i dont see any fucking evidence of it. even without all the proof that his trump-supporting reddit account was his, i would've been willing to bet that it was, because all of the comments on it read exactly the same as the way he tweets.

like. dsmp has been going on for over a year at this point and its grown into this massive thing with 30+ people on it. the only fucking poc on there is quackity, who is a light skinned hispanic. there was a point in time where there were more color blind members than women. and its such a fucking wasted opportunity! and it's not just about representation, its also such a fucking clear sign about where dream + his friend's priorities are.

because either they haven't been looking for more diverse members to add to their group, or they have been and none of them have felt comfortable joining. both options are pretty fucking bad. and neither of them point in the direction of "dream's changed!!!" that all these fans seem to jump on.

like how fucking telling is it that barely a year after his "trump is king build that wall keep out the illegals" tirades on reddit stopped (because the account was banned), he included a character specifically aimed at making fun of mexicans via stereotypes in his stupid fucking minecraft roleplay

and if quackity is comfortable making jokes like that then more power to him. but that doesn't change the fact that dream has a now well documented history of supporting trump and supporting that stupid fucking wall between the us and mexico. and one year later, the only poc in his group is given a role to play in his rp smp that is so fucking reminiscent of minstrelsy. one fucking year between referring to mexicans as "the illegals" and having the only mexican person in his group play the character of "mexican dream" while he makes such hilarious jokes as "i have a cocaine addiction" and "i'm the leader of a gang".

i know that changing your mindset when youve been raised with it is difficult and challenging (and probably even more so when you're a public figure) but like. there is just too much fucking bullshit at this point for me to believe that this is a person making an honest attempt to change and struggling.