#'nobody is going to take a high-res screen recording and then go through it frame-by-frame to scrutinize our rigging breakdowns'

[egophiliac]

Do yoy like their silly little dance

the inside of my brain at any given moment:

[samwrights]

Elixir - Punk!AU mini-series

Hi guys! So I wanted to write something a little different. Not necessarily a “choose your own adventure” but something along those lines. This mini series will be a Punk!AU where the reader is in a band where your story depends on the person you choose! While no place is actually mentioned, I’m thinking Chicago (home sweet home) for setting. I’ve been working on this between requests and, while the requests keep coming, I’m trying to get the routes going. For now, I present to you the prologue.

Thank you quarantine, necessary drives to my Starbucks, Halestorm, Neck Deep, Pierce the Veil, and Paramore for inspiring these babies. Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: there will be swearing, smoking of cigarettes and weed, consumption of edibles and alcohol, cheating and possibly be NSFW. I haven’t decided on the last one yet. Everyone will be of legal US age for consumption of nicotine, marijuana, and alcohol in the present day (18+ in some states for tobacco, 21+ in for everything else). However, there are mentions of underage consumption/distribution of alcohol. These are genuinely mature themes! If you are unable to understand that these themes are not encouraged to be re-enacted, specifically cheating and underage consumption/distribution of nicotine, alcohol, or marijuana, please do not read for your own safety.

A complementary playlist can be found  »  here

Photocredit by @scandeniall​

Word Count: 3504

Prologue is below the cut!

You had been trying to ignore the gnawing thrum of discomfort that had worked its way into your intuition the last few weeks, but today the dull throb had transcended into an alarm blaring at the back of your consciousness. Like your body was trying to tell you something that should have been painstakingly obvious, yet when you attempted to pinpoint the cause, you fell short with an answer.

Period? Nah, too early for that.

Food poisoning? That wouldn’t last multiple weeks.

Pulled a muscle at the gym? That was a joke, considering you hadn’t gone to a gym since your senior year of college.

Anxiety? Well that was a given, considering you had a nasty gut feeling about something.

Stress? Stress was nothing new. In fact, stress was a very familiar friend to you.

What the fuck was it?

Even meditating on the thought for the last three hours, an answer had yet to come to you. Without ever finding one, you reluctantly pull the plush covers off of your queen sized bed and push yourself up to sit on the edge before checking your phone’s lock screen for the time. 1:23pm. You still had quite some time before you needed to leave for band practice, but you knew full well that laying in bed any further would encourage your current laziness. Making your way around the clothes that haphazardly littered your disheveled bedroom floor, you entered your bathroom to shower and get ready for the day.

The warmth of the water did little to quell the unsettling feeling that emanated from your gut. You even attempted to center your with old therapy tactics such as identifying all of your surroundings, such as which muscles of your body the shower was raining upon or the different notes in your voice that reverberated off the shower walls as you subconsciously sang. When that had failed, you allowed your mind to wander through the metaphorical meadow that resided in your brain.

At first, your mind focused on whatever lyrics fell from your lips, recognizing the prose as one of your band’s songs. Connecting the words that were committed to memory with people, your mind began to wander to your friends—the three boys you were thankful enough to call your best friends of a decade and members of your band, Elixir—Tetsurō Kuroo, Takahiro Hanamaki, and Yūji Terushima.

Kuroo, or Tetsu as you sometimes called him, was the guitarist of Elixir and the “mastermind” behind the name of your little group. Mastermind being a relatively loose term, as at the time, you all had felt indifferent to the name. But as nobody had come with any better alternatives, you all had stuck to it until it had grown on you. Kuroo was a year younger than you and, outside of the band, was a chemist for a small time company at the ripe age of twenty six. As you thought of him, you let out a soft snort that nobody but you could hear, thinking of his disheveled raven haired locks that framed his face; thinking of his earlobe holes that had been stretched out to nearly half an inch in diameter; thinking of the myriad of tattoos that littered his body from neck to toe. Sometimes, it did seem a little funny that this man had to wear a lab coat on the daily. You were so proud of him and of his accomplishments. He was ambitious and driven, focused on his goal of succeeding in both his field and with his band. Whether that meant recording an album and touring or just continuing to have fun was unknown, since really he would be fine with either or both.

Entertaining your analytical thoughts about Kuroo brought you to the bassist of your band, Takahiro Hanamaki, as you had met them both at your high school jobs in a local cafe. Makki, though he initially seemed profoundly reserved, had a relaxed sense of humor that typically came at the expense of others. At the time, he was a distinct contrast to Kuroo’s loud, antagonistic nature. Now, the two of them began to take bits and pieces of each other’s personalities. While Makki’s cool, composed self remained, he also was not one to avoid baiting someone just to crack a joke or tease them, an attribute he had adopted over the years of exposure to you and the guitarist. However, his laidback attitude was almost never immediately acknowledged by strangers, as his lanky build and harrowing, deep set eyes typically intimidate those who don’t know the light hearted bassist. And while he wasn’t the most “modified” member of the band, many saw the two eyebrow rings that rested above the right brow and, in conjunction with his natural features, immediately assumed the impression that Makki was unapproachable. You always had a soft spot for Makki and his slightly misunderstood ways.

Speaking of misunderstood brought your mind to the youngest member of your quartet—Yūji Terushima, or Teru as you affectionately called him. While he was only a year younger than the boys, two years in comparison to you, he was the life energy of the squad. When he had entered the cafe in which you, Kuroo, and Makki worked at for his first day, it felt that the final missing piece of the puzzle had been found, though you didn’t know it yet. It had been a year later, with you officially accepting the role of supervisor instead of trainer and Kuroo being your replacement. The two hit it off swimmingly and, while Makki didn’t necessarily match his energy, he compensated with humor. Terushima was, and still is, a wild thing. He breathes life into the rest of you by offering up crazy adventures that varied from a simple 2am Walmart trip to breaking into forest preserves at the dead of night to swim in a creek even though you had finals to attend to the following morning. In a sense, Terushima was the very reason Elixir had been born. After all, he was the one who encouraged each you to learn covers of songs until the interest had been sparked enough to learn how to properly play everyone’s respected instruments.

Backtracking your thoughts—finals. Finals meant university, and university was probably the most wild time of your life. As the friendship between the four of you continued to blossom with years passing, you all had made a pact to attend the same university. At one point, it had been tricky, trying to decide on where you were going to go and if you wanted to wait for Teru to catch up due to the age gap or if you, as the eldest, were going to pave the way for your juniors. It came as a surprise to the boys when you announced that you would wait, taking a two year gap in order to save money to lessen the blow of tuition in your bank account. Even more surprisingly, Kuroo and Makki had agreed with each other to do the same—what was the point in you staying behind and waiting for Yūji if they weren’t going to as well?

Waiting for Terushima turned out to be the absolute best idea ever. While you were initially hesitant to be rooming with three boys, friendship be damned, the four of you getting an apartment together for your university years was the best chaotic good moment you had ever been involved in. In a way, you all had gotten to celebrate many firsts together because of it. Did it bother you that you were a slightly older freshman? Sure, a little bit. Did it matter? Not at all, considering you were able to start buying liquor and beer as a sophomore in college and, as soon as your younger peers found out, you had turned it into a business to help pay rent for your shared apartment. Oddly enough, Terushima was the one who handled all of the expenses and calculated what you should be charging for your, ahem, “services”. Go figure, the youngest of you all was a math whiz. There was one unwritten rule for the apartment—no parties. Period. You could use your services to grab whatever supplies needed, whether it be alcohol, weed from a dispensary, or cigarettes, they were for your guys’ personal use only. Home was meant to home, and that was that.

Home; probably the single most important word in the entirety of your personal dictionary. While home was most often defined as a place in which a person or family resides, it meant something entirely different to you. Being home meant being with your best friends, your family. It meant being free to be yourself, unapologetically and unabashedly. And, maybe after rummaging through every single thought and analyzing each one through a metaphorical microscope, maybe that was where the disturbance in your intuition—that nasty gut feeling residing in the pit of your stomach—was coming from. There was something that you could not quite place that was disturbing your freedom, your home. Coming to the realization that your hot water had now gone cold, prompting you to shut it off and seek refuge and warmth in a fluffy towel and robe. Had it gone cold in that moment—the moment you realized why you had been on edge? Or had it been running cold out of irony that you had been in meditation for so long you hadn’t even realized it? You would never know the answer.

2:07pm. You still had plenty of time before band practice, considering both Makki and Tetsu would still be at work for another hour. To give them ample time to unwind from their work day, practice always started at five in the evening. In an attempt to kill time, you opted to make yourself a small lunch before sitting down to do your hair and makeup so as that you felt more comfortable being in public. Not that the boys cared—they lived with you for four years in university, they knew what you looked like at your absolute worst. Perhaps it became a habit to do so when you re-entered the working world as a full fledged adult three years ago.

2:29pm. After having your lunch, even taking the time to do all the dishes before moving into your next task—getting ready. While you didn’t feel the need to go overboard on your appearance, since it was just practice after all, you still had a solid hour and a half before Elixir was supposed to meet. Having plenty of time to kill allowed you to take your time to forego some self-care as well; maybe giving your locks a little extra tender love and care if you felt you needed it; plucking stray eyebrow hairs that had grown just a bit further outside of your desired shape. You checked the time on your phone again after you felt your look was complete, hair, makeup, and all. How the fuck had only an hour gone by? That was way more effort than you normally put in, or so you claim, yet time seemed to be mocking you.

3:36pm. If you could magically waste time picking out an outfit to wear to practice, you were doing so now. One part of you almost wanted to chuck on the leather pants you would potentially be sporting for tomorrow evening so as to give them a slight stretch and make them more comfortable while you performed. Another said to just keep it simple, and stick to leggings and a nice loose tee to keep you at ease. The last option that your mind entertained was wearing shorts and a tank because it always got so hot in Terushima’s basement during practice. You even went so far as to try on multiple shirts and tops that were essentially the same, swapping out different preferred accessories to see if you liked the look, if only to make the minutes tick by. Hell, you even tried multiple pairs of shoes, lacing each foot individually before the clock had passed four in the afternoon. Eventually, you tied on your typical, everyday combat boots despite the wasted minutes trying to do a wardrobe check. Now that there was only an hour left for Elixir to begin arriving the at the drummer’s family home, you decide to give yourself ample time to stop by and grab coffee for everyone.

4:13pm. You send a text message out to your mates, waiting for them to reply with what you knew would be their typical orders. Well, as typical as it could be considering Terushima was always trying out crazy concoctions. One by one they responded and of course, your assumptions were correct when Teru sent in his drink that took up four rows of text. “What in the actual fuck?” You grumbled out, squinting at your phone while simultaneously trying to enter your car. Following your typical routine of turning on whatever guilty pleasure playlist you were feeling in that moment and lighting a cigarette, you glanced at your friends order one more time before ultimately deciding to place the order online. You didn’t want to embarrass yourself ordering Yūji’s stupid drink. After placing the order, you made your way to a Starbucks closest to the aforementioned boy’s family home.

The drive to Terushima’s wasn’t a particularly long, even with the coffee run. Traveling between two suburban towns typically only took about twenty minutes regardless of the direction you were coming from, though you hadn’t taken into account the long line wrapping around the Starbucks Drive-thru. Not that it mattered—you were still on time for practice. Even if it seemed all of your friends were already here. Cautiously exiting your car with the tray of drinks in one hand while you let yourself into the Terushima residence.

His parents greeted you warmly as you always did before you made your way down to the basement. “Ayeeee, there’s momma.” Makki greets, taking the tray from your hands and distributing everyone’s respective drinks. Small talk place between band members, distracting you from the other three people in the basement—your bandmates’ girlfriends. When you did finally acknowledge their presence, you gave them a tight lipped smile, so as not to be rude, though they only gave a blank stare before bringing their attention back to the phones in their hands. You gave a roll of your eyes. It wasn’t that you didn’t like them, per se. It was more along the lines of you were the only female in the band and they automatically assumed that you were out to steal their mans. Not the case, especially considering you all formed the band before any of them were even in the picture, but go off.

Having already finished your beverage from earlier, you began plugging in the microphone into the amplifier and tuning the guitar you used for a small number of songs. Everyone else seemed to be ready to go except for you, who was strapping on the aforementioned guitar to prepare for the insanity of an opening that is Kuroo’s masterpiece. Besitos, he called it. Spanish for little kisses, you often wondered where the romantic title had come from considering the narrative was less than pleasant, even foreshadowing murder in the final verse. When you asked him about the inspiration for the lyrics and the title, Kuroo did nothing but laugh, adding in, “I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

The second song was a project curated by your drummer, Terushima. Brick by Boring Brick was a song that he claimed was inspired by his girlfriend, which was an endearing gesture if that were the truth. But from what you and the rest of Elixir had known of his girlfriend, she didn’t come off as a person plagued with baggage. Not that you could base it solely off of appearance, but with her and Yūji’s short lived relationship, it was a bit unbelievable that he had unlocked her tragic backstory in a matter of three months. Then again, what did you know? You didn’t even remember her name.

The title of the third song, Growing Pains, always made you laugh at the irony considering that Makki’s tall ass wrote the song. While a romantic, upbeat love song from Teru didn’t strike you as a shock, it certainly did coming from the bassist. Emotions that danced in the “love” category didn’t really sway him often. Maybe his girlfriend was just that special to him? You weren’t sure, because once again, you knew none of their names. But you knew for a fact that the song seemed to call for something more stable, endearing growth together and support for each other, which had you questioning how long had you been apart from your friends.

After the third song, you were winded and uncomfortable and no amount of water you chugged was helping you with sweat and dehydration. “I’m gonna die tomorrow.” You joked after setting your water bottle down by your microphone stand.

“We’re only a third of the way through the set, headass.” Terushima joked, pulling down his lower left eyelid and sticking his tongue out to you.

“For real, it’s only been like twenty minutes since we started practice.” Kuroo chided.

“Yeah, but can we smoke instead? I think there were a few things we should tune up before moving onto the next third of the set.” You looked to your guitarist with pleading eyes, holding a cigarette and lighter between your fingers. Makki, without saying anything else, pulled out a small bowl and packed it. He knew that any form of pleading made Kuroo a weak man, which inevitably meant a smoke break was up next rather than continuing on with work.

“Fine.” Despite the mock defeat in his tone, Kuroo is already gliding up the stairs, taking two steps at a time with you in tow. More steps could be heard, but they were lighter than the boys you had come know so well, meaning the three stooges were most likely following suit, despite them not being smokers themselves.

You and Kuroo were currently seated on a stone barricade as you lit your cigarettes, the rest of the crew picking at sporadic seats along the wall. Teru and Makki were next to each other to share their bowl while their girlfriends sat on the outside of them, just to your right. Kuroo’s girlfriend had taken up occupying the space between you and your guitarist and, maybe for a moment, you were wondering they were deliberately arranged this way.

The worst part of the girlfriends accompanying practice, in your eyes, was not their presence, but rather the fact that you felt like you couldn’t even talk to your best friends, your bandmates at band practice, because they were too busy comforting them so that they “didn’t feel out of place”. Regardless, you respected your friends enough to not make the situation more difficult for them—if you needed to say something, you could say it in the basement where spectator talk was not welcome. Out of the corner of your eye while you were internally monologuing, you see the lanky arm of Makki offering you the bowl, a few cinders of his hot still lit. With poor timing, he grabbed your attention while you were exhaling the smoke in your lungs, unintentionally doing so onto his girlfriend. “Shit, I’m sorry.” She rolled her eyes, though you know you didn’t do it on purpose. Whatever, she had her truths. You held up your hand that squeezed the filter of your cigarette between your index and ring finger. “I’ll get it on the next turn,” making Makki shrug and pass the small glass bowl back to the drummer.

A couple more drags of your cigarette soothes your craving for nicotine and when the paper had finally burned all the way to the end of the filter, you tossed the butt into the dead fire pit that acted as the center for your gathering. Terushima stands up real quick to hand you the bowl that had been nearing its end—giving you the last couple hits before it was cashed. When it came to marijuana, you didn’t smoke very often, but today you were grateful for the offering. Maybe the high would take the edge off of your...anxiety? No, that wasn’t it. Irritation seemed to be a better fit.

The seven of you shuffle back into the basement, rearranging yourselves, and knocking back a beer. “Okay, so before we move on, is there any song that you guys think we should work on before moving to the next third of the set?” You asked, your back towards your audience while you looked at your bandmates in earnest. They looked at each other, before locking eyes with you.

“Is there anything you want to work on? You’re the one who’s switching around with instruments and you’re the one who runs around on stage so we’ll leave it up to you.” Kuroo says evenly. You pursed your lips in uncertainty, think back to how each song sounded.

“Ya know what, let’s work on...........”

[ Besitos ] » Kuroo’s Route

[ Brick By Boring Brick ] » Terushima’s Route

[ Growing Pains ] » Makki’s Route.

BONUS: Terushima’s Starbucks order.

[turtle-paced]

GoT Re-Watch: Fine-Toothed Comb Edition

I said a while back that I think this episode is the best single episode in and of itself that the show’s done since 4.02, and I’m sticking to this opinion. I still think it doesn’t join up to the surrounding material very well, and the episode still has to deal with the original sins of season five, but as an hour of TV? Yeah, I think it’s pretty good.

I don’t have huge demands as far as half an hour of shaky-cam zombie-killing goes.

5.08 - Hardhome

For the record, I’m treating wight kills as kills, given that it’s Very Important for Action Heroes to mow down large numbers of enemy mooks.

(2:01) Oh, high angle shots to show authority. They’re a classic for a reason.

(2:19) Dany here refers to what the Lannisters did to the Targaryens. We’ve heard plenty of stuff about the Kingslayer, but far, far less about Tywin sacking King’s Landing by treachery, and now that Oberyn’s dead, we’ve not heard a whole lot about Elia and her children either.

(2:33) Tyrion once again confesses to kinslaying, with no effect on the plot.

(2:47) “It’s too soon to know if you deserve my service.” It’s the fact that this is played more or less absolutely straight that make Tyrion almost unbearable next season (and, frankly, here). From here on in Tyrion doesn’t learn, doesn’t change, doesn’t grow. His ability to fix the problems in Meereen are pretty much taken for granted by the writing staff. Dany’s, not so much.

(3:14) The showrunners seem not to have read the books very closely. The “hired knives” sent to kill Viserys and Dany did not exist until AGoT; they were the product of Viserys’ paranoia. Dany I, AGoT, has Dany doubting Viserys’ tale of people sent to kill them.

(3:22) That, and Drogo was not “some warlord at the edge of the world.” The Dothraki are a pretty big deal, economically. They’re a significant Essosi power.

(3:47) “You cannot build a better world on your own.” What’s Missandei, there, chopped liver? This devalues every single other person who has ever advised Dany; if she does not have Tyrion, she is “on her own.”

(3:53) “You have no one at your side who understands the land you want to rule.” Yes, it’s almost as if that person was ungraciously killed off to make way for Tyrion. Also note the shift from “world” to “land.” Westeros = world.

(3:59) And because we can only have one smart person on the screen at a time, Dany goes for the big stick argument straight away. Dany has shown that she understands killing and politics aren’t the same things. Just last episode she refused to kill because she believed it wasn’t the sort of politics she wanted to do. In front of Tyrion, that’s gone, because there can only be one smart person on the screen at a time.

(4:12) “I did quite well considering the king in question preferred torturing animals to leading his people.” Goodbye, themes of complicity in supporting a tyrant!

(4:48) I like how this shot is framed, though. Nice triangle of significant characters, with Dany at the apex, Tyrion closer to her than Jorah.

(4:51) “Whoever Ser Jorah was when he started informing on you, he is no longer that man.” So he’s not a creeper obsessed with his relationship with Dany? I find that hard to believe.

(7:00) Exhibit…I dunno, I’ve lost track, in why we should not consider Jorah’s feelings for Dany to be selfless devotion. Oh no. He already ignored her expressly stated wishes for him to stay the fuck away, he came back carrying an infectious and lethal disease.

BTW, if I was the one writing season six, off the back of this season five? I would have focused Tyrion’s plot around combating a greyscale epidemic in Meereen as the hostile forces of Astapor and Yunkai closed in. Disease is a problem Tyrion cannot outwit, and it would force him to action differently.

Also worth mentioning here are the harpies in the background; one of the reasons I consider the visuals of Meereen to be far superior to those of Dorne is that in the establishing shots of Meereen, we always get a good look at its distinctive architecture, and the harpies, which clearly have some cultural significance. It’s not Generic Yet Exotic Locale; we get something to visually set Meereen apart from every other location.

(8:04) A good, short scene of Cersei’s imprisonment there. We learn that she’s being deprived of water, information, and human interaction, unless she should confess. While not in a good way, she hasn’t broken yet either.

(8:07) And from good to bad! Arya picked the name Cat of the Canals for a reason. I would have thought that it was clear Arya was trying to maintain a connection to her mother, but apparently not. This change, to “Lanna” of the canals, I cannot see a motivation for, whether Watsonian or Doylist.

(8:18) Also, while I usually really like Maisie Williams’ acting, here it’s…less good. I think because it’s infodump-y, and there’s only so much anyone can do with that.

(9:41) Here too - without showing us the Titan, we’re being shown Braavos’ trade on the water and a city built on canals.

(10:19) Arya is a fairly surly oyster-seller in this transaction.

(10:53) The heinous crime of this insurance salesman in this scene is refusing to enter into an insurance contract. I’m not seeing any deceptive conduct from him - he looked at the man’s voyage plans and refused to take his money. Yet the oyster-buying businessman is clearly supposed to be bad, because he just refused the request of a man with three children and had him forcibly removed.

(12:23) Again we’re reducing Arya’s agency; in the books Arya planned the assassination of the insurance salesman herself, rather than being given poison after a really quite obvious scene of Arya pouring vinegar on the oysters.

(12:56) “It is all the same to the Many-Faced God.” Truly this is an organisation that cares about its apprentices.

(13:28) We learn here that Cersei has been officially charged with incest; it is completely against the High Sparrow’s interests to do this. If Tommen is the product of incest, he’s got no claim to the throne, and the Tyrells would be delegitimised by association. That would put Stannis at the top of the list.

(13:49) “Belief is so often the death of reason.” Oh, fuck off.

(14:38) Yep. Tommen locking himself in his room and not eating. This is a healthy child.

(15:17) Indeed, the man who introduced himself to Cersei by saying “Hi, I had the fantasy pope marched naked through the streets and beaten,” that man certainly needed Cersei to acquire power. He’s benefited from her sponsorship, but he had power in the city independent of her.

(16:59) Wonderful. Sansa Stark, one of the most compassionate characters in the books, listening to the full recount of what Ramsay did to Theon, and saying “Good.” Not only is it against Sansa’s character, it’s against the whole point of Theon’s series-long story. GRRM wrote Theon so that the reader spends book two going “wow, this kid is a prick, I hope something bad happens to him,” and then in book five it most definitely has, and the reader goes “oh god I did not mean that.” To have someone listen and then approve flies in the fucking face of everything that story was meant to say.

(17:18) Likewise, having Theon say “I deserved everything” is AGAINST THE STORY. Theon does not deserve this. Theon could not deserve this. Nobody deserves this. THAT IS THE POINT.

(17:59) In the hands of better writers, this reveal would have led into a different plot. Sansa should have now started to try getting this information out of Winterfell even if she herself couldn’t, and started plotting to find and restore her brothers.

(18:17) Excellent use of Winterfell’s musical motif here.

(18:43) Enjoy this mention of scouts and their military use.

(19:27) Hey, that’s the name of book four!

(19:44) Twenty good men. One of the most egregious narrative contrivances I have ever seen. And I read Theon taking Winterfell in ACoK.

(20:14) Tyrion drinks: 1.

(21:00) …Tyrion is basically negging Dany into taking him on as an advisor.

(21:05) Also, their conversation’s gone backwards. “Why are you here?” “Thought you were interesting.” “Why are you here?” “Thought you were interesting.”

(22:06) Goddammit! There was no organised campaign to find and kill Viserys and Dany!

(22:12) “[Varys] did a lot of other things as well, things he didn’t have to.” Like pass on all Dany’s military information unprompted.

(22:46) Tyrion drinks: 2.

(23:56) Once again, Dany makes a fairly asinine statement so Tyrion can look better by comparison.

(20:30) No. The Tyrells are impossible. The Tyrells are absolutely impossible at this point of the story. Tommen’s married to a Tyrell. Tyrion might not be informed on the latest developments back in Westeros, but surely he knows that Margaery was set to marry Tommen and the basic Lannister/Tyrell alliance hadn’t dissolved. Dany cannot offer the Tyrells more than they already have with the Lannister alliance, and her taking the throne offers them less.

But Dany is sympathetic, and the Tyrells are (supposed to be) sympathetic

(24:43) Except when “those on the ground” organise through the vehicle of their church and start protesting the current regime’s - oh? You say that’s actually not the case? They’re all raving homophobes and nothing else?

(24:56) Ahahahahahahahaha oh man. Dany’s going to “break” the “wheel” of feudal alliance and monarchy? How? She represents a return to pre-Robert’s Rebellion governance, the one where Aerys could burn whoever he damn well pleased.

(25:37) Jorah here sells himself into slavery, a thing he knows Dany hates, because his desire to see Dany overrides all concern he actually has for her. This is not romantic. This is profoundly selfish.

(26:33) Lena Headey can act. Spreading Cersei’s imprisonment in short scenes over the episode was a good idea, too.

(28:53) “We were farmers, and they slaughtered us.” But don’t think any worse of dear dead Ygritte for eagerly participating in this slaughter. Tormund, sure, he can be problematic - he’s a man. Ygritte was a love interest.

(29:02) Once again, Jon’s own ideas and conclusions are taken out of his mouth and put into Sam’s. Jon repeats again and again during ADWD, “the Free Folk are people, some are good and some are bad.”

(29:28) Ditto this idea about recruiting the Free Folk. Now, Jon’s clearly doing this, off his own initiative no less, so by implication he must have thought of this. However, articulation of the core idea is left to Sam. Of Jon’s own thinking we see steadily less.

(29:42) Terrible foreshadowing strikes Olly again. “Sometimes a man has to make hard choices, choices that look wrong to others” etc etc. Also, note the gendering, which has hit Sam again. Real men make hard choices, and real men don’t listen to this advice crap. And women do…well, going by this season, real women proactively sit in the same place for episodes on end. There’s an interesting twist in that Sam’s referring to the “hard choice” of conciliating (though that automatically positions violence as the default) which thanks to prevailing toxic masculinity Olly interprets as “murder your problems,” but there’s no escaping the fact that show!Sam is fucking obsessed with obtaining “real” masculinity.

(30:24) Game of Thrones brings you Lord Commander Snow Crossing The Not-Delaware.

(30:49) Now that the Thenns have all but vanished, so has cultural diversity amongst the Free Folk. One snow camo coat serves all. At least in Braavos, even though all the extras had the same distinctive style of sleeves, they got to wear different colours.

(32:57) Deaths: 1. Tormund’s kill. No homo. Note that being outright called a traitor did not provoke that reaction, but saying Tormund might enjoy giving another man oral sex? Oh, he had to die for that.

(33:54) Believe it or not, I’m entirely prepared to believe that these are the “elders” of the Free Folk. It doesn’t seem implausible to me that life expectancy has taken a severe drop.

(35:28) I can also understand why the showrunners would edit out the economics of taking the Free Folk on; with winter almost there, nobody’s getting another harvest, and so Jon needs to find a way to feed them all. He settles on buying food from Essos, takes out a loan, and insists that the Free Folk who come beyond the Wall surrender their valuables. (It’s pretty bloody poignant, because GRRM doesn’t shy away from the acknowledgement that this is the history of the Free Folk being sold off for their survival.)

(35:59) While I think honesty was the best policy for Jon re: Mance’s death, this line is also here so we can show that Jon’s not a very good diplomat, as he here needs to be bailed out by Tormund. Again, I’d be okay with showing Jon’s not a very good diplomat now, provided that in future we see some improvement, say, during season six where Jon’s rallying support amongst the Northern Lords…wait.

(36:27) Man called cunt: 1.

(36:58) “I lost fifty brothers the night Mance attacked the Wall.” This is actually pretty accurate to what was shown on screen!

(37:06) “I’m asking you to think of your children now.” Cut to the sole female member of the Free Folk with speaking lines. (There are one or two others in the background.) Recall that she will be killed by zombie children before the end of the episode.

(38:56) King Crow. Oh ho ho more foreshadowing.

(40:59) Gah, I really hate it that this woman was killed off. It took a few minutes to show her as a leader, both included amongst the elders and willing to speak her mind in the meeting, now they show her with her kids and outline her other responsibilities (“I need to get the old folks on the boats”). They couldn’t be bothered giving us her name in the show, though (Karsi).

(43:38) It is kinda silly that all the screaming beyond the closed gates stops at once, even if the eerie silence after the avalanche and dogs barking is, indeed, eerie.

(44:14) We get a good look at an unnaturally blue wight eye there.

(44:33) Deaths: 2.

(44:42) Jon Snow here seen giving two commands, two more than he does during the battle in 6.09.

(44:31-35) Deaths: 3,4, 5, 6, 7. All extras killing wights.

(45:44) Deaths: 8.

(46:11) Jon Snow is possibly the single most politically valuable person on the whole beach, integral to the long-term survival of all these people, because his is the authority that is most likely to convince the Night’s Watch to allow this plan to resettle the Free Folk to continue. Since he is an action hero in this show, he refuses to go back to the ships.

(46:26) This is explicitly stated.

(47:13-17) Deaths: 9, 10.

(47:23) Deaths: 11.

(47:27-33) Deaths: 12, 13, 14, 15, 16.

(47:35-37) Deaths: 17, 18.

(47:59) Deaths: 19. Jon the courageous hero is running into the breach with his Valyrian steel sword and no helmet, being the exact trope he’s not supposed to be in the books. His first kill of the episode.

(48:02) Deaths: 20. Tormund’s second kill.

(48:08-16) An extra shoots a wight Jon was pinning, followed by a team effort to crush it and block a hole in the wall; note that in this episode it seems that Jon Snow actually is capable of giving commands in a battle situation. What’s his excuse for 6.09? Deaths: 21. Crediting it to both Jon and Tormund for idea and execution, making it Jon’s second kill and Tormund’s third.

(48:18) Deaths: 22.

(48:22-31) Deaths: 23, 24, 25, 26, 27.

(48:40) Say, are those the four horsemen of the apocalypse?

(49:02) Deaths: 23. Tormund’s fourth kill.

(49:09) Deaths: 24. Jon’s third kill.

(49:12) Deaths: 25. Jon also did a bit of dramatic spinning but mostly hit people in their swords.

(45:32) Deaths: 26, 27, 28. The show does well showing the lethality of giants in melee combat sometimes.

(49:43) Deaths: 29. That’s Wun Wun’s fourth kill.

(50:00) I quite like the White Walker here quenching the flames just by walking through them.

(50:25) Likewise, after we saw the shine on Mr Thenn’s shiny and rare-in-this-context steel weapon, there’s some impact to its shattering when the White Walker’s sword hits it.

(50:27) Deaths: 30. Goodbye, Mr Thenn, we hardly knew ye.

(50:58) So, remember how crappy the Sand Snake fight a few episodes ago was? This is soooooo much better. Not the best the show’s ever done, but much better. Throughout this little encounter, we see Jon try to escape the White Walker when he has no weapon, retrieve a weapon, and only then fight back. We see him realise that it’s useless to hit back with conventional swords and switch his aim to escape, full stop. And this comes out through the choreography.

(51:44) And now that we’ve seen two steel weapons shatter, Jon’s desperate flail back with Valyrian steel works dramatically! The shock on their faces makes sense!

(51:52) Deaths: 31. Jon’s fourth kill.

(52:08) It seems the Night’s King has spotted Jon.

(52:22-7) Deaths: 32, 33, 34. Tormund’s fifth, sixth, and seventh kills. The violins are drowning out the sound of battle, so it’s darkest hour time.

(52:33) Deaths: 35.

(52:37) Deaths: 36.

(52:41-43) Deaths: 37, 38.

(52:47) So, those last four zombie kills were all Karsi, and now she is facing zombie children. But, alas, she is a woman! And a mother! So she cannot bring herself to fight back against these zombie children!

(53:08) Deaths: 39. Sorry, Karsi, you got screwed by the writers.

(54:04) Deaths: 40. Tormund’s eighth kill.

(54:30) Deaths: 41.

(54:33) Deaths: 42, 43, 44, 45. Another four kills for Wun Wun.

(54:48) Deaths: 46, 47, 48, 49. Another four kills for Wun Wun. That’s an even dozen.

(54:50) Deaths: 50, 51. With another two kills on the backhand swing. Like I said, the show will occasionally invest in showing how dangerous a giant can be in combat.

(55:17-19) Deaths: 52, 53, 54. Seventeen kills for Wun Wun.

(55:27) Deaths: 55.

(55:33) Deaths: 56 - far left of screen, some of the extras fighting actually ends in a death.

(55:53) Deaths: 57, 58.

(56:05) Deaths: 59.

(56:08-10) Deaths: 60, 61.

(56:14) Deaths: 62, and the White Walkers have joined the massacre in person.

(56:19) Deaths: 63.

(56:23-25) Deaths: 64, 65.

(56:30) Deaths: 66.

(56:27) Silly as this pose is…

(57:58) The results aren’t silly. This is, in practice, what Jon was saying would happen in theory.

(58:09) I’m also noticing some special death glares between the Night’s King and Jon, personalising this greater conflict. It’s poor writing that has Jon put this issue on the backburner while he goes to deal with the remains of Stannis’ plot with Sansa.

Game of Numbers S05E08

Deaths: 66. Wun Wun killed seventeen wights. Tormund killed seven wights and the Lord of Bones. Jon Snow killed three wights and a White Walker.

Woman called “cunt”: 0.

Man called “cunt”: 1.

Tyrion drinks: 2.

[nh935]

Creepy America, Episode 7: Alone

Creepy America Episode 7 “Alone” Wilmington, North Carolina

I know it was pretty naive, but neither of us thought that there would be any long-term consequences when we started “Creepy America”. Short term emergencies, yes, but nothing that would follow us back. We wouldn’t even think about it being a possibility until North Carolina. The seeds were there for some; we had learned about the existence of Iris Broadcasting and started down the road that would pit us against Archangel. But Sam was the first time I found something that I knew would come back to haunt us later.

***

When I woke up and opened my eyes that morning, they fell on the cheap wall clock we had hanging up in the kitchen. It was 10:00, but as my mind began to energize, I noticed that there were no other sounds in the R.V. Zoey was still asleep. That wasn’t unusual; Zoey enjoyed sleeping in, sometimes until noon. I also didn’t mind, because I tended to enjoy these quiet moments alone.

I got up from my spot on the couch, stretched, then found the small camcorder sitting on the floor. Turning it on, I left it on the table and started my morning routine. This was something we were trying to get into a habit of doing: keeping the camera recording all the time. Neither of us really knew when something weird was going to happen, so best to be prepared. It sat there, recording the living space as I microwaved one of the breakfast sandwiches from the freezer, took a quick shower, got dressed and started the coffee maker. As I did, I noticed the clock again.

10:00.

I furrowed my brow at it. That couldn’t be right. It had said that when I woke up this morning and at least fifteen minutes had passed since then. I tapped it to see if something inside was stuck.

The hands didn’t move.

Must be out of batteries, I thought. I shrugged and filled up a cup with coffee, then stepped outside to enjoy it; December in North Carolina apparently meant a crisp fall everywhere else. As I sat there and savored the fresh air, I noticed the camp was mostly silent as well. The usual chorus of playing children and grumbling parents messing with camping equipment was gone, with only the whispers of the wind to take its place. I appreciated it; after the Hotel California and Red Like Roses, I could use some peace and quiet.

Once the coffee was gone, I thought about what I should do. The only thing we had planned today was leaving the campsite we were staying at and heading out on the road again. Because of that, Zoey would have no guilt about staying in bed, so it would probably be a while before she was up. I didn’t particularly feel like just waiting around, so I decided to go to the front office and check out.

I hesitated, then went back inside and grabbed the camera before heading out.

It was almost dead silent. The rows of other R.V.s were still, with no people inside moving about or talking. The same was true for the tents, cabins, and even campground facilities like the pool and arcade room. That was extremely unusual. Normally, these places would be swarming with activity, with kids running around and staff doing daily maintenance stuff. It was strange for there to be nobody in sight.

“Everyone else must’ve decided to sleep in too” I joked to the camera.

The strange silence continued. I couldn’t even hear birds.

Unnerved, I continued inside to the large building that served as the main office area. There was no one there. Just a large building with a front desk, a small gift shop, and doors leading to other areas, all quiet and abandoned.

I loudly cleared my throat. “Hello?”

Nothing.

“Hello!” I said, louder. “Front desk?”

Still nothing.

I walked around the large desk to the employee side. Behind the counter was a computer and a cup of coffee, just sitting there like someone had left it for a second and was going to come back. But the cash register was also there, wide open, full of money. Alarm bells went off in my head. No way does an employee just willingly leave a full drawer of money open and unguarded for anyone to walk by and steal.

“Hey!” I moved over to the gift shop. Shelves of knick knacks and various minor supplies were in the room, but no people. I ran to the pool area. No people. I ran to the arcade. No people. I tried the “employees only” door. It was unlocked. Inside were desks, offices, rooms and closets with supplies. But in every one of them, no people.

A horrible thought entered my mind.

I ran out of the building, across the parking lot, back to the row of R.V.s. “Zoey!” I yelled. “Zoey!”

I flung open the screen door and bolted to the door of her room, pounding on it. “Hey Zoe, Zoey! Open up.” I didn’t hear anything on the other side. “C’mon, Oxenfree, this is important.”

I stopped and just listened, straining my ears for any sign that she had heard me. When I didn’t find any, I pounded on the door again. “Zoey, if you don’t open up this door, I’m going to break it down!”

Silence.

“Alright then.” I shoved against the door with my shoulder, throwing my weight onto the cheap frame over and over. The material began to creak and crack, and with only a few more shoves, it broke, swinging wide and showing me the inside of the room.

I could see the hallmarks of Zoey using that room. The blankets on top of the bed were mussed up and scattered. Her phone was sitting on the bedside table, plugged in and charging. The clothes she had been wearing last night were in a heap in the corner and the bags containing all her other things were sitting in the room.

But Zoey wasn’t there.

I headed back to the living area and dropped onto the couch, stunned. For a few moments, all I could do was sit there in shock, then I turned the camera towards my face. “Alright… Hello everybody, and welcome back to Creepy America. We’re in, um… we’re in Wilmington, North Carolina today. Well, I say we, but I guess it’s just me, because… because I can’t find anyone else. Everyone here in this campsite is gone. Including Zoey. It looks like… I’m alone.”

***

I spent some time searching around the campsite, just to confirm that there really was no one. And there really was. I forced my way into several R.V.s, and in each one I could find evidence of people sans people. There were breakfasts half-eaten, suitcases that looked like they were in the process of being packed up and then stopped, and a multitude of phones, wallets, and other valuables lying about without owners. The tents told much of the same story.  Everywhere I looked, the place was abandoned, as if the people just up and evaporated into thin air.

I started our car up and tried to leave, but there was a large minivan pulling into the entrance, empty and standing still, and no matter how I angled the car, there was no way to get around it. I drove it back to the R.V. and, after a bit of searching, I found a bike large enough for me to ride. Putting the camera in the metal-wire basket, I rode out and onto the road.

A few hundred feet up, there was a car stopped at a stop sign.

“Oh thank goodness” I breathed. “Hey! Sir! I need…”

I rode up to the driver side window and stopped. There was nobody inside the car.

I started up again and pedaled harder. I passed another car, this one just sitting in the middle of the roadway, once again abandoned. Another empty car. And another empty car. I kept going until I hit a road named “Market Street”, a big four lane highway that ran right through the center of town.

There were lines and lines of cars, stopped, still and emptied, as if some giant had just carefully set them there to give the illusion of daily life without any life, like living in a diorama.

“It’s everywhere, isn’t it?” I whispered.

All I heard was the complete silence. It was answer enough.

***

I wasn’t sure of what else to do, so I kept going down Market Street, slowing down every so often to weave around a cluster of cars. Eventually, I began to feel tired, so I turned into a large shopping complex area, Mayfair, I think it was called, and stopped. The stores were large, popular chains, I could see a Marshalls, a Gap, and a Micheals just from this angle, but like everything else I had found so far, it was empty and deserted. It seemed like a good enough place as any to stop, so I parked the bike and walked about.

It was surreal, being in such a public place with absolutely no people about. I could walk into any store and be the only one in the entire building, no customers or employees to interact with whatsoever. I don’t know if you’ve ever been truly alone like that before, where you’re in a large space and know that there’s nobody around but you, but it’s a very bizarre feeling.

I messed around with stuff, of course. I think we’ve all had a few fantasies about having the whole world to ourselves, like being the last survivor in an apocalypse, so I indulged a bit. I went to the fancier outlets and tried on clothes that were way too expensive. I grabbed high-tech remote control cars and drones and tried them out on the street. I found one of the golf carts the mall security used and I drove it into the mall displays, knocking over carefully-placed products and fashionably-dressed mannequins.

I also broke some stuff. I was still recording and I wanted to prove that I hadn’t somehow gotten permission to wander around after-hours and pretend like everyone was gone. I needed to show that I was actually alone. So I set a few of the drones on a fire. I also took a metal baseball bat from a sporting good store and smacked some of the windows with it. They didn’t break, probably so that morons couldn’t walk around breaking their windows with baseball bats, but I did manage to make quite a few long cracks and I was sure to show the camera them.

It quickly got boring after an hour or two, so I started trying to figure out what was going on. The first thing I noticed was that the time was all wrong. Every clock, no matter the model or what it was attached to, all showed the same time: 10:00 AM. They refused to acknowledge any time passing. You could set them to different times and wait, but then it’d just show the new time forever. My phone also insisted it was 10:00 AM, and even more bizarre, the other clock apps didn’t work. If I started the stopwatch, it’d just sit there at zero. Same with the timer and any time I set it to count down to. I even managed to find some analog pendulum clocks, but even with the pendulum swinging, the hands refused to move.

That didn’t quite mean that time didn’t pass, though. The sun was still moving in the sky. And when I grabbed an apple from a nearby restaurant, bit into it, and let it sit in the open air, it browned and rotted like any apple would. So there was some kind of time, just one the clocks didn’t recognize.

Or any electronics for that matter. The electricity worked in every store, even well into the night. My phone and camera also had a full charge on them, seemingly forever. No matter how much I used either, the battery would not go down. It was confusing, but I was grateful for it.

It was something I continued to ponder as the sun began to set in the evening. I was in the Micheals, squeezing paint onto cardboard to see if it still dried, when a shadow caught my attention from outside.

It was a person, dressed in a puke-green hoodie and dark, dirty jeans. Under that were what I think were work boots. He shuffled forward with this jerky gate and his shoulders were hunched over, giving his spine the curve of an old man.

I got up and approached the window. I wanted to shout, to yell in victory. Here was another person, finally! We could work together, but just as I was about to bang on the glass, I stopped.

When I was six, I went to the zoo with my dad. The last place we went to see was the polar bears. They were enclosed in this little rocky area surrounded by plexiglass, and I walked up to the clear surface and put my face up to it. Something about that must have angered the polar bear inside, because it immediately charged forward, jaws open, slobbering, right at me. I didn’t know what was going on, didn’t even know what a polar bear was, but watching an angry predator running right at me triggered something in my brain. A primal something. It knew what danger was, and this, it told me, was it.

The bear was stopped by the plexiglass, of course, and nothing more came of it than a story. But I’ve never forgotten that alien intrusion of fear from ancient memories.

It was the exact same feeling I was getting while staring at the person outside.

It turned, saw me frozen at the doorway, nodded, and shuffled off.

***

“That was fucking stupid of me.”

I was in some huge department store called “Belk”, preparing to camp out for the night. Fortunately for me, there was a section in the back for bedding and mattresses, so I was in the process of shoving things off of a giant display bed so I could sleep on it. Across from me, on a small wooden nightstand, was my camcorder, still focused on me.

“The only person I see all day and I don’t get their attention because what? I got creeped out?” I sighed and threw a plastic sign with a price written on it across the room. “I mean, it was human. Certainly didn’t look like anything else. And he obviously wasn’t hostile. In fact, he was pretty calm, all things considered. Maybe he could have told me how to get everybody back. I mean, he certainly didn’t seem bothered by this. Right?”

I turned. For a brief moment, I forgot about what was happening, and I expected to hear a voice respond; maybe even Zoey.

Obviously, there wasn’t one. All that was there was the camcorder.

I shook my head. “I need to get everyone back soon, before I go insane.”

***

The next day, I tried to find the figure again, hunting everywhere I could think of in the mall complex. I started with a systematic search of each building. When that failed to turn up anything, I drove the cart into each parking lot, looking for the man. I even managed to climb to a rooftop and look out, trying to spot him. No luck. I considered leaving the complex to go search for him, but I decided against it. Seeing as how he knew I was here, I could miss him if he decided to come back.

Not sure what else to do, I headed over to Barnes and Noble and gathered a huge supply of books to light a signal fire; it was the only other thing I could think of to bring him back. While gathering armful after armful of poorly written romance paperbacks, my phone vibrated in my pocket. Turns out that the free wifi from the Starbucks inside was still working. And the internet was perfectly accessible, though there was nothing on there posted since yesterday at 10:00 AM. Everytime I tried to post something, I would just get an error message. Even so, I spent most of my time in there from that point onwards, researching my predicament.

It didn’t help. Admittedly, I wasn’t quite sure what I was supposed to be searching for. Just googling “where is everybody?” didn’t seem like it would help. I found a few things online: the colony at Roanoke, the Mary Celeste, a couple of Indian tribes. But nothing like this.

While I was doing this, I had the camera on and pointed at me. Every so often, I’d say something to it, like “hey, what do you think about this?'' or “I want your opinion on something”. I could try to justify it as talking to the audience, but in reality, I was just lonely. Talking to the camera helped, though looking back at that unblinking lenses always crumbled whatever comfort it brought.

I was in the middle of reading another article, curled up in a chair in the corner, when I heard the sound of the doors swinging open. I jumped to my feet, ready to call out… then stopped.

The sensation of danger was back. I could feel it increase with every bootstep I heard.

I was torn. On one hand, my rational brain, lonely, wanting answers, and fed up with silly superstitions, was screaming at me to yell out, to make myself known before he just walked away again. But my lizard brain was telling me just as loud to go hide, stay quiet before it finds you.

I should say something. I was just being silly. There was a perfect counterargument to every single point the fear center of my brain was telling me.

But the feeling of uneasiness only grew.

The “thump thump thump” of the boots were getting close. I could see the sickly green of the hood in the next aisle. All he… it… whatever, had to do was turn a corner and he’d see me.

I needed to make a decision now.

I dived behind the chair I was sitting in, curling up my body and trying not to breathe.

The “thumps” were behind me now, moving about the small cafe. My hiding place was bad. All he had to do was walk a little closer and he could see me. I needed to do something.

Close your eyes the lizard brain told me. If you can’t see it, it can’t see you.

I shook my head. That didn’t make any sense. That was a child’s solution. It wouldn’t do any good.

There was another loud “thump” behind me, indicating it had taken another step closer.

All thoughts of trying to be rational left my mind. I squeezed my eyes shut as hard as I could, like my very life depended on not being able to see.

Behind me, I could hear him climbing up to kneel on the chair, the fabric protesting. I could feel him lean over my shoulder and hear the deep sniffing he gave to the air. The smell of old dirt and cold night wind filled my nostrils, mixed with something sour and acidic. It spoke, and I didn’t hear it with my ears as much as I heard it echo in my mind, and before you say anything, yes, you can hear the voice on the episode. But I’m telling you what I experienced.

LIAM, the creature said in its strange echoes, I CAN SMELL YOU. STOP THIS GAME.

I tried not to gag as his face inched closer and closer to mine. I just had to keep my eyes closed.

The seconds hung in the air for an eternity.

Finally, the chair creaked again, and it left, the “thumping” fading into the store. After waiting another minute or so, I slowly opened my eyes.

CRASH!

The sound of something falling caught my attention and before I realized it, I turned my head to the source. There, at the end of the cafe, was the thing, standing over a knocked-over table, arms still outstretched in the shove that toppled it over. As soon as I saw it, it turned to me, and inside the black of the hood, I could see the two small dots of impossibly bright light that were his eyes and white, almost glowing needle-like teeth, turned up into a smile of absolute madness.

THERE YOU ARE.

I panicked. I grabbed the camera and bolted, sprinting outside. The thing didn’t try to follow me, didn’t try to stop me. It just threw its head back and laughed. And laughed and laughed. I could hear the cruel sounds echo out the store, into the parking lot, and across the empty world.

***

“May-maybe I got this all wrong.”

I was sitting in the parking lot. The sun was setting, but I hadn’t moved from this spot since my encounter with the thing earlier in the day.

“So far, I’ve been thinking that something happened to everyone else. That everybody in the world disappeared.” I looked back at the camera staring in my face. “But what if I’m the only one who disappeared?

“I mean, think about it. Every so often, you hear of people just vanishing. Gone without a trace. And sure, while some of them are found, most of them are just gone forever.

“I think that this is a space between seconds and that, somehow, I slipped between the cracks while the rest of the world ticks on. It would explain the time, and why it looks like everyone’s just gone.

“But that brings up a problem.”

I swallowed. “There’s 90,000 people missing in the United States at any given time. Even if only some of them have ended up here, that’s still a big enough number for me to see someone, or at least, the evidence of someone. But there isn’t. Which means that… thing, whatever it is…

...it’s probably the thing that got them.”

***

I spent the entirety of the next day trying to get back.

I conducted frantic experiment after frantic experiment to get myself unstuck. I went back to the R.V., fell asleep there, re-did everything I did that morning, checking the video recording to make sure I didn’t forget a single detail, down to tapping the wall clock. That didn’t work. I tried going to the office, walking around, searching every square inch of the campground for something. I pedaled back and forth, back and forth, from the mall to the campground. I tried undoing as much damage as I could to the mall and then destroying more things when nothing happened.

None of it did any good. Nothing changed, and I was no closer to figuring out how to reverse it than I was my first day here.

By the time evening came around, I was out in the large Main Street, pacing back and forth, staring down into my camera. “C’mon…” I muttered to the device. “There has to be something. Think, damn it, think!”

There was a sudden flapping sound, like fabric in the wind, from behind me. Without thinking, I turned to look at it.

The thing was back. I swerved away from it, squeezing my eyes shut, but even as I did so, the split second look gave me enough time to sear the image into my memory:

I saw him, same as before, only now the flat white circles of his eyes were as large as spotlights and he was using one hand to pull the hood off, and I swear, the darkness was spilling out. The inside of that hood didn’t look black because the hood was making shadows. No, that hood was somehow holding an infinite amount of void back, and now that it was down, the void inside was eager to rush out.

With my eyes still closed, I turned away and tried to run, but I immediately felt its fingers on my face. They were groping and grabbing at me, as if it was blind. LET ME IN it shouted in its echoing voice. RECEIVE MY BAPTISM. TAKE YOUR RIGHTFUL PLACE AMONGST THE DISEASED THINGS, LIAM.

I put my arms up and struggled back. It was like fighting a statue. Its hands were too strong to pull away. Any attempts to pull back its fingers refused to do so much as budge them. All I could really do was bat at them, confusing his grasp in the search for my face as we continued this blind grapple.

STOP FIGHTING ME! It sounded frustrated. THIS IS YOUR DESTINY. JOIN THE ACID-ETCHED FLOCK AND DENY YOURSELF NO MORE!

The hands shot forward faster than I could react. I felt each one grip around my eyelids, pulling the skin back with a painful amount of strength. I grabbed onto the hands and pushed, but I might as well have been pushing a mountain. I tried to force my eyelids closed, so hard I thought they might tear, but bit by agonizing bit, he opened them wider, and wider, and wider, until I saw. Not my attacker, but a horrible darkness, filled with eyes and teeth and chattering voices for eternity.

WITNESSSS….

I screamed. I felt faint. My vision clouded over, not with the skin of my eyelids, but the shutting down of my brain in the face of overwhelming insanity.

I could feel a foreign “click” somewhere in my mind, and the sensation was suddenly too much. I collapsed into unconsciousness.

***

“You alright, buddy?”

I opened my eyes, but it took me several seconds for them to focus.

I was on the ground, in the parking lot of the mall complex. The sun was out. I could feel the bright rays on my skin.

I struggled to get up, wiping drool away, and a hand offered to help me up.

A human hand. A human hand attached to a large, slightly fat, red faced… human.

I grabbed onto it and pulled myself up, embracing the man in a hug. As I did so, I saw more people, moms and kids and bored adults of all kinds, walking the sidewalks. They were staring at me. I’ve never felt so happy to be judged.

“They’re all back” I whispered.

“Yeah, great” the stranger I was hugging replied. “Do you…”

“Where’s the camera?” I broke away from the grasp and looked around. There it was, only a few feet away. I grabbed it and looked it over. Seemed fine.

“Wait a minute.” I turned and ran over to the nearby GameStop, a store I know I had cracked the windows of. No cracks. No evidence of repairs either, as I ran my fingers over the glass.

“Hey!” I grabbed the arm of a passerby. “What day is it?”

“Get the hell off of me!” he exclaimed.

“What day is it?” I insisted.

“Tuesday.”

“The date!”

“The 8th, you fucking psycho.” He shook me off and hurried away, glaring.

I pulled out my phone. Sure enough, it read “10:03 A.M., December 8.”

I blinked. That couldn’t be right. I had spent at least three whole days in that other place and no time had passed.

“Yeah, that’s the guy.” I turned to see the gentleman I had hugged earlier talking to someone in a mall security uniform. I grabbed a random bike leaning against a building and started to pedal; now seemed like a good time to leave.

Besides, there was one last thing I needed to check.

I didn’t let up on the speed the whole way there, going as fast as that bike would let me. Once I reached the campground, I shoved it to the side and weaved through people as I ran back to the R.V.

“Zoey!” I yelled. I unlocked the door and flung it open. “Zoey, are you in here?!”

She was standing in the living area, pajamas still on, hair a mess. She winced when I yelled. “What’s wrong?”

I didn’t reply, just embraced her in a long hug. She stood still for a bit, stunned.

“It’s way too early in the morning to be dealing with this shit” she mumbled, but she reciprocated the hug anyway.

***

I showed Zoey all the footage. She was silent as she watched it, eyes glued to the screen.  (As an interesting side note, she later told me it was “a bitch to edit.” Even though there were over twelve hours of recording, the timestamp for every single frame was at 0:00, and according to the metadata of the files, the recordings were all zero seconds long. She had to do some strange edits to the metadata just to be able to work with it.)

Once the video got to me running back to the R.V., she turned it off. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

I shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. I don’t think it worked.

“I feel bad for you.” She shook her head. “First ‘Worlds of Wonder’, now this. You have some real shit luck, Liam, you know that?”

“Yeah.” I tapped the surface of the table. “Do you think… maybe the ‘Worlds of Wonder’ was what allowed me to get knocked loose?”

She shrugged. “Maybe. But that still doesn’t explain what happened in either case.”

“I guess.” I was quiet for a moment. “So what now?”

“Well, we missed check-out time, so I guess we’re staying here for another day. I’m gonna start editing this, you just enjoy existing again.”

“Hey Zoey, do you think… do you think I could sleep in your room tonight?” I could feel myself blushing. “Just for tonight. I’ll sleep on the floor, I just… want to make sure people are still around.”

She sighed. “I won’t make you sleep on the floor. Just tonight, though. And don’t make it weird.”

I nodded. “Thanks.”

***

For those of you who remember the episode, this is where it ended. But that wasn’t the end. At least, it wasn’t for me.

I was on the mattress, scooched as far away from her as I could without falling off. She was asleep, but I was wide awake, just listening to the gentle sounds of her snores and appreciating the way her weight curved the mattress. I was just about to drift off, when I heard the sound of flapping again.

I turned and looked out the window, and there it was. Same hoodie, same jeans, same shoulders hunched up over the neckline. But its hood was back up, and the eyes and teeth were no longer visible. Just infinite black inside.

“Zoey!” I reached over and shook her, not taking my eyes off the thing. “Zoey, wake up!”

SHE WON’T WAKE UP LIAM.

I got out of bed. “What did you do to her?”

ME? NOTHING. I AM THE EMPEROR OF DREAMS. MY SUBJECTS ARE DETAINING HER UPON MY REQUEST. Zoey whimpered and shifted, and I felt the thing’s crazy smile even though I couldn’t see it. LOOKS LIKE A FEW OF THEM ARE GETTING A LITTLE OVERZEALOUS.

“If you hurt her…”

RELAX, LIAM. SHE’LL BE FINE. I’M HERE FOR YOU.

I took a step back. “Me?”

YES. I AM SAM THE AXEMAN, LOVER OF JAZZ AND MUSE OF MORTALS, AND AS SUCH I COME TO INSPIRE THOSE I DEEM WORTHY. I CAME TO BERKOWITZ IN THE FORM OF A DOG, I CAME TO GACY IN THE FORM OF A CLOWN, AND I COME TO YOU NOW, TO INSPIRE AND ASCEND YOU TO GREAT WORKS AS WELL.

“Th-those are serial killers.”

I felt his smile again. YES.

I became dizzy. I backed away to the far wall, feeling cold and nascuous. I wanted to vomit.

COME NOW, LIAM. REJOICE! ANYONE CAN BE BAPTISED BY THE GOD OF LIGHT. HE IS A TWO BIT WHORE. BUT TO BE BLESSED BY A DARK GOD, TO RECEIVE THE DARK BAPTISM I HAVE GIVEN YOU, THAT IS A DISTINCTION FEW OTHERS CAN CLAIM.

My teeth were chattering. I couldn’t tell if it was from the cold or the fear. “Wh-what are y-you going to d-do to me?”

NOTHING, YET. YOU ARE NOT YET READY. YOU ARE AN ABRAM NOT YET GIVEN A COVENANT, A SAUL BEFORE THE BLINDING LIGHT, A JAGER WITH NOSE STILL VIRGIN OF COKE. I WILL WATCH YOU, AND WHEN I SEE THAT YOU ARE READY, WHEN I CAN SMELL THE FRAYING OF YOUR MIND FROM THE ACID-ETCHED BAPTISM, I SHALL COME BACK TO GIVE YOU A DARK PENTECOST. AND ON THAT DAY, YOU WILL BE TRULY TRANSFORMED.

I wanted to protest, to tell him no, but I couldn’t. My mind felt… wrong. I couldn’t think. My attempts to formulate words ended up unraveling before they began. My back hit the wall and I slid to the floor, until I could no longer see him. I felt fuzzy. I smelled worms.

He laughed. SEE YOU SOON, LIAM. AND KNOW THAT I AM WITH YOU ALWAYS, ‘TIL THE VERY END OF THE AGE. There was a fluttering sound again, and it all stopped. Zoey was no longer writhing and I could think again.

I was afraid. This… Sam, had followed me back. And he was going to keep following me. I had no idea what he meant by baptisms and pentacosts, but I was sure I didn’t want to know. And now, even though I was back in the land of the living, even though I was safe, I couldn’t help but realize a terrible fact:

We had lost this one, and the consequences were only just beginning.

[the-real-midnight-society-blog]

Rabbits in the Creek

I’m writing this because my family won’t talk about it anymore. I’m the only one who can’t seem to forget.

I was raised on the outskirts of Preston, a small town in southern Idaho with a population of around 5,000. My more immediate community was an isolated, dead-end dirt road called Bear Creek. Less than twenty families lived on the Bear Creek. I didn’t mind being so isolated. I grew up in the comfort of wide fields and close neighbors that only rural people know.

We were a Mormon community. Very church centered. Very community centered. All the young girls, myself included, were part of the Young Women’s group. And all of the boys were members of the local Boy Scout troop (which doubled as a church group in our area). We had 4th of July parties at the local ballpark and swam in the nearby reservoir. It was a good, quiet community.

My house, a 92 year old farmhouse built by my great-great-grandfather, was situated on a small hill surrounded by a wide grass field on one side, and a snaking dirt road on the other. Across the road was the creek bottoms. Southern Idaho is categorized in a desert climate, so not much grows outside of the irrigated fields besides sage brush and burrs. The creek bottoms were the exception. The creek fed the growth of a thick tangle of pussy-willow bushes. In the late fall we used to go down into the bottoms and pick the white, cottony pussy-willow seeds to decorate the fences of our driveway.

Being so isolated, it wasn’t uncommon for animals to come down from the mountains. We had a female moose who brought her calf down and lived in our orchard every winter. And the occasional lion wasn’t unheard of either.

The summer when I turned eight (I remember because it was the same year as my baptism), a smaller mountain lion was spotted several times in our area. We weren’t worried. The big cats stayed away from the farms and usually moved on when the area didn’t yield enough food.

The same summer my neighbor, Payton, was working on his Eagle Scout project. He loved National Geographic, and thought it would be pretty cool to try putting together a National Geographic submission on our little creek bottoms. The young lion that happened to be in our area at the same time made him especially excited. He decided he wanted to try and get pictures of the lion and e-mailed the National Geographic team for advice.

They recommended setting up an automatic camera that takes shots every couple of seconds in an area the lion was known to visit. They also recommended setting some kind of bait so the lion was more likely to come by. No one in the creek liked the idea of live bait or carrion, so we came up with a different kind of bait.

We decided to set up an audio recording of a dying rabbit and play it on a loop through a set of speakers hidden in the willows. I remember when everyone was down in the bottoms testing the speakers, and I heard the noise for the first time. The sound of a dying rabbit is horrible. It’s been described as being almost identical to the sound of a screaming child. If you’ve never heard it yourself, there’s plenty of recordings available online. It’s worth a listen.

The camera was set up. The speakers were set up. Everything was perfect. Payton explained that he would allow the camera and recording to play uninterrupted for a week, and then he would go check on it. This would give time for our scent to fade from the bottoms and encourage the lion to come closer.

At first I was worried about the noise. It was a truly horrible noise, and our house was the closest to the set-up point in the bottoms. My father assured me that the noise wouldn’t reach as far as our house, and I was relieved when we arrived home that night and he was correct. The bottoms were far enough away that I couldn’t hear anything.

I remember Payton the next day at church. He was fidgety and excited to check on the equipment. But he had to wait a week, which everybody kept reminding him. He couldn’t risk going down too early and scaring the lion away for good.

That night I woke up to an awful noise. I sat ram-rod straight in my bed with my eyes wide in the dark, hands clutched so hard my palms bore the indent of my fingernails for hours after. I knew that noise. It was the recording of the rabbit. It sounded faint, and far off, like it really could have been coming from the bottoms. But that was impossible. Because the recording had been going all night the previous day and I hadn’t heard a thing.

I didn’t sleep that night. I was too scared to get out of bed and wake my parents. The recording played over and over again. I had the loop memorized. In the morning I stumbled into the kitchen for breakfast. My mom and dad were sitting at the kitchen table. They too had dark rings under their eyes. I hadn’t been the only one who’d heard it.

Mom was convinced that the equipment must have been broken. She wanted to go down into the bottoms to check it out. Dad refused. He was a kind, gentle man and didn’t want to stir up any unnecessary drama. He was sure there had been a strong wind last night, and the wind was carrying the noise farther than it’s natural reach. He told us to listen. We did. He was right, we couldn’t hear it now.

We forgot about it and went about our daily goings.

The next night, it happened again. I stayed up in bed with my back to the wall. The screaming was even louder than before. But this time something was different. It was lower pitched than I remember. And parts of the loop were slowed down, as if the recording were warped in places. At times the loop did not loop naturally, and instead picked up at a random place in the middle.

My mom didn’t mention anything at the breakfast table. But both her and my dad seemed tense.

The third night I mustered the courage to stand beside my bedroom window and look out into the yard. For a moment I stood, rooted to the spot, my hands shaking no matter how hard I clenched them. The noise sidled in through the cracks in the window. I watched the outline of the trees in the yard. Perfectly still. Not even the slightest breeze stirred their branches.

My mom announced that she would be going to visit her sisters in town the next day, and would probably spend the night there. She invited me to come along, but I was a daddy’s girl at heart and chose to stay at the farm. I took mom’s place beside dad in their bed that night but even that didn’t help. I don’t think my dad was asleep either, for he was unnaturally still the whole night.

We began to hear the noise during the day too. I was drawing with chalk on the sidewalk when it happened. My shoulders tensed and the hairs on the back of my neck prickled. There was only one scream. A short, high pitched one. And then the recording fell silent. It happened again several times throughout the day, but never the whole loop. Just clips from it.

Later that evening Payton’s dad came up the driveway on his 4-wheeler. He said he was looking for their dog, a sweet yellow lab who had been missing since that morning. Dad said he was sorry, and that we hadn’t seen her. I stared at him, silently begging him to mention the recording. But he didn’t. He was a quiet man after all. He didn’t want to bring up any unnecessary drama.

Mom stayed away the whole week. Dad and I didn’t sleep. By Saturday the screaming could be heard constantly, though it seemed to have deviated from the familiar loop entirely. I didn’t recognize any of it. Sometimes the screams were thin and long, other times they were hardly more than growls. Once, while my dad had been heating up meat loaf for lunch, the noise rose into such a rancorous din that he dropped the plate and it shattered. I pressed my hands over my ears where I sat at the table and squeezed my eyes shut, but it didn’t help. The noise forced its way in through the cracks of my fingers and pinched my throat and rattled in my ribcage. The din lasted for a whole minute, then fell silent.

Dad was shaking. That was the last we heard of the noise that day.

Payton came by Saturday evening to ask permission to cross our road to collect the equipment. He was so excited. I watched him disappear into the creek bottoms with a sense of tired relief. After the equipment was gone, it would all stop. I couldn’t wait to get a full nights sleep.

Not a minute later I spotted Payton coming back up from the creek. I was confused. It had taken us much longer to set up the camera and speakers, so I’d only assumed it would take just as long to collect them. My breath stilled when Payton came closer. He didn’t look right. His eyes were wide and his face pale. Something wet dribbled from his chin and onto his shirt; I later realized it was vomit. My dad caught him before he fell and demanded to know what had happened.

Payton couldn’t speak. He just cried.

We called his dad. I looked after Payton as both my dad and his dad went into the bottoms. They were gone a long time. When they returned, their faces were grim. And they smelled funny. I noticed red on my dad’s hands. I asked what was wrong but they brushed right passed me and immediately called the police.

Nobody would tell me what had happened. I sat on the couch as a blur of neighbors and police officers swirled around me. At one point an officer placed something on the kitchen table and left. I looked into the kitchen curiously. It was the camera from the bottoms.

I wish I hadn’t looked.

The camera was a little banged up. Tiny scratches and dents covered the plastic casing. When I lifted it my hands stuck to the plastic. Something tacky and odorous covered the screen, but it turned on fine.

The first set of photos were normal. Just the pussy-willows cast green in the glow of the night setting. As I continued to click through them they quickly became strange. At one point the camera angle changed, as if the camera had been knocked from its post. Grass now obscured most of the frame. Flecks of red appeared on the lens and remained for the rest of the sets. One photo made me pause.

There was a figure in this one. Or half of a figure as most of the upper torso hadn’t made it into the frame. I thought it could be human. But it didn’t look like it should be standing upright. It’s legs were twisted, like an animal, and it seemed to be having difficulty supporting itself in an upright position. Beside the legs a long, thin arm hung. Whatever it was must have been stooped over, for its fingertips hung below its crooked knees.

The next set was different. It was as if the camera had been picked up, and was now being held. The first photo was of the bottoms at night. The next startled me. I had to look closely before deciding what it was. A rabbit had been laid in the bushes, but its ears and most of its scalp had been peeled away. The next was of the same rabbit, but a thin, dark hand was holding it up against the sky. It’s limp body hung like something from a nightmare.

In the following photos more rabbits joined the one, each with their ears and scalp removed. Then a cat. Then more cats. Then a dog, the yellow lab. Then the lion. The following photo was of seven rabbits, three cats, one dog, and the lion all laid out in a row facing the same way. Their arms and legs had been arranged as if they were marching. Like some parade. All of their scalps had been removed and tiny white glints of their skulls could be seen.

The last photo was overly bright. Like the photo had been taken too close with the flash on. An eye dominated the frame, but it was yellowed and crusty, and had a bar pupil like a horse. In the bottom corner the edge of a mouth could be seen. No lips. Just teeth. Sharp and little, with wide gaps of red gum between them.

I wish I hadn’t looked.

I heard my dad talking to the police outside. They said the speakers had malfunctioned. The recording had only played the first night.

----

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