#no more jabs nor cynic comments

[magnusbae]

Your obikin rants when you reblog my post are my daily delight, please never stop 🥰

Oh you darling 😌🤭🥰 I'm glad that it is amusing to you. I often do wonder about the people who just get a massive text block in their activity and then just proceed to do it anyways -amused- it's good it provides for good reading material 😌😏😏

[witchmoon]

by our red string of fate.

Part 4

Pairing: Prince Aemond Targaryen x fem! Reader

Summary: Y/N and Aemond finally reunite on a stormy night in King's Landing. Angst, vague mentions of abuse, then fluff AF.

Word Count: 4.6k

Author's Note: Multi-part wip - slow burn, language. NSFW is coming! Hope you stick around and enjoy. Comments always welcomed. LMK if you want to be tagged <3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

i didn't dream of you, i thought of you! the yearning, the hoping and the wishing was all intentional.

The days had been impossible and the nights were harder still as every thought consuming her continued to revolve around Aemond. If only he would respond.

Her concentration wanes in even the most banal of daily tasks, accompanied by her relatives as the days drag and conversations remain dull. It's disengaging - exhausting, and sleep eludes her at night as she lies awake wondering how his day has been, what he's doing now, and if his minor injury is healing well.

Even reminiscing taking the prince's bruised hand to press her lips against his knuckles compels an ache, recalling that hitch in his breath and the look of surprise he couldn't mask.

Though she can't guess where his mind is at or what he's possibly thinking, feeling, it doesn't deter her from imagining what they could truly mean to each other. And the ambivalence from his end doesn't override the high value she's already placed on him in her life either, for he already means a great deal to her.

Yet, the issue of his silence continues to nag and it brings with it both worry and frustration. It jabs at her ego as well, but more than that, his lack of response works to deteriorate her tortured heart - silently dismantling it piece by piece, hour by hour.

She can't help but wonder why she isn't with him now, why he doesn't want her. These unanswered questions carry her through another sleepless night and on cue, the sun rises once more for her to face another day alone in a city she's begun to despise.

We belong together.

It had been bold, but she had laid that claim and sent the correspondence to Aemond. Simple words, the most honest she'd ever been - full of zeal and impulsive, to the point. Aware that the risk was great, she'd proceeded before rationality got the better of her - spurred by a need to be vulnerable for him.

However, the waiting becomes a slow death. The silence since then all but reducing her to a shell of a person.

She's plagued with anxiety and a significant amount of doubt as her hope drastically depletes waiting for him, for a sign - anything while waiting for a love that may never come.

And so soon, the cynicism begins to set in, a slew of malcontent nerves clawing ceaselessly at her from within to leave her sick. It all conspires to fuck her up and it does, stealing her appetite, her rest, her absolute sanity.

She curses Aemond for doing this to her, though she wants him no less than before.

Am I so easily forgettable to him… so disposable? Fuck him.

Was it wrong to be disappointed, angry? In a way, she is mad at him for putting her in this situation to begin with, for challenging her.

She's never been good at these types of things - of pursuing men romantically, nor being really upfront with her demands. Of course, she knows what she desires, but vocalizing such matters, sharing them in any medium is altogether new, terrifying.

To be forward, unapologetically candid, almost selfishly, especially to someone like him had always seemed unfathomable. But again, she had gone out on that limb, willing to admit that Aems was different, better, captivating - worthy of surrendering her pride for.

He still is, and she can only hope that her brief message has been received well, with enough conveyance regarding the depth of her devotion - how willing she is to be so open with him, ready for love and ready for the fall.

At the time of writing it, the concept hadn't seemed that far-fetched, for she knew people who had love between them. And she just couldn't believe herself truly so defective as to not be given an opportunity to experience the same.

It must exist for me as well, surely.

On a deeper level, she knows obtaining this magic means more for her now. It's important because she's wanted love for so long, and she's patiently waited these many years for the right person to come into her life and capture her heart.

That's what's different this time, she recognizes the way her soul has been bounded to another's. The sensation is new, unripened. She knows it is because there had been others who had tried to come close to her in the past, always coming up short.

And this is why - they had never been the one, they had never been him. Aemond. Nobody had ever made her feel this way, and the feelings seemed vast, electrifying - affecting her in a way she couldn't have been ready for.

Yet, she always thought that when that time and person came, she would know because she would feel it.

This is what's agitating her the most. She does feel it. And what should one do, how does one react when they find themselves to finally be within reach of receiving everything they've always dreamt of?

It leaves her moody and wanting, stressed as fuck, because at a distance, the unlikelihood of such an occurrence had almost been as consoling as the hope for such things to happen. And now that it felt like it was happening for her, she didn't know how to proceed.

It's a fight or flight mentality she grapples with, feeling it imperative to stay and see this through. If anything, get closure in order to move on. But she's also vying to leave, thinking it best to put a time limit on how long she's willing to remain in King's Landing - an unspoken ultimatum.

How long is long enough before she decides to give up on Aemond and all their potential, only to return home - skeptical, with empty arms and a fractured heart?

She wonders and she loathes the doubt that's taken hold, though she can't help to consider that she's been completely off-base this entire time with what she perceived as being created between them that night. A splendidly deep connection, an understanding.

I thought he wanted me.

It's the overthinking that kills, and she could use some advice - anything to help talk her off the metaphorical ledge she's been stuck on. Anything to make her see reason, find logic in the positives of their interaction in order to reinstate some faith.

But nothing comes to interject, and she remains within herself to safeguard the sweet memory of him and their short time together. She knows she will hold onto them forever, come what may.

Those moments are ours and ours, alone.

this could be the beginning of everything for you.

As time slips away, she gains more order over her chaotic thoughts and the insecurities eventually subside, replaced by something more resolute.

Suddenly there's confidence in her once more - an unyielding adamance to remain true to herself, and it overtakes the final vestiges of her uncertainty, all that's lingered and bothered for too many days.

There's a new awareness in the obtainment of something real, worthwhile with Aemond and she knows it must develop from a place of vulnerability. Just as much as she'd been given the choice to pursue, it was now time for him to make his move.

And in doing so, she needed to know that he could want her even at the most basic level, even at her worst, even as no one of societal importance. From where she stood, she had to be enough just as she was, no more and no less.

Really, it had already become this way when she'd confided in him how alone she felt, how grateful she was for the kindness he'd shown towards her. It wasn’t a commodity.

She reflects further on how he had seen her on edge too, merely seconds away from crying or just going off, which surely had demonstrated the breadth of her sensitivities.

It had been clear enough to see with everything so openly displayed at the time. And still, he had approached her - offering himself and his patience, graciously coming to her aid to provide a gentle stability unlike any she'd ever previously known.

He had actually cared.

Their encounter has been replayed several times over in her head, but so many of the small details begin to blur, instilling a new sort of panic.

With the distraction of being so close whilst listening to him speak, she's convinced there are things she's probably missed, undoubtedly so. At times, it had just been so hard to focus, even follow their conversation despite wanting to know everything about Aemond.

But simply looking at him had taken a wealth of her attention, robbing her focus with his undeniable beauty. He had been charming in manner, but also enticingly wry, even borderline cavalier in regards to his royal station, which only made him more attractive to her. Anything but ordinary.

Everything about him still makes her weak, though it's alarming the way the recollection of that night feels both stark and fleeting. And at a certain point, she even considers the idea that she's simply recreating details rather than actual events in order to find validation and feel important, wanted.

Non-sense. The thought is quickly rejected upon reflection of the signs, so many indications that continue to support her theory that his attraction was mutual. That he was investing himself, and had wanted more.

He's the one that kissed me! And yeah, she had wanted it, but he had made that move - executing it with such finesse. That subtle demand that she participate in the physical connection, but not progress it beyond the boundaries he had laid for them.

The restraint had been both maddening and intoxicating with his soft lips against hers, the smoky taste of his tongue new and lingering, so drugging. Everything about that night was pretty fucking real, meaningful.

So real in the way he'd looked at shithead's party - disconnected, disenchanted, a menacing beauty coming for her own soul. And how he'd taken her with him for their escape, even avenging her stained dress and perhaps even her pride by really laying one into Aegon once they'd reached his bedchamber.

Although it hadn't been necessary, she was moved by his physical reaction, even aroused by an obvious inclination towards the wrath he kept. Something about it had betrayed his cool exterior, providing her with a glimpse of the fire within him, the rage.

But then Aemond had also shown extreme compassion, reverting to sweetness as he handled her with amazing care. He had made her feel better, made her laugh, miraculously lightening the mood to an otherwise tumultuous evening - and all without victimizing her.

He had acknowledged that she was tenacious, but had interjected and offered her a hand just when she'd needed it the most. And she really had needed someone - so close at the time to just collapsing in anger and bursting into tears out of sheer frustration.

It would have been a disaster. You cry, and they will know they have won. Just as punching the king probably would not have boded well for her either. She can't even begin to consider the consequences of that action.

Then Aemond had been there, taking her somewhere dark and secluded for some privacy, relief. Even attempting to clean her clothing, to no avail, but no less gallant.

He had relaxed her, moving her with his thoughtfulness and returning a smile to her face with his sarcastic ire. He had been perfect, a natural balm to her frayed emotions.

It had also been so real when he had touched her face, his roughened fingertips light and tender on her skin, though he looked at her with a fiery desire that kept kick-starting her heart. He had stared for too long and she had loved it, even more so when clearly against his better judgment, he had reached out to run his fingers through her hair.

She longs for that again, for even more, falling to pieces over all her thoughts of them together. The immediate ease and comfort from that interaction had meant everything, it still does, and she knows they could have it again - have more.

She knows how wonderful he can be and how perfect they could be too. The compatibility is there and they are both so fucking capable, so she has to remain steadfast in their potential - maintaining the hope that he will call for her or come to her.

He must. He will. In her mind, there is no other outcome and she will not force the issue further.

We were meant for each other, it is our destiny.

and now i wait for love - impatient, terrified, but hopeful.

He is different, she thinks dreamily, in a league all his own. The thought of that truly terrifies her though, it pressures her in an unfathomable way as she mulls silently over tea the following morning.

Even as much as she wants him, wants something with him, she's still so fucking scared. And she's less confident now than she was yesterday, though admittedly there is more assurance since she's ceased arguing with herself over the validity of their encounter.

Aems is an enigma. She doesn't know if that makes it easier or harder, finding it simply intimidating to imagine what he must know, what he is accustomed to and capable of... what he has done.

And what of his needs, his own desires?

The thoughts swirl and with them also the evidence of his sophistication, which had been apparent to her. Thankfully, it was in a way that was neither boorish or patronizing, but rather gave the impression of a deep wisdom beyond his years. It had been unmistakable.

It comforts her to consider him in this way, knowing she could benefit from that type of energy, but with more sleep lost, her annoyance rises once more. There's a lot of feelings at play, particularly her stubborn fear of still not being enough for him.

It's currently at the forefront of her mind, enhanced by mental exhaustion and she wishes she could get a reprieve - wanting so desperately to be laid next to Aemond, wrapped up in his love.

My dear, I cannot stop thinking of you.

Her mind wanders along the lines of what he wears to sleep, if anything, and which side of the bed he favors - all the things she'd love to know.

Such as - does he slumber still, at this late hour? And what about his eyepatch, when does he remove it and for who? What is the extent of the injury that it conceals and how did it occur? She wants to be at a point of trust with him where he is willing to share these parts of himself openly.

I accept all of you, just as you are. I adore you!

In her eyes, he is already so perfect and the musings continue to progress with intimacy as she imagines his hair loosened, disheveled either from sleep or sex, both. She thinks of how his voice is probably deep, raspy at the start of each new day as he comes out of sleep slowly.

Then she's putting herself in the scenario, vivid enough to capture in her mind as she decides he would be the first to wake. He's definitely nude, hair untied, eyepatch nowhere to be found.

And she imagines him snuggling into her, close enough to begin kissing beautiful foreign words onto her lips - persistent and adoring to rouse her from sleep before pulling her fully into his arms.

She's reminded of the actual sensation of being held by him, that heavenly moment when she'd pressed herself against his body and he'd reciprocated the touch in the godswood. She must have that again, her body begs for it.

That moment was so beautiful and I was so vulnerable, but he made me feel so safe, and I -

A solid knock at the door sounds then to disrupt further thoughts. It's loud enough to startle her, causing her to spill some tea as she rises from the table with some urgency.

As she walks to the entry, the pounding of her heart is unmistakable - there's a conflicting sense of dread and wavering expectation when she goes to undo the locks with unsteady fingers. But an alleviation to her emotions takes root from what she finds on the other side of the door when she finally manages to open it.

Ser. Cole at her doorstep. Stately, but personable, he announces himself before placing a small note in her hand with a knowing look.

"A personal message from Prince Aemond, my lady."

Then he takes his leave, gone just as soon as he'd arrived to leave her standing in the open doorway - her hands violently shaking once more, her heart in her throat.

Slowly she unfolds the note, eventually revealing words she feared she might never read, words she knows within her heart that Aemond has written straight from him own. Even his penmanship is beautiful - refined, and it's these words he’s put down in ink that she now presses to her lips as silent tears of joy begin to fall.

'Beloved - join me at the Red Keep tonight. I will send for you at dusk.'

maybe i've always been destined to end up in this place. i don't mean to come off selfish, but i want it all.

Though she can't stop smiling, there's a growing nervousness to her anticipation as the hours pass. She bathes, then struggles with indecision as she tries on several different dresses, eventually deciding on the dark green - her favorite.

There is also a substantial amount of time dedicated to her hair as she works to perfect it in long cascading soft curls, less formal than the night they met but just as elegant.

She conducts these physical preparations while trying not to panic, but a part of her remains in disbelief that very soon they'll finally be together again.

And it's this lovely concept that overrides most other thoughts in her mind, even her trepidations, past the moment when the sun begins to set and the carriage arrives with Ser. Cole as her personal escort.

Then she's en route to the Red Keep, finally returning to Aemond and ready to claim his heart.

This is really happening...

As they pass through the bronze gates and arrive in the middle bailey at time later, raindrops have just begun to descend slow and sparingly from the darkening sky.

She's been told the weather is unusual for the season, though she can't find any complaint in it as the dreariness tends to console her. It's a great comfort and she feels substantially eased by the current elements.

At least until Criston opens the carriage door and she peers out to find Aemond running towards them from one of the covered archways in the yard. It gets her heart racing, for she’s arrived, at last.

My prince, my love.

The reality that she's back at the castle sets in. It hangs in her mind with the concept of intimacy - how she's come for Aemond, called upon by him, alone. It feels significant for them to reunite here, and she knows that it is, because this time, it's not for a celebratory event, it's not for court, it's for love.

And seeing him now just reinstates her belief in this idea as every part of her goes warm. He's a gorgeous sight and he looks...hopeful, energized. After all her worry and incessant reflecting over the past few days, steeped in so much uncertainty, being with him feels like the greatest gift she could ever be given.

There's a moment of clarity as he draws near too - of how he actually exists. He's real! And when he locks his eye on her, his mouth hinting at a subtle smile, every remaining doubt she'd been harboring fades.

The notion that she had dreamt all of this and him is quickly diminished simply by the way he looks at her. There is heat in his stare, a matched longing that he bears and it tells her many things.

She's entranced, re-acquainting herself with how handsome he is dressed in all black once again, but it's more casual than before. There's no leather, no dagger. Even still, the overall aesthetic is dark, completely him and it's so fucking sexy - a stark contrast against the ethereal coloring of his skin and silver-white hair.

His hair. It's a feature she's already obsessed with and her hands get jumpy in their ache to tangle in it, disrupt the silken perfection. She wants it wild by her hand, leaving him a mess in the wake of her unbridled lust.

I want you so much!

He is so fucking hot, assured and confident when he nods towards Cole with thanks, silently commanding his leave. Then it’s just the two of them and it’s even better as he turns to greet her once he’s in front of her - the way his eye appears to sparkle with intentional desire when he looks up, extending his arm out.

She notices that he seems really happy too, taking his hand immediately, as he guides her down the carriage steps attentively. The touch is innocent enough, but a hot current is felt coursing between them at that first contact, nonetheless.

And Aemond is unable to quell his attraction, how satisfying it is to look upon her beloved face again - the very same one that's so exquisitely been haunting his every waking moment.

It's madness the way simply the heat from her stare back onto him stirs his blood - doing so in a way that leaves him ravenous for more pointed attentions. It makes him feel alive.

Heavens, l've missed you!

A simple hello is exchanged and it's natural, the easiest thing in the world to tuck her under his arm once she's got both feet on the ground. They fit perfectly and his heart justifiably flips when she leans further into him, wrapping her own arm around his waist to hold him close.

As they begin their walk towards the holdfast, the urge to kiss her is strong, but Aemond resists for the time being - wanting to ultimately be somewhere more private for such indulgences.

It’s just the way he is - clandestine in nature when it comes to affairs of the heart. Instead, he opts for something more chaste - a sweet nothing to pacify them both when he lowers his face to gently press his lips to her temple.

He tells her she's beautiful, noting the expectant look in her eyes when she gazes at him again, stunning and smiling as rain droplets begin to collect on their skin, her long lashes.

They quicken the pace, reaching the door of the building - their shelter, just as the sky opens up and starts to pour. Both of them blissful, having dodged the rainfall and so ready to begin the night.

the way you move is like a full on rainstorm, and i'm a house of cards.

Once inside, she doesn't know what to expect, but she takes Aemond's hand as they move through the space in an inconspicuous manner.

It's not questionable - they're both hoping to avoid unwanted encounters and she couldn't be more grateful for this approach, though she says nothing.

Her relief is palpable enough. It transfers when she readjusts her hand to lace her fingers between his, another new intimacy that leaves him marveling. He thinks he could get used to this...

She silently follows his lead, recalling the expanse of the Keep - of momentarily being here when she'd accompanied him during his confrontation with his brother that fated night.

The memory of Aegon and his lewdness leaves her bristling as they continue on, and somehow the idea of introductions with Aemond's family begins to infiltrate her mind in a nauseating way. It just isn't something she's given much thought to as a possible occurrence, nor does she feel mentally prepared to take on such an endeavor now… maybe ever.

Luckily, it's clear to her with the way they advance further into the castle, as if exploring through an unknown maze together with hidden traps, that Aemond has no intention of subjecting either one of them to such formalities.

At least not tonight, and this theory is further proven when echoing footsteps begin to sound, growing louder and louder towards them. Her eyes widen and the panic rises - she recognizes that voice.

Seven hells, please NOT him!

She's frozen in place, shell-shocked for just a moment before Aemond unexpectedly tugs on her arm, pulling her sideways just as Aegon and his Kingsguard round the corner, heading in their direction.

The motion is swift and then he's silently giving her a 'keep quiet' signal once he's settled with his back against the wall, holding her to him. It's strategic, probably in more ways than one, but their presence is effectively concealed as they stand together within a convenient alcove off the main corridor.

Although the space is small, it's unassuming and they're hidden enough. But just as a precaution, Aemond capitalizes on the situation, bringing her flush against his body when he reaches around to press at the small of her back.

He loves the closeness, how her ample chest gets crushed against his, threatening to get him hard. Its torturous in their current predicament, but he doesn't care. He needs this.

His hold on her body stays constant to linger along her back, daring to travel over the curve of her ass even as Aegon and the Cargyll twins get closer. She feels so good and he's sparked further when her hands settle low on his hips, just where his belt lies.

Her fingers begin to toy with the leather and he gets wrapped up in the sensations - how his lonely hands ache to feel every part of her, all that's hidden under the fine dress she wears.

Speaking of - the color is rich, the green suits her so well and he wonders if she's wearing it intentionally - for him, for her, for their future. Surely she’s aware these are Hightower colors.

He's musing all of this when she suddenly lets out a small snort at what Aegon's just voiced to his small party of knights, setting Aemond on high alert.

He immediately covers her mouth with his hand in an attempt to stifle her laughter and prevent any further sounds from escaping her lips at this unfortunate moment. And he just goes on silently cursing his idiotic sibling in the meantime, praying for them to hurry the fuck up and move on.

“...and I almost drank my own piss because I mistook it for ale when I woke up."

He rolls his eye at the admission, in no way surprised to be hearing this although the beauty before him appears to find it quite comical. He studies her in close proximity - her eyes are smiling, but there's also mischief in them.

All at once, she becomes the cause of his exasperation and his lust when he feels her dart her tongue out to lick against his palm.

Then she does it again - a teasing plea for him to release her and it's proving effective because Aemond looks like he's about to fold. But before he releases her, he mouths a very stern warning - b e h a v e .

When he does, she complies and reinstates her hold on him by wrapping her arms around his waist with the same fervor that he holds her. She breathes better and the moment becomes sweet for them as they pass the time, more patient now as they wait for Aegon's ramblings to subside.

She rests her head against his chest, just above his heart, momentarily closing her eyes to commit this moment to memory. And she’s smiling like never before when he whispers lovingly against her, placing so many kisses on her forehead as his arms wrap around her shoulders to keep her near.

"You fucking brat.”

in my dream, you're mine and in reality, you're my dream.

They remain as they are, allowing additional time for Aegon to put more distance between them and whatever his intended destination is. It's really just a prevision, but the moment extends long enough for Aemond to draw her gaze back to his once the room goes quiet again.

She adjusts and suddenly he's holding her face in his hands. It's lovely - his palms warm against her skin with his thumbs caressing delicately along her cheekbones.

It melts her to feel the way his fingertips begin to edge slowly along her neck in time, eventually landing just below her ears. They are so long, capable, and the effect of this specific hold leaves her entrapped - lost in a touch that could easily turn violent. She’s been strangled before…

But she trusts Aemond to do these things without hurting her, and he doesn’t. He holds her like nobody ever has, touching her and looking at her in such a way that could bring her to her knees - so reverent, adoring. It’s breaking something within her.

She stops thinking, and they're able to bask in the moment of their silent study of each other's beauty.

It goes on for a while, with her watching his eye - seeing how it focuses on her mouth, darkening to a deeper shade of blue. But being regarded with such intensity has never been comfortable, and it eventually gets the best of her.

She doesn't end the moment though, she enhances it, taking him by surprise when she leans in and kisses him softly. Thinking it's the perfect opportunity to convey how elated she is to simply be in his arms, in his life, of how dearly he's been missed.

Surely this is translating...

It's a preliminary kiss, but it's sweet enough to upturn his beautiful mouth when she pulls back. His pout dares her to do it again, so she does. This time, she kisses deeper, trailing her hands up his chest to cup his jaw as she continues on.

Touching his face is so intimate and he seems pleased by her initiative, effectively kissing her back with equal ardor. He allows her to take lead, willingly following her every move as they lean closer into each other with ease and growing familiarity.

When it ends, her eyes open before his and she waits, captivated by the dreamy look on his face as he brings her back into his sight.

She dares to hope he's been just as restless without her - left incomplete by her absence and how together, they can now remedy their combined yearning. Fulfill every desire, grant every wish, make all the dreams between them come true.

He's fucking mesmerizing and when he focuses on her again with a look of pure contentment, unveiled happiness, her heart skips a beat. She wonders if he will look at her this way while making love to her... and she yearns to know, to get to that level with him.

Just being around Aemond makes her want so many things, all the experiences with him and her heart gets heavy with the knowledge that it all finally feels possible for her, for them.

She knows she should speak now, realizing they haven't actually had the chance for many words since she'd arrived - thinking that opportunity is now. And he appears to be waiting, patient as his fingers thread into her hair with soft feels threatening to overtake her again at how doting he's become

Fuck. Her eyes begin to sting and her chest tightens considerably as she mulls over how to start, where to begin. It makes her self-conscious as the heat rushes to her face, her tendency of being an emotional mess annoying her evermore.

"What's this, sweetheart?"

He indicates the mood shift, clear as day on her face - how it draws his concern as he catches the flickering melancholy in her expression.

But then she rises to press her lips to his again, exalting him from a burgeoning worry. The words that follow are too sweet when she whispers them against his mouth, unwilling to move away, to give him any space.

"This is relief, this is happiness, this is me with a full heart. I've missed you so much, darling."

It pulls a moan from him before he returns his mouth hers, solemnly whispering his reciprocation upon her lips. Even a minor confession follows, though he does not elaborate.

"I've been an absolute devil without you, my love."

Then he begins to place affectionate kisses along her cheek, into her hair. Over and over he presses his lips everywhere he can reach in a silent apology for all the lapsed days, the great misunderstanding, and the way certain parties had attempted to keep them apart for their own agendas.

There is such relief in sharing this with her, and it flows through Aemond now as he holds her tighter, trying to make up for all their lost time.

He reassures her of their reality, his commitment, when she admits her own worrisome thoughts - that maybe he hadn't wanted her, maybe she had been too forward in her note and it had ultimately pushed him away.

But no, it had been Aegon… and politics.

Now she knows.

"For a moment, I hated you for rejecting me. I am so sorry."

She's incriminating herself, though it's misguided, he understands. Not that he's sharing, but he can admit to himself that his behavior had been far from exemplary before he'd also learned the truth behind her perceived silence.

During that time, his impatience and neediness had been unreal too, completely out of character. It had also been sobering to understand the power she held over him. Although it still leaves him somewhat uneasy, they appear to be aligned once more, ready to move forward.

He knows they can and he wants to. We have something. He's so sure of this, how it's all conveyed in the things she doesn't say, but has allowed. How it's like she's already collecting these small, but meaningful moments with him, and he's wanting to do the same.

In fact, he's already missing her light touch on his face and the way he'd just been kissed by her with such longing. It had been enough to get him dreamy and he holds onto that in the aftermath of these newly shared confessions.

He's hopeful in their capability to advance with intimacy as the night progresses. After all, it really means something to him that she's here and how special it can be, how it already is. She wants to be here.

"We're together now and that's all that matters."

He doesn't expect a response, hoping his words will be enough to offer her peace of mind. And he thinks they do when she nods in agreement at his statement, allowing him to quietly draw her back into his arms for another heartfelt embrace before they abandon their hiding spot.

She is warm and perfect, though it still feels like a phenomenon to Aemond that she could even be real, much less existing with him here at this moment, on this rainy night in King's Landing.

But it's true, and he's very much looking forward to how much more real this can get, how much more real they can be.

He kisses her hair one last time, unable to refrain from doing this - loving the decadent fragrance, how sweet and addicting it is. He’s already hooked on this feature and the way it feels against his skin, on his lips.

Then he takes her hand to resume their journey, and as they head towards the space he's arranged for them to get reacquainted, he can't help but anticipate the moment when he will bury his face in her hair, just get so fucking lost there.

And also when he will bury all of himself... in her.

[waragainstyourfaith]

Thank you to @broughtmeyourlove for listening to the beginnings of this (aka when I first got my thoughts down) and thank you to me for saying all this in the shower but most importantly thank you @hannibalhadalittlelamb whose art got me to finally think deeper about the nature of Hannibal’s trial. Let’s begin.

Hannibal’s trial isn’t something I usually see discussed within the fandom space. And why would it be? We know the final verdict and we know that besides that everything works out in the end anyway. It’s an afterthought. So who would care? That’s like reading the first few chapters of a book to skip to the final one. Characters change and so does the story as a whole.

On @/hannibalhadalittlelamb’s post (here), their tags read that their depiction of Hannibal is leaning into OOC (out of character) territory. I disagree.

During Hannibal’s trial, we have to think about how it would have gone down. Actually. There was no possible way for Will to miss or be exempt from this trial. His coworkers and boss knew his strong relation to Hannibal and how their professional relationship had definitely, at some point or another, turned personal. The mutual attempts of murder had not been lost on anyone, but, of course, that made Will all the more personal a witness.

However, Will wants nothing to do with Hannibal.

I understand there is a popular theory going around that Will and Hannibal were in a sort of understanding during the trial, but, honestly? We see Will desperately wanting to remain kept away from Hannibal, to live a normal life with a wife and son. Hannibal throws a wrench into this whole ordeal and this trial, after what conspired between them overseas, leaves Will in the headspace and with the opportunity to quite literally never see Hannibal again in his life.

And after everything and with what Will thinks he wants, how could he deny that? Helping Hannibal rule into the insanity plea was not an act of mercy but an act of protection. Will more than anyone knows Hannibal should be kept under 24/7 surveillance and away from every person he could ever harm. Being ruled out of given the death penalty was the underlying bonus his conscience wouldn’t let him think too deeply about.

In court, you are sworn in on the bible, on God, to tell “the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth [...] So help you God.”. Both Will and Hannibal were undoubtedly sworn in, but considering the argument Hannibal’s legal team was using, would you trust a man under the insanity plea or his victim who is an FBI agent more? Right.

So, Will is given free rein in this courtroom to spin the story of him and Hannibal whichever way he pleases. Seeing what I mentioned before, Will is going to remove himself as far away from Hannibal as he can while still being able to confidentially and securely reveal everything without getting his hands dirty nor embarrassing himself. Hannibal does not get this luxury.

Hannibal is a man of his privacy. As many analyses have written and as many real psychologists have said while dissecting the headspace of Hannibal, his need to eat people is his need to control. The trauma Hannibal went through with Mischa, whether you know the depth of it or just the surface, is enough context to explain what happens next. Hannibal eats them. Attitude is Hannibal’s one basis of morals and consensus. “One should always eat the rude”.

To determine their fate and to consume them is him “playing God”, but at its core, it is Hannibal needing to be in control. We see the severity of his true, underlying, desperation come to light at a first glimpse with the gruesome death of Beverly Katz. Undoubtedly, this is one of his most haunting scenes and we see the insides(dissection) of Beverly as she had attempted to find in Hannibal by going through his home. By sneaking a glance under the person suit. His inner monster comes out in a rage during this murder. He is private and anything that anyone knows about Hannibal is what he has allowed them to live to be able to say so. Look at Will’s position once more.

What no one seems to realize is that, during this trial, Hannibal is not in control. Will is the spinster of their life, a life Hannibal used his truest of colors to paint, and ultimately watched it becomes torn to shreds in front of him. Remember, Will is sworn in during this trial. This does not necessarily mean he is telling the truth, but it means everyone thinks he is. It’s a play of tragedy and Hannibal and Will are the two lead star-crossed lovers.

The entirely of Hannibal and the world he has handed to Will on a sparkling platter is being dissected and shown to everyone. The story of the Chesapeake Ripper was undoubtedly massive. A criminal having not been caught for years that everyone seemed to know nothing about revealed to be one of the closest, inside links with the FBI themselves? Tale of the decade.

The spotlight is on Hannibal, but he is being puppeteered by Will without a say in it for himself.

Hannibal cracks as he’s poked and prodded and bare for the media to do as they like and Will sits by and says what he likes. Here is where we would see a sliver of what lays beneath their person suits. Hannibal’s impulsivity and monstrousness under his charming exterior and Will’s manipulative, isolatedness under his empathetic cloak.

We look at Hannibal. He would be torn to shreds from this. The porcelain pot that contains his beast has broken and shattered by the swatting hand of Will, someone he trusted and loved. The intruding eyes of the jury stay on him as he is diagnosed as insane while he considers himself to be in the best possible headspace he ever could be. Everything he told Will and what he considered truth from Will’s mouth was dismissed and disputed under oath.

Hannibal is embarrassed. People call him insane and lock him away at dig through his mind and his things without his permission with protruding needles and telescopes. Hannibal has to play nice to simply be allowed a working toilet and the books that he has collected himself. Anything and everything he writes and draws that he wants to send out is dissected and analyzed. He has no privacy. He is not allowed a toe out of line.

Looking back at Hannibal from season one, episode seven is a good one to compare from, and when we see him first after year years in isolation, we see plain as day these are not the same men. In season one, Hannibal is handsome and cunning enough so that he wiggles his way into the deepest, most protected parts of the FBI as one of the highest-ranked killers on their watch list. He is polite enough to even invite them to dinner and feed them the organs of his victims.

He’s slick and intelligent and Hannibal is the idea of a lifetime.

And then we come to the second half of season three.

Hannibal, at this point, has been isolated for three years and has been under painful scrutiny even longer. During this time, he’s had all the space he could get to rebuild the person suit, but the pieces won’t fit. It’s jaggedly put together and no matter how long he spends trying to perfect its construction to what it used to be, it isn’t what it used to be. Will had done that to him. Will had effectively broken Hannibal.

I see often the running gag that season three is immensely funnier and leaning much more into the comedy aspect of Hannibal during his interactions with Will and Alana and even jack to an extent. But this is not him being funny; this is Hannibal pushing limits.

Looking back to paragraph eleven [“To determine their fate and consume them…”] we come back to Hannibal’s need to control. Remember, in this space, Hannibal is shoved into line. He’s snappy and cynical here. This is Hannibal exercising his limits and testing patience. His acting out and making snide comments is nothing he can be punished for, but it clearly agitates them. Hannibal teeters just enough on the edge of annoyance so that his jabs still hit, but his privileges still remain.

This is his monster leaking through the cracks. Hannibal is desperate. He is grasping for a hold over these people he had looked down upon from his throne in the sky as God for so long. He is rude. This is both his shield and deception. It leaves Hannibal with the idea that he is effectively feeding them out of his hand, that he has them right where he wants them. When Hannibal does this, it is his last line of defense to keep himself from blowing up. Ruining it all.

Season three is not season one. He is gasping and hurt and that is what makes the Dolarhyde kill all the more powerful. The whiplash and bounce back with his and Will’s relationship is powerful and dangerous.

Will watching Hannibal with his dead stare, person suit thrown off the moment he decided to go with Hannibal into that car, as he is shot is groundbreaking. Hannibal can see Will. they have effectively switched positions. As though he were God, Will looks down on Hannibal’s suffering. When Will decides to fight Dolarhyde in retaliation,  this is the point it all cuts lose.

At that moment, Will has freed the beast. Hannibal has finally someone to take the reins of his monster whom he trusts. Because Hannibal never blamed Will, even during that time in his isolation, he was waiting. Waiting for Will because despite the betrayal and despite the hurt he loved him. All that time he loved him.

The Dolarhyde kill is the messiest one of the show, which makes it all the more powerful. Hannibal has--I don’t want to say “lost composure”--but he definitely has dropped the act of his togetherness. In this, Hannibal is free. So long he has spent trying to hold himself together, to fool those around him and take care of everyone and himself. 

It’s a common misconception that a person in a position of power, such as a CEO, would want to be in this position all of the time. In fact, it’s been shown that the human mind needs a healthy balance. A person who is pushed around on a day-to-day basis and has no control over their life would most likely enjoy having control over a person and vice versa.

God must be tired. Hannibal was. Wearing his person suit for years and years, with only a dangerous outlet to relieve the built-up tension of his monster. To place the control into Will’s hands is inevitable and the best relief for both of them. Hannibal in killing and Will in power.

In that final scene, Hannibal has surrendered control to Will while barring the entirety of what lay within and Will has a high enough apathy for this to no longer have any hold over him. They have switched their roles. Now, Will is the one pulling the strings and Hannibal is the one letting himself be maneuvered.

This trial was the turn of the tables. It was the biggest part of their character and the biggest foreshadowing for the finale.

In Florence, Hannibal has the hold over Will. In season two, Will has the hold over Hannibal. In season one, Hannibal has the hold over Will. This trial that has been left out was the missing piece to even their stance and to level their playing field, making it easiest for the two to blur.

The trial is effectively and consequently one of if not the most important scene that was missing from the show.

[saiilorstars]

Dare To Forget Me

Ch. 13: Playing with Fire

/ Story Masterlist /

Fandom: Law & Order SVU

Pairing:  Rafael Barba x Original female character

Warnings: Due to the nature of the series’ plots, I do have to rate this as ‘mature’ for constant mentions of rape.

~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ` 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~

Chapter Summary: Montserrat does her best to help Rafael as Muñoz's case comes to an end, even when the ADA is snarkier than usual.

Montserrat sat on her therapist's couch, relaying with ease what was currently going on with her. It felt nice having a place to freely talk without fear of being snapped at. It was just easy, which showed a lot of progress she made since she first arrived. Dr. Weslin had that recorded every time Montserrat showed up too. Even now, while Montserrat debated by herself whether or not to take it easy on her brother, she showed significant to in the free space offered to talk in.

"I mean, Gael is just being overly dramatic. He's ignoring me and what's worse - or childish one could say - is that he's separating his girls from me too," Montserrat sighed, pausing to think about her older brother. "Sometimes I just want to smack him like when we were kids. We used to actually throw punches at each other, can you believe that? Dad had to come in and separate us. He'd yell at us for thirty minutes without break."

"It seems like your father has always been your mediator then," Weslin noted. "Does he have anything to say about this argument between you and your brother?"

"He doesn't know and honestly he shouldn't have to deal with this. I'm almost 30 and Gael is reaching his forties, we're grown adults acting ridiculous."

"Have you told this to Gael?"

"Please, he's not speaking to me. I have a very a good talent at irritating people, whether I want to in that moment or not. Maybe that's how I always get myself into problems." Montserrat said with a heavy resignation that Dr. Weslin gave her a strange look.

"We're not talking about your argument with your brother anymore, are we?"

Montserrat shrugged her shoulders in an attempt to be casual. "I guess not."

"Would you care to elaborate, then?"

"There's not much too it, really," Montserrat shrugged yet again.

Weslin had come to notice Montserrat only did this as an overly attempt at being casual when she neared the topic of her rape. It was like Montserrat tried pushing it all behind her to form a past.

"Maybe if I hadn't been so irritating at work, people would have given more of a damn about what happened to me," Montserrat finally spat out. "Maybe they wouldn't have been so quick to brush it away and transfer me."

"Montserrat, you're not blaming yourself for this right?" Dr. Weslin feared Montserrat had somehow regressed in her recovery.

"No," Montserrat said with absolute certainty. "It shouldn't have happened to me, period. I just meant maybe if I had acted better, people at my old job, who knew what happened, would have had more consideration for me." Montserrat didn't like to think a lot about her old job in Queens, but the people there had never been the kindest. She didn't expect - nor want for that matter - a whole sympathy party from them, but she didn't expect to be pushed out of the job either. "That's why I like where I am now. At least if anything happens to me again, I know people might care."

It was a rather cynical way of thinking, but Montserrat felt it to be nothing but the truth.

~0~

By the time Montserrat returned to the precinct, many things had already gone down. For starters, the team had discovered their mayor-to-be was using secret websites to chat with other women, sometimes going truly explicit. Poor Amanda had been the center of his attention the previous night.

"Alex claims wall street is setting him up," Rafael wearily repeated the excuse Alex had given him earlier in the morning after speaking to him about the pictures he sent to Amanda.

The rest of the team exchanged curious glances but no one, except Nick, dared to mention what they were thinking.

"What, you told him we were looking at his account?"

Rafael took the accusation somewhat calmly. He expected some type of accusation along those lines. "I gave him a chance to get out in front of this."

Nick seemed to be angered with the answer, as he firmly believed Rafael was on another plan. "So now not only is he tampering with witnesses, he has you covering it up for him!"

"Nick," Olivia's call made no sense for Nick.

"What!? It's what you're all thinking!"

"Did you find any evidence at all that Lindsay is shaking him down or that he's paying to hush her up?" Rafael's question seemed more like a challenge to defy his words, and it only irritated Nick more.

"There's nothing so far on the public sites, but we'll keep checking," Amanda's fingers hovered over her laptop.

"Do that."

"We will," Montserrat spoke up for the first time since the conversation started. Her curt, brief answer was enough indication she was still very much irritated with him.

He took the jab with a nod of his head. It was well deserved, he knew. "Since we're all clear…" he turned to go, but of course it wouldn't be easy to escape with Nick trailing behind him.

"That's not going to end well," Montserrat got up from her desk and headed for the lounge to get some needed coffee. As she was pouring herself warm coffee, Sonny came into the room. "You want some?" she asked without looking up.

"Sure." Sonny moved over and reached for a couple sugar packs he knew she liked.

"Did Nick come back in one piece?" Montserrat slid her coffee cup to Sonny then grabbed another for herself.

"Not sure. I left before he did," Sonny ripped open a sugar pack and let it all drown into his coffee. "I bet Barba is just trying to keep it together right now." Montserrat briefly paused her coffee pouring, something Sonny noticed but didn't comment on. "I mean, it can't be easy being childhood friends with someone who's, well...turning out not to be the righteous man he once knew."

Montserrat carefully returned the coffee pot to its place. "No, it can't be. But it doesn't give him a right to be so rude when we're just trying to help, and to mention doing our job." There was a particular sourness covering her tone, but Sonny felt like there was an underlying hurt somewhere there.

"Course not, but try being in his shoes for a moment."

Montserrat finally stopped altogether and turned to Sonny. "Is there something you want to say to me?"

"I'm not trying to poke or interfere in whatever you and Barba have going on-"

"-it's nothing," snapped Montserrat, but there was a subtle shift on her feet. "And if you're that interested to know, I'm just a little pissed off that he's being more snarky than usual when all I did was try to be nice and be there for him." As soon as she finished her quick, but feeling-covered, explanation she regretted it. Sonny gave her a look and the fact his lips were twitching to form a smile made her feel no better. "Please don't say anything," she sighed and went back to preparing her coffee. "It's really nothing. I'm just...I tried to be nice and he... practically barked in my face to leave him the hell alone."

"Did he actually say those words?"

"...no. It was more of a…rushed 'I'm good'," Montserrat closed her eyes as another realization hit her. "...which really just means he wasn't. Dammit."

Sonny patted her back and took over the coffee preparation.

Montserrat released a big sigh and brought her fingers to pinch the bridge of her nose. "And me being the dumbass that I am, missed that." Sonny laughed beside her. "In my defense, I have my own problems too so my temperament is off!"

Sonny held her coffee cup to her with his usual smile. "No one blames you."

"I think one person does," Montserrat took her coffee cup and headed back for the bullpen.

Nick was returning as well but he seemed to be physically fine. "Guys like Barba, too smart for their own good."

"I'm sure he said the same about you," Olivia gave him a pat on the arm as he passed by.

"What, everyone thinks we should just let this go?" Nick looked around to see who was on that side of the coin.

"It's not that we want to," Montserrat spoke up. "But...we really don't have anything incriminating on Muñoz."

"Muñoz sent out some selfies but that's not a sex crime," Fin said before he chuckled. "All I know is I don't want to see any more of them."

Nick was frustrated that no one was taking him serious. "It's not just selfies, all right? This clown could be mayor. He opened himself up to blackmail, right? Eddie had cash. Where did he get it from, huh? This could just be the tip of the iceberg."

"I think we saw more than just the tip," Finn snickered at his spot.

Olivia motioned him to stop before the comments got worse. "Nick, even if you're right, this is a political corruption case. We'd have to hand it over to the feds anyway. What are we going to hand over? The pics he sent to Rollins?"

The woman in question cleared her throat at her desk. She'd been immersed in her computer ever since Rafael had left. "It looks like I may not be the only one. Enrique Trouble's popping up on other sites. It goes back over a year."

Hearing this made the rest of the team gather behind her chair to see her screen.

"Look, I found ten so far!"

"That makes him a dog, not a criminal," Fin still shrugged.

"That's not the word I'd use to describe him," Montserrat said before sipping her coffee.

"Well, one of these women that he was sexting with just got an executive position at the New York gaming commission," Amanda revealed and brought up the profile of said woman. "I wonder who could have pulled those strings."

"Anna Please," Olivia read off the screen. "She have any governmental background?"

"Doesn't seem like it."

"Hold up. I've seen this girl on a screen before, and it wasn't on c-span," Finn said with a curious smile.

~0~

"I don't understand this. I already have the position," the woman named Anna insisted for the second time, already sounding annoyed to the two detectives tailing her down the hallway.

"We have a few background questions," Finn simply repeated their excuse, which was the honest truth anyways.

"Mhm," agreed Montserrat, not quite in the mood for games. She wanted to be direct. "Your resume says you went to university of Michigan, but they don't have any record of you attending."

There was a brief flash of panicked on Anna's face as she sat at her desk. "They don't? Mm-mm. I should fix that. I was more like auditing."

Lies. Montserrat barely restrained herself from rolling her eyes. "Really? What subjects?"

"Dance and movement."

"No acting?"

Anna laughed casually, at least that was her attempt. "No. I never studied any acting."

Montserrat gave the woman one look before glancing at Finn. The man seemed giddy as he reached inside his jacket's pocket.

"That's funny, Amber, because my partner here says you're a real natural in - what is it, Finn?"

"This is my favorite," Finn turned over a movie box he'd brought with them. "Million Dollar a Night Baby."

With that in the air, Amber didn't see any point in lying anymore. She released a heavy sigh and looked past the two detectives to the open door. "Okay, this is unfair. It was a long time ago. I didn't do any adult films after that. Are you from vice?" she paused to once again look at the open door. She was being extra quiet now. "I didn't do anything illegal."

"Yeah, we're not so interested in your past jobs," Montserrat clarified. She planted her hands on the desk and leaned forwards. "We want to know how you got your job here. Did Enrique Trouble put in a call for you?"

Amber leveled Montserrat's look, not looking so intimidated as they'd hoped. "So what if he did? It's Albany. Believe me, there are people a lot less qualified than I am working here."

Of course, Montserrat wasn't one to lose so easily. "Fine, we'll remember that as we get your ass fired. Think about that then give us a call," she smiled sweetly then turned to leave with Finn.

They didn't make it out the office door when Amber called for them to stop.

~0~

"I'm home," called Montserrat as soon as she walked into her apartment. She could hear clinging and clanging from Kara's room while she set her things down.

A couple minutes later, Kara emerged from the hallway wearing a pretty blue dress that hugged her body. Her hair was curled and pulled back by two clips.

"Stark red lipstick," Montserrat smirked as she headed by for the kitchen. "That can only mean someone's got a hot date tonight."

"Oh, you betcha," Kara hurriedly patted down her dress as if it needed more help. "He finally asked."

"Who?" Montserrat returned holding a bag of trail mix.

As Kara opened her mouth, someone knocked on the door. Kara hushed up and went to answer instead.

"Oh hell no," Montserrat honestly blamed herself for not realizing quicker.

"Good thing is you know him," Kara pulled Sonny right into the apartment, skipping all the hellos and whatnot.

"Unfortunately."

"Montse," went both with the same disapproval.

"No," Montserrat stuffed more trail mix into her mouth. "If I don't see it, it's not real." And with that, she turned away from the two with no intention of looking back.

"You're a child!" Kara shouted.

Sonny was smarter in that aspect and said something that definitely made Montserrat look back. "And I'll make sure to let you know how it went tomorrow."

"You wouldn't…"

Sonny's smile said it all. "See you later, partner."

Montserrat practically shouted for them to get going already. She shivered once she was alone and dreaded what Sonny would tell her tomorrow, and even more so what Kara would say.

~0~

Rafael didn't think he would ever have to make such a grim visit to one of his old friends. One friend was already borderlining the enemy line, in Alex's perspective anyways. Rafael still had hope - albeit a tiny hope - that Alex would come to his senses sooner or later. For now, he had to try to get Eddie to come back.

He found the old friend in a familiar spot, the same park he used to play at when he was a kid.

"Hey, Raffi. What's good, hermano? How you find me here?" Eddie scooted on the park bench to make more room.

"I stopped by your place, saw your mom," Rafael took the seat but purposely kept a distance. It was awful being like that with an old friend.

"My mom looks good," Eddie knew what Rafael had come for, but he didn't want to get to it. He didn't want to argue.

"Bueno, we got to talk-"

"You know, they...they fixed this park since we were kids, right?" Eddie cut in.

"Yeah, they did. I remember how you always used to look out for me here," Rafael leaned back against the bench. Talking about their good days wasn't helping, but he couldn't stop. "When that gang from P.S. 109 would come after me for my lunch money...you'd put your arm around me. You'd walk me to school. You said anybody that hurt me would have to deal with you."

"You're my brother, Raffi. I would never have learned English if it wasn't for you. We're even, right?"

"I know that. You're loyal...To a fault," Rafael paused, taking a breath in in order to deal with what came next.

"We're not talking about p.S. 109 now, are we?" Eddie took the silence as the answer. "How much trouble am I in, Raffi?"

"Witness tampering, bribery…Eddie, those are felonies."

"I can't... I can't roll on Alex-"

Perhaps it was the final straw in the whole case, or maybe his irritation towards Alex and his blatant disregard for their friend finally got to Rafael, but he snapped. "You've got - you have got to think about yourself now! Jail's gonna go hard for an ex C.O!"

"Raffi, Alex has always been good to me, okay? He said when he becomes mayor, he's going to get me a job at one P.P-"

"Listen to me," Rafael once again snapped. He turned his body towards Eddie, hoping he could get through to Eddie once and for all. "Eddie, Alex is looking out for himself now. You've got your son and your mother to think about. You're not gonna be any good to them upstate."

Eddie looked out to the playground where his son was playing. "I can't hurt Alex. You tell me what I should do. You were always the smart one."

Well, at least one was still good.

~0~

While Amanda and Finn interrogated Eddie (with his lawyer present), Montserrat, Olivia, Nick and Sonny watched from behind the one-way glass. Eddie was practically singing like a canary about Alex's dirty work.

"We got him now," Nick said with visible pride. Everyone looked at him but there was a hesitancy to agree. "What? It's only right with everything Muñoz did."

"Don't get so cocky," Montserrat warned. "It's not real until the prosecutor gets the case."

"It's basically a done deal," Nick waved a hand at them and walked off.

"How horrible," Montserrat mumbled and started to leave as well. Olivia would remain to oversee the rest of the interrogation. "I don't want to even imagine how Rafael is feeling."

"He's the one who got Eddie to spill, so...he must be seeing the light," Nick said, stopping under the hallway threshold.

"Say that to his face," Sonny went right to his desk.

"You think I won't?"

"Oh," both Montserrat and Sonny collectively scoffed, making Nick roll his eyes.

"We know you will," Montserrat took a seat at her desk.

Just as the three were about to have a round, Olivia emerged from the hallway.

"We got him?" Nick was the first to ask, missing how Montserrat and Sonny glanced at each other.

"Yes…" but judging by Olivia's face there was more than she was telling. "We're going to have to do some digging."

~0~

After doing some digging, Olivia immediately sent Montserrat and Sonny to a high school in Yonkers that wasn't even that far from them.

"Is he frikin kidding me?" Montserrat continued to repeat even as the principal of the school led her and Sonny down a crowded hallway.

Sonny didn't say much but it was clear he was disgusted as he saw more of the innocent students walking by. They were targets of their next mayor-to-be.

Jodie Lanier was not a school teacher, far from it. She was a fifteen year old student with an addiction to her cellphone. The blonde girl was taken to a secluded classroom in order to be talked to.

"If this is about the mall, I paid for these bracelets," Jodie hugged her wrist full of bracelets.

"It's about Alex Muñoz," Sonny's response made the girl stiffen.

"I-I don't know who that is."

"No?" Montserrat raised an eyebrow. She had no mood to tolerate the girl's lies. "Then why is he giving you money? And I would be careful with how you talk to a detective."

"O-okay. I know who he is, but I've never met him," Jodie said quickly.

"Not in person? How about on social media?" Montserrat glanced at Sonny who was nodding in agreement. "I mean, you've exchanged messages."

"I can't talk to you about this," Jodie's eyes flickered between the detectives, feeling more and more trapped.

"Because that's why he's paying you?" Sonny's question was met with silence. "Look, Jodie, you're not in any trouble here."

"Then can I go?"

"Soon. But we need to take a look at your cell phone."

Jodie quickly shook her head. "No way. I have rights!" But seeing the two serious detectives made her falter. "Don't I?"

"Okay, Jodie, this is how it'll work if you don't cooperate right now," Montserrat stepped forwards, intimidating the girl without effort. "If you don't hand the phone over right now, we can and will get a warrant for it. However, to do that we'll have to talk to your mom."

Bingo, the right words had been said.

"Please don't call my mom."

~0~

"Okay Nick, now we got him," Olivia said after reviewing their evidence against Alex. And boy was it a lot.

"Now what?" Amanda looked at the rest of the group, all solemnly quiet due to the problems they were about to cause for not only their friend, but for the city itself. "The election is happening and like it or not, what Barba said is true. Should we attack before or after?"

"We need to do it now," Finn said before anyone else spoke up. "It'll be a lot harder to make the case when he had even more power."

"It's not quite up to us, though," Olivia reminded them all where the case would be going.

"But it will be handled before anything happens," Nick said the obvious.

"We have to hand this over to Barba," Olivia pulled her glasses off and rubbed her forehead. It was going to be a difficult conversation.

"Let me do it," Montserrat's volunteer came as a surprise to the group, although not so much for Sonny. Whoever volunteered would be volunteering to get yelled at and probably insulted.

The job was hers.

~0~

The last thing Rafael expected was for Montserrat to stop by his office. She came with a mission, however, and it was not a good one.

"Sorry," she felt the need to say as he watched him go through the evidence.

Rafael did a double-take at her, seeming almost incredulous. For a split second, Montserrat thought she did something wrong again.

"Oh God, what I say now?" she sighed.

"Nothing," Rafael said quietly then returned his attention to the report. "Absolutely nothing," he mumbled under his breath.

"When are you handing that over to the special prosecutor?" she then asked, though the fact she was rocking on her feet was signal enough of her nervousness.

"I... I'm not sure. I want Alex - I want him to do it out of his own accord. Be the man he used to be."

Montserrat could say that was a failed plan, but she thought she should be more cautious with her words. "But you just said it. He's someone else now. You can't keep giving him chances you wouldn't offer other perps."

The label hurt more than it should've because it was true.

"I have to try," Rafael insisted, pushing himself up from his seat. He knew what she was thinking - that he was biased, and he probably was - but he needed to do it one more time, at least one more time to say he did everything he could. "Maybe now that he knows what's coming, he'll want to do the right thing."

Montserrat watched him move around the office, trying to convince himself that things could be turned down the right path. She knew what the outcome would be and she was pretty sure that he knew too. He was just trying to convincing himself Alex would take the last chance.

"That's your plan?" she took a seat on his desk, ignoring his brief look for that, and crossed her legs. "Stupidly waste your time? And at night, by the way?"

"It's not a waste of time," he snapped. "I'm giving him the opportunity-"

"-he doesn't want an opportunity!" Montserrat suddenly snapped louder than he had. "C'mon, Rafael, you're too smart for that. How did Nick put it? You're too smart for your own good!"

Rafael stopped his pacing to glare at her, but even then Montserrat didn't back down. She'd grown very used to it by now. Still, she knew this was a different situation, one that had him going crazier than usual. That pushed her guilt.

"You're not desisting, are you?"

"Not at all."

You stubborn man. Montserrat inwardly sighed but still ventured to help him. "Fine. Then I'm coming with."

Rafael paused for another second, thinking it was a joke or another tactic to get him to stop. But when she didn't retract, he became uncomfortable. "Why?"

"Because you're hell-bent on losing your job and because I'm an idiot who loves being yelled at."

That sting was of course meant for him and it was well delivered, but she didn't actually seem to be upset. That just made things odder. He knew he'd been unnecessarily rude to her, in the same situation they were in again, and yet she was stupid enough to come back for more?

"No, absolutely not," he said in the end, but he should've known who he was dealing with.

"You don't have a choice. I'm coming, end of story. Or I go and arrest Alex myself. I'm sure Nick would accompany me if I asked."

Rafael's glare returned, and deeper too, but he knew when he lost...even though it wasn't often. Montserrat got him. In another moment, he would've been impressed. "First, get off my desk."

"Sorry," Montserrat quickly got off and smiled cheerfully.

"Second of all, don't ever threaten me like that again."

"That I cannot promise. You have a tendency to only understand if you're being threatened," Montserrat shrugged and moved to the side. She gestured towards the desk where the evidence rested. "Get what you need."

Rafael looked at her for a full minute before walking up to his desk. Before sifting through the evidence, he glanced at her. "Novak, you're setting yourself up for trouble."

"I know," Montserrat said with all honesty. Her bluntness was even more surprising to him.

She was dead serious.

~0~

The flashing lights in the building would make Montserrat blind if she remained there for too long. Fifteen minutes of standing there were already doing a number on her.

"Now I see why you say 'no' to these events," she told Rafael while she rubbed her eyes.

The ADA was quietly standing beside her, eyes trained on the incoming guests. So many important people had passed by except for the one he needed. Eventually, he began to hear Alex's voice greeting those at the entrance. It was, of course, sucking up.

"Do you want me to come with you, or…?" Montserrat trailed off when Rafael raised a hand indicating her stop.

"Just make sure no one else follows," he curtly warned before taking off.

Montserrat frowned after him. She hated the way he was talking to her, but she tried to remind herself his situation. It was courtesy, leniency, she was trying to offer...but he was pushing her buttons.

"Be the bigger person, be the bigger person," Montserrat mumbled under her breath as she walked past the guests.

"Now? Seriously?" She arrived in time to see Alex's response to Rafael's probable polite asking for a talk.

The local reverend of the place came forwards, almost reeling Alex away from Rafael. "There's a room full of union leaders and CEOs waiting to hear how he's going to save the city."

Montserrat practically pushed her way through the crowd in order to cleverly respond with, "Then unless you want that whole room of Union leaders and CEOs to hear that your friend may be guilty - of several serious charges by the way - you should listen to my friend."

Rafael gave her a side-glance, seemingly thankful for the jab.

"Rafael, todo bien?" Yelina had done the same as Montserrat - moved people out of her way to get there, but the only difference was she did in a lavender cocktail dress.

Rafael kept a straight face when he replied. "Alex and I need to talk."

"Ahora?"

"Well, let's get a nice shot," the priest pulled Yelina towards a photographer and a group of waiting guests. "Mr. Slater, will you join us?"

"I won't be long," Alex promised Yelina, giving her a long kiss afterwards.

Montserrat rolled her eyes in plain sight. She was so done with these people.

"Do you know what they're going to talk about?" Yelina approached Montserrat almost immediately after Rafael left with Alex.

Montserrat cleared her throat and practically looked anywhere but Yelina's face. "I...may have an idea, but I definitely know you're not gonna like it." And even though she kept true to her words, she could tell that Yelina had figured out a good portion of the situation. "I'm so sorry," Montserrat could only say before leaving herself.

As she exited the building, she could see the two shadows of men across the street. She's didn't want to admit that she could hear some pieces of their conversation - turning into an argument real fast, she might add - but it was inevitable. What she was lost on was how someone could deny what was so blatantly true especially when it hit them in the face. Because that's exactly what Alex was doing, even when Rafael kept springing new evidence right to Alex's face.

In fact, Alex was getting offended as if he had a reason to get offended. It was ridiculous.

Rafael was left to walk the street alone since, according to Alex - and a hidden truth - he was no longer friends with the people of his neighborhood. Montserrat felt sympathy for them all, but even more for her friend. And by this point, Rafael was going to go mad. It hurt that he was being accused of purposely drowning his once best friend into an abyss. As if he��was the wrong one.

One thing Montserrat was sure of was that friendship was over. The bad blood was too much.

"Rafael! Hey! Stop walking!" Montserrat sprinted after him down the street. "Would you - I know you can hear me!"

Finally, the ADA stopped and turned sideways, his expression warning her to stay away. Of course, Montserrat wasn't one to always listen. "Novak, you're free to go."

Montserrat snorted, her offence etching across her face. "No one was threatening with me with a gun, Rafael. I came for you. As backup. As...support because I can't imagine what you're feeling. I wouldn't be able to take it."

"I can. You can go-"

"-I'm not leaving you alone like this! What the hell did Alex tell you?"

"That he doesn't care, basically. He has…" Rafael stopped for a second, still unable to believe where they were now. "He has no morals left. So now I have to do what my job tells me to."

"You're going to turn him in," Montserrat quietly said. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," Rafael said then turned to leave.

"Well…" Montserrat hesitated to follow, knowing she was just pushing his anger to double, but it wasn't a good idea to leave him alone either. "Do you want to go get some drinks? Coffee maybe…?" She'd only taken a couple steps in his direction when he whirled around with newfound anger.

"Novak, leave me the hell alone! I don't want your company, I don't need anyone else! So leave me alone already!"

Montserrat blinked in shock at his outburst. Of course she figured she'd finally pushed the right button of his to make him snap like that. She couldn't say she was surprised. "Sorry…" she cleared her throat and brought her coat closer to her chest. "I'll...see you tomorrow, then." She started turning in the opposite direction and only paused for a second to apologize again.

Rafael shook his head and started on his own way home, but as he walked he remembered this wasn't the first time he snapped at Montserrat while she was trying to help him...the guilt started settling in. He didn't feel guilt very often, which was what made it hard to ignore this one. "Dammit," he muttered to himself before turning back. He didn't exactly know what he was doing but his feet were moving in Montserrat's direction, and fast too.

He spotted the familiar red hair nearly at the end of the block. She was on the phone...and he started to overhear.

"No, I'm coming home right now. Jesus, who are you? My father?" Montserrat snorted at whoever was on the other line. "Oh no, if you're at my place then I'm not coming home for a long time."

Montserrat pushed the pedestrian button to cross the street and waited her turn. "I did go with Rafael to that stupid event but in the end I got the worst of it." There was a brief pause before Montserrat snorted again. "Nah, he's being an ass. I'll go check up on him tomorrow morning." Another pause passed then Montserrat started bidding goodbye. "Yeah, whatever. See you tomorrow, Carisi." She stuffed her phone into her coat's pocket and continued to wait for the light to switch.

Montserrat heard someone clear their throat followed by a, "So you talk to Carisi at this hour?"

Montserrat playfully rolled her eyes. The pedestrian light switched to go so she stepped onto the road to cross the street. "What do you care if I talk to Sonny?"

"I'm just curious," Rafael walked alongside her.

"Why are you back?" Montserrat's question was asked in the a tiring manner, as if she'd done this over and over. (And she had). Two times was enough to get a hint, though.

"I realized I acted like…"

Montserrat stopped once they'd crossed the street and turned to face him. "...an ass? Yeah. You are. It's why I was giving you the night to cool off."

Rafael's smile was wide and amused. "Really? And you were still going to come back?"

Montserrat wanted to ignore his amusement but she somehow ended up smiling as well. "Yeah. You're an extra rude prick but I'm letting it go on, on account of the situation."

Despite the light atmosphere between them, Rafael had to get serious. And when he did, the guilt returned. "Montserrat, I'm...you came with me - you offered to come with me and I...I yelled...I was…"

Montserrat smiled even wider when she realized what he was attempting to do. She would've let it go on for pure amusement but she figured he was already having enough troubles, so she gave him a break and surprised him with a hug.

"What are you doing…?" Rafael went stiff, to the point where Montserrat nearly laughed.

"Hugging you because you need it," she mumbled. "I'm sorry about Alex."

"So am I," Rafael admitted. "But don't count him out. He's a winner." Montserrat scoffed, but he was quite serious. "When I was seven, my mom said, 'stick with Alex. He'll be mayor of New York someday.' She never said that about me."

"But you turned out even better," Montserrat said automatically and missed his brief smile. 

"It's politics. No danger of a traffic jam on the high road."

"He was a friend-"

"-so was Yelina. She thinks this was personal, not professional."

"Stop," Montserrat drew away from him to look him in the eyes. "If they'd been your friends, they wouldn't have put you through all of that. It's on them, not on you."

"Thank you," Rafael said after a minute. He looked at her for a minute while it donned on him she'd been the only one to be with him throughout the entire case, even when he probably didn't deserve it. He pulled her back for another hug, startling her, but it was ironic since he wasn't able to hug back the way Montserrat would expect. It showed he didn't do a lot of hugging in his life...which was a shame because he had the arms for it...and a good scent.

Get ahold of yourself, Montse, she silently berated herself.

"Is your brother still not talking to you?"

Montserrat was startled by the question. "No. In his perspective, I'm still the ungrateful daughter who insulted our father." Her sarcastic remark wasn't enough to make it seem like it hurt less. But just like Rafael, a grimness settled across her face. "He's not letting me talk to my nieces, nor see them. I don't have a lot of family in New York, so...it's a little hard dealing with it…"

"I know," Rafael agreed. "You'll get through this."

"...so will you," Montserrat whispered.

She sincerely hoped they could.

[historydojo]

    Gil Scott Heron is an American treasure. His music is largely not played on the radio anymore, and this is an accident of time and attention that needs to be remedied. Gil Scott Heron gave voice to many of the wonderful elements of freedom that symbolized the Black Power Movement and the Civil Rights Movement fought to establish for all Americans.

Through his music, Gil Scott Heron gave voice to the spirit that was dying in the streets, after the FBI, white supremacists and too-busy American middle class people moved on from opposing the plight of the poor, the minority and the underclass in this country.

This is the third installment on the Subversive Bands series from Historydojo. Please see the first installment here. Find the second installment here.

Gil Scott Heron reminds us not to forget. He sings to us to remember, and through our memory of what was dared by those who came before we can still see the way to be free. Being free is what this whole country is about, really.

Gil Scott Heron was an American treasure.

The anthem most remembered by Gil Scott Heron is “The Revolution Will Not Be Televised.” the message was radical enough that the FBI investigated him for being a subversive.

  The song is wonderful and needs to be heard today, more than ever.

  The lyrics to the song are below. I will attempt to explain some of the connections and references in the song, so that you can appreciate the significance of his genius.

You will not be able to stay home, brother You will not be able to plug in, turn on and drop out You will not be able to lose yourself on skag and skip Skip out for beer during commercials Because the revolution will not be televised

The revolution will not be televised

Here the reference to “skag” is a slang term for heroine, which was washing through the ghettos and back alleys of America after the Civil Rights Movement. It was an effective way to neutralize the activism of the 1950’s and 60’s. Years later, it would be revealed that the Federal government and the CIA were importing drugs into the inner city for exactly this purpose. [1]

The revolution will not be brought to you by Xerox In 4 parts without commercial interruption The revolution will not show you pictures of Nixon Blowing a bugle and leading a charge by John Mitchell General Abrams and Spiro Agnew to eat Hog maws confiscated from a Harlem sanctuary

The revolution will not be televised

Xerox is of course the major copier corporation that was a darling of the business world in the 1970’s This company symbolized the new modern business environment, because copiers were an amazing thing back then.

Today copiers are more a source of wasted time and frustration, so it gives us context to see how frustrating and irritating life must have been when copiers were a source of relief.

The 70’s were no picnic!

The song continues…

The revolution will be brought to you by the Schaefer Award Theatre and will not star Natalie Wood and Steve McQueen or Bullwinkle and Julia The revolution will not give your mouth sex appeal The revolution will not get rid of the nubs The revolution will not make you look five pounds Thinner, because The revolution will not be televised, Brother

There will be no pictures of you and Willie Mays Pushing that cart down the block on the dead run Or trying to slide that color television into a stolen ambulance NBC will not predict the winner at 8:32or the count from 29 districts

The revolution will not be televised

The references here to the movie stars Natalie Wood, Steve McQueen and the cartoon character Bullwinkle give us a time frame for the song.

Today the references could just as easily be for Michael B. Jordan and Scarlett Johannsen, and the cartoon character Spongebob Squarepants.

He references “the nubs” being removed by a new razor, a claim made by Gillette in the 70’s. Pushing the cart down the block and sliding color TV’s into stolen ambulances are references to the Watts riots that were broadcast on TV.

Read the FBI files on Gil Scott Heron here. Yes, he had an FBI file…

The desperation and anger of African Americans being displayed as criminality fed into white bias against African Americans and justified their white flight into the suburbs. [2] Heron is explaining to us all how these divisions are sown by corporations and media outlets, either knowingly or unknowingly.

Heron is being cynical, referencing popular culture as a distraction from the reality of political freedom, or the denial of it. He is calling out to us to wake up from our televised halcyon daze and see that modern culture is lulling us into passive acceptance of superficial dramas over real political change.

Our obsession with personal appearance, weight loss, celebrity and cable news “alerts” are all examples of how mass media deludes the people into seeing a false reality and distracts from seeing the real oppression all around us in the form of social control. [3]

Mass media deludes the people into seeing a false reality and distracts from seeing the real oppression all around us in the form of social control.

This is when the song really picks up steam.

There will be no pictures of pigs shooting down Brothers in the instant replay There will be no pictures of young being  Run out of Harlem on a rail with a brand new process There will be no slow motion or still life of  Roy Wilkens strolling through Watts in a red, black and Green liberation jumpsuit that he had been saving For just the right occasion Green Acres, The Beverly Hillbillies, and  Hooterville Junction will no longer be so damned relevant and Women will not care if Dick finally gets down with Jane on Search for Tomorrow because Black people will be in the street looking for a brighter day

The revolution will not be televised

Kwame Ture

Here Gil Scott Heron references Roy Wilkens, director of the NAACP in the 1970’s. Wilkens was seen as impotent in the aftermath of the Civil Rights Movement and the Black Power Movement, as any leader might when following the legacy of men like Martin Luther King , Jr. and Kwame Ture.

References to Dick and Jane recall a popular book of the day, used to teach young white children how to read in school.Heron jokingly applies a slang term about sex, “getting down with” to this reference to highlight the simplicity of Dick and Jane, and how education insulates students from the reality of their world in favor of an idolized view of the world.

Instead, he urges black people to look into the streets, “for a brighter day:”, than in the textbooks provided by a system that encourages passivity and loyalty to a system that dis-empowers African Americans throughout history.

Black People will be in the street looking for a brighter day.

There will be no highlights on the eleven o’clock News and no pictures of hairy armed women Liberationists and  Jackie Onassis blowing her nose The theme song will not be written by Jim Webb, Francis Scott Key nor sung by Glen Campbell, Tom Jones, Johnny Cash Englebert Humperdink, or the Rare Earth

The revolution will not be televised

In this stanza, Heron runs through a list of popular artists that were singing at the time. This is a jab at the corporate take over of music that occurred after the turbulent music of the 1960’s. The radical young activists who attended Woodstock and the Monterrey Pop Festival in 1967-68 were now parents, with mortgages and money to listen to music in their homes, and were courted by companies looking to profit from carefully presented and controlled artists, rather than the organic artists of the decade before.

The revolution will not come from careful corporate music groups, Heron declares.

He was right.

  The revolution will not be right back after a message 

About a white tornado, white lightning, or white people

You will not have to worry about a germ on your Bedroom

a tiger in your tank, or the giant in your toilet bowl

The revolution will not go better with Coke

The “white tornado” was a slogan for the household cleaner Ajax, and the term white lighting ins slang for home made liquor, or moonshine. The rest of the references continue in this same vein, commenting on how advertising distracts us from the real hardships of racism and inequality by solving our household chores and making our lives easier through consumerism. Gil Scott Heron’s message is that consumerism will steal our freedom by lulling us into a false sense of security.

The Lie: Racial Injustice does not go better with soda pop.

The revolution will not fight the germs that cause bad breath

The revolution WILL put you in the driver’s seat

The revolution will not be televised

WILL not be televised, WILL NOT BE TELEVISED

The revolution will be no re-run brothers

The revolution will be live

Gil Scott Heron was a national treasure. He was a real patriot. He was a patriot because he spoke up about the danger that surrounds us, conspiring to steal our freedom. He warned us against the false prophets of consumerism and celebrity. Today, more Americans are aware of the political belief of Kanye West than can even name their elected Representative.

The revolution has not yet come.

When it does, it will be covered over with news alerts and cable news coverage of salacious misrepresentations and attacks upon the character of those who lead it.

Gil Scott Heron warned us.

We cannot pretend we did not know.

[1] https://www.cia.gov/library/reports/general-reports-1/cocaine/report/intro.html 

[2] https://www.theatlantic.com/business/archive/2015/07/white-flight-alive-and-well/399980/

[3] https://www.brookings.edu/research/how-to-combat-fake-news-and-disinformation/

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Subversive Bands, Part Three: Gil Scott Heron, “The Revolution Will Not Be Televised” Gil Scott Heron is an American treasure. His music is largely not played on the radio anymore, and this is an accident of time and attention that needs to be remedied.

[junker-town]

It's cruel to laugh at Floyd Mayweather's reading problems

There are plenty of reasons to criticize Money Mayweather. His struggle with literacy isn't one of them.

There's nothing funny about Floyd Mayweather's reading ability, and it is stupid and cynical to think otherwise. Moreover, the situation should induce an uncomfortable amount of pity and shame from the world, rather than laughter. Mayweather is reprehensible, that much can't be argued, and no amount of boxing genius can change the corruptness of the human spirit or the damage that he has done to the women he has encountered. But deriding the man for his struggles with reading is not only elitist, with roots in racism, it's just downright crass.

A recent war of words with Destroyer of Worlds Ronda Rousey went something like this: Dana White spent a few months last year proclaiming that Rousey could beat Mayweather in an MMA fight. When asked about this, Mayweather claimed to not know who Rousey was and even referred to her as "he." Rousey shot back by bringing up Mayweather's history of domestic violence, before taking another verbal jab at the boxing champion at the 2015 ESPYs. Mayweather responded with the "I'm richer than you" route and then attempted to dismiss the situation.

Rousey countered his insult (that she needed to make $300 million before speaking to him) with: "I actually did the math and, given the numbers of my last fight, I'm actually the highest-paid UFC fighter, and I'm a woman. I think I actually make two to three times more than he does per second ... so when he learns to read and write, he can text me."

The entire exchange is childish. It's embarrassing for both parties and their respective fans. It's entirely forgettable except for the strain at the end of Rousey's last retort. That snarky comment belittling him for his reading ability is insidious. Of course the public digested it and laughed with her, just as they had laughed when 50 Cent (a former friend of Mayweather's) introduced the embarrassing reality to Instagram some time ago. In one post, he even bet that if Mayweather could read one page out of a Harry Potter book, he would donate a specified cash amount to charity.

This led the leaking of an audio file of Mayweather struggling to read a drop for a New York radio show. In it, Mayweather could be heard struggling beyond the initial, "This is Floyd Mayweather." He tried multiple times and towards the end, it felt repulsive for the hosts to push for a completion, knowing that he was being recorded. After it was revealed, the jokes poured in from all angles. Mayweather, untouchable in the square circle, was now utterly human in the most public way possible. His defense had been breached and behind it was a fallible being who responded that he all needed to be able to read was his checks.

The problem here is that literacy still is and has historically been a weapon of the elite. Consider that 18 percent of Michigan, Mayweather's home state, is functionally illiterate. And that 21 percent of citizens in Grand Rapids, where he was born, are as well.

Acknowledge that he dropped out of high school and grew up poor, and that poverty and illiteracy are heavily linked. That Mayweather was once a black child, and that black children are more than three times as likely to live in extreme poverty than white children in America. That these black children enter school already behind and usually into lower quality institutions.

The problem here is that literacy still is and has historically been a weapon of the elite.

Factor in that poor black children are almost three times more likely to be held back in school than their white counterparts. That while they are only 17 percent of the public school population, they represent 35.6 percent of students who experienced corporal punishment, 37.4 percent of all students suspended and 37.9 percent of all students expelled. That around 12th grade, out of the remaining children who have not dropped out or been expelled, 84 percent of them can't read at grade level.

Be conscious of the fact that Mayweather took special education classes for reading in school. That black children are twice as likely as white children to be placed in a class for students with intellectual disability.

You have to know that we are a society in which literacy and intelligence are inseparable and yet, by design, the intermingling demographic of poor and black receive the short end of the stick. Then the labels and stereotypes feed the beast and the world acts as if no one knows why they suffer.

It's not by chance that the poorest of us are forced to live in the worst neighborhoods and given the worst education possible. And it's neither bad luck nor divine retribution for his atrocious nature that Mayweather struggles to read. He is just the most famous face of the many millions who are burdened with that indignity.

The cowardly rationalization will be to say that Mayweather is ridiculously rich and still hasn't changed his situation. But that assumes that people only look down on the wealthy in that regard. Immediately after the audio file, Mayweather was compared numerous times to the popular kid or the bully in school who would, to the surprise of his victims, struggle during popcorn reading sessions. His classmates would then laugh in revenge, and shame him out of attempting again in the future.

It's not just bullies who get that treatment. Victims are also made out of innocent kids who struggle with reading. It's an extension of human nature, to laugh and shame those we deem as unintelligent. Reading comes easy to us, so they must have a problem if they don't possess such a simple skill.

Literacy is just another feast for the gluttonous desire of humans to feel as if they're better than the next person. The same evil crept underneath the separate but equal doctrine with the prize being one that people sacrificed their bodies and humanity to integrate schools for. It should be a human right, but more often than not, it's a gateway to a secret society for a select few.

The few that then glare down their nose at those they find dumb, all without realizing their privileged position.

It should have been a sign of just how embarrassing this inability was for Mayweather when, out of all of the insults that he receives on a day to day basis, that this was the one that he chose to have a candid post about. The most somber moment of his career so far was to admit that he struggled with something many of us take for granted. And in return, the world laughed at him.

That laughter has to extend to the millions who suffer in the same way. The root is the same and the sneering and dismissive attitude is the same. It has to extend to the children who will be relegated by society and labeled as dumb and idiotic because of this inability. Floyd made millions because of his extraordinary talent as a boxer and overcame his situation; most in the same position will not. That's who you're laughing at as well.

Throw Floyd Mayweather in the trash heap for many of his shortcomings, but his struggles with reading are only funny in as far as how much of a national embarrassment it is.

[thementalattic]

A corpse, Feds, a cantankerous foul-mouthed clown, a game dev, a strange town with strange people and a case to solve. It sounds like Twin Peaks, but it’s even more bizarre, it’s Thimbleweed Park.

Genre(s): Adventure | Point & Click

Developer: Terrible Toybox

Publisher: Terrible Toybox

Release Date: Mar 2017

Played Main Story

Platforms: PC

Purchase At: Steam

Good:

Hard mode lives up to its name.

Single player co-op.

Fun plot.

Bad:

Too many red herrings.

Review

I never finished Maniac Mansion. At the time, I didn’t really understand point & click adventure games (I was 7) and controlling a cursor using an NES gamepad was beyond me. I did play the Monkey Island series of course and the second instalment is one of my favourite LucasArts games. I know who Ron Gilbert is and I know his brand of puzzle design.

When I launched Thimbleweed Park, I chose the hard mode, which had all the puzzles, bringing the game to its true difficulty setting. I thought I was ready, that I knew how Gilbert and his cohorts thought and how they designed their puzzles, but I was so wrong and in a very good way. I’ve complained for years of how easy puzzles have become in adventure games and Thimbleweed Park nearly broke me. In playing for this review I spent days locked in a single chapter because I couldn’t figure out what to do.

Are you sure? It’s really hard!

Sometimes it was because the solution was mildly obtuse, such as using an open flame for a task my logic said I could carry out with about a dozen different ways, other times it was because of the annoyingly large number of red herrings this game has, such as the hoard of items you can pick up but have no purpose, just filling up your inventory and as they did with me, add in the confusion to a puzzle’s solution.

But mostly it was because the puzzles are difficult, the clues there but given ever so subtly, such as an off-hand comment by a character.

The other reason is that much like Maniac Mansion, this is a single-player cooperative game, meaning that characters must cooperate to solve puzzles and advance through the game’s chapters. This includes sharing items and using their own special circumstances to open paths closed to others. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t get frustrating at times.

From the pixelation, he’s been dead a while

What sometimes made things difficult for me, and it’s something I’m not sure is good or bad, is that you never know if you’ll be able to advance a character’s plot in each chapter, so you might spend hours trying to solve the puzzles that will progress Ransome’s story in a chapter where it’s impossible to do so, when you should focus on two of the other characters first.

As Thimbleweed Park’s areas open, more puzzles become available, though you don’t ever know if they’re solvable in the given chapter, or if the conditions for their solution only become available in another. As I said, don’t know if it’s good or bad. I was certainly the source for a lot of frustration, particularly because many of these puzzles belong in the book of Ron Gilbert’s greatest hits, such as a forest maze where you must find a way to track people to the right spot.

Perhaps in the easier mode these things have clearer signposts, but in the hard mode, you’re on your own. It lives up to its name, it’s truly hardcore.

He’s annoying-a-reno

Thimbleweed Park begins with a murder, a body left in a puddle down by the bridge out of town, the body so long gone it’s starting to pixelate—their words not mine. You first meet the sheriff and the coroner, identical men with annoying verbal tics. You’re sure they’re the same person but everyone in town thinks differently, so maybe you’re wrong? I leave that up to you.

Soon your investigation leads you to Ransome, a flashback to his story and a new character to control. Then it’s time for Delores, the niece of local genius inventor and saviour, the late Chuck Edmund, owner of Pillowtronics and creator of all machines in town and their wondrous Vacuum Tube technology.

No wonder Ransome is messed up, can you imagine living here?

Lastly, your investigation leads you to the Hotel, where you witness Chuck’s brother’s flashback…and his demise. And so, his ghost joins you in your adventure, with a new set of skills and proving that Thimbleweed Park has no issues in mixing as many genres as possible.

One thing I didn’t like about the multiple characters is that aside from a small flashing icon on the top right of the screen, which is pretty easy to miss, nothing in the game tells you or even suggests that you now have a new party member. Nor is there any real connection between them. They don’t talk with one another, exchange items just because you demand it but it’s not until the end of the game that they acknowledge each other’s presence.

Hell yes, Thimblecon!

In any other game I would call that out as being a flaw in narrative and characterization or I would complain about the two-dimensional portrayal of most characters, but when you realise where the Thimbleweed Park plot is going, the themes it’s exploring and where all the twists lead, you’ll let these things slide, as they make a lot of sense. Thimbleweed Park’s story plays with conventions of the murder mystery genre but also with those of adventure games and it’s really fun.

Speaking of twists, one thing about Thimbleweed Park that kept me hooked were those moments when the screen goes black, then a badly tuned TV shows up, either showing you what just happened or something happening in a different place to another character. It makes you want to hunt for the answers, and I kept my eyes peeled for more clues, but much like the items in the puzzles, I never knew if what I saw was real and meaningful or just another red herring.

Before you can explore, you need an official map!

Music in Thimbleweed Park is great, the environmental pieces helping set the mood of every location, such as the slightly sinister tones when walking around town, telling there’s something amiss. The hotel’s music takes a sudden turn to the sombre at times, setting the right vibe for this incredibly haunted place. The abandoned circus is a creepy desolate place and its music matches that exactly.

Voice acting is equally good and the actors sell their characters’ main personality attributes wonderfully. Ray is cynical and deadpan and looking out for number one only. Reyes tries to hide his plans, but he’s too earnest to be a good liar. Ransome laments the things he’s lost but he has trouble expressing his real feelings, burying them in layers of abuse and insults. Delores wants to follow her dreams but a part of her regrets what it cost her, though that doesn’t stop her. And Franklin is a ball of regrets and anguish.

Not the first nor the last of the fun jabs at other games and developers!

I’m not even spoiling anything, these are the first impressions I had of the characters from the voice acting. Thimbleweed Park’s writing only reinforced and filled in the details that explained those attitudes. But voice acting is truly special when it can tell you about a character without the text having to do so.

Visually it’s very similar to Ron Gilbert’s past games, and it’s to be expected when you read in the credits that Gilbert did for this game what he did back in LucasArts, program the engine and tools. He is, after all, the man behind SCUMM—Scripting Utility for Maniac Mansion—so this is his personal visual style, which I find refreshing after playing countless games going retro for nostalgia fodder. With Thimbleweed Park, it’s just the case of a developer doing what he knows best.

Environments and characters have vivid details and the visual settings even let you set how the toilet paper looks, be it over or under. It doesn’t get better than that, I tell you!

Smile!

You look familiar, man!

At least they know the rules!

Insult Clowns, because normal ones weren’t bad enough!

What this *bleep* said!

It’s all getting wavy…yep, it’s a flashback!

This name…it sounds familiar!

I approve of this collection!

So many “Shades” jokes, all of them great

The Postal service is hardcore about regulations!

Old man Franklin knows what’s rad in ’87!

Someone had to climb, you drew the short straw

At least she knows the item is useful!

Thimbleweed county hides many secrets

Let’s keep them out of offices and making games then!

This spoke to my developer heart and made me laugh so much

That’s one way to cut the music!

Conclusion

I prepared myself for judging Thimbleweed Park harshly, fearing it would be nothing but nostalgia fodder, yet another game sold on the fame of its predecessors. But what I found was not only a game worthy of the legacy of its creator, but a strong and challenging adventure game that gripped me in equal parts with its mechanics as it did with its zany storytelling.

TMA SCORE:

5/5 – HELL YES!

What can I say, I loved #ThimbleweedPark! Our review! @thimbleweedpark @grumpygamer

A corpse, Feds, a cantankerous foul-mouthed clown, a game dev, a strange town with strange people and a case to solve.

What can I say, I loved #ThimbleweedPark! Our review! @thimbleweedpark @grumpygamer A corpse, Feds, a cantankerous foul-mouthed clown, a game dev, a strange town with strange people and a case to solve.

[terryelovett-blog]

Are you absolutely tired of hearing all the “Mumbo Jumbo” crap about, “The law of attraction”, “Let go and let God”, “Awareness”, “Breathe”, “Believe”, “Walk in nature”? Are you tired of seeing, “Those people” hiking, biking, doing yoga, sitting in silence for hours finding their inner being; speaking softly as though they haven’t a care in the world? Do you ever wonder how, or if they’re really lingering in that state of mind ALL the time?

If so, let’s keep it real!

What you truly want to do is smack’m up beside the head and ask, “Who the hell are you people and what planet do you come from?”

And no matter how hard you’ve tried to reach this level of tranquility and balance, it simply isn’t happening for you. So you keep chasing your tail and life goes on and on and on – until one day you wake up and find that first gray hair has popped out of your scalp and the vertical crease in your forehead has become a deep crater forcing you to wear bangs.   

If you feel your life is gradually slipping away from you, then maybe it is… but you’re not alone. If you’re afraid that your family and friends will laugh at you, and your partner will call you crazy for wanting a more peaceful feeling inside – then don’t. “Fuck them”, is what I to say to myself, in my head of course, not to their face. It gives me a sense of power, power to just move past the spoken and unspoken judgment I hear and feel that makes me feel like a failure. 

I am and always will be (as you are too) a work in progress. Although, the number of times I must say, “Fuck them” (in my head of course) these days are fewer. I considered this a simple way of shedding the shame and unworthy feeling for which shouldn’t exist in the first place, but it does, for wanting to be a better person. Again, we’re all a work in progress – be easy on yourself.  

As many of you are aware if you’ve read my story, you’ll know that I have overcome three very difficult addictions through, “Self awareness, the power of intention, believing and understanding my worthiness through the law of attraction” and I did it ALONE. Too much alcohol, pain med’s, and smoking were my self medicating preferences. All for which millions of people worldwide struggle with daily.

However, it made absolutely no difference in my life how many times I was psychoanalyzed or how many times, I “Tried” to stop; almost always, I was unsuccessful.

That is until I understood, no one knew me better than me therefore; it was up to me to find the solution and follow through…

Here is what I found to be the most fascinating part of my recover; there is NO recovery and there are NO rules – only AWARENESS.

All that “Mumbo Jumbo Shit” actually works, and permanently… it’s not a temporary fix, it is a “Life altering”, “Brain changing” experience. You can’t explain it nor should you apologize for loving yourself this much…you own it! 

Remember, there will always be one more pile of something to fall into but once you’ve rearranged the neurons in your brain, you really don’t think in those old patterns as easily. But when you do, you’re more apt to quickly become aware of what isn’t loving to you and move towards that euphoric feeling of love for you. 

The twist here is that I had been meditating without all the posing and positioning and chanting and breathing for sometime and didn’t even realize what I was doing. It was the little things like spending 30 minutes lying on the floor with my eyes closed, saying over and over again, “Clear, clear your mind” while listening to Bob Ross (on PBS) paint a picture of my life; the one I currently live in.

It was taking a couple of deep breaths while driving to work or imagining what my life would look like sober; it was yearning to learn more, read more, step outside the box and make a total fool of myself then get back up and do it again. It was knowing when I couldn’t take anymore and allowing myself to cry. 

It was shutting out a cynical husband calling Wayne Dyer a “Bald-headed fuck face” during my transformation infancy towards spiritual growth. At first his hateful comments penetrated my sense of worthiness and belief, like insects swarming my flesh. He may have  humiliated me in my effort but he never stopped me from moving forward. This is when I learned to say in my head, “Fuck him”, this is my journey.

Surprisingly enough, I quit retaliating to his quiet sarcastic jabs at my character without resentment and soon began to feel compassion towards his pathetic insecurity. This is when life started becoming easier and, “Fuck him, fuck them” became my internal dialog when faced with a naysayer.

For the longest I hid in my closet to meditate – feeling like kid who’d just figured out how exhilarating masturbation was – but somehow there was an element of shame associated.

I had to keep telling myself that this was my journey and I wanted and would design every single step of it my way… which meant rearranging the landscape and learning how to survive and understand every peak, valley, and field there was to explore through letting go and letting God blindly guide me through.

Is it as easy as, “Those people” make it appear to be?

Hell to the NO!

But is it hard? NO, its not hard!

Be patient with yourself and it will come to you. 

Don’t underestimate yourself; Step outside of your comfort zone; I think you’ll surprise yourself. Take baby steps at first and soon you will be making quantum leaps.

Don’t hold back when needed and remember that this, “Mumbo Jumbo Shit”, it does work. Realize that every now and then you’re gonna need to say (in your head of course), “Fuck him, Fuck her, Fuck them” with a smile on your face. 

I truly do not have a potty mouth but OMG – Try it – it actually feels so good!

“You can’t get it wrong and you will never get it done.” – Abraham Hicks

Peace & Love My Friend!

  One second, one minute, one hour, one day is all we get - don’t waste it!