#THIS ISNT ABOUT ROSE WE CAN STOP THINKING ABOUT THAT WHITE GIRL FOR 1 SECOND. IDC

[aq2003]

really love how throughout a lot of smith and jones martha is really skeptical and apprehensive towards ten (+ one of my favorite exchanges between them - "what, people call you 'the doctor'?" "yeah?" "well, i'm not. far as i'm concerned, you've got to earn that title."), not taking everything he says at face value, even doubting the fact he's an alien until over halfway through the episode.. And like. i really truly think the thing that wins her over isn't him kissing her or any of the other insane mixed messages he manages to send, it's this scene here, where he /earns that title/ in her eyes:

(+ david's bit in the commentary, where he says: "[the doctor] has actually sacrificed himself, and - i would say, that that final act of selflessness is what finally, eventually, welds martha to him. [...] and she now returns it. she returns that act of selflessness.")

this is what their relationship is built on. it isn't about martha being the second-best replacement to rose or a rebound or whatever. bc it isn't really about rose. it's about doctor-in-training martha meeting someone (quite literally, "the doctor") whose ideals she aspires to, and doing her best to be the same person to him as he is to everyone else. it's about ten in return admiring her intelligence and inquisitiveness and how she cares for human life, recovering his compassion, letting himself lean on her for support - and then remembering at the most inopportune moments that he's supposed to not need anyone and be on his own forever. And around in their little nightmare loop they go where they save each other over and over until one of them breaks

i've seen ppl look at martha and go "why she does she admire/why is she so in love with ten if he acts like that to her?" or something along those lines and like. it's not just the fact she's in love with him (in fact i'd argue she actively tries to push it aside post-gridlock). it's the fact that she knows he's the kind of person to put everyone else's lives/well-being over his own. she trusts him to save her when she's in trouble even though it's been like two days at most that they've known one another bc she recognizes that same "deep all-encompassing drive to help others" in him. and she also recognizes, much much earlier than him, that he needs someone to save him, especially when he's unwilling to save himself. and yeah for a bit she thinks he returns her feelings and is just playing hard-to-get, but she realizes pretty early on that this probably isn't the case, and i think that realization fully solidifies here:

(this is when she's listening to ten talk abt gallifrey). And idk it might just be me but i think this expression isn't just her empathizing with his loss. it's also guilt, for wanting something from him that he's clearly unable to give when he's wracked with so much grief. (and you see it in the next episode, where tallulah asks if they're together and martha says for certain that they're not, and that he doesn't know about her feelings for him. she keeps everything to herself bc she now knows that when he shut her flirting down at the end of 3x01 it was the genuine reaction of someone who a) isn't interested and b) is scared of getting close with someone else again)

freema described their dynamic as "she's keener than him" and i think about this all the time. martha doesn't really take what ten throws at her. what she does instead is constantly poke holes in his already-failing front of "i will show someone the wonders of the universe so i can ignore what is wrong with me". what she does is stand up and fight him when he tries to go off on his own. what she does is put aside her well-being in favor of helping someone - just like what she saw him do for the people in the hospital when they first met. tldr, that's the doctor and his doctor and rip martha you would've loved who's gonna save u now by rina sawayama

#THIS ISNT ABOUT ROSE WE CAN STOP THINKING ABOUT THAT WHITE GIRL FOR 1 SECOND. IDC #ALL SHE DOES W REGARDS TO MARTHA IS REMIND HER THAT TEN ISNT GOING TO FALL IN LOVE W HER. #ALL SHE DOES W REGARDS TO TEN IS REMIND HIM THAT EVERY TIME HE LOVES SOMEONE HES FATED TO LOSE THEM. WE CAN IGNORE HER PAST THIS. GBLESS #martha jones #tenth doctor #dr who #ten and martha #'theyre like a rebound' shooting you with my laser eyes sorry. martha says it when she still thinks he's taking her on dates #if he hadn't opened up about gallifrey she would've been totally fine w him taking her back home #and meanwhile ten is very unaware of any kind of romantic element until like the fuckinn. last possible moment lmfao #they are doctor and mentally unstable bus driver. Or perhaps grieving man (genderneutral) and their One (1) friend that has to support them #um idk what this post is. i wanted to pick apart martha's brain for a hot second. #edit: #it's not like 5 am and i'm reading these tags and they're a lot more mean than i meant to put them down as #Not changing them bc i already wrote so much it's out there in the world already sorry. just imagine i'm saying this all nicely #10 era

[dregstrash]

Earning the Present(s) [3/4]

Who says presents have to be given on Christmas? (me, the very late, very sorry fic writer)-- another long one folks

Part 1 || Part 2

Summary: Five years after the events of the Ice Court, the six outcasts were in the prime of their lives. They had everything they had fought and bled for: money, power, promise, home. But this holiday season, a surprisingly altruistic event has them all under the same roof, and they all may have been a little older and a little wiser, but they were still those teenagers who had done the impossible and had almost died countless of times. And when the idea of a holiday gift exchange comes up the true test of their friendship and their growth is thrown into the rink.

-----------------------

WYLAN

Wylan wasn’t sure how he could have possibly ended up here. Whether or not it was by Ghezen’s Hand or from Inej’s saints, but he was positive that it had to be some sort of cosmic intervention that had led him sitting in front of his fireplace, holding his husband’s hand, and surrounded by thieves and an ex-convict.

“That was quite the celebration, Wylan.” Inej said from her place by the window. “I think Kerch might do some good having an orphanage like that in its streets.”

“Thank you, Inej.” Wylan smiled at her. “Getting it past the Council was tough enough, but I’m just happy to give some of those kids a home.”

Jesper snorted beside him, “Yeah, now there actually might be space at The Slat.”

“How did you get those fat birds to donate to your cause anyhow?” Nina brought up. She was tucked firmly under Matthias’s arm and looked positively comfortable.

Wylan felt a slight blush at the measures he had taken to ensure the Council’s support of such an extravagant building to house the countless of orphans roaming the streets, and he tried his best not to look at Kaz as he said, “Let’s just say the right leverage was applied.”

“Oh saints,” Nina rolled her eyes then turned a lazy finger towards Kaz, “You need to stop corrupting his sweet mind.”

Kaz’s lips twitched, “Van Eck doesn’t need me to corrupt his brain. That’s why he keeps Fahey around.”

“Hey,” Jesper protested, “That’s Mr. Van Eck to you, Brekker.”

Wylan grinned and settled to drink his tea as the argument continued on. He wasn’t particularly proud of asking Ketterdam’s most notorious villain to help to threaten the Kerch Council to make this orphanage happen, but he didn’t regret it either. He would have paid for the construction of the building himself, but the land that he was eyeing for the site was owned by the city. When Wylan had brought up his request, one of his father’s oldest friends (who had held a grudge against Wylan ever since his father received his life sentence in jail) suggested that the land would be best used for other means. 

And before he knew it, Wylan’s plans of the orphanage were starting to fall apart before they had even begun. It wasn’t just the orphanage that had been upsetting him. It was how easily the Council had looked over his request and how the idea of building an estate for the very act of charity was less worthy. Echoes of his father’s voice had resounded in his head, and this startlingly new conviction settled in his chest and one thing led to another and he had found himself sitting awkwardly in front of Kaz Brekker at The Slat stumbling through the situation.

“I’m willing to pay you half of the exported sugar I have coming in this month, if you can help get this off the ground.”

Kaz hadn’t moved throughout the entire exchange. He could have been a statue as Wylan talked and his dark eyes stayed steadily on him. Even when he had finished talking he remained still.

“Does Jesper know you’re here?”

“He does, and he highly discouraged me from coming. Something about getting into bed with a demon.” Wylan had explained.

“At least being married to you finally wised him up,” Kaz murmured before he looked past Wylan and got a familiar, distant expression on his face. “That sugar shipment, it’s coming from Zemini, isn’t it?” He had finally said.

Wylan didn’t bother asking how he knew that, “Yes.”

“The ship it’s on has one of the largest cargo holds in your fleet.” He said again. Wylan nodded. “Hmm...I’ll help if I can take that ship off of your hands for the rest of the year.”

“What are you going to do with it?” Wylan asked raising his eyebrow.

“I have certain business ventures across the sea, that require speed and space.”

“Right.”

“And just so we’re clear, Wylan. You’re asking me to convince certain members of the merchant council to approve your plans for this orphanage? Through any means necessary?”

“Yes.” Wylan cleared his throat, “It’s a good plan and this city could deal with at least some kindness. Even if it comes through the Bastard of the Barrel himself.”

Kaz’s sharp smile caught Wylan off guard.

 “Then the deals the deal, merchling.” He held out his gloved hand and Wylan shook it firmly. “Wait a couple weeks and suggest the plan again. You’ll probably be able to start construction soon after that.”

And true to his word, Wylan went back to the council and no sooner had he finished did they approve the plans and even called it Ghezen’s work that an orphanage should be built to educate those who had nothing. Jesper had scoffed at the reasoning, but was just as excited as his husband when Wylan drew up blue prints, started to hire crew members, and then ultimately its grand opening.

Jesper had been by Wylan’s side through it all. He helped with some of the ground work, supervised when Wylan was away taking care of his mother, and calmed him when the ever-present self-doubt started to creep back in his mind. After the Ice Court job, it had seemed almost like a dream for someone like Jesper to stick around to Wylan, but there he was. Then his tall, Zemeni, thrill-addict boyfriend had really thrown him for an absolute loop when they had gone out to dinner on their backyard and he had gone down on one knee. It was all impossible, but then Wylan said yes and the impossible became possible. And with this orphanage now open, even that had become possible.

For that reason, he supposed it wasn’t that impossible to have all of the people that had survived the most dangerous heist ever to be conceived by anyone to be sitting around the fire ready to open presents.

“Okay,” Nina announced finally, “Me first. So as tradition dictates. Whoever picked first has to give the present first. If I remember correctly, Matthias picked a name. Okay, my dear Fjerdan, who’d you have?”

“Uh,” Matthias said hesitantly. He pulled out a long, rectangular box from behind him and kept his eyes on the present. “I-uh-I didn’t know what else to get you, um, Inej.” The girl in question raised her eyebrows in surprise and stood up from the window, “But, I hope you find it suitable.”

Inej walked over and opened the box slowly. Wylan watched as Inej smiled gratefully as she pulled out a beautiful double-edged knife with a white marble handle.

“It’s of Fjerdan make,” Matthias explained his face flushing, “The inscription is from-uh- Fjerdan saint and uh-”

“Thank you,” Inej interrupted and further surprised the bulky man with a hug.

Matthias smiled in relief and returned the gesture.

“Splendid, Jesper you’re next.” Nina said.

“Ah, finally,” Jesper grinned widely as he separated his hand from Wylan’s. He dug around in his pants pocket and produced two small boxes. Wylan recognized the smile that was lighting up his face and he felt his insides swirl at whatever his husband had decided to gift their friend.

“Now, dearest Nina, since you only deserve the best. I hope these will suffice.” He tossed both boxes at her and she caught them deftly, “Though, I think one of those might actually be for Helvar.”

Curious, Nina opened the first box and positively giggled as she held up a scrap of black lace lined with a blood red border. If Matthias’s face was red before, it was practically boiling now. Even Wylan felt a slight blush creep around his neck.

“Ah, Jes, you shouldn’t have.” She held out the undergarments out for everyone to see and slyly glanced at her Fjerdan, “Think of all the things we could do with this, sweet.”

Matthias looked away fast and everyone laughed at his reaction.

Still giggling Nina unwrapped Jesper’s second present and the smile that settled on her face was far more genuine and real than Wylan had ever seen on her. “Jesper Llewelyn, how did you get this?”

Nina held up a thin chain up from the box and revealed a beautiful sun charm. It glinted against the fire light warmly, and had a clear jewel in the middle. 

Jesper shrugged, “I was in Little Ravka in the other day, and I happened to befriend a very talented Fabrikator. He insists it’s the purest form of gold out there.”

“Thank you,” Nina said.

“You’re welcome,” Jesper smiled back.

Wylan couldn’t help but reach back for his hand. It was so rare to see him this comfortable with anyone else or with any other group of people. He was never comfortable with any of the men that Wylan did business with and all of Jesper’s other friends lived far too close to the gambling halls. So to see him so happy made Wylan’s heart flutter in his chest.

The night went on and with each unwrapping came a surprised shock of actually receiving a perfect gift. Inej gave Jesper finely crafted holsters for his guns. Nina gave Wylan a Grisha made flute, that Jesper insisted he played for everyone. He obliged and marveled at the artistry of the instrument and the clear and pure notes that emanated from it. Then came for Kaz to give his gift and Wylan couldn’t deny the sudden shift of mood as they all waited for Kaz to come back from wherever he went to fetch his gift.

“Alright, Helvar,” Kaz reentered the room with a hefty box under his arm, “This was hell to try to get, but try not to kill it.”

He all but shoved the box at Matthias’s lap and went back to his seat by the fire. The other boy looked curiously at the plain box curiously.

Matthias’s furrowed brow quickly rose up as whatever in the box made a loud bark. Nina peered in and her mouth dropped in an almost comical O shape.

“How-what-I-” Matthias stammered as he lifted a gray and white pup out of the container.

Wylan gaped at the small creature that was now sniffing at Matthias curiously and even dared to nibble at the giant’s thumb. It let out a small whimper before Nina instinctively stroked it behind its ears. 

“He is adorable! Look at him!” She squealed.

Kaz shrugged, “I did a favor for a Fjerdan a while back, and I had a pack delivered to me for security reasons. As it happens, I had a litter of these runts running around and I kept a couple before getting rid of the rest.”

“By ‘getting rid’ do you mean a quick trip down the canal?” Jesper said hesitantly.

“Ugh,” Nina shivered, not taking her eyes off the dog, “Please don’t answer that, Brekker, I don’t want to hear the truth or the potential lie.”

Kaz’s lip twitched, but he stayed silent.

Matthias’s bewildered blue gaze met Kaz for a moment before he stammered out a quick, “Thank you, demji.”

A bemused expression settled in Kaz’s eyes before he saluted him in acknowledgement. 

The puppy was yawning and Wylan could have laughed at the sight of such a small thing nestled in Matthias’s large hand. And if Wylan was completely honest with himself, he could have laughed at the fact that Kaz had even thought of being so considerate. That he went out of his way to think of something Matthias would actually want-- that his gift was so small, fluffy, and....wholesome. 

“What are you going to name him?” Wylan asked finally.

Matthais looked down at the animal and nuzzled his face with its snout, “I’m going to name him Trassel....after a good friend of mine.”

Nina peered into the blue and black eyes of the puppy, and cooed to it, “Hi, Trassel. Welcome to the family.”

The dog barked cheerfully at that and settled to rubbing his face against Matthias’s hand.

After a few moments all eyes turned towards Wylan who had yet to give his present.

“Ah, right,” He said, suddenly feeling nervous. He got up from his seat and went behind the curtain to retrieve the long rectangular box. His stomach fluttered with anxiety as he made his way back to the circle of his friends. It wasn’t so much the giving of the present, but knowing what the recipient might do with the gift gave him a slight pause. But as he neared Kaz, he shrugged away the discomfort. 

“Here you go, Kaz, hopefully it’ll serve as a good backup.” 

Kaz took the box hesitantly, and ripped open the box. Wylan held his breath as he delicately lifted a cane. The handle was shaped like a crow about to take flight, and its dark-wood finely engraved with jagged lines, and its tip tapered into a fine point. 

“It’s-” Wylan started to explain in the midst of Kaz’s silence, “It’s Grisha made so it shouldn’t break when there’s a substantial amount of force applied. And- if you twist the handle-”

Before Wylan finished the thought, Kaz twisted the handle and the pointed end of the cane opened up and the neutral expression Kaz had kept on his face disappeared. He smiled as he examined the turned cane and the new opening of the cane.

“You made me a gun.” There was a slight hint of a laugh in his voice. 

“Wylan, my dear,” Jesper said looking amused and concerned all at once, “Did you just give the most deadly man in the barrel a weapon that is not only as strong as his current cane, but also a gun?”

He shrugged and tried to fight the smugness working its way in his chest at Kaz’s reaction to his gift. He had his own reservations when he had come up with the plans as soon as he knew who he had gotten for this secret gift exchange. Wylan had debated about it for a full day before he had drawn up the plans and then set up a meeting with Ketterdam’s few Fabrikators. There were always going to be monsters in Ketterdam, those with longer and sharper teeth, and he supposed it wouldn’t hurt having one of those monsters as an ally and providing him with one more tooth.

“Well, Wylan,” Kaz’s grin was the widest he’s ever seen on him, “I will say, you never cease to surprise me.”

He twisted the handle restoring the cane to its proper form. 

At this Wylan did smile at Kaz. That was the closest thing to a compliment he’s given him in recent years and even if he had stopped working with the Dregs, there was still a small part of Wylan that couldn’t forget about his past. That feeling of doing a job well done or even earning a place in Kaz’s crew. 

And as the night continued on, with people playing with their presents in anyway they could, whether that be taking turns holding Trassel or making Wylan play or Nina offering to teach them some Ravkan games, Wylan couldn’t help but marvel at the warmth and radiating from the people around him. And when he noticed that Kaz had managed to slip away quietly, he decided that they needed this-- all of them. 

The crew who broke into the Ice Court, brought down a member of the Merchant Council, conned multiple countries, and fabricated their own plague, needed a chance to feel like the world wasn’t always escaping the past or fighting for their future. That for once they could sit around a fire with warm drinks in their bellies and live in the present.

--------------------------

Tags:  @krugerevengeinej @orangesnakesanddogs @i-hate-usernames45 @qrow-ismyspiritanimal @fangirl-ladybug @wraithpirate  @the-jennster @lagabygaby @rynli @noirmagic1 @shiyash @readmeaway @razz-dazzle-taz @queenofthebarrel @irepostthingsilike @irepostthingsilike @i-just-want-to-have-a-fun-time @smittenthing @highladyofthefoodcourt @emilily101 @sourbishop @nerd-in-a-galaxy-far-away @alexbeatthebass @writtenwordheart @icefire0722 @ladyofvroses @bbenwyatt @zxyjxy @burnin-through-the-sky @thewoofster @daniellepal @goodie-giving-gecko-gets-gatos @bree-the-sloth @universallyghostjudgecalzone @thecrownedcupcake17 @kayleed77 @kanejandkruge

#wylan van eck #jesper fahey #Kaz Brekker #inej ghafa #matthias helvar #six of crows #wesper #kanej #helnik #im going to pretend that its still the holiday season #part 4 should be up soon

[blueincandescence]

A Non-Toxic Reading of TLJ

http://scavengersholocron.com/category/home/why-the-last-jedi-isnt-just-bad-its-toxic/

This article — “Why The Last Jedi isn’t just Bad: It’s Toxic” — is going around tumblr as the best compilation of TLJ’s faults. I read it eagerly, hoping to understand what I missed. It’s a very thoughtful read and it made me think a lot about my assumptions. 

I still feel that there is a valid non-toxic reading of TLJ, because the arguments are predicated on two beliefs that I simply don’t share.

1) Kylo Ren is portrayed as sympathetic.

I never felt that. Fuck Kylo Ren. He gets a deeper backstory. Luke isn’t perfect. It’s more complicated. Blah, blah. In the end, he isn’t redeemed; his redemption is shown to be a lost cause.

From the article:

In other words, there’s nothing relatable when you think about a wealthy white male growing up sure of his place in the world and deciding to leave it all behind to join a fascist organization.

Exactly! That’s what the movie shows.

So the argument is that Johnson says that Kylo “is relatable because of his angst.” And, yeah, that piece may be somewhat relatable to some people. I find it insufferable and I’ve been rolling my eyes at this trash character from day one. But he’s a perfect example of millennial fascism. Kylo Ren is the living embodiment of, “Cool story, bro. It’s still murder.”

But wait, wouldn’t that mean that Rey’s entire role in the movie basically focused on developing Kylo Ren as a character? It does, and you wouldn’t be wrong to think that way.

I was pretty checked out during the Rey/Ren scenes and was really hoping they would go nowhere. Which they did! Rey does the Luke Skywalker thing of trying to save the villain but the villain doesn’t want to be saved because he is the worst so she leaves him to his fate. Subverted!

The Kylo Ren I watched on screen is not sympathetic. He’s pathetic. Will that stop shippers from glorifying him? No, but Rey rejects Kylo’s millennial fascism our-version-of-Nazisim-is-different-we’ll-be-benevolent-violent-dictators bullshit outright, so they’re still stuck in la la land.

2) That characters have to be perfect for us to love them.

They don’t! Heroes are fallible! NO ONE IS PERFECT. We all have lessons to learn. The good guys in this movie learn their lessons and become more admirable. The bad guys (spoiler! Kylo Ren) do not learn their lesson and doom themselves. 

Finn:

Again, from the article:

Until The Last Jedi where Finn is again painted as selfish and cowardly, and the film does not shy away from this fact.

Here’s some meta I wrote about Finn’s arc in TLJ. Finn’s arc isn’t that he’s a coward who becomes brave. It’s that he’s mistrustful of causes. Why on earth should he put his life on the line for the Resistance? Finn sees the world as morally gray. He tries to leave in TFA because he wants to live and, after all the terrible things he’s been through, he deserves it. His arc is about coming to terms with his identity as “rebel scum.”

Not to mention, it’s Rose who ultimately has to teach Finn about the seedy belly of Canto Bight and how it operates: through slave labor. Another character shouldn’t have to explain to Finn, of all characters, the tortures and ills of slavery. After all, that’s the only life Finn’s known, taken as his family and raised in a life of servitude as a Stormtrooper to the First Order.

Rose doesn’t teach Finn about the horrors of slavery. She prompts him to see it under the glitz and glamour of a freedom he’s never gotten to enjoy. The instant Finn realizes that slavery and torture are behind Canto Bright he rejects the whole place. Precisely because he doesn’t need to be taught that. His experience of slavery is much more stark and, well, fascist than Rose’s. But he never tries to deny that they’re equally bad. 

Finn is tempted by the gray side. But Benecio’s character snaps him out of that funk right quick. He takes his place as a leader of the Resistance. Destiny doesn’t tell him he has to be. No one passes on the mantle. He figures out what his morality is and makes a stand. That’s heroic!

Poe:

Painting him as a cocky flyboy with a chip on his shoulder just doesn’t work when it goes against everything we’ve been told about his character. The “lesson” Poe was supposed to learn was one he already knew.

What do we learn about Poe in TFA? He’s the best and he has the ear of General Leia. The rest is fanon and outside texts that a fraction of the audience have read. Poe is reckless in the way that action movies reward all male heroes for being. 

I didn’t feel less sympathetic toward Poe because of this. The whole plot is predicated on the idea that the audience will be on Poe’s side and mistrust Holdo. Poe is the character we care about, so it’s a surprise to learn that he can be wrong. In that way, “the action-oriented hero saves the day” trope is deconstructed.

Is it done well? Eh. The Holdo plot was contrived. There needed to be a better reason to keep the info secret — some stuff about spies or whatever, fine. Make an effort. But Holdo’s mistake makes us more sympathetic to Poe, even though he’s wrong his heart was in the right place. 

That’s precisely why he is rewarded in the end with command of the entire Resistance from General Leia herself. He’s learned that the best strategy for the Resistance is not the one that does the most damage to the First Order — the Resistance protects its people whenever humanly possible.

This is the feminist (in the philosophical sense; not the guy vs. girl bullshit) identity of the resistance that sets it apart from the masculine military-industrial complex the film abhors: Life is sacred. But, as we learn through Finn’s arc, choosing to put your life on the line is a heroic act. And thus we have balance. Finn and Poe make some mistakes along the way, but they end up exactly where they should be: The Leaders of the Resistance.

Rose:

Despite Kelly Marie Tran’s boundless enthusiasm for her role, Rose Tico is ultimately underwhelming as a character. Despite mourning the death of her sister, her ultimate presence in the film seemed to be reduced to a girl with a bad crush on Finn.

No!!!!!! Rose is fabulous. Rose stands up for herself at all times. Rose goes from hero worship to taser in ten seconds flat. And yes tasering a black man is in horrible taste given the world we live in. What standing up to Finn demonstrates about her character is that she’s representative of Ride or Die Resistance. She knows the world and its horrors. She mourns her sister but she’s proud as hell. She understands she’s only a tech but when she has expertise in something she doesn’t let the two most famous men in the Resistance talk over her.

Her crush on Finn is active. When Finn disappoints her, her conception of him changes. When Finn amazes her, her feelings take root. She does something about her crush. She saves his life. She kisses him. Rey is no longer the center of Finn’s universe. His capacity care grows and he grows, too. He still feels for Rey, sure, but Rose Tico is amazing and he knows it and the audience knows it.

...

All that said.

I will acknowledge that it is entirely possible I’m giving the movie too much credit. Maybe I'm willfully interpreting things not as they were meant, but as I would like them to be.

But isn’t that how fiction works?

I’m not saying TLJ is a perfect film or I wouldn’t have wanted less Kylo (please, lord, give me less Kylo). I would never say that other people’s interpretation of the film’s racism and misogyny is wrong. I’m going to continue to read articles on this topic and educate myself and try to grow in my understanding.

But is it wrong to celebrate the message I left the theater with if I can point to concrete moments and ways I read it as progressive? Is it wrong for me to love these characters and see the best in their arcs?

#the last jedi #rose tico #finn #poe dameron #star wars meta #star wars #star wars the last jedi #bluesaid #may the queue be with you

[sheencko]

mr. moreau

an unfinished scrap of a novel i am not sure ill continue

i can see it its a diamond with the crossroads its white borders from my cracked window up here

i ‘ave to get that fixed)—  just below the fog (the fog is low today)

—and its on top of the street that was just painted

oh yesterday or maybe the day before that

or something,

i think

black as my genevieve’s ‘air

two bodies crisscrossed atop of each other and splattered like paint on a black canvas, a pollack of angry reds and i cant see their face cause theyve been ravaged by the hard concrete and im so high up looking down like a dreamer into a field of rye and i shudder because oh, how painful is that but i also suppose,

when youre fallin i guess you only feel the woosh of the wind under you and maybe your soul leaves your body before your body breaks into a million teeny tiny pieces and everything inside you that youve ever dreamed flows out of you like a bucket tipping over onto a tile floor—maybe

maybe its a perpetual fear and youre trapped inside a perpetual cycle of mind numbing terror because youre falling to your doom and you regret that your feet left the edge in the first place and maybe, maybe you shoulda called your mom and then told her that you loved her one last time or apologized to the man that you bumped into while you were hurrying home yesterday and the tears are flying from your face ‘cause you can see them surrounding your grave wearin nothing but black and your father is silent but a kind of silent youve never seen before and in that second you can just SEE him taking the same path you are and then

maybe the fear grips your limbs like god coming down and punishing you but all you feel is a childish sort of aversion an “i dont wanna” cause you dont wanna—you dont wanna die cause you have so so much to live for and youre cryin to some big fat man up in the sky but whats he gonna do? he cant stop you

but i wouldn’ know but i took the elevator and went down to look at the scene anyway cause we’re all drawn to the misfortune of others anyway like nothing more than moths having an orgy on a blue flame

mr. steinway was next to me in the elevator; he lived on the 13th floor and i on the 12th i saw him smoking up on the roof sometimes. he was a gentleman by any other name, except the part where his wife left him cause hed been caught with a particularly young mistress but i suppose that didnt matter because he played ravel’s jeux d’eau like no one else in the world could and maybe he played her body like that homonymous six figure grand he has, who knows

his face was wrinkled and ugly but the melodies he played were smooth and beautiful so who cared about his damn visage i guess

“oh, mister moreau,” and for that matter, his voice wasnt particularly musical either

“steinway, are you heading down to see what happened?”

“arent we all,” he chuckled like the deaths were a funny little joke he had made up,

“i think i’ll stop by the grocery store”

“is that so?” he spoke like a conductor introducing a symphony to an ignorant audience and he was just trying to find a way to relive his days of performing inside carnegie hall’s stern auditorium because all he performed in now was his empty apartment, we around ‘im the unwilling listeners. he silently watched the floor numbers count down on the bar above the elevator doors 10 9 8 7 “i ‘aven’t been there lately.” he finally said like he had wondered how to talk without being offensive while still showing his pockets were full of gold.

dick, i thought 4 5

and waited and 2 1 and the doors opened.

our doorman greeted us. he was a fine fellow and i talked with him when it was too awkward for silence. he had a prized son about to head off to columbia on some scholarship or another and his younger daughter was expected to follow in his shoes. his mother was bedridden his dad dead and apparently he made a great deal of money working as a valet for the most expensive hotel in the city on the weekends. he liked the color orange and his ties were sometimes tied with a different knot because his daughter liked to practice on him. for lunch he preferred a simple tomato and mozzarella panini from the cafe a few blocks away but occasionally he partook in the pita bread and hummus that mrs. tomadakis on the fourth floor gave him and he always always despised it when someone moved the rug in front of the door. i didnt know his name.

“another suicide, huh?” he gave me a warm smile and mr. steinway a slightly cooler one

he said ‘another’ because it had been the eighth one this month and we were only fourteen days into it and silently, slowly we found ourselves heading towards a point of numb disassociation—when one person committed suicide it was all over the news like mr. steinway’s scandal and you learned their birthday, their name, their age,

every tiny detail of they had been, the sorrow of their friends and family,

and everything that happened between the day that they they came into the world and the day they left

and the people reacted with horror, the parents apologized to their kids and the kids to their parents, and the grief counselors opened their doors to those who had lost someone in a similar fashion and had to relive the memory through someone else’s eyes and maybe a wide-eyed girl holdin the blade to her small wrist told herself not today, not today

but of course, thats me being optimistic

sometime after the third suicide all that popped up was a name and a vague somethingorother reason they lit themselves on fire or shot themselves in the ‘ead or something and then a frown from the casters, maybe a tinge of sympathy entered their tone but then 10 seconds passed and they forgot because this was all part of a trend that would end. the people talked about the suicides in hushed tones but now the conservations were turning into a more questioning again? and a response of yeses and then it tended to be never discussed again because hey it didnt involve us anyhow

so the nameless bodies started to pile up one on top of each other and i knew the faces and names of maybe three or four but no more.

i nodded to him. “troubling,” i said, because what else could i say

“yes, definitely. my wife had me turn off the news last night because she was so… distressed at all the incidents lately” the doorman replied and there was a hint of something unknown when he said it. nonetheless he turned to the man next to me because his priorities were his own “I heard your playing the other day, mr. steinway. marvelous as always,” he said, voice turned slick because steinway gave good tips. he couldn’t hear anything from all the way on the 1st floor of course

mr. steinway looked chuffed, a prizewinning cock who fought with all the other roosters. “the debussy or the khachaturian?”

“the khachaturian, of course. i always find myself partial to the contemporary—“ the doorman said in an inviting tone to begin an conversation that would undoubtedly net him a few more dollars or maybe a lot more next week—

“interesting!” steinway murmured in that hushed tone since discussion of classical music was clearly some covert operation that no one was supposed to know about. i walked outside into the cool fall air knowing that they would be stuck there for a good ten minutes or more and noticed that the crowd around the two corpses in the middle was gone already and the first thing i wondered was not who they were but rather if dear genevieve had heard the news

there is a photographer standing by the bodies with her big old camera snap snap and she looks up and stares at me staring at her she stands up and i notice that the bottom of her pants have been scuffed by the road she smiles at me without dusting herself off,

“hello!” she was too cheery for the death in front of her “do you live here?” she is the only one out here and the world feels strangely empty

“yes, i” i pointed to the clean, modern building to the left “live just over there,”

she looked at me up and down up and down “you wouldn’t know these people would you?” no i wouldnt

“no” her face fell but then it rose again as she stuffed a card into my clammy hand and the bracelets on her hand jangled and she grinned at me with white teeth but the front two were crooked as if someone ‘ad taken a pair of pliers to them and her brown ‘air was messy, her skin lighter than mine—“i was just wondering since no one seems to know who they are” (she spoke in a rush like she was breathless) and i finally start to wonder indeed, who they are because even as corpses their hands are entwined together “i’m” and now that im down here i can see the fine details in their “photographer, i” faces and the one on the left has that dead fish look in their dark eyes and the eyes are wide open and theyre staring into “crime scenes” my very soul and i wonder if theyre blaming me for my being complicit in their deaths because i too heard the news and did nothing but “ive been in the news” my hands are shaking and i think i couldnt have done anything because i didnt know but something jabs me — a maybe i did know because i too heard the news and passed by disinterested “but i also do” and im staring back at them and theyre staring back at me in a staring contest that i know i will lose “family portraits, anything you need basically” and the one on the rights eyes are closed and the part of their face that isnt all burst open and spilling onto the floor has a tender charm and their lips are fixed in what seems like a peaceful smile but im thinking no there is no way that could be peaceful and oh “call the number if” their ‘ands are all so small if i could just have grabbed those before they jumped maybe id be staring at an empty black canvas instead of a grotesque exhibit of all that we ‘ave done wrong

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medium: human on concrete