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iluvtv · 6 years ago

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“I Sleep in a Bed but I’m Homeless” and other contradictions in terms

Last month Donald Glover curated a media moment. He hosted Saturday Night Live while his alter ego Childish Gambino simultaneously appeared as the musical guest. All the while (to much social media fanfare) he dropped a music video chock full of divisive commentary on racism in America. In my opinion this wonderfully creative and crucial social commentary rattled the masses far more than I think they should have. I'm startled by the possibility that one could "be here now” and still be surprised that This is America.

Point being though, that during a spring weekend’s naughtiest hours in 2018 Glover did what he did best — worked. And in doing so his art (as it is wont to do) challenged us. In just a little over and hour this legendary genius gave us everything he has to offer. He made us laugh, taught us something and kept up his now signature cocky air. Reaffirming that while he will provide his brilliance for us to share and learn from it is not exactly for us.

In an incredible New Yorker interview by the fabulous Tad Friend earlier this year Glover explains; “If ‘Atlanta’ was made just for black people, it would be a very different show. But I can’t even begin to tell you how, because blackness is always seen through a lens of whiteness—the lens of what white people can profit from at that moment. That hasn’t changed through slavery and Jim Crow and civil-rights marches and housing laws and ‘We’ll shoot you.’ Whiteness is equally liquid, but you get to decide your narrative.” For the moment, he suggested, white America likes seeing itself through a black lens. “Right now, black is up, and so white America is looking to us to know what’s funny.”

But before we go that deep, early in that SNL episode there was his monologue. Through this caricature of himself Glover pokes fun at the man he presents in this interview. By claiming there is "nothing he can't do" while failing at everything, subsequently puking into a clarinet and repeatedly bringing up his rejection from SNL many careers ago, he delivers audiences a humbler version of himself. This is notable because even if the farce is egotistical what he's actually playing is failure. Was this by a cast writer's design to mock his arrogance or did he write every word himself?

Neither would surprise me. After greedily consuming Atlanta’s first season (Hulu why must you wait so long to give me new FX seasons?) and then studying the media image Glover presents I see he is his own anomaly.

Confident, worried, scared, brave, untouchable and sensitive. Through his thoughtful creativity he has (for the most part) been given permission to be whomever he wants.

We all will agreeably, eagerly (and even gluttonously) accept all of it.

He didn’t always believe this would be possible. When he first pitched Atlanta he was certain this wouldn’t be the case at all but FX surprised him. In the New Yorker interview the producers explain:

“The parts that you’re worried we’re going to think are too weird—lean into those.”

From its onset I suppose Atlanta can be read as sad. A sort of devastating drama on race and poverty and violence. And while this is clearly a trap story there is an almost inexplicable, deep seeded sense of satire that feels both simultaneously impossible to pinpoint or ignore.

In imagery and experiences (which more often than not trend more towards metaphors than reality) Atlanta challenges me. I just can’t get enough but I also can't help but feel like most of the time I don't totally get it. And this is just the tip of the iceberg in the long series of anomalies which like Glover himself comprise Atlanta. At the end of the day am I just too white, slightly too old (and more to the point un -hip) or was this confusion just the purpose?

FX Chief John Landgraf explains to the New Yorker, “Donald and his collaborators are making an existential comedy about the African-American experience, and they are not translating it for white audiences.”

There is a consistent underlying dichotomy in all of Atlanta's odd stories and part of it I suppose is an assumed understanding between the white coastal viewer and Glover that we are only partially in on the joke.

Presenting this dichotomy, Atlanta begins introducing Earn (Glover) and Van’s (Zazzie Beetz) relationship which while terribly charming is equal parts fleeting. Seconds into a relaxed and loving scenes their relationship just as quickly turns contentious.

We watch this pattern repeat again and again.

The pilot episode continues in this vein introducing relationship dynamics before revealing a storyline or history.

We meet Earn’s fed up parents. Friendly enough but annoyed that their adult son is always asking for money, oh and also that he doesn't flush.

Earn: "That wasn't me."

Mom: "That was you. I checked. You better start eating some real food and not all these candies and cookies..."

We are introduced to my favorite character, Darius (Lakeith Stanfield) wearing only an apron while baking cookies. He also has guns and a butcher knife.

We witness the first of many racial power dynamics as Earn takes his cousin Alfred’s (Brian Tyree Henry) tape to a white DJ “buddy”, hoping if he can get Al’s alter ego Paperboi radio time he'll be able to convince his cousin to give him work representing Paperboi. It is here we see some dumb white kid front as though he is "hard" using language he would never use in front of any black man he found intimidating. Because Earn is not intimidating. In the face of this obnoxious DJ Earn is unassuming, friendly and essentially desperate all the while ignoring the terrible behavior of a stereotypical white millennial’s crude attempt to impress his "nigga" while completely refusing to throw Earn a bone by spinning Paperboi's first single. It is noteworthy throughout this season just how child like un-intimidting the character Glover has created for himself is.

Later when Earn manipulates things in his own favor he asks an older black janitor if this rude white DJ has ever said "nigga" in front of him.

The janitor is stunned by the very thought!

But this is who Earn is. Friend describes it as such: “Atlanta” broke rules that most viewers hadn’t quite realized were rules. In comedies, jokes are underlined by closeups, but Atlanta’s camera stayed aloof, serving not as an exclamation point but as a neutral bystander. The characters didn’t have histrionic reactions to the problem of the week; they just gave up a little more. Earn was an antihero, as is now customary, but, unlike Don Draper or Walter White or Olivia Pope, he wasn’t an expert in anything. He wasn’t a great manager or a great part-time boyfriend or, for that matter, a particularly promising human being. Curiously boyish in shorts and a backpack, he wasn’t even active, the minimal standard for television characters. He didn’t seem to do or want anything. He just watched and flinched and got yelled at to grow up.”

The episode ends with the show's first of many very obvious forays into existential surrealism. The way Atlanta plays with fantasy is very fresh and new and brave and often completely impossible to fully comprehend forcing me to wonder why I only took a handful of philosophy courses in college?

But aren’t those courses just an antidote of the privileged white youth’s confusion?

That and marijuaina.

Again, Friend addresses this discussing Glover's complete willingness to fail where other black television revolutionaries are wary.

“This sensibility is singular yet recognizable. Just as John Cheever’s epiphanies and apologias were stamped by drink and Paul Bowles’s hallucinatory quietude by hashish, so “Atlanta” ’s vibe is molded by weed. There’s a goofiness to the action, a dreamy awareness that reality is untrustworthy right now, but hold up, try this edible. Recognizing that quality, Lakeith Stanfield told me, “I decided to play Darius as a high version of myself. And now he’s become all the fantastical elements of Atlanta condensed into one person—this gateway to Freakville.”

Half way through the pilot we find Earn on a bus with his sleeping daughter opening up to a well dressed black man in a suit about feeling like a loser. "Am I just there to make things easier for winners?” he asks.

The man sits listening patiently on this bus seat, all the while making a Nutella sandwich. "Just a symptom of the way things are," he explains to Earn "actual victor belongs to those who simply do not seek failure."

He forces a bite of his chocolate bus sandwich on Earn and then just as quickly disappears, only the tub of Nutella remains.

And abruptly the episode closes where it began, realizing the reason why the first scene was so confusing is only because it was actually the end. None of these characters were lying or being intentionally evasive, rather the drama which opened Atlanta had not yet ensued. And while it is still rather unclear, on some level even the whitest and most sheltered kids (those who can comfortably say the N word around very specific audiences) understand this rhetoric just enough and those who grew up in the trap world of Atlanta could probably write their philosophy dissertations on the scene.

As an audience we continue to ride out their drama into episode two. Conveniently, the coinciding moments of Alfred's arrest and his radio debut have vaulted him to instant fame all while housed in the relatively newsless space of jail.

When Darius comes to bail him out even the cops ask if they can pose for selfies with Paperboi. A beautiful moment of social commentary on race, class and most importantly fame.

Meanwhile, not-famous and mostly useless Earn stays stuck in jail which lends itself to one of the saddest satirical series of scenes I have ever seen. Think Orange Is The New Black but really, really funny or maybe really, really miserable and also just so exactly where any of us (even the more privileged white girls) might end up for a few hours after a really, really bad night.

Fortunately I never have but I will take Atlanta at it's (sur)real(ist) word.

When Earn is told by the guard he cannot sleep he is baffled.

“Everyone sleeps."

To which he is told, "If you wanted to sleep you should have thought about that before you came to jail."

This dysfunction is further magnified by the token insane guy who apparently gets locked up on a near weekly basis. While his absolutely pathological behavior at first prompts laughs from the rest of the men waiting in lock-down they also all just sit there and quietly watch as the guards kick his ass and drag him off to solitary.

To the repeat offenders this is normal behavior.

Earn, like myself seems less comfortable with this violence.

Meanwhile, Alfred due to newfound Paperboi fame is suffering his own violent satire.

On a walk through his projects he sees a kid with a toy gun shooting at his friends. They are playing a game of pretend in which the male child is Paperboi.

Alferd observes this. The kid, through clear admiration of his alter ego pretends to shoot down his little girlfriend. She feigns death just as the children's mother comes out to yell at the children, asserting to these small black bodies that they should "just say no to guns"

Overwhelmed, and clearly experiencing a myriad of emotions from the last 24 hours Al approaches the family and argues to the children that "shooting people ain't cool." At first the mother is stand-offish and annoyed at his presence but once he admits he is the very same rapper whom they are make-believing about the mood shifts. Instantaneous hilarity ensues as she is suddenly very interested in this infamous man. Momma comes on hard posing Al with the family for photographs. She is genuine comic relief "now one with my head on yo chest," she says as she snuggles in. And even Al who was out for a walk to escape the fresh madness his single has suddenly created seems calmed -- his comfort level with being viewed as violent has shifted now that it is getting him some pussy.

Likewise, the mother is now completely comfortable with the children playing “guns”, clearly sending the message that fame and more specifically hip-hop fame excuses violence.

This hypocrisy so clearly mirrors that of the prison guards from earlier and sadly represents America’s reality. If everyone from the single Mothers in the ghetto to the police are down with rappers using guns it must be OK, right? And folks were even remotely shocked by Gambino’s music video which debuted nearly two years later?!

The episode closes when Van finally bails Earn out of jail. It is unsurprising really that it is left on the woman to pull through and protect the men. I find that this aspect of American reality is more often acknowledged in African American and other ethnic popular culture than in white. This is too bad really, as it is a remarkable reality which women are tremendously under-appreciated for. I too have bailed a boyfriend out of jail. I watched him walk out of the police station arms in the air, proud of his day. He also never came with me to Salinas to collect the title of my car which I lost to the county in the bail process (its a complicated when you are only 21 and haven't owned anything or held a job for longer than 2 years).

Appropriately, the credits run to Bill Withers' "Grandma's Hands," subtly noting the importance of the matriarch through a beautiful song. This also solidifies Atlanta's role as one of the best television soundtracks I (the generally music ignoramous) have ever bothered to notice.

As the audience grows more comfortable with the odd (yet perfect) stylings of Atlanta we venture into episode three armed and ready to address poverty as it pertains to immaturity. In real life Donald Glover and I are the same age but somehow he plays Earn much younger. Pop Culture Happy Hour Pod Cast discussed this episode at length, pointing out that the pathetic date Earn organizes to impress Van is actually just a very young man's attempt at romance. They argue that this scene would likely play out quite differently for the couple ten years later. Then again, Glover himself might come back at this this theory; pointing out the story he is trying to represent here is "the trap" and the assumption that the only thing which keeps Earn so completely suffocated by an up-selling, self-serving waiter is time is just a white, educated NPR audience being only marginally clear on the concept. I can see both sides to this particular coin while (as a white, educated NPR listener) also continuing to ascertain that Earn's overall behavior reminds me more of my 20 year old sister’s than my clique of 30-somethings (whom I consider millennials only due to some made-up falsehood of a technicality -- we are very clearly The Oregon Trail Generation).

Anyhow, this frozen-in-time youthfulness (as a means to escape poverty while actually perpetuating it) is already well established in our protagonist and immediately reinforced as the episode itself opens with him ordering a kid's meal at a fast food joint. No dice:

“I Didn’t get title of daytime manager by passing out discounts," the proud black girl behind the counter explains.

He begs for a water cup instead and settles on stealing diet coke from the fountain -- eyeing the hispanic janitor with a daring glance. He walks away in his short shorts in the rain and backpack, emphasizing either his pathetic-ness-- or just child-ness.

And as I so often did 14 years ago in the middle of the day he heads to Alfred's where they smoke blunts and play video games.

OK I didn’t play video games but my productivity level was essentially on par.

And somehow while reliving our own boring youths through this mundane existence of an ordinary day audiences are still terribly entertained.

Darius, our scene stealing, wonderful guru of a roommate irons in his bathrobe, pulling a gun out of a cereal box. "Just so you guy's know there's probably a bullet in here somewhere, “ he warns.

A drug selling story arc evolves between Alfred and Darius which in a more mature moment Earn is wary of due in large part to his cousin’s new-found notoriety (but how else are they supposed to make money?) however, because I am a white girl and the drug story in this episode just gets so fucking dark and also I can only bombard you with so much information I will instead focus in on the terrible date which Earn attempts in hopes to assuage Van's whining about his irresponsible behavior.

No dice

She's wary from the get. Even tries to refuse his invite at first but he begs:

“Can I at least buy you dinner and watch from the other side of the room? I can even get one of those corny ass dudes you like to eat it with you.”

He continues, mocking the guys she likes by mimicking her (always a good strategy when you’re trying to prove you are the preferred choice): “‘I love your energy. Your dreads are in a bun’ “

The two accuse each other of being their own worst black stereotypes.

“I’m in a bed but I’m technically homeless and love it,” she mocks back.

They giggle. Something about their terribly unromantic connection is just so terribly romantic. Or maybe I just really, really like when guys make fun of me?

There's a brief scene involving the gun between Darius and Alfred where Darius solidifies himself as my favorite character, absolutely proving unequivocally that the most simple men are also the wisest. He explains to Alfred that his “assumed perversion of the word daddy stems from his own fear of mortality.” sheer and idiotic genius. An utterly true and hilarious savant.

Meanwhile, the date Earn has finagled is not going according to plan. WIth only $63 in his bank account and promises of a decent happy-hour dashed he is just in a hipster restaurant in a bad neighborhood, springing for a valet, with a date who is luxuriously lapping us each and every ploy from their server to raise their check.

When Earn, trying to lower their overall bill in spite of Van's pricey picks asks for a "Miller High Life in a can," the waitress responds,"ooo we've got a hipster!"

Yes, us educated, white NPR listeners sure as fuck did try to appropriate poverty through the hipster movement, didn’t we?

You can get a $17 trotter hot dog at the bar around the way from my house.

Likewise, Darius and Alfred's drug deal has also gone all wrong. They have been led to the middle of nowhere only to find a gang of black men with chains, drinking Hennessy and hanging out in front of a luxury camper van chilling around a campfire. Here the woods are a stark juxtaposition from their familiar life in the projects and yet the forrest is surprisingly more menacing. Nothing safe about unfamiliarity -- particularly when guns are in the mix. However, even with a tied up guy crying in the corner there is this unshakable element of satire, ever present yet so difficult to explain or maybe even understand. An impending doom of hilarity is the omnipresent mark of all Atlanta scenes.

But just as the episode grows darker and all of our protagonists’ immaturity increasingly complicates their situations the resourcefulness these young men have learned growing up without means also manages to save them.

At the end of the day nobody wins -- and the best laugh is when the homeless guy working as the restaurant’s (off market) valet runs into the fancy restaurant to warn a random white man in an expensive suit that his car is being towed prompting the two polar-opposite gentlemen to race outside in excited collusion. This sudden impromptu camaraderie is just a downright hilarious aside.

But in a true test to it’s sitcom roots, Atlanta holds to the rule that come episode four nothing much is really permissible to change so in spite of tremendous havoc nobody really loses. At the end of the day Earn solves the problem of the expensive date by reporting his debit card stolen and Darius and Alfred don't die.

Maybe even the homeless valet got a tip.

In both a sitcom’s writers room and in the trap, everybody's just trying to survive.

The following episode The Streisand Effect continues this exploration of survival. We peer through the lens into fame and notoriety wondering if success built through any means necessary, driven by the sheer desire to survive can ever really be deemed ethical.

Oddly, the querry reminds me of one tackled by a completely socially unconscious show — the Friend’s episode where Phoebe and Joey argue the existence of truly selfless good deeds in The one where Phoebe hates PBS.

The Streisand Effect centers a similar debate through a racially ambiguous asshole internet "celebrity" (aka troll) who causes an all out twitter feud (which Alfred brings to real life). Meanwhile an interesting story line between Darius and Earn play out as the two explore what one’s existence means when you are truly just surviving pay check to pay check.

There are other episodes I love more and will focus more energy into analyzing but here are a few of the very best, most stand-out lines:

Old bartender: "Guy was Smoking a swisher with no weed. He gave me the creeps."

Darius: "Chinese people short because of Genghis Kahn, look it up!" Earn: "In what? The racism book?"

The aforementioned troll (Zan) to Alfred (who is accusing his internet game of being pretty fucked up): "All a gang, we all just hustling"

Alfred: "I have to rap, I'm making the most of a bad situation." Zan: "You’re exploiting your situation. All of us are exploiting to make money"(hilarious scene ensues with Zan filming a paid child to spout filthy rhymes and deliver pizzas).

And if you are interested, this moment is discussed in greater depth on Fresh Air where, Brian Tyree Henry explains what this trap means to him.

We close with Earn teaching Darius that poor people don't have time for investments they need to eat today. This is a poignant moment where their friendship is solidified, poverty is explored and human nature vs. exploitation is left undecided.

Personally, I tend to agree with both Alfred and Zan’s views of exploitation though admittedly Alfred’s actions are certainly carried with far more integrity.

If you are particularly dense but have made it all the way to episode five, Nobody Beats the Biebs, you will no longer be able to ignore the absurdist tactics this show is employing to fuck with our perceptions of race, appropriation, stereotypes and popular music culture.

The episode takes place mainly within a high school gym at a celebrity basketball fundraiser for Atlanta’s Youth. Paperboi has been invited to participate in the charity game and Earn of course attends as “representation”. Noticing a gorgeous successful news anchor there to cover the event, Alfred ditches Earn and sets off to pursue a date (or at the very least an on-air interview). She immediately staves off both advances, letting him know that she knows him as “the guy who shot someone.” He insists that isn't really who he is and invites her to get to know the real him, "I'll let you interview me someplace real fly like Bennihana," he offers to which she retorts that she and her fan base aren't into the “gangster thing”, and blows him off fairly easily as the commotion of "Justin Bieber's" arrival has distracted the masses.

At first I assumed that Justin Bieber was one of the white guys in this entourage but as a feud ensues between Alfred and JB you realize that in the fantastical world Glover has created Bieber is in fact just black. Or at least appears that way to us. After watching the whole episode I can't definitively pinpoint why Glover created this racial fluidity. Was it a point about racial appropriation, common perceptions and stereotypes? Or was he just trying to fuck with his audiences? I can only assume that most of Glover’s surrealist style is designed to achieve all of the above (and more). Anyway, this Bieber who may be just as black in appearance as Paperboi, is definitely not just one in the same. Other than his outward appearance the Bieber Fever is the same douchey, successful, unapologetic and handsome man I assume him to be in real life (admittedly I know zero about Justin). In Glover’s world though he can pee on the floor in front of everyone and the general opinion of him is not even slightly affected. He is the Golden Boy pervious to social optics and to him (much like to the pretty newsgirl) Paperboi is "a nigga who blew other niggas brains out…” although he adds the operative “cool!" to the end of this statement. As the episode develops Alfred's hatred towards this pop sensation grows and they wage war on the court. Afterward Bieber offers a press conference full of "sincere" apologies for the fight. All really just a marketing ploy for his new song called "Justice," (a title with more irony than I care to unpack here).

Meanwhile, Earn and Darius are also confronted by stereotypes and racial profiling.

Earn encounters a successful music agent who mistakes him for a different black man whom she believes destroyed her career. In an attempt to seek revenge on this man she at first is very kind. She invites Earn into an elite circle of producers it is all very posh and excellent for networking and Earn laps it up, happy to play along with her confusion as long as this woman’s racism serves his needs. The rewards are seemingly high enough that Earn can turn a blind eye, joining a very specific brand of self loathing by embracing the fact that he is participating in one of the most frustrating and oldest stereotypes out there: "all you people look the same.” It isn't until she accuses him of undercutting her and pledges to ruin him that he tells her he is not in fact Alonzo to which she retorts. "I'm going to make sure you die homeless." He certainly seems to be on this path.

Darius' day is equally bizarre and yet also totally conceivable. His storyline is so unique I can't help but marvel over where the inspiration came from. It seems safe to assume it must be rooted in someone’s real life experience. Perhaps a news story that was mostly overlooked? I digress, he paints a dog (which it seems worth noting that in addition to being quite the homemaker Darius is a talented artist and his room is full of these supplies). Darius rolls up his painting and goes to the shooting range where he uses his art for target practice. Harmless enough, right? Not quite, a collective panic ensues. A white man calls Darius “psycho for shooting a dog” and tells him he has to leave, to which Darius explains that “a human target is just as specific as shooting a dog.” Which just seems pretty accurate to me. A Mexican guy joins in the bickering, he points out to the white guy that he shoots at Mexican targets. Stating more truth spurs further anger and an uprising is vowed. Darius tries to explain that dogs in his ‘hood are “fucked up (not cuddly pets)” but the range’s manager interrupts the men’s arguing with a shot gun,

“I told you rules before you got here ain’t gunna let you start no shit” he leads out a very patient Darius.

This scene is so fucked up. Its rhetoric on arbitrary rules and categories is so important while remaining on brand with the show’s satirical edge. It magnifies the fact that the laws of a black man with a gun are so, so different than that of a white man with a gun takes a very different and slightly less sinister spin on the all too familiar police shooting unarmed black men storyline. We also get a close look at how Darius is observed and judged. A recurring theme of Atlanta is the simultaneous invisibility and hyper-visibility of the impoverished and minorities.

The episode ends with Black Bieber's aforementioned ”sincere" apology, explaining he's been trying to be too cool lately which has lead to hanging with the wrong crowd. He offers his new-found commitment to christ and uses autotune to premier his new song, Justice. In the back of the crowd, frustrated and over it Alfred returns to his day’s start and gives picking up the anchor another go. She returns with the lesson we’ve witnessed all of our protagonists scrambling to learn for the past 30 minutes” “let me give you some advice, play your part. People don’t want Justin to be asshole they want you to be asshole. You’re the rapper. That’s your job”

So, in sum this episode features….

Black man kicked out of shooting range

Black man mistaken for other black man

Black rapper unable to escape media’s perceptions of murderer in spite of being recognized as an “Atlanta Celebrity”.

All the while a rich white musician is able to chameleon himself into an infallible black superstar for a bit of extra street cred.

There is a lot to dissect here, but I’ll let an ethnic studies course can take it from here...

Episode 6, aptly titled Value is the first one to really feature Van's story and give women a voice. I was immediately interested to see if a woman took the reigns in the writer's room on this one because even the tone is so different.It didn’t take much digging to find this from Joshua Alston over at the A.V. Club.

“Glover started off strong before a single frame was shot by bringing in staff writer Stefani Robinson to assist on the script, the first to give a writing credit to someone whose last name isn’t Glover. It seems like a little thing, but it makes such a huge difference to know that someone with insights about how black women communicate contributed to an episode that mostly consists of black women communicating and miscommunicating.”

It feels easy to proclaim that the tone employed in Value lacks the humorist sensibilities applied to other episodes but I have to wonder if that’s an oversimplification. Perhaps I just found Van's story so horribly relatable (she seems to have the same dumb (re:bad) luck as myself and the series of unfortunate events which befall her here may just feel less satirical when you’ve felt the hardships yourself? Maybe a black man from the trap in Atlanta wouldn't find other episodes this season as funny as I did? Maybe I'm being sensitive? (Though that doesn't really sound like me to be honest). Or, maybe while very, very good this episode just wasn't meant to punch the gut in the same manner a jokey man-centric 30 minutes does. Maybe Glover isn’t ready to tackle female satire. I'm not sure and it seems like all these assumptions could get me in trouble so in the interest of not putting my foot in my mouth (or pulling a Van) I’ll move on....

This episode centers around the drama which ensues when Van's old friend comes into town. Actually, in this case (as is often true with childhood girlfriends) frenemy is a better term. This gal-pal plays companion to NBA players which subsequently allows her to lead a very posh lifestyle. She is baffled by Van's far more humble life and makes her judgements very clear by stating straight off the bat the following three rather insensitive points:

“Sometimes I wish I had a kid and then I'm like ew, no." (preach sista!)

“Back in the day you would have made fun of yourself for still fucking with Earn.”

and

“Black women have to be valuable. NBA players fuck with me because I provide a service. I am worth it. I am cultured, intelligent...."

the implications here are thick and seem to cut very deep.

Anyway, as a passive aggressive fight inevitably ensues Van's girl does eventually bribe her back into frenemy territory, insisting they make up over a joint. They hotbox the bitch’s fancy-ass car and at first seem to be reliving the good old days but as is apt to happen when you hang out with narcissists (particularly in our social media obsessed times) eventually Van finds herself being forced into snapping pic after pic of her social-climbing friend who is dead set on getting that absolute perfect insta-shot. I have zero patience for this behavior. Actually, every girl who has ever made the mistake of forcing me into this game has quickly fallen out of my good graces.

Ultimately, the mess that ensues for Van because she casually decided to hit a joint a few times with her disaster of an old friend is totally comparable to multiple series of my own disasters. Fortunately for both myself and Van (we’re similarly industrious and independent young women) we do manage to pick ourselves up by our bootstraps and move on. But, for a minute suspend your disbelief that I too could create this sort of disaster and let's discuss Van's mess:

She awakens the next morning to a cell phone reminder that today is “drug test day.” This of course prompts an insane rampage as she attempts to figure out where to get “clean urine.” When both Old Friend and Alfred fail her she realizes she has a whole garbage pail full of her baby's diapers. A true renaissance woman Van creates a complicated process to extract the pee and tapes a condom full of her daughter's urine to her own thigh. In a flowy dress she heads off to school (making it clear for the first time that she is an educator of some sort).

The storyline then takes a quick veer from the very normal baby-pee-condom situation prompted by a basketball “prostitute” to a fellow teacher who approaches Van. This woman is beyond frustrated with one of her student’s. A brief aside ensues regarding a black child who has come to school in white face to fuck with his teacher (who is so mad she begs Van to help her deal with him so she "doesn't get arrested for beating his ass,”). It is a sharp return to the previous episode’s discussion of cultural appropriation, reminding viewers how inescapable race wars are for Glover.

Van declines to help her friend, she is on a mission after all. But of course, things don’t quite go as planned. A bit of physical comic relief ensues when she can't untie the condom of pee. She tries to rip things apart with her teeth which of course results in pee spraying everywhere (except of course in the cup for urine sample).

Desperate Van just admits to the principal that she smoked weed.

This is definitely something I would do.

When you’re honest no-one can fault you, right?!

Wrong.

Dissapointed, the principal explains that the county can’t afford quarterly drug tests anyway so after the initial one required for hire the samples aren’t actually sent anywhere.

Of course.

She levels with Van, “everyone smokes weed. The system isn’t made for these kids to succeed and you gotta shake it off somehow. I get it. But unfortunately you’ve admitted your drug use to a government employee and now I have to fire you. To cover my own ass as well as the schools’”

She gives Van a hug and one weeks notice.

Defeated Van, an inexperienced druggie tries to get more weed from Alfred who tells her she's “sloppy as fuck.” Which after the day she has had is just truth.

The episode closes with the same kid still in white face smirking now in Van’s class.

Again, somehow the female battle of race and class explored in this episode feels more sad to me than the male saga we’ve seen play out thus far

The closing shot of the sinister child in white face and my own history is undoubtedly playing into my interpretation. I will admit here that I have two equally stupid stories of being fired for absolutely absurd things that make zero sense. Once for rolling a blunt by request for my boss. A swisher of marijuiana which I didn't smoke and only procured because he asked. Another time a 28 year old woman claimed I was sexually harassing her. In neither case was I truly guilty and yet somehow believed that an overcompensated apology could fix things with the higher-ups. At the end of the day though everyone is just interested in covering their own asses. Again, this probably could be presented far more satirically and at times I am able to give these stories a bitingly funny spin — but not with the regularity one might assume.I suppose what I’m getting at is I know what it's like to essentially be so inexperienced with getting in trouble that you can't tell when to just shut your goddamn mouth. I also think that this assumed guilt is such a female burden. It is a subsequent and frequently overlooked side effect of the ancient historical annals of sexism. Perhaps if we can learn anything from “mansplaining” it is to always just take the position that everyone else just doesn’t get it. But then also just keep our mouths shut.

Episode 7, B.A.N has got to be the most hilarious, perfect, wonderful episode of Glover's premier season (and pretty much of all television of all time). I feel fairly confident saying its everyone's favorite. B.A.N which stands for Black American Network is (simply put) a fictional television episode called Montague; a black spin on a Donahue-esque late night “news” show featuring Alfred as one of it’s guests. The "fake news" premise on this show delves into the complexities of identity in our touchy PC culture and is in its own right more than enough to ensure side gripping hilarity. However, it is the commercials interspersed throughout this episode that really cinch the deal.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

The subject of the Montague episode, “how accepted sexuality is affecting black American Youth and Culture�� features a panel made up exclusively of Paperboi and the head of “Trans Issues.” Ummmm..... really? I’m already laughing

Alfred is being called out by Montague and asked to explain a comment he made on twitter, quoted by our host as such: “y’all N words said I was weird for not wanting to F word Kaitlyn Jenner."

He is asked if this makes him transphobic? Alfred is complacent, admitting that while he gets what they're saying she (Jenner) just isn't "important to me".

The white trans expert explains Paperboi is coming from a culture of exclusion and power; the black community has issues with power and masculinity more than transphobia. She calls him out on the layer of fluidity in his raps to which he uses the same line he used in response to the challenges posed earlier by the racially ambiguous internet celebrity, Van: "I'm just trying to get paid." The ultimate premise of this show is, after all, escaping the trap life.

Cut to commercial break.

And here is the gold:

Commercial 1: Black guy in a bodega being up-charged for a can of Arizona Iced Tea. The tagline: Arizona: price is on the can.

Commercial 2: A masquerade party filled with fancy black people drinking Mickey's forty ounce bottles out of champagne flutes. Tagline? Mickey’s: You're drinking it wrong.

Yes! This appeals to all my senses. I remember when I was 19 and 40 ounces, Conan O’brien, Swisher Sweets, 7-11 sandwiches and a bit of homework were evening staples.

Now back to our regularly scheduled programming:

A Montague correspondent is reporting on scene regarding a “trans-racial” black teenager (I kid you not) who self-identifies as, yes, a 35 year old white man. Ummm..... I hope you’re laughing now too.

As a black teenage boy he had always wondered why he wasn't getting the respect he deserved, "then it hit me,” he tells the reporter, “I'm 35 and I'm white."

Obviously.

We cut to scenes of our trans-racial teenage adult pretending the projects are the suburbs of Colorado.

He explains his Mom just doesn't get it. Cut to her explaining, "I'd love to wake up and say I'm Rhianna but I 'aint"

Which as a white woman I’m going on brand with the appropriation I mentioned earlier and I just have to say: “preach sista!” If I get to come back as anyone in my next life I sure as fuck hope its Rhianna. Sometimes I ask myself what would Rhi Rhi do? and then I remember to just do me.

But I digress, our teen’s response to his mother’s dismissal is to explain that they don't "realize race is just a made up thing" and he doesn't believe in labels. Unwilling to accept this “reality” he is presently working on getting (yes) racial transition surgery while also stopping trying to convince others he's not "us". Ummm....

Rather than argue he tries to show his community he is not one of them by doing incredibly stand-up white male things like turning black guys into the cops.

This episode came out years before the recent onslaught of social media documenting black people having cops called on them for doing very questionable things like sleeping in their own dorms but I still challenge you not to be laughing hysterically by this point.

As great as this storyline is though, who can complain when it's time to return to commercials?

First up a commercial break for Swisher Sweets (looks like I too was a trans-racial teenager). In the commercial all the actors are emptying the guts of their swishers to enjoy in between filming sets. Duh.

Quickly though, I want to admit that I am not doing this insanely perfect 30 minutes of remarkability justice —please watch! In the meantime though I return to Montague’s panel….

Paperboi admits to the audience he is afraid of being persecuted by the audience and does not feel comfortable speaking his mind. Our female white expert accuses him of being unable to have intelligent dialogue without spewing profanity (proving his point, of course). Montague continues by asking Al if he hates trans people because of his lack of a father.

If your head is spinning and you’re feeling ready to throw down you aren’t alone but Alfred handles the insanity with unbelievable levels of eloquence. He explains, ”It is hard for me to care about this because no one cares about me as a black man. Kaitlyn Jenner is just doing what white men have done since the dawn of time which is whatever the hell they want. Why should I care?"

He goes on to question where the tolerance is for him?

And yes, this is the crux of it.

It is far easier to speak out against intolerance when you are privileged.

The white expert agrees with his point but as is talk show nature Montague keeps egging for the drama.

All getting a little too real? No worries, we have a commercial to lighten the emotions.

Or is it just more sad truth?

First up we have a commercial reminiscent of the 1-800-psychic infomercials of my youth. A perfect example of selling an ideal to the impoverished rather than a reality, and media assumingThe poor are an easy target as they are so desperate for a solution out of poverty they can easily be taken advantage of. Sadly, gullible.

Or maybe it is me that’s sad and I just don't believe in magic-- perhaps my cynicism is the problem?

A man (I believe the same guy from the bus in episode one) is offering us “the answers we deserve.” He goes on to talk about chakras and crystals and the power to make his customers rich.

"Call now and you get a free juice and Nutella sandwich" he proclaims.

And now I'm even more in love with this episode.

Cut to a Dodge Charger commercial concerning divorce settlements which is too complex to describe but also totally accurate and finally the episode’s piece de resistance -- a fully animated Coco Cruncherz commercial with a “black Trix bunny" being beaten up by a cop because he is trying to steal the kid's sugary morning treat (which is of course just for kids). As the kids plead with the cop to stop he argues that age old tag line Coco Cruncherz is for kids -- harking again back to my youth and Saturday morning cartoon days when the innocent commercials with a rabbit stealing breakfast was not nearly as menacing (or realistic).

And just like that with a seemingly sweet cartoon we have jumped the line from dangerously sinister satire to downright sadness. Nobody wants to see a cartoon cop beat the shit out of a black cartoon bunny especially in front of a bunch of cartoon kids.

And yet its still so funny and important.

Close commercials and we circle back to our black teen dressed like a white man. Alfred can't stop laughing at him "You look like Fellon Degeneres!"

But don’t feel sorry for this misunderstood teen to soon. When the trans expert welcomes him, the kid uses his new platform to spew his own stereotypes, explaining that marriage is meant for a man and woman and men can't turn into women. So while he believes in racial fluidity he is totally close-minded to gender fluidity.

Obviously.

This episode and how it speaks to acceptance of other cultures is fantastic but the commercials and the garbage peddled to lower classes and minorities specifically is crucial. If I was an American Studies High School teacher I think I could develop an entire semester’s worth of curriculum on these 20 minutes.

Episode eight, The Club features our motley crew at a club and clearly miserable about it. As a woman whose personal anthem is George Thorogood and the Destroyers I Drink Alone I couldn't possibly find this more relatable. The only reason why Alfred, Earn and Darius are even at the club in the first place is because Paperboi is being paid for the appearance.

Since I’ve already managed to drone on for close to 10,000 words and supplied an overwhelming amount of both series and personal anecdotes, for this episode briefing I’ll do my best to just take a moment or two for a quick review of a few standout moments and trust that you, dear reader, now have obtained a certain level of Sylvie’s Mind Mastery to elaborate on the now all too predictable consensus: this episode is just as fabulously funny, sad, complicated and littered with omnipresent issues of social status as the next.

And now in side-splitting surrealist summation:

Earn on the dance floor with subtitles for his thoughts: "somebody smells like Wendy's Double Stack.

Darius showing the crew instagrams of a famous guy in the ‘hood who has a very fancy invisible car. Noteworthy: I thought Darius was just gullible at first but I clearly underestimated Glover’s dedication to metaphor. If you’re still confused by media’s dark comedy, magical realism, social commentaries on race (a new and now thanks in large part to Glover a very dominant genre) don't worry so am I.

Earn gets drunk enough to feel powerful and demand the money owed from the owner for Alfred's appearance and subsequently vomits all over him (sounds about right).

Darius has trouble getting through security after he steps out momentarily to blaze. Rather than put up too much of a fight he goes home to eat cereal and play video games (I'm pretty sure we will get married in season 3).

Alfred and Earn go to beat up the club owner for trying to rip them off (by now vomit free). After the boys finally obtain what they are rightfully owed they leave the club, at last drunk enough to be in a decent mood. While laughing and talking about getting food they are startled by gun fire. People start to run but most of the crowd is maimed anyway as a man seated seemingly on nothing floats by (in an invisible car, clearly) and mows down the crowd.

This is so complex -- Donald Glover has completely lost me and yet I am obsessively curious. What does this mean? What does it say about our culture? Did he just think it was funny? Does the invisibility represent the utter bullshit of an expensive car? It must somehow tie back to status and violence but what is he saying exactly? I’m wary to even venture a guess.

Either way, The boys escape to Waffle House for a post mortem with Darius. The men are still drunk and laughing, moods still surprisingly upbeat though if you know anything about Southern Culture the very fact that this restaurant is still serving speaks volumes of the gravity (or lack thereof) of the violent incident. Things shift toward somber though as the local news streams through in the back ground. A story reporting the incident clearly lays suspected blame on Paperboi.

"Fuck the club," says Alfred.

Indeed.

Last year Juneteenth was finally brought into the average modern white person's rhetoric through a "holiday special" for the masses from the very funny (and carefully cultivated to expand mainstream America's mind) Blackish.

Atlanta's take on the holiday is of course slightly more subversive. Certainly due to its non-network and later time slot it is more carefree and able to cater less to the masses. Nonetheless, I am certain that Atlanta’s episode managed to bring a bit of awareness even if the show -- unlike Blackish -- made zero attempts to educate the ignorant on what Juneteenth is exactly. It doesn’t matter though, because well... Wikipedia... Glover is smart to assume that his audience is woke enough to use their pricey smartphones to look up whatever they don't already know. Maybe I should learn to employ a similar tactic.

Anyway, on Juneteenth Earn leisurely wakes and bakes in some random girls' bed. When his alarm goes off he is rushed into reality, panics and dashes out. Cut to him and Van in the car where she is very unimpressed that he is stoned which plays out in a passive aggressive fight over the automatic windows in her car. Although we don't know where they are going or why, it is made quite clear that this is an important outing for Van, and that Earn is complicity playing along basically because they have a child together.

They arrive at a fancy house, with a fancy valet and a fancy black woman named Monique answers the door. "happy Juneteenth," she proclaims and then proceeds to humble brag her home "we have so many bathrooms!”

Her white husband Craig makes a grand entrance also proclaiming "happy freedom day."

This is already a very strange party.

Earn retreats for drinks which he orders from a very condescending bartender in an African print bow tie.

"Emancipation Eggnog?" asks Earn "It's June!"

To which the Bartender replies "nigga do I have to explain alliteration to you?!"

Earn takes his beverage and wanders through the looming home finding the white husband, Craig’s office does nothing to alleviate the strangeness. The room is full of black art which Craig painted based on one of his favorite Malcolm X quotes. He explains to Earn that black musical artists are a product for white American consumption and appropriation. He pours them some Hennessy and is baffled that Earn hasn't been to Africa and also does not know where exactly he is from.

Just a side note all this has inspired my own bit of spinoff commercial satire: We all know by now that gene testing companies can provide a great deal of knowledge for White Europeans but usually lack the same insight into an African person’s roots and thusly all their televised advertising features a white person drinking whiskey in the Irish pub of their forefathers or celebrating an ancestors Viking victory. I think it’s high time someone (Preferably Glover and not me because I’m clearly far busier) wrote a commercial with a black person talking about the slave ship he learned his great great grandmother was shackle on etc etc.

Anyhow, Craig employs a specific style of appropriation (seemingly bred from his own white insecurity and guilt rather than ignorance or hate) to black shame the unassuming young man he has invited to drink in his home.

Earn retreats, whispering to Van that the party feels "very eyes wide shut." (Which I myself hadn't yet noticed but once brought to the periphery realize could not be more accurate). Frustrated that Earn hasn't embraced her thing she asks him to “just once pretend that they aren't who they are so he doesn't blow this opportunity” for her.

He responds by bringing on what I’d like to classify as his very best "douche" (I know , I know, this is not the PC term) in order to impress the "very cultural" uptight, wealthy black people this party is full of.

Van seems to be binge drinking which, as is apt to happen eventually leads to a retreat for a bit of an overwhelmed bathroom cry.

Afterward she winds up outside with Monique who finally starts to reveal actual elements of her own humanity. "You don't think I know how crazy my husband is? Treating black people like a hobby?" And there it is — the thing I have been grappling with as I’ve attempted to blog this season of Atlanta over the course of a three-plus month period. At the end of the day it is safe to assume that the best I can really do is just repeat their story and really I have no shot at successful analyzation. Craig’s overwhelming analyzation is enough.

Van asks Monique if she wishes she had someone to confide in to which Monique responds with this equally telling quote. "It is redundant to be both black and sorry in the world."

With nowhere else to go they return to the party to find Craig performing a poetry slam on Jim Crow in front of his black guests’ and this is when shit hits the fan....

The party’s crew of valets find Earn and attempt to give him their sister's underwear to pass on to Paperboi (I can't even begin to understand why a brother would agree to this for his sister and I refuse to believe my ignorance is cultural). The gesture may be gross but it is relevant to this story's evolution because they have outed Earn as Paperboi’s “manager.” Monique's husband increases the awkwardness by bringing up the shooting. Oddly if memory serves this is the first time since episode two that the series opening incident has been directly referenced. Or maybe it isn't weird at all, maybe the whole point of this surreal show is nothing can be taken seriously enough to carry over to the next episode. Isn’t that the rule of thumb for sitcoms anyhow? Needless to say for the time being the fact that Earn is somebody and not the nobody Monique had assumed seems to make her quite uncomfortable to which Earn responds with spite. Fed up by a full day of clear hypocrisy he proclaims the very real observation that “this is all wack, its not real life and they are all dumb.”

Van rather emotionless attempts to drag her partner away, making it clear she knew this all along.

“Stop stunning on me about culture,” Earn shouts. “I’m not going to go back to Africa to discover my roots cuz I’m fucking broke. Stop being so black-able!”

We cut to Earn driving home. He promises Van (with eyes closed next to him) to call Monique in the morning to apologize.

Van opens her eyes demands he pull over and when he does she climbs on top of her man and starts banging him right there in the drivers' seat. In spite of it all they are young, have a baby and I think most importantly she is more attracted to his authenticity than the party's grandeur and faux behavior. The screen zooms out on the lovers in the middle of nowhere with the haunting lyrics of Chain Gang from Sam Cook and nothing seems so well earned and genuine than the freedom these two young black humans have to express their complicated love outdoors in Atlanta in June. Or maybe I'm just being romantic. So far as I know no one is actually allowed to have sex in their cars outside of their own garage.

The season finale like many episodes starts with Earn waking up in someone else’s home. While this is a recurring start I somehow missed the trend until now. Perhaps that is attributable to the fact that our finale stresses the relevance of Earn’s homelessness. In this scene he is uncomfortably situated in a bean bag chair and being chastised for fucking up whomever's house he has crashed at.

“Where's my jacket?" Earn manages to ask a few times but the homeowner is too distracted with the destruction Earn has caused. So Earn leaves and calls Alfred who also has no idea where the jacket is. This is clearly a bummer for Earn but great news on my end. The missing clothing means we have some 20 odd minutes ahead to enjoy Earn retracing the steps of a wasted night. This is a plot premise I have adored ever since Ashton Kutcher spoke to my very sensible 17-year-old- stoner- humor in Dude Where's My Car. I haven't watched the film in years and I know it gets a bad rap but I'd be hard pressed to believe that it doesn't stand the test of time. Since this is Atlanta though the surrealism is even more omnipresent than similar story arcs.

As Earn travels through his home-town (True to its name Atlanta has remained one of the most crucial characters throughout the season) he notices that everyone is dressed as cows. He asks a stranger why the costumes "Free chicken sandwich day nigga,” he’s told

Duh.

So Earn gets his sandwich and in true Dude form heads to the strip club to see if his jacket might be there. Maybe Glover was also a fan of this fine film— we are the same age after all.

A wonderfully awkward and funny scene ensues where Earn tries to describe one stripper who might have his jacket to another stripper.

Largely unsuccessful (how does one describe one generic stripper to another?) the girl is more preoccupied anyhow, her focus being on getting herself cast in a Paperboi video.

Defeated, he defers to last night’s snapchat stories to recall where he went next. Had this technology existed 15 years ago maybe the Dudes also could have found their cars in 27 minutes.

Frustrated by his snaps, Earn instead goes to chastise Alfred for his inappropriate "stories" but Al explains social media is important work. "Rappers make money on appearances" to which Earn reaffirms it is a bad idea.

Darius chimes in "That's black people's number one problem, they don't know how to have fun."

"I don't think that's our number one problem," Earn says to which I laugh out loud.

And then I laugh again just reading my notes on this episode. And then again during editing. I am proud of Earn for this comment. For the most part he tends to be slower than his buddies when it comes to off the cuff quips.

In a stalemate, Earn defers to ridesharing apps. And even though I'm pretty sure Uber does not actually work this way Alfred is able to call last night's car to try to locate Earn's jacket. Yes, this affirms it, late 90's technology or the lack there of is the only thing that made Dude realistic (to which of course I understand it still wasn't at all but... y'know....).

Alfred agrees to pay the 50 dollars the Uber driver demands for the chore but is annoyed that he is back to bailing out his cousin. They sit in the car stoned and discuss Jamaican food in a relatable way that will make any stoner smile.

Then something big finally happens for Alfred. Something that could carry over to season 2 or slide into another dream like fantasy never to be mentioned again (both viable options given the strikingly realistic and terribly fantastical world Atlanta has created). Earn gets a call from a famous rapper, Senator K, requesting Paperboi open for his upcoming tour

But before they can get too excited Alfred says "something here is off" and tries to bail. Just then an undercover van pulls the group over.

The group of black men are then patted down for seemingly no reason and asked if they are tring to purchase illegal things from the driver.

Just a jacket they claim.

A small chase scene ensues and the Uber driver is shot down.

And now there is a dead man wearing Earn's jacket.

Earn looks devastated he tells the cops he left something “in there. Can they check the pockets?”

No dice.

So Alfred tries to cheer him up, gives him a roll of cash -- his 5% on the tour deal, affirms that Earn finally “did good.”

But Earn just awkwardly walks away, defaulting to his defeated little kid look in his short shorts and his backpack. He Stops briefly to dump a rock out of his shoe and then goes to Van's and cooks a family dinner. It is a brief sweet moment, interrupted by a friend stopping by to drop off Earn's key. "I've been looking for this all day." he tells him. The proverbial “car” has been retrieved.

Finally at ease Earn and Van retreat to the couch where he gives her the roll of cash. He really does want to support her. There is another sweet moment as the two lie on the couch laughing at how bad of a drug dealer he would be and she asks him to stay but again like a kid he and his back pack leave.

There is something sweet and promising here. A rarity in this funny but often self-defeating show.

Rather than use his friends and family Earn steps out— finally on his own for the night.

He goes to a storage unit and opens it with the key he spent the day looking for. We finally see that Earn is not entirely without a home. This lonely unit with a couch is what he has and clearly why he is consistently waking in other people's spaces. He takes off his shoe, and we realize he wasn't dumping a rock at all but using his sneaker as a bank. No matter, weather shaking out a pebble or stocking cash taking his shoe off in the street earlier must have been Earn’s first sense of relief this season.

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sockparade · 4 years ago

Text

the gap

(CNN: Minneapolis Police Department's Third Precinct was set on fire by protestors during the night of May 28, 2020)

This is maybe a mark of my persistent immaturity, but I’m slowly (probably too slowly) realizing that I’ve mistaken my individual god-given ability to form an opinion to mean that I’m the actual audience for everything. I don’t know if it has to do with the exorbitant number of hours in my childhood that I spent watching TV and reading books instead of living in real life. Or whether it’s my self-centered nature that I just never grew out of. Or perhaps it’s the unshakeable result of my young adulthood being bathed in the explosion of social media where every platform (AIM, AsianAvenue, Xanga, Geocities, Wordpress, Yelp, Flickr, Tumblr, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram) seemed like another microphone specifically designed to help me share my reaction, review, or analysis about everything I could possibly encounter in my life.

Part of me wonders if I am maybe too eager to be off the hook, but Jia Tolentino makes a pretty compelling case for that last reason in her delightful but at times painful collection of essays, Trick Mirror: Reflections on Self Delusion.

Here are two incredibly insightful excerpts from her essay, “The I in the Internet”:

“In part out of a desire to preserve what’s worthwhile from the decay that surrounds it, I’ve been thinking about five intersecting problems: first, how the internet is built to distend our sense of identity; second, how it encourages us to overvalue our opinions; third, how it maximizes our sense of opposition; fourth, how it cheapens our understanding of solidarity; and finally, how it destroys our sense of scale.”

“In the run-up to the 2016 election and increasingly so afterward, I started to feel that there was almost nothing I could do about ninety-five percent of the things I cared about other than form an opinion-- and that the conditions that allowed me to live in mild everyday hysterics about an unlimited supply of terrible information were related to the conditions that were, at the same time, consolidating power, sucking wealth upward, far outside my grasp.”

I think regardless of where an individual is on their personal journey with experiencing racism or becoming anti-racist, the events of the past few weeks have surfaced various realizations. That has certainly been the case for me.

I want to make an effort to write more about my process in hopes that it’s helpful to others who are also processing. I’ll start by sharing four of my realizations here.

The first one is really basic. I value my own opinion too damn much.

This sounds kind of embarrassing to say out loud but I had to take myself aside last week and give myself an earful. Haha, I know, that sounds like someone who’s been sheltering in place for too long. But in all seriousness, I really did have to chew myself out. It went something like this.

Why am I trying so hard to decide which parts of a protest I am okay with? Why am I trying to figure out where I land on some kind of protest supporter likert scale? It feels like I need a 50 question Buzzfeed quiz to tell me what kind of protest I fully support so I can feel less hypocritical and internally consistent within myself. It feels like I’m mentally creating some kind of Pantone color card deck for political protests and then holding my brain and my heart up to each swatch, desperately trying to find a match. Why?

Why am I treating such an emotional and painful protest like some kind of a la carte brunch menu I can order from? Was the protest peaceful? Socially distant? Were folks wearing masks? Did they obtain the proper permits? Did they cause any traffic or block any freeways? Okay but were any ambulances blocked or did anyone lose their job because of the traffic? Did the signs seem hopeful and solution-oriented or did they mostly say “Fuck the Police” and “ACAB”? Did they blatantly break curfew? But was the curfew announced with enough notice? Did they set any fires? Was it buildings or just dumpsters and trashcans? Did they destroy any cars? Were they cop cars or civilian cars? How much graffiti is there to clean up? Did it seem like the protestors provoked the violence or did the police? Do you have videos of that? Was there looting? Okay but was it just big box stores like Target that were being looted or was it looting of mom and pop businesses too?

Like I can hear myself ordering a protest like, “Yeah, so I’m going to go with the non-permitted protest but with clearly identified local organizers who I recognize. I’m okay with you leaving in smashed windows and burning buildings but if they’re mom and pops, can we make sure it’s only places with good insurance policies? Hmmm and maybe lemme add a side of major freeway blockage but only if no one gets hurt and it’s for less than an hour. Oh, and can I substitute the graffiti for dumpster fires? Oh yeah and can you also make sure there are catchy slogans on a few signs or cute pictures of kids holding signs so it doesn’t all feel too bleak? Like, why the fuck do I do this?

Why do I think my personal judgement of a protest is of upmost importance? Why do nonBlack people feel appointed to judge and assess the efficacy or nature of a Black Lives Matter protest? Why do we critique the strategy of a political movement? It’s like we’re that casual viewer of ice skating who gets super vocal with their crappy commentary on ice skating every four years during the Winter Olympics? Do you really think you’re qualified to judge that triple lutz? Get the fuck out of here.

Or worse, when the judgement comes out in a protective voice? Like, oh no, I’m worried the white people in power and watching at home are going to dismiss it because of the rioting and looting, it’s going to look so bad. That it wasn’t strategic to the cause because it was a bad look. Like what the hell? Why are we still protecting and upholding the broken situation of power being held in whiteness?

How many times have you read or heard someone say they believe Black Lives Matter and support the “peaceful protesters” but want to be clear that they do not condone the rioting and looting? Condone? Do people realize how condescending that word is? I mean, who is giving you that power to condone or not condone? Does the movement need our approval?

I was dizzy from reading the articles my nervous neoliberals friends (of all races) were posting on my social media feeds blaming the riots on “outside agitators” and anarchists. And then I started to read all the counter articles being shared about how there’s a historical pattern of this media tactic to blame rioting and looting on outside agitators, anarchists, and ANTIFA in order to distract and delegitimize the movement as a whole. And then Trump started to blame ANTIFA! Wait, why was Trump and my neoliberal friends agreeing on something? Was this signaling the inevitable end of the Democratic Party? Haha but honestly, I appreciated that dizziness and that panicky frenzy because it snapped me out of trying to rationalize everything and helped me realize that trying to figure out whether I was “okay with rioting and looting” was the wrong fucking question.

Delegitimize to who? What is the purpose of a riot? What would be considered the success or failure of a riot? Do we subconsciously think protests are at their core some kind of performance for us? An audition for our allegiance? A persuasive act to convince people to join their movement? A ploy to get politicians to change their hearts and minds? How have we gotten it so twisted? Since when is someone smashing a window an appeal towards intellectual persuasion? Isn’t it a clear signal that we’re past that?

I really had to scrutinize why I was reading so many different takes on rioting and looting in a desperate search to try to find a framework I could comfortably agree with. How many articles like “In Defense of Looting” (a really good article btw) did I need to read before I could feel confident in justifying my attitude towards looting? Like how oppressed does a group of people need to be in order to justify looting? Ugh. Was that the question I was asking? And was that really the best question for me to be focused on?

Eventually I had to say to myself, “Yo, you are not actually the audience for these protests and your opinion is not the most important outcome here.” I mean, yes, let me be clear in saying that it’s important for me to form a personal opinion so that I can move from spectator to co-conspirator in fighting and challenging racism. And yes, I need to put in the work to form a thoughtful opinion that isn’t just the result of scrolling social media for a few hours each day. I do think folks can cause harm trying to do antiracism work when it’s built on emotional impulse or plain ignorance. But at the end of the day my specific opinion on the ethics of rioting and looting is not what ultimately matters in this Black Lives Matter movement.

Why?

This is my second realization. Simply put: The rioting and looting was effective.

I genuinely believe that the images of people protesting in the street, the smashed windows and the buildings set on fire did something to people’s collective imagination. I wonder how much of the protests and riots were also a release of frustration towards an unjust economic system and a untrustworthy government. Was it just pent up energy or was it because as a country we saw 36 million people file for unemployment in the previous two months leading up to the protests? People will probably write their entire PhD dissertations on this topic one day.

No matter what the analysis is of the factors that led up to the protests, the riots are the reason why the protests received extended news coverage and brain space despite our comically short news cycle and atrophied modern attention span. The rioting provoked a shockingly unrestrained display of police brutality that lasted for several days afterwards. The gross violence (tear gas, pepper spray, rubber bullets, beating with batons, shoving, driving cars into, you name it) from police officers towards protestors (even the peaceful ones, if you’re still playing that game!) of seemingly all backgrounds was well documented on video and live-tweeted by individuals and the press (many of whom were also attacked and arrested) which I think drove more and more people to show up for the subsequent protests in their outrage.

I sincerely believe that the shift in power we are seeing right now is the direct result of both the visceral theft and property damage that happened in many of the riots across the country (notably not sparing wealthy neighborhoods) and the documented police violence against a diverse group of protesters. This change in power dynamic is evident not only in the conversations around the role of police in our country but also in the willingness of employees (at all levels) to speak out boldly and demand high-level resignations and changes in behavior. It has only been two weeks since the protests began but folks have already begun to tally its accomplishments so far. I’ve been honestly surprised by the reach of the protests, expanding far past police brutality, to impact tech, journalism, literature/poetry, food media, sports, and even leisure brands -- not by way of so-called “solidarity PR statements” but in resignations, changes in leadership, and super specific transparency about racism in decisions around hiring, pay, and promotions. The physical toppling of racist historical statues has so long overdue.

I don’t want to spend any more energy figuring out a way to like rioting and looting. I stand up for where it’s pushed our country.

Okay, I can already hear your pushback. But Becky, isn’t this using the end to justify the means?

Here’s my third realization. Yes, sometimes the end justifies the means.

This feels like it’s an awful statement to make publicly and in writing. It’s usually used to shut down an argument. And usually yes, I think using the end to justify the means can lead to some pretty terrible behavior and abuse like murder, terrorism, and military occupation, just to name a few. It’s probably the most common trope for Marvel/DC villains and their nefarious schemes. So no, I don’t think the end always justifies the means. And I think I’d generally still debate against it on an intellectual level or in an ethical discussion. But I also think about other stances in which I would also uphold it. For example, I don’t believe that an abused woman should be charged with a crime if she murders her abuser in an attempt to escape. And I will for the rest of my life struggle with the harm (historic and current) that has been done to so many communities across the world in the name of “spreading the Christian gospel” even though I still believe that somewhere in the bible’s pages is a true story of the world and God. Even if it often gets lost in translation and in money/power grabs is it still worth the end? Is it worth increasing access to Christian truths?

And if we really think critically, it doesn’t take long to move beyond these more extreme macro examples. There are much smaller ways in which we exhibit our ability to use the end to justify the means. Like maybe we wouldn’t argue with someone that it’s a defensible ethical framework, but it ends up being the de-facto ethical framework of our privileged lives.

Think for a moment about the way we use our iPhones and other electronics with such freedom from ethical dilemma while knowing about the terrible working conditions in the factories that manufacture them. We don’t say out loud, “Having convenient and well designed hardware to access the internet and contact other people justifies x number of suicides at Foxconn factories each year.” Think about how slowly we’ve moved to break up with Amazon despite countless, well-documented reasons to do so. We don’t say out loud, “Being able to get packages in less than 2 days at prices that are cheaper than anywhere else justifies the awful working conditions for warehouse workers who struggle to get adequate bathroom breaks.” What about the way we simultaneously grieve the destruction of the public school system but continue to choose to send our kids to private schools, charter schools, or out-of-neighborhood schools that have better ratings. Isn’t that using the end (doing what’s best for your kid) to justify the means (contributing to the continued racial and economic segregation in public schools)? We just don’t talk about it like that.

Look, I’m not saying I’m above it, I’m just identifying it plainly. We don’t talk about our privileged life choices out loud like this. It feels too shameful. But on some level, aren’t we essentially doing that calculus in our heads? Even if it’s subconsciously? Like we see the dissonance between our value system and some of our choices but then we say, “Yeah, I know it’s not great, but I guess I don’t feel bad enough to make any major changes to it? Maybe I can try to ignore it? Or make a partial concession to appease my conscience but not actually address the problem?” We certainly don’t label it as justifying the means to an end. I mean that just sounds extra shitty. But we live it, don’t we?

Wait, there’s one more.

Haven’t I known about police murdering Black and Brown people for years now? I know for some folks in our country the murder of George Floyd is the first one to really land in their consciousness. But for me, Oscar Grant’s murder was the first unjust police murder that I really learned about. (Sidenote: Believe it or not, I first learned about Rodney King’s murder and the LA riots because of Oscar Grant’s murder. The riots in Oakland prompted me to start reading and researching the history. I don’t know how I managed to not learn about it at any other time in my life.)

Oscar Grant was murdered back in 2009 (rest in power), the year we first moved to Oakland. What has been my ethical framework for thinking about police for the past ten years? Why haven’t I learned or read about abolition despite working in non-profits to improve the economic and educational outcomes for Black and Brown communities for over ten years? Why is this the first time I have been considering the call to “Defund the Police?” Do you see it?

My fourth realization. The argument against defunding the police also happens to be an example of using the end to justify the means.

This feels really ugly to type out in detail but in the spirit of inviting honesty in dialogue-- here’s what I think has been happening with me. By not educating myself on and joining the movement to defund the police (and the larger goal of abolishing prisons, the military, imperialism), I have essentially been communicating that while I understood that Black and Brown (and trans and disabled) people were being murdered and assaulted by police in disproportionate numbers, I personally tolerated the institution of policing because I felt that the police could provide some semblance of security to me (real or imagined) in the hypothetical event that my own safety was threatened.

I can see now that my apparent willingness to accept the status quo of policing in this country, shown through my lack of sustained outrage, education, and action was incongruent with how sick I felt about the injustice whenever I thought of it or encountered it in my work. Being an Asian female and living in a wealthy neighborhood has meant that I’ve had no personal interactions with the police. I have never had to call for armed intervention/protection. Those are my privileges and I had mastered the skill of compartmentalizing my life. And even as I supported local campaigns against additional funding being used to build new jails, as I advocated for alternatives to detainment for those in the juvenile justice system, and as I tried to build educational options and career pathways for young adults with criminal justice system involvement, I did not personally pursue a complete dismantling of a system that I knew to be corrupt, broken, and deadly.

My opinion was that Black Lives Matter. But my lived priorities, the focus of my career, and my ability to tolerate injustice did not live up to my opinion.

I think there was probably also a lack of imagination and trust on my part. I was far too dismissive of radical ideas that felt peripheral to immediate problem solving and I didn’t seek out diverse Black voices to inform my thinking and focused on listening to voices that affirmed my opinion. I did not invest enough time in forming an ethos for my career or for my personal life. I want to take responsibility for that.

So yeah, I think that’s the part we are less willing to say out loud. We’ll talk about getting rid of qualified immunity or imagine the type of training we think police need instead of talking about abolishing the police department under the guise of being realistic. But I think we do that because ultimately, we are implicitly justifying the means (the police’s racist and murderous behavior), for our mostly imagined, selfish end. Now that I’ve examined it, I find myself more and more able to commit myself to the movement to defund the police. And like most paradigm shifts, I’m finding that it’s informing so many other aspects of my thinking.

The question I want to pose to you is this:

What’s happening in the gap between the ethical framework that you espouse (i.e. your overvalued opinion that you’ll defend in a conversation or social media post) and the ethical framework that you actually live?

That gap is sometimes wider than we’d like to admit or care to examine. (Spoiler alert: The thing happening in the gap is probably racism, mixed with some classism, ableism and a fear of losing the comforts of your privileged life that you’ve managed to build/acquire in this capitalist setup.)

I feel like the work in studying that gap has always been important but it seems especially critical now as we’re pushed to form opinions and talk about our opinions with such urgency and frequency.

Henri Nouwen is known for saying, “You don’t think your way into a new kind of living but you live your way into a new kind of thinking.”

I believe that Black Lives Matter. And I also want to live like Black Lives Matter.

#black lives matter #blacklivesmatter #riots #george floyd #protests #defundpolice #trick mirror #jia tolentino #social media

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ohifonlyx33 · 3 years ago

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I don't think Mal really cheated on Alina... That's not how I read it at all? He saw where her destiny was taking her, convinced himself he was useless to her, believed they were on different paths because her destiny was to be the Sun Summoner and a queen, and he told her all this and that he missed her; but when they finally had a moment the time while they were alone to kiss her, she flinched. She flinched and that was his breaking point. He walked out instead of listening and that was the part where Mal messed up the most. And from that point, they were over. The way he broke up with her wasn't right, but it was a pre-emptive thing done out of fear and totally human. Especially when Alina had been acting so squirrely and he didn't know why.

side note: Alina didn't speak up because she was scared if she explained what was happening people might think she was going crazy. She was obviously having a hard time struggling with this. Likewise, Mal was struggling with his own sense of belonging, questioning his self-worth, and feeling alone whenever Alina wasn't around (especially as the only otkazat'sya). I don't blame Alina for letting her fears keep her silent any more than I blame Mal for shutting down because of his. We all have emotional needs that we want and need to be met. Sometimes when we are in a difficult situation or under too much stress and unable to think clearly, we act irrationally. Sometimes people behave in self-sabotaging ways. And that's what happened here. Mutual self-destruct. Mal was simply the one to push the red button.

Still. They were broken up. For a while, if I recall. For long enough for them both to go on downward spirals. Alina started seeing the Darkling more and growing seemingly closer to Nikolai. In fact, she almost kissed Nikolai too. And only didn't because he pulled away.

“Oh,” I breathed. His mouth was inches from mine. My heart leapt into a panicked gallop. This is Nikolai, I reminded myself. Pure calculation. I didn’t even think I wanted him to kiss me. But my pride was still smarting from Mal’s rejection.

[...] What had I expected from Nikolai? Distraction? Flirtation? Something to shake the ache in my heart free? Maybe I’d just wanted some petty way to get back at Mal. Or maybe I was so desperate to feel connected to anyone that I would settle for a false kiss from an untrustworthy prince.

And Mal started some bad habits, fighting Grisha and drinking too much, which he really shouldn't have done.

“What is he doing?” I moaned. “He’s going to get himself killed.” “He’ll be fine,” Tamar said. “I’ve seen him take worse.” “What?” “He fights here almost every night when he’s sober enough. Sometimes when he’s not.” “He fights Grisha?” Tamar shrugged. “He’s actually pretty good.” This was what Mal did with his nights? I remembered all the mornings he’d appeared with bruises and scrapes. What was he trying to prove? I thought of my careless words as we’d returned from the fortunetelling party. I don’t want the burden of an army of helpless otkazat’sya. I wished I could take them back

Letting Zoya kiss him, and briefly kissing her back was part of that downward spiral for Mal. An emotional coping mechanism after basically convincing himself he and Alina were cursed.

Then Zoya appeared in front of him. She flung her arms around his neck and pressed her lips against his. I saw him go rigid.

Push her away, I begged silently. Push her away. And for a moment, I thought he might. But then his arms closed around her, and he kissed her back as the crowd hooted and cheered.

He pulled away from her, grinning, his cheek still bloodied, and that was when his eyes met mine. His face went white.

Not saying it was a perfectly fine thing to do when obviously he still had feelings for Alina. It was still hurtful. But it wasn't cheating when they weren't together. And Alina even points out she almost did the same thing.

And what right did I have? Hadn’t I almost kissed Nikolai? Maybe I could find him now, convince him to kiss me no matter who I was thinking of.

I know it's a small distinction, but still... he did push Zoya away and went after Alina.

“[...] Alina, would you please stop?” I couldn’t give in to my hurt, so I gave in to my anger. “You’re the captain of my guard,” I said, blundering through the trees. “You shouldn’t be brawling like some kind of commoner!” Mal caught hold of my arm and yanked me around. “I am a commoner,” he growled. “Not one of your pilgrims or your Grisha or some pampered watchdog who sits outside your door all night on the off chance that you might need me.” “Of course not,” I seethed. “You have much better things to do with your time. Like getting drunk and shoving your tongue down Zoya’s throat.” “At least she doesn’t flinch when I touch her,” he spat. “You don’t want me, so why do you care if she does?” “I don’t,” I said, but the words came out as a sob. Mal released me so suddenly that I almost fell backward. He paced away from me, shoving his hands through his hair.

Maybe the break-up feels a little contrived to us as the readers, and maybe we know they're going to get back together in all likelihood... but Mal and Alina don't know that.

It had always been the two of them together against the world, and now things are so different. Alina has to be a Saint, Mal doesn't know what he is, and they haven't adjusted to everything. They're still trying to hide rom this big scary destiny and go back to being a boy and a girl in a field. But they can't. They are both crumpling under the weight of expectations.

“Then let’s leave,” I said wildly. I knew I wasn’t making any sense, but I didn’t much care. “Let’s run away, tonight, and forget we ever saw this place.” He let out a bitter bark of laughter. “Do you know how much I want that? To be with you without rank or walls or anything between us? Just to be common again together?”

[..] “I don’t know how to fix this,” I said desperately. “You can’t fix it!” he shouted. “This is the way it is. Did it ever occur to you that maybe you were meant to be a queen and I’m not meant to be anything at all?” “That isn’t true.” He stalked toward me, the boughs of the trees making strange shifting shadows across his face in the twilight. “I’m not a soldier anymore,” he said. “I’m not a prince, and I’m sure as hell not a Saint. So what am I, Alina?” “I—” “What am I?” he whispered. He was close to me now. The scent I knew so well, that dark green scent of the meadow, was lost beneath the smell of sweat and blood. “Am I your guardian?” he asked. He ran his hand slowly down my arm, from shoulder to fingertips. “Your friend?” His left hand skimmed down my other arm. “Your servant?” I could feel his breath on my lips. My heart thundered in my ears. “Tell me what I am.” He pulled me against his body, his hand circling my wrist.

My point being Mal was feeling lost to the point of asking Alina to tell him what to be. Sure the breakup was a mistake. But afterwards, they both handled it poorly. They were both hurting, both acting wildly irrational afterwards. Because their breakup was more about circumstance than and miscommunication than anything irreparable between them. They were both still in love with each other, both capable of hurting each other, but not in a relationship with promises to be kept. Eventually they calm down a bit.

And Mal. I supposed we’d made a kind of peace, but it wasn’t an easy one. Or maybe we had just accepted what I would become, that our paths would inevitably diverge. You’re going to be a queen someday, Alina.

I wasn’t sure where the words came from: “You didn’t fail me, Mal.” He wiped his damp hand on his thigh. “We both know better.” “We’re going to be traveling together for who knows how long. Eventually, you’re going to have to talk to me.” “I’m talking to you right now.” “See? Is this so terrible?” “It wouldn’t be,” he said, gazing at me steadily, “if all I wanted to do was talk.” My cheeks heated. You don’t want this, I told myself. But I felt my edges curl like a piece of paper held too close to fire. “Mal—” “I need to keep you safe, Alina, to stay focused on what matters. I can’t do that if…” He let out a long breath. “You were meant for more than me, and I’ll die fighting to give it to you. But please don’t ask me to pretend it’s easy.”

He puts aside his heartbroken feelings of wanting because they distract him from serving her. He gets act together and swears to be a blade for Alina anyway.

“Mal, tell me about the tattoo.” He was silent for a time. Finally, he scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck and said, “It’s an oath in old Ravkan.” “But why take on that mark?” This time he didn’t blush or turn away. “It’s a promise to be better than I was,” he said. “It’s a vow that if I can’t be anything else to you, at least I can be a weapon in your hand.” He shrugged. “And I guess it’s a reminder that wanting and deserving aren’t the same thing.” “What do you want, Mal?” The room seemed very quiet. “Don’t ask me that.” “Why not?” “Because it can’t be.”

And if here weren't already devoted to the girl from Keramzin, he becomes fiercely loyal to Alina, the saintly Sun Summoner. Even when it's hard.

“Then you’ll make a new alliance,” said Mal. “Sell my power to the highest bidder?” “You negotiate. Set your own terms.” “Hash out a marriage contract? [...]Hope my new husband doesn’t murder me in my sleep?” “Alina—” “And where will you go?” “I’ll stay by your side as long as you let me.” “Noble Mal. Will you stand guard outside our bedchamber at night?” I knew I was being unfair, but in that moment I didn’t care. His jaw set. “I’ll do what I have to do to keep you safe.” “Keep your head down. Do your duty.” “Yes.” “One foot in front of the other. Onward to the firebird. Keep marching like a good soldier.” “That’s right, Alina. I’m a soldier.” I thought he might finally crack and give me the fight I wanted, that I was itching for. Instead, he stood and shook the water from his coat. “And I’ll keep marching because the firebird is all I can give you. No money. No army. No mountaintop stronghold.” He shouldered his pack. “This is all I have to offer. The same old trick.” He stepped out into the rain. I didn’t know if I wanted to run after him to apologize or knock him into the mud.

And even though they're still not together, even though he still believes he has no chance, he still hasn't been with anyone else either.

I asked the question I’d wanted to ask for nearly a year. “You and Mal, back in Kribirsk [book 1]—” “It happened.” I knew that, and I knew there had been plenty of others before her, but it still stung. Zoya glanced at me, her long black lashes sparkling with rain. “But never since,” she said grudgingly, “and it hasn’t been for lack of trying. If a man can say no to me, that’s something.” I rolled my eyes. Zoya poked me in the arm with one long finger. “He hasn’t been with anyone, you idiot. Do you know what the girls back at the White Cathedral called him? Beznako.” A lost cause.

He even tells Nikolai to be worthy of Alina if they do get married.

TL;DR Mal's greatest mistake is presuming he's not important enough to be in Alina's life romantically instead of working through it. And that's a far more forgivable flaw (and frankly more relateable) than the Darkling's sins of genocide and sexual manipulation.

Malyen Oretsev Appreciation Post/Why I Prefer Mal Over The Darkling

Mal, in my opinion, is an under-appreciated character in the books. WAYYYY under-appreciated.

Mal is not toxic, he is not blantant, he is not bland. it is just the fact that so many people have started romanticizing toxic relationships that they chose to ignore his MANY good qualities and the only one of the Darkling, which was that he was good looking (which Mal was as well).

Unlike the Darkling, Mal did not make himself look like someone else to kiss Alina. unlike the Darkling, Mal didn't manipulate Alina into falling for him. Unlike the Darkling, Mal did not use an underage girl for his own advantages. Unlike the Darkling, Mal did not take his mother's eyes away (not that he had one, but like- yeah-). Unlike the Darkling, Mal did not manipulate and instill fear into his people to follow HIM.

And yet, somehow, he was hated. For what? For not accepting Alina's grisha powers at first? For cheating on her? That was bad, i know, cheating is not approved of. But The Darkling has done worse things, he's literally tried to sexually harass an underage girl, pretending to be someone else, stalked said underage girl, made his nichevo'ya attack said underage girl and so much more, yet you prefer the DARKLING over MAL?

Mal is sarcastic, he's funny, he may have anger issues and he may not be a big fan if Alina's grisha powers, but did you ever think that was because he wanted his childhood bestfriend and his love be safe?

Mal's good qualities were immensely ignored and his bad qualities were focused on just as much and even more, whereas The Darkling's ONE good quality, which was that he was handsome, was overly focused on whereas his bad qualities were so completely ignored, I failed to understand why and how?

Apparently looks matter more than morals and values now?

#malyen oretsev #mal protection squad

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marvelleous · 8 years ago

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waking up is the hardest goodbye

summary: “According to Radcliffe, May had been fighting her way out of every scenario they placed her in, waking up, escaping. He’d tried everything, even altering Bahrain, to keep her sedated. But it all failed. Until they’d transferred her consciousness to the framework. She’s been thriving.”Phil needs to enter the framework in order to rescue Melinda, but he’s afraid of what he might be taking her away from.

notes: someone posted a bts photo of ming with bangs to the philinda chatroom, and a thousand messages later, this story was born. also, this is everything that our fandom deserves, but probably won’t get, so here you go friends! thank you to itsamagicalplace (emma) for the title, and tessdebelle (stef) for beta-ing.

read on AO3

There are men bleeding out all around them, bad soldiers fighting for an even worse leader, but Phil pays them no mind as he and Daisy run through the halls, heading towards the last unexplored room in this god-forsaken compound. There is nowhere else; they’ve searched every level, checked all passageways. They must be keeping her there. Daisy blasts through the door but stands back to let him through first; she wasn’t going to stand between a man driven into desperation and the woman he loved. They enter the room, a lab, and sure enough, May is there, strapped upright to a vertical gurney, an oddly futuristic helmet on her head. Radcliffe’s murder bot had been taken out by Daisy earlier, but the bad doctor is there himself, arms slowly raising in mock surrender as Phil points a gun at him. “What did you do to her?” He doesn’t raise his voice; he doesn’t shout it with anger. It’s a question and he wants an answer. That’s all. But there’s something in his tone that frightens even Daisy; she’s never heard him speak like this before and it terrifies her. “She’s quite fine, Agent Coulson. Perfectly fine.” Daisy thinks that she sees Coulson’s arm twitch a little and honestly, even if he can hold in his anger, she doesn’t have to. There’s a memory in the back of her mind, back to a simpler if just as terrifying time. I’m furious. But I’m sure as hell not gonna waste it on a tantrum. I’m gonna mine it, save it… She had been controlling her emotions, trying to remain stoic, brave in the face of danger. If Coulson was coping, so could she. But now was the time to let her feelings out. She can feel the vibrations run through her arm, flowing through her fingers and in the blink of an eye, Radcliffe is against the wall, held back by the force of her tremors. She still holds back, keeps her powers in check; it she lets go, she might shatter every bone in his body.

It’s nothing short of what he deserves after putting their team, putting Coulson, through so much grief, but they might still need his knowledge. And so she keeps her arm aimed at him and turns back, watching as Coulson lowers his gun and tentatively approaches May, taking a moment to just stare at her, afraid that if he blinks she’ll just disappear. “What did he to do you?” he whispers again, this time to the unconscious Melinda, unsure of how to proceed. She’s breathing, the steady rise and fall of her chest is only enough to reassure him that she’s alive, not that she’s okay. He can hear the beeping of the heart monitor, see the even numbers; she’s resting, physically there doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with her. His first instinct is to pull the helmet off her, remove the restraints holding her there and take her in his arms and carry her away from this place. But as he reaches for it; there’s a shout of alarm that makes him pause.

“Don’t! If you rip her out of there it could destroy her mind.”

They already know Radcliffe is untrustworthy - Phil wants to ignore the man’s words, to take Melinda and get out of here, but he can hear Fitzsimmons in his ear, telling him to be cautious; that the doctor might not be lying.

“We’ll be at your location in five minutes sir,” Simmons tells him, and so they wait.

He can’t just stand there, watching her, so still. It’s not right. So he takes her hand, relishing in the warmth still there, his thumb rubbing soothing circles just above her knuckles. He can feel Daisy watching him in this vulnerable state, but he doesn’t care. They’d feared the worst, and even with all the hope that he had, there was a small part of his mind telling him that it was too late, that she was gone. The part that blamed himself for not noticing that she was missing; letting a robot masquerade as his best friend of thirty years for god-knows how long. He had been distracted, unfocused, too busy smiling, flirting and rejoicing at the possibility of her returning his feelings. If only he had realised sooner; spotted a flaw. If Melinda had been harmed in any way, if she didn’t return as she had left, he would never forgive himself.

It feels like an eternity to him before they finally hear the sound of footsteps echoing down the hallway, and another lifetime before Fitz is rushing in, Mack two steps behind, trailed by four heavily armed agents.

“Simmons is with the Director. He’s pretty banged up,” Fitz says, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand as he makes his way over to them. Phil can only give a curt nod at that statement, not even turning to acknowledge them, eyes trained on Melinda.

At first he can hear their voices in the background, discussing the events that had just played out, how to proceed now, but then it fades to indistinct chatter and eventually a soft buzzing noise at the edge of his consciousness.

He doesn’t know what he’ll do if they can’t bring her out of this safely. They have a copy of her memories in the form of the LMD, but after today, no matter the outcome, he’ll have his team destroy it. It wasn’t fair to Melinda, and as much as he loathed to say it, it wasn’t fair to the LMD, who, while a robot, could clearly feel all the emotions of a human. Better a quick death.

He lets his shoulders fall slightly when he feels Daisy’s hand on his arm, waiting for her to deliver the news.

“Fitz says that from what he can tell, pulling her out of the simulation could cause irreparable damage. According to Radcliffe, May had been fighting her way out of every scenario they placed her in, waking up, escaping. He’d tried everything, even altering Bahrain, to keep her sedated. But it all failed. Until they’d transferred her consciousness to the framework. She’s been thriving.”

Phil wants Radcliffe to experience the pain that Melinda has gone through for putting her through Bahrain again and again. She shouldn’t have had to relive that. He doesn’t want to imagine what Melinda is seeing in there now; in that fake world that exists only in one’s mind. But she must be happy, content, if she is no longer trying to leave it. For a split second, and no longer than that, he wonders if he should just leave her there, let her live out her days in whatever world she has built for herself, but that thought disappears before it can truly form. He knows Melinda. He’s known her for years. She wouldn’t want this.

And he’s selfish. For as long as she’s in there, she isn’t here, by his side, where he needs her the most. There had been a period of time, between Bahrain and his death where they had drifted apart, and then again when she had left S.H.I.E.L.D. to try and patch things up with Andrew. He doesn’t want to live his life like that. He doesn’t want to live in a world where she exists only in a comatose state.

He wants her by his side; rolling her eyes at his lame jokes, cracking a smile when she thinks that he can’t see. He wants those late night mission briefings where he needs coffee to stay awake, where he makes her tea instead. He wants to watch her work out, regaling her with his troubles or worries while she listens with all the understanding in the world.

He wants his partner back.

He needs her.

“How do we get her out?”

Ten minutes later, he finds himself strapped up beside Melinda as Daisy watches him with what can only be described as a mixture of concern and admiration.

“The only way to get Agent May out safely is to have her want to leave the framework herself.” Fitz had explained to them while glaring at Radcliffe. Phil honestly had been too distracted by everything going on to notice what had happened between the two; but he imagines Radcliffe’s betrayal must have fit Fitz the hardest, considering the bond that had been forming.

“How are we supposed to do that?” Daisy had asked before Phil could even open his mouth to respond. The possibilities running through his mind were endless, but he had only entertained them briefly before Radcliffe himself had spoken up from where Mack had restrained him.

“Someone would have to enter the framework and convince her to leave.”

Daisy had asked the man if he was crazy. Mack had answered that he was definitely crazy. Fitz had thrown his arms up into the air and started mumbling about the ridiculous of the situation.

“I’ll do it,” Phil had interjected, before their arguments could continue any further. And that’s when Daisy had really blown up at him. Told him he was being stupid, that they couldn’t trust the doctor, that May wouldn’t want him to risk his life trying to save hers. He had let her yell, just long enough for her to get those feelings off her chest, before glancing at Melinda and shaking his head.

“I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t try.”

Only then had her features softened, a look of understanding forming as she nodded in resignation before waving for Fitz to comply. Mack had just stood there in the background, not even trying to hide his judgement. He understood. Mack was just trying to look out for him.

“She’ll be really mad at you for risking yourself like this,” Daisy tells him with a sad smile, turning her head to glance at May. Fitz is fiddling with dials beside them, trying to get everything absolutely correct, taking no risks in a situation this dire.

“I’m counting on it,” he responds, forcing his body to relax. He’s afraid of what he might see in there, what he might be taking away from her. He’s afraid that she might leave with him but always resent what she’d lost. But he’s most afraid that she’ll want to stay, and that if she does, he’ll have no reason for himself to return. His team could live without him, but he couldn’t live without her.

“Ready when you are, sir.” Fitz says, snapping him out of his thoughts. With Daisy’s help, the helmet is lowered over his head, and he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.

And then everything fades to black.

The darkness lasts for only a moment before fading back to light, and Phil finds himself standing in the front yard of an unfamiliar suburban house. The lawn is neatly trimmed and the flowerbeds are filled with colour; he thinks that it’s probably spring here. Melinda loved Spring. He remembers one year at the Academy where she had broken into his room before sunrise, dragging him out of bed and forcing him to go on a run with her. They had stopped in a clearing in the woods that separated Operations from Communications, and sat down in the dewy grass together. He had picked her a wildflower and chattered on about how beautiful new life was, and she had smiled, running her fingers across the petals.

He takes slow steps up the paved pathway that leads to the front door. The windows are all closed, dark curtains preventing an outsider from looking in. He pauses by a window and examines himself; he looks the same, but the robotic hand is now gone, his hand undamaged, and he’s dressed casually, like one might be if they weren’t constantly flying around the world and fighting bad guys. He runs his good hand over where the fake one should have been, and shakes his head. It’s too strange.

Everything feels so real.

He stops when he reaches the front door, wondering whether he should knock or try to sneak in. This can’t be anyone but Melinda’s house, though it looks nothing like her old one in reality. He reaches out a hand to try the handle and finds it unlocked.

“Huh.”

He remembers the home Melinda had shared with Andrew before Bahrain. How they never bothered locking the door after she had returned from her morning runs. How he never had to knock when he came by. He remembers how he would always arrive early, just to see her for a few extra minutes, how Melinda had chalked it up to his fascination for being prompt. These thoughts linger in his mind as he opens the door and steps inside, closing it silently behind him.

The first thing that hits him when he enters is the smell. It’s morning, and someone is making, or has made, breakfast. Not Melinda; she’s an awful cook, in reality or otherwise. Pancakes or waffles, he guesses, but there’s also another scent, one that reminds him of home, warmth, comfort. A memory of his childhood home crosses his mind. He moves slowly, taking his time to observe his surroundings.

There’s a sitting room, right at the front of the house. The carpet is beige, as are the walls, which are mostly bare. It’s simple, just like Melinda likes it. A couch and two arm chairs are arranged, facing a television set, and a cabinet he thinks must be filled with DVDs. He turns and continues on his way. There’s a door to his right which he assumes must lead to the double garage he had seen outside. He wonders if Melinda still has her old motorcycle hidden in there.

He passes by several more closed doors as he makes his way down the hall. The floors are wooden but he doesn’t make a sound. There isn’t too much decoration here either, just a single painting in the middle of the hallway, between two doors. He recognises it. It’s the same one she had hanging in her other house - the real one; her father had painted it as a gift for her. It was an oil painting of the sunrise they had watched together when Melinda was a child; when she and her father had gotten up early enough to bid her mother goodbye as she left on another one of her missions, and they had sat out on their back porch together, to watch the sun slowly fill the sky with colours. It hangs above a small wooden table, sparse but for a white ceramic bowl filled with keys, and an assortment of knick knacks, some of which he remembers. Mementos from missions where they hadn’t been partnered up. A babushka doll from Moscow, a mini pyramid from Cairo, a figurine of a kangaroo from Sydney. He smiles at the thought of her keeping these; recalls her raised eyebrows and scoffs when he had presented them to her.

He slows to a stop as he reaches the end of the hallway. The sunlight is streaming in through the glass doors that lead to a large garden, making this part of the house much brighter than the darkened halls he had just wandered through. He determines from the smell of the food that the kitchen and likely dining room are to his left, and takes another step forward, just far enough for him to see for himself while still being concealed by the shadows.

He allows a small breath escape when he finally lays his eyes on her, the real her, for the first time in what he suspected had been weeks. He’d known he was going to see her, but nothing could prepare him for this sight. She has her back to him as she slowly moves her arms through the air. He always loved watching her do Tai Chi. She was relaxed like this, no tension in her shoulders, not an ounce of defensiveness present in her stance, The black tank top and tights that made up her favourite ensemble are so familiar to him, but here she is barefoot, comfortable in her own home.

She had always been so beautiful.

He doesn’t want to startle her and whoever else exists in this world to his presence, so he remains silent as he cranes his head to peer out and catch a glimpse of the kitchen. It’s modern, well maintained, very clean. There are two plates of food on the counter, two mugs of steaming hot liquid. But what draws his gaze the most is the little plastic pink cup; the opened carton of milk beside it.

Melinda had a family here.

A heavy, unsettling feeling washes over him. He was about to pull her out of a world where her life had turned out exactly the way it should have. He glances back at her and wonders how he hadn’t noticed the ring on her finger. Perhaps it was because he was trying to deny himself the truth. She was happy here. She had a child, likely a daughter from the looks of it. And he had to go and tell her that none of it was real. He remembers what he had said to Agnes; that Melinda deserved to live out the rest of her life on her own terms. Was this truly what she wanted? The life she would have had if Bahrain hadn’t happened, if the girl hadn’t died?

He’s so conflicted as he stares at her, watching her go through the motions. He knows her routine, he knows that it’s nearly over. He knows that this, will soon be over. He’s about to say something, about to step forward and reveal himself, when the sound of a door being opened in the hallway behind him has him freezing, bracing himself for what he’ll see when he turns. Might he come face to face with Andrew; a man he too considered an acquaintance if not a friend, yet another man he had not been able to save?

Except it’s not Melinda’s ex or potentially current simulation husband that he sees when he turns around. It’s a little girl with long dark hair, clearly trying to close the door to her bedroom as quietly as possible. It takes her a few moments, and Phil is worried about how she might react to a strange man in her home - unless he existed in this world as her Uncle Phil - until she spins around, and regards him with a toothy grin. She has her mother’s eyes, he thinks, as she runs over to him, and is wearing a set of Captain America pajamas.

“Are you spying on Mommy?” she whispers, covering her mouth with both hands as she giggles. He doesn’t know how to respond, forcing a smile, trying not to scare the girl. She wasn’t real, but it sure as hell feels real when she tugs on his pant leg before holding her arms out at him, a universal sign of wanting to be picked up. He bends and lifts her into his arms, letting her settle against his hip - It was strange; she was almost like a familiar weight. He feels her skinny arms wrap around his neck, and a warmth spreads in his heart. Real or not, this felt right.

He holds up a finger to his lips to signal for her to be quiet as he contemplates on how to proceed. He had not come into this expecting to encounter a child, but he should have known better. Melinda had always wanted this - something he himself could never have had. The girl shakes her head at him and cups her hands around his ear, whispering conspiratorially to him.

“Mommy always catches you.”

He stills, his grip on her tightening just a little, unsure of how to interpret her words. He evidently existed in this world; but in what capacity, he can’t quite figure out. He stares at the little girl in his arms, trying to stay expressionless as he studies her. She tilts her head up and regards him with a look that is so eerily similar to Melinda’s, until the corners of her mouth begin to tilt upwards, and she’s wearing the same dimpled smile from earlier.

“Told you.”

He’s confused, until he realises that in his distraction, Melinda had finished her workout and was now standing directly beside him, leaning against the wall with one arm. She had tugged her hair out of the ponytail he had seen it in just moments before, and now the loose curls flowed down her shoulders, her face framed by the same bangs he had last seen during their days at the Academy.

“I have half a mind to just shave my head,” she had told him one afternoon. They were lying on his bed, trying to study for their upcoming exams, and her hair was falling into her eyes, making her pause and try to brush it back every few minutes.

“I like your hair like this,” he had responded, daring to reach out a hand and smooth it down even further over her eyes. The next moment he was pinned beneath her, arm bent behind him as he pleaded for her mercy.

It’s not just the hair that catches his attention.

It’s the carefree smile that mirrors that of the little girl in his arms.

“Morning, Mommy,” the girl practically chirps, and Melinda’s smile grows as she steps closer to them, resting a hand on Phil’s chest as she leans over to kiss her daughter on the cheek. Phil wonders if she can feel the increase in his heart rate beneath her fingertips, but if she does, she doesn’t mention it.

“Good morning, Peggy,” she responds, as she tucks a strand of the little girl, no Peggy’s hair, behind her ear. Peggy.

Peggy.

Peggy?

Melinda and Andrew would have never named a daughter after the former Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., and she was in Captain America pajamas, and Melinda had Phil’s little presents on display, and waffles were his signature breakfast dish and her hand was resting on his chest and…

No…

There was no way…

Except Melinda was now leaning up and pressing a soft kiss to his lips, her hand having moved from his hip to cup his jaw, thumb tracing over his stubble. She was still smiling as she pulled back, fingers trailing down his neck before they stopped to straighten out his collar. He doesn’t know how he should react, because Melinda May, the real Melinda May with all the real feelings, has conjured up a reality in her mind, where they have a family together.

“You need to go and have breakfast or you’ll be late for school,” she’s telling their daughter, tapping her on the nose, drawing out another round of giggles from her. The sound was like music to his ears. Peggy wriggles down from his arms and runs towards the kitchen, climbing up onto a stool that should be much too high for her to reach, before pulling herself up onto the counter and sitting down with her legs crossed. She reaches for her cup and takes a gulp, leaving a milk moustache on her upper lip, before tilting her head and frowning at the food in front of her, brows knitted together in contemplation. Her little hand hovers either plate before she grabs a waffle from the left one, syrup running over her fingers.

“And you, you need to go and shave.”

He turns back to Melinda, who is still so close beside him, Melinda who thinks of him as her husband, Melinda, who is imagining all of this.

He, he doesn’t know how to tell her. That this life is all a lie, a figment of her imagination. That out there, there’s a world that’s so much more real, and so much more terrifying. That he needs her to wake up and come back to him.

But it can’t hurt them any more than it already will if he lets this dream go on for just a moment longer.

Sometimes he forgets how small she is, without the high heeled boots and the hardened expression, standing barefoot in her workout gear. He has to really lean down to kiss her, even though she’s leaning up into him, and her palms resting flat against his chest and god, this feels more real than it did with the LMD, even though it’s all happening inside their heads. One of his arms ends up around her waist, pulling her closer against him, the other curving around her back so he can bury his hand in her curls.

They’re making out in the hallway and their imaginary daughter is sitting on the kitchen counter eating waffles and humming to herself. When Melinda finally pulls away, his hand is still tangled in her hair and she has the most content expression on her face.

And now he has to take it all away from her.

He moves both his hands to gently cup her face, and his expression must be revealing, because the smile fades from her features and slowly morphs into a frown.

“What’s wrong?” she asks him, and his heart is already beginning to break, just from the concern in her tone.

“Melinda, I just need you to know, that I love you. I always have, and I always will.”

The emotions are pouring out of him now; he’s trying to contain all his feelings into a few simple words that will get her to understand what is about to happen.

“I know you do, Phil.”

She’s smirking at him now and god, he doesn’t want to do this, he really doesn’t. But they can’t just stay here forever. Theoretically they could, but their world, the real world, is where they belong. They were too old to live in a dream land forever.

“Melinda, this isn’t real.”

She frowns again, pulling away from him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Phil.”

It hurts. It hurts so much to have to do this to her. But it’s for the best. It’s for the best. He keeps trying to tell himself that because if it wasn’t he would stay right there in a heartbeat.

“None of this is real Melinda. This house, this world, this life. It’s a simulation.”

She’s shaking her head, regarding him with such a broken expression that he wants to drop to his knees and beg her to forgive him for the pain he is putting her through.

“No. We’re going to finish breakfast, and then I’m going to drop Peggy off at school. You have until then to decide whether it’s worth it to play such a cruel prank.”

She moves to exit the hallway, but he stops her, grabbing her hand and pulling her back towards him.

“Melinda, you have to believe me. This world, it doesn’t exist. It’s a figment of your imagination.”

She shakes her head again, looking down at the floor, before she lifts her head up to meet his gaze; tears welling up in her eyes.

“Why would you say that?”

“Because I promised to never lie to you again. Not after what happened with Gonzales, and real S.H.I.E.L.D. and Andrew.”

He can see the moment it clicks for her, the recognition in her eyes as he mentions the events in their real life together.

And then she nods slowly, comprehending his words.

“None of this is real? Our.. our daughter? She’s not real?”

He can’t look her in the eyes as he shakes his head, but surprisingly, she doesn’t pull back any more, instead moving forward to tuck herself into his side. He can feel her tears dampening the front of his shirt, and wonders if she can feel his falling above her. He feels helpless - like he can’t do anything but just stand there and let her cry. He doesn’t know how long it lasts for, or if it will ever end, until he hears her speak to him, in the softest whisper.

“Will you be there when I wake up?”

He presses a kiss to the top of her head; the world is beginning to blur around them and he doesn’t know whether that’s from the tears in his eyes or a sign that they’re fading out from it.

“I promise.”

“Coulson. Coulson. Snap out of it.”

Phil forces his eyes open and gasps for air, breathing heavily as Mack steadies him with one strong arm.

“Coulson, are you okay?”

Daisy is on his other side, watching him with concern and Fitz is beside her, holding the helmet in both hands. He.. he can’t concentrate. He pushes past them and stumbles over to where Melinda is, still unmoving.

“Come on Melinda. You have to fight this. Please.”

He’s a desperate man, holding onto the love of his life, unwilling to let her go. Not after this. Not after knowing that she felt the same way about him. He was a selfish man. There was so much he wanted now. Sparring together like the old days, her pinning him to the mats. Staying up together, him talking, her listening, taking shots of whiskey. He could tell her that he loved her now. There could be morning runs and stolen kisses throughout the day, and her sneaking into his room after dark. Breakfast the morning after… There were so many possibilities. They couldn’t have Peggy but it could be enough. He could be enough.

He lets out a sigh of relief when her brow creases in that familiar way, and her hands are twitching, ready for a fight and then her eyes are open, and her chest is heaving as she tries to draw oxygen into her lungs.

“Phil,” she shouts, voice hoarse from disuse, and he’s easing the helmet off her head, tossing it aside without a care, and pulling her into his arms. She’s shaking and so is he, fingers trembling as his hand rubs circles into her back, trying to calm her down the only way he knows how.

“It’s okay Melinda. I’m here,” he whispers into her hair, and he can feel her nodding against him. She’s sagging in his arms, and he’s already weak at the knees, so he just slumps against the gurney and slides them to the ground, pulling her into his lap. He ignores Daisy’s shout of alarm at them falling, and focuses solely on Melinda, the way her fingers are digging into his arm, her breath warm against his neck.

“You’re here,” she says softly, turning so that she’s resting her head beneath his chin.

“I promised.”

Recovery doesn’t happen overnight.

Physically she’s back in top form after only a month, and is training her team with the help of Daisy, who she can still knock out with ease.

Mentally, she’s still healing.

She moved into Phil’s room at the base as soon as Simmons had released her from medical. He hadn’t expected it; she had just shown up at his door, dressed in an oversized t-shirt and leggings. He had let her in without a word, and when he climbed into bed, she crawled up beside him, resting her head against his shoulder.

She had come back the next evening, and then the one after that, and by the fourth day, when she had tried to sneak out in the morning, he had wrapped an arm around her and whispered for her to stay.

Two weeks into their new sleeping arrangements, he wakes up to her crying into night. He reaches blindly in the darkness to switch on the lights, and holds her close while she lets out her frustrations. When there are no more tears, his shirt is soaked and she pulls it off him, resting her head over his scar.

“Please tell me this is real.”

He runs a hand up and down her back, the other taking her hand and pulling it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to her fingertips.

“It’s real. All of it.”

He can tell that she’s smiling; he can’t explain how, but he knows she is. They could have lived a thousand different life times in different dream worlds, but he wouldn’t trade anything for this, the woman he loved more than anything else in the world, drifting to sleep in his hearts. When he slips off into a slumber, there’s a smile on his lips too.

#philinda #philinda fanfiction #otp: she means everything to me #type: fanfiction #originelle fic

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guildless-rebel · 7 years ago

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The Diary of a Guildless Rebel

{Hey friends! I'm gonna start trying out different stories/fics. I want to get more practice in writing and try to make/consume/be consumed by more MtG content since it's near and dear to my heart. Here's the first one I've had swirling around in my head for a while!Please read and enjoy! Positive and constructive feedback is always greatly appreciated!!}

10,067 Z.C., 19th District,

Today I watched him take down an entire Boros patrol in a matter of seconds-with his bare hands! Roki and I wouldn't leave him alone during our whole trip through a long stretch of recently acquired Gruul turf. We begged him for combat tips, or any bit of wisdom he would share but he just stayed silent.

It got dark halfway through, and much to our protest, Roki convinced us to set up camp for the night squatting in an abandoned Simic laboratory. While we waited for the campfire to warm up dinner, I asked Okarwa as many questions as I could. Where did he learn to fight like that? Where did his scars come from? What was his home like, and did he miss it?

He remained elusive, trying to dodge the questions. It was a feat just to get his name, Okarwa. He wasn't hiding something, nor did I feel him to be untrustworthy. It was almost as if he wanted to answer, but for some reason he censored himself. He was in pain, but not from his body, or mind. I could feel it in his heart.

We have been travelling together for four days now, so I asked him where he was going after the rest of us made it to the Undercities forge district. He just stared blankly into his tea and shrugged. I almost felt bad for him.

We have our cause, and our dedications. We fight to make sure that everyone in our city is free of their own accord. We resist to show the Guildless there is hope and there is life beyond the all encompassing stranglehold of the guilds. And even if no one helps us, even if we lose our possessions, our friends and family, we never lose our hope. We run today, to fight tomorrow.

But him, he runs from something deeper. Something he might not ever be able to outrun. It brings me hope, and makes our cause seem winnable. Almost.

I made sure to cover our tracks, and place some runes around the perimeter of the ruined laboratory. Hopefully no Gruul beasts or beast masters wonders into our home of rubble. Although, I relish the thought of Okarwa slugging a centaur and sending him halfway across the district. Maybe tomorrow Roki and I can cheer him up, get him a blade. It's the least we could do to show appreciation. Plus, we might be able to some get answers, and set the others at ease. Better get some rest.

10, 067 Z.C., 19th District,

I couldn't do anything. I was useless, and I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. We barely had time to react to the sound of thundering hooves before a ragebeast blasted through some ruins ahead of us. The group in front of us was lost in the thrashing wreckage of dust and stone. I did the only thing I could do. I threw down more runes and called for my squad to regroup with me. Inside the runes, we would be invisible to the beast. Run today, fight tomorrow, right?

I shouted for the squads behind us to run, not sure if they would hear me over the sound of crushing rock. A small boy, maybe 13, fainted at my feet. Instinctively, I hoisted him up on my shoulder, and breathed in a mouthful of dust as someone ran right past my runes. I didn't want to watch someone else die, but I couldn't help but look to see what fool was running the wrong way.

It was Okarwa. He bounded towards the beast, head on and bellowing a war cry. In one leap he landed on the beasts front left shoulder with a vice grip. The dust had completely consumed the two as I gathered the rest of the group and pushed them to start running away.

We sprinted, not caring about what ground we were losing in our journey. Our only instinct was to survive. I started tossing runes on the corners of buildings, and intersections of alleyways trying anything to make sure that the beast couldn't follow us. A deafening howl pierced my ears, and I almost dropped the boy draped on my shoulders.

I fell to one knee as I felt the exhaustion of my spell casting catch up with me. I turned away from the rage beast, and covered the boy with my body just as a spray of rubble pelted the plate mail on my back. I could see the corners of my eyes going dark. Sweat dripped from my face onto cobblestone. I steadied my breathing. People need me. Need us. We can't lose here.

I lifted the boy back onto my shoulder and started to run, or at least what would pass for running in this situation. The very earth seemed to be splitting apart, and my knees felt like mud. I could see the others hiding under rubble, and in abandoned ruins. I knew they couldn't hear my voice screaming for them to run. I knew they couldn't hear anything. Fear is a powerful, powerful weapon.

Another skull shattering howl sent me back to my knees, and I felt my lungs failing to take in enough clean air. I let the boy down again, and turned around to see something I would never have thought to seen in this life or the next.

Okarwa stood at the edge of a crater. A whining ragebeast writhed under mounds of rubble, one of its eyes missing. Okarwa lept to the top of the mound, and jumped back down towards the exposed neck of the beast, his fists balled together arching over his head. A sickening crunch echoed through the ruins. Then he collapsed.

The boy stirred and tried to stand, but I held him down. I pointed to the only mostly intact building that I saw, and then let him up as he scurried to the building.

I collapsed to the floor, and tried to catch my breath in the settling dust. I tore off my plate mail, letting it fall away with the rest of the wreckage and tried to jog to where Okarwa and the dead beast lay.

I desperately fought the urge to vomit at the sight of my friends, brothers and sisters, bloodied bruised and unmoving. I fell to my hands knees, panting over Okarwa. His chest heaved, and that was enough for me. I grabbed his body, which was much, much heavier than the boys, and slumped him across my back. I roared to my feet, and stumbled down the alley.

And that's it. That's all I remember. The next thing I know, I'm waking up in a camp listening to Roki sharpen his sword on a whetstone. It hurts to breathe-heck it hurts to write. Roki told me not to talk or move until he found a healer who could help, but I couldn't risk losing this tale.

I think I might die if I keep writing though. I need to take a nap, just for a while.

10,067 Z.C. 19th District,

I don't feel much better, but apparently I was well enough for Roki to hug. He cried for a minute, unable to make words. I got him to calm down and start giving me details about what happened. I wanted nothing more than to fill in the blanks, after pouring over what I wrote yesterday.

Roki said his squadron in the rear guard managed to gather 3 other brave souls that he led towards the scene in an attempt to rescue any survivors. He told me we lost too many that day. That we couldn't mobilize anymore. He scattered the rest of the squadrons into the city until further notice. I must have cried all the tears I had left in me.

I asked Roki if they held a service yet. For those who lost their life. He said when I can walk, that I should see for myself. He pointed out of the destroyed window that we now used as the entrance to our small encampment. I heard lots of moving around, but it looked like everyone was inside the camp.

Much to Riki's protest I rolled off the matted cloth I was laid on, and slowly got to my hands and knees, and then my feet. Annoyed, Roki got under my arm, and placed his own around my waist. He walked me to the window, to another sight that I would have died before dreaming to see.

Okarwa solemnly sifted through rubble and destroyed stone buildings. He tossed loose rocks and boulders away, until he lifted a body across his shoulder. A woman, her body limp and lifeless, was pulled from the stone and draped over his shoulder. He walked off the pile of rubble, and laid her down on some soft earth. He started to pile crushed sandstone over her body until she was concealed. I watched, fresh tears welling in my eyes, as he traced a glyph into the dust above her final resting place. He held his head down for a moment, before returning to the pile where he plucked her body.

I choked up, coughing up blood, and wincing in pain of both flesh and mind. Roki quickly laid me back down, barking orders as he ran outside. An old vedalken woman with pale blue skin sat beside me, and lifted my head to reach a cup of water she held. She set down the water and her hands glowed a dim white as she passed them over my amdomen.

"It's his lung. It needs to be drained again." She said to Roki now enetering the room with Okarwa.

"Please, I know you've done so much--" Roki was caught off by Okarwa who raised a hand in protest. He dropped to both knees and held both of his hands over my abdomen. A bright golden light filled the entire building, and I felt a searing pain shoot through my whole body. I fought back the screams, and squeezed the rubbery blue hand the vedalken held out.

Okarwa stood back up and spoke again since the night we all shared tea. "Let him rest. He will need all his strength if we're all to make it out of these ruins." Roki fetched a discarded a tunic turned blanket and draped me from the neck down. I reached for my pack, to try and grab my journal, but the Veldalken easily countered my motion with her long arms.

Okarwa furrowed his brow. "No, no, he must write." The vedalken stared at Okarwa in confusion. "Nothing is more important. Your people will know of your courage. He must tell your story." Okarwa headed for the exit once more, this time interrupted by Roki.

"He must tell our story."

#magic the gathering #mtg #fandom #god i really have no clue how to tag stuff like this #fan fiction #mtg fan fic #writing practice #cool story #ravnica

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survivorkvaloya · 7 years ago

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Episode #7: “This Is What I Get For Putting My Trust In Cute Boys” - Colin

Me: I'm gonna teach my student not to be like me! They're not gonna be first boot or the last boot before merge...

Lauren: *Gets voted out one round before the merge*

Me: K....

In conclusion I flopped as a mentor! But this isn't entirely bad, hopefully I can find something at reflection island that can help and I'm also beating my ugly Sri Lanka placement by being there so :) As of right now I feel confident in where I am. I have the girl alliance of me, QuilLynn, Willow and Lily and then I feel pretty confident with Jackson and Ryan, and then I think I can make something work with Colin so we'll see! I'm just so happy to have made merge oh my gosh.

Lauren's gone! The vote was 2 - 3. I have Jackson and Colin believing that I voted with them, when really I changed my vote last minute so that they'd think big tuna flipped. I want them to trust me more than her, so labelling her as untrustworthy oughtta do it. I didn't wanna break ties completely with the girls on the other side if they saw a unanimous vote against Lauren. Damage control time ladies!

ok... so last tribal.... I got 2 votes.... when it should have been unanimous. I know it was either Chelsea or Danielle who voted me, and honestly??? Whoever did, props to them bc it created so much paranoia and distrust among the tribe and now at merge. They were prob thinking ahead and it makes sense looking back now. My gut is telling me Danielle wouldn't risk something like that but whomst knows. Also I just inherently don't trust Chelsea bc she seems shady. anYWAY. WE MADE MERGE WOOOO! IM LITERALLY... SO HAPPY. I honestly didn't think I'd be able to make merge in a main season, I flop in high stakes games, but I'm doing that! I made it!!! It's wayyy more tense and strategic at this point in the game but it's exciting!!

SOME MERGE FUN FACTS FOR YALL:

~There are 4 student/mentor pairs left in the game (Nicholas/Danielle, Ryan/Jackson, Willow/QuilLynn, and Chelsea/Gage)

~I am the only person still in the game currently to have multiple votes cast against them over the course of the season

~From the dissolved tribes (using this bc that's the tribe period that probably has the most tribe loyalty since we were on these tribes the longest), there are 7 OG NuKaldfjorden, and 6 OG NuErsfjorden

~There are 8 students and 5 mentors remaining

~And finally, the percentage of fake hoes remaining in this game is at 100%.

Well. Losing Lauren wasn't the best....I never like my alliances splitting up. But I'm my really sure if I could have done anything to save her. I really do wish she was here tho and would have made merge. I think willow QuilLynn Christine and I can still be a good group. And honestly knowing that we want to be top 4 together is real helpful. Most people are saying jack but I think Danielle is the smart move. I've got gage Chelsea and Colin for sure. And QuilLynn is down so it's just on convincing willow that it's the best play. I know she is probably nervous because there aren't a lot of mentors. But Danielle must have a lot of advantages. We need to blindside her and she wouldn't see it coming I don't think. We will see what happens!

I heard the vote is gonna be between me and Danielle, so I'm probably out, but the choice is obvious.

So.... I think I'm starting to get fucked in this game for really no reason that I can see. Andreas went home, which i wasn't crazy happy with but things happen. We lost yet again and Lauren was the easy vote there, seeming to be the case and her leaving wouldn't cause any drama. Well the vote turns out to be 3-2, 2 being for Colin and I'm sugar shocked. I couldn't believe that. Then, Chelsea has the audacity to pin it on me? Sister, you must not know who you are dealing with. She plays this game like she's a fucking god well guess what? You aren't. Her and Jackson are running this game and it's fucking aggravating to watch. Ryan doesn't want to do anything about it because Jackson is his student but like... being in this game with them running it is getting to be really annoying. Are we handing them the game here? Now Jack is going to be leaving and that's someone else that I could have worked with, my game is slowly starting to dwindle because I'm playing with Ryan. He can't make a move against them but I'm starting to not have any allies but him lolllllll. Oh well.

so the target is danielle now instead of jack. i'm happy with seeing her leave. I also want ryan and a few other mentors gone, I'm a lil worried they might be able to take control. also drewbert is my new fav host.

Hi I'm Jackson and this is my fifth confessional. Things have gotten pretty crazy. They always say the merge tribal is a shitshow, but for some reason I thought it'd be easier. The general consensus seemed to be that people wanted Jack out - after all, JD is on exile, and she's the only person as suspicious (and as close) to him. Which just leaves him. But Lily is itching to make a big move, and so, apparently, is Gage. They're pushing for Danielle to be voted out, which surprises me coming from Gage - the mentors shouldn't be so quick to target each other considering their numbers disadvantage! But either way, I wouldn't hate to see Danielle go. She probably has at least one idol piece, and the fact that last tribal was a 3-2 vote for Lauren instead of a 4-1 makes me nervous that I shouldn't completely trust her. I think she's a desperate player who will say anything to anyone. While I'm here, let's talk about that 3-2 vote. Colin knows I didn't vote for him because I had told him and Chelsea that my voting confessional was going to be a hiss, and it was. Colin didn't self vote, so that leaves just Chelsea and Danielle. I can see motives for both of them to flip. Chelsea might've saw me getting close to Danielle and wanted to split us up by creating distrust, thus her vote for Colin. I think Colin believes this is the truth, and honestly, I can't really blame him. Chelsea did make sure to mention several times that Danielle's vote makes her less trustworthy. Still, one could make a strong case for the stray vote being Danielle's. She's just a shady player in general and she might've wanted me to distance myself from Chelsea too. I'm going to assume that this version is the truth, because it's not like I can avoid allying with Chelsea at this point anyway. I'm going to carry on like we're still close (because we are). So anyway, Chelsea's on board to go with Lily and Gage, so that makes three. They think they have Colin, Willow and Quillynn's votes in the bag, which makes six, and that's majority since two people are on exile. But I'm not totally sure Colin's on board. I guess they could go to Jack if he's having cold feet. I'm obviously in the know about this plan, but I'm apprehensive because of Ryan. He's said multiple times he wants to work with Danielle, and I'm not sure I want to go against my mentor yet. I don't want to rat the Chelsea/Lily gang out to Danielle either, so I think I'm just going to vote for Jack and keep my trap shut, crossing my fingers that Danielle gets the boot. Everyone seemed to be pretty understanding and I don't think it'll hurt my place in the game. Let's just hope Colin doesn't get too set on Jack getting voted out.

tonights vote is going to be wild. It looks like its going to be between jack or danielle and honestly Jack's "minority het" ass annoys the absolute fuck out of me so I want him to go, but Tuna is a bigger threat and has closer ties. I'm hoping the Danielle blindside get pulled off and that Ryan wont hate me after, but we'll see. If it does then wow, maybe choose some better mentors next time?

okay what the fuck. The eclipse happens and everyone goes fucking insane. This is some voodoo pagan astrology shit. ahhhh i'm crying. Last night the vote seemed so easy. Jack is an easy target. No one is close to him. He's straight. Adios! But then Chelsea and Gage step the fuck up and wanna be messy! Gage is apparently hella anti-Danielle for whatever reason??? Chelsea is still trying to pin the blame of the hinky vote against me on her so I'm really suspicious. I trust Danielle a lot. I don't want anything to happen to her. Now apparently I'm a swing vote. Everything is coming down to me murdering Danielle. Lily and Gage concocted the plan and are gathering the numbers and they want it to be a blindside but bitch!! not on my watch!! Danielle ain't goin nowhere!! I will deadass idol her if I have to. Gage and I rarely talk and I ain't gonna be like Chelsea and Lily and play into his plans. The! Straight! Is! Leaving! Or Gage is leaving. Either would be great for my game. I don't know what Jackson is planning but he seems to still trust Chelsea but I..... do not. At all. I think blindsiding Gage when he thinks he's gonna be blindsided would be really fun. So I might do that. But also that would draw a lot of attention to me and I'd face a lot of backlash. Ughhh I just really really don't want Jack to go. But it seems like Chelsea and Lily are deadset on it. Quillynn and Willow seem on the fence but they're ultimately not gonna turn on the majority. ANYWAY! My plan. I'm gonna vote Danielle bc the majority expects me to. I'm giving my idol pieces to Ryan since I know he has one. If Danielle actually shows up before tribal and on time she's gonna get idoled and saved and Gage will be blindsided by Nicholas, Danielle, and Ryan. I will have an in with them, Jackson won't be bitter bc I did tell him of that plan, I just didn't tell him I'm actually doint it. If Danielle doesn't show up, she's leaving, and Ryan better give me my idol pieces back >: ( Anyway! if all goes well! Adios Gage!

I'm seriously about to be targeted because I've won a game this is so fucking stupid seriously find a better reason to target me before your ass gets voted out.

A lot has happened. Everyone wants to work with me but not with Danielle and now since I'm associated with the pop princess herself I could be in trouble. The day started with Jack going. But it felt too easy. I talked to Willow who is my 2nd closest ally next to Danielle. She didn't tell me. While I was on call with her Colin PM'd me cause I messaged him when I woke up. He told me of the plan about everyone voting Danielle. And I tell Willow this! Next thing I know he's like "yeah don't trust Willow and Quillyn" and I'm like... yikearoonies. Cause I literally had just told Willow. ANYWAY. Willow say's she won't say anything, she apologized for not telling me during our HOUR long call. She says that it's true. Colin then proceeds to give me two idol pieces to play on Danielle because I told him I have 1 idol piece (in reality I already have 3 and now technically have 5) And to play it on her. However, he's still gonna vote Danielle to save face. Now Danielle, Nicholas and I are the only 3 who have to vote for Gage. Gage because Colin wants him out. I'd rather vote out Chelsea but I want to save face with Colin if everyone is truly gonna try to murder us. My only FUCKING worry is that they split the votes between Dani and I. Because Nicholas has individual immunity. I'd be idoling myself out. I'm gonna try to get Willow to vote with us, incase the vote goes 4-4-4. I don't think they'd vote for me but I gotta be careful.

Okay so first this round we get the flag challenge and have I ever mentioned how much I hate the fucking flag challenge?? Anyway I somehow managed to score even lower then I did on an unfinished flag I made in Solomon which is pretty sad. Also this vote is crazy??? its going in like every direction. I mean that typically happens first vote of merge but omg. Anyway so originally everyone was cool to vote out Jack bc he's utr or whatever. But then Lily suggested we actually vote out Danielle and I was okay whatever. But then apparently Danielle and Chelsea have beef from earlier with the Lauren vote bc they all said they would vote out Lauren but then they weren't sure who the other vote for Colin was, and apparently they don't like each other now or whatever. So anyway Ryan calls me bc hes worried about the Danielle and Chelsea rivalry and he says Danielle is getting worried and he's getting worried and stuff and then of course I'm a dumbass and lie straight to his face about how Danielle isn't getting any votes. And we were talking about how we would prefer it to not be Jack, and he throws around the idea of actually voting out Chelsea bc she's made a lot of deals with people, and I fake agree to it. And then he tells me something he's never told anyone in the game and that's that he got the Into the Box idol piece for the mentors, and so he actually has 2 idol pieces and not 1. So then I tell him about how I played a side with Colin and that hes really good at Into the Box but that I could be wrong about him having the student piece. And I haven't told anyone about the idol piece bc I like Ryan a lot and I want him to trust me even though hes not going to after this vote :( So earlier on in the day Lily decided to tell Colin about how we were planning on blindsiding Danielle, and then Colin decides to be a rat and tell everyone, so then Ryan tells me, and of course my immediate reaction is to tell my whole entire alliance chat about what's happening. Ryan tells me they're planning on idoling Danielle and planning on blindsiding Gage bc apparently hes trying to make deals with everyone?? which he isnt really but whatever lol. So when I tell my alliance chat this they all start freaking out but then I decided we need to switch our votes to Colin since he ratted and since they're playing an idol on Danielle. But I tell Ryan that we're still all voting for Danielle. But then he comes to me paranoid and says I should vote Gage bc hes worried they're splitting. and I'm like okay I'm cool with that. But omg I feel so bad bc I really like Ryan and I want to continue to work with me but hes really not gonna trust me after this vote fuck. Like it'll be good for them to waste an idol and for it to be Colin going home since he's the rat but I just feel so bad for lying to Ryan especially when he's trusted me the whole time and told me stuff he hasn't told anyone else in the game. Anyways I think I forgot some stuff but so much has been happening and there's so much to talk about idk how to get it all out into one confessional.

[9:28 PM] Ry[an] Matthew ⚅⚅⚅: <<< thank you so much. i would be fine if lily didn't throw that idea out to danielle but it's to hard to not be able to talk to anyone but you cause everyone else is lying to my faceRy[an] Matthew ⚅⚅⚅, Today 9:28 PM omg I feel so bad bc I'm doing that exact thing of lying to his face but I think it'll be better for my game to stick with the plan and have them waste an idol and blindside Colin.

*Colin Is Voted Out*

i fucked up that vote because of when colin was telling me of the plan i was calling and talking to willow and i told her everything before i knew she was a SNAKE. willow is a SNAKE!! SNAKE!! like she was literally my 2nd closest ally. someone i used to want out (nicholas) is now my 3rd best ally. christine #2. danielle #1. jackson admitted to knowing about the danielle vote but not the colin vote and said he was the jack vote. i wanna commit soup of side

chelsea is fucking crazy. she's telling me that i shouldn't associate myself with danielle. she's telling me nicholas is a snake. she's trying to say no one lied to us about the vote. she's saying that jackson didn't lie cause he voted for jack even though HE LITERALLY KNEW ABOUT THE DANIELLE VOTE AND ADMITETD IT TO ME. chelsea is fucking crazy

Okay so we definitely have us 6 strong? hopefully? but then after voting out Colin he had already lost his mentor Brett so that leaves 12 of us in the game now, which is where it gets a little complicated. Bc I'm not sure where JD and Christine stand. Like Christine is in an alliance with us but they could both easily flip and then it would be tied? bc even though Christine has an alliance with us she is also very close with Ryan.

Me before tonight: Has been enjoying the past few days in bliss with JD and my brand new fancy shmancy vote steal Me after tonight: Is currently in absolute hell I mean. COLIN!?!?!?!?!?! WHAT THE HECK. Literally at the start of merge it was literally so simple just to get Jack out. Im literally calling this right now, Jack is going to the end because people are too focused on getting out big targets. Ryan let me know what happened and how Willow ratted him out which stinks cause I liked Willow. I also learned I was apparently target the week Brett went home. So that's nice to know :) I don't trust the alliance I'm in with Lily, QuilLynn and Willow at this point. Willow's apparently a snake, Lily is waaaaay too focused on making big moves and QuilLynn? She is literally controlling this game. Literally everyone that I wanted to work with at the beginning of this game is gone. My ideal group of Brett, Lauren and Colin died immediately and then Connor left me too. I'm just so bummed cause I don't get a genuine connection from really any of these people. Like I'll try to talk to someone like Chelsea and it just goes....absolutely nowhere. The only people I feel like I can work with are Ryan, Jackson and....well myself. I like Danielle cause she keeps things real but she's also causing too many fights for me to attach myself with. With that being said, I think I'm in an ok position but not a great one. I wanna keep the pattern of students leaving right now and I'm keeping my legacy advantage a secret but I told Ryan about my vote steal and in return he told me he had two idol pieces so essentially we have an idol. So yeah, as long as Ryan doesn't get blindsided anytime soon that's a thing. Also this challenge is gross and the fact I was apparently taken out because of Random.org is even more disgusting.

Last tribal was great. We had a perfect plan to get out Danielle, but then Colin ratted, so we had a last minute switch to take him out while simultaneously wasting his Idol. Now there are lines drawn in the sand and I feel like i'm in an okay position on this tribe. I still don't trust jack or JD at all especially after Jack infected me in the last immunity but we have to keep them for numbers now. I want the plan to be right now for people to think we will split the votes between danielle/nicholas when hopefully we can actually take out Ryan. I have a bad gut feeling about this round and it could be over for me, but we'll see how this plays out!

The Danielle vote may have backfired, but the Colin blindside went as planned! Lily has won immunity which I'm happy about. Ryan and Danielle are annoying because they're trying to fight me on "not being personal" with them. I'm not fucking obligated to talk about my personal life with you! This is a survivor ORG, people are busy, sorry I'm not crying on your fucking shoulder about boy problems! I talk to the people I trust & who make an effort back. Get a better argument to fight me on because this just makes you look pathetic.

I don't know what the hell happened at the last trib.... Which is a lie, I've been told by a could people what happened but like... It just sounded nuts. Literally everyone in the alliance I put together the first week is getting picked off one after another.

Holy fuck! I'm gone for one night. short story everyone is crazy. long story is that some how Ryan and Q ended up on opposite sides of a thing and I like both of them. Fucking stress. I was finally able to have a good talk with Nicholas, who thought I hated him because I hate Nick... Just wrong names, but hella wrong people. So we got that all worked out and he is stressing. I don't blame him ether, I would have been pissed if Liam throw me under the bus like Dani did him. Q told me earlier that she wasn't sure were a few of them were really and I'm just like... Imma try to keep Ryan and Nicholas alive as long as I can but I'm not gonna fuck up my game for them. We'll see how things go I guess.

i've exposed willow and q and their shitty receipts to JD. i'm hoping jack plays his double vote on chelsea. i'm hoping danielle nicholas me christine and jd also vote with jack and his double vote against chelsea. this is the only play. im also gonna tell jackson a fake name i'm voting to see if he'll vote that way. but im leaving christines name out of every conversation i have (aside from with danielle) idk im not a pussy ass bitch and im not gonna get with the fucking majority everytime. that fukcing furby is gonna get it

oops jack told me i was the vote. my ass? more likely that you think

Hello. So I won immunity? Niiiiice. Haha. I didn't see this one coming but glad I didn't have to do anything to win. That's cool. I'm very concerned about this vote. I've got a lot of people who want to work with me. I think me as well as the three others in my alliance along with Jackson JD jack Chelsea and Gage. That's a lot of people. But it honestly makes me feel good about my position. And the more we aplit up the pairs the better for me and my mentorless self. And no one knows about my extra vote either. I feel bad for not telling my alliance but it's not like Christine has told us at all about what she got on reflection. But I'm honestly worried about whatbmight come out of reflection island still. It looks like tonight's vote is gonna be on Danielle or ryan. Leaning towards Danielle. Danielle is pretty mad and I'm sure she would have one intense jury speech. Not sure if I can handle it. Wish me luck!

I'm nervous about the numbers on this vote. We have 5 that I think are solid and the other side has 3, but there are 4 wild cards that are Jack, JD, Christine and Jackson that could flip and change everything. I'm just hoping for the best!

youtube

Me danielle and ryan have developed big plays. We're playing a vote steal and an extra vote in order to get chelsea out here

Hi I'm Jackson and this is my sixth confessional. Wow okay so the shit hit the fan last week. Remember when I said I hoped that Colin wouldn't get too set on Jack going home in place of Danielle? Well, it looks like he did literally just that. Without telling me (although he did say he was thinking about doing it, to be fair) he gave his idol pieces to Ryan to save Danielle and blindside Gage, but Ryan accidentally told Willow who got everyone to change their votes to Colin, so Colin went home. I wasn't told about the vote switch, nor that Colin was actually going to do it, so basically I was left with my thumb up my ass thinking everyone was a rat. This week things aren't looking amazing for me. Danielle is all but done with me, and Ryan says he still would like to work together, I think he's just trying to use me to save his own ass. Basically, I'm stuck with the majority group led by Chelsea/Gage/Willow/Quillynn, but I can't actually be an active participant in the gameplay until Ryan goes home. Because Chelsea is telling people I'm feeding information back to him and that they can't completely trust me yet. Sigh. Also, I'm now pretty sure that Chelsea fooled me and she actually did vote for Colin at the tribal where Lauren went home, so yeah, I'm not super excited about working with her anymore. At the same time, I'm not feeling like I have any other options. I'm probably voting Ryan tonight unless I hear something different, and to be honest, I really hope he goes home. If Chelsea's side loses majority now, I'll be stuck with them on a sinking ship, because I don't think Ryan will trust me at all once I vote for him. Hopefully a week spent at Reflection Island will do some good for my game and open up some opportunities for me to actually do something. Because if I had my way, Chelsea would go home for lying to me and just being generally too manipulative, Gage would go because he's suspicious af, and me and Lily would make a F2 deal. Oh, and also I want to win a challenge. And maybe finally get a damn idol piece. So yeah, basically that's it. Let's hope I haven't been lied to even more!!

Wish this game had nice hosts. Hope danielle goes tonight and Ryan plays another idol!

whew ok so im kinda in a sticky situation right now. im really on the outs in this game and im not sure what to do. i know quillynn and trixie have my back to a small extent but they are just keeping me around so that when they have to betray their alliance they have an extra vote or at least they assume that i will be a vote for them on jury which honestly is true. i have this lovely legacy advantage and if anyone does me dirty in this game you had best bet i will use it as pettily to my advantage as possible if i am on jury and someone screws me over. i dont vote bitter at the end of games, but i do play bitter sometimes if its necessary! either way im torn on this vote. i can either vote out ryan [which i dont want to do because i feel like without him and danielle im fucked], vote chelsea [ which i dont want to do bc i love chelsea as a person and i know she is keeping my name out of the other sides mouth] or just throw away my vote. i dont want to throw away my vote because thats such a cop out but every time i work the numbers it seems like no matter what i do ryan will leave.

Okay I can't make a move yet but I think I can make my move next round, #hevotedouthisstudent

Grr so of course on the random.org thing for the challenge I'm out first and have no shot at immunity lmao. I think in a sense the challenge was very telling for who's with who. I infected JD first bc I just don't know her at all. I think most of the infections went in a normal order except for when Jack infected QuilLynn like it was very weird but then later he explained to me that hes never talked to her before so maybe that's its? but hes a red flag of course So originally everyone was thinking Ryan bc hes being really mean to Chelsea and I was like okay whatever. But then I was thinking and I'm like Jackson is a number for us (potentially) and he would be sent to reflection island but Nicholas will never be a number for us so why not vote out Danielle so that he will be at reflection. Anway a bunch of rumors are going around right now and its about to be tribal and I think everyone is going kinda crazy.

I literally feel like I'm gonna be sick. Tonight I'm proving I'm a true #rebel and flipping. This is gonna be so crazy but Quillynn, Willow and Lily all came to me saying we should vote out Danielle rather than saying in the alliance chat which was sketchy. Then Gage acted like he didn't care which was sketchy. Then I talked to JD and she was experiencing the same so I think we're being used which is dumb cause I'm tired of Quillynn consistently lying to me. I gave Ryan my vote steal and in return he gave me his idol pieces so I'm hoping this works. I'm obviously just a number for the girls and they don't really care what I think so this way will hopefully be better. If Danielle does go home I'll look like a paranoid mess but this is the best option cause I know Ryan at least trusts me...anyway I can't wait to go home tonight woohoo.

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