#this person clearly lacks any sort of basic decency

[ziamln]

congrats. you're on one of the first ships that has officially died. ziams killed liam.

I wasn't even going to dignify this with a response but this level of thoughtlessness warrants an address.

Liam, a human being, someone's son, someone's brother, someone's loved one, died, and this was really your first thought?

‘Ziams killed Liam’- Are you even hearing yourself? If you're going to spout something so vile, at least attempt coherence [difficult as that may be for you]. Otherwise, all you're doing is proving that your thoughts are as empty as your basic human decency- assuming you have the capacity for that in your feeble mind.

If you're going to say something so obtuse, at least try having actual facts to back it up, or in this case even a point, rather than spewing utter nonsense in a clearly desperate bid for attention.

Well done on being a complete and utter degenerate.

[sunandmoongobrrr]

Korra and her Brutalization: A Legend of Korra Meta

In honor of International Womens’ Day, I want to talk a little bit about Legend of Korra and the treatment of Korra (and to a small extent other women) throughout the show. Content warning: there's some disturbing scenes that I show here, but if you've watched all of LoK, you should be fine.

Korra starts off confident; she is a young avatar who is eager to learn and feels suffocated from the isolation she is kept in from a very young age. But that doesn’t stop her, and like the headstrong girl she is, she moves to Republic City to make a difference and step into her role as the avatar.

Korra immediately starts to doubt herself; she becomes unsure of her abilities and frustrated with herself, and through that she learns to become emotionally vulnerable with Tenzin. To me, this was really great. It showed that you can be confident and vulnerable, and that the two aren’t necessarily independent of each other.

(I’m going to be honest, the 2nd season I didn’t really remember much of, so I’m just going to skip over that. Because what I really want to talk about is season 3.)

In season three, Korra faces the Red Lotus, an “anarchist” group that essentially wants to kill her. And they get pretty close. First, I want to talk about how Tenzin is beaten by the Red Lotus. This has been brought up in Lily Orchard’s (in?)famous LOK video, and while I disagree with her on many many topics of the show, I really think she has a point here. When Tenzin is being brutalized by the Red Lotus, the camera pans away. It is SO painful to see him like this, and the directors know it. It’s TOO painful to see it, so they don’t show you it, and the episode ends before we can see him be defeated.

Contrast that with Korra. They show you every detail of this. And I mean every detail.

It’s disgusting, and they refuse to treat her with any sort of decency or respect like they do Tenzin. It’s almost like they want us to enjoy her torturing. It’s genuinely gross.

People will often refute this by saying “LoK is just a darker show! Look at what they did to the Earth Queen!” And while yes, it is marketed towards an older audience, there’s still no point in brutalizing Korra this way. The main difference between Korra and the Earth Queen is that… well, Korra’s the protagonist. We’re supposed to be rooting for her, and while the Earth Queen being suffocated was definitely dark, it wasn’t unprecedented. The audience was never supposed to like the Earth Queen—she exploited and kidnapped her own people, so of course we wouldn’t care THAT much if she died. But we’ve been with Korra since the beginning. We’re supposed to want her to be happy, and why on earth would we want her to be tortured brutally in such a disgusting way that gives her absolutely no dignity? If we want her to succeed?

(here Zaheer uses the same technique used on the Earth Queen to suffocate here on Korra. for some reason)

In Season 4, the main focus is on Korra and her healing from the brutal things the Red Lotus did to her. She is clearly still struggling, and it could have been another great way to show how being physically strong and confident doesn’t mean you can’t be vulnerable. But they make a lot of bad choices in this season.

One of my main gripes is that in order to heal, she has to return to her abuser, Zaheer, and HE has to teach her how to feel better.

I don’t want to compare LoK to ATLA, although it’s very important to mention that a show that’s a direct sequel, uses its old characters, and banks off of references, should be able to be compared to its predecessor. But I think it’s important to compare Korra’s arc here to Zuko. This doesn’t come out of nowhere; Korra has a lot of similarities to Zuko. The chopping of her hair is a significant turning point in her arc, and there’s an episode called “Korra Alone” (which is clearly a direct callback; shown below).

The difference between Zuko and Katara is that, a. Zuko never had to accept his abuser, and b. Zuko started off as a villain.

One of Zuko’s major points is when he confronts his father—his abuser. He does not bow to him and give in, saying that maybe he had a few good points or his heart was in the right place, but he directly says that Ozai was wrong for what he did. This isn’t the case with Korra. For some reason, Korra has to learn to trust her abuser. The person who did this to her:

And she has to hear him out.

This leads me to my second point, and what’s basically the complaint I have; despite being a protagonist, the show treats Korra like a villain. It frames her torture scenes as if we’re supposed to be excited that she’s being brutalized, as if we’re supposed to think she deserves it. And it’s not even handled properly as one of the villains we know so well—Zuko, who was able to overcome his abuse and become a protagonist who we root for. Again, Zuko and Korra aren’t directly the same characters, but there are parallels between the two and the show encourages their comparison. When it comes to Korra, however, we’re supposed to believe that she deserves everything that comes to her; the brutal scenes and the lack of dignity, even if she is a protagonist.

And in the end, that’s what we’re meant to believe; that Korra deserved what happened to her. In the finale, Korra says, “I finally understand why I had to go through all that. I needed to understand what true suffering was, so I could become more compassionate to others.”

This is, to put it short, ridiculous. I hate this so much I can’t even begin to say how much I hate it. No, Korra did not have to go through the torture she went through. She did not have to go through the mercury poisoning. She did not have to go through every hardship she did. This “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” is so harmful because Korra’s healing revolved around accepting her abuser and thanking him for the awful things he did to her. Korra wasn’t even that cocky by the end of the first season, so what it’s essentially indirectly teaching girls is that if you’re confident, you’ll pay. It’s disgusting.

Zuko got a banishment to the Earth Kingdom, got to have his ideas and practices challenged, but he never got physically tortured. I truly, truly believe that one of the main reasons why Korra is quite literally villainized by the show is because she was a confident, brown teenage girl. None of the male characters are treated with such disrespect and we never get told that they need to be “humbled” by abuse.

This is not completely resolved to LoK; there are some aspects in ATLA that I think could’ve been fixed had there been more women in the room. I tag her a lot (bc her metas are awesome), but I really recommend you read @araeph 's Katara: Consumed by Destiny series. I also have a meta here about how Katara is treated in ATLA, specifically in “The Fortuneteller.” (I want to emphasize that while I am anti-Kataang, I don’t believe that Katara’s treatment had to do with the ship itself or that kataang is inherently anti-Katara. It’s just a note about how her character is treated in this episode and beyond.)

I’ve heard a lot of people say that they’re ‘glad’ that LoK didn’t feature Suki or Mai or Ty Lee, because they can’t imagine how poorly they’d be represented. And honestly, I can’t blame them.

This isn’t to say that we need to stop watching LOK or even ATLA. I think the internet has this weird problem where we’ve been told that the way to get rid of problematic media is to just stop consuming anything even remotely problematic altogether. But certain aspects of media will always be relatively problematic, since as content creators we sometimes input our biases into the things we create. The solution, then, is not to banish anyone who puts any harmful stereotypes into their content from society, but to actively and healthily criticize it. Bryke are not God, but they’re also not demons put on the earth to suppress woc. They’re white guys that have implicit biases that have worked their way into the content they produce. I think the lesson learned here, is to have women, especially BIWOC, in writing rooms, to prevent atrocious acts from happening to future Korra's.

Happy International Women’s Day, y’all.

[problematicfavesareproblematic]

There’s a Reason It’s Called Liquid Courage

Bull Randleman x Reader

Summary: After a night of (responsible) drinking, Bull decides to let you know just how seriously he takes your budding relationship.

(it’s literally a blurb and a half, sorry fam)

“I told you I didn’t drink, stop laughing at me!”

y/n felt her frown deepen as Denver “It’s Basically Water'' Randleman clutched at his stomach in what a casual observer might describe as a bout of laughter. 

But for anyone who knew him, he was in stitches. In fact, Y/N wasn't sure she’d ever seen him like this. 

And she would’ve savored the opportunity to witness it, if it had been at the expense of anyone other than herself.

“There’s a difference between ‘I don't drink’ and ‘if alcohol so much as touches my tongue I’m going to spit it out into Lewis Nixon’s face’—”

“—I didn’t know he’d taken the liberty of spiking my tea, it’s a natural reaction!”

But it was no use, Bull had already lost himself into another fit of bellowing laughter. This time, she didn't have the heart to glare at him, instead finding herself smiling at the rare moment of open joy from the most reckless man she’d ever met.

There’d been plenty of reasons to smile today: no one had died, no cars had massive mechanical issues, and most importantly- she’d been given a chance to use the shower in the home they’d assigned to her. 

Her hair didn't seem to be getting thinner anymore and she certainly noticed less hair falling out when she finger combed it, but she still hadn’t menstruated. 

While being closer to towns meant that she had access to food more steadily than any of the frontline men, she still had dropped a significant amount of weight.

She doubted that was helping matters in the lack of period department.

Her mother had told her about what stress could do to a body, but even then Y/N felt like the woman had withheld the more graphic details. If only I could ask her, Y/N thought ruefully. See if what’s happening to me is normal or not. if I will be okay…

Eventually, Bull had stopped laughing, and they had fallen into their usual comfortable silence. He'd smoked two cigarettes before he spoke again, and when he did his voice was quiet.

“I’d like to talk to you about something.”

turning to face him a bit more, she only hesitated for a moment before nodding. He watched her with careful eyes, and a bit of anxiety dripped into her stomach.

He cleared his throat a couple of times before looking out over her shoulder, and working his jaw. “I was wondering if you'd be willing to help me with some paperwork later.”

That threw her for a loop. She squinted, tilting her head to the side.

“You want...help with paperwork?”

“Yeah.”

“My help?”

“Yes.”

“Is it...mechanical paperwork?”

he sighed, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. “No, what? No. It’s social security stuff.”

“Oh, huh…” she trails off, growing more confused than ever. A stray thought catches her attention, and for a moment her heart flutters nervously. “Do you want me to not look at you?”

(It was a system the two of them had come up with back in Toccoa, when she’d had to give him the bad news that his letters had been confiscated and destroyed after Sobel dubbed them as contraband. Y/N had been anxious, not wanting to see the hurt and disappointment mar his handsome face. He’d initially offered to look away from her as a joke, yet it had soon lost any of its humor as time went on.)

He nods, looking down like he’s ashamed that he can’t just say whatever it is he’s trying to say.

“Alright,” she says, turning on her bottom so he can only see her profile. Staring at the wall in front of her, she sighs and waits for him to talk.

“I need to change the name of the person who gets my pension, if anything happens.”

Oh, she thought, trying to keep her face from showing her surprise. She hadn’t expected that. they’d never talked about that sort of thing.

She hums a sound for him to go on, mentally trying to figure out where he was going with this request.

“I want you to get it, or at least some of it.”

What.

“What?” she gasped, whipping her head to look at him.

“Hey.” he snapped in return, narrowing his eyes and pointing in the direction she’d been looking in. “Eyes that way, woman!”

With a quick glare, she turns back to look away, choosing her next words carefully. “Why?”

“Why? Why what?”

Y/N doesn't bother to hide her eye roll, taking an exasperated deep breath and working to keep her voice from going pitchy. “Jesus, Den! How about; why me, huh? Why not Luz or charity or some nurse called Dottie you met before you shipped out? And why now? Nothing’s happened, right? So, why would you even be thinking of something like that?”

“In order?” he asks snarkily, and from the corner of her eyes she sees him lift up his hands to count off her questions. “Because I want to, because Luz would spend it on something stupid with Perco, and I don't know any nurses named Dottie- and even if I did I wouldn't pick her anyways. And…” he hesitates, and it’s a few moments before he speaks again. 

When he does, his voice is so low she feels it more than hears it. 

“And it’s because nothing has happened lately that I’m thinking about this, Y/N.”

Oof. Leave it to Bull to save up all his pretty words for her and then dump them on her all at once. He couldn’t just hold her hand or make up excuses to see her, he had to go and bring legal documents into the equation- as well as making her feel all soft and mushy for him.

She looks down at her hands, and within seconds Bull takes her hands in his and scoots over so she can see him. When she looks at him again she can’t help the sad smile that crosses her face.

“You’re probably never going to tell me why you picked me, are you Mr. Randleman?”

Her voice is sad, but she knows he understands why. 

He knows they aren’t just talking about the life insurance change.

Pressing a kiss on her interwoven fingers, he holds her gaze with steadfast resolve.

“Probably not, no. You’re right.”

She let it hang there, waiting to see how it felt to hear him admit that much. Well, if he was willing to risk her rejecting him, the least she could do was reward his courage. 

As quickly as she could she brought her hands up to hold his face while she ducked a quick kiss on his lips, her heart skipping a beat at the sound of surprise coming from in the back of his throat.

As she pulled away she stood up, smiling down at his reddening cheeks and wide eyes. 

What was that for? he seemed to ask, clearly having not expected her to have that response to his confirmation.

She shrugged, rolling her shoulders and adapting a pensive look. 

“I suppose I find honesty more attractive than I thought.”

With a softer smile, she studies him one final time before turning and heading for the door.

“I didn’t ‘pick you’, you know.” He calls, and she stops with her hand on the doorknob. “it wasn’t...it’s not like that.”

She looks over her shoulder at him, a warm feeling coming over her as he eyed her softly.

“Then what is it like?”

“It just is,” he says simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

Grinning stupidly, she has the decency to blush and look away. Smooth son of a bitch.

“Good night, Bull Randleman”

“Good night, Y/F/N.”

With a good-natured huff, she shakes her head and opens the door, letting the warm air of the house swallow her in darkness.

(TWO IN ONE NIGHT? WHO AM I?)

Taglist: @mrseasycompany​

[batarella]

The Bullet: A Sequel to the Commander - Part 6 (Jason Todd x Reader)

FUUUUCK THIS TOOK SO LONG AM SORRY BUT MAAAAN AM I PROUD OF THIS. YES THE FLOYD LAWTON I’M BASING ON IS WILL FUCKING SMITH

WORDS: 10333 WARNINGS: IMPRISONMENT, STARVATION, DEHYDRATION, TORTURE, FIREARMS

MASTERLIST

THE BULLET MASTERLIST

-----

“How do you plead?”

Soulless.

Mindless.

Lifeless.

She finally became that cold, callous machine. It took her this far just to get there.

It was just about as painless as your skin and nerve endings being burned off.

A soulless, mindless, lifeless muster of steel and hard parts.

To every pair of eyes that looked her way, she was no human being. She was no woman. She wasn’t someone who loved or was loved. She wasn’t someone’s cousin, or someone’s lover. And especially not someone who could have been a mother. Taking care of a child would be nothing short of abuse.

She wasn’t Y/N. She was Deadshot. An eerie mimic to her infamous uncle.

With the cuffs on her wrists, three guards on her side, unarmed in case she could possibly reach out for them, she heard the distant flickering of camera shots and murmurs. Her silence was already something to note, with the reporters eating up this story like worms on a cold carcass. But not once did she look up from her feet, at the steel clinging to her skin. Her attention didn’t leave the coarseness of the bright orange suit, sticking to her skin like sandpaper.

“Guilty.”

Her own trial. And she barely paid attention. She didn’t listen to just about anyone who went up to speak, at the lawyers, the judge, the jury with their whispers. She didn’t listen to their stories about her, whether or not they were true. And even if it were a lie, it wouldn’t matter much. It would only add up to the countless life sentences she’d expect to have in the end. It wouldn’t change anything about her situation. Waller was going to win, whatever happens.

For the murders of fifteen different people. Fifteen different cases. It was barely a fraction of what she’d done just by the past few months alone, not including the last one since she swore off killing. But they were the ones she chose to admit to. By herself. Her part of the deal with Waller.

A trial that was supposed to last the whole of the day, ended up being adjourned after barely an hour. Barely any witnesses, barely any proof to go against her. If she hadn’t admitted to anything, she wouldn’t have gotten more than one or two life sentences.

Now, she ended up with eight.

And after her eyelids shielded her away from more visions of the reality in front of her, she still managed to watch herself being taken away. With even more unarmed guards around her in a circle and two standing from a fair distance away, holding AKs and pistols strapped to their hips.

She saw herself being cuffed on her ankles, lead to an armored car like a circus animal. Reporters all around her, snapping pictures and holding out their microphones trying to get something out of her. And despite everything Waller had said, about her histories, her crimes, and all the horrible things she’s done, not everyone immediately went back to looking at her scornfully. At the far off crowd outside the courthouse, there were a group of girls, holding up a sign with hearts around her name. Her real name this time.

And they all cheered for her to be let go. They cried out to her, calling her a hero, calling her things she clearly wasn’t.

A cop pulled her head back to look in front of her, back crouched over, face covered with her hair. When she got to the car, she could no longer hear screams of neither hate nor support. She never felt so alone. So dead. Dead beneath her skin despite her heart still up in a beat. But it was clearly barely there. She was barely alive.

They took her to a plane. Then on another car. Then she arrived in Belle Reve.

Guards gave her looks. And she didn’t care to think about what went on in their clearly corrupted minds. She was taken to a brightly lit room, and despite it being so lit up, everything around her felt cold and dark. Her eyes, dropped down, she let the guard take her hand and press her inked fingers onto a piece of paper. Then they scanned her eyes, took her blood, took a piece of her hair.  

She was given a sign to hold, with her name on it and alias.

She stood in front of the wall with the height meter and faced the camera.

And on her face, she finally gave off a taste of the emotions running through the labyrinth in her mind. Her eyebrows arched down, her shoulders crouched over, her hair coming down to frame her face and her mouth arching down the most terrifying frown.

And her eyes. They looked black from the hooded darkness.

Anger. So much anger. For everything around her. For everything that had to happen.

They took the shot.

Just hours later, her mug shot had circulated all over Gotham, all over billboards and television screens, and almost everywhere on social media. Mixed criticisms. People wanting her to be let out. People praising her to be so brave. People saying she deserved what she got. People saying she should be put on death penalty.

Deadshot. Even when her name was everywhere. Even when the world had claimed her real name for their use. It wasn’t hers anymore.

She will, and always will be, Deadshot.

-----

Cops weren’t supposed to shove him into the back of a car like a dog being tied down and taken to the pound.

Cops weren’t supposed to throw his rights out the window out of fear over the woman who was supposedly above the law.

Cops weren’t supposed put their fear of losing their jobs in front of treating other people with basic human decency and have some sort of humanity left in them.

Cops weren’t supposed to use their job as an excuse to hurt other people. An excuse to let out their personal angers out on people who don’t deserve it.

But Jason Todd, a vigilante who had just been relieved out of god knows how many murder charges over the course of just two years, he shouldn’t expect the cops to be nice to him. As much as they were kind to Batman, as much as Commissioner Gordon was considered saint, there will always be a number of them that are just as bad as the criminals they detain.

They took him almost a hundred miles away from the city. Out into an unknown country side he had no idea where to go to. Not a motel, a gasoline station, or a diner in sight. He must have been in that car for four hours. He didn’t exactly know. Just that it was almost day time when they threw him out, his face meeting the dewy grass and the youthful orange sky. And the air around him felt nothing like the cold Gotham winds. It was fresh, light, healthy to take in. That’s when he realized just how far off he really was from home.

Jason was hungry, throat starting to feel a little dry. And his clothes will barely be enough to hold him up. He had two days. Maybe three days tops. By then he’ll have to make sure he’ll at least find a motel to stay in. He searched his pockets. His phone had fallen off. But he had his wallet.

He started walking to where the car came from. If they ran in circles to throw him off, he’ll probably die before he gets anywhere near the city by now. When the sun had fully risen, his skin now starting to feel the prickling of his sweat and the burn of the hot rays of light, he kept going. He kept pushing his legs forward, one in front of the other.

By sundown, he felt something in his stomach churn and eat him away from the inside. He shivered, despite the warmth. Then he decided to rest for just a few minutes to press back the tingling pain in his horribly dried up throat. He sat on the grass, weight on his hands, then he looked up at the sky, at the lack of clouds and immense brightness.

And he wasn’t upset about any of it. He wasn’t so worried about his life as he should be, dying of hunger, dying of thirst, feeling the heat burn his skin, or that he might never get home soon enough to actually live. He wasn’t so worried about what could happen to him in the cold dark or if he ever actually does find shelter, or help, or a single car that hadn’t passed by him so far.

He was sure he’d survive. He’d gone through worse. So much worse. And it was no different from being a child at crime alley not knowing if he was getting some food on his plate that day or not.

But it wasn’t even because of that why he wasn’t crying out in desperation and scavenging for any sort of help he could find.

He didn’t worry, because all he could ever think about was what could possibly be happening to Y/N in Belle Reve right that moment.

Jason never liked being in the unknown when it came to her, when she wasn’t by his side. When they were apart, as often as he could, he made sure to follow her around when she wasn’t expecting it, keep tabs on her almost every minute of the day, know where she was going and what she wanted to do. It had always been something in him to make sure the one person he loved more than anything else in the world was okay. Watch her from afar. Make sure she wasn’t hurt. That she wasn’t hurting herself. When she came back to him he swore he’d never lose her again. He swore to himself, and to her.

And now it was that all over again. And this time, he might never get to hold her for the rest of his life. This time, he might actually lose her for good. There was no way for him to follow her, to know what she was doing.

And it scared him to death. Scared him so much that it tore away every rational thinking in his head. That was most probably going to kill him. His lack of instinct. His lack of the will to keep going. When all he could think about was whether she was actually still alive and not have the bomb in her neck explo-

Jason pulled on his hair.

He already missed her so much…

He was in the middle of nowhere and he didn’t have so much as a picture of her to look at.

Wait.

His wallet.

He pulled it out.

An old photo of her. From her identification all the way back from the militia. From when she was recruited. He got her files and looked through them. Found her picture. Thought she was pretty. Had the files on his desk for months and after a while he ended up bringing it with him. Kept it in his wallet for two years and completely forgot about it. He thought he was a creep then, especially since they weren’t even so much as friends, but he remembered.

He got out his wallet and took it out from an enclosed pocket.

Hair kept back, cropped up to her collarbone and her face staring at him blankly. But her eyes still had that remnant of brightness and her mouth was so subtly curving up on one side.

Jason had his eyes on that little picture until he realized he had to keep going.

-----

Floyd’s old cell.

Waller and her sick little game.

She wasn’t placed with the other women in the prison with shared cells and barred gates. She was forced into the old cell of Floyd Lawton. Instead its walls of iron were three inches thick, solid, indestructible. There was but a little opening at eye’s length and another by the handle to bring in her food. It wasn’t as small as she thought it would be. But it smelled like five rats had died there this morning.

Deadshot took too long to get in and a baton swung against her back.

She fell to the floor and swore she heard her spine crack. For a moment her nerves stopped working, a buzzing numbness in slow surges, all except for the sharp pain at the base of her back.

“Get in there!” the guard screamed at her then kicked her further down. Crawling into the cell, she heard the gate slam shut and the whole room grow dim, save for a single orange light at the corner.

She didn’t do so much as stand up for a few hours. Her head was stuck to the ground, curled up to her stomach just to cling into some parts of her body that wasn’t already in pain. Everything in her hurt so much. There was a small cot at the corner and a punching bag at the other side. That had to be for Floyd. She didn’t want it. She hated that she wasn’t so much as given her own cell and had to settle for yet another of whatever scraps her uncle left behind. She got his guns. His suit. His fucking name. and now, she fucking laughed, she got his kills, his debt, his life sentences, his squad, his boss, his cell.

Everything she had. Everything she’s ever stood to live for. It had all been a remnant of who Floyd Lawton was. Never hers. She had no identity. Nothing good ever came out of anything he’s given her. Only a lifetime of running and money and taking lives. There had only ever been one good thing that came out of it.

And she had to lose him, too.

Deadshot had no idea if Jason was ever going to be okay. That he wasn’t going to eventually get himself killed without anyone holding him back. She couldn’t check on him anymore. She’ll have no idea if he even dies.

So she was just going to have to tell herself that he’ll be okay.

When the late afternoon came, she finally took to standing from the ground, on her knees, then she held herself up with the wall and hissed at how her bones cracked at the lack of movement. Everything hurt so much. She went to the cot, sat on its edge, and waited until the sun fell and rose again.

In the morning, the guards threw in a single burnt toast through the hole on the door. She didn’t touch it.

When the sun fell once more, she fell back against the wall and closed her eyes. She didn’t even get to sleep. No matter how much her eyelids started to hurt.

On the next day, they threw an apple into her cell. Deadshot took a bite, spat it out, then threw it out of the single window through the bars.

That night, she couldn’t bare not being able to sleep anymore. She tossed around in the cot, turning off all her other senses even when it only ended up amplifying the dead, yet raging thoughts.

She wanted a life. A good one. And finally it was within her grasps and it went away as quickly as it came. This wasn’t living. This was merely taking up space. This wasn’t a life anymore and it sucked when she knew there was nothing to look forward to.

Everything hurt to think about. Everything. Except when it often trailed off to Jason. Then her heart would swell, her wonderous thoughts halted. Thoughts of him. Thoughts of how he was. It was as calming as it was painful. And even if it stung, it brought back her humanity.

So she resorted to him. When the pain became too much. When her cell got too cold, or when the guards started to taunt her. When the cot got too uncomfortable or when her most silent screams haunted her at night.

She thought of him.

Is Jason okay? Is he eating? Is he even alive? Is he back in their apartment or out of Gotham or…

No. He wasn’t going to be okay.

Even if he was alive. Even if he was eating three times a day or if he was out of the state.

She knew. Because the moment she walked out of the apartment all those months ago, when she regrettably left the love of her life, she never stopped looking after him. He had no idea. He thought he was the one following her around. But out on patrols when Red Hood thought he was working alone, Deadshot was a few hundred yards away, looking out on her scope, watching and waiting for anything that might come out to take him down or anything he might not get to handle.

She never loved anyone like she loved him, and she often smiled at how they came to be, how it wasn’t supposed to be. No one would have thought it would work, but when it actually happened, it always made sense. To everyone.

Her Jason. Her sweet Jason.

She clutched at her chest.

She’ll have her thoughts of him to keep going. That somehow if she stayed alive, it was a step closer to getting to be with him again. A step closer than if she were dead.

And subjecting him to that kind of pain, when she knew he loved her, too, when he’s always made it clear, always made sure she knew he loved her.

Okay. Maybe it wasn’t too calming to think about him.

If anything, it only made the pain even worse.

------

Was that a house?

It looked like one.

It had a windmill, too.

And probably a barn.

Twenty-six hours of walking on the side of the road. Twenty-six hours of no food. No water. No shelter. Twenty-six hours, and only two cars have passed by him. Not one of them stopped.

Jason’s hair was sticking to his forehead now from the immense amount of sweat that had seeped out of his hairline, which was only going to lessen his days to live from three to just two or one. His throat. It was practically as course as the cement road.

But when he saw the house. A triangular roof. A windmill. A field right in front and what looked like a small barn by its side.

He only hoped it wasn’t a mirage.

Jason kept going, and his feet felt so much heavier to lug around like they were sacks of rice strapped to his knees. But he kept walking, further down until he started seeing the house’s porch that had a rocking chair inside it. He might have even seen a dog, running out of the house with its tail wagging and going back in through the doggy door.

Once he reached the front yard, he almost fell to his knees. The sun was scorching and he was probably going to come out of this with his skin almost burnt off of his flesh. If he ever does get out of this alive. But he could see from the screen door that there was someone inside. Human beings that might actually have the heart to help him. Jason swallowed what little fluids there was left in his desert of a mouth.

When he stepped into the porch, the dog came out once again, barking at him. It kept its stance outside the door and snarled whenever Jason tried to go anywhere near the front entrance.

“Who’s out there?!”

It was the voice of an old man. Not so old to be rickety and harsh, barely enough to be audible with his mouth probably struggling to keep up. He seemed to be up to his sixties. When he went up to the door, he stared at Jason through the screen.

“You need anything, boy?”

Jason tried to speak, but even that hurt to do. He tried to cough it out but it was like running his throat through a wrought iron bar.

“I’m… I need help…”

The old man stepped closer, peering in through the tiny holes of the netting. “You look like shit.”

“Can I… have some water?”

The dog stopped his barking, it started to take interest in his smell, on his shoes in particular. Its tail was up especially when his nose started smelling up his leg.

“How long have you been out here? The next city’s hours away by car.”

“A day. Probably. I’m not too sure.”

The old man unlocked the screen door and leaned against the archway. “You look like a dangerous man. You ain’t here to rob me, are ya?”

“No sir. Please. I just need some water.”

Jason saw his throat hitch, looking away out into the field for a short while before he eventually nodded. “Take a seat. Right there. I’ll get you a glass.”

The rocking chair. To him, it looked like the softest bed. He slumped down, tried so hard to keep his eyes open when all of him weighed a ton. He heaved his chest up in a slow, steady pace and made sure not to go into whatever light there might be that greets him.

Jason actually did take a bit of a nap when the door pushed open and he jolted in his seat. The man handed him a glass of cold water.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

The dog was beside him once again. This time, it started to pant, like it was smiling at him with his tail wagging. He placed the glass between his lips and savored every single drop of water like it was liquified gold running down his throat. It hurt. All the way down his stomach. But he’s never had anything so refreshing.

“Can't walk back out there. You’ll die.”

“I have to. I can't stay here.”

“Plenty of bodies found at the side of the road with their stomachs inside out. I’m telling you, kid. You won't survive out there.”

With the glass empty, he pressed it onto his head just to cool himself off.

“Here. I’ll get you another glass.”

Jason didn’t want to ask for another but the man had already grabbed the glass away from him and went back inside. When he came out, he brought a sandwich with him as well.

“You’re very kind. Thank you.”

“I said don’t mention it. Folks out here getting lost. Some I offer to help and they end up taking an old family heirloom.”

“I’m sorry.”

“But when they aren’t pieces of shit, it’s nice to know I’ve saved a few lives.”

“Yeah,” Jason bit into the sandwich. “I know the feel.”

“I don’t have a spare bed. But you can stay over at the barn.”

“I really can't stay. Someone needs me.”

“Don’t be fuckin’ stupid. No car’s about to pass by and give you a ride and you’ll die before you’ll even get to Kentucky.”

“Kentucky?! Where am I?!”

The old man burst out a hearty laugh.

“Where you from, kid?”

“Gotham City.”

He whistled a hiss. “You're a long way from home, young man.” Jason took his time to drink up the water. Just so the man wouldn’t feel the need to get him another one.

“You're at the interstate going to Tennessee. From the looks of it, whoever dropped you off took you somewhere between here and Birmingham.”

Fuck. So the cops, if they were even cops at this point, didn’t drive for four hours. They were driving for twelve.

Fuck Waller and her men.

“I should be going.”

“Stay over at the barn. Every three days two buses pass along this road. One for each way. It’s either that, or the vultures will have you for breakfast. That’s more time than you probably have surviving out there by yourself.”

Jason stared at his half-eaten sandwich and his glass of water.

Yeah. Think rationally. He could at least do that for himself. The heat definitely was getting to him.

When he finished his food, he stayed on that chair until the sky went dark.

-----

The food was so disgusting, it was inhumane.

Two days. And all Deadshot had eaten was a stale piece of bread, two bites out of a rotten apple, half a bowl of chili, and a greasy patty. Her stomach was going to give out any second now. And the hot porridge of something they just threw in was definitely going to make her puke if she even had anything in her stomach right then.

Every part of her body numb, she went up to the punching bag.

One.

Two.

Three.

Her fists didn’t hurt as much as she thought it would. Even when her bones were basically made of jelly by now. She hit the bag, balled up her tight fists.

Six.

Seven.

Eight. Nine. Ten.

Floyd. Floyd. Floyd.

It had been a while since he spoke to her.

But every second in this cell, she’s heard Floyd’s name being whispered amongst the guards more than anything else there was. Referring to her. To what she was. Floyd’s second. Floyd’s niece. Floyd’s protégé. Floyd’s heir.

Twenty-six. Twenty-seven. Twenty-eight.

She wasn’t Y/N. None of them cared enough about her real identity. Not even the news stations cared enough to flash her real name on the screen for more than a few seconds before calling her Deadshot for the rest of their report. She can't call herself Y/N in a place where all people would look at her for was to compare her to her uncle.

She heard voices. Outside. Guards.

Lots of them.

“OPEN THE GATES!”

“EVERYBODY, LINE UP FOR EXTRACTION.”

“LET’S GO. MOVE. MOVE.”

Huh.

So that was today.

They all had to be armed. And ready to take her down.

She can put up a bit of a fight. For the fun of it.

She turned away from the bag, fists secured up to her head. She saw their faces incoming. A large shield held by the front liner and about ten viciously armed guards trailing behind.

“Come on, motherfuckers!” Deadshot said.

“GO. GO.”

The door slid open.

The shield pushed her to the ground before she could even do so much as move out of the way. She jumped up, twisted the arm that grabbed onto her and kneed him to the pelvis, stomped on his thighs.

Guns started aiming at her.

“Don’t you dare shoot that gun!” Their leader screamed at them.

Not long after, her arms were being held back, another one grabbing her legs. She flailed and kicked about.

“I can walk, you assholes!”

“Can't take the chance.”

A chair. A wheelchair that looked more like a torture machine than anything else. She thrashed about and screamed just as they placed her to sit on it, strapping her arms and head in place so she could barely move at all.

She calmed. She didn’t struggle. She didn’t even ask where she was going. She knew exactly where she was headed.

When they took her to an impossibly dark hallway where at the end, she saw soldiers without armor waiting for her with a suitcase, she swallowed.

“This gonna hurt?” she asked.

“You won't feel a thing…”

She breathed. Breathed. Breathed. Slowly as the chair went closer to the station, she tried so much to hide her neck, but couldn’t with the straps.

And when she saw the size of the needle gun, she jumped up in her seat.

“It’s been six fuckin’ years since Floyd, you didn’t think to have a little upgrade in your equipment?”

“Shut up.”

They pressed the gun to her neck and shot the nanite explosive right past her flesh and muscle.

It was like surviving a bullet and staying awake the whole time it went into her skin. She screamed out in so much pain. It was a bullet. It was a bullet. It was a fucking bullet. She was shot. No. She was dying. Bleeding. She pulled on all the straps.

“Let me go!”

“Take her back to the cell.”

Every hair on her body was sticking up. She swore she felt it bleed. There was something running down her neck. Onto her orange suit. The whole time she was taken to her place, she wouldn’t stop screaming and crying out for the help that was never to come.

They took her back in, undid the straps.

Then she fell to the ground.

“Calm down,” the guard said. “Everybody move out!”

Once again, she was alone. In an old, dusty prison cell that wasn’t even hers to begin with.

At least she thought she was.

“You shouldn’t be so scared of bullets…”

No.

The nerve of this man.

He just had to show up now.

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“You have no one else to talk to.”

“That doesn’t mean I need you.”

Floyd was sitting on the edge of her little bed, crouched over to his knees. “Get up,” he said.

Something within her, so used to doing exactly as he told her to, it wouldn’t let her say no. She shut her eyes closed and crawled over to a wall so she can pull herself up. Her hand went over to her neck, at the same mark Floyd had on his.

“Don’t touch it.”

She leaned against the wall, arms over her chest.

“Even when you were scared of bullets coming right at you, you were never afraid of guns.”

“I don’t want to talk about this.”

“You love guns. You love what you do. Don’t pretend I put you up to a life you never wanted.”

“This?!” she pointed up around the cell. “This wasn’t what I wanted. Not by a long shot.”

“But you knew there was a risk. You took it anyway. You put yourself in more danger than you can handle because you wanted to.”

No. He fucking wasn’t going to use that against her.

“I cleared your debts. I’m here because Waller wanted another Deadshot on the team. It’s because of you, I have a bomb in my neck. I always wanted to be a fucking great markswoman, but it doesn’t mean I wanted to be you.”

It would have probably stung him if he was here at all. But frankly, a figment of her imagination wouldn’t have its feelings hurt if she didn’t want it to.

Floyd let out a sigh and patted the side of the cot to let her sit beside him.

“Y/N…”

Only in her head. She finally hears her name after two days.

She rolled her eyes and took the damn seat.

“You know why you have that fear?”

Her attention never left the ground.

“You know how much you hurt people. All the way back from when you shot your first target. The more you killed, the more you realized how painful it was going to be when the world bites you back and gives you what you think you deserve…”

“It is what I deserve.”

“You think irony is what’s going to kill you.”

“Stop it.”

“But this is who you are. You have never been me. You have always been a different Deadshot. And I knew that. Always. Zoe could see it. Jason could see it-“

“Don’t. Say. His name.”

“This is you. And you're forgetting what you used to call yourself when you were little. When you weren’t so afraid of it taking your life. I never gave you a name because you’ve already named yourself-“

“FLOYD-“

“You are The Bullet. If you think irony wants you dead, bit it back in the ass. Become your fear.”

“AGH!”

She swung at her side, but Floyd was gone.

-----

A pile of hay was actually nice to lay down on.

The cow that was staring at him the whole time, though, was quite unnerving. The chickens as well. And they woke him up just as the sun began to rise, and Jason never would have thought he’d have to wake up to ten chickens and roosters screaming at his ear, as a well a dog with so much salivation licking up his face.

He relieved himself, scratched his head, splashed his face with a bucket of water. Already, he felt so much better.

When he walked out of the barn, Jason saw the old farmer stretching his arms at the porch. He turned over to him and waved. Jason waved back. then he saw him gesture for him to come over and reluctantly, he did.

“Got a good night’s rest?”

“I certainly did. I can't thank you enough.”

“Don’t thank me just yet. Come on. Let’s get some breakfast.”

“I really should-“

“Oh, young man, you shouldn’t feel like this is of any trouble. ‘Cuz you are going to get your breakfast yourself.”

He wasn’t so sure what that meant. “What?”

“Here’s a basket. Stay away from the chicken at the far back. She likes to peck out of your fingers.”

Oh. Well, shit.

“Okay,” Jason swallowed.

He went back into the barn and walked on over to the chicken coop. There were a few of the females in their cages laying eggs. And the roosters were just strutting about like they owned the place.

A certain one with a smooth head and red and yellow feathers started pecking at his feet. “You know, you remind me of a certain replacement back at home.”

The rooster clucked, then walked away into the hay piles.

“Okay, don’t kill me,” Jason kept his head away when he reached in and felt for eggs in the nest. It was still warm to touch. He took two and placed them on the basket. He did the same over the other ones until he reached the last one. The largest one.

But she had her own eggs inside and there wasn’t really much for both of them to eat. He closed one eye as he reached over…

“BUUUUUCK!” The chicken bit his hand and rapidly flapped her wings at Jason, then he instantly shut the cage door.

“Shit.”

He went back over to the house and knocked on the door. The farmer smiled at him as he took the basket.

“Come on. You can wait over at the table and I’ll fry these babies up.”

“I don’t mean to impos-“

“Eh, come on over.”

The old man had already turned around and went into the kitchen. His house was so small. There was only one couch. No TV. A lot of books. A dinner table that sat two.

He went over to the shelf.

It wasn’t so much the kind of books he read. Not the classics. They were all dime romance novels you’d find at a gas station store. And there were a lot of them.

“My wife left them behind,” the farmer said to him. “I read one everyday. Just to keep some kind of memory of her.”

He smiled. Because he didn’t say it like he was someone to pity over. He said it like it was something to be proud of. And it was.

“You read the paper, boy? It’s over there.”

He pointed at the newspaper on the table. “We got a delivery boy from the next house. I pay him a hefty price just to come all the way up here everyday.”

“They still have newspapers?”

The old man narrowed his boys. “Youngsters.”

He took the paper and sat on the table. Nothing much interested him. Mostly just news on a town in Tennessee.

But there was one, tiny section at the corner that caught his eye.

‘Dead Billionaire Falcone Found Penniless’

‘Gotham City’s billionaire philanthropist Carmine Falcone, after being murdered in his office underneath the Gotham Museum of Art, was discovered to have left nothing to his apparent heirs, as the title of all his assets, the museum included, had been secretly sold out and transferred ownership to various other enterprises from all across the world. This includes all the recently bought out conglomerates and properties from other businessmen of Gotham, such as Salvatore Maroni and ten others. These assets have since been liquidated just days prior to his death. But as they checked all of Mr. Falcone’s accounts, the numbers were as good as zeroes. It is unknown where the money had gone to and why the billionaire chose to do so. The Falcone Family insists on investigating the matter and getting the inheritance that their patriarch had left behind.’

 The old farmer then placed his plate of eggs on the table, as well as a few strips of bacon.

“Killed that boar just a few days ago. Pig’s been feeding me everyday since then,” he chuckled, then he took the seat beside Jason and ate up his food.

When Jason was washing the plates, the old farmer had fallen asleep on his couch. It was refreshing, seeing folks like this so trusting. It will kill him, one of these days. If he ever lets in the wrong kind of people. And looking around, he didn’t even look like he had a gun. If Jason had one with him, he’d give it to the old man just so he’d have some chance against the evils out there.

Jason sat out the porch, on the rocking chair. He watched as the field of wheat danced along the wind, as the grass fluttered with that beautiful, calming sound brushing against each other. Every so often, the wind strengthens, and it was with the bells hung on the door and the windvane that sounded so well with the leaves being blown away. It was so different from Gotham.

He pulled out the picture of Y/N and instantly, everything felt even lighter. And heavier. At the same time. Lighter because she brightens up everything there was, wherever he was. And heavier because she wasn’t actually here. And while he was this lucky to have found the help he needed, she, on the other hand, wasn’t.

He’s never had anyone sacrifice so much for him more than she did.

She loved him so much…

And the prison was all the way over to Louisiana. The opposite side of where he was going. After a night’s rest, he realized there wasn’t even anything waiting for him at Gotham. She wasn’t there. Everything he hated, on the other hand, was. There was nothing left for him. Nothing he could go back to.

“Pretty thing, she is.”

The old man was leaning against the wall behind him, looking over his shoulder at Y/N’s picture.

“Yeah… the prettiest.”

“Your girl?”

He nodded.

“She who you going back to in Gotham?”

“She… uh… isn’t there.”

“Where is she then?”

This man didn’t know anyone five miles outside his house. It probably wouldn’t matter. “She’s… in Belle Reve.”

“Oh,” He wheezed through the spaces in his gums. “Sorry to hear that.”

“I should have gone there with her.”

“Belle Reve, eh?” the farmer asked.

“Yeah.”

“Take the bus across the street. You’ll end up going back to where you came from but that bus’s going all the way over to Louisiana.

“There’s a bus going to the prison?”

“Aye. I suggest you go after her. You got better things to do back at home?”

He didn’t answer. He just stared at the fluttering wheat and the tall grass around it.

“I served my time. Four years. My wife visited me all the time. Made me feel appreciated. Like she never gave up on me. Doesn’t matter what I did or what I’ve done to deserve it.”

“What did you do?”

He laughed. “What didn’t I do? I was a bad kid. All the way up to my thirties. Everyone looked at me like I was some sort of rat. Especially my son. He left the minute he could walk and never came back.”

“I’m sorry…” he shook his head. “And I know how it feels. Being a troubled kid.”

“Then that woman of yours better look at you differently than everyone else, ‘cuz they be the only ones we hang on to. Makes us want to do better and prove them right.”

Yeah. Definitely.

That night, he slept on the rocking chair looking up at the stars. When he woke up, the farmer had placed a blanket over him.

-----

“AAAAAAGGGGHHHHH!”

“Get up from the damn floor, Lawton!”

“My name…” Deadshot spat at the floor. “…isn’t Lawton.”

“I don’t care. Get up.”

The taser was brought right back up against her spine. Daring her. Waiting for her to try to snap another neck. Then with both her arms held back, they started leading her out into the open field.

“Usually, we do this far away from the facility. But with Waller here, she wanted to see what you can do.”

“Ah. Tryouts. Do I get this fucking bomb off my neck if I fail?”

“No. It will detonate.”

“Fuck you.”

Out into the bright, glimmering sunshine, she squinted her eyes and shielded her face with her hair. But she could barely do so much as blink when there were five guards around her, armed this time. She could probably reach out into a man’s hip and grab a gun without them looking if she didn’t already know where she was headed.

Out on the bright, orange field. Clear of grass and littered with human shaped shooting targets. They were, however, laid out side by side, closely to each other. She would have thought they’d be further apart. And they all stood on top of a black, outstretched tire that went in a large circle.

Amanda Waller. One of her men held out an umbrella for her despite her being a few inches taller. There were even more armed men littered around. One more so than the rest. A pale-skinned man with a large AK over his chest, a bullet proof vest, military gear. Sunglasses that shielded his eyes.

Rick Flag.

“So you’re the new Deadshot,” Rick greeted her as they dragged her toward the range. “I see the resemblance.”

“She’s even more daring than Floyd,” Waller said to her. “I’d be careful.”

“Well, we might as well know now if she’s any better than her uncle.”

“I am.”

“Are you now?”

“That’s what she says,” Waller raised a brow at her.

“Unlock her.”

She waited for the guards to take out the cuffs. Smoothing out her wrists, she stretched out her arms.

“How would you know I won't shoot you?”

“I don’t. But I’m here to see if you're just a fraud or if you're at least half as good as your uncle. Now get to work.”

Her neck stretching over to the side, Deadshot went over to the table. A whole arsenal of weapons. AKs. Sniper rifles. Pistols. With all the magazines and ammo she needed. She walked on over and picked the pistol.

The daylight young, the people around her silent, everyone turned their watchful eyes on her, guns out, ready to pounce.

She pointed the AK-47 at the targets and fired.

At the ten targets. One shot on each of their heads. She shot it all within a second, just as she told Waller she could do. And at the next round, she shot those exact same bullet holes in the same length of time. And all over again five times over.

There was only just one hole on each target. A hole she’s shot at several times from a hundred yards away.

She placed the AK back onto the table.

“Done. Can I go now?”

“No. We decided to give you more of a challenge.”

The rubber tire, or what looked like one, where the targets were standing on, they all of a sudden started spinning slowly in a circle at a click on Rick Flag’s remote. Turning over the corner, back facing Deadshot, before it turned back to face her again. It was a fucking conveyer belt.

Deadshot bit onto her gums.

She took the pistol this time.

“Go.”

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

“We didn’t have this in our time,” Floyd said to her ear.

“Shut up.”

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

The targets had turned. She had to shoot their backs. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve.

Almost missed that one. She placed another magazine.

Fifteen.

Sixteen.

Eighteen.

Twenty-two.

The target looked like it was about to break. Even with it made of metal.

Thirty. Forty.

Then the target got faster.

She took an M-16 Carbine.

The recoil was sharp on her shoulder, painful when it pushed her back. She kept firing. Firing. She was slower, took her time just a bit more. She reloaded it not long after until finally, one of the target’s heads actually blew off.

Sixty. Seventy. Eighty

Finally, the Barret MRad Sniper rifle.

The targets started spinning even faster. But she didn’t flinch. She kept her focus.

She breathed.

She slowed her heartbeat.

She cleared her thoughts.

Ninety-seven.

‘Come on.’

Ninety-eight.

‘You’re almost there.’

Ninety-nine.

‘Become the bullet.’

One fucking hundred.

Breaths out, she put the gun back on the table.

Then Flag turned off the conveyer belt.

One hundred shots. Which meant each target should have had around ten bullets pierce through it’s head.

But there was only one bullet hole on all of them. Right at the center of their heads. The same ones she had already made.

“Sorry about the other one,” she shrugged. “Didn’t realize your equipment wasn’t up to par.”

Flag didn’t move his head, but let his eyes follow her until she walked over to the guards, put her hands behind her and smirked.

“I’m surprised you're not asking for a million dollars like your uncle.”

“He asked for Zoe to live a good life. And you couldn’t even give that. And trust me, I’ve already made my deal with your boss. Am I right, Waller?”

Waller’s frown was something no one would be able to draw. Her nostrils were flared up, and the way Deadshot just smiled at her, it was braver than anyone else in the whole building had done.

The guards kept their silence now. Didn’t stick a taser up her back. Didn’t beat her with a baton on the way to her cell. But when they locked her up, they added just one more lock on its hinges. She placed her elbows against the door and looked out through the opening, watching the guards avoid the look on her eye.

-----

Six eggs. The last chicken finally let him hand over her lays and he walked happily out of the barn and walked back into the house.

“Here,” he gave it to the old man.

“Thank you, son. You’re a real good man.”

“No. I don’t… I don’t know how to thank you enough. You saved my life.”

“Ah. Don’t mention it. The company you’ve given me? More than what I could ask for. You remind me so much of my son. Except, you're a lot nicer.”

Jason watched him crack the eggs into the pan.

“I should get going.”

“You won't stay for breakfast?”

“I can't. But thank you.”

“Here,” he went over to his fridge and took out a sandwich. “Prepared it for you. For the trip back.”

He didn’t even know how much he’s thanked this man so far. Who was he? Did he know Jason somehow? Was he someone he forgot?

Probably not. He was just a lonely old man in need of company. His wife would have died three, maybe four years ago, and he only ever goes out into the city once a month. He wasn’t sure if he even talks to people in between them.

“I guess I can have a bite,” Jason said.

The old man’s smile was incomparable.

They ate and laughed the whole time on that table. Jason ate the eggs, drank the freshest glass of milk he’s had in a long time. He had bathed in the barn that morning and he’s never felt better since he got dropped off in the middle of nowhere. It was humbling, where he was.

He could only wish he got to share this with Y/N. He and the farmer would have hit it off.

The old man went out with him on the porch. The bus to Gotham arrives in five minutes.

“Here.” Jason took out his wallet and took out a few bills. “For your troubles.”

“Son, I have no use for money. I grow my own food. I buy only the absolute necessities. You would end up needing it more than I do.”

“Please…”

The old man held out his hand, shook his head. Every time, he surprises him.

“I can't believe I never caught your name…” Jason said.

He grinned from ear to ear, tipped down his hat, then laughed. “Name’s Bruce.”

It caught him off guard. Just for a second. “What?”

“Bruce Larkin. Lived in Tennessee my whole life.”

He stretched out his hand for him to take. Eyes not leaving his face, Jason took it. “What’s your name, boy?”

“Jason. Jason Todd.”

“Young Jason. Pleasure to have met you.”

“You're a good man, Bruce.”

“I may have done my deeds, but I lived a good life. Now go. Bus should be here in a few seconds.”

It almost hurt having to leave the old man behind. One of these days, he’ll come back. Pay a visit. Still, it made him wonder who this man truly was, what his intentions actually were.

He’s only met so many good people, truly good people, ones who never think of anything in return and take happiness out of helping strangers they didn’t know. It was hard to believe that no matter the cruelties he’s dealt with his whole life, there were the pure angels out there to lift him back up.

And, the one thing he couldn’t believe he noticed, Farmer Bruce never once mentioned the mark on his face. Didn’t think it tainted him or looked at it long enough to make him squirm.

He looked back out at the house. Bruce was still there, hands in his pockets.

The bus stopped in front of him and the door split open.

If he gets on, he’ll be off to Gotham.

If he stays behind and crosses the street, he’ll wait another five minutes for the bus to Louisiana. He’ll risk his life and do anything to see Y/N again.

It wasn’t even a hard decision to make.

Jason watched the bus doors closed. Then when it left, he crossed the street. Minutes later the next bus stopped and he got in. Waving at Bruce through the window, he settled down and closed his eyes.

He watched the miles of grass, wide open fields, swamps, forests, and lakes pass through him in the window. He let the calmness help him mellow down. And although it helped, it only guilted him into remembering the tortures his one love had to be going through right now. While he was so lucky, she was suffering. Fuck.

He had no idea what to expect. The day turned to night, then turned back to morning. He was in the bus for hours. Absolutely nothing went on in his mind. And he was scared. He didn’t even have a plan. He was probably going to have to break into Belle Reve. And that was if they hadn’t already taken her away to some god awful mission and possibly lose her life.

He couldn’t sleep on the bus. But he was ready. He was going to stop at nothing to see her.

The gates of Belle Reve. He hopped off the cab and stared at it from the outside.

Then he saw a few guards doing their rounds around the perimeter.

If he was fast enough, he might catch one of them alone. It’ll be all he needed. So he watched the cameras. Found a blind spot. And it was a risk without his visor on.

But for Y/N, it didn’t seem like much of a risk at all.

-----

This cot was going to blow out anytime soon.

It wasn’t even that she was heavy. It was rickety and old, probably the same exact one Floyd used. And Floyd was a large man. The seams started to rip and the place where her ass lays against was as worn out as a dirty rag. She didn’t like to think about why that was.

But god help her if she even cares much about the stupid cot. She laid against the wall, knees up to her chest. The wall was staring back at her like and she wasn’t about to let it win. Was she going crazy? Probably. She didn’t care much about that either. She’ll be working with Harley. She’ll have to be crazy to deal with her.

She heard guards from outside. So she closed her eyes and pretended to sleep.

Only one guard, it seems. There weren’t any talking. And there was only one set of footsteps coming her way. She hated that even more. Then the taunting and catcalling and harassing won't be in any way hindered.

“Y/FN Y/LN?”

That was a first. No one’s said her real name in… ever.

“What do you want?”

She heard the small opening at her door slide open. The guard’s voice was less muffled now. “It’s me.”

Who-

That voice.

She looked up.

“Oh my god…” she leapt up the cot and ran all the way over to the door. Hands on the iron, eyes watery and gleaming against the dim, orange light.

Jason was the most beautiful man in the whole world and he looked no less than an angel disguised as a guard, half his face covered with a mask. But it was, without a doubt, his bright blue eyes that was staring right at her.

“I’m here, baby…”

“Jason…” The endless tears. All of it. She hadn’t even cried her whole time in Belle Reve. She’s screamed. She’s yelled out in the most horrible pain. But she never cried. And all those days of torture, it came out of her now. Even more so when Jason pulled down his mask and pressed his forehead against the door to get as close to her as she could.

At the bottom opening, he had his hand out. Y/N took it and held it so tightly that her fingers started going numb. He took off his gloves so he could feel her warmth. Or rather, let her feel his warmth.

“You are a complete dumbass for breaking in here,” she cried.

“I know. I am. But I’ve always been one for you.”

“God,” she reached out with her other hand, holding both of his. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

“Are you alright? What did they do to you?”

She wanted to lie. Tell him she was okay. Even though she was barely even holding up on her own two feet. “Just about how every prisoner gets treated here…”

“Fuck… Y/N…”

His thumb over her skin, she never felt so happy over something that was never going to last.

“I swear I’ll do anything to get you out.”

“Jay…” she cried. “You’ll die…”

“And if I don’t, you’ll die.”

“I’ll be alright. They’ll let you visit. After a while. I think. I’m not too sure.”

“I’m not taking that chance.”

“Jay-“

“No. I mean it. I’m not going to let this go. You can't possibly expect me to move on…”

No. She didn’t. Not without the worst kinds of pain that’ll possibly drive him mad.

“I’m so sorry…”

“Look at me.”

She did. He was so beautiful…

“I’ll get you out. You won't have to suffer for long. I’ll make sure of it. One way or another, I’m getting you out.”

He’s never held his hand so tight.

“Okay…”

Footsteps. They were coming.

“Shit…”

“I love you.”

“I love you so much. I promise you. I’m getting you out of here, Y/N.”

Y/N. She was Y/N again. Always had been.

Jason stuffed something small into her palm.

Then he left before the other guard could turn to the corner and see them together. He looked at Y/N, who was staring out the opening.

The guard squinted at her, walked closer, then shut the hole closed.

She looked at her palm.

The brightest blue engagement ring stared right back at her.

-----

Jason had to get out.

But he had to do this fast. He was at the guard’s lounge, where plenty were taking their lunch breaks. They didn’t give him so much as a glance when their eyes were focused onto the TV watching a football game. There was a telephone at a wall nearby. One he didn’t have to pay for.

He walked to it.

When he said he’ll do everything, he meant everything.

His pride could fucking suck it. His ego can die. He didn’t care if those assholes will have to think he’d grown soft. This was about Y/N. He didn’t care if he had to strut naked out at the Gotham Plaza. Though, this was so much worse.

Farmer Bruce would have done the same.

And he was going to get all the help he needed.

“Hello?”

“Dick,” his mouth trembled against the phone. “It’s me. Jason.”

“Jason?! This is a fucking collect call-“

“Then you better listen. Y/N’s in prison.”

“What?!”

He told him everything. About the deal with Waller. Her place in the Squad. The bomb in her neck. He tried with all he can to sound as desperate as he actually was. Dick, as much as it pained him to hear, wasn’t so convinced in what he asked of him.

“Jason, if you're asking me to help you get her out-“

“Please. Please. She’ll die. We need Oracle. And Robin.”

“Jason...” He heard Dick sigh.

The cops roared at the TV. Someone scored a goal.

“What Waller’s doing is wrong. You know that.”

“I know, but she made a deal with Bruce that he wasn’t to interfere with her task force.”

“We’re not Bruce. This is Y/N. Please, Dick, she’s the only thing I’ve got… You say you want me back in the family. Well, she’s my family. And I swear, if you help me with this, I owe you my life.”

“Okay. Okay,” he let out a sigh. “Okay. She’s… I understand.”

Jason’s breath was shaking against the phone. “I should be back in Gotham in a day’s time.”

“We need to do this as legally as possible. What did you have in mind?”

“I’m- I’m not so sure. It’s impossible to break her out of this place. They’ve upped the security since Harley broke out.”

“So we wait?”

“On her first mission out with the squad. We can go with them and sneak her out when no one’s looking. And I’ll need Oracle to come up with something that can disable the bomb in her neck.”

“Jason, that could be months from now.”

“Or days. Waller seemed persistent to get her here. I thought she might have been preparing for something. You heard about the news on Falcone?“

“Yeah. Real shady stuff. All his money went out to so many ghost accounts under different names of people that don’t even exist. And they’ve all been withdrawn. That’s billions of dollars.”

“Exactly. What if it’s just one guy? Waller knew about Falcone. She’s been warning Y/N not to work for him for a while. What if she knows exactly who’s behind it the whole time? Falcone’s puppet master to get him the money he needed?”

“That’s a long list of suspects, Jay.”

“We can narrow it dow-“

Loud groans from the guards screaming boos at the TV. When he looked up, he saw the game had been interrupted by breaking news.

Jason stopped talking to Dick when he saw the picture on the screen.

“Jason? You there?”

“Dick… Turn on the news…”

“Reports from Gotham City where it seems to have had history repeat itself from the night before the Arkham Knight Militia occupation. The National Bank of Gotham had just been exposed to a familiar cloud of fear toxin. One-hundred twenty-six people were inside the building as the smoke dispersed, and almost all of them had fallen victim from the bank’s armed guard, who had used his gun to massacre more than twenty people in the building. The victims were shown to have displayed severe cases of mania and hallucinations, causing them to act almost inhumane and do countless of harmful acts.”

“Fuck…” Dick said to the phone. “Not again…”

“The man behind this infamous toxin is no other than Dr. Jonathan Crane, also known by his alias as the Scarecrow-“

Vicki Vale stopped talking to the camera and pressed on her earpiece.

“Hold on. I’m getting reports on Scarecrow releasing a broadcast over at Times’ Square. Air it now!”

The camera switched over to one at the square. It faced the billboard.

Nothing changed. Not even his face. And if he weren’t paying attention, if Jason hadn’t been behind the camera the first time Scarecrow released his city wide warning, he wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference.

“This city… cannot so easily escape my reign of fear… If you thought the last time was the worst I can do, I am telling you now… Citizens of Gotham. This is no longer just about you. You can no longer escape. There is no use in evacuating… I have amassed a new Cloudburst weapon powerful enough to engulf the whole of the country in my latest toxin… This is not a warning to Gotham.

“This… is my only warning… to America…”

“Dick…” Jason said over to the phone. “Wanna bet on where he got the funding for that weapon?”

-----

MASTERLIST

THE BULLET MASTERLIST

------

everyartistwas-firstanamateur  @sarcasmismyfirstlove @damned-queen-of-gotham @idkmanicantenglish @wunderstell @birdy-bat-riya @get-loki@everyday-imfangirling @comic-nerd-dc@multifandoms916@icequeen208@offendedfishnoises@egdolan@xemiefx@arkhamtoddler@elsenthal@mythicbitchx@supremehaunter burning-alive  @lucy-roo  roseangel013bf @ loxbbg  reclusive-chicken-nuggethttp-cherriesshadowsndaisiesriver9noblezphilophobiazannoylinglyaries@knightfall05flowersgirl02 @l-inkage​ @hyp-oh-critical​

[bitchesgetriches]

Hi Bitches, I have a question that's not really financial, but more about maintaining empathy in this capitalist hellscape. It's long, so I apologize in advance. So. I live in NYC and there are homeless people everywhere. I can remember being a kid and having huge amounts of sympathy for the homeless in my hometown city; I always gave some of my allowance money if I walked by a homeless person, or asked a parent for a dollar to give. Fast forward to now. I'm 27, have lived in 1/4

           NYC for 2+ years, and have lost so much sympathy for the suffering of the homeless. I know logically that I should be much more sympathetic to their situation, but I also can't help but to think that they are such a nuisance. I almost never give them a spare dollar or two now. I mean, I really need every dollar I make right now, at least I think I do. My family & I just can't afford it. I loathe them for inconveniencing me with their shouting and their stench. I think that if they've 2/4   

           reached the point of needing to beg strangers for help, they must have alienated all of their loved ones; I'd never be in that position. If the people who love them won't help them, why should I? But then logically I know that's not true either. I could be in that place with just a few family tragedies. It's this internal battle I deal with every day on my commute: I dehumanize these people, I feel guilty and logically know I'm wrong, I do nothing to help. I want to stop my dehumanization 3/4       

           of the homeless because I know it's wrong, and because I know I can do better for them and society can do better for them. The homelessness problem is clearly related to this capitalist world we live in, but what can be done? How do I stop mentally battling myself and actually get over being annoyed and repulsed every time a homeless person inconveniences me? Thank you bitches for everything, even if this never gets answered        

This is SUCH an interesting question. Thank you for asking it, dearheart! And I applaud you for your self-awareness, pragmatism, and compassion. It’s clear that this is a mental struggle for you, and the very fact that you don’t simply stop the introspection at “Well IIIII would never end up homeless, alone, and stinking up the sidewalk” but instead are working to improve your outlook speaks very highly of you.

So let’s talk about homelessness.

As John Oliver so eloquently explains in this clip, the vast majority of Americans are sooooo much closer to being a homeless beggar on the streets than they are to being on MTV’s Cribs. Our individual financial security is fucking precarious! That’s why we write this blog! Yes, you can build up an emergency fund and save six months of your income, but when you get right down to it, most of us are one major medical emergency away from bankruptcy.

And if you can’t recover from said emergency, if you don’t have a support network to get you out of that mess... that’s it. You’re done. You’re staring down the barrel of homelessness and getting judged by strangers on the street for your inability to stay clean and hygienic while you literally sleep under the overpass and rummage through the dumpster behind Panera for day-old bread.

Now let’s address your knee-jerk reaction that homeless people must’ve really fucked up to lose all support and end up on the street. Surely, someone like YOU could never end up there because you have people who love and support you, right?

Sadly, a lot of homeless people are mentally ill, and slipped through the cracks left by their caretakers and an imperfect system. Others are kids who have aged out of the foster care system with no helping hand and no prospects for an education or career. Others are gay and trans youth who were literally kicked out of their homes and disowned by their families. Others are addicted to substances in this great nation where we treat addiction like a crime rather than the public health crisis it is.

Put even the most normal, patient, chill person in any of these situations, grind them down with bad weather, abuse, lack of nutrition and healthcare for months and years, and I guarantee they’ll get a bit surly. When you meet a loud, annoying, unhygienic homeless person on the street, you’re meeting them at their worst. I defy you to act any better in their situation!

All of which is to say that even a homeless person who you find personally repugnant and unsympathetic is probably not so different from you. Non-homeless people can be massive fucking dicks, so why not the homeless?

I know I keep using “you” in a sort of accusatory fashion in this post, and I promise I’m not condescending to you or picking on you. It’s all meant to reinforce the idea that there is a very thin line separating all of us financially stable people from the homeless. That alone makes them worthy of our compassion and respect. Basic human decency goes a long way to someone who gets alternately ignored and shat upon by most of the human race.

Here’s s’more on why we should all cut the poor and homeless a break:

"Poor People Are Poor Because They Are _____. Rich People Are Rich Because They Are _____." 

It's More Expensive to Be Poor Than to Be Rich

Lastly, here’s what you can do to stop feeling impotent, useless, and heartless when you see a homeless person and you can’t afford to give them money.

Vote.

I personally very rarely give money to the homeless. But I do donate to a number of charitable organizations that help to alleviate the plight of the homeless and impoverished in my country. I also vote for politicians and policies that will improve life for those struggling to make ends meet. I support policies and politicians who aim to get at the root of the homelessness problem--not just systemic poverty, but inadequate mental health programs, lack of support for veterans and the disabled, and lack of protection for children suffering abuse or lacking stability in their home lives.

I pay taxes in the hopes that my money will be used to stab the root problems of homelessness in the heart. When I see a homeless person on the street, I remind myself that I am making informed political decisions to help them. I remind myself that they are the reason I donate to charities and food banks. And yeah, sometimes if I can, I spare a dollar for their plight. But if I can’t in that moment, then I know that I’ve still done something on a broader scale.

You need to start thinking this way to alleviate your guilt. Be the logical, pragmatic person you appear to be from your question. And remind yourself that some day, you could be in the same position whether you expect it or not.

Good luck, honey. It’s going to be ok.

Here’s some further reading:

Ask the Bitches: "How Do I Protect My Own Mental Health While Still Helping Others?"

Raising Awareness About "Raising Awareness"

Raising the Minimum Wage Would Make Our Lives Better 

How to Spot a Charitable Scam

Judging Charities Like Judgey McJudgerson: How Can Your Donation Make the Biggest Impact? 

[rewoundcircuit]

mt5.2 | point of no return | ryuunosuke_re: chronos, kimiko, takaku

Now I realize betrayal is just a temptation that invites more betrayals.

cw: swearing

Inhale, exhale. Go.

“....You got me! Not that I didn’t make it really obvious AHAHAHA!”

“You’d like it if I said that, wouldn’t you, asshole? Pat you on the back and say ‘good job?’ Make that ego of yours more massive than it already is? Don’t act like you figured it out all by yourself or like it’s my fault you worthless piece of trash. We get it, you’re a sore loser because you’re too embarrassed that an idiot like me was able to fool you during the entire trial! God, my fist isn’t even worth dirtying with your blood -- but you never know when a violent hooligan like me will go off the rails, right?”

And yet there’s still a distinctive CRACK that can be heard as Ryuunosuke Yoshida cracks his knuckles, his gaze never once wavering from Chronos’ face.

“You think I’m a coward? HA! The only thing I am... is an idiot. What I’m saying is I was aiming for you the entire time! I never would’ve imagined I left the note at the wrong door, let alone have someone show up. If I’m sorry for anything, it’s that Bruckhard and you may as well be the same person in the dark! I feel bad for him -- that he had to die because of someone like you. I mean, if you weren’t neighbors this probably wouldn’t have happened! You’d probably be dead -- not that there’s a lot keeping me from bashing your face in right now. You’re welcome for being a considerate softie, right?”

He lets out a laugh, although this one is markedly different from his usual -- it’s harsh, sardonic, lacking in the contagious quality that made others laugh along with him.

“No, actually, now that I think about it -- and you should already know this --  this wouldn’t have happened if you weren’t such a huge piece of shit. And no, actually, I really wouldn’t have done what I did if you’d managed to approach me sooner. Me, a coward? Hm, sounds like projection. It’s almost as if you’re passing off your fear of takin’ responsibility as cold, calculated caution... so just sit tight, I’ll show you how it’s done, yeah? How a man’s supposed to own up to his crimes.

“But before that I’d just like to say, this entire goddamn time you’ve been doing just as Kita-san said: stringing us along, making us look like fucking idiots -- the way I see it, I didn’t really have much of a choice. I mean, who knows what else you were planning? ... But that’s not really the reason. And of course, any sort of revenge against you is justified, and maybe I could try to pass it off as the responsibility of an older brother to his siblings or, y’know, say it more plainly -- that is, by killing my grandmother you’ve basically killed my entire family... but I think I’ve earned the right to be honest now.”

“I wouldn’t ever do anything like this for their sake -- it’d break their heart, y’know? So, I guess the only thing I can say is that this was all for me. How does it feel to be right about one thing in that heaping pile of shit conjectures you try to pass off as fact? Don’t answer that I’m not fucking finished.

“It’s been bothering me since the beginning of the trial but: don’t lump Kita-san in with me. At all. Acting as if you’re somehow better than the both of us -- you’re so much funnier now, it’s kinda refreshing! ... But really. What else can I say? She was sick and you weren’t exactly able to keep up your nice and friendly act either during that trial! I mean, yeah, two of us died that day, but the circumstances are completely different -- so maybe lay off? Calling her a liar when you didn’t even have the decency to tell me what you did -- was that fun for you? Seeing us bend over backwards to meet your standards?

“Tch! Jeez, ‘m just thinkin’ about it and it’s just... you’ve been so noisy this entire time, and you really don’t need that many words to say ‘I’m a self-important asshole who refuses to see the gravity of my faults.’ It’s easy. You should stick with that instead of the nonsense you’ve been spouting towards Kita-san and about myself! What the hell do you know anyway, huuuuh?”

And here he finally takes a break, turns towards someone other than the eternal object of his hatred (until he watches next season’s Kamen R*der) and addresses Takaku.

“If i’d actually managed to kill the right guy, I would’ve confessed a looooong time ago. But you know how these trials end: someone’s gotta go and I thought ‘Y’know, maybe luck will be on my side for once and the roulette will land on him’ ... but as you can see it didn’t. I was an idiot for thinking it’d work -- I mean, has fate ever dealt me a good hand? Haha... you wouldn’t know, so you don’t need to answer, although it’s probably pretty plain to see.

“...Anyway, now you’re dying, too, for someone as despicable as, well, him, but also me. Mostly me. I can’t even ask forgiveness because it really doesn’t matter, does it? You can’t change what’s already been decided, yeah? This place is so awful, but I hope you’ve had fun -- that’s.. what you want, right? Sad that this bit of entertainment is coming at the cost of your life.”

He then takes a second, as if to collect himself, before addressing everyone else (after another quick jab at the clockmaker).

“Okay, listen up Edler, here’s how you take responsibility without being a complete asshole about it.”

“As you all may have realized: I killed Bruckhard-san. It was out of revenge, but not towards him -- as I have alluded to, the target of my plan was actually the man over there. I wrote a note, which ended up in the wrong hands, and that is how Bruckhard-san’s life came to pass. In the dark it was impossible to discern who he really was -- he and Edler share a similar height, so I enacted my plan accordingly under a false impression. It was only after that I realized what I had done and endeavored only to obscure the truth because I knew that there was potential that my desired target would get executed. It was my mistake for not bringing up his misdeeds earlier, so that I could heighten the likelihood of his demise. It is of no use to say that I would have acted differently under normal circumstances -- that is, that I would have readily given myself up rather than risk an innocent life -- but just this once, I was extremely selfish, and clung to that hope that things would go my way. 

“... And that is why things ended up the way that they did.”

And here he takes a respectful bow, the words which follow aimed at the floor as he maintains his pose.

“If you think I’m gonna ask for forgiveness or talk about how sorry I am... I won’t. I get it: I did something irredeemably terrible and my feelings about it don't make it any better. I never planned to hide it once the results were out... and if someone wants to punish me for it by all means, do so. I can’t go home like this... and I doubt I have anything to return to either.”

He lifts his head, the smile on his face clearly pained.

“Ah, well, it was only a matter of time before something like this happened anyway. I mean, you all heard Chronos: I’m a delinquent, yeah? By the time I decided to change that, I was probably already set in my ways.” 

It seems to him that people can’t change that easily after all.

[malfoii]

Hooked - Malfoy x Reader Pt 1

Description: First part of a five part series, which I promise to finish and upload asap! 

Masterlist

“... And being alone — that's so hard. I was alone. And it sent me to a truly dark place. For a long time. Tom Riddle was also a lonely child. You may not understand that, Harry, but I do ..." - Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter and the Curse Child

The morning of June the fifth is one of gray and desolate nature, in which the skies are dark as pitch and the air is full of a quiet, lazy drizzle. It is on this particularly bleak morning, in a brick-stone mansion built large and grand as a wealthy King’s palace, that a baby boy is born into the world.

He is greeted by a sea of fond faces: doting Aunt, stern Father, an old midwife and the best surgeon that money can buy. His home is one of loud splendor: of high vaulted ceilings, marble and oak, of glass chandeliers that twinkle in the candlelight, of golden archways, and crystalline fountains. Upon opening his tiny hooded eyes, the baby lets out a peal of laughter, as if already aware that he’s played his hand in the lottery of birth, and come out with the winning ticket.

Despite, however, the apparent virtue of his disposition, the blond-headed child couldn’t have been born into a life more unfortunate and sorrowful - for both parents were loyalist Deatheaters, and as Draco Malfoy would later come to discover, this came with its fair share of heartbreaks.

For now, though, the boy would be raised well and happy, surrounded by the newest toys, the latest gadgets, submissive servants and elves. He was home-schooled, tutored by the great multitude of accomplished wizards and witches that looked unto his family with praise - and even though he could not legally cast his first spell until the age of twelve, he was expected to be a protege, a great master in his chosen crafts.

Note: The word “chosen” here is used lightly, as from the moment of his birth, Draco was already set upon the path of dark arts and nothing more. It was this fate, already inescapable, that consumed the majority of his childhood - everyday comprised of rigorous studies concerning the Dark Lord, the marvelous history of the purebloods, and of their obvious superiority. Even the most basic of subjects - maths, languages, etc. - were taught in such a way as to prepare him for his inevitable future as a new Death Eater.

Smart, talented and driven, Draco lacked only one thing – friends his own age, people to comfort and keep awake with him when the hours drew dark and young Draco (though he could never admit it) grew fearful of the very things he was raised to believe in. Visions of dementors, their sickly breath fogging the windowpane, would haunt his dreams for years to come.

Sometimes, in this specific nightmare, they would slip through the cracks of the walls and fill the darkness of his room, making horrible, grating noises. Malfoy strained to make out what they were saying. At first, it sounded like incoherent mumbling, like the buzzing of flies by his ears. But slowly, gradually, he began to understand what their raspy whispers, their angry chants: “One of us, one of us, one of us…”

Malfoy woke up in cold sweats.

At the age of eight, he confided in his mother: “My birthday wish? To have a friend - just one, please.”

To which Narcissa was forced to realize, that perhaps, perhaps her efforts to protect her son from all Muggle contact – though with good intention – had gone a bit too far. After all, a boy needed company of children his own age. But, with her family’s judgmental eye watching every action, there was not much that could be done.

And so, Draco’s eighth-year-birthday-wish dwindled into gradual disappointment, forgotten by everyone but the birthday boy himself. As a result, his last three years whilst living at home were increasingly bitter ones, spent in a never ending solitude that stung more and more with each passing day.

At the age of eleven, Draco Malfoy was admitted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry - and yet, his hopes of finally meeting this ideal companion - someone who would make the world all right - fell short of reality.

Kindness and decency were not skills ever taught to Draco as a boy, and as result, his first years at Hogwarts were spent in a rather awkward way, with every attempt to make friends ending in quick rejection. The values that his family had imparted onto him - the importance of family names, of bloodlines, etc. - were not, as he soon discovered, the same values held by most other students. In fact, it was these very same values that made his peers believe him “snobbish”, “rude”, “arrogant”, and the very same values that lead to him being (perhaps hyperbolically) one of the most hated students in his year.

Even so, he eventually gained the acquaintanceship of Crabbe and Goyle, two other Slytherins of proper pureblood descent. Unlike most of Hogwarts, they respected his family, laughed at his jokes, and generally followed him around wherever he went. As much as he enjoyed their company, there was no denying that they were, at the very least, a little dull.

It wasn’t until his eleventh year that Draco would meet the person of his dreams, and be absolutely bowled over with how very perfect she was. It is here that the story begins, on a cold, wintry night, at a drunken dormitory party in the Gryffindor house, where the air is full of blasting music, flashing strobe, and the rising stench of alcohol.

It was, actually, this sort of party that Draco despised the most. Everywhere he looks is full of stupid, drunken teenagers, dancing against each other, sweaty skin sliding against sweaty skin. Everything is too loud – an overwhelming cacophony of bad music and high-pitched laughter pounded against his head, to the point where he could scarcely put his thoughts in order. Behind him, Crabbe and Goyle are making awful fools of themselves, guzzling beer from the keg, snorting and making the most sickening of noises as they chug, chug, chug. Not to mention, it’s a Gryffindor party, and Draco Malfoy is more than aware that he wasn’t welcome there. Students of every house and year shoot him dirty looks from time to time, their glares emboldened by the flashing lights.

“Malfoy!” He turns around, to where Goyle has finished his keg and is holding it victoriously above his head. “What’s the matter, man? Why are you just standing there?”

He belches, and tosses the keg away. “Come on, join the party!”

Malfoy winces and shakes his head. “In a moment. You’ll have to… excuse me for now.”

Goyle shrugs, and disappears into the hot tang of crowds, stranding Malfoy alone.

Well, fine. If they don’t want him here, then he has better places to be anyways.

Grabbing his coat from where he left it, Draco steals out of the dormitory and onto the school’s balcony, gasping for fresh air. The icy air strikes him like a knife to the flesh, and he shivers. In a lame attempt to warm himself, he rubs his palms against each other, blowing warm air into his cupped hands before tugging on the winter coat.

It’s frigid outside, and Draco almost re-considers leaving the warmth of the Gryffindor dormitory, when he suddenly catches sight of the silhouette at the railing. It’s a girl, and she stands alone, back towards him, her gaze entranced by the nighttime sky.

Walking closer, Draco recognizes her as (Y/L/n) from his potions class – another pureblood, whose parents are both prominent members of the Ministry. From what little he attention he pays her, Draco knows that she’s intelligent, a dangerous witch to anger, and following fast in her parents’ footsteps as a rising star of the wizarding world. And, what’s more, not so bad looking tonight, clad in a sleeveless red dress (much too short for this weather, he can’t help but notice), black stockings and heels. Maybe tonight won’t be so boring after all.

Hearing the sound of approaching footsteps, she glances over to see the newcomer. At the sight of the blond haired Slytherine, her face sours in a show of disgust. “Draco.” and turns back to gazing vacantly outwards. “The party’s inside, you know.” she gestures towards the door from which he came.

“True, it is.” He smiles coyly, and comes to stop by her side. “But you’re out here. So why would I want to be in there?”

Scoffing, she turns to direct her glare at him. “What do you think you’re doing, Draco?”

“Clearly, I’m standing out here, speaking to the most ravishing girl,” his lips quirk into a smirk, and he leans against the rails.

With a note of irritation, she sighs and moves away. “What do you want?”

“Your company.” His hand flies out to grab her wrist, and pulls her back towards him. “Is that too much to ask?”

For a second, (Y/n) purses her lips in a look of part amusement, part shock. Then, eyes blazing, she leans in until he can feel the heat of her breath upon his face. “You forget yourself.” she whispers, her voice snappish. “You had better remember who your family is, and who mine are. I will not be humiliated by some wannabe Death Eater.”

His grip tightens around her wrist, and he frowns. “I don’t appreciate being talked to that way,” he growls. “You had best show some respect, little girl, before I make you.”

Smirking, she strokes his cheek with her thumb. “And how will you do that? Send Daddy after me?”

Her fingers are ice cold, and Draco jolts at her touch. “Kitten, keep acting like that, and I’ll have to show you.”

Studying his face for any sign of sarcasm, her stare focuses on the dark lust of his eyes. A laugh escapes her lips, and she moves closer still, until she can feel the bulge of his pants against her thigh.

“With all due respect, Draco,” she hums against his ear, and his member quickly hardens, “You absolutely repulse me.”

And with that, she leaves him be, retreating back into the throng of the party.

Draco stands agape, watching her strut away, leaving him alone on the empty balcony.

His heart pounds mercilessly against his ribcage – and with that, Draco knows, he’s hooked.

[imgonnabeyourbubblegumwitch]

January Book: Simon vs the Homo Sapiens Agenda (A Review)

In which I attempt to condense the complicated emotional roller coaster this book sent me on into a rational and non-screaming-in-anger review.

I think I did okay.  

Some spoilers so I’ve given my general opinion below and the actual review is below the cut. 

Simon vs The Homo Sapiens Agenda: 1/5 Stars

Yeah I didn’t like it. I’m surprised too. 

I guess what frustrates me most about this book is some kind of internal insistence that I had to read it because it was LGBT and everyone else loved it. But it was making me miserable. But it was LGBT and everyone else loved it. But it wasn't fun. But it was…etc.

Anyway I guess shout out to Simon vs the Homo Sapiens Agenda for reminding me there's no point reading something I hate just because other people like it or because it’s a particular genre. 

(Going to use this pretty obvious revelation to happily quit the Scarlet Witch comics I started just before Christmas. Marvel says she's no longer Magneto's daughter? Interesting opinion. I accept it's canon but I sure as hell aren't accepting it as my headcanon).

Anyway proper review below as promised. 

So I feel like I am going to be in a minority here but I really wasn't into this book. I wanted to like it because I heard a lot of good things about the film and so, being one of those book before film people, I picked this up expecting good things. Maybe the hype was part of what made it a bit of a let-down for me. I tend not to do well with things that have been hyped up; maybe because I end up with unrealistic expectations, maybe because I'm a special snowflake who has super special tastes different to the norm. I don't know.

So as I was starting to read this I was pretty scathing. I nearly gave up at page 21. Now? Honestly I'm just exhausted by it. I skim read through the whole thing in about an hour and a half just so I could say I sort of finished it. I'll be the first to admit that because of that perhaps I missed a lot of things that could have made the book a better experience for me. But honestly though, it infuriated me so much at the beginning that I couldn't read it any other way.

One of the biggest problems is that I don't really like books that use copious amounts of pop culture reference, especially when these can easily be dated. As a general rule I tend to prefer fictional universes that feel a little more timeless - Harry Potter, the Bartimaeus Trilogy, Lockwood and Co. Even my current favourite series - The Rivers of London - makes me grimace when it references to Brooklyn 99 or similar. This really is just a personal preference thing and I can understand why others would want to read a book about a clearly modern high school experience.

If you are like me however, Simon Vs the Homo Sapiens is probably not for you on this front. There are endless references to pop culture including some that, given the nature of internet culture, already feel a little dated. As an example of the many many pop culture references, some I can remember off the top of my head without even glancing at the book are: Tegan and Sarah, Tumblr, Yaoi, slash fiction, Harry/Draco fanfiction & Harry Potter in general, Def Leppard, Yoda, Katniss,  etc etc.

I guess the writing was fine. It was written as though in a way someone young might talk. It's a distinctive voice that most of the time I just kind of shrugged off as neither working for me, or irritating me. Occasionally however there were stylistic choices that were just odd. The extra half a second it took me to try and figure out the meaning of the sentence/phrase took me out of the story slightly - a minor nit-pick I know, but one I'll make anyway. An example from page 33: "If I were straight. The Abby thing. I do think I get it. " I re-read those sentences three times trying to figure out whether he meant "If I were straight I'd get people liking Abby" (as in, I struggle to objectively tell if someone of the opposite gender is attractive) or whether he meant "If I were straight I'd like Abby too" (as in, Abby is attractive but not really my thing being gay). I suppose maybe in the grand scheme it doesn't make too much difference. But little things like that interrupting my reading flow was not something I needed when I was already supremely uninvested in this story.

Another example is from later on when Simon makes a comical autocorrect error via email. Essentially the premise is his phone corrected "such" to "dick" but it took me such a long time to work this out because of the format of the emails. The second email sent - the correction - is above the first email because if you were looking in an inbox that is how they'd appear. But because you read down the page and because most of the other emails were naturally chronological reading in this fashion this really threw me. Again: minor nit-pick - the emails are timestamped so like the confusion was definitely me being a moron. But it's another instance of being taken from the book for a moment too long.

Another problem that impacted my ability to engage with this book is that I really didn't like Simon. Some of the things he said and the views he held made me a little uncomfortable. I don't expect every character to hold views exactly like mine and I accept someone doesn't have to be a likeable person to be a likeable character. There are some fantastic characters who aren't really very nice people, or who hold views that are dissimilar to society as a whole or to an individual reader. I guess an example of this might be the Lannister family from Game of Thrones - I wouldn't want to be friends with them or emulate like 95% of what they do. But they sure are fun to watch/read about.

Simon though, I think I was done with him by page 21 - my original quit point. At this point he mentions that he thinks it's different for girls when they come out because a lot of guys think lesbians are hot. This is kind of a case where I guess you don't have to agree with a characters view or observations, but these sort of things just pile up. Another early on moment that really bugged me was this comment when describing their friend group: "Leah's two friends, Morgan and Anna, who read manga and wear black eyeliner, and are basically interchangeable. Anna and I actually dated freshman year, and I still think she and Morgan are interchangeable. "

Perhaps this is meant to demonstrate he's very gay because he's not hyper-aware of girls appearances? But it just read like Simon lacking basic human decency of bothering to tell two people who are friends of a friend apart. And maybe he was trying to be funny? If he was, it definitely falls flat for me. There are mentions in the book of Simon being oblivious to what other people might want or think, forgetting to offer his sister food when he makes sandwiches for him and his friend for example, and maybe this is an extension of that. This still feels odd to me however.

In the light of fairness I will say there were moments when I did feel for Simon - when Martin attempts to apologise for example, and some of his pre-coming-out thoughts, worries and dilemmas did feel authentic. But they weren't enough to encourage me to read on or to root for him.

Final thought because this is really long and more attention than I intended to give this book in the end: I'm confused as to how this school tumblr is supposed to work. Is it one page and everyone has a log in? Is it a tag? I'm assuming it's a tag based system? Anyway I guess that's another minor nitpick that doesn't matter in the scheme of things.  I just struggled to picture how it would work.

So in conclusion, this book sent me through the five stages of grief -

Denial: well everyone else liked it so I must like it too I guess.

Anger: I can't believe I spent money on this book. Let me write down all the bits I hate for the review I'll write. Oh my goodness I can't believe Simon said/thought that.

Bargaining: okay well Simon is kind of annoying me but I'll skim read it - it'll probably get good in a bit.

Depression: I can't believe I'm still reading this book, I can't believe I'm the only one who doesn't like this book, I feel like I've been trapped reading this book forever, time is meaningless.

And, finally, acceptance: it is what it is, and I'm too tired to do much but admit this just wasn't for me.

Simon vs the Homo Sapiens Agenda: 1/5 stars

[automatismoateo]

Seven years ago, I came out as atheist to my “best friend”... via /r/atheism

Submitted May 16, 2021 at 05:35PM by sado22 (Via reddit https://ift.tt/3uTC5Wm) Seven years ago, I came out as atheist to my “best friend”...

I had been living in Dubai at the time for around a decade (where atheism is punishable by death) and had stopped hiding the fact that I was done with religion for a number of years by now. Already many friends had distanced themselves from me because they realized that I was “led astray”. The following convo happened verbatim on Facebook messenger and for the life of me, theists never understand why my friend’s comments were problematic:

Me: these are the things that have made me turn full atheist. I've been teetering on the edge between "agnostic" and "atheist" for some years now, but the more I read about religion and its history and read the Quran, the more it just tipped me over to becoming an atheist. The whole surah nissa thing was where it happened. any god that tells me its ok to murder some woman's husband and then drag her back to my place and rape her is clearly not someone possessing "divine wisdom". how can it be? how can some book claim to be for all ages but miss something so basic? it's not the scientific errors and the historical facts and the poor arguments for god's existence (seriously, the whole quran reads like a series of argumentative fallacies when trying to prove that god exists--another thing that turns me away from it being divine) but when it condones things that are plain indecent. Legalizing rape of women just because they aren't muslims is just...wrong. on a fundamental plain of pure decency.

Him: (I’m omitting first paragraph about his family). As for the religion thing, it's a little disappointing. I've always felt that it takes a level of arrogance, bitterness and/or lack of intelligence to enable the surety of real atheism. But it is what it is. Of course, I can't say I agree. To clarify, I'm not calling you stupid. I've just always felt that real atheism requires one or more of those ingredients.

Me: I know you're disappointed. By your theory I've got at least 2 of the 3 ingredients going for me. Possibly even the 3rd one. All I know is that divine plans and divine laws--if borne of pure compassion or wisdom--wouldn't legalize raping a woman who has lost someone. You have sisters. I have a sort of sister and a wife. If someone tells me its okay to make them slaves and sell them off to someone who might actually treat them better than other people of faith but still feels that it's his prerogative and their duty to have sex with him.......it just messes me with me.

Him: See, I don't want to get sucked into a debate on Islamic law here, because that won't achieve anything.

Me: U seem uncomfortable with this. Which is why I never told you earlier.

Him: No, no, not at all. It's been obvious for a while, really, that you've at least distanced yourself from Islam, if not left it completely. Hey, to each his own, man. I just find religious discussions tedious nowadays, especially those where I try to convince others that Islam is not unfair and chauvinistic and savage and backwards. You've got your beliefs, I've got mine. It's never been my style to try to shove my beliefs down anyone's throat.

Me: fair enough. No offense on my part to you

Him: Yeah. It's just no big deal, really. Although disappointing that you would choose atheism over agnosticism, but eh.

Fin.

When I’ve shown this convo to theists or agnostics, the response has always been along the lines of “it could’ve been so much worse!”

But why is that the bar? More, importantly, what bothers me is the faux-humility of holy people. Imagine the arrogance it takes to tell another person you’re disappointed that they’ve taken the path of bitterness/arrogance/stupidity? Imagine how close minded it is to respond like this and pat yourself on the back for being open minded.

Sad part is, seven years later, I doubt he still gets it.

TL;DR came out as atheist to a close friend and got text book “you disappoint me” response

[getinthefunvee]

mobile-friendly rules

GENERAL INFO

❔ #getinthefunvee

❔ semi-private:  will generally only write with mutuals, but very happy to meet new people.

❔ exclusivity:  is pre-pubescent and used as a cliquey gatekeeping & ostracising mechanism 99% of the time. I do not practice character or ship exclusivity; I will side-eye you if you do, and I will not tolerate it on my dash, and I will lay the verbal smack-down if I see you using it to bully someone else. I've been playing with some muns for nearly 5 years, and at least one for more than a decade; if anyone was going to be an exclusive, it would be those friends, but exclusivity = possessiveness and it's really, really not the way to roll your adult relationships. Note: if you choose to make me your exclusive Tony for any reason (ie, if you generally hate Tony interaction and want to avoid it, emotional safety reasons, whatever) please give me a heads up. Please be aware that, as stated above, I will not do exclusivity in return.

❔ basic etiquette:  human decency is expected. Do not attempt to god-mod (it's so 90s), force-ship, engage in pass-aggro nastiness, harassment, or any other asshattery. Thanks.

❔  Personals et al are very welcome to follow and 'like' RP posts and to reblog non-RP content. Please don't reblog RP threads you aren't participating in; it's creepy, and I will call you out on it.

❔ multi-muse, side & personal journals:  I will not follow you back if you run a multi-muse blog or RP from your persona that heavily features muses from fandoms I’m not familiar withl; I really need to limit dash clutter in order to be able to focus. (ADD & autism are gr8 that way.) That doesn't mean I won't RP with you on your multi-muse blog, and I'm very happy to RP with side blogs, but I will not RP with personals.

❔ OCs, female characters, obscure canon characters:  This shouldn’t need to be said, but: Yes please! I look for fully-formed characters whose creation you've put thought into; this goes for 'popular' canon characters in equal measure.

❔ crossovers:  Please check with me first to make sure I'm familiar with your fandom.

❔ cut your replies:  Please cut your replies & repost asks as new posts when replying. (note: this is not the same as 'read mores'; I'm happy to explain the difference.) I will not follow you if you never cut your replies.

❔  You must have rules or, at the very least, your age stated somewhere on your blog. I will always read your rules before interacting, and I ask that you please do the same.

ABOUT THIS BLOG

❕  est Dec 2012

❕  21 or over for intermittent content which may not always be tagged; I will generally not play with you if you are under 21 as I may not be comfortable writing certain content [because I'll feel like a dinosaur]. I will not RP with anyone under 18 years old, regardless of thread content or your geographical location's 'legal age.' This is not up for discussion, though I'm happy to explain the legal ramifications (for you and your RP partners around the world) of lying about your age. tl;dr I'm not going to jail so you can have smut. Thanks.

❕ safe space:  This blog is fiercely inclusive. I make a point of avoiding ableist or bigoted language and terminology. Please come talk to me in chat or send an ask and tell me if I screw up. note: If you ever need to talk about anything, or if you're having a really bad day, I'm here for you & wouldn't want you to feel alone. Seriously. Come talk to me. I do have chat set to mutuals only thanks to the huge influx of spam messages I was getting, but you can always unfollow me after we’re done talking (I won’t be upset) or send me an ask if that's easier.

❕ triggers:  I will tag genuine triggers when asked (please don't conflate squicks with triggers). I don't have any triggers, but I prefer not to see child abuse, domestic violence, incest, or pregnancy on my dash; if you regularly include that content, I will generally unfollow. Please see below for a comprehensive list. Triggers will be tagged 'triggery thing tw' and added to the tag dump post.

❕ formatting:  usually no fancier than small text +/- 66x66 or 100x100 icon (depending on the size you use), but I will try to match your style. If you need any special formatting to make it easier for you to read, please tell me. I'm very happy to comply.

❕ pre-established relationships:  I'm happy to discuss these.

❕ readmores:  used rarely, but will always use for explicit dubcon/noncon content & graphic stuff.

❕ memes:  generally mutuals only but will always be tagged as 'mutuals only', so if you don't see that, feel free to interact. I do my best to observe reblog karma but don't expect you to; it's all good.

❕ open posts:  will be tagged clearly; generally open only to mutuals, sometimes character-specific (will specify in tags).

❕ shipping:  multiship; not ship exclusive. Shipping is dependent wholly on muse interaction and never guaranteed. Tony is demiromantic and pansexual; he may or may not be open to poly setups depending on verse. He's experimental, inclusive, and flexible. Got a kink? Bring it. BDSM? He'll want to know your safeword. Three/four/eightway? He's probably into it. That in mind, I'm on the ace spectrum (see below) so mature-content threads aren't going to be that common and will generally, though not always, fade to black.

YES PLEASE

✅  duplicates, multiple 'canon' realities, AUs, cross-fandom, What Ifs

✅  crossovers, especially within Marvel & DC

✅  AUs: love, love, love. Give me your tropey coffee shop AU; better yet, give me your research-worthy Mesopotamian AU, time-travel AU, etc. I'm utter trash for Sentinel!verse (and if you don't know what that is, come at me).

✅  plot-development, complex characterization

✅  conscious, intentional, creative abuse of grammar/syntax

✅  any gender identity/lack thereof; sexual orientation/lack thereof; neurodivergent characters; disabled characters

✅  LGBT, non-cis/het, POC, or other minority versions of canonically white cis straight Christian etc characters

✅  female versions of canonically (cis)male characters

✅  dark, edgy, angsty themes up to and including psychological & physical torture, abuse, and character death

✅  complex and conscientious portrayals of trauma and mental health issues

NO THANKS

❎  self-insertion (omnipotent manic pixie Gary-Stu/Mary-Stu characters make me cringe)

❎  pages of ooc

❎  pages of graphic porn

❎  you RP nothing but smut of a variety that squicks me, such as (below) and don't put it behind readmores: - A/B/O, especially if it involves 'mating'/'breeding', pregnancy (esp cis male or cis female pregnancy), etc. Really major squick; - BDSM that uses an abundance of misogynistic language like 'slut'; 'daddy/mommy' themes; pet play; romanticising unhealthy abusive relationships ('50 Shades of Nope' comes to mind) by framing them as consensual BDSM.

❎  consistent grammar/spelling errors (note: ignore if English isn't your primary language; I’m happy to help if that’s something you want, and I speak a few languages so I might be able to RP in your language)

❎  lots of family/baby/child content

❎  'child of'/'sibling of' & non-canon family member/friend characters

❎  anthropomorphic, furry, or 'real people' characters

❎  SuperWhoLock, anime

❎  gatekeeping, canon-snobbery, constant negativity

❎ erasure of any minority group (ie male versions of canonically female characters; suspiciously white FCs for canonically POC characters, etc)

❎ messianic anything; proselytizing

ABOUT THE MUN

✩  ari (aka kai), 30s, London (GMT)

✩  working in medicine, re-qualifying for med school entry; usually not around much Tue-Fri due to work (replies are sometimes queued & I'm usually happy to do short stuff like texts during the week)

✩  thoroughly spoken for; married to cap.co.vu (but thanks for asking *fingerguns*)

✩  introvert:  very social at times (I tend to 'read' as an extrovert), but I need more distance when out of social energy. Feel free to ask me about this. I will love you forever if you respect the need for space, and will not like you very much if you insta-pounce 10x daily when I've gone quiet.

✩  jewitchy = unrepentantly jewish + low-key hedge witch (observant Reform/Conservative Jew; dash of pagan)

✩  grey-a + demi, greyromantic, as impossibly flirty as Tony Stark

✩  ADD, autism (psa: you can be super direct with me), major depressive disorder, EBS (epidermolysis bullosa), mild anxiety (when out of social energy)

✩  sharp-spoken, sharply-dressed, stickler for punctuation, polyglot, menace to society, method RPer, (mostly) good human being, guaranteed at least 80% carbon-based lifeform, will use elbows on the Tube, well-travelled, great ass (thanks, yoga!), hearts horseback riding, BDSM, dismantling the patriarchy

✩  ask box is always open, Discord available by request, IM/chat is gr8

If you feel like it, send me your favourite trope as a way of letting me know you've read these. I'm not going to ask for any sort of specific symbol, codeword, etc to prove it, but I will presume you have and act accordingly. If you feel compelled to acknowledge any specific parts that jump out at you or query something that doesn't sit right with you, we'll probably be bffs.

[megabadbunny]

it’s fuck-all-o’clock in the morning and that means time for a star wars rant right???

Btw any darlings who may be reading this: if you like The Last Jedi and reading criticism about it upsets you, or if you haven’t yet seen the movie and would like to avoid spoilers, I would highly encourage you to turn back now! <3 <3 <3

So here’s the thing: Rian Johnson made TLJ the way he did for the sake of something “new” and “different”, right? Like he wanted to subvert audience expectations, take Star Wars in a new direction, out with the old, in with the new, no more fancy remakes/clusters-of-parallels-dressed-up-with-new-characters-and-special-effects, yes?

Okay but STAR WARS HAS ALREADY FUCKING DONE THIS BEFORE. This isn’t new. It isn’t! All of his bullshit “fresh” perspective? IT’S NOT FRESH BECAUSE STAR WARS HAS ALREADY DONE IT.

You want a darker take on the Star Wars story? Look at The Empire Strikes Back. Of course, now we all know the twist about Luke Skywalker’s true parentage; the movie’s been out for nearly 40 frikkin’ years. Even if you’ve never watched the movie, there’s a pretty damn healthy chance you’re familiar with the infamous “No--I am your father.” But this is 40 years later. In 1980, when the film first screened--no one fucking expected that! Audiences were shocked! Folks were certain Vader was lying, that’s how shocked they were. Not to mention, the hero’s hand gets chopped off--what the fuck, man??? His hand gets chopped off by the biggest baddest worst man in the galaxy, who also happens to be his father? That is some fucked-up shit! Then Luke decides he would rather die than subject himself to the presence of his father for even one more minute, so he just lets himself fucking fall, ostensibly to his death.

You want to see a story about a hero who runs headlong into danger without any regard for the consequences and then suffer the repercussions? Long before Poe ran disastrous suicide missions in space, we had Luke Skywalker freaking out on Dagobah and deciding to forsake his training despite Yoda and Obi-Wan basically telling him flat-out that it’s a frikkin’ trap. He was so certain that he was the only one who could save his friends and runs blindly into the situation despite the obvious danger. And you know what? He loses his hand because of it. (In real-life terms, of course you couldn’t blame someone like Luke for the loss of his hand, but in storytelling terms, the narrative is clearly punishing Luke for his thoughtlessness.) 

By the end of the movie, none of our heroes have successfully completed their objectives. Leia couldn’t save Han; he’s been captured and spirited away to god-knows-where (and for all audiences knew back in 1980, he wouldn’t survive). And of course Han did not get any sort of happy ending with Leia--barely managed to coax her into so much as admitting her feelings before he got turned into a Han-sicle. Lando couldn’t protect Cloud City; despite his best efforts under a series of worsening circumstances, it’s now under Imperial Control. And Luke doesn’t actually contribute, at all, in any way whatsoever, to the aid or protection of his friends. He doesn’t contribute to the rescue effort for Han at all, and if Luke had never come to Cloud City, Leia and Lando and Chewie still would have escaped. Luke turned his back on Yoda and Obi-Wan, forsook his training, lost his fucking hand, for nothing.

Which brings me to my next point: you want to see a story about a hero who, despite their best efforts, doesn’t actually end up helping at all? See above, re: Luke forsakes his training to help save his friends and doesn’t even end up making a damn bit of difference. For goodness’ sake, Leia has to turn right back around and fly back to Cloud City to save him! He actually hampers their escape! Long before Finn and Rose disobeyed orders to take a pointless detour to a pointless casino planet full of pointless half-arsed social commentary bullshit and other pointless garbage that basically just existed for the sake of giving their characters something to do (and we didn’t even get to see Lando, what the ever-loving fuck, are you kidding me, a casino planet would have been the perfect place to find him????), Luke disobeyed orders only to end up with no helpful contributions, making things worse for himself in the end. But at least The Empire Strikes Back has the decency to show you how crushed Luke is by the whole thing.

It’s easy not to think about it in these terms because those of us who love the story have probably watched it so many times that its impact has now diminished into something comfortable--especially knowing how things wrap up in Return of the Jedi--but face it: The Empire Strikes Back is a dark movie, kids. For those of us who weren’t around at that time, can you imagine waiting three fucking years to find out what happened next???

Also, are you interested in a story about a once-noble warrior who is now a grumpy and curmudgeonly hermit reluctant to take on impulsive new trainees? Long before we had Luke deciding that “the Jedi need to end”--for no real reason, if you really think about it...? Like, what have we actually seen in the movies that demonstrates that the Jedi shouldn’t exist anymore? It makes sense for Luke to feel guilty about his personal actions, and I could buy Luke making this argument just because he’s so tired of the fighting and bloodshed and heartbreak, but instead the screenplay is written like a stoner’s “Hey man, like, what if the Jedi were actually not all that perfect?” thread on a subreddit and we’re just supposed to accept that this bullshit meta-discussion-telling-instead-of-showing is good enough motivation for Luke to let the Jedi die out, but ANYWAY I DIGRESS--long before that useless horse-turd of a motivation, we had Yoda, aka a once-noble warrior who is now a grumpy and curmudgeonly hermit reluctant to take on impulsive new trainees.

And the parallels/ripoffs don’t end there: in both ESB and TLJ you’ve got half of our heroes stuck in a crippled ship being chased by the baddies across space, you’ve got a big baddie trying to manipulate our main hero (via revelations about familial connections or lack thereof) into joining his side while his puppet-strings are being pulled by yet another bigger badder baddie, Crait might as well be Hoth (except wait that one dude ate some dirt and said “Salt!” so I guess we’re good...?) and of course we can’t forget that the dark-side cave on Dagobah is paralleled by Ahch-To’s dark-side seaweed anus. 

Oh yeah, and if you’ll allow me to divert from The Empire Strikes Back for a moment: if you’re interested in a story about a literal nobody rising to glorious heights, guess what? We’ve already got that--the deeply-flawed-but-still-canonical Phantom Menace gave us a slave boy who was the literal Chosen One. The only reason we don’t think of Anakin Skywalker as a nobody is because TPM is a prequel and we already know the ending. But chronologically, his character, the venerable Darth Vader, one of the most feared men in the Star Wars galaxy and one of the most well-known characters in all of movie history, starts out as a nobody. So no, Rey Random is not some revelation; it’s just the same story, repackaged.

But hey, don’t ever forget that The Last Jedi is new and bold and refreshing! Don’t forget how fresh and subversive it is! In no way does it mirror its predecessors every bit as much as TFA did. In no way did TFA actually manage to subvert tropes in giving a face and name and voice and conscience to a Stormtrooper, who, historically, belongs to a group of nameless faceless blank-slated nobodies. In no way did TLJ spend half its runtime retconning or disregarding half the shit set up in TFA for no other reason that the director’s own pretentiousness (for all his discussion of “oh my twists aren’t twists, they’re just the most dramatic versions of honest* moments”, you’d think he would have, oh, I don’t know, maybe gone the route of natural storytelling instead of forcing his own half-cooked thoughts into the mix, or maybe found his honesty from shit that actually happened in the first movie in the trilogy instead of manufacturing his own), and certainly, TLJ is not riddled with incomprehensible plotholes. 

(And, sidenote: TLJ doesn’t even maintain consistency with its own messages. For all the talk of “killing the past” and letting go of the old to pave way for the new, it also seems to talk a great deal about learning from your failures, but how the fuck are you supposed to learn from or cope with your past if, y’know, you sever all ties with it? (Did we learn nothing from The Lion King???) I understand the message that being bogged down by the past, for any reason, ultimately isn’t good for you. But saying “let the past go” and “learn from your past mistakes” feels messy at best and antithetical at worst.)

I’m not saying that there’s nothing good about TLJ--hell, there were plenty of moments I enjoyed. The lightsaber battles were great, the space-battles were fun, the theme of action-and-consequence was good, I liked the whole learn-from-your-failures bit even if it was messily incorporated, I thought Kylo Ren’s arc was well-developed, I loved seeing Leia with a blaster again, and yeah, I got a kick out of the Porgs. And I’m not saying people shouldn’t like the movie! Like what you want, I’m not your mom. I’m just saying that the movie isn’t nearly as “fresh” or subversive as its director or super staunch supporters seem to think it is, and I’m a little frustrated by the criticism aimed at Star Wars fans who didn’t care for the movie. Specifically, I’m frustrated by the accusation that we’re all mindless sheep who are just upset that they weren’t spoonfed the same stories and themes as every other Star Wars movie. Oh, I’m sure there are some fans who are irritated that the status quo wasn’t filled, but for a lot of us, that isn’t the problem.

The problems with TLJ boil down to the following: 1) the movie seems more interested in making “the most dramatic choice” for every moment instead of the most honest, natural, or true-to-the-story choice (i.e., it seems more interested in manipulating the story for the sake of shock value instead of letting the story unfold naturally in any way), and 2) it’s just not a great movie. At the end of the day, it sets out to accomplish too many things, and present too many plot points, with too many characters, and ultimately can’t dedicate enough time to do justice to any of it, so all of it suffers. The original Star Wars movies are simple enough, sure, but rather than commit the mistake of doing a bunch of things poorly, they do a small number of things pretty darn well. And I would argue that that, rather than the decision to do things “differently” than Star Wars movies in the past, is the major flaw inherent in The Last Jedi.

* While we’re discussing “honest” moments--where is the honesty in having Rose talk about love right before planting a big ol’ smooch right on Finn’s mouth when they’ve known each other for like 18 hours??? And unless she’s secretly some kind of idiot, why would Holdo--aka admiral-battle-genius or whatever--withhold valuable information from Poe on a “need to know basis” when he’s in a position that needs to know? Why did Luke leave a piece of his map in Artoo if he absolutely never ever ever wanted to ever be found, if he came to “the most unfindable” place in the galaxy to die? How is it an “honest choice” to bring Phasma back for two minutes for no real purpose??? Why did the story completely omit any mention or sight of the Knights of Ren during Luke and Ren’s flashbacks? Why did the story utterly disregard shit like 1) when Rey touches Luke’s lightsaber in TFA, she not only sees visions of her family leaving her interspersed with images from Luke’s past including Kylo Ren’s attack on the temple, but she also sees events that the lightsaber wasn’t even present for, 2) Maz recognizing Rey’s eyes despite the fact that they’ve never met, 3) “The lightsaber was Luke’s, and his father’s before his, and now it calls to you”? 4) “The Force runs strong in my family. I have it. My father has it. My sister has it. You have that power, too” and 5) the fact that Leia specifically sent Rey to go find Luke? (Why the hell would Leia choose to send some random nobody to track down her long-lost brother???) How is Rey Random the most honest choice given these points and so many other things shown in TFA??? TFA isn’t perfect but it tells a story that has a natural and honest progression--or at least that’s the case until TLJ came along and, through the power of retcon, made it a dirty rotten liar. :D

** OH MY GOD if you want to explore the concept of a nobody having just as much potential to rise to Force-sensitive-greatness as someone with a special lineage THEN WHY NOT DO THAT WITH FINN??? Then you could make it so that the title “The Last Jedi” doesn’t refer to any single person--it refers to Jedi in the plural, being Luke and Rey AND FINN!!! And you could even see how different things are for both of them--Rey’s over here learning about her family lineage, being reunited with family, having this huge family history that represents the very pinnacle of the struggle between good and evil, and Finn is struggling because he feels like he comes from nothing, and because the likelihood of ever finding out his family’s identity is basically nil, he secretly worries that that’s all he really is: nothing. So then you would have the two of them helping each other work through their shit--Finn helps Rey deal with this newfound fame and attention and overwhelming sense of duty, and Rey helps Finn realize he’s not a nobody, he’s just as special as she is, and even if they don’t ever manage to find his family, he’s got her, and Poe, and everyone else; they’re his family, no matter what. OH MY GODDDDDDDDDDDDDD ASLDKFJSOIEJWAOIRSDLFJWSOERIJEROIJ

/rant

[willidleaway]

Star Wars, episode 8

There’s been a lot of divisive back-and-forth about The Last Jedi on the Internet, with opinions diverging so hard towards the three groups of

it was the worst thing ever

it was the best thing ever

it was okay I guess

that as I prepared to do my part in helping fund Disney’s Fox acquisition, I couldn’t help but wonder whether people were seeing three different movies.

And as a matter of fact, they kind of were.

In short: Having three subplots just because you have three main characters ... maybe wasn’t a good idea. One of them had a lot of good moments if you could overlook some gaping holes (and giant regressions from the original trilogy), one of them wasn’t terrible but was also kind of pointless and didn’t have to be, and one of them was just mostly needlessly stupid.

Overall, I came out of the theatre more impressed than not, but this movie isn’t one that stands up terribly well to any extended thoughts about it. I also fear that in many places Episode IX may have to bite off more than it can possibly chew, as if this movie hasn’t done enough of that as it is.

Spoiler-y thoughts behind the Read More break.

In less short:

the Finn subplot was kind of okay;

the Poe subplot was inexcusably flawed;

and the Rey subplot was—well, it wasn’t the best thing ever and had a few critical points of badness, but it had a lot of good moments and I can’t help but enjoy them.

I really can, for the most part, treat these subplots as three different movies. Finn’s subplot branches a safe distance away from Poe’s subplot rather quickly and never really integrates properly back into it. Rey’s subplot doesn’t join back up with either of them until the very end.

This was true of Episode V too, to a large extent. But there, at least, the trio had the decency to split into two groups, with Luke’s subplot seeing Yoda teach him and Vader pursue him, and Han and Leia’s subplot leading them (eventually) to Cloud City. But Episode V had just those two subplots for the most part, and a relatively tight ensemble of characters and locations.

This episode ... not so much. I personally would really have liked to see Poe join an expanded version of the Finn subplot, with the existing Poe subplot dropped or considerably downsized, and I really think this would have improved the movie. But as this will never happen, I may as well give thoughts on the triple feature as it stands. So, thoughts on ...

Finn’s Big Adventure: It was okay.

I did find Canto Bight interesting—it’s a side of the galaxy you don’t normally get to see in Star Wars, which is normally all about either the military and political centres of conflict or the grimier parts of town. We get a peek at the economic elite life here, and it’s apparently equally disgusting in any galaxy.

But Rose never really developed into her own character, I’m afraid. She had a cursory backstory of suffering and a consistent compassion, but was mostly defined by love for her sister and for Finn. The codebreaker took so many moral swerves that it was impossible to ever get a great handle on him as a real character, and his apparent argument of ‘well the First Order and the Resistance both use machines from the same suppliers so it’s all part of the system, man’ was just weird and frankly kind of disconcerting. I’m sure I’ve oversimplified that in some way, but not by much, I think.

This subplot also had to quite rapidly manage its own mission expectations, going through a few stages:

we’re going to get hold of a master codebreaker to gain access to a critical weakness in Snoke’s ship

okay, we’re just going to use whatever codebreaker we've found to gain access to a critical weakness in Snoke’s ship

okay, we’re just going to die on Snoke’s ship and hope the Resistance survives because we can’t actually do anything now

okay, everyone else is just going to die too

wait is that the Resistance cruiser ramming into Snoke’s ship

and that probably didn’t help this subplot being so utterly unremarkable. Really, it was a little odd that this was the subplot they kind of chose to end on, with the Force-sensitive child slave sweeping and looking up at the sky.

And really the worst thing is that Captain Phasma (and by extension Gwendoline Christie) was simply tragically wasted as a villain, which is bad because Captain Phasma is clearly one of the more competent and awesome First Order military personnel. Plus, more screen time with Captain Phasma could have given us more development of Finn. It wasn’t too late to show more of her after Episode VII. It is now.

Who Framed Poe Dameron: Be careful what you wish for. I wished for Poe to have more screen time, and look what happened.

What we’ve got here, to quote Cool Hand Luke, is failure to communicate—not just between the Resistance personnel, but also between the writers and the audience. Let’s take this one failure at a time:

Poe’s demotion. Why does Holdo bring this back up as if it’s that important? How far down is the rank of Captain from Commander? (In most real-world navies and air forces, isn’t Captain actually one rank above Commander?) Is that proportionate to his act of insubordination per se, or more proportionate to the severe losses he caused through that insubordination? And how rigorous is the Resistance ranking hierarchy anyway? Can they even afford to be rigorous about it, given how short-staffed they are (even before the Battle of Crait)? Han went from starship captain to a General in the Rebel Alliance basically right after he had been frozen in carbonite for a good long while. Are you telling me that it would be so difficult for Poe to get that far back up in no time at all?

The secrecy around the evacuation. Why wasn’t there just a standing plan known to all Resistance fighters of ‘look if things get really bad we have a base we can fall back to with a decent set of resources, and its location is definitely on a need-to-know basis but just so you know we will fall back to it if the First Order really start hurting us, so please don’t mutiny’? If no one else, how did Leia not trust Poe with this plan when she trusted him with retrieving a piece of the map to Luke?

Crait. How is this place uncharted to the First Order? Is their map information just that bad? Shouldn’t it be on the First Order’s maps given that the son of erstwhile Generals of the Rebel Alliance is in the First Order leadership? Where do the First Order maps come from? And regardless, wouldn’t it have become charted the moment the Resistance cruiser came out of hyperspace to try and make a run to somewhere within reasonable distance of it? How does galactic cartography work, anyway? Is that even relevant, given that a First Order flagship should probably be able to detect transports launching from the cruiser with or without life signs and track their trajectory anyway?

Some of this, I think, is hurt by lack of significant context about exactly what the Resistance is, what the First Order is, what their relations are to the Empire and the Rebel Alliance and the new (short-lived) Republic, what their standing is in the galaxy, what resources they have, and so on. Certainly the original trilogy was never quite as rigorous in this sort of thing as the prequels were, but after just a few minutes of Episode IV, you saw enough to know that the Empire ruled the galaxy under an iron fist, and the Rebel Alliance was a ragtag volunteer army. Here, the First Order is ... governing? Is it governing anything? Does it have provinces? Is Snoke on billions of propaganda pamphlets, pictured in his best dressing gown? Does it claim to be a legitimate continuation of the Galactic Empire, or merely a de facto one? And what of the Resistance? Is it funded by the new Republic? Well, I know their political centre was wiped out in Episode VII, but maybe they actually have a civilian government in exile ... or don’t they? If they have access to old Rebel bases and equipment, how did they end up with only one cruiser by the start of this episode?

This seems like nitpicking, but I am genuinely left a bit confused by the scope of the Resistance, which is apparently fine to rebuild even if the new Republic it sought to defend is in tatters, its allies have abandoned it, and its military strength is now small enough to fit in its entirety inside the Millennium Falcon.

I get that this episode is going for an ominous ending like that of Episode V, but as of the end of Episode V, the Rebellion still actually had bases and cruisers and fighters and Admiral Ackbar. It was just that Leia was shaken by the apparent loss of Han, a capable if reluctant member of the Rebellion, and Luke was shaken by revelations about Darth Vader. As of the end of this episode, the Resistance fleet is just the Falcon. There are people skilled enough to take down an entire military fleet with one starship, but most of them are Time Lords in a TARDIS and they aren’t in this universe.

Also, I’m not sure whether to file this under Poe’s subplot or Rey’s, but ginger!Tarkin is just hilarious. I’m sorry, I’ve got nothing against Domhnall Gleeson as an actor, but I’m pretty sure he’s being directed to ham it up as much as he can and it’s ridiculous and silly to the point of being wonderful. At the same time, his character’s a bit useless and the movie seems painfully aware of it.

The Last Jedi (that is, the parts of The Last Jedi that were actually about, you know, The Last Jedi): Oh, Luke, what happened to you?

No, really, I want to know and these movies won’t tell me. I want to see what happened to Luke between Episodes VI and VII in this brave new Disney-enforced canon, and it’s really unfortunate that this was not a core concern of the sequels. We got some inkling of it in Episode VII, sure, and now get unreliable tellings of what happened between Luke and Ben/Kylo specifically. But this simply isn’t enough.

As it stands, everyone telling the story seems to agree that Luke definitely showed intent to kill Ben, however transient. And that is so jarring given that we’ve been here before and overcome it, in Episode VI. The original trilogy was all about Luke succeeding where Anakin failed, overcoming his darker side and even pushing Anakin to do so in the very end. Given this, where Luke stands at the start of this episode—having attempted to kill Ben, mistrusting Rey so much—is undeniably a very abrupt regression that lacks any significant development to support it. What did it take to break the unbreakable cinnamon roll?

This is a fundamental problem with the plotting of the sequel trilogy. In fact, I wonder if it should really have been a trilogy. The prequels, of course, were forced to be a trilogy because Lucas had pre-emptively numbered Episodes IV through VI. But while there is a massive gap between the prequels and the original trilogy—and even within the prequels, which jumped from precious child Anakin to teenaged Anakin to war-weary Anakin—that was excusable because nothing terribly interesting happened in that gap to the Skywalkers or the Jedi. Darth Vader kind of kept on Darth Vader-ing, Luke had a fairly peaceful moisture farmer’s life with some occasional piloting excitement, Obi-Wan and Yoda went on their eccentric hermit ways, the Emperor kept on with his Galactic Empire, and most of the Jedi stayed dead.

The gap between Episodes VI and VII, as it stands ... not so much. Apparently in that gap we had

the re-establishment of a peaceful Galactic Republic

the establishment of a new Jedi Temple

the training of Ben Solo

the rise of Snoke

the fall of the new Jedi Temple

the rise of the First Order

which frankly should have been a movie or two, maybe even a television series. (It really could work. The gap between Episodes II and III were the entire Clone Wars, which of course had its own lovely series, cut short by the Disney/Lucasfilm acquisition.) In fact, I’m beginning to think the rise of Snoke and the Knights of Ren should have been the core of Episode VII, with Luke going into self-imposed exile at the end, until one day a mysterious young woman shows up and holds out a lightsaber, her face full of hope ...

... but that will never happen now. I wonder if it even could have happened in the 2010s, given the age of the original cast and the scenes that would be required of them. And frankly, I wonder if Disney/Lucasfilm, instead of making the abrupt jumps that they did between the original trilogy and the sequels, should instead have been making what they now plan to after this sequel trilogy—movies following completely new characters with their own stories.

And this is the good subplot, huh? Yes, yes it is.

There are moments in this subplot that I can’t help but enjoy, which is not actually true for either of the other subplots. Luke reuniting with Artoo was when Luke felt most like himself. The return of Yoda, with a surprisingly faithful CGI rendition and perhaps a moment of overpowered mischievousness, was kind of amazing. Rey and Kylo joining forces (Forces?), however briefly, was frankly surprising in just how effective it was. Kylo has actually risen above being ‘a child with a mask’ and become a far more credible character, if not a credible villain. Rey’s moment of self-reflection was ... not subtle, but still worked for what it was. The revelation of her parentage was exactly what it needed to be.

And Luke’s projection ... was a bit ridiculous—hadn’t he cut himself off from the Force for quite a while? Wouldn’t he need to retrain a lot before he was able to do that again and/or possibly for the first time ever, given that this is the first time we’ve seen Force Telepresence, which I would have thought was some kind of transient Force bond with every living thing in the vicinity, except apparently even droids can detect your projection? (So it’s definitely just a new Force power, because we didn’t already have enough of those and definitely had rules around those sorted out really neatly ...) I mean, it was awesome, but kind of odd and didn’t seem to really have concrete rules.

And really, if you were willing to overlook Luke not being himself for the majority of the movie and what might be a fundamental flaw in the planning of this entire sequel trilogy, this subplot was pretty good (and the one that I’d wager the critics paid most attention to). It sounds like I’m saying that facetiously, but I’m only saying it half-facetiously.

The one rather unsatisfying thing was the fact of Snoke’s anticlimactic end after all of the buildup around him (more so than how it played out)—but if Darth Maul can come back from being sliced in half, perhaps Snoke can too. Hmm, maybe not in this case. And that’s a pity, because Snoke’s motivations surely more or less inform Kylo’s motivations, and both would have been great to learn more about.

Final thoughts: So, basically what the writers of Episode IX have to do is

figure out how the Resistance is going to be a credible threat to the First Order when right now it fits inside an old Corellian light freighter

work in Leia’s off-screen death and pass her part of the story on to someone appropriate

complete Kylo Ren’s arc, without Leia

figure out if Poe actually has an arc to complete given that Poe’s screen time was taken up by setting up Finn’s subplots and inciting mutiny without much of a result, and given that the only ship he can now fly is a light freighter

figure out if Finn is actually going to do something useful this time

make ginger!Tarkin look like a competent second-in-command

actually show Poe being competent and not deceived by his superiors

congratulate themselves on outdoing RTD and Moffat in writing themselves into a massively tight corner for the final episode

That seems like a fairly tall order, and I don’t hold out much hope for answers here. If George Lucas were in charge, we’d have more answers than we needed. But JJ Abrams is in charge, and I’m afraid any answers we get here are going to just give rise to a thousand-fold more questions.

Miscellaneous thoughts:

On the droids: BB-8 was fantastic, as always. I still can’t get over just how expressive the design is compared to Artoo or frankly even Threepio.

I guess we also saw BB-8′s Imperial—erm, excuse me, First Order counterpart, which I really wanted to see do more. Kind of like Phasma.

On slot machine guns: Professor Layton did it better.

On the critters infesting the Falcon: Chewie, how dare you eat them.

Also, I think we’ve now potentially got the Star Wars equivalent of Tribbles. How quickly did those things take over the ship, anyway?

On originality: Say, do you remember a Star Wars movie where

the rebels are chased off their main holdout on a snow-white planet;

the Force-sensitive protagonist trains with a reluctant teacher on a remote planet with a submerged X-wing, dips into a cavern to confront the dark side of the Force, and ultimately interrupts their Jedi training to help the rebels;

the non-Force-sensitive protagonists seek out a rogue to help them, but are double-crossed and face dire prospects;

someone says ‘I know’ in an unusual context;

and the Force-sensitive villain reveals the parentage of the Force-sensitive protagonist, who is then asked to join them so that together they can rule the galaxy?

I mean, it’s not a straight-up recycled Episode V the way that Episode VII was a blatant remake of Episode IV, and the original trilogy codified a lot of modern sci-fi filmmaking to the point where it would not be possible for a sequel to not have some overlap with the original. But, to quote the judge from Ace Attorney, two coincidences at the same time seems more like a pattern to me.

Thinking about the submerged X-wing makes me a little peeved, actually, because it feels like the writers basically throwing the regression of Luke’s character in your face through one succinct image. It also feels like lifting the X-wing out of the water and flying to Crait in person would have been a less cheap way for Luke to go out, and actually would have also made for an extra nice callback to Episode V. Really, it’s surprising that this was so overlooked.

Random thoughts on the trailers I saw before the feature presentation:

Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom looks like it’s going to be gloriously silly. Also, Jeff Goldblum’s memetic line ... finds a way.

Ready Player One looks good (did I spot an Overwatch character?) although that could just be the Van Halen music. In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s mostly the Van Halen music.

Eek, creepy large lifelike anime eyes in Alita: Battle Angel. It looks like one of those images you see on the Internet where you splice real-life photos together to represent a cartoon character, except now with a multi-million dollar budget.

Incredibles II. This is where it’s come to, is it, Disney/Pixar? I mean, I’m going to reserve judgement because the trailer was astonishingly short on content, but are you going to really start ruining every perfect movie you ever made?

I have no opinions on Avengers: Infinity War since I don’t follow the MCU, but involving the GotG makes me worried for their safety.

[mild-lunacy]

Adam vs Kavinsky and Victim Characters

The worst part about running into stuff about Ronan with Kavinsky, for me (which is basically blasphemy) is that I remember when I was 16-18, and I was into Gothy and Edgy things (even though, honestly, was there ever a kid who was less Gothy or Edgy). I read The Sandman and identified with both Delirium and Despair. I liked hopeless, dark romances, and I hated everything ordinary or wholesome. A part of me still does. I mean, I always wanted to Save That Boy; that was my kink. The boy in need of redemption and someone to believe in him, in spite of all the odds. Pure catnip.

The thing that really gets to me is that, of course, Adam is that boy, much more poignantly and deeply than Kavinsky. It's actually very similar to the misunderstanding that makes people think Sherlock makes a better match with Moriarty than John. Just because characters like John or Adam aren't as obviously broken (in that they're not delinquents) and can succeed at passing for normal members of society at least some of the time, people assume that they are too 'normal' or ordinary. This just reminds me of the worst parts of the girl I was, who was self-consciously obsessed with being 'different' and 'weird', and my own hopeless status and overall delinquency. I never bothered to fulfill anyone's expectations (including my own), and I thought my genuine struggles excused my behavior, insofar as I even thought it needed justification, which I mostly didn't. It just... pains me, because people who pity Kavinsky don't understand this most basic thing.

Essentially, that sort of behavior isn't something that's other people's fault, or an issue of circumstances. It's the person's own fault. It doesn't matter if the person is just a kid. Even so, they could at least try not to be an asshole, especially while passing it off as some kind of existential angst thing. Not even trying is a waste, but not in the sort of way that deserves my pity. Or anyone else's, for that matter.

Adam (and Ronan) were hurt and disregarded and marginalized as deeply as Kavinsky, but they both retained a sense of human decency, loyalty and compassion. Adam grew up in a broken home, with no support system that we know of for most of his life. And yet, Adam is not Kavinsky. He's most emphatically not someone who needs your pity as a character; in fact, he insists on not being pitied. That is actually insulting to him. And, in the end, it's insulting to Kavinsky, too. He had free will. He made choices too. Instead of using his pain to motivate him, or connecting with anyone else in a genuine way, he used people (his gang, and then there's Prokopenko) and blackmailed them when things didn't go his way. It's sad to me that this could be uncomplicatedly sympathetic, just because essentially, Kavinsky makes for a better victim of his circumstances for certain fans.

Anyway, it's not like Adam is really wholesome any moreso than Kavinsky, by any means, or lacks pain and angst, either. He's a scary bastard way more than Kavinsky is, was or ever could be, even with his whole edgy racing gang in tow. Adam could have been the Grey Man, if not for meeting Gansey and Ronan at the right time. But what I think turns Kavinsky fans against aligning or identifying with him is that Adam isn't *sad*. I mean, he's hurt, but he doesn't capitalize on it; he makes a huge effort not to be victim. And even though Kavinsky victimizes others and tries to act tough, the fact is that he's attained a sort of 'dark victim' status among his fans. Just like I did when I was seventeen, I think people have that impulse to Save That Boy, or they identify with a character who could use some saving. Adam, meanwhile, can (and did) save himself, thank you very much. Adam doesn't *need* you. Adam needs Ronan and Gansey, sure, but not to be a functioning and successful human.

I think it just offends and saddens me that people prefer to rob Ronan of his hard-won agency in choosing Adam and in overcoming his dark side. I feel like a lot of Kavinsky fans just prefer hopelessness for Ronan, especially in attaching Ronan to him romantically. It saddens me that the Raven Cycle's broader narrative of overcoming one's pain and one's past is lost on people if one boy doesn't make it. I mean, surely one's deepest ethical and existential choices are not like a welfare program (although plenty of readers clearly disagree). It's amazing and ridiculous to me that it seems so many people genuinely don't understand that one can only get better if one *wants* to, and quite obviously Kavinsky didn't. Why is that so hard to grasp? I would think The Dream Thieves was actually pretty clear on this.

I just... feel really bad about it sometimes. Like, fandom makes me so sorry and kind of disgusted with myself for what was actually a good instinct, and one that's motivated me to want to help others and try to make a difference to vulnerable youth all my life. I wanted to help people and heal them, and the instinct in and of itself wasn't bad. I don't want to mock myself and anyone who's ever felt similarly, because I know that it's just about being young and inexperienced and idealistic-- and there's nothing wrong with idealism, or with wanting to nurture vulnerable, marginalized or broken people. Yes, people like Kavinsky-- and Adam, and Ronan, and Blue. That was good. That's a good instinct and a good thing to care about.

It's just... wanting to heal and nurture and protect isn't about pity. It's the difference between Gansey's and Ronan's approach to Adam. Gansey doesn't *quite* pity Adam, the way he fears, but he's sorry, so sorry, the way part of fandom is so sorry about Kavinsky. And it's gross, isn't it? It's overbearing and insulting, even if Gansey means well. It doesn't respect Kavinsky's agency. It doesn't really *help*. Ronan wants to help too, but he knows what Adam can do, and he pays attention to what he needs. Ronan's help is always about what Adam needs, not what he *deserves* or what he *wishes* or needs to be able to give him. That's what I always think of when Kavinsky (or even Noah) fans say a character 'deserves better'. People are allowed to be prickly and complicated, and they're allowed to make choices we may disagree with. It's important to be at least somewhat realistic if one wants to help people, and to realize that in the end, you can only do so much for anyone, because life isn't fair.

The fact is, sometimes people can't be saved by anyone but themselves, and trying at that point would clip their wings and destroy their autonomy. I wish more people understood this. It's difficult-- so difficult, and heartbreaking-- but this is what makes The Dream Thieves a beautiful and meaningful book in the first place.

[eevanbbuckley]

So I was thinking about not doing this rant but then more shit happened and now I just feel like I got to vent. And I know that this might make me sound like a spoiled kid, and yes I am fully aware that basically any job I take will not be 100% to my liking or will go according to what I think is the most correct. But. It’s just been a bit overwhelming these past weeks and it got to the point where I just feel like reconsidering the career completely,

Yes. This is about my job. (Which in itself is a clusterfuck of the biggest sort but I’m not gonna go into that tonight). 

So, I started working at a clinic. And then got asked to do some days at a hospital which belongs to the same group. And then got asked to fill in in yet another clinic for a weekend. Of course I dumbly said yes to this last one, and this is probably gonna be a lifelong regret for me. So there I was, supposed to work a full weekend on a clinic I don’t even know how to get to, and the director of said clinic doesn’t even bother to try and contact me about what my schedule is gonna be, or what I am supposed to do. Now at this point you may be thinking “well shit Isa, you’re a grown woman, why didn’t you get in touch with him?”. Well. I didn’t have a way to reach him, plus I was busy af at my work place. I didn’t have time to scratch my ass, let alone try to reach someone else. 

But, being the nice person I am, I get to this other clinic on Friday and explain that I’m supposed to work there for the weekend and I was supposed to get to know the space that day? BUT OF COURSE I WAS WRONG. I was supposed to spend the day with them. No one had told me this. Also, no one told me what my schedule was gonna be, and no one told me I was gonna be on call BOTH during Saturday night and Sunday night. ALL OF THIS I HAD TO FIND OUT ON MY OWN. BC YES, IT WASN’T LIKE YOU GUYS ASKED ME TO DO IT, I WAS THE ONE SHOWING AT YOUR DOORSTEP BEGGING FOR A JOB. 

Moving on. 

Sunday we get an emergency call. It’s a complicated issue, and being the still very inexperienced person I am, I call the girl who’s working with me that weekend. I’m not going to bother you with all the details, but that person, WHO WORKS AT THE CLINIC (I cannot stress this enough, she’s a full-time employee and I was only there for the weekend), suggests I call the clinic the lady was trying to get in touch of and tell her to go there. So. Little panicky me does that. All is well. Sunday goes on and I feel at peace with my decision. So you can imagine my surprise when I get there on Monday to drop the phone and keys and basically get lectured by a doctor because it’s not company policy to transfer cases between clinics outside the group. 

Score one for Isa because I got to shut that one up with a very simple “Well, no one informed me of what the company’s policies are.” Because no one has. Because my job right now is a clusterfuck I’m about 90% sure I could sue someone over, but moving on. Yeah. That one didn’t sit well with me. But my conscience is clear, I didn’t do anything wrong because I wasn’t given proper instructions and the person I asked that was supposed to know told me to do something that goes against what you’re supposed to do. WELL I DON’T HAVE DIVINIATION POWERS DO I?

Weekend is over. I should get a day off for the nights I worked but of course I don’t get one because my regular workplace is short on staff and there’s no day I can take. Yeah, because this is how we operate, we overwork the new girl because she can’t rebel. So as you can imagine I’m nearing the end of the week in a state of pure exhaustion, not to mention I have to drive two hours a day to get to and from work. But no one cares. And this week I’m working afternoons so I get to work this Friday, the doctor who performs surgeries is gone. End of the afternoon I get told I have to discharge X. Now I don’t even know who tf X is, let alone what they have to get as medication. So I check the system and do things accordingly. 

You can imagine my surprise when I get a call today from the doctor who preformed the surgery saying that there had been stuff wrong and that she had left it all in a piece of paper. And that if I had doubts I should have called her, because that’s what everyone does when they’re discharging her patients. Now, I understand her annoyance and I can relate. But. If you want things done properly you don’t leave a fucking sheet of paper with scribbles on it that no one understands if they’re for the doctor who’s discharging the patient or for the front desk or just reminders for your lazy ass. I don’t know, but if everyone has to fucking call her when they’re discharging her patients, doesn’t this mean she clearly is doing something wrong? 

Legit she would have lost no time in logging into the system, making the proper bill and leaving everything prepared. And I’m saying this because I have had to discharge other doctors’ patients and they have done these things. Also, they have bothered to tell me about anything else. IT’S THEIR CASE AFTER ALL. So, I apologized, because obviously the situation was a delicate one, and if I was in her place I’d be annoyed too. And I get it she wasn’t exactly angry at me, she was angry at the whole situation but I can’t help but feel annoyed. And that it’s dumb that people still don’t bother with the proper way to do things because they’re used to having people doing things their way. And yes, I know I could have called her, but after two weeks of working without a break my brain was a bit loopy and what I checked in the system made perfect sense to me so I didn’t think it would be necessary.

Also, there was another doctor working my shift she could have talked to about the discharge but she didn’t do it. S’all good mate, s’all good. (Also, it’s not the first time she leaves shit on random pieces of paper that no one notices because we work? And don’t have time to check out of make sense of random notes without a smidge of context?)

If you’re still around after all this, yes, I know that working at any place is having to deal with shit we don’t agree with, but at this point I just think it’s ridiculous the lack of communication. And damaging too. It’s not like it’s this huge change they have to do. Honestly, it’s a matter of common sense. I don’t think I’m asking for anything too far fetched, here. Just decency. And work ethic?

Anyway, lemme know if you think I’m just crazy. Because that’s also a possibility.

[paperlacejane]

In the light of Season 4 of BBC Sherlock,

I’m going to post my archived reaction to S3 and the Victorian Christmas Special, and some thoughts about the state of things. Completely unwanted and unrequested, but I want to share.

I also feel I should say that there is some positivity amongst the torrent of negativity.

I initially wrote the reaction to The Abominable Bride for my own personal catharsis. I considered posting it, tailored it as a review of the episode, even, but ultimately decided that I didn’t want to spread the negativity. If people were still enjoying it, then I didn't want to spoil it (I'm a sensitive type, and seeing negativity can easily harsh my buzz, so I didn't want to do that with anyone.)

I also still didn't want to believe where the show was heading. But now, given S4, I feel it's inescapable. Right now, I feel like I'm jumping out of the wood-work now to say: "SORRY GUYS, I KNEW THIS WAS GOING TO END BADLY." But I also really do want to make a point about the direction that the series took with S3 and the hideous Christmas special. [There were some considerable insulting blips along the way before that, but S3 (my main problem is His Last Vow) and TAB were so concentrated in their shitness, that I feel I need to single them out.]

I just want to point out that this wasn't a sudden thing. I feel like I need to say this, because a lot of people I'm seeing have been saying: "how did it go so wrong, you fucked up, this season was horrible" as if there weren't signs before this. People much more eloquent (and concise/pithy) than me have highlighted some of the questionable shit that has cropped up in Sherlock. I'm not going to write out all those points here. What I focus on are the glaring bits that offended me the most, that jarred the hardest, that really hurt -- and which appear to have been dialed up to 11 for this last series/season. I haven't read any (?? I think?) critiques of The Abominable Bride, so I can't say whether people have commented similar. I hope they have. (I had read over a couple of positive ones before writing this, on the IMDB page for that episode. This 'review' was what I was going to submit as a review on that page, because I was frustrated with the positivity, but I decided it was too-ranty and too downer-like for there.)

Very very few people are going to see this, let alone read this. But I just want to let out something that I’ve felt for a long time. That the signs of the fall were there, and that the writers, the actors, they've been screwing with us for ages, and that they've been wronging us in more ways than the no-johnlock queerbaiting-turned-queerbashing thing (which is a huge WRONG.)

So, this is my cathartic rant from however many years ago. I titled it, because Evernote wanted me to title it, "Notes on The Abominable Bride and the Questionable Direction of BBC's Sherlock" (the original title, I recall was: "what the actual fuck," or similar.)

In two words? Truly repugnant.

There is an aggressive amount of sarcasm at several points in the following paragraphs. Just, be warned. It should be obvious, and I've switched some of it out for easier reading with fewer double-negatives, but.

Given the era that Conan Doyle's stories were written, sexism is evident. Even within the character of Sherlock Holmes. He is quite gynophobic in the original stories, I have no illusions there. And yet he still respects women. He respects them when they're intelligent, when they're clever -- and those are not 'masculine' traits. He defends women, and threatens righteous violence against people who prey on them - one of my favourite moments is when he literally goes to get his riding crop to whip a man who has been manipulating and catfishing his own daughter. But still, there is sexism in Sherlock Holmes.

But I have never felt so attacked and demeaned as a woman by a Sherlock Holmes story as I have while watching this episode of BBC Sherlock. Whose idea was it to dress feminists in purple KKK hoods? To have them adopt KKK methods? To have pretty much all the women of the series thrown into a cultish vendetta club who specialised in systematic terror and serial murder? Oh, bravo. I don't care if it was all in Sherlock's head, or supposed to be justified within the narrative, or if it's supposed to be 'real'. Why would they put that on screen? Why would they make those links, create those parallels? And who thought having Steven Moffat tackle the topic of women and sexism was a good idea?

The only truly respectable life-like woman I have seen in this series is Sarah - a simple doctor, everyday but exceptional, who was clever and held her own. And yet she was disappeared. To be replaced by vindictive hags, insipid would-be love-interests, charicature land-ladies, and a woman who shot and technically killed the most-loved literary character of all time - who we're supposed to have forgiven because she "didn't mean to kill him," because her killshot was supposedly "surgery." The writers of this series would do well to remember that this isn't Doctor Who. It's not a science-magical world where the audience is obliged to grudgingly swallow down all the unlikely and downright absurd rationalisations that are thrown at us. If you use that sort of bullshit logic for a story which is supposed to be more-or-less realistic, it just looks exceedingly lazy -- even lazier than it does in Doctor Who. Not only that, It's fantastically cheap, and, at least personally, your audience ends up feeling cheated.

It also looks immoral in the extreme. How is it that all the characters -- John and Mycroft particularly (a pragmatic but emotional man who is supposedly devoted to Sherlock, as well as Sherlock's own brother who tenderly takes care of him every time he ODs) -- how are they supposed to have forgiven Mary too? I could, maybe, believe that Sherlock's self-esteem is so low that he might try to rationalise Mary's actions away in order to not rock the boat and not lose the people that he thinks of as his friends. But why in fuck's name are John and Mycroft believing that crock of shit? Even if it were "surgery," you're telling me that they can both just let the bare fact that she shot Sherlock slide? No visceral rejection of a person who could do that to someone you care about? No wish to see them pay, or be brought to justice? They're not repulsed by her actions in any way? They still trust her, when that's what she's capable of? When "I'll shoot Sherlock in the chest and maybe/probably he'll die," is a perfectly acceptable risk for her to take? (I say 'probably' because he flat-lined. And if it weren't a TV show, everyone has a good chance of dying if shot near point-blank in the fucking chest.)

Sherlock may be portrayed unsympathetically in this series, particularly in this latest episode, but he's no Magnussen. I wasn't torn up when Sherlock shot him in the face -- there was common decency on Sherlock's side, which goes a surprisingly long way. Magnussen was a blackmailing creep who had a penchant for sexual intimidation and degradation after all. But Mary shot Sherlock. Sherlock still equals 'good guy.' Let me break that down for you: A deceiving unrepentant liar and serial killer shoots good guy in chest for no good reason except so that she can go on lying. But not only are Mycroft and John letting that slide with little to absolutely no fuss, they're then letting Mary make smarmy little snide comments about Sherlock and joking about the lacking security of MI5 (and yeah, of course Mary can hack Mi5 instantaneously on an iPhone. Why not! Who cares about believability when you have the opportunity for 'witty' banter?) Mary is all-round a despicable character who somehow gets away with being a piece of shit because... She's sassy? The result is that she is a bad guy who gets no repercussions for her actions, and appears as shallow as a shower to boot. (I'm reminded forcibly of River Song.) The whole thing makes all of the main characters appear void of all human feeling, all basic human reasoning. They have no principles. Given that the show's main characters are meant to be crime-solvers, justice-dealers, law-and-order types, and "the British Government," you'd think there'd at least be some sense of moral rectitude abounding. And yet, no. There's a difference between "just enough of an arsehole to be worth liking," and just plain old arsehole. There's also a difference between morally grey and morally bankrupt. I feel increasingly under the impression that the writers don't know the difference.

On a related note: the true Sherlock Holmes was never, ever a sociopath (the term "sociopath" hasn't been used by any respected psychiatric authority since the 1960s - Sherlock would know that, even if the writers don't.) He has been sexist, but he has never been devoid of moral feeling. He has occassionally been devoid of tact, and often focused on fact over feelings, which are clearly very very different things. It's often remarked that as a character Sherlock Holmes is admirable, but that it's hard to like him. That's never stopped me before. That is, it's never stopped me with the original stories. Even within other adaptations, I have a great deal of affection for him and the stories he inhabits. With this series, they've done a good job of twisting that affection into disdain and disappointment.  

Oh! And whose idea was it to harass a historically asexual/non-sexual character on his orientation? That was an added touch of pure ignorance - and that amidst the existing pool of unreason, it must have been the audience's birthday! Then, of course, they couldn't possibly forget to lean on the fact that Sherlock kept Irene Adler's photo in the stories! I mean, it's a given that he should be harassed for being non-sexual and non-romantic, but of ~course, if he were actually interested in sex and romance, he's obviously secretly definitely, ~definitely straight. Never mind that he also kept a bust and picture of Goethe. Nevermind that he has a picture of Poe in his bedroom. Nevermind that Irene was (in the original stories) a woman who just barely outwitted him, who ~just got away. Forget that it's perfectly conceivable that he might admire her resourcefulness and cunning -- they're just the things that as a character he always admires -- no, he obviously kept her picture because he wants to fuck her. Of course! God forbid a man admire and wish to remember a woman and not want to fuck her. Never mind all other evidence that he's content being a non-sexual non-romantic creature. Never mind respecting his orientation as valid. Never mind that Watson explicitly states that Holmes wasn't interested in Irene romantically/sexually, nevermind that he was willing witness at her wedding-- Oh, but they've found a solution for that as well! Watson was lying! Of course he was! How convenient for them!

I cannot adequately express just how disgusting it is that they are trying to suggest, in this same scene, that this particular interpretation/incarnation of the character of Sherlock Holmes is somehow the secretly ultra-accurate portrait of the 'real' Sherlock Holmes. They literally state that the original stories are glossed-over for the good of Dr Watson's reading public of the time. How narcissistic and power-hungry (and delusional) do you have to be to say that your adaptation is somehow a more 'real' or 'accurate' portrayal? "Oh, he's arguably one of the best-loved characters of all time? Well ours is more accurate and better and we have mobile phones!" The original Holmes is an icon, a simple character who is at the same time exceedingly complex, he's paradoxical and he's wonderful. He stands the test of time. And there was once a time when I would have defended this BBC portrayal of Sherlock as the most accurate adaptation I've seen - a rougher, younger Sherlock, but tactfully brought into the real and present day. Not anymore. They've ended up exaggerating Sherlock's flaws so that they consume his entire character - the drug-use/-addiction, the tactlessness. Then they have all the other characters hate on him, slap him, mock him because of the exaggerated character traits that once accented Sherlock Holmes, and that the audience once loved so much. I just feel like the entire series is being geared towards people hating Sherlock Holmes, hating this series. I don't understand what the intent is for making these narrative choices.

You cannot put your characters into situations, have them graphically violated and manipulated and slander them in-text, and then give a small throw-away line as if to forgive all trespasses. Audience engagement doesn't work like that. You're working towards your audience feeling violated. Offended. And we're given no justice, no closure. And rest assured: we remember everything. Why are there no repercussions? Why is there so much that doesn't add up, why is so much skated over, if this is meant to be the accurate depiction of the 'real' Sherlock Holmes and his world?

I don't trust the writers of this series. I don't trust them to give me closure, to take me on a journey or tell me a story that doesn't rankle in the wrong way -  that doesn't violate reasonable sensibilities and then shrug off the trespass in the following moment. I feel like I should be slapping the creators with a glove and screaming "I demand satisfaction!" Because this latest instalment (the latest two instalments) have done little more than alienate and aggravate me. Even to the point that I'm ashamed of having once been a fan of this series. Even saying that I ask myself: am I over-reacting here? But I reason with myself, and I still feel it's true. It's become a series that I truly don't even recognise anymore. It feels warped. And I don't know how they can turn it back into a story about Sherlock making the transition from great man to good one. I'm not convinced that they have an idea of what a good man is, given what they're letting their characters get away with.

Moral relativity is a thing, but surely it's not just me that thinks the BBC Sherlock bar for "good" or "acceptable" is severely and unrepentantly low. Like I said: there's a difference between morally grey and morally bankrupt. There's not even any in-depth critique about actions, no reasonable discussion - everything's allowed, everything's thrown under the rug of "I'm a sociopath! He's a sociopath! She's a sociopath! Everyone's a sociopath!" Not only is that boring in the extreme to watch, it's so unsubtle that it's infuriating. There's no examination of what someone's shitty remark or action means. There's no weight to any interaction. It's pointless banter. It's flimsy. And when anything goes, then by what basis can they be solving crimes and catching 'bad guys'?

The vision for the series feels shot to shit. It feels like the series' universe has become an absolute fiction, devoid of any consequences, lacking in insight, depth, and subtlety, and populated almost exclusively by characters who drive me to be empty of any sympathetic feeling. I know that it's perfectly possible to write hateful characters who are never-the-less engaging, who inspire sympathy and empathy. But this series does neither. Look at the characters on paper and they become nothing. They're empty. I struggle to find instances of cogent speech that reflect some semblance of a fleshed out character beneath the flaking veneer. It's like they're just spouting words, but the words themselves have lost all meaning. And even when I find a moment that seems like it rings true and clear to the character that's speaking (Mycroft asking Sherlock if he'd made a list of narcotics used was the first that came to mind), that poignant moment is directly contradicted by their actions in a multitude of ways (your brother's killer is sitting right next to you, and you don't mind). That's a man who loves his baby brother (emotional reasoning) who is fine with his brother's flippant murderer a) still breathing, b) un-punished, c) being all sassy and nonchalant about Sherlock's drug abuse, and d) hacking into government restricted records in front of 'The British Government'. THAT SHOULD TRIGGER A FUCKING EMOTIONAL REACTION. It results in the portrayal of an inconceivable level of self-deception and compartmentalisation that reasonable men with moral feeling wouldn't stand. The characters don't feel solid. There's no integrity to them. You examine their reasoning, their internal logic, their actions, and they crumble to pieces. That, or they're so two-dimensional that they don't stand up to scrutiny anyway. It's all contradictions -- but they don't make a beautiful paradox, they make a jumble of nonsense tropes.

Beyond my perverse observation of how... wrong they seem, how much they betray how they're straying from the vision of the first and even the second series, these last episodes have simply served to make me disinterested in practically every single character. This is a truly impressive feat when they were once among my most-loved. I feel so fucking jaded. But all of the crap is just piling up to the point where I'm literally just stepping away from this series. I'm figuratively and literally throwing my hands up and saying: you know what? Fuck off. I have a feeling it may be like a car-crash for me for the next few episodes -- "don't wanna look but you can't turn away" -- but I don't see how they could bring the series back from this. I can't be the only person that's feeling seriously, seriously wronged by this episode. I can't be. Burn me once, shame on you. Burn me twice, shame on me. Burn me thrice? Fuck. Off. I'm off to watch something that doesn't make me want to throw up and claw my own face off .

So yeah.

After quietly “breaking up” with the show -- think in the style of Jon Snow bitterly saying: “My Watch is Ended“ -- I semi-waited for S4. I say semi-waited because I wasn’t going to watch it. But I was still hopeful, at least a little bit, on the behalf of the people that I followed on here, that I met in real life, that still had hope for the series. I thought to myself: “maybe. maybe it won’t be shit. maybe they’ll explain what the fuck why the fuck how the fuck.“

As we've found, and as I've mentioned, from what I have seen from my tumblr feed tonight, it went about as well as I expected.

I still haven't seen S4. The last episode I watched was TAB. But from what I've seen on here, it's been a clusterfuck of queer-coded villains, and copious dashings of even bigger plotholes than before, logical blackholes, more morally reprehensible crap -- and so many inconsistencies, it'll make your head spin worse than the hammed-up cinematography.

So, I'm so sorry for the people that had such high hopes, and who were deceived and let down in a big way. I -- and all of us, I think -- know that in the greater scheme of things, one TV show that went to shit, as TV shows are prone to do, isn’t so horrible a thing. But this show meant a huge amount to me. It meant an enormous amount to many, many others. I think of the creative fan-community, so many hours making gorgeously complex filthy brilliant heartwarming heartbreaking fic (so so much better than what we received)... to have what spawned that creative storm of brilliance and engaging life-affirming work -- life-consuming and life-ruining (in the good way) in equal measure -- to have what brought these works about go so bad, it actually hurts. It hurts less for me now, because I'm much further away from it than I was a couple of years ago. But it still stinks. And if it hurts me, I can't imagine how much that'd suck to have the show you spent so long making intensive work around go down the gurgler. The fandom and the general community that surrounded this show, for the most part, were way beyond what it ended up deserving.

In further efforts to legitimise my (our) frustration and disappointment, I'll reiterate that engagement in fiction is a huge part of our modern lives. We care about what happens to these characters and these stories. It matters, for one thing, because representation matters (be that queer, female, moral). Media fucking matters. It mirrors and exaggerates reality, and they ended up giving us a steaming pile of bullshit. (In a positive metaphor, this bullshit may still be used as effective manure from which better works can spring. Just be careful handling it.)

But, I have to say, given the backlash, I am also giddy. Because people aren't standing for it.

People are still making up theories to excuse where the show has gone, and what they've done, but at this point it really is super-keen denial, which some have realised even as they speak it. But the denial, the desperate “surely this is a trick” reaction, while sweet in its idealism, is also really sad. Because I don't think 'The Show' is gonna come back from this. I don't think they can get away with what they have been putting on the screens anymore. How can they? I can't forgive them. And after S4? I'm getting the impression that most of the world who gave the slightest of shits about BBC Sherlock can't forgive them either.

But lastly, I just want to say: okay, it hurts now. It really hurts. I remember that I was going through some horrible shit when they first started fucking up this show. Really shit timing, Show. I don't remember much from that time, just snippets, because that's how the brain copes. But I remember saying to my sister in a fit of desperate honesty: "all the therapy things I read, they say you're meant to hold onto the little things that makes life worth living, that you live for, that you want to see and experience more of... But BBC Sherlock was that for me, and it can't be that for me anymore?" I remember so clearly it being a question because I was fucking lost and BBC Sherlock was my refuge, anchor, thing that I could cling to as a source of enjoyment and escape and engagement. And it disappeared, nonsensically. There was no beauty to the unravelling, it just turned to crap on me. So if I sound like I'm being overly dramatic, trust that it’s coming from a real place, of just... complete disillusionment and disappointment. And to be not only without that refuge, but to have it turn into something grotesque that appalled me on a number of levels... that was just insult to injury.

“Breaking up with the show“ actually felt like a real-life relationship breakdown. Recently, I remember reblogging that post by alecslightvood:

one of the saddest things is when a show you invested so much of your time into and became emotionally attached to seriously fucks up and you are no longer captivated by it whether it’s because of illogical plots with zero substance, ooc characters, sexist writing or because the show kills off and treats minorities horrendously, and all you have left is this bitterness at how things turned out because something that once made you happy now leaves you emotionally and mentally drained.

and I remember tagging it: "it feels like being betrayed, the mixture of heartbreak frustration and disbelief, 'why are you doing this?', 'you're not who I fell in love with', 'you're not who I thought you were', 'you're not who I'd hoped you'd be', BBC Sherlock, I'm looking at you." Because my god, that descriptor fits Sherlock to a tee. I don't know what show they were talking about (the original post is gone,) but god that fits Sherlock so well.

I’m glad I jumped ship when I did (I actually mistyped “shit” there, guys, Freudian slip,) because honestly, I’m so so sorry for you guys that stuck it out. I had some closet hope for your wishes and genius plots (the ones you wove, not theirs) to come together in a beautiful climax that would justify everything. That would have been glorious.

But as it is. You are allowed to dump this show. You are certainly not alone. And I highly recommend it. The reason I’m pleased with this shows catastrophic fall (hah,) amidst the outrage and frustration, is because to be rid of it is freeing. To be rid of the quietly-but-growing-louder queer-baiting queer-bashing woman-hating show that does everything it can to insult the majority of those minorities who watch it, that insults the intelligence of its viewers with stupidity while screaming that it's the best... That's a good thing.

[socialattractionuk]

What is soft-ghosting and is it any better than your standard disappearing act?

Are you ready for soft-ghosting? (Picture: getty/metro.co.uk)

Red alert, singles: There’s yet another dating trend for you to learn.

Soft-ghosting is the new term for misery-induing behaviour, describing yet another way for someone to reject you.

It’s the creation of the people over at Bumble. The term, we mean. The dating app isn’t responsible for this awful act.

Basically it’s a lot like normal ghosting – when someone you’re chatting to disappears without a trace – but rather than entirely vanishing into thin air, the object of your affection just likes your message.

Yep, rather than responding to your messages, a soft-ghoster just ‘likes’ whatever you sent.

It’s ‘soft’ because it’s not as sudden a departure as your usual ghosting… but that doesn’t make it any better.

While with a ghosting, you’ll figure out pretty quickly what’s going on, a soft-ghosting seems eternally baffling. Did this person mean to hit the heart on your message? Are they planning to respond any further? Did your message not invite further conversation?

And then you’re struck by the horrible to urge to message them again, perhaps with a direct question so a ‘like’ simply wouldn’t make sense.

Either they like it again or they do a full ghost. Either option comes with a nice serving of embarrassment.

A soft-ghoster is often trying to be polite (Picture: Ella Byworth for Metro.co.uk)

Soft-ghosting appears to be an attempt at politeness, from someone who can’t really be bothered to continue the chat but doesn’t want to appear blunt by leaving the conversation entirely. But it’s actually pretty rude – a heart or a smiley face or whatever other one-tap reaction to a message isn’t adequate engagement. Can’t this person be bothered to just type out a message?

It’s important, however, to make sure you’re dealing with a genuine soft-ghosting.

If your message doesn’t really invite a response, that might explain the lack of one. Give the possible soft-ghoster some time to start the conversation up again. A day should work.

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Then, if you’re really keen on this person, swallow your pride and double text – this time making sure to include a direct question that requires a response. If the conversation picks right back up and flows with ease, you’re all sorted. If the person just ignores your communication, they were clearly warming up to a full-on ghost. If they respond but the conversation still feels half-hearted, ditch it – they’re clearly just trying to be ‘nice’.

Glamour also recommends giving your match a ‘clear call to action’, giving them a specific invitation to a meeting to assess their seriousness. Again, if there’s no response, move swiftly on. If it’s a half-hearted one, they’re clearly not that keen. But if they’re immediately eager, maybe they’ve just been struggling to keep the banter going. Easily done.

Just remember above all that anyone who makes you feel rejected and confused likely isn’t worth your time.

If someone really fancies and respects you, they’ll be clear in their approach and won’t waste time playing games or faffing about with the whole ‘who should message first’ question.

Leave soft-ghosters in the bin, along with stashers, submariners, and firedoor-ers.

Dating terms and trends, defined

Breadcrumbing: Leaving ‘breadcrumbs’ of interest – random noncommittal messages and notifications that seem to lead on forever, but don’t actually end up taking you anywhere worthwhile Breadcrumbing is all about piquing someone’s interest without the payoff of a date or a relationship.

Caspering: Being a friendly ghost - meaning yes, you ghost, but you offer an explanation beforehand. Caspering is all about being a nice human being with common decency. A novel idea.

Catfish: Someone who uses a fake identity to lure dates online.

Clearing: Clearing season happens in January. It’s when we’re so miserable thanks to Christmas being over, the cold weather, and general seasonal dreariness, that we will hook up with anyone just so we don’t feel completely unattractive. You might bang an ex, or give that creepy guy who you don’t really fancy a chance, or put up with truly awful sex just so you can feel human touch. It’s a tough time. Stay strong.

Cloutlighting: Cloutlighting is the combo of gaslighting and chasing social media clout. Someone will bait the person they’re dating on camera with the intention of getting them upset or angry, or making them look stupid, then share the video for everyone to laugh at.

Cuffing season: The chilly autumn and winter months when you are struck by a desire to be coupled up, or cuffed.

Firedooring: Being firedoored is when the access is entirely on one side, so you're always waiting for them to call or text and your efforts are shot down.

Fishing: When someone will send out messages to a bunch of people to see who’d be interested in hooking up, wait to see who responds, then take their pick of who they want to get with. It’s called fishing because the fisher loads up on bait, waits for one fish to bite, then ignores all the others.

Flashpanner: Someone who’s addicted to that warm, fuzzy, and exciting start bit of a relationship, but can’t handle the hard bits that might come after – such as having to make a firm commitment, or meeting their parents, or posting an Instagram photo with them captioned as ‘this one’.

Freckling: Freckling is when someone pops into your dating life when the weather’s nice… and then vanishes once it’s a little chillier.

Gatsbying: To post a video, picture or selfie to public social media purely for a love interest to see it.

Ghosting: Cutting off all communication without explanation.

Grande-ing: Being grateful, rather than resentful, for your exes, just like Ariana Grande.

Hatfishing: When someone who looks better when wearing a hat has pics on their dating profile that exclusively show them wearing hats.

Kittenfishing: Using images that are of you, but are flattering to a point that it might be deceptive. So using really old or heavily edited photos, for example. Kittenfishes can also wildly exaggerate their height, age, interests, or accomplishments.

Lovebombing: Showering someone with attention, gifts, gestures of affection, and promises for your future relationship, only to distract them from your not-so-great bits. In extreme cases this can form the basis for an abusive relationship.

Microcheating: Cheating without physically crossing the line. So stuff like emotional cheating, sexting, confiding in someone other than your partner, that sort of thing.

Mountaineering: Reaching for people who might be out of your league, or reaching for the absolute top of the mountain.

Obligaswiping: The act of endlessly swiping on dating apps and flirt-chatting away with no legitimate intention of meeting up, so you can tell yourself you're doing *something* to put yourself out there.

Orbiting: The act of watching someone's Instagram stories or liking their tweets or generally staying in their 'orbit' after a breakup.

Paperclipping: When someone sporadically pops up to remind you of their existence, to prevent you from ever fully moving on.

Preating: Pre-cheating - laying the groundwork and putting out feelers for cheating, by sending flirty messages or getting closer to a work crush.

Prowling: Going hot and cold when it comes to expressing romantic interest.

R-bombing: Not responding to your messages but reading them all, so you see the 'delivered' and 'read' signs and feel like throwing your phone across the room.

Scroogeing: Dumping someone right before Christmas so you don't have to buy them a present.

Shadowing: Posing with a hot friend in all your dating app photos, knowing people will assume you're the attractive one and will be too polite to ask.

Shaveducking: Feeling deeply confused over whether you're really attracted to a person or if they just have great facial hair.

Sneating:When you go on dates just for a free meal.

Stashing: The act of hiding someone you're dating from your friends, family, and social media.

Submarineing: When someone ghosts, then suddenly returns and acts like nothing happened.

V-lationshipping:When someone you used to date reappears just around Valentine's Day, usually out of loneliness and desperation.

You-turning: Falling head over heels for someone, only to suddenly change your mind and dip.

Zombieing: Ghosting then returning from the dead. Different from submarineing because at least a zombie will acknowledge their distance.

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