#white people who see the raw trauma in racism

[butch-bakugo]

I truly and wholely believe that white people will never truly, fully and honestly sympathize with people of color and our history of oppression unless they can look upon their specific heritage and find genocide or immoral and wrongful treatment. Like fully. And I'm gonna use my wp mixed self and my white friends and my white partner as an example. Like the only time they will ever sympathize is when either they are shown the raw truth of genocide faced by others and forced to see it's generational traumatic effects or the more likely option, their specific culture has faced some form of genuine mistreatment.

Like an Irish person who was treated as a second class citizen and understands their past with indentured servitude and same-race colonization understands me, a native American and native Canadian, better than a British scholar who knows the ins and outs of the native American genocide front to back in significantly more detail than even I do. I'm sorry if this is hard to hear or too hot of a take but it's honestly true. A white person who knows some form of genocide heritigicly will sympathize with me in my grief as a native better than a white person whose culture has never faced any kind of mistreatment based on race.

No matter how much education you receive, you just won't be able to fully sympathize. It's been shown scientifically that black student's mental health severely declines once they are taught the horrors of slavery in the us, same for native Americans and colonization, vietnamese students and the Vietnam war, Muslim and middle eastern students and 9/11, the list goes on and on. Learning about your culture's past with the horrors of racism causes literal mourning, I don't think anyone could argue against that, but the white people who've never been racially harmed will never convince me that they understand my pain, empathize or even know an ounce of it. It is simply outside of their experiences and therefore fully unknowable to them.

Some white people can. Some know it or seen it enough to get a rough look. Those aren't who I'm talking about. I'm talking about no history of harm and racial degradation. French, British, etc. You simpley won't. You won't understand it and I'm tired of letting them get away with their false empathy. No you don't understand. You never will. I mourn every time I think of how many natives were needlessly murdered. How many natives could of been alive today hadn't we been nearly eradicated. There were millions of us and I feel so alone in my grief. I feel so alone in my culture. I will never fully know my culture because of it. There are no records. There is no land. I have no country to visit. I'm sure I could find at least something but the reality is there are millions of people who can return to their cultural roots and fully envelope themselves. Who can fly far away and be surrounded by the food and drink and people who share their origin. They can read their history in large libraries and speak their language in full. They can dance their people's dances and sing their people's songs. They can live as their ancestors did. Those people are white. My people were brown. Their land is no longer their own. Their food nor drink has not survived. There aren't many of us left, certainly not enough to fill a country. Their history has been burned and erased and tortured out of them. Their languages are dead and gone. Very few of their thousands of dances survived and many are merely pieces of a shredded picture. Their people's songs have been choked from their throats. They can't live as their ancestors did without white people telling them to stop.

Alot of people like to pretend we can simply rebuild what was lost. That no more damage is being done. That what's broken can be replaced or fixed. When this isn't true. Native societies will never be the same. More damage is being done(see the challenges with icwa and cultural erasure through adoption of native children into white christian families aka residential schools lite). Our cultures are decimated. Our long and proud and expansive history prior to colonization is almost non-existent and none exists after. We are practically ghosts. We are neanderthals. We are almost extinct. Small traces of us exist in many but they simply won't know and if they do, they are encouraged to never explore it. We are dieing not by climate or lack of trying, we are a planned extinction and it's ongoing.

And I'm sorry but.... This upsets me. It upsets every native. It upsets every culture in the same condition as mine and even those with lesser damage. It destroys you. It ruins you. It makes you feel small and unwanted and like vermin. It makes you cry. And I don't think a British/Nordic or french person, the same people who caused this genocide and eratification, can understand my grief. I don't think they can or will. Not unless they are exposed to a huge degree and in the world they built entirely on corpses, it's easy to not look down to consider whose body your stepping on. You simply must walk on.

[nozomijoestar]

9, 10, 13 & 16

@scalproie | meme

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9. worst part of canon

I can't stand a work that is lazy, where it's evident it's full of itself. Works that talk a lot and get pretentious a lot but have nothing to say; double if they're trying to rip off/homage other works that used their tools better, as if wearing someone's skin alone makes you as capable and just like them. Basically too much ego and too much capitalist dick sucking, work that doesn't allow itself to show or have vulnerability, that key part of raw humanity. Something that is about Man but not A Man, and has lost any hope of having a universal message or feeling or even aesthetic connection as a result. Something that wants to make everyone happy and ends up reinforcing vile behavior or oppressive systems because in trying to appeal to everyone, all it did was become better propaganda.

10. worst part of fanon

Aside from the eternal plague that is reader x canon fics, it's both how white dominated it can be, and how often it brings out the worst of all humanity is capable of. Every evil a human being can commit is expressed wrapped in the pretty packaging of words like Community and Acceptance and Charity- as it purposefully degrades people of color, salutes racism as its flag, glorifies abuse and rape and incest and pedophilia and grooms people into life long trauma, centers ego, misunderstands and refuses to understand art, sees art as commodity, and is built on enshrining predators of every kind from all walks of life. Crabs in the capitalist bucket.

13. worst blorboficiation

I have to talk about this I have to but like there are two big ones and the most obvious one is FF/XIV's Em/t Se/ch because fascist eugenicist imperialism inventing dictator who the story goes out of its way to wooby even in his death- which speaks to how overwhelmingly white or deranged FF fans tend to run BUT that's the low hanging fruit

The one I truly don't understand is G'r/ha T/a, the fact that I even have to censor his name because his fans need mental help and they will kill you or like cut off their own skin and toes for their shrines and whatever (I have seen things, I have seen things, and most of them are pedophiles too and manipulative and abusive it is a trend, not an absolute but a trend)

But this man like he can do anything and people say he's just a little baby, he's just their little skrunckly blorbo bestie and I'm like bitch...this man gambled with the player's life and gambled with their npc friend's lives for his schemes, you ALL could have easily DIED, AND HE DIDN'T EVEN TELL YOU AND WHEN HE DOES HE GIVES THE FAKEST APOLOGY THAT CENTERS HIM AS STILL BEING RIGHT FOR IT, because he didn't want to worry and cause problems for people if they knew and he didn't want anyone going off script and he's always guilting people into taking pity on him with these wishy washy apologies every time he manipulates or imposes on people he's even like Oh The Solution To This Problem Would Be My Suicide Ohh How Awful But Necessary *hint hint nudge nudge* so that another npc can be like Oh No Don't Do That We'll Find Another Way! My Vaste in the corner like No You Should Kill Yourself... Now!

Like even the way you first meet him he knows the gravity of what you're looking for and he STILL wants to force you on a wild goose chase for his ego and for the sillies and when he introduces himself he's like Wasn't I So Quirky? about it. Then also he barely knows you; you knew each other for like a few days before he sealed himself in the tower, then when an alternate timeline version of him is freed he spends A HUNDRED YEARS trying to snatch you into his house. Like WHAT? WHAT? I'VE KNOWN YOU FOR FIVE SECONDS AS COWORKERS MF WTF IS WRONG WITH YOU. He never gives you a REAL apology or learns from anything in retrospect.

And also the game NEVER gives you any options to disagree with him, you can at least tell Em/t off but for all the shady shit this fucker did the game physically will not allow you to be upset with him for his actions EVER. You're supposed to always just understand it was for something bigger than you and never take genuine or lasting issue with any wrongs. Or even mention them again. And I say this too because literally after he just gambled your life away and is manipulating and hiding things from you- HE STILL BEGS THAT YOU BE HIS FRIEND AND THAT YOUR ARE HIS FRIEND AND YOU SHOULD TAKE HIM WITH YOU, BECAUSE HE LITERALLY HAS NO LIFE OUTSIDE OF STALKING AND WORSHIPING THE PLAYER. HE HAS NO GOALS THAT DON'T INVOLVE THE PLAYER.

His ENTIRE personality revolves around being someone who saves chewing gum someone they like spat out so they can sniff it in their room but if that was supposed to be heroic and sweet. People get on Lili in Tekken with Asuka? YOU PEOPLE DON'T KNOW CRAZY, OK. MOST OF YOU JUST HATE WOMEN. There was even an interview with the lead writer who made him and she's like she would prefer if everyone loves him so this blorbo shit started from the source and has only gotten worse. I have lost contact with people for not playing into it, I have seen anyone who criticizes him even if they like him get bashed. JUST THE OTHER DAY- someone told me they're LITERALLY SCARED, FOR REAL SCARED of ever posting ANY negative words about him. People even write their CHARACTERS as being scared to say anything bad about him. I can post the receipt.

His fans are not even blorboing him at this point this is psychotic episode shit and I can say that as someone who suffers psychotic episodes and delusions in real life.

The cult around this man is mental illness levels of breaking down. He even steals your player chance in game to recreate a scene from the EW expac trailer where in the trailer it's supposed to be the player stand in who saves Alisae! Also he keeps you in the dark then tries killing himself in front of you as a sacrifice because he wanted it to be a dramatic reveal of his undying love etc etc. He's a complete sniveling little manipulative creep who treats lives like chess pieces he's entitled to. AND he has the nerve to be fucking ugly as shit too. He looks like a botox car crash.

I can't STAND the blorbofication the ONLY reason that could've happened is because the average MMO player is already a megalomaniac and egocentric so they love the thought of having someone who unconditionally licks their ass crack, no matter what they do or who they are by their actions. He's also such a non-character from a writing perspective; the moment you remove the W/oL from his equation there is no character left. But this also makes his sole literary function as the Adoring Fan But If He Kept Dead Bodies Dressed As You In His Closet all the more obvious and readable.

Listen the best way I can say it is like, CANON G'rah/ is the worst of what FANON Emilie "Lili" de Rochefort is. And he doesn't even have the potential justifications or restraint (Lili having restraint, LILI; Queen Faggot herself!) or narrative points of canon Lili toward Asuka. He's just 100% a controlling presumptive turd from the beginning. And people blorbo this behavior because they think it's cute. They think possessiveness and self destruction and unthinking projection is cute and quirky and zany. And probably because from those I've spoken with it seems like no one has ever loved them irl so now they think this is love and what they're entitled to. He's that Weird Al song 'Do I Creep You Out?' played straight.

The game also makes stalkers cute with how it treats Nashu's stalker in the Hildy quests. This game is just really terrible tbh outside of playing dress up and killing things.

16. you can't understand why so many people like this thing (characterization, trope, headcanon, etc)

A lot of the popular general fandom tropes that have endured and are considered classic, a lot of them revolve around taking control and autonomy away from people for how "cute" it could be. Do you ever notice that? There's this sort of codified list for how to find joy in envisioning stand-ins for people are if they were your dolls, where everything goes wrong for them and they don't have choices outside those you make for them. I feel like this is a common thread in the psyche of most people who turn to fandoms, especially hard fans. There seems to be a subconscious desire to control and force their will on people around them, because often they are powerless and are looking for a place of absolute power. In being bullied they have become a bully.

[themollyjay]

When Trauma Speaks to Trauma

The first thing I did when I woke up this morning was watch Supergirl Episode 6x12.  For those of you who don’t know, the episode titled Blind Spots was cowritten by Azie Tesfai, the actress who plays Kelly Olsen on the show. The story deals with the fallout from one of Supergirl’s Superhero battles, and how it effects a low-income black neighborhood.  The episode was brilliant, emotional, and raw in a way you rarely see in television.  I really can’t overstate just how good this episode is.

There’s a lot of things going on in the episode.  It hits on white privilege and systemic racism in a big way.  It speaks to things like generational scars, and racial trauma and the ways even the most well intentioned and caring of allies fail marginalized people when they need them.  Throughout the episode, you watch as Kelly, a black woman begs the white people in her life who are in positions of power to help, and how none of them listen to her pleas until she finally breaks down and just lets loose all of her emotions, telling them how badly they have failed her.  It’s painful to watch.

As a white woman, there are things about Kelly’s experience, which is wonderfully captured by Tesfai’s amazing writing, that I will never understand, no matter how much I want to. So much of it is a result of things I will never experience.  The kind of cradle to grave discrimination that comes with being a minority, and in America, most especially comes with being black.

As a trans woman, as a person who is visibly a member of a marginalized group, so much of what Tesfai puts into this episode speaks to me on a deep level.  The feeling of not being seen.  The feeling that the needs of people like me falling on deaf ears. The feeling of screaming into a void. The feeling that we always have to bottle it up and put on a good face.  The frustration that come with knowing that even the most well-meaning people in our lives will never understand if they don’t share our marginalized identity.  The feeling of being tired.

I might not share all the aspects of Tesfai’s experience, but what she wrote spoke to so much of what I feel as part of a marginalized community that I had tears in my eyes at several points in the episode.  I felt seen in a way I rarely do, which brings me to the point of this post.

This episode is a perfect example of why diverse and marginalized voices are needed.  They’re needed writing tv shows, movies, video games, novels, plays and every other form of media.  No white person could have told the story Tesfai told last night. It’s not even a matter of ‘A black person could tell this story better’.  It’s literally a matter of ‘only a black person could tell that story’.  There are to many little touches, to many little moments that shape the story that could only come from someone with that particular lived experience.

The trauma that Tesfai put on the page and the screen with the help of David Ramsey who did a wonderful job directing the episode, spoke to me, and to my trauma.  It reminded me of something I think a lot of people forget. Diverse and marginalized voices don’t just speak to people within their own community.  There is shared experience and shared trauma that comes with being the other.

I think being reminded of that, of feeling that connection across the lines of marginalization, is important.  I think it’s necessary.  I think we need to be reminded first, that we’re not alone in feeling like we’re on the outside looking in, and second, that we can’t become so lost in our on struggles and pain that we forget to reach out and help other communities across those same lines.

I want to sign off by saying thank you to Azie for the episode.  It was beautiful.  Probably the best episode of Supergirl that has gone in front of the camera in a long time, and I can’t wait to see what else you write.

[geshertzarmeod]

Favorite Books of 2020

I wanted to put together a list! I read 74 new books this year, and I keep track of that on Goodreads - feel free to add or follow me if you want to see everything! I’m going to focus on the highlights, and the books that stuck with me personally in one way or another, in approximate order. Also, all but two of them (#5 and #7 on the honorable mention list) are queer/trans in some way. Links are to Goodreads, but if you’re looking to get the books, I suggest your library, the Libby app using your library, your local bookstore, or Bookshop.

The Faggots & Their Friends Between Revolutions by Larry Mitchell, illus. by Ned Asta (originally published 1977). I had a hard beginning of the year and was in a work environment where my queerness was just not welcomed or wanted. I read this in the middle of all of that, and it helped me so much. I took this book with me everywhere. I read it on planes. I read it on the bus, and on trains, and at shul. I showed it to friends... sometimes at shul, or professional development conferences. It healed my soul. Now I can’t find it and might get a new copy. When I reviewed it, in February, I wrote: “I think we all need this book right now, but I really needed this book right now. Wow. This book is magic, and brings back a sense of magic and beauty to my relationship with the world.” Also I bought my copy last July, in a gay bookstore on Castro St. in SF, and that in itself is just beautiful to me. (Here’s a post I made with some excerpts)

Once & Future duology, especially the sequel, Sword in the Stars, by A.R. Capetta and Cory McCarthy. Cis pansexual female King Arthur Ari Helix (she's the 42nd reincarnation and the first female one) in futuristic space with Arab ancestry (but like, from a planet where people from that area of earth migrated to because, futuristic space) works to end Future Evil Amazon.com Space Empire with her found family with a token straight cis man and token white person. Merlin is backwards-aging so he's a gay teenager with a crush and thousands of years of baggage. The book’s entire basis is found family, and it's got King Arthur in space. And the sequel hijacks the original myth and says “fuck you pop culture, it was whitewashed and straightwashed, there were queer and trans people of color and strong women there the whole time.” Which is like, my favorite thing to find in media, and a big part of why I love Xena so much. It’s like revisionist history to make it better except it’s actually probably true in ways. Anyway please read these books but also be prepared for an absolutely absurd and wild ride. Full disclosure though, I didn’t love the first book so much, it’s worth it for the sequel!

The Wicker King by K. Ancrum. This book hurt. It still hurts. But it was so good. It took me on a whole journey, and brought me to my destination just like it intended the whole time. The author’s note at the end made me cry! The sheer NEED from this book, the way the main relationship develops and shifts, and how you PERCEIVE the main relationship develops and shifts. I’m in awe of Ancrum’s writing. If you like your ships feral and needy and desperate and wanting and D/S vibes and lowkey super unhealthy but with the potential, with work, to become healthy and beautiful and right, read this book. This might be another one to check trigger warnings for though.

The Entirety of The Daevabad Trilogy by S.A. Chakraborty. I hadn’t heard of this series until this year, when a good friend recommended it to me. It filled the black hole in me left by Harry Potter. The political and mystical/fantasy world building is just *chef’s kiss* - the complexity! The morally grey, everyone’s-done-awful-things-but-some-people-are-still-trying-to-do-good tapestry! The ROMANCE oh my GOD the romance. If I’m absolutely fully invested in a heterosexual romance you know a book is good, but also this book had background (and then later less background) queer characters! And the DRAMA!!! The third book went in a direction that felt a little out of nowhere but honestly I loved the ride. I stayed up until 6am multiple times reading this series and I’d do it again.

An Unkindness of Ghosts by Rivers Solomon. I loved this book so much that it’s the only book I reviewed on my basically abandoned attempt at a book blog. This book is haunting, horrifying, disturbing, dark, but so, so good. The character's voices were so specific and clear, the relationships so clearly affected by circumstance and yet loving in the ways they could be. This is my favorite portrayal of gender maybe ever, it’s just... I don’t even have the words but I saw a post @audible-smiles​ made about it that’s been rattling in my head since. And, “you gender-malcontent. You otherling,” as tender pillow talk??? Be still my heart. Be ready, though, this book has all the triggers.. it’s a .

Felix Ever After by Kacen Callender. This book called me out on my perspective on love. Also, it made me cry a lot. And it has two different interesting well-written romance storylines. And a realistic coming-into-identity narrative about a Black trans demiboy. And a nuanced discussion of college plans and what one might do after college. And some big beautiful romcom moments. I wish I had it in high school. I’m so glad I have it now! (trigger warning for transphobia & outing, but the people responsible are held accountable by the end, always treated as not okay by the narrative, and the MC’s friends, and like... this is ownvoices and it’s GOOD.)

The Starless Sea by Erin Morgenstern. My Goodreads review says, “I have no idea what happened, and I loved it.” That’s not wrong, but to delve deeper, this book has an ethereal feeling that you get wrapped up in while reading. Nothing makes sense but that’s just as it should be. You’re hooked. It is so atmospheric, so meta, so fascinating. I’ve seen so many people say they interpreted this character or that part or the ending in all different ways and it all makes sense. And it’s all of this with a gay main character and romance and the central theme, the central pillar being a love of and devotion to stories. Of course I was going to love it.

Fierce Femmes and Notorious Liars: A Dangerous Trans Girl’s Confabulous Memoir by Kai Cheng Thom. “Because maybe what really matters isn’t whether something is true, or false. Maybe what matters is the story itself; what kinds of doors it opens, what kinds of dreams it brings.” This book was so good and paradigm shifting. It reminded me of #1 on this list in the way it turns real life experience and hard, tragic ones at that (in this case, of being a trans girl of color who leaves home and tries to make a life for herself in the city, with its violence), into a beautiful, haunting fable. Once upon a time.

I Wish You All the Best by Mason Deaver. I need to reread this book, as I read it during my most tranceful time of 2020 and didn’t write a review, so I forgot a lot. What I do remember is beautiful and important nonbinary representation, a really cute romance, an interesting parental and familial/sibling dynamic that was both heartbreaking and hopeful, and an on-page therapy storyline. Also Mason Deaver just left twitter but was an absolutely hilarious troll on it before leaving and I appreciate that (and they just published a Christmas novella that I have but haven’t read yet!)

The Truth Is by NoNieqa Ramos. It took a long time to trust this book but I’m so glad I did. It’s raw and real and full of grief and trauma (trigger warnings, that I remember, for grief, death (before beginning of book), and gun violence). The protagonist is flawed and gets to grow over the course of the book, and find her own place, and learn from the people around her, while they also learn to understand her and where she’s coming from. It’s got a gritty, harsh, and important portrayal of found family, messy queerness, and some breathtaking quotes. When I was 82% through this book I posted this update: “This book has addressed almost all of my initial hesitations, and managed to complicate itself beautifully.”

Anger is a Gift by Mark Oshiro.  I wasn’t actually in the best mental health place to read this book when I did (didn’t quite understand what it was) but it definitely reminded me of what there is to fight against and to fight for, and broke my heart, and nudged me a bit closer to hope. The naturally diverse cast of characters was one of the best parts of this book. The romance is so sweet and tender and then so painful. This book is important and well-written but read it with caution and trigger warnings - it’s about grief and trauma and racism and police brutality, but also about love and community.

The Prey of Gods by Nicky Drayden.  This is a sci-fi/fantasy/specfic mashup that takes place in near-future South Africa and has world-building myths with gods and demigoddesses and a trip to the world of the dead but also a genetically altered hallucinogenic drug that turns people into giant animals and a robot uprising and a political campaign and a transgender pop star and a m/m couple and all of them are connected. It’s bonkers. Like, so, so absolutely mind-breaking weird. And I loved it.

Crier’s War and Iron Heart by Nina Varela.  I absolutely LOVE LOVE LOVED the amount of folktales they told each other with queer romances as integral to those stories, especially in Iron Heart. A conversation between the two leads where Crier says she wants to read Ayla like a book, and Ayla says she’s not a book, and Crier explains all the different ways she wants to know Ayla, like a person, and wants to deserve to know her like a person, made me weak. It lives in my head rent-free.

Queen’s Shadow by E.K. Johnston @ekjohnston . I listened to this book on Libby and then immediately listened to it at least one more time, maybe twice, before my borrow time ran out. I love Padmé, and just always wish that female Star Wars characters got more focus and attention and this book gave me that!! And queer handmaidens! And the implication that Sabé is in love with Padmé and that’s just something that will always be true and she will always be devoted and also will make her own life anyway. And the Star Wars audiobooks being recorded the way they are with background sounds and music means it feels like watching a really long detailed beautiful Star Wars movie just about Padmé and her handmaidens.

Sissy: A Coming of Gender Story by Jacob Tobia. I needed to read this. The way Tobia talks about their experience of gender within the contexts of college, college leadership, and career, hit home. I kept trying to highlight several pages in a row on my kindle so I could go back and read them after it got returned to the library (sadly it didn’t work - it cuts off highlights after a certain number of characters). The way they talk about TOKENISM they way they talk about the responsibilities of the interviewer when an interviewee holds marginalized identities especially when no one else in the room does!!! Ahhhh!!!

Bonds of Brass by Emily Skrutskie. Disclaimer for this one that the author was rightfully criticized for writing a Black main character as a white author (and how the story ended up playing into some fucked up stuff that I can’t really unpack without spoiling). But also, the author has been working to move forward knowing she can’t change the past, has donated her proceeds, and this book is really good? It has all the fanfic tropes, so much delicious tension, a totally unexpected plot twist that had me immediately rereading the book. This book was super fun and also kind of just really really good Star Wars fanfiction.

How To Be a Normal Person by T.J. Klune. This book was so sweet, and cute, and hopeful, and both ridiculous and so real. I had some trouble getting used to Gus’ voice and internal monologue, but I got into it and then loved every bit after. The ace rep is something I’ve never seen like this before (and have barely read any ace books but still this was so fleshed out and well rounded and not just like, ‘they’re obsessed with swords not sex’ - looking at you, Once & Future - and leaving it there.) This all felt like a slice of life and I feel like I learned about people while reading it. Some of the moments are so, so funny, some are vaguely devastating. I have been personally victimized by TJ Klune for how he ends this book (a joke, you will know once you read it) but it also reminds me of the end of the “You Are There” episode of Xena and we all know what the answer to that question was.... and I choose to believe the answer here was similar.

You Should See Me in a Crown by Leah Johnson. I wish I had this book when I was in high school. I honestly have complicated feelings about prom and haven’t really been seeking out contemporary YA so I was hesitant to read this but it was so good and so well-written, and had a lot of depth to it. The movie (and Broadway show) “The Prom” wants what this book has.

Plain Bad Heroines by Emily M. Danforth. I never read horror books, so this was a new thing for me. I loved the feeling of this book, the way I felt fully immersed. I loved how entirely queer it was. I was interested in the characters and the relationships, even though we didn’t have a full chance to go super deep into any one person but rather saw the connections between everyone and the way the stories matched up with each other. I just wanted a bit of a more satisfying ending.

Honorable Mention: reread in 2020 but read for the first time pre-2020

Red White & Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston. I couldn’t make this post without mentioning this book. It got me through this year. I love this book so much; I think of this book all the time. This book made me want to find love for myself. You’ve all heard about it enough but if you haven’t read this book what are you DOING.

In Other Lands by Sarah Rees Brennan @sarahreesbrennan​ . I reread this one over and over too, both as text and as an audiobook. I went for walks when I had lost my earbuds and had Elliott screaming about an elf brothel loudly playing and got weird looks from someone walking their dog. I love this book so much. It’s just so fun, and so healing to read a book reminiscent of all the fantasies I read as a kid, but with a bi main character and a deconstruction of patriarchy and making fun of the genre a bit. Also, idiots to lovers is a great trope and it’s definitely in this book.

Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe by Benjamin Alire Sáenz. This book is forever so important to me. I am always drawn in by how tenderly Sáenz portrays his characters. These boys. These boys and their parents. I love them. I love them so much. This is another one where I don’t even know what to say. I have more than 30 pages in my tag for this book. I have “arda” set as a keyboard shortcut on my phone and laptop to turn into the full title. This book saved my life.

Last Night I Sang to the Monster by Benjamin Alire Sáenz. This book hurts to read - it’s a story about trauma, about working through that trauma, healing enough to be ready to hold the worst memories, healing enough to move through the pain and start to make a life. It’s about found family and love and pain and I love it. It’s cathartic. And it’s a little bit quietly queer in a beautiful way, but that’s not the focus. Look up trigger warnings (they kind of are spoilery so I won’t say them here but if you have the potential to be triggered please look them up or ask me before reading)

Ella Enchanted by Gail Carson Levine.  When asked what my all time favorite book is, it’s usually this one. Gail Carson Levine has been doing live readings at 11am since the beginning of the pandemic shut down in the US, and the first book she read was Ella Enchanted. I’ve been slowly reading it to @mssarahpearl and am just so glad still that it has the ability to draw me in and calm me down and feels like home after all this time. This book is about agency. I love it.

Radio Silence by Alice Oseman @chronicintrovert . I’ve had this on my all-time-faves list since I read it a few years ago and ended up rereading it this year before sending a gift copy to a friend, so I could write little notes in it. It felt a little different reading it this time - as I get further away from being a teenager myself, the character voice this book is written in takes a little longer to get used to, but it’s so authentic and earnest and I love it. I absolutely adore this book about platonic love and found family and fandom and mental illness and abuse and ace identity and queerness and self-determination, especially around college and career choices. Ahhh. Thank you Alice Oseman!!!

Leia: Princess of Alderaan by Claudia Gray @claudiagray​ . I have this one on audible and reread it several times this year. I love the fleshing out of Leia’s story before the original trilogy, I love her having had a relationship before Han, and the way it would have affected her perspective. I also am intrigued by the way it analyses the choices the early rebellion had to make... I just, I love all the female focused new Star Wars content and the complexity being brought to the rebellion.

[dragynkeep]

Tolkien treated Frodo’s trauma with fucking respect and gave him a happy ending that still acknowledged the impact of the Ring and the quest. To see people put RW “neurodivergence is evil actually” BY in the same category is BULLSHIT.

at the core of it, tolkien wrote out from his experiences & what he saw happening to a lot of his fellow army men; the “ sickness ” that they couldn’t recover from even after the war was over, much like frodo not being able to recover from the morgul blade wound. it feels so raw & realistic & emotional because it comes from experience & true care towards these characters.

mkek have never gone through any of this, especially not miles & kerry. they wrote a racism storyline but they’re two white men & miles is constantly flip flopping between him ever suffering discrimination or not. all are able bodied, the only one who is nd is miles who has adhd  —  which just makes ironwood’s semblance worse because he should know the harmful impact  — & all of them, sans kiersi, are cishet. kiersi isn’t even a good mark in that direction considering her depiction of nonbinary & asexual people in her works.

you don’t have to have to be part of these demographics to write them, but you do have to show them the respect inherent to these lived experiences. otherwise, you end up with the tone deaf, offensive mess that is rwby & then you get weirdos comparing it to lotr.

[myyenlee]

Celebrating UK Black History Month: Learning Resources, a Read & Watch List, and Content Creation Tools

This year’s UK Black History Month theme, Proud To Be, is about celebrating the Black experience. As a distributed company with employees around the world, including the United Kingdom, we believe that the more perspectives we embrace, and the more we learn about our teammates, the better we are at engaging and helping our global community. 

This October, we encourage individuals and organizations to learn more about Black history, heritage, and culture in the UK. “Black British history is British history. It’s more than a month; it is interwoven in everything,” says Ama, a colleague based in Scotland. “We have changed landscapes in education, law, politics, work, and equality for all within the UK.” Black history is deeply embedded in UK culture, says Ama, from institutions — like the National Health Service — to music, sports, art, media, and popular culture.

Interested in learning more? We’ve compiled a list of staff recommendations:

websites and organizations on WordPress

books, films, and television by Black thinkers and creators in the UK

blogging and website-building tools

Explore these resources this month — or bookmark them for learning and inspiration anytime.

#PoweredByWordPress learning resources

From the official UK Black History Month hub to the website of the Stephen Lawrence Day Foundation, these resources are great starting points for your journey.

Black History Month 2021

All year long, Black History Month publishes news, features, career and education information, and event listings across the UK. Make it your first resource for getting educated and involved.

Black Heroes Foundation

Focused on youth education and development, this London-based community charity raises Black cultural awareness of the general public, educating and uplifting youth in particular. The foundation envisions a world where Black heroes are acknowledged, respected, and celebrated.

Stephen Lawrence Day

The 1993 murder and case of Stephen Lawrence — an 18-year-old from southeast London who was killed in an unprovoked racial attack while waiting for the bus — led to a major shift in the UK in attitudes about racism, the criminal justice system, and the role of the police. The Stephen Lawrence Day Foundation continues to tell Stephen’s story, offers resources for educators and organizers, and works toward creating a just society.

The National Archives

The National Archives is the official archive and publisher of the UK government, documenting over 1000 years of history. Researchers can browse the Black British history section of the website for a guide on social and political history in the 20th century, lots of blog and multimedia content, and records relating to British citizens of African and African-Caribbean descent.

Black History Walks

Partnering with museums, schools, and other institutions, Black History Walks offers a dozen walking tours throughout London, public monthly educational talks, and video courses and resources on Black history. Its diverse programming targets a range of people both in person and online, from students to travelers to businesses.

A read & watch syllabus

Looking for book, TV, and film recommendations about Black history and culture in the UK — or by Black scholars and creators — but aren’t sure where to start? Here are some of our nonfiction, fiction, and film and television picks.

Nonfiction

Black and British: A Forgotten History: Published to accompany the BBC Two series noted in the Film and Television section below, this must-read book by historian David Olusoga examines the shared history between the British Isles and the people of Africa.

100 Great Black Britons: In this book, Patrick Vernon and Angelina Osborne — founders of the 100 Great Black Britons campaign — celebrate Black British history and recognize key Black Britons who have helped to shape Great Britain.

Brit(ish): On Race, Identity and Belonging: A hybrid of history and memoir, Afua Hirsch’s book “reveals the identity crisis at the heart of Britain today” and explores a nation in denial about its imperial past and present.

This Is Why I Resist: Don’t Define My Black Identity: In a book that demands fundamental change, activist and lawyer Dr. Shola Mos-Shogbamimu examines the roots of racism and anti-Blackness and calls for meaningful action.

The Louder I Will Sing: A Story of Racism, Riots and Redemption: In 1985, when Lee Lawrence was a child, his mother was wrongfully shot by police during a raid on their home in Brixton. Published more than three decades later, his memoir chronicles what it was like to grow up as a young Black man in England and how that day influenced his family.

In Black and White: A Young Barrister’s Story of Race and Class in a Broken Justice System: Experiencing a tragedy as a teenager pushed Alexander Wilson to become a barrister — a type of lawyer — so she could make a difference within an unjust system. Her debut book describes her experience as a mixed-race woman in a field lacking in diverse representation.

Natives: Race and Class in the Ruins of Empire: In this book, author and hip-hop artist Akala blends biography and personal experience with an examination of race and class across topics — from education to politics and the police to the far right.

Misfits: A Personal Manifesto: This “coming-to-power manifesto” by Michaela Coel — the actress, writer, and creator of I May Destroy You — builds on an inspiring keynote address she delivered at the 2018 Edinburgh International Television Festival about resilience, empathy, storytelling, and growing up in public housing in East London.

What a Time to Be Alone: The Slumflower’s Guide to Why You Are Already Enough: In this illustrated self-help guide, author and influencer Chidera Eggerue, also known as the Slumflower, writes about self-love, empowerment, and creating your own narrative. The book also includes Igbo proverbs from Eggerue’s Nigerian mother.

I recommend David Olusoga’s Black and British: A Forgotten History. It’s a really important book, with new updates on the Windrush scandal and Black Lives Matter from the UK perspective.

—Victoria Jones, UK

Fiction

White Teeth: Published over 20 years ago, Zadie Smith’s debut novel focuses on the lives of two unlikely friends and their families in London. Considered a “modern classic of multicultural Britain,” the book is a window into the immigrant experience.

Girl, Woman, Other: Weaving a dozen narratives about different people across ages, backgrounds, and professions, Bernardine Evaristo examines topics of identity, race, and womanhood in modern Britain.

Love in Colour: This collection of short stories by author Bolu Babalola reimagines ancient love stories and folktales from around the world, from Greek myths to Middle Eastern legends, and centers Black women and strong female characters.

Queenie: This sharp and funny novel by Candice Carty-Williams is about the life of Queenie Jenkins, a mid-twenties British Jamaican woman living in London who’s struggling to find her place in the world.

Such a Fun Age: One night, a supermarket security guard sees a young Black woman, Emira Tucker, in the aisles with a white toddler. The guard accuses Emira of kidnapping, when in reality she’s the babysitter. In this novel, Kiley Reid takes a look at race, class, power dynamics, and privilege.

I’ve greatly valued Zadie Smith’s work. Her novels — especially White Teeth — are well crafted and offer a mix of comedy and realism that often focuses on social class in England. Her essays are things of beauty. She’s worth a read, no matter the month.

Daryl L. L. Houston, USA

Film and Television

Black and British: A Forgotten History: This BBC Two series by David Olusoga, composed of four episodes, looks at the relationship between Britain and people of African origins, slavery, and Black British identity in the 20th century.

Small Axe: In this anthology of five films, 12 Years a Slave filmmaker Steve McQueen brings to life the stories of West Indian immigrants in London from the 1960s to 1980s.

Black Power: A British Story of Resistance: This hour-and-a-half documentary includes interviews with activists involved in Britain’s Black Power movement in the late 1960s. (The BBC’s larger collection of programming for Black History Month is also worth browsing.)

I May Destroy You: Michaela Coel’s recent Emmy-winning drama series is about a promising young writer, Arabella, who is sexually assaulted one night while out with her friends. The show explores consent and trauma, and stars a primarily Black British cast.

Black and Welsh: Cardiff-born filmmaker Liana Stewart brings together people from across Wales to highlight its multiculturalism and to share stories from community members about what it means to be Black and Welsh.

Hair Power: Me and My Afro: Irish writer and broadcaster Emma Dabiri has intimate conversations with both men and women about their hair, digging into how and why Afro and Black hair is an important and complex aspect of the Black experience.

Highlife: This premium reality TV show follows the lives of eight successful, glamorous British West Africans and depicts a different angle of Black life in the UK.

Desmond’s: Originally running from 1989 to 1994, this sitcom was set in a barbershop in Peckham, southeast London, and featured a mostly Black British Guyanese cast.

Blog and website resources

Lean on these resources, tools, and organizations during UK Black History Month — and beyond — to publish content on your site that’s fitting for your audience, or to connect with and collaborate with others.

Stock illustration libraries like Black Illustrations.

Diverse stock photography sites, including free resources like Nappy, Picnoi, and CreateHER Stock, and premium photo collections at TONL, Eye for Ebony, Mocha Stock, and Raw Pixel. (Disabled and Here, a free stock image library with photos of disabled Black, Indigenous, and people of color (BIPOC), also publishes an interview series with disabled BIPOC writers and activists.)

Organizations at the intersection of tech and diversity, like UKBlackTech, which supports diverse innovation and equity, transparency, and representation across the UK; and TechUP Women, a tech training program for people from underrepresented communities.

Teaching resources across age groups, including a Black History Month resource pack, a BBC series of short films for primary and secondary school teachers, and The Times Educational Supplement’s Black experiences hub.

Would you like to recommend a website on WordPress, writing or media by a Black thinker or creator in the UK, or another resource? Tell us in the comments.

from Blogging Tips https://wordpress.com/blog/2021/10/04/uk-black-history-month-resources-recommendations-tools/ via http://www.rssmix.com/

[kny111]

Decolonizing Healthcare: Addressing Social Stressors In Medicine

What does it mean to have a healthcare system that serves everybody? And what can physicians do to address the ways in which societal challenges impact our diagnoses?

Image Source: HealthSystemsGlobal

Rupa Marya, M.D., is exploring these concepts through numerous projects aimed at researching our current medical climate and collaborating with marginalized populations to make healthcare more effective and compassionate.

Following is a transcript from Marya’s 2018 Bioneers keynote presentation, in which she discusses her research and vision for the future of medicine. Watch the full keynote video here.View more keynotes, transcripts, and more from the 2018 Bioneers Conference.

Rupa Marya: I am the daughter of Punjabi immigrants who came to this country in 1973, with little money but plenty of caste privilege. We grew up with family vacations driving a VW van around the Western lands. My father would stop at the reservations. He would make us get out and listen and learn and look, and see what had happened to the original people of this land. He would talk to me about colonization, because we are also a people who had been colonized by Europeans.

I am a mother of two beautiful mixed heritage boys, and I am a farmer’s wife. I’m a physician who works in adult medicine, and who witnesses society’s ills manifest in my patients’ bodies, and a doctor who sees racism and state violence as an urgent public health issue. I’m a touring musician who has played in 29 different countries, singing in five different languages with the band Rupa and the April Fishes. To use a phrase taught to me by a Miwok elder, Wounded Knee, I am an Earth person.

What I’m going to describe for you is a system of domination in which we live, and what I believe are the direct health consequences of that system for all of us. I’ll begin with a description of how we have come to understand disease in a modern post-industrial context. In the 1850s, the germ theory was developed, which described how organisms such as bacteria and viruses made us sick. That led to the development of antibiotics and vaccines and systems to limit the spread of infectious disease.

In the 1960s, with the elucidation of DNA, we entered the molecular genetic era, where we are today. Here the gene creates a protein that can cause or protect from disease. How sick or well you were was thought to be preordained somehow by your genetics. This understanding has led to many powerful diagnostic tools and targeted therapies for specific diseases.In 2004, with the discovery of the role of RAS gene mutation in the development of colon cancer, exactly 2,000 years after Roman physician Celsus described the cardinal signs of inflammation, we are entering the era of inflammation. Instead of a reductionist approach to understanding disease, we are seeing how many pathways lead to chronic inflammation, which in turn creates the conditions for illness.

Today we will be talking about the impact of social stressors, which have been shown to cause chronic inflammation. These diseases require more systemic approaches, not simply focusing on the individual, but rather moving our gaze to the structures of society, helping us see how the individual pursuit of health is actually futile in a system that makes health impossible.

To understand the root causes of pathologies we see today, which impact all of us but affect black, brown and poor people more intensely, we have to examine the foundations of this society, which began with colonization. To me, to be colonized means to be disconnected and dis-integrated from our ancestry, from our Earth, from our indigeneity, our Earth-connected selves. We all come from Earth-connected peoples, people who once lived in deep connections with the rhythms of nature. I believe it is not a coincidence that the colonization of this land happened at the same time Europeans were burning hundreds of thousands of witches, those women who carried the traditional indigenous knowledge of the tribes of Europe.

Colonization is the way the extractive economic system of capitalism came to this land, supported by systems of supremacy and domination, which are a necessary part of keeping the wealth and power accumulated in the hands of the colonizers and ultimately their financiers.

In what we now know as the United States, this system of supremacy is expressed in many ways and with many outcomes. Today, we will focus on specific ones. First, white supremacy, which created a framework that legitimized slavery and genocide. Slavery created cheap labor, which is necessary for a functioning capitalist system. Genocide created unlimited access to resources in the form of land, animal parts, minerals, and raw materials, which are also necessary for a fully functioning capitalist economy.

As capitalism functions, it further entrenches these systems of supremacy.We all know that white supremacy is the scary guy with the swastika and the hood. But it can also look like any place where there is an abundance of white people in exclusive contexts, where power and access is not readily ceded to others. Please remember, lest you get caught up in a tsunami of guilty feelings, that as I talk about these things, I’m talking about systems of oppression that we are actually all a part of and that we all recreate, and these systems are what need to be dismantled.

There’s white supremacy and then there’s male supremacy, also known as patriarchy, which leads to the invisibilization of women’s labor, like creating the entire human race out of our bodies. Or in this context, reproducing the entire workforce and suppressing our wages, which further supports capitalism.

Patriarchy also leads to femicide, domestic violence and child abuse, which we see across all groups. We also see human supremacy, where people feel superior to the rest of living entities, thereby subjecting living soils, seeds, animals, plants, and water to horrific treatment in the name of exploiting resources, which in turn feeds the capitalist need for ever-increasing profits.

While this wheel of domination, exploitation, generation, and sequestration of wealth continues, we experience trauma as the byproduct and common pathway. Many studies show us that chronic stress and trauma create chronic inflammation. When we look at the top ten causes of death in occupied Turtle Island, we see diseases that have been described to us as diseases of lifestyle or ones that come about because of poor choices. Maybe we eat too much fried food. Maybe we don’t exercise enough. Maybe we have a genetic predisposition. What these diseases have in common in their pathogenesis is a component of inflammation, and we are just starting to parse out how the social stressors and the very structures of society contribute to and exacerbate this chronic inflammatory state.

It is unfounded to see these diseases as caused by individual poor choices in the context of a genetic predisposition. I see them as diseases that are virtually impossible to avoid because of the system in which we live, which generates a biological milieu of inflammation through trauma, chronic stress, environmental degradation, and damaged food systems. I see these as diseases of colonization.

If you’re a Native person, you’re like... It takes science and medicine a long time to catch up with Native knowledge. This is not news to Native people. When I met Oglala Lakota elder Candace Ducheneaux in Standing Rock, she talked to me about how these diseases that are so common in modern society and more heavily so in Indian Country are diseases that were brought by the colonizers.

We talked about diabetes, which I had been taught in medical school is a disease of insulin resistance. Either your pancreas doesn’t make enough insulin or your body’s cells are not sensitive to the insulin. These are both ways of seeing things that are based in a sense of individualism and predetermination.

On the Standing Rock reservation, before the damming of Mni Sose or the Missouri River, diabetes was rare. Actually across Turtle Island, diabetes was virtually nonexistent. Once the river was dammed, it ended up flooding nearby cottonwood forests. By shifting the ecology through a colonizing force, the people became more dependent on the cash economy for their food and medicine, and they lost the essential cultural connection to their traditional ways. This tragic loss of the commons is a hallmark of capitalist society, and the impact is felt in the individual body.

After the damming of the river, rates of diabetes skyrocketed. This story is similar for tribes all over Turtle Island. It is important to recognize this didn’t happen simply because people became more sedentary and consequently more obese. This happened because of colonization, not by changing the indigenous body, but by changing the social structures around that body, which in turn creates disease.

One powerful study from Alberta demonstrated that First Nations tribes that had maintained their cultural continuity specifically through language had lower rates of diabetes. Just imagine that.

This is what is protective. It’s not the low carb, paleo diet. It’s not exercise. It’s not the latest fad or trend. This study also showed that self-determinism has a powerful protective effect from diabetes for Indigenous People. These same factors had a protective effect against suicide for Indigenous People in Canada, who experience rates two to five times the national average. This example, to me, demonstrates how disease is a complex manifestation of social and biological influences on groups of individuals that results in a common expression – here, diabetes.

While we can understand this clearly from a Native American experience, we must be aware that these social structures of domination produce trauma and inflammation for all of us. We are all affected.

So what can we do in the face of this knowledge that can seem so overwhelming? Simple things can have huge effects.

To heal the diseases that are caused by the trauma of colonization, we must decolonize. If colonization represents a dis-integration and a disconnection, we must reconnect. Our work is two-pronged: to reintegrate and to dismantle. We must reintegrate what has been divided and conquered in our societies, between our peoples, between us and the natural world around us, and within ourselves. We can do this in many ways: by promoting acts that increase local autonomy and self-determinism, by exposing the myth of treating the individual as limited in its ability to actually address root causes of diseases, by reconnecting to who we were before our respective colonization – through songs, traditional knowledge, reawakening our food and medicine ways, and reawakening our relationships to each other, to the Earth around us, and to other beings. We must dismantle those systems of domination that create and recreate cycles of trauma and inflammation, those systems that work in service of capitalism.

This is my vision of holistic healthcare.

Integrated, Holistic Healthcare

What does that look like for my work? How do I use my whitecoat privilege to address things systemically? Aside from starting to address diseases with my patients in the hospital as directly related to these phenomena, I’m doing these things:

With regards to integration, I have been invited to help create a clinic and farm to develop the practice of Decolonizing Medicine at Standing Rock, together with tribal members and healers Linda Black Elk and Luke Black Elk, great-grandson of Black Elk medicine man. We have been developing a framework for how to offer care that centralizes Lakota cosmology, an understanding of disease and health, and to create a model that can be replicable to other places and in other specific contexts.

We have incredible partners, including Mass Design Group and National Nurses United, as well as the Do No Harm Coalition at UCSF, who are over 400 healthcare workers committed to ending systems of oppression as a way of insuring health for all. We have raised over a million dollars so far, thanks to generous gifts from the Jena & Michael King Foundation, Colin Kaepernick, and crowdfunding, and seek five million more to break ground on this exciting project.

The Justice Study

With regards to dismantling systems of oppression, I have been working on a national study of the health effects of law enforcement violence or terrorism, called the Justice Study. We were asked by the community fighting for justice for 26-year-old Mario Woods, who was gunned down by SFPD in 2016, to create a study that would answer this question: If the wound is police violence and the medicine is justice, what happens to our health when the medicine is not given?

We gathered a team of public health workers and researchers, and we are currently actively compiling data. It’s already illuminating, showing how many areas of people’s lives are affected by police violence. We know that Native Americans, Black and Latinx people experience disproportionate rates of police violence, and we can see that they are most impacted by the long-standing effects of violence. How does this reality contribute to the health disparities that we see?

Across all races, we are being traumatized, with black, brown, and Indigenous people being affected more intensely. We are continuing to collect data, and we’ll be offering it to policy makers who wish to shape community safety away from models that uphold white supremacist frameworks into ones that create safety and mitigate harm for all of us.

What I want you to remember is this:

Health is impossible when living in systems of oppression.

We cannot effectively treat diseases like diabetes with a drug without addressing the systems that make diabetes so prevalent.

We must redefine the scope of healthcare workers and the work of healthcare to include not only care at the bedside of the individual, but dismantling the systems of oppression that create the conditions for illness.

And finally, we must reintegrate with the Earth, with each other, and within ourselves. We must decolonize.

[tartareus]

Do you condone/ship incest? I was reading your rules and got confused about your sentence where you said if people are uncomfortable with fictional consensual incest this isn’t the blog for you. Except Incest is incest regardless of if it’s fiction

hi there, friend, how do you do?

while i'm not particularly fond of anons (nex time you'd like to discuss something regarding my rules and/or character portrayal, i strongly encourage you to do so via ims - i don't bite, and if our points of view don't quite match? that's alright, i promise i'll leave you in peace :) ) for various reasons, i'm so glad you've read my rules (that probably makes you one of the few who follow me - at least i presume you do, idk - who has done so, so thank you so much!), i cannot stress enough how important they are to me. if i happen to follow you, rest assured that i have read yours (unless, ofc, i couldn't find one in your blog - in any case, if i happen to accidentally break one of yours, just hmu or gimme a nudge).

considering that you've asked more than one question, i'll answer to you in separate sections - needless to say that while i break it down your questions, the answer might become a little longer than usual (again, i'm sorry). i'll keep this tagged, in case any of my followers don't feel like reading about this. without further ado, let’s dive in.´

“do you condone/ship incest?”

short answer? nope. but that is not a black or white question i’m afraid. no, i – nox, the human behind this blog of fictional characters – personally do not condone incest , never have and never will, and  don’t ship it. i do, however, ship consanguinamory on rare occasions, and when i do happen to write it i never do it in a good light.

for those who are not familiar with the term, here’s a little bit of info about it x && x. in short, the key difference between them is: incest is usually linked abuse (a fictional example that can be used, taking in consideration one of my very own muses, in this case is margot verger – who was sadly abused by her brother in the hannibal books) while consanguinamory (the lannisters, for example, or even the sharpe siblings from crimson peak are examples of consanguineous relationships) is the consensual romantic and/or sexual relationship between members of the same family who are of consenting age.

[ personally, i find both of them gross as fuuck irl but when it comes to fictional works i may get over this first disgust and ponder more on that && take in consideration the characters arch, plot, thoughts and the whole world they are set in. ]

i suppose the turning point here is the consent. i never, never, condone any sort of abuse – not in fiction and neither in real life – and while it’s a subject that bothers me to no end in real life, when it comes to fiction i am less inclined to project into them. i may write dark and toxic relationships, but i obviously do not condone them. that’s the point here – people on this hellsite usually mix the two together (condoning something and shipping/writing it, that is) when in fact they shouldn’t even be in the same box to begin with.

let’s say you write a fictional serial killer – norman bates, tate langdon, hannibal lecter, catherine tramell (that chick from basic instinct), patrick bateman, mrs lovett and sweeney todd, kai anderson, bellatrix, grindelwald and voldemort (the list of plausible examples could go on forever…) – here and ship with them; does it mean that you, the writer, condone every single action and choice your muse does? if writing something purely fictional equals to condoning it in real life, well… the world is even more fucked up than i first thought.

you see, in this little exercise in imagination, you could’ve easily picked a good guy or gal to write, the hero; the goody two shoes. why didn’t you? well, it’s complicated to pin point why some are drawn to darker works of fiction and characters while others are not, i suppose each individual has their own reasons && i can only speak for myself when i say that i am drawn to these sort of fictional works because they the safest way to explore dark topics that pertain to human society. on my side, it’s nothing but raw curiosity.

there’s also the issue of how different cultures see these relationships. in case you haven’t noticed, i am not from the states but actually from brazil. especially in the rural area, it’s not uncommon for second cousins to date or even marry (ew, i know, pretty gross). that’s something that is luckily falling out of practice, but you can easily find it, more so in the poor rural areas that are really far from the cities.

you may have noticed that most of the sources for the terms come from a blog that advocates real life consanguinamory – but make no mistake, i don’t support it. these were the only places i’ve found as sources in a quick look online. i don’t support it irl, but whatever consenting adults are doing amongst themselves is no concern of mine – i have no say on the matter and all in all, i don’t give a damn. i just don’t like it. everything i’ve discussed here is related to fiction, consent and is only ever related to people of consenting age.

“i was reading your rules and got confused about your sentence where you said if people are uncomfortable with fictional consensual incest this isn’t the blog for you. except incest is incest regardless of if it’s fiction”

to be honest with you, anon, i couldn’t possibly see how you’ve got confused with this. i thought i was pretty clear with that, but perhaps not. sorry, my english is not perfect. however, with the risk of sounding like a meme, i said what i said. if you personally feel uncomfortable or even triggered with fictional consensual incest otherwise known as consanguinamory, maybe my blog isn’t for you. not because i – as the mun –  condone it, but because i might mention it or even allude to it when i write certain characters. again, consent is the main thing here – you won’t ever see me writing that awful part of margot’s past, but i might mention it on some threads as it is part of her trauma but i will write jaime’s feelings regarding cersei and joanna’s love for tywin – and that should not be overlooked.

“except incest is incest regardless of if it’s fiction” 

so far so good, am i to assume that you also believe that “murder is murder, regardless of if it is fiction or not”? should we call the police on, idk, george rr martin for killing....hell knows how many characters...at this point i’m sure not even he knows. leaving my petty comment aside (it’s the arthritis, i’m always annoyed when in pain), i see where you’re coming from; fair enough.  but you missed a big point here – consensual. i do not write abuse, even to the muses who – in the canon source material – have done so    ( like jaime lannister himself – who’s in a consanguinamorous [therefore, falling under the category of fictional consensual incest] relationship with cersei – who abused his sister next to their son’s dead body [ yeah, jaime apologists, i’m out to get y’all...jokes aside, i do not acknowledge people claiming that cersei manipulated him into going to bed with her, while they are both shitty and toxic as fuck people, their relationship is mutually messed up – gag if you must but jaime lannister is far from innocent angel ] )     in the past. i. don’t. write. it. but i do write jaime’s feelings for cersei because they are canon and are also a big part of the character he became.

all of that, of course, has to do with my own position on the “war” between the people who believe fiction has a great power and influence over reality vs the ones who do not believe in that. personally, i find it hard to believe that fiction is a brainwashing tool rewiring people’s brains  - i find the idea itself ludicrous, the ones who strongly stand for that aren’t that different from flat-earthers and people who believe in reverse racism tbh – but i do acknowledge the influence media has on society. its not nearly enough to turn someone to the “dark side” alone by itself – those who claim that videogames, for example, made them violent most likely already had something different and perhaps wrong with them before the games triggered something. i don’t believe that media creates things on people, but brings buried things (fears, feelings, emotions, hopes) back to the surface. it’s all about the stimulus.

if you wanna be scared, watch an horror movie; if you wanna be happy, a comedy video.  wanna feel warm inside and live unrealistic romantic expectations vicariously through fictional characters? read a 50.000 words slow burn fluffy happy fanfic of your otp at 3 am even though you gotta wake up early in the following morning....

point is, they are not creating things, they are bringing forth responses from you that were already there in your brain (everybody has laughed before and felt fear, it’s part of human development). and how you react to certain content is entirely to you and your past. say, if you drowned as a kid on the sea - and had trauma from that - the idea of watching titanic is not so fun, is it?

it’s not my place to decide what you should do, that is entirely your own choice to make, just be aware that, as i’ve stated before countless times, i may write dark topics that may or may not be triggering to some.  i do so because it is my blog, and i don’t react so harshly to this content (in fact, i love horror, thriller and dark fictional stuff – meanwhile i dread the thought of rom coms, hell knows why??) for i am lucky to be able to separate fiction from reality. basically, whilst writing a villain, i myself do not become one in real life – that part remains in fiction only and doesn’t affect me.

that is not a constant, sure. i don’t just write dark shady stuff – there’s plenty of fluffy shit on my blog, but i like to warn people beforehand to make sure we are all on the same page. it’s for your own comfort, i suppose, because i may not understand certain points of view on fiction but i will always defend your right to be comfortable and safe.

so yes, if you aren’t feeling well at that notion, please unfollow and block me if you must – i never wish to cause any discomfort to anyone – however, before you do so (that is, if you do so) i beg you to just send me an im warning me beforehand, please? that way i can block you – and your other blogs as well – so the chances of me running into you again and causing you discomfort will be minimal. that way we’ll both be on own respective lanes and happy about it. i mass follow very often and don’t usually know which blogs belong to whom (uh, did that make sense? my latina ass is not used to using whom in a sentence....), i may follow another blog (or the revamped blog) of someone who has blocked me and never even realise it – that’s not me following you around and stalking like a total creep, that’s probably me not even remembering who you are. again, sorry – i don’t mean for this to come off rude or anything but???? its the truth? you know the drill, big following list, big followers list (well, big for me tbh, i cannot remember the name or alias of 600 people for the life of me, excuse me if my memory doesn’t serve me right), hard to keep track. there will be no witch hunts, at least on my part, because i deem them to be childish and way too dramatic for my taste. if you’d like to speak in private, adult to adult, i’m always game – i dread vague posting, i personally see it as a pathetic and weak trait. 

as long as you’re civil, so am i.

either way, do whatever makes you feel comfortable and safe on your blog – your  mental health is far more important (to me, and hopefully to you as well) than a hobby, than tumblr, rp or whatever fictional stuff someone’s writing or reading; you are responsible for your own online experience, and i am responsible for mine. that’s an empowering thing that should be reminded more often.

i truly hope i’ve managed to answer whatever doubts or questions you had in mind, if not my ims are always open and so is my discord. once again, thank you for reading my rules and stay safe!

edit; my dumb ass forgot to drop my disco handle, since i change often. it currently is   DOCTOR BITCHCRAFT !!! | 𝒏𝒐𝒙#1398

[strwbrymoonchild]

How Residue Illuminates The Complexities of Survivor’s Guilt and Gentrification

Written and directed by Merawi Gerima, Residue tells the story of Jay, a screenwriter who returns from California to create a movie about his old neighborhood on Q street in Eckington, Washington, D.C. The film has a semi-autobiographical feel that offers an impressionist yet raw look at gentrification in Northeast D.C.  35mm shots of kids playing, and the unforgettable sounds of cicadas, windchimes, go-go music, and police sirens guide us through Jay’s childhood memories and provide a sense of nostalgia. Fireworks—which could easily be mistaken for gunshots in his neighborhood—stands out as a significant recurring motif. Flashbacks to the Fourth of July foreground themes of liberation or lack thereof, and the hypocrisy of celebrating Independence Day when Black people are still struggling for freedom. To highlight this, Gerima jarringly intersperses documentary-style footage of protests and police brutality in the neighborhood throughout the film. 

Gerima’s unique take on survivor’s guilt shows us that you don’t have to be white to have a savior complex. In the opening scene we hear Jay’s inner monologue: “Did you really think a script would save us?” Art and storytelling are key parts of Black survival and liberation because they allow us to archive and spotlight our experiences, to amplify causes we care about, and to construct better worlds where freedom is possible. Nevertheless, this film offers honest and reflective commentary on the limits of storytelling. Yes, making art is part of the work. But so much of the work remains off the page. Poet and activist Nikki Giovanni said it best when she wrote For Saundra in 1968 after Nixon was elected: “it occurred to me/maybe i shouldn't write/at all/but clean my gun/and check my kerosene supply/perhaps these are not poetic/times/at all”

Jay’s savior complex is further exposed when he runs into an old neighbor named Delonte while in search of his childhood best friend Demetrius. Jay explains to Delonte that he wants to make this movie to give a “voice to the voiceless.” Offended, Delonte quickly pushes back asking, “nigga who’s voiceless?” Later Delonte retorts, “you only care about yourself and your motherfucking movie.” This perspective on what it looks like to have an old friend swoop back into your gentrified neighborhood to try to save the day after years away is imbued with not only raw honesty and resentment but also a sense of accountability and understandable distrust of Jay’s potential ulterior motives.

“Those experiencing survivor’s guilt are paying the very real price of upward mobility, which often means moving into isolating predominantly white spaces, adapting to the social norms of those spaces on a steep learning curve, losing connection with one's sense of self and culture, and struggling to maintain support networks of friends and family”

Does Jay only care about telling his community’s story to launch his filmmaking career? Is he exploiting the lived trauma of his friends or does he genuinely care about raising awareness of police brutality and gentrification? Perhaps both. At the same time, those experiencing survivor’s guilt are paying the very real price of upward mobility, which often means moving into isolating predominantly white spaces, adapting to the social norms of those spaces on a steep learning curve, losing connection with one's sense of self and culture, and struggling to maintain support networks of friends and family. This can be extremely taxing on one's mental health and self-esteem. Jay may be going through his struggles that remain unseen in the film, nevertheless, we can’t help but sympathize with Delonte for distrusting Jay’s intentions. 

This theme of distrust towards law enforcement persists, during a subtle moment in the middle of a conversation between Delonte and Jay, sirens blare and the two stop talking to look around anxiously for cops in the area. The unsettlingly long silence between them is almost as loud as the sirens and it speaks to the constant fear Black people have of being surveilled and targeted at any moment. The scene escalates further when a Black police officer interrupts the conversation between Jay and Delonte to sniff around for intel on gunshots that have just gone off in the neighborhood. Delonte lies and says it wasn’t him and Jay refuses to dignify the officer with a response. Interestingly, the cop knew that Jay wouldn’t trust him and decided to leave him alone instead of pressing further, driving home the point that not all skin folk are kinfolk. Instead of producing tired Black copaganda like other socially conscious films such as Queen and Slim, Residue subtly yet intentionally reinforces the notion that all cops are bastards—even Black ones— and that any individual part of this system is not trustworthy because the system affords them the power to enact brutal violence on civilians and shrouds them in the privilege of turning a blind eye to such violence even if they don’t participate—which ultimately amounts to complicity in the corrupt policing system. 

In addition to commenting on larger systemic issues, Gerima surgically zooms in on the microaggressions that litter everyday interactions in his rapidly gentrifying neighborhood. In one scene, a white girl walks her dog and it poops on Jay’s mother’s lawn. The dog-walker doesn’t see it as a big deal because she plans to pick it up, but Jay’s mother, Lavonne, insists that the droppings will “leave residue” a nod to the film’s title and an allusion to the literal filth that dog-walking D.C. gentrifiers leave in their wake. Jay is poised to put the white girl’s boyfriend in his place after he calls Lavonne a bitch, but his mother promptly reminds him that the system is just waiting for Jay to slip up and produce an excuse to lock him up. She coaxes him away saying, “Look you can’t fall for that shit! He’s a decoy, Jay, those are the decoys!” This poignant line illustrates the surreal video game/simulation-like nature of living through systemic racism as a Black person. Within this system, Black people are not seen as humans, but are instead sweepingly reduced to existential threats against whiteness and portrayed as supervillains or superpredators  with “no conscience [and] no empathy.”

“It’s maddening to acknowledge that at almost every turn, many Black folks are just one small misstep away from poverty, or incarceration, or death. Watching all of these isolated incidents back to back leaves the viewer gasping for some sort of respite from racism.”

Throughout the film, Gerima continues to show that there are so many landmines Black people living in gentrified cities must tip-toe around: the cheap cash offers of predatory white real-estate investors; the righteous indignation towards white boys making a killing selling weed instead of serving prison sentences (like Jay’s friends)— you can’t even defend your own girlfriend against Black catcallers spewing misogynoir lest onlookers not only call the police but begin to cry, “Black on Black crime.” It’s maddening to acknowledge that at almost every turn, many Black folks are just one small misstep away from poverty, or incarceration, or death. Watching all of these isolated incidents back to back leaves the viewer gasping for some sort of respite from racism. Throughout all of these encounters, Gerima makes the conscious choice not to show the faces of white people committing microaggressions. In interviews, Gerima has shared that this was partly a logistical choice because he couldn’t find white actors for the film. But more than that, this visual effect makes white people seem less like people and more like the artificial decoys Lavonne described. Even the white person who tries to be neighborly to Jay does not get face time with the camera. If these people remain faceless, the viewer can’t normalize or humanize them as his neighbors or his friends. Instead, we’re visually forced to see them as faceless outsiders who are inserting themselves into the neighborhood. They behave as though they are passive, laidback fixtures in the landscape who are entitled to space when in reality they’re invasive gentrifiers choosing to displace Black people from their neighborhoods. 

Perhaps the most spellbinding part of the film is the way Gerima weaves elements of magical realism into the story as both a sinister hex and a palliative balm. Jarring footage of blood running in the streets due to stop and frisk laws in D.C. transitions into the camera angle flipping upside down to reveal a shot of gentrifiers at brunch, oblivious to the bloodshed on the streets they’re occupying. This juxtaposition drives home that there are two Americas; and that this stark, depressing state of duality will only become more violent as the repercussions of redlining and housing discrimination in Washington D.C persist. The indifference and indulgence of these privileged brunch-goers enable Gerima to make the statement that these people have blood on their hands, and at their feet. 

Later on, after years of ignoring his friend Dion’s letters, Jay works up the courage to visit him in prison. Rather than taking place within the prison walls, the majority of the conversation occurs in a sunny lush green forest that the two freedom-dream together. In this scene, magical realism is used as an enchanting portal into an imagined version of Black liberation. Dion and Jay trade sweet anecdotes and childhood memories. At the end of the visit, Jay apologizes profusely for failing to respond to Dion’s letters. Dion brushes off Jay’s contrition and says, “fuck them letters,” proving that it's never too late to reach out and that while we live under this oppressive racist system, the thing that keeps us human and sane is our connection to each other. This breathtaking scene asserts that Black people are not just residue to be wiped away through a social cleansing strategy of systematic displacement, purported public order maintenance, and violent erasure— but vibrant, resilient souls who will never stop caring for one another and will never stop telling our own stories to each other and the rest of the world. 

Otito Greg-Obi is a poet and aspiring screenwriter based in Washington D.C. Her poetry appears in "small poems for the masses," a quarterly zine by Post Ghost Press. She is a former member of The Excelano Project, a poetry collective in Philadelphia. When she’s not writing you can find her slow-mo milly rocking in the pouring rain to MorMor, baking sourdough bread, over/underwatering succulents, or knitting something cozy. Her favorite color is mint green, and she’s obsessed with pop culture and with television (particularly dramedies and dystopian sci-fi). You can find her on Twitter at @otweetoh

[mediaeval-muse]

Video Game Review: Assassin’s Creed 3 (Ubisoft, 2012; Remastered 2019)

Genres: action-adventure, third person, open world

Premise: Desmond Miles and his team use the Apple of Eden to locate the Grand Temple of the First Civilization. To open it, Desmond must locate a key, known to his ancestors Haytham Kenway and Ratonhnhaké:ton (also called Connor) who were active during the American Revolution.

Platform Played On: PC (Windows)

Rating: 3.5/5 stars

***Full review under the cut.***

I am evaluating this game based on four key aspects: story, characters, gameplay, and visuals. I will be evaluating the remastered version of this game on its own terms, so I cannot speak to how it is different from the initial release.

Content Warnings: violence, blood, colonialism, racism, domestic violence

Story: Assassin’s Creed 3 initially follows Haytham Kenway, a new PC character and ancestor of Desmond Miles, as he journeys from Britain to America during the 18th century. Haytham is attempting to find the Grand Temple, a chamber once belonging to the ancient First Civilization, with the help of several colonists and a Mohawk woman named Kaniehti:io. Unable to open the Temple, Haytham initiates a romantic relationship with Kaniehti:io, resulting in a son (Ratonhnhaké:ton/Connor). It is revealed that Haytham is a Templar when he initiates one of the colonists, Charles Lee, into the order.

Years later, Ratonhnhaké:ton is now the PC character. His village is burned by Lee and his cronies, resulting in the death of his mother. The clan leader gives Ratonhnhaké:ton a sphere which contains a message from Juno. Juno leads Ratonhnhaké:ton to Achilles Davenport, a retired assassin who agrees to train him and renames him “Connor.”

The rest of the game focuses on Connor’s evolution as an assassin, his plan to seek revenge against Lee, and his angst regarding his parentage. I very much enjoyed the moral conflict in Connor’s storyline; Connor is resentful of his father’s involvement with the Templars, but also desires to find common ground with him once he hears of Haytham’s goals. I also really liked the Haytham plot twist, as it took me by surprise and prompted a lot of emotional investment in the family drama.

However, the sheer amount of things to do in the open world distracted from the plot and at times threw the pacing off. I also did not like some of the tropes that this game utilized to tell a story involving indigenous characters. Connor’s mother, Kaniehti:io, was a competent warrior and formidable personality, but was primarily present to have a white man’s child and then be killed for emotional shock value. I also don’t think this game pushed hard enough against colonialism, making the Americans out to be morally right despite their supposed “flaws” and showcasing some violence against indigenous people for shock value. However, I appreciated that this game featured many indigenous actors and put a lot of dialogue in indigenous languages.

Desmond’s story was much improved from Revelations. He’s back to working with his team, which made for fun character interactions, and his father also joins the mix, which nicely parallels the tumultuous Haytham/Connor relationship. The stakes are also much higher than in previous games regarding the First Civilization - whereas the team was previously looking for artifacts in the Ezio games, this game features the exploration of an actual Temple housing more information.

I also played the DLC, “The Tyranny of King Washington,” which follows an alternate timeline in which Washington has been corrupted by the Apple. Washington has declared himself King and rules America with ruthless tyranny. To take him down and combat the power of the Apple, Connor must channel supernatural powers derived from animal spirits. While the premise was incredibly interesting to me, the execution was rather poor, especially in terms of indigenous representation. Kaniehti:io was resurrected only to be killed again, and the story featured a lot of scenes of indigenous suffering, including slavery and violence. I also don’t think the “spirit animal” powers were portrayed in a way that was respectful of the actual religious/spiritual significance of spirit animals in Native cultures. I’m somewhat ignorant, though, so I would prioritize criticism from indigenous gamers rather than mine - see what they have to say about the base game and the DLC.

Characters: Haytham Kenway, the first PC character, is initially pretty likable in that he’s witty and charismatic. I like that he was sarcastic and seemingly well-polished, holding in his emotions like only a posh British character can. He was also shown to be brutal at the drop of a hat, and his feelings tended to get the better of him when it came to certain topics, both of which kept me on my toes. The fact that he is the first PC character creates a lot of sympathy for him, mirroring Connor’s later emotional turmoil when he’s being pressured to kill his father despite desiring an alliance.

Connor is a lot more stiff and broody, which is understandable due to the trauma in his past. While he isn’t very charismatic, I did like him as a character, since he was willing to call out the hypocrisy of everyone around him. I particularly enjoyed the way he highlighted how the Americans were all about freedom for the select (white) few - no one, not even Washington, escapes criticism, and it was refreshing to see a non-idealized portrait of the Founding Fathers through Connor’s eyes. Connor did have his sweeter moments, especially when interacting with the people living on his homestead, and I loved when he found joy in the family he made. I do wish he had been given more joy throughout the game - he so rarely expresses positive emotions that he seems like a stick in the mud.

Side characters, such as the Founding Fathers, were well-realized in that they weren’t portrayed as heroes. Washington is shown to be unable to deal with problems in any way other than by violence, and Adams is called out for his insistence that white colonists need to be free before enslaved Africans can be freed. NPCs living on the homestead are also given unique conflicts and storylines that made them feel real, and being able to converse with them at any point in the game was a fun way to feel connected to them.

Desmond is back to being his pre-Revelations self, balancing charisma and determination in a way that makes him compelling. Nothing is necessarily new regarding his characterization, so he acts more like a staple that links the Ezio games to the Haytham/Connor story, making them feel part of the same continuity.

Gameplay: I really enjoyed the way much of the gameplay from the previous Assassin’s Creed games is updated and reimagined for an 18th century setting. Parkour/free running is simplified, and target lock has been eliminated for a more fluid combat experience. Players also no longer need to use medicine to heal, as health regenerates automatically with time. Players can also use more of the environment to assist with stealth; haystacks and wells make a reappearance, as well as groups of people for blending, but Connor can also hide in tall grass, bushes, and behind corners. I also liked that Connor could whistle to lure enemies towards a hiding spot before taking them out.

In terms of weapons, Connor has access to some staples, such as the hidden blade, sword, bow, pistol, etc. but also has some interesting options, such as the tomahawk and rope dart. All of these options were simple to use and required very little practice to get right, though combat itself felt significantly more difficult than in previous games. Several enemies are difficult to take down, such as the Scotsmen wielding giant axes, but players who like a challenge might enjoy the increase in difficulty.

Connor can also recruit new assassins and level up their abilities, similar to Ezio’s actions in Brotherhood. The recruits are able to be used in a number of new ways, not just in a fight, which makes them fun to play around with.

Connor is also able to control his notoriety in much the same way that Ezio could, though instead of “heralds,” there are “town criers” and instead of assassinating a corrupt official, Connor can bribe a printer to create counter-propaganda. Pretty clever, if you ask me.

Collectibles such as Benjamin Franklin’s almanac pages, feathers, and treasure chests are also available and pretty standard - you collect them, you get rewards. Connor can also participate in side quests and challenges, such as a fight club and assassination contracts. To move around the large map, Connor can use fast travel, though to be honest, the map was so big that exploring it all could get tedious.

Also returning is the concept of full synchronization, which was a pain. Like the Ezio games, conditions for full sync did add some challenge to the game, but it was incredibly annoying to do a mission over and over again in order to reach 100%. I’d much rather have a single goal and go about it my own way without the impression of being penalized (even if that penalty doesn’t affect the gaming experience overall).

In terms of the economy, Connor is tasked with managing a homestead. Instead of improving the property or buying monuments, Connor recruits tradesmen such as loggers, miners, and farmers, as well as artisans such as tailors, innkeepers, and blacksmiths. The former group produces raw materials which can be turned into crafted goods by the latter, which Connor then puts on a caravan to be sold in town. Profits enable Connor to buy more weapons and consumables, and tradesmen/craftmen can be leveled up to produce more profitable goods through “homestead missions” which advance NPC stories.

Hunting is also introduced as a way for Connor to gain resources (such as pelts and meat), which are then used for crafting or for sale at trading posts. To hunt, Connor can use a range of tricks, including reading the environment for clues, planting snares, and using bait to lure skittish animals. I liked that hunting was always an option, but never required, since actually finding certain animals could be a chore. Connor also has the option of playing games such as Nine Men’s Morris to earn money through gambling at taverns, though I personally never opted for that. I did think the idea was clever, as it was a neat way to include micro-games in the larger structure.

By far, the most interesting new addition was naval combat. Connor can upgrade his ship, the Aquila, and go on a number of naval missions which earn him rewards. It took some getting used to, and often, the combat could be cumbersome, but I actually enjoyed myself quite a bit. These missions were never overly long, and some of them had interesting world building details.

The DLC has a lot of the same gameplay mechanisms, with the added bonus of “spirit animal powers” (see my assessment above). Basically, these are supernatural abilities that allow Connor to briefly turn invisible (wolf), fly short distances (eagle), and take down multiple enemies or smash through structures with great strength (bear). These abilities were somewhat insensitive thematically, but fun to use in terms of gameplay; I liked being able to sneak past enemies without needing to dart between bushes, and I loved flying across rooftops rather than jumping and climbing them. However, these powers also made exploring the map somewhat irrelevant - treasure chests primarily included consumables, such as arrows and rope darts, so if players find themselves preferring combat using a blade and animal power, there’s not much incentive to clear the map of points of interest. Nor is there much incentive to do side quests or challenges, as their rewards don’t add much to the gaming experience unless you use a lot of consumables.

Visuals: Assassin’s Creed 3 is a beautifully rendered game. The environments are stunning, whether they are seascapes or the wilderness on the “Frontier.” I also think the cities were well-done and eye-catching; even though buildings and streets were somewhat monotone (earthy tones), they never felt dull and little details made the design pop (things like posters/broadsides or splashes of color here and there).

Connor’s assassin outfit is also appealing in that it mashes up some 18th century fashion with accessories that denote his indigenous heritage. The red and white color palette from the Ezio games is replaced by a blue and white scheme, perhaps to show that Connor is not aligned with the British Redcoats, but even so, it still felt like an assassin uniform. I also liked the designs of Haytham’s cape, coat, and tricorne, as well as Achilles’ nod to his past through his accessories.

Animations were very fluid, and Connor’s combat maneuvers were interesting and varied. I think they were much more aesthetically pleasing than Ezio’s, and I liked how the body movements (tumbling, spinning) made them feel physical. There were some moments when awkward camera angles would obscure my vision, which cost me some kills or opportunities here and there, and there were occasionally some glitchy graphics, but they didn’t pull me out of the game the way Revelations did. 

Final Verdict: Despite the plot being weakened by pacing problems and some questionable Indigenous representation, Assassin’s Creed 3 is beautifully rendered and improves on the franchise’s formulae by reimagining the Assassin-Templar conflict in a new setting.

[demethinkstoomuch]

Learning To Read, Pt 6: F is for Faerghus

Chapters: 6/26 (7/26 on AO3) Fandom: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses, Fire Emblem Series Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Dedue Molinaro Characters: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, Dedue Molinaro, Gustave Dominic, Original Characters, Rufus Blaiddyd Additional Tags: Pre-Canon, Canon Compliant, Grief, Trauma, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Angst, Fluff, Tragedy of Duscur, Racism, Developing Feelings, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Blue-Lions Typical Mental Illness

Summary:

A series of 26 alphabetically-titled vignettes examining the period where, in the wake of The Tragedy of Duscur, Dimitri taught Dedue to read: a time in which they learned about each other, and the rules of their relationship, perhaps more than about books.

Read on AO3!

A is For Ambiguity

B is for Book

C is for Commendation

D is for Dining

F is for Faerghus

The woman who called herself Cornelia Arnim considered this whole affair to be something of a fiasco, even if the potential for instability from the regency council was immense . But the council was giving her a headache. It was just a cold room full of sycophantic pigs snorting the air at the smell of fresh slop. They weren’t terribly interesting as puppets or tools, the newly-minted regent and his collection of cronies. They couldn’t even recognize that they were pigs, and wasn’t that just sad? None of them were grand noblemen; the room didn’t have a Fraldarius or a Gautier, or even just an equal in terms of clout. Also, at least one of them — one of the regent’s drinking buddies (which described about 2/3rds of the room), a minor noble who’d run in Rufus’ circle since his own academy days — seemed unaware of the fact that she was not there for his personal amusement.

But she smiled sweetly at him from across the table, and tried to think of how best to use him. Cornelia Arnim’s body had its advantages as a lure, at least, even if the fish weren’t the ones she was hoping for. If she needed to get anyone that way, it’d be the man himself. She’d been planning that the Agarthans would have owned Faerghus by now, using the dear ickle prince’s secret stepmother, wise and noble, stepping into the limelight for the first time. Obviously not the real thing, she was much too whiny and sentimental, depressing and depressed — and this was Cornelia’s opinion as the woman who had had to lure in Patricia. It had been stunningly easy, which had made the plan seem viable. Patricia had wanted so terribly to see her little girl again; she’d offered that wish for Cornelia to use however she liked. They’d spoken with other nobles, ones who were so wildly ambitious that they dreamt of freezing time so their precious kingdom would always be theirs. Ones so hungry they wanted to devour the land. They’d promised Patrcia she’d get what she really wanted, if she was only willing to take a little risk.

The plan had been, obviously, that Patricia would never see her little girl again. Or anyone else, for that matter. The attack from the nobles’ henchmen went off without a hitch. They’d even kept the prince alive, if only just, which would have made things easier. (Now, she wasn’t sure if it was something she wanted. He might have to be neutralized somehow, was the thing.) But after they’d walked Patricia away from the carnage and killed her in secret, that was where things went wrong. Because those moronic soldiers showed up, some detached battalion catching up a little too late. Their absurd vengeance culture rearing its head like a bunch of sharks smelling blood in the water. That pathetic Gustave had arrived too early. They hadn’t had time to get their Patricia ready for her miraculous survival, and so, Patricia simply had not survived in any form. All they had to show for it was the slaughter of an entire town and a sizable power vacuum currently being stuffed with hot air. Which wasn’t bad, necessarily, there was some quality chaos and a lot of raw material, but it was second place. But there were advantages.

Such as the scene playing out before her right now — once you tossed out the more worthless parts, like 90% of the animals littering this room. One of the more studious members of the council — it paid for anyone important to have at his command some little man with nervous energy, bookish disposition, and the patience for paperwork, and Rufus for the time being had this one — was explaining a situation. The son of a minor nobleman had been, according to contacts with official church messengers sent to observe and aid while the kingdom was in this transitional stage, found to be involved as a conspirator in the Tragedy. This was, and about half the room knew it, not remotely true.

“Your Highness,” asked the obligatory bookish man to the regent, “What would you like to do concerning Lord Lonato’s son?”

“...They say he was involved in the king, my brother’s, murder, do they?” asked Rufus, lifting his head from his hand, and sitting back upright in his chair. He was popular with women for a reason, besides his loose spending — the Blaiddyd men bred tall and prone to tapering appealingly from strong shoulder to toned waist, and Rufus had kept himself in that same shape as he’d entered into his early 40s — his face was lined slightly, marked at his eyes and the corners of his mouth with the careless smiles of an adult life lived with abandon. His hair was warmer than his brother’s or nephew’s, not cool blond that had darkened from an infant ice-white, but a vividly red-gold color that blazed thick and sunny all throughout his life. 

“That’s as they report,” answered the man. “They are, of course, offering themselves as aid in the matter of capturing him, while we’re so short-handed.”

“Let them, then. I’m sure their information is accurate.” Rufus brought his chin back down onto his hand. Of course, Cristophe Gaspard had nothing to do with any of this. About half the room knew it, and some of them were so faint of heart they looked shocked or appalled. What precious little cowards. Cornelia made a note about them for later. 

“My lord,” said one, tentatively. “Lord Lonato was once a knight in your service, was he not? As his lord...” 

The other half of the room, the half that didn’t know, looked righteous, and one of them answered first in defense of his lord.

“If Lord Lonato allowed his son to contemplate such monstrosity, then he has betrayed both his lord the archduke and his lord the king; what he ought to do is take revenge into his own hands!”

“I intend to. But not concerning Christophe.” Rufus looked only like he was shoving away a boring chore. As it was: this would let the church think they were busy with something, that was all. “We have more significant action that must be taken than to concern ourselves with him.”

“Ah, yes. Lord Kleinman has a report, Your Highness. It appears emissaries from Duscur’s council of aldermen have come to him seeking peace terms.”

“He should have sent them on to me, not a report.” Rufus glowered. “I am regent.”

“He already knows your answer though, right?” said one man with too much of a smile. He chuckled. “He’s the one dishing out the punishment. You can’t possibly go and fight yourself.”

“I can!” Rufus snarled, pounding the table with his fist. Papers and mugs of beer shook as the whole structure rattled. That was why they couldn’t just replace a Blaiddyd — even the crestless ones had surprising strength. And the ones with crests were beyond even that, monsters in human skin. Their experiments, Solon had told her, were showing real results now, but they weren’t going that well . Rufus’s strength bristled under his shirt-sleeves as the old nerve in him, one she’d have thought killed by drink and sex, reeled as it was struck. “I can, and so I must, or none will believe it of me!”

Everyone was silent until he sat back down, drained his beer and handed the tankard to a servant to have it filled again.

“His part in this measure may be great, but he must remember who has the crown’s authority if he is to receive the crown’s reward.” His cheeks were just the tiniest bit flush when he proclaimed that, the color fading slightly in the next moment.

“Ah, my lord…” said a secretary, who’d been standing by the door with a look of apprehension.”Prince Dimitri has been outside for some time now, demanding to see you. Again. Should I let him in?”

A few people made pitying noises. Rufus dug the heel of his palm into his forehead, preparing himself for what was to follow. He had been avoiding the prince’s efforts to speak to him seriously for some time now. Since the boy had gotten back up onto his feet, more or less. Cornelia had been politely helping him with that, citing the prince’s condition as a reason not to let them talk. ‘He’s been so traumatized after all, we don’t want to upset him further.’ That kind of thing.

“Very well, bring him in.” Rufus sighed. That story couldn’t go on forever, nice as it was for him not to deal with that child. His little brother’s son. 

There were probably people who hadn’t seen the prince properly since the tragedy, and they looked appalled when the drawn little figure entered the room — which was, in its own ways, comical. They had just casually tossed a young man to his death not a moment ago; now, one grave-looking boy was enough to tug at their heartstrings? He’s not even doing that badly anymore! He only trembled a little as he strode forward, as much anger as nerves. 

“Uncle, you must put a stop to this violence,” the prince proclaimed. Oh, yes. He needed to be handled, one way or another.

 ***

“You can’t do this!” “I know what I saw!” Those shouts, high and shattered with fury, had resounded from the walls behind Dedue for a long time, and more besides. Dimitri fought alone in a room where men too important to look at Dedue discussed whether Faerghus would end the retaliation against Duscur now or throw the full weight of the crown’s knights into it. Eventually, there came a wooden cracking noise like a tree collapsing and a great clatter from inside — metal, glass, wood tumbling down onto the stone. The regent’s council shouted in frustration and disgust, their words muffled until only tone remained.

The lady Cornelia had seen Dimitri out after that sound, with Dimitri clutching his left arm as a nasty bruise welled up through it, still shouting. She’d handed Dimitri over with a reminder not to get too worked up; if the arm continued to hurt, she’d have to check it for re-fracturing. 

“I understand you’re upset, Your Highness, but you will have to apologize for the table when you calm down, okay?” She’d said, patting him on the shoulder. She glanced at Dedue, cold and dismissive. Dedue glared back, but she tossed out her order without regard. “You. Keep an eye on him.”

 Dimitri hadn’t responded sensibly. He’d cried and he’d shouted, still carrying out his arguments. His apologies and shouts had given Dedue time to sit them both down on the steps, try and recover his own wits. He felt at once stunned and a gnawing cold misery: He should have known.

 Dimitri’s words had been barely coherent enough for Dedue to assemble what had gone on. They’d said Dimitri was confused. That he hadn’t seen what he said he’d seen — he hadn’t seen his father’s killers the way he thought he had. Not if he said they weren’t from Duscur. The king’s life must be paid for. So the war would not be postponed, would not be stopped, not if he could not produce names for the regent that showed the people of Duscur innocent. 

But he could not produce names. So all he could do was insist and shout and plead until he was like this, his voice worn to shreds, his arm aching, his whole being unfocused and unraveled. The blood would be spilled. That was all there was to it: what other price for a king was there?

“I don’t know who they were... Father, how can this be for you, when it has nothing to do with your killers?! How can you want innocent people to die?!” Dimitri muttered into the echoing expanse. The stairway stretched out before them, descending away from the formal council room into an open hall. The sounds of people were distant, muffled by stone walls. Dedue didn’t attempt to answer him yet. He wasn’t sure he could have. And so Dimitri went on. “...I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’ll get it right. I will. I’m....” He shut his eyes, lowering his head into his hands. “I’m sorry, Dedue.”

This was the first time Dimitri had acknowledged him, and so Dedue had to finally try and find something to say. Everything in him was squeezed tense — his shoulders, his gut, his jaw were all tight, and it was hard to find a way around it.

“It is not your war,” he answered, eventually. A sigh parted his lips. Dedue could only stare upwards at the great, vaulted ceiling. He was not used to feeling small.

 “If I’d only been calmer, would they have believed me?” Dimitri asked, the fury of his voice inward. Dedue was not sure if he entirely believed Dimitri, either. He would have liked to, but Dedue wasn’t entirely sure how to trust his mind; in moments like these, when everything was so close to the surface, it seemed like a ship tossed on the waves. Everything that day had been so confused. Instead, he shrugged. His feet descended down another step, his long legs slipping from their fold. The floor was a great way down.

“Not if they would not think about you when you are...hurt,” is what he said, his voice deliberate, stiff, quiet. He couldn’t say what he was feeling; he didn’t want to. Just let it flatten like a plain until he could build something useful on it. “Perhaps once they have had a battle, they will be tired of it. It will stop.”

“It shouldn’t be happening at all!” Dimitri answered. Obviously, but that wasn’t helpful, save spiritually. “If we could stop it before a true war breaks out, then it’d be OK!” He lifted himself back up to his feet, wincing from his arm. Dedue half-turned to watch the prince pace.”What if I ran away?”

“Where?” Dedue raised an eyebrow.

“To the border, of course! My uncle might be in charge here, but I am the crown prince… And the common soldiers and knights agitate for my father’s sake. The fools,” Dimitri’s eyes narrowed, bitter words breaking through his clenched jaw. His footfalls bounced off the stone. “But surely, they’d listen?” 

The idea had allure; it shimmered between them as a gossamer dream, intangible as light, but just as real. 

“Perhaps…” Their eyes met and held one another, hope sparking for a moment; they’d pack in the dead of night. They’d hurry there, as swiftly as they could, carried on the wind; speak with passion and valor; be heard by people who must have been, in their own ways, simply trying to do what seemed just. 

Dedue tore his eyes away from it. It hurt more than he wanted it to.

“No, you should not.” It stung to say, but the truth had sunk in.

“Why not?” Dimitri’s voice lifted, his footsteps coming to a halt.

“You are not well enough to travel alone. We would be slow and caught together.” Dimitri was much recovered now, at least physically, but a country away was too far. Dimitri knew that and sagged with a shake of his head. 

“...If we were caught, you would certainly bear the brunt of consequences as if you’d kidnapped me,” he said, to Dedue’s surprise. He hadn’t thought about what would happen to him . “I don’t want to imagine what would happen to you, or to everyone else as a result.”

“Hm. Second, even if you managed to move the soldiers and knights… If you cannot move their leaders, they will find more soldiers,” Faerghus was a rack of swords; Faerghus was a place where they said children of their high families learned to fight from the time they were born. The leaders themselves could fight best of all. So there would always be more until there was no one left. 

 “I hate this.” Dimitri’s gaze eventually broke, and he dropped himself back down onto the steps next to Dedue. It should have been a relief to hear — it prickled up against him instead, like a leg half-asleep. Tears weren’t dripping down Dimitri’s face, but they bubbled through as he spoke, his hands covering his face. When his hands dropped, slowly, they left red, scratchy trails. “I hate being so weak. People are going to die — not just soldiers, but fathers and mothers and —! Doesn’t anyone care?”

Part of Dedue was glad Dimitri cared, even if it meant watching him tearing himself to pieces like this. Part of Dedue felt Dimitri’s hands, only closing on air, grabbing him and pulling his heart, and he didn’t want that. He wanted nothing. Dedue’s teeth found his inner lip and bit down on it, unsure which part should win. It was a tiring battle. 

“You do,” he answered, unable to catch what feeling with which he meant it. The feeling in his voice wasn’t relieved, but he went on, “And I need this of you.” He reached out to grab Dimitri’s hands, take them back from the edge before they did more damage. 

“Of course,” Dimitri’s answer was more confused than confident. The hands in Dedue’s grip went slack, stopped resisting. They were limp and lost and defeated. Dedue let them retreat back to Dimitri’s lap. Dimitri had turned to watch Dedue’s face. His eyes looked clearer than they had since he’d gone in the other room — clear enough to see the way Dedue’s jaw was clenched tight and how Dedue hated it, clear enough to see the way his eyelids trembled with what he could not keep holding back. Things clicked, it seemed, and Dedue was surprised to hear Dimitri sniffle back a tear. “I’m sorry; it’s selfish of me to go on like this, when it’s so hard on you. But I refuse to surrender, and neither should you.”

“So what will you do? Will you continue to ask?” He tried to ignore the matter of himself, of how hard it was . He rested his hand on the stone, shutting his eyes and feeling its polished surface under his hand. His fingertips brushed over little pits and light flecks marring the darker shades. Dedue envied it — cold and quiet and stable; it hadn’t so much as warmed under him. It endured everything, and it felt nothing. It didn’t wonder if that place was home, even with nothing left for him but memories that toyed with comforting and hurting him. It didn’t have to remember. It didn’t clench itself, toes to teeth, when the memories of swords and fire still echoed, summoned by the flames burning miles away, summoned by the sound of knights, summoned by the knowledge that right behind him, at that moment, were men who would toss a world into that fire if it only satisfied their blood. It could simply not have those feelings when it couldn’t do anything about them. 

“If I can start by clearing the names of the people of Duscur…  Then there surely everyone will see sense. I know there are people who don’t want this — they can’t . But everyone is hurt and frightened. If they understand, then we can make peace and make things right!” He insisted, clenching his hands over the air. But he didn’t begin to scratch himself again. “I owe it to you, and everyone who died, and everyone who will die. I will… try to remember anything that could point to their true identities. I know it might not be heard at all. Fools. Fools.” Dimitri shook his head, his eyes tightening. His hands balled into white-knuckled fists, tremors running through them. Dedue pressed his hand harder onto the stone, trying to block out what was creeping in him like the first freeze. How hopeless it all was — someone who had actual courage, trying to plead for human lives with men like that.  “But I can’t stand for Faerghus’ justice to be used as nothing but a cudgel.”

And Dedue’s hand slipped off the step. His knuckles, so tense they could have burst through his skin, scraped against it. The tendons in his neck froze into place, wound like a clock whose springs went tighter and tighter, until finally — he snapped. 

“That is what it is,” he said, voice plain and simple, and finally dropping a weight. He didn’t stop, couldn’t stop. Why was he saying this? It would be easier if he didn’t. His throat tightened like it might choke him. “They do not want your words to matter, and so, they will not work. What they wish for is battle. What happens next is of no consequence to them. 

“Perhaps some it is just.” He almost tossed the words at Dimitri, whose eyes were wide and staring, wounded at not being believed even by Dedue. Then they drew nearly to a close, softly, which was worse. He must have seen how misty Dedue looked. He felt like an avalanche, moving downhill — his words came with a building momentum, inexorable.“I cannot judge. I know that Duscur is like anywhere, maybe even here… There are good and bad people. Murderers. Children. But it is all the same to them. How could it ever stop?”

 He took a long breath, found it harder than he expected; it sputtered and broke before becoming deep enough. He was not yet crying — but he understood, he would. He couldn’t stop anymore; he’d broken at last, and now he could simply keep sliding down into his own depths. Part of him wanted to stop. To keep going on with the life he’d found worth living after the people who’d made his life before were gone, pretending he’d never felt like this. He shut his hands tight. They were shaking with bottled-up feeling.

“I truly...hate it. All of it. I hate knowing what Faerghus can do, will do, has done . I hate being looked at the same as if I had killed your father myself.” But going on as if it weren’t true wouldn’t make it untrue — still. He felt like as he pulled and pulled, it just went deeper. Feelings dark as night he hadn’t named , had put aside. It wasn’t hot — it was cold, so cold. It was drowning and freezing at once. He envied the stones, he really did: stones didn’t turn themselves over and see something they hated. “I hate the way I am spoken of… They way only I could not be let by your side when you were hurt, because of them… And —”  His eyes fell on Dimitri, then, and he understood. There was nothing that feeling did not touch. He recalled the way Dimitri’s feelings could drag his own out of him, and now — now that face, lips tense, eyebrows set gravely, and eyes red-rimmed and so, so sad for him — so uninjured by all Dedue had said, save that he didn’t believe. So undefended, like Dedue could plunge in a knife.

 “...I hate how ugly I am, to feel the way I do,” Dedue croaked, unable to look at that gods-cursed face a moment longer. He couldn’t change how he felt, not anymore, but he could stop. He could turn away; it would just have to be bolted up inside of him, turning his innards black with frostbite. 

“I think you’re right to be angry,” Dimitri answered, which made it all worse. “You’re right to hate all of this...What happened that day, what’s happened since, is monstrous, and nothing else. Even if no one else sees that right now, I…” His voice was shaking. Still somehow, Dedue was the one with the knife in him when Dimitri said, “feel like that, too. I don’t mean to say they compare, but… I think your fury just.”

“Dimitri, you do not understand.” He was unable to bolt it in if Dimitri kept dragging it out — stop, just stop. “It is still uglier than that… To hate all that I hate.”

“Oh.” Dimitri’s face briefly slackened, until it somehow — worse than anything — masked itself in a bland little smile, the smile of the Prince of Faerghus. Even if it collapsed almost instantly, it had been placed. The eyebrows drawn sadly together, the smile reaching his eyes not happily, but with soft self-deprecation. ”Me.”

“...I do not know if it is hate. I do not know the right word.” He knew just the right word in his own language, and said it aloud then — a word that meant something that ground you like wheat in a mill until you were bitter and tired.

 It hung there in the air, waiting for something, but all Dimitri could do was shake his head. He couldn’t translate that one, either. Before Dimitri could say anything, Dedue held up his hand. The feeling was awake, alive, trapped under his ribs and locked up in his lungs, his neck, his closed-off teeth. The borrowed tongue fell away from him, then he returned to his own. Dimitri would have to keep up, to guess over gaps in his knowledge of the language, as Dedue so often had to with him. He couldn’t say it any other way. 

“<I am… mad at you, sometimes. Something like that, anyway. I’m mad at who you are and what you mean.

“<You are the ‘prince’ of Faerghus. And this is so important that I’m unworthy of you to everyone . You bear their name! They kill for that name, for your father’s name, for that title I barely understand! Your good name is… so precious to them. But when the time comes…>” Turning this on Dimitri hurt. But that truth also hounded him — it leapt up his closed-off throat.  He hurried over the words, not looking to see if he was understood. Dimitri did not try to stop him — good enough. “<It’s all meaningless. It’s all useless . It’s cruel to ask you to carry this, but if you can’t, then no one will. I see that, now. It’s cruel that you’re the only one there is to ask.

“<And…Sometimes, I’m mad at you because I think…>”Dedue’s feelings crested, swelling up in his chest until they pounded against him, and came out the only way they could. Hot tears pooled in his eyes and dropped smoothly down. His voice was small and hoarse, a pained whisper. “<Why me, Dimitri? Why not save someone else?>” 

The bit of Dedue that pounded against his breastbone like a maddened, captured bird wanted Dimitri to not understand. Or more; say Dedue had no right to feel that way about his savior, or to say he did the best he could, or to say there was some reason for it to be him — some divine reason, some calculated reason, some reason less or more than that even the life of a stranger could be precious. Then Dedue could be truly mad at him, truly angry, then he could admire Dimitri a little less, care for him a little less, cut Faerghus into one great bloody clump and hate it all with a chill he’d hardly known was there until this moment, when he looked it in that hollow-eyed face. 

And when the hate had wrung out of him like tears, he really could turn his heart into stone.

But Dimitri didn’t say that. Not a word of it. Instead, he frowned, his eyes gone soft teardrop blue. He almost reached out a hand, but though it hovered in the space between them for a moment, it retreated to fall back onto his lap.

“I know that, for everyone I could not save then and cannot save now, there is neither excuse nor forgiveness. It would be mad, not to hate me after how much we’ve hurt you...There’s nothing ugly about it.” Dimitri stared at the hand he had almost reached out, his expression still somewhere far away from it. The silence stretched until he looked Dedue head-on again, a sad smile pulling at the corners of his mouth as he whispered, small and hoarse,  “It’s OK.”

 Something thawed out inside him at those words, easing into the shelter they gave him.  It was OK. Nothing could make its way out of Dedue save tears. Silent, marked only by the faintest tremor that ran through him. It was OK. That black frost was still somewhere inside of him, and that was OK. Dimitri’s answer took him by the hand and warmed him, piece by piece, massaging his jaw until it let go, until his fingers and toes unclenched, until that feeling had surrendered him. All the things he’d gambled on Dimitri’s answer, all the things he’d considering throwing aside, all the rest of him came back to meet him, shocking as a spring flood — his heart, his hope, his life. 

His shoulders shook; his throat worked to make a breathless whine. Dimitri’s hand reached for him, and Dedue slumped into the touch wordlessly. Stone could never be warmed like this, not if it sat in the sun a million years.

“I won’t give up. I swear. I swear. I...I’m sorry you have to ask that. I’m so sorry.” Dimitri murmured, voice bare. And this, too, was a hurt stone couldn’t know. He had survived. They had survived, and this was all the reason that there was for it. Dimitri’s body heat was added to Dedue’s side as he, all the parts of the Prince of Faerghus that were simply Dimitri, leaned his head against Dedue’s shoulders. When Dedue didn’t shift away, a sob tore from him. He looked up through lashes only a little darker gold than the rest of him, blue summer skies streaked through with cloudy tears. He whispered something from the back of his throat. . “It really is a painful thing to wonder, isn’t it?”

 All Dedue could say for his understanding was in the way he leaned his own weight against Dimitri’s side. The smaller boy didn’t fold or crumple, but stayed, their figures leaned close to one another. His tears fell onto Dimitri’s hair as they slid down his face; Dimitri’s tears pooled against Dedue’s neck. It was regret and hurt in them, hate and frustration. They were surprisingly warm. The boys huddled on each other’s shoulder, there on the steps before the regent’s council chamber. When the adults exited, they would have to go around. The two of them wouldn’t be moved just yet. He didn’t have to move. He didn’t have to attempt to stop. For a long time, they simply wept for a world they could not change. They didn’t speak another word until all the tears had been wrung out from the bottom of Dedue’s heart, from Dimitri’s heart, from the burning plains of Duscur, miles and miles away.

[jo-the-schmo]

Red, Dead, Reflections Ch.2

Chapter 1

A/N: Finally! Chapter 2! Remember how I kept saying I was trying to get to a certain part and that’s why it was taking so long? Well, I decided to keep that until the next chapter because it was taking so long and I was already pushing a hefty word count as is. Also, the writing in this chapter isn’t as good as chapter 1 and I’m sorry about that. I’ll do my best to make chapter 3 more enjoyable. I tried really hard with this one but it just didn’t stick. It happens to all of us. I hope you still like it, though! 

Word count: 9,150 (I’m so sorry)

Warnings: Blood, animal death, explicit language, mentions of racism (not expanded, I’m white, I don’t want to be disrespectful) 

Summary: At the age of 23, you and your pseudo-family perform a heist gone wrong, leading you into a dangerous position. Discover your own history, the story of those around you, and gain new relationships along the way in this (eventual) choose your own adventure. 

Tags!: @zoilalove213 @eccentricc-catt 

A/N pt.2: THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO LIKED CHAPTER 1! Special thanks to those who wanted to be tagged and those who gave me nice reviews, I love you guys so much! I’m also super sorry that this chapter is mostly character introductions and being on the mountain. I promise you’ll get off this mountain soon! I refuse to have y’all still up there at any point during chapter 4. Hopefully that’ll make up for this gross writing. If the read more function still isn’t working, I’m gonna break Tumblr in half. 

Edit: Holy shit I’m a moron, I forgot to add the title omg I’m a fucking moron

Keep Your Eyes On The Prize

Warmth enraptured your being, wrapping around you. Your eyes fluttered open, the first thing you saw was a fire a few feet away from you. That and the pile of blankets on top of you would explain the all-consuming heat. Where am I now? You heard a light patter coming towards you. You threw the blankets off to ready yourself, worried it could be someone trying to get the upper hand on you. You were surprised to see a small figure with dark hair, who had frozen himself in place. It was a little boy. You raised your hand to surrender.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” You took a deep breath, you lowered your arms when he resumed his approach.

“Don’t worry, I’m not scared.” He hopped up to sit next to you. It just occurred to you that you had been laying on a cot. “Uncle Arthur says you’re a friend, so I wanted to watch out for you.” So that wasn’t a dream.

“Oh, well that’s very nice of you. What’s your name, buddy?” You took on a softer tone, it made you sound more feminine, but you weren’t worried about that.

“Jack Marston. My momma’s been helping to take care of you. Her and Uncle Hosea. They said your name was James?”

“Yes, sir.” You smiled. You thought it better to be safe and keep up the act.

“Uncle Dutch wants to say hi to you now that you’re awake. I can take you to him.” He jumped up, he seemed to be excited that someone new was around You conceded and pried yourself from the cot. Your chest ached. I’ll have to loosen this band again soon, no more sleeping in this thing. Your wig felt askew, so you quickly moved it back in place before the two of exited the room. You left the cabin with Jack, he led you to another one close by. You passed by a woman with long brunette hair who sent you a curious glance. Jack grabbed your hand and pulled you through the door, there was a parade of men all around.

“Ah, it seems our young gentle-friend has awoken from his slumber.” Dutch announced, everyone looked in your direction. No matter how tough you were, a group of this many people would intimidate you. You recognized Arthur and Micah on opposite sides of the room. Jack tugged on your arm again, prompting you to take a few cautious steps into the herd of questioning eyes.

“Is one of you Hosea by chance?” You asked, already slightly out of breath. You still felt exhausted, and your head was killing you. An older man with a stripped scarf stepped forward, a warm smile on his face.

“That would be me, young man.” You weakly gripped his shoulder, partly for a support and partly to show appreciation.

“Jack told me you were one of the people to take care of me, thank you.” His smile widened.

“Oh, it was no trouble, young man.” He looked over at Dutch. “You were right, Dutch. Boy’s got good manners.”

“I told ya you’d like him!” He bellowed humorously. “Young Jack, could you please help Mr. West over here by me?” Jack nodded, ushering you over to the man in the dense black coat. Dutch wrapped an arm around your shoulder to keep you steady, but it was also so that he could present you to the crowd of men in front of you. “Now, gentlemen. This here is James West. He’s a fellow from California who’ lost his way. But make no mistakes, Mr. Morgan and I have both seen the carnage this boy can cause with just his bare hands. We believe that he was captured by those nasty O’Driscolls and took quite the beating because of it. Unfortunately for both us and poor James here, it seems that the injuries he sustained have given him some memory loss.” Memory loss? “He couldn’t even believe what year it was. But he is coherent enough to remember his name and state of residence.” He looked over at you. “Now young man, we know this could be difficult, but you could you try and tell us the last thing you recall.”

These people were insane, or at least you thought they were. You wouldn’t know until you got off this mountain and found some other people, which was clearly not happening any time soon. For now, this was your situation. You were stuck on some mountain in the middle of who-knows-where with bunch of people who thought the year was 1899 and that you were some man who experienced enough blunt-force head trauma to get some mild amnesia. You were never one to bite the hand that feeds you, so you made an executive decision. Play along until you can get to safety.

“I was…with my friends.” These people were willing to kill, so there was no way crime bothered them any. “We were robbing a bank, it went wrong.” You recalled the image of Eli, Austin, and Miguel running away from the scene.  “I got hit…and that’s all I remember.” The only parts you were excluding were the fact that you were shot multiple times and that it was 2019.

“Robbing a bank, huh?” You peaked his interest. “So, you’re an outlaw then, Mr. West.”

“You could call me that, I suppose.”

“Can you shoot?” Micah chimed.

“Oh, I can more than shoot, pal.” This guy rubbed you the wrong way, and you could see a sort of look of approval from Arthur after you said that.

“Wonderful! That means you may repay us for our kindness. I don’t have all the details worked out yet, but I’ll call for you when the time comes. For now, I’d like for you to get situated among our presence. Go on now, introduce yourself to everyone.” Dutch gave a firm pat on the back, your chest tightened. Gasping for air, you checked around the room. There was a room with a door nearby, you stumbled inside, hearing the suspicious whispers of the men behind you hushed by the closing of the door. 

You pressed your back against the wood to keep it shut, stripping out of your jacket and shirt. Your ribs ached while you fumbled around. Eventually, you were able to unwind the band almost fully, the long appendages hanging loosely around your form with your left arm holding the rest of it in place. Your whole chest felt like it was on fire.

“This is what you get for leaving it on, idiot.” You whispered to yourself. You weren’t sure what you were going to do. There were a bunch of people out there waiting for you to come out and you were trapping yourself inside with your secret. “I just need a minute…shit, that hurts.”

You saw your reflection in the window across from you. Well, sort of. It was more like a clouded outline. But you could see the shift in color where the band had been wrapped. Your skin was raw. You could also see two bruises that blended into each other on your forehead, and a dark one on the bridge of your nose. That guy really got you. You pushed yourself off the door, already wincing from the anticipation of needing to bind your chest again. You readjusted and began to wrap. Not so tight this time. You would just be walking around today, there shouldn’t be an issue of it staying in place. You finally managed to get it mostly back together and went to pick up your shirt when you heard the door knob turning. You scrambled to the ground, throwing your jacket over your back. You were surprised to only see Hosea walk in and shut the door behind him. The look in his eyes was knowing and curious. You stood to your feet, arms invisible from underneath the jacket. He looked at your shirt on the ground.

“It seems my suspicions were correct. You aren’t being entirely honest with us, James.” His tone wasn’t worrying, but you thought you’d better explain yourself, fast.

“I’m so sorry, it wasn’t my intention to-“

“Don’t worry about it, son.” He interrupted, leaving you confused. You turned around, using your hand to clasp the jacket closed, hiding yourself from view.

“What?”

“I’ve met many folks in my life, young man. I won’t ask what your situation is, I don’t believe that’s my place yet. But I won’t speak a word of this, just a secret between us.” You breathed a sigh of relief, at least you knew now that one of these men was decent.

“Thank you, Hosea. I really appreciate this, you have no idea.”

“I think I can get some of the picture.” He smiled. “You’re an outlaw, sonny. An outlaw is whoever they want to be.” He turned back towards the door. “Now I’m supposed to be in here checking on you, making sure you aren’t up to anything.”

“That’s fair.” You chuckled.

“So, I have to stay in here with you until you’re ready, but I’ll give you your privacy, don’t worry.” You were thankful that one of these people may be able to keep you on everyone’s good side.

“That’s very kind of you, I can’t thank you enough for this.” You made sure to hurry up and get your shirt and jacket back on. You fixed two of the pins for your wig while you were at it. You were glad Hosea seemed smart enough, you wouldn’t take his kindness for granted, no matter how crazy these people seemed. But you had to be more careful. This wasn’t a time for everyone to be finding out you were not only lying, but the vast list of other things wrong with your situation. The further you could separate yourself from what you had gotten up to the better. These men were killers, but they weren’t you.

“Are you ready, James?” Hosea asked.

“Yes, is everyone still out there?”

“I believe only Dutch and Arthur stayed behind. Arthur and I are supposed to introduce you to everyone.” You nodded, he opened to door and you followed him out to where Dutch and Arthur were talking.

“Ah, thank goodness! What came over you, friend?” Dutch questioned.

“I believe we pushed him too far with the questions, Dutch. He lost his head for a moment.” Hosea excused.

“Yes, I’m sorry for that rude exit. Not sure what happened entirely.” You tried to reassure.

“I see, perhaps we should let the boy rest a bit longer.”

“Thank you, sir, but there’s no need. I don’t wanna be a bother, the least I could do is help around, be of some use.” Now was the time to suck up. You had to repay your debt to him and gain his trust. He liked your answer. He was clearly the leader of the group, and from the few interactions you’d had, you could tell they were tight knit. If you wanted to get off this mountain and not end up like those men at the cabin, you’d have to play into their hand.

“That’s a good man right there, I think we struck luck with this one!” He gestured between Arthur and Hosea. “Could you two show him around, we want him to get acquainted with everyone in camp before we get any further.” They agreed and led you back outside.

“Okay, Hosea, where should we start first?” Arthur asked, fixing his gloves.

“Well, I have some business to discuss with Miss Grimshaw, so I would prefer we find her first.”

“Will Jack’s mom be there? He said she was looking out for me too and I’d like to thank her personally for that.”

“She may be, but we are sure to run into her soon, so don’t fret.” Hosea said. Your group walked trudged through the snow to get to a wooden cabin. You saw mostly women inside, including the brunette who looked at you earlier and Mrs. Adler.

“Fine weather we’re having, ladies.” Arthur joked.

“Yeah, real funny.” A blonde woman rolled her eyes.

“It was. Anyhow, this here is James West. I know y’all have been real curious about him.” You followed their lead and walked over to the group of women. An older woman came forward with her hands on her hips.

“This here is Miss Grimshaw, James. You best respect her, Dutch may want to think we’re his people but we’re really hers.” Hosea’s eyes wrinkled at his own humor.

“Of course, thank you for showing me kindness, Miss Grimshaw.” You made sure to sound serious. You weren’t planning on disrespecting anyone, let alone someone who seemed so important. She cracked a grin and pinched your cheeks. You almost squeaked in surprise, but you managed to hold it in.

“Boy’s got a prettier face than you, Arthur! How old are ya?” She teased.

“23, Miss, that is if my memory serves.”

“Ah, we got ourselves a young one! He’ll be able to do some mighty fine work once he’s back in order. You be sure to repay our kindness, ya got that, young man?”

“With pleasure, Miss. I always repay my debts.” That was certainly true in most cases.

“You also best be careful-“ She grabbed the edge of your jacket and yanked you closer. She lowered her voice in your ear. “Don’t try anything with my girls, ya hear? If I find out you’ve been disrespectful to any of them, my face will be the last thing you see.” She let go to gauge your reaction.

“Of course, Miss Grimshaw. I would never dream of overstepping my bounds. You have my word.” You bowed your head at her as a sign of honest intentions. Her smile returned.

“Fantastic!” She hooked her arm around yours  and lead you closer to the women. “I’ll introduce you then.” She pointed to the blonde with the whole body eyeroll. “The smart mouth is Karen Jones.”

“Howdy.” She waved. Next to her was a red head.

“That one’s Molly O’Shea.” Miss Grimshaw looked at the woman with warm, dark skin in a yellow skirt. “That’s Tilly Jackson, don’t let her sweet talk ya.”

“Hello.” Tilly said with energy in very voice. It suddenly dawned on you that these people were surprisingly less racist than to be expected out of anyone who thinks it’s 1899. You felt lucky for that one. It would tear you up to discover that anyone was being treated badly. These guys may have lost their minds, but intolerance wasn’t something that you tolerated. Especially after everything in your life.  

“That’s Mary-Beth.” She pointed out the brunette from outside, she smiled sweetly up at you.

“Nice to meet you.” She went back to writing after hitting you with that same glance from earlier. The last woman looked up from what she was doing, she was wearing a black hood over her head. “Abigail Marston, she’s my hardest worker.” You recognized the name.

“Are you Jack’s, mother?” You asked.

“Yes, I am.” You carefully stepped over and kneeled down to the level she was sitting at.

“He told me you were one of the people to take care of me while I was out, I wanted to thank you personally for your generosity.” You bowed your head and stood up. “Thank you, Mrs. Marston.”

“Well ain’t you just the definition of a gentleman.” Arthur was clearly trying to tease you, boys were usually like that.

“Don’t get anywhere in life without being kind to those who are kind to you.”

“Fair enough.” You were glad he agreed. You turned your attention back to the women.

“It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my name is James West, by the way. I know Arthur already said that, but I try my best to be polite.” Try is the operative word here. Karen whispered to Mary-Beth and Tilly.

“Arthur, take James over to meet the boys and make a good second-impression. I have to speak to Miss Grimshaw for a moment on matters of housing. I’ll meet you over there.” Hosea said as he pulled Miss Grimshaw aside. Arthur lazily waved you over and you made sure not to delay this. You looked back at the group as you walked.

“Thank you for your time, it was nice to meet all of you.” Arthur let you walk out first. The wind hit you like a truck. Arthur held your shoulder to keep you in place and make sure you wouldn’t blow away.

“Ya alright there, partner?” You steadied yourself, he released his grip.

“Yeah, I’m good. Not used to this kind of cold. Thanks for the help.”  

“Everyone went back to their cabin after your episode.” The two of you marched toward the cabin you had woken up in. There was muffled yet loud conversation happening inside. The second the door opened, everyone got quiet. “Hello again, gentlemen.” The room sounded with a few ‘hey Arthur’s before going back down again, everyone was locking eyes on you. It wasn’t a good idea to hide behind Arthur and let him do the talking, they’d prefer you explain yourself.

“Hello everyone.” You stepped around the bulky blue coat, throwing yourself into the spotlight. “My head was unwell back there, I apologize for that. My name is James West, I’d like to help you in anyway I can. I’d hate to mooch off of your hospitality.” They seemed to approve of your answers so far.

“Well don’t be shy, ya idiots, introduce yourself, shake the boy’s hand or somethin’.” Arthur really did have no filter, huh? The first person to approach you was a man wearing a giant black hat and an equally frightening mustache. He took your hand in an eager handshake, which surprised you to say the least.

“Reverend Swanson, Orville Swanson.” Ah, a holy man, a bit ironic for the situation, isn’t it? You coughed and got your voice back into place.

“Good to meet ya, Reverend.” You pushed past him and put yourself in the center of 3 men who were sitting near each other. The youngest one stood up first. He looked to be around your age but definitely younger, which made you kinda mad that everyone was acting like you were so young. That told you they were trying to prove a point.

“Lenny Summers, nice meeting ya.” You gave him a firm handshake. You felt surprisingly comfortable with him, since he was about your age, time to lighten the mood.

“Summers? Don’t’cha mean Winters?” You pointed at the window that was mostly boarded up but showed some of the snow outside through the cracks. He held in some kind of sound, only a little creak escaping. You considered that to be a win in Y/N’s a Comedy Master, Volume VI. The other two squinted there eyes, but you could tell they were hiding their amusement. Lenny sat down, the man with very interesting facial hair stood up. It didn’t look bad on him, you were just confused as to what you’d classify it as for a second. If anything, the hat was what threw you off the most. It suddenly dawned on you that a lot of these guys would look better without their hats. You paused that thought for a moment.

“Javier Escuella. Pleasure.” He smirked.

“It’s good to meet you, Javier.” His handshake was not as hesitant as Lenny’s was by comparison, but it was fairly quick. The last man in the semi-circle stood. And he was a giant. You had seen him earlier but for some reason his height and just overall existence didn’t hit you until that moment. He had the longest hair of anyone in the room. Maybe you’d be able to get out of wearing the wig over time. With some lying, obviously. You held your hand out to him first.

“James, it’s nice to meet you.” His handshake was unexpectedly gentle.

“Charles, Charles Smith.” His voice was also softer than you’d have predicted. You supposed he didn’t need to compensate for presence so there wasn’t a point in being loud. You could tell right off the bat that he was a quiet type, but you were used to that from Miguel, so it didn’t matter much. You turned away to face the 3 other men on the other side of the room. You already knew the blonde one.

“Micah, right?” You asked. You didn’t particularly want to get near him, but you conceded and held your hand out. He squeezed your hand just a little too hard, you did the same in return, and a little too much energy was put into it. He was still mad about your first encounter with him in the cabin. “Good to finally get a proper introduction.”

“Yeah, right.” You made the mental note that he was for sure an asshole and to watch out for him. A different man grabbed your attention, he didn’t seem pleased.

“My name is Simon Pearson, I’m the cook around here, and with you and that new woman hanging about, you better be helping enough to get your share.” You remember Arthur mentioning him. You shook his hand with both of yours to signify peacemaking.

“Of course, sir. I’ll do more than my share. I’m always willing to help.” You were aware that a lot of the things you were saying were repetitive, but that was usually how mass introductions went. A man with a very full beard was the last one at the moment. “Hello, I’m James West.”

“Bill.” He answered simply. Okay, not in the talking mood right now. Got it. You heard Arthur’s voice again.

“John’s out of commission at the moment, we won’t be worried about that dumbass.” You heard a familiar patter on the floor coming in your direction.

“James!” Jack rammed into your leg before you got a chance to react. He almost knocked you off balance.

“Woah, hey there, buddy.” You knelt down in front of him to get on his level. “What have you been up to? On patrol?” He seemed to be the only kid here, that’s gotta be stressful on him.

“Yeah! Been waiting outside Papa’s room since you’re awake now.” He informed.

“Wow, strong and vigilant? You’re a real power house there, little man.” You balled your hands into fists and lightly bopped him on the chest, one with each hand. “Pow, pow!” You exaggerated onomatopoeically. You could tell this was more interaction than he was used to. You were more than happy to brighten his mood.

“Uncle Dutch says you’re a good fighter.”

“Uncle Dutch would be right, gotta hit ’em with that one-two!” You hit him two more times, a wide smile on his face. He mimicked the way you blocked your face with your hands. His small fist gingerly punched your forearm. “Come on! You can do better than that, buddy!” You stood up, bouncing and shifting your weight between your feet. He tried to do the same, but it came out more as an awkward skip-in-place. “See? You’re a natural, little dude! A little practice and you could pin all of us.” He hit your knee a couple times, making little ‘psh’ sounds when he did.

“Will you teach me?” He was elated, you weren’t sure how long you’d be with them, but it seemed like you’d be up here for a while. Might as well, it also might win you bonus points with the others. But in all honesty, you weren’t thinking about that much.

“Sure thing, buddy.” He was really happy for that answer. “But…” He paused. You swooped down and picked him up, resting him on your shoulder in a fireman’s carry. “Lesson number one, never let your opponent take you off guard, or something unexpected might happen.” You were suddenly very aware that you weren’t alone in the room. You got so distracted by Jack that you forgot that you were in a room full of people. Jack squirmed around, laughing with the kind of energy you’d expect from a kid without child interaction and stuck on a recluse mountain with a bunch of sad-sack adults.

“Uncle Arthur! Javier!” He took a breath between fits of giggles. “You’re upside down!”

“Alright, little dude.” You made sure to be gentle as you set him back down to his feet. “I’ll teach some more later, okay?” You looked over, everyone was staring at you with varying looks about them Confusions, amusement, conjecture. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, how could any of you say no to this face?” You ruffled Jack’s hair. “That’s an objectively sweet face that you can’t say no to.”

“I don’t know ‘bout sweet, but he’s rambunctious that’s for sure.” Arthur commented with the knowing nods of several men as their response. You crossed your arms as Jack ran off to do something else.

“How long have you all been stuck up here?”

“A few days,” Charles started, “A few bad days at that.”

“We’re running low on supplies, food most importantly.” Pearson added. “I haven’t been able to do my job properly since we got up here, ever since Blackwater.” Blackwater? You wanted to ask, but the look on everyone’s faces told you you’d be overstepping your bounds. You decided to go a different direction.

“I know we’re in the middle of winter, but there’s gotta be animals, yeah?”

“Everyone I’ve sent out as come up empty-handed.”

“No, James is right. There’s game on this mountain, we just aren’t finding it.” Charles gestured to his wrapped hand. “And this certainly isn’t making me feel better about it. I’m going hunting.” He stood and walked over to a corner where some things were sitting.

“Yer hand’s burnt, you won’t be able to shoot.” Arthur’s accent slurred. Charles was about to say something, but you cut him off.

“Yeah, and? His hands don’t need to work for tracking. Just send someone else up there with him who can kill.”

“That’s a great idea! You and Arthur can go with him!” Pearson sassed, “That man’s been irritable with nothing to do.” Arthur grumbled in response.

“I’d be more than happy to help,” You really wanted to get back in your element. All this social work was more Austin and Gina’s speed. “but I’m not sure how helpful I’ll be.”

“You ever been hunting?” Charles went and handed a bow to Arthur.

“Something like that.”

“That’s better than nothing in my opinion. Come on, you can borrow one of the others’ horses.” Someone walked in.

“You can take mine. Silver Dollar should be pretty tame for you.” It was Hosea.

“Meet us there my ass, old man.” The blue-clad cowboy mocked.

“Apologies, got a bit held up with preparations. Charles, Arthur, bring back something good and make sure the kid gets the hang of things.” Hhhhhh, Hosea you’re really nice, but please don’t call me kid. Now wasn’t the time for corrections, you could do that later. They agreed and motioned for you to follow them outside.

The window was starting to slow down, which was more than welcome in your opinion. The snow crunched lightly, the way it does when multiple people have already walked on it. You missed California’s ridiculous heat. Despite the air being cold though, it was much easier to breathe than that smog. Your eyes burned from the sun reflecting off the plush snow. This is fucking blinding, how can any of you see ever? The three of you approached what was, basically to you, a herd of horses. They mounted their horses on silence, you approached a grey one.

“I’m going to assume this is Silver Dollar?” Arthur nodded to confirm your suspicions. You pulled yourself up and adjusted. Alright, just a group of guys going huntin’, just a couple of dudes, some good’ol’boys…how do I make this thing go? You looked up to try and learn through observation. Okay, I’ll just…give him a little- you lightly tapped your heel against the side of the horse, he came to a trot, following behind Charles. Don’t show any fear, they can sense it. Just be chill and respect the animal, and he’ll do the same for you. You at least would hope that for the time being.

Charles and Arthur picked up the pace, so you followed suit, not nearly as fast, but you were at least keeping up. There was a gaping silence that didn’t bother you. It finally gave you a chance to take in your surroundings. To say that the scenery was breathtaking would be an understatement. You weren’t sure if you had seen anything more beautiful in your entire life. Why had you never gone this far out? It seemed like a good a place as any to hide away, other than the blizzards. Charles broke that silence all too soon.

“What did you mean earlier? About hunting.” He clarified. You recalled your answer from earlier.

“Yeah, I was wonderin’ ‘bout that.” Arthur added. You tried to think of a way to phrase this without giving too much away.

“It wasn’t so much hunting as it was scavenging at that point. Can’t hunt something that’s already dead. Tracks and all.”

“Scavengin’?”

“Times were…desperate.” You decided to leave it at that for the time being.

“Have you ever tracked a deer?” Charles asked.

“Not a deer, but if you point some out to me, I should be able to find it pretty easily.”

“Good, we’ll need 2. You and Arthur get one each.” It wasn’t long before you passed through a stream and then came upon a clearing where Charles told you two to slow down. You followed in his example when he dismounted. “We’ll need to continue on foot from here.” He pointed at a trail of imprints in the ground. “Think you can find that?”

“Yeah, no problem.” You followed along it, just walking for a few steps to make an assessment. “She definitely isn’t far. The snow is deep, and the tracks are undisturbed.” You had never been out looking for food in the snow, but it seemed easier than dry ass California. You stopped to look ahead, listened closely. You could hear another part of the stream you passed earlier. Animals get thirsty too. “Alright, get down low, don’t wanna make too much noise.” Arthur seemed reluctant, but Charles was pleased with your competence. It was odd to slink around in broad daylight, but there was no helping it. You saw one in the distance.

“Arthur, ready yourself.” Charles took the lead now, inching the group a few feet closer. It was a buck. But there did seem to be a few others scattered about. If y’all were quick, this should only take a few more minutes.

“This is probably a good time to remind you both that I’ve never used a bow for hunting or anything like that, so maybe Arthur should handle this one.” You whispered.

“Don’t worry, they’ll scatter once Arthur shoots. We’ll have to track them a bit further. Shouldn’t take long, though.” You were crouched down in between the two of them, Arthur was lining up his shot. “Aim for the neck.” It was only a moment later that you a quick, air splitting sound. The buck fell to the ground. The rest of the deer, having heard him collapse, scattered themselves about just as Charles said they would. “Okay, go ahead and haul that one. James and I will keep going to save us a few minutes.”

“You got it.” He sighed, standing upright and walking over to the now dead animal after handing you the bow with a few arrows in its quiver. Now separated, you and Charles continued to skulk about. Most of them ran upstream, so that was your best guess on where to go. Luckily, Charles was still leading, and you were satisfied to see he took the same direction you were taking. A doe was in the distance, you could already see her heavy breathing from running when Charles had you stop.

“Okay, draw your bow.” You slid the arrow weakly into place. “Don’t over extend the string, but don’t be too free with it either.” You tried to do what he said, Your dominant hand held the arrow in place, the other gripped the wooden curve. You drew back. “A little more.”

“Like this?” You corrected yourself.

“Yes, but don’t fire yet.” His hand reached forward, grasping at the base of the bow just under where yours was located. You let him guide your aim to the side. He stopped moving but kept his position.

“Now?”

“Take a deep breath.” Inhale. “Release when you breathe out.” Exhale.

You let loose. The arrow flew through and made the doe squeal and fall to her side. The rest of the group fled. Leaving the body behind. You mentally high-fived yourself. Hell yeah!

“You did a good job. Come on, it’s time to collect.” Both of you stood, roaming towards the carcass.

“Thank you for your patience.” You replied with a smirk. You’d like to say the sight of something dead was what made you feel sick, but it was the blood. You chose to believe it was the way the color popped against the pure snow. The way it looked like cherry cough syrup or Kool-Aid left a terribly familiar taste at the back of your throat. But you decided not to show hesitation. Weakness will show more of you than any words people can claw from you. The words rang in your head. You pulled the arrow out of its windpipe.

“I’ll carry it back to horses.”

“But your hand-“

“I don’t need one hand to use the other’s arm.” His tone was more relaxed than it had been before, less formal. He hefted the body and carried it over his shoulder. “Come, Arthur’s bringing over the horses.” And he was. Arthur was a little over five yards away. You were surprised by how little time you all spent doing this. With both deer slumped on the back of Charles and Arthur’s horses, you started the ride back to camp. I’m kinda getting the hang of this. It’s kinda like driving a living motorcycle, but it can go slow without cruising.

It seems you spoke too soon, as a sudden howl in the distance caused Silver Dollar to buck you off. Your back hit the ground, Arthur hopped down. He held the reins of his horse to make sure they wouldn’t run off. You hurried to your feet.

“Arthur-“

“I know, I’ll handle it.”

“I’ll lead the horses a little a ways while you deal with them.” Charles took Arthur’s reins and then turned to look at you. “James, you-“ The barking was getting louder, grey spikes of fur were sprinting towards your group. You knew there was no way you could get back on and start moving in time.

“Go on ahead, I’ll be fine!” Besides, this was your field of expertise in one way. Hunting wasn’t your strong-suit, but defense sure as hell was. You darted off to the side, swinging your jacket off, raising the shoulders as far as your arms could reach while running. You let out a loud scream as one approached you, not out of fear, but to make it fear you. It still charged toward you with less ferocity. You managed to kick it in the side and ran, side-stepping your way to Arthur. A shot rang out, one of the three wolves fell over, dead. The other flanked and clamped its maw on Arthur’s arm. His gun fell to the ground. You rolled to grab it.

You pulled the hammer back and fired at the beast the second Arthur was able to force himself free. Pull back, turn. You used your opposite hand to grab your wrist and steady your arm. One last shot pounded just as the wolf you had kicked was about to pounce. Arthur clutched onto his right arm, bloody holes blotting through. You picked up your jacket and shook the snow off before sliding it back on.

“You’re a good shot, boy. I know who’s getting a gun as soon as we get off this damn mountain.” He laughed, ignoring the pain that should be in his arm.

“I make it a habit of having one, so yeah.” You flipped the revolver in your hand, handle facing Arthur. He took it and tipped his hat to you.

“Thank’ya, Mr. West.”

“It’s no trouble. You probably could’ve handled them, you aren’t the damsel type.” Charles trotted back over with Silver Dollar and whatever horse Arthur was riding trailing behind him.

“You two handled that quickly.”

“You mean James handled that quickly. All I went and did was get my arm bit.”

“One outta three ain’t bad.” You retorted.

“Y’know I knew someone who died from getting bit.”

“You’re not gonna die from a little wolf bite, Arthur.” Charles sighed.

“But you don’t know that!” Arthur was surprisingly funny for someone who looks so sad. Then again, it shouldn’t be that shocking to you. Charles snorted but did not give further response. You and Arthur got back on the saddles and began the journey to their camp.

“You’ll be fine as long as that thing didn’t have rabies. Just keep it clean and dry for the time being.”

“They call me Rabid Morgan.” Arthur stared into the distance.

“They say you can see his red eyes from a mile away.” Charles joined.

“Rabid Man Morgan, the shredder of limbs, no matter whomst they belong.” You let a chuckle slip.

“Dutch and Hosea are gonna think you’re dying if they hear all this talk.” His long hair shook in motion with his head.

“All the more reason to keep talkin’ if ya ask me.”

“Well, I’m calling you that from now on. I’m never going to explain what it means.” You warned.

“Perfect.” You had barely noticed how close to the camp you’d gotten. Good conversation makes for easy travel, you supposed. Pearson was the first to greet you at his station.

“Sounds like a bunch of gossiping milkmaids are invading the camp.”

“Never heard of laughter, Mr. Pearson?” You teased. You were aware you were acting a bit too comfortable, but this would give you a good idea of where to draw the line.

“Not that I recall. You bring anything useful for me?” You slid off the side and took initiative of hoisting the doe onto your shoulders. It was heavier than you expected, but you were able to get it into the open area Pearson directed you towards. Albeit, you didn’t do it as gracefully as Charles had or how Arthur was doing it now, but you did it, nonetheless.

“Ever skinned a de-“ Charles was interrupted,

“WEST YOU SACK OF SHIT!” by the obnoxious wailing of a blonde idiot. Micah was stomping his way through the snow, eyes burning into you. You squinted in distrust of the situation. By the time he was two feet from you, you’d expected him to slow down.

“What do you want Mi-“ But he didn’t. He shoved you back, making you hit a cleared part of Pearson’s desk. He pulled you forward by the collar of your jacket and the center of your shirt.

“I don’t know who the hell you think you are gettin’ special privileges around here, but ya best watch yerself and how you carry. I got my eye on you.” He was trying to assert his fragile dominance over you.

“I don’t know what you’re on about, dickhead. But if you don’t get your filthy paws off of me in the next two seconds, I’m gonna make sure we have matching bruises.” You wrinkled your nose.

“Micah, put the poor boy down right now!” You heard Dutch’s voice coming closer but didn’t break eye contact with Micah. He threw you further onto the table before turning away from you.

“You seriously trust this runt, Dutch? Look at him. Maggot’s got lies smeared all over his face.”

“And you’ve got brown smeared all over your nose, back up.” You practically vaulted off the table, using your forearm and pressure to Micah’s chest to force him back.

“The god damn kid get’s his own space but not any of the others who been here longer? Here I am having to-“

“Don’t call me kid, ever again. Unless you want a broken neck.” Nothing got to you more than that, especially when someone was using it the way he was. Your stare was enough to pierce skin. Arthur grabbed Micah’s shoulder.

“And I’d thank you kindly to not even try and finish that sentence. We already heard you whine earlier. The way I see it, yer at least two against one right now, and that ain’t even including everyone here that would beat you the first chance they got. I don’t care how tough you think you are, those aren’t good odds. So, I suggest you shut that trap of a mouth you have.” His voice was low, there seemed to be some history behind that response, but you couldn’t think about that too much right now. Micah shook away his touch, pushing past Dutch and Charles, he mumbled something to himself as he stormed off. You could feel the pressure of your jaw clenching and your nails digging into your palm.

You paced about, narrowly avoiding the deer corpses around you. Remember to breathe, Y/N. You can’t pass out again. Control yourself. You’re alright. No point in getting mad over the stupid, you’ll scream all day. You wanted to destroy something. You couldn’t stand people like him, it ripped at your gut like a beast starving for your insides. You took a few deep breaths before pacifying yourself enough to address the men around you.

“Forgive me, gentlemen. That situation was a bit too tense for me to bear.” You tried to resist the urge to pull at your hair, considering it wasn’t your hair.

“You reacted better than most people would, nothing to apologize for.” Arthur was steadfast in watching Micah leave. Dutch stepped forward and held you still with both hands just under the joint of your shoulder. He had to bend down a bit to get at eye level with you.

“He can be rough around the edges, but you’ll get used to him. I can see that fire in your eyes, boy. There ain’t nothing wrong with it, but I’d like you to hold that fire close for a few hours more.” He sounded like Austin, which was simultaneously comforting and nerve-wracking. He traded glances with the two men you had rode back with but staying in the same position. “While you boys were gone, I had some of the others ride out to scour the area, and we’ve struck gold.” He stood up straight, still holding onto you. “The O’Driscolls have a camp a little a ways from here. Mrs. Adler informed me of some of the talk that was happening in her house, and apparently there was word of a train.”

“A train?” You questioned.

“That’s right, young man. We need money.” Doesn’t everybody? “I only send my best men for these jobs, but I wanna see how good you really are, Mr. West.”

“Oh, he’s good. Even Arthur was impressed.” Charles elbowed Arthur’s arm.

“That true, son?”

“I saw him kill two wolves today. Only used a bullet for each. Hit ‘em both right here-“ He tapped the middle of his forehead with index finger. “-so, yeah, I’d wager he’s pretty good.” A grin stretched across Dutch’s face.

“Fantastic, let’s hope your as good at shootin’ O’Driscolls as you are at shootin’ wild animals.” He gave you an affirming pat on the bicep. “Ah hell, who am I kiddin’? They’re the same thing.” He turned to walk out, calling back to all of you before being out of earshot. “Ill see you gentlemen in the morning, we leave at 10 o’clock!” The excitement was clear in his speech.

This place was weird. These people were fucking weird. The more you stayed here, the more convincing these people seemed. What the hell was their deal? They acted like normal people, not like cultists or anything. How did they think it was 1899? It would make sense if they’d been on the mountain for years, but they just got here not too long ago. It gave you a headache just thinking about it. You needed to ask more questions without seeming eager to leave.

“Sorry about Micah, he’s like that with almost everyone.” Charles’s voice broke your thoughts.

“I’m fine. He’s lucky Dutch stepped in. I don’t let anyone push me around.” Anymore.

“You’re on edge. There’s not much to do up here but work. You can help Arthur skin the pelts. Might help distract you.” He suggested, pulling what looked like a hunting knife from his belt. You took it reluctantly, knowing you’d need something to do to keep yourself from losing it. You got down on one knee, waiting to follow Arthur’s lead. Time to talk.

“How far are we from Blackwater?” You pretended to know what that place was.

“Not far enough if you ask me.” Pearson complained. “Then again, we left a lot down there.”

“Like food?” Arthur muttered.

“A comedian as always, Mr. Morgan.” Pearson was not amused.

“What happened to you guys over there?” They were hushed by that question for a second.

“I don’t think any of us are entirely sure.” Charles contemplated for a moment. “But now we’re wanted. Every last one of us. We won’t be able to go back for some time.” His eyes met yours, halting the slide of the blade. “I hope that doesn’t interfere with you staying with us for the time being.” You were sad that you weren’t bothered by this, not in the slightest. People being hunted didn’t even phase you.

“I’d be a hypocrite if I let it.” You sighed, you let your guard slip. “I’ve been on the run since I was 19. This doesn’t change anything.” You immediately caught your mistake. Shit. No, it’s fine. They still don’t know who I am. I’m fine. But something suddenly struck you. How could these people be on the run from the law if they thought it was the 19th century?

“What got you?” Arthur asked. It floored you mentally, no one had ever asked you that question. Mostly because you never told anyone who didn’t already know. It wasn’t something you exactly go around flaunting. Him and Charles could see the alarm in your expression.

“Just…” How do you say it? “I made some bad choices.” You don’t. You hurried to finish the carving, wanting to get out of the conversation as fast as possible. You could tell they wanted to press but, lucky for you, decided against it. You rolled the fur up and hooked the cadaver onto a bare wall next to Arthur’s. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” You kept your head down as you walked away.

This wasn’t the time to be thinking about that. You had to think of a way to get back to the others. Where would you go once you got off the mountain? What would even happen when the others got off? There was no way they could avoid cities. You could hardly believe their entire reality hadn’t broken already. Blackwater had to be a town or something. And they were running from the law. The more you heard and thought, the more it didn’t add up. You got lost in that pensive side of yourself.

Something hit your chest, well, someone. You saw the book fall before the girl. It was the brunette you met earlier, you thought Mary-Beth was her name. She was quiet when she fell initially, but as she leaned forward on her elbows, she let out a grunt of pain. You snapped out of your trance and quickly bent closer to her, holding out your hand.

“I’m so sorry, miss.” She took your hand, the back of hers facing up to the sky. You pulled her up halfway and used your other hand to press the space between her shoulder blades. You did this to avoid pulling her too hard as helped her back to her feet. Once she was balanced, you let go and snatched her book from the snow. Fortunately, it fell cover side down. “I should have been looking where I was going. Are you alright?”

“I’m alright, thank you, Mr. West.” She took the book as you presented it to her. “I should’ve been paying attention too.” Her eyes squinted, inspecting you closely, like she was trying to figure something out.

“Well, I’m still sorry.” Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. You took a step back and turned away.

“Wait!” She grabbed your wrist. “Hosea wanted us to let you know Miss Grimshaw set up a space for you.” You looked back at her.

“A space?”

“Yes! He told us about how common it is for people in your condition to episodes, especially in their sleep. So, he had us make something for privacy.” Seems a few of your questions were answered.

“Is that what Micah was upset about earlier?”

“Yes, I’m sorry about him. He doesn’t know when to keep himself in check most of the time.” She pulled you toward the cabin you had been placed in. When you walked in, Bill and Javier were the only ones in the main room. You attention immediately went to what looked like a make shift tent at the right end of the room. It looked like what would happen if you split a tent in half and let it rest against a wall. Or like something a few kids would make, not in terms of quality but rather conceptually. It was very well done by blanket fort standards.

“Wow, Mary-Beth, that looks really nice.” You did appreciate the effort genuinely. You reminded yourself to thank Hosea for saving you some trouble. “How many of you worked on this?”

“It was mostly Tilly, Karen, and I. I wasn’t sure if you were much or a writer, but I left an extra pencil and a few sheets of paper to keep yourself entertained.”

“Thank you so much, this is very nice of all of you to do for me.” You smiled at her. “Be sure to let me know if there’s anything you need, I’d feel bad if I didn’t repay you all in some way.” Your request tickled her fancy.

“You sound kinda like Arthur.”

“That a good thing?”

“Yes, I’d reckon so.” Her expression was tender and thoughtful. “I’ll let the girls know you appreciate our hard work. Hosea said you should rest to not create any more discomfort.” She pivoted back towards the door. “Oh! And be sure to eat something in the morning. No telling when the last time you ate was…Actually, I’ll see if I can drop any off to you when it’s ready.”

“You don’t need to do that, you all have done-“

“Nonsense! I’m surprised you were well enough to go out in the condition Dutch said you were in. ‘Sides, y’all are going out again tomorrow, right?”

“Well, yes, but-“

“But nothing! You go and rest right now, young man!” You couldn’t tell if she was older than you, but she sure didn’t look it. Regardless, you conceded.

“Yes, ma’am.” She left you to your own devices, Javier and Bill were focusing on their own activities. You took it upon yourself to crawl into the makeshift tent. It was wide enough for the cot you woke up on. The blanket making the fake wall and roof was high enough for you to sit on the cot but not much else. It was a good thing that’s all you’d need.

You sat down in the middle, letting the blanket curtain to hide you from everyone else. Taking off your coat and lifting up your shirt, you felt joy well up in your chest, joy mixed with a stiff pain. Even with it barely being able to stay up, it was still painful to keep the fabric wrapped around you. You could feel your skin rejoice as you removed it. Once the manila colored cloth was all unbound and sitting on your lap, you let your shirt fall back down. You decided to hide it under the cot for the time being. You were surprised to find a canteen and the items Mary-Beth had mentioned earlier. Thankfully, the contents of the canteen was water, which you happily swigged. You laid back on the cot. This was the first time you’d gotten conscious alone time.

Okay, time to figure this out. I was shot 6 times. I should be dead. But somehow, I ended up on a mountain in winter. I was trapped in a barn and rescued by these guys who think it’s 1899. What’s weird is that Mrs. Adler didn’t object to that, even though she was introduced to everyone the same night I was. None of this is adding up…

You massaged your temples.

If I’m gonna start thinking crazy, I might as well go all out right now. I’m either dead or I traveled back in time. And either way, I can’t do anything about it. Death is inescapable and time isn’t tangible, it isn’t even real. I’ll have to take this one goal at a time… Damnit!

You wanted to cry. Not because you felt sorry for yourself, but for them. Miguel, Eli, what would they do without you? You knew Austin would be fine, and Gina would have the others for support. But Eli and Miguel relied on you to a certain extent. You were their glue. That’s one of the reasons you never left, even though you should have. You should have left a long time ago. There was no way to tell them you were okay, or at least as okay as you could be.

No! There’s no way that’s the answer. I can’t believe it…not yet. You didn’t allow yourself the indulgence of shedding tears. You had to be strong until you could get back to them. You just had to figure out what was happening. But there was no way you’d be learning anything new from these people. You couldn’t get out of this place without their help. You were a lot of things, but you weren’t a defeatist. Going out without a plan in this kind of temperature was a death sentence if you weren’t already dead. You didn’t want to be stupid and take that kind of risk.

If I play along, I might have a chance.

And that’s all I need.

[starwarsnonsense]

The Best Films of 2017 - Mid-Year List

There have already been many great films so far this year, so I felt it worth doing a run down of my favourite films of the year so far. These all reflect the cinema releases we’ve had so far in the UK in 2017 - for that reason this list includes some films that were released in the US in 2016. Enjoy, and I’d love to hear your thoughts on the best films of the year so far!

Honourable mentions: Their Finest, Colossal, Gifted

1. Get Out, dir. Jordan Peele

This film really knocked me for six, to such an extent that I simply had to see it twice in the cinema. It got even better upon a re-watch, when I was able to watch it with full knowledge of the characters’ underlying motives and the things to come. It’s a terrifying concept (the racism of an all-white suburb is taken to a horrifying extreme) executed with incredible panache, and you feel every emotion that Chris goes through thanks to Daniel Kaluuya’s excellent performance. Get Out also represents one of the most brilliantly communal experiences I’ve ever had at the cinema - I won’t spoil it, but let’s just say that the audience erupted into spontaneous applause at a key moment in the climax. Simply fantastic. 

2. The Handmaiden, dir. Park Chan-wook

This film is exquisite - it’s first and foremost a beautiful boundary-smashing love story, and an absolutely marvellous tale of female defiance. It transplants Sarah Waters’ novel Fingersmith to 1930s Korea, and the story is effortlessly adapted to become intrinsically interwoven with its new setting. Sookee is a talented pickpocket plucked from a thieves den and sent as a handmaiden to trick a rich heiress into falling for a conman. To say any more would spoil the twists, but this film is just a masterwork of suspense, keeping you guessing throughout a series of interlocking pieces that take their time to reveal their secrets. I’ve seen the theatrical cut and the extended version, and they’re both great - you’re in for a treat with either.

3. Jackie, dir. Pablo Larrain

This is a film that soars on the strength of Natalie Portman’s incredible performance, which is complemented by Mica Levi’s haunting score. Portman’s performance is painfully vivid, with her agony and wretchedness coming through so intensely that it’s often uncomfortable to watch. Jackie is probably the best portrait of grief I’ve ever seen, and it sucks you into a famous historic event by providing an incredibly intimate perspective on it. This is great cinema, but be prepared for suffering.

4. A Cure for Wellness, dir. Gore Verbinski

This is a delightfully strange Gothic fairy tale of a film, and I’m amazed and impressed that a Hollywood studio gave Gore Verbinski a budget sufficient to pull it off with such beauty and style. I’ve seen this film attract love and hate in equal measure, but I adore it - the trailers set you up for a rehash of Shutter Island, but nothing could be further from the truth beyond the isolated setting. If I had to compare this to anything, I would compare it to Roger Corman’s Poe cycle of films from the 1960s - it has a similarly lurid sensibility and a deep-seated sense of fantastic romanticism at its core. Great if you’re after something uncompromisingly bonkers.

5. Wonder Woman, dir. Patty Jenkins

This film represented pure joy for me - I couldn’t have anticipated how emotional I was going to get at witnessing a (wonder!)woman crossing No Man’s Land and deflecting bullets with her bracelets. This simultaneously rejects the wry self-awareness of the Marvel films and the grim self-importance of the previous DC movies, instead unabashedly depicting a superhero who triumphs thanks to her overriding belief in love and compassion. Patty Jenkins adds endless little touches - from funny moments to quiet scenes where characters talk simply to learn about each other - that enrich the film and make it feel vivid and intimate in a very rare and special way.

6. Silence, dir. Martin Scorsese

This is truly the work of a master filmmaker, and it represents a stunning artistic achievement and a moving and intelligent investigation of the threshold of faith. Scorsese tried to get this made for decades before finally succeeding, and his passion for and belief in the project shine through in every painstakingly crafted frame. Silence is equal parts beauty and brutality, and it uses this contrast to illuminate the painful questions that the faithful must ask themselves when faced with the harsh reality of the present world. It’s heavy stuff, but well worth your time if you’re up for a film that raises more questions than it answers.

7. In This Corner of the World, dir. Sunao Katabuchi

I had no idea this film existed until a few days before I saw it, but I was really struck by its poetic treatment of the joys and tragedies of life. This film follows a young bride who moves to live with her husband’s family in WWII-era Japan, and while it deals unflinchingly with the trauma and horror of war - particularly the bombing of Hiroshima - it’s also surprisingly funny and ultimately hopeful. The power of this film comes through in the little moments of human connection and the way that the full potential of animation is exploited to maximum effect.

8. La La Land, dir. Damien Chazelle

A lovely ode to the classic Hollywood musical, La La Land is a technical marvel that sticks with me because of its heart and humanity (those words are recurring a lot, right?). It tells a very small story of a love affair between two dreamers in Hollywood, but it feels much bigger than them because of the way in which their story is told. La La Land draws from influences across the spectrum of cinema, and its homages to the classics are joyful and loving. The final ‘what might have been’ sequence represents the perfect marriage of raw emotion and filmmaking virtuosity. 

9. Okja, dir. Bong Joon-ho

Not many films can balance flatulence jokes with uncompromising critique of capitalist greed, but Okja pulls it off with aplomb. The core story hinges on the innocent and endearing friendship between a young girl named Mija and a bio-engineered super pig called Okja, and the film succeeds because you totally buy their connection and desperately want the two of them to have their wish and live together in the mountains. I'm delighted that Netflix gave Bong Joon-ho a platform to make such a weird beast.

10. Logan, dir. James Mangold

Logan may be bleak, but that isn’t what makes it great - Logan is fantastic cinema because it remembers that superheroes are still people who struggle with their own souls as much as super-villains. This film features the best character work managed in any of the X-Men films, and Hugh Jackman, Patrick Stewart and - in particular - Dafne Keen give heart-rending performances that really ground the film and give it an emotional core. I hope we get more superhero films like this, and that the takeaway from it for the industry is the importance of stressing character rather than frantic spectacle.

Most anticipated films still to come: War for the Planet of the Apes, Valerian and the City of A Thousand Planets, Dunkirk, The Beguiled, Mother!, Logan Lucky, Blade Runner 2049, Murder on the Orient Express, The Shape of Water, Annihilation, Star Wars: The Last Jedi

[capjuby]

Totem Poles and Railroads succinctly defines the 500-year-old relationship between Indigenous nations and the corporation of Canada. In this, her fifth poetry collection, Janet Rogers expands on that definition with a playful, culturally powerful and, at times, experimental voice. She pays honour to her poetic characters—real and imagined, historical and present day—from Sacajawea to Nina Simone. Placing poetry at the centre of our current post-residential school/present-day reconciliation reality, Rogers’ poems are expansive and intimate, challenging, thought-provoking and always personal.

Part of our Indigenous Collection.

Janet Rogers is as fearless as an eagle feather and as forensic as a tomahawk. This Indigenous Canadian poet says what E.Pauline Johnson (Tekahionwake) wanted to say, but couldn’t, because the time wasn’t ripe, a century back, for a voice that is unhindered by politesse and undiplomatic in outrage. But now’s the time for Janet Rogers, who knows that our lopped-down forests are “not / romantic trees / with sentiment / running beneath,” but represent a wilderness colonized by a society where ���injustice rains / upon us constant.” Love the directness of this poet, who is about peace-seeking: “we have adopted / each other / and adapted / to living / like this.” Rogers moves easily among all the registers of Canuck poetics, from giving us symbolic imagery (“… words left flapping / like tattered flags / over parliament’s decaying / brick home”) to giving us raw truth (“the tears of a prime minister / won’t wipe away racism”). Pick up Janet Rogers, this powerful, Red-letter woman, and find yourself feeling uncomfortable, but no longer uninformed.

George Elliott Clarke, Parliamentary Poet Laureate (2016-17)

These new poems by Janet Rogers are a straight shot metaphysical call to action in the wake of historical trauma, police violence, shameful treatment of our body Earth. They stand as urgent witness, clear talk in the face of colonized law built on lies. Rogers reminds us to pay attention, to listen. These words can heal.

Joy Harjo, Mvskoke Nation, poet and musician

To give Rogers’ poems a form, a body, I would have to name them blackbirds, formidable winged creatures who’ve chosen the highest branch and whose eyes allow us the vision we so often cannot see ourselves. I’m honoured to be called into this ceremony, sung awake by her prayers. Praise for Totem Poles and Railroads.

Gregory Scofield, author of Witness, I am

Janet Rogers’ latest book Totem Poles and Railroads doesn’t pull any punches. All of the stinging and difficult realities of colonialism are confronted head-on and with ferocity. Rogers is here to disrupt these white landscapes. Rogers is here to call out all of the bullshit both past and present. Totem Poles and Railroads is burning to be read.

Jordan Abel, Nisga’a Nation, author of Injun

In the late 1870’s the Prime Minister of Canada, John A. MacDonald implemented his national program. One of the main aspects of the program was the building of a transcontinental railroad to bring the what is now the province of British Columbia into the national fold. The building of the railroad had a tremendous impact on the First Nations across the country. It brought a flood of people from the East to the West and along with them land grabs and disease. Totem Poles and Railroads is a powerful story of that part of Canadian history. Telling that story from a poetic perspective allows the reader to reflect on a too-often forgotten part of Canada’s history. It is a powerful story that all Canadians should read.

Leroy Little Bear, Professor Emeritus

University of Lethbridge

‘my hands are solar panels

to praise and release

I am reaching deep

inside healing

feeling the burn’

Rogers reaches deep inside issues, headlines and narratives to find the heat, the warmth, to show it to us. As always, she brings her trademark cadence that echoes a soft bass line and feels as cathartic as good jazz. These poems are new and fresh but also the continuation of a very long conversation, and Rogers has that gifted sort of voice and brilliant perspective that weave together rhyme and reason. She sings, she challenges, she rips open the world and shows us something better. Her rhythm is resolute. Her words are smoke that rises above the fray.

Katherena Vermette, Governor General’s Award-winning author of The Break and North End Love Songs

[aion-rsa]

Lovecraft Country Episode 10 Review: Full Circle

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This Lovecraft Country review contains spoilers.

Lovecraft Country Episode 10

Tic recites the spell to open the Book of Names, then he and Leti fall unconscious. Their subconscious/spirits are brought to an ancestral plane and it’s there they learn the truth about magic from the ancestors. They are tasked with casting Hannah’s spell, which will use Christina’s spell against her to take magic from the Braithwhites. The ancestors help Tic and Leti heal Dee, then send them back to their bodies to enact their plan.

The season finale of Lovecraft Country is entertaining but emotionally hollow. Maybe it’s the fact that the nine preceding episodes have thrown us into the fire —literally— and put us and the characters through some of the worst racial violence in the history of this country. Or perhaps, it’s that our heroes have already proven their capacity to persist, so winning in itself is not enough. Tic, Leti, Montrose, Hippolyta, Ruby, Diana —and George in the brief amount of time we had him— have overcome pretty much from the moment they appear on screen. But, save for George, they all come away from the horror mostly unscathed, and generally stronger than before.

The problem with Lovecraft Country is that almost every episode is anxiety-inducing and heartbreaking, and emotionally taxing, each leaves the audience raw. When you spend an entire season pushing us to our limits, you expand our limits. What may have felt like a truly moving triumph in episode seven feels like a foregone conclusion by episode ten. Lovecraft Country gives us the ending we expected, and in doing so, fails to deliver on its promise or justify the triggers and traumas it inflicted on its characters and its audience.

“Full Circle” doesn’t stand up to the episodes that come before it. Our protagonists are OP by this point. They have been through too much, and this is not the worst thing they’ve faced, not by a long shot. Treating the confrontation in this episode like the biggest of the season undermines and devalues all of the truly horrific experiences these characters have had in the name of empowerment. What’s a little bloodletting to being shot to death then coming back to life, or becoming a ghoul and losing your arm, or shedding an entire body worth of flesh and bone…

What Christina does to Tic to gain immortality pales in comparison to the things that have been done to our heroes, and Black folks on the periphery, in the name of good ol’ fashion racism. We watched a woman burn to death. A boy was shot in the head. Black folks were beaten and gunned down in the streets. This was all in the last episode. How do we come away from all of that trauma, which compounded all of the trauma before it, thinking a little spat with Christina Braithwhite would be even remotely rewarding? I expected Christina to be a red herring, and frankly, I’m surprised she was treated with so much gravitas in this finale.

Stripping magic away from Christina and all whites, by proxy, does not have the impact that it should. She has mostly operated in a way where her hands are free of blood, and making her the totem for this spell feels less like justice, and more like an easy metaphor. She is the embodiment of white magical power in this show. But she is also human and fallible. Her relationship with Ruby, which was an utter waste of storytelling potential, took away most of her mystique. By this episode, we’ve seen Tic and Montrose do worse things than Christina has done. And we know that her only real advantage over them is a better grasp on magic. With the ancestors’ help though, the Freemans are on mostly equal footing, so the win feels all but assured.

Read more

TV

How Lovecraft Country Uses Horror to Tell Black Stories

By Nicole Hill

Taking magic away from white folks is a win, but it doesn’t feel like one. Especially when it comes at the cost of Tic’s life, which feels like an avoidable sacrifice. We know when the surviving Freemans, Leti, and Ji-ah leave Ardham, they are returning to a world where Whiteness still has power. They are returning to a world that is still anti-Black. We do not get pay off for the pain and suffering we’ve endured as the audience to see our characters get to this place. There is no real sense of victory, even when Diana uses her cyborg arm to crush Christina’s fragile, mortal neck. Having Dee be the one to do it also feels cheap. We know everyone can get it in Lovecraft Country, and everybody does, but there is power in letting people maintain some warmth or innocence. Montrose was right there. Leti, who has lost her sister and her child’s grandfather to the Braithwhites, was right there. It seems the writers were intent that everyone be a conduit for violence.

Why did Hippolyta travel to another dimension to become an explorer, a warrior, an artist, and all of these things, only to do…. nothing, when it counted? Similarly, why build Ruby up as this Bad Bitch who finally chooses herself, her desires, and her own peace only to have her acquiesce to her sister once again and be discarded like nothing? Both of these Black women (darker-skinned I feel the need to point out) are empowered throughout the season, only to be benched in the finale so (light-skinned) Leti, and Ji-ah (Korean), could be the heroes. I love Ji-ah, and I wish she got a better resolution with Tic, but she was a deus ex machina where they had other options that could have better utilized characters we’ve spent much more time rooting for.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

I love the idea that Hannah’s family have been working on a spell to strip all white people of their magic, because that makes broad sense. But it does not make sense functionally, and the fact that it will not be explained will keep me up at night. Tic has the blood of white wizards flowing through him, as does his unborn son. How does the magic differentiate, and what about mixed-race Black folks who are even more closely related to their magical white ancestors? I understand that intention is a crucial element to spellcasting, but who’s definition of white does that intention follow? And how does this help? Will all Black folks with magical ties just know? This is a mid-season storyline that requires several proceeding episodes to fully explore, but we get it at the end of the season, with no definitive answer as to whether the story will continue.

I let Misha Green & Co. play me because I naively believed Lovecraft Country had a destination and I will admit to being wrong. But I don’t take back any of the positive assessments I have for other episodes, because what worked for me worked. Though, I expected them to coalesce into a truly worthwhile and fulfilling conclusion. The issue now is that those episodes are more powerful standalone, they have better confrontations and better resolutions, and they are diminished by being attached to such an anticlimactic season finale.

The post Lovecraft Country Episode 10 Review: Full Circle appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/31lJIrH

[transhumanitynet]

Weaving A New Prehistory to Rewild The Future - Michael Garfield at Earth Frequency Festival 2017

“We are living through a health crisis, an economic crisis, a racial crisis, and a democratic crisis. Each would be historic on their own. All of them are connected. That they have struck together in this way just might be what compels our transformation.” – Anand Giridharadas

This week’s episode is over three years in the making: my talk from Earth Frequency Festival 2017, about a revised narrative of prehistory from which we can grow new myths better suited for our times. I almost didn’t post this episode at all, even after nearly two full days of editing, because it felt tone deaf to zoom out so far and discuss topics like mass extinctions, the evolution of plant-pollinator symbiosis, my critiques of transhumanism and SpaceX, and how fish and clams represent complementary strategies for dealing with turbulent environments.

But this feature-length rant erupted from me at a time that rhymes intensely with our current moment: I was scheduled to present on futurism immediately following a heart-wrenching and visceral presentation on the (then ongoing) Standing Rock protests, and it felt right then as it does now to wield what I know in service of new stories that better serve the work of social justice. After all, it is only the alienated and colonized mind that sees climate change, racism, economic inequality, and ecological devastation as separate issues.

No: if we are to truly embrace our interbeing with the biosphere (and we must), then we cannot exclude other human beings — or even nonhuman sentient beings — from our maps and models of the nondual truth of who we are.

One more disclaimer: This is the last unpublished talk I gave before I started work at the Santa Fe Institute, where my poetic intuitions and armchair science scholarship have been challenged to rise to far greater rigor and discernment. I regard this two-hour screed as both one of my most inspired riffs, the closest that I ever got to a Terence McKenna sermon…but it’s also full of embryonic, raw ideas that have evolved A LOT since this recording happened. I share it with you not as a completed document but as a snapshot of a story in the weaving, and I hope you hear it as the work in progress that it was and is.

Thank you and I hope you’ll take a moment to read the supplementary materials below, and support the crucial social justice orgs helping protect the lives and freedom of your neighbors here on Earth, in this especially intense and pivotal moment.

For the next few weeks I am donating 100% of the sales of my original paintings and inventory of canvas prints to ACLU and Unicorn Riot. If you would like to put your money to a good cause and get some cool art for doing so, please visit https://instagram.com/michaelgarfield for details.

Theme Music: “God Detector” by Evan “Skytree” Snyder (feat. Michael Garfield).

My embarrassingly white and male list of mentions from this talk:

Bruce Damer, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Ernst Haeckel, Proteus (documentary), Charles Darwin, Alfred Russel Wallace, Diane Musho Hamilton, Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, Kary Mullis, Francis Crick, The Bardo Thodol (book), Ram Dass, Neem Karoli Baba, Biosphere 2, William Irwin Thompson, Marshall McLuhan, Alvin Toffler, Marie Toffler, Stewart Brand, Wall-E (film), Gregory Bateson, John Muir, Richard Doyle, Darwin’s Pharmacy (book), Thomas Henry Huxley, Gideon Mantell, Colin Elder, Arthur C. Clarke, Stephen Baxter, The Light of Other Days (book), Albert Einstein, John C. Wright, Timothy Leary, Elon Musk

Share these resources:

–––> Ally Tools <––– http://www.ally.tools

“Whether or not you think you hold them, stereotypes shape the lives of everyone on Earth. As human beings, we lack the ability to judge each situation as unique and different…and how we group novel experiences by our past conditioning, as helpful as it often is, creates extraordinary complications in society. As modern life exposes us to an increasing number of encounters with the other in which we do not have time to form accurate models of someone or some place’s true identity, we find ourselves in a downward spiral of self-reinforcing biases — transforming how we practice law enforcement, justice, and life online. Our polarized, irrational world calls for an intense look at what it will take to humanize each other — at traffic stops, in court, on social media, and anywhere our doubt about an unfamiliar face can lead to tragic consequences.” https://complexity.simplecast.com/episodes/7

Science resources on algorithmic justice, moral economics, nonviolent policing, healing slums, countering hate on social media, and more: https://santafe.edu/news-center/news/sfis-statement-support-victims-injustice

“One can’t claim to be an ally if one’s agenda is to prevent his or her own future dystopias through actions that also preserve today’s Indigenous dystopias. Indigenous environmental movements work to reject the ancestral dystopias and colonial fantasies of the present. This is why so many of our environmental movements are about stopping sexual and state violence against Indigenous people, reclaiming ethical self-determination across diverse urban and rural ecosystems, empowering gender justice and gender fluidity, transforming lawmaking to be consensual, healing intergenerational traumas, and calling out all practices that erase Indigenous histories, cultures, and experiences.” https://www.yesmagazine.org/issue/decolonize/2018/04/03/white-allies-lets-be-honest-about-decolonization/

“Racial and economic inequities need to be tackled as this country seeks to recalibrate its economic and social compass in the weeks and months to come. Racism, in short, makes it impossible to live sustainably. Here’s what three prominent environmental defenders had to say in interviews this week about how the climate movement can be anti-racist.” https://www.nytimes.com/2020/06/03/climate/black-environmentalists-talk-about-climate-and-anti-racism.html

Thank you for listening. Reach out any time.

Weaving A New Prehistory to Rewild The Future – Michael Garfield at Earth Frequency Festival 2017 was originally published on transhumanity.net