#this scene in particular actually devastates me in a visceral way

[woahjo]

i think all the time about the line "in what year did fire lord sozin defeat the air nation army" and then aang responding "is this a trick question? the air nomads didn't have a formal army" and the implications of the history that the fire nation had been rewriting for a century. the implication that the air nomads (a peaceful nation) weren't brutally ambushed, but rather that they were ready to fight and may have even been eager to do so. absolving the fire nation of some of the guilt in a total genocide and painting the narrative that the air nomads were ready to defend themselves and/or that the attack on the air nomads was anything but a one sided ambush. i think about it a lot.

[hey-hey-j]

now that I've finished my rewatch of the entirety of SU here's my Top 10 Moments from the series in no particular order

- The entirety of "Something Entirely New" but especially the ending bit; Ruby and Sapphire's first fusion dance, so scared and so timid but so sure that they want this, that they want each other, and the way they're both humming the tune of "Stronger Than You" in unison right before forming Garnet for only the second time ever

- Amethyst's "I'm not going to let you stand there and remind me of everything I hate about myself!" because god YEAH if that isn't just. THE mood.

- The first time Steven and Connie form Stevonnie. There's just something about the writing in Alone Together that scratches at this particular itch in my brain and I love it so much. That sequence of Stevonnie running and laughing and jumping into the ocean......

- The opening scene of Watermelon Steven. Steven and Greg's relationship is one of my favorites in the entire show and I cherish every moment between them but there's just something about the mundanity of this scene that gets me. Just a father and son having fun fooling around with watermelon in the driveway of a carwash. Your Watermelojesty.....

- Ruby and Sapphire's argument near the end of Keystone Motel. It's weirdly my favourite Ruby and Sapphire interaction in the entire show because it just. Hurts but in a nice way? I like that they don't fully resolve the disagreement by the end! I like Ruby's line "You know what's nice about being split up? I get to look at you." I like Laughy Sapphy! I like Sapphire's little giggles as Ruby kisses her! I love Ruby and Sapphire and their relationship so much aaaaaaaghhhhh!!!!

- Steven calling out for Greg in Adventures in Light Distortion. Yeah it's DEVASTATING and it makes me WEEP every time but GOD. He was just a scared little boy crying out for his dad 😫😫😫

- FULL DISCLOSURE. I don't care what you think "Full Disclosure" is the best song in the entire series and I lose my entire shit every time I hear it. "You don't have to be a part of this / I don't think I want you to be / You don't need this / You don't need me...."

- Two moments from Keeping It Together: the scene in the Kindergarten when Garnet starts to fall apart, and her dialogue with Steven at the end of the episode. "You forget you were ever alone. And your old names might as well be names for your right arm, and your left." Steven and Garnet's relationship is hands down my favourite among Steven and the Gems and I just. Really really love how they're there for each other this entire episode.

- "Do you believe in destiny? / Close your eyes and leave the rest to me / Do you believe in fantasy? / I have to when it's right in front of me, oh / What are you doing here in the real world? / What are you doing here / so close I could touch you? / What are you doing here? / And what are you doing to me....."

- and this last one might actually be my favourite moment in the entire series: Steven's breakdown at the end of I Am My Monster. How cathartic it is. How overdue it is! Yeah, we'd heard Steven cry before but. Never like this. Raw and visceral and ugly and NEEDED. God I hope Zach Callison got the recognition he deserved for that performance because GOD. I will never stop thinking about it.

[katsidhe]

could you do 9.10 and 9.13 for episode reviews.

Love your takes btw.

9.10 Final Thoughts

well, well, well, if it isn’t my old friend season 9. God I love season 9. buckle in. 

Plenty of what season 9 tries to do with angel drama falls flat, but plenty of it doesn’t. It’s at its strongest when interrogating the ways that the angels are looking for personal purpose, rather than folding themselves into various suit-clad factions. In this episode, we have Gadreel, Abner, and Thaddeus, all with very different takes.

Thaddeus is the most boring of the three—a straightforward narcissist and sadist. (Lucifer will follow in his rockstar-impersonating footsteps in s12. SPN clearly has a dim view of the music industry.) We don’t care when he dies, and we aren’t meant to.

Abner’s found a family, and he’s let go of revenge. He’s clearly found peace and happiness—but it’s stolen.  I’m ambivalent about this. I guess I could take his word that his vessel was abusive and therefore deserves to have been permanently body-snatched, and I guess I could believe him when he says his new family loves him, even though they clearly don’t know what he is or what he’s done. His regard for humanity as something other than a project is… uncertain. Even if everything is as sunny as he explains to Gadreel, there is fundamental selfishness and short-sightedness here. Get what you want, Abner says, and never let go.

Gadreel asks Abner if his vessel is happy. This reveals both Abner’s scorn for his vessel, and Gadreel’s uncomfortable awareness of and respect for Sam (and his bartender vessel, who Gadreel stares at, and who accepts Gadreel back easily).

Gadreel! OF COURSE Gadreel’s gotta be the scapegoat for Lucifer’s release, HAHAHAH. I love him to pieces, oml. Seriously, the Sam parallels could not BE more blatant. I’ve talked about this before, that it makes the earned antipathy between them all the more alarming, all the more visceral. The big sticking point is that Gadreel’s years of pointless torture came prior to his “redemption” arc, rather than as a consequence of it. Gadreel has all of s5 Sam’s despair and helpless anger and self-loathing, all of his drive to set things right at any price, and all of it is amplified by his trauma.

Sam and Gadreel’s relationship is defined by its liminal spaces. Gadreel threatens to tear Sam apart, but he does not, even when he is tortured. He locks Sam away in a dream rather than force him to watch him kill, or to suffer. But when Sam forces Gadreel out, Gadreel leaps instantly on telling Sam he is weak, reciting back Sam’s fears and Gadreel’s own. This reads like Gadreel is aiming quite a lot of his own self-pity and self-hatred at Sam.

Cas’s murderous rage at Gadreel when his identity is revealed is fun. It shows that Heaven’s PR team did a good job, for one thing. But Cas is furious because it’s specifically Lucifer. And the Apocalypse, and all the attendant suffering, his and Dean’s and Sam’s. It’s a personal wrath.

“Stupid for the right reasons…” oh, Cas, your scarcity of positive human role models is showing. Also, Cas’s particular brand of reassurance here isn’t actually something Dean has a problem with. He expresses regret over having been tricked—he says he’s stupid, he says he got played—but he’s never in doubt that his intentions were good. He’s never in doubt that he did the righteous thing. He’s never in doubt that he’d do it again.

Dean apologizes to Cas for barring him from the bunker. (Sam will not receive an apology.) Cas compares what Dean did to Sam to what Cas did by trusting Naomi. There’s a key difference here. Cas’s moral compass is not the problem; it’s his critical thinking skills.

Crowley, Cas, and Dean are a hilarious trio. (Also, I really hope that Cas’s pimpmobile got to Heaven too, like the Impala.)

Crowley being genuinely sorry that Kevin’s gone and his willingness to risk his life to help Sam are the best two moments of the generally weak Crowley-has-human-blood plot line. They feel earned. [also Crowley’s ‘I told Kevin he should’ve run!’ is both accurate, funny, and sad.]

Let’s talk 4.21 parallels! I mean, first, the glaringly obvious: Sam locked down to be purged of something supernatural; Sam suffering; Dean unable to bear Sam’s tortured screams; a very atmospheric fan. Dean walking away.

and then, of course, there’s “at least he dies human.” Right off the bat, Dean tells Cas he’s going to kill Gadreel. Cas, concerned, says that this will kill Sam too; Dean, sounding tortured, says he knows. Now, obviously, Dean doesn’t kill Sam. He doesn’t even get particularly close. But it’s really interesting that this is the first thing Dean brings up! He declares unprompted that he’s ready to kill Sam rather than leave him possessed. Which is both a recapitulation of the save-him-or-kill-him mantra, and an ironic twist on the decision Dean made in 9.01. Then, Dean knew Sam would rather die than be possessed, but had him possessed anyway. Now, Dean has decided instead that Sam must die because he is possessed. Obviously Dean’s opinion on the possessing entity has changed in the meantime: Sam’s hasn’t, but Sam’s isn’t what matters. 

Dean reaches new levels of PEAK IRONY when he declares that Cas should possess Sam too. Cas has to actually point out that Dean can’t, in fact, volunteer Sam’s permission. Because apparently Dean had forgotten, lmaooo. Crowley, on the other hand, is happy to oblige. Dean directs Cas to burn Sam’s tattoo off.

The language of this entire scene is so sexual. I mean, it’s Crowley, of course it is, double entendre is his first language. But this theme recurs again and again. Here it is just more pointed than usual. It is queasy.

Gadreel has Sam trapped in a Dean-type happy place—a hunt with ghouls and cheerleaders, no organic produce to be found. And I don’t think it’s because Gadreel doesn’t understand what Sam likes. I think it’s because Gadreel’s aim was for Sam to feel comfortable, not blissful. It smacks of Hallucifer, just a bit—using the verisimilitude of Dean’s louder moods rather than trying to appeal directly to Sam’s contentment, because of his always questionable, always a question, sense of reality. If things were too smooth, too cheerful, Sam might just be suspicious. Sam is easier to trick by proxy. 

The HORROR of this episode for Sam: Gadreel washing someone’s blood off of Sam’s hands. Crowley pushing needles into his brain. Sam’s body and life as a bargaining chip as Gadreel threatens to kill him, and then as Dean threatens to kill him right back. The quiet heartbreak as Sam remembers Kevin’s death, as he realizes the magnitude of Dean’s betrayal. But the worst part of it, I think, is somehow still Sam’s face when Crowley comes to get him in the dream where Gadreel stashed him. How his expression just crumples as Crowley tells him he is trapped in a lie, that his mindscape is once again a prison, that he truly cannot trust his reality. The sheer devastation of this on top of Sam’s history, plus the knowledge that Dean did this—and he pulls himself together and puts his foot on Gadreel’s neck and casts him OUT anyway. Sam Fucking Winchester.

and then the Bridge Scene. The lighting, the staging… it’s fucking gorgeous. It’s one of those scenes where I knew as I was watching it for the first time, seven years ago, that it was going to be something. I held my breath and still hold my breath. I can’t take my eyes off the way that Sam is shaking slightly, the entire time. The way he can barely meet Dean’s eyes but he does it anyway. He SAYS HIS PIECE, says it clearly, says it with an even tone despite what he’s gone through, despite the holes in his head that were healed seconds ago.

I love the gentleness between Sam and Cas here. I love knowing that 9.11 follows this. I love that there is no question that Cas will leave with Dean—he is staying with Sam, to heal and support him, even after he spent this episode mostly reassuring Dean.

Dean does not start this conversation to apologize. He starts out with the intent to DELIBERATELY egg Sam on: “come on, let’s hear it.” It’s an incitement, because Dean wants Sam to act angry, so that Dean can feel more justified in leaving. Sam does not rise to the bait.

Dean has an excuse for every point Sam has: I had no choice, you were dying, it’s not in me, he saved your life. He says, “I did a bad thing with bad consequences and I would 100% do it again, anyway, bye.”

And then the most infuriating thing: Dean is in the wrong, so he tells the person he’s wronged, ugh, I’m just such an awful poisonous person, I’m going to burn for this. It’s so clearly wrong-headed. Intentional or not, it’s such an obvious invitation for Sam to comfort him that it might well have been embossed. If this were in e.g. season 15, or if the crime he’d committed had been less awful, I can easily hear Sam’s reassurance: no, Dean, I promise you’re a good person, we all make mistakes. It is the most toxic way possible to frame a potential apology.

The textual theme of Dean-as-poison (and, for that matter, the consequence of Kevin’s death vs. the initial crime of the possession) is an intentional muddying of the waters: Crowley, Cas, and Dean himself all bring it up in some fashion, linking some fundamental aspect of Dean himself rather than Dean’s choices to Kevin’s death. Crowley is trying to be cutting; Cas is trying to be supportive; Dean is both excusing himself and camouflaging that fact in his exhausting self-loathing. There is a complicated interplay of what the text says about Dean’s guilt and what it condemns; this pattern continues throughout s9, and reaches its apex in the next several episodes. Dean’s love as a condemning feature rather than a redeeming one is one of my favorite things about SPN, and s9 has it in HIGH gear.

But, here, at least, Sam doesn’t rise to this bait either. “Don’t go thinking that’s the problem, ‘cause it’s not.” The problem is obviously, achingly, exhaustingly clear. Sam’s spelled it out in this very conversation: you tricked me. You lied to me. You got me possessed when I was willing to die. But Dean, and a fair portion of the audience, can’t hear it. So he doesn’t. And they don’t, and they pretend that this line is some sort of puzzle! a cliffhanger on a conversation unfinished! when it was the conclusion, not the beginning.

image that is now inextricable from 9.10

[littlespoonevan]

Ooooh 10 for that questions thing because I'm a S4 bitch at heart and then 22 and 23? I think those are the numbers? Anyway favorite buck quote, because that's a nice callback to some of our first conversations, and favorite Eddie quote because I have no idea what you'll answer and I'm curious! Have a nice evening Ciara 🥰

thank you, manon!! i hope you're having a good night 💖

10. favourite s4 moment?

oh my godddddd there are so many to choose from i'm!!!!! if i'm honest, i don't think any moment will ever compare to buck's fight with his parents and the infamous "love me anyway" line. it's such a visceral scene that cuts right to the heart of who buck is as a character and i think it's tremendous feat on the part of oliver and the writers/directors (brenna malloy my beloved <3) that in this one moment they capture the very essence of buck's internal conflict so perfectly. it offers the viewer such startling clarity on why buck is the way he is and it's just- meaty, y'know??? there's so much you can take from it. it's perfect.

(incredibly close runner up is the hospital scene/will reveal in 4x14 obviously)

22. favourite buck quote?

i could repeat myself and say "love me anyway" because i Do think it's quintessential buck line but i'll choose another one.

"i'm happy for you. almost as much as i am sad for me."

just. gOD. this man and his bittersweet smiles and red-rimmed eyes truly does break my heart

23. favourite eddie quote?

okay my immediate reaction is to give bobby's quote about eddie ("i just don't want you to think you have to lose everything before you can allow yourself to feel anything")

but if we're going with something eddie actually said then:

"Bullets don't bounce off me."

is a particular brand of devastation i was unprepared for in the cHRISTMAS episode. but also. his delivery of "i've failed that kid more times than i care to count and i'm his father... but i love him enough to never stop trying and i know you do too." is so good!!

[wings-of-a-storm]

Scenes that stood out as a wtFock newbie

The use of music in the scene where Robbe is trying to get very intimate with Noor just blew me away. It shocked me, it made me sit up, and it made my jaw drop with the utter geniusness of it. I’m talking about using a David Bowie song in a love scene between Robbe and Noor.

Wow wtFock, you really went there.

6. LIFE ON MARS

Backing up one step, what happens in this scene is so hard to watch in general. Robbe hoping to make love to Noor was his choice but it is so hard to watch the attempt unfold while knowing the greater outcome of Robbe’s story and the inevitability of his experimenting. It’s hard to see him having to learn all this the hard way; to see him trying so hard to be someone he thinks he has to be (and after using that slur against Sander…). WtFock seemed to really want to confront us with the physical side of Robbe’s struggle and I think they did it really well.

But then these eikels just had to pull out the David Bowie card.

They actually used a David Bowie song in a love scene between Noor and Robbe. In fact, they did more than just that -- they actually had Robbe choose to play a Bowie song while trying to make love to Noor. Like, it seems like he really was playing it because the song started so muffled when they were outside his bedroom and then became clear as soon as he opened the door to reveal the romantic ambience he had set up for Noor. Bowie seemed to be part of that ambience. (And it still works if it was just in his head.)

Guys, this is a Pandora’s box of layering and I am here for it!

Layer 1: The incongruity

Obviously we (and Robbe) associate all things Bowie with Sander. As such, it is very jarring to hear a Sander reference in a scene that very much shouldn’t involve Sander -- when Robbe is trying to be intimate with his girlfriend for the first time.

It is such a personal moment for Robbe and Noor as a couple; something that is just between the two of them. But what Life On Mars does is force Sander into the room with them (and into our minds). And my goodness, what an effect that has.

I just love that feeling of disorientation it creates. It makes the moment feels so wrong, so incongruous, like the world is upside down. It screams ‘It should be Sander here with Robbe right now.’ And of course that sense of wrongness is probably what Robbe is fighting through/pushing through/struggling with in this moment as well. And we get to feel that struggle from one piece of music. Not just from its melody or the lyrics, but the actual artist is used against us too. How genius is that!

Layer 2: Bowie is comfort and courage

How curious for Robbe to have cut Sander so thoroughly out of his life and yet consciously set up a Bowie song to croon in the background amongst the candles. (And again, it works if it’s just in his head too.)

I think one of the reasons why he did this is because he himself was wooed by Bowie. It’s what he is familiar with; a page out of Sander’s romance playbook. He can now use those moves on Noor (because he has no idea what else to do).

And I think another possible reason for his choosing to play Bowie is for courage. Robbe is obviously really nervous right now and it seems possible that he is trying to get courage from Bowie’s music because Bowie is Sander and Sander is bold and brave and cool and unflappable. I think Robbe looks up to Sander and those qualities he possesses, and Bowie’s music is how he can channel them. (But that thought just makes me want to cry a little bit so I’ll stop right there.)

But I think there is a much bigger reason behind Robbe’s choice to woo Noor with Bowie…

Layer 3: The cycle of substitution

Music is a powerful thing; it connects to memories and emotions. For Robbe, Bowie’s music is so tangled up in Sander -- it would be so hard to separate the two at this point. Listening to Bowie would bring up all the echoes of the happiness and excitement and tingles that he felt with Sander. So why on earth would Robbe listen to Bowie if he was trying to forget about Sander and focus on Noor?

Well, for one thing, listening to Bowie might help Robbe get in the mood; it might help him channel those electric Sander Tingles so that he can then transfer them to Noor. After all, if he could feel those types of things with Sander, surely he can also feel them for his girlfriend with a bit of inspiration and coaxing. Then Robbe will be back to being ‘normal’ again. (Because liking Sander is wrong but liking Noor is right.)

In other words, Robbe may be using his Sander Tingles as a placeholder or a starting point for the ones he is trying to grow for Noor. But that is just a form of substitution wrapped up in ‘good’ intentions.

What the undercurrent of this scene really feels like is a continuation of Call Your Girlfriend/the zombie party, where Robbe used Noor as a substitute to kiss Sander by proxy. Everything in this new scene just screams of Robbe missing Sander and wanting him there instead. The Bowie ambience feels like a gift Robbe has prepared for Sander, not for Noor. But Sander isn’t there…

What everything comes down to -- and what is painfully evident -- is that if Robbe was really determined to cut Sander from his life, he would have cut out Bowie’s music too. He’d have to. Listening to it would be like wearing Sander’s sweater.

If Robbe was serious about getting over Sander, he certainly wouldn’t try and make love to his girlfriend while listening to Sander’s favourite music -- that is just going to make him think of Sander while he kisses Noor. It’s the opposite of trying to erase Sander. It just screams that Robbe doesn’t actually want to get over Sander; that he’s fighting his own decision; that he can’t let go; that he really wants to be doing this with Sander. It’s just such a messy cycle of substitution and so very sad.

And it really makes my head hurt.

But anyway. There is one last thing I loved about the use of music in this scene, and for once it has nothing to do with Bowie:

The music distortion

I just have to acknowledge the fantastic use of music distortion at the end of this scene. You know, the moment Robbe reaches Noor’s lower region and the smooth playback of Life On Mars starts distorting and echoing in Robbe’s ears like he’s slipping underwater.

It was such a clever and effective use of sound effects to replicate the effects of Robbe’s anxiety on his senses and concentration. It works too well though -- it always sets my heart racing and triggers my own anxiety like I am about to freefall without warning. Oh and it BREAKS MY GODDAMN HEART. Willem gets the bloody Oscar because I can’t watch his face in that moment. I just can’t. It’s like he is losing a part of himself to do what he is doing that he will never get back. I can’t describe it, it’s just so awful.

And that brings me to a subpoint that made my list:

6.5: THE FRAMING OF ROBBE AND NOOR IN THE AFTERMATH

The aftermath scene blew me away as well (though I suppose it wasn’t hard to do considering I was already in tiny pieces!)

The framing of Noor holding Robbe from behind to comfort him is so visceral. The contrast of Noor’s warm love with Robbe’s cold fear and resignation is such a mix of beautiful and heartbreaking.

Noor is the embodiment of love as she holds Robbe. Her explanation is so gentle; her tone so soft and soothing. Noor is so empathetic, so patient, so kind, so mature… And that is exactly what amplifies the sense of tragedy. It’s tragic that ordinarily her gentleness and patience might have been enough to help; it might have given a devastated boy an incredibly important lifeline after being unable to perform in the pressure of the moment. But in this situation, it isn’t enough -- it won’t ever be enough. And it’s so hard watching Noor’s exemplary handling of the situation while knowing that.

Robbe seemed to register that particular tragedy too, even though he seems primarily devastated over the finality of what his inability to perform means for him.

His face is just so awful. That resignation and fear as his worst fears are confirmed -- that even after being reassured by his best friend, the advice wasn’t enough to help the situation. What is instinctual for Robbe’s friends isn’t so for him. He tried to do all he could and it still wasn’t enough. There is very little left that he can do.

The close up framing of Robbe’s face in this moment makes it all the more confronting for the viewers because there is no where else to look but at his face. You have no other choice but to feel that fear and devastation; to be trapped in it with Robbe. It’s a set of brutally effective framing.

So well done to wtFock for using so many of my goddamn senses to ruin me in these two scenes -- from the sound of Bowie, to the visuals of distress, to touch (because damn right I felt tightness in my chest and an erratic heart beat!). Thank you but I hate it… :)

[canonicallyanxious]

hi, If you are still doing taking asks for the top 5 of whatever, I have one. Top 5 (or 10) scenes in the skamverse?

anon this is a really good ask and i’m unfortunately absolute trash for the skamverse so it’s gonna have to be my top 10 skjdnfskjdnfs in the interest of fairness though I’m going to try my best to limit myself to one scene/clip per season [also cut on this one bc it got long oops]

1. Minutt for minutt [og skam s3]

Words cannot express how much this scene still means to me four years after i first saw it. Like this is the scene that made Even and Isak’s relationship so special to me, this is probably the scene or at least one of them that tipped this show from “oh this is really good” to “i will fucking die on this hill for skam” for me. like, just the tenderness of Isak quietly watching Even as he sleeps. the soft physical affection a mentally ill character is allowed to have on screen. this beautiful yet grounded dialogue about coping with mental illness which cheesy as it might sound is also something i’ve very often taken to heart in my own struggle with coping with mental illness since. like god. truly groundbreaking, honestly.

2. David’s coming out scene in druck s3 ep 8 - “i am a boy. i just have to try a little harder” [druck s3]

this scene came very, very close to beating minutt for minutt and honestly on a different day it might have done so, just today i decided to put minutt for minutt at the top simply because it’s been with me for longer. but i think this was probably the most emotionally moving clip for me in the entire season, and i had the privilege to watch it in real time which makes it even more special to me. it was everything i could have ever wanted from david’s coming out - soft, aching, quiet, devastating writing that broke my entire heart. and “i am a boy; i just have to try a little harder” is probably a line that’s going to stick with me for a very long time. i can’t think of another trans person’s coming out scene in mainstream media that has touched me as deeply as this one.

3. Fatou and Kieu My’s museum date in druck s6 ep 6 [druck s6]

this scene has everything. EVERYTHING. space imagery! soft and tender kisses! hands brushing in the dark! yearning looks! playful banter! serious conversations about feelings that move forward both their development! like it just reminds me so viscerally of falling in love for the first time as a teenager. druck in general i think does a very good job of portraying teen romance but the fact that this teen romance is about two wlwoc [one of whom is vietnamese like bitch!!!!] means EVERYTHING to me. like this more than anything else in the entire skamverse is something I wish my teen self had gotten to see. i’ve probably seen this clip about twenty times because part of me still can’t believe it exists.

4. The Carnival scene at the end of the last episode of skam austin s1 [skam austin s1]

honestly i think the entire last clip of skam austin s1 is just pure excellence [even if they made me watch Meg and Marlon have sex in a car wash smfh]. like one of my favorite things about og skam was how it really gave their characters room to breathe and take their time with their conversations and i think this clip is probably one of the ones that come the closest to capturing that energy for me [no wonder i guess since julie andem was so involved with this season]. but i love the carnival scene in particular because i love the energy it captures in meg’s dynamics with the other characters and it’s just such a nice opportunity for them all to finally breathe after a difficult season. also i will never ever forget the pure euphoria of watching Shay become a confirmed lesbian on screen in real time [even if i still think the way it was done was kinda meh]. i think i was giddy for the rest of the fucking night after i saw that.

5. Nora breaking up with Miquel for good in skamesp s3 ep 8 [skamesp s3]

i actually think skamesp s3 is one of the best remake seasons of the skamverse. An incredible feat for skamesp to make me rank a NOORHELL season near the top, but honestly skamesp s3 is much more than a noorhell season, like i think the story it tells is hard to watch but very important to tell. i especially love this clip because it’s just such a well thought out culmination of Nora’s arc throughout the season. and it’s so devastating in how understated it is. the acting is phenomenal, the lighting is gorgeous, my breath was taken away by the way Nora said “don’t touch me” with her hair blowing gently around her face. just very good.

6. Josh and Nora’s second break-up scene at the end of druck s5 ep 9 [druck s4]

what does it say about me that this is the THIRD BREAK UP CLIP on this list skdjdnfksdnfsdkn. i genuinely did have a really hard time picking one clip for s5 [other top contenders include the last clip of ep 8 and the cuddle clip at the beginning of ep 6] but i went with this one because a. i love to suffer and b. the way josh plays with nora’s jacket and then she gently pulls away and his hands still linger bc he can’t quite bring himself to let her go just yet fucking HAUNTS ME. watching this scene genuinely made me feel like i was going through a break up myself, maybe because it reminded me so much of my own first break up in a lot of ways. kudos to the strong writing and stellar performances from the actors here.

7. Best of Islam [og skam s4]

Yousana the true og m/f relationship i was overly invested in... i miss they... anyway this clip is really good just on its own and i think it’s a good encapsulation of everything i wanted this season to be. i love that Sana got to talk about her experiences and her relationship with her religion; i love that yousef listens to her carefully and talks about his own experiences and feelings; i love their playful energy; I LOVE YOUSEF GIVING SANA THE FLOWER. truly it doesn’t get better than this.

8. Amira and Mohammed get back together at the end of druck s4 ep 7 [druck s4]

i love this scene because i think it showcases the very best of Amira and Mohammed’s dynamic. the way they listen to each other, their playful manner with each other, how utterly taken they are with each other. i love also that Mohammed finally got to talk about his experiences as a refugee and how that connects to his religion. and the whole exchange about baklava still has me so ;-; ;-; the chemistry these two have is absolutely unreal. i will never get over Amira being cheated of the last few episodes of her season. the greatest injustice to experience after a clip like this, truly.

9. Life in Italics [skam austin s2]

aside from the first ep this might be the only clip i’ve actually seen from this season but i stand by this choice sorry not sorry shay dixon performing an absolute bop in a pink wig is just too iconic

10. Crisana cuddle scene in skamesp s2 episode 6 [skamesp s2]

I think I’ve loved basically every remake version of the iconic s3 ep 5 cuddle clip i’ve seen but this one has stuck with me in particular just because it was really special to me to be able to see two girls be so soft and gentle and loving with each other. no excessive make-up, no hypersexualization, nothing glossy or glamorized about it. i honestly often have a really hard time connecting to teen wlw romance but this was one of those times it actually felt real to me. also the song choice for this clip is simply chef’s kiss

Ask me my top 5/10 anything!

[firelxdykatara]

can i have some meta on maybe. a tragic character death you think should not have happened

OH HM OK THIS IS-

actually no you know what, this is easy.

tara. fucking. maclay.

there’s the obvious fact that tara’s death is, quite possibly, one of the most prominent--and horrific--examples of bury your gays in modern media. it was shocking even for the time, and it may not have been the first but it was certainly an inspiration for other such examples of the trope (lexa’s death immediately comes to mind), and i have a hard time thinking of a character who deserved to live more than tara.

part of what was so tragic about her death in particular was the fact that it came on the heels of a season in which her girlfriend had been abusing her to the point where she was beginning to lose her own sense of self the longer she stayed. finding out that willow had willingly manipulated her memories--not once, but twice--was the final straw. and this was especially egregious considering that in season five, tara had her mind horrifically violated by glory, and willow knew that better than anyone else. willow had become a person tara couldn’t recognize, and could barely stand to be around, because she was still so desperately in love but being with willow was toxic for her, dangerous for her own mental and emotional wellbeing.

willow finally had a moment where she slipped so far it scared even her (and endangered dawn in the process, which lead to buffy’s anger being a slap in the face she desperately needed, and all these years later i have to confess a bitter disappointment that no one else in the scooby gang noticed what willow was doing to tara and reamed her out for it), and seemed sincere in wanting to make amends. she wanted to make changes, and be and do better, and tara was still so in love with her that she didn’t even want to wait for proof, she just... wanted to be in her girlfriend’s arms again and believe that everything was going to be alright.

and then warren shot buffy. and one of his shots went wild and tore through tara maclay’s barely-healing heart.

(incidentally, seeing warren get literally eviscerated for what he did to tara remains one of the most viscerally satisfying scenes in television, as far as i’m concerned. but it didn’t bring tara back.)

her early life was desperately tragic. her own family made her believe she was a goddamn demon, and then she met this cute witch who liked her and saw her in a way no one had--not even her own family--and then, when her family came to ‘reclaim’ her, she stood back and waited for willow’s friends to let them... and they didn’t.

it’s been a very long time since i did a full rewatch of season 4, but i still remember bawling my eyes out at the look on tara’s face when buffy stood protectively in front of her and practically dared her ‘father’ to fucking try to do something about it. her ‘real’ family was utter shit, but her found family was beyond amazing, and they loved her for who she was and who they saw when they looked at her, even when she couldn’t see it in herself. and it would be years before i realized just why i resonated so strongly with tara, why she was my favorite scooby other than buffy for the entire show’s run, and why i was so devastated when she died.

because her story didn’t have to end like that. her story didn’t have to end at all. she was an anchor for everyone else in the scooby gang, she loved them and cared for them and she listened to buffy sobbing about having feelings for spike of all people and she literally refused to judge her even when she was BEGGING for judgment, and she was, in all the ways that mattered, the heart of the scooby gang.

fuck off xander

something was missing, with tara gone, and i think that’s a big part of why season 7 gets such a bad rap, even though i don’t think a lot of people realize it. but, if you’ll pardon me being an absolute caricature of myself, if tara had been alive for empty places? fucking none of that would’ve happened the way it did. i will eat both of my kidneys and my own liver before i believe that tara would ever have turned on buffy the way the rest of her family did. and i think it would’ve been an extremely powerful moment, calling back to season 4 and buffy standing strong and brave in the face of her family’s threats, to have tara in her corner.

but no. she died. she died because she finally got one happy night of bliss with her girlfriend, and then there was no more use for her. and it took me years to realize just how angry i was about that, and why, and where that bitterness comes from.

tara maclay deserved better. and i will die on this hill.

[dreadnought-dear-captain]

Happy (Slightly Belated) Birthday, Baghdad Waltz!

*CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR BAGHDAD WALTZ UP TO CHAPTER 37*

I know these are stressful times right now, but I wanted to post a little something for BW’s third birthday on 3/13/2020 (and I’m a little late because I had a lot to say). THREE!! I cannot believe it. Truly, I cannot, but here we are. I know there are still a few stragglers hanging around from when I first started posting this story (extra hearts to you all), so many people who have come and gone and sometimes return again, and so many new people joining this crazy journey all the time. 

You are all so great, and you make it possible for me to keep writing this. I probably would have quit a long time ago without your support, because this shit has been quite hard to sustain sometimes. I know I am very bad at keeping up with comments and things, and I’m so sorry.  I am terrible with social media, too. People IRL will say the same thing about me. I am super old school and still talk on the phone with my friends. I KNOW. 

(Heyyyy Bayside High)

I’ve prepared a couple of things for BW’s birthday. First, a few statistics I thought I’d whip up. Then a few questions and answers about BW, both from myself and from my beloved beta, @pitchforkcentral86​. And I’m still trucking away diligently at chapter 38! I just have a few scenes to go. 

 -- BW Statistics -- 

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

Words to date: 526,011

Chapters to date: 37

Shortest chapter: 3,821 words (Prologue)

Longest chapter: 31,395 words (Chapter 33)

Number of words per chapter: 12,530 (median), 14,257 (average) (note: the median is probably a better measure, since this is such an abnormal distribution - see below for the changes in chapter length over time)

Estimated total work to date: 2,890-3,120 hours (approx 18-20 hours/week). This includes writing, rewriting, editing, research, conversations with beta, outlining, and a small portion of the brainstorming. This is a conservative estimate and only includes a fraction of the ambient thinking I do about this story. And God, I do so much processing when I sleep! Perhaps I will be a BW “expert” -- estimated at around 10,000 hours I guess? -- by the time I am done with the story and all my revisions hahahahaaaaaa D: 

Money spent to date (estimated): $600-700. This includes books on various subject matter and writing craft, video access to therapy education resources, and other educational materials. This does not include the incalculable sum in lost productivity from thinking about BW when I’m supposed to be doing other things!

Most of you probably don’t know this, but @pitchforkcentral86​ is not just a beta reader. She is my partner in crime with BW. She knows my characters as well as I do, sometimes better. She helps me troubleshoot scenes, she tells me when my writing sucks, when my I’m not being true to my characters, when I’m not being real enough (sometimes when I’m being TOO real). She gives me porn inspiration and listens to me bitch and calls my bullshit and makes this story what it is. I really mean it - this story would not be nearly as good without her, and you can see how much better it gets once she starts to get involved around chapter 17. 

So I decided I would answer some silly little questions about BW. Just my own personal opinions about stuff! And asked @pitchforkcentral86​ to contribute as well. See below. 

What are my favorite scenes in BW and why? 

In no particular order: 

The 9/11 memory (Chapter 26): When Steve is in therapy with Hope remembering when Bucky returns from Ground Zero. This was one of the first times I experimented with writing in a sort of stream-of-consciousness way (though certainly not the last!). I have done several tweaks to it since the original version, texturing it more. It’s so rich in detail, visceral detail, little details about their relationship, pieces of Bucky’s past, clues about his alcoholism, the way he handles stress, his difficulties letting Steve in, the love Steve has for him, Bucky’s need to be loved and cared for and his aversion for it, it’s so, so rich. Gah. I love it. (GUH and @buckydunpun​’s ART - just murder me. Thanks.)

The Thor “breakup” scene (Chapter 28): This is the moment I think that many people realized Bucky is not a reliable narrator. Maybe they suspected it before, but this is when it’s very obviously apparent. His entire interpretation of his relationship with Thor is thrown into question. He built a rich fantasy about what they were, holding hands in the grass, all this bullshit, and he could actually say they were boyfriends, which makes complete sense because there were never any stakes. It was always surface. There was never any intimacy except as veteran/soldier friends who had sex, which is about as deep as Bucky can go anyway without getting utterly terrified. 

This is in such stark contrast to Steve, where there is actual intimacy, ongoing demand for more intimacy, and this relationship feels VERY real to Bucky, and it’s very frightening to him. And that’s why he runs from the term “boyfriend” with Steve. It’s all so real. It’s easy to engage with a fake boyfriend. But still, he didn’t deliberately realize he was doing this, so it was devastating to find out the truth of his own self-deception. And to hear that he’s not the kind of guy you settle with, he’s the guy you fuck… wow. But how can you really hate Thor? (I’m sure some of you can but…) He’s a nice guy. Even Bucky knows it. So he’s run from something good and real (Steve) to something good but false (Thor) and then he gets rejected from both. It’s horrible and so self-defeating and so quintessentially Bucky. I love it. 

A Close Second (Spent Brass fic): This whole side fic came together like a glorious dream. I love everything about it. It’s such a wonderful look into their relationship, into their dynamics, into their individual personalities, their idiosyncrasies, so much push-pull between them. Whispers of things that have happened to Bucky in the past, a lack of understanding from Steve, a desire to know, so much affection. Some good sex. I love this SB. But I love all the Spent Brass fics. They are so close to my heart. 

Honorable mention: Bucky’s masturbation scene during his bender (Chapter 32). I had an absolute BLAST writing this. Thanks to @pitchforkcentral86​ for proposing that Bucky’s core sexual/romantic desire is just to be kissed. Dayum. It all unfolded from there. 

Who is the character I think about the most? Bucky. I think because he’s got the most complex history and the most complicated psychology. He’s actually fairly rule-bound in terms of how he operates, but he’s got a lot of back story that explains how he became the way he is, and I spend a lot of time considering what happened to him and how he developed his self-image, his coping strategies, and his ideas about others and the world. I think a lot about his relationship with his parents. I think a LOT about bby Jamie. It’s not because Steve is not important or any less complex. But Bucky’s childhood experiences have shaped him in very specific ways, and I want to make sure that I represent them very thoughtfully. 

Who is my favorite character to write? Bucky. His voice and thought processes come to me more easily than Steve’s. Perhaps in part because of my personal penchant for the word “fuck.” I love writing his perspective, his preferences, his interpretations of situations. I love imagining the way he imagines the world. 

Who is my favorite supporting character? Winnie. I know she’s a very polarizing character, but I have so much affection for her. I think she’s a badass. She joined the military as a female officer back in the 1970s, which is incredible and rough. She kept her maiden name. This is a Southern conservative woman, an Air Force brat, raised by very conservative Southern people in a very conservative Pentecostal church, but she has always had an irrepressible rebellious, feminist badass streak in her even before she knew what feminism was. She might not even define herself as a feminist now. She has always done the best she can under very difficult circumstances, and she loves her kids, even though she sometimes sucks quite badly at mothering them. I love her for her imperfections. 

Favorite topic to research this year: I’ve been really enjoying researching emotionally focused couples therapy, which was developed by Sue Johnson, EdD. I’ve been watching therapy videos of couples going through this and having a wonderful time imaging Bucky and Steve going through something similar with Claire. I don’t think Claire is the strictest adherent to EFT, but I think she’s informed by it. It’s tough, because I’m very used to cognitive behavioral type therapies, so this one has been different to think about writing. I’ve also been really getting into reading about childhood sexual abuse and its effects on boys and men. It’s greatly helped my conceptualization of Bucky and Bucky and Steve’s relationship. I mean, it’s a grim topic, but there have been some fascinating threads in terms of understanding one’s self perception of sexual orientation, etc. and thinking about how Bucky would consider and contextualize his experiences. 

Am I more of a Steve or a Bucky? Hmm. I don’t strongly relate to either, but I think if I had to choose, I’m a bit more of a Steve. I’m pretty expressive of my affection and positive emotions, and I’ll complain about daily life things enough. However, when it comes to major life events that really bother me, I tend to err on the side of not processing them and turning my feelings into headaches and other physical afflictions. In other words, I’m a suppressor of major emotions and events. It’s FINE. I’m FINE. Nothing to see here. But I am definitely not as tidy as Steve, nor as smart, and definitely not as buff or hot. So that’s where most of our similarities end lol. I do eat a lot of tofu though. 

Who would I want to hang out with for a day? I initially thought Rikki, but like @pitchforkcentral86​, think she’s actually too cool and smart for me, and I would probably just make an ass out of myself. I think probably Elektra. I know, this is a left field answer, but it’s one day! To do whatever with anyone! I want to choose someone who’s going to make it worth my while. So many of the characters are either too busy, too rigid, too anxious, too conventional, etc. I would want to run around NYC with Elektra for the day and have drinks with her and Matt afterwards at some weird-ass underground bar. My more infield answer would probably be Hank. I want him to tell me gay stories about gay things. I want to see his apartment. I want to drink coffee with him. I want him to tell me about what the AIDS crisis was like for him. I want to hear about his relationship with Howard. I want all the shit that Bucky takes for granted every day. He can be my fairy godmother any day. 

Who would I want to be friends with? Probably Sharon. She’s one of the most reliable, loyal, and level-headed people in this world. She’s smart, she’s flexible, she rolls with things pretty well but also doesn’t take a ton of bullshit. She also has a good sense of humor about things. I feel like she’s someone I could call with my Zack Morris phone and talk with for hours about all sorts of things. We could also split a bottle of wine and talk some real shit. 

Wait - Why not Bucky or Steve? I don’t think these two are entirely likable, to be honest. They’re good humans, they mean well, but I don’t think they’re very well equipped in the friendship department.  I care about them very deeply (I hope that’s clear), but I don’t know if I’d want to be particularly close to either of them at this point in their lives. They’re both lacking in the skill and perspective to be good friends and partners, which is a major reason why they are in therapy. 

Who would I want to be my therapist - Hope, Bruce, Scott, or Claire? Claire. Given how much I suck at talking about the things that are really deeply bothering me, I think I would need an emotionally focused therapist who is going to dig in there and really get me to focus on all the emotions I’m trying to shove away. I would probably try to over-intellectualize everything and deflect, and I don’t think she’d let me get away with that. 

Okay, on to @pitchforkcentral86​~~~~~

What are my favorite scenes in BW and why? 

Oh boy. Well, this is a difficult question to answer since it feels like every chapter becomes a new favorite simply due to sheer amount of time spent planning and composing and revising and whining and complaining. And also my memory sucks. BUT, with that said, I think I would like to mention three scenes specifically:

1)      Bucky on deployment, cleaning a Humvee (Chapter 7), Steve standing nearby. This scene conveyed the tension of deployment and between Steve and Bucky so well, and, perhaps more importantly, built my respect towards Bucky as a competent, caring NCO (to that effect, the small scene in which we see Bucky the NCO on film telling all the little grunts to eat so they can become big and strong is another favorite).

2)      Beautiful Boy (Spent Brass), Steve’s memory from childhood with Sarah at the park, naming animals. I really don’t have a good reason other than that scene was so clear to me in my mind and was especially tender.

3)      Steve sleeping with Sharon in DC (Chapter 33). Honestly, it was just a great scene, and we had a really good time planning it out.

I can include many more, and certainly the ones Dread mentioned are favorites too, but I have to stop or this will just be a squeee fest.

Who is my favorite supporting character?

 Hank. His particular brand of honesty is extremely appealing to me, and I think Bucky secretly, or not so secretly, loves him too. And also Quill, just for shits and giggles because he is reliably there as an ice breaker, that lovable Mountain-Dew-drinking goof.  

Favorite topic to research this year: 

Well, I don’t do the research myself, but I spend many, many m-a-n-y hours listening to and conversing with Dread about all the things he’s delved into for this fic. So I guess maybe I’ll turn this question into favorite topic to discuss/conceptualize. In that respect, Bucky’s and Jack’s relationship has been by far the most intriguing, grueling, fascinating and difficult aspect of this fic to conceptualize – those were some of the best talks in the process. [Dreadnought edit: You will see much more of this in future chapters, folks!] And for a fun answer, planning out sex scenes is hilarious.

Am I more of a Steve or Bucky?

Bucky, no doubt. Sometimes it feels like Dread has climbed into my brain, found a horrible nugget of truth about me, and then put it into words coming out of Bucky’s mouth. Those moments are both wonderful and terrible in equal measure.

Who would I want to hang out with for a day?

For a whole day? Can it maybe be a coffee or, like, a quick lunch? I honestly don’t know… Neither Steve nor Bucky will be very good company, I think. Not in their current versions, anyways. Rikki is hella cool but she intimidates me, so, not her. Um.. Huh. Nope, don’t have an answer.

Who would I want to be friends with?

Probably Hank, again. He has a really good attitude. I’m starting to feel like not picking Steve/Bucky is selfish because it’s like “oh, they have too many issues and it won’t be fun”. But it’s also true! Friendship is reciprocal, and I really don’t think that’s where they’re at. (But I would have totally been dying to be friends with Steve in his bookshop days). 

Who would I want to be my therapist - Hope, Bruce, Scott, or Claire?

Hope or Claire. Both are no-nonsense competent therapists. But I think maybe Hope will be too put-together for me. So, yeah, probably Claire. 

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

Okay, everyone. Back to the grind. I’ll update as soon as I can!  Remember to wash your hands with the fastidiousness of BW Steve Rogers. (And also remember to sing the “happy birthday fucking everyone” song, which should actually be sung TWICE or resentfully enough that it lasts 20 seconds.)

[insanityclause]

Near the end of Betrayal—or near the beginning of the betrayal within Betrayal, since Harold Pinter’s 1978 play about a seven-year affair runs in reverse, from the infidelity’s aftermath to its inception—a soused would-be lover rattles on a bit.: “Look at the way you’re looking at me. I can’t wait for you, I’m bowled over, I’m totally knocked out, you dazzle me … My life is in your hands, that’s what you’re banishing me to, a state of catatonia, do you know the State of Catatonia? Do you? Do you? The state of … where the reigning prince is the prince of emptiness, the prince of absence, the prince of desolation. I love you.”

In the royal family of Western drama, Pinter himself might be exactly the figure his intoxicated, infatuated character describes. His laconic, subtly brutal plays—known for the loaded pauses that now bear the writer’s adjectivized name—float precariously on a dark reservoir of things unsaid. His characters are like those waterbugs who balance above the depths on the delicate force of surface tension. He is not a universal taste, and mediocre Pinter productions have their own particular kind of cringiness: They feel like acting exercises. Even in sure-footed ventures into the Pinterverse—such as Jamie Lloyd’s lean and sexy revival starring Tom Hiddleston, now visiting New York after its London premiere—there can be an element of technical gloss to contend with. You can feel, as I did, like you’re watching Good Actors Acting Well, which is a matter of intellect rather than emotion. Impressive and interesting, yes. Devastating? (Pause.) Well.

Lloyd’s production is cool, confident, and mercifully aware of Pinter’s sense of humor. Some of its strongest moments are its unsmiling jokes, which Lloyd’s actors attack like fencers, pricking without overextending. Hiddleston—with his fixed blue stare and his ability to lock his jaw into a mask of British propriety, unmistakably undergirded with menace—is particularly adept with the playwright’s distinctive rhythms, his smirks, evasions, and threats. A vapid conversation between Hiddleston’s character, Robert, and his best friend Jerry (Charlie Cox) about whether boy babies are “more anxious” than girl babies becomes a master class in hard-edged, straight-faced comedy. But then the whole play has that “master class” feel to it: As much as the phrase has become a critical cliché for a tour de force, it’s not the same thing as “masterpiece.” There’s expertise on display, but there’s an academic distance to it too.

Part of the distancing effect might be that Hiddleston undoubtedly outshines his fellow actors, who are solid (and equally great-looking — this is Pinter with highly paid personal trainers) but never quite as at home in the material. Cox comes close, and indeed, his role gives him less of an ability to stand still and shoot lasers from his eyes, as Robert gets to. He has to maneuver, stumble, and course-correct more, and he does so with a bemused, affable charm that belies a deeply selfish character. Part of Betrayal’s fascination is that Jerry, who’s been having a hidden affair with Robert’s wife Emma (Zawe Ashton) for seven years, is in fact the “Pinter” role. From 1962 to 1969, Pinter himself concealed from his wife an affair with the BBC presenter Joan Bakewell (for her highly compelling take on their now immortalized-if-somewhat-fictionalized infidelity, click here). It’s arguable, though, that for all the playwright’s own experience inside a dangerous liaison, his play belongs not to the betrayers but to the betrayed. At least in Lloyd’s production, Robert—his moment of awakening and his eventual hardening of himself as a result—is the heart of the show.

It’s structural—the torturous scene in which Emma admits the affair to Robert sits smack-dab in the middle of the play—but it’s also a matter of actor and director inclination. As Robert slowly learns the truth about Jerry and Emma, Hiddleston sits stone still and silently weeps until the snot hangs in ropes from his nose. There were quiet gasps in my audience when it started to drip, unheeded by this broken man in his moment of crisis. “Ah. Yes. I thought it might be something like that, something along those lines,” says Robert, with extreme Britishness, when Emma confesses — but there’s so much raw emotion pulsing underneath Hiddleston’s performance, and overflowing its container in this one pivotal scene, that the character can’t help but become the play’s tragic center. The way Hiddleston plays Robert, it’s difficult to believe it when Emma tells Jerry, “You know what I found out… last night? He’s betrayed me for years. He’s had… other women for years.”

Despite the real power of Hiddleston’s performance, that empathy gap strikes me as a flaw. We can’t quite take Emma at her word (we’ve also heard her lie on other important matters), and so the scales of Lloyd’s play end up tipped rather than balanced. It seems to be a play about a victim and two perpetrators — but I think it’s a play about three people, all of whom we should empathize with, all of whom we should mistrust, all of whom are capable of great selfishness. Ashton has the hardest job: Emma’s got that sense of mystery about her that sometimes happens when men, even very talented men, write women. The scenes between Robert and Jerry, though often tense and terse, feel lived, red-blooded, affectionate. Emma often seems ethereal — her motivations and actual desires somehow far away. (For a real bust-up of that trope, get into Bakewell’s essay — there’s no mystery woman there; instead there’s a super-smart Cambridge grad who was expected to become a housewife and mother at 25.) The character is already the most opaque in the play, and Ashton’s performance doesn’t do much to elucidate her. Tall and willowy, with bare feet and a dancer’s limbs, she tucks her hair behind her ears, tilts her head and half smiles. It’s clear she likes Jerry’s attention, but it’s not clear where her own deep hungers lie. Lloyd has her leaning into the enigmatic aura Pinter gave Emma, and it renders Ashton less visceral and—and this is the real problem—less sympathetic than her male counterparts.

Still, Lloyd’s stripped-to-the-bone approach to the play’s environment lets the text breathe and stretch. We can really hear Pinter’s words pinging off the big blank wall of Soutra Gilmour’s set, with its neutral palette and vast, clean emptiness that put us in mind of the art gallery where Emma works. In this white box, the three actors move like dark ghosts, memories of themselves with all the clutter stripped away. They turn slowly on a big revolve, and, crucially, Lloyd keeps all three present throughout, so that the shadow presence of the third always influences scenes between the other two. The staging restores some of the balance that’s lost in the performances. It brings back the sense that any affair, especially one that involves friends, is in fact a triangle, and that out at the corners of such a hard, angular form, even in our desperate flight from loneliness, we’re more isolated than ever.

Betrayal is at the Jacobs Theatre.

[plumforpersephone]

(❤ ω ❤) (❤ ω ❤)

i don't have enough self-restraint to enjoy the mystery. i wish i did! while i find art in the blank spaces and gaps, i need to know everything. anything. something!

i'm trying to save my charles faire conspiracies for a more appropriate time. just know i'm thinking okay? i'm thinking and i'm lurking when you least expect it.

the way ... you write this:

will could still taste rain behind his teeth. the storm had simply kept on raging - pelting against his bedroom windows. it made this particular scene charged - as if it served as their backdrop symphony. storms were always his forte. he meshed with violent weather. it worked his mood, which was why he only handled his clients in a windowless room. he didn’t want the sun branching its golden brass across his concrete floors - illuminating the paint strokes of blood or tissue. bleaching scattered teeth. not in the light. it didn’t deserve the light.

i mean ... good god.

i said in my last comment i would try not to quote the bathroom scene in its entirety, and i'm going to do what i can to uphold that. but he couldn't figure her out. she gave him a weak smile. the panic, the panic, the panic. the rage, spewing out of all the guys. he had seen that man and he had fucking lost it.

for as emotionally inept all the guys think they are, they're suspiciously good at instinctively providing comfort for her. 🤔🙄

she had a high pain tolerance, that was for sure. yeah, i think you also killed her verbal pain response in the garage, dude. be a big girl. it's not that bad.

another neon sign of a favorite:

when she spoke, her voice was low and velvety. firm. “you’re very hard to figure out.”

he chuckled - a flush rising high over his cheekbones. he rubbed the back of his neck. “am i?”

“yes.”

“care to elaborate?”

“you’re just - you can kill someone like it’s nothing and then turn around and patch me back together and you’re just - i don’t know-” she exhaled as her shoulders fell. “you’re just so gentle about it.”

he stiffened - his eyes widening enough for her to notice that she’d left an impression. he was shockingly easy to get a reaction out of.

for as high as they like to sit on their unreachable golden thrones, she sure does have an easy time figuring them out & understanding them on an intrinsic level. 🤔🙄

this love, my love. i know you even if you don't. "who the fuck are you?" is one of my favorite pieces of will.

but i know these trade backs by heart: i liked it. -liked what? when you killed that man. for me. (staring at her, slack-jaw and stunned) -jesus christ. yes.

but there is something to be said about this: "be good. i promise that after tonight - if you still want me to - i'll fuck you. i'll fuck you until you can't think. i'll lick your pretty pussy until you beg me to stop. i'll do anything you need me to." murmured. visceral - hungry and blunt. devastating.

faire's biggest internal conflict: are they your kidnappers? or are they your protectors?

if will and faire protect each other, & ben and faire are playful with each other, then pope and faire fuck with each other to the point of shattering the other's insanity - and that's my favorite thing about pope & faire's relationship. the world fears the pope to an almost god-like extent; he's more myth than anything. so few know what he actually looks like he could be some mobster boogeyman cooked up by the criminal underworld. all of this, and she matches his energy - quickly. snapping at him after will takes her upstairs, post-murder. taunting him now -

he gaped at her and she met it with a grin. she was exhausted - truly bone-dead tired - but fucking with pope was too fun. frankie grabbed the chair and offered it to him. he slapped him hard on the shoulder, his voice teasing. “better listen to her, santi.”

- it's beautiful. it's a wonderful thing to see in the argue drabble. and what's more, is the amusement frankie and the guys get from their cat vs. mouse arguing. a high flush colored pope's cheeks. he appeared unsure how to respond. she took pity on him … pope looked relieved.

frankie smiles and she smiles back. haha. cool! 😊😣😖🤮🔥💀⚰

he didn't know why he was taking this all so intensely. it was like they had hurt him. → i know you because you're me.

the way you write this: he had an aura of wickedness. he was missing parts - missing empathy and reason. he was a terror and always had been. like ... chills. actual chills.

he was kinder than my own father in a lot of ways. -> i wonder how they ended up where they did. i feel like charles had santi's parents killed? what liam says to her later - they were gunned down in a restaurant. so my father wouldn't hear it or he was just too stubborn about giving charles a straight answer so he came to me. and like … yeah, that's what i keep settling on. he was kinder than my own father in a lot of ways. i remembered that and i knew we had to do right by your father.

how tony soprano of them all. i'm running with charles was responsible for putting the hit on santi's parents. i think liam also said they never figured out who did it, but maybe santi & co. kept it quiet for a reason - less things to snowball into a blizzard of fuck ups. so santi's dad refused to negotiate with charles → charles tries to reason with santi personally & develops a mentorship, fatherly thing with santi → santi is still being groomed to take over → charles kills santi's dad and mom in one go to clear the path for a cardinal/apostle alliance.

but i feel like santi talks about charles in a way almost too reverent for that. the respect is easy to see, but i think love may hide beneath it. how do you love someone who killed your parents? charles was a good man. he was kinder than my own father in a lot of ways. i remembered that and i knew we had to do right by your father. santi's dad, no doubt, was an abusive, manipulative fuck. it would be easy for charles to step in and have santi make a gold statue in his name. santi did not feel true grief over the loss of his father, not in the way you mourn the loss of a loved one. do you think santi loved his mom? in the sick girl drabble, we know he was close to his grandmother.

so santi had to retaliate out of principle for his father, but true revenge for his mother. but how pope justifies it later - it had been survival, he would do it again. maybe charles wanted more than just santi's mother and father dead? santi had to respond before a hit could be placed on his head? but then he wanted an alliance.

how could charles still have been a good man if santi had killed him out of survival?

chills: baron would want her - be fiending for her. the blood daughter of charles faire. the apostles were superstitious - fucking old school - they'd see her as an opportunity.

this is the first time frankie calls her honey. what is it about honey coming out of older men's mouths? why is that like gospel to me?

she apologizes. fellas?? 👀 she apologizes for having a panic attack? i'm rubbing my hands together and cackling maniacally. apologizes for something she has no control over, for something that isn't her fault - ohhhh. okay. that self-imposed guilt is like fucking wine to me.

"breathe with me," he ordered as kindly as he could. ordered. as kindly. as he could. yeah, you could also just kill me, too. like that would have the same effect. he calls her sweetheart.

"will you stay with me? just for a second. it's also totally fine if you don't want-" ↵

okay, so we have 1) could you please stay with me after my emotionally draining, traumatizing event? (panicking) or not - only to get interrupted by yes, i'll stay and 2) an invitation to lay on the bed after trying to put polite distance between them and 3) there's only one bed -

like you've gotta be kidding me. YOU'VE GOTTA BE FUCKING KIDDING ME.

before he could stop himself, he reached out and tapped her lightly between her eyes.

“sleep,” he demanded.

there is so much instinct to how they all handle each other. the guys with their immediate and feral need to protect her, homicidally, lovingly. faire and her need to nurture and make jokes. like, these idiots are absolutely in love.

frankie didn’t know what to say. she was right, of course. still - it saddened him - ate away at him.

*sigh* that's love, babey.

watch your step (5)

Pairing: TF Boys x F!Reader Wordcount: 8.3k Warnings: gore. alcohol abuse. kidnapping. eventual reverse harem. smut. brief mention of sexual assault. violence. panic attack. Summary: Pope confesses. A/N: Ah yes this feels like quite a transition chapter - lots of info. I struggled quite a bit and the angel that is my bff @frannyzooey has guided me through it. Her advice has always been the right choice and helped me move along when I felt stuck. She also helped me organize/come up with the damn back story because i was like uh...so how do I plot? I hope you enjoy my loves!

Series Masterlis

“Tell me what?”

“Who your father is.”

Will could still taste rain behind his teeth. The storm had simply kept on raging - pelting against his bedroom windows. It made this particular scene charged - as if it served as their backdrop symphony. Storms were always his forte. He meshed with violent weather. It worked his mood, which was why he only handled his clients in a windowless room. He didn’t want the sun branching its golden brass across his concrete floors - illuminating the paint strokes of blood or tissue. Bleaching scattered teeth.

Not in the light. It didn’t deserve the light.

“My father?” she echoed - eyebrows raised. It didn't quite seem to hit home with her. Not yet.

“Yeah,” Will murmured as he set to work on her other cuts - all those subtle injuries that had yet to bruise or blossom. “Pope will tell you.”

“Not you?” she asked. “Not now?”

He bit his lip - chewing it thoughtfully. “Pope is the best person - the only person, really.”

She nodded - deflating against his mirror. She looked small in his bathroom - hunched and vulnerable and lovely. He was concerned - there was a flat empty look in her eyes. Shiny. He didn’t think she was about to cry - no - it was something else. Inscrutable.

That was nothing new. Everything about her was a puzzle box of sorts. Too many pieces that didn’t fit quite right - leaving spaces in the full picture. He couldn’t figure her out. He scrutinized her again. She gave him a weak smile.

She was holding it together pretty well all things considered.

Tonight had been a serious fuck up.

He tried to recall the exact brand of his anger. He tried to recount what had happened only half an hour ago. He remembered the grey echo of the garage. The intruders in their getaway vehicle had screeched out of there - hit the gas as soon as their SUV had rampaged into view. He remembered the elevator and how he had kept his back to the wall - used its surface to anchor himself. He needed to be centered in order to do what would be required of him. The thought of the girl dead - of her already slaughtered in her bed or the living room or the goddamn kitchen was inconceivable. He knew how the other organizations liked to send messages - knew the intricacies of their brutality. He knew it because they had learned it from him - he had defined the level of violence to use when they communicated. He had carved implications with his own art.

Leave a message with a head. Just enough blood. Let them know you won’t take excuses.

He did it for Santi. He did it for his family.

To have that put back on her. Fuck. It had frozen his insides - numbed him momentarily as he made his way back to the penthouse.

The others had been no better.

Benny had been frantic. Santi pissed, muttering under his breath which he often did when something had escaped his control. Frankie was just Frankie with his hands curled into fists - his gaze at his feet. As soon as the elevator doors had opened, they had moved as a single organism. There was danger at their home - danger at the place they considered sacred. No one had dared strike out at them here - not since they were teenagers.

He had taken the lead - rushed forward on quiet feet. He had slipped down the hall - through the glass and the rubble until he had heard her. She had been gasping and grunting and a harsh male voice was taunting her and the first thing he had felt was relief - she’s alive - I can fix this - handle this -

His second feeling had been fear - a strange sort of anxiousness that they were tearing her apart - breaking her or scarring her or God forbid - assaulting her.

He had crept into the kitchen and the image in front of him had been enough - enough to destabilize his rage and make him drown in red. The bastard was on top of her - his body too big for her - pinning her down as her hands pawed helplessly at the man’s shoulders. He didn’t remember a lot of it. His anger had always been cold and severe. It didn’t take hold of him the way it did with the others. He was too precise. Too clinical and organized to allow it. He wasn’t like Santi who got overwhelmed with his emotions and often hid himself away to nurse it. He wasn’t like Benny who slathered his temper or grief beneath a joke. Frankie could really blow, but it only happened once in a while.

He had seen that man and he had fucking lost it. It was like something had unlatched inside him - it all poured out and then he had wrenched him off of her.

He studied her out of the corner of his eyeline - studied her as he bent his head to continue patching her up. She was scared. Will could see it plain on her face. The adrenaline had dried itself out and now she was feeling the truth of it - of what could have happened had they not come back when they did.

Will suddenly wondered why he had been the one to take her up the stairs. He was the best at first aid, but he was not great at - this - decompressing - helping her process. He was one of those people who stuffed his terrors into the very bottom of his guts or the very corner of his brain. He left them there to gather dust or ideally turn to dust. It should have been Frankie - Frankie knew how to handle emotions and trauma and all those fancy things that snapped and pulled at the head.

Or it could have even been Benny who was far better at distracting than he was.

He could kill the man who hurt her without breaking a sweat. He could physically sew her back together, but he was shit at anything else.

He used the sink water to wash her feet - the backs of her knees. She smelled good - like lavender and cherry lotion. She was chewing the inside of her mouth - wincing slightly as he swiped alcohol-soaked gauze across her skin.

She had a high pain tolerance that was for sure. Benny usually squealed as soon as he cleaned any of his cuts. He’d complained about a blister for three straight days. She was silent - contemplative and he hated that it made his cock stir - his insides twist at the idea of her handling pain beautifully.

He took advantage of the moment and trailed his fingers across her bare skin. He’d savor this - think about it later.

He stood back up to his full height - towering over her. He cracked his neck again and rolled his shoulders. He was stiff from crouching - tense from literally holding his breath as he tried not to pop a boner while bandaging her gorgeous legs. She stared up at him and he bit down on a sigh. She really was beautiful. Not a stitch of makeup. Just bare fucking beauty. “What else hurts?” he queried.

She squinted - tilting her chin. “Head. I broke his nose with the back of it.”

He paused - dragging his hand over his mouth and beard before pressing two fingers to his chin. He blinked for a second. Dumbfounded.

“You used your head?”

“Didn’t have many options.” The corner of her lips twitched.

He grinned - couldn’t help it. She seemed pleased with herself and he found it sexy.

“Wow,” Will replied - impressed.

“Wow what?”

He shook his head. “You just surprise me, Faire. You’re full of fucking surprises.”

Her eyes widened - her mouth parting. The words had spilled off his tongue with such ease. They were genuine. Honest. He wasn’t entirely sure if she accepted them or believed them. Benny was so much better at casual flirtation. Christ.

There was a beat of silence. It wasn’t uncomfortable. The warm bathroom light slid fuzzy and sweet between them. The air charged with the remnants of her adrenaline and his fury and now this quiet after where both of them didn’t know where to place all of it. He broke the tension.

He made a come hither motion. “Let’s see that head, then.”

She sighed and leaned forward - allowed him to draw her closer to him.

He was careful with her - methodically pressing against the back of her skull. There was definitely a knot. He heard her intake of breath - could see the way she curled her fingers into tiny fists. The image of her helplessly striking those fists against that man overtook him and he brushed it away. He couldn’t focus on that. It was over. He was holding her now - cradling the crown of her skull - enjoying the texture of her hair and the heat of her skin.

“Anything else?” he husked.

“Anything else?” she mumbled into his wrist as he prodded her - massaging her flesh.

“Any other hurts?”

“My hands feel cold -”

He touched them immediately. He cupped them - there were a mixture of callused fingertips and smooth palms - oven burns and too much Aquaphor. He would savor this, too.

***

His hands were dry as they snuggly wrapped around her own. Her thoughts were jumbled - cycling between what had happened tonight - what was happening now - the overhanging question of her father.

Who her father was...who her father was....

She supposed that Will’s statement should strike something within her. It should nudge her - wake her up a bit. No luck. She was stuck in a fog - stuck somewhere in between raw life and dreams. She desperately wanted to sleep - wanted to curl up on a bed and not wake up for the next two weeks.

She decidedly focused on Will and what he had been doing to her legs and the open skin where glass had ripped and tore her. It was an ugly pain - those tiny little bites and burns rather than one gaping wound. She remembered falling into a rose bush as a young girl. The thorns had left her bleeding - streaking all of her bare patches of kid flesh. Her skin had stung for days.

Her dad had bandaged her. She recalled that. He had cursed long and loose when she had gone into those bushes. Words she knew were bad. But, he had extracted her carefully - soothing her with soft mouth sounds. He clucked his tongue and carried her to the house and cleaned her up - just as Will was doing now. He bought her ice cream after. Rocky Road.

“You were so brave,” he praised - stroking her plump cheek. “Not many men could have handled that, sweetheart.”

It was one of the few memories she had of him.

She met Will’s gaze. He was studying her in a way that made something molten and electric sizzle in her belly. His pupils expanded - black chewing away at all that blue. There was still the pitter patter of rain against his window. There was still the monsoon wet heat hanging off of him that he’d brought in from the storm. She was so overwhelmed that she wasn’t quite sure what to concentrate on: Will. Her cut skin. Her father.

Everything was murky. The corners and edges of his bathroom had begun to fuzz and blur like damp watercolor. The limestone was cold under her ass. The bright light above his mirror burned a circle over her head and her bare shoulders. The comfort of an artificial heat.

Her gaze darted down to his mouth before they shot back to his eyes. His brow creased - his hands left hers suddenly and he swiped his thumb over his lower lip. Nervous.

When she spoke, her voice was low and velvety. Firm. “You’re very hard to figure out.”

He chuckled - a flush rising high over his cheekbones. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Am I?”

“Yes.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“You’re just - you can kill someone like it’s nothing and then turn around and patch me back together and you’re just - I don’t know-” she exhaled as her shoulders fell. “You’re just so gentle about it.”

He stiffened - his eyes widening enough for her to notice that she’d left an impression. He was shockingly easy to get a reaction out of. She’d thought him so hard - unbreachable. He seemed to hear her - listen to her. He seemed to take what she said - whatever she said - to heart.

He clasped her knee - his thumb sweeping over the skin - back and forth. Back and forth. She wondered what he tasted like - she wondered how he kissed. Her dream about him came back to her - the flash of images - the shock of him inside her - was he that big in real life? Would he be rough? Would he bruise her mouth with his teeth?

She’d heard how he fucked and she didn’t believe those girls were putting on a show. She had listened to the pace at which that headboard rocked against the wall - the squeal of his mattress. The slap of skin. Two women at once. Her eyes roved all over him - blatantly - desperately. His broad shoulders and handsome face. The swell of his muscles beneath his button-up shirt that seemed to fit him perfectly. The beard and brand of tattoos and the blood on his sleeves and he had fucking saved her.

Her head throbbed and Will licked his lips and there was the sharp, white burst of his canines and then she leaned forward though swayed would be more apt. She registered his gaze rounding - widening and then she curled her fingers into his shirt and pulled him toward her.

She kissed him.

He was dead-still for a moment - a second - and she was too far gone - too drunk off the fact that he tasted like mints and the honey bloom of whiskey. He made a broken sort of noise - deep and gritty - as coarse hands found her waist. He crowded her against the mirror and her knees dug into his ribs. There was the thrum of his heart and he deepened that kiss - kissed her like he was going to melt into her - tongue running across her bottom lip. Her fingers found his hair and she threaded them through - catching on the silk of it. He drank her down - licked at the seam of her mouth. There was an obvious talent beneath his pace - branded in the way his mouth moved against her own. She was burning - her skull felt like it would topple off and there was a tide of fizzing golden arousal flowing through her limbs, clashing at the center of her in one whirlpool of pleasure. Her palms fell to his chest - catching at the buttons. She ripped - tore the top few off. Will didn’t even seem to notice. She leaned back to see the flush of his golden chest and the ink scrawl of his tattoo over his heart and the way his pectorals curved followed by the distinct lines of his abdomen -

He dropped his head.

His lips were on her throat - his teeth scraping the flesh over her vein and it punched a high-pitched whimper from her lungs. It had been beyond her control. Will drew back - his expression as smug as she’d ever seen it.

“Don’t get cocky,” she huffed - indignant.

“I didn’t say anything.” Gravel voice. Stone-studded.

She glared at him. He was right between her legs and somewhere along the way he had tugged her to the edge of the counter. There was nothing between them, but her flimsy shorts and his dress pants and she could feel him. She felt the bulge of him and oh -

She reached for him again and he went to her - lunging forward and she bypassed his mouth to gain access to the delicious line in his neck - beneath his jaw. She bit down and he jerked against her - his fingers digging into the flesh of her waist before they trailed toward her ass.

He pulled away far enough that he could stare down at her. He looked taken aback - he looked like she’d cut into him in a way that he hadn’t expected. His brow knitted together - his eyes went full raven-black as he leveled a predatory gaze on her heaving body. He lifted his hand and rested his fingers at the center of her chest. He slid them down between her tits - her stomach - slow as syrup before he cupped her over her shorts, his thumb curved right over the peak of her sex. She arched into him. His mouth twitched and she ground down into his hand shamelessly.

He slammed his lips to hers again and it sent fire searing through her veins.

“Who the fuck are you?” he mumbled between the harsh stroke of his tongue - the words caught up in drunk arousal - baking heat - and she was so fucking gone. She was miles away. She couldn’t stop herself. It slipped out - all those hidden things she’d been thinking down on that kitchen floor.

“I liked it,” she confessed - her body heavy and full of so fucking much. The place between her legs pulsing and needy.

“Liked what?” he rasped.

“When you killed that man.” She clenched her eyes shut for a moment - her hips chasing his hand as he suddenly drew it from her. “For me,” she added.

He stared at her - slack-jawed and stunned. His lips were all pink and red and wet with her spit and she wanted him back on her - inside her. Needed those fingers pressing urgently against her cunt again.

“Jesus Christ” he mumbled and then his next word melted into a hungry, quiet groan of: “Yes.”

He gripped the hinge of her jaw and crushed his mouth to hers.

She fell against his mirror and it jarred the crown of her head. The pain was secondary - the pain was dampened due to the onslaught of Will’s tongue and the grind of his cock against her thigh. His thumb hooked in the hole of her shorts. She clung to him like he was a rock through a swift tide. She was being ripped in each direction and her mind was so muddled and foggy and threatening to shatter.

Those men. Her father. Benny. Frankie. Pope. Will. Will who had killed three men in front of her and it was as if she couldn’t recall the terror of it. She wanted to sink into him - entangle with his darkness because she was beginning to feel a familiarity to it - maybe she had been bred for it - in it. This could have been her life - been her world. She was here now. Her father - her father -

His hand slid down her stomach - past the band of her shorts - so close - so fucking close. She could feel her pleasure riding high - circling - becoming the brunt of an electrical storm as it prepared to burst across packed dirt. He hadn’t even touched her pussy and yet…

He growled her name - grunted it against her lips before he nipped the plump flesh. She sobbed - louder than she meant to, but she was overwhelmed and on the cusp and -

Will froze. He twisted his face away from her - burying it into her shoulder.

“What are you doing?” She leaned forward - holding to him fast - trying to press her mouth to his jaw. He caught her wrists and held firm - held her at arm’s length. When he looked at her, his expression was pained.

“We can’t do this right now.”

A heavy weight fell inside her stomach. Smooth cold stone.

He scraped his hand over his face - waking himself up. “Trust me - I can’t believe I’m saying this - I - I normally wouldn’t be so fucking responsible, but you were just attacked. I can’t do this to you.”

She balked. “Yes you can - I want you, too.”

He opened his mouth before closing it again. The muscle in his jaw popped and flexed.

His face shuttered to something lost and she believed him - believed that this wasn’t what he wanted -not exactly. Still - her ego was snapping at her - was distraught at being refused. “You might want this now, but tomorrow you’ll wake up and regret it.” He squeezed her wrists and her bones felt thin and fibrous in the sheath of her flesh. “Whatever we do here, we can’t take it back.”

Her face grew hot - hotter than what had been between her legs moments before.

She shoved off the counter - landing hard on her ruined foot. “Fuck,” she screeched as she hopped onto the other one. “Shit - shit - ow-”

“What the fuck are you doing?” Will yelled as he reached for her. She curved away from him and continued onward - back to her damn room. Fuck the pain, her ego was busted - was sizzling and burning and dissipating with each second she was in here with him.

He’d said no.

Her foot screamed at her. She put all her weight on her good one and hobbled, which was probably more humiliating. Dear. God. You’re a fucking mess.

“Stop,” WIll growled somewhere behind her.

“Goodnight,” she shot over her shoulder - trying to keep herself from wincing or tumbling to her knees.

***

She didn’t really think this through as she made for her bedroom. The aches in her body had begun to stab at her - bellow as she walked. She was sure she was going to open something, but she couldn’t care.

Will was right, she should have let him take her. She’d been humiliated - felt as exposed as a raw nerve as she panted and spread her legs for him. His spit on her mouth - her tongue. She’d been frantic - desperate for him. He’d rejected her and he had been good to do it.

She was traumatized. She had been attacked. She’d just had some horrific stranger pin her to the floor and -

Jesus. She needed to really learn how to swallow her fucking pride.

She paused as the throbbing in her feet grew fiercer. Shit. She was just about to get on all fours and crawl before a pair of muscular arms banded around her waist and picked her up. She yelped - quite hideously.

Will’s face - golden and smugly handsome - peered down at her.

He arched an eyebrow. “Hate me all you want, but don’t be a stubborn ass. I don’t need you dying of blood loss or an infection.”

She was speechless. She had no comeback.

“That’s what I like to hear,” he quipped as he carried her to her room.

He used his shoulder to ease the bedroom door open and gingerly placed her on her bed. He swiftly moved towards the end of the mattress - picking her foot up to check her bandages.

“Did I fuck them up?” she asked nervously.

He peeked up at her, the corner of his lips forming a stupidly attractive dimple. “Nah - you’re fine.”

He dropped her foot and strode back to her. She didn’t jerk away from him - not even when he grasped her face between his hands and placed a kiss on her forehead. It was warm and wet. It lingered. “Be good,” he murmured before skating his hot mouth across her cheek. Her lashes fluttered and she inhaled sharply. “I promise,” he drawled - his tone lowering to something visceral - hungry and blunt. “That after tonight - if you still want me to - I’ll fuck you.” He kissed her lightly again before he pulled away to pin her with a devastating stare. “I’ll fuck you until you can’t think.” His pink tongue darted out over his lip. “I’ll lick your pretty pussy until you beg me to stop. I’ll do anything you need me to do.”

She swallowed. That heat between her legs was building one more damn time - she knew she was probably dripping with it. Fucking fucker.

“Goodnight,” he smiled sweetly and stepped away from her.

As soon as he left, she took her pillow and screamed into it.

***

She fell back against her mattress. Her head was spinning. She ached in all sorts of crevices and creases and her heart was thumping out of her chest. Hummingbird fast. Too much. All too much tonight.

You were about to let Will fuck you. You were going to let him rail you on that bathroom counter. So what? Who could care? She didn’t.

Not really.

There was a knock on her door. God damn it.

She sat up as Frankie poked his head in. He was still in his dress-clothes. His brown hair curling under his ears. He offered her a tight smile. “Hey - can we come in?”

She sighed. “Yes.”

She felt like she was on a sitcom. Each man was attempting to rob her of sleep and sanity and doing a fantastic job.

He strolled in with the Ice King behind him. Pope had a nervous sort of energy at his shoulders - tense and flustered. He paced her room before settling off to the side.

“Chill out,” she complained - pressing the back of her hand to her brow. “You’re making me all dizzy.”

His eyes shot to her. “Is your head alright? You don’t have a concussion do you?”

“Don’t think so.”

He nodded stiffly before scrubbing at his face. His stubble darkened his jaw. His curls were a mess and fell limply across his brow. It was strangely endearing. He appeared frazzled and out of sorts. Regardless - he was still gorgeous. His features heavy and bold. His coloring a work of contrasts.

When he lifted his chin, he fixed her with a heavy look. He was sizing her up, perhaps? Wondering if she could handle what he was going to deliver. She briefly feared that her lips were swollen from making out with Will. That would be less than ideal. She really was kissing her way through this house like this was a game of slutty musical chairs. Okay - not really. But kissing two of her kidnappers was an act that any therapist would eat up.

But are they your kidnappers? Or are they your protectors?

Pope cleared his throat and offered her a strained smile before he spoke.

“I’m sorry again for tonight. We’ve - we’ve never had a lapse in security to this extent.”

She shrugged.

He rolled his eyes. “I mean it. This was supposed to be the safest place for you. I said no one would touch you here and now my word is shot to shit.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not,” he snapped and Frankie glared at him. Pope had the decency to look sheepish.

“Okay,” he said. “I’m actually terrible at having a bedside manner so apologies in advance.”

She snorted, but motioned to the chair in the corner of the room. “Please sit down - you’re freaking me out with the hovering.”

“Frankie is hovering.”

“Frankie is less annoying.”

He gaped at her and she met it with a grin. She was exhausted - truly bone-dead tired - but fucking with Pope was too fun. Frankie grabbed the chair and offered it to him. He slapped him hard on the shoulder, his voice teasing. “Better listen to her, Santi.”

He rolled his eyes again, but did as he was told - dropping down into the bougie velvet chair. “This chair sucks,” he grumbled. “Wow.”

“I mean I didn’t pick it out,” she replied flatly.

“Half the shit in here is decorative - we don’t usually have guests.”

“You actually seem to have lots of guests.”

Pope’s brow furrowed in confusion as if he had no idea what she was talking about. Maybe - he didn’t. She had begun to realize that Pope’s mind revolved around work work work yell at her work.

Frankie coughed. “The girls, man.”

Pope sat up straighter. “Oh - right.”

“Yeah - you guys are really fucking loud,” she taunted as she sank deeper into her pillows. A high flush colored Pope’s cheeks. He appeared unsure how to respond. She took pity on him because she added: “So what did you want to talk to me about?”

Pope looked relieved. He leaned forward - placing his elbows on his knees. “What did they say to you?”

“I don’t think that they wanted to kill me,” she said. “At least - not here.”

Pope nodded.

“They said I was half of what they needed to get,” she continued. “So I think they might have taken something from your office - I’m not sure - there were a lot of them.” She bit her lip as she tried to think back to what they had told her. She’d been fueled entirely by adrenaline. She’d mostly been focused on surviving - getting herself out of there. It felt like she had blacked out. It felt like that entire episode in the kitchen had taken place underwater and the images were slowly drifting away from her. Frankie stepped closer to the side of the bed - offering her a comforting smile. She returned it.

“It’s okay if you don’t remember much,” he assured her.

“They said something about you guys hiding me from him,” she recalled. “They took the opening because you left me alone - at least - at least that’s what I gathered.”

“Anything else?” Pope asked. His expression was unreadable.

She shook her head. There was really nothing else. There hadn’t been much chatter. “I’m guessing that had something to do with me seeing you kill that man?”

Pope exchanged a glance with Frankie before settling it back on her. He seemed upset - tiny cracks in the solid stone of his face. He was so good at being stoic - at being unreachable. For the first time - he appeared shaken.

He steepled his fingers as he leaned back in his chair. He spread his legs out - his dark pants tight over the thick of his thighs.

“Will said you were going to tell me about my father,” she remarked quietly. She just wanted to get that in - make it clear that she wanted the answers. She was owed that. She felt like she was running naked in the dark. No fucking breadcrumbs - not a light to guide her. People were after her and she had no idea why.

“I will,” Pope replied slowly. “Your father is - is essentially the reason all of this is happening.”

Oh.

“Do you remember him?” he asked - his brown eyes flickering with some emotion.

“Not really,” She pinched her earlobe between her fingers - tugging it. A habit she’d had since she was a girl. “He died when I was young.”

“How?”

“How what?”

“How did they tell you he died?”

“My mom was pretty closed-mouth about him,” she shrugged. “I assumed it was an illness. No one really told me. I wasn’t allowed to go to the funeral.”

Pope barked a short, humorless laugh. “If only it was that.”

She frowned and snuck a glance at Frankie. He was leaning against the door - his arms crossed over his chest. He was studying Pope - seemingly ready to step in should he what? Break?

When Pope spoke again, his voice was thick - trapped in his throat. “The men who broke in belonged to Baron.”

“I figured,” She pulled on her earlobe harder - massaged it until it warmed. “Outside of you guys - I’m pretty sure that was the only dude in this city who wanted me dead.”

Pope gave a derisive snort. “We don’t want you dead, sweetheart. You should know that by now.”

He said it so bluntly that it took her aback. His vivid eyes were steady on her - gaze direct. She averted her gaze - suddenly uncomfortable.

“Baron,” Pope continued. “- is my brother.”

***

Frankie watched her startled expression as she processed the information. She drew a breath before she giggled. She slapped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry,” she said. “I’m - that’s just a lot.”

Santi frowned. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” she said. “No - keep going. I’m fine.”

Frankie didn’t think she was. Sweat had begun to bead at her hairline. She looked like he could knock her over with a feather. There was swelling under her eyes and he was sure that bruising would pepper her skin by morning. He had seen that man on top of her - his full weight burying her into the floor.

Frankie felt that familiar wrath ignite in his belly one more time. It circled and spat in his chest. He needed to be careful with it. His anger made him lose control more often than not. He didn’t know why he was taking this all so intensely. It was like they had hurt him. He supposed that it was his decades-long hatred for Baron - Mateo - and the fact that he wanted to destroy this woman who hadn’t asked for any of it.

The lights in her bedroom were soft as pats of butter. Orange and gold. The Apple TV screensaver beamed image after image: the Great Wall, the Barrier Reef, Notre Dame, Big Ben, and deserted roads leading to mountain ranges. Frankie found it funny how quickly he had come to see this as her room. It was plain - had no personal touches. Still - it was hers.

He passed her door every morning and thought of her asleep - wondered how she looked - her face in her pillow. Were there bottles beneath her bed? Did she rest at all?

He hoped learning about her father might help her out - might direct her to some closure. She was bleeding out in all sorts of ways. Consumed.

Pope ran a hand through his curls - his jaw ticking. Frankie knew that Pope didn’t like to talk about this. He knew that those particular ghosts had rattled away in him and had refused to pass on. Still - Pope owed her.

“Baron and I have a strained relationship at best,” Santi told her. Frankie rolled his eyes before he could stop himself. Strained was being more than generous. “The Apostles and The Cardinals have also never gotten along. It’s a decades-long rivalry - maybe even centuries if you want to go all the way back to our time in Europe. Old families. Superstitions. Slights that no one forgave. They’re petty. There’s an Apostle who claims a Cardinal stole four of his family’s cattle like a hundred years ago”

“Very Capulets and Montagues,” she observed in such a sage manner that Santi cracked a smile.

“Yeah,” he said. “Exactly.”

“So how is he the head of the Apostles if he’s your brother?”

“I’ll get to that, but basically we had been trying to form an alliance the last few years because there’s been too much bloodshed - too much violence between the different factions. It had become a problem for us both and it would have been better if we were united when it came to dealing with the other groups.” Santi smoothed the fabric of his pants. “The night you saw us was an execution of sorts. My brother said that a Cardinal had been playing two sides - spying on the Apostles inventory and trade routes and handing it to the Serpents who own the Southeast corner of Ashford. We had solid proof and so we killed him as a sign of good faith.” He shot her bitter smile. “When I first saw you, I just thought you were some unfortunate girl who was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“I mean I was,” she interrupted bluntly. Frankie smirked.

“Okay - fair,” Santi said - exasperated. “Look - it’s not admirable or good, but it’s fucking business. We couldn’t let that shit get out and if we hadn’t killed you, Baron would have done it without issue.” His gaze darkened. “You don’t want Baron to ever get his hands on you because he’s a fucking psychopath. He does nothing by the book and he relishes in hurting people. I figured that it would be better if I were to handle it because it would have been a clean shot - you wouldn’t have felt a thing.”

“Lovely,” she spat, screwing her eyes shut for a moment before circling her temples with her fingertips. Frankie wondered how much pain she was in - wondered if Will had given her anything. “So then you found out I’m a Faire and it changed everything. You care about my dad - at least I think you do. Why?”

The room tensed - filling with crosscurrents. There was so much history - so much shit that Santi rarely ever touched. Frankie had known all the players in question after growing up with Santi. He had known her father. He had known Mateo - had known that there had been something wrong with him. He was empty - black eyes that glimmered like a shark’s. He’d been handsome, of course. There was no one in the Garcia family who wasn’t, but still. He had an aura of wickedness. He was missing parts - missing empathy and reason. He was a terror and always had been. Frankie had felt it - understood it before even Santi had. His brother was never going to settle for being second and Santi’s pity - his compassion - had blown up in their faces.

Images flashed across Frankie’s memory. Mateo and his knives. Mateo in Edward Garcia’s ear - desperate for their father’s attention - his blessing. Mateo swindling and betting and having the talent of making people believe him. Regardless, it was always going to be Santi and once Mateo had understood that - resigned himself to it - he was the most dangerous he’d ever been.

“Your father - Charles - was a good man,” Santi started. “He was kinder than my own father in a lot of ways. He had wanted the Apostles and the Cardinals to align. He thought we’d be stronger as a united front, which we would have been. My father wouldn’t hear it or he was just too stubborn about giving Charles a straight answer so he came to me. He knew I was being trained to take over and he felt like I’d agree.”

Her brow wrinkled. “Wait - why would my dad have so much say in this? Was he like second in command or something?”

Santi blinked at her. “Your father was the head of the Apostles.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Oh,” she whispered before she placed her gaze back to her blankets. She picked at the fabric. Santi took a beat before he kept going.

“That is why your name holds so much weight,” he explained. “That was why we didn’t kill you.”

She tugged at the frayed wisps of the comforter. “But you were going to kill me - you said as much that night - even after you knew who I was.”

Santi exhaled sharply. “Look - yes - at first - I thought it would make my life easier. I’m not a good guy, Faire. I’ve never been a good guy. I didn’t know you. Not - not really.”

“But you changed your mind?”

Santi’s voice dropped - it gentled. Frankie wouldn’t call it tender, but it seemed like he was trying his best to be earnest.

“I did,” He opened and closed his mouth - gaping like a fish struggling for breath as he seemed to search for the right words. “I had met you before - when you were little.” Her head sprung up - her expression stunned as she slammed those jewel-bright eyes on him. “I just saw you once - playing in the garden at your house. I was meeting with your dad over something. I was still a teenager - a kid, really.”

He tipped his chin. “I just - I remembered that and I knew we had to do right by your father.”

Frankie glanced at him. Santi wasn’t even telling her the full story. He was telling her pieces. They had spoken about it and how it had been Santi who had wanted to send her away and Benny who said she would be useful later on - that they owed Charles to keep an eye on her and that Baron would just track her ass down.

Baron would want her - be fiending for her. The blood daughter of Charles Faire. The Apostles were superstitious - fucking old school - they’d see her as an opportunity. A few might have known she was alive, but once she had stepped into the Chapel - stepped back into their world - it blurred the lines. It sent a message that maybe she did want to be involved even though she had no fucking idea what she’d done.

“You - you knew me,” she muttered under her breath.

“I know it’s a lot,” Santi began, but she cut him off.

She tried to laugh, but her breath caught in her throat - like it was too much to laugh at all. “I think - I think I’m gonna need a break.” Santi stood up - he stepped forward and she stopped him with a pained look. He awkwardly shoved his hands into his pants. “It’s not you - it’s just everything. Tonight has been a lot and I - I can’t handle it all right now.”

Santi nodded. He cast Frankie a weary glance before he left. A silent take care of her.

***

As soon as Santi closed the door, Frankie turned toward her. “Are you alright?”

It was obvious she wasn’t.

She was trembling now - her expression slanted into a grimace. Her chest was rising and falling in short bursts. She made a choking noise as she collapsed forward - curling her fingers into her bedding.

“I’m-I’m sorry - I’m just - fuck - a little overwhelmed,” she gasped. She pressed her hand to her chest. “I need to get out of here. I need - need to get-t out of this room.”

“Shit,” Frankie hissed. “Okay - okay, honey. We’re going to go somewhere - let you breathe.”

There was no doubt that she was having some sort of panic attack. He knew these well. He knew them when he was dealing with Benny - especially after what had happened. He had owed it to him. As Frankie lifted her by the waist, he felt the lingering imprint of Will’s knuckles against his cheek. He had rarely seen Will lose his cool, but he had that day - that moment he had found out that his brother had been taken. Those grim-mottled memories were threatening to crash into his brain and he didn’t have time for that. He couldn’t focus on his own regret - his guilt that he nursed like his last drink.

“I’m sorry,” she slurred as he carried her down the hall towards his room. “I’m sorry - this - I don’t know why this is happening.”

It punched at his heart. Just a bit. She had been attacked in their home. She had just learned that Santi had known both her father and her.

It really was a lot.

He had a large balcony that he shared with Benny. He shouldered his way through the French doors before stepping onto the rain-soaked stone. He sat down in one of the chairs with her in his lap. She didn’t protest - didn’t say much of anything. It was cold for late summer and he found himself reaching around her - embracing her from behind. Above them was the faded-out purpling sky. Dawn was slinking its way toward them. The air still held that liquid-gasp of the dying storm. Her shoulders were against his chest and she was freezing - goose-pimpled and still gulping for precious oxygen.

“Breathe with me,” he ordered as kindly as he could. He grasped her wrists - molded himself to her. “Focus on my chest - on my lungs - close your eyes.”

She shuddered. “I-I can’t.”

He frowned. “Okay - look in front of you. What do you see?”

“Table,” she said. “Chairs. Wet cushions.”

“Keep going,” he urged. The front of his dress shirt was now sticky with her sweat. He pushed his nose against her hair - his breath fanning over the top of her head. She had begun to settle inch by inch.

“There’s a box with stones and succulents. There’s an empty beer can.”

“Benny,” he said. “He always comes out here.”

“Benny,” she repeated.

“His room is right there,” he pointed toward another set of French doors. Benny so rarely closed his curtains. He’d often get an eyeful of whoever Benny was fucking while just trying to enjoy his coffee. He could make out the dim lighting next to his large bed. The mussed sheets. Benny was probably still downstairs - interrogating - making heads roll -

“Start counting,” he urged and she did.

“1…2…3…”

***

They got to about sixty when she finally went slack. She was holding onto his hands - her grip clammy, but fierce. He tried to ignore the way her ass fit between his thighs, the curves of her hooking into him. She was attractive - very attractive and he felt a tingle of guilt that his mind was heading for filthy territory. She needed his help. She needed a support system. Frankie had done so much bad shit in his life - truly terrible shit that his whole ledger dripped with it.

He felt the least he could do was guide her through her own lapses.

“The sun is coming up,” he said softly. “You need to sleep. You can sleep all day if you’d like.”

“Yeah,” she mumbled - her voice still distant. “That’d be nice.”

He leaned forward - curving around to look at her. Her hair brushed his cheek - his nose. She cut a sideways glance at him.

There was something so lonely about her - something sad. There was a kind of emptiness inside her that ate and ate and pulled you down into its meat. He knew it well. He knew the things he had done to fill it.

“I’m a fucking mess,” she grumbled.

“Trust me, sweetheart,” he assured her. “I’ve been an even bigger mess.”

“How so?”

“I think there have been enough stories today,” He scratched at his beard. He was still in his suit and it felt tight - uncomfortable. He’d likely burn it and get a new one. It stank of blood and sweat. “Too much history and not enough sleep.”

“Fair point.”

***

“Will you stay with me?” she asked as he helped her to her bed. He stared at her - taking note of her curved shoulders and hunched spine. Her eyes that were round and huge in her face. The tang of fear that clung to her. “Just for a second. " She paused, licking her lips. "It’s also totally fine if you don’t want-”

“Sure,” he said as he reached for the uncomfortable chair to sit on.

“You can lie on the bed,” she suggested. “Pretty sure we’re past the point of being formal about all of this.”

He huffed a laugh. She had a point seeing as he had just had her in his lap minutes ago. He kicked his shoes off and laid down next to her. He felt the slightest blip of anxiousness as the mattress dipped under his weight. Nothing would happen here between them. Nothing.

She was inches from him - a white lake of sheet between the sides of their arms. She was stiff as she stared up into the ceiling. He admired her profile as her chest rose and fell.

Though she was still beautiful, she really did look exhausted. Her features hung loose and drawn out. Before he could stop himself, he reached out and tapped her lightly between her eyes.

“Sleep,” he demanded.

Her lips twitched. “Suddenly it’s difficult.”

“What do you want me to do? Tell you a story?”

She was silent - her fingers curling and uncurling into her blankets. “Is Baron really as scary as Pope says?”

“Worse,” Frankie muttered before he realized that that was probably not the right thing to tell her. It wasn’t a lie though. He thought lies wouldn’t help her in the long run.

Her lashes fluttered - her lids drooping.

“We won’t let him touch you,” Frankie added. He knew that he did mean that. He wasn’t lying - he would do everything he could to prevent him from taking her.

“You can’t promise me that,” she murmured - words slurring at the edges.

Frankie didn’t know what to say. She was right, of course. Still - it saddened him - ate away at him.

She kept going - her voice breath-soft. “Not-not anything against you. I’ve just come to learn that no one can really protect me. Not even the people who should have.” Her eyes were closed now - her mouth slightly open.

“Yeah,” He reached out and dragged his thumb across the plump of her cheek. “We can still try, though.”

She didn’t respond and he realized that she had fallen asleep.

[nextstarblazers]

EPISODE 13

“My home! Mother! Father! Mother! They were gonna meet me here at the bus stop! Where are they? Mom, dad!” - Derek Wildstar

The next episode of STAR BLAZERS didn’t make all that much of an impact on me when I was a younger viewer, but it is absolutely chilling as an adult, even with all of the editing that was done to it. It’s an episode that captures the real-world pain experienced by the animators who made it, and contains a number of sequences that I’m surprised made it onto American airwaves in what was marketed as a children’s cartoon. For all that it pulls the worst of its punches, it still hits like a ton of bricks.

There are a whole string of episodes right here in the middle of the first YAMATO series whose content wound up being blunted and neutered quite a bit by the differences in broadcast standards between the United States and Japan. Consequently, many of these episodes are largely treated by American fans as being filler between the big, satisfying battles–whereas in reality, they are among the most satisfying installments in the canon, at least before they were tampered with.

This particular episode starts off with an unrelated prologue, in which Leader Desslok is called away from a relaxing soak to award a medal to one of his front-line generals, Lysis. Lysis tells Desslok that he’s heard about the Earth ship encroaching on Gamilon territory, and he asks for the honor of being allowed to destroy it. He’s to be the next recurring enemy that the Star Force will face over multiple episodes, and he’s instantly painted as far more formidable and dangerous than the late Colonel Ganz.

Meanwhile, for no readily apparent reason, Wildstar, Conroy and the Black Tiger squadron is flying a scouting patrol ahead of the Argo. They come across a Gamilon patrol and engage the enemy in combat. This winds up being another underwhelming space dogfight, especially to viewers who were fresh from STAR WARS, but it was still a step up from the previous one in Episode 4. During the skirmish, one of the Gamilon planes is damaged but not destroyed, and Conroy lines up a killing shot (”If I do get him, Wildstar, it’s one less we’ll have to fight tomorrow!”) But Wildstar has a different idea, and he and Conroy shoot tethers onto the crippled Gamilon fighter, towing it back to the Argo.

In the fighter bay, everybody is excited about the prospect of seeing just what a Gamilon really looks like (”I wonder what those Gamilons are really like!” opined Eager, “I guess judging from their advanced science, they must be extremely intelligent creatures!”) no one more so than Doctor Sane, who’ll be conducting the examination. Everybody seems to have forgotten about Episode 6, where Wildstar, Nova and IQ-9 got an up close look at a Gamilon soldier. But that guy wound up buried in an ice slide on Titan, so this is really the first opportunity anybody on the Star Force has had to speak with or study an actual Gamilon.

STAR BLAZERS tries mightily to disguise the fact that, as Doctor Sane makes his examination of the enemy pilot and the crew watches from the observation deck, Derek Wildstar is growing more and more agitated–to the point where he races downstairs and breaks into the examining room. This whole sequence is heavily edited from YAMATO, in which Wildstar doesn’t just jump at the guy, but rather grabs a knife from Doctor Sane’s tools and attempt to out and out kill the helpless prisoner. Wildstar is suffering from post-traumatic stress, and we’re about to find out why.

The episode segues into a flashback to the events of seven years earlier, at the start of the Earth’s war with Gamilon (and it’s pretty incredible that they whole affair lasted for seven years, given the technological superiority of the Gamilon forces, to say nothing of their eventually-revealed need to emigrate to Earth.) Again here, STAR BLAZERS needs to take some liberties, because this extended flashback clearly takes place in Japan, in the traditional Japanese home of Wildstar and his family. All sorts of cuts and trims needed to be made to transform the place into the location-neutral “Great Island.” 

The sequence opens with Derek and his unnamed mother meeting his older brother Alex at the bus stop, as Alex is returning home for leave from Cadet School. At home, friends and family gather, and Alex is peppered with questions concerning reports of interplanetary bombings that are beginning to spread. The older Wildstar sibling hasn’t got any better intel to provide to his family. (Sequences of the gathering dancing traditional Japanese dances and eating in the style of the culture were all excised.) Derek himself is shown to be a sensitive and emotional child, who is a bit jealous of all of the attention being lavished upon his elder sibling.

That evening, “Great Island” is bombed, awakening both Derek and Alex and causing the latter to be called back to his post. These sequences are plainly very visceral for the Japanese animators who are crafting them, working out the complex emotions of the only civilization to have had an actual Atomic Warhead detonated upon its cities. Again, STAR BLAZERS softens all of this in tone, but even the footage that remains is quite powerful and chilling when viewed with knowledgeable eyes. Also affecting is the scenes of the devastation left in the wake of the bombing, and the manner in which the citizenry pull together to help one another out during these difficult times, a reflection no doubt of the true experiences of the Japanese.

Things grow more dire as the Earth in total, and Great Island in particular, is bombed many times. Construction begins on the underground cities that the survivors will relocate to, enormous city-sized bomb shelters situated deep below the surface of the Earth. But building them takes time, and the population rows ever more panicked and fearful about its survival.

Derek visits Alex at his base, bringing his older brother a Bento lunch that their mother had made for him. (STAR BLAZERS has Alex call it “chocolate cake” even though it is fairly clearly sushi and rice balls–sushi hadn’t quite come over from Japan yet at the time when STAR BLAZERS first aired.) Derek is a scared kid, and he rejects Alex’s encouragement that he should go into the armed forces. “Oh, I forgot,” the senior Wildstar says, “My little brother doesn’t believe in fighting.” This is worlds away from the Wildstar that we have witnessed throughout the first half of the series, who can hardly restrain himself when the opportunity arises to lay the smackdown on some Gamilon attackers.

Back at home, Derek’s mother and father head out to the bus stop to meet his returning bus. Along the way, they share a lovely little story about their proposal of marriage, one that serves to humanize them both a bit (despite the fact that neither of them is given a name.) Wildstar’s mother muses that it’s still a lovely place, despite all of the surrounding devastation. But Derek has missed his bus home, and so mom and dad are still standing at the bus stop when a planet bomb lands practically on top of them, vaporizing the both of them almost instantly.

Again here, STAR BLAZERS cuts the actual moment of impact–which is a good thing, as it’s a pretty difficult moment to watch. But there’s no getting around the fact that Mr and Mrs Wildstar are very much dead, and that Derek is now an orphan. What’s more, as Wildstar, himself caught up in the shockwave from the blast that overturned the later bus he was on, makes his way unsteadily to where his parents are meant to be waiting for him, it is clear that he blames himself and his delay as the reason why they had been standing at ground zero. The rage and trauma and guilt turning him from the sensitive butterfly-collecting child we saw at the outset into the angry, revenge-hungry young man of today.

Back in the present on board the Argo, Venture, IQ-9 and Doctor Sane are able to talk Wildstar back to his senses, and he drops his knife, ashamed of himself. But it’s only a momentary reversal, as the Gamilon pilot takes this opportunity to go for the weapon, intending to end his own life in ritual suicide. Wildstar is able to stop him by knocking the blade out of his hands, but then he loses control completely, pummeling the Gamilon crazily until the two of them are spent, tear-filled, breathless sacks upon the floor. STAR BLAZERS cuts all of this business with the knife and the suicide attempt, but does allow Wildstar to go apeshit on the prisoner, a more violent action than most other episodes might have allowed. With everything that needed to be trimmed here, I expect that the bar was set a bit higher in terms of what was deemed acceptable for this episode.

STAR BLAZERS also introduces a bizarre bit of nonsensical business that wasn’t in the original YAMATO episode. As Avatar and Sandor attempt to interrogate the prisoner, the narrator reveals that, before each mission, each Gamilon pilot has his memory erased so that he can’t provide information to an enemy if captured. The source material simply had the captured pilot being of low enough rank that he knew nothing of value that he could tell the Star Force–I’m guessing that somebody realized that just the location of Gamilon itself would have been valuable intel that any pilot was sure to know, hence this contrivance.

Either way, the finale is the same in both YAMATO and STAR BLAZERS: the Star Force is operating with a very limited food supply (a situation that will grow more dire in the coming days), so they can’t afford another mouth to feed. Once Sandor has repaired his plane, Avatar orders the Gamilon released. And for all that food is a precious commodity, Avatar makes his wishes known to Wildstar subtly: “You know, he hasn’t had anything to eat all day.”

In the hanger bay, just before he takes off, the Gamilon pilot is surprised when Wildstar races up to him and gives him a package of food to take with him on his journey home. The two enemies share a smile between them, and the tension is broken. We’re told that the pilot eventually made his way back to his unit, while the Star Force continued on towards Iscandar–now with only 305 days remaining until the human race is completely wiped out.

[jeremys-blogs]

Hilda: Value in Low Stakes

It will likely come as no surprise to anyone, but I am a massive fan of the Netflix exclusive, Hilda. Ever since it first premiered, I have been utterly enchanted with it, from its characters to its setting and everything in between. In fact, so enamoured am I with it that I'd even go so far as to say that it's not only my favourite Netflix animation, but possibly one of my favourite works of animation overall from the last few years. And before anyone asks, yes, I have seen the second season, and yes, I did enjoy it a great deal. If you're getting into Netflix and looking for recommendations, then consider Hilda mine for you. However, as with all shows that I love, there's always something about it that will tend to make me think . Something that will make it stand out and enthral me like others don't, and with Hilda, one of those things is undoubtedly its tendency to have problems and dangers that, when compared to other shows, don't seem to be as massive or grand. That the show favours having things that worry me in ways that other fantasy stories simply haven't managed to do in quite some time impresses me a great deal, and it's something that, frankly, comes as a breath of fresh air for me.

What I mean by this is that, when I look at other works of fiction for children, especially the ones that go in more fantastical directions, there appears to be a need or want to make the stakes bigger, more deadly, more epic. It's a trend that, even if we focus exclusively on, say, other Netflix shows I like, crops up all the time. Dark Crystal? The entire Gelfling race might be wiped out. Dragon Prince? A dark wizard might take over the world. Voltron? The entire friggin' multiverse might be wiped from existence. It's always making things more and more devastating. Stakes so apocalyptically high that we can't help but be skeptical about their willingness to actually go through with it. It's as if there's this recurring feeling among those who create these shows and others that massive dangers are what need to happen to keep their audiences invested. And don't get me wrong, I like these shows and absolutely don't want to see their casts come to such terrible ends. But there comes a point where I sit back and just feel exhausted from always seeing monumentally bad consequences given as a possibility in these shows and films. A feeling that I just want them to try something not so far down that end on the scale of devastation.

Now I'm not trying to say that I look down in any way on the moments of danger in this show. Far from it. A lot of those times are incredibly engaging and show off some really creative and imaginative monsters and magic and all that good stuff. And those times provide great conflicts in the show and obstacles for our heroine and her friends to overcome. But when I sit back and think on the moments that really got to me in this show, it wasn't things like them going up against a dragon or a kraken or anything like that. It was the moments where their relationships were strained or their emotional wellbeing was on the line. This may, to some, seem like a strange thing to say. After all, having their life put at risk by monsters is naturally something to be more worried about than whether or not they're in a good emotional place, right? Well, oftentimes I find myself affected by these latter scenes a great deal more, and it's a testament to how much the show has managed to get me to like these characters that seeing them in his more dramatic times with one another made me far more invested than seeing them overcome whatever the monster-of-the-week was.

To give an example of what I mean by all this, let's focus on what, to me, is the absolute lowest emotional moment of the show's first season. The ending of its ninth episode, "The Ghost", has Hilda and her friend Frida get into a very heated arguments over the events of that particular story. Now there have been moments where the two didn't see eye-to-eye before, but this moment really turned that up to eleven. Harsh and hurtful words are said, and by the time it's over, Frida has effectively thrown Hilda and their friend David out of her life. It is a completely heartbreaking moment in the show, since we've had all this time to show these kids as being good friends. Seeing them driven apart like this was viscerally uncomfortable to watch, and worried me far more than any other dangerous thing they'd been doing until that point. And it was made all the worse by the fact that the three didn't all get back together in the same scene until a full three episodes later. I've seen friends bicker in shows before, but I've never had their division last as long as that, and I was genuinely fearful that this might actually be a permanent split between them, something no other such scenario in other fictions has ever made me feel.

And this element of characters drifting apart from one another carries over into the show's second season, and yes, there will be spoilers here. One of the main recurring stories of the show's latest episodes has been a growing rift between Hilda and her mother, Johanna. Now there were always times when the two weren't on the same wavelength in the first season, but here it almost seems as though they were spending every other episode in some sort of conflict with each other. Johanna, very rightly, worries for her daughter's wellbeing, which we in the audience can empathize with a great deal, given that we have front-row seats to just how much danger the girl puts herself in. We know Johanna doesn't want to be firm with Hilda or to restrict her, and we know that Hilda doesn't want to be angry with her mother, yet time and again we see that being exactly where the two wind up, and like with the argument with Frida last season it is painful to see these two be this way. We fear for their relationship, we hope that things can be mended with them, and while I can't speak for anyone but myself, I can safely say that the show did brilliantly in putting a big question mark over whether or not their happier early connection could be brought back.

The best comparison I can make as to how this all feels to me would be from one of my all-time favourite movies, Return of the King. Now I could just gush forever about how great that film was, but the important and relevant point here is that, like with Hilda, it's the connections between the characters that affected me more than the physical dangers and doom they were facing. The siege of Minas Tirith and the subsequent battle of Pelennor Fields was all monumentally enjoyable stuff, easily some of the best big screen battles you'll ever see. But then there are the scenes like Gollum manipulating Frodo into sending Sam away from him, or later moments of Frodo failing to resist the temptation of the One Ring. These moments, these smaller, more emotional moments, they are the things that really throw a wrench in me. I feel so uneasy at times like this that I legitimately feel the urge to skip them simply because of how uncomfortable they are to sit through. Great acting quality certainly helps them, but at the end of the day I feared more for these two friends who had been through Hell together than the fate of some massive army fighting out in the field. And even today those scenes stand out as some of the most affecting from any movie I've ever seen.

When characters are given to us just right, when we're invested in someone we see in a book or a TV show, animated or otherwise, then things that happen to them, big or small, will affect us. Care enough about someone and even the tiniest of problems or ordinary, realistic dramas can have us on the edge of our seats. Grand-scale disasters are all well and good, and I can probably think of more than a few instances where these kinds of stakes have gotten me interested in seeing where it was all going to go. But I think that, somewhere along the way, people as a whole have started to forget about just how important it is to focus in a little bit. Hilda is a show not about massive goings on, but about gentler things. Of interpersonal relationships and what happens to them in the face of a bizarre and magical world. It succeeds brilliantly in getting me to love the title character and her friends and family, and I worry for them just as much as they do for one another. And if ever there was proof needed that this show is something special, something to be treasured, it is undoubtedly that it makes me, and hopefully others, feel that way more than other shows have managed to do before 😊

[penniesforthestorm]

On ‘Twin Peaks’, Part 1

 A Policeman’s Dream

NOTICE: I have tried to avoid concrete spoilers, but honestly, if you haven’t watched the full series, all of this will sound like gibberish anyway, so read on at your own risk.

My very first favorite movie was Snow White and the Seven Dwarves. There was a period of time when I watched it almost every day. My favorite scene, the moment I geared myself up for every time, was of Snow White in her glass coffin, being mourned by the dwarves and other denizens of the woods. I didn’t cry because she was dead (I knew how the story ended), but because the dwarves were sad, weeping for their beloved companion.

Fast-forward twenty years later, during my first year on my own in New York City, when I decided to watch David Lynch's Twin Peaks for the first time. I had developed an impression of what it was—Kyle McLachlan playing a more grown-up version of his character in Blue Velvet (which I saw during my senior year of high school), once again investigating the corruption and decay behind the white-picket-fence façade of an American small town. Something about pie and coffee and owls and a dead teenage girl.

I was not expecting the visceral grief of the pilot episode. The way Pete Martell (Jack Nance)'s voice warbles on the words "wrapped in pla-a-astic"—indignant that Laura Palmer (Sheryl Lee), not just princess, but prom queen, should wind up in so cheap and unworthy a coffin. The tears of Deputy Andy Brennan (Harry Goaz), the Galahad of the Twin Peaks police force, as he examines the body no kiss could revive. Sweet Donna Hayward (Lara Flynn Boyle) and James Hurley (James Marshall) sharing a look of horror as they realize their friend has slipped out of their grasp one final time. Laura Palmer's murder touched everyone in this modest mountain town, so reminiscent of my own home of Missoula, Montana—which, of course, ends up playing a role in the series (and was the birthplace of David Lynch himself).

Over the course of the series, I realized something else: David Lynch and Mark Frost are two of the very few filmmakers who have ever captured the nature of dreams. It's one thing to throw forty-five or sixty or ninety minutes of nonsense at an audience and call it 'dream logic'—it's an entirely different thing to actually transmit the experience of dreaming itself. Special Agent Dale Cooper (McLachlan) has a dream in the third episode, in which a black-gowned Laura Palmer whispers the name of her killer into his ear. A little man in a red suit, his voice recorded backwards and dubbed forwards, says, "Let's rock!" There are red curtains, and a floor with a black-and-white zigzag. That, I thought to myself, that looks like one of my dreams. A series of images and phrases which may or may not retain any meaning upon waking, but which feel incredibly significant while you're experiencing them.

Or take that wonderful scene at the Double-R Diner, when the cerebral Major Garland Briggs (Don Davis), sits down with his wayward, petulant son Bobby (Dana Ashbrook), and describes one of his dreams. In so doing, he helps Bobby understand that despite their disagreements, despite all of Bobby's ill-advised rebellion, his father still loves him. It's a beautiful testament of faith—a little rest from all the terror and confusion surrounding the characters. (An excerpt of Major Briggs' monologue shows up in Terrence Malick's 2016 film Knight of Cups, which is itself a flawed, but frequently arresting meditation on fathers and sons. I almost squealed in the theater.)

The best trick, though, is the way Lynch and Frost made the real world seem like a nightmare. Ronette Pulaski (Phoebe Augustine) crawling out of the fog in her white slip, unable to give voice to what she's been through, languishing under heavy sedation at the hospital. Poor Maddy Ferguson (Sheryl Lee again, but with dark hair and a mousy affect), betrayed by the same figure that killed her cousin Laura. Even jovial Big Ed Hurley (Everett McGill), trapped by guilt into a suffocating marriage, and our Special Agent Dale Cooper, haunted by the woman he couldn't save. In the world of Twin Peaks, all lines are blurred—dream and reality, future and past, even (ultimately) life and death.

So much for the original series. I finished it just after Christmas of 2014. Time moved forward. I followed the rumors of the show's return, that terrible period when it seemed like Lynch wanted no part in this expansion of his creation, and the wild mishmash of speculation on the fates of various characters. (Whither John Justice Wheeler? …Just kidding; no one cared about him.)

In the spring of 2016, I experienced a shattering tragedy of my own: the loss of a friend, a wonderfully talented and tenderhearted young man. He, too, was the focal point for a small, vibrant community of people. He, too, had secrets. In the fall of that year, I started watching Twin Peaks again, in preparation for the new series. Suddenly, the reaction of Sarah Palmer (Grace Zabriskie) to her daughter's death—her madness and devastation—didn't seem so extreme. Time moved differently in the aftermath. One foggy evening in December, I briefly felt as though I had left time completely. (The next morning, under the shroud of a brutal hangover, I experienced every second with thudding clarity.)

I sped through the series, exchanging observations with my brother—how I'd hated creamed corn as a child, the sweetness of the friendship between Shelley Johnson (Mädchen Amick) and Norma Jennings (Peggy Lipton), how, this time around, I felt a certain tenderness toward Bobby Briggs. I skipped a large portion of Season 2—the plotlines of Ben Horne: Civil War Enthusiast and Invitation to Love: The James Hurley Edition in particular. I nursed deep disappointment over the fact that Michael Ontkean would not be returning as Sheriff Harry S. Truman. There's a moment, fairly late in the first series, when Truman hears Agent Cooper coming down the hall, and his face just lights up: here comes my friend. I was sure his steadfast decency would be missed.

The day before the premiere of Twin Peaks: The Return, I finally watched the film Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me, which is, chronologically, a prequel to the original series, but would make absolutely zero sense in isolation. (No, I am not going to make the obvious joke here. You can do that on your own.) It functions as something of a dark mirror to the TV show. Instead of the chipper, kindly Dale Cooper, we get Agent Chet Desmond (Chris Isaak)—vaguely louche and sardonic, investigating the death of the transient Teresa Banks (Pamela Gidley), in the badlands of Oregon. The Deer Meadow law enforcement is steeped in corruption and obtusely unhelpful. Harry Dean Stanton shows up as Carl Rodd, owner of the trailer park where Teresa Banks lived, spectacularly put-upon and haunted by… something. At the FBI headquarters in Philadelphia, David Bowie makes an outrageous, ethereal cameo, as a long-lost agent gabbling about convenience stores and someone named Judy (or, rather emphatically not about Judy).

And Laura. Laura Palmer, in her last week on Earth, already nearly crushed by her own secrets. Laura, of the coloratura scream and fathomless blue eyes, desperately trying to protect her darling Donna (portrayed here by Moira Kelly) from the degradation of the infamous Bang Bang Bar (a.k.a. the Roadhouse). Laura, paralyzed with horror when she finally understands the true identity of her tormentor. Laura, seeking one last respite in the arms of the faithful James, before disappearing into the woods where her martyrdom awaits. In a world where another season of the show would likely never happen, Fire Walk With Me provides an ending. Notice I didn't say 'the' ending.

Please join me for Part 2, coming tomorrow!

[songketalliance]

Surviving Rape

An anonymous contribution

I finished the entire Thirteen Reasons Why series in two sittings, leaving the last episode for the second day because I was so exhausted the first day to continue. Not due to the lack of sleep from staying up to catch the show, but because it was such a struggle to watch.

I had been in a much better place with my mental health over the past few years and I found myself then only to be re-subjected to memories of abuse I have tried so hard, for so long, to shut out.

The final third of the series is vividly, irresponsibly, and unnecessarily explicit. However, it was one particular scene during the penultimate episode that triggered me — so much so that my body was responding so viscerally to it I was made unable to function for a week and am still trying to recover today.

As Bryce shoved Hannah down on her back, forcing himself into her from behind, I couldn’t bring myself to fast forward to the next cut. Believe me, I tried to move my hand and the drag the mouse but I. Just. Couldn’t. I froze, the way Hannah did, watching with a familiar sense of helplessness as the graphic scene unfolded on my computer screen.

What followed were prolonged fits of panic with heart palpitations and what felt like my chest burning. They were unaided by how I experienced the sound of each beat like they were a blow to my belly, every sensation of having difficulty breathing like I was held down in a tub filled with hot water.

Suddenly, I began to drift away toward an all too familiar place, where I am confronted with haunting images of my past I would rather stay buried in the deep recesses of my mind. Normally, these recollections come in the form of a gloomy compilation with no adherence to the timeline in which they actually occurred. Oftentimes, they come in jumbled and confused fragments. Hazy, like parts of a dream you try to hold on to after waking — except I only wanted to let go. Incomplete, that I would question if they had actually happened — preferring to believe that they didn’t, and for over 10 years I had kept the truth of what did happen to me a secret from everybody except my GP and counsellor at University, believing that, maybe, if I did not say it out loud, it becomes less real. Less true.

But at that moment, a blurry vision started to take shape forcing me to remember a series of events in exquisitely painful detail.

I was raped.

By my father.

So often rape gets reduced to the physical act. The moments when you are being physically violated are presented as the trauma, and once that is over, you are expected to heal as though it were any other wound that merely needs time to scar over.

What is rarely ever spoken about is the emotional and mental toll that it takes on you, the way it eats you out from inside. Or how you punish yourself time and time over because you cannot forgive yourself even when it wasn’t your fault. And how telling yourself it wasn’t your fault does little to help convince you that there was in fact nothing you could have done.

I was ashamed, too. But my shame was not about the sexual nature of the crime. It was about how I saw myself. I was ashamed of being ignorant, of not knowing what he was doing to me. Maybe if I did, I would have fought back. I wouldn’t have stayed silent. I wouldn’t have stayed frozen.

I was ashamed of ever trusting this person that was supposed to be the one man who was supposed to not hurt me.

I was ashamed that -more than the actual rape- the betrayal of later realising what he had done and who he was to me had left me feeling ruined to this day, like I were damaged goods. And it was the fact that he was my father which devastated me the most. And because I wanted to preserve an image of him that was good, because I wanted to believe that he had been a good father to me, I kept it all inside, as deep as I could, and tried to get on with my life as though it had not happened.

But the guilt, the shame, the self-loathing, and the self-doubt were the trauma that was hardest to overcome. I can repress memories of the rape all I want, but this feeling of being hopelessly broken is what haunts me even after I thought I had finally moved past the assault. It resurfaces every now and then with such ferocity I find myself numb to the point of being incapable of executing simple tasks like getting out of bed and brushing my teeth.

Then there’s the ensuing fear which lurks and pervades my daily life like rising flood waters, soaking everything, and the dank smell has not faded over the years.

It has been more than a decade.

This caused and contributed to what could be a lifetime of mental ill-health. I experience symptoms of and have been treated/am currently being treated for disorders including generalised anxiety disorder, depression, suicidal ideation, insomnia, anorexia, and RR-PTSD.

It also affected my personal relationships with men; I couldn’t be touched without recoiling in disgust and trepidation, I couldn’t hear them raise their voices without being on the verge of a breakdown like a soldier returning from war, throwing themselves on the ground when they hear a balloon popping. I have also grown to become genuinely afraid of penetrative sex, something most of my close friends know, but I have never actually disclosed to them the reason why.

I have been estranged from my father now for five years after my mother’s separation and subsequent divorce from him. She was subject to his violence throughout their marriage, and I don’t doubt she probably suffered the same horror I did. Still, I have not confided in her about my rape. I don’t think I ever can.

Nonetheless there is a certain solace in writing all this down, even if there is also a pain I wish for no one reading this would ever have to experience. I could no longer just walk around on eggshells and wait for the next trigger that forces me to re-enact my trauma.

I do not want to let this define who I am and predicate how I am going to live forever. I am not a victim; I am a survivor. If there was any hope of recovering, I must face this head on and acknowledge what was done to me is done. That is all there is to it. I can move past it. But the journey toward healing can only begin with the truth.

And as I type these last few words, finally, I am free.

An anonymous contribution

Songket Alliance encourages you to report abuse that you or your loved ones are experiencing. Please contact:

Jabatan Pembangunan Masyarakat: 141

Women and Child Unit, Royal Brunei Police Force: 2232001 (ext: 007)

Psychological help are also available in government hospitals and major health centres.

[the-erudite-library]

Christina

okay, honestly i have this beef with like half the cast but Christina in particular bothers me. what in the FUCK is with her lack of characterization; honestly it’s like she existed only to serve tris’ character because it’s not like she was ever given a character arc of her own

i’m just going to start with the most obvious thing, VRoth didn’t even seem to deem her important enough to give her a last name. I mean, come on, she gave fucking Molly ‘like two and a half scenes before she disappeared forever’ Atwood a last name but not Christina, who is (supposedly) one of the most important characters in the book. And yet again and again she is treated like a one off side character with little relevance to the plot but to give it a little nudge forward.

the next thing is her actual relation to the plot itself. i get that the main feature of the plot was always supposed to be tris and tobias, but how in the hell is it never brought up in the first book how much tris disappears? and in the time that she’s gone it’s like nothing has changed, maybe one thing of absolutely no importance has transpired, but it still seems like she’s only there when tris needs her to be. her relationship with Will, while cute, is a little flat. by insurgent it becomes obvious that Will only existed in the first place to create Angst™ (but that’s another post). Christina’s treatment of Tris after Will’s death is odd and, quite frankly, unbelievable. In my multiple readings of the book i’ve come to notice that forgiveness is supposedly a central theme, being able to find it within yourself to forgive others despite their faults and the things that they’ve done to you (despite the fact that Tris never offers that curtsey to her own brother and is literally willing to forgive and forget with Nita, whom she barely knows and is indirectly responsible for Uriah’s death, faster than her own brother. but again, another post). But Cara and Christina’s singular conversation does not begin to work through the issue in any way. in fact, it almost absolves tris of all responsibility entirely because now Christina forgives her and that means she no longer has anyone to blame her but herself. In fact, Christina just seems to get over it on her own without ever confronting tris at all. I can understand that Christina may have just wanted to work through her grief on her own, but it is so grossly underrepresented that it’s almost like it isn’t there at all. wouldn’t a better plotline have been for tris to be constantly apologetic to a grieving christina who doesn’t want to hear her excuses and justifications, who is distraught and devastated on multiple levels that seem to make it hard for her to do much of anything let alone fight a freaking war. Wouldn’t that have been a little more interesting?

then there’s the issue of christina’s relation to characters who are not tris, or lack thereof. Seriously, does this girl ever develop any relationship with anyone that doesn’t end in death? Where are the snarky Peter/Christina interactions that dig into and reference things that happened to them as children since they canonically knew each other? Where is her friendship with Al in general? does she ever have an actual conversation with tobias before the end of Allegiant when all of a sudden she’s giving him life advice? what happens with her and cara after their singular conversation, do they just spend the rest of their time around each other completely ignoring each other unless tris is talking??? AND ANOTHER THING, how did we go through all of that time at Candor without once meeting a single person who knew christina before Dauntless? supposedly she had friends, but where are they? one would think that they would want to comfort their best friend after this horrible tragedy, even if it has been a while since they’ve seen each other. friendships don’t just fizzle overnight, and yet.

in conclusion, christina’s character seems to only exist to suffer and to serve tris with no actual defining qualities about her because everything that she suffers seems to exist in an isolated bubble that has no effect on her later in the plot She has very few characters connected to her and her alone, and few lasting and complex relationships with the other characters excluding the protagonist. All of this is so viscerally irritating that it is causing snakes to manifest in my house. 

[glenngaylord]

MY MOMENTS OUT OF TIME IN FILM 2018

Instead of a Top 10 List, every year I like to honor a long-discontinued but influential annual column from Film Comment magazine. I couldn’t wait for my father to come home from work with the “Moments Out Of Time” issue.  The writers would cite their favorite scenes, images, or lines of dialogue, even from films they may not have liked, because let’s face it, even bad films may have a great moment or two.  This was a great year in film, although I admit some of my favorite moments were films or series made for television.  Whether it’s Alex Borstein wielding her trusty plunger around the Catskills in THE MARVELOUS MRS. MAISEL or Amy Adams waking up from a drunken stupor in the unforgettable SHARP OBJECTS, these shows had more indelible scenes than all of the Marvel and DC superhero movies combined.  

Still, I found myself lucky enough to see the staggeringly beautiful ROMA twice in a theater, because seeing it on Netflix doesn’t do it justice.  If that’s your only option, however, see it and see it with its glorious empathy oozing out of every frame.  EIGHTH GRADE took me by surprise with its unassuming, off-the-cuff filmmaking style.  Beneath that I found an aching, contemporary story of a young girl dying to connect with somebody, anybody…her cracked phone an apt metaphor for a world in which our societal sickness lies buried in an addiction to our screens.  PADDINGTON 2, even more so than its wonderful predecessor, gave us the immigrant experience from an accident-prone, marmalade-loving cuddly bear who just wants to unite everyone.  BOHEMIAN RHAPSODY, despite its Powerpoint presentation of a story, oozed with so much emotion, the joy of creating, the beauty of people seeing you, and the sheer nostalgia of it all, I found myself crying throughout.  A STAR IS BORN, while imperfect,  had moments of such gorgeousness, especially the undeniable chemistry of its leads, it’s my prediction to win the Best Picture Oscar.  VICE, another Oscar front runner, had fantastic performances and was nonstop fun, but, for me, didn’t quite lick the enigma of Dick Cheney and demonstrated some juvenile instincts of its writer/director.  

I saw a ton of films, but even I can’t see them all.  I missed SHOPLIFTERS, BAD TIMES AT THE EL ROYALE, BEAUTIFUL BOY, and BURNING, among many others…but will catch up with them soon.  So having said that, here, in no particular order, are my Moments Out Of Time In Film for 2018:

Gabe invites Kayla over for a “first friend hangout” dinner of chicken nuggets and beautifully lived-in, awkward, nerdy charm, telling this lovely, insecure young girl, “You are awesome” - melting all of our hearts with that sweet, simple declaration. It’s one of the most beautiful scenes I’ve ever seen and a moment our Kayla richly deserved.- EIGHTH GRADE

A young, pregnant Mexican housekeeper tracks down the father of her child, finding him at some type of military training camp.  When she delivers the news to him, he screams at her to stay away from him and runs off to join his buddies.  We never see her reaction, instead experiencing the moment from a somewhat removed distance.  A lesser filmmaker would have cut to her startled, hurt face, but Alfonso Cuarón knew that we’d feel her isolation and devastation more strongly if we didn’t focus on her.  Only a master filmmaker would make such an indelible decision, along with a thousand other great ones. - ROMA

A Peruvian bear takes his Aunt on a fantastical, eye-exploding, stunning tour of London via a pop-up book come to life.  One of the most astounding animated sequences of all time. - PADDINGTON 2

A band looks out at the masses of people clapping along in sync to one of their songs, and in that moment, the connection feels palpable.  Everyone there, everyone who watched knew this was the moment when legends became immortal. - BOHEMIAN RHAPSODY

Nicole Kidman completely transforms herself yet again as a hardened cop with a life full of traumas etched onto her tortured face.  Just watching her lurch towards a crime scene, ambling like Jack Skellington convinced me that to watch Kidman at her peak is to witness greatness. - DESTROYER

A woman in labor and with a horrifying nail injury to her foot, crawls into a bathtub to give birth to a child.  Unable to make a sound lest she capture the attention of a murderous alien slithering through her house, she agonizingly holds it all in until a competing noise allows her to let out a pained, visceral scream. - A QUIET PLACE

A young cater-waiter gets invited onstage to sing her song with a headlining rock star.  Surprised by her power, surprised by the surge and size of the crowd, her guileless reaction and blazing talent cut through, quickly proving the movie’s title. - A STAR IS BORN

Regina Hall sits on a rooftop with two of her female employees from a HOOTERS-like establishment.  They’re all in a transition period in their lives, unsure what the future brings.  They’ve all gone through an intense day and let it all out with extended screams, an unforgettable, undeniable female rage. This small, simple, subtle film is also one of the year’s best.  - SUPPORT THE GIRLS

More groundbreaking than I had ever thought, Fred Rogers soaks his feet in a little tub and invites his black, gay co-star to do the same, breaking taboos on a children’s show way ahead of its time. - WON’T YOU BE MY NEIGHBOR?

Charlize Theron shows us the real pain of motherhood, never once feeling like a glammed-up version of the harsh realities, and yet saves its most shocking sucker punch for its final moments, delivering a reveal as unexpected as the one I didn’t see coming in SHARP OBJECTS. - TULLY

Queen Anne (Olivia Colman), referring to Emma Stone’s Abigail, tells Lady Sarah( Rachel Weisz), “I like it when she puts her tongue inside me”…which is followed by Stone giving Weisz the year’s best side-eye. - THE FAVOURITE

In a film filled with shocking moments - the odd clucking sounds, the decapitated bird head, the unexpected death of a major character, the eerie, incongruous reflection of a teen’s face in a school window, the most jolting moment comes when Toni Collette stands over her offspring’s bed and says, “I never wanted to be your mother”.  Stunned, she seemingly scoops those words back down her throat in an attempt to make them go away.  For this moment alone, and she gives a tour de force performance here, Collette enters the pantheon of actors who made themselves immortal. - HEREDITARY

Modern day cowboys sit around a perfectly shot nighttime campfire as our hero questions his place as a man in this world.  Masculinity has rarely been shot through with such tenderness as in every moment of this quiet stunner. - THE RIDER

“Gucci!” - EIGHTH GRADE

A young daughter ever so patiently and lovingly tells her PTSD-afflicted father that their views on how to live their lives may not converge, reminding us that histrionics don’t necessarily make for great conflict.  You can find it even when people act like adults and show decency towards each other. - LEAVE NO TRACE

My heart broke when a young Lebanese boy tried every way possible to keep his sister from being sold off as a child bride.  The kinetic filmmaking of this sequence mined every second for peak emotions. - CAPERNAUM

A blisteringly romantic tale of star-crossed lovers in Post War Poland wins the swoon award every time Joanna Kulig (a dead ringer for Jennifer Lawrence) sings the refrain, “Oy yoy yoy” - COLD WAR

Jack Black, playing a hard-partying character whose accident leads to the lifelong paralysis of his new friend (Joaquin Phoenix), meets up with him many years later.  In a short but painful scene, we see the wreckage of a life and the profound sorrow written across Black’s face.  I never thought I’d type the words, “Jack Black’s acting made me sob”, but there you have it.  If Beatrice Straight can win an Oscar for a single scene, then Jack Black can too.  Of course, I’m not even getting into how great Jonah Hill was in this film, but I’d be here all day. - DON’T WORRY, HE WON’T GET FAR ON FOOT

The matriarch of a family takes their housekeeper to a baby store to buy a crib when the chaos of the Corpus Christi Massacre erupts in the streets below, turning a simple shot into something epic, grand and inconceivable. - ROMA

Let’s face it.  It had some of the best and bitchiest one liners of the year:  “I pity your wife if you think six minutes is forever” , “Roger, there's only room in this band for one hysterical queen”, "Tell him thanks for the birthday cake. And tell him you're an epic shag”, and the beautiful, un-ironic exchange, “FREDDIE: Let’s go and punch a hole in the roof of Wembley Stadium.  BRIAN: Actually, Wembley Stadium doesn’t have a roof.  FREDDIE: Then we’ll punch a hole in the sky,” - BOHEMIAN RHAPSODY

Kristen Stewart recounts how Joan Jett gave her some advice on how to capture her essence when she played her in THE RUNAWAYS.  Jett told her to “pussy that wood” in reference to how to attack her guitar.  Advice only a take-no-prisoners, blazingly alive woman could give to another in this energizing look at a true legend. - BAD REPUTATION

All of the tired superhero tropes we’ve become used to in live action appear fresh and thrilling when animated.  Who knew I’d thrill to a whole slew of Peter Parkers swinging through New York on their webs?  Who knew Lily Tomlin would appear in this and absolutely kill as Aunt May?  Who knew Kathryn Hahn would even appear in a Marvel movie and skillfully weaponize a nerdy persona? - SPIDER-MAN: INTO THE SPIDER-VERSE

Sure, we all loved that moment when Lady Gaga sang “Shallow”, but let’s not forget another star was born when Henry Cavill got up off that tiled bathroom floor, doffed his suit jacket and reloaded his fists to jump back into one of the best fight sequences in film history. - MISSION IMPOSSIBLE: FALLOUT

Connecting the dots of the past with our present day mess of a country, Spike Lee ends his film on an unsubtle yet vital montage of pure rage. - BLACKKKLANSMAN

In a wonderful reversal to the original, the murderous Michael Myers looks out a backyard window to see Laurie Strode (a fierce Jamie Lee Curtis) standing amongst the hanging sheets. Who’s the monster now?!! - HALLOWEEN

A montage detailing the many prison escapes of our protagonist, an aging, lifelong bank robber (Robert Redford still displaying his undeniable charisma at 82), provides a wonderfully conflicted view of a man who must commit crimes in order to feel alive. - THE OLD MAN AND THE GUN

A bitter, outrageously dead-inside mother jogs on a treadmill, moving cynically forward in life despite having a missing child she barely noticed anyhow and a crumbling Russian society around her. - LOVELESS

“Did you just look at me?  Did you?  Look at me. LOOK AT ME!  HOW DARE YOU!  CLOSE YOUR EYES!” - THE FAVOURITE

Despite endlessly terrible scenes of tourists dancing and eating gelato, Clint Eastwood finds a magic power in having the real life heroes on that train play themselves as they thwart a terrorist attack. Although a failed experiment of a film, those 10 minutes felt real and raw and undeniable because of its stunt casting and astute directorial choices. - THE 15:17 TO PARIS

Smack dab in the middle of the movie, it ends.  Roll credits.  Oh wait.  Things didn’t go so swimmingly?  Let’s continue.  A hugely entertaining fake-out gives self-reflexive cinema a good name. - VICE

After a traumatic incident at a beach (a stunningly shot, hugely suspenseful scene with incredible sound design), a housekeeper looks out the window of a car with a sense of peace as the reflections from the window gorgeously whisk past her lovely face. - ROMA

In the male dominated world of gun-toting action films, it was refreshing to see a group of women, led by a soulful performance by Natalie Portman, lock and load and enter the Shimmer. - ANNIHILATION

A Russian Engineer named Andreyev (Paddy Considine) panics when ordered by Stalin to record a symphony which already occurred.  He quickly assembles a ragtag group of people to recreate the concert, telling this terrified assembly living under a murderous regime, “Don’t worry, nobody is going to get killed. I promise you. This is just a musical emergency.” Not a great film, but Armando Iannucci and company know their way around a scabrous line or two. - THE DEATH OF STALIN

Most people will cite the great single take outside a limo as its driven from a poor side of town to a wealthy side.  Don’t get me wrong, it’s a fantastic piece of cinema, but my mind gravitated towards another moment.  A grieving widow lets her dog run loose in another widow’s apartment.  The puppy stops at a closet door and reacts to what’s behind it.  We know what it is, and she knows what it is even before we’re given visual confirmation.  A fantastic storytelling moment. - WIDOWS

Evan Peters, sitting in a car at a gas station, is joined by the actual person he’s portraying, melding narrative with documentary in such an original way. - AMERICAN ANIMALS

Although chock full of special effects in a genre I tend to find forgettable, Michael B. Jordan commanded attention in a simple, quiet scene inside a museum, finding danger and intelligence in every line. He was the REAL special effect of this film. - BLACK PANTHER

Scotty Bowers may be a creepy hoarder, but when you’re 95 and have no f*cks left to give, you’re gonna spill some tea about Hollywood Stars and we will soak it all up in this one-of-a-kind documentary - SCOTTY AND THE SECRET HISTORY OF HOLLYWOOD

The slowest moving conveyor belt of all time provides one of the most well-timed, hilarious payoffs of the year.  We need an award for Best Supporting Prop! - GAME NIGHT

Leslie Mann tries to quietly sneak out of her daughter’s Prom night hotel room but electrocutes herself behind the TV console in a delicious bit of physical comedy. - BLOCKERS

A mother desperate to track down her troubled young son gives drugs to an addict in return for more information, showing just how far she’s willing to go. - BEN IS BACK

A closeted up-and-coming movie star confesses to his “golly gee” midwestern wife that he’s not happy and can’t pretend anymore. We get a naked glimpse behind both of their veneers. It’s a stunning, hugely empathetic moment for characters we’ve respectively and heretofore dismissed as a sociopath and a rube. - THE HAPPYS

Alex Borstein’s lesbian character Susie Myerson from THE MARVELOUS MRS. MAISEL has met her feature film match with Melissa McCarthy’s equally nihilistic performance as Lee Israel.  To see her jousting with Richard E. Grant in any random moment in this wonderful film is to experience acting heaven. I loved how their final moments together could have easily turned to mush, but by staying true to their salty characters, they ended things in a deliciously dark manner. - CAN YOU EVER FORGIVE ME?

A comedy duo enacts a favorite routine onstage at the risk of one of their’s health.  It’s scary, but the love and respect they have for each other shines through. - STAN & OLLIE

I’m sorry to say it gave me the “Made For TV” vibes, but it still found power when Nicole Kidman’s character busts her son out of an Ex-Gay Center, calling out its owner for his utter lack of qualifications. There’s nothing quite like a stifled, repressed woman finding her voice. - BOY ERASED

“I’m just like you” - says a privileged suburban teen as he bounds out of his McMansion and into a fancy SUV.  While I generally enjoyed the film, this tone deaf opening line had me futilely looking around for my big house and fancy car.  Sometimes a moment out of time is a wrongheaded one. - LOVE, SIMON

In a documentary full of insane twists and turns, the big moment for me came when we were treated to a clip from DESPERATELY SEEKING SUSAN. Madonna breezes past our smiling, tight jean-sporting identical triplets, the new “It Boys of New York”, the flush of newly-found fame written all over their faces long before their tragic fall. - THREE IDENTICAL STRANGERS

Say what you will about the endless 80s references, I want to live inside the swirling sequence which serves as an homage to THE SHINING. - READY PLAYER ONE

A Japanese woman dons a strange blonde wig and practices English and high fives with another ESL student, over-exaggerating her rounded open mouth as she speaks. - OH LUCY!

Constance Yu playing mah jongg slyly shows her deep wells of strength and strategic genius, nicely setting up a character who will surprise and charm us in equal measures. - CRAZY RICH ASIANS

Yes, it’s a pretty terrible movie, but there’s no denying the thrill of a certain pop legend’s long-awaited entrance by helicopter.  It caused my friend Dennis to say out loud, “F*ck yeah, it’s Cher!” - MAMMA MIA!: HERE WE GO AGAIN

In an otherwise forgettable film, Jodie Foster’s memorable gait as the “Hotel” Nurse made me happily forget Kevin Spacey’s from THE USUAL SUSPECTS, and for that, I thank her! - HOTEL ARTEMIS

A young boy named Stevie tries to impress a bunch of older skateboarders with a stunt which sends him through a hole in a roof and crashing to the ground with a sickening thud. - MID90S

Renee: I thought you might want a sneak peek of what’s to come.
      Ethan: I don’t know if you know what sneak peek means. You’re completely naked. - I FEEL PRETTY

Despite the gimmick of the movie seen entirely through laptop and smartphone footage, there’s electricity in the moment John Cho’s father character discovers his missing daughter has had a secret life. - SEARCHING

A dancer tries out a solo for a very strange company, unaware that each leap, spin or kick sends a trapped woman a floor below her into bone-crunching contortions.  It’s a scene you can almost feel. There’s something rotten in East Berlin! - SUSPIRIA

Sure, Emma Stone worked out a great side-eye in THE FAVOURITE, but has there ever been an actor who seems born to them more than Emily Blunt?  Still, my biggest emotional connection to this film came when Ben Wishaw sang “A Conversation”.  A beautiful, sweet lament. - MARY POPPINS RETURNS

The site of Michelle Pfeiffer dressed as an elderly woman, cane in hand, hobbling through the streets of New York in a desperate attempt to cash her late mother’s government checks, the score a cacophony of horns and percussion, gave me DRESSED TO KILL shivers. - WHERE IS KYRA?

Think of it as SHARP OBJECT’s UK Cousin, as we watch Moll (a searing Jessie Buckley) tap into female rage in all its messy, bloody glory in this feature length primal scream. - BEAST

Packed with punch and urgency, the opening sequence made you believe you were actually experiencing a WWII aerial combat.  Oh, and then it became a fun zombie gore-fest. - OVERLORD

A group of kids escape a gay conversion camp and pile into the back of a pickup truck.  Did they make the right decision?  Where do they go from here?  A wordless homage to the final scene in THE GRADUATE packed a punch. - THE MISEDUCATION OF CAMERON POST

Blake Lively wearing clothes.  That is all. - A SIMPLE FAVOR

A meeting with the family of a man who got their daughter pregnant goes terribly wrong, resulting in a slew of insults and threats.  It’s a fully alive, oddly comical yet tragic sequence in a film which otherwise left me cold.  - IF BEALE STREET COULD TALK

Typically known for her impeccable image (before the reality show circus, of course), this pop icon lets down her guard and hilariously tears into Janet Jackson and Paula Abdul.  Had she been allowed to be more herself, her life might not have been as tragic. - WHITNEY

Glenn Close delivers the year’s best slow boil as the wife of a Nobel Prize winner who has secretly been his unheralded ghost writer all these years.  Until things grow shouty and overwritten in the third act, Close holds a master class in barely suppressed rage. - THE WIFE

Bjorn Borg and John McEnroe, intense tennis rivals, meet up at the airport after their fateful match, the looks between them offering up a touching blend of competitiveness and respect and which will lead to their unexpected, lifelong friendship. - BORG VS. McENROE

In a moment of much-needed image rehabilitation, Anne Hathaway, as the GOOP-like actress perfectly named Daphne Kluger, wins her way back into our hearts just by the way she reacts to a priceless necklace being wrapped around her neck.  Every shiver and glance in the mirror makes you love her in all her campy glory. - OCEAN’S 8

A woman gets pushed off a cliff and finds herself impaled on a tree branch, yet not only does it not stop her, she’s just getting started in this literal bloodbath of a feminist fantasy. - REVENGE

A man meets tragedy and finds himself in a wheelchair only to gain powers he never had before after undergoing an experimental procedure.  In a fight scene involving an antagonist and a kitchen knife, Logan Marshall-Green surprises himself with each display of brute force coming out of him, making for one of the most brutal yet winningly entertaining melees I’ve seen on screen all year…and don’t forget that kitchen knife.  It’s just the right button on this bit of ultraviolet slapstick. - UPGRADE

A young husband meets with a conflicted priest, and in a searing monologue, tells the man of the cloth that the world is such a hellscape, he’d rather his pregnant wife abort their baby than bring it up in such a terrible environment.  It’s the first jolt of many in this nihilistic yet strangely hopeful film. - FIRST REFORMED

Presidential candidate Gary Hart (Hugh Jackman) confronts some press members who have staked out his home with the hope of catching him with a woman other than his wife.  He indignantly rails against them, claiming he had a right to privacy.  Oh, how times have changed. - THE FRONT RUNNER

Katja (Diane Kruger), a woman at the end of her rope, who has lost her family and confidence in the justice system, takes matters into her own hands in the literally explosive, inevitable, and crushing final scene. - IN THE FADE

Who knew that Hal Ashby had such a sincerely lovely relationship with his mentor, Norman Jewison?  It’s nice to know that sometimes successful people in the film business actually help out their younger charges. - HAL

I’m not sure I ever really wanted to know what it really felt like to sit in a fiery tin can on the way to the moon and back, but now I do.  It’s very well done, but I think I may need to puke.  - FIRST MAN

A young man with AIDS (Cory Michael Smith) sits with his mother (Virginia Madsen) in a car, unable to truly be honest with her.  The pain of it all comes across so clearly on their faces.  - 1985

An oversized candy cane weaponized to fight zombies at Christmas time in Scotland.  Oh, and it’s also a musical.  Just go! - ANNA AND THE APOCALYPSE

I saw it twice to make sure I truly hated it, and yep, I still did…but the opening sequence in the school, the terrorist attack on the beach, and Natalie Portman banging on the table to protest a diner manager’s request for a picture will stick with me.  Hopefully I will forget the other 100 minutes of this painfully unfocused, unfocused, pretentious mess. - VOX LUX