#rather that be as motivation or as tension — its always about their impact to the male world instead of actually having an existence on

[martyrbat]

i got such a bad migraine someone pls remind me to come back to this when i can form a good thought™ and word it properly but. dc officials have to have SOME level of awareness of the constent mistreatment of talia's character to reduce her to a punchline or antagonist again and again... like, we see it in worlds finest, gotham knights, whatever recent that features her — you cant tell me that it isnt just intentionally decided again and again to continue writing her like this despite being aware of the problematic qualities of it. they have enough awareness in the fandom to bring up uwu batfam moments and make little gags and schticks in multiple pieces of media but they just coincidentally dont see people being rightfully upset at how dc continues to portray her?? bullshit. its as if theyre constantly trying to pretend she wasnt disgustingly retconned and she was just always like this because then they dont have to admit their own continue history of racism and misogyny.

theres still so many batfam focused ppl that will willingly choose again and again to either ignore or excuse their raciam and misogyny. they know they can get away with it and avoid accountability so they continue to do so. theres no reason she had to be brought up and mentioned for a shitty joke — the only reason it was *talia* was because they HAVE to be aware of the reputation they gave her and it was the essiest, most laziest writing chance they had to make a joke thatll just end up posted on twitter without context. theyre aware of the backlash and outcry but all press is good press and they know theres enough people in the comic fandom to defend them so they can avoid actually acknowledging why shes written this shittily in the first place (again, its from raciam and misogyny. literally thats it.)

in fact!!!! they didnt have to have a joke point blank. let the fucking moment sit or better yet — write an actual decent story that does anything. isnt that the point of creating something? to actually say and mean something instead of just filling the comic with shit thatll age badly in a month, much less be iconic for years to come.

they think theyre making a jokey comic that's a fun adventure but instead all they continue to do is make a joke of once beloved characters and reduce them as two dimensional flat mockeries of themselves. its to the point where the only things that are still so iconic about them is their own fucking names — which even that is dwindling rapidly due to their inability to write sincerity or anything meaningful. everything has to constantly end on a punchline or joke so it can be dismissed easier instead of having to take credibility for their shallow, halfassed characterization thats used to cater to their flat writing — which just gets ignored anyways in the favour of pretty art

[theeoriginals]

could you do elijah with a catwoman type of reader? she likes the finer things, she's flirty/loves the chase, and whatever else you think fits! maybe they've been seeing each other secretly (like when katherine/elijah were doing it secretly in tvd lmao) OR they meet for the first time (e.g., she steals something from him and gets caught but gets away and she's hints at seeing him again next time) this is so specific but do whatever you want with it!!

cat and mouse | elijah mikaelson

author's note; this was so fun thank u for requesting <3

warnings: witch!female!reader, tension, abruptish ending bc I didn't know how to drag it out more, brief shapeshifting but I like barely touch on it, because it's sort of inconsequential to the story. reader is close with Klaus, but it's purely platonic! honestly could class this at love at first sight, with how I wrote elijah. fluff, just some heavy make outs, nothing too graphic. reader is flirty and confident!! no use of y/n!

There’s an inherent seductiveness to wearing a mask. It’s almost more vulnerable than just showing your face, because you have to rely on your words, your wit, to get the job done. Of course, there isn’t any specific job she’s needing to get done tonight, but she tries to never attend these sorts of things without a personal mission of some kind.

She gets bored, is the thing. 

Even though she's got everything she could ever want and more, she gets bored and she can't help what happens after that. It's a bad habit, she knows. Her friends always laugh, hiding their smirks and smiles behind her hands when they come over and see the newest shiny thing that wasn't there before. When they hear of a shadow that terrorizes people, seemingly at random. 

It's harmless, though. She's never hurt anyone by doing it. She just laughs a little and maybe she stays the night with some of them, and gets what she wants and more. Cures that boredom in a few different ways. 

It’s started to creep in again, that feeling. It’s why she’s here in the first place. Klaus is a friend, but she tries to keep out of his hijinks for her own safety. Most people here in New Orleans know better than to pledge loyalty to the hybrid, because no one around him is safe for long, even his own family. 

That’s the premise of tonight’s party, according to Klaus. Reuniting his family for what seems like the hundredth time. She feels it’s starting to lose its emotional impact, what with how many times he’s daggered and undaggered them, treating them like they’re pets or something. But she doesn’t voice any of this to Klaus, because she’s smarter than that, and she isn’t equipped to deal with the thousands of years of family drama between the Originals. 

It seems odd to have a masquerade ball as a welcome home party, but she digresses. It’s pointless to question his motives, and it causes her more of a headache than anything. It’s easier to just enjoy herself, and even easier than that to try and find a cure to her boredom. 

It's starting to settle in like a fog of some sort, except it's not hazy or particularly tiring, it's more like steam. Like a hot sauna, soaking the surface of her skin, leaving her panting, thirsty. 

So she leaves the relative safety of the open bar, and lifts her chin up, keeping her shoulders in a stiff line so that people move for her, because she certainly won’t move for them. 

She’s nearly through the dance floor when she’s stopped by a firm hand on her wrist, and her arm is extended with the light tug just before she twists around, braced to deal with whatever idiot has grabbed her. 

She stops short at the sight of the man, only half of his face covered by a mask unlike hers that shields everything real about her except her eyes. 

There’s a smirk on his lips, like he’s amused by something, but she can’t fathom what by. “Excuse me?” She raises a brow, incredulous expression hidden by the mask on her face. It’s rather flimsy, overall, but the rhinestones placed strategically around it juxtapose the sleek black dress draped over her frame, making her appear as nothing more than a shadow. 

“You’re not leaving yet, are you?” 

The voice is unfamiliar, and she loathes the thought that a stranger is teaching her with such familiarity. “I wasn’t aware it mattered,” She gestures vaguely with her other hand, reminding herself of the rather loose grip he has on her wrist. “The party will go on without me, I’m sure.” 

The man ducks his head in a conceding nod, but the smirk on his face has done nothing but get bigger the longer she entertains this odd interaction. “You’ve hardly danced all night.” 

She knows he can’t see the twist of curiosity on her face, but her body must portray it anyways, because he’s immediately elaborating. 

“I’ve had my eye on you,” He says, accented voice a lulling drawl. She’s sure it would put anyone under a spell, given the chance. “I couldn’t let you leave without getting at least one dance, and perhaps your name.” 

“Awfully presumptuous of you,” She notes, though she closes a bit of the distance between them, suddenly interested in the proposition. “I’ll give you a dance, but you’ll have to convince me for a name. I don’t give that out to strangers.” 

He nods again, pulling her to him, closing the rest of the distance between them. “Of course,” 

It’s easy to fall into step with him, practically painted against his chest, there’s no real rhythm to what they’re doing, but it’s working. She’s staring into his eyes from behind the shadowy mask, and he’s looking into hers, like he’ll get every answer he wants from them. 

“So,” He starts, blinking slowly like he doesn’t want to spare a split second from them just in case he misses something. “Do you know anyone here, or are you just here by word of mouth?” 

“I’m familiar with the host,” She says carefully, noticing the way his eyes darken with a hint of surprise. “He’s a friend. I do business with him, sometimes.” 

He seems to see the deeper meaning behind her words. “I wasn’t aware he had many friends of your variety these days,” 

“Oh, he doesn’t,” She says, smirking beneath the mask at the short chuckle that leaves him. “But I suppose there’s an exception to everything. It works for us. I’m still alive, after all. Not many can usually say that after dealing with him.” 

The man’s mouth twists wryly. “I can’t disagree with that.” 

“You’ve obviously got something in common with him, too,” She notes plainly, leveling the playing field between them about information they can peel out of each other without really saying anything. “Perhaps he has more friends than either of us are aware of.” 

“He’s got plenty of secrets up his sleeves, I’m sure of that.” 

He turns them suddenly, hand spanning across the open back of her dress, and she can’t stop the quiet gasp that spills from her lips, hopefully muffled by the mask, though the slight twitch of his fingers against the bare skin of her back says he heard it loud and clear. 

“If I give you my name, may I have yours?” She asks suddenly, aware of the song playing for their dance coming to an end sooner, rather than later. “A fair trade.” 

“I am nothing if not fair,” 

She hums, though she partially doubts his words. He’s shown in the past few minutes that he can play any game she plays, just as easily. 

They dip into the shadows for a moment, ducking out of the colorful lights flashing on the makeshift dance floor, and she makes a decision quickly.

She lays her hand flat against his chest, skating her nails along the pieces of his suit as she slides up his neck and to his jaw, moving fast to push the mask off his face as her other hand rips her own off. 

She doesn’t give him time to blink, or get a real look at her face before she’s smashing their lips together, squeezing her eyes shut as he backs her further into the darkness. She twists them just before they hit the wall, relishing in the way his breath is knocked from his lungs. It doesn’t seem to bother him for long, because he’s drawing her back in, sighing against her lips like she’s just breathed life back into him. 

She skirts her hands all around his lithe frame, feeling the muscles that tense under her touch, hidden but not unnoticeable by the lines of his tailored suit. She drags her nails up under his jacket, rustling the neatly tucked fabric, and pulls her lips away from his mouth to drop down to his jaw, flicking a sharp canine against his jaw and delighting in the choked off noise that breaks from his throat. 

She hides her face in the curve of his throat, leaving marks that disappear almost immediately as she makes them. Panting for breath, she clenches her hands where they lay on his waist. “What’s your name?” 

He licks his spit-swollen lips, head thrown back against the wall as he tries to collect what little of himself he’s got left. “Elijah,” 

“Elijah,” She echoes, tongue curling prettily around the syllables of his name. “Elijah.” 

“Yours,” He says, calloused fingers digging into the exposed skin from her dress. “What’s your name?” 

“My name,” She says, pressing her lips to the shell of his ear, smile practically audible. “Is a secret.” 

Before Elijah can even let out his next breath, every point of pleasure she’s got on him disappears, and he’s left feeling abruptly cold. He rips his eyes open, blinking as they adjust to the bleak lighting, and his chest heaves as he looks around for any piece of that mask, or that dress. Strains his ears to hear the breath of her voice, the pulse that drowned out every song playing. 

She’s nowhere to be found. Elijah tries to be annoyed, but a smile grows on his lips and he can’t help but slump against the wall as he attempts to fix his suit where it’s been tugged at and wrinkled amidst their brief burst of passion. 

A smear of lipstick lingers on his skin, and her intoxicating scent drifts in the natural breeze. 

His curiosity is a dangerous thing. 

────── 

She sets out on a familiar path, forgoing her flesh tones and simpering smiles for four legs and a sleek black coat. She covers more ground like this, makes her way to the Quarter and past all of the usual mess happening. No one really looks twice at her in this form– it's how she prefers things, for the most part. 

There's a specific brand of chaos that she's seeking, and she hears the familiar echo of the man's voice as she approaches the compound. If she could smirk like this, she would, but as it is, all she can do is reveal the two sharp fangs that hang down onto the sides of her mouth and pick up her pace ever so slightly. 

The door to his study is open and she sees him pacing back and forth, talking loudly to no one in particular. She isn't sure if there's other people in the house right now, but it certainly wouldn't be the first time she caught Klaus talking to himself. 

He seems to notice her just as she leaps onto his desk, shuffling the stack of stationary sitting atop it. 

"Oh, good, and now you're here to bother me," He stops his pacing, turning to face the black cat sitting primly on the desk. "What is it you want?" 

She stares blankly at him and he rolls his eyes, face set in that familiar glare that's basically tattooed on his features. 

"I don't know why you bother with this," He gestures at her, rolling his eyes again. "The sooner you're in a form I can actually speak to, the sooner I can get you out of my house and back into the Quarter, wreaking havoc on those who have wronged me." 

She can't help the sudden desire she has to irritate him just a bit more, so she bats a leg out and kicks a ceramic figurine off the edge of his desk, watching his fists clench at his sides frustratedly as it shatters. 

Yawning dramatically, she flicks her tail out and perches on the edge of his desk, shaking off the sudden change in appearance as he glares at her, entirely unamused by the whole act. 

"What do you want?" 

She huffs, ever so dramatic, and pushes off his desk, walking around him to drape her arms over his shoulders and dig her chin into the muscles there. 

"I'm bored, Klaus. And nobody likes it when I get bored." 

He sighs, entirely put upon at her dramatics. "What do you suggest I do about that?" 

"What's got you so tense? Maybe I can help with that, hm?" She tries, digging her nails into his skin through the fabric of his shirt. 

"My generosity has come back to haunt me," 

His words earn an immediate laugh from her and she peels herself off of his back, walking across the study to throw herself down onto the couch, laying an arm over her eyes. "Oh, yes, your generosity, which you are so well known for. What have you done now?" 

“Must everything be my fault? It could very well be someone else, you know,” 

She lifts her arm from her face, giving him an entirely unamused look that he dutifully ignores. 

“You know,” He starts again, earning a quiet groan from her that he ignores just as easily. “I undaggered my siblings because I thought they would be less upset with me after all this time. I threw them a party! I gave them access to as many humans as I could!” 

“Oh, I know– how could anyone ever hold a grudge for being stuck in a box for hundreds of years because their brother didn’t want to have a moral compass?” 

He glares at her and she pushes up from the couch, stretching her limbs as she goes. “How about you just let them be mad at you, and you give me the name of one of those people who have supposedly wronged you?” 

Klaus sighs, but he gives in easily, just like she knew he would. It’s why they work so well together. He can’t resist her inherent desire to make a mess. 

────── 

The Quarter is as lively as ever, but the energy is always different when the sun goes down. She likes it better this way, when the tourists have returned to their hotel rooms, scared off by enough local legends that they don’t dare wander too far in fear of being sucked into some magical nightmare. 

She likes when the nocturnal things come out to play, because it means there’s so much less attention on her, and what she’s doing. It makes it easier to get things done, this way. 

She’s nursing a drink at the bar in Rousseau’s, unable to resist the draw this place has for witches and vampires alike. It’s mostly seen as a neutral ground, because no one’s willing to risk a place to get good food and drinks over a turf war. 

She’s been making eyes at a boy across the room, quickly looking away when he catches her eye, hiding a bashful smile in her drink. It’s a fun game to play, and it grows easier with every passing minute to lure them in. Even if there’s something off about her, they can’t resist it. Like a mouse walking straight into a trap, just for a bite of the cheese. 

It doesn’t take much longer for the boy, Ethan, to approach her. He’s got a smirk on his face, and he’s obviously under the impression that this is a sure thing. 

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but,” He shifts, setting his drink down on the bar next to hers. “I saw you looking at me from over here.” 

She swirls the straw in her drink around a few times, looking up at him from beneath her lashes. “Is that all it took? Me looking at you?” 

He chuckles, moving to stand more directly in front of her. “Well, you seemed a little lonely, sitting here all by yourself,” 

She sits up in her seat, smirking. “Are you going to fix that for me?” 

“That will be all, thank you, Ethan.” The strikingly familiar voice comes from behind her, and she instantly slumps in her seat, a wry, defeated smile twisting onto her lips despite how much she tries to stop it. 

The boy in front of her straightens up, defensive at the sudden rejection, but as soon as he sees who it is standing behind her, he backs down. His eyes flicker to her, and she flutters her finger in a wave, dismissing him easily as the man quickly takes his place standing before her. 

“That wasn’t very kind of you, Elijah,” She says, taking a sip of her drink. “I was doing business with him. Your brother’s business.”

“You were a very difficult woman to find, do you know that?” 

She raises her glass to him in a mocking toast. “And yet here you are,” 

“Is that what my brother considers business these days? Usually that sort of exchange was reserved for his closest confidants,” 

“A good businessman is always adapting,” She shrugs, watching his eyes roam her face, committing every part of it to memory. “Did you find me for any particular reason, Elijah? Or am I just honored to have the company of an Original,” 

“You stole my watch,” He says, looking anything but upset. “And a button, of all things. Now, the button I’m less worried about, but the watch is an antique.” 

She hums, eyes narrowing at his easy going demeanor. “You spent all this time tracking me down over an antique watch? Forgive me for my assumptions, but I don’t believe that.” 

He nods, still smiling fondly, like she hasn’t been almost entirely antagonistic to him since their first meeting. “I also want your name.” 

“Surely you know my name by now,” She says, huffing a disbelieving laugh. “You couldn’t have found me otherwise.” 

“I do,” He nods again. “But I want to hear it from you. A fair trade, and all.” 

She heaves a sigh, pushing to her feet off the chair to stand before him, once again practically glued to the front of him. “A man of your word, I see,” 

He hums an agreeing noise. “Even when we have nothing else, we have our word. I’m also not one to go back on a deal. I don’t like loose ends.” 

“That’s a shame, I love loose ends,” She grins widely, earning a chuckle from him that says he’s nothing but charmed. “Follow me.” 

She gestures towards the door, and Elijah is quick to fall into step behind her, though she isn’t sure if it’s her past disappearing act or something else that has him so keen to do as she says. 

They step outside into the humid, but cooling air, and she glances up at the pale moon above them, feeling every bit of warmth from it that one would get from the sun. 

“I’m curious to know how you found me,” She says, looking at him as he walks beside her down the mostly-empty sidewalks. 

He sighs, pushing his hands into the pockets of his suit pants, looking every bit as pressed and pretty as he did at the party. “I thought about asking around at first, of course, but I figured if you wouldn’t even share your name with me, the second you caught wind of someone asking about you, you’d become harder to find.” 

“Smart man,” 

He hums, and smiles. “My brother, his girlfriend, is a witch. I asked her for a favor. You left your mask at the party, so,” 

“Foiled by a simple tracking spell,” She says, putting on an air of defeat that has him chuckling, her following suit shortly after. “I appreciate your tenacity, Mr. Mikaelson. Not many want to play my games,” 

“Is that what it was, then? A game?” 

“Of sorts,” She says, coming to a stop at the steps that lead up to her little apartment. “It’d be quite bold of me to play a game of cat and mouse with an Original, don’t you think?” 

He steps closer to her, eyes narrowing as he tilts his head, examining her. “I think that you seem to know quite a bit about me and my family, but I’ve just barely scratched the surface of you.” 

She steps closer to him, the tips of her shoes hitting his. “I do owe you my name, don’t I?” 

“A deal’s a deal,” 

She echoes his words softly, already pressing up on her toes to meet him halfway. “A deal’s a deal.” 

There’s much less fervor in this kiss than the last, but no lack of passion. It seems to strike them both breathless, and she finds herself leaning into him, wrapping a hand around the end of his neatly knotted tie to pull him in impossibly closer. 

A split second later, she forces herself to pull away, sighing shakily as she looks into his lustful, deep gaze. She whispers her name quietly, watching his pupils blow out as it carries between them. He echoes it back, just as quietly, and she nods, hand still wrapped in his tie, where his are still clutching her waist, keeping her from running again. 

“Is that all, then?” She asks, voice still a whisper, like she’s afraid to break whatever has settled between them. “A deal’s a deal.” 

“What’s that you said earlier?” He sighs, chest heaving with the breath. “A businessman is always adapting.” 

He pulls her back into him, catching the corner of her mouth with his lips before he realigns, barely parting for a second to press repeated kisses to her soft lips that taste like the sugary drink she’d had at the bar. “Besides,” He breathes in between kisses. “You still have my watch.” 

She laughs into the next kiss, and it spills out into the night, making him let out his own laugh that sounds just as utterly besotted as hers. 

He forgets about the watch. But by the time he remembers it, he figures there’s no harm in letting her keep it. If only to have an excuse to see her again. 

[simplystaticstrike]

📺 *⁠.⁠✧ VOX × READER *⁠.⁠✧ 📺

｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+ WARNING:

Cursing. Insults. Manipulation? Degradation. Rude behavior. Mentions of depravity and loneliness.

｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+ GENRE/THEME:

Hate-Love. Loving hatred. Unrequited attraction. Speculative attraction.

｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+ SYNOPSIS:

Vox is known for being a cocky and confident overlord, famously known for his Vox-Tech. His behavior is rather rash, and no one even thinks about standing up to him. Well, all apart from this one determined critic who is looking out to make his flaws known.

｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+ AUTHORS NOTE:

This is technically my first time writing an OFFICIAL fanfic, so apologies if it isn't TOO great or professional. This isn't proof read so try to look over the mistakes, if there are any!

Always striving for personal growth, Vox was a motivated individual constantly preoccupied with his numerous responsibilities. He cherished the VEES, as their workplace possessed an air of authority that lead to carefully considered decisions, having a lasting impact on thousands. Embracing a luxurious aesthetic from its granite walls to lavish mahogany floors and comfortable handcrafted desks, the high ellipsoidal ceilings grace each room with both spaciousness and importance. There was no room for anyone else or any kind of hobby with Vox's overbearing passions and works. Being alone, however, made him reflect on his decisions in life. He wondered if he had chosen the right path. As a child, he had always dreamed of a family of his own. Yet as a young, independent adult, he found himself more alone than he had ever been. Despite the joy and cheer he saw all around him, specifically emitting from Velvette and Valentino, Vox just couldn't feel it too. Truly and genuinely at least. With no one to share his thoughts or feelings with, he often sat by himself in his room, contemplating his life choices. He found himself wishing for a companion, someone to celebrate his accomplishments with and make him feel less lonely. However, another part of him told him that what he was looking for wasn't another person and he only assumed that because of the undertaking tension that festered within past relationships. He didn’t particularly like to think about that. Instead, what seemed to be his main purpose to live involved business and business only. He lost himself in the worlds created by successful businessmen, savoring every detail; their days were spent in a routine of hard work and introspection. They found solace in their businesses. Vox wanted that too, more than anything.

The VEE headquarters was its usual tranquil self, with employees busily typing away and chatting on the phone in their spacious cubicles. The labyrinthine workspace seemed to stretch on forever, each area was a unique world populated by a diverse array of individuals. There were the quiet ones, the loud ones, and those who loved to boast about their sadistic affairs. Vox, on the other hand, was as usual, on the move, determined to make progress. He strode confidently over to the excited crowd awaiting his approach,

Vox was ready to tackle his next challenge:

"Hello, my lovely patrons! I'm assuming you all are looking for some form of reassurance after that crazy battle at lil princess morningstar's hotel, yeah?" The overlord questioned the chaotic crowd, his voice loud and clear.

"Yes, sir!"

"Are you still working on those angelic securities?" The angels will definitely come back with full force next time, right?"

"why, of course! Your safety is our priority after all!" Vox declared, outstretching his hands out in a gesture of triumph.

"but, sir! Is that even necessary? I mean, the princess and her band of misfits kinda showed those angels up! So, wouldn't we just need some angelic weapons?" No cameras and shit, right?"

Vox was taken aback by the sudden question, and his voice was infused with disbelief: "Heh, I mean weapons aren't ALL you need. Have I ever stood you all wrong before?" He crossed his arms, quirking a single brow.

Silence.

Then a scoff.

Vox's jaw tightened as he trained his eyes on the customer that dismissed his statement. "excuse me?" He watched as they stepped forward, pushing past the other customers determinedly. "And you are?"

"Y/n," They stated, extending their hand out for a hand shake. "Professional critic; Been following you for a long time, Vox."

“Really now?” Vox questioned quietly, hesitantly accepting the handshake. He crossed his arms, continuing broodingly, "What do I need a critic for, eh?"

"The truth is bound to come out eventually, right?" The critic began, also crossing their arms as if they were mimicking the overlord. "So, I must say that it is because of you and your not so delightful personality, sir. I have heard countless of statements from employee's who are just tired of working for you. Now, I'm not saying you're a bad person. You're just hard to deal with and that's just me being conservative."

Vox blinked, craning his head to look back at his subordinates who quickly scattered away in worry. Looking back at Y/n, he forced a polite smile. A part of him had expected that answer, but another part had hoped for something entirely different.

“I can be demanding at times and may push the policies here and there to achieve success, but that's not enough reason to complain, now is it?” He narrowed his gaze onto the critic, as if he were challenging them. “Tell me, what did I do that was so terrible and difficult to deal with? What have you heard? Please, tell."

Y/n winced, pausing before answering, "Vox," they began, pulling a notepad out of their bag before they started reading off some statements from employees, "working with him was enjoyable at first, but over time, it became exhausting as he relied too heavily on me for things that didn't even fit into my department. It felt as if he was just using me to cover up his back."

Vox took a deep breath and clenched his fists. His screen glitched in frustration as he addressed Y/n, "They are MY employees. It's their job to cover my back and handle the workload. That's what they're getting paid for. What else am I supposed to do as their mentor? Play golf?" He took a step closer to the critic, his expression intensifying greatly.

Y/N flinched, "I understand that," they responded cautiously. "But THEY don't enjoy doing so much, and I don't feel like you appreciate them. You think of them as your servants and expect them to go above and beyond their duties."

Vox grimaced, taking a step closer, closing the distance almost entirely. “I'm doing the best I can, so please stop portraying me as the villain. I'm not asking too much from them. All I expect is for them to fulfill their responsibilities. If I were such a terrible supervisor,” he then muttered begrudgingly, “then my employees are even more terrible workers. They're only staying to be paid half of what their worth, but just enough to keep them coming back for more."

"are you kidding me?" Y/n asked cautiously, trying to hide their apprehension. "You--"

"Ya know, I am an honest man." Vox interrupted and jumped at the critics side, invasively wrapping an arm around them. "As honest as one could be! And to be COMPLETELY honest, I don't think being a critic is really the right career path for you, my dear. How about..." He paused, tightening his hold around Y/n. "A day laborer? You've got the look and a solid reputation to match, so why not consider a day laborer position? Although the work may be menial and leave you covered in dirt and grime, you'll do a great job, I’m sure. However, let's not kid ourselves – this is no cushy gig. But, given your lifestyle, you're more than capable of tackling it.”

“What the hell?!” y/n exclaimed, visibly offended. They pushed Vox away forcefully and slammed their notebook to the ground below, “That's so degrading!"

“It's yours. The job offer, I mean.”

“Wha— this is . . . why are you like this?”

Vox expression feigns solemnity, “You’re right. I haven’t appreciated my employees as much as I should have been. I know I’m a bit difficult to work with, but I’m sorry for taking them for granted. Their presence will definitely be appreciated from now on. I’m sure of it. Just as YOUR presence would be appreciated anywhere but here."

“You’re literally saying I’d be perfect doing unglamorous tasks, you fuckin' prick!” Y/n argued, defensively.

"Think twice and check yourself before you speak if glamor is what you're seeking, babes." Vox mused with a hint of sarcasm, booping the critic's nose. Then his voice got exceptionally lower, "But, I will admit, my dear, no one has ever stood up to me like this before. It's quite riveting.

I just might continue my distasteful behavior if it means you'll stick around and talk shit about me."

Surely, this was all a part of Vox's facade. He could careless if you come back or not, or at least that's what he told himself. Maybe, just maybe, if he had to choose to spend his time with anyone, it'd be y/n:

Because they surely were something.

[rurahdenisesblog]

Sex Education: Raising The Standard for Representing LGBTQ+ in The Entertainment Industry

Sex Education has indeed established itself as one of the most enlightening programs on adolescence and sexuality, but with the release of its second season, it raises the standard for complex representations of LGBTQ+ youth. By the time Sex Education season two's closing titles appear, the well-liked Netflix series is one of the queerest adolescent comedies ever; about half of the key characters have displayed queerness in some form.

Ncuti Gatwa's portrayal in Sex Education's first season exposed us to the unashamed, unrepentant Eric Effiong. Although he is close friends with the main character Otis Milburn, the program never treats him as the cliché homosexual best buddy or comedic relief. Sure, he's extremely entertaining and isn't scared to show off when it comes to his costumes, but Sex Education has always presented Eric as a complex individual. He has his own moral principles, which include his religion and the church family to which he belongs to. Also important is the fact that he is of Ghanaian and Nigerian heritage in a largely white LGBTQ+ television environment. One of the most progressive LGBT characters on television is Eric, especially with all of his qualities. Although, to be honest, it does so by employing one of the oldest tactics in the book—a love triangle—season two advances Eric's plot. However, heterosexual characters have traditionally been the only ones who had access to this narrative device. Rarely do queer characters ever have the chance to date one possible partner, much less two. The classic tension of who will he choose is used in the love triangle, but ultimately, it doesn't matter which boy Eric likes more; rather, it matters which one makes Eric feel more like himself. Even his mother can see the differences between the two as they compete for her son's affection.In the end, Eric picks Adam, one of the few bisexual young men on television. Adam's path of self-discovery and acceptance serves as a reminder that there are indeed plenty adolescents who battle with their identity, even though characters like Eric and Rahim are proud of their identity from the start. It also serves as a reminder that there is hope and that loving yourself will enable you to truly embrace everyone else. Ola, who discovers she is pansexual after her separation with Otis and the emergence of love for her friend Lily, joins Adam under the bisexual umbrella. She stands in stark contrast to Adam since Ola is willing to embrace rainbows and give tailored menswear her own unique twist after taking a little online exam to accept who she is. Ola and Adam are coworkers at the convenience store, and their relationship turns out to be one of Sex Education's most delightful and unexpected outcomes. Although their shared interest adds a new dimension to their relationship, their sexual orientation is not always what forges their bond.

While Sex Education receives acclaim for exposing the diversity of queerness, fans of the show would love to see a trans character be included in its plot. In the end though, it's so thrilling that about half the cast of a popular TV show may identify as gay in some way. It's not only that these LGBTQ+ characters in Sex Education fit a certain standard, though. The way they are incorporated into the program is how. Their sexuality is an element of their identity that impacts several other aspects of who they are, but it's not the entirety of who they are, as you can see in the care with which their narratives are portrayed. It's a vital part of their identity, and it motivates some of their decisions and behaviors, but not all of them. They are present, they identify as queer, but they are also let to be whole, multifaceted people.

References:

[landonbuttars]

How to Handle Conflict in Small Teams Effectively

Conflict is inevitable in small teams and can be challenging to handle effectively. It can be especially tricky to manage if the team has strong-willed individuals who do not always see eye-to-eye, and this can lead to reduced productivity, increased stress levels, and decreased morale. The good news is that conflict doesn't have to mean the end of a team's success. With the right strategies, team members can learn how to resolve conflicts and unite as a unit effectively.

There are four types of workplace conflicts: leadership issues, task-based disputes, work style clashes, and personality clashes. Leadership issues can arise between members who disagree on the direction of a project or overall team heading. These disputes tend to involve senior members of the team who have different agendas or values and disagree on how to reach them.

Task-based conflicts involve disagreements over tasks that affect performance or progress within a project or group undertaking. These conflicts arise when two team members are assigned the same duty but have different skill sets and no clear delegation of who is in charge. This lack of agreement often leads to delayed decision-making, affecting overall success.

Work style conflicts arise when two people have different ways of approaching tasks or interacting with each other in the workplace. Despite having similar outlooks, they often clash over details, leading to resentment and a lack of enthusiasm when achieving their goals.

Lastly, personality clashes occur when two people's personalities clash due to incompatible working styles or opinions about work processes or topics that may not directly relate to completing tasks efficiently but still significantly impact how well teams collaborate.

The first step in handling any conflict effectively is to acknowledge that there is one. Therefore, handling any disagreement as soon as possible is crucial, even before it reaches critical mass, rather than letting it fester for an extended period. Once everyone acknowledges the dispute, all parties can move forward more productively toward its resolution.

Once all participants have acknowledged the conflict, the next step is for everyone involved to take a breather and cool off before attempting to resolve the issue further. Depending on how bad the disagreement is, this could mean taking an afternoon off from talking about it or even taking a break from work until each person has a different view of what's going on and feels less stressed about working out their differences as a group. This will help prevent unproductive discussions that will cause further irritation between all involved parties during attempts to resolve their disagreement productively.

Next, once all parties return, they should clarify positions or perspectives on each side of the disagreement before discussing potential solutions as a team. Simply recording facts or assumptions based on each perspective allows everyone to see how their approaches differ while also demonstrating instances of similarity. This approach will assist in developing understanding amongst participants rather than intensify agreements already made between groups within the team that functioned as key contributors to establishing existing tensions and provoking current arguments between players.

Finally, once productive dialogue resumes without an elevated emotional charge, this allows productive negotiations among participants to reach resolutions that benefit those directly involved and indirectly influenced by such talks. Then celebrating resolutions achieved as units create a powerful sense of camaraderie built upon successes attained collaboratively rather than separate individuals through working differences out, thereby increasing motivation amongst team personnel for future endeavors.

[bewitchrry]

HARRY STYLES TAROT READING -29.08.2022

Reminder: this is strictly for fun. I am doing this for fun. Entertainment purposes only. Okiedokie? Just an easy three card pull + oracle. I was feeling a pull this afternoon to do this, and with him in mind. Gonna go a little more in depth so we can all understand the cards a little better! Again: this is just for fun so pls do not come for me 😩. Anything that isn’t mine will be in italics. Okay. Here we go.

TAROT PULL

Five of Swords

Keywords: arguments, disputes, aggression, bullying, intimidation, conflict, hostility, stress

This card. Oof. Usually comes out when there is conflict, tension, or disputes (or like, all three at the same time asjkdhajh). Tension has been a big one in my readings for him - whether its within himself or with those around him - and its rearing its ugly head again. In the card itself, the sky is ‘foreboding’ - and while the fight is done, it doesn’t necessarily mean that all is well, or that things can’t change on a dime. ‘This card indicates that you are engaging in a conflict of some nature. It can also suggest a disagreement with others, which leads to hostility and tension. Despite the fact that you think you’ve won, you might still lose in the big picture, because you have annoyed or hurt those that you have argued with, and as a result, you are on the road to isolating yourself. Perhaps, at the moment, you believed that it was more important to be right rather than appreciate and understand where the other side was coming from.’

The High Priestess [reversed]

Keywords: repressed intuition, hidden motives, superficiality, confusion, cognitive dissonance

The High Priestess in the reverse is all about the struggle to listen to your own intuitions. For whatever reason, you’ve not been listening to your gut. Harry needs to be asking himself: ‘do I trust my own intuition fully? Or am I relying on the opinions and intuitions of others to guide me?’ This card asks him to take some time, find a quiet space, and meditate so he can hear his inner voice and shut out the louder ones around him. ‘There is a lot of confusion around you, and your actions may feel contrary to what you know is right. You must never be afraid to ask questions of yourself that may illuminate a new path forward for you, one that is more authentic to your inner self and your individual values.’

Justice

Keywords: justice, karma, consequence, accountability, law, truth, honesty, integrity, cause and effect

Probably the most straightforward card in the tarot. All about truth, fairness and law, but in this reading, based on the other two cards, it symbolises consequence and truth. I think we need to look at it from both sides: actions, regardless of what they are (or aren’t) will always have consequences - good or bad. And, are you, as a person, speaking or living your truth? Are you putting forth the best version of yourself? Are you walking the walk after talking the talk? All these things will have direct impact on how you are perceived and how people react to you when things go awry, or when they go well. Harry will always have his fair share of criticism, regardless of if he’s doing the most, or if he’s doing the least. ‘If you have been wronged, this card's appearance may bring you relief. On the other hand, if your actions caused pain to others, this card serves as a warning. ‘Her [Justice] appearance represents a chance for you to change your actions now for a better future. When a tarot card reading shows the figure of justice, it is time to account for your actions.’

B’s TAKE: There seems to be a....loss of clarity, and some unsureness when it comes to listening to the inner voice. Harry’s the kind of person who HAS a path. He’s very clear on that path. I think that the last few years pulled that path into different directions, because pandemic and idle hands, etc. He needed things to do, otherwise he would go crazy. It also feels like that ‘this is fine’ meme. Where people refuse to acknowledge that things are off. This leads to things like conflict, hidden motives, and consequences. Now I am not saying that Harry will ever come out and acknowledge a thing head on, but it will show in his actions and how he conducts himself in the next few weeks/months.

I’m also not saying HE is lost. As I said, Harry has a path and is very clear on it, but there are certain aspects of this path right now that seem to have thrown him a curveball. What he does with it, how he acts upon it (internally and externally), will be a deciding factor going forward.

*whispers* However, if he was looking for a sign? This might be it.

ORACLE PULL

Strangely Perfect Timing:The daring traveller may slip between Time’s tickings. Expand it, skip pebbles through its waters and peer between its curtains. The wise one knows better.

To receive something ahead of time can be more damaging than a late or null arrival. To see or possess premature information may induce madness. A fruit is ripest just before it rots. A dream, a few seconds before, was a nightmare. A birth too early is a death. There is no benefit of getting ahead of time. Follow its lead and arrive not late or early, not rushing or idling, but Strangely, Perfectly on Time.’ 

Translation: trust in the timing of your life. 

[insurrection-if]

First of all I thank you for sharing the informations about Fyodor, but my thinking does not change and I still have doubts to clarify. I do not doubt that Fyodor is a human being with feelings and has a potential to become dominant (indeed I would like him to have a more versatile mentality (in which he can become top or bottom depending on the choice of the MC)). Being versatile means being equal both in being dominant and submissive.

Overly dominant (due to how his parents raised him and the situation with the Warden) + overly submissive (due to the inability to say no and be a simple) = overly versatile

What bothers me a little is that in a post you wrote (though he would like to be a Top, ideally) and body worship (giving) and I just wish he had a versatile mindset. Just that. Among other things, the MC also needs a workout. I grant Fyodor as a big spoon and I also want Fyodor to hug my MC

As I said there are too many dominant people and Niccolò is alone (as the only switch with versatile trends). Perhaps Fyodor and Nicholas can become friends and can play with each other. Can you delete (though he would like to be a Top, ideally) and add body worshiping (giving and receiving), please? 🥺

Regarding the doubts, can you explain more about his power (Fyodor)?

Fyodor is a lost soul who needs a huge need for affection and constant care.

(；´∀｀) You have a good point, and the changes have been made.

Aha, and yes, Fyodor is rather starved for affection and care!

Alas, for Fyodor and Niccolò's friendship, the potential for it is set to be imploded by what Fyodor will perceive as an act of kindness. Niccolò will require some time to recover emotionally and mentally once it occurs. He will require even more time to be able to truly forgive Fyodor. (◞‸◟；) Any sense of friendship before this forgiveness will be riddled with a dormant tension of distrust and betrayal.

Up to that point, exchanges between them will likely be pleasant on both ends, hence Fyodor's desire to (in his mind) gift Niccolò with what will ultimately be a horrifying experience for him. By the end of everything, there is a roomy possibility for them to overcome the past and form a very close friendship, though Niccolò will always be a bit wary around the manifestation of Fyodor's gift. It'll be a wait-and-see situation.

Mm, in regards to Fyodor's gift, I'll say that it's perhaps the most versatile in (known) existence and (beyond a subconscious exertion) hard for him to willfully manifest. Thus far, the manifestation of his gift has been heavily reliant on the words and assurances of those around him. Still, Gabriel (and eventually Panya and Anatoly) ensured someone always accompanied Fyodor to be proactive against his unintentional use of its capabilities by talking him down. Only a few traits are easily summoned, and commanded, by his conscious will, yet these are predominately physiological in nature.

A significant motive for his enlistment within the CARDINALS is their promise to help him gain more control over his gifts autonomy, though how eager they are to deliver on this promise is contested.

In the Origins chapter, its planned for the MC to overhear some Fyodor-related incidents on the news as the impact of his mere presence has caused catastrophe and wonders alike. Incidents that are difficult for the global eye to overlook, though extensive resources have been invested in cover-ups for his activities.

Here's a very hypothetical scenario concerning Fyodor's Gift below the cut for potential spoilers:

Fyodor is lost in a burning building for the very first time in his life. He does not know much about what to do in this situation, but from his perspective it does not seem so bad. Anatoly, the Phoenix, produces flames of a similar heat and intensity yet never does the healing fire harm him with its touch. Keeping this in mind, Fyodor strolls through the flames as he navigates through the unfamiliar layout of the building. Not a burn marks his skin and not a singe catches his clothes.

It is all so empty! Everyone else that usually loiters here must have found the exits before him, and his embarrassment burns his cheeks as he wipes the sweat from his brow. Outside the building, onlookers witness a straggle of people suddenly rush out from the structure all at once. Those still covered by its persistent flames find their skin and clothes mended beneath its warm touch. No one but Fyodor occupies the building now.

Fyodor is not aware that his prolonged misadventure in the wreckage heightens his risk of smoke inhalation and its consequences. Though the smoke is thick and urges a cough from him, he is assured that it cannot be more harmful than a drag from a cigarette. The smoke now seems to thin wherever he wanders without his notice.

Neither does Fyodor know that the structure of the building can be compromised by the fire and collapse upon him at any moment - he has faith in the strength of the walls he knocks his knuckles against to keep himself calm with a passing rhythm. They feel sturdy enough beneath his taps, so why would he even think to question their naturally assumed integrity? It is not until he leaves a room that the material within it falters to the effects of the flames.

Finally, Fyodor manages to find a floor-to-ceiling window tall enough for him to take a leap from. Unfortunately, it turns out this exit is on a rather high floor. Picking up the first suitable object he passes, a chair, he chucks it through the glass to allow an opening for himself. He removes his button-up shirt only to redress with it, simply backwards this time to preserve his modesty from public eyes and to allow an opening for his back.

Two massive wings sprout painlessly from his skin and stretch, their pillowy feathers unbothered and unstained as their blinding shade of gold grazes the rapid fire. He feels them twitch with an excitement to be used after so much neglect. He knows a few minutes more of strolling about will take him to the stairs for a more convenient exit, but he doesn't want another escort from the potentially awaiting police this week. Besides, he has little clue on how to get home from here, and his wings are capable of carrying him high enough to navigate the streets with ease (and without traffic).

He jumps, and one beat from his wings takes him to the veil of the clouds.

An active day for his gift, less subtle than usual, but high-intensity situations (whether recognized as that or not by Fyodor) tend to draw it out much easier than normal. The moment his feet leave the building so too does all his thoughts about the incident.

The fire becomes sweltering as it should be. Burning, charring, to construction and flesh as the smoke once again suffocates all near or within it. Floors collapse upon themselves. People below scurry to escape the sudden crash of debris and ash as survivors try to collect their bearings on how they had been pinned or trapped one second only to be suddenly freed and transported to the nearest safe exit alongside the others. A miracle some consider it to be. To others, a blessing.

Mishka, Gabriel, and Anatoly are unamused by Fyodor's recollection of the tale over dinner whereas Panya fills the apartment with her applause. A silent question hangs between Gabriel and Anatoly on whether a homemade course on fire safety is necessitated. If it is, they will have to get their story straight with Panya on what half-truths to tell.

Had Fyodor been with someone trustworthy (or close to it) shouting about how the smoke will suffocate them, Fyodor would start to panic and feel its affects as acutely as he should, if not more so.

Had someone shaken him to his senses by asserting that this fire was nothing like Anatoly's, it would start to burn as it should.

Had he been running into survivors left and right, the miraculous apparition and rescue of them at the exits would not have occurred.

Had someone screamed that the building would collapse on itself any moment, it might've happened right then - though Fyodor would have sizeable chances of survival despite his lost consciousness beneath the debris.

Yet if someone called him crazy for suggesting he could fly them out from there, Fyodor (after pleading with them to not look as he temporarily undressed) would have simply been confused towards their assertion as his wings sprouted nonetheless.

His gift is very reliant on his perceptions, as well as his emotional state.

[nytech]

Teaching Entrepreneurship with Shaun Johnson

This interview is part of our “Getting to Know You” series, featuring brilliant entrepreneurs from the NY Tech community.

Shaun Johnson is an experienced entrepreneur who has worked across the fields of technology acceleration, early-stage investment, and ecosystem development. He lives in New York City and teaches entrepreneurship at Fordham University & Parsons School of Design. Shaun is also a Board Member of the NY Tech Alliance. He agreed to speak with us about his career journey, the lessons learned along the way, his take on diversity in tech, and what makes a successful entrepreneur.

“One piece of advice I’ve been given and still sticks with me in a perplexing way would be to say that perception equals reality. Even though this isn’t always a universal truth, I often wonder if it’s true, untrue, or sometimes true — as there are times one can influence the other, and other times, not at all.”

Tell us about yourself

I like to describe myself as a helper of people, and that has taken a lot of different shapes and forms. I actually started my career in the federal government, then as a management consultant, and finally transitioned into the world startups as an early employee at Techstars, where I ended up spinning out a company called Startup Institute — a career accelerator aiming to equip people with the network skills and mindset to be immediately impactful in the startups that they join.

You teach entrepreneurship ー according to you, what are the skills one must develop to become a successful entrepreneur?

In teaching entrepreneurship, there are a lot of things that are important, especially at the university level because there’s always this tension between “can entrepreneurship be taught?” or “should you just go out and do it?”

The mentality of doing and learning through action is definitely a skill worth acquiring, whether in the field or the classroom.

There will always be a lot of little failures along the way, and that’s actually a good thing, but it can be counterintuitive for folks who aren’t used to accepting failure on their way to success. Grit is also another important factor. And then the last one, just because I want to leave it at three, is empathy. To have a deep understanding of your customer, the mission that you have, and the people that you’re building around helps you to build exceptional teams, exceptional products, and ultimately, address your market in an exceptional way.

What’s your favorite thing about teaching entrepreneurship?

The people. Students are always so different. People come from multiple backgrounds, different parts of the world, different industries, and with different perspectives. Even if you are teaching one specific course on entrepreneurship, it’ll never look the same because it’s always dependent on the people who are there. Everyone brings their unique personality, and the diversity and plurality come together to create a unique experience.

My desire and appreciation for plurality reflect my sentiments about New York City itself. The city is made of 8 million people coming from different backgrounds and places, who all have unique personalities, desires, hopes, and dreams.

We all have to interact with each other and try to build a better future. Whether it’s through entrepreneurship or just our own coexistence, I think that there’s something productive and meaningful about that.

How do you think the tech industry can become more diverse?

I think one of the challenges is that we tend to take one shade or one arc of diversity, drill in on that and assume that we’ve done our job. For example, one aspect of diversity can be ensuring your company hires people of color, or getting women into the tech ecosystem and make sure that there’s equal pay and that gender rights are respected.

But can you actually look at this kaleidoscope and not just say, ‘Hey today we want to focus on, like, LGBTQ rights?’ Or ‘today we want to focus on Black people or women.’ But instead, the dialogue has to answer the question of: “How can we actually approach inclusion and value creation that is accessible to all?”

Rather than trying to identify a specific group on its own, let’s actually think about how we can lift everyone up together while also valuing their uniqueness.

Is this part of the reason or the reason why you wanted to become involved with the NY Tech Alliance?

I’ve been a huge fan of the NY Tech Alliance since my career in startups has begun. Before I was living in New York City, I would take a bus from out of state to attend NY Tech Meetups, to see that the energy in the room with so many different people there.

It just felt like a panorama of what the startup ecosystem has to offer. It was a great entry point for me. And the NYTA still serves in that capacity for others and provides a jumping-off point, an entry point, and a point of connection, learning and motivation for people.

When given the opportunity to serve on the board, it was something that I couldn’t pass up.

Which trends do you think will emerge in the tech industry in the near future?

You know, I never pretended to be a fortune teller, but I think the year we just survived showed us that despite quarantine and isolation, we still need to connect with each other and be productive. It has been great for Zoom but so many people are zoomed out and looking for different ways of connecting with people that may not just be from the shoulders up.

You’re also seeing some trends around climate tech. The conversation is now rightly shifted from climate change to the climate crisis, and it is attracting a lot of bright minds and big dollars. And I think that’s great because it’s imperative for our survival as human beings.

How has a past failure set you up for success?

I mean, I guess I’m always failing at something. If you’re not failing, you’re probably not trying hard enough. I think the little failures along the way are indicative of trying to do something audacious or something that you’re unsure of. I couldn’t point to one specific failure because there’s just a butterfly effect of one thing leading to the next thing. But overall, the lesson in failure is really to process it and move on to the next thing, ideally in an upward fashion.

As New Yorkers, there may not always be the time or space to do that. You know, we move so fast. We break things, we execute, and there’s so much going on that we can forget to stop and reflect for a minute, look objectively at failure and ask “What could I have done better? What did I learn here? What would I do next?”

It’s important to reflect in a way that builds off of that failure rather than just repetitively coming right back at the same scenario, which is likely to lead to the same outcome.

What was the biggest challenge that you faced in your career?

Walking away from something that just wasn’t for me at the time. With an early career as a management consultant, a lot of things about that job were great: the prestige, the nice fancy suits, the travel.

But then you start to just understand what your calling is, what motivates you or what nourishes you. Changing your career to pursue your calling can be risky, but it ultimately is good for the soul. At the time, I didn’t know exactly what my calling was going to be. And it took courage and conviction to just say “Ok, all these things are good and everyone else loves them for me. But I just don’t love them as much, and I’m willing to look out into the abyss and seek out something that actually is more aligned with who I am and who I want to be.”

It was really scary and that’s one of the biggest moves I’ve made. That’s the advice I give to my students. Do what you love. Life’s too short!

What was the best advice you’ve ever been given?

One piece of advice I’ve been given and still sticks with me in a perplexing way would be to say that perception equals reality. Even though this isn’t always a universal truth, I often wonder if it’s true, untrue, or sometimes true — as there are times one can influence the other, and other times, not at all.

I apply that saying as a prompt for a lot of different things, from looking at analytics and wondering what’s going on with your company, checking in with your mental health and wondering if all of this anxiety or depression is actually real or if your perception influences what you’re feeling. And it’s also a way to keep yourself grounded.

Any final words?

Yeah. If Alicia (interviewer) says or types anything that makes me sound stupid, that was her edit. Everything that I said was brilliant (laugh). And she’ll make sure that it comes across!

To connect with Shaun on LinkedIn, click here.

To learn more valuable lessons from Founders, watch our NYTA Founder Spotlight series on YouTube.

[eugene-not-flynn]

Reframing Cassandra

So maybe this is a nonsense idea, but I’ve been thinking about it the past couple of days re: Cassandra. Specifically... what could have happened if Cassandra had been assigned as Rapunzel’s personal guard, rather than her lady in waiting.

Some thoughts and wonderings below the cut. Warning for negativity in terms of how Cassandra’s canon arc unfolded over the course of the series. Disclaimer that these are just my personal thoughts, and should in no way make anyone feel bad for disagreeing. This read on the changes is also in-keeping with canon ships. 

Without further ado... 

I think it had the potential to change a great deal about what I, personally, didn’t really like about Cassandra’s canon arc and development. 

Cassandra as an Individual

This is strictly a personal opinion... but I just don’t find the “she always felt like she was chosen second to Rapunzel” as a particularly meaningful or powerful narrative choice for her. I think it... functionally paints Rapunzel has a naive victim of Cassandra’s ambition, which I don’t think is fair to either female character.

I don’t mind the notion that Cassandra feels like she has something to prove. But I feel like pitting that sense against the Lost Princess of Corona is a disservice to both. I’d rather see it stand in contrast to the other guards. 

I think it would be a stronger framework for that subplot of her character arc to be that she feels like a second-rate guard because she’s been assigned to protect one person rather than be an actual guard/given a leadership role. (Of course, this is no actually small task, and I think Cass would come to understand that with time).

I think also that it would feed into her overarching plot and role and relationship to other characters, which I’ll more about in a sec. 

Cassandra and Eugene Tension

For the most part, I didn’t have a problem with that Cass and Eugene argued/bickered a lot. (I do wish there was more moments that counterbalanced it, but I digress)

But I didn’t quite understand where the animosity was coming from, and I kind of wish it had been explored more. 

And I think that if Cass had been Rapunzel’s personal guard assigned by the king, then Cass’s distrust of Eugene (and Eugene’s corresponding frustration with her distrust of him) would make sense and also provide room for interesting growth between them. 

Because now Cassandra’s literal job is protect the princess, and what evidence is there that Eugene isn’t just playing some kind of long game? 

Meanwhile Eugene feels like time and time again he tries to prove how much he has changed, and everyone seems willing to believe him but Cass? And can he really blame her? Or fault her? 

I just think it would also have that much more impact to hear Cassandra tell Rapunzel in season 2 that there’s no way Eugene would betray her like that (when Cass harbored that distrust of him for so long), or that moment in Season 1 when Cass gets knocked down and Eugene goes charging in to the fray to help her). 

Cassandra and Rapunzel Tension, Fall Out, and Reconciliation

So Cassandra has plenty of moments already in canon where she tries to protect Rapunzel because she’s her friend. But I think coloring those moment by a sense of obligation rather than just friendship could help develop the growing resentment towards Rapunzel that Cass starts to feel, especially pressing into Season 3. 

You also get the added dynamic of them both often being at fault for miscommunications and the disintegration of the relationship because Rapunzel almost certainly has issues with accepting “protection” because a lot of her childhood trauma is wrapped up in a neat little bow with the label “its to keep you safe”. So she doesn’t always want Cassandra to protect her, and she can take care of herself.

Meanwhile, Cassandra didn’t ask to be Rapunzel’s guard, and she doesn’t listen very well, so when Rapunzel does stupid stuff and is reckless, that puts Cassandra at a certain level of risk as well. (She also might see Rapunzel’s recklessness as a slap in the face in the sense of reading it as “I don’t need you”, even though Rapunzel is the one person that she’s supposed to protect?)

And I think directing that anger and resentment towards Rapunzel makes more sense--at least to me--if it’s not about other people and their reaction to the two of them. Because one thing that always bugged me about her canon arc is that while some of her anger towards Rapunzel is justified... I think a lot of it just... isn’t. 

I just think there could be an interesting story to tell where Cass feels like she’s always trying to protect others (specifically Rapunzel) and nobody is trying to protect her. So Cassandra eventually starts seeking power as a means of self-protection. 

I think Zhan Tiri can still play the roll she does in Cassandra’s betrayal in the sense of telling Cass what she most wants to hear as a means of manipulation. But I think fear is a powerful tool in that respect, and turning Cass’s main motive as a villain to be one of fear (like Varian’s is grief to an extent) makes her a more sympathetic villain than her canon arc. 

I think also that such a turn makes it easier/more believable, in my opinion, for Rapunzel to hold on to that hope that Cassandra is still a good person. Because Rapunzel would understand what it’s like to be afraid and to feel like you need protection, and if she can recognize that Cass is scared--and that’s what’s motivating her through her villain arc--then I could understand why Rapunzel refuses to turn her back on her. 

I also think that makes for a stronger reconciliation moment for them, and even if Rapunzel still uses her power to bring Cass back, I think the idea of “Rapunzel now chooses to actively protect the life of someone who did that so often for her and felt it was never reciprocated in full” a more powerful end to their friendship arc. 

[noconcernofyours]

Old | Why M. Night’s latest has provoked so much vitriol

Let me begin by saying that I loved Old, and I strongly believe that a world in which M. Night Shyamalan gets to make whatever the hell he likes with little to no oversight is a world worth living in. M. Night’s films are always polarising. For every rave review there’s a scathing critique, whether it’s over an issue of perceived quality or just a distaste for the director himself and his narcissism, so I was expecting similarly varied responses to his latest feature. That being said, I was pretty shocked by the actual content of the takes filmgoers have been posting on social media and platforms like YouTube and felt the need to think about them more deeply.

So many of the anti-Old posts and videos that I’ve seen follow similar patterns. There’ll be jokes about how M. Night has seemingly never had a conversation with a human being, and there’ll be a comment about how the ending wasn’t hugely satisfying – all fair critiques. What I found bizarre were the number of people who said something along the lines of “It’s a terrible movie. I had so much fun watching it, but not in a ‘so bad it’s good’ kind of way.”

Okay… So, if it’s terrible, but not ‘so bad it’s good’, then how could you have had fun watching it?

It’s hard to put a finger on precisely, but I have an idea as to why this phenomenon is so specifically applicable to M. Night Shyamalan and his films.

It all comes down to a few things. Firstly, what is it that filmgoers associate with quality in film, and particularly in horror/chiller filmmaking? It has become pretty clear to me, that what people seem to want the most is a film that hinges entirely on a plot without holes, and whether the plot conforms to their expectations. A lot of modern, so-called ‘prestige’ horror is less about plot and more about theme and allegory. For M. Night in particular, his filmmaking tends to be motivated by whatever real-life stress or emotion he’s dealing with at the time. In the case of Old, the film is centred around the parental horror of feeling as if your child is growing up too fast. It’s not important to him that the plot is 100% unimpeachable, but rather that he communicates as effectively as possible, whatever it is he wants you to feel.

Shyamalan is particularly technically gifted as a filmmaker, specifically in the realm of portraying tension on screen. Old is so well shot, edited and the tension is so well rendered on screen that it makes it difficult to be unengaged or bored during its runtime. This is why people have fun with his films, but an over-emphasised focus on plot, and dialogue that advances the plot gracefully, will dictate whether someone is willing to classify them as good or bad.

It doesn’t help either that M. Night is a name so heavily associated with twist endings. The director has unfortunately bought into his own mythology and so whether his endings are effectively twisty or otherwise, they are always built up as if there is going to be a huge reveal. This, to me, is why someone like Christopher Nolan can get away with clunky dialogue in his films, but M. Night can’t. Shyamalan’s reputation is so heavily built around the endings to his films that the judgement of filmgoers starts with the ending and works backwards through the film, looking for flaws on the basis of whether or not the ending lived up to expectations. People overlook the clunky dialogue in Unbreakable and The Sixth Sensebecause the twist endings are so impactful, but they won’t do so for Glass(which I also love) and Old because the twist endings are less about changing the way you look at the plot of the film you just saw, and more about hammering home whatever thematic idea the director has been emotionally occupied with as of late.

Old’s ending is jarring and disjointed, but it doesn’t take away from the delicious tension and heart-on-its-sleeve emotional delivery of the rest of the film. The dialogue may be clunky, but the actors deliver it with so much authenticity and commitment that it’s not a problem for the film at large. The horror of Old is existential and searching for plot contrivances is going to make it harder to feel. That being said, the complaint that filmmakers should work harder to avoid distracting plot discrepancies in order to keep viewers focused on what matters is a legitimate one. If you hate Old for these reasons, I am not and will not judge you for it, but I’m always going to cheer on filmmakers like M. Night when they make crazy movies like this that aren’t so concerned with having an air-tight plot. It frees them up to focus solely on expressing themselves in the most personal way possible.

[c-aureus]

Ok, here’s a post I’ve been waiting to make: Why I’m worried about BotW2. Wall of text incoming. Now, I’m gonna preface this with a few things. Firstly, I waited to post this so that all of the immediate reactionary hype would die down a bit, and also so that I could contemplate on my thoughts for a while, before posting them. Secondly, this is not at all a criticism of the setting, or gameplay, both of which look incredible. However, for me at least, none of that was ever in doubt. Thirdly, I will freely admit that all of the forthcoming arguments are speculation. We do not yet know much of anything about the direction of the sequel, and I fully understand and admit that there is every chance that I could be completely wrong. In fact, I’d very much like for that to be the case. Alas, I am English, and cynicism is literally encoded into my DNA, so here’s a few things that I think are likely to happen, and why I’m so worried about them. My first point is kind of a big one, but honestly, it kinda sums my entire argument up: I’m worried that BotW2 is going to do everything it can to basically be a ‘soft reset’, regressing to the norm of BotW. What do I mean by this? Well. From a gameplay perspective, it will almost certainly use the time honoured Zelda tradition of resetting Link to 3 hearts and no powers at the beginning. Needless to say, I really do not want them to do this. From a story perspective, Link’s entire character arc in BotW was regaining the power he lost due to the Shrine of Resurrection. From a narrative perspective, I really do not want to see all of his growth and progress wiped away because ‘New Game lol’. Furthermore, on the topic of the Champions’ abilities... I honestly don’t think that any of them would just abandon him, however this argument goes 10x more for Mipha specifically. Mipha’s promise to Link in BotW was to ALWAYS heal him, and it is one of the most hauntingly beautiful things about her tragedy that she gets to fulfill her promise to him in death. Therefore, I simply cannot reconcile Mipha leaving Link (not sticking around to heal him) with her character. Because, BotW shows that her love and her devotion to Link are selfless, and absloute. She would NEVER renege on such a promise, even though Ganon was ‘defeated’. To do so is antithecal to her entire character. There’s also the matter of Link’s equipment. In a similar vein, I’d argue that much of Link’s equipment (including the Champions’ weapons and Zora Armour) hold enormous sentimental value to him, and if he is stripped of them for no good reason, then I will also be upset. Also, furthermore, BotW2 seems to be very strongly implying that Ganon was not ‘defeated’, which means that the Champions’ spirits cannot even be ‘at rest’, since surely their duty is not complete? Not that I think this should ever factor into Mipha’s personal motivation to continue healing Link, but whatever. What I fear is that there will be no mention nor presence of the Champions’ abilities, which... would really suck. Honestly, I’d even go so far as to say that it absolutely ruins Mipha’s character. Even if we’re being fooled and it’s not actually Ganon who is causing trouble (it does look pretty Malice-y, though...), I honestly, truly believe that they would not simply abandon Link. However, if it IS Ganon(dorf), then there is no excuse nor reason for their absence. This comes into my second point. I’m strongly suspecting that the plot of BotW2 is trying its absolute hardest to simply ‘reset the status quo’ that existed in BotW. By this, I mean that the trailers have already shown Ganon and implied him to be the villain, and Link and Zelda have been separated, presumably with Link having to rescue her. Again.

(On a side note, I do not believe that anyone truly believes that they’ve actually killed Zelda off, do they? I mean, come on. Her plot armour is thicker than the belt of a WW2 era dreadnought battleship. Which is a shame, tbh, becasuse it really prevents any kind of tension in the story, or interesting twists.) (On another side note, idk if I’ve actually seen anyone elaborate on how... depressing it is to have Ganon as the main villain AGAIN. The entirety of BotW was dedicated to defeating him, and many characters literally gave their lives to fight him, and now, after having been successful and defeated him, ‘lol he’s back again, lol.’ *Shrug*. I guess that it feels kinda cheap to me, along the lines of a last minute ‘oh wait, you didn’t REALLY beat him’, because they want to pad the game out more. Especially if there is no real consideration of this point from Link and Zelda’s pov: Namely, just how depressing it would be to lose everything to Ganon, finally defeat him, only to have him immediately return. At this point, I’d be lamenting on the unfairness that Ganon gets literally infinite chances to try again, but not all of his victims, which could be a really interesting psychological point of exploration, but I fear that the sequel will not make any effort to mention it. Hence my low-effort meme on the matter. ) So, basically, instead of giving us a new plot, in a new direction, with the consequences and events of the prequel fresh in mind and influencing character behaviour, we’re resetting the situation to how things were in BotW. Which... I’m extremely un-keen on. Since, it’s going to probably feel like a ‘we’ve already done this before’ kind of thing. A staleness, if you will. Again, I’d love to be proven wrong. However, what I suspect and fear is that we’re going to get this kind of situation, which I would really hate. The thing that I have been waiting for with the highest of anticipation was seeing how Link and Zelda would react to post-Calamity Hyrule, and how their failures and losses would impact them going forwards. I’m not going to give the Resurrection/Time Travel speech again, but I will mention it, since it is an absolutely valid goal, given the ‘rules’ by which the Zelda universe operates, and a valid response to the grief of losing characters that BotW/AoC establishes that they love. Again, I fear that the sequel will make no reference to this, which also feels like a massive disservice to the characters of the Champions. Also, it would be really unique, and not just the standard ‘defeat the Big Bad Evil Ganon’ that is every Zelda game. Ok, I really am done on that point here. It’s a topic for another rant, lol. TL;DR: I’m very, very worried that BotW2 will forgo narrative progression to simply reset the situation to how it was before, without any care for how that impacts the narrative. I mean, we saw how bad this ended up for the Star Wars sequels, so I think I have a right to be concerned... We know that this game grew out of being DLC for BotW. What I fear is that it will really end up looking like BotW DLC, rather than a sequel, from a narrative perspective. If anyone has any opinions or thoughts to add, then I’d love to hear them.

[thefisherqueen]

Review of The Green Knight

As a lover of Arthurian legend and medieval reenactment and a once-upon medieval literature student, the new movie The Green Knight of course was on my to-watch list. Especially after reading qqueenofhades’ excellent essay. I finally watched the movie last week. And I have some Thoughts to share.

There are a lot of things to like about this movie. It was delightfully non-sensational and devoid of GoT-like violence and political power struggles. There was some really beautiful cinematography, partly thanks to the beautiful Irish mountains this movie was shot in. I love that TGK not just adopted, but instead reworked the legend. The main moral themes and outcomes, while not a literal copy, felt authentic to the Christian medieval context of the poem, involving questions around honor, courage, hospitality, greatness, humility and what it means to be a good knight, or even a good person. The movie made it beautifully clear that Gawain’s main problem could have been avoided had he just given the Green Knight a scratch, but because he chose to behead the knight while said knight was lying kneeling and harmless at his feet, there is no escaping from facing the consequence of that action, which is neatly echoed throughout the movie. The green knight, the knight with the green belt and the lord who goes hunting in the green. The lover, the saint and the temptress. What you give, you will receive, and the other way around. The cast was great (too asexual to be thirsty for Dev Patel, though, sorry). The messing up of the mistaken image of medieval europe as just white is also always appreciated. I too liked that the film didn’t care to explain some of the wonders and mysteries, like the giants and the saint who lost her head, they just were accepted as part of that world. Being somewhat puzzled and enchanted is sadly rare in media nowadays where everything has to be explained or else it’s a ‘plot hole’. The liberty this movie takes with time, with multiple possible versions playing out and the reoccuring circular motives were impressive. However, the film as a whole didn’t quite work for me and I don’t really care to rewatch it. I think there are two fundamental reasons why.

The first is that the viewer isn’t given reason to care about the main character. I think this choice is deliberate, as we see Arthur asking Gawain to tell a tale of himself to get to know him, and Gawain replies that he has none, and after Gawain takes on the Green Knight’s challenge as an opportunity to gain a tale for himself. Questions about telling and re-telling tales and achieving greatness are a central theme. However, this narrative choice poses a problem, as it results in a movie where we see Gawain wrestle through difficulties on his quest and he’s this strange identity-less puppet, escaped from the children’s puppet show. We as audience are set up to be detached from him, which makes it hard to root for his success or even his survival, despite how pretty and sad Dev Patel may look in a dirty-and-distressed state. This could have been solved without removing those identity themes by giving Gawain, if not great deeds, at least some establishment of his character at the start of the film. He doesn’t have to be likable, but he has to be something more than a drinker and brawler with a faint sense of wanting to prove himself. That is just not enough to make us attached to Gawain’s wellbeing and involved in the quality of his decision making. The rest of the movie doesn't quite build Gawain’s character either. We get that he’s uncertain and afraid, yes, but his actions remain inconsistent, his motivations unclear. His main character arch - that he needs to give up the protection of the enchanted green belt, needs to face fear and consequences rather than to rely on the treacherous protection of witchcraft - doesn’t come off the ground because we only learn close to the very end that the belt is a problem to the completion of his quest. That’s no arch, that’s an exhausting flat march and a sudden steep slope right before the finish line.   

The second problem ties into the first. Namely, you don’t need a strong emotional tie to the characters if there’s a light tone, an adventure with a side dish of some fun and humor perhaps. This movie, however, is anything but light. It’s dark. It’s grim. It’s cold. It’s wet. There’s exactly zero humor. Above all, it’s slow. So slow. Apart from an emotional connection, you also need a sit-on-the-edge-of-your-seat amount of story tension for this kind of dramatic tone and slow pace to work, and the script just doesn’t build that tension. A shot of Gawain riding through the moor after he leaves his home is just that: the confrontation with the Green Knight is still far away, there’s no looming threat we’re aware of, there’s nothing else to be told or resolved. Together with our emotional detachment it makes for a movie that switches between boring and ridiculously overdramatic, while occasionally looking stunning and taking on deeper questions and parallels. Overall it just makes for a frustrating viewer experience that lacks impact. I was left with a thorough “meh”. Which is a shame, because this movie is very interesting and could have been so good. That clever panning shot showing Gawain as a tied up skeleton should have been devastating. I should have been shouting ���No DON”T do that, you IDIOT!” at the screen the moment Gawain scares away his adorable guardian fox. Instead, I couldn’t care less. Come on, Green Knight. Off with his head.    

Some final details to note: erotic movie scenes are normally already awkward, but the scenes in this movie take the usual akwardness next level. At least it’s handled consistently - whether straight or homoerotic, it’s basically all a dissapointment. (That cum shot has scarred my brain forever). Which has its own merit, I guess, but does make for an odd contrast to the camera’s loving, even somewhat objectiving depiction of Dev Patel and the way about every character tenderly touches his face. I’m left wondering what the point was of this choice. It tells something about Gawain’s failure to meet chivalry standards, maybe.  

The scenes which show witchcraft was used to make the Green Knight appear were rather cliché and I don’t think they added anything, as the Christian morality and consequences of relying on witchcraft are already addressed in the theme of the enchanted green belt. Also, it’s frustrating to keep seeing scratched-in runes used as literal magic. As far as our limited knowledge goes, runes were a whole writing system, magical only in the sense that writing something down can have a power of its own. Please, movie makers, think of something original.

Also, torches are terrible for indoor lighting. They burn out quickly and are horribly sooty, so it’s lanterns or candles you want indoors. But the use of the pentacle shown as a common talisman for protection rather than a specific symbol for evil or magic was nice. I’m not equipped to comment much on the choice of costumes and they didn't try to be accurate to a specific historic period and place anyway, but would have loved to see more men in long robes like the beautiful ones they gave king Arthur. Somehow, medieval themed movies only seem to go for the pants and knee-length tunic style for men, while long dress-like garments were in fact very common. Gawain’s beautifully patterned yellow mantle was the brightest point of the entire movie.      

[bigskydreaming]

Oh also, something else I’ve been seeing lately or was seeing and then got distracted and forgot about seeing but now I remember so ahah!

Right, the thing:

A mini-surge or sudden trend of fics tackling the issue of Bruce hitting Dick after Jason’s death by revisiting those events and rewriting them so that this part doesn’t happen.

Which, actually? I’m all in favor of. Like I’m always saying, fanfic is MEANT to be transformative and actually doing the work of transforming a shitty instance of writing into something less shitty rather than just dealing in the fallout of such a thing while acting like the inciting abuse never even happened which is literal abuse apologism? Yes. Good. More of that please.

BUT.

I like big BUTS and I can not lie:

The issue I’m having with this particular mini-trend is that writers seem to be writing out the physical abuse of Bruce hitting Dick.....BUT still leaning into the part where Bruce then still tells Dick to give his keys back and kicks him out of the home he once told Dick was his and always would be.

And this is a problem, see, because like.....it was never JUST that Bruce hit Dick in that issue. It was the one two punch of that actual punch and the emotional one of having the security and stability of the home that had been GIVEN to him - even if he hadn’t actually lived there in years - literally taken back, ripped out from under him. Retroactively declared conditional, with Bruce saying that actually, it was never really his in the way Dick had come to believe it was.....not if the rights to it could be revoked any time Bruce felt like changing his mind.

The issue of that issue, pardon the pun, was never just that Bruce hit Dick. It was that in an ironic repetition of how Dick lost his first family and home and all resulting stability all at once, in one fell swoop.....at this point in time, from his POV, the exact same thing was happening with his second family. With him losing his father figure - even if not yet actually named as such from a legal standpoint - and losing the comfort and security offered by even just MEMORIES of a childhood home, all on the same day he found out he lost his brother. With it all taken away at once.

Thing is, this is as blatant of emotional abuse as you can get. And I really would like people to interrogate themselves when tackling this particular moment in time about what their specific motivations are and what they’re hoping to gain from the specific changes they make to it, otherwise you might inadvertently just end up swapping one problem out for another. In this case, swapping out the abuse apologism of pretending like Bruce abusing Dick wasn’t the inciting element of their estrangement after Jason’s death for the abuse apologism of treating the matter as though so long as Bruce doesn’t actually physically hit Dick, he can’t be labeled abusive.

Abuse doesn’t always have to be physical, and I encourage people tackling this particular moment in time in order to lessen the existence of Bruce as an abusive father to ask themselves if they’re still more motivated in transforming this moment because of what it says about Bruce than because of what impact it has upon Dick. Because I would argue that this will always be an exercise in futility and ignores tackling the real issues of abuse, because it still caters to the default problem we so often face in society: wherein we make abuse more about the abuser than the victim.

I would argue that even when Bruce physically hit Dick in that scene....the emotional damage that resonated with him for years had just as much to do with taking back Dick’s keys and actually kicking him out, as it did the betrayal of being physically hurt by someone who was meant to protect and care for him. Dick has massive abandonment issues - not even just because of Bruce but just from the nature of how he became orphaned and then removed from his home. Even though no one involved there, in terms of the people who cared about him, like, WANTED to abandon him by any means, that doesn’t change the resulting issues because abandonment issues are somewhat of a misnomer. Its kinda the exact same problem I talk about with focusing on abusers rather than their victims....the focus is put on the inciting element and classifying it in a certain way (’abandonment’) even when that’s not strictly true and the best definition of what happened.....rather than the focus being put on the resulting issues they impart upon the one left dealing with the fallout.

So my point with all this is yes, please, absolutely keep examining that moment in canon and how it impacts the characters and the stories that resulted from it......but see what happens when you primarily keep the focus to the recipient, Dick, and how it looks through his eyes, how he’s affected, rather than from some attempt to absolve Bruce or lessen his culpability. The result is going to be entirely different depending on where you put your focus, I’d argue, because the simple reality of abuse is it NEVER exists in a vaccuum. Even when there’s only one and one only instance of outright physical abuse between a parent and child, whether in reality or fiction, chances are, things didn’t get to that climactic a precipice out of NOWHERE. There was buildup, tension, previous times when the parent might have come close or the child might have been afraid they were close. Physical abuse just doesn’t pop into being in isolated instances. Emotions are almost always a precursor to action, and whether actual emotional abuse predates every instance of physical abuse or not......in the AFTERMATH of physical abuse, suddenly things which previously on their own might not have seemed all that bad can suddenly take on an entirely different light, from the perspective of the victim.

Basically....abuse is simply too complex and multi-faceted to be easily isolated down to just one specific instance or element, and trying to do so, especially in the name of making an abuser look better or at least just not as bad, like.....I don’t think its ever really going to have the result that people who go into it from this angle are aiming for. You just can’t condense the hurt of an abuse victim into something mathematic, so long as that hurt and confusion exists at all, like...there’s no formula for ‘if you remove x from the equation of this abuse, it equals not as abusive’ - y’know?

Just....food for thought, please. Abuse is an extremely complicated topic and its one that never deserves anything less than thorough examination of the why of writing it and the aims its intended for, IMO. Its GOOD that people are tackling the subject, I think, and this particular moment in canon in particular. Again, I’m all for that. I’m just asking that people make sure when doing so that their focus is on BOTH sides of the issue and they’re not just looking at it from Bruce’s POV or as a fan of Bruce specifically. 

[vettelewis]

Lewis Hamilton: ‘There are so many things to fight for’

In his 14th season in Formula One, Lewis Hamilton has won more races than anyone else. And with his win in Turkey earlier this month, he achieved a milestone not just in his career but in the history of his sport: a seventh world title. But it’s also his actions off the circuit that make him our Game Changer Of The Year, as he takes a knee and raises a fist for the global Black Lives Matter movement

By any standards, even if Lewis Hamilton hadn’t spoken into a single microphone this year and hadn’t sent a single tweet and hadn’t once bent knee to ground in order to shake up the very male and oh-so-pale world of Formula One, he would have had one of the most remarkable years of his life. In winning the Portuguese Grand Prix in October, the 35-year-old surpassed Michael Schumacher’s record of 91 race wins, a feat most in the sport felt untouchable. And with his victory at the Turkish Grand Prix earlier this month, he equalled the German’s seven world championships. As his race engineer Peter Bonnington succinctly put it, “You are rewriting the history books.”

But GQ’s Game Changer Of The Year is not only a sporting great: he has quite literally used his exalted platform – or, more specifically, podium – to raise the issue of race in a sport for which it rarely comes up, precisely because there are so few black faces in it. In taking a knee before races – and even making his team change the colour of its car – he has pushed for change in a world that badly needed changing, consequences and criticisms be damned. GQ spoke to him as he was on the cusp of claiming his seventh championship and found that, both on and off the track, he’s just getting started...

Misan Harriman: What was your motivation when you first decided to take the knee?

Lewis Hamilton: I remember watching the video [of George Floyd’s death]. This life extinguished in front of my eyes by the people who are hired to protect others, and I heard when he was calling for his mum. This happens time and time again and that’s why there’s been such a large cry out. When I was watching it, tears came, so many emotions came up. It brought stuff up of my past. I started experiencing racism when I was five and people looked upon it so lightly, when someone would throw out these words, the bullying and the beatings and the intimidation... My dad always said, “Do your talking on the track,” so I held my tongue, but we suppress a lot of things and all my suppressed emotions came up and I was like, “You know what? I have to do something. I cannot stay silent.” If we all stay silent, it will continue for generations. I look at my niece and nephew and do not want them to experience what I experienced.

How do you feel about the response from F1? Thirteen drivers knelt with you in Spain and I think seven didn’t...

It’s not always a good thing for me, but I often post out of just kneejerk reaction, passion. And I called everyone out. I see all of you out there who have platforms, who have a following and just stay quiet. My team was the first to react. Since I joined, I remember mentioning that this team is not diverse. Year on year, I would talk about how our team is not diverse, how our sport is not diverse. So I got to sit down with my team and get into deep conversation of what is going on. And, you know, we changed the car to black and that had to go through a chain of command. Everyone got on board and it was overwhelming to see the response from our partners, because logo colours had to change. Brands put the issue first rather than themselves. I think as a sport, they were very, very nervous of what the right steps were. We saw the reaction: 13 drivers, as you said, took the knee. Obviously, the ones that didn’t, I don’t know if some drivers were like, “I’m not doing it because this is what Lewis is doing” or whether they didn’t get it... I think there are plenty of people in our sport that still don’t understand what we’re doing.

Do you think it helps that your record is so extraordinary that it adds to your ability to do this within the sport? If you weren’t winning, would it be harder?

Well, you can look at some other sports and there’s some people that aren’t super successful yet, but the more successful [you are], the wider your audience, the wider the impact. I’ve had a very, very difficult life and I’ve been thinking a lot about all these wins. I’ve had a lot of success in my racing career. It’s a great feeling, it’s a real privilege, but what does it really mean? All these numbers... what is it? Why was I the one who was chosen to represent black people in our sport? But I think as my life is unravelling, as the journey unravels itself, my purpose here is to utilise my voice to help encourage change. And my goal, really, is to shift the sport in a direction that it perhaps wouldn’t have gone if I wasn’t here. And most certainly not have gone if the Black Lives Matter movement hadn’t started, if George’s life wasn’t so visible.

You were critical of Vitaly Petrov’s comments about Black Lives Matter before the Portuguese Grand Prix. Was it a mistake for the FIA to appoint him as race steward?

I don’t know whether they call it a mistake. I think that the FIA is a large organisation and they are leaders and if you’re going to state what your values are and what you fight for, yet you hire people who don’t seem to have those in common... I don’t understand. I don’t personally get that. I don’t really know the guy very well and I won’t really comment about whether he’s good or not – I think his results speak for themselves over his career – but I thought that it was a step in the wrong direction or even a step backwards. But, you know, you look at Donald Trump, people can obviously see he’s racist. He even said, “I am the least racist person in this room,” so he’s acknowledging [it]. But people are willing to put aside the fact that he’s said so many bad things about minorities, for wealth or for other policies.

Formula One rules were changed after the Tuscan Grand Prix to effectively ban T-shirts with political statements after your Breonna Taylor message. Will you ignore those rules in the future?

If I believe it is important enough, I will. I will do it again. Going into that weekend, the case with Breonna Taylor had really been on my mind and I’ve been chasing down this shirt for weeks. Every weekend that I arrive, we have the spotlight on us and every weekend there is an opportunity to raise awareness. We don’t live in a time when everything is OK. And I remember as I went through the day I was like, “OK, I’ve got to win this race. I can’t come second and wear this top.” So I remember racing my heart out, pushing with every ounce for first place and I remember getting that win and I was like, “OK. I’m here for you, Breonna.” And I put that shirt on and in the 70 years of our sport, no one’s ever stood up there for anything but themselves. And I was standing up there for someone else. It was one of the greatest feelings.

You’re virtually in uncharted territory, on the verge of a record-equalling seventh F1 world championship. Is it sinking in? Is your operating system even able to process what that means?

I remember winning my first championship when I was ten years old and I remember how great that day was. My dad was – is – a tough man. It was really not easy to make that man happy, but I remember winning that championship and we had the best moment – we went away singing, “We are the champions.” And I remember the relief I had in that period of time, because I wasn’t good at anything else. I struggled at school, no matter how hard I tried. Then I won these other championships and, as I started getting older, I realised it doesn’t change anything. Like, it’s a relief of tension for a second, the muscle can let go, but then you’re like, “OK. What’s next?” And it’s taken time to be present and enjoy the moment for a longer period, because it passes so fast. I never thought I’d get to seven. No one ever believed that I would ever get to seven. And now I’m on the verge of equalling the most successful driver of all time and [have] more race wins and I have a chance to potentially go and win more championships. Even if you just take my name away, there will always be at the pinnacle of our sport someone of colour. So I’m very proud of that and I think that’s probably the thing I’m going to be most proud of.

Do you think you have reached your own limits or do you think you can get even better? And would you love to race everyone in the same car, without any advantage?

Well, firstly, on the driving side of things, you know, I was just doing the race yesterday and I was going through this race realising that I’m getting stronger. My skills are getting sharper – my intuition and understanding of strategy, my understanding of my tires... I’m getting stronger and I didn’t expect that. And I didn’t know at what point I was going to plateau, but I’m realising that I’m getting better and that is a great feeling. But it doesn’t come without the hard work. There’s no coincidence that I’m driving the way I am. And, of course, we do live now in a sport where there’s such a gap between all the teams. And people try to devalue what I do because of the machine that I have, so without doubt, I would love to have everyone in the same car, with a track that enables you to really, really race. And then we’ll see... Like, [Fernando] Alonso, I beat him in my first year, straight out. I was 22 years old, a rookie, and I finished ahead of him. Even today, you know, people talk about Max [Verstappen]. Like, it’s probably never ever going to happen, but if I did have Max come into my team and I did the job I currently do and beat him, people would say, “Oh, it’s rigged.”

What about the rumours of you ever being tempted by the red paint of Ferrari?

That’s not going to happen. The Ferrari thing is not going to happen... I think. I’ve always been positive about Ferrari. I watched Michael win there. I’ve always been a Ferrari fan. I remember one of the first cars I ever bought was a Ferrari. And I think it’s a hugely iconic team and brand, particularly. I think the team has, in my period of time... There have been things I’ve seen that I don’t necessarily feel mirror my values and my approach. However, it is a team that every driver, I think, has dreamed of what it would be like to sit in the red cockpit. No disrespect to them, but when I stop I want to work with Mercedes in helping them be even better in the outside world. You know, they’ll always have beautiful cars, but how can we be a more diverse industry?

So when you stop, what are you going to do? Salsa dancing, fishing, Fifa?

Definitely not salsa dancing. And definitely not fishing. I’m vegan! I’m not going to catch fish out of the sea! There’s a lot of different things that I want to do. I would say on the fun side of things for me, I’d love to try a bit of acting. I love my music, so I’ll continue to do my music. And I want to continue to want to learn to play the piano. I really would love to learn a language. My mum is a dancer, so I may take her to go and do a dance course with her son. But then, on the business side of things, there’s not a lot of black-owned businesses in the Fortune 500, for example, and I’ve had the privilege of working with someone like Tommy Hilfiger, who’s really opened my mind to the fashion industry. And I love that industry. I really do have a dream of one day having a fashion brand that’s fully sustainable, fully ethical. I’m always going to be trying to get involved in tech, because that’s the key to the future, I think. And then, most importantly, working with organisations out there to raise awareness for important issues that I care about. There are so many things to fight for.

Lord Hain, who was a Labour cabinet minister and who vice-chairs the All Parliamentary Group On Formula One, said it was “unacceptable” that you hadn’t had a knighthood yet. Is he right?

Well, it’s the first I’ve heard about this! It’s not what I’m racing for. I’m not like, “I’ve got to win these races so I can be knighted.” My granddad served in the Second World War – I’ve got all his medals – and I was so proud to see Captain Sir Tom get his knighthood this year. I think the unsung heroes are the ones that deserve these things. If I’m one day honoured, I don’t think it’s something I’d say no to, but it’s not an issue for me right now. Like, I’m really grateful. The fact I’ve even had the opportunity to go to Buckingham Palace and I’ve got an MBE – like, wow, a kid from Stevenage, so I’m grateful for that. Look at Captain Tom, he was 100 years old before he got recognised.

The black community, obviously, are very proud of our own and sometimes I think the frustration is your level of success should have been recognised a lot earlier on. And maybe, ironically, your activism is getting that kind of attention, instead of what you’ve done on the track, which is a surreal thing to say. I actually think the Lewis Hamilton of 2020, what you’ve done off the track, is almost making as much noise as you making history by beating Schumacher’s record.

The mixed feelings that I’ve had this year... I could never have ever dreamt of having the year that we’ve had, in the sense of the sadness, the isolation, the trials and tribulations. This is going to be the one I remember the most, I think, and, you know, I still have a job to do: I’ve got to win the seventh title. And when I win that seventh title, what am I going to do with it? I’m still going to be taking a knee and using my voice on that day. But I’m near. I’m closing in on it. I’m still energised. I came back last night [after the Emilia Romagna Grand Prix in Italy] and I was like, “I can’t believe I just won that race,” but the thing is, the world moves on so fast, you just keep going.

[entitynumber5]

hurt never meant

Chapter 1: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29723250/chapters/73101963

Summary: Jon and Martin enter a battle of wits regarding the hiding of injuries.

Content warnings: paranoia, blood, injury, canon-typical worm mentions, descriptions of wounds and scars, stitches, needles, internalised ableism, swearing, arguments, toxic work environment, nausea, food mention.

It was very fun to write Martin being petty and stubborn but my god, having Not!Sasha in this fic was PAINFUL!!!!!! Hopefully the second chapter will be finished soon. Full text below the line. I hope everyone’s having a great day <3

The Tube is choking with artificial heat, pumped unregulated through the vents so that inside in late November, cocooned in coats, the passengers shift and sweat and mumble in discomfort. Martin tries to remember the mundane cycle of complaints and platitudes he follows in circles every morning: the air is drying out my contact lenses. At least it’s not summer. I wish I wasn’t wearing a coat. You’ll be grateful when you get outside.

Each circle is broken, just before he completes it and begins again, by the sensation of heat crawling beneath his skin, a tingling upwards motion. It ripples across his face, inducing a drowsiness like fingers dragging his eyes closed, before the prickling across his scalp sends him spiralling into discomfort once again.

He tries to force himself back to his commuter’s hymn, but the heat feels internal, spreading outwards as if attempting to meet the warm air of the Tube. It’s different from the normal unpleasantness. It’s too distracting. He shifts his weight between bursts of dizziness—he gave up his seat three stops ago for a person with a tiny baby strapped to them, and now he is squeezed against the door by the passengers who have joined him since—and a fresh wave of stars burst across his vision at the sharp slice of pain through his left foot.

Martin clings tighter to the bar as the pain wraps around his ankle and flares up the outside of his calf. For a moment, he thinks his whole leg might collapse beneath him and he is almost grateful for the way they are all shoulder-to-shoulder in the compartment.

Perhaps he should have called Rosie and told her. But a deep-rooted part of him cannot bear to take time off, remembers the times he had dragged himself to work feeling much worse—smiling from behind the till even during a bout of flu that made his entire body ache, carrying plants to cars at the garden centre a few days after he dislocated his shoulder helping his mother up after a fall. At least, at the Institute, he has a desk and a chair and very few opportunities for heavy lifting. Given time to take some weight off the injury before lunch, he is sure no one will even notice. And by tomorrow, he will be fine.

The next stop is his. Outside, the cold air takes some of the unbearable flush from his cheeks and he walks the rest of the journey with his coat open to counteract the heat of the train. He resolutely ignores the throbbing in his left leg as he joins of the parade of commuters, bustling in tandem along narrow pavements. The Institute isn’t far.

Martin fights the instinct to immediately make Jon a cup of tea. He knows it takes Jon a while to warm up to him each day, withdrawn and nearly always absent in the mornings. By the afternoon, Jon is slightly more receptive after enough time co-existing without incident, slightly more willing to drink the tea offered to him even if he always smells it beforehand. Morning tea is fed to the plants; afternoon tea, Jon tolerates.

He should stop by the staff room, anyway. The first aid kit inside is well-stocked. He knows this because he did it himself, spreading the task out with extensive research on the empty, boring workdays before Jon and Tim had returned from their leave. There are painkillers inside and the sort of durable bandages Martin doesn’t have at home. But the urge to sit down drags him past the door and straight to his desk.

“Morning, Sasha,” Martin says, supressing a loud exhale of relief when he lowers himself into his desk chair.

Sasha glances up distractedly from her computer and pulls out one of her earbuds. “What was that, Martin?”

Martin tries to fight an unfamiliar nervousness, an old friend from his early days in the Archives where he wasn’t sure where he stood with Tim and Sasha. “I was just saying good morning.”

“Of course.” Sasha smiles, although her expression is blank, almost cold. “Good morning to you, too.”

Martin gives her a tight-lipped smile in return. Sasha pops the earbud back in and returns to whatever work she is doing on the computer. He wonders if she can hear the noise of the repeated error notification over her music, wonders what she is doing to make the computer so combative.

Before Prentiss, he has a vague memory of there being a radio on Sasha’s desk. She wouldn’t turn it on everyday—sometimes, she could only get work done if she was wearing noise-cancelled headphones—but whenever she did, she and Tim would sing along to cheesy ’80s hits. He thinks he remembers them dancing together, the middle of the open plan office becoming a makeshift dance floor, but he cannot hold the entire picture in his mind. It’s like a reverse polaroid, fading out of view rather than in. Perhaps he only dreamt it.

He shakes himself out of the fuzziness filling his mind and tries to focus on checking his emails. He left leg throbs dully beneath his desk, but the pain becomes peripheral as each email dredges up the irritation he tries to avoid indulging on weekends. Elias has sent a motivational Monday email about the importance of teamwork and rallying together, especially after a difficult few months for all of us. Rosie has forwarded a fundraising form from his old supervisor in the library, who is apparently raising money for Dementia UK. He tries not to think about how difficult it had been to explain to the aforementioned supervisor why he needed time off to help his mother settle into the care home in Devon. And there is no email at all from Tim, who has stopped bothering to even send his apologies for being late with each new blow to his and Jon’s relationship.

“Martin.” Jon’s voice, slightly raised to catch his attention.

Martin looks up. Jon’s door is open just a crack. Before he can reply, Jon adds stiffly: “My office. Five minutes.” And then he closes his office door firmly once again.

Martin resists the urge to groan and lower his head to his desk. While he’s glad that telling Jon about his faked CV seems to have been a small but significant turning point, he isn’t sure he can manage another complicated conversation dredging up old anxieties today. He doesn’t want to reveal each shameful, painful secret he has in a futile attempt to make Jon trust him.

He can’t concentrate for the next five minutes. He alternates between watching the second hand on the clock across the office and refreshing his emails. He resigns himself to giving a fiver to the library fundraiser and eating the leftover takeaway in the fridge for lunch rather than getting a meal deal. He tries not to think about where Tim might be or what sort of mood he will be in when he finally arrives.

As soon as five minutes have passed, Martin stands. But with his stomach twisting in anxiety and his thoughts spiralling, he has managed to relegate the pain in his leg to the bottom of his mental priority list. Now that he’s standing, it’s demanding first place again. He has to grab the edge of his desk, almost sending his nearly-dead office plant and pot of pens flying across the floor. His monitor, still displaying emails, wobbles dangerously with the desk. He stands completely still for a moment, trying to breathe around the wave of nausea induced by the pain.

The prickling hotness is back. He hopes his face isn’t red when he finally plucks up the courage—and energy—to knock on the door of Jon’s office. It wouldn’t be the first time, he supposes. No matter how hard he tries, he finds himself blushing quite often whenever it is just him and Jon in the latter’s office.

“Come in,” Jon mumbles from behind the door.

Martin creaks open the door carefully and steps inside, trying very hard to make himself smaller, non-threatening. Jon sits behind his desk, staring at his computer screen. He doesn’t look away, but he waves Martin into the spare chair opposite him.

Martin has a feeling that sitting down would be a dangerous decision. He clears his throat. “Actually, I’ll—I’ll stand, if you don’t mind.”

This finally draws Jon’s eyes away from his monitor. “Alright. Although I can assure you that, unlike some of its brethren in Artefact Storage, that chair doesn’t bite.”

Martin tries to smile. Jon has been doing this more since the confrontation and subsequent reveal over his CV—trying to make jokes, or some approximation. An attempt to diffuse the tension, even when Jon’s body language is nearly always screaming: I see you as a threat.

“I’m sure it doesn’t,” Martin replies, “But I, um—I was just reading this article about the impacts of sitting at a desk.”

“A productive start to your workday, then,” Jon mutters.

“And so I’m gonna try standing up a bit more,” Martin continues, deliberately ignoring Jon’s comment, “Around the office.”

“Around the entire office or my office specifically?”

Martin can feel the irritation—stirred by the emails, deflated initially by Jon’s joke—rising inside of him again. “Does it matter?”

Jon sighs. “I suppose not.”

“So, what did you, um, what did you need from me?” Martin asks, trying not to shift with nerves. He knows it will aggravate his leg.  

“Sasha still appears to be having difficulty with her computer, so I was hoping to delegate the task of digitising the disproved statements from 1995 to 2000 to you,” Jon says.

Martin tries not to visibly bristle. Jon has been doing this a lot lately, too—far more frequently, in fact, than the half-formed jokes. He hoards the statements that won’t record digitally, combs them again and again for details rather than delegating this task to any of his Assistants, and only asks for very vague follow-ups.

But Sasha had volunteered to digitise the disproved statements. She said she liked the clear structure it gave to her day, always able to take a full hour for lunch to visit her new boyfriend, and how it led her to different places within the Archives. Besides, she has a transcribing qualification, although she had asked Martin the other day how to insert line numbers into a document. Brain fog, she had explained with that same thin smile.

Martin is quite happy to do whatever minuscule tasks Jon would sporadically trust him with, as long as it meant he had some idea of what Jon was currently putting all of his energy into. He doesn’t want to digitise statements from the ’90s.

“Will that be a problem?” Jon asks after the silence drags on.

“Nope. Not at all,” Martin lies, “It’s just that…”

Jon raises an eyebrow. “Go on.”

“I thought I could perhaps… do some follow-ups on the statements you’ve been reading.”

Jon sighs again. Distractedly, he lifts his left arm, his sleeve rolled up to his elbow, and scratches at the slightly-raw but almost-healed wound along his forearm. The stitches have dissolved, but Martin can see the pink scarring where they were placed across the wound, which is raised in comparison to the flat worm scars surrounding it.

“Don’t scratch it,” Martin tuts, “You’ll reopen the wound.”

“Martin,” Jon replies, exasperated, “It’s almost completely healed.”

“Completely healed? It’s not—it’s never going to be—you needed five stitches!”

“Yes, as you keep reminding me.”

“Because I—” Martin splutters, trying to find the words. “Because I worry about you.”

“Your worry is entirely unnecessary.”

“Is it? Because I think you’ve given me more than enough reasons to be worried about you lately.”

Jon’s jaw twitches angrily, but his expression is level when he forces his eyes to Martin’s. “I didn’t call you in here to have yet another pointless conversation about my mental or physical health.”

“Of course not. You called me in here to…” To do a completely meaningless task because you don’t trust me with anything else. He takes a deep breath and knows he cannot say that. “Digitise the 1995-2000 disproved statements.”

“Well remembered.”

Martin manages not to roll his eyes. “I’ll get started right away.”

Martin turns to leave. The first step is easy. The pain arrives on the second, taking him surprise, a direct strike to his ankle. He stumbles and has to steady himself again, this time against the chair Jon had offered him at the start.

“Martin,” Jon says, a hint of something like surprise—or worry—in his voice. He is half-standing from his own chair when Martin looks over his shoulder at him.

“I’m fine,” Martin insists.

“You’re clearly not fine. Are you injured?”

Martin leans into the chair so he can turn to face Jon again. At this angle, Martin catches only a glimpse of the healing wound where it snakes behind Jon’s wrist. But even with a limited view, the memory of the first time he had seen it grips him.

It had been near the end of the day. Martin went to use the toilet before he headed home, but the moment he was inside, all he could smell was blood. And for a moment, all he could think was the worms, they must have missed some of the worms, where did I last see Tim, oh, god, Jon hasn’t left for the day yet, is Sasha still in the office, the worms, worms again, always worms, it was only a matter of time. It was like walking through the Archives after the siege to give his statement: the musty smell of the worm carcases and the metallic hint of blood beneath. Jon and Tim’s blood.

He had lifted his sleeve to his nose to block out the smell and tried to gather some semblance of calm. The blood was in the sink. One of the bathroom stall doors was closed but not locked, a shadow just visible underneath. When Martin called out a cautious hello, the door creaked open at the behest of the occupant’s foot and Jon stood sheepishly inside, pressing a wad of red-stained tissues against his arm.

“Ah. Hello, Martin,” Jon had said. And then, “Heading home?”

Martin had shouted. He can’t remember what. His voice was always higher than it was loud when he was upset. After that, it had been a blur of the same lies. “I’m fine,” as Martin tried to apply pressure to the wound. “I don’t need stitches,” when Martin insisted on taking him to A&E. “It’s really not that bad,” while the doctor was injecting the anaesthetic and stitching the wound. “Why would I lie, Martin? For the last time, I cut myself on a bread knife,” repeated in the days after, again and again, no matter how much Martin pushed.

“Martin,” Jon says again, interrupting his train of thought, “Are you injured?”

Jon is lying to him. Jon is playing a game. Perhaps unintentional, perhaps well-meant, but nonetheless—two can play and Martin has thrown his hat into the ring. The irritation scratching against his ribcage is replaced with a petty sense of satisfaction.

“I sprained my ankle on the way to work. Tripped while I was getting off the Tube,” Martin tells him, “You know me. Clumsy as anything. It’s nothing serious.”

“Well, it doesn’t look like nothing,” Jon snaps.

“It’s fine.” Martin smiles. “I’m sure it will clear up on its own,” he adds, since Jon had something to that effect to him while bleeding profusely in the bathroom stall.

“Perhaps you shouldn’t be digitising the statements, after all,” Jon murmurs, almost to himself, “Sasha hasn’t yet transferred them to the office and the boxes can be rather heavy.”

“Honestly, Jon, I can manage,” Martin interjects. The satisfaction has faded slightly, replaced with that desperate urge to prove himself, to show he doesn’t need time off work. He won’t go home. And he won’t be a liability while he’s here. “Besides, what else is there for me to do? Unless you want me to follow up on that statement?”

Jon looks down at his desk. A flash of panic crosses his face when he realises the statement folder is open and Martin, at any time, could have read it. He closes it, deliberately slow, as if trying to hide the reason why. “I’m sure I can find you something else to do at your desk.”

Martin knows this has become a different point of pride now. A dangerous point of pride. He doesn’t want Jon to fuss over him. He doesn’t want to be handled. He will do his job as usual and no one will know he is in pain, no one needs to assume he is anything other than fine.

“I’ll digitise the statements,” Martin says, “In fact, I’ll get started right away.”

“Martin, I—”

“I’m fine. Really.”

“If you insist.”

“I do.”

“Then…” Jon hesitates. “Have a good day, Martin.”

Martin almost folds at the softness in Jon’s voice. For a moment, he considers taking it back—the stubbornness, the bitterness, the insistence that he’s fine. Would it hurt to give in, for a day, to the urge for rest? But it would. He knows it would.

“You too, Jon,” Martin murmurs, dismissing himself from Jon’s office and managing to make it out of the door without flinching every time he puts weight on his left leg.

*

Jon refreshes his emails. He deletes Elias’s aggressively positive bulletin before panicking that he will somehow know and transferring it back to his inbox. He flips through the statement on his desk. He makes sure the pages are in order, properly aligned. He takes the tape recorder from the drawer. He takes a sip from the sealed water bottle he keeps in the same locked drawer as the tape recorder. He lifts his thumb, letting it hover above the button to start recording.

Martin, he thinks. And he can’t begin the statement.

Martin is not fine. Jon is going to prove it. He had decided this before the emails, the statement, the water. But at the crossroads of burying himself in work or investigating Martin’s denial, he realises that it was never really a choice. He needs to know.

Perhaps Martin is hiding an injury related to Jon’s clandestine investigation. The tunnels are dark and, in places, littered with debris. A person visiting without the right equipment—or, at the very least, without a torch—could easily hurt themselves. Or likewise, if the tables had somehow turned, Martin could have lost his balance in the station while following Jon. The best lies always held some element of truth.

The worry eating at him is for this scenario, Jon tells himself. Not for Martin. He is not worried for Martin.

Jon props his door open slightly with his shoe. Now that he has taken to working in his office, door closed, he no longer worries so much about working in only his socks. He never liked the feel of his firm work loafers, and it’s easier to sit comfortably in his chair when his feet aren’t covered. He checks to see if any of them have noticed him, but in the bullpen, Sasha doesn’t look away from her malfunctioning computer, earbuds in. Tim has yet to arrive. And Martin’s desk is empty.

He goes back to his own desk and sits down. From this angle, he can see through the small gap where his shoe is holding the door open. A direct view towards Martin’s desk. He will know when Martin comes and goes, will be able to examine his reaction to movement and pain. Jon begins a timer on his phone—he should keep a record of how long Martin takes, that might give him an idea of the extent of the injury—and then throws himself into scouring the evidence that Basira left the last time she visited.

Jon keeps stopping to check the timer. At fifteen minutes. At eighteen. At twenty-two. Twenty-three. Twenty-nine. Thirty. Thirty-one. Thirty-four. Martin has been gone for far longer than Jon had expected.

At thirty-seven minutes, Jon steps out of his office.

Sasha gives him a brief wave as he passes, but the other two desks are still empty. Jon feels himself frowning. He checks the staff room, but it’s empty and the kettle is cold when he touches his fingers to it. Next, he forces himself to walk slowly to the stacks where the original statements, even disproved, are stored. It is light and temperature controlled here, adjacent to the room where Martin had once stayed for months while they waited for Jane Prentiss’s attack. Because he knows now that was what they were doing: waiting.

Jon keeps his pace slow and measured. He realises he’s still not wearing shoes, which makes it easier to walk quietly along the stacks looking for the right dates. 1980-1985. He’s getting closer. He stops just before 1995-2000, listening for any clue Martin is there.

The first thing he hears is heavy breathing, every other inhalation hitching in pain. Jon grips the shelf behind him, digging his fingers into the wood, focusing on the sensation of the grain. He grounds himself, refuses the first and overwhelming urge to check on Martin. And then, shifting his weight very carefully, he leans forward so he can see through a small gap in the shelving.

Martin is sitting on one of the wheeled, plastic stools used for reaching the higher shelves. His left leg, the one he couldn’t put weight on earlier, is extended in front of him. The hem of his left trouser leg has hitched up slightly, revealing Martin’s sock—covered in tiny dinosaurs and padded as if hiding bandages beneath. His body trembles, almost like a slight blurring around the edges. He is gripping his thighs tightly, digging his nails in as he squeezes is eyes shut.

Jon’s heart clenches. He knew, in his office, that Martin was injured. But this is something else entirely. Beneath the sickly lighting, Martin is pale, almost grey, his skin shinning with a thin layer of sweat. Jon recognises the tightness at the edges of his mouth, the way his throat works against a rising nausea.

“Martin,” Jon says, stepping into view before he can think about what he’s doing.

Martin leaps off the stool, but the motion sends him immediately careening into the opposite shelf when his left leg won’t hold his weight. He catches himself before he falls fully, but he lets out a breathless “shit” that Jon attributes to both the pain and the shock. He tries to pull himself back up to his full height, but Jon can see the toll the sudden movement has taken on him.

“Christ, Jon,” Martin gasps, struggling to regain his breath.

“You’re lying to me,” Jon says. He stops himself before he adds: again.

Martin’s eyes widen slightly in alarm, a look of panic washing out his features further. “Jon, I—I thought we—I’m not—”

“About your injury.”

“Oh.” Martin deflates. “Oh. That.”

Jon is so angry he doesn’t have energy to spare on being embarrassed by his lack of subtlety. “Martin, you look awful.”

“Thanks,” Martin mutters.

“You should take the day off, at the very least.”

“Jon, I’m grateful for your concern, I really am, but—”

“If you say you’re fine again, I swear I will—”

“It’s a sprain,” Martin interrupts, insistent, “Nothing I can’t handle.”

Jon sighs. His anger leaves him, replaced with a sort of sadness he can’t quite place. Nothing I can’t handle. That sentence implies a comparison, a time before that hurts Jon to think about. “Let me get the boxes, at least.”

“No,” Martin says quickly.

“Martin, you clearly—”

“I’ll get them,” Martin insists, “Your arm—”

“Is almost healed. The same cannot be said for your allegedly sprained ankle.”

Martin rolls his eyes. “Allegedly?”

Jon doesn’t dignify his echo with an answer. “My physical therapist says I’m ready to start—”

“No, see, that’s exactly why you shouldn’t be here!”

“I know my limits, Martin. You, apparently, do not.”

Martin laughs humourlessly. “Oh, for gods—”

“What?” Jon bristles. “I attended physical therapy, didn’t I?”

“Because I texted you every day to make sure you went. Because I sent you home when you tried to come back into work too soon.”

“I am more than capable of looking after myself.”

“You stabbed yourself with a bread knife!”

For a moment, a rebuttal sits on the edge of Jon’s tongue. He almost reveals the truth—the door, the blade of Michael’s finger tearing through his flesh when he tried to go after Helen. But no, that would be too much. That would be giving Martin exactly what he wants.

“So you finally believe me,” Jon says calmly.

“I’m finally starting to believe you’re never going to tell me the truth,” Martin replies.

“I’ve already told you the truth.”

“And so have I.” Martin looks him in the eye, unwavering. “I sprained my ankle. I’m fine. I can do this.”

Jon sighs. He rubs at his eyes, wishing he had gotten more sleep for the past—well, the past year. “In that case, I’ll leave you to it.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank you,” Jon echoes, although he has no idea why, and leaves before Martin can question him.

Back in his office, he paces. He checks the timer on his phone. It’s been an hour. He sits down, glancing between his computer and the door, the computer and the door, the computer and the door. Eventually, he hears Martin drop a large box of case files on his desk, far louder than he would ever usually allow himself to be. Jon sighs again. He is not sure what battle they are locked in, but he knows it is going to be long and hard-won.

Jon goes back to scrutinising Basira’s evidence. A collection of statements taken from people in the vicinity of the Institute during Jane Prentiss’s attack. A profile on some of the employees who had frequent contact with Gertrude, including Martin’s old supervisor in the library. He had sent a reference of thinly-veiled insults across with Martin’s employee record and, for some reason, Jon had never liked him since.

He is disturbed by conversation outside.

“Afternoon, Tim,” Martin says.

“Afternoon, is it?” Tim replies bitterly. “I didn’t realise.”

Only then does Jon realise it is after midday and Martin still hasn’t badgered him about getting lunch.

“Can I get you anything?” Martin asks, his tone much softer. “A cup of tea, maybe?”

“Thanks, but I prefer coffee these days.”

Martin laughs, a small, quickly fading sound. “Believe it or not, I do also know how to make coffee.”

“I guess I…” A loud, exhausted sigh from Tim. Then, in a smaller, kinder voice: “A coffee would be great. Thanks, Martin.”

Through the half-open door, Jon watches as Martin grips his desk and uses it to leverage himself up. The change of elevation clearly makes him dizzy and he stands for a moment, breathing deeply while he reaches an equilibrium. But when he walks, he is mostly managing to mask the pain, at least until he leaves Jon’s field of vision.

Jon listens. He hears the familiar squeak of the staff room door swinging closed. After a fortifying breath, he forces himself out into the main office. Sasha’s desk is empty; she’s probably on her lunch break with the boyfriend who works at the wax museum. Tim is sitting in his chair, hands in his lap, staring blankly at his computer. The screen isn’t on.

Tim blinks. Pulls his dull gaze away from the computer. The shadows beneath his eyes are deep and purple, and he doesn’t even attempt to smile. “Can I help you with something, boss? Must be big if you’re willing to leave that office of yours.”

“Have you noticed Martin behaving strangely at all?”

“Oh, bloody hell, Jon, not this again,” Tim hisses, “I’m not helping you spy on—”

“No, no, not that,” Jon interrupts, “I believe Martin injured himself on his way to work, but he won’t tell me how severe it is.”

“Wow. Sounds kind of like someone else I know.”

“Tim.”

“I suppose he learnt from the best.”

“Tim,” Jon snaps, “Did you notice anything?”

“No.” Tim sighs. “No, I was a bit distracted, to be honest. I was sort of hoping Sasha would be here. I, uh, I need to talk to her about something.”

“Will you keep an eye on him?”

“I already told you, I’m not—”

“It’s not spying.”

“It’s as good as!”

“It is not.”

“You would know.”

“Tim,” Jon says, lowering his voice for impact, “If you are not going to do any work, at least—”

The staff room door whines open. Martin walks out backwards, holding the door open with his shoulder as he shuffles into the office a mug in each hand. One is the novelty mug with a celebrity and slogan on it that Jon doesn’t recognise, no matter how many times Tim has tried to explain; the other is the plain, sunny yellow one Martin always gives to Jon.

“Oh,” Martin says, pausing when he sees them both, “Is… everything alright?”

“Fine,” Tim replies, “Jon was just interrogating me about why I was late. And I was just telling him how I was passing by London Zoo when I heard a scream and I immediately began running—”

“Alright,” Jon interrupts, “I’ve heard enough.”

Martin lifts the hand holding the yellow mug slightly. “I made you tea.”

Jon tries to push away the warm feeling that unfurls in his chest, every time Martin says this. “Thank you, Martin. Let me take those from you.” He adds, firmly, “Both of them,” for good measure.

With some manoeuvring, Jon manages to relinquish Martin of both the mugs. He places Tim’s down on his desk, receiving a mumbled thanks, before walking the distance back towards his office door. Martin lingers in the doorway to the staff room, looking casually at Jon, but there is a stubborn set to his shoulders.

“How are the files?” Jon asks.

“Terrible,” Martin replies with a slight pout, “I’ve already read five statements about three separate Oasis concerts.”

Jon shudders. “I never liked the ’90s.”

Martin chuckles. “Yeah, well, at least they weren’t getting up to anything actually spooky.”

Jon hesitates. He knows, if he moves first, he will have lost this particular battle. But the war is still all to play for. He assesses the determination on Martin’s face and decides that, on his occasion, he will concede. Just this once.

“Well,” Jon says, clearing his throat, “Good luck with the rest.”

“What, you’re not going to make him put a quid in the jar for saying ‘spooky’?” Tim interjects.

Jon startles. He had almost forgotten him and Martin were not alone. “It’s a first offense.”

“It is not,” Tim calls after him, but there’s something playful in his tone, at least, “That’s preferential treatment!”

Jon goes back into his office without replying. He keeps the door open.

For the rest of the afternoon, Tim doesn’t exactly keep his word, but he does do everything in his power to prevent Martin from getting any work done. Tim isn’t subtle about it, but Martin tries to resist. He only plays two rounds of online Battleships with Tim before insisting on returning to the disproven statements. Tim then attempts to throw pens from his pot into Martin’s, scattering most of them around the office. When Sasha comes back, he quietens slightly and they all fall into some semblance of productivity. Jon does catch Tim playing solitaire when he passes his desk on the way to the bathroom, though.

Sasha is the first to go home. She leaves without stopping by Jon’s office and the absence scratches at his consciousness, some long-buried sense of rejection that he soothes and smothers with the knowledge that this is what he wants. He wants space to work. He wants to snap the lines of connection that might lead him towards betrayal.

Less than twenty minutes later, Tim is next. And he tries to take Martin with him.

“Come on,” Tim whines, his voice carrying through the barely-open door to Jon’s office, “Just one round. On me.”

“Tim,” Martin replies, his voice gentle but holding his position, “I really can’t. Not tonight.”

“We could grab something to eat instead? I’ve been meaning to try this sushi place right near—”

“I can’t eat—”

“Oh, right.” Tim clicks his fingers in remembrance. “You’re allergic to fish.”

“Not all fish,” Martin adds, like an apology.

“Not all fish,” Tim echoes, “But no sushi, just to be on the safe side.”

“Yep.” Martin sighs. “Sorry.”

“No, no, don’t apologise.”

From his office, Jon can hear Tim shifting slightly. The floors are hardwood, carefully maintained over the years, and despite taking some damage during Prentiss’s attack, Elias insists on keeping them. They creak. He remembers Martin mentioning it once in passing, when he was staying in the Archives, how sometimes he thought Jon was there even on the nights when he left before it got dark.

“At least let me walk you home,” is Tim’s last attempt, “A sprain is definitely not nothing. I sprained my wrist years ago climbing and it still plays up sometimes. Especially when I’m caving, actually, but that’s a story for another time.”

“Well, um… I won’t go climbing any time soon, then?”

“Are you just saying that to make me feel better?” Tim says in his most flirtatious voice.

Martin laughs. “I appreciate it, Tim. But I’m—I just want to finish this off. Before I leave.”

Through the crack in the door, Jon sees Tim raise his hands in surrender. “Well, I tried.”

“I’ll be alright,” Martin adds, almost guiltily.

“You better be.” Tim hesitates again. Jon watches him pat the pockets of his coat, searching for his phone or perhaps his keys. “You got my link? The NHS website one about strains?”

“I did. Thank you.”

“And you know about calling 111?”

“Also yes.”

“And you can call me if you need me?”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll go,” Tim says, resigned, “Just—take care of yourself.”

“You too, Tim,” Martin replies softly.

Tim heads off, again without stopping by Jon’s office. And it’s habit, by now, it’s not unusual for Tim to do this, but Jon taps the desk lightly with his fingers to try and dispel the feeling of wrongness sitting on his chest. He watches Martin go back to the computer, a tension around his eyes that suggests at a headache and the same pallid, nauseous look visible even in profile.

Jon considers the work he has left. The work he knows, realistically, he will never quite finish because every statement, every piece of footage, every lead, only stirs up more questions. He could stay. He could push himself on into the night, as he has done so many times before. He could find another reason to go into the tunnels. But deep down, he is exhausted—by the need to know, by the itch at the edge of his knowledge where uncertainty lingers and festers. He wants to rest and he thinks if he leaves now, Martin might, too.

Jon gathers his things, stuffing a few statements inside his messenger bag before shrugging on his coat, his scarf, his gloves and his hat. The cold air hurts his scars and dries out his skin until they become tight, small movements made increasingly uncomfortable without intervention, so he’s resorted to wearing more layers. Finally, he puts his shoes back on, retrieving the left one from the door and then closing it behind him when he steps out into the main office.

Martin glances away from his computer. “Heading home?”

“Yes,” Jon replies, as casually he can, “I thought I would call it an early night. Would you—I thought—perhaps you would like to join me?”

Jon tries not to notice Martin’s cheeks flushing pink. “Oh, um, I—I was actually—I think I should stay. Just for another half an hour or so. It’s just, I’m nearly finished with October to December 1999 and I know it will bother me if I leave it.”

Jon quirks an eyebrow. “That interesting?”

“Hmm.” Martin shrugs. “Mostly just a lot of people worried about the turn of the millennium.”

“Ah. I remember that.” Jon doesn’t let on that he spent October to December 1999 researching that very phenomenon obsessively, walking the line between intense curiosity and deep dread at the possibility of catastrophe. There are some things—many things—Martin doesn’t need to know about him.

Martin smiles. “Well, I… I better get on.”

“Martin,” Jon says, trying to keep his voice measured. He feels like he is wavering between an offering and an argument. “I know I stressed the importance of digitising those files this morning, but there is no reason to spend overtime on—”

“There is, though,” Martin interrupts, “A reason.”

“Oh?”

Martin looks him in the eye and almost smiles. “I want to.”

“Right,” Jon sighs.

“Right,” Martin echoes.

“I suppose I’ll—I’ll be going, then,” Jon murmurs, tapping Martin’s desk just once in deference to the slight tremble in his body, the way he isn’t quite sure what to do with his hands. “See you tomorrow, Martin.”

Martin smiles, this time. A full smile. “Bye, Jon.”

Jon turns. He begins to walk away. In his mind, he sees an alternative: going back, asking Martin to walk with him to the station, an offer he knows will, at least, make Martin think again. The both of them squeezed among commuters, hands stuffed into the pockets of their coats because of the cold, elbows knocking against each other every so often as the crowd tightens and expands. The awkward, protracted moment of goodbye when they part to separate platforms, the glimpse of the other walking away and the pang of sadness that comes with it.

It’s manipulative to ask, a cruel trick, and yet—is it? Is it, if that is something Jon wants, too?

Jon doesn’t turn around. He keeps walking, even though he knows—somewhere deep and hidden and insistent—that he will regret it.

[reachexceedinggrasp]

So the majority of the shows I’ve seen lately can be charitably described as ‘light entertainment’, including the ones with dark elements or more weighty, ponderous plots. They might be entertaining or interesting, they just... don’t stand up to scrutiny. Turn your brain off because this isn’t that carefully or skilfully made and you’ll only be annoyed if you start thinking about it as a whole. Including the last couple 'tragic’ historical dramas I’ve watched, which were not effective tragedy for that very reason. If you’re going to kill off the main cast, you have to earn it, and overwhelmingly writers don’t. Anyway, I’ve been getting despondent about whether stories which actually hang together and form a coherent narrative unit with consistent themes are the exception rather than the rule.

(And I feel like that should be a pretty low standard to meet, it’s sort of Step 1 of ‘being a story’: be about something! Communicate something, no matter how basic it is. Dead simple stories with rock basic messages can be revelatory! Just do it well!)

I’ve seen very little genuinely focussed or meaningful storytelling in my ventures for what feels like a long time. Basically, I can kind of count on one hand the number of films or dramas or whathaveyou I’ve seen from the last few years where it felt like the filmmakers were in complete control of their story and everything in it was purposeful and intentional. Most things have felt slapdash or shallow or fleeting. Story elements and character choices come out of nowhere just to derail already concluded arcs and fill screen time with empty repetitious drama, not to serve a meaningful narrative purpose. I would be watching with zero confidence anything in particular was going anywhere or that the writers knew where that should be. It’s just throwing shit at the wall, fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants type writing all the time and it fucking shows.

But then I watched Money Flower.

Money Flower is different. Money Flower is towering head and shoulders above every modern drama I’ve ever seen. Titanically good writing which rises above its genre and makes conventions seem radically new and fresh not by reinventing them or deconstructing them, but by playing them straight, taking them seriously, and committing 1000%. This is all your familiar rich family tropes but with masterpiece execution, infused with consequence and meaning because they’re all driven by the psychology of complex three-dimensional characters. So many moving pieces and none of them are random or unmotivated. Just... GOOD WRITING. And I want to make the point that it is this wherein art lives. The difference between a rank Lifetime movie and Romeo and Juliet is not novelty or tropes or plot twists- it’s execution.

This show is such a perfect example that it is not ‘mere events’ (aka plot) or novelty or shock value or cool ideas which separates something brilliant and timeless from forgettable schlock; it is solely and entirely execution. It’s writing itself, if you know what I mean. You can describe many of Shakespeare’s tragedies and history plays as soap opera plots. What makes Macbeth a deathless masterwork and Death Wish Hollywood wank isn’t a fundamental difference in subject or genre. It’s Shakespeare’s characterisation and purposeful storytelling. It’s the poetry of the dialogue. It’s the craft of writing. Most of Shakespeare’s plots are based on existing stories or on historical events and that has never mattered because novelty is not an inherent good or of any inherent artistic value.

Like, this is the problem with storytelling right now blah blah GOT, shitty endings everywhere etc. because power over the audience (can’t let anyone guess the plot, looking ‘clever’ with meaningless callbacks) and novelty are valued over narrative structure or things making sense or emotional verisimilitude. We have so many writers thinking being ‘shocking’ is all it takes to be a genius. It’s easy to be shocking if your story makes no goddamn sense because things that don’t make sense are literally unpredictable. Not in a good way, though. A great twist or sudden swerve needs to be unexpected but inevitable in hindsight or it does not work. I should be able to rewatch your thing and think ‘oh, of course! you can see it was [x] all along!’

We have so many popular writers now who are so shallow they don’t think anything needs to make sense on a character or emotional level. They don’t think their story has to be about anything. Substance is irrelevant as long as the surface is flashy enough. That has no staying power, you can only watch it once and you will forget about it quickly.

However, if you have ever wanted to experience the constant heightened stakes and High Drama of a soap opera without being annoyed at how ridiculous it all is and while actually giving a shit about the characters because they feel like real human beings, if you’ve wanted to feel repercussions when characters make choices, and get the emotional payoff that is the entire point of drama- now you can. Watch Money Flower. And let me tell you, it is fucking riveting. This show is mostly made up of people sitting in rooms talking and yet it is heart-pounding excitement nearly every episode. It is profoundly traditional and by the book while being totally fresh. It’s the most engrossing and satisfying artistic experience I’ve had in a long time.

Like, THE TENSION, THE DRAMA, THE REVEALS!!! You can, in fact, spend most of 24+ hours on the edge of your seat about family problems and business mergers. It seems unlikely, but that is the power of this series, it creates insanely high stakes and mesmerising suspense out of the most commonplace ingredients. Familiar plot elements become brand new and surprising under the deftness and tightness of this narrative. The plot itself is certainly 100% melodrama but it never feels like a soap opera and is never ever soapy in in a pejorative sense because it handles its classic tropes with such maturity and nuance that it's like you've never seen them before. The writing is incredible.

It is on an entirely different level than the vast majority of dramas, with a total self-assurance that keeps the pacing relentless yet unhurried- taking its time to let the impact of events be felt, the narrative always knowing exactly where it’s going and how to get there. The characters are all multi-faceted and unpredictable without ever being incoherent, their motives and goals always being gradually uncovered in more detail that only makes the storytelling and characterisation even tighter, even richer. The twists and cliffhangers are always mind-blowing but always earned, never cheap or nonsensical, and I can't remember ever thinking that about another show. (There’s literally one exception towards the very end where something a bit random happens for reasons of pure symbolism- it’s a misstep imo but it’s minor in the scheme of things)

Every time I started to doubt the writing, started to think ‘oh no, they’re going off the rails’, they showed me I was wrong and they were in total control. The only 'problem' with the show is that the drama is also profoundly painful to watch unfold, particularly in the beginning, because it's a story where everyone makes terrible life choices and moral corruption is everywhere. It's hypnotic though, like a car crash. If you can handle something dark, insidious, cerebral, and character-driven there is nothing I've seen in the same vein that can approach its brilliance. It’s like The Magnificent Ambersons as a slick modern revenge drama. There is also (PRECIOUSLY!!) a core of stunning romanticism around which all the horrors revolve and that saves it from becoming hideous or cynical. There is a chance for redemption and a new beginning after all, in spite of all appearances.

The ending has apparently been controversial, and it is definitely not quite as climatic as you would have expected given how powerfully climatic almost every regular episode is, but it's a good ending. There isn't full closure, they don't provide final resolution in a bow, but to me it's an ending about hope. It suggests optimism for our characters and I was satisfied with that. It's extremely rare for a 'revenge story’ to allow this kind of room for healing and it can do that because, imo, we discover in the end that it wasn't ultimately vengeance in Pil Joo’s heart. He has not become a tragic hero who will be consumed by the cannibalistic darkness of revenge, his quest was for justice. He teeters on the edge of the abyss but he avoided falling in; he didn't sell his soul, at least not irrevocably.

He is nonetheless a very tragic figure and an anti-hero, but despite having dedicated his life to bringing down the Jang cabal, it’s not that he’ll stop at nothing. He will make any personal sacrifice no matter how desolate, he lives as a mere husk of a man, and he facilitates enormous emotional harm to others in service of his goals, but he has ethical hard lines he never considers crossing. His sense of decency and compassion is never extinguished; he does care about the collateral damage he is causing even when making justifications for it. It’s important to him to give people as much agency as possible in their choices, to mitigate the damage done by his schemes as much as he can. To try to prevent harm coming to undeserving bystanders. Not that this makes it okay that he uses people, which he does, but the point is he never completely surrenders his moral compass to avarice. He’s never okay with burning down the world or ruining innocent lives just to get to his target.

Pil Joo is less a vigilante and more an avenging angel, he wants justice more than retribution. He wants fairness and a better, safer world where what has happened to his family won’t happen again. The reason this story never becomes Sweeney Todd (aka: a full on tragedy where we see the inevitable outcome of lust for revenge) and the reason he can survive twenty years spent pursuing someone’s downfall is exactly that principle. Searching for retribution would have destroyed him, he would have become the very thing he hated, but instead he goes as far as necessary to publicly expose the Jangs for what they are and then willingly submits to penance for his complicity in their crimes and tries to atone with the people he hurt along the way. Purged, he’s symbolically reborn and takes back his real name to maybe finally have a chance at the life he should have had. He moves on, content, a positive force. He’s capable of healing from the ordeal because he realises he doesn’t need retaliation, just seeing them stopped and facing consequences for their actions is enough.

The love story is a superbly poignant part of this. Their love is the ‘victim’ of his revenge and it will forever be impacted by it, but it’s not something that can be killed, so there’s still hope. Mo Hyeon’s bookending rescues of Pil Joo from death mean first that he has a purpose he must fulfil and then the second time that he has freedom to finally live as himself, for himself. There’s a future. And maybe they can be together there. I’m emo about it.

Anyway, if there was the slightest doubt about me becoming a long-term Jang Hyuk fangirl, it’s been put to rest. This performance is easily one of the best I’ve ever seen, period. No contest it’s the best I’ve seen in a tv drama. It’s also the most subtle and masterful turn he's delivered in his whole career. He's so restrained, but he is giving absolutely everything; he has total control over every microexpression, every gesture, every molecule in his body. There is so much simmering under his surface, so much going on in his eyes; the layers and depths are endless. The intensity and sharp intellectual focus he brings to the character is breathtaking. Everyone else is doing amazing work too, but he is almost constantly on screen and has this spectacular command of such a sprawling story, such a complex character, and he makes it look effortless. All artifice has melted away. The fact that being so tightly contained is in stark contrast to the bombastic element in many of his other roles renders its delicate precision even more startlingly impressive. I thought he was a great actor before, but I didn’t fully appreciate what he was capable of until Pil Joo.