#tw: yelling

[inter-volve]

X

March 14th 2025

[m3rcuryxd2763]

They're so silly

[cas-backwards-tie]

Chapter Four: Desolate Days

Heiress of Gotham

Bruce Wayne x Daughter!Reader

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Summary: It’s time. The funeral has finally come around. While the expected have shown up, will the unexpected lead to loose threads in your life? It'll certainly raise questions, that's for sure.

Words: 3.7k

Warnings: Funeral, Depression, Threats, Crying, Angst,

Mentions of: Death, Bodies, Trauma,

A/N: While this chapter is angsty, and the next one contains some twists and turns, I promise it'll actually start to become more fun around chapter six once the reader gets settled into her new life!

It wasn't easy, not by any means; a week full of setting up a funeral, at fifteen, for your mother... the only real family you've ever had. Sure, there were close family friends in your life, but they weren't a constant presence, not like her. All that flew out the window when you'd been orphaned, and now, who knows what will become of those relationships. You figure, only time will tell.

As for the actual events, tonight is the viewing, followed by a dinner at a nearby Italian restaurant you guys used to love, and tomorrow morning is the burial. While there'd been lots of talk about who would come and what it would mean to them, and you, the conversation never fully came to any certain conclusion.

You don't know and aren't close with your new siblings, and while from a publicity standpoint it makes sense they should come and show their support, your Father is really the only person who knew your Mother. Even then, how well did he truly know her? The question stands. With all this in mind, you know that Bruce is accompanying you tomorrow, and by extension, Alfred too. That much you're clear on.

Money is a tough subject. Isn't it for everyone? While you weren't rich growing up in Bludhaven, you also weren't in the degree of poverty that some are, either. Nevertheless, funerals you quickly learned, cost a lot of money. You'd think it'd be one thing to bury someone in your backyard (if you had one, that is), or even toss them in the dumpster (not that you'd do that), or even set them afloat on the river and nearest ocean (that either), yet, the government wants their money. That's always what it boils down too, doesn't it? Regardless, Bruce had been suspicious when you brought up paying for the funeral. He offered, and while you'd argued for a good half hour, you'd finally compromised with him.

He wants to pay for the funeral, and you can keep the money you--somehow--have for college. Apparently, he expects you to do that now, as well. Not that college was outside of the question before, but... you still have three years to think about it, don't you? All in all, he let you pick out what you thought your mother would like, which, ultimately sort of became what you'd like... right? Besides the preferences in her will, there was still the matter of some sort of plaque or headstone, obsidian or silver... the works. Trying to keep money in mind, you didn't go crazy, but you did let him deal with it while still trying to give her at least something fairly nice.

It all happened so fast, really. Picking out everything, setting things up, and sending out a message so your family friends would know when and where to show up to pay their respects if they wished to do so. Not many people knew about your recent transfer of guardianship, or rather, to who. And while there had apparently been somewhat of a civil kerfuffle with your mother's best friend in an attempt to waive Bruce of his fatherly duties, Bruce apparently decided to claim custody of you. That's what social services naturally thought was the best fit for you.

"You don't have to go in if you don't want," Dick speaks up from behind you.

Standing outside the doors to the funeral home, you know that all too soon the doors will open up for her viewing and you won't be able to escape. Regardless of how many people show up, you'll be met with stories, jokes, emotions, conversation, and things you're just not ready to handle. Staring at the doors, Damian walks past you, soon followed by Tim as they make their way to the door.

"Sure she does. Maybe not now, but sooner or later you have to," Tim offers you with a sympathetic smile, "otherwise you'll never forgive yourself."

"That's just his regret talking," Jason accuses as he straightens the lapels of his black vest and follows the younger boys. "You do what you want, kid." A pat on the back, he too heads inside, leaving you there, Dick still lingering over your shoulder.

"It's your decision," the Detective reminds you with a sympathetic and encouraging smile before pushing open the doors to the funeral parlor.

Standing there in your short black t-shirt dress, the hem whips in the wind as a storm brews in the distance by the Fawcett-Bludhaven border, eventually destined to head your way, closer to the ocean, no doubt. Though you're adorned by a simple black headband, the accessory doesn't keep your hair from hanging around the frame of your face, eyes glued to the fancy sheen of your church shoes: a pair of black mary-janes. 

"Are you second-guessing?" The gruff voice of your Father emanates from your side and you raise your eyes to meet his face. There's a forlorn and distant look in his eyes as he stares ahead at the double doors leading toward the place you know the two of you will be met with a familiar face.

With a subtle nod, he mirrors your action, a clearing of his throat as he straightens his tie. "I can't say I blame you. Though, I can make you an offer," he proposes. As he turns his head, you're met with knowing blue eyes, a hint of what you swear is mischievousness behind them. "If you ever need to bail, why don't we have some sort of code? A code word, what about that?" He expands, the furrowed brows on your face cluing him onto your thoughtful mentality.

"I have to think about it," you respond quietly, eyes roaming the property. While Bristol is an eclectic part of Gotham for sure, this part of town feels somewhat desolate. The nearest and nicest open-plot cemetery to Bludhaven, it was a compromise on everyone's behalf. Not far enough from Bludhaven to feel unlike home and lack a means of public transportation for those in need, and not one of the buildings in the city that are more mausoleum-like, an option you hadn't wanted to consider. She deserved something better. A rumbling of thunder echoes throughout the landscape, the sky growing dark in the distance; eyes brought to the weather, your mind churns. "What about... 'Blizzard'?" It wasn't totally innocuous, yet it wasn't entirely improbable either.

"It'll definitely be interesting to see how we manage to work that into conversation naturally," Bruce jokes, to which you offer him a quiet chuckle, the inkling of a smile working its way onto the corners of your lips.

"Is that okay?" You ask, unsure if he approves.

"Blizzard it is," the Billionaire agrees, stretching out a hand in a semblance of kinship. With a moment of consideration, it doesn't take long for your hand to meet his in conciliation. With a firm shake, you both turn to enter the parlor side by side.

--------

Hand clutching the prized middle-school graduation gift you'd received from your Mother, a golden chain necklace with a teardrop image of La Virgen on it, you subtly run it back and forth along the chain where it rests on your sternum between your collarbones. Despite uncomfortable conversation and questions, you hadn't needed the code word. The attempt to try and visit your Mother before the service was unfruitful, people having shown up earlier than expected, others wanting to set up and you consequently helping like the obedient little girl you often were. Nevertheless, even now with only family members remaining, you still stand at a distance where only her hands propped up on her waist are visible.

Bruce had gotten by through making conversation, trying to get to know you and your acquaintances through their association and knowledge, though their questions often turned on him. Upon the revelation that you're not only now, but always have been a Wayne dawned on them. The natural questions would tend to follow. 'How well did you know her? Were you close to her?' As much as the Playboy would love to admit he didn't know your Mother on the level it would seem most people assumed, he also knew that sort of answer might tarnish any image of your Mother that these people already had in mind. Hence, he tended to use his usual tactics of evasion in a similar manner to any gala he'd attend.

The boys ended up doing recon in some sense, all in their own versions. Damian had intended to simply find a nice corner to sit in and text Jon about the plans for their next hangout and fill him in on the dreadful activities he's been put up to on the behest of his new 'sister'. If he could even call you that. Tim hadn't been filled in on the situation concerning your little expedition with Jason and what the elder had found during that time, so when Dick naturally seemed curious and a little too snoopy for his taste in concern of the event, it was only upon questioning his brother that he found out about the circumstances.

Dick went into this with the hopes of finding out information on your family, on what you all knew, the type of people you were, and what they knew specifically about you and your Mom. That much cash laying around even with the excuse of not trusting banks, in Bludhaven of all places, was ridiculous. Especially for the job he dug around and found out your Mother had. Therefore, he took to subtly interrogating people under the guise of attempting to get to know his new little sister better. 

Jason had intended to go only on the purpose of supporting you, and watching his family in suspect, considering they've all seemed dubious of your Mother and your family's involvement in some sort of criminal activity. While he'd been curious, watching you, talking to you, he's found that there's probably not much further whatever 'secret' your family is hiding goes. Sometimes people do things they need to do to survive, and if he's heard any stories about your Mother this evening, he'd suspect that's it.

Damian eventually caught wind of Grayson's not-so-subtle tactics of questioning people, and decided his evening would be much more fruitful doing exactly what his brother was doing, only in a more professional manner. After all, once he'd rounded the parlor he'd seen his Father doing the same thing in his own fashion, therefore, he can't be mad at them for doing the same when he's the one who's supposed to be setting the example, right?

Oblivious to your new family's motives, you try and work up the courage to say goodbye to her... to her face. Evading the happy images that filter through wild transitions on television's slideshow to the right, you run a thumb over the memorium card you'd taken. Even if they were for everyone else, you still wanted one. Room practically empty, you finally take the leap and close the space between you and the open casket.

Immediately you have to avert your eyes. It's... too painful. Yet, another curious part of you tempts you to take another look. Upon second glance it simply appears as if she's sleeping. Peacefully. There's no lacerations or marks, no sign of any sort of ill-wrought event, and yet, you know the wiser. "I hate this," you whisper through your teeth, jaw clenching in an attempt to keep your tears at bay. "It's not fair. I don't know why... why it had to be you." With a sniffle and a heavy sigh that bobs your shoulders, you reach out and place a small hand on her larger, and eerily cold hand. "I wish I could ask you, that I could talk to you- that you could tell me why- why you never told me! I don't- I don't want to do this but I know I have to, and he's giving me... all you ever wanted for me. I-" Breath coming quicker, you have to force yourself to speak the next words, determined not to break down in front of everyone. "Te quiero mucho, mamá, te extraño, y vas a recordar para siempre." With a gentle squeeze to her hand, you turn and head for the doors, eyes downcast as you avoid everyone.

--------

Somehow, the universe always reflected its events; while it’d been mostly thunder and heat lightning the night prior, this morning the dark clouds have been pouring rain. Alfred had gotten you up, though really you hadn’t slept much in anticipation of what today would hold. Having been dressed for some time now, all you’ve done is sit at the window seat and stare outside, watching the rain pelt the earth repeatedly, unyielding in its triumph. You can’t help but think it’s like life, forceful until the end, when it eventually wanes and succumbs to a stop. Maybe you’re overthinking, but with everything that’s been going on… you don’t think you can help it.

“Hey,” your Father’s voice calls from the door, a gentle knock on the wood follows as he continues to open it and step through the threshold. “Are you ready? Breakfast is waiting, and then Alfred’s gonna take us,” he informs, “the boys are going to join for breakfast, but then it’ll just be us, alright?” 

Before he can get too far into the room you rise from the window seat and tear your attention away from the gardens. With a nod, you meet him halfway and follow downstairs.

Breakfast is mostly silent, as you’re sure no one is quite certain what to say. If they could say anything, that is. Hell, even Damian doesn't have a snarky remark, and Dick doesn't try and make meaningless conversation. It all comes and goes far faster than you'd imagined, though the food was delicious. With your departure and solemn looks from your newfound siblings, Alfred pulls the Rolls Royce up to a gentle stop before the Manor's fancy double doors.

It was hard to believe she was in there. Yes, you'd picked out the coffin, yes you'd seen her at the viewing, and yet... this is your Mother. The woman who birthed you, who fed you, who took care of you year after year, and was there for you no matter what. And now... she's gone.

It doesn't feel real. The rain pattering against the umbrella Bruce holds up over you. All the people who sit and stand opposite of the priest as he goes about his rites. Of course there came time for the eulogy, and while there was the option of making one yourself, you couldn't find it within yourself to do so. Like Tim had mentioned, this could be something you may regret later, but in this moment it feels like too much. There's a dull queasiness that never leaves your stomach as you stand, eyes cast downward as your hands lay clasped before you. Rain, muck, and mud cling to your black mary-jane shoes, the ground now beginning to flood as the soil's beared all it can soak up for the next coming weeks. 

People come and go, they give their well wishes and hopes for your sake, and yet you can't really put any of it to mind or manner as all you can focus on is the growing emptiness within you. This isn't how things were supposed to go. You weren't supposed to be burying your parent... not this soon. That's not how it works! 

It's the call of your name that stirs you from your thoughts. Eyes raising to the familiar face, you can't help but feel your eyes widen with the shock and astonishment that they had the audacity to visit... to stay. Yes, he wasn't a stranger; yet an acquaintance isn't necessarily a friend. The boy lifts his hands to cup one of yours between his. "I'm so sorry to hear what happened, Mi Amor, I'm always here for you, sabes," Saul says. Though there's a sympathetic look in his eyes, you don't trust him one bit. Not after he'd taken one opportunity after another and gotten trapped up with the man behind him: Antonio 'Angel' Marin. Sure, you'd dumped Saul before he'd become affiliated with the notorious Bludhaven mob boss, but it didn't do him any favors holding company like that. 

As Saul leaves you and heads toward the line of black cars along the cemetery road, you dread the man next in line. "It's an unfortunate thing, losing a mother," Angel speaks, "looks like luck had its way with you though, getting you out." From the outside it might seem inappropriate, or perhaps simply a mistaken and poorly judged comment, but you know better. Lips pursing, jaw tightening, you don't dare let your hands form into fists as you meet the man's eyes. 

His oily face and ratty mustache meet your gaze, and you suddenly feel anger beginning to simmer in your gut. Though you're not sure why. While there'd been a time you may have considered him a family friend, a protector, a genius, and a revolutionary... those times have gone. He hadn't done your family wrong, in fact, he'd done nothing but try to help you and your Mom out of poverty, and yet... there were always strings attached. Neither of you had seen them at first and once you'd wanted out, you'd luckily gotten out without too much of a fight. Thankfully, unlike some of the stories you've heard, and yet, somewhere within you the anger persists. Maybe it's the smug look on his face, his taunting words perhaps, but whatever it is, he irks you.

"Don't go gettin' into any more trouble, ya hear?" His thin voice lets out a wry chuckle and he lays a pat on your shoulder before you can dodge it. Watching him leave with his trail of two or three choice goons behind him, you can't help but feel like he'd only come here for one thing, and one thing only... to taunt you. Was it a warning? A sign? A way of telling you that without his protection you were doomed? Leading a life toward failure? Only to end up like your Mother? No... no, that can't be it. There has to be something else, that can't be it. 

"Do you know him?" Bruce asks, finally speaking up for the first time since the service ended. He'd seen the whole interaction, he knows who that man was... but he doesn't know if you do. Not truly, anyway. Even if the grimace and shiver that'd run up your spine was visible from the way you attempted to evade the evil man's touch. Eyes peering down at you, he's disturbed by the lack of eye contact you make. Maybe he shouldn't be... you haven't been talking or interacting as much as you had been in the days leading up to this, something that's normal, he can only imagine.

"Once," you respond faintly. Eyes coming back to the rolling hills of the cemetery you watch the rain continue to pour. Life doesn't seem to stir here, no sight of sneaky intruders like squirrels, doves, or robins, no other patrons coming to visit their loved ones on a day like this. Thunder cracks overhead, and the diminishing sound of tires on gravel signals the Angel's departure. With a thick swallow, your hands finally ball up into fists. A single tear finally breaches the confines of your eyelid and slips down your cheek. With a heavy sigh you turn, meeting Alfred who stands a few feet behind the both of you. Stomping over to him, you grab the bouquet of flowers you'd all picked up on the way. "If you want to say anything... here," you announce over the sounds of the thunderstorm. Undoing the plastic and rubber bands from the store-bought bouquet, you hand both the men a single flower. Determined that the rest should belong to you, you head over to the grave, uncaring if you get wet any longer as you're no longer under their umbrellas.

Though your teeth hurt from the way your jaw is clenched, you can't help it as the tears start to flow more freely. With everyone gone, you don't mind being here alone. Placing the flowers atop your Mother's casket, your hand lingers on the polished wood while your free hand hangs onto the necklace your Mother had given you. "I can't do this without you," the words come in a whisper, your head almost meeting the wood before you think better of it. You don't want to appear a broken-down mess in front of the men watching. "I don't know what t-to do."

Raindrops soak your hair, coat your dress and shoes, your socks have splashes of water and freshly cut grass, not to mention that your face is covered in a mixture of raindrops and tears. A few moments of silence is all you need before you finally gather the courage to say one last goodbye and turn away, heading down the hill back toward the car before the storm gets worse.

------

"Dick... there's something you should know," Bruce mentions quietly. It's obvious from his behavior that he's upset, that this won't be a long conversation. "Antonio Marin was at her funeral. He came up to her and spoke something cryptic. I asked her about it and she said that she knew him once. I know I asked you all not to dig around, but, this is in your territory and I thought you should know." Evading his son's eye contact, he straightens his tie and sniffs, still clad in his tuxedo from the funeral. "I'll see if I can get any more information out of her, but... I don't want her caught up in this... I don't-" he sighs, finally turning to meet his son's gaze again with a look he's only seen once before, "-I don't want her getting hurt."

"I... understand." With a nod and a sympathetic look upon his face, the younger man stretches out his hand to lay it on his Father's shoulder in a small form of comfort. He knows Bruce well enough to know that anything too grand would steer him away, and while the thought of another child getting hurt at his behest unburies all the trauma Dick knows Jason's death had brought him, Dick knows they can't change the past. "I- we won't let that happen. I promise you that, Dad."

~~~~~~~~

forever taglist: @ohdamnadam , @safarigirlsp , @jynzandtonic , @moonlightsolo

hog taglist: @luvly-writer , @clairese1980

[corsair-mercenary-companies]

[Begin Audio Playback]

[1 Identified Voice]

[1 Unidentified Voice]

"I understand you're still a bleeding heart but you need to understand something. This is still a damn company, you can run around as a knight in shining armor shining the "truth" to the entire omninet. But you leave the R&D shit to me okay?"

So... what, we just leave the Pao-

"DON'T. Don't say the damn name, I swear your little friend you got back from Union is listening.... Fucking machine minds always looking into business that doesn't concern them.... Why did you even grab that murderer? Huh? Like for Christ's sake Aimee it killed over seventy of us in less than an hour!"

[Audio Suggests HANDLER MORSE Attempted To Speak Several Times During [UNKNOWN]'s Rant]

"Those files have got to be burned, I don't want anyone having any details from Project: Last Dance. So I need you to hand over your devices Aimee. HEY! No arguing you gave up absolute power for a reason damn it!"

[1 Minute Of Silence Follows]

This isn't right....

"It's not about being right it's about keeping Union and everyone else off our ass. Stick to the goddamn script... Aimee.... what the hell is this? No... you didn't..... you didn't just...."

Zero is allowed to know.... same as any other pilot.....

"This.... Do you know what you just cost us? I.... THIS ISN'T OVER AIMEE GET BACK HERE!"

[End Playback]

[HANDLER HERTZ, HANDLER TRANSISTOR Please Stand By]

[Till Legends Bleed]

[wounds-seen-and-unseen]

Memorio Occultae In Nubio Occultas

1: Navigating through clouds unexpected.

Wishing @dreamer-in-sleep a very happy birthday! Here’s your present, buddy, an edit and a chapter of your favourite fic by yours truly.

Bottom centre image taken from VSF productions on Insta, top right image from mocatest, top left from radiopedia. Others are stock photos.

Taglist: @i-eat-worlds @sapphicwhumpblog @raat-jaaga-paakhi @shaonsim @cosmolibra @abstractmarshmallow

Please DM or comment if you want to be added to/removed from this list.

TW: Yelling, character crying, character being self-castigating, mentions of dementia.

Note: Julianne is the nurse who, in the previous chapter, informed Adrian about the patient who turned out to be Alazne.

Rest of the chapter is under the cut.

Julianne frowns. Dr. Everheart can be very strange sometimes. Nevertheless, the young man is good at his job and a fast learner. He will, she decides, do just fine, fancies of thought aside. Perhaps the woman is a patient he knows.

She is puzzled when she can see the emergency waiting room, but not Dr. Everheart’s telltale curls. Before she can ponder on that further, her attention is captured by a woman’s strident tones.

“I said I refuse!” Dear God. A troublesome patient. Julianne arches a brow at one of the orderlies, who winces. “Call”- she starts, but she has no need to finish. “Dr. Everheart. I know. He’s the one who’s good at this kind of thing.” Julianne nods. “He is probably busy with a patient.” “Noted,” the orderly replies, setting off, presumably to search for him.

The agitated patient attains rather impressive heights of rage even as she’d talked to her colleague. “You want to restrain me from living my life. To think I was thinking of listening to you!” As Julianne takes a second to decide how best to intervene, scanning the surrounding area for possible ammunition that can be misused, a boyish, choked voice answers.

“I don’t…I wouldn’t ever do that…please, I want to make sure you’re fine, or if not, get you the help you need.”

Julianne finds it strange that people move away from a clearly distraught young man, obviously needing help, but that is what she sees. Nurses, her colleagues standing at a distance, their eyes averted.

She moves forward with purpose, trying to cut through the throng of onlookers, when the orderly returns, Dr. Sinclair with him. Julianne decides that she would rather face down an irate patient with help and changes her course, flagging the older man down.

“And who decides that, Dr. Everheart?” she hears the patient.

Dr. Everheart? She pauses, frowning.

The young man she’d heard didn’t sound like the gently confident neuropsychiatrist she is used to working with. He’d sounded rather close to tears instead. Who or what can affect calm Dr. Everheart so? She tries to locate him as she sees Dr. Sinclair move closer.

The woman continues to speak, obviously losing her temper by the second. “You?” she scoffs. “But of course, you do, don’t you, Dr. Everheart? You have that right. To label people incompetent, to take away their rights.”

Julianne breaks through the throng, all set to defend her colleague. She knows that Dr. Everheart does not merit such a label. One of the other nurses tugs at her hand. “Don’t,” she whispers. “I don’t think Adrian sir would want anyone to intercede.” “She can’t just”- Julianne cuts herself off when she sees Dr. Everheart.

He stands across from a woman, her back turned to him, tears pooling in his eyes, his hands reaching for her. He is speaking, too, voice choked and pleading, cutting off any thought of rebuttal Julianne had with the sheer emotion his voice holds.

“If I could…” his voice trails off, broken and quiet, “I would give each of my patients their lives as they were. I would not take away their rights, I wouldn’t still. I-” Urgent footsteps break the silence that falls for a second, and Dr. Sinclair stands between his student and the lady, who turns at the sound, her gritted jaw slackening even as the younger doctor pushes his words through tears that fall.

“You’re more than my l-life, you’re every-everything to me. The fact that you would think that I would-that I want to”- Dr. Sinclair puts a silent hand on Dr. Everheart’s shoulder, but the younger man is too distraught to notice. Julianne’s throat is choked, too.

How many times has she heard this young man laugh into his phone, the sentence “You are my everything, mama, I love you!” easily spoken? She had never thought she would hear the same as she was, and yet, here they were.

She wishes for the courage to intervene, but what could she say? She can only watch, helpless.

“I wouldn’t, mama, ever,” breathes Dr. Everheart, gasping through tears. Around her, people flinch. Some even shut their eyes, but no one moves forward. “Please.” The word is plaintive, a little boy pleading. “Just…humour me once and get cognitive testing. I’ll-I will keep away from you if you want. I’ll keep my dis-distance from you, just like you want. I didn’t know that I was-was restraining you, I just…just wanted to take care of you…” Julianne barely holds back a wince. He sounds terrified, and rightly so. Both of them know to spot the signs, he more than her.

Dr. Everheart’s mother seems to come to her senses somehow, responding to her distraught son. “Addy?” His response is still earnestly pleading. “Please. I-I won’t…” Dr. Sinclair quietly hugs the younger man, patting him on his back. “Addy…I am so sorry, dearheart. I said a lot I never should have. I just…I am scared, of what this could mean. I know you would never do anything of that sort, I was scared, I lost my temper and I took it out on you. I am sorry. I’m so sorry, kiddo.”

Dr. Adrian Everheart is immediately at his mother’s side, tears still clinging to his lashes, still wet on his cheeks. “It’s alright to be scared, mama.” His voice, gentle as he tries to be, is hoarse still. “How about we take this one step at a time?” He takes her hand. “Let me just nip into my office for my stuff, we’ll see what we can do about this, alright? I’ve got you.” His mother nods, and Julianne can only smile sadly. I’ve got you, she heard him say, and yet all she can hear instead is that Dr. Everheart is alone.

_______________________________________________

Mama is looking at him, he can feel her gaze. Adrian tries to relax his shoulders, to smile. He can feel the drying salt of tears chapping his face. He forces the smile nonetheless. Mama said she’s scared. I should be considerate.

He can no longer ignore the alarm bells in his head about her symptoms, but he can spare her premature worry. It doesn’t need to be onset of dementia, or even degenerative MCI. These symptoms can be because of social isolation, or anxiety, even electrolyte imbalances.

Dementia is a diagnosis of exclusion after all.

So Adrian smiles softly, watching mama relax at the sight of it. He keeps his touch casual. “Is this alright?” he asks. The question is a new one, but…he does not want to ignore her comfort as he may have been till now.

Mama looks down at his quiet question. “It’s fine, Addy. You don’t need to ask. Just be as you always are.” You said that I restrain you, he cannot help thinking. He forces the thought down.

Do not judge people by what they do or say when they are emotional. In his line of work, that was a hard-earned lesson. People’s thoughts are difficult to parse, especially when the observer is biased, like he is, when it comes to mama. Continuous observation is the key.

“Addy.” Adrian starts. “Where are you lost?” “Sorry, mama, I was lost in thought,” he responds. “Are you…upset?” Her question is hesitant. “No, of course not. You have the right to discipline me as you see fit. I was merely taken aback.” He laughs lightly. “We’re still going to get you tested. It’s just to rule things out, yeah? Don’t worry.” “Are you worried about it?” “I wouldn’t know, would I, unless we get the results?” “Addy”- he cuts her off.

“Give me a few minutes, mama. Please wait here, I’ll just be back.” He walks briskly into his office. He hears mama sigh. Adrian cannot help but deflect as he does. He doesn’t think he can handle the jumble of his own emotions at the moment. He knows that he has to take care of mama first.

He quickly finds his things. Files that he closes quickly to be read later, research proposals, and his beloved iPad mini. On reflex, he clicks the device on, one last run through of his most recent notes. Words and phrases jump at him.

On dementia, the title of the note. Vision:- Perception difficulties. Emotion: ?reduced range? Delay anxiety. Fear of losing control. Coping: Self-maintain; deny. Adjust for disabilities, do not dismiss concerns.

Delay anxiety. Fear of losing control. I was scared, and I took it out on you. Self-maintain; deny. I refuse!

Adrian swallows, shaking his head. I am thinking too much, too soon. He moves to the basin, washing his face. By the time he shuts the tap off, his skin is pink, small scratches on his cheeks bleeding little spots of blood.

He shakes his head, calm smile in place. Focus on mama, Adrian.

Dr. Sinclair meets them outside Adrian’s office. “I talked to Dr. Greengrass. She doesn’t see patients often, so she is free.” Adrian blinks. “Sir? I thought you”- Dr. Sinclair pats him on the shoulder. “You are my student, Adrian. The closest I have to a son. I cannot be unbiased. Though, of course, should you need any help, I am here for you.”

Adrian is at a loss for words. It is mama who answers. “Thank you,” she says sincerely. “Addy needs someone in his corner.” “See?” asks his mentor, “your mother too thinks that is for the best.” Adrian nods automatically. “Forgive me, sir. I am a little out of my depth.” To say the least. “Understandably. Shall we?” Adrian follows, mama’s hand in his.

Sitting in Dr. Greengrass’s office, Adrian has to work to keep the smile on his face reassuring every time mama looks at him, work to bite his tongue and stop himself from interfering with the test scores, to keep the tears at bay.

For mama stumbles in a test too many. Adrian calculates the scores instinctively, having administered these exact tests too often not to do so.

Concerning cognitive decline for age and expected outcomes, especially in semantic analysis and visual perception.

Dr. Greengrass does not need to spell it out for the results to resound in his mind.

“Given your test scores, ma’am,” she starts, “and the neuroimaging, we should be watching out for a diagnosis of”- “Degenerative MCI.” Adrian only whispers it, too scared to say it louder, too keyed-up to stay quiet, but the older doctor catches it.

She looks sharply at him. Adrian looks down, uncomfortable, before her expression softens. “I’d rather overlooked that you are my younger colleague. I’m afraid I am rather out of touch with the rest of the department. I’ll have to ask further to my assistant about how to proceed. Before that, however, you are right. Would you prefer to take a moment to yourself before we discuss further?”

Adrian swallows. “No, ma’am. Shouldn’t you be discussing directly with mama, though?” He gestures to his mother, sitting beside him, her eyes closed.

The doctor looks conflicted. Adrian puts an arm around mama’s shoulder. She opens her eyes. “It’s bad, isn’t it, Addy? I don’t even know what that word means.”

Adrian swallows, blinking past tears. You’ve explained this and worse to so many people, you idiot. The words still stay stuck in his throat.

“It’s a variant of age-related memory disorders,” Dr. Greengrass answers gently. “It means your brain functions are declining faster than normal, but they are intact enough for daily functioning, though you will need assistance for visual perception.” She glances at her phone. “Apparently, we offer measures to reduce further cognitive decline, though you will have to speak to my younger colleagues for”-

Adrian intercedes. “There’s no need, ma’am.” “Ah, yes,” says the older doctor. “You would know the colleague in question better.” Adrian holds back a hysterical laugh. “I run the clinical interventions we do for people with cognitive deficits,” he says softly.

Both women look at him as one. “You do?” Dr. Greengrass asks, while mama simply smiles. Adrian nods. “Well, you’re in good hands, then, ma’am,” Dr. Greengrass replies. Mama nods with a laugh. “Of course I am.”

Adrian looks back at her sharply. “I cannot take clinical decisions”- his voice rises of it’s own accord. “No, of course not. I meant the caring side of things. Clinically, I will monitor your mother’s progress. We can work through a schedule together if necessary.” “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Addy, dearheart. Could you please wait outside for a few minutes? I need to ask the doctor something.” Mama asks him. Adrian rises without hesitation. “Of course.”

He waits with his back to the door, trying not to listen. “Would I…would I forget Addy, too?” His mother asks, voice cracking, and Adrian flinches, knowing the answer, should things deteriorate further.

He makes sure to be bent over his shoelaces when mama comes out. She relaxes when he doesn’t ask any questions, smiling instead. “Usual post-appointment mom-son day?” he asks, cheer in his voice. Mama takes his hand with an enthusiastic nod. “Yes!”

They go to her favourite restaurant, talk about everything and nothing, watch the sunset together and play game after game of ludo until she tires out. Adrian hugs mama, tucking her in bed, watching until she’s deeply asleep.

Then he takes his car, driving to the staff quarters, stopping in front of a familiar house. He rings the doorbell. When Dr. Sinclair opens the door, Adrian lets both the façade and the tears fall.

[shattered-reflections-au]

Fluffvember 16, Hug / “This isn’t a negotiation, friend”

--- --- --- tw: fighting and yelling (brief) (yes i know that's not fluff i'm listening to "what could have been" )

"you need to leave right now." Blue spat, nearly bearing his teeth at the woman in front of him.

Red couldn't hear much of the woman's side of things. but he knew exactly what was happening. he knew exactly who that woman was, and why Blue was yelling. why he had each hand firmly gripping the sides of the door, not letting her through.

Blue, protective as always. his anger starting to bubble to the surface as he treated the bastardly woman at the door with as little respect as possible.

Red loved him so much. "this isn't a negotiation, bitch. you are going to leave before i make you leave." Blue seethed again.

Red flinched as he heard some final screaming and the door slamming.

Blue stormed away, having loudly locked the door. Blue stomped right to where Red was crouched, hiding behind the kitchen island.

Blue pulled Red off the floor, lifting him up by underneath the arms and holding him in a tight hug.

Red shook with tears burying himself in Blue's strong arms.

"i'm never going to let her get you. never." Blue growled, pulling Red ever so closer.

[shadow-the-artist-idiot]

Hi sorry just gonna vent while i cry my eyes out. Cuz im cuddled up in bed and i dont have discord on my phone, thus cant vent to my usual people. So uh. Tw for venting i guess?

God i fucking hate my emotions. And my stupid fucking mom. And my stupid fucking life. Why does she have to yell? Why does she have to be so mean? She says shes not mad but she yells and shittalks family and friends behind their back and god. I fucking hate that i want to cry every time she yells. I fucking hate everything.

Why does she have to be so insensitive? Why can't she understand that im scared of her? Why does she have to yell? I just want to curl up and be comforted because, god, i feel like a scared little kid right now. Why does everyone have to hate me? They say they're teasing, but god, every single word is like a knife to the heart and. I just can't.

I just can't do this. I want to rip my skin off and scream, but if i scream, then I'm just like my mom, and i can't. I can't do that. I just want to lose my shit but god, if i do I'll start crying and i hate crying so much.

Why is she so blind to the fact that i really am truly scared of her? Every conversation feels like a minefield, and it's so tiring, and i just can't. Why can't she understand that yelling is terrifying? Why can't she understand that shes one of the main reasons my mental health is in pieces? Just...why. god.

I just needed to get this out of my system. Because jesus christ i feel awful.

[xx-akubara-xx]

Annnnnd thats their dynamic. Speculate at will.

It'll be a while until I post this series since I wanna rack up the first few pages, at least for the very start.

[ask-the-black-family]

hey gang... is theo home yet? and if he is is he... alive?

[ theo sighs, ]

“no time like the present…”

[ and shakily opens the door. nolan’s head snaps up as he stands from his spot on the couch, rushing over. ]

“theo, you have to leave, will’s really mad like, madder than ive ever seen him, i think going to clivesdale would be better for you right now-“

“Theodore.”

[ the two freeze, slowly turning to look up at will. his eyes are steely, a sharp green cutting into both of the siblings. nolan steps away, biting his lip, as theo quietly closes the door. ]

“…w-will, i can explain-“

“Don’t.”

[ theo winces, standing away from the door, eyes fixed on will. ]

“Not only did you break the rules - and, furthermore, the law. You ran away from the consequences.”

“i just thought you wouldn’t wanna see me straight away-“

“Don’t you dare pin the blame on me.”

[ his voice cuts through the younger, theo bites back a yelp. ]

“You have no one to blame for this but yourself. You’re lucky I haven’t gone to the HFPD, you little shit.”

“i-i’m sorry-“

“I didn’t ask you to speak.”

[ nolan whimpers, running to the kitchen. ]

“You know what that type of shit can do. You know exactly why I hate it.”

“i-i know-“

“Then why the fuck did you do it?! Trying to get yourself into an accident as well, are you?!”

[ will stomps up to theo, the teen now with tears brimming in his eyes, ]

“n-no, no! i wouldn’t- i wasn’t ever gonna-“

“I don’t want to hear it.“

[ theo looks down at the floor in shame. ]

“Christ, it’s always you, isn’t it, Theodore? Blaire doesn’t cause this type of trouble. You could take a couple notes from her.”

[ the comparison hurts, big time, but theo doesnt argue back against it. ]

“You’ll be lucky to see another person for as long as you live after this type of colossal fuck-up. You’re going to hand over your phone, your laptop, everything you own. No after-school clubs, no skipping classes, nothing.”

[ theo nods, shakily, and pulls out his phone, holding it out to will. ]

“I’ll be collecting the rest from your room.”

[ as he turns to leave, he lets out an exasperated sigh, ]

“I hope you know exactly how dissapointed I am with you.”

[ and walks away. theo sniffles, gulping. it’s now that the other three emerge from their hiding spots: nolan from the kitchen, pierre from the cupboard, blaire from the bathroom. blaire at least has the decency to look guilty, rubbing her arm with a bitten lip. pierre approaches, hesitantly, placing a hand on theo’s shoulder. the older yanks it away. ]

“don’t.”

[ pierre, stunned for a second, just nods quietly. he stands away, and gestures for his siblings to do the same. as they all shuffle away up the stairs, blaire gives theo one last look. at the sharp glare she gets, she turns back around, walking up and away. ]

[ well. he survived. ]

[extremesmarts]

this still makes me giggle even if it was simple

[whisperingwinters]

(@friendball-irl) 😴😨?

She’s watching her family. They all look happy. The faces are blurry and the dream seems very vibrant and confusing, like all of her dreams usually are.

——

He hates her. He forgot her. Why did she let herself get attached when she always knew this was the outcome? There’s yelling. He sounds angry. It hurts.

[sculien]

WHAT WE DO IN THE SHADOWS 6.09

[toxic-potions-productions]

Astarte's insane upbringing & past (A SHIT TON of trigger warnings!)

"For my entire life on this earth, I have always been..........a strange child. It's been over 400 years since the Azuchi-momoyama era. As a human, I had dark brown hair. & eyes as black as charcoal. Even as a child, I was very vicious & dare I say.....unstable."

"When I was four years old, I had a very morbid way of playing. I had no friends, but that didn't bother me. I had the animals of nature to play with. But, I don't think they liked playing with me as much as I liked playing with them. I would take anything I could find, whether it was sticks, rocks, hay sickles, anything I could get my little hands on, & repeatedly stab any small creature I came across. Frogs, birds, squirrels, anything. From rats to chipmunks. I had too much fun hearing their winches & cries of pain. I was nicknamed "The devil's daughter" because of these actions of mine, & I scared off alot of possible friends. But, all I cared about was blood, death, & especially demons."

"My father was a very noble samurai, who also never really smiled in family photos for some odd reason. & my mother worked full time as a housemaid for some of the more higher up families at the time. She's the reason why my family & I were doing so well with money, & so I was surrounded by luxuries my whole childhood. I don't remember their faces, but I remember their voices as clear as day. My mother was a kind & graceful woman, while my father was very strict, but also very tender. Even though he was only really like that with my mother. Due to my concerning behaviors at such a young age, I'm certain he didn't like me very much. Such a stupid man, he was."

"I eventually came to the realization that my father did in fact not like me. Before I knew it, a gigantic argument broke out & my father blamed my mother for how I was born. Even going so far as to claim she slept around with one of the men of the families she worked for, even though I was without a doubt his child. My mother was so frightened, but mostly for me, as I kept hearing her call out to me."

"Kotohina! Run away, honey! Please! Run & hide before daddy does something! Don't worry about me, just please run!"

"Cried out my poor mother. But, I didn't listen. I just sat on the floor watching the whole thing. But, I felt no fear. No resentment, no sadness, nothing. I just watched on with a neutral expression. But, I was oddly fascinated by what I was seeing. When you're a young child, you don't understand why your parents fight over such feeble things. I, myself, didn't understand either. But, I was so amazed at the same time."

"Even when my father murdered my mother in a fit of blind rage with his own katana."

"After he realized what he had done, he broke down into a state of hysteria. In a panic, he tossed his katana off to the side & tried to help her. Even though the damage was done. I have never seen my father like that before. But, little did he know, that he threw his katana over to me. I felt pity for this idiotic man of my blood. He was all muscle, but never brains. So, my insane little mind had an idea of how he can make up for his actions & apologize to her. I knew he loved her more than me, so after looking at his katana for a while, I went up behind him & told him something in my innocent little voice as he sobbed & muttered constant apologies to my lifeless mother."

"It's okay, daddy. I know how to make it all better. I'll help you join mommy so you can apologize to her. Tell her I said hi. & even if you don't love me as much as mommy........I hope this makes up for it. I love you, daddy."

"Stabbed in the heart from behind."

"The corpses of my poor, helpless mother & my poor, idiotic father stayed there since. Even when I became a teenager & even a young adult, they stayed there rotting away in my childhood home. I kept them there & talked to them even as they stood there frozen in time, only with the flies & maggots crawling in & out of them. I occasionally think back to that fateful day, & I still wonder if anything was left behind after that. Even though I'm not so sure if there's anything at all."

"When I was 15, all the way until I was in my 20s, I carried on with my life as if nothing ever happened. I was the strange girl of my village that everyone stayed clear of. I always wore red kimonos & black obi belts, so no one can see the blood that was on me from any murders I committed. You can't see it when it's on top of black & even more red, after all. No one also ever saw my entire face as I always wore fox masks, or just any mask in general. I had people afraid of me more than I had people who admired me. I was beautiful as I was terrifying. I loved seeing people locking their eyes on me & feeling their heads turn as I walked past them. However, that didn't stop the suspicions of where my parents disappeared to."

"I put on a convincing act whenever anyone asked of them. I was upset, put on the waterworks, pretended to be hurt from their disappearance, all of it. & those people bought every single one. However, some were not as convinced. As I went on with my life, I heard people complaining about a very foul smell coming from my childhood home. & when they finally put the pieces together, they realized my parents didn't disappeared. They were murdered. & the entire village hunted me down like a wild dog. They thought they were smart."

"But, I was smarter than all of them."

"I killed nearly all of the villagers, & the ones I haven't killed fled & have never been seen again. I killed everyone on sight with only some sickles I stole from one of the farmers. As I was on my murdering spree, I thought ahead & made a little trap. A tripwire that, when triggered, would start a fire that would spread throughout the entire village. By the time I was done & satisfied with my murders, the entire area was ablaze. Even my childhood home with my parents' corpses still inside. All for the sake of covering my tracks. I'd give anything to go back in time & relive that night. It was marvelous. Absolutely marvelous!"

"Those who fled the scene could hear my deranged laughing as they ran. That was all the proof they needed that I would be out for them next if they stayed. Easily the best night of my entire life. But, it could never compare to my most famous & proudest murder I have ever committed."

"I had also joined the demon slayer corps at some point, but I did nothing. Instead, I joined just so I could get closer to demons. While I was in that stupid corps, I did a myriad of crimes. I'm honestly surprised the current corps leader of that time didn't kick me out. Well, no matter."

"As I hopped from village to village, I did an abundance of homicides. But, this one is easily my most famous one that people still talk about to this day. A man from one of the villages spotted me & tried to assault me, so of course I used him for one of my murders. I pretended to be clueless & let him lure me into his home, but I wasn't unarmed. I was genuinely impressed with how his abode looked, though, so much so that I almost felt bad for what I was about to do. When he put his hand on me, that's when I struck. I slit his throat, cut off the hand he grabbed me with, & I let him die a painful death, watching every second his life slipped away from him. That was when I decided to be a little creative. I sewed buttons into his eyes & even sewed up his mouth, too. I stayed there for a while & played with him like a personal meat-puppet. It was talked about for centuries, even demons heard about it, too. It's so widely known & so widely talked about that I still hear people talking about it sometimes. Perhaps even Lord Muzan himself heard about it, since no less than a month later, I crossed paths with him."

"He looked a bit different back then when I first met him compared to now. His hair was longer & more wavy, & he only wore a black robe. But, his pale skin & piercing red eyes that burned me to my very core stayed the same. He looked so beautiful. I have never been so starstruck in all my life. I was face to face with Muzan Kibutsuji himself. He heard about my recent murder & was extremely fascinated by my abilities. I told him all about it & the plethora of murders I committed before it, & I think I might've freaked him out a little bit. But, he was still extremely amazed. & then he gave me the offer I thought he never would've given me."

"You've intrigued me with your crimes. You're very interesting, you know that? Even compared to other humans. Perhaps...you'd like to be a powerful demon under me? You could be even stronger beyond your years & you can do whatever your heart desires. You joined that worthless corps to see demons up close, so now I'm giving you the change to become one. What do you say, Kotohina?"

"I took the offer without hesitation."

"My transformation was a painful one. It lasted so many hours, but I was loving every second of it. After that, I dropped the act of liking the demon slayer corps & my appearance changed from his blood. My hair became longer & it even turned black with beautiful purple highlights. & my once black eyes turned to a gorgeous crimson red. I wasn't Kotohina anymore. From that day forward, I was Astarte. & I've never been happier. When an ex-ally of mine came by, I took my new power as a chance to attack & reveal my true colors, which of course, they didn't take so kindly to. So, I used their sword to slice them to shreds, & decapitated them. While their stomach was slit open & their head was severed, I put their head in front of me so they had a little show while I feasted on their innards, as decapitated heads retain consciousness for a few extra seconds. I have to give it to them, they tasted absolutely delicious~!"

"After my new hunger was sated, I already felt much stronger. My kimono was tattered due to my transformation & Muzan took me with him to the infinity castle. & there, my new life officially started. Many years went past me like a blur, & I climbed the ranks very quickly. & then, before I knew it, I became the notorious Uppermoon five you all know today. It's where I met the rest of the uppermoons in the 12 Kizuki. Akaza, Douma, Nakime.........& even my dear Kokushibo.~"

"& that, my friends, is the story of how I became who I am today. All due to a naturally insane young girl who only wanted to see bloodshed, violence, & to take down anything standing in her way. To this day, taking Muzan's offer was the best thing I ever did. I've never been prouder to be where I am now. If my story has taught you anything, it's that you can't always believe those sayings you've learned throughout your life, as they aren't always true. Especially in my case. Since it shows that not all monsters can be created."

"They can also be born, too.~"

[bigfatbreak]

Birds of a Feather previous / next

[kinocube]

Aaaaah!

Aaaaah! Uaaaa!! Xa o soltei. E que liberador resulta botar un berro de cando en cando! É outra desas accións humanas naturais -de feito, non somos os únicos animais que o fan- que ao plasmarse na gran pantalla desenvolven todo o seu potencial semántico e dramático.

Ousaría dicir que o berro, como concepto, acadou o seu maior potencial dramático no cinema, pois é o seu contexto ideal. O berro é son, pero tamén expresión visual. Son ondas sonoras, pero tamén é unha face estarricada de maneira grotesca, os ollos como pratos e a boca aberta até vernos a gorxa. Até o punto que, un berro cinematográfico pode ser máis intenso cando é mudo, como un dos berros máis icónicos da historia do cinema, o de Michael Corleone no final da triloxía de The Godfather (Part III, Francis Ford Coppola, 1990). É como se, ao negarnos o estímulo sonoro, recreáramos na nosa cabeza, subxectivamente, o máis desgarrador dos berros.

É probable que cando lestes o título deste artigo pensarades primeiro nalgún filme de terror. E pode que ese filme formara parte, ou non, da escolma audiovisual que acompaña a estas palabras; pois na miña selección tentei abarcar unha chea de contextos e xéneros narrativos que non se circunscriben ao máis evidente. Mais é inevitable: o berro producido canda o sobresalto é un dos piares fundamentais do cinema de terror. Tamén no thriller, no slasher, no giallo e nos filmes de suspense en xeral. Chamamos scream queens ás actrices especializadas no terror, e admiramos a súa habilidade á hora de soltar berros agudos e esgazados diante do asasino ou monstro que toca en cada ocasión.

Mais o susto non é a unica situación na que ceibamos a nosa voz a gran volume; hai berros de desesperación, moi propios dos xéneros de drama, berros que suplican, berros de autoridade, berros con nome de muller (Stella! Elaine!), discusión que acaban a berros ou berros que ceiban o último alento dunha personaxe que sofre un ataque, unha doenza ou unha gran pena.

Na épica tamén atopamos heroes -e en menor medida, heroínas- que botan berros de batalla antes ou durante dos conflitos armados, que demandan terra, liberdade -este é un dos favoritos-, honor ou xustiza. Aseméllanse ás consignas berradas nas manifestacións, representación inequívoca dunha reivindicación.

E, por que non, hai berros liberadores, como o que abreu este episodio, que xurden dunha arroutada irracional que nos insta a berrar, chorar, bailar ou rir para ceibarnos das nosas preocupacións. Estes son, persoalmente, dos meus favoritos. Hai un impulso dentro de nós que quere ser molesto, ruidoso, vibrar as cordas vocais, ocupar o espazo e o espectro sonoro e visual para expresarse, como os lobos a ouvear á lúa ou os estorniños a voar dando voltas sen rumbo.

Se esta bitácora fose escrita en lingua inglesa, tería que facer unha distinción e quizabes dividir esta reflexión en dous episodios, pois non é o mesmo scream -que denota un berro menos articulado, máis propio dun sobresalto ou dunha expresión de dor- que yell -a acción de expresar unha mensaxe articulada a grande volume, máis propia da expresión irada-. Ou incluso shout -dicir algo en voz alta, sen dixirirte especificamente a ninguén e sen ser necesariamente irado nin despectivo-. Porén, para o caso, todos estes exemplos teñen cousas en común: son maneiras de expresarse, son intensas -esta palabra é clave- e sonoras.

Cecais notástedes xa un sesgo entre os exemplos de arquetipos que fan uso do berro no cinema que citei antes, pois na pantalla, cando berran, as mulleres son a miúdo vítimas, son obxectos dunha acción -falamos do terror e do suspense- e podemos relacionalas coa verba scream. Porén, os homes son suxeito, usan o berro como agresión, como ataque, para dar fundamento á súa masculinidade e expresar a o seu dominio da situación. Os estereotipos de xénero, por suposto, teñen influenza nos arquetipos cinematográficos. Recordo agora unha tendencia que houbo nas redes sociais de facer supercuts de actores -masculinos e brancos, na súa maior parte- representando escenas de grande intensidade nas que as súas personaxes perdían os papeis e berraban ou discutían con ferocidade, pregoando canda aqueles vídeos a mensaxe "isto si é actuar!". Claro que é actuar; e tamén o é unha ollada, un xesto case imperceptible ou un aloumiño entre dúas personaxes.

A clave, como diciamos, está na intensidade. O berro sempre denota intensidade, aporta dramatismo a unha escena, lévaa a outro nivel. Por iso, nun tempo no que o cinema era doutra maneira, quizabes máis sutil, os berros reservábanse para os momentos climáticos; tamén se reservaban os primeiros planos ou determinados movementos de cámara. Dun tempo a esta parte, calquera destes recursos está máis presente e máis a miúdo, sobre todo en xéneros relacionados coa acción, thrillers e épica. O mítico Wilhelm Scream, o berro máis famoso do cinema, omnipresente nos últimos tempos, é un pequeno indicativo da situación. Quizabes é o momento de respirar, reflexionar e reformular o estado da arte cinematográfica.

Ou non, cecais é o momento de escapar debaixo das vías do tren, tomar alento e ceibar un grande berro liberador, que nos deixe cansados e satisfeitos.

Déixovolo á vosa elección. Até o vindeiro episodio!

[smileyobrien]

VOYAGER WEEK – DAY 1: Away Missions

series costume design by Robert Blackman wardrobe/costume supervision by Carol Kunz and Camille Argus