#powerful enough to be torn apart by it and not powerful enough to profit
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EVE BEST as RHAENYS TARGARYEN in 1.08 “Lord of the Tides”
#eve best#rhaenys targaryen#house of the dragon#hotdedit#my gifs#i always think of that line about a targaryen being alone in the world#because she has NO ONE in this shot#she's just 'given' baela back#her husband might be dead#her brother in law is dead#her cousin has one foot in the grave#she's got no place at the family dinner#she's facing returning home to just be alone#all because of proximity to a throne that was refused her#powerful enough to be torn apart by it and not powerful enough to profit#to protect and to change things
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Fabled lands books order
FABLED LANDS BOOKS ORDER UPGRADE
FABLED LANDS BOOKS ORDER FULL
FABLED LANDS BOOKS ORDER PLUS
FABLED LANDS BOOKS ORDER SERIES
I'm not sure if this is true, but I read online that the two authors didn't co-write the books.
FABLED LANDS BOOKS ORDER SERIES
My only problem with the series is that some books are MUCH weaker than others. I am a big fan of the Fabled Lands series, generally think the concept is amazing and is the closest you can come to a continent-spanning free-choice video-game-style RPG in a gamebook. I haven't read a lot of gamebooks apart from FF, Lone Wolf, and FL though. As you can see, I'll have a lot on my plate for the next few months (at least), alternating between DQ, FL and FF! I got my book yesterday and already started playing. I've also read somewhere that the other 6 books that were never published will get green light if the first 6 can sell about 10,000 copies each.Īlso, couldn't not notice in your blog that you're currently playing DestinyQuest. After a few failed initial attempts, when I was still getting used to the mechanics and testing different professions, I decided to play as a rogue, but I intend to play with all different professions in the future.Ībout the reprints: books 5 and 6 are supposed to be re-released on May. It's very different from FF, more game-oriented as you pointed out, but I'm liking it a lot too. I've explored most of the first book and can't wait to resume playing. I got the first book, The War-Torn Kingdom, about a week ago and in the meantime I already ordered the other three, I should get them tomorrow. Banks can provide checks for large purchases.Įven with these minor quibbles, it is still my absolutely favorite number one gamebook series! If I ever come into big money, this is one of the projects I have earmarked to help get completed.Analander said:Nice reviews, slloyd. $15k max in money, above that goes into a slot for another $15k. When you visit certain important buildings, a portion of your profits become their taxes. Your reputation (rank) precedes you a chance of low-level baddies just backing off or being prepared for you specifically. Your equipment can gain enough of a following ( well paid PR campaign helps) that they can be resurrected as well (one item per book, pay heavy fees to collect them).
FABLED LANDS BOOKS ORDER UPGRADE
In Weatherfax, you can get a utility belt for small items and potions later upgrade it at the Wizard College to double the storage and magical protections from theft.īoats have upkeep per port and ship storage for supplies while at sea. Look at Book 7 and the innovative ideas it brings to the world.įortunately, most of this is easy to modify for my own purposes.
FABLED LANDS BOOKS ORDER FULL
The inventory system could use a revamp I can currently carry 12 sheets of paper or 12 sets of Full Plate Armor.Ī good amount of the above can be chalked up to age.
FABLED LANDS BOOKS ORDER PLUS
Half-decent armor and a watertight vessel for multiple men plus tons of cargo should not cost the same. Ships should cost about 10x more, plus some portion of the profits going to upkeep for ship and crew. There is a way around this in Book 7, but you are going to work for it. Losing your prized possessions just hurts. You need more ways to spend money in this game: just the little nibbles of life, love and taxes. When you do die, you are most likely in the wrong place at the wrong time. I'm not sure what they can do with the rest of the books. You learn from past mistakes and move forward.Īs with a lot of games, it is difficult to balance player power to the book's enemies. Getting started from nothing can be difficult, but that is a small issue. The biggest problem is that it is not yet finished there are parts of the world you cannot go to.
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Sands shift with the low winds, the noise of chatter and whispers of a creature roaming the dunes with wings of a falcon, torn and bloody - old wound and grounded. The bellowing mixture of man-and-beast that echo at night where the sun is at it's lowest, where beasts of the sands attack that of injured but never succeed. The tale of the grounded beast of paw and man-faced, with no crown in sight but seemingly searching. Travelling by paw with strides akin to a Pharaoh amongst his people.
Though harmed and tired, the beast continues it's trail. Dragging crippled wing over sand leaving a marking of his own doing. Padding with light movements of a heavy body. Thin and sick, ribs on show under dulled tawny pelt - muscle shrivelled though still mighty. As it was clear with corpses left behind, torn apart by sharp jowls, dried with stain of reds and fur bits stuck on flesh. Hair matted and free, blossom in a void of black, protection against the merciless sun above.
It stops upon the sight of it, body trembling when momentum stills with hope. Pushing itself forward with a low bellow of a roar, calling out to all surroundings - this was his land now. Minutes later and the beast of exhaustion finally allowed his burning paws to greet liquid cool. Settling within the grainy foam - resting harmed wing and his weary self. Too exhausted to do anything more than press face into the liquid blue and lap up mouthful of the sacred flow of life.
Raising face just enough to breathe and slowly allow limbs to stretch, curve under chin and rest in the cool liquid too tired to do much else from this point on. Though until attacked, as the tales speak on - it was after Sekhmet herself was in the beasts veins, tearing through hide of alligator and roaring with the victory of man at war.
SPHINXES WERE CREATURES THAT both fascinated mortals and frightened them at the same time. They were majestic to bear witness to, but most were not so foolish as to approach them. However, there were still those that would always seek to do so, if only to claim that they had captured or killed one for profit. A grave crime against the gods worthy of punishment upon their death even if the greedy often cared little of such futures -- they only cared about the present and how they could line their pockets. It was primarily for this reason that Ramses had to meet with the beast. The people were fearful, terrified that the gods were enraged and that the sphinx would devour them as recompense. This even more so when he heard that they were bleeding and wounded. Thus, he had to calm their fears, as well as calm the rage of the sphinx that wandered about the desert sands.
Zateros had pointed him in their direction, but he didn’t really need such when they were hard to miss even from great distance. With just a couple of his greatest Medjay, he came as close as he would allow his horses, pausing his chariot and gesturing for his guards to keep their distance. No matter what, they could not approach lest they be seen as enemies and potentially attacked accordingly by the wounded sphinx. His walk to the Nile River was not too unbearable, the sun’s oppressive rays much cooler during this time of the year, if only a little. As soon as he was close enough to see every outline of that massive and powerful creature, he stopped, took a deep breath, and prepared himself. They were eating, so maybe that would put them in a better mood…
Possibly.
❝Great One,❞ he called out, arms outstretched to show he bore no weapons on his person. ❝I have heard your roars in the distance and have come to meet with you. I see the sinful have harmed your majesty, although I suppose they will pay for their crime in the Duat rather than by my hand.❞ He paused, standing straighter, his form that of the pharaoh he was supposed to represent even in the face of such an intimidating being. ❝Will you allow me to approach? To bathe you in my divinity?❞ For surely they could see it as easily as one could see the sun above: that he was neither god nor fully human – a mixture in-between that only a ruler could have.
#nvrcmplt#;v: golden sands and dreams of grandeur#answered#;;inbox#[MMMMMMMMMMMMMM#I WAS WAITING FOR THIS SPHINX I'M SO EXCITED]
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Economic report
Social Report
Citizens
I think my observation suggests that citizens should be explained the political powers and political immunity.
Person is person as an economic subject.
Citizens are subject to the law, not to the Government employees, to the country's laws.
Political power holder by state laws federal law answer to the state institutions, not to the citizens.
Politicians have general economic power, not banking power it private companies power as thought by citizens.
Economy mostly function on private companies, and public Government sector.
We still have issue post Brexit between Brexiteers between EU.
Dividing money. I just found out from HMRC someone has been abusing my tax records. A secret. If I do not like it if it harmful it is going to be triggered as fraud. I am British and Brexiteer.
Check your HMRC records whether self employed. I have no clue who these criminals are. I know about cancer people who evade tax.
I've tried all options food control dress code control, senses control nothing works for fugitive minds.
Lest establish who is not the enemy to me. I do not care whom you have as enemy that's your problem.
Be aware politicians have political immunity from people.
Politicians have no economic immunity on private sector, only manure taxpayers money. I guess the fallen politicians celebrities who were granted immunity during EU have used me as a golden chicken.
I report frauds constantly.
This and that criminals.
Social power over masses is called religion, not politics. That's not a subject priority right now.
We all want to achieve a good economy. The problem are people who want to achieve a leisure life without an economy via citizen slavery.
We have to correct mistakes of connections partnerships as we all how difficult is to divorce.
It doesn't matter if I go back to correct the mannerism the characters would make another collision.
The characters must be replaced cause they won't make adult decisions for themselves, not for the system.
I am not liable to VAT neither is any person who purchase online or in shop.
VAT must be paid by the company that sell the product or service and earns above £200.00 per year. I am on welfare not on high earning as I live miserable while the criminals abused my HMRC profile.
This is federal crime committed by someone who has political immunity and access to Government.
I have no idea who though when I discover who I'll torn them apart.
Hiding nuclear weapons on my behalf would be the biggest criminal offence, if the Government do not kill the car I'll kill it.
The HMRC has reported the investigation by MI5 is on board.
Spoil rats if they want to build their own imagination world they can't use my possessions.
No Royal is important no politician is important no people are important at all.
I must concentrate on finalising Brexit finances and borders so we can move to economic progress.
I don't think British citizenship is valid in America. No wonder the English Church hate Americans.
Prosecute Obamas democrats criminals then Republicans Bush and the Islamic state.
The tax system applies to a country. Only if a person works abroad physically like I did a social behaviour and economic research, are still British tax payers. Not vat payers.
Vat is paid by earning rate, not by country rate. Foreign countries who trade in Britain pay international rate tax. VAT is not a us next of a tax rate, it is a subject of the quantity of how much a company gained profits when registered for VAT, not the Vatican. Registered as Plc means the company earns more than enough to qualify for VAT.
Obviously is laundering money
Ltd companies do not pay vat % Ltd pay normal tax rate. Criminals wanted me to pay someone company tax. I couldn't believe employees at HMRC actually were in favour of me being abused financially and physically so I could protect someone not paying tax. Fraudulent E45 records. I suggest the entire money refund. Dead fakers must die physically. I've been generous all these years.
HMRC records you can check yourself on the internet cause if you call the HMRC it might happen they are corrupted. When you notice suspicious information then call HMRC to correct it immediately.
1. State pension data
2. National Insurance data
3. Tax years data
4. Personal info data
5. Correspondence by HMRC
Politicians have access to citizens' data. Postman has access to citizens' data. HMRC have access to citizens' data. Banks accountants have access to citizens' data via bank statements loans purchase. Credit score agencies possibly have financial data info. Courts and police have no access to citizens' data unless enquired by the court. This is a crime since 2016 onwards when I divorced my exhusband who is happy to serve every shit on the planet.
I sent an enquiry to the court to claim bank statements from the bank that the bank staff corrupted my bank account. Avoid Barclays avoid Santander avoid Metro bank. Use English British banks and British companies as you can claim compensation at the British court. I offer free advice I like to be paid for my job as I do not invest just advise. If people are so generous they should give a gift.
Data protection is something of a priority.
🤺🇬🇧
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At Worlds End
Iron Man
Part One: The Jericho
Words: 1,011
Warnings: Missiles, talks of abduction, military situations.
Summary: Your first instance being around well renown billionaire Tony Stark, could only end in a form of disaster.
A/N: So, here it is, the beginning. Hope you guys enjoy the start of this long ass ride!
Ko-Fi
Commissions
(Not My GIF)
---
The sun was blazing, absolutely scorching as it shone down upon the dunes of sandy Afghanistan. War-torn Kunar, to be more specific. The light breeze was still warm against the bare faces of the soldiers. Most, if not all, wishing that they could, at least, roll up their sleeves in hopes to cool themselves down somewhat.
You were amongst many of them.
But still in a worse position than your superiors.
Helmet strapped upon your head. Bulletproof vest tight against your torso, all the while holding a rifle.
You were sweating buckets.
But you were used to it now.
Soldiers from all different ranks and departments of the United States Air Force stood around, waiting for one man alone.
Antony Howard Stark.
The CEO of Stark Industries.
The foremost contraction company that the United States Military bought their weapons from.
The man was a hero to the cause, for some.
A warmonger to others.
A man who profited from death and destruction.
'The Merchant Of Death'.
You were one of the latter.
One of the few in the military who believed so.
But a man who profited off the people you saw die and tried to save -innocent lives. Me, women, children. Your fellow soldiers- was not a man you were jumping to like.
"Okay, come on, let's get this show on the road!"
He was also the man who had just arrived after being awarded the Apogee Award, not two days prior. Strutting in front of the small gathered crowd, to be stood before the scenic mountainscape, using it as his backdrop.
"Is it better to be feared or respected?" Tony started his sales speech, "I say, is it too much to ask for both? With that in mind, I humbly present the crown jewel of Stark Industries' 'Freedom Line'."
You ticked your brow momentarily at that, thankful that your superiors didn't notice.
"It's the first missile system to incorporate our proprietary repulsor technology. They say the best weapon is the one you never have to fire. I respectfully disagree. I prefer the weapon you only have to fire once. That's how dad did it. That's how America does it. And it's worked out pretty well so far. Find an excuse to let one of these off the chain, and I personally guarantee you the bad guys won't even want to come out of their caves."
And that is all the reasoning you needed to dislike the billionaire.
Tony then waved over to the loaded missiles, causing the gathered officers to turn their heads, following the show.
A single matt sand coloured projectile fires up before blasting its way through the sky.
It reminded you of a spaceship with the way it purposefully broke apart. The metal, falling from the sky, descending to land into the ground below. Small firework-like rocket's ejecting from within their end's lighting up with high-pitched whistles. The core part of the missile drops to join the rest of the case upon the ground. As the smaller ones head in the direction of the mountains.
"For your consideration, the Jericho," he finished, perfectly time with the same moment that the missiles hit their destination.
A whorping sound filled the air, a clear line moving directly towards the group as the man slowly raised his arms out by his sides. Explosions lit up the mountains, tremendous eruptions of dirt, stone, and sand flying before your vision was overtaken by the sound blast. Blowing hats from your superiors heads and making Tony stumble forward a few steps.
You, however, didn't budge in the slightest, from where you stood alone on the large stone area not too far from the arrogant man.
Well...
That was a lie.
The explosion ruffled your uniform like crazy, even around the bulletproof vest you wore. It had enough power for you to have to reposition your footing.
It was a few minutes later after you had escorted the man back to the area surrounded by weapons cases, watching him strut to a bar masquerading as one. Were you approached by Colonel Rhodes.
"What do you think about the missile, Sergeant?"
"I think it was outstanding, Colonel. It would be a great asset for us," you told him honestly. Because, even if you weren't the biggest fan of Tony Stark, you could still admit when his creations would come in useful.
"And Tony?" he asked, smiling knowingly.
"I'll be throwing one of these in. With every purchase of five-hundred million or more."
"He's a born salesman, sir." You pulled a fake smile onto your face after overhearing the billionaire's words.
The Colonel hummed.
"Was it really that obvious?" you asked the man. Referencing your disdain for his best friend and hoping none of your other superiors managed to spot it, too.
"No." He shook his head. "I just know how you feel about him."
You bowed your head to the man as he walked away and towards his friend.
James Rhodes was not only Tony Stark's friend. He was yours, too.
You remembered how drunk you were when you admitted your feelings about the man to him on a night out. Rhodey only laughed and clapped you on the back in return.
He may not have liked you practically hating his best friend, but he could still understand your reasoning's behind it, after all, he didn't agree with Tony one-hundred per cent of the time, either. And he also knew that you would not let your feelings get in the way of your duties, nor would you repeat your words if you weren't intoxicated beyond belief and were on the subject.
You went back to base camp right after watching three Humvees drive away, kicking up sand and dust behind them, as they escorted Tony Stark back to his plane.
It was at the base where you were notified of the ambush and subsequent kidnapping of the man.
Everything was hectic, people running to where they were ordered, following protocol on situations like this.
You, only managing to say one thing, "Jesus fucking Christ."
---
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The Romantic (2009, R, Gothic Fantasy/Horror), aka the most forgotten animated film in the world
What if I told you there was a movie under serious threat of becoming lost media with no clear reason as to WHY it's been lost other than no one has apparently watched it besides me and a few people on Reddit? What if I told you that movie wasn't half bad and would no doubt have some interest peeked if anyone DID know about it?
The name of that movie is The Romantic.
It was released in 2009 and it's Rated R for nudity and sex scenes [insert Robbie Rotten meme here], though none of it too graphic. It was a pet project created by animator Michael P. Heneghan, originally starting as a flash project for his animation class before he expanded it into a feature film. The film was inspired by movies such as The Dark Crystal and Labyrinth, but what I see every time I look at it is a touch of Jhonen Vasquez, Tim Burton, and Roman Dirge- the guy behind Lenore the Cute Little Dead Girl. It's flash animation especially remind me of the puppet-rigged toons of the 2000s (again like Salad Fingers or Lenore). It's not bad, it's just not inherently 'feature film' quality flash, nor is it exceptionally artistic like Sita Sings the Blues in it's simplicity. Like, really, if you happen to find this thing it's not the worst animated project at all it's just amateur for a professional production. I've seen worse flash movies. Heck, if The Romantic were released in separate parts on youtube or Newgrounds as a series (ala Homestuck) I'm sure it would have been really successful and totally in it's element. But it wasn't.
Because next to no one has seen it and I'm lucky to have not only ever seen it when it was available for free but have also found it recently (hush hush, I ain't telling you how) I'm going to actually give you all a plot synopsis under the cut. There will be some details I leave out and I think I've spelled some characters names wrong. It's a bit of a surrealist film as well, so you might need some things explained.
Spoilers ahead:
The Romantic is set in an autumnal, surrealist world inhabited by humans and monsters and ruled by three gods; Po the goddess of love; Pik the god of Hate; and Pjorrc the god of time though Pjorrc was made to live inside a pumpkin moon as everything he touched rabidly aged and died.
((Tapestry art featuring the main three gods of the film.))
A young man (called “Romance” or “The Romantic” by the other characters) performs a bull sacrifice in order to summon Abbledepopa, the unseen creator of the other gods and ‘storyteller’ of the world. The sacrifice does not conjure Abbledepopa but, when Romance spares a monster that was ready to eat him, the monster tells him of a profit named Patience. Patience is a foul-mouthed dwarf living alone with an army of babies who points Romance in the direction of Po.
((Romance outside of Patience's house.))
Romance wants the god’s help because he has fallen out of love with his girlfriend. Po grants him his desire and restores his love only for Romance to return home and find his girlfriend with another man. Blinded by heartache and rage, Romance kills her. He then swears vengeance on the gods for ‘making’ him do it. In the midst of this vow, a corrupt prophet called Fat Daddy kills the queen of Vauxhaul (Romance's home) and her guards, and forges a new body for his newborn son with their bodies. Fat Daddy rallies the townsfolk behind him in supposedly finding the Queen’s murder into follow a new religion called "The Poetic End".
((Romance (right) besides the monster he spared at the beginning of the movie.))
Patience accompanies Romance on his quest and tells him to take Po’s mask, which hides her true face, once he kills her. Romance buys Po’s trust by weaving her a tapestry that tells her story:
in the dawn of time Po and Pjorrc were in love. However, Pjorrc gradually became distant and Po became resentful when their daughter, Love, earned Po's original title as the god of romance and love.
In the present day, Romance sleeps with Po for over a year before finally killing her and taking her mask. He and Patience return to his home of Vauxhul only to be chased out by Fat Daddy’s personal army. They flee to Marshallton, the town nearest to the god Pik.
((Romance's hometown of Vauxhul. ))
The king of Marshallton, King Crookie, tells Romance of a prophecy he, Patience, Fat Daddy and all the gods are a part of and that the world is soon to change. Romance then fights and successfully kills Pik when he shows the god of hate his reflection in a mirror King Crookie gave him, but not before losing his hand to Pik.
When Romance comes down the mountain he learns from Patience that nine years have passed since his fight with Pik began. Patience reveals to Romance what Pik saw in the mirror that allowed Romance to take the killing blow; after Love had grown up and married, Po asked Pik to tell her where her husband was always running off to. Pik reluctantly revealed Pjorrc was disguising himself as a human and married a mortal woman. Po found Pjorrc and his pregnant second wife, forcing Pjorrc to leave his human family behind, but not before asking his wife to name their son “Patience”. In retaliation for his treachery, Po proceeded to sleep with fifty men and produce the fifty bastard children in Patience’s house.
((Fat Daddy, the main villain.))
Marshallton and the entire rest of the world has fallen to the rule of Fat Daddy, who captures Romance and Patience. Fat Daddy tortures Patience into telling him how to get to Pjorrc but is unable to convince Romance to take part in his ‘new world’ or give him Po’s mask. Romance and Patience escape and leave the village to be torn apart by the fifty babies Po had, now transformed into veracious monsters after Patience didn’t feed them for the past ten years. Romance confronts Patience when he realizes the latter is Pjorrc’s son. Patience calls Romance out on his mantra of vengeance and points out that all his decisions are his own, not the gods, and instructs him to seek Love herself in Po’s basement. Patience then attempts to confront Pjorrc but is cornered and killed by Fat Daddy before he can do so.
In Po’s basement, Romance finds Love nailed to a wall, her face torn off and half eaten by her deformed husband. Love tells Romance that Po ripped off her daughter’s face in rage over Pjorrc’s infidelity and Pjorrc did not intervene fast enough. Po then threw Love into her basement, turned Love’s husband into a monster, and wore her daughter’s face as a mask - which Romance had broken into pieces moments ago after Patience had shown him his face in King Crookie’s mirror. Romance then finds Pjorrc hanging himself. As he dies, Pjorrc tells Romance to take the hand Fat Daddy had cut off and sew it onto himself, which will in turn help Romance defeat Abbledepopa.
Romance traverses the wasteland and does not find Abbledepopa, but instead a golden loom. Having seen all the destruction he and others had caused, Romance sits upon the loom and accepts his fate as the new ‘storyteller’ of the world, as he begins weaving a new one...
---
I mentioned before the animation quality of the film and why maybe that caused people to overlook it. The only other thing I could complain about on a technical level with The Romantic is it's sound design. Some of the voices and music is a little too quiet and so all these key details I had to go through the film a few times to really piece together. But that leads me to the thing I like about this movie and I'm sure others would to: the lore.
It's very hard to create a new fantasy world w it's own customs, religions, history and rules out of the blue as any YA Harry Potter/Hunger Games ripoff book could tell you. The Romantic is so unique in how it handles the pantheon and culture of these three gods and their kin; really only four or five characters throughout the entire story aren't connected to the gods or prophecy in some way, as there's the main three gods, Abbeldepappa, and the prophets Patience, Love and Fat Daddy, who make up your main cast besides Romance. There's a lot that's intentionally left unexplained and other info that must be explained, like Pjorrc and Po's marriage and Romance's feelings towards the gods, if we want to understand the former. The movie is paced pretty well and knows when to follow up on what, it's just that again some of those animation and editting shortcomings might make it hard to understand...but I don't think THAT hard. Look, if someone can enjoy Starchaser: The Legend of Orin or even better surrealist world-building films ((Fantastic Planet comes to mind)), then I say there's no reason The Romantic wouldn't have a following. There's no other way I can articulate why and what doesn't work about the story except just to recommend you watch it yourselves, but before I get into that I want to talk themes...because I love the themes and tone of The Romantic.
I revisited The Romantic a week before I made myself watch Centaurworld and The Owl House for the first time...and what a week that was~! The Romantic has the vibe of those kinds of shows along with Adventure Time and Infinity Train ((so I hear, I haven't watched the latter)). It's surreal and you'll only marvel at 'woooah wut an acid trip' for so long before you get into the vibe of the universe. It also reminded me substantially of the Broadway musical Hadestown and not just because this movie is also a self-contained, somewhat self aware fable about the relationships between humans and gods - it's very raw in how the characters talk. It's very emotional and blunt in how kind and how cruel they can be, and it doesn't make excuses or really worships any one of them. Romance himself is the world's most likable Incel: he murders a woman he thought he needed to love and blames his emotions on the gods of those passions...except the gods AREN'T the manifestations of love, time, and hate - they simply dictate and oversee it in the lives of men. It's a dynamic I really like in religious works where Gods are powerful but not all knowing or puppet masters to everyone's design- they have morality too and there is only so much you can blame and get from them.
"You made your gods into excuses and your excuses into gods!"
-Patience. This here is a cool quote. I like this quote.
No matter what, The Romantic is not gonna be a film for everyone. We all have our tastes - I think I'm drawn to it and accepting because I've come to love these kind of worlds that used to keep me up at night - these trippy 70s inspired fantasy landscapes given a whole Avatar: The Last Airbender degree of worldbuilding and character worth. It also doesn't feel exploitive in it's violence, it's sexuality, it's grimmness - it doesn't feel like it's trying to hard or going over the top because it happens to be an adult animated film, something that I love in movies like 9 or Hair High but really turns me off in stuff like Sausage Party or Wizards. Whatever go watch The Romantic...
if you can.
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When I first saw this film in 2016 it was actually very accessible and was even uploaded to youtube by the creator himself. I don't know WHAT happened to Michael P. Heneghan, but simply put, the man's disappeared...like...REALLY disappeared.
Lookit his IMDB. He has The Romantic and a wapping two other projects to his name. His Twitter isn't very helpful either. He last updated in early 2020 and he says next to nothing about The Romantic. It's so odd that he would one day be happy with the film enough to host it on Vimeo and Youtube but then just cop out.
According to a Reddit user: "On Valentines Day 2011, Heneghan released the film for free online through all kinds of platforms including direct download, bittorrent, Vimeo, and even directly through Archive.org. He even joked about releasing a 300 gig uncompressed version.
I know I watched it on Vimeo probably as recently as 2016. Now I can't find it anywhere. The website is dead, the Vimeo video went private, even the archive.org version has been taken down. It really looks like he wanted to wipe it off the face of the internet. His newer website mentions it, but again, the Vimeo link is dead and even that website is closed for business."
It's weeeird. What happened Michael?
And yes, obviously, other people worked on the movie.
No - I can't find out anything about them either.
I'm betting on three theories at the moment: 1) this film is an SCP or some Candle Cove weirdness with only me and a handful of people ANYWHERE remembering it, 2) something weird is going on w Michael Heneghan and it involves too something about this film. It was a scam or a scheme or a hidden agenda weirdness, 3) Heneghan's doing okay he just doesn't like this film anymore and wants it hidden while he takes a break.
Look, I get it Michael! What was once our life's worth can become cringe as you improve as an artist - you're not the person making the stuff you were ten years ago...but you should still have the film kept alive somehow. Someway.
I'm seriously the only person to have ever made fan art of this movie on the internet. That just doesn't happen, and I don't think I like being in a fandom of one. The Romantic is a testament to the power of design and storytelling > animation quality itself. Too often I see people equate good animation with smooth animation, with a budget with squash and stretch. These animations are good but art is diverse and there's so many kinds of films out there, the value of the medium can't just be in one style/form. There's a lot of honestly wonderful pieces of art out there if you know where to look and you're willing to see where it leads you.
Don't let The Romantic be the most forgotten movie of all time. Reblog this post. Show it to your friends. PM the animation community reviewer people like Saberspark and someone who isn't Saberspark and smuggle them a copy.
Keep telling the story...
#Franki's Features#The Romantic#The Romantic Michael Heneghan#The Romantic 2009#animation#animation community#underrated animation#lost media#horror animation
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Here's a prompt: Lan Xichen somehow dies while in seclusion—or at least that's what the rumors say—and Nie Huaisang deals with the consequences. And heartbreak. As the saying goes, you don't realize how much you love someone until they're gone.
Okay, if that sort of plot interests you, do yourself a favour and check Between the Shadow and the Soul which is exactly that. It's an amazing xisang fic, I cannot recommend it warmly enough!
And now:
Warning in this fic for a lot of references to suicide and depression
It struck Nie Huaisang as interesting that he felt so little about the whole thing. His reaction upon learning the news had been first to dismiss it as a joke in poor taste. Once it had been confirmed, and his presence had been required, he'd been too busy planning his trip to give it much thought. Then he'd arrived in the Cloud Recesses, just in time for the funeral, and gone through the motions of what was expected of him. At most he'd felt mildly when asked to keep vigil, as if there was still any connection between them. He'd only agreed for the sake of appearances, refused to look at the body, and gave his seat to the next mourner as soon as was polite.
The ceremony itself was conducted to perfection, as could be expected of the Lans. Every word was said the right way, every gesture graceful. It was almost a beautiful thing to behold, Nie Huaisang distantly thought. Lan Qiren's monotone voice was better suited for such events than for teaching, certainly. And Lan Wangji had always looked his best when in the throes of loss and despair. Sadness just became those Lans a little too well, as if they'd been born for tragedy.
Perhaps they were.
Nie Huaisang did not dwell on the subject, and allowed time to pass him by until at last the ceremony was entirely over. He would have gone home right then if he could have, his duty accomplished, but it would have been noticed and discussed. Nie Huaisang did not want to get mixed up in the gossip that was sure to spread around after this.
“Did they tell anyone what he died of?” Sect Leader Yao asked in a too loud whisper while waiting for the refreshment promised to the guests.
“I've only heard that because of his seclusion, it took them several days to even notice he had passed,” Sect Leader Ouyang replied. Then, noticing Nie Huaisang standing alone nearby, he gestured at him to join them. Nie Huaisang tried to pretend he hadn't seen them, but it was in vain as Sect Leader Ouyang called him by name until he couldn't be ignored anymore. “Join us please! You were his friend, weren't you? Surely you must know more than us.”
It was a sign of the hollowness that had seized Nie Huaisang since learning of the news that he did not laugh. What friends they had been indeed. Once, perhaps... but no, the word would never have been right to describe them. They were acquaintances at best, brought together out of love for Mingjue, torn apart after his death even if Lan Xichen hadn't known it then.
He'd learned it, in time.
Two years earlier, when Nie Huaisang had finally given a proper funeral to his brother, Lan Xichen had tried to talk to him about everything that had happened. Lan Xichen had wanted the truth, and he'd certainly gotten it. Nie Huaisang, bitter and angry and broken after going through the pain of burying his brother again, had not spared the other man a single detail of everything he'd done, everything he'd learned, everything he'd felt.
Two weeks after that, Lan Xichen had entered seclusion and they'd never met again, unless one counted what little time Nie Huaisang had spent with the other man's coffin.
Nie Huaisang did not think it counted.
“I have not been told anything more than anyone else,” Nie Huaisang said, more careful than the other two to keep his voice down.
“It is just too odd,” Sect Leader Yao said. “A man his age doesn't die without reason, and his cultivation was far too great to allow for sickness!”
“Surely I don't know what Yao-zongzhu might be suggesting.”
“I am just saying it is very odd,” Sect Leader Yao insisted, glancing toward Lan Qiren and Lan Wangji with what he had to consider a knowing expression.
“Ah,” Nie Huaisang said.
They were thinking Lan Xichen had been murdered, then.
It was amazing, he thought, that anyone could misunderstand Lan Qiren and Lan Wangji this much. Perhaps the second's reputation was no longer as pristine as it had once been, due to his open association with the Yiling Patriarch, but he could hardly have been accused of killing his brother when he profited so little from his death. It was to Lan Qiren that the title of Sect Leader went, something which had been decided long ago, and which Lan Wangji would have known. Not that Lan Wangji would ever have wanted such a title. And as to accusing Lan Qiren of murdering his nephew, it was ridiculous. There were few men in the world whose honour Nie Huaisang believed in, but Lan Qiren was definitely of the number.
If it was not an ordinary sickness that had killed Lan Xichen, and it was not another person either, then it left only one option.
The Lans tended to easily fall prey to melancholy, Lan Xichen had once told Nie Huaisang, during one of those rare true and sincere conversations between them, when they had both bared more of their soul to the other than they'd intended. And that melancholy was a powerful sort, Lan Xichen had explained, more dangerous than any disease, any war, any demon. The way he had spoken of it had made it clear that Lan Xichen himself particularly struggled with it ever since becoming Sect Leader during the war, a struggle he hid under a mask no less carefully crafted than Nie Huaisang’s. Lan Xichen had told him he thought that melancholy would overcome him someday as it had done others in his family, an affliction no less powerful than that the Nie suffered.
So it was clear to Nie Huaisang that the manner of Lan Xichen's death was...
His whole body shook as he hurriedly fought to contain a sob.
“Nie-zongzhu?” Sect Leader Ouyang said with concern. “Are you unwell?”
Nie Huaisang shook his head. He was fine. He was unaffected. They'd never even been close.
Another sob had to be contained.
Nie Huaisang took a deep breath, and smiled weakly.
“Nothing dramatic,” he said with a voice he scarcely recognised as his own. “A moment of... I have known him for so long.”
“Of course. This must be hard on you. He must have been like a brother to you.”
Nie Huaisang made a noise. A sob, or a laugh, he could not have said, but it was too loud and attracted more attention than he cared to deal with. Having spent the last couple of years carefully working to undo the damage he had done to his own reputation, Nie Huaisang could not have born to be seen crying in public, something he now felt the danger of. He muttered some vague apology to the two men standing near him, and excused himself from the assembly. He managed to keep himself in check until he had left everyone behind, and only broke into tears when he was sure to be alone.
Gone was the numbness that had so puzzled him since hearing that Lan Xichen had been found dead, because the full horror of that loss finally hit him.
Lan Xichen was gone.
Lan Xichen was dead.
He would never again come by the Unclean Realm in answer to a desperate plea for help that never really needed his input. There would be no more praises of Nie Huaisang's birds, his fans, his paintings. No more gentle comforting and undeserved patience.
Lan Xichen was dead.
And if Nie Huaisang had acted with less cruelty, Lan Xichen might not have killed himself.
-
Nie Huaisang, a month after returning home, wondered whether melancholy was a contagious ailment, and whether one might catch it from sitting near the corpse of a man who had died from it.
He made the mistake of asking Nie Liyan, his favourite cousin and heir, expecting her to laugh or tease him. Instead she gave him a most pitiful look, and told him that melancholy was most often caught in such a manner, especially if the corpse was that of a person held dear.
It had never occurred to Nie Huaisang to think that Lan Xichen might be dear to him. The man was merely there, full of good intentions and blind to the nature of those around him. They had shared pleasant moments together perhaps, but no more than Nie Huaisang had done with others. In fact, Nie Huaisang was quite sure he had laughed more with Jin Guangyao than with Lan Xichen. If asked, he might have admitted that he'd held warmer feelings than he ought to have toward the man who had so cruelly murdered his brother. But Lan Xichen?
Nie Huaisang would have been hard pressed to decide what he felt for the man while he was alive. Only in death was he forced to realise that Lan Xichen too had been an important figure in his life and, yes, perhaps dearer than he would have liked. But it was hard to hate a man such as Lan Xichen, he told Nie Liyan when the realisation became too bothersome to bear it alone. Nie Huaisang simply could not imagine that anyone in the world might have met Lan Xichen and not liked him.
“I've never understood what people saw in him,” Nie Liyan had just replied. “And I've told you as much many times, even before your brother's death. His looks were good but not to the degree everyone claimed, he smiled too much, and he spoke too much like a book.”
“That says more about your tastes than about his qualities,” Nie Huaisang retorted hotly.
“Perhaps. Or it says something about your tastes.”
That insolent answer had not pleasant Nie Huaisang, who had promptly changed the topic, and never breached it again with her.
-
The melancholy did not ease with time, but instead invited some friends to live with it in Nie Huaisang's heart.
Such as a sharp terror over the concept of his own mortality.
Nie Huaisang had always known he would die early. It ran in the family, and he'd seen it happen twice already to his own relative. Considering his own temper, his weak and unstable cultivation, Nie Huaisang had long feared that he would not even live long enough to see his brother avenged. This had made him frustrated with the slow pace he'd been forced to endure, which in turn had only had a worse effect on his general state. Things had improved after the death of Jin Guangyao, making Nie Huaisang hope he might perhaps make it to the venerable age of forty, something neither his brother nor his father had managed.
The death of Lan Xichen robbed him of that hope.
It was only, Nie Huaisang told himself, that the loss had reminded him people died of reasons other than familial curses or to pay the price of their hubris. Death, even for cultivators, was not an uncommon occurrence, so no man could leave his bed in the morning and be certain he would return to it at night. And if he were to die now, what would he have to show for it except a sect that still wouldn’t be treated seriously, and the blood on his hands?
That consideration was also an important one in making a decision. No matter how hard he tried, Nie Huaisang couldn’t seem to correct the reputation he had given his sect. When people talked about the changes happening in Qinghe Nie, the way it might has started to become reliable once more, they always felt the need to point out that it could be nothing more than a stroke of luck, something that was sure to return to normal very soon under Nie Huaisang’s poor guidance. It was a source of great annoyance to him that people now considered it normal for Qinghe Nie to be weak and useless, when not twenty years earlier it had been greater than Lanling Jin.
It would take a dramatic change for people to accept that Qinghe Nie was returning to its roots.
So Nie Huaisang told Nie Liyan that he would abdicate in her favour.
She was more than ready for this, he told her. They had been working in tandem since long before the death of Jin Guangyao, and she had proven multiple times that she would handle the position of Sect Leader better than he ever would. She was a good administrator, with great martial art skill, a cultivation level that was among the best in their generation. She was also an excellent teacher, and well liked by all the disciples, from young juniors who had never known their sect’s glorious days to elders who’d known Nie Huaisang’s father as a young child. Nie Huaisang and Nie Liyan had always agreed that she would succeed him if he died the way his family so often did, or whenever he would decide to give up on a position he had never wanted.
“Are you sure now is the right time?” Nie Liyan only asked him.
“There is no right time for these things. But Lanling Jin is still not quite stable yet, Gusu Lan is in the hands of an old friend, and Yunmeng Jiang is caught up in the Jins’ business. That means the three great sects won’t give you a hard time as you settle in, and I know you can handle the others.”
“And what will you do?”
“Travel, perhaps,” Nie Huaisang replied without conviction.
He had never planned for what he would do after handing her his title, and realised suddenly that he’d never expected to be alive for that. No matter how often they discussed the possibility of a quiet succession, Nie Huaisang had never really considered he would be luckier than his father and brother. Yet there he was, suddenly forced to accept that tomorrow was something that existed for him while also dreading the uncertainty of his own mortality.
Nie Liyan accepted his answer, and they set out to plan the succession, calculate the best possible date for it, and choose how to announce the news to other sects. They did not talk about Nie Huaisang’s future any further, for which he was grateful. He had a vague suspicion that Nie Liyan thought he intended to kill himself, which would explain why she kept suggesting he took a companion with him when he left.
Nie Huaisang promised to consider it. He even did wonder who in the world might be a travelling companion worth putting up with. Nobody from his own sect would do, as he thought they would quickly grow bored of any destination that might appeal to him. And there was no one left outside of Qinghe Nie who he felt close enough to. It was only a pity, he thought one night, that Lan Xichen had passed away, as he would have been a very interesting person to have on a journey. Someone who shared his sense of beauty and his love of great landscape, who would not complain if Nie Huaisang asked to stop and paint but might instead join him. And perhaps travelling in that manner might have lifted some of Lan Xichen’s melancholy in a way that locking himself up away from the world could never have done.
Perhaps it could have saved Lan Xichen.
Nie Huaisang slept little that night, half drowning on sorrows and what-if that could never come true.
Come morning, he told Nie Liyan that he would travel alone, and she did not insist.
-
Nie Huaisang left the Unclean Realm as soon as the succession ceremony was over so he wouldn’t have a chance to change his mind. He recently bought an excellent horse, and the animal was packed with whatever belongings could not be put inside a qiankun pouch. Nie Huaisang had money, he had clothes, everything needed to paint and write. He even had a destination in mind at last, one suggested to him by Lan Qiren, of all people. The old teacher, upon learning of his intention to step down, had written him a thoughtful letter wishing him the best of luck in his new life, inviting him to come and stay in the Cloud Recesses if he ever went that way so they might play weiqi together, and suggesting he should go visit Baidi in his exile, where he too might become inspired to write some poetry. Perhaps, Lan Qiren added, a place so rich in history would help him find new meaning to his life.
The idea had something romantic to it. More than that, though, Nie Huaisang remembered that several times over the course of their acquaintance, Lan Xichen had expressed a wish to visit the city, while always failing to find an excuse to do so. It seemed appropriate that Nie Huaisang’s first destination should be inspired by the man whose death had forced him to reconsider his own life.
So Nie Huaisang set out toward Baidi, and promised himself to enjoy his time there, for Lan Xichen’s sake as well as his own.
#nie huaisang#lan xichen#xisang#I guess? I mean it was the original intention but then things didn't go as planned#mo dao zu shi#mdzs#jau writes
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So 2020 sucked... but the films didn’t! The top twenty films of 2020 (in my humble opinion).
AT LAST. This godforsaken year is over and as we venture into a new year, let's hope and pray that the art’s industry finds a way to build themselves back up again, in a way that is safe and necessary for them to bring us the entertainment we so crave. It has been a crazy and unprecedented year for the film industry, a year that it has never seen with losses of an estimated $5 Billion at the end of March. Some of the most anticipated blockbusters of all time had to be put on hold and postponed for hopefully next year with No Time to Die, A Quiet Place II, Wonder Woman 1984, Dune and Black Widow being a slim few that never got onto a silver screen this year. However, there is no reason to fret or relinquish the loss film has had this year, as hopefully next year once we’ve had a better understanding of this virus, these films along with many others will have their audience. Amongst the postponed releases, many films have been resilient to the virus and still managed to gain a spot in the cinema despite the circumstances.
Christopher Nolan’s Tenet was the only multi-million dollar film to be released this year and even though the risk of release could have meant nothing for the film, it still managed to rake in a staggering $361 million, an expected profit for a film of its size. However, despite the film's success, Nolan made it clear that this shouldn’t be taken lightly and that the safety of film consumers comes before the profits themselves.
Even though we will have to be more cautious in the cinema, films will return, once we have regulated safety measures in cinemas and film festivals to ensure that customers can feel comfortable. For now, HBO has planned to put many releases from Warner Bros. straight onto its streaming platform as well as in the cinema next year, in an attempt to prevent the spread of COVID whilst still being able show the films we’ve been craving. There’s no telling what next year will bring, what the Oscars will look like or if filming for the next Batman film will ever end, however it's clear to see that the film industry has shown resilience amongst this pandemic and will continue to do so in years to come, no matter the challenges.
Here are twenty of the films that made it to the cinema (or streaming platforms) this year, that proved the durability of the film industry during this time.
20. Tenet directed by Christopher Nolan
We can all agree that Chrisopher Nolan’s Tenet should be handed the award of Most Confusing Yet Entertaining Film of the Year, or ever made in fact. The sci-fi epic adventure that sees its lead (named “the protagonist) travel back in time and then forward in time and then back in time again (?)... yup, I didn’t get it either, but I’m not the only one seeing as Robert Pattinson who played alongside John David Washingston hadn’t a clue what was going on either. And he was in the film. However, despite the film's confusion, it doesn’t make it a bad or “lazy” film, for every aspect of this film from lighting, sound design, casting, direction, stunts WAS ON POINT and those elements are truly what sets this film apart. The story may have been perplexing but at least there was one.
19. Nomadland directed by Chloé Zhao
It is such a shame that Nomadland may not get the audience it deserves due to the COVID-19 pandemic as it is a truly moving and rich film. The Nomads are a group of real Americans who’ve hit the road in various mobile homes after the Great Recession in 2008 caused millions to be homeless and redundant. Frances McDormand plays Fern, one of these Nomads and child of the road whilst the film follows her simple, yet melancholy journey across Western America. Chloé Zhao has been tipped several times for an Oscar with Nomadland after winning the Golden Lion at this year’s Venice Film Festival. Let’s hope that if this goes onto the Academy Awards, Nomadland will find the audience it so craves.
18. Uncut Gems directed by the Safdie Brothers
YES, Uncut Gems came out THIS YEAR, which is an insane thought seeing as I saw the film in a packed cinema before it was released onto Netflix. The Safdie Brothers, Josh and Benny brought us Uncut Gems this year, a declining tale of a man’s test with fate and the many many second chances he gets at life, only to f*** all of them up. Adam Sandler plays Howard Ratner, a pawn shop owner and frequent gambler. This is Sandler’s best ever role and the multifaceted, gritty work of the Safdie Brothers (Heaven Knows What, Good Time) really brought something brilliant out of him.
17. The Half of it directed by Alice Wu
The Half of It wins the Most Surprising Film of the Year. A highly credible film directed by Alice Wu, The Half of It is EVERYTHING we want and need in this world. In fact, it’s everything we kind of already have in this world, but hardly see on screen. Non white leads, queer non stereotyped relationships, unpredictable endings; The Half of It was an all rounder for me. Some may roll their eyes at the amount of diverse elements to the film and see it as a way of gaining brownie points, but why does that have to be a thing? Why can’t having active and authentic representation across all films just be normal rather than political? If anything, it should be encouraged. The story was brilliant (and made me cry) as it had so many layers to it as well as the characters.
16. 7500 directed by Patrick Vollrath
Definitely the wildcard of this list, 7500 is an Amazon Studios film starring Joseph Gordon Levitt. I’ll admit, my hopes weren’t high, but after taking the time to watch this film I was truly blown away. And who KNEW Joseph Gordon Levitt could be so deep and in tune with his emotions on screen. He plays a pilot whose plane gets hijacked mid flight. There. Enough said. I could hardly BREATHE throughout this film in apprehension of what was going to happen next.
15. Kajilionaire directed by Miranda July
2020 thus far has been the best year for female filmmakers. From Céline Sciamma’s Portrait of a Lady on Fire, Josephine Decker’s Shirley, Rose Glass’ Saint Maud and Miranda July’s Kajilionaire, a clear cut foundation has been carved effortlessly for female filmmakers this year. Miranda July’s Kajilionaire especially rocked my senses a little as I saw so much unfamiliarity yet beauty within this film. A simple storyline that follows Old Dolio (Evan Rachael Wood), a young woman trying to feel more connected with her parents. A certainly bittersweet tale that has this rose tinted like vibe to it that attaches itself to the visuals and music of the film, that make everything feel light and playful. This contrasts well with the story itself as being sad and melancholy, further proving the fact this film is more than face value. Face value films have never gotten us anywhere and its films that go beyond entertainment that truly last in the industry.
14. Bombshell directed by Jay Roach
Bombshell is a PERFECT title for this film; a film that left me angry, sad and questioning the immorality that is still prevalent in the mostly male dominant society we live in. Charlize Theron, Margot Robbie and Nicole Kidman (best trio ever) star as three news anchors on Fox news whose lives are brutally torn apart when the Head of Fox News, Roger Ailes is accused of sexual harassment on many different occasions by female members of the workplace. Despite the silence being now broken, these three women still face a whole load of other problems that come in speaking up against a powerful, white and rich male. Threats of permanent job losses, victim blaming and a weak image are the consequence of speaking up about sexual assault as a member of Fox news. The brand itself has an incredibly misogynistic view of women and continues to have an idealised image of how women should be on the news with those working at Fox actually admitting it brings in viewers. Women with tons of makeup and dresses shorter than is comfortable is Fox news and Bombshell went above and beyond exposing this scandal that truly shook American broadcasting forever.
13. Borat Subsequent Movie Film directed by Jason Woliner
Borat Subsequent Movie Film wins the award for Most Jaw Dropping Film of the Year, as its protagonist and creator Sacha Baron Cohen, went above and beyond to show us the true dark depths of America. Ballsy, outrageous, jaw dropping, scandalous; every bold word can be used to describe this film and the lengths it went to get right to the heart of American society. The ugly heart. By now you should be aware that the ex president’s attorney was shoved right into the firing line after he was taken into a hotel bedroom by a reporter who happened to be an actor. Rudi Gulliani was left red faced after Borat bursts into the hotel room proclaiming the young reporter is his daughter, with Gulliani still unaware the entire outrageous event had been caught on camera. And not just any camera. A MOVIE camera. A true triumph in free speech and comedy, Borat Subsequent Movie Film will live on forever as the most outlandish film there is.
12. Miss Juneteenth directed by Channing Godfrey-Peoples
A real eye opener into current American society using a touching story between mother and daughter as a backdrop. Turquoise is a single mother struggling to get by and support her daughter Kai through the Miss Juneteenth pageant, held annually in Fort Worth, Texas. A real competition, the Miss Juneteenth pageant promises one lucky young woman of colour a full scholarship to a black historical college of their choosing. Turquoise desperately wants this for her daughter as it’ll give her the opportunities in life she never had. A truly moving and authentic film, this scored 100% on Rotten Tomatoes which is a highly impressive and deserving score.
11. The Trial of the Chicago Seven directed by Aaron Sorkin
Aaron Sorkin’s lyricism in words was again brought to us on screen this year with his depiction of the Chicago 7 (eight if you count Bobby Seale); seven men who were accused and put on trial for eliciting the Chicago riots of 1968. When in actuality, the police themselves had more to do with riling up the protestors than anyone else, even pushing a crowd of protestors through the front window of a restaurant to make it seem like they had vandalised the property. If anyone was going to make such a film, Sorkin would be the one to do it as with any event or idea he covers, Sorkin’s words as a writer MAKE YOU CARE. Even when you had no recollection or understanding of something, the way Sorkin depicts these events on screen has you absorbed into the story till the last second. An incredible and powerful story and a film that I could constantly go back to in order to learn about the injustices of American politics.
10. The Devil All the Time directed by Antonio Campos
I feel like The Devil All the Time still hasn’t got the recognition it deserves. There is something incredibly powerful and priceless about having a group of exceptionally talented people come together to create something for screen. This film wins Best Casting of the Year (if you don’t count Dune) as the likes of Tom Holland, Robert Pattinson, Eliza Scanlen, Sebastian Stan, Bill Skarsgård, Mia Wasikowska, Harry Melling, Riley Keogh, Jason Clarke and Haley Bennett graced our screens in this dark and ominous tale. Any story that is set in a small town and is about stories interweaving is bound to be interesting and thought provoking in it’s telling, with this adaptation being no different. The star of the show was Robert Pattinson’s thick Tennessee accent along with his clean yet filthy character interpretation of a perverted priest. Not one line in this film was thrown away and every single moment held a weighty tension, further confirming to us each character’s downfall by the end. An amazing adaptation and something you will reeeeeally enjoy.
9. Soul directed by Pete Docter
What was supposed to be Pixar’s second release of the year, Soul is Pixar’s most highly executed film to date. The amount of detail and care the animators and creators of Soul had taken to this picture is INSANE; insanely beautiful. With the black community going through so much this year, having something like Soul be put out to audiences shows support of this ever changing and growing movement. Even though having black representation on screen isn’t on the top of everyone’s priority list, it’s still important that the effort is there in order to really show what the world is like on screen and to cater to more audiences. Soul itself had everything; diverse, three dimensional characters, a clear and heart warming story and comedic, uplifting points that only strengthened the important message of this movie; life itself.
8. The Lighthouse directed by Robert Eggers
Again, another film that came out right at the beginning of the year, Robert Egger’s The Lighthouse was a whole new world that we had never seen before. Shot on a Panavision Millennium XL2 using a lense from the 1930s and black and white film, The Lighthouse was a decrepit, eerie and brilliant movie to watch throughout. It just makes me satisfied as a viewer when a director not only creates a film, but creates one that is so beyond anything we’ve ever seen and could likely have been made in an entirely different era altogether. Robert Pattinson KILLED IT in his role as a surly drunken sailor alongside Willem Dafoe, whose Irish accent was enviable. Overall a highly executed film that exudes brilliance and a creative mind.
7. The Hater directed by Jan Komasa
I would say The Hater is the second wildcard on this list. It’s a Polish drama that hasn’t had a lot of rep in the media, however, this doesn’t detract from the film’s execution and drama. A real downfall story that sees a jealous ridden man go from a media intern into illicting terrorism. Like, HELLO how does one go to such an extreme? The only way to find out would be watching the film...The film really spoke to the dangers of social media and the ease of getting someone to insight violence onto someone else, all through a computer. My mouth was hanging on the floor during several moments of this film and I can 100% guarantee the Netflix film will have the same affect on you.
6. La Belle Époque directed by Nicolas Bedos
La Belle Époque (or “The Good Times”) wins the award for Most Heart Warming Film of the Year. A surprisingly unique concept that follows a man trying to relive the best moments of his past after his wife wishes to divorce him. A company that specialises in creating your past memories offers him the opportunity to go back to the time when he and his wife first met, using actors, set design and music to recreate the moment. The French film emits a strong sense of nostalgia throughout with brilliant music and set design. It’s just one of those films that heavily expresses the idea of “what if” within a film whilst answering it boldly through its unique story.
5. Ema directed by Pablo Larraín
Ema took me a few days to fully absorb and appreciate as an experimental film, rather than one with a clear cut narrative. It's a film that expresses an idea, a feeling as opposed to a story which is completely okay and doable in this day and age. Ema is a liberating, freeing and psychedelic world of a film, with the message of the film being wrapped up in Ema’s attitude as a woman and the way she sets fires to things wherever she goes. Literally, as the opening sequence is of her setting alight a basketball hoop. There is some strong, vivid imagery within this and the MUSIC...definitely the best sound track I’ve heard this year. Ema’s in my top five for its uniqueness, rawness and the weird sense of liberation it gave me after watching it.
4. Saint Maud directed by Rose Glass
Probably the biggest breakthrough film of the year and despite the pandemic, Saint Maud certainly got the rep it deserved. An entirely new perspective of horror was brought to use in troves in the form of this Irish film created by first time director Rose Glass. I cannot express how brilliant and revolutionary Saint Maud was for its simplicity, story and filmmaking techniques. An ambitious and all round brilliant film that sits prettily in my top five films of the year.
3. Portrait of a Lady on Fire directed by Céline Sciamma
Portrait of a Lady on Fire wins the award for Best Foreign Language Film and it still hurts to think it never even made it to the Academy Awards this year. One of the most moving and earthy films that I’ve seen this year, Portrait of a Lady on Fire is a slow, sensual and ambiguous picture that shows a love story between two women through the form of art. I became quite obsessed with the music of Antonio Vivaldi after seeing this as the time period and music intertwined really well in this film. Exceptionally made and incredibly raw, Portrait of a Lady on Fire went straight for the heart in this film by also putting the grievances of love at the forefront of this film.
2. Parasite directed by Bong Joon Ho
You are probably extremely bored and tired of hearing of the success of Parasite as a breakthrough picture, however there are an abundance of reasons for it! Winner of Six Academy Awards including Best Picture, Parasite really pulled the rug beneath the Academy Awards feet and certainly proved that no matter your race, it's the story that sells and that will bank you an Academy Award. A wonderfully crafted story, one that could have been found in theatre or even opera and those sort of structured narratives are what really grab people’s attention.
1. Another Round (Druk) directed by Thomas Vinterberg
And finally, my favourite, Most Enjoyable Film of the Year had to be without a doubt, Thomas Vinterburg’s Druk, which I had the pleasure of seeing at the BFI London Film Festival this year. The theatre-like structure of a narrative has been implemented seamlessly into this film and even if structure means nothing to you, you can feel when a film has been crafted differently to bring about a dynamic and earthy narrative. I’ve previously watched two films of Vinterberg’s; Festen and The Hunt and even though those two films hold a high rating, Druk is definitely Vinterberg’s best film yet. Extremely entertaining whilst also carrying a rather dark side to it, Vinterberg sells you the best and worst of two worlds whilst exposing the effects of alcohol consumption.
And that’s it! 2020 in films! If you agreed or disagreed with anything on this list or think something else should’ve made the list that came out this year, be sure to leave me a comment on this post or via instagram on @ratingtheframe. It’s crazy to think that this obsession of mine turns two years old next year and there are still so many amazing pictures to be seen! And as always, you will find each and every one of them right here on @ratingtheframe.tumblr.
Bring on 2021!
#tenet#robert pattinson#john david washington#christopher nolan#nomadland#chloezhao#frances mcdormand#uncutgems#thesafdiebrothers#adamsandler#netflixfilm#thehalfofit#7500#joseph gordon levitt#amazonstudios#kajilionaire#mirandajuly#bombshell#charlizetheron#nicolekidman#margot robbie#borat subsequent moviefilm#sacha baron cohen#miss juneteenth#the trial of the chicago 7#aaron sorkin#netflixfilms#the devil all the time#tom holland#bill skargård
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[1110 A.D.]
Nearly a century later, a week before the anniversary of his homecoming, Renjun finds your bedroom empty.
As well as the foyer, the lounge, the study, and the gardens. You are no where to be found on the estate.
Renjun speeds into your closet first, searching for any missing items. He scans through the half of the wardrobe that is filled with clothes (the other remains almost completely empty from his mistake). If you were abandoning him in return, as payback, you would also need jewellery, silks, ivory combs, sellable goods. But everything remains untouched and pristine, even the things he left a hundred years ago. He pulls apart your robes and skirts, checking between the linings for safe measure; he rummages through your hats and veils, shaking all the loose money onto the ground; he runs his fingers over the little trinket boxes and sashes, feeling for vacant slots. Nothing is out of place.
Renjun covers his ears, scratching his hair behind them. He just spent 99 years repenting for his mistake, and you finally forgave him around the 75th mark, granting him a room on the opposite side of the house from yours. It took you five more years before you were able to even look at him and another ten until you could break bread. You two have barely been dating (a disgrace, honestly, on your bond, but there is no better descriptor) the last decade. Too much instability overruns the land: first, with your constantly evolving relationship; then with the political rivalry and rebellions; now, you have gone missing, showing off his inability to every enemy. Renjun sighs, biting his lip sharply. This is supposed to be the golden era of your household - in accordance with the emerging Renaissance across Europe and the preceding dynasty’s cultural preservation, but left and right, the present falls apart.
-
“Please, please,” a vampire begs, on his knees before Renjun’s throne in the Main Hall. The chair returned when you restored his position, and he has been making use of it more in the past three days than the last nine years. “I’ve given you all the information I have.”
“You,” Renjun begins eerily calm, “wasted my time.” He plucks a silver dagger from the table between your seats, dipping just the tip in poison. The informant sees it clearly on display, resuscitating his dead body with fear, metal chains weighing him to the ground, groveling in front of Heaven’s bloodiest demon. Renjun throws the knife through the vampire’s knee, closing his eyes when a satisfying tack in the ground initiates more wailing. He grabs a wooden dagger next, for some finality, not entertaining any mercy today. Too much has been given and too little profited. “You gave me information that you knew I already had.” He stands, chair scraping the rug from all the force. “For what?” He speeds to his witness, slapping his hand across, sinking his nails into the regenerative skin. Renjun removes his sliver dagger, dropping the wooden weapon so he can pin the newborn (he is 200 years old, but compared to Renjun’s lifespan, this is a petulant teenager in need of punishment) to the marble, with a dagger in his chest. “For money? You could have asked, could have joined my coven.” He drags the wooden stake along his prisoner’s shirt, torn between burning him now or draining his blood first. But drinking from another vampire is maddeningly intimate and Renjun has never done it without you. “Perhaps not. We have standards.” And with that, Renjun stabs the vampire with the stake, hard enough to push the heart through his back. He throws it into the fire behind him, watching the body succumb to ashes.
“Aish, all the blood,” Mark comments dryly as he enters the throne room, carrying a handkerchief for Renjun to wipe his hands. This execution actually went faster than the last two. He has been a little more then dramatic lately.
“It’s just a stain.”
Renjun blindly accepts the napkin. After finding your shield’s clothing on a peasant, he got his own right-hand to aid in the search. It is his turn to accumulate power. Albeit, for a different reason: to get you back. Yours was to keep him away, power naturally coming as you ruthlessly ended vampires who entered your land unwelcome. Renjun walks to a map that Mark rolls out on an orchid carved into a new lacquer table. He disposes of the wipe and sprawls his hands across the world, examining every red brush stroke for your location.
“When was the last time you hunted?”
“A servant brings me jia vessels every few hours in my chambers.”
Renjun has since reverted to sleeping in your bedroom, laying on the familiar ceramic pillows with new comforters. It serves as both a reminder and punishment. Maybe if he never left, you would be here, retiring with him for no reason except to watch the stars above until birds start singing. If he never abandoned you, never took a mortal concubine, then you wouldn’t have attended the coven leader meetings in Bianjing, giving his chauvinistic enemies a weak point to plan around. He will end the bloodline of whoever took you.
Renjun slams his fist on the table, breaking off a corner. “Damn it!”
--
You rattle awake, hand clenched around a thin sheet as you scan a familiar setting, eyes franticly moving left to right. It is your own room. Except, you had been laying on an imported couch, cushions stuffed with wool, rather than the wooden bed frame you accustomed to, alone, over the last century and a half. You jerk your head to the door, noticing it closed. Even the curtains are drawn. And since you are away from the giant glass above your bed, you cannot tell the time nor season. You sigh loudly, and wake Renjun. Perhaps, it was that time of the month, so much blood has already been spilt.
“Oh, thank Heavens,” he exclaims, drawing in your neck for an embrace.
You let him kiss you, equally pushing your lips on his in successive rotation. He found you, got you back, and he has no intention of separating again.
#renjun#nct#nct dream#nct drabbles#nct blurbs#nct timestamps#nct fluff#nct angst#vampire au#renjun timestamps#renjun imagines#nct imagines#nct dream imagines#nct dream angst#nct dream fluff#renjun fluff#renjun angst#renjun x reader#huang renjun
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the dungeon crawl I was supposed to run tonight got delayed for another week so I'm dumping all my content here to cope
this is the first level of the abandoned mine the party will be exploring. detailed walkthrough under the cut
DRUMIAN SHALE
The main takeaway from this stage is the bandits the party is hoping to apprehend are not here… but something else is. By the end, they will have made it down to the flooded lower caverns where the cool shit is.
Area 1: Base Camp
The clearing outside the mine entrance is carpeted in yellow dust, a thin layer of which clings to every available surface. To the right of the entrance, on the east side of the clearing, stands a long-abandoned box sluice littered with old buckets and mining pans. On the opposite side of the clearing lie several ragged canvases half-buried in sand and a cluster of overturned mine carts in various states of disrepair. A set of narrow metal tracks, the same width as the mine carts, leads into what appears to be a natural cave mouth.
Closer inspection of the scene will reveal a dried-up streambed where water once poured into the sluice from above. The canvases on the western side of the clearing are crudely painted with an emblem shaped like a hand with a horizontally elongated plus sign in the center of the palm. They look to have been part of a collapsed tent, but it seems to have been abandoned for several weeks.
Area 2: Tunnel
A 10 foot wide tunnel stretches into darkness. 5 foot wide doorways are located on either side, each pair spaced 20 feet apart. The rail tracks continue along the floor in a straight line. The hall is dark and cramped, the ceiling is low, and the air smells musty.
PP >14 will notice they don’t see any signs of animal inhabitants.
Area 3: Dormitory A
This room contains twelve narrow beds with bare straw mattresses. A few have crumpled bedding, as if in use, but everything is covered in a fine layer of dust.
A DC 12 investigation check reveals a chest hidden under one of the beds. The chest is empty except for a dragonchess set and a few old stains.
A PC with proficiency in dragonchess (or who makes a DC 15 history check) will notice that the set is missing several pieces: three black warriors, a white mage, a white thief, and a white elemental.
Area 4: Old Office
This room appears to have been a record keeping office. A table stands in the center of the room, a desk in the corner, and bookshelves line the walls. A few chairs have been overturned, and papers are scattered across the desk. The same hand-and-plus-sign symbol from the tents has been carved into a corner of the table.
Any further investigation will reveal that the following books and papers are still in readable condition:
Old shipping manifests - Prices & shipments of rations, supplies, etc. If Varna or one of the PCs read this, they should be able to ascertain that the mine was just barely turning a profit at the time of its closure. They would also notice that they seemed to spend a lot of money bringing in barrels of fresh water.
Mine blueprints - Similar to Varna’s map. Shows the current level as well as two lower levels starting about 200 feet down. It appears miners used a lift at the northern end of the mine to navigate between levels. The lift was powered by a water wheel located in the far northeast chamber on the current level.
Geological survey - General measurements of soil composition and stability, rate of erosion, and location of ore veins. The writing style is extremely dry and technical, so PCs will need to either succeed on a DC 14 investigation or insight check or get Varna to read it in order to learn the following details:
-the water at the site was not drinkable, hence the need to import fresh water
-researchers had great difficulty measuring the water table; some days their instruments suggested it was very high, while other days they registered nothing at all
Varna will not notice this on her own, but a PC who lands a really fucking good investigation/insight check might be able to do a little off the cuff data analysis and notice that high water table measurements tended to occur in the mornings and evenings, while the low readings tended to occur in the afternoon or late at night. A character with extensive nautical knowledge and/or who lands a second really really good investigation/insight check might be able to make the low tide/high tide connection, but don’t force it.
Any investigation of the room reveals a heavy safe under the desk. It stands unlocked and empty, door ajar. Presumably this is where the deed to the mine was kept.
Area 5: Dormitory B
This room is nearly identical to Dormitory A, but several of the beds have been overturned and mattresses torn apart. The chest in this room has been dragged out from under the bed and opened with enough force to rip off one of the hinges. It is empty except for three silvers, four coppers, and an old sock.
A DC 10 investigation check reveals a set of two-toed footprints. With a good roll, or a separate investigation or survival check to learn more about the footprints, a PC could ascertain that the creature that made the footprints has a quadrupedal gait and seems to be some type of insect.
A DC 12 investigation check reveals a small amount of blood spatter on several of the beds.
A DC 14 investigation check reveals a strange object wedged under one of the beds. It is a flute-like woodwind instrument with an unfamiliar bulbous shape. Varna will be unable to identify what material it’s made out of, although she may note that it reminds her of shell or coral (though not from any creature she’s encountered.) Any PC who attempts to play the instrument will be able coax a few hollow, resonant notes out of it. The instrument is uncomfortable to play, as if it were not designed for their hands.
If a PC attempts to play the instrument, anyone with PP>10 hears an echoing melody coming from the end of the hall. Anyone with PP>15 can identify it emanating from below, in the mine shaft.
Area 6: Storeroom
This room contains old supplies. A heap of frayed old sacks that must have once contained grain are heaped in the northwest corner. The northeast corner is home to a pile of old crates that takes up most of the room. The south wall is lined with wooden barrels, all but a few of which have been split open and destroyed.
Closer inspection of the scene reveals that some of the crates have fallen over and/or split open to reveal general mining equipment - pickaxes, machine parts, railway slats, etc. The crates seem ancient and relatively untouched, while the destroyed barrels are more recent.
A DC 12 investigation check on the room in general will turn up 100 feet of hempen rope, three lanterns with 10 hours of fuel each, an entire crate of candles, and 100 pitons.
A DC 10 insight or investigation check on the barrels reveals that they likely held pickled vegetables and cured meats.
Area 7: Dormitory C
This room is nearly identical to Dormitory A. There are no signs of a struggle.
A DC 12 investigation check (or a decision to look under the beds) reveals yet another chest stashed under the bed. It contains two bottles of Keoghtom’s Cure-All, one of which is cracked and useless. The label purports the product “miraculously relieves sewer plague, sight rot, and tunnel stutters! Archmage Keoghtom’s patented blend of penetrating oils, restorative herbs, and secret enchantments reduces pain, enhances vigor, and restores the user to full health, all in a single application!” When applied, it restores 2d8+2 HP.
Area 8: Machine Room
This room is dominated by a water wheel about 10 feet in diameter, fixed along the north wall. A trough leads away from the water wheel to a large drain set into the floor by the southeast wall. A system of pulleys leads out of the room toward the mine shaft. The rail tracks fork just outside the doorway, with one fork leading into the room while the other continues straight. The wheel powered a lift that transported miners, slag, and equipment between levels, presumably fed by the same stream that fed the box sluice in area 1.
A DC 15 investigation check of the room (or a DC 10 investigation check on the drain specifically) reveals that the screws holding the drain cover down have been removed, and that the cover has been moved recently.
A DC 10 strength check (or whatever) allows them to move the drain cover, revealing an entrance to area 10.
Area 9: Mine Shaft
The mine shaft is a square, 10 foot by 10 foot pit that drops straight down into darkness. A rotting pulley system dangles from the stalactite-covered ceiling, but the rope has broken and the lift platform itself is nowhere to be seen. The walls of the pit are decorated with strange, insectile shapes that resemble no living creature. Go ahead and make a perception check.
The lower part of the shaft is filled with salt water. The water is too far down to be visible, but anything falling into the shaft will create an audible splash.
The mine shaft is inhabited by three darkmantles disguised as stalactites. As soon as someone pokes their head in, a darkmantle will drop down and try to engulf their face. The remaining darkmantles will use their Darkness Aura ability to create confusion before attacking. These darkmantles are unusual looking, with long cone-shaped shells covering their mantles, giving them the appearance of orthocerid cephalopods. If none of the PCs are dumb enough to stick their head into the shaft, Felix will be happy to oblige in order to get a closer look at the fossils.
About 50 feet down the shaft is a hidden entrance to area 10 containing two Chuul, the source of the mysterious flute echo from earlier (assuming one of the PCs tried to play the flute). Like the darkmantles, they are unusual, resembling anomalocarid arthropods. When the Chuul hear the PCs at the top of the mine shaft, they will attempt to ambush them through the drain in area 8. It takes the Chuul about one minute from when they detect the PCs to launch their ambush. If one of the Chuul is killed or seriously wounded, the other will attempt to flee to area 13 and escape into the tidepools.
A PC who makes a DC 12 perception check will note that the presence of stalactites is odd, as they have not seen any elsewhere in the mine.
If the players found the flute in area 5, a DC 15 perception or investigation check reveals that some of the fossils embedded in the wall look similar to the instrument.
Because the Chuul are so unusual looking, PCs must succeed on a DC 17 history or nature check in order to identify them as such.
With a DC 18 perception check, PCs can see the faint movement of the Chuul 50 feet down the shaft and hear scuttling noises, although they cannot make out what is causing them.
Area 10: Secret Tunnel
The drain leads to a rough tunnel, about 5 feet wide. It is not indicated on Varna’s map or the blueprints in area 4. The construction is noticeably different from the rest of the mine, more like an animal burrow, and the floor slopes downward. The air is strangely humid.
If the PCs managed to access area 10 before being ambushed by the Chuul, they will instead be attacked at the entrance to area 11 or 13, whichever is convenient. If they killed both Chuul, they will encounter no enemies in area 10. If one of the Chuul escaped, the PCs will hear a faint flute melody emanating from the tunnel leading to area 13 but will not be attacked.
A DC 10 investigation or perception check reveals more of the two-toed footprints found in area 5 - they should be able to figure out these belong to the Chuul.
Area 11: Brood Chamber
This roughly circular chamber contains a clutch of slimy, yellow-green eggs surrounded by human and animal bones. It is guarded by an older Chuul which is missing a claw, making it unable to multiattack. This will not deter it, however, from defending the clutch with its life. Because it is protecting its eggs, it will not pursue the party should they choose to flee.
Closer investigation reveals a single human skull amidst the bones. A DC 12 nature or survival check reveals the other bones belong to a horse, several donkeys, and two large dogs.
Area 12: Treasure Chamber
This chamber is similar to area 11, but instead of eggs it is piled high with objects the Chuul have collected from their victims and from the abandoned mine.
Any investigation will reveal the following items:
-A small pile of gold nuggets worth ~200 GP
-A steel mirror
-Robe of Useful Items (missing all of its patches)
-A viol with the initials “MQ” carved into the back of the head
-A breastplate that has been messily painted blood red, with a symbol on the front consisting of a black hand with a horizontally elongated plus sign on the palm (same as the one carved into the table in area 4)
-Two hard hats with hooded lanterns mounted on the front
-A swordbreaker (stats identical to a dagger, but if the wielder is hit by a sword attack they can make a DC 8+[attacker’s weapon attack modifier] dexterity check; on a success, they take no damage and the opponent has disadvantage on their attack roll next turn; on a critical success, they take no damage and break the opponent’s sword) with a crude hand-and-plus-sign symbol carved into the hilt
-An intricately carved sending stone that, when used, plays the following intercept message: “We’re sorry. You have reached a sending stone that has been destroyed, or is no longer in service. Please contact an operator.”
-Three silver rings (worth 15 gp each)
The deed to the mine is not present.
Area 13: Cenote Chamber
This natural cavern has a high, arched ceiling decorated with stalactites. The space is dominated by an immense monolith carved with the same pattern of wavy lines as Felix’s tablet. Covering the bottom third of the slab, a reeking carpet of matted vegetation extends to cover the entire floor. The wet stench of rotting plant matter and salt permeates the humid, clinging air.
The vegetation at the base of the slab is actually a shambling mound, which is hiding the entrance to the next layer of dungeon with its body. It is dormant, but as soon as someone steps on or touches it it will come awake and attack the PCs, revealing the cenote pit beneath it. However, music from the strange flute the party discovered earlier will render it dormant again. Upon being defeated, it falls into the cenote with a splash. As it falls it pulls away some of the vegetation covering the bottom of the slab, revealing the full design.
A DC 14 perception check before the shambling mound attacks reveals the muffled sound and faint movements of breathing. After it is defeated, it becomes apparent that the “breathing” noise was actually the sound of water rushing rhythmically from within the dark cenote.
Varna encourages the party to explore the cenote in hopes of locating the remaining bandits (or their remains) and recovering the deed to the mines. Felix, excited by the symbols on the monolith, insists on accompanying them. Varna will remain to establish a base camp; she has not survived 200 years as a geological surveyor by diving headfirst into mysterious pits.
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August 1, 2021
seeking a mass spreading once again
of a virus without borders, killing and
destroying families because once again
the bought politicians ignored a new virus
and allowed cities to reopen without a
full policy in place that protects innocent
people from getting the delta virus, wealth
knows only one rule, what is good for us
is good for us, who cares about the little
people for we are the gods of industry
destroying this planet for fun, power and
money but doctors beginning to rethink this
open air fiasco which is beginning to look
like the presidents first response to the
original pandemic, do nothing, saying it is
taken care of go on with your life and spend
your hard earned money so us wealthy
skunks of greed can prosper while you get
the covid virus and suffer and then die,
usually when the rich demand action in their
favor it is automatic but lately because of
the devastating effects of the older virus
and new viruses emerging the politicians
are getting a little rattled with fear as they try
and help the people they have been elected
to represent their golden cow of criminal
wealth and they are afraid their money men
will dry up and a new stooge will be
elected in their place, what a dilemma these
poor servants of the wealthy have, lets hope
we can get rid of all the brown noses and
get honest people to represent us in this
nightmare of lives being destroyed, these
viruses are coming from somewhere some
say the united states made the first virus
and gave it to china for analysis, it doesn’t
matter who did what, it is here and evolving
killing more innocent people as the politician
argue about what to do, I know what to do
get ride of these bought and sold money
grabbers and get new open and honest
people willing to break free from the wealths
control over this planet, covid 19 was known
in late 2019 it was able to go unnoticed
for two more months and then the virus
began to spread through plane travel, visiting
your elderly parents at care facilities and
seeing them die, and still our government
leaders ignored the pandemic while the
doctors, nurses and medics all knew they
needed help understanding what was
happening, an explanation of what was
making these people sick enough to die
and they needed to know now so they
could begin saving lives, not watching these
families torn apart, and the most important
question asked over and over again was how
do we stop the spread of this brutal illness
and our commander and chief down played
the virus and its deadly harm it could do to
innocent people without an antidote to
stop its spreading but our president claimed
over and over again all was well when in fact
american citizens would be attacked by a fast
moving virus, making life a living hell,
an what do the worshippers of profits over
people want us to do now that there is no
more covid problems, yea right they are
demanding an opening up of america as if the
covid virus never happened, time moves on
they think that is good enough to put people
back at risk of the delta virus, or a new strain
they call the lambda variant, for we the people
are easily replaced if there is a death or two or
thousands does it really matter for the important
duty of all americans is to risk their health, their
future, look hard at the propaganda now being
spewed by the lackeys that hop too when any
rich crook seeks new demands, more sales and
do we really care about the peons, the ordinary
people for they are easily duplicated to do the
work for peanuts, so my rich friends lets get
going this planet won’t be around much longer
so step up and get back to our normal fleecing
of the average american with higher taxes, higher
medical coverage or no coverage and lets not
forget our world wide network of oligarchs that
have each others back, for isn’t that the american
way, the red, white and blue taking advantage
of the bodies worn down for we have here in
america freedom for the few while the rest
must give us their souls and conditioned minds
from birth to respect their elders and kneel down
before the gods of avarice and give their lives
not for the protection of america but for the
exploitation of countries dominated by dictators
that look to the united states for the latest and
greatest killing machine for wouldn’t our holy father,
a silent godly man also demand loyalty of
the herd that seem to think this prison of greed
is the norm and we all most play the game, eyes
straight ahead and replace your thoughts with
the promise of wealth if you just continue being
a yes man or yes woman willing to sacrifice truth
for a false identity, a ferret mouthing someone
else’s words looking for more lies to spout
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another sorta jumping off prompt abt Billions In Full: thinking abt any & all instances of taylor's arcs having kinda Becoming Adrift or Struggling w A Quandary points that resolve into Turning Points & any such moments you might have especially had Thoughts Or Feelings abt in full context & knowledge of the series? a la navigating axe cap & axe's guidance vs their qualms in s2, the fancy watch saga, everything re douglas, anything re wendy, having plans to leave across s3, that kind of concept
hmm okay what Moral Quandary arcs do they have. let’s consider it
1. the sandicot fiasco (2x04-2x07): if you don’t count playing in the alpha cup / breaking krakow as a moral quandary (which taylor might, tbh) this is the first time they have to grapple with their principles. taylor is in on this from the beginning, researching the likelihood of sandicot getting a gambling license at axe’s request and telling axe there’s no reason to invest if they don’t get the license. when the license falls through, taylor is brought into the war room figuring out how to recover axe cap’s investment, and spells out both the repercussions of austerity and the reasons they think it’s the right choice. (people living in poverty? offensive. cities overreaching their budgets? MORE offensive, apparently.) mostly i find this arc boring & embarrassing to watch (libertarianism? in taylor? cringe), rather than compelling, but i’m still distraught over taylor telling axe “i find myself thinking in your words sometimes” in 2x05. (the words in question are “shit hole,” re: sandicot, which doesn’t help.)
2. the klaxon short (2x09-2x11): this actually starts out totally unrelated to taylor — dollar bill tells axe about klaxon, a company he is Not Uncertain will crash; axe hesitates to make this trade on inside information but decides to go for it. ben kim and mafee both fail to produce analysis that supports the short; taylor manages it because they analyze the situation from a different angle, and because they suspect axe has inside information supporting a short and just needs it to seem legitimate. coming up with this analysis, and signing off on it, gets taylor a promotion, a spontaneous bonus ($500k!) from axe, and thank-you money ($250k!) from dollar bill, but they’re conflicted enough about it to stop by the SDNY and find out what connerty knows first; seeing their signature on the report puts them under even more suspicion from connerty. this is the first arc that really Feels like a moral compromise for taylor, because they’re more obviously conflicted about it and get more material rewards for it.
3. their stance on fossil fuels (2x09-present): less a character arc than a character sinusoid. taylor’s reluctant to take a private jet given the carbon footprint, but axe insisting it’s fine if they buy some carbon offsets is enough to change their mind. they pitch ESG to grigor, an oil oligarch, as an act of sabotage because they don’t want axe cap to take his money, but they’re willing to take his money for mase cap, and to win over a sovereign wealth fund that gets its money from oil. they still somehow have an environmentalist reputation to preserve after all this, so they short fracking publicly and bait axe into legalizing fracking so they’ll profit privately. then from 5x03 onward, they’ve committed firmly to the Earth-Positive Approach, which somehow encompasses both convincing colleges to divest from fossil fuels and investing in fossil fuels themself while vowing to clean up the companies responsible. i don’t think this is taylor’s principles shifting so much as their commitment to those principles weakening when they’re in new and dire straits — torn between their personal and professional lives, desperate to break away from axe cap and make it on their own, or reeling from a rift in their family. in contrast, season 5 is about taylor (and everyone else) trying to get back on track & clean up the wreckage of their past choices — makes sense that it would include recommitting to the environmentalist approach. so i also have to wonder where it’ll go in the rest of season 5 — will mase carbon and its mission survive that long, or will some unforeseen crisis derail it?
4. having nice things (2x09-present): pretty much every instance of taylor purchasing some new & pricey thing accompanies another moral quandary, rather than the purchase itself being the only thing taylor’s torn about. for instance: reserving a flight on a private jet, as mentioned, while conflicted about the ethics of doing so and of Living Large more generally; signing the lease on a luxurious penthouse apartment after signing off on the klaxon short; buying the same $164k watch craig heidecker wore to quell their guilt over having profited from his death and wearing it every day, only taking it off when they’ve formally left axe cap and resolved to do business at mase cap The Right Way. similarly, though it’s never addressed in the show, i’m pretty sure taylor’s apartment in season 5 is a different, cheaper apartment than the one they rented in seasons 2-4 — the front door and interior layout we see in 5x02 are totally different from what we’ve seen before — and that this is another manifestation of taylor trying to get back on track / recommit to their principles in season 5. (it might also be that their income was reduced just a bit by mase cap crashing and burning and being forced back to axe cap and they decided to relocate to save on rent. multiple things can be true at once.) the only exception that comes to mind is axe offering to buy taylor a land rover to thank them for running axe cap: taylor turns it down, asks for a billion dollars of their own to manage, then changes their mind and asks for the car too once axe says yes to the billion. they’re not really in a moral quandary in that moment so much as a “wow it sucks that axe is taking the reins of axe cap back from me and undoing all my hard work, i’d like to have some semblance of control and power still, please” quandary, and we never see the land rover again after that, so it’s not exactly memorable. i still want to know what they did with it.
5. selling out oscar’s investment to axe (3x10-5x06): i would not count this as a moral quandary because i firmly believe that Taylor Did Nothing Wrong (in this case), but the 3x10 episode summary describes this incident as “taylor makes a personal compromise for business,” so i guess we have to consider it. taylor asks axe for a favor involving oscar and his business partner, then thanks axe for the favor and mentions the name of said business partner, as one might do when conversing with a trusted colleague / mentor. axe, who is scrounging for cash and should never be trusted, swipes the deal oscar was making; when taylor confronts him about it, he insists that they wanted him to swipe the deal, or else they wouldn’t have namedropped the business partner. it’s unclear whether or not taylor believes this / blames themself for what happened, but oscar certainly blames them — he refuses taylor’s offer of a conciliatory dinner in 3x12 because “after what you did, i could never open myself up to you again,” and tells the marithane ceo in 5x06 that taylor solving his patent issue actually proves just how untrustworthy they are, because “if they’re willing to do that for you today, they’re willing to do it to you later.” yet he was still willing to invest with taylor and have them make money for him, so long as axe’s name wasn’t attached. make it make sense, oscar!
6. selling douglas’s company (4x07-4x08): again, i don’t consider this a moral quandary because taylor was forced into a no-win situation by axe and wendy, and also because douglas just sucks, but again, the writing demands that we consider it. taylor was ready to partner with a VC on funding the development of douglas’s lattice fin design, but axe pulled some strings and got the federal government to demand the technology for national security reasons. with the VC and existing investors abandoning mase cap left and right, there was no way for taylor to keep both douglas’s technology and mase cap, so they chose to sell the tech to the government and keep their company afloat, at the cost of their already-crumbling relationship with douglas finally collapsing. naturally, axe then went on tv and spun this as taylor selling out their own father by flipping his company for their profit. much like what happened with oscar, this is yet another incident that’s more axe’s fault than taylor’s being described as a terrible choice taylor made that proves they can’t be trusted. (this only occasionally happens with actual questionable choices taylor made more freely — connerty prodding them about their new apartment in 2x11, danzig pointing out that taylor “led the charge in wringing cash from sandicot” in 4x01, axe also bringing up taylor taking grigor’s money in his tv appearance in 4x08.)
#inbox#unproduciblesmackdown#billions#taylor mason#numbering these manually was a real struggle. pretty sure I had the last three points all numbered 4. at one point while writing this
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President Joe Biden Delivers Inaugural Address
Chief Justice Roberts, Vice President Harris. Speaker Pelosi, Leader Schumer, McConnell, Vice President Pence, my distinguished guests and my fellow Americans, this is America's day.
This is democracy's day. A day of history and hope of renewal and resolve through a crucible for the ages. America has been tested anew and America has risen to the challenge. Today, we celebrate the triumph not of a candidate, but of a cause, the cause of democracy. The people, the will of the people, has been heard and the will of the people has been heeded.
We've learned again that democracy is precious. Democracy is fragile. At this hour, my friends, democracy has prevailed.
From now, on this hallowed ground, where just a few days ago, violence sought to shake the Capitol's very foundation, we come together as one nation, under God, indivisible to carry out the peaceful transfer of power, as we have for more than two centuries.
As we look ahead in our uniquely American way: restless, bold, optimistic, and set our sights on the nation we can be and we must be.
I thank my predecessors of both parties for their presence here today. I thank them from the bottom of my heart. And I know, I know the resilience of our Constitution and the strength, the strength of our nation. As does President Carter, who I spoke with last night, who cannot be with us today, but whom we salute for his lifetime of service.
I've just taken the sacred oath. Each of those patriots have taken. The oath, first sworn by George Washington. But the American story depends not on any one of us, not on some of us, but on all of us, on we the people who seek a more perfect union.
This is a great nation. We are good people. And over the centuries, through storm and strife, in peace and in war, we've come so far. But we still have far to go. We'll press forward with speed and urgency, for we have much to do in this winter of peril and significant possibilities, much to repair, much to restore, much to heal, much to build, and much to gain.
Few people in our nation's history have been more challenged or found a time more challenging or difficult than the time we're in now. Once-in-a-century virus that silently stalks the country. It's taken as many lives in one year as America lost in all of World War II. Millions of jobs have been lost. Hundreds of thousands of businesses closed. A cry for racial justice, some four hundred years in the making moves us. The dream of justice for all will be deferred no longer.
The cry for survival comes from planet itself, a cry that can’t be any more desperate or any more clear. And now a rise of political extremism, white supremacy, domestic terrorism that we must confront and we will defeat.
To overcome these challenges, to restore the soul and secure the future of America requires so much more than words. It requires the most elusive of all things in a democracy: unity, unity.
In another January, on New Year's Day in 1863, Abraham Lincoln signed the Emancipation Proclamation. When he put pen to paper, the president said, and I quote, “if my name ever goes down into history, it'll be for this act. And my whole soul is in it.”
My whole soul was in it today. On this January day, my whole soul is in this: Bringing America together, uniting our people, uniting our nation. And I ask every American to join me in this cause.
Uniting to fight the foes we face: anger, resentment, hatred, extremism, lawlessness, violence, disease, joblessness and hopelessness. With unity, we can do great things, important things. We can right wrongs. We can put people to work in good jobs. We can teach our children in safe schools. We can overcome the deadly virus. We can reward, reward work and rebuild the middle class and make health care secure for all. We can deliver racial justice and we can make America once again the leading force for good in the world.
I know speaking of unity can sound to some like a foolish fantasy these days. I know the forces that divide us are deep and they are real, but I also know they are not new. Our history has been a constant struggle between the American ideal that we're all created equal and the harsh, ugly reality that racism, nativism, fear, demonization have long torn us apart. The battle is perennial and victory is never assured.
Through civil war, the Great Depression, world war, 9/11, through struggle, sacrifice and setbacks, our better angels have always prevailed. In each of these moments, enough of us, enough of us have come together to carry all of us forward. And we can do that now. History, faith and reason show the way, the way of unity. We can see each other not as adversaries, but as neighbors. We can treat each other with dignity and respect. We can join forces, stop the shouting and lower the temperature. For without unity, there is no peace, only bitterness and fury. No progress, only exhausting outrage. No nation, only a state of chaos.
This is our historic moment of crisis and challenge. And unity is the path forward. And we must meet this moment as the United States of America. If we do that, I guarantee you we will not fail. We have never, ever, ever, ever failed in America when we've acted together.
And so today at this time in this place, let's start afresh, all of us. Let's begin to listen to one another again. Hear one another see one another, show respect to one another. Politics doesn't have to be a raging fire, destroying everything in its path. Every disagreement doesn't have to be a cause for total war. And we must reject the culture in which facts themselves are manipulated and even manufactured.
My fellow Americans. We have to be different than this. America has to be better than this. And I believe America is so much better than this. Just look around. Here we stand in the shadow of the Capitol dome, as was mentioned earlier, completed amid the Civil War, when the union itself was literally hanging in the balance. Yet we endured, we prevailed.
Here we stand looking out in the great mall where Dr. King spoke of his dream. Here we stand, where 108 years ago, at another inaugural, thousands of protesters tried to block brave women marching for the right to vote. And today we marked the swearing in of the first woman in American history elected to national office: Vice President Kamala Harris. Don't tell me things can't change.
Here we stand across the Potomac from Arlington Cemetery, where heroes who gave the last full measure of devotion rest in eternal peace. And here we stand just days after a riotous mob thought they could use violence to silence the will of the people, to stop the work of our democracy, to drive us from this sacred ground.
It did not happen. It will never happen. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever. Not ever.
To all those who supported our campaign, I'm humbled by the faith you've placed in us. To all those who did not support us, let me say this. Hear me out as we move forward. Take a measure of me and my heart. If you still disagree so be it. That's democracy. That's America. The right to dissent, peaceably, the guardrails of our republic is perhaps this nation's greatest strength.
Yet hear me clearly: disagreement must not lead to disunion. And I pledge this to you, I will be a president for all Americans. All Americans. And I promise you I will fight as hard for those who did not support me as for those who did.
Many centuries ago. Saint Augustine, a saint in my church, wrote to the people was a multitude defined by the common objects of their love. Defined by the common objects of their love. What are the common objects we as Americans love, that define us as Americans? I think we know. Opportunity, security, liberty, dignity, respect, honor and yes, the truth.
Recent weeks and months have taught us a painful lesson. There is truth and there are lies, lies told for power and for profit. And each of us has a duty and responsibility, as citizens, as Americans, and especially as leaders, leaders who have pledged to honor our Constitution and protect our nation, to defend the truth and defeat the lies.
Look, I understand that many of my fellow Americans view the future with fear and trepidation. I understand they worry about their jobs. I understand, like my dad, they lay in bed at night, staring at the ceiling, wondering, can I keep my health care? Can I pay my mortgage? Thinking about their families, about what comes next. I promise you, I get it.
But the answer is not to turn inward, to retreat into competing factions, distrusting those who don't look like look like you or worship the way you do, or don't get their news from the same sources you do. We must end this uncivil war that pits red against blue, rural versus urban, rural versus urban, conservative versus liberal. We can do this if we open our souls instead of hardening our hearts. If we show a little tolerance and humility, and if we're willing to stand in the other person's shoes, as my mom would say, just for a moment, stand in their shoes. Because here's the thing about life. There's no accounting for what fate will deal you. Some days, when you need a hand. There are other days when we're called to lend a hand. That's how it has to be. That's what we do for one another. And if we are this way, our country will be stronger, more prosperous, more ready for the future. And we can still disagree.
My fellow Americans, in the work ahead of us, we're going to need each other. We need all our strength to to persevere through this dark winter. We're entering what may be the toughest and deadliest period of the virus. We must set aside politics and finally face this pandemic as One Nation. One Nation.
And I promise you this, as the Bible says, “Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.” We will get through this together. Together.
Look, folks, all my colleagues I served with in the House of the Senate up there, we all understand the world is watching, watching all of us today. So here's my message to those beyond our borders. America has been tested and we've come out stronger for it. We will repair our alliances and engage with the world once again. Not to meet yesterday's challenges, but today's and tomorrow's challenges. And we’ll lead, not merely by the example of our power, but by the power of our example.
We'll be a strong and trusted partner for peace, progress and security. Look, you all know, we've been through so much in this nation. And my first act as president, I’d like to ask you to join me in a moment of silent prayer to remember all those who we lost this past year to the pandemic. Those four hundred thousand fellow Americans, moms, dads, husbands, wives, sons, daughters, friends, neighbors and coworkers. We will honor them by becoming the people and the nation we know we can and should be. So I ask you, let's say a silent prayer for those who've lost their lives, those left behind and for our country.
Amen.
Folks, this is a time of testing. We face an attack on our democracy and on truth, a raging virus, growing inequity, the sting of systemic racism, a climate in crisis, America's role in the world. Any one of these will be enough to challenge us in profound ways. But the fact is, we face them all at once, presenting this nation with one of the gravest responsibilities we've had. Now we're going to be tested. Are we going to step up? All of us? It’s time for boldness, for there is so much to do. And this is certain, I promise you, we will be judged, you and I, by how we resolve these cascading crises of our era.
Will we rise to the occasion, is the question. Will we master this rare and difficult hour? Will we meet our obligations and pass along a new and better world to our children? I believe we must. I'm sure you do as well. I believe we will. And when we do, we'll write the next great chapter in the history of the United States of America. The American story. A story that might sound something like a song that means a lot to me. It's called American Anthem. There's one verse that stands out, at least for me, and it goes like this:
The work and prayers of a century have brought us to this day.
What shall be our legacy? What will our children say?
Let me know in my heart when my days are through.
America, America, I gave my best to you.
Let's add. Let us add our own work and prayers to the unfolding story of our great nation. If we do this, then when our days are through, our children and our children's children will say of us: They gave their best, they did their duty, they healed a broken land.
My fellow Americans, I close the day where I began, with a sacred oath before God and all of you. I give you my word, I will always level with you. I will defend the Constitution. I'll defend our democracy. I'll defend America and I will give all, all of you. Keep everything I do in your service, thinking not of power, but of possibilities, not of personal interest, but the public good. And together we shall write an American story of hope, not fear. Of unity, not division. Of light, not darkness. A story of decency and dignity, love and healing, greatness and goodness. May this be the story that guides us. The story that inspires us and the story that tells ages yet to come that we answered the call of history. We met the moment. Democracy and hope, truth and justice did not die on our watch, but thrived. That America secured liberty at home and stood once again as a beacon to the world. That is what we owe our forbearers, one another and generations to follow.
So, with purpose and resolve, we turn to those tasks of our time. Sustained by faith, driven by conviction, devoted to one another and the country we love with all our hearts. May God bless America and may God protect our troops. Thank you, America.
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How This Ends
Loan Tran
Two weeks into quarantine I read an article in The Atlantic titled, “How the Pandemic Will End.” It still felt wildly early to make any predictions about the future and the course of the virus. It has been now over a year that I have been trying to write a response to what I read, not because of any substantial disagreement but I foresaw then what I know now to be true, that after nearly a year of pandemic life: none of this simply ends.
There are no numbers and statistics, CDC guidelines, or even well thought out epidemiological reports that captures the depth of what it means that over 2.75 million people have died from COVID-19; over half a million of them alone in the U.S. We have witnessed a year that has made everything that was terrible before, much, much worse. And we know how we got here—especially being in the belly of the beast— we know all too well what regimes of power are capable of in their commitment to greed and profit. If you are like me or if you love people like me, you may know too that the world has come to an end many times before. What is different about this ending? If anything?
It was mid-March. My partner and I were on our way to the beach for her birthday. During our drive, we got news that the airports were starting to shut down and we were uncertain of the rumors about the National Guard being deployed to ensure compliance with stay-at-home orders. The beach was still there, and still sweet as always. We celebrated her the way we love each other; we ate delicious food, we laughed. She made her family’s shrimp: Lee Adam’s Shrimp. Which is comical, she says, because this was the only dish he would ever cook, and he got it named after him. Meanwhile, the family functioned because of women who made everything else possible. Such is our lives.
The Atlantic Ocean on the coast of North Carolina in mid-March is wind-swept, vast, very quiet. The sand becomes these large mountains to be trekked over before the water meets your eyeline. But once you see it, you know exactly where the ocean departs the sky. It was terribly cold. Yet, I was grateful to be by the water as our world began to shake us into conference calls and organizing meetings. Within just a few short hours of our Governor declaring lock down, we had formed the United for Survival and Beyond coalition. And knowing the year we were going to have and coming out of years of pavement pounding work, we were already exhausted. Deeper than the exhaustion is the truth that we must stick together, and we must find a way to continue on, especially now, with the cards so clear on the table: some of us will live and some of us will die. And there will be no logic to the madness.
The political work is instinctual to me; it makes sense in any crisis to bring together as many people as possible to understand a situation and to then take action. But the political work is also sometimes slow moving, even when we are all speeding and incredibly busy. So, I did other work that I felt, by my own standards, was more tangible. Like organizing a group chat of the queers I know who need medication on a regular basis. Or joining the local Mutual Aid Groups (and then promptly leaving all of the groups, which was simply a matter of exiting the Signal threads). Making a phone tree that was unreasonably the size of a phone book itself was an early action, too. And of course, cooking. There have been gallons upon gallons of pho. And gumbo. And at least 1,000 meatballs. Anything to attempt at satiating what I knew would become a growing hunger inside of me for a normalcy that still has not yet returned.
Things were deteriorating quickly all around me. By March’s end, my mom and I are on hold with her retirement company. She wants to get her money out of her account before the stock market steals it all away. This economic system routinely comes tumbling down for her; and often does it too line the pockets of the already ultra-wealthy. She has earned her retirement from working at the same alterations shop for over 20 years. She is paid for the time it takes to hand sew sequins onto wedding gowns that cost more than her year’s entire salary. She makes the inseam of your boutique jeans go from 32” to 30” with you never knowing the difference. She helps make people feel good, never questioning their own frivolousness in paying someone else to replace a missing button on their jacket. Her job has treated her well. This pandemic was beginning to test it as she’s filed for unemployment, without assistance from her bosses. The alliances that had shaped her life up until this point were beginning to fall apart, as is the case for so many of us.
It would become easier in the summer, but even then, the sweaty walks and the sitting outside in the beating sun just to eat a meal with someone who I wasn’t also sleeping with most nights began to tire me. I was unsatisfiable. I am lucky to have eaten many good meals, celebrate even more pandemic birthdays, and have extra money to keep supporting my parents’ and sister’s bills in between our socially distanced visits. Things would seem relatively calm for some weeks, when I felt like the weather wasn’t badgering on me. Which is to also say, that when things felt turbulent, it really just meant I was incredibly sad.
As I’ve been writing this piece in my mind, mulling over—as I usually do—which details feel relevant enough to evidence in words, the world around us has danced to the precipice of something new and back again. In between it all, I have had some of the most elaborate dreams of my life, the dreams at the heart of how I wish life could be.
I am home in Viet Nam. The sky is a dreamy pink, small stripes of orange and some residual blue as the sun sets and the moon takes over. I am sitting by the water and before me stretches a few miles of the bay. On the other side, mountains: spotted gray from granite and green from trees. I think to myself, “this is beautiful” and I take out my phone so I don’t forget what this looks like. My mom is here with me and it is quiet and perfect. Standing in line waiting to buy coffee from a street vendor, I think to myself, “wow, I get to be here,”; there are children and their parents who look my kin weaving around my stillness on the side of the road. I smile at someone I clock to be like me: a little odd, short haired, sweet looking in the face, stern and tough but kind in spirit. Then I wake up. It’s a dream. And all I know is that it’s a beautiful, perfect dream.
While time stretched and I could dream and I could travel in my mind, buoyed by my memories, telling stories that after the 3rd or 4th re-telling feels almost untrue, time also pulled me back to reality. To the everyday where I had few answers for the big question of: what now?
So what of time now? What is its worth? And what is worth it? I wear a watch every day still and I check my calendar still. And I still want Fridays to feel how Fridays are supposed to feel, still: they should release me. I still want to wake up slow on a Sunday, my favorite day, still. Things feel numbered and open all at once. Do I measure the worth of my life in this way or that? Do I consider tragedy to be where we start or is it having a witness to it that makes the clock run? Do I count the pints of soup I have made? What about the distance between us? There have been more cardinals than usual, but I’m really not counting. I do miss the children in the streets and the laughter beaming from their hands. Making sense of quiet and calling this place, my ever-growing city of just nearly 270,000 people, a ghost town seems a little defeatist; some days it seems just right, and some days it feels like an opening: to stop counting the time.
There is a slowness of this period that I have come to appreciate, even as it frustrates me. The slowness to remember and reconsider and re-learn the basic unit of relating: care; to care for each other and to care for ourselves. And we are being subject to the realities of care’s absence: there are millions of people—while they toil and make our world turn, even against the heaviest measures of despair—are disregarded as undeserving of housing, of health(care), of food, of life itself.
These systems of violence and domination continue to evolve, as showcased by this next phase of neoliberalism, with its elite colors and sloganeering. Coca-Cola racial justice investments and Nike’s you can do it to end racism and NFL’s $250,000,000 check to shut it (what, exactly?) down. Our task is more urgent than ever, yet there is still, simply this: you and I making a road where perhaps previously there was not, where perhaps previously there were, and it had been bombed or torn apart.
I am on the eve of my second pandemic birthday. And between the last time I dared contemplate how this ends and this moment now, there have been attempted coups and multiple mass shootings; there have been more vaccines distributed in the 1st world and essentially none for our sisters, brothers, and kin to the global south. Schools in my city are reopening and the people who suffer are made to blame each other.
A pandemic of this kind, through which a virus has served as the vehicle sounding the sirens of human plight, has the potential to lure us towards conclusions about the ever-deepening crises of white supremacy, patriarchy, and capitalism that will be regretful for us in the long-term. Namely, while it is true many things are outside of our control, like how a virus may mutate or transmit, there is so much more that is within our control.
We have witnessed that even in the middle of a pandemic, our people have risen up across the globe to declare that there must be another way to live. What deserves to be said again and again is that on one hand there is the science of this pandemic and the science of greed which profits on sickness; on the other is clear the science of solidarity; the science of organizing; the science of returning people back to each other; a sense of attention, a regard for care, an interest in ourselves and each other and the planet as people and places worthy of a world different than what centuries of violence and domination have conditioned and forced us toward.
At last, I do not know what the end of this pandemic means. But it seems to the hopeful, revolutionary optimist in me, that we have tried our raggedy best this year. I have appreciated more than ever our attempts at an honesty we may not have been willing to demonstrate. It seems to me that I haven’t been the only one to lie about how much I don’t know. And if you are looking for a script right now, about how to be, or how to cope, or how to regard yourself as belonging to those around you who do not look like you or speak like you or understand as you understand, I hope you’ll remember that there is no one else to make the future but us if we are to see ourselves in it.
I am embarrassed by my desperate need for things to return to normal. I am so desperate that I lay awake at night: wanting something I know I cannot have and the intelligent part of me knows that if I could have it, it would not be good for me or the people I love. The desperation is also a grief, fear, fatigue. But I also lay awake some nights taking audit of my gratitude; that beside me is my lover deep in restful sleep, that somehow in the morning our hands always find each other; and when we get out of bed, to make breakfast, or step outside: there is another day that affords me the time to learn how to be more human, and perhaps that is what this is worth. And those of us who still have it in us, and even those of us who feel that we have lost it, we must help this situation by becoming more and more human, as that is the only way I would want this to end.
This piece is dedicated to my dear friends who have kept me this year, in particular Zaina, Mindy, Margo, and Nadeen. It is also dedicated to our beloved Elandria (E) Williams, may they continue to rest in piece and know that we are taking their mandate for us to care, seriously. It is dedicated to the best pandemic pal and partner I could have ever asked for, who has also vowed to return the favor next pandemic, Chantelle. This is dedicated to the streets, to the uprisings, to all people everywhere who believe life doesn’t have to be this way, that we are so much more—these people include city workers, educators, youth and students, organizers, healthcare workers, and more. Thanks for the example of your lives.
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Lambert and Keira Metz after the events of Wild Hunt run a joint business in Lan Exeter. Unexpectedly, a stranger witcher appears on their doorstep with an unusual task.
So the translation of the first chapter of my fanfic where it turns out that Aiden is alive after all.
My English is shitty, so please forgive me for mistakes. I will be grateful for feedback, both in terms of language and story. I don't know if I will translate it further, it's really difficult and exhausting for me, at the top you have a link to the Polish version.
I dedicate this translation to @gridelincarver @marbienl13 @all-my-queens If it wasn't for you, this text wouldn’t have been written, so thank you very much for motivation!
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Granda
granda (polish) - rumpus, ruction, brawl, bunch but also fraud, hoax, humbug
Chapter 1
Lan Exeter was a beautiful port city, full of vivid but narrow houses and canals instead of streets. The winter capital of Kovir and Poviss, like the whole country, was favorable to sorceress and sorcerers who escaped from war-torn Redania from Radowid's witch hunters. Magicians from the Northern Kingdoms found here a safe haven, job and had great freedom in conducting their research and experiments.
Despite these many advantages Keira Metz didn’t like to live here. It was difficult for her to explain it rationally, she really couldn’t complain about anything, especially after what she went through hiding in Velen. But Lan Exeter got on her nerves. She couldn't focus here and felt something hanging in the air.
Lambert on the other hand was very pleased with the new location. Despite the fact that it was Triss Merigold, who arranged for them enter to Kovir, it was the witcher who indicated the winter capital as the right place to start their small project. He had acquaintances here, in the past he has made several large contracts for important officials. Thanks to these acquaintances, they didn’t encounter any major problems to rent a small, but well-kept tenement house not far from the city's main square. At the start they paid for it from what Lambert saved from contracts, Keira's savings went to the apparatus for the laboratory she arranged in the attic of the building. Now the sorceress has already run her own business, from which she had considerable profits and they divided expenses in half.
She couldn't complain here either. Despite his difficult character, Lambert was a resourceful and responsible man when it came to finances. He systematically searched for contracts and efficiently bargained with clients. He wasn't wasteful and basically the only thing he spent money on was weapon. As for the alchemical ingredients and components, Keira made sure he didn't run out of anything. Always taking orders for her business, she took into account the witcher's need for potions. Before they looked back, they worked out a routine for functioning and cooperation on both: private and professional grounds. And that was another thing that had been bothering her for some time.
Her relationship with Lambert was turbulent at times, but it was exemplary. The Witcher didn’t cause problems, except for the fact that he sometimes returned half-dead from work. And that was basically the only thing they could argue about. Both of them had an explosive temperament, arguments could sometimes alarm their neighbors. However, it always found its finale in bed, which didn’t diminish the amount of decibels they generated and Keira finally cast a silencing spell on their building, because tenants from behind the wall intended to report noise to the owner of the house.
Either way, her life under one roof with the witcher slowly and disturbingly began to resemble a marriage. And just thinking about it, Keira shivers. That wasn’t her ambition. She never dreamed of hiding in a charming house at the end of the world with the One. Keira wanted power and fame, constantly thinking back to the time she sat on the royal council of Temeria, she still remembered the conventions of sorcerers and the feast of the elite, where her word was sacred. That Keira Metz wore the most fashionable and provocative outfits, every night she had a different lover, drank the most expensive and exquisite wines on the Continent, and pulling the strings on the political scene of the country was her element. She had a reputation, people knew her name and felt respect for it. She wanted to create history and have fun, she wanted to taste life. Meanwhile, she was sitting in the politically neutral and boring Kovir, where no one knew who she was, she was selling her knowledge to the populace and slept with witcher.
Well, it was always a few steps better than forgotten by gods Velen, a bunch of illiterate peasants paying her with eggs and shareing bed with bugs. Not to mention the threat of burning at the stake still hanging over her then. So she knew it could always be worse. And she really couldn't say she was unhappy here, just ... it wasn't the kind of happiness she wanted. And Lambert himself was a completely unsolvable matter for her. They weren’t officially together, none of them came up with the funny idea of having a serious relationship. Lambert was supposed to help her with her research, and sex was just a nice addition for both of them. They didn’t claim any rights to each other, they didn’t swear allegiance and devotion, they just went with the flow and in some unexplained way they found themselves in this place. In a shared apartment, with shared business and shared life. Keira didn't remember when she had spent so many nights in her own bed with the same man by her side. She was beginning to fear that it had never really happened before.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a bell. In the tenement they rented, ground floor was adapted for Keira's magical business. At the front door, which was constantly open for the public, they hung a bell that signaled the arrival of a potential customer. The sorceress rose from behind the table, closed the book, which she reviewed to make a mixture ordered by one of the townsmen, and headed for the curtain separating the back room from the main part of the store.
She saw the figure next to the bookcase and thought it was Lambert for a short split second. She was fooled by two swords on his back - such characteristic accessories for her witcher. But it wasn't Lambert. The man was slightly taller, but thinner, he was standing back to her, and he had a hood on his head, but the sorceress knew her witcher too well to confuse him with someone else, she had no doubt. However, newcomer wasn’t interested in books, but in other objects based on a bookcase. Kiera shuddered a little, of all the things that were in this room, he had to choose that one.
"How can I help you?” She finally said, hoping that would surprise him and divert his attention from the things he was watching, but nothing like that happened.
The man, unmoved by her question, still with his back to her, reached into one of the hilt of two swords leaning against the bookcase. He grabbed it and pulled the blade out of the scabbard.
"It's not for sale," she said firmly, and finally got a reaction.
The stranger turned slowly toward Keira, looked her up and down, and a pair of amber cat eyes flashed from under his hood.
"Witcher,” she noted with surprise.
The man weighed the sword in his hand, ran his fingers over the carved runes. Keira didn't miss the way he was holding it. To be sure, she looked at his own swords protruding from his left arm. He was left-handed.
Lambert once told her that a left-handed swordsman is a real pain in the ass. A left-handed witcher, on the other hand, is a death sentence. Admittedly, it doesn't matter with monsters, but warriors trained in swordsmanship don't have much chance against someone like that. Regardless of school, master or experience, almost every swordsman has a dominant right hand. Even if he was born left-handed, when he enters the training he is immediately switched to the right one. Those who decide to train on the left have more difficult learning, but the advantage they gain thanks to it is huge. Left-hander is accustomed to right-handed opponents, they are his daily bread, but people relying on their right have a very difficult task fighting a mirror reflection. As a result, it was also established that a left-handed swordsman was a cheater without honor, so there were only a few schools and masters favorable to teaching left-handers on their dominant hand. Unless they want to train the assassin.
“The devil does not sleep,“ witcher read the inscription from the blade, still carefully examining the sword. ”Silver blade, witcher gear. Where did you get it from?”
"It's not for sale," she repeated and walked over to him, emphatically raising her hand, expecting that he would give her the weapon. “It belongs to my business partner, also a witcher”.
"I see...” He smiled at her, which revealed dimples in his cheeks, but it was hard to call that smile cordial. He obediently gave her the sword and finally pulled off the hood.
Keira blinked in surprise. She may not have been an expert, but apart from Lambert, she was also dealing with his brothers from the Wolf School and that assassin of Foltest. The witchers were interesting in their own way, but it was hard to enter them into the standard canon of beauty. And the one in front of
her was a little more unusual than the norm she knew.
First of all, he was redhead. She lived among the villagers long enough to know that redhead was for them a synonym of a soulless freak. So the red-headed and left-handed witcher would probably be cursed three times for them. Of course, these were only nonsense superstitions of the illiterate pleb, but someone with such qualities had to have extremely hard on the path. His appearance alone was enough for people not to trust him.
Secondly, he looked young. The Witchers in general grew old very slowly, but she has never met monster slayer who looks as young as this one. It wasn’t about the number of wrinkles, but about the youthful charm of teenage daredevil, and when he smiled, two deep dimples appeared on his cheeks. However, his cold gaze revealed that he was long after his teenage years. These eyes could see enough to look distrustful and insensitive now. Combined with this beautiful but predatory smile, he looked like a hungry shark.
Thirdly, he had no scars on his face except for one, thin as a thread that cut his lips vertically to the right and disappeared just above his chin. It was visible mainly because the witcher had a stubble on his jaw, if it weren't for it, it wouldn’t have been visible at first glance. Keira hasn’t yet met the witcher without the obvious scars that disfigure face. The only noticeable defect was the damaged right ear. The helix was clearly jagged, and although the flaw was completely healed, it seemed to be a fairly recent matter.
"Your partner left without swords?” witcher asked with a sneer, and Keira felt uncomfortable.
The tenement house was storeys, there could have been two dozen partners upstairs, but the newcomer knew she was here alone. The sorceress wasn’t particularly fearful and usually she felt more than at ease with men, but he gave her goosebumps. And not the good one.
In general, it shouldn’t come as a surprise to her that he exactly knew who was and who wasn’t around. She lived with Lambert long enough to learn that he hears from the ground floor a falling pin upstairs, but for some reason she attributed this skill only to him. Meanwhile, superhuman senses were a feature of all witchers.
"These are souvenirs," she explained and invited him to the table where she was hosting clients. Before she joined him she put the sword back into its sheath and laid it on the table. "He doesn't use them, so I wanted to hang them on the wall for decoration, but he didn't agree. And then I forgot to put them back in their place.”
"Why didn't he agree?” He asked in a tone of conversation about the weather and sat down, taking off his fingerless leather gloves.
"Like I said, these are souvenirs," she repeated, shrugging. “These have sentimental value and, as he said: ‘these aren’t ceremonial sabers to hang on the wall’."
"So neither for show nor for use," he said, looking at the weapon in front of him for a moment, then looked up at Keira, clearly stopping his gaze on her décolletage. A short grimace ran over his face, and Keira could have sworn, it was amusement. But it disappeared as quickly as it appeared, and after a moment the witcher was looking straight in her eyes, his face expressing nothing. “So much good steel is wasted. I will gladly buy them, I can offer a good price for them”.
Keira frowned. She had already told him twice that swords weren’t for sale. However, that wasn't what worried her. Not even that he was looking at her decolletage. She noted it with relief, because it was something she could deal with and finally he showed some human impulses, even if this view amused him for some reason. What she didn't like here was how quickly he decided to make a purchase. He didn't even look at the second sword!
She witnessed how Lambert bought new blades. The whole process lasted almost a month. A month of watching and comparing weapons at various craftsmen, a month of whining and fussing, and finally commissioned them to be forged. But he was still dealing with materials, because it was necessary to import a special steel alloy. It cost her witcher a lot of nerves and even more money, but he told her then that his life depends on these blades. They must be an extension of his hand, no compromises.
And this witcher wants to buy swords that he didn't even look at properly.
Maybe he collected them, or maybe he was just stupid, it didn't matter, Keira wasn't going to sell them, even if he had a mountain of gold. These swords were important to Lambert.
"Not for sale," she repeated for the third time, this time in the tone she extinguished the royal advisers in the council, when they began to be a pain in the ass. “Please, better tell me what brings you to me. And to Lan Exeter if I can ask. The witcher in the city is quite an unusual thing.”
"From what I have found out, you live with a witcher,” he raised one eyebrow. “You are one of the last people who should be surprised.”
“That's why it's unusual. Two witchers in the capital are a crowd.“
“I must admit that this is not a coincidence. I’m looking for a partner to fulfill a big and difficult contract. A large and strong imperial manticore come along from the mountains to nearby villages. Kidnap people, slaughter cattle. Three villages funded reward.”
“So you didn't come to talk to me, but to my parner," she said, ready to end the discussion here. She couldn't take contracts on behalf of Lambert.
And it sounded really bad. Maybe the money could be good, but the manticores were extremely dangerous. If the monster flew here from the mountains, then the trip to track it down will be long and exhausting. She didn't like it at all.
“It's not just about the manticore, I also have a request to you. It is very fortunate that I find a sorceress and witcher in one place, although this is an unusual thing.“
“Maybe here in Kovir. Where I come from bards even sing ballads about the union of the witcher and sorceress. A few of my colleagues value such cooperation very much, so I decided to take their advice and enter into ... a partnership with the witcher.“
“I know master Dandelion’s ballads,” he smiled mischievously, and she had to admit that he looked attractive with that grimace on his face, even if it lifted her neck hair. For some reason, his smiles were like a bad omen for her. “And please forgive me boldness, but is your deal just business, or do you also aspire to ballad heroes?”
Keira raised an eyebrow and finally clarified what she didn’t like in this witcher. His cat's eyes were vigilant, just this how he surveyed the room and looked at her... without doubt it was a predator's gaze. A predator who just smelled a prey and was getting ready to jump. The sorceress repaid the same and finally began to analyze more closely what she saw. Neither the weapon nor the armor he wore had any distinctive school features. And most importantly and most disturbing in this all - this witcher didn’t have a medallion around his neck. And a witcher without a medallion can't use signs.
What the hell? She was beginning to conclude that everything was wrong with this stranger. And no wonder that he was looking for a partner to kill the manticore. Lonely expedition for such quarry, when you can’t use signs, is suicide.
"Interesting question," she said finally after a little too long pause. The witcher narrowed his eyes as if he sensed she was uncomfortable. “Are you asking out of professional curiosity?”
"Entirely private,” and that beautiful smile again, but this time it clearly contained a threat. Like an animal that bares its fangs before it attacks. “You're a beautiful woman. I was wondering if you want to replace a witcher.”
Keira frowned threateningly and looked at him with disdain, finally openly letting him know that she didn’t like the direction in which this conversation was going. Far more than once in her life she had to deal with not very subtle advances, and all in all, this witcher hadn't crossed any boundaries yet, but something was very wrong here. Keira never avoided men, even those not very subtle, if she was in a good mood, could count on flirting with her. This one, however, didn’t flirt. Contrary to what he just said, he wasn't interested in her, not in the way he was suggesting. His gaze was cold and calculating, but she saw no desire in it.
“Please forgive me if I sent any wrong signals,” she announced finally icily, although she knew that she didn’t send any, and her exposed breasts, which was often interpreted in this way, mainly amused her interlocutor. “So now let me be clear, to avoid any further misunderstandings: me and my witcher are loyal to each other. Both professionally and privately. I’m flattered by your interest, but let's get back to business. My witcher would be very unhappy if he knew that we raised such a topic.”
She said this to give him a clear warning. What she meant by this was that if he has bad intentions towards her, he must take into account that she has another witcher behind her, who will deal with him if even a hair falls from her head. However, she was surprised to find that the words she said were true. She wouldn’t turn her back on Lambert, she wouldn’t betray him, even if this witcher turned out to be King Tancred himself. And she was sure Lambert wouldn’t turn his back on her either. The awareness of this alerted her more than the bizarre conversation she was having with her annoying visitor. She quickly put those thoughts out of her mind, this wasn’t the time to analyze her relationship with Lambert.
"My apologies if I offended you,” he raised his hands defensively and something changed in his posture. He became less tense and less alert. The predatory gleam from his eyes was gone too, but he didn’t seem in any way contrite or embarrassed. “I'm not looking for trouble. It just seemed to me extremely… exotic that a sorceress, a woman of scholar, of such status, was interested in a witcher. Perhaps I envied my colleague a little. You understand, we don't have a very good reputation.“
You certainly don’t, she thought.
"It depends on the school,” she finally decided to attack, she was getting tired of this game of cat and mouse. “But you don't wear the medallion. What school are you from? It is quite strange, I thought the medallion was sacred to a witcher.”
The man made a gesture as if to reach for his neck, but he immediately reflected and nipped the reflex in the bud. He winced slightly.
"That's what my assignment to you was supposed to be about," he said. “Some time ago I lost my medallion. It's hard to find a good craftsman to make a thing like this. I was hoping that the sorceress help me. I've heard a lot of good things about you, people praise your amulets and potions. In addition, you work with the witcher, which makes you, in my eyes, more qualified than the rest of the wizards in the city.“
"I have never had a similar order, I will have to ask Lambert to show me his medallion,” for the first time she mentioned her witcher's name and noticed how her interlocutor slightly twitched an eyebrow. She had to admit he surprised her with this order. She also noted how carefully he ignored the question about his school. “Also, there is no elemental circle in the area to charge it, although there is a lot of intersection in the city due to the wide network of canals and the water flowing in them ... I'll have to cast the silver, and have to order the mold from a craftsman… Either way, it'll be expensive.“
“As I mentioned, I have an eye on a big contract,” he reminded. “So I should be able to afford it. Please do a valuation, I will be able to confront it with my savings. And here we come back to the heart of my visit. When can I expect your witcher to return? I'm very keen on this cooperation. I can offer a profit split of up to 30% by 70% for the benefit of your witcher, of course, but I hope that I will get a discount on the medallion. If you have time now, we could initially set some amounts.“
The way he said "your witcher" made her think. She had deliberately emphasized this belonging beforehand in order to make him understand some things, but he made this point with scorn, lined with mockery. She couldn't help but get the feeling that what he really meant to say here was: “Where is your pet sorceress? Will you lend it to me?”, and it immediately infuriated her.
“Slow down, witcher,” she barely suppressed a hiss. “Lambert is my partner and I won't be bidding without him. We don't even know if he will be interested in this at all, so for the moment please consider the medallion issue and your manticore contract as two completely separate matters.How you will resolve the issue of splitting payments will be between the two of you. Then I will possibly consult with him if this transaction will be related to the medallion in any way.”
The witcher raised his eyebrows, his face expressive for the first time. He was surprised. And he was probably pleasantly surprised, because his gaze softened. Previously, it had lost its ferocity, now there was a gleam of sympathy in it.
“I guess I've been making a blunder again,” he said, but he didn't seem a bit too concerned about it. He looked like he was starting to have fun. “Since you are a scholarly woman, I assumed that you are the head of this business.”
“Don't you know the meaning of the word ‘partner’?” Keira was getting harder and harder to hide her anger, her service mask slowly started to fall off, she was on the verge of showing him why teasing a sorceress is a bad idea.
“Oh, I know. It even happened to me that I was called a partner,” she found his stupid smile less attractive and more irritating with each passing moment. “But witchers have a hard time in business, and we are rarely treated as equal partners. We're usually just boys for the dirty work. People value our skills but not us. For them, we are no different from rabid dogs that are unleashed in pursuit of prey, and the command is always the same: kill. Do you know what they do with a rabid dog after it does its job?”
"I can imagine," she said coldly. “And I conclude, from what I have just heard, that you don’t know the correct meaning of the word ‘partner’. You know the highly distorted meaning of this term. Generally sorry to hear all this, but I'm not a rabid dog breeder and you won't find any here. However, when it comes to my partner --”
She broke off when the witcher unexpectedly put a finger to his lips, ordering her to be silent in this non-verbal manner. She hadn't expected this, she opened her mouth to protest this blunt silencing, but realized that her interlocutor suddenly became very tense and focused. He tilted his head a little, like an animal that heard a strange noise, listened for a moment, then sighed heavily, closed his eyes and froze as if waiting for something.
Keira was amazed how his attitude completely changed in a split second. A moment earlier he had been nonchalant and self-confident, now he was sitting in front of her hunched over, evidently disturbed and anxious. Was it the same person at all?
The bell at the door rang and Keira looked away from the man in front of her to look toward the entrance. She saw Lambert in a bloody armor on the doorstep, but he moved freely, he didn't seem injured. For some time now, the sight of blood on his clothes had stopped alarming her, because it usually wasn't his.
“Are you all right?“ she asked anyway, immediately abandoning visitor and getting up from the table, heading towards Lambert.
"Yeah," he replied a bit impatiently, he looked annoyed with her concern, but Keira knew better. There was no anger in his gaze, he was glad to see her. “It's just --”
He paused as his eyes finally fell on the witcher's sitting at the table. The stranger sat with his back to the door and didn’t bother to look back and see who had just arrived. Keira understood that his earlier behavior was due to the fact that he heard Lambert approaching. Lambert must also have been aware of the client's presence before he even entered the house, but it seems that only now he noticed that it was a witcher.
"We have a visitor?” He looked at Keira, there was a question in that look: Is this a client or a threat? It seems that he sensed the tense atmosphere and the sorceress's nervousness.
"Yes, this is--" She paused mid-word, as she was about to introduce them, but she just realized that the stranger witcher hadn’t deigned to give his name. So she turned to him, this time openly irritated. “What is your name, Mr. Witcher, without school and medallion?”
The man at the table slowly straightened and stood up. He waited for an unbearably long moment to react before he turned to face them. And he looked straight at Lambert.
Everything that happened next took fractions of a second. Lambert inhaled sharply and immediately reached into his belt pouch. He took a silver orion out of there and threw it at the strange witcher, but he seemed to be waiting for it. He put his hand out in a defensive gesture, the star digging into his right hand. If he hadn't, it would have hit him in the chest, but not in any vital place.
Keira absolutely didn’t understand what was going on, but since Lambert attacked she had a defense spell on her lips, ready to stun the second monster slayer. She noticed that as Lambert made his throw, he hissed in pain, which meant he must have been injured. Keira had a firm resolve not to let him fight an opponent who was left-handed and in full strength. Unlike him.
“Easy, sorceress, he was just checking,” the red-haired witcher said, very slowly showing his hand to her with an orion in it. “This toy is silver.” After that, with a firm wave of his arm, he threw the star aside, which dug into the wooden floor at their feet, leaving a bloody streak behind it.
Keira was still holding the active spell in her clenched fist, but after this declaration she lost her vigilance. Her eyes followed the orion, then looked up at Lambert.
Her witcher after this violent reaction stared at the other man. Keira hadn’t seen such an expression on his face before. Lambert was absolutely shocked and furious.
"He's checking to see if I'm a doppler,” the stranger kept both of his hands in plain view, as if he were making a gesture to assure them he was not a threat. “I'm not,” he added softly. “Otherwise I wouldn’t have held silver in my hand. I'm bleeding so I'm not a ghost either. I can also tell the story of your commemorative swords to prove that I’m not a fraud. I know what the inscription is on the steel blade, and the sorceress knows I didn't get to see it outside the scabbard when I got here. Anyway, ask me any question yourself to test me.”
So Lambert asked: “Aiden, what actual the fuck?!”
“Aiden?” Keira looked at the stranger no less surprised than her witcher.
She knew the name, Lambert once, being heavily drunk, told her about him. She knows who Aiden is. Or who he was, because from the information she had it was clear that she was dead. Meanwhile, he was standing right in front of them, safe and sound, with puppy eyes. Now she understood why Lambert had attacked him, generally seeing someone who should be dead never bodes well. She tried to understand how this was possible, but suddenly realized something else.
First of all: Aiden knew from the beginning what he was here for. He was aware that the witcher Keira was working with was Lambert. He wanted to buy fucking swords because he knew them well - they had belonged to him before. And he was well aware that if he came at this time, he would find only the sorceress here. He came to take a look at her, test her, tease her, and mock her.
Second: Lambert has been mourning Aiden for a really long time. It could have been avoided. However, he allowed him to suffer and murder in the name of wrongs that probably didn’t take place.
In an instant she went mad and did something that neither of the two witchers apparently expected. She didn't really know when she let out the spell that hit Aiden hard and threw him against the wall. Before he could pick himself up, she caught up with him, casting another spell. The witcher began to choke.
“Did you have fun?” she hissed furiously and raised her clenched fist with the spell upwards, as if she was pulling an invisible cord, thus forcing Aiden to look at her. His pupils were constricted to thin vertical lines, he tried desperately to gasp for air, certainly unable to answer questions. "You miscalculated my dear, you shouldn't mess with someone who might wipe the floor with you!"
"Keira!” Lambert grabbed the sorceress's wrist like a vise, Keira released the spell, and Aiden finally caught his breath. "That's enough!”
“Sorry, I got carried away,” she said weakly, trying to get her balance back. Her heart pounded like a hammer. "But he's been provoking me ever since he got here and he finally got it."
“All this violence is absolutely unnecessary,” Aiden croaked, still kneeling on the floor rubbing his neck. “Can we talk? I'll explain everything.”
"Dead people don't talk, Aiden," Lambert said in a voice that an iceberg wasn't ashamed of. He stared down at him with a mixture of anger and disbelief.
“I've always been special.” Aiden smiled brightly at him. “Come on, give me a chance.”
This smile was completely different from the one he presented Keira for the last half hour. Most of all it was sincere and gentle. He looked at Lambert with trust as if he knew he would agree, regardless of the proposal.
Lambert let out an irritated huff, leaned over, grabbed Aiden by the neck like an unruly kitten and, grimacing in pain, pulled him to his feet.
Something wrong with the right shoulder, Keira noted in her mind. It was the second time he had to use it that he showed signs of discomfort.
“I mourned you, you asshole,” Lambert growled angrily, still holding his collar. “I killed a lot of people to avenge you. You better have a fucking good explanation of this farce.”
“I’m sincerely touched by your devotion.” The smile didn’t leave Aiden's face. "And if it comforts you, you haven't killed anyone who didn't deserve it."
Lambert's eyebrow twitched dangerously. Keira thought that just a moment longer and her witcher would kill someone who definitely deserved it, and then he would regret it very much.
"Okay, that's enough." She interrupted their exchange of glances. “Let's go to the back room, sit down, talk quietly and dress your wounds. Lambert, let go of him and take it off, I want to see your arm.”
They both looked at her in surprise, but neither moved. They irritated her immediately.
“What, did I stutter?“ She huffed and gestured in the direction. “In the back, like, right fucking now. I don't need a client to come and find this scene.”
“You're letting her to boss you around?“ Aiden glanced at Lambert, one eyebrow raised in an act of ironic disbelief.
“Don't piss me off, or I'll let her finish what she started,” the other witcher hissed in response and obediently moved to the back, dragging Aiden with him.
Keira went to the front door and locked it. It was going to be a long and stormy evening, she decided that there would be enough clients for today.
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The Monster in the Port Mafia's Basement
What tale will I tell you tonight, love? I have pretty ones, the sort of shiny baubles I could sell at a flea market for a dollar apiece. They glitter in the sunshine but they’re made of glass. You can see straight through them. But those are boring. Boring to tell, boring to listen to. You know how those end, anyway.
Well, I’ve got a couple sad ones. Real tearjerkers, you know. A brother and a sister torn apart by the machinations of a great and hungry beast, a pair of lovers who can never truly touch...maybe a woman who would rather choke on flowers rather than ruin something lovely and pure. Do those bore you, my dear? You look as if you’re spacing out.
I have just the story for you, then. I’ll tell it just as I was told, and you can’t complain about the ending. Or the middle bits. Do be warned, love. It’s not a nice tale at all.
Deep in the bowels of the Port Mafia’s base, there lives a monster.
What’s the Port Mafia, you ask? A group of smugglers, with their claws dug deep into the underbelly of Japan. Their reach stretched westward, consuming entire cities with their own lust for profit. In the end, they destroyed themselves, as all great and terrible things with claws and teeth do. But this story takes place long before that, so don’t worry your little head about it. Just listen.
Now, where was I?
Ah. Deep in the bowels of the Port Mafia’s base, there lived a monster. For all I know, she’s still down there, writhing and snapping at anything that comes too close.
The Port Mafia was well acquainted with monsters. Their boss was a serpent in human skin, with fangs held tight behind his smile. His second was an angry, rampaging god, who never did make much of an effort to keep his talons sheathed. And while he left of his own accord, though that’s an entirely different story, the man who kept the monsters caged was born under the Port Mafia’s stretching shadow.
So when they found this particular monster, a young girl no older than thirteen, they did what they did best. Instead of letting the dark in her burn away with the sunshine, they tossed her deep into the bowels of the beast.
She did terrible things down there, dear. Perhaps at first she was made to eat the apple, but soon she began to enjoy the taste. And that’s how little baby monsters, who can still become people through no small amount of healing, grow into adult monsters with eyes that flash in the dark and claws to pierce your skin. You were a baby monster, you know, just like me. Now look at you, all grown and clutching the handle of your teacup like a civilized being. I’m quite proud of how far you’ve come, you know.
The sad bit about this monster in the Port Mafia’s basement, though, is that she was never meant to be one. By some accident of birth, some people are just going to grow up into dark, twisted little things, and no amount of happy circumstances will change that. But she was always meant to be a flower of the light, unlike you and I, who had to fight tooth and nail for sunshine.
The greatest tragedy, I think, is that she never got that chance.
Ah, but I’m rambling. Do indulge an old woman, love.
I heard this story from a boy who went down there, into that hungry darkness beneath the Port Mafia’s towers. He’s now a man, as old as I, and you’ll be pleased to know he survived the monster to run the candy shop on the north end of this city. Perhaps you’ve met him? No? Well, you never were one for sweets.
Regardless, this boy knew the monster. Not very well, I’d say. He told me that they had only talked once, and so I asked him why he went. He told me that once was all he’d needed.
Do I know what they talked about? No, unfortunately. You’ll have to ask him yourself.
I do know, however, that they met because of their mentors. Hers was that great snake I mentioned. He was always so fond of warping young, powerful flowers into decaying husks of themselves.
Ah, of course I knew him well. He was an improvement on the old Boss, if only because the snake had a brain and knew how to use it. He wouldn’t send me to my death out of spite, or out of paranoia. He would send me to my death if it served him. Though, perhaps that makes him worse. Regardless, the monster’s master gave her a short leash, and so she followed him wherever he went.
The boy who told me this story also had a mentor. The Silver Fox, he used to be called. He’s dead now, long dead, of old age if I took his measure right. The snake and the fox were friends, once upon a time, and they remained friends as long as the fox turned a blind eye to his friend’s tricks. Perhaps the second tragedy is that he did so for too long to save her.
Regardless, they met once, when their masters went for tea. A week later, the boy would infiltrate the Port Mafia base. It took him hours, he told me. The layers of security then might have stopped even the greatest assassin. As far as I know, it has.
How did he do it? Well, I can only speculate. He never did tell me the details—but I suspect he has forgotten them. It was a long time ago. But know this: the boy may be as human as you or I, perhaps more so, but his mind was something far greater than anything we may possess. He could have become the greatest detective in the world if he so chose. And while I don’t know for sure, he might well have, if he hadn’t visited the monster’s lair.
It changed him, of course. Such things do. At the very least, you come out the other side of such a crucible fundamentally different, if not fundamentally warped. I do believe the boy was one of the lucky ones.
Somehow, he walked into the lowest level of the Port Mafia’s base with his head held high. When he arrived at the bottom of the stairs, there was only one door, with a little glass window to peek into. It was a 2-way mirror, so he could glance inside without fear. And make no mistake, the room was undoubtedly occupied. But the hallway was as quiet as the grave. Even his shoes, he told me, made no sound. He is the sort of man who notices such things.
Silently, the boy stepped to the window. It was a bit taller than him, he recalled, so he had to push up on his toes and brace himself on the door with his fingers. He only remembers because he had to wipe away his fingerprints after. He looked inside, then—
What did he see? Dear, I’m trying to hold you in suspense. Be patient, and don’t interrupt.
As I was saying, he looked inside. And he saw the monster, sitting as calm as you please, in a little metal chair. She was wearing the business attire that the Port Mafia favored, always pretending at civility when they’re all dark, writhing things stuffed into a mortal shell. She had her legs crossed and her golden butterfly hairpin, which the boy told me was the first thing that had caught his eye, sat jauntily in her hair. She was sitting across a table from a man.
The man is not important. He must have been a failure of some kind, someone who hedged on a deal or leaked information to the wrong person. He could have been anyone.
Oh, honestly, don’t look at me like that. I’m not callous, I’m realistic.
But he was laid on that table like an offering, tied down with hospital-issue restraints. He had a strange expression on his face. The boy hesitated when he told me this part, as if he couldn’t quite find the words. I’ll repeat them to you.
“Terror,” he told me. “Terror and bliss and some unspeakable dread.”
But also, the boy said, he looked so very tired, as if he could slump over at any moment. The monster smiled at the man, then leaned forward over the table. He couldn’t hear what she was saying to him, but he could read lips well enough at the time. Apparently, he picked it up during a stint in the police academy. From what he could tell, from that foggy two-way mirror, she was murmuring a poem to him. Some sort of lyrics, anyway. He told me that she recited an entire poem to this quivering mess of a man, but he only recalled one line after.
“Kimi shinitamou koto nakare,” she whispered to him. “Thou shalt not die.”
And a thousand butterflies burst from her, flashing red and purple and brilliant gold, descending upon the man in a swarm. They perched upon his head and shoulders, upon his arms, upon his chest. They covered him like a living blanket of jewels. But instead of looking awed, the boy told me, the man looked horrified. He began to babble pleas for rescue, for mercy, for salvation, but the monster only smiled wider.
Then she flicked her fingers, twirling a scalpel between them. She cut the poor man open on that table, surrounded by butterflies. The boy could only watch as she dissected him with all the precision of a surgeon and the calm cynicism of someone who had done so a thousand times. And yet, when the man, by all rights, should have passed from this world to the next—the butterflies, the terrible, beautiful butterflies, flapped their wings. It felt like the air was sucked from the entire floor, the boy told me, as he watched the butterflies whirl around the man like a plague of locusts.
When he could see the man again, he was perfectly whole. His skin unblemished, his blood no longer staining the table, and his face no longer slack with agony. The boy watched the monster cut him open again, and again, and again, each recitation of that poem bringing forth a new cloud of insects to pass judgement on his soul.
He never opened that door. It had been his intent, he admitted to me, to open the door and tell her that they could run away together. That the snake would never find her, not if he had anything to say about it. But after watching her cut that man open a thousand times and putting him back together with a murmur, he turned around. He wiped his fingerprints off of the door. And he left the base, never to return.
You look sick, love. Drink your tea. I warned you, you know. The story of the monster in the Port Mafia’s basement was never going to be a nice one, or one with a happy ending. I still don’t know what happened to her. She would be an old woman like me, now. Perhaps she has died. Perhaps that curious ability of hers means she cannot die at all. Perhaps she will live forever and ever, longer than any monster has a right to, and watch us all perish from this earth.
Too dark? My apologies. And here you are, taking the time out of your busy workday to talk to your poor, elderly mother. I do adore you, Kyouka. I don’t think I tell you that enough.
--
Thou Shalt Not Die always made me wonder if it could be applied to torture and interrogation. This fic exists in the same universe as They Took Her, if you were wondering--my dark little AU.
#fanfiction#bungou stray dogs#bungo stray dogs#bungou stray dogs fanfiction#bsd#akiko yosano#bsd manga spoilers#kind of#barely#mori ougai#kouyou ozaki#izumi kyouka#mom kouyou#one shot#horror#psychological thriller#angst#edogawa ranpo#aurie writes
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