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glasskey · 19 days

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I’m Gonna Cut Your F#cking Heart Out - The June Osborne Hit List Pt 1.

You guessed it, time for our girl to finally get her own playlist. She’s been busy to say the least, so there’s certainly surplus to requirement here. Let’s start with some of her most memorable hits from The Handmaid’s Tale season 1.

Nolite te Bastardes Carborundorum (Don’t let the bastards grind you down)

The infamous words of defiance and hope scrawled on the inside of June’s wardrobe from the previous Handmaid, who tragically, ultimately, let the bastards (Fred) grind her down. It was fitting that at the beginning of season 1, June had absolutely no idea what these words meant, but by the end of S2 she’d plastered them across the wall of her prison in foot high letters. Suitably she found this secret call to freedom destroyed upon her unceremonious return at the beginning of S2. We watched as Aunt Lydia and Serena proceeded to join forces to crush her spirit, leaving June catatonic and bleeding in the garden bed. It seemed poetic that June had to ask Fred their meaning, for their very essence incited rebellion and he was after all, her jailer. His response that it was a joke, indicated that the very concept of kicking against the system was laughable. It was a message contained in one of Fred’s boyhood school books, signifying a long since dead rebellious youth. Here in Gilead these words belong to June and she treats them like a prayer for strength against the resident “bastard” Fred, and his unending onslaught of rape and obsessive creepiness. The moment Fred is confronted by the words on June’s bedroom wall as he is held at gun point by Nick, is juxtaposed with his demise in that dark forest at the hands of Nick and June. The phrase signed off across his hung lifeless body marking June and Fred’s separation and the end of a sinister chapter. In her testimony June had asked for justice for the nameless, voiceless many and here it was at last, for the previous anonymous Handmaid who had hung herself in despair in the Waterford's attic.

Standing there in her room staring at those words, Fred of all people should have understood their subtext, but consumed with obsession and arrogance, he chose to ignore them. How was he to know they weren’t just a good old fashioned fuck you from Osborne, but also a prophetic warning.

What else is there to live for?

As much as I hated Fred, he did get some of the best lines and this one scene has three of his greats. This quote from Fred and the philosophical debate he has with June is one of my favorite Osborne moments. It encapsulates the difference in nature between their respective two worlds. Fred’s musings about life pre Gilead come loaded with allusions to men and women’s displacement from their traditional roles. Fred, and later Lawrence, argue that as these lines blurred and women attempted to exceed their “biological destinies”, men felt they lost their purpose and society crumbled. Fred believes that the sole purpose of humanity is to breed and perpetuate the human race, anything else such as love, is nothing more than sentimental garbage invented to facilitate this process. “Now you’re free to fulfil your biological destinies….what else is there to live for?” he asks “Love” June replies almost astonished at his ignorance. To her the answer is so self-evident and obvious; because unlike Fred she’s actually experienced it, and isn’t the emotional equivalent of a cavernous black hole. He scoffs dismissing it as lust, and she unfortunately overestimates the length of the leash Fred has her on. She drops the careless quip; “Maybe for you, but not for me”, questioning both his emotional depth and the authenticity of his feelings for Serena. He is less than amused. He proceeds to give her a not so subtle warning by telling her exactly what they did to Emily. It’s clear that in this world women’s needs or pleasure are not only irrelevant, but a hindrance to the cause.

Fred then drops what is possibly my favorite line for this entire series; “Every love story is a tragedy if you wait long enough”, it speaks volumes about the deterioration of his and Serena’s relationship. Once loving and affectionate it has become bitter and resentful within the bounds of Gilead, for in Gilead, anything beautiful decays. These words are both heartbreaking and loaded with foreboding, and it’s poetic that upon leaving his study she runs straight into Nick. The similarities and differences between Fred and Serena’s and Nick and June’s relationship are played out time after time throughout the seasons. This moment in particular leaves you wondering, will the other shoe indeed drop? Or are Fred and Serena actually the antithesis of what Nick and June will eventually become? Fred’s a cynic, he’s a monster but he can also recognize that Gilead comes at a personal cost to June and here we see the closest thing to an apology or at the very least an acknowledgment from Fred: “Better never means better for everyone. It always means worse for some.” It is notable that June, quotes this back to Nick in season 2, reluctant to abandon both he and Hannah in a place where love is not a purpose but merely a device.

What are you gonna trade us for? Fucking chocolate?

Here June gets her first lesson in just how much of a commodity women have become, on a global scale, even to other women. Alma lets her know from the very beginning the seedy details of the deals that are actually being made, and it sure as fuck isn’t for oranges. June unfortunately thinks that the Ambassador has some sort of interest in June’s imprisonment and if she only knew the appalling conditions June was being kept in she would undoubtedly do something about it. She’s wrong. When they first met she dutifully kept her trap shut, but then Serena had to go and parade all those children around in front of her. The spoils of Gilead and the consequence of the Handmaids enslavement. When the Ambassador turns up toting a tin of choccy to thank June for her candor about life in Gilead she lets her know exactly what being a Handmaid is all about, complete with the eye gouging and cattle prods. Contrary to belief she hasn’t sacrificed herself to the glory of Gilead; she was kidnapped, enslaved and her own child stolen. The Ambassador is of course horrified but willing to do exactly jack shit about it lest it endanger her trade deal for a shipment of Handmaids.

June’s suitably stunned and angry; she’s demanding some answers. Turns out the Ambassadors country desperately needs repopulating; although I was challenged to see what shipping over some fresh wombs would do without the whole Gilead old timey scrub down to go along with it, as this actually seemed to be the secret sauce. June accuses the Ambassador of trading the Handmaids for chocolate, it’s a stab at her moral fiber; chocolate serves no purpose but pleasure, it’s a trivial luxury, and as such she must view these women as mere chattels to trade them for it. If these people want to start trading red tags, June will make sure they see exactly what it costs them personally, and it’s a lot more than oranges and chocolate.

I’m sorry Aunt Lydia

Here we see the birth of Mayday or rather June’s true baptism as its unofficial leader. When faced with the prospect of stoning Janine to death, June chose instead to give Aunt Lydia the equivalent of the middle finger in front of her peers, complete with a smug “I’m sorry Aunt Lydia.” Much to Aunt Lydia’s horror her buddies all followed suit…..it was enough to make a cuddly old fascists blood boil. As the Handmaids walked in lockstep back to their respective homes, there was an undeniable new confident swagger to them. Nevermind, Gilead will shortly torture and terrify that out of them, but the damage is done, the rebellious rot has now set in for good.

Janine was the best behaved one out of the bunch and even she ended up a stone’s throw away from a salvaging; it could have been any one of them and they all knew it. In your run of the mill dictatorship, unquestioning loyalty is bred through fear and the reward of remaining alive. However, Gilead seemed to have made the fatal mistake of punishing it's innocent, leaving the Handmaids to reach the logical conclusion that they were fucked either way. Regimes such as these are ripe for rebellion. Gilead had unintentionally turned their handmaids attire from a ritualistic binding into a rebels uniform in one fell swoop, and unfortunately no amount of stylistic alterations were going to change it back now. This was the moment that the Handmaids realized that they had nothing to lose, and there’s nothing more dangerous than solidarity amongst those who are willing to sacrifice themselves for a cause.

While we all wait faithfully for S6, I'll be back with more playlists. See you then.

#handmaids tale #june osborne #hulu streaming #elisabeth moss #the handmaids tale hulu #june x nick #nick x june #osblaine #nick blaine #max minghella #tv series #analysis #THTplaylists&mixtapes #the handmaid's tale

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sirfrogsworth · 2 years

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I am so worried for my trans friends right now. I just cannot believe how much concentrated hatred is being levied at them and their healthcare.

I wish I had the energy to do more. I was thinking maybe I could write something. Maybe even hiring someone to help me do research for an essay.

I've been watching a lot of testimony regarding these horrific state laws they are trying to pass. You watch the same transphobes who are flown all around the country to testify and they are all arrogant and mean and seem like they just want to win a debate. They claim they are doing it all "for the children" but they don't seem concerned about child poverty or the millions of kids without healthcare or child hunger. In fact, they actively fight against policies that would help children with those issues. It seems clear they don't care about the safety of children. They just want to prevent trans kids from becoming trans adults.

Then you have local trans folks and their family members testifying and they are struggling to talk through tears. They are so scared and you can literally tell they are fighting for their lives and the lives of their loved ones. Their fight is quite... existential.

And when I see this stark contrast, it seems so clear which side is moral and just wants to exist and be safe and which side is fueled by hatred and religious bigotry.

It is all so heartbreaking.

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makeila04 · 10 months

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Theory about Graves

I think they are going to give him a redemption, especially because they killed Shepard and in the end Graves is the one who has all the information and Shepard never was (or so it is implied through the mw3 campaign if I'm talking about the hangar scene).

I also been suspecting it since the previous campaign (MWII) when they show the flashback of the missions and we play for 2 seconds with some shadows and Graves is heard imploring Shepard to send help and he tells him not always and in the end everyone dies.

Although it was an illegal mission and Shepard reproaches Graves that he knew this was possible and everyone knew the risks they were taking, we see that Graves cares about his men and we hear on the radio his anger at not being able to do nothing.

That's also why I wasn't surprised by the "betrayal" and why everyone called him Graves' testimony that way, I saw him more as fed up and getting married with being the dog (I think he realized he was one or until now he didn't care about being one if he knew that).

Maybe now he is either going on his own or ends up allying himself with Task 141. I mean, the ones who killed his men were mainly Makarov's men, so it would make sense for them to alienate themselves for a common cause, even Farah says it to Alex." If we don't we loose" in MWIII.

It can also be argued that Graves, being basically mercenaries, would ally with anyone because they work for money but not for ideology and while this is true, why do you think that until now he has not allied himself with Makarov? Yes he works with Shepard and the United States government but he could have worked at the same time with Makarov but they went against Hassan in the last campaign and therefore Makarov if Graves had wanted to betray them he would have done it a long time ago.

Even at the beginning of MW3 Graves asked to Farah about his men and she says that she doesn't see any of them and he seems nervous, like he's worried about not knowing where the shadows are. And technically Makarov kills several... so he will be fed up and it would be a common point with Price to hunt him down

Personally, I still think that the tank thing was on Shepard's orders because remembering the scene from "your men have been detained" (UFFFF🔥🔥 oh my lord) Graves says that "general Shepard sends his regards" and that he knew they wouldn't take it well (retire to the operations task force 141 now ), he does not intentionally betray them, I suppose for him it was only business and that is why he has no qualms about working again with the 141 task force in MWIII.

In the end Graves is more of a businessman, he keeps everything professional, regardless of his arrogance, he is a good man who made a mistake by following orders from a corrupt man, handing over Shepard was his first act of redemption, I hope he redeems himself soon more and help the 141, as farah said, everything must be united or they will fall

I don't know, they are hypotheses but tell me what you think or believe will happen.

#theory #fan theory #Cod #cod mw2 #call of duty modern warfare 2 #modern warfare 3 #call of duty mw3 #phillip #Graves #phillip graves #phillip graves cod #cod graves #farah karim #general shepherd

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dulcewrites · 2 years

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What is your opinion on show Aemond? In books he was basically psychopath, in show not yet, but I wonder what do you think of him besides the things you said before like he is arrogant. Btw, you are probably the only person who sees his arrogance and inability to rule (despite having Vhagar, being great swordsman and studying history and philosophy) because I swear to God, every Aemond stan views him as perfect and not arrogant at all and perfect material for a king. And you know what is the funniest thing? That they only acknowledge his traumas when they are comparing him to Daemon, you know, Daemon is the bad guy from episode 1, groomer and many other things but Aemond is hurt and insecure and disabled, but when confronted, they all view him as perfect. You know, just because he has traumas means he is perfect. But it never crossed their minds that any sort of trauma affects the process of thinking, self confidence, perception of people around us and does it in not positive way. And no, just because Aemond is traumatized doesn't mean he will be good father and husband because how in madieval world would he have any opportunity to even acknowledge that he has something called trauma and then starting to work on it, slowly realising how this worked and made him the person he is now?

It's 2022 and people are talking a lot about mental health which is great, but seeing how many people not even understand how Aemond's traumatic past shaped him and thinking it won't have negative effect is really sad.

And maybe the reason you got this terrible anon message because his stans really have no clue how his past will affect him and people close to him. They focus on how a good and dutiful son he is, but in fact he is parentified child. I also am one and believe me it could be great for strangers, me caring about my mother, but they don't know how hard it was in childhood when I was the one to take care of her where it should have been other way around. And my relationship with her is not a testimony of any kind of strong bond, but the fact I was burdened by her problems and needed to find solutions to them, because she couldn't. And in episode 9 when Alicent says If anything has happened and her panicked expression, it reminded me of my mother and everytime she relied on me.

You are basically the only person I saw admitting that he is a piece of work. Others believe that after all he has been through he would be perfect father, husband and king. No one sees how his past shaped him in bad way. Because it's like knife that cuts on both sides, sure, after losing an eye he became full of determination, dutiful, but also full of anger and having many repressed feelings. And this will affect all his relationships, but his stans doesn't see him as flawed character, they point out Daemon wrongdoings and use it to put Aemond on pedestal. And once saw one of them saying Aemond will get rid of his traumas once Viserys and Luke died. So thank you for portraying him in realistic way, I know it was request to write his wife being killed over a lie, but you captured his essence in such amazing way.

Well I appreciate that you like my different interpretations of Aemond. To be fair/honest, the way I write him in fmo or even in that request is not how I personally would want him written in the show. I don’t enjoy seeing women, regardless of the context or nature, being treated so poorly. There are times where it makes me sad when writing. But I’m also an admittedly sensitive person lol. Those anons I got, while complete weirdos who need help, I see as outliers compared to a lot of people who enjoy hotd. It’s just when you are in a large fandom, the wronged opinions tend to be the loudest. I do a lot of people misinterpret characters but they also have the good sense to not harass people.

I think that all the layers that make up show Aemond is why he is extremely compelling. He can be messy or arrogant, and probably a bad king/Prince regent. But he can also be a young man who had to deal with a losing his eye, a neglectful father, a mother who takes on a lot and probably projects a lot onto him bc he is so dutiful and kind to her, and having unique sibling relationships. And that does not even mention the possible piety or the strained relationship with intimacy he may have. I do think a lot of writers on here know and understand show Aemond but maybe choose to paint a prettier picture bc why not. Like I don’t plan on writing Aemond as a terrible father or husband in everything I do. I have some stuff in the works that is the opposite actually. He can be a lot thinks at once bc most people are. You just have to pick your threshold of what you can tolerate, irl and when you engage with media.

As for how I feel about show Aemond. I like him. I wouldn’t take the time to write about him if I didn’t. There are certain changes that I think the show did well, and I would argue and say his characterization is one of them. It also doesn’t hurt that ewan plays him extremely well. Older aemond could have fell flat if they did not have someone as talented playing him. So much of that charisma is not the text, it’s ewan acting his ass off. I’d say that’s the case for all the Hightower/targ kids. Phia, Tom, and ewan did the best with what they got, especially Tom and phia

#asks and requests

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manwalksintobar · 1 year

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A Woman Is Talking to Death // Judy Grahn

One Testimony in trials that never got heard

my lovers teeth are white geese flying above me my lovers muscles are rope ladders under my hands

we were driving home slow my lover and I, across the long Bay Bridge, one February midnight, when midway over in the far left lane, I saw a strange scene:

one small young man standing by the rail, and in the lane itself, parked straight across as if it could stop anything, a large young man upon a stalled motorcycle, perfectly relaxed as if he’d stopped at a hamburger stand; he was wearing a peacoat and levis, and he had his head back, roaring, you could almost hear the laugh, it was so real.

“Look at that fool,” I said, “in the middle of the bridge like that,” a very womanly remark.

Then we heard the meaning of the noise of metal on a concrete bridge at 50 miles an hour, and the far left lane filled up with a big car that had a motorcycle jammed on its front bumper, like the whole thing would explode, the friction sparks shot up bright orange for many feet into the air, and the racket still sets my teeth on edge.

When the car stopped we stopped parallel and Wendy headed for the callbox while I ducked across those 6 lanes like a mouse in the bowling alley. “Are you hurt?” I said, the middle-aged driver had the greyest black face, “I couldn’t stop, I couldn’t stop, what happened?”

Then I remembered. “Somebody,” I said, “was on the motorcycle.” I ran back, one block? two blocks? the space for walking on the bridge is maybe 18 inches, whoever engineered this arrogance. in the dark stiff wind it seemed I would be pushed over the rail, would fall down screaming onto the hard surface of the bay, but I did not. I found the tall young man who thought he owned the bridge, now lying on his stomach, head cradled in his broken arm.

He had glasses on, but somewhere he had lost most of his levis, where were they? and his shoes. Two short cuts on his buttocks, and that was the only mark except his thin white seminal tubes were all strung out behind; no child left in him; and he looked asleep.

I plucked wildly at his wrist, then put it down; there were two long haired women holding back the traffic just behind me with their bare hands, the machines came down like mad bulls, I was scared, much more than usual, I felt easily squished like the earthworms crawling on a busy sidewalk after the rain; I wanted to leave. And met the driver, walking back.

“The guy is dead.” I gripped his hand, the wind was going to blow us off the bridge.

“Oh my God,” he said, “haven’t I had enough trouble in my life?” He raised his head, and for a second was enraged and yelling, at the top of the bridge—“I was just driving home!” His head fell down. “My God, and now I’ve killed somebody.”

I looked down at my own peacoat and levis, then over at the dead man’s friend, who was bawling and blubbering, what they would call hysteria in a woman. “It isn’t possible” he wailed, but it was possible, it was indeed, accomplished and unfeeling, snoring in its peacoat, and without its levis on.

He died laughing: that’s a fact.

I had a woman waiting for me, in her car and in the middle of the bridge, I’m frightened, I said. I’m afraid, he said, stay with me, please don’t go, stay with me, be my witness—“No,” I said, “I’ll be your witness—later,” and I took his name and number, “but I can’t stay with you, I’m too frightened of the bridge, besides I have a woman waiting and no license— and no tail lights—“ So I left— as I have left so many of my lovers.

we drove home shaking, Wendy’s face greyer than any white person’s I have ever seen. maybe he beat his wife, maybe he once drove taxi, and raped a lover of mine—how to know these things? we do each other in, that’s a fact.

who will be my witness? death wastes our time with drunkenness and depression death, who keeps us from our lovers. he had a woman waiting for him, I found out when I called the number days later

“Where is he” she said, “he’s disappeared.” “He’ll be all right” I said, “we could have hit the guy as easy as anybody, it wasn’t anybody’s fault, they’ll know that,” women so often say dumb things like that, they teach us to be sweet and reassuring, and say ignorant things, because we dont invent the crime, the punishment, the bridges

that same week I looked into the mirror and nobody was there to testify; how clear, an unemployed queer woman makes no witness at all, nobody at all was there for those two questions: what does she do, and who is she married to?

I am the woman who stopped on the bridge and this is the man who was there our lovers teeth are white geese flying above us, but we ourselves are easily squished.

keep the women small and weak and off the street, and off the bridges, that’s the way, brother one day I will leave you there, as I have left you there before, working for death.

we found out later what we left him to. Six big policemen answered the call, all white, and no child in them. they put the driver up against his car and beat the hell out of him. What did you kill that poor kid for? you mutherfucking nigger. that’s a fact.

Death only uses violence when there is ant kind of resistance, the rest of the time a slow weardown will do.

They took him to 4 different hospitals til they got a drunk test report to fit their case, and held him five days in jail without a phone call. how many lovers have we left.

there are as many contradictions to the game, as there are players. a woman is talking to death, though talk is cheap, and life takes a long time to make right. He got a cheesy lawyer who had him cop a plea, 15 to 20 instead of life Did I say life?

the arrogant young man who thought he owned the bridge, and fell asleep on it died laughing: that’s a fact. the driver sits out his time off the street somewhere, does he have the most vacant of eyes, will he die laughing?

Two They don’t have to lynch the women anymore

death sits on my doorstep cleaning his revolver

death cripples my feet and sends me out to wait for the bus alone, then comes by driving a taxi.

the woman on our block with 6 young children has the most vacant of eyes death sits in her bedroom, loading his revolver

they don’t have to lynch the women very often anymore, although they used to—the lord and his men went through the villages at night, beating & killing every woman caught outdoors. the European witch trials took away an independent people; two different villages —after the trials were through that year— had left in them, each— one living woman: one

What were those other women up to? had they run over someone? stopped on the wrong bridge? did they have teeth like any kind of geese, or children in them?

Three This woman is a lesbian be careful

In the military hospital where I worked as a nurse’s aide, the walls of the halls were lined with howling women waiting to deliver or to have some parts removed. One of the big private rooms contained the general’s wife, who needed a wart taken off her nose. we were instructed to give her special attention not because of her wart or her nose but because of her husband, the general.

as many women as men die, and that’s a fact.

At work there was one friendly patient, already claimed, a young woman burnt apart with X-ray, she had long white tubes instead of openings; rectum, bladder, vagina—I combed her hair, it was my job, but she took care of me as if nobody’s touch could spoil her. ho ho death, ho death have you seen the twinkle in the dead woman’s eye?

when you are a nurse’s aide someone suddenly notices you and yells about the patient’s bed, and tears the sheets apart so you can do it over, and over while the patient waits doubled over in her pain for you to make the bed again and no one ever looks at you, only at what you do not do

Here, general, hold this soldier’s bed pan for a moment, hold it for a year— then we’ll promote you to making his bed. we believe you wouldn’t make such messes

if you had to clean up after them.

that’s a fantasy. this woman is a lesbian, be careful.

When I was arrested and being thrown out of the military, the order went out: dont anybody speak to this woman, and for those three long months, almost nobody did: the dayroom, when I entered it, fell silent til I had gone; they were afraid, they knew the wind would blow them over the rail, the cops would come, the water would run into their lungs. Everything I touched was spoiled. They were my lovers, those women, but nobody had taught us how to swim. I drowned, I took 3 or 4 others down when I signed the confession of what we had done together.

No one will ever speak to me again.

I read this somewhere; I wasn’t there: in WWII the US army had invented some floating amphibian tanks, and took them over to the coast of Europe to unload them, the landing ships all drawn up in a fleet, and everybody watching. Each tank had a crew of 6 and there were 25 tanks. The first went down the landing planks and sank, the second, the third, the fourth, the fifth, the sixth went down and sank. They weren’t supposed to sink, the engineers had made a mistake. The crews looked around wildly for the order to quit, but none came, and in the sight of thousands of men, each 6 crewmen saluted his officers, battened down his hatch in turn and drove into the sea, and drowned, until all 25 tanks were gone. did they have vacant eyes, die laughing, or what? what did they talk about, those men, as the water came in?

was the general their lover?

Four A Mock Interrogation Have you ever held hands with a woman?

Yes, many times—women about to deliver, women about to have breasts removed, wombs removed, miscarriages, women having epileptic fits, having asthma, cancer, women having breast bone marrow sucked out of them by nervous or indifferent interns, women with heart condition, who were vomiting, overdosed, depressed, drunk, lonely to the point of extinction: women who had been run over, beaten up. deserted. starved. women who had been bitten by rats; and women who were happy, who were celebrating, who were dancing with me in large circles or alone, women who were climbing mountains or up and down walls, or trucks and roofs and needed a boost up, or I did; women who simply wanted to hold my hand because they liked me, some women who wanted to hold my hand because they liked me better than anyone.

These were many women?

Yes. many.

What about kissing? Have you kissed any women?

I have kissed many women.

When was the first woman you kissed with serious feeling?

The first woman ever I kissed was Josie, who I had loved at such a distance for months. Josie was not only beautiful, she was tough and handsome too. Josie had black hair and white teeth and strong brown muscles. Then she dropped out of school unexplained. When she came back she came back for one day only, to finish the term, and there was a child in her. She was all shame, pain, and defiance. Her eyes were dark as the water under a bridge and no one would talk to her, they laughed and threw things at her. In the afternoon I walked across the front of the class and looked deep into Josie’s eyes and I picked up her chin with my hand, because I loved her, because nothing like her trouble would ever happen to me, because I hated it that she was pregnant and unhappy, and an outcast. We were thirteen.

You didn’t kiss her?

How does it feel to be thirteen and having a baby?

You didn’t actually kiss her?

Not in fact.

You have kissed other women?

Yes, many, some of the finest women I know, I have kissed. women who were lonely, women I didn’t know and didn’t want to, but kissed because that was a way to say yes we are still alive and loveable, though separate, women who recognized a loneliness in me, women who were hurt, I confess to kissing the top of a 55 year old woman’s head in the snow in boston, who was hurt more deeply than I have ever been hurt, and I wanted her as a very few people have wanted me—I wanted her and me to own and control and run the city we lived in, to staff the hospital I knew would mistreat her, to drive the transportation system that had betrayed her, to patrol the streets controlling the men who would murder or disfigure or disrupt us, not accidently with machines, but on purpose, because we are not allowed on the street alone— Have you ever committed any indecent acts with women?

Yes, many. I am guilty of allowing suicidal women to die before my eyes or in my ears or under my hands because I thought I could do nothing, I am guilty of leaving a prostitute who held a knife to my friend’s throat because we would not sleep with her, we thought she was old and fat and ugly; I am guilty of not loving her who needed me; I regret all the women I have not slept with or comforted, who pulled themselves away from me for lack of something I had not the courage to fight for, for us, our life, our planet, our city, our meat and potatoes, our love. These are indecent acts, lacking courage, lacking a certain fire behind the eyes, which is the symbol, the raised fist, the sharing of resources, the resistance that tells death he will starve for lack of the fat of us, our extra. Yes I have committed acts of indecency with women and most of them were acts of omission. I regret them bitterly.

Five Bless this day oh cat our house

“I was allowed to go 3 places, growing up,” she said— “3 places, no more. there was a straight line from my house to school, a straight line from my house to church, a straight line from my house to the corner store.” her parents thought something might happen to her. but nothing ever did.

my lovers teeth are white geese flying above me my lovers muscles are rope ladders under my hands we are the river of life and the fat of the land death, do you tell me I cannot touch this woman? if we use each other up on each other that’s a little bit less for you a little bit less for you, ho death, ho ho death.

Bless this day oh cat our house help me be not such a mouse death tells the woman to stay home and then breaks in the window.

I read this somewhere, I wasnt there: In feudal Europe, if a woman committed adultery her husband would sometimes tie her down, catch a mouse and trap it under a cup on her bare belly, until it gnawed itself out, now are you afraid of mice?

Six Dressed as I am, a young man once called me names in Spanish

a woman who talks to death is a dirty traitor

inside a hamburger joint and dressed as I am, a young man once called me names in Spanish then he called me queer and slugged me. first I thought the ceiling had fallen down but there was the counterman making a ham sandwich, and there was I spread out on his counter.

For God’s sake I said when I could talk, this guy is beating me up can’t you call the police or something, can’t you stop him? he looked up from working on his sandwich, which was my sandwich, I had ordered it. He liked the way I looked. “There’s a pay phone right across the street” he said.

I couldn’t listen to the Spanish language for weeks afterward, without feeling the most murderous of urges, the simple association of one thing to another, so damned simple.

The next day I went to the police station to become an outraged citizen Six big policemen stood in the hall, all white and dressed as they do they were well pleased with my story, pleased at what had gotten beat out of me, so I left them laughing, went home fast and locked my door. For several nights I fantasized the scene again, this time grabbing a chair and smashing it over the bastard’s head, killing him. I called him a spic, and killed him. my face healed. his didnt. no child in me.

now when I remember I think: maybe he was Josie’s baby. all the chickens come home to roost, all of them.

Seven Death and disfiguration

One Christmas eve my lovers and I we left the bar, driving home slow there was a woman lying in the snow by the side of the road. She was wearing a bathrobe and no shoes, where were her shoes? she had turned the snow pink, under her feet. she was an Asian woman, didn’t speak much English, but she said a taxi driver beat her up and raped her, throwing her out of his care. what on earth was she doing there on a street she helped to pay for but doesn’t own? doesn’t she know to stay home?

I am a pervert, therefore I’ve learned to keep my hands to myself in public but I was so drunk that night, I actually did something loving I took her in my arms, this woman, until she could breathe right, and my friends are perverts too they touched her too we all touched her. “You’re going to be all right” we lied. She started to cry “I’m 55 years old” she said and that said everything.

Six big policemen answered the call no child in them. they seemed afraid to touch her, then grabbed her like a corpse and heaved her on their metal stretcher into the van, crashing and clumsy. She was more frightened than before. they were cold and bored. ‘don’t leave me’ she said. ‘she’ll be all right’ they said. we left, as we have left all of our lovers as all lovers leave all lovers much too soon to get the real loving done.

Eight a mock interrogation

Why did you get into the cab with him, dressed as you are?

I wanted to go somewhere.

Did you know what the cab driver might do if you got into the cab with him?

I just wanted to go somewhere.

How many times did you get into the cab with him?

I dont remember.

If you dont remember, how do you know it happened to you?

Nine Hey you death

ho and ho poor death our lovers teeth are white geese flying above us our lovers muscles are rope ladders under our hands even though no women yet go down to the sea in ships except in their dreams.

only the arrogant invent a quick and meaningful end for themselves, of their own choosing. everyone else knows how very slow it happens how the woman’s existence bleeds out her years, how the child shoots up at ten and is arrested and old how the man carries a murderous shell within him and passes it on.

we are the fat of the land, and we all have our list of casualties

to my lovers I bequeath the rest of my life

I want nothing left of me for you, ho death except some fertilizer for the next batch of us who do not hold hands with you who do not embrace you who try not to work for you or sacrifice themselves or trust or believe you, ho ignorant death, how do you know we happened to you?

wherever our meat hangs on our own bones for our own use your pot is so empty death, ho death you shall be poor

#poetry #Judy Grahn #American poetry #feminist poetry #love poetry #Queer poetry #death #poems of rage #poems of protest #police violence #American racism #epic poetry #poems of praise

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grahnite · 2 months

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A Woman is Talking to Death

by Judy Grahn

One Testimony in trials that never got heard

my lovers teeth are white geese flying above me my lovers muscles are rope ladders under my hands

we were driving home slow my lover and I, across the long Bay Bridge, one February midnight, when midway over in the far left lane, I saw a strange scene:

“Look at that fool,” I said, “in the middle of the bridge like that,” a very womanly remark.

“The guy is dead.” I gripped his hand, the wind was going to blow us off the bridge.

He died laughing: that’s a fact.

who will be my witness? death wastes our time with drunkenness and depression death, who keeps us from our lovers. he had a woman waiting for him, I found out when I called the number days later

I am the woman who stopped on the bridge and this is the man who was there our lovers teeth are white geese flying above us, but we ourselves are easily squished.

keep the women small and weak and off the street, and off the bridges, that’s the way, brother one day I will leave you there, as I have left you there before, working for death.

Death only uses violence when there is any kind of resistance, the rest of the time a slow weardown will do.

They took him to 4 different hospitals til they got a drunk test report to fit their case, and held him five days in jail without a phone call. how many lovers have we left.

[Read the rest of the poem here]

#poetry #feminism #judy grahn

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midnightmisadventures · 1 year

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FUCKK my dreams have been so much and so intense

So long and insane. I know i need to write them but i am truly so lazy this is gonna be a chore but like ???

Okay so during the day yesterday. I had this fucking weird ass dream, that basically this large scale....like idk if it was country wide or worldwide. But it was a large scale environmental.....scandal?? trial? Its so goddamn confusing.

Basically there were two sides who were viciously against eachother. We were separated by extreme political party sides. Like the other side was the type of republican right wing thats just the WORST. Like full trumpie, rich, scared of diversity making them the minority, racist, homophobic, misogynistic. Just like the absolute WORST.

And they were versus. My family?? Somehow my family was in the position as the people to face them in this trial. By my family I mean florida and the 5 of us. I don’t know if we had anything to do with the original issue since it was so governmental but apparently we were opposing them.

The squads were pretty balanced. Like thing of the intelligent, prestigious debaters in our family. (The attorneys, the judges, the pharmacists, the shady business dealers, and the politically obsessed). Plus like me, erikka, dalvin, even some kids were in there. And then there were some moderators.

Also i guess this was unintentional but they were all white, and we were all black. These people made me so angry, they were arrogant and rude, and entitled and sooooo incorrect like the most frustrating thing to go back and forth with, and try to make people understand basic human rights and such.

Again, i dont know much about the cause of trial or how we got here. But it was an environment issue. Like they wanted to do some sort of elaborate construction that would damage the earth really bad and have a super negative affect on people. We were trying to prevent them from doing that.

But we grasped at all types of straws to invalidate the others claims and get the judge? or moderator? to sway in our favor. There were powerpoints, testimonies. All sorts of back and forth. It was also a several day thing. Every day for like a week we had to go into this building and into this conference room and do this trial.

I remember thinking how the white people seemed souless. Like not just as an insult but genuinely i had this feeling that they signed a deal with the devil to get their wealth but their souls were gone?? They were just walking redflags when it came to being spiritually sensitive. I mean they were the devils agents.

So both sides kept digging things up on the other to invalidate our cases, but the stuff they were trying to get out of us was just irrelevant and invasive. Like one point we brought up was that they hid the records from government water testing bc they had been using it to dump dead children/child remains (allegedly). Which is morbid, but in a case about environmental issues is extremely relevant if true.

They had people that would like come up to us at lunch breaks and try to get stuff. And one of them said to me “yea that guy, who you’re linked to....Liam? DOesnt he have a bunch of serious medical conditions, and has been to the hospital, passes out all the time?” maybe as if to say......any information that i acquired from him or any use of him as an alibi was invalid??

And i had to be like what the fuck?? And eloquently explain that like....there are explainable causes to his health issues that arent in his control and he’s extremely intelligent, and athletic, etc..... to defend LIAM like what the fuckkkkkk. Being absolutely grilled.

Swipe up for part 2

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misterewrites · 3 years

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Intro to Caitlyn 101 (Mirror’s Edge)

Summary: Caitlyn is a thief looking for the next big score. Used to taking wristwatches and wallets from rich folk, she's aiming to take down bigger game as she discovers the hidden magical world within her hometown. Her first mark is an unassuming shopkeeper and his collect of ancient relics. All set with a plan, Caitlyn makes her move. Though plans rarely go off without a hitch.

Hello everyone! E here, hoping you are all well and staying safe. So the next chapter of my little side project is here! Honestly wasn't planning on getting back to this so soon but I was having fun worldbuilding and character creating and here we are. You can blame my friend @hains-mae for enabling me.

Right so the next thing I write will probably be the part two to this then the next chapter of the Underground. Umm that's really it for me so have a great week, be safe, wear your mask, take care of yourself and your loved ones. Please feel free to reblog, share, leave kudos or leave comments with things you liked or feedback if you read it on a03. I promised I'd try to promote myself more and it feels weird haha.

E is out, have a great one everyone! and here’s the link to the doobly do

---> https://archiveofourown.org/works/30599756/chapters/76014323

There was an arrogance that seemed deeply etched into every aspect of the magical world. She stood among valuable, ancient relics from throughout human history: Vases from Greece lined the shelf above her. A row of Roman gladius blades in various states of decay with only a flimsy glass case between them and Caitlyn’s pocket. Tarnished Victorian era slivered lockets left about like loose change.

Millions dollars worth of the past and she, a stranger, was left unattended with it all.

Technically she wasn’t supposed to be in here with the locked door and close sign but the fact in the 5 minutes it took her to pick the lock and scout the first floor without a single soul attempting to stop her really was a testimony to the haughtiness of the ‘shopkeeper’.

It had been only few months since she saw past the false reality that was superimposed onto hers and she was still readjusting: Magic was real. Elves, dwarves, little halfing folk? Real. People shooting bolts of lightning and flames while riding storm clouds? Real. The guy who kept awkwardly hitting on her every time she tried to get a hotdog from the cart at the corner? Just a regular creep BUT could’ve been magical.

Even their currency was a show of their excessive wealth: Sliver, gold, platinum coins Actual platinum traded away like it was nothing! People starving and helpless on the streets and these bastards just walked with some of the rarest metal on the planet in their pockets like chump change.

Anger bubbled within her stomach along with self righteousness and a bit of her breakfast but she took a deep calming breath, closing her bluish gray eyes. ‘Calm down Cait’ she scolded herself ‘This isn’t the first time you’ve seen excessive wealth squandered and wasted. You’re here for a job so do it and never come back.’

She glanced around the waiting room she found herself in. It was off to the side of the shopping front andthere were very few things of interest in the tiny room: Some old, tattered chairs that had seen better days. A very, very tacky abstract painting hung over a bricked up fireplace. There was a scattering of magazines older than her with loose stables and free roaming pages everywhere.

A place of show and very little use.

“Hello my angel.”

Caitlyn seized up. She had been so caught up in her rage she hadn’t been paying attention to anyone coming down the stairs. Three stories with a handful of people about and nary a sound could heard. Must be some sort of magic.

She shook herself out of her stupor, slowly exhaling to calm her nerves. She forced her lips to curve into the cutest, lost smile she could muster. She opened her purple jacket a bit further so the guy could get a clearer view of her tight white tank top and running shorts.

“Helpless. Remember you’re helpless.” She whispered to herself before whirling about, her long black hair with dyed purple coloring flowed behind her gracefully as if she was an actress in those stupid hair product commercials.

“Oh!” she spoke with mock surprise, scrunching her face cutely as possible “I’m so, so, so sorry! I’m lost and the door was open and sorry!”

She leaned forward, sheepishly scratching the back of her neck as she gave whoever it was a better view of her outfit.

Hook, line and sinker.

“No problem sweetie. No need to lie to me.”

Hook, line and sunk apparently.

She blinked, unsure if she heard what she thought she heard. She glanced up to find a strangely dressed man with the goofiest grin.

He was cute in a ‘I dress as an obscure, indie character for cosplay’kind of way: His messy, unkempt black hair sat under a black fedora. He wore a long black trench coat that had seen better days. At least he preferred more colors than black on black. His collared shirt was a nice baby blue with an equally nice light brown vest. Black dress pants because men’s fashion is incredibly boring and shiny loafers to completed the look. Whatever the look was.

She expected him to be taking a good look at her attire.

What she found was him staring at her.

His warm dark brown eyes were soft, gentle and he refused to break his gaze from her bluish grays even though there were more tempting sights on offer.

She was on the back foot. No wandering glances, no self pleasured smiles. Not even a creepy chuckle. Just a strangely dressed, inch shorter guy looking like he just found the love of his life in this moment.

“I…” she cleared her throat “Umm….did you hear me?”

He gave a quick nod “Yeah. You broke in and you were trying to cover your tracks.”

It wasn’t that he guessed correctly what was she up to that threw her off. It was how casually he said it. More discussing the weather than committing a felony.

She raised an eyebrow, not sure how to proceed from whatever this was. There were always some people who caught on about her intentions fairly quickly but no one had ever been so….indifferent about it.

“I don’t work here.” the man offered, slowly closing the distance between them but leaving the doorframe wide open “I really don’t care that you’re here to rob the place.”

This has to be a trap. This had to be. No one was ever this….laidback. Were the other goons on the side waiting to jump her when she bolted? Was she on camera and he was letting her go knowing full well he had all the evidence he needed to track her down?

Or maybe he really didn’t care. He seemed more interested in talking than stopping her and there was this strange presence about him. A calm she’d never felt before even when her parents were alive. It was odd and foreign to her but she felt safe. Protected.

She shook her head, slowly inching closer to the doorway. The man made no attempt stop her. He just stood there, smiling, hands in his pocket.

The rational part of her brain said to run. This whole thing was botched and it was better to cut her losses than find out first hand what magical creatures could do to her. The less rational side of her head told her to wait, to talk this guy. Lying was obviously pointless but she had a feeling he would answer any questions she’d had and she had plenty.

“So…” she rose a suspicious eyebrow “Not gonna stop me?”

He shook his head “I wish you’d stay but I understand if you don’t want to be found in Andor’s shop. He’s one of those new elves. Less honor more power.”

She blinked. He said elves right? Just threw it out there like it was an everyday matter of fact and not a deeply held secret of her hometown.

“Elves aren’t real.’ Caitlyn said matter of fact.

“We both know better than that.” The man gave a bright smile.

“What do you want?”

The words spilled out of her mouth despite her best attempts but this guy was throwing her off so badly she forgot how to function.

“Talk to you of course.”

The worst kind of people were the sincere ones. They were sappy and gooey. They just so happy it was sickening. They had to be up to something. They had to some scheme or scam or something they were waiting to drop on you. No one was that happy, that purely honest. They were the liars who were so good they convinced themselves they were good people. No one was good and everyone had a dark corner in their soul they hid from the world.

Caitlyn knew she had plenty in whatever was left of her ratty soul.

“And if we talk? Will you let me go?”

The man nodded as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Caitlyn licked her lips anxiously “Promise?”

Promise? What was she 12? No one kept their promises. Not even her.

He placed his hand over his heart “Cross my heart.”

“Let’s talk,”

He jerked his head towards the door “Outside. Don’t want you to ruin your heist.”

-----

Today was not going how she was expecting. She was thought she was going to break into an elf ran front, scout the area and come back in the middle of the night. She hadn’t been expecting to have coffee and bread with a random stranger on the street.

Well she had coffee, mystery man opted for hot chocolate.

They stood in a strangely comfortable silence a block from Andor’s. The man offered to pay for whatever she wanted and she took him up on it. Couple of baked goods, a sandwich for lunch, some water and of course her cup of wake up juice. If he was mad at her for her splurging at his expense, he hid it well. He just took his coco and some fancy elvish bread. Looked good but Caitlyn wasn’t up for trying other beings food. She didn’t know how it would sit with her stomach.

The elf who ran the cart, a few months ago human to her, waved goodbye to the pair as he counted the human cash the man gave him.

The trench coat cosplay stood patiently, sipping his drink and waited for her to break the silence.

She refused to break the silence first. Not wanting to sound too eager. Eagerness was a weakness and this guy was already throwing her off her rhythm.

“I’m Finnrick by the way.”

She turned to him, unsure if he was messing with her or not.

He gave her the same goofy smile “Finnrick Drift, private investigator.”

“Ah huh.” She nodded slowly “So you’re a magical P.I.? Like elves cheating on their wives, dwarves dodging their taxes P.I.?”

“Sometimes.” He shrugged his shoulders “Ironically elves like dodging on their taxes more than dwarves.”

“Right.”

“You’re new to the whole other side of Newton Haven huh?”

She glanced at her coffee “Lived here my whole life. Really makes me wonder if I lost my mind.”

“Don’t worry, we’re all mad here Alice.”

Why was she talking to him? Why was she being honest? This was weirder and getting weirder every passing second.

Finnrick changed subject “So, robbing Andor? Any particular loot you are after?”

Caitlyn narrowed her eyes “Trying to fish something out of me Finny?”

“Guilty as charged” He beamed with pure happiness “Don’t want you wasting your time on shiny trinkets he cares nothing about.”

Caitlyn remained silent. She wasn’t used to such transparency. Normally this would be the point where the guy would lie or pretend to not have heard or awkwardly switch the subject but Finnrick answered openly and honestly. So far.

“So” Caitlyn straightened up, pulling her jacket wide open “What do you think? Great outfit right?”

Finnrick turned to her with a grin, his cheeks turning a pinkish hue as his eyes locked onto hers “Your body is absolutely lovely but your eyes even more so.”

Caitlyn could feel the flush coming. She coughed loudly, focusing on her drink as she willed the embarrassment away.

Finnrick chuckled lightly but returned to his drink. The silence returned, still comfortable as before.

This is was bad whatever this was. She needed to regain some level of control and stop acting like a teenage girl on her first garbage fire of a date.

“So” she cleared her throat “Mister P.I. what would you recommend taking if not all those millions of dollars of historical items he leaves about?”

Finnrick crushed the foam cup effortlessly as he gestured to the third floor of the shop “His office has a pretty simple safe. He keeps loads of paperwork. His various contracts, accounts, treasure hoards”

Caitlyn scoffed in disbelief even though her eyes shone with excitement “Treasure hoards? Elves? I thought dragons were the hoarders. Weren’t elves supposed to be above all that lovely corruption?”

“No one is above corruption.’ Finnrick answered “Elves are just like everyone else.”

Caitlyn crossed her arms and leaned back with a cocky swagger “And why, pray tell, would I care about boring paperwork?”

“Because it really hurt him in the pride.”

Damn Finnrick was good. Not only she was eager to learn more, she could already feel the smug satisfaction of bringing a powerful prick down a peg fill her cause.

Finnrick seemed to notice this because he went on “Andor is a young elf. 100 years give or take.”

“A hundred years is young?”

“When you live a thousand years every other race is a child to you. Andor’s old man is a swell guy. He’s one of those good elves you see in Tolkien.”

“Tolkien?” Caitlyn furrowed her brow “He wrote the books that those Lord of the Rings films are based on right?”

“Yeah actually.”

“Oh and the Hob…”

“We don’t talk about that.” Finnrick quickly added “But see the problem is Andor’s old man doesn’t know his son has become the small time crime lord. Thinks he’s running an antique business selling off old junk that was gathering dust in the family’s attic.”

Something clicked into place for Caitlyn “Wait. Junk from the attic? You mean all those relics on the shop floor?! THAT’S OLD JUNK!?”

Finnrick gave a casual shrug “Elves are weird. Andor don’t know shit about selling, all his money comes from his illegal business practices. That’s how he keeps the shop afloat.”

“I see” Caitlyn spoke, her bluish grays sparkling with mischievous intent “If those records disappeared, his shop sinks and he has to run back home to daddy.”

“And out of the city” Finnrick finished with a smile “And those records are pretty valuable to loads of people. Easier to fence and less messy to explain than a long lost Greek vase showing up in someone’s private collection. You’d get good prices for those hoard locations alone. Better than trying to carry tons of stolen and lost treasure back to your house.”

Caitlyn eyed Finnrick carefully “And you’re doing this out of the kindness of your heart? Trying to do your ‘civic’ duty to our fair city?”

“Among other things” Finnrick admitted “But mostly for the greater good.”

“Pfft, greater good? Yeah sure buddy. Like you know what’s the greater good.”

“Will you do it?”

Caitlyn paused, allowing all this information sink in. It was much better than she had planned and while she wasn’t sure of Finnrick’s angle, he seemed honest enough. Of course everyone seems honest enough the first time you meet them.

“Let’s say I do” she spoke, placing her hands on her hips to play the part “What’s in it for you?”

“A favor” He replied simply.

She rose a curious eyebrow “A favor? It’s not date with me, is it?”

“No, I plan to earn that one myself.” Finnrick answered cheerfully.

Caitlyn coughed “Fine, good. Not a date. Least you’re not a creep. But a favor is pretty vague.”

“It’ll be simple I promise.”

Caitlyn narrowed her gaze suspiciously “You promise?”

Finnrick put his hand over his heart again “Cross my heart.”

Caitlyn took a moment, weighing the pros and cons of the situation.

Caitlyn offered her hand towards the trench coat cosplayer “You got yourself a deal.”

He gently took her hand in his own and gave it a firm shake. She was surprised when, as he pulled back, she felt a strange metallic item left behind.

She looked at the crystal butterfly hair clip he placed in her hand: It was a beautiful with sliver hues and multi-colored shards of glass across its wings.

“What’s this?”

“A gift.”

Caitlyn felt uneasy with the ornament in her palm: It felt cold and distant like it was feeling her out and wasn’t liking what it found.

“It’s attuning to you.” Finnrick explained “It’s syncing up to your whole aura.”

“Aura?” Caitlyn shot him a glare of disbelief “This isn’t one of those new age hippie things is it?”

Finnrick shook his head “It’s a magical item. Yours specifically. Everything alive has a deep and very convoluted to explain connection to this plane. The hairclip is trying to match yours so you and only you can use it.”

“It feels wrong.”

“Because it doesn’t know you yet. It will.”

Caitlyn felt unease about whatever this was. Part of her wanted to toss it as far as she could. The worst part was she felt the item probing at her, changing temperatures as if trying find a comfortable setting for both of them. Burning one moment and too cold the next. This was magic and it made her felt like she knew nothing.

But part of her felt it slowly and subtly trying to match her, focusing on her and on her place in the universe. It felt more natural each passing moment and she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t curious what mister detective over here was letting her borrow.

Caitlyn blew a strand of hair out of her face “How long does this usually take?”

“An hour.” Finnrick reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone “Oh shoot I have a meeting to get to.”

He turned to leave and suddenly Caitlyn felt alone. Awkward just standing in the street without someone to talk to.

“Wait!” She reached for him but quickly pulled back when he faced her “….any advice?”

Finnrick scratched his chin for a moment “Red tiles. Avoid them or they’ll blast you off the roof.”

“G-gotcha.” Caitlyn didn’t want to know what blast off the roof was code for “A-and the hairclip? What’s it do?”

Finnrick gave a cheeky grin and Caitlyn could feel her face flush “I guess you’ll have to find out angel. Bye for now. May we meet again soon.”

And like that, he was off. Strolling down the straight with a bounce in his step and humming a tune.

Caitlyn glanced at the ornate hairclip in her hand.

Turns out there was a lot more to this magical world than she thought.

#Mirror's edge #Original Work #original story #my work

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nobodyfamousposts · 4 years

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Felix July - Growing Up (Felix Culpa alternative for Ladybug)

@felixmonth

Alya was planning to solve a mystery and prove her best friend’s innocence.

Felix was regretting his life choices and questioning if it was too late to transfer schools.

“Starting the investigation into ‘Who Framed Marinette.’” Alya announced into her recorder. “I am Alya Cesaire, the lead investigator. With me is my humble sidekick, Felix Argent.”

“Is this necessary?” Felix asked, already tired despite not having done anything as Alya had started searching over the locker room

“Of course it is!” She snapped back. “We’re the only ones who can help Marinette get unexpelled. So we need to find the truth and discover the real culprit.”

“Which is Rossi.”

She ignored him.

“So we just need to check the clues and gather evidence to find out who did it.”

“Here’s a hint: it was Rossi.”

Still ignoring him. Honestly, he was no help.

“The first accusation was the answer sheet in her bag. It had to have been taken after the test, so Marinette couldn’t have had it then.” She reasoned. “That means that whoever took it had to have done so later and then put the test key in Marinette’s bag.”

“Maybe it was the ‘anonymous tipster’, who was the only person who apparently knew they were in there.” Felix suggested.

“But who could that have been?” Alya wondered.

“Wild guess: Rossi.”

Why did she recruit him again?

She shot a glare at him. “Could you try actually being helpful?”

Felix gave her a blank stare as he began to speak in what was clearly a sarcastic manner. “My, whoever could it possibly have been? Certainly not the only other person Bustier sent to the Principal’s office with Dupain-Cheng in the first place?”

Sigh, he really was holding onto his belief about Lila being responsible.

“Okay, now you’re being impossible. Lila had the lowest score on the test.” She pointed out.

“Yes,” he drawled sarcastically, “because it’s not like we just confirmed that the answer sheet was stolen after the test and thus of no use to anyone. Or that Rossi couldn’t have intentionally faked her grade on a test that didn’t matter anyway in order to make herself appear less suspicious.”

“We’re just going to ignore Snarky McKnow-it-all.” She muttered into the recording.

“That doesn’t make me not right.” He called out behind her.

“Then there’s the necklace in Marinette’s locker…” She moved to the locker in question and tested it. Sure enough, it opened right up, revealing the contents—or lack thereof since Marinette was forced to remove them all when she was expelled. Alya even tested the nearby lockers and got the same result. They were all easily opened by anyone.

“These lockers don’t have locks or any way to secure them.” Alya noted into the recorder. “Anyone could have gotten inside and planted the necklace.”

“You mean like the one person who KNEW the necklace would be in Marinette’s locker.” Felix chimed in. “Which was again, Rossi.”

“It had to have been a mistake.”

“She said she SAW Marinette put it in her locker. Why she didn’t get someone immediately and only brought it up AFTER everything else is likely because she was using it as a trump card.”

“Just going to discard my sidekick’s wild conspiracy theories.” Alya said into the recorder, smirking momentarily at Felix’s scoff from behind her. “It’s possible that Lila might have just seen someone who looked like Marinette taking grandmother’s necklace and putting it in her locker.”

“If it IS her grandmother’s necklace.” Felix commented dryly. “A little hard to believe that something from last year’s Gabriel line could have been around long enough to be considered an heirloom.”

She turned to him with a raised eyebrow. “Since when are you an expert on jewelry?”

He rolled his eyes. “Because it’s not like a model would know about the latest fashion lines.”

Alya shrugged and looked away.

“Feel free to not question it.” He muttered darkly. “It’s only potential evidence.”

A few more minutes of the two searching the room warranted little other insights or clues. The same was true of the now empty classroom as they investigated the area around Bustier’s desk and Marinette’s seat.

Well, Alya investigated. Felix simply stood nearby being his snarky and unhelpful self.

Like usual.

“It has to be someone who has it out for Marinette…” She reasoned.

“Like Rossi.”

She started to pace. “Someone who could have had the time and access to Marinette’s bag and her locker.”

“Such as Rossi.”

“Someone who could have disguised themselves, perhaps? Or knew everyone’s routines well enough to get in while no one else was around.”

“Maybe you should start by investigating Rossi?” Felix suggested dryly. “Since she was the only other person involved?”

She whirled on him, finally having enough. “Could you come up with someone BESIDES Lila?”

Honestly, what was his deal? He’d always been a jerk, but he’d had a particular distaste for Lila from day one. Alya personally questioned if it wasn’t due to a crush.

She may need to investigate further…

“What reasoning do you have that Rossi couldn’t have done this?” He questioned. “Besides your own fervent belief that ‘she wouldn’t do that’ or that she’s ’too nice’. Because as it stands, there is no reason NOT to consider her.”

“Well, where’s yours?” She shot back. “You’re the one so insistent that Lila had to have done it! What proof do YOU have?”

Felix sighed and raised his hand, counting with his fingers. “There are three accusations here. One, that Dupain-Cheng stole test answers. Two, that she pushed Rossi down the stairs. And three, that she stole Rossi’s ‘family heirloom’. All three of which, Rossi was both the accuser and the only witness for.”

He gave Alya a dry look.

“So why, exactly, is Rossi NOT a suspect?”

“Because Lila wouldn’t do something like that!” Alya, insisted.

Why would she? Lila was awesome and amazing. She would never steal anything. And she would certainly never try to get anyone in trouble.

Felix was far from impressed.

“We only have two ways this story can go. One, that Rossi was telling the truth, meaning that she indeed saw Dupain-Cheng take the test answers and cheat on the test, push Rossi down the stairs, and that steal Rossi’s necklace. Or two, that Dupain-Cheng was telling the truth and Rossi lied about those three things.

“In order for Rossi’s claims to be true, that would have to mean that Dupain-Cheng is guilty. In order for Dupain-Cheng to be innocent, that would have to mean that Rossi gave false testimony. You can’t have it both ways here.

“So tell me, Cesaire…what makes you so unwilling to consider that Rossi may be suspect? If you truly with to be an investigator, you must be impartial and accept the evidence as it is. On all sides. Everyone is a suspect.”

Alya was quiet.

Felix gave her a dark glare. “You want to be Sherlock Holmes here. Surely you know his stance that when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains—however improbable, must be the truth.”

“But we haven’t eliminated every possibility yet!” Alya argued, growing increasingly agitated. Part of her was questioning her earlier decision to drag Felix along in her investigation. However, the guy was smart and at this point, he was also the only other person who openly voiced support of Marinette’s innocence. Surely if they had a similar goal, they could work together to find the truth.

The only problem was that they had completely different opinions on what the truth could be.

Or rather what they wanted it to be.

“It’s Rossi. It is very clearly Rossi. You have to be completely oblivious to NOT realize it’s Rossi.”

Alya spun around and glared back at the smug, arrogant jerk with a superiority complex.

“You’ve hated Lila since day one! You’re just looking for reasons to blame her! Here you are telling me I need to be impartial when you’re the one being biased!”

“Biased?” He laughed. “Do you even know what bias is, Cesaire? Bias is bringing in the parents of only one of the two arguing parties and forcing them to miss out on valuable work time to keep their small business going while the other guardian isn’t even notified. Bias is taking one person at her word of being attacked without doing anything to evaluate her or get her supposed ‘injuries’ checked out to confirm they exist. Bias is publicly humiliating a student first by accusing them in front of a class and then expelling them solely on the word of another and circumstantial evidence that could very well have been planted to frame them—all without so much as a hearing, which IS required by law!”

He glowered at her. “Rossi already has enough bias to protect her. She doesn’t need your bias as well, especially if truth is really what you seek here.”

“And where’s your proof?” Alya questioned, now on the defensive. Do you even have reason to suspect Lila or are you just wanting her to be responsible?”

“I’m at least looking at facts. You, on the other hand, are so biased in her favor that you’re discounting the clear evidence just because it implicates her.”

She scoffed. “What evidence?”

What was there that actually implicated Lila? She was just a victim in all of this! Sure, the school wasn’t fair to Marinette, but that was why Alya was helping! That didn’t mean Lila was behind anything!

Felix frowned, stepping closer to her and holding up three fingers. “Cheating on a test, stealing, and pushing someone down the stairs. Any one could be considered an accident or a mistake. But three different accusations all claimed by one person and all in the span of a single day? Rossi was clearly and specifically targeting Marinette.”

“That’s not true!” Alya argued.

“What other reason could there be for this?” Felix demanded, clearly annoyed and frustrated and wanting to be done with this entire conversation.

“There has to be someone else behind it!”

“There IS no one besides Rossi!” Felix bit back. “Even if you argue that someone else could have planted the test answers and necklace, that doesn’t explain how she KNEW where they were or why she chose to openly and publicly implicate Marinette if there could be doubt to her being the one to do these things!”

Alya bit her lip.

“Furthermore,” Felix continued, “there is no other logical explanation for the stairs incident.”

“It could have been an accident.” Alya deduced. “Marinette is clumsy. She could have tripped and pushed Lila without meaning to.”

“Except Marinette denies she even touched Rossi. Is Marinette really the sort of person to push someone down the stairs and deny having done so it if it was an accident?”

Alya couldn’t deny that because Marinette wouldn’t. If Marinette DID hurt someone by accident, she would have immediately admitted to it and done everything she could to try and help the person.

“Maybe someone else pushed Lila—”

“Marinette and Rossi were the only two in the hallway. If there had been a third person, Marinette would have seen them and would have said as such. But she didn’t. She said Rossi walked down those stairs calmly, laid down at the bottom, and only then started screaming.”

“She could have been confused!” Alya rebutted. “She was stressed and overwhelmed given the first accusation. She could have been looking away when Lila fell.”

“She said she saw Rossi walk down the stairs before she suddenly started screaming and claiming to be injured. And speaking of evidence, what were Rossi’s injuries from the stairs?”

Alya frowned, thinking back. “She had a bandage on her leg...”

“A single bandage.” Felix deadpanned. “Over her pants covering the ‘injured’ knee. Was she taken to the hospital? Was she seen by the nurse? Was there any confirmation of her having injuries besides her claiming to be in pain in a single spot?” He sneered. “Because it is rather fortuitous that someone would fall down a flight of stairs and receive no bumps, bruises, scrapes, or other injuries aside from some knee pain. Unless you’re saying physics would allow that.”

Alya drew back, curling in on herself.

Felix glared. “You are no Sherlock. You aren’t even a Watson. You are just someone so blinded by a bias that you would rather neglect evidence than give it your all for the sake of your other friend.”

“That’s not true!” She shouted, hurt. “I just…I just don’t want to…”

Oh.

…oh.

He closed his eyes. Rested his hand against his forehead.

So it was like that. How could he have overlooked this?

Cesaire was friends with two girls who could not get along and were in direct conflict with each other. She didn’t accept Marinette’s claims that Rossi was a liar, but she wasn’t willing to believe that Marinette would do the things Rossi claimed, either. She was…

He opened his eyes.

Depending on the outcome, this could make or break her friendship with either. Even if it was the “right” thing to do or the “truth”, it still stood to reason that Cesaire would feel hurt by it and lose a friend because of it.

And she was desperately trying to find a way to be able to believe in both.

Understandable.

Commendable, even.

But ultimately foolish. And more harmful than simply accepting the truth and choosing a side now. Sooner or later, this situation would tear her apart and force her to choose. And when the time came, the circumstances would escalate to such a point that it would be all the more likely she would not only choose wrong, but also be dragged down by it.

Felix would know. He had been in that position before.

He sighed. “Cesaire, I understand that when you have two people you care about at odds, you want to be able to keep both. But there’s going to come a point where you will have to take a side.”

The way things were going, she wasn’t going to be able to remain friends with both, not without ultimately losing them both anyway.

“Neutrality is just a way of not making a decision.“

“You sound like you speak from experience.” She commented, seeming subdued.

He paused at that.

Memories came to mind. Of a cold man. Of a sad woman. Of being surrounded by people who poked and prodded and pushed and pulled and twisted until he was shaped as they pleased. He was dragged into a life and lifestyle he never wanted, forced into a role without his say. It was only once he finally spoke up and chose to assert himself that things had changed.

And he realized something…

Part of growing up meant having to make choices and take accountability for those choices. Even not making a choice was in itself a choice, if only one of indifference or unwillingness to act.

That was why…

“What ended up happening?” She asked him.

“I tried not to choose until the decision was made for me. And by then it was too late. That was a choice I never wanted and the cost was time I will never be able to get back.”

It would remain one of his regrets for the rest of his life.

“You have to face facts here.” He told her sternly. “Their stories directly contradict each other. They can’t both be telling the truth.”

“I know.” She quietly admitted.

He nodded. “You have two people making different claims about the other. Rossi says Marinette bullied her. Marinette says that Rossi is making it all up. Both of them can’t be right.“

“But both can be wrong.”

“Unlikely.”

“But still possible!” She insisted, remaining stubborn. “Maybe Lila just saw someone she thought was Marinette? Or someone could have tried to frame Marinette by fooling Lila?“

“Except that Rossi is very clear that it was Marinette she saw. The test answers were found in Marinette’s bag. The necklace was found in Marinette’s locker. And there was no one else in the hallway to push Rossi down the stairs.”

He rubbed his forehead.

”It comes to the same problem. Either Rossi is lying about Marinette, or Marinette really did do those things.“

”It could have been an akuma.” She suggested.

But he nixed that as well. “There wouldn’t have been enough time. Even during the attack on Heroes Day, there was a good hour between the time we saw that fake fight between the heroes and the attack of the scarlet butterflies. But here, the scarlet butterflies attacked almost immediately. As if they knew this was going to happen.”

Alya gaped. “That just means this was part of Hawk Moth’s plan!“

He frowned, actually curious. “Indeed. But how did he know it would happen?”

She looked away, considering. “Either he made an akuma to set up Marinette…”

“Which wouldn’t account for the timing of all three accusations or Lila’s involvement in those accusations.” He cut in. “And it just doesn’t seem possible with the short length of time between when the last point the akuma could have been there to push Rossi down the stairs and for the scarlet moths to attack.”

“Or…” Alya took a breath. “Or it was planned with one of the two individuals involved.”

He nodded. “And between Marinette and Rossi, which of the two honestly seems to be the more likely culprit. Which of the two of them had more to gain from the events today? Or at least less to lose from it?”

Alya grimaced and slumped onto the bench.

She knew.

She already knew that answer.

“Cesaire…” Felix softly called.

Heh. Funny. He almost sounded like he cared.

“I don’t want to lose a friend.“ She quietly admitted.

Felix sat next to her on the bench. “But if she’s been lying to you all this time, is she really a friend?”

She chuckled bitterly. “Is that why you never liked her?”

He couldn’t help the smirk. “My first day here, Marinette was trying to convince me to give everyone in the class a chance while Rossi was trying to convince me she was some sort of celebrity who could offer me connections I already had.”

Alya snorted at that. “She didn’t!”

He adjusted his shirt cuffs blithely. “Needless to say, I was wary of anything she had to say after that. Though I will admit that I still would never have considered her working with Hawk Moth.”

She laughed. A little bit in humor. A little bit in disgust. Even a little bit in relief that she finally had an answer, even if it wasn’t one she liked.

Speaking of answers though…

“Hey! I just realized!” She exclaimed as she spun on Felix.

He leaned away in wariness. There was a gleam in her eyes he wasn’t sure he liked.

“You’ve been calling Marinette by her first name!”

“And? It is her name, is it not?”

“You don’t call anyone by their first names!”

“Dupain-Cheng is a mouthful.”

“It’s the same number of syllables as Marinette!”

He looked away in annoyance.

“She is tolerable.”

She leaned closer to him, looking particularly smug. Felix immediately stood and turned away. Alya was certain he was blushing and trying to hide it.

Alya smirked. Did he really have a crush after all?

“Don’t you have a case to be investigating and a friend’s innocence to prove?” He questioned, still refusing to face her.

Oh, she certainly did.

But once this was over and certain liars were dealt with…

She was going to make Felix’s heart her next investigation!

#ml fic #felix culpa #pv felix #felix au #alya cesaire #marinette dupain cheng #lila sucks #ladybug episode #felix month #felix july

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fadedseas · 3 years

Text

what died didn’t stay dead.

Miguel Galindo x fem!reader

Part 1 of __

Tags: Soulmate AU, Legal Drama, Canon Divergence

Summary: You walk into the courtroom, expecting to arraign Emily Galindo for the murder of a county clerk. You don’t expect to meet your soulmate in that courtroom. The husband of the woman you’re trying to indict. Miguel Galindo.

TW: cursing; mention of rape and violence

Word count: 543

(note: not my gif)

You didn’t believe in soulmates.

After everything you’ve seen in your years as an ADA, there was no possible way you could believe that a random name that would just appear on your forearm, branding you, at the first sight of your supposed soulmate, that would erase the images of all of your cases in your mind.

Perps beating their soulmates. Raping them. Forcing them into prostitution.

Maybe...even after all of your years as an ADA, you would never admit that the cruelty you’ve seen has yet to sink into your bones. You still feel breathless at the description of a victim’s testimony, of the photos of bruised skin and open wounds, and the vacant gaze of a victim that had lost all of their innocence. You weren’t sure if this was a good thing or not.

And yet...even after all of your years as an ADA, you would never admit that there was still some part of you, buried deep underneath the memories of the past, of the startling fear that sometimes seemed to choke you when you looked into the eyes of a perp, there was still a childhood version of you that wondered about your soulmate. What they would look like. How tall they were. How kind their eyes would be.

You had seen real ones. Your parents were real ones. You remembered tracing the curves of your father’s name as it curled lazily up your mother’s forearm. You remember a childhood of soft touches. Even softer gazes full of unspoken words, an entire lifetime of promises with their endless tomorrows together.

Watching real soulmates was like standing near an atomic bomb. The heat and force of one was so intense that it bleached everything in the blast zone, leaving only shadows of living people and objects behind. That’s how you felt in your childhood home after your parents’ funerals to pack their things. Shadowed. How could you possibly exist in that space that was so full of love? How could you be so arrogant as to assume it could exist for yourself?

You would never admit to the late nights when you felt especially alone, and you would close your eyes and just try to imagine how it would feel to have a soulmate, a real one. To have someone to make you feel that kind of heat, and warmth and light.

And in the morning, those fantasies would dissipate with the steam from your first cup of coffee. After all, you didn’t believe in soulmates.

So when you walked into the courtroom for arraignment, ready to face Emily Galindo and her presumably extremely well-paid defense attorney, you didn’t expect your eyes to lock with a pair of deep dark eyes. He sat languidly on the court bench, with one hand fiddling with his shades. The slight tilt of his head exuded the easy confidence of a man that was used to commanding the respect and deference of everyone in the room. That irked you. But you expected that. Powerful people expecting to be above reproach always did.

But you didn’t expect the warmth that swept through your body or the burning on your forearm as it spelled out the letters that you suddenly dreaded.

Miguel Galindo.

F**k.

part II

part III

A/N: Wow I’m honestly just thirsty for Danny Pino to be honest. This was just a short brainstorming exercise for me that I’m considering expanding into a full fic. It started out as a soulmate au and then grew into an OC character study.

R&R to let me know if you like it or if I should keep writing it.

But if I do keep writing it - trust me - it will be much more romantic/smutty!

Links

masterlist

ao3

#miguel galindo #mayans mc #soulmate au #miguel galindo x reader #miguel galindo fanfic #danny pino #im just thirsty for danny pino #wddst #unfinished

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years

Text

Fire and Light (ao3) - on tumblr: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6

- Chapter 7 -

There was an incident at the Cloud Recesses.

Nie Mingjue offered to go deal with it, and Wen Ruohan was so busy laughing at the sheer absurdity of the idea that he allowed Wen Xu to go in his stead, which was what they had all been hoping for. Nie Huaisang had come up with the idea of the staggered offer; he was surprisingly adept at predicting how Wen Ruohan would behave, which secretly worried Nie Mingjue more than a little.

(The plan did result in a few more ‘walks’, Wen Ruohan being temporarily reminded of Nie Mingjue’s existence, and Nie Huaisang was so upset by that side-effect that he wanted to resign from making any more plans in the future. That wasn’t plausible, of course, given where they lived, but Nie Mingjue would happily suffer a little if it meant that his little brother wouldn’t turn too scheming as a result of his success.)

Wen Xu returned a while later with a letter in his hand and a twitch in his eye that refused to go away for a while. He was of a nervous disposition, whether naturally or because of how he was raised, and his anxiety was only made worse by stress – the Nightless City, unfortunately, being full of stress. Wen Qing said that he used to be cruel and vicious, obtaining relief from his own pain only by hurting others; she said, with a little too much perspicuity given her age, that it was the inevitable result of his having found out long ago that there was no consequence to his actions and, moreover, that his meanness was the only quality of his of which his father seemed to approve. Nie Mingjue hadn’t seen much of that, except maybe for some arrogance in the beginning, but Wen Qing had rolled her eyes at him when he said as much, saying that of course he hadn’t seen it, it’d been different ever since Nie Mingjue showed up.

Why that made a difference, Nie Mingjue had no idea. He hadn’t done anything, or at least he hadn’t done it intentionally.

“What happened?” he asked. “Is –”

“A-Chao is fine, no thanks to Wen Zhuliu,” Wen Xu said, grinding his teeth in a way that would probably hurt his jaw and require copious amounts of Wen Ning’s medicinal soup later to ease the soreness and strain. “We were right about him trying to get A-Chao kicked out of the Cloud Recesses and dependent on him.”

“More brothels?”

“I wish. A-Chao has been refusing to go to them –”

According to the letters Nie Mingjue has seen from both Wen Chao himself and Lan Xichen, his reaction has been to all but burst into tears at the very thought – Wen Xu’s impassioned speech had apparently made a rather large dent in his impressionable psyche. He wouldn’t even risk walking thought a red-light district at night out of concern that he might succumb to some previously unknown predatory instinct and then die horribly as a consequence.

“– so Wen Zhuliu, shall we say, creatively interpreted his refusal into being a fear of disease.”

“I mean, it is a fear of disease,” Wen Qing said dryly. “Disease is how you scared him. With the information from my books, no less.”

“No, you don’t –” Wen Xu waved his hands, looking distressed. More distressed than usual, even. “On second thought, maybe I shouldn’t be talking about this with you lot. You’re all far too young. Mingjue, you understand what I mean?”

“I have no idea what you mean,” Nie Mingjue said blankly. “You haven’t even said anything yet.”

“He’s saying that Wen Zhuliu brought A-Chao a girl he could be certain wasn’t diseased,” Nie Huaisang said, his nose wrinkled. “Let me guess, the ‘incident’ in question was A-Chao being accused of rape? Probably someone young?”

“How did you figure that out?” Wen Xu demanded.

“I read a lot of pornography,” Nie Huaisang said. “Some of it involves less savory subjects.”

“Did I know you were reading about less savory subjects?” Nie Mingjue demanded, a little appalled. “Huaisang, everything we said about A-Chao being too young applies to you too, you know –”

“I read it for the art, da-ge. And the insight into what people like when they think other people aren’t looking; it’s surprisingly transferable to the rest of life. Anyway, since you’re here without A-Chao, I take it that he got out of it?”

“When he saw the girl lying in his bed, he remembered all of Mingjue’s scolding,” Wen Xu said. “He immediately ran out to find an adult to assist him. He’d been dosed with something to make him more susceptible - you know what I mean, that sort of thing, but also something to make him dizzy and forgetful, probably so he wouldn’t know for sure if he’d done it or not - but luckily he found a Lan who recognized it.”

“A Lan that knows something about drugs? That’s the most implausible part of everything you’ve said so far.”

Nie Mingjue poked Wen Qing in the forehead for excess cynicism.

“Not only did he know about it, he was able to eliminate the effects while preserving evidence regarding it,” Wen Xu said, sounding begrudgingly impressed. “His testimony of A-Chao’s innocence is rather unimpeachable.”

“What did he do, run to Teacher Lan?” Wen Ning asked, eyes wide. He’d been inexplicably terrified of Lan Qiren ever since they’d met briefly at a discussion conference – apparently Lan Qiren had imparted some wise words and Wen Ning had said something stupid in response, and now he wanted to dig himself into a giant pit any time the man’s name was so much as mentioned.

“Oh no,” Wen Xu said. “That’s the best part of this story, actually. This whole thing happened in the middle of the night, a dark one with barely any moon, and you know how A-Chao is with directions –”

“Tell him something he wants is the next town to the east and he’ll immediately go to the west, south and north before he makes it.”

“He got lost,” Nie Mingjue guessed. “And ended up…where? With who?”

“Qingheng-jun.”

The entire room simultaneously buried their faces in their hands.

“He intruded on Sect Leader Lan’s seclusion,” Nie Huaisang moaned. “The seclusion that’s been going on for nearly twenty years. Because of course he did, that’s our A-Chao for you. Oh, Lan Wangji is going to kill me…”

“You’re still in contact?” Nie Mingjue asked, surprised.

“We exchange letters, it’s no big deal. Tell me more about what happened – did they actually have to get Qingheng-jun to testify?”

“Oh yes, the family made a big stink about it. They wanted to get the girl married in as a concubine or the sect to pay out; they weren’t exactly happy when all the doctors confirmed that she was still pure. They even accused the doctors of being paid off! Lan sect doctors!”

“What did you do with Wen Zhuliu?”

“He claimed he had no idea how it happened. Somehow while also implying that I was being unnecessarily overzealous in A-Chao’s defense, since there’s nothing that unusual about taking a concubine – as if everyone wouldn’t understand it as being all but an outright admission that he was a rapist! I pretended I believed that he wasn’t responsible for the whole thing - he was, of course - and told him that if something like this happened on his watch without his knowledge, he was clearly a piece of shit bodyguard that ought to be replaced.”

“I bet he liked that!”

“I want to learn archery,” Wen Ning said.

“You already know archery,” Nie Mingjue said, ruffling his hair. “You’re very good at archery.”

“Not in public I’m not.” Wen Ning firmed up his jaw. “I want to be good enough at archery that I can win honor for the Wen sect when the main competition is archery.”

“That won’t be until the next time we host,” Wen Xu pointed out. “Which is years from now. You’ll be sixteen – no, seventeen by then.”

“Ancient,” Nie Mingjue, who was about that age himself, said solemnly. “Doddering. Almost decrepit. The only thing worse would be if you were twenty and on your way to twenty-one –”

Wen Xu glared.

“I’m serious,” Wen Ning insisted. “Everyone else has a talent. Why not me?”

“All right, then,” Nie Mingjue said, because mentioning how good a cook of medicinal cuisine Wen Ning was would clearly not be appropriate at this juncture. Lots of boys eventually wanted to learn a martial skill, no matter where their real talents might lie. He might have even said all boys, except of course there was always Nie Huaisang to be the glaring exception to the rule. “We’ll adjust your training regime, invite some specialized tutors…”

Wen Ning was shaking his head. “I want to go to the Jiang sect.”

“What?”

“They always win, don’t they? Maybe they lose out on first place to the Lan sect, with their arm strength, or by some fluke to someone else, but if they have a strong contestant, they win, and even when they don’t win they always place. It’s the best place to go learn.” He shrugged. “Anyway, it’s not like I’m going to get invited to the Cloud Recesses.”

Nie Mingjue had half a dozens protests on his lips, and they all died at once. It was true. Wen Ning would not be invited to study at Gusu, possessing neither an exceptional talent for some facet of learning nor a family willing to push him in. Nie Huaisang would go without question on the basis of Lan Qiren’s former friendship with their father, assuming Wen Ruohan would allow it, and Wen Qing, only interested in the study of medicine, had recently started corresponding with various medicine halls and could maybe get an internship somewhere. She’d been talking recently about Lanling, and though he’d objected to that on the basis of Jin Guangshan, the whole world would welcome a promising doctor.

Only Wen Ning would be trapped here, in the Nightless City.

(With Nie Mingjue, who could not leave, because he wasn’t broken enough yet. Who might not ever be, might live and die without ever being allowed out any further than a closely supervised night hunt, like a bird in a cage.)

Nie Mingjue didn’t especially like the idea of staying here in the Nightless City alone, but his own interests had never been as important as those he could protect. Unlike him, Wen Ning had a future, a life of his own, to look forward to, and so Nie Mingjue looked at Wen Xu. “Do you think…?”

Wen Xu made a face. “I’m not sure,” he said, frowning at Wen Ning in a way that Nie Mingjue knew meant something to Qishan Wen minds because of the way that Wen Ning ducked his head in embarrassment. “They don’t normally take outside students the way that the Lan sect does. I guess we could ask, though, using the way the Lan sect blew up as a cover.”

“They’re readjusting,” Nie Mingjue corrected, trying to be diplomatic. “Qingheng-jun was in seclusion for such a long time – it’s a big change for them for him to come out. For his sons, especially.”

He wished that he could write to Lan Xichen. Not because he had something intelligent to say about it, but more so that he could listen to all the emotions Lan Xichen was undoubtedly trying to suppress – Nie Mingjue couldn’t imagine how he must be feeling. His father, locked away for so long so as to be little more than a myth, suddenly and abruptly brought back to life –

Perhaps it was better that they didn’t write. Given what had happened to Nie Mingjue’s own father, Lan Xichen would probably refrain from saying anything at all.

“In other words, they blew up,” Wen Xu said dryly. “I’ll write to the Jiang sect and make some inquiries, not naming any names. If we get their approval, we can figure out how best to petition Father. He’ll like that angle, though; winning honor…Huaisang came up with that, did he?”

Nie Mingjue was going to protest, but Wen Ning nodded.

“I figured. We’re still going to adjust your schedule, start getting you ready – we need to make it believable.”

“Why does it have to be believable if it’s true?” Nie Mingjue asked, looking from one to the other. “Why would A-Ning do something if he doesn’t want to do it?”

“I do want to do it!” Wen Ning exclaimed, his little face red but determined. “I want to do it really badly, Mingjue-ge. Really.”

“All right, then,” Nie Mingjue said, convinced despite his suspicion that they were up to something – but then, they were always up to something, and he was usually not included.

For very good reason, and at his own request.

“All right,” he said again. “If you want it, then we’ll find a way.”

“Tell me everything you know,” Wen Ruohan murmured. “And it can stop.”

For today, he meant. A fool’s promise, false gold, worthless – meaning nothing.

Nie Mingjue talked anyway.

Wen Chao arrived home from the Cloud Recesses, to everyone’s joy, and even managed, with some hurrying, to make it back a week before Wen Ning was scheduled to set out.

“I brought wine for everyone!” he announced.

“You did not,” Nie Mingjue said sternly, though he wasn’t quite able to stop himself from smiling.

“Okay, okay, I got gifts for everyone. But I also brought wine, if you want some – it’s called Emperor’s Smile, you’ll like it –”

“Forget the wine,” Nie Mingjue said. “You’ve grown!”

He had – at least half a hand’s worth, and his face was starting to show the curves of adulthood, despite the considerable baby fat remaining.

“I’ve grown?” Wen Chao laughed. “Look who’s talking!”

Everyone laughed, even Nie Mingjue, who ducked his head – it wasn’t his fault that he kept on growing. His father had been especially tall, and his mother even more so; it was to be expected!

Admittedly, it wouldn’t hurt to start slowing down a little. Any time now.

“Yes, well, I grow any more and your father will chop me off at the ankles,” he said, shaking his head. Wen Ruohan seemed torn between pleasure at having such a hulking beast tamed at his feet – his words – and irritation that Nie Mingjue would shortly be able to look down at him. “Tell us about your studies, A-Chao. Did you make any friends?”

“Did you pass?” Nie Huaisang asked.

“Of course I passed! And I only cheated once –”

Nie Mingjue covered his eyes and groaned dramatically.

“When I go, I’m going to cheat all the time,” Nie Huaisang announced.

Nie Mingjue aimed for an even more dramatic groan.

“And you probably won’t pass even if you do,” Wen Qing put in.

Now it was Nie Huaisang’s turn to moan. “Has anyone ever told you that your tongue is as sharp and piercing as your needles, A-Qing?”

“No. You want me to demonstrate why?”

“Help! Help! Have mercy!”

#mdzs #nie mingjue #nie huaisang #wen xu #wen chao #wen ning #wen qing #my fic #my fics #fire and light

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musings-from-mars · 3 years

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part 4 por favor? Maybe Ruby starts noticing the "tension" between Cinder and Blake and starts setting them up?

Freelance Love Triangle AU - Part 4

They arrived at the outdoor gallery, and Ruby was already zipping around here and there, thinking out loud about angles and framing, all while gushing about the art on display, choosing her favorites. “This is so cool!” She said to Blake and Cinder.

“It’s a lovely installation,” Cinder agreed, the corner of her mouth turned up. “Don’t you think so, Blake?”

It was a pretty magnificent showcase. Crude marble pillars of varying heights and widths stood in a seemingly random arrangement, each with art pieces hung on the sides. The pieces of 3D art stood in spaces between pillars. While there were two equally tall pillars that served as the “entrance” to the exhibition, it was open air and seemingly boundless, as the pillars became fewer and farther between the further from the center you moved.

At the very center of the gallery was a massive metal sculpture of what looked like a suit of armor, but it was matte black, and the plates of armor were spaced out from one another so it was easy to see right through the gaps. It stood on a concrete cube labeled “SOAPBOX” with “various artists” engraved underneath. The artists were making a point, and Blake’s mind raced trying to decipher what it might be.

But then Ruby started talking to Cinder, and that broke Blake’s focus immediately.

“The suit is faceless, and the armor having such obvious gaps indicates that the suit is vulnerable,” Cinder explained to Ruby as she looked up at the sculpture, which Ruby craning her neck to do the same. “Yet it stands on a soapbox, elevated and arrogant, despite the flaws in its defenses. I think it makes a point about the illusions of authority and strength of those in power, and the general populace’s compliance despite the obvious flaws that everyone can see if they look close enough.”

“Woah, that’s so cool…” Ruby murmured with wonder.

Blake didn’t want to feel as annoyed as she did, because Cinder’s take on it was pretty much exactly how Blake viewed the piece, but dammit, she wanted to impress Ruby too! She tried to come up with something original to say, but she didn’t want to sound desperate. Cinder was too smooth and eloquent.

“I imagine it took a long time to fashion the metal and assemble it, probably took several weeks, even for a team of artists,” Cinder pondered.

“If you were to get into contact with the artists, you might know for sure,” Blake remarked, not intending to sound so combative, but it was said. “There’s more to this than what the viewer can interpret. Anyone can come around here and write an article about what they think it all means in a day, but we’re putting together something bigger. We need testimonies from the artists, opinions of other creatives…”

Cinder had turned from the sculpture and was glaring at her, arms crossed over her chest. “Well, isn’t that why you’re here? You’re the networking specialist, after all.”

“It’s your project too, you know,” Blake said, stepping closer to her, then sort of regretting doing that now that she was close enough to smell her perfume. “I’m not doing all the interviews while you sit back and write down your opinions. You’ve got to pull your weight.”

“I’ve pulled plenty of weight. I haven’t even shown you the drafts I have yet,” Cinder countered, and for some reason thought it appropriate to smile at Blake. She looked down her nose a bit at her, making Blake resent Cinder’s slight height advantage. “After all, isn’t it only fair that I handle the majority of the writing, you acquire the testimonies, and Ruby handles the accompanying media? Let’s all do what we’re good at here, huh?”

Blake hated it when she made a good point. She wanted to counter-argue but she knew that would be counterproductive. “So I’m going have to handle all of the interviews? That will take up so much of my work time, you really will be on the hook for pretty much all of the writing.”

“Like I said, it’s what we’re good at,” Cinder repeated and shrugged. She leaned her weight on one leg in that sexy way that kind of pissed Blake off. “You think so, Ruby?”

Ruby had been silent the whole time, pressing her lips together as she stood by during the intense exchange. When she heard her name spoken, she snapped out of it a bit and blinked. “Oh, yeah, I think that’s a good idea. Uhm, Robyn wanted us to allocate, right?”

“Right,” Cinder agreed and nodded. “That was easy, we’ve already allocated. Wonderful job, team.”

If Blake gritted her teeth any harder she’d have to book a dentist appointment. Thankfully, Cinder took that moment to turn away from her and walk over to one of the gallery’s pillars, swaying her hips like an annoying exotic bird.

I hate you I hate you I haaaaate you—

“Ruby, I think if you got one of these pillars in the foreground with the sculpture in the background, that could maybe be a candidate for cover,” Cinder said.

Ruby hurried over to look at what she meant, leaving Blake standing next to Soapbox, shoulders slumped forward and her face burning hot.

Was getting cover worth it? Was getting to work with Ruby worth how insufferable and annoying aloof Cinder was? Blake was seriously considering it, but then she watched as Ruby giggled at something Cinder said, and she knew then that she had to stick with this, for whatever other reasons, but mostly to make sure Ruby and Cinder didn’t become a thing.

Was that shitty of her? Maybe. But the thought of that happening made her blood boil.

~~~

“How about I take you both for a drink?”

The offer felt like it came out of nowhere. The three of them were waiting on a bench not far from the gallery. Night had fallen, and while they had gotten plenty of photos and Blake had gotten the chance to take some notes about the various artists, it wasn’t that late. Blake was about to hail a rideshare because she just wasn’t in the mood to walk all the way home, but (while she kind of hated that she did), Blake considered Cinder’s offer.

“That sounds like fun, sure!” Ruby said. She sat between Blake and Cinder, tapping away at her laptop as she backed up the photos of the day. Even as time went on, she hadn’t lost any energy, which Blake was impressed by. She certainly couldn’t say the same for herself she was fresh out of college.

“Lovely,” Cinder said with a smile.

Well, if Ruby was going with Cinder, Blake was definitely going, too. “Sure. I could use a drink. But I’m not staying out late, nor should any of us. We’ve got more work to do tomorrow.”

Cinder nodded knowingly. “Just a little excursion. We’ll save the proper night out for Friday.” Blake couldn’t tell if she was joking or not. “I know I nice little bar near here. It’s the quaint type, for hipsters like us.”

Blake chuckled a bit at that. “Great, I love craft beer,” she said sarcastically.

“I’ve never had anything other than hard seltzer,” Ruby admitted with a shy chuckle. “Do they have that?”

“I’m sure they do, hun,” Cinder assured her with a smile that made the hairs on the back of Blake’s neck stand up.

Ruby rubbed the back of her neck bashfully as she shut her laptop, having finished saving her images. “Not to be a stereotypical gay or anything.”

Blake snorted a laugh, then blushed at the fact she’d snorted. “What, do gays like hard seltzer?”

“I guess?” Ruby shrugged, still blushing.

“I’m more of a red wine lesbian myself, we all have our tastes,” Cinder told her, her voice dripping with a flirtatious lull, as if she were already a glass deep.

Blake chewed on the inside of her mouth. She figured “whatever sounds good at the time bisexual” wouldn’t sound as sexy as red wine lesbian. Then again, she’d never had a hard seltzer. “I’ll get whatever you get, Ruby. I’m curious.”

Ruby giggled, her cheeks rosy and dimpled when she grinned. “Oh no, now I really hope you like it or else I’ll seem like I have bad taste.”

Blake smiled and shook her head. “Don’t worry, hun, I think I’ll like it just fine.” She felt proud of herself for slipping a “hun” in there like Cinder had. The combination of Ruby blushing and Cinder shooting her a glare of recognition was a satisfying confidence boost.

Ruby tapped her feet on the concrete a few times, like she was letting out a sudden excess of energy, and she hopped off the bench. “We should go! The night’s not getting any younger, right?”

Cinder stood with her, her hands tucked in her jacket pockets. “We should. I’ll lead the way.”

Blake sighed as she followed, the group beginning to follow Cinder’s lead away from the park. She hoped she’d seen the end of Cinder’s funny business, but she knew that was a hope in futility. She had to be planning something, right?

The best Blake could think to do was be there to see what it was.

#freelance love triangle au #pawling petals #rwby #ruby rose #blake belladonna #cinder fall #drabble

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warrioreowynofrohan · 4 years

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Stormlight Archive - The Assassination Plot in Words of Radiance

This was going to be a Moash post, but it would be too long, so for the moment I’m focusing on ths specific element of WOR. Will get into Moash’s actions in subsequent books later.

I‘m of the view that, initially, Moash and Kaladin’s decision to assassinate Elhokar is understandable and defensible. Both of them have had their families destroyed by Elhokar’s actions as king. He threw Moash’s grandparents in a dungeon and left them there until they died. Knowing that Roshone was corrupt, power-abusing, and malicious, Elhokar still chose to put an entire town’s worth of people under his authority. From what they see of his as king, he is self-absorbed, arrogant, and unconcerned for others. He specifically replicates Kaladin’s experience with Amaram: Kaladin takes extraordinary risks and does extraordinary things to save the life of a lighteyes he serves, killing a Shardbearer in so doing, and he is punished as a result.

(I also do not regard Kaladin as wrong, in any moral sense, for demanding a duel with Amaram, though one can dispute the pragmatism. He has made his accusations. He has no further proof to offer beyond his own testimony. Dalinar, after hearing this accusations, has raised Amaram to a position of even higher power and prestige, so Kaladin has no reason to believe Dalinar will pursue the matter further. A duel was his only shot at justice - and he has full as much right to justice against Amaram, who betrayed and murdered his men, as Dalinar and Adolin have to justice against Sadeas, who betrayed and abandoned their men. Furthermore, Kaladin is entirely justified in his anger at being imprisoned. He saves Adolin, and in return he is imprisoned for the crime of being darkeyed. That’s all. Not for challenging Amaram. A lighteyes, like Adolin, would not have been imprisoned for challenging Amaram, so Kaladin is not imprisoned as punishment for the challenge, but as punishment for issuing it while being darkeyed.)

A further point. Yes, Elhokar’s bad decisions are, for the most part (but not exclusively) the result of ill-judgement and incompetence, not malice. But within the class/race/caste structure of Roshar, that doesn’t really work as an excuse. Rosharan society is built on the idea of lighteyes having the right to rule on the basis of just being better. Kaladin and Moash are both deeply inculcated in this - Kaladin spends most of his life looking for / expecting great, heroic lighteyes like in all the stories; it’s what he hopes the new citylord will be before being disapppointed in Roshone; it’s what he long believes Amaram to be. Moash believes it of Dalinar in TWOK, and similar reasons draw him to Graves (his first chapter in Oathbringer makes this very clear). If your entire authority is based on the idea of your caste being better, being more fit to rule, then “I have no idea WTF I’m doing” is less a personal excuse than an admission of the invalidity of your culture’s entire social hierarchy.

However. It is important to note that the assassination is never about social revolution. It has two motivations: 1) replace whiny, incompetent Elhokar with the stronger, more competent Dalinar (and not just Dalinar - the Blackthorn, the man Dalinar was 20 years ago, as Graves believes the assassination of his nephew will turn Dalinar back into that man) and 2) justice/vengeance for Moash’s grandparents and for Tien. The assassination of a tyrant is justfiable, but assassination with the aim of installing a tyrant? Granted, Kaladin and Moash have no direct knowledge of the Blackthorn.

The point where Kaladin’s participation in the assassination plot truly ceases to be justifiable, though, in my opinion, is when Elhokar comes to him and asks for advice. When the king shows up at your doirstep and sincerely says “Please teach me to king better, I know I’m terrible at it”, you lose any moral justification to kill him for being a bad king. You now have a better option - for you (and Dalinar, Adolin, Navani, and other people as applicable) to guide him into being a better king. Maybe not a great king, but a passable one. There’s a major distinction between assassinating a tyrant and assassinating a person for not being as good at his job as someone else might be. And Kaladin eventually realizes this.

However, Kaladin only realizes this through the combination of that conversation, a talk with Zahel, days to weeks’ worth of thought, and specific personal revelations. Moash has none of this. He’s expected to change his mind instantaneously on the sole basis that Kaladin has changed his mind at the last minute. And while Kaladin’s given his men plenty of reason to trust and respect him and his judgement, blind loyalty is not a moral imperative. The last time Moash checked in with Kaladin, he was reluctant but still on board. And the moment Moash punches Kaladin isn’t a deliberate attempt to do serious harm, it’s Moash forgetting that he’s in Shardplate and that a punch from him can rupture internal organs.

The turning point for Moash is the moment after that - when, after some reluctance and some pushing from Graves, he steps forward to kill Kaladin with his Shardblade. Not out of the goal of killing Elhokar - he and Graves could have done that already if they weren’t arguing, Kaladin has no power to stop them - but because if Kaladin lives, he’ll know that they’re the murderers and they won’t get away clean. The moment when Moash becomes willing to kill his friend and his captain to save his own skin is the moment when he becomes a villain. And right after he makes that decision, but right before he can strike, Kaladin speaks the Third Ideal and transforms into a figure out of myth or legend. And Moash is left with the guilt of his decision, but without having achieved any of his goals.

As a final point, it’s also important to remember that Shardbearers are extremely high-status within Roshar. They’re not just lighteyed - they rule entire districts. Moash would have had territory assigned to him. If his goal was social change in Roshar, he was in a better place to start achieving it through the position that Kaladin had handed him than through assassinating the king (which, again, would not usher in any social change). But he never regarded the Blade and Plate as anything beyond a sword and armor. (For that matter, neither did Kal after he became a Shardbearer.) That’s not their fault - by society’s intent, darkeyes are not trained in politics or government in any way. But that very lack of anything that could be called meaningful political consciousness is why I don’t think it’s accurate to regard Moash as a revolutionary. His motives are desire for personal revenge/justice, and contempt for Elhokar for not living up to what a king/lighteyes is supposed to be. He’s angry at Alethi society, yes - and understandably so! - but he’s not driven by the good of anyone beyond himself. Whereas the Windrunner ideals are all about protecting other people.

#the stormlight archive #brandon sanderson #kaladin #moash #elhokar

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dog-day-morning · 3 years

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WRONG MESSIAH WRONG PEOPLE Acts 1:1-14 Israel is run by gentiles who are not Israelite by blood. They call themselves Jews by declaration not by lineage. Jews are in the midst of casting out God's chosen people from Israel for fear of the prophetic word that states these Edomite gentiles, along with an admixture of the people of Alkebulan’s (Israel), whose DNA the Father anointed has blessed them will bow down, and worship at our feet. They fear the truth knowing we’ve determined the lies they’ve told us were intended to hide our identity from us, and the world out of hatred. The Jewish holocaust lasted for 4yrs whereas the curses of Deuteronomy have lasted 400yrs, and counting. No other tribe of people has suffered like the Israelites according to the curses, and accounts in Deuteronomy 28 save a peculiar people. And it shall come to pass, that as the Lord rejoiced over you to do you good, and to multiply you; so the Lord will rejoice over you to destroy you, and to bring you to nought; and ye shall be plucked from off the land whither thou goest to possess it. And the Lord shall scatter thee among all people, from the one end of the earth even unto the other; and there thou shalt serve other gods, which neither thou nor thy fathers have known, even wood and stone. This is why I don't worship other religious faiths or religions. I'm cautious when it comes to Christianity knowing the deviltry of man, and the depths he will go, and has in order to maintain his stranglehold on us as a people. What allows a person to never be held accountable for their sins on Earth, but makes a race or tribe of people the burden bearer for all of Earth's iniquity? The devil is an accuser whose minions are fearful of the word manifesting in this generation. What we see on display isn't just a show of rebellion, but a fear of an arrogant people losing their position in the Earth which was only meant to be temporary, but in truth it wasn't meant to be at all. If 5 Black males congregate on a street corner it puts fear, spite, and hatred in the hearts of the so-called fragile psyche of those who want to control us. They call the Police in the hope of getting innocent people arrested or murdered. But 200 members of the proud boys can march through Urban Philadelphia in a show of defiance with Police protection, and nobody confronts them except a different breed of Black, Brown, and white people who are not like their fathers of old who relish in the thought of sending Jethro back to the woods with the rest of the hood boogers. The Jewish cabal worships Satan in the literal sense. They are the Devils cronies who know their time is up. Therefore rejoice, ye heavens, and ye that dwell in them. Woe to the inhabiters of the earth and of the sea! for the devil is come down unto you, having great wrath, because he knoweth that he hath but a short time. They understand that the God of our fathers isn't playing games. If you ascribe this to my person as I’ve done in theory, how can God's 2 faithful witnesses see the Son of God and His Father if their hearts hadn't been tried like some of you? Revelation 11:3-13 3 And I will give power unto my two witnesses, and they shall prophesy a thousand two hundred and threescore days, clothed in sackcloth. 4 These are the two olive trees, and the two candlesticks standing before the God of the earth. 5 And if any man will hurt them, fire proceedeth out of their mouth, and devoureth their enemies: and if any man will hurt them, he must in this manner be killed. 6 These have power to shut heaven, that it rain not in the days of their prophecy: and have power over waters to turn them to blood, and to smite the earth with all plagues, as often as they will. 7 And when they shall have finished their testimony, the beast that ascendeth out of the bottomless pit shall make war against them, and shall overcome them, and kill them. 8 And their dead bodies shall lie in the street of the great city, which spiritually is called Sodom and Egypt, where also our Lord was crucified. 9 And they of the

people and kindreds and tongues and nations shall see their dead bodies three days and an half, and shall not suffer their dead bodies to be put in graves. 10 And they that dwell upon the earth shall rejoice over them, and make merry, and shall send gifts one to another; because these two prophets tormented them that dwelt on the earth. 11 And after three days and an half the spirit of life from God entered into them, and they stood upon their feet; and great fear fell upon them which saw them. 12 And they heard a great voice from heaven saying unto them, Come up hither. And they ascended up to heaven in a cloud; and their enemies beheld them. 13 And the same hour was there a great earthquake, and the tenth part of the city fell, and in the earthquake were slain of men seven thousand: and the remnant were affrighted, and gave glory to the God of heaven. The God of Israel has decreed this. The Jews in Israel will suffer a harsh penalty for their crimes against the Nigerian, Igbo Israelites, the Ethiopian Beta Israelites, the Ugandan Abayudaya, and other sects of Israelite people including the American tribal people of Ghana Africa (Judah), Gad (Native American), Reuben (Aboriginal Australian), and Issachar (Mexican South American descendants.) They are deporting the Yisraelites in Alkebulan out of Yisrael as though this can inundate God's plan. You’re bringing God to a higher and greater glory, fulfilling the promises He made to His people in this day for this generation. Joshua 24:13 13 And I have given you a land for which ye did not labour, and cities which ye built not, and ye dwell in them; of the vineyards and olive yards which ye planted not do ye eat. It’s a shame to construct a global economy only to be denied the American dream; it's a nightmare. For those that cater to the State of Israel like some Congressmen, and women who are Edomite Jews that are not willing to put in place a reparations plan for the ADOS, FBA, and all indigenous people of North America based on the Western Nations financing of the temporary inhabitants of Israel is an injustice to humanity. Our oppressor isn’t going to give up his throne or authority willingly, he’s drunk with it. Look to God to deliver us not man, especially those who historically have shown their extreme distaste and revulsion for us. God tells us: If my people, which are called by my name, shall humble themselves, and pray, and seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways; then will I hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin, and will heal their land. God foreknew, He's all knowing, and all seeing. If one of them were to cosign a reparations bill for Black people they would’ve been found dead inside their congressional office within days or maybe hours. When your own people who look as you do, but think according to their massa’s will, in order to live a season of sin with the wicked advocating for the gentiles who live off our promised inheritance, and this nonphysical, hidden, unseen, but shrewd, devious bit of craft called white privilege, that Black people who believe in Yeshua spiritually call favor with God. What this microwave generation has asserted, and addressed as privilege in actuality is sinister, and diabolical. It's a Janus-like, double minded, spirit of torment that has caused a lot of agony to a people they refuse to relinquish that will bring a harsh judgment to them and the Earth, and yes, I’m paying my price. The people of Canaan were destroyed after having knowledge of the true living God. The Father isn't one who relishes in the spilling of innocent blood. He will always send you a warning before calamity comes to your doorstep. He's been doing it for the last 2,000 years. Like the Egyptians they refused to believe in the God the Israelites praised, and worshipped thinking He finds favor in them who shed innocent blood. This is the situation we find the Earth in once more with the Israelites who this time are being forced out of their homeland waiting for a deliverer. The people that lived in Canaan were not ignorant of

the God of Israel. Many times the impression is given that God ordered the Israelites to swoop in and destroy innocent people. But these people were neither innocent nor ignorant. They had heard about the God of Israel; it was they who rejected Him. When the 2 spies were sent to spy out the Land of Promise they were told by Rahab the prostitute: Joshua 2:9-11 9 And she said unto the men, I know that the Lord hath given you the land, and that your terror is fallen upon us, and that all the inhabitants of the land faint because of you. 10 For we have heard how the Lord dried up the water of the Red sea for you, when ye came out of Egypt; and what ye did unto the two kings of the Amorites, that were on the other side Jordan, Sihon and Og, whom ye utterly destroyed. 11 And as soon as we had heard these things, our hearts did melt, neither did there remain any more courage in any man, because of you: for the Lord your God, he is God in heaven above, and in earth beneath. They had heard of the true God but had rejected Him. Consequently, their entire society acted in a sinful way. The Apostle Paul spoke of these people: Though they knew God they refused to believe let alone acknowledge Him as the true living God. The Father let their minds become reprobate following their flesh. What comes good of the flesh people? Nothing. They were shapen in iniquity, and in sin did their mothers conceive them. Israel is the biggest Nation on Earth that supports the Trans community being led by a morbidly, corrupted government overrun with rampant homosexuality, and like Amerikkka they endorse pedophilia. Of all the Nations on the Earth, Israel ranks number one in unnatural sex, and relations more so than the United States of Amerikkka, and Amerikkka’s European counterparts. When Jews here in the states get arrested for unlawful sexual acts committed against children those who have convenient connections are able to seek refuge, and fly to Israel fleeing prosecution. Oftentimes this is warranted, by US gov’t protection agencies who assist them in their transition back to Israel. Larry Nassar whose last name is Jewish, but they claim him not. The faith he was raised in makes him a Catholic which reeks of corruption, and entitlement that exceeds the realm of sexually deviant malfeasance executed by this religious sect that historically has gotten away with the most egregious sins committed against God's innocent ones. The FBIs handling of his high profile case was a case study in buffoonery, and an insane margin of flexibility that cannot be explained to a person of a simple mind. Hopefully this gov’t will learn which is doubtful. Pray that the payoff of a high monetary lawsuit will make the US government look at this flawed system, and send Goober Pyle back to law school or a police precinct to learn how to do his job. This is not privilege, it’s sin. Romans 1:21-25 21 Because that, when they knew God, they glorified him not as God, neither were thankful; but became vain in their imaginations, and their foolish heart was darkened. 22 Professing themselves to be wise, they became fools, 23 And changed the glory of the uncorruptible God into an image made like to corruptible man, and to birds, and four footed beasts, and creeping things. 24 Wherefore God also gave them up to uncleanness through the lusts of their own hearts, to dishonour their own bodies between themselves: 25 Who changed the truth of God into a lie, and worshipped and served the creature more than the Creator, who is blessed for ever. Amen. The inhabitants of Canaan were neither ignorant nor innocent victims of an angry God. They were committing these terrible sins being fully aware of the true and living God. Because they rejected Him, God judged them harshly. How do you explain the people of Israel, Amerikkka, Europe, and the rest of the West in this day and time? You can't without condemning them, and the rest of humanity which the Father had all authority to do. Instead, He sent His Son to die for Yisrael whom we rejected giving the

gentiles a pathway to His Kindome. Why do you refuse to accept His truth? Forgiving a jackass is like storing wine in old wineskins or plastic garbage bags. The messenger has made your hearts cold, and bitter towards the Father, and His Son Yeshua? Learn from us, and prepare for a New World in its natural order of things because this right here ain't it. Good evening people, Elohim 9/25/2021

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