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reelperspective · 4 years

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I’m generally not the type to mourn celebrity deaths. It’s usually beyond me to truly mourn the passing of someone who is so completely removed from my life. I tend to reserve grief for personal losses. I would say that is still true - I don’t know if you could call what I’m feeling grief, but it’s definitely something akin to it.

When I heard that Naya Rivera had passed away in a drowning accident, I thought “my god that sucks. That glee cast is cursed or something.” Then I moved on with my life, as one does. I felt it in the moment because Santana was my favorite character (well her and Brittany), but I didn’t dwell on it. I hadn’t seen the show in years, so I felt removed from it.

Months later, I go down a YouTube recommended video rabbit hole and end up watching the Glee version of Fleetwood Mac’s Landslide. I’d always loved that cover of the song. From the moment I first heard it, I thought it was beautifully arranged and flawlessly executed, but I digress. The point is, after watching it, I started watching other Glee videos (again, recommended videos). At a certain point I thought, “fuck it, I haven’t seen this show in years. Maybe it’s time for a re-watch.” So, I started to binge watch it. It is just as hilarious and awesome as the first time. And again, just as the first time, Santana proved to be my favorite character.

I think that Santana was the most emotionally complex character on that show. I think she had a great arc as a character that started off not being very sympathetic at all, to becoming a character that people could really relate to and root for. She had a fascinating duality to her as the bully who sometimes had a heart. Her love for Brittany added a significant layer to her character - displaying a side of her that had previously been unseen. A side reserved only for Brittany- the exception to her rule. Which is remarkable because, being that she was an idiot, Brittany should have been an easy target for Santana’s ridicule. Later, Santana reveals in a rant against Rory the Irishman, that she believes Brittany to be beautiful, innocent, and “everything good in this miserable, stinking world.” This revelation spoke to the heart of the character because it showed that despite her blatantly “Evil” characteristics, what Santana truly values most is goodness and purity of spirit. Brittany was the only person Santana never insulted. You could say that this is because she loved Brittany. That’s a factor, for sure, but I think the main reason is that even she couldn’t tear down someone so innocent. This, and other instances of vulnerability, developed Santana into a more three dimensional character - someone real, rather than just the caricature of a mean girl.

Yes, it’s true that the writers can be credited for this nuance in her character, but I believe it can be argued that Naya highlighted these nuances flawlessly. She did a beautiful job of portraying Santana’s *reluctant* displays of humanity. Not to mention how fucking talented she was when it came to the singing and the dancing. Vocally she’s top three along with Amber Riley and Lea Michele - and she’s a better dancer than either of them.

I noticed all of these things during this recent re-watch of mine. I’d always enjoyed Santana’s viscious barbs and her scathing wit, but this time I gained a deeper appreciation of the character as well.

Why am I talking about the character when this post started off being about grief? Well, watching the show again really drove home what a goddamn tragedy it is for the world to lose someone so talented and hilarious. This feeling drove me to look into Naya as a person. I listened to her audio book, and I read what people have said about her, and the general consensus is that she was an all-around amazing individual. She was Kind but sassy, tough yet compassionate, funny and intelligent. I then watched some of her interviews, and her personality was positively magnetic. She always lead with a blunt honesty that she delivered with this matter-of-fact attitude and wry wit. She owned up to things that most people in her position would hide. Despite the bluntness, she never seemed tacky or crass. Then to add to these revelations is the observation that she so clearly loved her little son with a tremendous passion. I’m sure all celebrities love their children more than life itself, but most don’t speak out about it specifically or so frequently. Naya, on many occasions, spoke of her passion for motherhood, and how much it meant to her to be Josey’s mom. With all of the things she has accomplished, she credited her son as her greatest success. Topics that get repeated across many conversations tend to be subjects that the speaker is fairly obsessed with. It is clear that her son was her whole world. He was not only her responsibility and her greatest love, but also her greatest source of joy. I’m not surprised that she somehow found a way to save him even though she couldn’t save herself.

Which leads to the final straw on the camel’s back - the manner in which she died. As was mentioned previously, she saved her son - which kicks you right in the feels. He had to witness some of her final moments - kick #2. Then there’s the tragedy of the circumstances of the death itself. Drowning is a horrific way to die. She must have been so terrified in her final moments. To add to this is the fact that had any of a number of events transpired differently, she’d still be with us today. Had she not gone to the lake that day. Had she gone with at least one other adult. Had she not jumped out of the boat. Had she worn a life vest. Had the boat had an anchor and a ladder attached to It’s side.

Then I’m confused about how this all went down. Apparently, she was sucked under the water by a current - I guess the equivalent of an undertow - but I thought undertows only happened in the ocean! Considering that this is a lake - a man made one at that- and not a river or an ocean, where the fuck did this incredibly strong underwater current come from? A lake is pretty much stagnant water, is it not? I looked at a map of it, and from what I can tell, there are no rivers feeding into this lake. So, I’m confused and this death is not only tragic, but senseless.

It’s just so fucking sad - every which way you look at it. I feel it in my very soul, and as I said before, I never feel celebrity deaths like this. I can’t stop thinking about her poor child having to grow up without his mommy. I lost someone as a child, and it left an enormous hole in my heart. I remember feeling so profoundly and absolutely destroyed. There are no words to describe the depths of my despair, and I can’t help but think that Josey is feeling that now. Though I was older than he is - I don’t know how much his young mind can make sense of or process the reality of his mother’s death. I know for sure that he is feeling it - he will miss her forever. Ryan Dorsey, his father, released a statement in which he said that he had to explain to his son that his mother was in heaven, and Josey asked him how he could go there too so that he could be with her. That just breaks my heart - I know exactly how he feels. I can’t stop thinking about Naya’s mother and how she collapsed on the dock at Lake Piru and threw her hands out in a display of pure, all-consuming grief. As I’ve said, I’ve felt grief like that before. I’ve collapsed to my knees under the weight of it. So, I feel for her family and her friends. I saw an interview in which the actress who played Santana’s abuela says that Heather Morris was so distraught, she wanted to jump into the lake to search for Naya herself.

I also feel a keen sense of loss for all of the wonderful things she will never do, all of the hilarious things she had yet to say, and all of the characters she might have been destined to bring to life with a singular authenticity. Lastly, and least importantly, I feel this keenly because she and I are the same age. The reality of such a thing just slaps one in the face.

That being said, I keep having these moments of cognitive dissonance as I’m watching the show. I feel her loss so much, yet it seems like she’s not dead. She can’t be! Look at her. Look at how full of life she is. She’s so young. That can’t be the reality - but alas, it is. I keep remembering that it is, and the cycle of emotion starts up all over again.

I know that part of the reason for my deep feelings about this tragedy has to do with my own experience with loss. I’ve lost so many people in my lifetime - some of which, I’ve loved more than life itself. At least one of which, I had wanted to follow into the grave because I could not fathom my life without her in it - it just hurt too much.

So I lay this all out here on tumblr. It is very likely that no one will ever read it, and that’s okay. I just needed to express it anyway as it has been building up inside of me.

#naya rivera #naya rivera son #naya rivera death #gleek #glee #heather morris

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ibeatfor · 3 years

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evolution

3/24/21

I live by the mountains

And it wasn't even by design. It just so happened that this small little place within my budget was by the foothills of the Angeles National Forest.

It was not even a year ago when a picture of me and my then husband J was immortalized in the local newspaper as we stood arm in arm watching the fire fighting being conducted on the fire raging in our "backyard".

I remember seeing the flames atop the mountains and within a hair's breadth, witnessing in awe and horror as it raced down the spine of the mountain. I think subconsciously I knew we weren't in any real danger as it hadn't crossed the street but I think I must've tugged on Inyo's leash to get him further away from the fire, as if the few inches would've made a difference. It's human instinct to withdraw from a perceived threat. His resistance pulled me out of my head and back to reality. We were (relatively) safe, why not check it out along with the bystanders and news crew that had already begun to gather? It's also human instinct to observe -it's why we inevitably rubberneck despite swearing we won't be the one to hold up traffic like that car in front of us. So we went to check it out with the crowd, 6 feet apart of course. Arm slung across each other, mine around his waist and his casually over my shoulder, we stood there watching helicopter after helicopter dump water on the patches of flames. It was this image that the photographer captured. I recall the mountains looking beat up, barren and forlorn after the fire was put out. The black scars from the ordeal showing up starkly against the blue skies made me feel bad for my beloved mountains, how they must have suffered.

Never could I imagine that months later I would be standing in the same spot alone. This time, it would just be my own two arms clasped about my small heaving self, as if to futilely hold back the overwhelming grief, feeling much the same way I imagined my mountains to look back then-beaten up and scarred.

---

So now, some more months later, as I'm out on my daily walk, I'm struck dumb by the patches of greenery that's peeping up from the mountain face. They're scattered and patchy, awkward like a teenager who isn't sure how much space to take up, but they're green and they're there nonetheless. They grow bravely and defiantly, the scars of their ordeal scabbed over by slow growth. Fundamentally I know they didn't just spring up overnight, they've been budding since the fire was put out but it still catches me by surprise. I know this but I can't help but feel taken aback because as often as I've walked this loop, I never noticed it until recently.

I flinch as I reread my past journal entries, notably the one on January 12th. Not because it’s embarrassingly raw (it is) but because it wasn't too long ago that that memory, was my reality. While I may still instinctually recoil from the memory, I can see that I've kept pace with my mountains. They've been the metronome beating steadily in the background and living by them (by lucky happenstance), I didn't realize they were also keeping me on beat, outwardly reflecting our progress in a gradual, delightful blooming of life and healing, healing and life.

When I see the dare-to-be hopeful patches of greenery bathed in the early evening sunlight, it's human, or rather, Theresa instincts to turn my face towards the warmth of the sun, to soak in its life endowing light myself.

---

3/1/21

Red cross, ActiveSGV let- I paused in the midst of compiling my mental to do list. It felt like a lifetime ago when it was all I could do to perform the bare functions of existence. Did I get out of bed before noon? Yes? Good. Did I get out of bed without breaking down? Yes? Now that was a win. Those were hard days. And while I can get out of bed before noon and without crying more reliably now, it wasn’t so long ago that I can look back without flinching at the difficulty of the memory. The possibility of relapsing, of going back to that place, is always there. But when you feel like your life as you’ve known it is being upended, you count even the small victories. I process my observation of my mid-thought with wonder. The idea that I now tentatively have enough emotional and mental bandwidth to even consider doing something else aside from making it through the day without breaking down sends a small thrill down my spine. Now that was the win of the month!

2/19/21

We’re creatures of habits. So when it’s a habit you’ve known for years, it’s disorientating to shake things up. This past weekend was my first road trip with R and it was enjoyable, despite my initial dread over embarking on a long journey on a Friday of a long weekend (the irony hasn’t escaped me). While it was a great first road trip together, it was also…kind of weird. Even broaching the idea of taking the trip in the first place and then planning it felt strange. I didn’t know how to navigate through these uncharted waters because I’m so used to road tripping with J. We expected to adventure on long weekends because we had established that expectations years ago. It never crossed my mind that we wouldn’t go somewhere on a long weekend.

So while I enjoyed every moment of my first road trip with R, I admit J was on my mind more often than I’d like. It was as if I was leading little Theresa forward by the hand but she kept glancing back at the past, reminiscing on how I used to do x, y, and z with J. The contrast between then and now often induced feelings of loss, longing, and heightened the sense that something was amiss, like I was going against the natural order of things. From past experience, I knew that there was only one place these devious thoughts will lead me to if I left them unchecked. So before we went down that rabbit hole, I’d give her hand as much of a reassuring squeeze as I can muster and doggedly plod on with her in tow -partially because there’s nothing else to be done at this point but mostly because I want to move forward. I can’t say with much degree of certainty that things will be better ahead, but I’d like to (have to) believe they will be.

Initially I tried to convince her not to look back and to keep her eyes always ahead and when that failed, I tried bargaining with her to not look back as often. Eventually, I relented. I allowed myself to look back as often as I needed to and that offered some relief, I was able to free myself from the guilt and the need to always keep my eyes forward.

Learning grace is part of fighting the good fight and that weekend was a prime learning opportunity. I allowed myself to look back and gave myself permission to feel everything -the discomfort from what feels like a physical wrenching of myself out of a comfortable habit and familiarity, the longing for the familiarity, the excitement of the newness, and hell, the plain strangeness of the newness. I’m learning there is space and that it’s okay to hold contradictory feelings. After all, when I’m not an Olympic medalists in mental gymnastics, I’m really a plant with more complicated emotions.

---

1/12/21

Sadness accompanies me everywhere. She trails me.

The death of a dream is always heartbreaking.

Some times I gasp aloud from the pain.

It's not your heart that aches, not for me at least. The pain is a dull, slowly pulsing pain that's nestled right underneath my heart.

I stay in the house until I can't and then I walk, heading north, until I can't. On 1/12/21, I make it as far as the northern grass patch before I have to sit down.

The sun sets as quickly, the sky flares up as quickly as I'm overcome by the pain

I wonder if I appear drunk, crunching leaves and walking until I double over.

Idk who I'm glancing around for but at this point I wouldn't mind a hug from just about anyone.

---

1/1/2021

Rustle, click, thud

I settle in the car with a rustle of clothing and plug in my phone to charge with a smart click. As the phone snaps onto the magnetic phone holder with a light thud, that’s when it usually starts. At night in cold Ole Faithful the rustle, click, thud are the sounds of my thoughts preparing to play themselves out, like the din of middle school orchestra students warming up to play. I used to dread it in the beginning, the thud signaled the arrival of unbearable sadness. Unbearable sadness was like a sharpshooter that always hit the swollen sac of sadness nestled in the hollow behind my breastbone dead on every time. The burst sac would release a mixture of pain that would flood throughout my body to the tips of all my extremities, reaching every nook and cranny. Oftentimes, I’d barely make it down the street before I’d outwardly uttered an unbidden sob and hunch over the wheel in what felt like physical pain, clutching it with all my might, the tears streaming down my face.

But now that the sadness is a little older, and maybe my tears haven softened up its heart, unbearable sadness is now just sadness and sadness stands outside the passenger door waiting patiently -but ever so ominously- for me to invite it inside. I know better than to keep it waiting so it is with slight resignation that I nod my permission and it settles in and buckles up, a faithful companion on my ride home from my nighttime forays. When I come from my mom’s house which is noisy on quiet days, being alone in Ole Faithful with my silent companion makes the silence even louder.

Rustle, click, thud. Tonight, I feel out my thoughts as they parade themselves individually to me and slowly realize that they don’t all elicit as strong of a reaction as they have before. It’s as if my reaction was ammunition and as I became less volatile, the sadness, in turn, became less violent and all consuming -it just sits there. I ease Ole Faithful onto the road and begin my journey home. While I used to dread sadness’s presence, now we sit in companionable silence. I know it’ll be around for the ride for a while.

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aion-rsa · 3 years

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Marvel’s What If…? Episode 1 Review: Peggy Carter Changes MCU History

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This review contains spoilers for What If…? episode 1.

What If…? is the latest Marvel Studios small screen project to arrive on Disney+ after much fanfare. The animated anthology show, created by Trollhunters: Tales of Arcadia writer A.C. Bradley and Marvel storyboard vet Bryan Andrews, aims to explore alternate timelines in the MCU multiverse. In order to fully grasp the basic premise of What If…? as a whole it helps to have watched Marvel’s Loki, which recently introduced the multiverse to the MCU.

What If…? episode 1, “What If… Captain Carter Were The First Avenger?,” focuses on a (mainly) WWII-era version of Peggy Carter who made a key alternate choice that affected the creation of Captain America in a major way.

It’s a fun episode! Your mileage may vary depending on how much you love Peggy Carter, but since I love her a whole lot I had a good time watching this. The main downside, I suspect, to any of these installments, is that they’re inherently redundant. As far as we know, none of the fantastical concepts here will bleed into the live-action MCU. But if you’re here for a good time and not a long time, What If…? should make for a neat weekly diversion.

Our What If…? reviews are going to adopt a different format. More of a “breakdown” that we hope will still satisfy regular readers but also help younger viewers and those less familiar with the MCU keep up.

With that in mind, let’s take a look at “What If… Captain Carter Were The First Avenger?”

Required viewing

In terms of understanding the central characters and how things changed inside the branch timeline featured in this first episode, we would recommend revisiting Captain America: The First Avenger, Marvel One-Shot: Agent Carter, and the opening act of The Avengers. If you’re on a full Peggy Carter binge, why not add both seasons of ABC’s live-action Agent Carter series to your watchlist, too?

What’s different?

This episode explored what would have happened if Steve Rogers was unable to take the super soldier serum during World War II and Peggy Carter volunteered to become Dr. Abraham Erskine’s lab rat instead.

Peggy’s “what if…?” was deciding to stand her ground and stay in the room while the serum was administered during the iconic transformation sequence featured in Captain America: The First Avenger. She then had a chance to intervene in the Hydra bombing, but Steve got caught up in the action and was subsequently shot.

With time running out to perform the super soldier process, Peggy jumped into the machine and went on to become Captain Carter, having all the physical powers of Captain America along with a different costume and an altered shield with a Union Jack at its center.

Steve was badly injured and had to undergo intense physiotherapy while Peggy trained to be the best she could be. Their relationship blossomed and, thanks to Howard Stark, Steve took on the role of her sidekick in a Tesseract-powered Hydra Stomper – basically an early version of the Iron Man suit. Meanwhile, Peggy faced interference from Colonel John Flynn, who was regularly on hand to pour out a stream of misogyny regarding her place in the fight.

In a familiar First Avenger train sequence, Peggy went on an altered mission with Steve, Bucky Barnes and the Howling Commandos to take out the Red Skull, however it was Steve who ended up falling from the train in this timeline and not Bucky, so it stands to reason that Bucky wouldn’t then go on to become the Winter Soldier.

Other more minor changes include Peggy probably not making out with her own niece during any Civil War shenanigans in the future – and please do not direct me to any fan art depicting that scenario in the comments, I beg you.

In the end, the Red Skull used the Tesseract to summon a tentacled “champion of Hydra” and Peggy had to sacrifice herself to push it back back into the space portal from whence it came. She emerged from the portal pre-The Avengers’ Battle of New York.

Who are the voices?

Jeffrey Wright plays the show’s narrator, Uatu The Watcher, and he’ll be here for every episode.

Returning to voice their characters from Captain America: The First Avenger were Hayley Atwell as Peggy Carter, Sebastian Stan as Bucky Barnes, Dominic Cooper as Howard Stark, Neal McDonough as Dum Dum Dugan, Toby Jones as Arnim Zola, Samuel L. Jackson as Nick Fury, and Stanley Tucci as Dr. Abraham Erskine. Other MCU actors joining in were Jeremy Renner as Hawkeye and Ross Marquand as the Red Skull, reprising his role from Avengers: Infinity War/Endgame.

Bradley Whitford may seem like a new addition as the arrogant Colonel John Flynn, but he previously portrayed the character in the live-action Marvel One-Shot: Agent Carter released back in 2013, so even in the Sacred Timeline Flynn continued to be a thorn in Peggy’s side for quite a while.

The elephant in the room here is Steve Rogers. Chris Evans did not add his voice to the What If…? mix, so it was up to Marvel animation alum Josh Keaton to stand in for Evans, and he honestly did a really good job of it all things considered.

Standout moments

I gotta say it was truly wild for me to witness Captain Carter have adventures onscreen at all! It was obviously great to see Peggy kicking ass with her enhanced strength – the serum only beefed up her already brave and competent nature – but this version of the character has something of a unique origin, having been concocted as a kind of throwaway addition to the match-3 game Marvel Puzzle Quest in 2016. A couple of years later, Saladin Ahmed added her to the pages of Marvel Comics in Exiles #3, and it clearly didn’t take Marvel Studios long to figure out how to apply the enthusiastic Captain Carter fan response to an MCU project.

Peggy riding Steve’s Iron Man-esque Hydra Stomper into a dogfight during the WWII montage sequence was a delight, frankly. The animation in most of the fighting sequences was terrific and really took golden opportunities to reach for the kind of punching, kicking, shield-throwing ballet that the live-action format could never quite achieve with its restrictions of reality.

I found myself slowly warming to What If…?’s animation style, which I probably still wouldn’t describe as my favorite if I’m honest. I love the What If? comics, and this series felt like an opportunity to really push the weirdness envelope a little more. You only have to look at what Netflix accomplished with its anthology series Love, Death & Robots to see how differently a What If? series that embraced other styles and voices could have gone, but I grew up on Saturday morning cartoons, stop motion, Fantastic Planet, and Heavy Metal, so forgive me for briefly imagining the possibilities of this project in a wilder sense.

One of the oddest standout moments for me was when the episode subverted my expectations somewhat. After Steve was seemingly killed during the train heist, I thought the creators of the show were all set to explore him becoming the Winter Soldier, and I have to admit the idea intrigued me a little! However, it didn’t go down like that, and I was left to mentally wander down a different “what if…?” rabbit hole alone.

How does it work out?

In the future, Nick Fury used the Tesseract to transport Peggy back from wherever she ended up after she entered the portal, and it looks like she joined the Infinity Saga-era Avengers Initiative in Steve’s place. Whether it all worked out well for this episode’s specific MCU timeline remains to be seen, but it would be really fun to see if Agent Coulson had a pack of Captain Carter trading cards!

More to come

Episode 1 played like a pilot for an ongoing Captain Carter series for good reason: What If…? has been confirmed to include at least one Peggy Carter installment in every season going forwards.

“A lot of the season one episodes are riffing off certain points in the cinematic universe and maybe even delving in a certain phase, but we need to expand and explore more things, so we had to come up with other ideas that were a little further down the timeline,” director Bryan Andrews told us, later adding “Peggy Carter is pretty awesome; Captain Carter is pretty awesome, we’d love to see more of her.”

Marvel’s What If…? is now streaming weekly on Disney+ every Wednesday.

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The post Marvel’s What If…? Episode 1 Review: Peggy Carter Changes MCU History appeared first on Den of Geek.

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greaterlandscapes · 3 years

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My Dean Blunt Rotation aka High Fidelity Left A Bad Taste in My Mouth

For the past 2 to 3 months, my listening habits were teetering to an end; mostly via burnout by spontaneously listening to local artists daily and less likely of a musical discovery drought, whereas my interests of a certain artist or genre hasn't found its, sort of, "eureka", moment per se. I've been feeling less enthusiastic over the things i listen to since my friends have gradually lost their flare when it comes to discovering/exploring untapped parts of the music realm. Thus, in return, my enthusiasm not being reciprocated. It leaves an empty feeling from someone who has been yearning social interaction, may it be media being latched on the topic - it's a feeling that's been guilt-tripping me ever since I was stranded in the other end of the metro. I feel closed off, exposed to the crippling loneliness the lockdown has punished us: a defacto solitary confinement in a national level. Our act of staying online is also an act of staying alive outside.

To be fair though, it's a valid move to not boomerang compliments/gripes over an art you haven't consumed due to someone's autonomy. Your able body being to consume the art you wish to finish with free time is a luxury in of itself. The art is then failed to serve its purpose to reach its goal: You have squiggly lines heading straight to oblivion rather than swirling in the earlobes of a wandering cyber nomad. We, eventually, need to find something that could help us exit, rather than escape, from capital. We, in return, do not shut ourselves from the outside. Instead, we then tend to avoid the stress of protocols and outdoor fascism; Not avoid the indoor liberalism that is eating us alive and online. It's a capital punishment we never knew we signed up for ever since the onslaught of the virus and the state. Art for art's sake is nonexistent now, always has been, it seizes to ever since we went inside. Feeding off of a holographic meatloaf coming from a glowing screen. We have a real-life Karen acting as a nightlight in our rooms.

The COVID lockdown made us listen to music — both for better, for worse. For one, it made us pass most days. You could say the same for any sort of media: film, mixed media art, or whatever pre-Covid activity that sprung up during our time in isolation. For music, however, there was an uptick of new listeners that made others Wheel-of-Fortune the fuck out of their music discoveries in sites like RateYourMusic, Bandcamp, or even Sophie's Floorboard. We've continued to expand and became more open change of opinions and be less of a jackass towards someone else's opinions. On second thought, our opinions have been catalogued, leaving more notes than actual footprints of our previous listens. Our new discoveries made new bands and re-emerging bands, bands who faded to obscurity, crawl back in the surface with newfound interest from younger listeners (ie Panchiko, Jai Paul, and Dean Blunt) and this glowing, previously unseen and unexpected overwhelming support from fans of departed artists (ie SOPHIE, MF DOOM)

For the other, we've hogged gratuitous amounts of media, resulting into losing our primary direction as to how we want to consume our media based on the preconceived notions of what we want in our art. There is goodness in becoming directionless when you think about it, but there comes a cost to our identity as music listeners. Instead, we end up widening our tangents, falling in endless rabbit holes, having zero chances to emerge from the surface. In fact, i refuse to call it a "rabbit hole" instead i'd rather call it a "pipeline" of sorts — transitioning casual music fans into a full on, different, unique versions of themselves that would define them when laws and protocols have eased in the outside world. Our act of staying online has either made most of us break our character or enliven our past selves. The music pipeline is now more apparent, stretching the norms of what was once alienated by a silent majority, but now accepted as an acceptable form of expression. The more music we are exposed to has made casual listeners stranged out or react in ways that our personality have betrayed us or deemed not as acceptable to them. Still, not changing anything that was prominent pre-pandemic. Liberal cop behavior is stronger, now more dangerous than it ever was once perceived by the outside world.

HIGH FIDELITY? NO, THANK YOU.

Imagine a situation inside of a record, pre-pandemic of course, where you do not feel like lifting a record out from the shelf, instead, you window shop just for the sake of windowshopping. Capital and media made us think that going to record shops is a semi-productive activity. The age of discovery has died ever since High Fidelity romanticized and normalized the incelage of horny record diggers. Does this movie age well, yeah sure it does, for old 90s nerds at least. But did it translate well over in the past 20 or more years of events and tragedies that unfolded in pre-9/11 America? No it didn't. It was an age of free expression, only liberals would dream of whenever they take a sip of Guinness beer in their favorite dive bar.

Mind you, over a couple of months ago, it was my only chance in seeing why this movie was the talk of the town back when it was released. There's music, yeah, and attractive leading leadies, yeah, it has everything a 90s kid would love to salivate and drop their gonads over while they watch this movie. I obviously did not live to see the movie on opening day but i could imagine the scent that came out of that movie theater with attendees donning windbreakers and The Who shirts with popcorn dressing stains on their plastic cups. If there was a Filipino counterpart to this movie, i'd bet corporate champions Eraserheads and Rivermaya would soundtrack their music over and have either Tado or have Boy 2 Quizon, but i sense it to age like milk more than it could age like fine wine due to the senseless jokes one can execute in a Cubao or Cartimar record store.

John Cusack is obviously the incel in question here: a damaged, vengeful ex who constantly fails to live his partner's expectations and weaponizes his personality over the situations that has nothing to do with his interests. I spent the entire time being absolutely disgusted over the spineless responses of John Cusack's leading character. The movie then treads on flashbacks with John Cusack's failed relationships and what he could do to move on from each and one of them. If i could stand a SONA for 3 hours then I can't stand John Cusack being the dull entry point to incel, making more reasons why you should hate record store clerks who don't give an iota of shits to someone's inviting rapport. High Fidelity is opium for massive music circle jerks who can't take a single breathe of fresh air or a single quota of touching grass. There's more targeting weak and inferior guys and hot women who dump dumb overconfident dudebros more than the actual "music recs" in the entire movie. The more I think about this movie, the more I realize how our personality is in line towards Dick, the record store being unmercifully dunked on by the movie's two leading characters. He's an angel in the world of cynical bastards, witnessing both demons pitchforking record store customers in the ass while they're purchasing the latest Sonic Youth album.

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I believe that Jack Black, the dark horse of High Fidelity, has a pleasing personality more than an irritating demeanor due to this behavior in the record store. In fact, outside of the record store, Jack Black doesn't seem to take the business is your pleasure act pretty seriously. Unlike John Cusack's character he brought his obsession over involving a record in an important memory/point of his life. There is so much stuff that has happened outside of the record store, so much for Rolling Stone and NME being the bible of music at the time, endlessly christening and shilling artists that believe to become the second coming of the Beatles. The music references here however are treated as fluff than it is a mechanism that would drive the senseless plot forward. If anything, there are events pointed out in the event that doesn't have anything to do with the life of the characters.

If anything, this movie did a great job at capturing the feeling of music bros being dumped on the wayside by a mature set of characters and how their current conditions aren't perfumed by the studios' liking of having to Cinderella story the shit out of a bunch of normal record store owners. The reality is in the reaction of one's social capital being invaded and we're here to witness how those reactions panned out in 2021. This is a villainous depiction of music nerds being the salt of the earth, the bane of all media discussion, still reflective of the insufferable salt of cyberspace found in music forums like 4chan and RYM. High Fidelity is a pipeline of 90s musicology, a dreaded fever dream of an owner waiting for the decade to end, trends ossifying and re-emerged by the hands of nostalgia-savvy individuals. It was, at its time, every music-movie nerd's excuse equivalent of Scott Pilgrim VS. The World. There are memories worth remembering and cherishing, and this movie isn't one of them.

DEAN BLUNT, WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK

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In the past two weeks I've been fancying myself into sitting down and listening to different projects from the ever elusive, UK-based sound artist Dean Blunt. The first time i chanced upon his music wasn't too long ago - albeit a recent one in the time of COVID - was when I randomly stumbled upon his records at a Spotify recommendations section under John Maus (yeah lol i know the implications whenever his name is mentioned) - but then i was enamored by his online presence so quickly I put everything down and dedicated an hour or two researching about this man's music.

Other than the fact that his album "The Redeemer" wasn't the best record to start off in journeying through his discography: ending up disgusted and borderline bored even and I was more likely to lambast this record's aimless, pretentious art-pop inflections. By the end of the day, it was a preference long solidified by his undying fanbase. According to his hardcore fans, the music isn't really music, evaluating it as a free form of sound art, rather than sticking to a structured and conventional cues; the genre is nullified by most analysts of the arts. The growing interest of the general public towards Dean Blunt's pranks and antics have long appealed to my tastes as a chaotic neutral individual. Pranks that are well executed to piss off UK gallery connoisseurs and entertain ironic attendees who'd shit on the art piece rather than participate in it.

More of the resources I've found about Dean Blunt online: numerous aliases and collaborations that lasted around almost 2 decades. The most notable of all them, at least for my money, are either Hype Williams, a duo consisting of Dean and frequent collaborator Inga Copeland, and Babyfather, an art performance parodizing the pirate radio culture in the UK. I have not delved enough in Blunt's body of work to evaluate everything and what i could synthesize from it. For now, I enjoyed it as a form of entertainment. Well, color me impressed because Dean Blunt isn't clowning around, he, in fact, makes blissful and transcendental music from left to right.

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Dean Blunt was the only few artists that made me want to binge on their discography. His movements in his music has attracted this pesky listener who thinks that being mysterious is a plus. I mean, look at me who thinks The Paul Institute, Panchiko, and Burial are the greatest artists that have walked the face of the earth.

The most I've enjoyed from Dean Blunt's discography are his mixtapes and collaborations: preferably his Soul Fire and ZUSHI, both of which were packaged as B-sides or supplemental releases rather than major releases such as the Babyfather project or the Black Metal releases. His knack for blurring the lines between genres still fascinate me as of this writing, and it continues to amaze me how he doesn't seize to compromise his art, he's here to prove a point and it sells quite well despite the lack of direction in his music. Blunt's music has more aggressive and hazy texture than the hollow, wide, soulless structure of art-pop/hypnagogic pop released today. He creates terrains from the rubble of his country's current shortcomings. The music overlaps the actual intentions with abstract concepts, becoming deconstructed down the line. In Babyfather, noise music coincides with Blunt's amateurish rapping. In Black Metal, Blunt isolates himself along with the assisted skeletal guitar playing. Both projects throwing all tropes in a vaccum alongside Blunt, who he himself would sought to become a personification of a musical void.

(Excerpt from the Babyfather album review in TinyMixtapes)

Dean Blunt is an entity that wishes to become one person, but no, this isn't a figure in a specific art form; this isn't Banksy, this isn't Bob Ong, this is made by one person, clearly it is if you listen closely, and it's been entrancing me ever since his presence was felt on the horizons of the internet. Dean Blunt, what the actual fuck.

#dean blunt #high fidelity #music #film #music review #2021 #hype williams #Youtube

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stina-is-a-punk-rocker · 3 years

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disney’s ‘the hunchback of notre dame’, early 2000s kid nostalgia, and other midnight musings

“What the fuck, Stina? I thought this was a blog for book reviews!” you say.

“Books, amongst other things. Hence the -ish suffix,” I say. “And all my mediocre ‘reviews’ are hit-or-miss in terms of engagement, so I’m pretty much free to post whatever the fuck I want.”

I toss my head. My hair whacks me in the face.

The first time I watched Disney’s The Hunchback of Notre Dame was been circa 2006, in the ‘movie room’ of my preschool, huddled around a CRT TV with the rest of my five-year-old classmates. Not much about the film particularly stood out to me at the age.

Fast-forward fifteen years later; I’m cooped up in quarantine, hundreds of thousands of miles away from that first viewing. I’m living my best life, rejoicing in my introverted tendencies and having a laugh at the expense of all the suffering extroverts. I haven’t moved from my bed all day, except for the bare necessities, and I’m bingeing YouTube videos. All is well.

I discovered Lindsay Ellis’s channel quite recently- embarrassingly enough, through her videos on Omegaverse and the whole Addison Cain fiasco. I stumbled down the rabbit-hole of her channel, and here I am, a few dozen videos later, and I find her one on this film.

Which, of course, led me to want to re-watch the film, with the eyes and mind (supposedly) of an adult. And it went far beyond and above my expectations.

The film is dark, much darker than the average Disney film of today- not just thematically, but the graphics too. Except for the first parts with the Festival of Fools and the last scene, the rest seems to have a dark filter put over it all. Obviously, given its themes (I’m pulling these out of my arse; I’m a STEM major and I have zero to no knowledge about film) of freedom and equality, acceptance of those different from us, corruption and lust- all that good shit, in other words- you can’t exactly have sunshine and rainbows. But it’s such a stark contrast from what I’ve been accustomed to from Disney; Frozen has Hans about to decapitate Elsa, but the background remains bright and light; Simba sobbing next to Mufasa’s body in The Lion King is heart-wrenching, but a few scenes later, we have an anthropomorphic meerkat-boar duo singing about eating bugs and farting and all that classy stuff, so it’s not as traumatizing.

The themes are a lot more on-the-nose than a lot of other kids’ movies (forgive me if I err, I am aged and forgetful)- cue la Esmeralda saying, “What do they have against people who are different, anyway?”- you get what’s essentially the same ‘accept others regardless of their differences’, ‘prejudice is bad’ morals from, say, Zootopia, but having given the main characters fursuits makes it less obvious than in this movie.

(Or maybe I’m just a dumbass. I have no elaborate notes for this; I’m high on sugar and deprived of sleep so I might be spewing bullshit.)

Admittedly, the resolution is a bit… unrealistic. The citizens of Paris = sheep, essentially; they go from throwing fruit in Quasimodo’s face because the guards started it, to helping defeat them. Maybe there’s something about mob mentality in there, but I find it hard to believe that people who showed up to watch Esmeralda burn to death were suddenly totally cool with not getting what they didn’t pay for. But then again, this is a Disney movie, and you can’t make kids too cynical too early on. Let them have their innocence and ‘people will be with the heroes in times of peril because humanity is inherently good!’ before they realize that humanity kinda fuckin’ sucks.

The characters are some of the most human from those I’ve seen in Disney (other honorable mentions: the main characters of The Emperor’s New Groove, Moana, Tangled, Anna from Frozen). Quasimodo’s the main character (lol DUH, will I ever say anything not obvious?), and he’s so lovable, but not without flaws- he’s biased against gypsies in the beginning because Frollo’s the literal scum of the earth. To borrow from the K-pop fans’ dictionary: UwU he’s so pure!

Esmeralda sparks a bit of controversy because she’s another POC leading lady from a Disney film of the 90’s (a list including Jasmine, and, sigh- Pocahontas) who’s markedly more sexualized than the white Disney princesses. It’s not something I particularly noticed nor cared about until I saw it being brought up- I mean, the woman shows a bit of cleavage and then dances for a couple of seconds- but. I’m just putting that out there.

She’s an empowering heroine without having to belt in in your face (not me making a dig at Naomi Scott’s Jasmine from the Aladdin live action film), and I also love how her role in taking down the Big Bad doesn’t have to do with her ‘power of seduction’ (the scene in the animated Aladdin film where Jasmine kissed Jafar truly traumatized me as a kid).

Phoebus is… well, he exists. Kind of a Regulus Black archetype, but not exactly. The guy on the bad side who turns good and all is forgiven. Well, at least it’s not the ‘her love made him a better man’ trope. And he is a good guy. Even if he did spend a considerable amount of his adult years on the side of the bad guys.

Systemic oppression? Nah, it’s one or two corrupt baddies. But again, it’s a Disney film, we need everything to work out for the good guys in the end.

Let’s get the gargoyles out of the way. To reference Lindsay Ellis’s video (she’s a lot smarter than I am and breaks this down better than I ever could): yes, the comedy’s oft ill-timed and inappropriate… for an adult audience. And the primary demographic of Disney films, especially princess ones (obviously Esmeralda isn’t a princess, nor does she marry into royalty, nor is she included in the group of princesses in the dumpster fire that is Ralph Breaks the Internet, but I had a book imaginatively titled ‘Disney Princess Stories’ as a kid that included Esmeralda’s story alongside Belle’s and Ariel’s, so I’m calling her a princess), are kids. And kids love fart jokes.

Additionally, I have a theory-that-is-not-really-a-theory-but-a-pretty-obvious-thing-that-happens that the gargoyles are figments of Quasimodo’s imagination, and the, at times crass and ridiculous things they say are just the voices in Quasimodo’s head (THIS IS OBVIOUS, STINA, YOU HAVEN’T STUMBLED ACROSS A STARTLING NEW REVELATION); maybe what he imagines normal townspeople to act like.

And then we have Judge Judy Chrissy Teigen Frollo. This dude is the embodiment of pure evil. He’s bigoted and rapey and abusive and one of Disney’s most successful villains- even better than Mother Gothel, who previously held the crown. It’s rare that a villain genuinely terrifies me, especially a cartoon one. Frollo, unlike your typical fairytale antagonist who wants power/fame/fortune/to overthrow Olympus, is far more sinister; driven from deep-rooted hatred instead of plain greed. He’s so much closer to people in positions of power and authority even in the modern world, and that element of reality makes him so much better as an antagonist instead of a literal sheep who hates carnivores (seriously, Disney, enough with the twist villains- they’re not working out).

Also, Hellfire slaps. In fact, the entire soundtrack does.

Speaking about Hellfire, I love the contrast between that and Heaven’s Light; how Esmeralda is viewed by Frollo (an object to possess, “Destroy Esmeralda, and let her taste the fires of hell; or else, let her be mine and mine alone”) as opposed to Quasimodo (someone with free will, “I dare to dream that she might even care for me”).

Another argument brought up, and admittedly one I had as a child was, ‘but if the whole point of the movie is acceptance and love as opposed to lust, why didn’t Quasimodo get the girl?’ Which, years later, I realize is an extremely misogynistic way to look at it. As Princess Jasmine said four years before The Hunchback was released, she is not a prize to be won. Quasimodo is Frollo’s antithesis; he lets Esmeralda choose, and she chose Phoebus. And Quasimodo accepted that, because he is good and kind and sweet and loving. Severus Snape, take note.

On a sidenote, I’m always kind of caught out of left field when the plot in films moves really fast- I’m really not a movie-watching type; I prefer to read, and books usually indicate how much time passes from one main plot point to another, and there are little slice-of-life, filler parts that tie in to character development and moving the plot forward, but at a snail’s pace. So, whenever I’m watching a movie and it’s one important event after another, I usually haven’t had enough of a refractory period to process it.

Let’s pretend that I segued smoothly into the next part of this (already tedious and long drawn out) review.

The Hunchback is the darkest film I’ve ever seen come out from Disney. Re-watching it as an adult made me pause every so often and wonder why the hell I wasn’t traumatized by it as a kid. I mean, the whole movie kicks off with Frollo about to throw an infant down a well. And then there’s that horrifying shot of the stone renditions of the Israelite kings on the church walls. Frollo falls to his death into fire. I mean, good riddance, but still. I guess it’s because the kids’ shows of today are awfully censored and polished so kids don’t have nightmares forevermore.

Update: tried to watch The Hunchback of Notre Dame 2. Exited just as fast as I clicked on it. Disney sequels really ain’t shit (yes, I’m looking at you, Frozen 2).

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lenademonn · 4 years

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All This Time - 2

*Summary: Elena used to be closed off and composed, always in control of her feelings and actions. She knew how to survive long before world ended and didn’t need anyone to keep her alive. Because attachments are liability, make you weak especially in this new world where dead are walking and living are more dangerous than before.

A slow burn Daryl Dixon x OC; from season 1 forward, ongoing. Angst, Violence, strong language, sarcastic humour and more.

Chapter 2

Day 44

I was having a dream. I knew that part of my psychological training was to recognize reality from the fantasy. And that was definitely the latter, because there was no way in hell that his strong hands were tracing my calves, his calloused fingers making me shiver, and that his mouth was pressed to my core, licking and sucking giving me the endless pleasure spreading from toes to the top of her head. I moved my hips up, bringing myself closer to his face, which earned me a low growl from his throat's depths.

"Elena," his voice did wonder to me, but I also realized that it came out near my ear, so way closer then it should be. "C'mon women, wake up!"

I opened my eyes and sat up straight, knife in hand, quickly pressed against someone's throat. "Whoa, easy, it's just me!" I blinked rapidly and saw familiar blue eyes in front of me, hand grasping my wrist, trying to ease the knife's pressure off himself. He was crouched next to my sleeping bag, ready for the day, tents fold open, allowing the flow of the fresh air. I pulled away and put my hand over my heart.

"Shit Daryl, this isn't how you wake up people, at least not me! I could fucking kill you!" My voice was still groggy from the sleep, and my mind was spinning from remnants of the dream he interrupted. Seeing him here in my tent just seconds after his image - 'Stop it silly!'

"Ya said to wake ya up when I'm goin' for a hunt. " I closed my eyes, trying to even out my breathing.

"Yeah, give me a ten, and I'll be there." He grunted and gave me one last glance before crouching out of the tent.

It was more than a month since we set up our camp at the quarry and my revelations. We were hunting and sending Glenn to gather necessary supplies, we had laundry and cooking duties and perimeter checks. It was usually myself and Dixon brothers in the woods looking for a game for the whole group. Surprisingly, the older brother wasn't that horrible after closer interactions. Of course, he still called me 'Blondie' and 'Sweetcheeks' or 'Dollface' and looked at my chest every opportunity he could get, but after what I told them about myself, he seemed to respect me a little bit more. Maybe because he was in the military once or perhaps because he has morals even if they are a bit twisted sometimes.

Today Merle was going on a run with Glenn, though, so it was just younger Dixon and me. We planned to make it an overnight trip and hunt for something more than only squirrels or birds. Andrea and Amy offered to take a boat they found by the lake and try to catch some fish, so hopefully, we will have enough food to last us for a few days by tomorrow afternoon. If Glenn will grab all the items from the list I gave him, I would smoke some of the meat and make a nice jerky. About the only thing, I didn't fuck up in the kitchen department.

I quickly changed my clothes, including wet panties, and I smiled, remembering a vivid dream from just a few moments ago. It's only because I spend so much time with him recently and because I didn't have sex for months. No need to read into it. Right?

Once dressed, I put on my reigns and stashed throwing knives inside holders, the gun secured on my waist belt. I checked my quiver and counted the arrows, in the backpack I put all the necessary items for an overnight hunting trip and rolled an extra sleeping bag to attach it to the top of the pack.

"How much longer woman?" Daryl's voice startled me, so I quickly left the tent, spotting him next to the entrance.

"Jeez I'm coming, let me just fix my hair" He gave me a funny look "You don't want me to get grabbed, do you?" It came out harsher then I intended, but I just ignored it and pulled my hair down and run my fingers through it. Blonde curls spread all the way to the small of my back, I could fix it before I came out of the tent, but after my dream, I felt the need to show them to Daryl.

Since that day in the woods, when I was gathering things to make my bow, I wanted to make an impression on him and see how much I can push him, and my hair was the thing I liked about myself the most, well just after boobs. I quickly pulled it into a simple plaid and then twisted it, on the top of my head, securing everything with a hair tie. I could feel man's eyes on me through all that process, but when I finally looked at Daryl, he turned around and started walking towards the woods.

We were walking for most of the day, caught a few squirrels and three perky rabbits when we finally decided to set a camp next to a stream we found. Now when I say we caught that game, I mean mainly Daryl. I am good with my homemade bow, but shooting unmoving targets during training isn't exactly this same as using it on animals. One of the rabbits was mine, but that was an accident, but Daryl doesn't need to know that.

We were tracking a deer for the past two hours, but it turned unsuccessful, and we could always pick up its trail tomorrow. Daryl was setting the perimeter with a string and some old cans so we would be notified of any movements during the night. I started skinning the animals putting the guts and useless parts into the plastic bin bag we brought with us.

"I'll run the bag out, circle around, and take the meat to the creek," I told Daryl, and after receiving a nod, I took off quickly and run for about fifteen minutes in the opposite direction of the tracks we saw today. If there is any deer here, the last thing we want is for the dead to eat it. I dropped the bag, dug a shallow hole in the ground, and ditched inside, covering it back up with dirt and leaves, then I circled back towards our night camp, whistled softly while passing why so Daryl would know it's just me and jogged to the water.

I started washing the meat and cut it into the strips, made sure that I cleaned it properly of any spare blood, and put it down on a clean rug on a boulder next to me to cool down. That's the problem with overnight trips, we had to make sure that whatever we caught won't go bad.

We actually worked well together, Daryl was quiet, but it wasn't uncomfortable unless I said something stupid, usually with a sexual context, which made him blush and tell me to shut up. Now that I was thinking about it, I wasn't that different from Merle, when it came to his younger brother, and that thought gave me goosebumps. I scooped the meat and went back towards the camp, bent over the lines to not make any unnecessary noise, and sat down next to a small fire Daryl started when I was gone.

"Pass me my bag, please," I asked him, and he reached towards it and took few steps, so he was next to me, sitting down next to me on the ground to share the work. I took my clean rug from the backpack and set it down on the rock in front of us, and then I passed Daryl a tub of salt. We worked quickly and quietly till everything was done, took a few pieces, and started cooking them while the rest was put into the zip bags and then to into my pack.

"So, how did you learn to hunt like that and using this crossbow?" I asked him and looked in his direction. He was sitting next to me, but with enough space between, and he was turning the meat around. His blue eyes met my grey ones, and his face had a blank expression. I knew that he didn't let people in, but I hoped that the question was innocent enough for him to answer.

"My old man and uncle." He started slowly turning his gaze toward the fire. "Money was tight, and my da usually drank it away, so Merle and I had to learn how to get our own food." Ok, so maybe that question wasn't as safe as I thought. I knew that the last thing he was looking for was pitty over a little boy who grew up in a though home. So I settled for an answer, which hopefully would release the tension.

"Well, sure as hell, it's handy right now. No matter the reasons, I'm glad you learned. I couldn't ask for a better hunting partner" He looked at me again with a slight frown. "'Cause, you know, Merle talks way too much." That finally made him smile. Alright, that wasn't a smile, small side smirk, but I knew I couldn't ask for more, not from him, not yet. That didn't mean I will stop trying.

"What about ya? Were ya really a fed?"

"Really?" I looked at him and slapped his arm. "We don't like that term, just for the future. Yeah, I was. Behavioral Analysis Unit to be precise."

"And what's that?" He side glanced at me, unsure what kind of job I actually did. My nose crinkled as I was thinking of explaining what I did in life before all this shit without sounding like I was bragging.

"Well, basically we were catching criminals, mainly serial killers, based on their behavior. You analyze how the victim was killed and left what was done to them, where was the body left. We were profilers." I was looking blankly in front of me now, thinking about days on the job and all the evil people I've met and spoken to. How many close calls I had with death and yet nothing compared to the nightmare we're living in now.

"Not the most useful skill in zombie apocalypse though. I cannot just talk my way out with walkers by telling them how watching their moma kill herself made them what they are now, right?" I looked at him with a serious face, even if my words were laced with sarcasm.

"Whatever lay down, I'll take the first watch." He stood up abruptly to check the perimeter, and I was looking at him, my gaze following his actions.

"Ok, but wake me up in few hours so we can swap you need your sleep as well, Dixon." It was still early, but I knew we'll be waking up before the first light, plus all this walking around in the woods was tiring, but something didn't sit well with me. Daryl finished our conversation abruptly, even though he seemed interested in my story before.

What did I actually know about younger Dixon? Not a lot, most time we spend together, we were quiet and shared only a few stories before coming back to camp, most of our talks focusing on subjects of hunting or Merle talking his mouth off about nothing in particular. The rest of the information I had was just observation and some comments from Merle, and I didn't know how much to believe in his words.

Alright, so Daryl is in his mid-thirties and lived in Georgia his whole life, most of it with Merle, grabbing some odd jobs before they moved on. I suspected all that moving around was because older Dixon was doing drugs and owed money to many people or was trying to avoid jail time.

But that doesn't explain Daryl's social awkwardness and how guarded he behaves. He definitely is an introvert and doesn't like to be touched even when his brother puts an arm on him, I noticed Daryl goes still and tense. That suggests some sort of abuse, but not from Merle, no, he wouldn't be able to look at him like he does. Daryl actually looks up to his big brother.

I let a low growl of frustration. This new world makes me go crazy; I could separate myself from any personal emotions before all of this, but now we had people to look after, people to protect, and as much as it was flattering, I wasn't used to someone depend on her in that way. I started to care for those people, and my weird fascination with Daryl Dixon was undoubtedly unhealthy. I shouldn't be so invested in trying to get to know him. And for sure, I shouldn't give a damn if I hurt his feelings or stirred something from his past.

"Ya thinkin' so loud, that ya'll attract all the geeks from this woods." His low voice startled me, and I sat up in my makeshift bed. Daryl was sitting across from me, on the other side of our little campsite, cleaning his crossbow, eyes not leaving the weapon, but I could tell that he was alert, ready for anything to make a move in the dark. When I didn't reply straight away, he quickly glanced in my direction, one brow risen in a silent question. I let a small sigh escape my lips as I run my hand over my face.

"What I said before." The words I spoke were quiet and soft, eyes locked on him, watching for any body language changes. "I know that we don't tell each other a lot, but I'd like to think that you don't mind my company. The last few hunting trips were pleasant, and you didn't call me stupid in like a week, so that's progress."

I watched his lips twitch a little making me form my own small smile on my full lips. "But that last comment, about how I'd sometimes talk to suspects..." I stopped when Daryl stiffened, and a muscle on his face twitched while he clenched his jaw. It was very subtle, he was good, very good at hiding his emotions. But I was very good at what I was doing before the world went to shit, so I noticed it even in the dark of the night.

"There, that was this same reaction you have now. Now I don't want to pry... "

"Then don't" He interrupted me, his voice harsh, hands grabbing his weapon just a little bit harder than necessary. I looked down at my hands, thinking on how to play it out. Talking to Daryl was like a long and complicated chess game, one silly move, and checkmate.

"Alright, I just wanted you to know that I didn't mean anything by it." With that, I laid back down, turning on my side, so I was facing away from him, giving a man some sort of privacy.

Next Chapter

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x oc #daryl dixon fanfiction #twd fanfic #twd fanfiction #slow burn #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl fanfiction

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bubble-tea-bunny · 5 years

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until the night collapses

[leon s kennedy x reader]

author’s note: leon is hella good looking in the remake and my eyes have been blessed

word count: 3,056

Driving through rain, especially at night, always warrants extra caution. As such, Leon’s foot is steady on the gas, having been cruising at a comfortable speed for the past several miles. The roads have been mostly devoid of traffic, though he had passed one or two cars going the other direction. It’s an emptiness he’d considered a little strange at first, but he’s quick to brush it off. He’s just glad he doesn’t have to worry about anyone tailing him before swerving to the opposite lane to pass. A downpour still wasn’t enough for some people to slow down. But when he pulls into the Mizoil gas station to fill the tank, he learns the rain is the least of his problems.

It’s a hell of a first day, that’s for sure. He thought he was the only one at the station with a still beating heart (at least after watching an Arklay County officer get a nasty bite to the neck from… something, which left him good as dead) until Claire had shown up. A stroke of luck would have the keys still in the ignition of the police cruiser, and they were off.

If someone asked him what he would’ve expected his welcome to Raccoon City to be like, he couldn’t give a straight answer, but it definitely isn’t this. Abandoned cars are pulled over to either side of the street, and he drives through the open center, intended for emergency vehicles no longer anywhere in sight. Eventually even that’s blocked off, and in a fit of timing he struggles to say was good or not, the welcome committee arrives in the form of a fuel truck narrowly crushing the car to scrap metal. It kills any of the zombies trying to pry the doors open to get to him and Claire, but the force of the collision throws him forward, and his head collides with the steering wheel none too nicely. If he were to look into a mirror right now, he’d see a nasty bruise darkening on his forehead. He doesn’t need to see it to know it’s there, for light pressure applied to the offended area with the tips of his fingers and the ensuing throb let him know just as well.

This last hour had merely been the tip of the very large, very precarious iceberg. The fire caused by the cruiser exploding gave him no choice but to split up with Claire. Arriving at, and diving within, the museum turned police department is his personal journey down the rabbit hole, but this is no Wonderland on the other side. Or maybe it is and the author of the whole sick story had a fucked up sense of humor. But what did he know? If this was a book he was only a character, at the mercy of the words and whatever would follow with each turn of the page.

He’s seen more death and gore than anyone should have to see, and it’s a level of carnage he can’t help but recoil at. Being a police officer requires not only an iron will but an iron stomach, but he thinks he should be given a pass this time. Fighting his way through hordes of undead as he tries to find out what the hell is going on was not listed in the job description. When he’s trekking down what feels like the millionth dark corridor, blood and guts stuck to the bottom of his boots, he muses half with cynicism and half with fatigue, for it has been a long night, that maybe it’s because if it had been mentioned, no one would apply. And maybe there are some who would jump at the chance to play hero, but in the end logic wins out and prompts many of them to stay away, since it’s something else entirely to be thrown into the mess and realize one is vastly outnumbered, and against an enemy with nothing to fear.

At the west office, he cracks the first smile in what feels like an eternity. It’s a small one, followed closely by a quiet chuckle at the scene before him. Streamers dangle from the ceiling, and a banner stretches across from one wall to the other: Welcome Leon. He reads the note on his desk and feels a twinge in his chest. These were supposed to be his colleagues. Life would’ve been so different if the keep away message hadn’t been sent to him a week prior, if there hadn’t been a reason to stay out of the city and the wheels were still turning like they’re meant to.

He passes by one of the desks, and his flashlight passes over a nameplate with your name on it. Your workspace, much like the others here, is thrown in disarray. Papers are scattered and various trinkets you had to decorate the area are broken. There are sticky notes still stuck to the edge of the shelf attached to your desk, some of them quick reminders of tasks to do and others silly notes from your fellow officers.

Cracked glass hidden in the shadowy corner grabs his attention, and he reaches a hand out for it. His fingers curl around a wooden frame, which he gingerly picks up, mindful of the sharp point of the glass. This must be you in the photo. You’re in a graduation uniform, diploma in one hand and your dog held in the other. It’s not looking at the camera, but rather up at you, who smile widely, a toothy grin that reaches your eyes. The time stamp in the bottom right corner indicates this is a recent photo.

There’s so much personality at your desk, and in your bright gaze captured forever in a picture, that for a moment he swears he feels less alone. He feels like he knows you. Maybe he’d be one of the officers to write small notes to tack to your desk, or maybe you would do that to his. Maybe he would’ve met your dog. What’s its name, he wonders?

With a sigh he sets the frame back down, and reality rushes back, and he hopes he won’t see your body laying around somewhere, discarded and almost unrecognizable. Chances are high that you’ve been infected and haven’t survived, but all the same, he doesn’t want to come across you. He’s not sure why he wants to grasp so tightly onto the image of your smile, and to not allow it to be tainted by visions of a corpse. Perhaps it’s because it’s his last hold to something humane, to something that could help retain his sanity in the midst of the chaos. Lieutenant Branagh had already succumbed to his wounds, and Claire was nowhere to be found. Leon doesn’t know if she’s still alive. So all that left was you.

Ada turning up proves he isn’t the only one remaining in the whole building with his wits still about him, and with his heart and brain in tact. She isn’t keen on sharing much information, and what little she divulges only raises more questions. He couldn’t have begun to guess what caused this shit storm. All of it sounds crazy, but judging by Ada’s tone, this is no tall tale.

They had stumbled upon Annette Birkin. There’s no better word for it. They train their guns on her, and Leon thinks to himself that she doesn’t seem threatening, and definitely not as dangerous as Ada had made her out to be. But maybe that’s how it goes. The most dangerous could be the least assuming. He doesn’t know to what lengths she will go to protect the G-Virus, but he’s not left speculating for long, for she brandishes her own gun and opens fire, and he doesn’t hesitate running towards Ada, shielding her and bringing them both to the ground.

The bullet in his shoulder registers as a low burn, and his vision is becoming hazy. It becomes difficult to ignore the pain, and he remembers telling Ada to go after Annette before passing out from shock. He hadn’t even been aware of the transition from consciousness to unconsciousness. He was simply awake, though weakening fast, and then he wasn’t.

Now he’s in a house, one he doesn’t recognize. The sun is shining outside, and his feet are carrying him through the hallway like they have a mind of their own, for he isn’t willing himself to walk. He just is. They bring him to a bedroom where the curtains are drawn back, the light flooding in a bit too intense to be normal. The edges of everything are out of focus and no matter how many times he blinks, they stay fuzzy.

I was wondering where you went. The figure in the bed sits up slightly to look at him better. Your hair is ruffled and you watch him with a sleep-riddled grin. He knows he should be surprised to see you there. None of this is adding up. This isn’t real. But he’s not deterred by any such thoughts as he smiles back like this is the way things always were.

He crawls beneath the sheets to join you, apologizing while he does. Sorry. At first he wasn’t certain if he actually was in control, or if he was only watching everything play out like a movie, like there was a script. But if it had at the start been the latter, it was now the former, as he starts to play along, eyes sliding closed as you lean in to kiss him. The spot where your lips meet is warm, and his arms curl around you to bring you closer.

Once you pull away, you murmur that you love him, and he feels his heart stop. He brings a hand up to caress your cheek, where a rosy flush has settled, and says he loves you too. This prompts you to smile that beautiful smile of yours, and it’s still just as captivating when tinged with fatigue. He runs his thumb across your bottom lip, smooth and plush, and he wants to kiss you again so he does.

In the back of his mind he knows this isn’t real, but God, he wishes it were. His fingers tangle in your hair, his free hand sneaking beneath the oversized shirt you wear to run along the heated skin of your waist, and everything feels fine. Everything feels perfect. He’s reminded of that saying, of one’s life flashing before their eyes, and he wonders if this is it. Or something close. Because this isn’t the past. He doesn’t know what it is. It would seem he had held on to you so securely that he’s started to dream of you. His stomach is doing flips like a cage of butterflies has just been let loose, and you’re smiling again, and it’s the flower they’re all searching for.

Are you okay? you inquire gently, brushing his hair from his eyes.

He stares into the depths of your own and they feel so much like home that he’s not pretending anymore. His chest is bursting with a love that feels too real to be mere imagination. And he starts to believe it, that life has always been this way, and would always be this way, and he’s just had a bad dream he won’t trouble you by sharing. He doesn’t want you to worry. Yeah, I’m okay.

Maybe this is his life flashing before his eyes, but it’s less about life in the sense of all the years gone by, and more about life in the form of a person, of the one who means the most to him. And despite knowing so little about you, his subconscious pulls at the image of you he stored away, bringing it to the forefront so that he’s convinced you are his life. That’s why he sees you now, and why he desperately clings on, to this blissful moment, suspended in time. He never wants to let go.

It’s also why he feels so helplessly hollow when he finally wakes—reluctantly, and with a heaviness closing in on his heart. He’s back in the cold corridor, back in the station, sitting up against the hard wall with Ada’s trench coat acting as a makeshift shock blanket and his injury wrapped with gauze stained dark red. You’re in his periphery, your warmth and your smile gradually fading away, and he’s thinking Don’t go or maybe he’s said it out loud, muttered to the air with a cracked voice.

They say things get worse before they better, but in this case, they get so bad Leon doubts there could be any improvement. He ventures lower underground, in pursuit of Annette and the G-Virus. He fights monsters he never thought could exist outside horror movies, and uncovers truths he had suspected but that he wanted to hope weren’t true at all. If Annette’s words were not sufficient confirmation, the fact he’s staring down the barrel of Ada’s firearm is.

Suddenly a gunshot rings through the air and a bullet sinks into Ada’s skin, but Leon hadn’t fired. Twisting around, he gets a short glimpse of Annette before the bridge collapses and the G-Virus sample tumbles down to the depths below, but Leon grabs Ada before she can fall too. Attempts to pull her up put stress on the already unstable bridge and it sinks to an even sharper angle, and he spits out a curse of frustration.

The two of them can’t remain like that forever, however, and he feels his hold slipping. Ada doesn’t look worried, wants him to let go because otherwise, they both die. It’s not worth it. But to Leon it is, and he knows she’d never understand why. He had to let go of you and leave you behind once he returned to consciousness, and it had hurt more than it should have. So perhaps he’s thinking of you as he holds onto Ada, for he doesn’t want to go through that again. This time, he won’t let go.

But reality is quite literally crashing down around them and the reality is he’s holding on to Ada, not you. And her wrist slides out of his grip, and she disappears in the darkness. He stares into the abyss, extending so far it’s like there is no end. His breaths come out rushed due to adrenaline, corners of his eyes pooling with tears refusing to fall, but there’s no time to mourn as he kicks himself into gear, standing and moving to steadier ground. The self-destruct sequence has begun. He doesn’t have long to get out.

His way of escape is at the bottom level of the lab, and he’s shooting his way through hordes of zombies when he hears it: echoes of another firing into the packs of undead. He follows it, thinking it’s Claire, but it’s not. He stops firing in his surprise, and he’s caught so off guard he’s unable to even exclaim your name in a quiet huff of disbelief under his breath.

You catch sight of him, and not letting yourself become distracted at finding someone else still alive in here, you call out The exit is up ahead! You haven’t noticed his shock, a second he spends looking like a deer caught in headlights, for you’re too preoccupied with other more urgent matters to have done so. Leon forces himself to look away and help take down the remainder of the zombies blocking the path. Past the exit door, the lights of a train begin flashing on the walls, and at the first opening, you sprint through, Leon following close behind.

His wider strides let him catch up to you, and he’s first to hop onto the train, grabbing the bar to swing himself up. Then he holds a hand out to you, stretching as far as he can. Come on! There’s an explosion and the building starts to crumble, and the strength of the blast pushes you forward. With a lunge, you thrust your arm out to grab onto his hand, and he pulls you up with the last bit of adrenaline coursing through his veins.

Both of you collapse against the train car, breathing hard. Leon’s in rough shape, but you’re no better. You’re littered with cuts and bruises, your clothes are filthy, and your tied up hair is half falling out of the ponytail you had it in. It’s silent for a while as both of you calm down, and then Leon sneaks a glance at you. A part of him had still been skeptical that it could be true, that you’ve been alive this whole time, but it’s unmistakable. He’d burned that photo of you into his brain, and it’s a match, and he knows he’s not imagining you here next to him.

As though you can feel him staring, which you most probably do, you look over at him and meet his eyes. Now that you’re breathing normally again, you speak quietly, the fatigue finally setting in.

“Lucky we got out just in time.” You smile, and Leon’s heart is twisting to see it for real, and it’s more amazing than what he’d seen in the picture, or in his dream. He never wants you to stop looking at him like that. He wants to get lost in that gentle curve and in your soft gaze. After the hell he’s been through, he thinks he could fall asleep in them forever.

He chuckles. “Yeah, it is.”

He introduces himself and holds a hand out, and you tell him your name as you shake it. Without even fully realizing it, he’s grinning with a fondness that could only come from familiarity and a fulfilled longing, and he states Nice to meet you, [Name]. It’s really something to be saying your name out loud. It feels perfect on his tongue, his lips curling around each syllable with incredible care, like he’s reciting a prayer.

Maybe what he’d dreamed wasn’t what could’ve been; maybe it was what will be. And as the train rushes out of the ruined city and you drift off in well-deserved rest, head drooping to lean on Leon’s shoulder, he knows he’s already in love with you.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy imagine #resident evil imagine #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy imagine #leon kennedy #resident evil #bubble-tea-bunny #queue

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gimmeyoon · 5 years

Text

Iron World: 4

✰ pairing: Yoongi x Reader

✰ au: Cyberpunk

✰ word count: 2.9k

✰ warnings: explicit language, major angst, mentions of death and violence

✰ summary: ❝Welcome to Iron World, the latest virtual reality online game. Choose your class, join a guild, and explore the depths of this planet. As one of the first 20,000 people to explore this brave frontier, how you enjoy this immersive experience is up to you. There is so much to do and see, you’ll never want to leave.❞

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It's not easy. Not that anything had been since Namjoon got trapped in the game. But this, having his friends do this. This was hard.

He knew Bangtan would do anything to get out, and he was pretty sure the owner of Babylon was just a computer generated character, so his life had essentially no meaning. Unless there was the chance that the game had created sentient characters, but that was a rabbit hole Namjoon had already gone down and he had not found any answers down there. It was the computer's life or his friends’, and he was positive he would always choose his friends.

But sitting in a car outside the bar, while watching them do the work was harder. Sure he had made the call to go ahead with the next mission, but his own skill set didn't really work into the plan. He was on standby in case they needed someone to hack into something later, but assassination was not in his wheel house.

So he was to watch the feed V was sending from his own eye-surge to Jugeum. Most of the feed was Chimmy, as he and Taehyung sat at the bar and talked as if they weren't waiting for the owner to enter the building.

Agust D and J-Hope sat next to Namjoon, watching the feed with critical eyes, despite the lack of progress in the last hour or so. If anything had progressed it Chimmy's blood alcohol content.

Thankfully, that was what Phoenix and Worldwide were preparing for. Chimmy's job was to get sloshed like he usually did at Babylon. Once he saw the owner, Taehyung would get eyes on him, and then the two across from Namjoon would head in. Cooky would stay outside with J-Hope and Namjoon incase any guards were waiting outside the building for them. Worldwide would use his crowd control skills as an enchanter to keep the other players and computer generated whoevers distracted while Phoenix took the owner out. They would pretend to be a couple interested in business as to try and throw off any signs of danger they might present by approaching the owner.

She had offered to kill him before Namjoon could even ask if anyone felt comfortable. He wondered how she did it. How she was able distinguish between what was real and what was not after all this time.

For a moment he wondered if she could. He wondered if maybe it didn't matter to her whether the owner was real or not. He was an obstacle and Phoenix was the kind of person who removed obstacles. He didn't think he could be like her. He spent too much time thinking about the consequences. He supposed that was why he was the leader. He worried all of the time so no one else had to.

Worldwide was the obvious choice for the plan, they needed crowd work, but he had come up to Namjoon after the meeting to make sure he was okay with everything. Namjoon asked if he looked as anxious as he felt. Worldwide laughed as he confirmed the leader's fears, but then Namjoon didn't feel so worried anymore. Worldwide and J-Hope constantly made Namjoon feel at peace. They had a way of making him think that everything would be okay. They took care of him, which he was not used to at all, but he appreciated it.

V also had a way of making Namjoon feel calm, but in a much different way than the older two boys. Where Worldwide and J-Hope made Namjoon feel calm by reminding him that everything was going to be okay, or making sure that he went to sleep or ate a meal, V made Namjoon feel calm just because the former was. V always seemed so well adjusted. Whenever Namjoon felt like it was game over, V was somewhere in the base laughing as if to remind Namjoon that there was no need to worry, that he could do this.

Chimmy made sure to watch after V which gave Namjoon a sense of relief. Occasionally the cleric would walk up and hug Namjoon unprompted, which was strange at first because Namjoon was not big on physical affection, but Namjoon realized it was more about what Chimmy needed than what he did. Recently, it seemed like Chimmy needed to hug Namjoon whenever Namjoon needed a hug, so he figured it was a mutually beneficial act.

The tanks weren't as big on playing the "cheer up" game as the rest. Cooky was the strongest member, definitely physically and probably emotionally as well. He's like Phoenix in that way, both of them willing to do whatever it takes to get out of here. Namjoon always feels guilty asking them to do things because he knows they'll say yes no matter what the consequence. He genuinely can't believe they aren't falling apart with the things he's asked them to do.

Agust D is that way too, but Namjoon can't bring himself to ask him to do anything. He always volunteers though, and Namjoon can't bring himself to ask him not to either. He acts like everything is okay, but he's changed. Namjoon didn't notice it at first, but Worldwide and J-Hope knew right away.

Namjoon hears Chimmy say that the owner is here, and he gives Worldwide and Phoenix the nod to head inside, as Taehyung turns to reveal a man in a purple suit, counting money in a booth at the back of the bar.

Agust D snorts beside him, and Namjoon can't hold back the laugh that falls from his lips at the theatrics of the game. It feels so morbid, because he still feels bad for killing this probable illusion, but the game never ceases to surprise him with the sheer level of absurdness it's willing to go to.

Phoenix and Worldwide pass through V's line of sight a few moments later, prompting him and Chimmy to pretend they're playing pool so that the Beast Lord is close enough to pick up the conversation.

“May I help you?” the owner asks, bringing his money closer to him, as if robbery is the worst of what Phoenix and Worldwide are there to do.

“That depends,” Worldwide asks, his voice charming, “are you the owner?”

“Who’s asking?”

“My girl and I would like to talk business," Worldwide replied, pulling Phoenix into his side.

“I think your girl isn’t very interested in talking the owner said, eyeing the slit on her leg, and causing a curse to fall from Yoongi’s mouth.

“What?” Namjoon asked turning towards the necromancer, ready to scold him for the jealousy he assumes he must be feeling in this moment. If Agust D is trying to keep his feelings for Phoenix a secret he's doing a terrible job.

“He knows,” he said, moving towards the door of the car.

“Agust D,” Namjoon warned, grabbing his arm. “We don’t know that yet, don’t blow the operation.”

“Let go,” the necromancer said, just as V cursed, and began moving towards Worldwide and Phoenix.

Namjoon watched as the owner pulled a gun on Phoenix. “Who sent you?” he demanded.

Namjoon turned to follow Agust D just as the necromancer entered the bar. J-Hope grabbed his arm, keeping the Wizard in his place.

"Let's see what he has planned."

As he crashed into the bar, Yoongi was momentarily distracted by Worldwide’s power. The rest of the room remained frozen, as the enchanter did his crowd work. The only threat was the owner as long as Worldwide was able to sustain this. Yoongi almost let himself feel relief at that.

“Please,” Phoenix said as Yoongi neared the table, her hands up by her head. Too far away from her concealed knife for Yoongi’s liking.

“Well, how polite,” the owner said, pressing the barrel of his gun to Phoenix’s chest. “Tell your friends to leave,” he said.

“Worldwide, Chimmy and V, leave,” she said motioning with her head towards the door.

“And the new one,” he said, looking right at Yoongi.

Phoenix looked over her shoulder, offering Yoongi a small smile to try and comfort him. “I’m okay,” she said. “Leave.”

Yoongi almost scoffed. If anyone really believed he ran in here just for the computer generated purple suit man to tell him to leave, they really hadn't been paying attention to how Yoongi was playing this game.

“Take me instead,” Yoongi spoke up, raising his hands over his head. “Get everyone else out of here and just the two of us can talk.”

“Stop,” Phoenix said. “You can’t keep doing this.”

“Why not?” Yoongi asked, slowly taking steps towards Worldwide and Phoenix. “Worldwide, get everyone out, and I’ll do whatever this nice man wants, yeah?”

The owner shrugged. “I don’t give a shit who leaves, as long as they take all their weapons with them.”

“Okay,” Yoongi said. “Frisk me, and hand whatever you find to Phoenix.”

“Nice try,” the owner replied. “but I think I’ll be keeping whatever I find.”

“Okay,” Yoongi said, as the owner pressed his gun closer to Phoenix’s chest.

“Run,” the owner said, to which Phoenix nodded, before shooting Yoongi a look that said if he survived this, he would die.

He wasn’t certain he would live, though he liked his chances considering he might already be undead. His plan wasn’t perfect, it wasn’t really even good, but he figured it was better than whatever sitting-duck plan the rest of them had.

He kept running through the night in his head. Phoenix should have killed the owner automatically. Worldwide never should have spoken to the owner. It was careless. Or actually, Yoongi thought, it was Mono caring too much. Yoongi was pretty sure the wizard wanted to give the owner a chance to prove his humanity. A chance to confirm Mono's greatest fear, that Bangtan was becoming a monster. But that wasn't the case. All of this was a sick game made by the creator, and the owner was just another way to torture them. He wasn't real.

And he wasn't going to get a chance to walk out of here and hurt the rest of the guild. Yoongi was going to make sure of that. He just wasn't so sure he was going to get to walk out of here himself.

Here goes nothing.

"Fuck," you cursed as you joined the rest of Bangtan outside of the bar. "What's his fucking problem?" you asked, running your hands through your hair, a look of disbelief on your face.

“What’s his plan?” Namjoon practically shouted, the change in events clearly stressing him out.

“I don’t know that he has one,” Worldwide responded calmly. “He just saved us, because that’s what he does.”

Namjoon nodded his head, though he still looked as stressed as before. You all were blind now, unable to see what was happening. It killed you.

You hated him for this. He should have let you die, he had already saved your life once. Now you owed him twice-over. You'd never be able to make it up to him now.

But what was worse was the way your heart ached at the thought of never seeing him again. You were starting to think he had a death wish, and you would kill him for that, the irony be damned.

You didn't have time to register what was happening, as you were knocked from your feet and thrown a meter from the building. You only realize he's in trouble, when J-Hope curses beside you, a scream tearing from your mouth as the whole building in front of you is ablaze. It's like a bomb has gone off, and you feel anger consume your heart as you realize that means the creator led you in there to shoot the guild like fish in a barrel.

You're on your feet, as tears begin to fall from your eyes, your throat raw and aching as you raise an arm to cover your face from the heat of the fire. You fall to your knees once you realize that there's no way he could have survived it, the flames are everywhere.

You should have fought him harder. You should have insisted he leave. You were strong enough to take the owner on, though the gun was a problem you hadn't quite figured out how to fix yet. You just needed a few more moments to think, but Agust D had to be a fucking hero like he always was.

You fucking hate him for that. You hated that he didn't think about how much this would hurt you. You hated how much this hurt. Mostly you hated that of all the people in this game, he was the one you liked the most, and again you let yourself feel close to someone, just for this hell of a game to rip them away from you forever.

You're crying so hard you can barely make him out, when Agust D emerged from the entrance, the flames not even making him flinch. Your mouth falls open as you try to form words, but you're feeling too many things for any human language to express. You realize two things at once: you're gaping at him like a fish out of water and he is completely naked in front of you. You turn away, a heat on your cheeks as you look at Chimmy, who has the audacity to wink, before removing his jacket and walking towards Agust D.

Two jackets tied around his hips, and one covering his torso later, Agust D holds a key up to the group as you turn back around to face him.

"He lives a few blocks from here,” he coughed, smoke coming out as if he was a dragon.

You wonder if maybe he is now. That would explain a few things, namely the walking through fire part.

“Agust D,” you started, your voice cracking a little. You take the few steps between the two of you and pull him into a hug. It was so unlike you, and you could tell the rest of the group realized this as the air grew thick around you. “Don’t fucking sacrifice yourself for me again,” you said as you pulled back, your watery eyes meeting his.

“But it worked out so well,” he said, just as Chimmy cleared his throat behind them.

“I just want to make sure you’re okay,” the cleric said.

“Right,” you said, quickly taking the key from Yoongi’s hand and stepping away.

“You two head back,” Namjoon said to Chimmy and Agust D. "We'll get the tech for Mr. Moon."

The ramen he made after finally getting back to his apartment just isn't hitting the spot the way it used to. As he sits alone at the small table J-Hope brought him after insisting he should make his apartment more homey, he can't help replay how everyone looked at him. He knew Chimmy wanted to ask how he survived it, his eyes keep meeting Yoongi as he ran through all of the tests he had learned as a cleric, but just like before Yoongi didn’t know. Apparently he was one of those fireproof zombies.

He thinks the worst part of it all was Phoenix. She looked so sad, an emotion he had never seen from her. She was many things, but a crier was not one of them, yet she shed tears for him. He knew he should have felt sad himself, but his heart practically fluttered at the thought that Phoenix liked him. That maybe she liked him as much as he liked her.

A knock at his door brings him back to reality, his ramen having grown cold as he replayed the night in his head over and over.

When he opens the door, he has to work hard to maintain his composure at the sight of Phoenix. He's just about to ask her if she wanted to come in, when she closes the distance between the two of them, and places her hand lightly on the back of his neck, encouraging his lips to hers.

And then they're kissing, and Yoongi is using every fiber of his body to try not to cause another explosion, but she feels so soft under his hands and so sweet against his lips. He holds her tightly against him for fear that this is all a dream and she'll disappear at any moment.

When she pulls away, all Yoongi can do is stare back in disbelief. He’s thought about this moment so many times since the game change, it almost doesn’t feel real now.

“Thank you,” she said as she looked up at him. “You really have to stop saving me though.”

“I can’t,” he said. “Not unless you stop putting yourself in danger.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“I know,” he replied, his thumb running over her cheek as he studied her face. “but if you die, we all do. There’s no way we make it out without you.”

“Well,” she said, a tinge of blush on her cheeks. “if you die, then I won’t make it out. So, no more hero shit.”

“You think I’m a hero?” he asked, smirking.

“No, you think you’re a hero. I think you’re an idiot that’s trying to get himself killed.”

“So far that doesn’t seem possible,” he said, looking down at his feet, as she unraveled herself from him.

“Yeah,” Phoenix said. “I’m glad the game’s keeping you around.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she smiled. “Good night, Agust D.” she said with a small wave.

“You could stay,” he offered, a little embarrassed with how quickly it fell from his lips.

“In your dreams,” she said with a wink, before turning and walking away.

She was right he thought. She’d be in his dreams tonight; just as she had been every other night.

#Yoongi fanfic #bts fanfic #bts writing #yoongi x reader #yoongi fic #bts fic #yoongi imagine #bts imagine #cyberpunk au #iron world

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mindseyeinkarnate · 4 years

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Portraits of a Serial Killer - “The Cell” turns 20

I've often reflected how the influence of Art is a key component missing from Modern Horror. The Xenomorph we all know and fear came from the painted nightmares of Swedish surrealist H.R. Giger, the Screamer is said to have influenced the Ghostface Killer mask. For a further rundown of art's musings over the genre, I would highly recommend 2017's Tableaux Vivants for a look at 60 such portraits and the films they inspired.

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In the summer of 2020, The Medium video game appears to correct that oversight with the recent trailer dropping, adapting Polish painter, Zdzislaw Beksinski's frightening paintings. In the same season of the same year is when The Cell celebrates 20 years (8/17/2020). This film appeared to feature as many artistic influences as possible into its near two hour runtime.

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The sight of chains freaked me out upon watching my first Hellraiser movie, so the sexual perversion of their use in this film did little to alleviate such apprehension, especially as they pulled so tightly to suspend human flesh in the air. Despite a previous scene showing the villain having drowned his victim, this was the true introduction to his villainy - the former showed what he did, that latter why he did it. Even re-watching this film so many years later, I had to look away from the screen, recoiling from such a grisly display.

Typically, in Horror or any film that assumes a particular aesthetic, it is color that makes the impression to set mood. Instead, the use of white in this film, from the K9 to the bleached state of the victims is used to ghoulishly haunting effect.

I remember critics remarking that because of Vince Vaughn's comedic history they couldn't take him seriously in this role and relegated his involvement to stunt casting. I take the opposite stance since, for me, every role after this film simply serves as a reminder that he starred in The Cell. I've always felt that comedy actors do well in dramas - see Robin Williams in "Good Will Hunting" - and I thought that Vaughn did a serviceable job in this film, never distracting from either tone or plot.

I was happy that they just dove into the mechanics behind entering one's mind as an accepted reality, that they didn't get bogged down in techno babble or exposition of the technology. There is a time and place for the virtual journey into the cerebral frontier, such as The Matrix or a good adaptation of the Lawnmower Man, but for the Cell, I'm happy that they focused more on the story and not so much the science. The suits do look like Twizzlers, but it was made by Eioka Ishioka (who passed away in 2012), the same costume designer as Vlad Tepes' suit from Bram Stoker's Dracula. I do like that the two participators are suspended in the air while their minds are linked. It's an eerie callback to the killer's suspension from chains for sexual release. Also, it does give the technology that space age feel as though they are in a weightless environment.

Since the 90's, special effects have been criticized as dominating films to the point Stephen King is quoted as remarking that "story supports effects instead of effects supporting story". Similarly, an argument can be made that at times The Cell becomes too indulgent with its usage of famous art that serve no plot function, e.g. the Horse Split, the Three Women of Odd Nerdrum's Dawn painting, Mother Theresa and her Hallmark card, etc. As the director is quoted as saying "The thing about this film is it’s an opera, and there is no such thing as a subtle opera.” I don't believe that the script was penned as an excuse to pack in as much gallery portraits as possible or is an hour and fifty minutes of a music video. I just wish the director would've used each art piece he seeks influence from to develop the story or the character. The imagery doesn't always portray the killer's psychology or the psychologist's therapeutic technique. If he wasn't going to utilize subtlety, he should have implored restraint. He later added "Anyway, I missed the whole plot, just been talking visual all along, ah, where are we?”

Once in the killer's mind, his depiction as the master of his domain is a hauntingly accurate depiction considering the previous scenes of suspension rings in the back of his body, which unwittingly foreshadowed to the audience his royal appearance to come. Even the name, King Stargher, is a daunting title for a movie monster. When rising and descending from his throne, the violet robes receding from the walls and tracing along the room is hypnotically unnerving.

As tiresome as the "we're still in the dreamworld" trope can become (The Matrix, DS9 Season 7 episode 23 "Extreme Measures"), this film not only flips it when the psychologist realizes that she's "already in", but does so in a cleverly visual way.

King Stargher

Horned Stargher

Court Jester/Vatican Clown

Serpent Stargher

It is interesting to think that a single actor would assume many distinct monstrous characters. Unlike a Freddy Kreuger or a Pennywise that turn into manifestations of their victims' fears, the figures that Stargher assumes are all avatars of his own warped psyche, his own inner turmoil. Vincent D'Onofrio really does put in his all with this role. He's soft spoken and understated when he needs to be and malicious and heartless when the scene demands it. Along with the visuals of the film, D'Onofrio's performance is worth the price of admission. It's a shame that his acting as well as the movie's stunning artistry are what have gone overlooked all these years. Speaking of...

One invalid criticism that has been levied against the film is its attempts to persuade the audience to sympathize with the killer. My intention with the following statement is neither to flaunt my Horror insight nor to divide the lines between fans within Horror and those without. Having said that, even as an adolescent seeing this movie in theaters, I at no point felt remorse for the serial murderer and I chalk up this long-held misconception to a bad read on the film.

So off-base is this "critical analysis" that it can't even be regarded as a Jekyll & Hyde dynamic. The villain is not split down the middle between binary good and evil, where both halves are at war over his soul, or the repressed impulses of his Dark Passenger are manifesting in a heartless butcher. If there is any distinction, it is between who the antagonist was when a victim as a boy and what the man became as an adult victimizer. If anything it is the good that is repressed, not the evil. Furthermore, along with using the film's plot to force Alice down the rabbit hole of the Mad Hatter's mind, this film does address the nature of evil. When referring to Stargher, even Jennifer Lopez's character remarks "The Dominant side is still this horrible thing". The Vince Vaughn detective states "I believe a child can experience 100 times worse the abuse than what Gish (a different killer) went through, and still grow up to be somebody that would never, ever, ever hurt another living being." Thus, these serve as acknowledgement that the abducted criminal is firmly in the driver's seat to the point of its reference as a "thing" and a condemnation of what the killer has become, respectively.

Along with exploring the psychology of the killer, the film does not qualify the villain's innocence, it questions it.

The critics probably missed that pesky detail that would've debunked their headline before they pressed a single word of their denunciation.

These same professional critics wouldn't give a second's hesitation towards throwing Horror under the bus and condemning Scary Movies for inspiring violence if it meant their jobs were only the line, yet they would balk at the notion that continued mental trauma and physical abuse can cause psychopathic behavior.

There are classics and icons worth praising for their plot and performances, respectively, and then there are some Scary Films that Horror Fans view with the understanding of their heavy material and without your typical fanfare because they're a hard watch. I can see where people would be fans of Hannibal Lecter not because they or the film glamorizes cannibalism, but because of Anthony Hopkins' acting chops (excuse the pun). Conversely, John Doe, the serial killer of Se7en, has and will likely never enjoy such admiration because of the cold purity of his calculated evil. The 2 decade critique of The Cell's villain portrayal is a dark cloud that has unjustly hung over its head.

The motif of "the eyes of a killer" was something applauded in Rob Zombie's Halloween 2, yet ridiculed in The Cell 9 years prior?

This film's premise and the fact that it wasn't fully effectively executed makes it primed for a remake. Hollywood needs to be issued a Cease and Desist order of such wholesale dependence on Remakes in general, let alone in the Horror genre. When you consider that so many remakes can't outdo the original and even tarnish the films they attempt to emulate, why not fix the problems of a film that went wrong and take the credit when you get it right?

#TheCell #TheCellTurns20 #PortraitsOfASerialKiller

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antoine-roquentin · 5 years

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But the most important reason may be that the figure of Joseph Mifsud, so central to the prosecution of Papadopoulos and to the investigation of Trump’s 2016 campaign, makes little sense in the stories laid out by Robert Mueller’s team or by the Democrats in Congress. Far from being a Russian cutout, as people like Congressman Adam Schiff and various U.S. news outlets have suggested, Mifsud seems to be a figure who was tied to high government officials in the west. So far, few of those associated with him have opened up public inquiries or otherwise retraced their steps, which you would expect if they felt they had been victims of Russian infiltration. The FBI spoke to Mifsud in early 2017 when he was in the United States and let him go, allegedly because Papadopoulos had misled them, but they don't seem to have gone hunting for him during the months that followed, even after the arrest and charging of Papadopoulos, nor do they seem to have alerted European allies. Mifsud continued to live and work in Europe as normal. Mifsud went into hiding shortly after the statement of offense against Papadopoulos was made public, in October 2017, but Italian media has since reported that Mifsud spent some of those months in a Rome apartment that was paid for by one of his erstwhile employers, Link Campus University, a small organization with ties to Italian intelligence. In short, with Mifsud, the rabbit holes are endless, and even the truth will be prove to be twisted.

To solve such mysteries, then, is why Barr and others are so interested in going to Rome and Australia. And, whether or not you trust Barr and team, there is reasonable cause for them to be taking their actions. If they’re expecting Papadopoulos’s narrative to bear fruit, however, they’re going to come up dry. I spent weeks trying to square Papadopoulos’s memories with various theories of the case, and I began to notice that those recollections kept changing or contradicting the available paper trail. Even the Trump campaign was on the receiving end of a number of false boasts from Papadopoulos, such as a claim of having met with the Russian ambassador to the United Kingdom, when no such thing had happened. Most important, I realized that there was very little basis for a linchpin of countless narratives concerning Papadopoulos: namely, that Mifsud had mentioned Russian hacking. It’s a claim that nearly everyone, including the Mueller team, has embraced, but the only person making it is Papadopoulos himself. Why would he make such a claim? As the lawyer and blogger Hans Mahncke has laid out in more detail, it may well have been a panicked attempt to deflect trouble growing out of still more untrue claims. (Papadopoulos did not respond to a request for comment.)

Unfortunately for Donald Trump, Rudy Giuliani seems to embrace Papadopoulos’s version of the story, in which Alexander Downer and Joseph Mifsud were co-conspirators. Last spring, mentioning the case of Papadopoulos, Giuliani told Fox News’s Bret Baier, “If that’s not a counterintelligence frame-up, I will eat my hat.” And if that’s how Giuliani feels, then it is likely that he has persuaded Trump to feel the same way. That’s why Giuliani has been globetrotting on Trump’s behalf and, it seems, bullying people and making a fool of himself. In short, he appears to be as obsessed with a wrongheaded theory of the case as any Russiagater on MSNBC.

At the same time, those who view investigations of the origin of Russiagate as nothing more than partisan attempts to discredit the work of honorable civil servants may want to brace themselves for unsavory findings. Even looking only narrowly at one element of Russiagate, the case of Papadopoulos, we can see questionable behavior by his prosecutors, notwithstanding his guilt. Here is one small but revealing example. In the summer of 2016, Papadopoulos wrote to Trump campaign official Sam Clovis about some “requests from the U.K., Greek, Italian, and even Russian government for closed door workshops/consultations” at a London venue. (In reality, no such requests had been made, but that’s beside the point here.) Clovis wrote back, “I have too much to do that requires me to be in the states” and encouraged Papadopoulos and another foreign policy advisor to “make the trips, if it is feasible.” The prosecution edited this exchange in order to make it look much more sinister. They described it as the culmination of “several weeks of further communications regarding a potential ‘off the record’ meeting with Russian officials” and quoted Clovis as saying that Papadopoulos should “make the trip[], if it is feasible.” In other words, the original suggests a series of London-based workshops that might include Russians, while the prosecution’s version suggests a concerted effort to link up with Russian officials and taking a trip to make it happen. I was able to see the difference only because I had the original emails. This sort of elision, which ran throughout the case against Papadopoulos, gave me an unfavorable impression of the Mueller team.

More broadly, we all have a stake in finding out whether U.S. authorities proceeded by the book when they began to investigate the campaign of Donald Trump in 2016. The FBI had a FISA warrant on Trump advisor Carter Page that lasted for months and kept being renewed, yet we know it relied in part on the infamous “pee-tape” dossier that had been put together by someone who was paid by the Clinton campaign. That this dossier’s author, Christopher Steele was working with the wife of a Justice Department official connected to the investigation was, at the very least, a glaring conflict of interest. Returning to the case of Papadopoulos, a vague statement to Alexander Downer that, according to Downer, didn’t mention “dirt” or “email” but merely Papadopoulos’s belief that the Russians had “material that could be damaging” to Hillary Clinton hardly seems like an adequate justification for a major FBI investigation of a presidential campaign. As for the case of Ukraine, officials in that country were open in their opposition to Trump in 2016, and the Financial Times reported on a Ukrainian and MP and other “political actors in Kiev [who] say they will continue their efforts to prevent a candidate—who recently suggested Russia might keep Crimea, which it annexed two years ago—from reaching the summit of American political power.” It’s not as crazy as it looks that Trump, in light of Russiagate, wants to figure out what was going on back then.

Now, none of this is to give a pass to Donald Trump. He deserves to be investigated, and possibly impeached, for his behavior toward Ukraine over the past several months, and if you want to get a sense of how much power the president has to turn the screws on weaker parties, few recent stories have been better reported than a recent one from The Wall Street Journal showing how things looked from the Ukrainian side. Sending a henchman like Giuliani over to Kiev and dropping strong hints to Ukraine’s leaders of what you’re hoping to find is a recipe for lies and corruption.

But probing Trump’s misbehavior cannot be an underhanded instrument for shutting down investigations into what happened in 2016. Uncovering that part of the story may be unhelpful to the impeachment narrative in the coming months, but it is no less important than investigating this president. Trump represents the flouting of rules by one man, but the origins of Russiagate represent the potential flouting of rules by many people. If the FBI and the intelligence community can overstep their bounds in pursuit of a president many of us hate today, they can do so against a president we like tomorrow. So, no, Trump’s or Giuliani’s pet theories won’t bear fruit. No, there’s no DNC server in Ukraine, or whatever the hell Trump believes. No, Joe Biden didn’t try to fire a prosecutor for going after Biden’s son. No, George Papadopoulos isn’t the key to an international anti-Trump conspiracy. But the belief that Russiagate grew out of partisans overstepping their bounds—well, that’s still awaiting the jury. With or without Trump in office, we owe it to ourselves to figure out whether it’s true.

this is why it’s so tough to believe in either russiagate or the counternarrative that russiagate was a us intelligence honeypot intended to destroy trump. the people who are saying this shit are professional brown-nosers, bullshitters who get paid to slather on the praise until they manage to convince whoever’s in power to take on a business deal (and for that they get paid millions). the idea that these imbeciles could be co-conspirators on anything other than a dinner party is frankly absurd. the fact that the FBI will run roughshod over proper investigative procedure if it prejudges that someone is guilty is not in doubt because we see it happen to its much poorer victims all the time, so the notion that it might have done so here is not unfathomable.

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understandingthevoices · 4 years

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~ wrote a thing about identifying narcissistic abuse in the brown girl group i’m a part of since so many brown boys are narcs lmao and it was so well-received that I thought i would share here too ~

Recently a few people asked me how I became aware of my ex's personality disorder and how I started my healing process w/o a therapist (though if I had seen someone, perhaps this would have been faster)...

It's a LONG one but hopefully informative!!

So we had been on and off for years since college - with me realizing flaws he had and him making it up to me until the next one hit and so on and so forth (and I thought, yay! change! this can work***) - but then it came to a point where I told him enough was enough and we deserved to find people who made us happy and maybe we could revisit "us" in the future. But he cried and told me he couldn't lose me and wanted to actually try the "love" thing out... So, I allowed myself to believe he was for real -- and (somewhat) let down my emotional guards that I had held for self-preservation. Things seemed to be going okay - we would send each other hearts, talk about our future house, kids, etc and everything was fine and dandy, and I thought I was "happy" or "happy enough" - after all, I had the guy right? What more could I want?

But then, let me take you to a Friday afternoon at Trader Joes's, where I was grabbing my groceries and suddenly noticed something: along with her groceries, every woman was walking out with flowers, which I imagined was because of a scheduled date night. it seems so silly now, but at that moment, I broke down into tears because I realized I wanted that too - and if I continued in my old patterns only because it (he) was familiar and all I had known, I would never get that.

He would tell me about our beautiful future life together but wouldn't even take a 4 hour train to visit me.

Basically, He could talk a big talk, he could weave stories about anything to make me believe in us (and he was a MASTER storyteller and had a vivid imagination), but he couldn't walk the walk. Or rather, he didn't care to walk the walk. And if I brought these things up, he would belittle me or say he was busy, essentially reframing my needs as unimportant and not worthy of consideration. But then he would cover it up by saying our kids would be beautiful and smart, he would leave NYC to be in Boston for me, etc - and it was so easy to get sucked in, so tempting to believe this was only temporary.....

But then I would have insomniac nights, where I was filled with anxiety/sadness because I knew I wasn't happy - and the breakdown in Trader Joe's confirmed that

And he had already conditioned me into understanding that if I talked to him about these feelings, he would invalidate, ignore, and eventually bring them up later as ammunition (a favorite of his was “did you forget, we’re not a couple”, which was so hurtful and confusing af lmao)

Up until that point, I had maintained he was just "emotionally unavailable" or "commitmentphobic" and if he saw I wasn't going to nag him or push him into marriage, etc - he would realize it wasn't so scary and we could finally build a life together! It felt like we were moving in that direction, finally. But then every so often, I would have moments where the reality became a little too clear and there was little I could do to stop myself from breaking down.

And it was at my wit's end during these nights that I googled things like "why is he so emotionally distant" and stumbled upon a trove of gold Quora questions/answers - and once I discovered Quora, I went HAM.

Questions like...

"why does he try to make me jealous"

"why does he get mad when he sees me with other guys"

"why won't he commit"

"why won't he let me meet his friends"

"why does he not let me go" / "why does he keep holding on to me"

"why does he say he cares but not visit"

... And throughout all of this searching, one of the answers inevitably mentioned emotional abuse (and often narcissistic abuse) - and while I didn't initially think my situation was abusive, because it seemed like such a strong term, I was so desperate for answers and it came up so often that I said fcuk it, let's see what this is about.

So I googled "emotional abuse" and "narcissistic abuse" and read the stories of survivors, many of which echoed mine. I was shocked that these people had dated what seemed to be clones of my own ex. Many of them mentioned kids/divorce/etc and how they wish they had realized the signs sooner instead of wasting so many years with an emotional vampire, who would initially seem like your soulmate, ingratiate himself to you, praise you and put you on a pedestal, only to suck the life out of you through devaluing mechanisms and never listening to your needs, and discard you later (or stay until you stop giving them chances) - and then play the same game with the next victim, leaving a trail of broken people. They posted about the fake personalities, the emotional highs and lows, how he would leave and come back months/years later as if nothing had changed, etc - and things finally started making sense.

I had noticed many of these things - but without the awareness of narcissism - didn't know what to make of it. For example, when we were on our off-periods and he was out chasing Muslim girls, he (someone I had known as a frat fcukboy who would crush 20 beers in a night) became the sober, praying virtue-driven man. When he was out chasing someone else, he pretended to love Rupi Kaur poetry - even though we made fun of it together (no offense). I often felt like he seemed so ~different~ during these periods - and would call him out on it, but he would always deny it. But, looking back, I realize it wasn't just in my head as he wanted me to believe.

Luckily for me, he had grown to like one of these girls and we decided to take a break (later, I would realize he was trying to 'triangulate' me with her, but even back then I wouldn't succumb to his dumb games) -- which gave me much needed time to continue my Quora obsessiveness... and I went down the rabbit hole. Quora led me to narcissistic abuse recovery youtube channels and instagram accounts - which further opened my eyes to the lies I had been fed. It was heartbreaking but I began to realize his version of "love" (if you can even call his self-serving love that) was so different from mine - for him, it was latching onto someone who would validate him, give him the emotional supply he needed, and be there at his beck and call -- which I was happy to do if it was reciprocal, but of course it wasn't lol. It was completely one-sided and I let it happen because for me, the love I felt was genuine - not fabricated - and I thought that's what you do when you're in love (and it's what I saw growing up in my parent's relationship). I didn't want to believe it but the answer was clear as day - I had been conned into a fake relationship by someone who didn't have the capacity to love someone, and could only use them.

At this point, I realized ~5 years of on-and-off narcissistic abuse (and more than 2 decades of observing my parents' toxic marriage) would take a long time for me to heal from, but if I wanted to have any chance at a truly happy, healthy relationship (which I so earnestly did), I had to let him go. So I dived headfirst - watched at least 1-2 hours worth of videos every day, cried about the disrespect I had put up with, wrote pages and pages of text, etc - and became entrenched in this mode of self-improvement and inner child-finding. And I put them on my tumblr, so he would see them (I knew he was still checking up on me).

So when he inevitably came back because the girl he was chasing "was not who I thought she was" and wanted to be with me because I was so "perfect, knew him better than he knew himself, and so smart", I had the emotional wherewithal to tell him I didn't want this anymore -- and the little bits of changes he would make to attempt to gratify me - I could see through them and they were no longer enough. I think it was a last ditch attempt on his side - my tumblr posts made it obvious I was leveling up and wanted nothing more to do with him.

He was upset and told me he was talking to this girl on a dating app - but she was boring and a downgrade from me - and I just said, "cool". He then told me if I didn't want to try again, he would have no choice but to date her and see where it goes. And at that point, I just wanted him to leave me alone, as I knew anything with him would be a dead end. And I was TIRED. So to his surprise, I said go for it - and blocked him from everything and everywhere. I felt an immediate sense of relief, as I knew the nightmare was finally over and he was someone else's problem now. Of course, just like anyone else, I have my ups and downs too - but I'm definitely much better off.

Now? I haven't heard from him in over 2 years. I don't think I will - I told our mutual friends all about his deceit, post about it on my twitter, and make sure everyone knows how phony he is - and I think he realizes the ruse is over. I have found him out, and he knows he should stay away unless he wants me to expose him even more. I can hit him where it hurts and he is terrified - exactly where I like boys to be ;)

Anyways, last I heard, he's engaged to that girl he said was a downgrade (which isn't that surprising - since I gave him a narcissistic injury by leaving he knew he had to lock down the next one or she would leave too) - which is quite sad. I pray she sees the light before he takes too much away from her.

Hope it clears up things -- as always, feel free to PM me. More than happy to help anyone, especially if it means saving one of you from a toxic monster <3

***This is one of the subtle points that makes narcissists so difficult to identify: usually, when someone changes for you, it's because they like you and don't want to hurt you - compromise! that's what you do when you're in love, right? However, for a narcissist, it's not "love" - it's him realizing that if he wants to keep you trapped in his web of deceit, he needs to change - and this is true for both the beginning of the relationships and the whole duration. They don't have any integrity so they will change into whoever you want them to be, if it means you'll be attracted to them -- they are so good at reading you, figuring you out, and identifying your deepest desires/wants that they can transform into your idea of a perfect partner -- and they DO, but it's only a set up to manipulate you later. It's addicting to meet who you easily consider your "soulmate"... but in the end, you realize it was too good to be true.

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atopearth · 4 years

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Subarashiki Hibi (Wonderful Everyday Down the Rabbit-Hole) Part 5 - Which Dreamed It

Which Dreamed It “If everything we wished were to happen, that would be a favour of fate, because there is no connection between our will and the world.” It’s kinda saddening to think of it all like that, but at the same time, it’s kinda true. Sometimes no matter how much we want something to happen, it won’t happen, this doesn’t only depend on the wheels of fate though, but also on ourselves and whether we have the power to make it happen. But when we don’t, we can only hope, and hope is something good yet terrifying, since when things don’t go as we desire, we’re crushed even more than if we didn’t hope. For me, I’ve hoped for many things, just as many others do, but I also realised that a lot of things I hoped for were something I have the power to change with my hands, and yet somehow I’d still want to rely on fate… It feels kinda silly, huh? Anyway, I always get distracted by the quotes in this game haha. I didn’t realise that Hasaki had a twin brother… And I guess this chapter is from the perspective of Hasaki and maybe we’ll finally get to know the “incident”. Lmao at Hasaki getting violent with Kimura (the journalist photographer guy) as well, guess she’s not as weak as I thought! Ooh so in terms of the timeline, I guess this chapter talks about Hasaki during the time Tomosane was losing control of the body and only appeared every few days and here and there… so it’s after Zakuro died…

LOLL when Hasaki actually suggested for Master to do away his urges with Kimura since she doesn’t like him, I never knew Hasaki could say stuff like that haha! Lmao when Kimura had to move Hasaki’s whole dresser to the store because the Master wouldn’t allow him to touch her underwear etc hahaha. I’m so thankful that Hasaki has the Master to help take care of her though, it’s already so tough for her to have to face the weird new Yuki that sees her as twins, let alone the possible harassment from others online if they were to discover where Takuji’s house is. Sometimes with how Hasaki treats Tomosane and thinks of him, it really makes me wonder if Takuji is really the “original”. It was obvious that the “intruder” to her mother’s place was actually the new Yuki, but it’s so weird to see it happen from Hasaki’s perspective, especially since you see Takuji (Yuki) talking about Takuji like a completely separate existence. I guess this is how Kimura found out about the different personalities. It’s kinda funny to think back to the Yuki perspective though! All that time, I thought Hasaki lived in this house and was an abandoned little sister and everything, but in reality, she was living in the same house as Yuki until recently! She was right there, and yet she also wasn’t…

Wow, I never thought Hasaki actually went down into the secret base and she even did it when Takuji was there (but not really there since he was either in his delusions or just “cut off from the world”). Kimura is really such a great guy though, he knew the situation with the three personalities was complicated and didn’t ask Hasaki about it because he was considerate of her. And even though this is his job to investigate all these things, he evidently really cares about Hasaki and helps her out. He always watches out for her and I think that’s really sweet. On the other hand, seeing how desperately Hasaki is trying to find Tomosane, I can see why she was so relieved when he actually came back in his chapter. I see….. That ghost thing or whatever that the new Yuki saw in her chapter (I thought it was pretty scary when I read that!) was actually Hasaki in which her brain wasn’t “allowed to see”. I guess I wasn’t really wrong…Takuji is actually the twin brother that died and the current Takuji we see now is the eldest Mamiya brother, Mamiya Tomosane. Tomosane is the real one! I’m not surprised that the incident was in fact the real Takuji apparently trying to kill/attack Hasaki and Tomosane tried to protect her, and so he accidentally killed Takuji during that struggle. Because Takuji died, their mother couldn’t forgive Tomosane and thought it was his fault, and Tomosane himself couldn’t accept that he killed his own brother and wanted him to live inside him in this way I guess. A while ago when it was revealed that the Master was called Minakami, I knew he had to have something to do with the Yuki personality, but I didn’t think it was actually that he had a daughter called Yuki who also lost her life protecting Hasaki and that’s why these personalities within Tomosane are trying so hard to protect her… I feel so sorry for Master though, and it’s such a blessing that he doesn’t blame Tomosane and Hasaki for her death at all, instead he cares about them so much and thinks of them like his own children, it’s so saddening… If only the Yuki personality knew that she was technically Master’s daughter!! But I guess, seeing her personality sprout from Tomosane was a blessing in itself already… Learning that Takuji is actually Tomosane really puts into perspective why Hasaki called him Tomosane most of the time and how she felt saying it this whole time…

I’m glad that Kagami isn’t real, because it just means they tore apart the doll, but at the same time, it was still saddening because that was something Tomosane made for Hasaki, and it’s always been something important enough to her that she’s carried it around everywhere with her, and it represents her past self so yeah… Seeing it treated like that must have been awful… It was painful to see Hasaki have to interact with the new Yuki, but at the same time, even though he couldn’t recognise Hasaki, he still remembers the memory of her chasing after her dad’s soul over the hill of sunflowers and realising that she’d never meet her dad again. Regardless of what it seems like, Tomosane is still in there somewhere… Did Hasaki just jump off the roof after Tomosane/Takuji? Because… that’s so saddening and terrible of an ending! I thought maybe only his “soul” dropped off…not the real body too…

Overall, this chapter doesn’t really add much to the story besides revealing that Takuji is actually supposed to be Tomosane. So it was all really just to tell the reader what the incident was 7 years ago. I guess the most surprising thing was that Yuki is actually the Master’s daughter, but at the same time, it kinda clicked since we knew most of the stuff. Otherwise, from a lot of the interactions with Hasaki in Tomosane’s perspective, you could tell how Hasaki felt most of the time even if you didn’t realise Tomosane was actually the real one, but yeah, it was still a bit refreshing and definitely nice to see how dedicated and kind Kimura was the whole time, whilst understanding how great of a person Master Minakami really was.

#subarashiki hibi #subahibi

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egotuberwriting · 5 years

Text

Long Live the King

*Walks in with a smoothie* Yo. I finally have another fic after being gone forever. And of course it deals with angst ;D

Bless @sidespromptblog for coming up with the prompt that inspired me to write again, and I’m just gonna casually tag @starwarsdestroyedme and @ky-likes-sanders-sides because I saw their expanded ideas in the notes and decided to use those in here too! Because more angst is the best!

I’m gonna be basing King Creativity’s, Mars, outfit from these pics

Tw: Getting sliced in half; though it’s not graphic I don’t wanna risk anyone getting uncomfortable when getting to the part. If I need to add something, let me know.

Free Cookies to anyone who gets why I named King Creativity ‘Mars’

Wordcount: 1832

Things were not looking good in Patton’s eyes.

With Thomas now a teenager and the horrifying thing that is puberty starting to kick in at full force, the Mindscape was a mess.

Logan was swamped with work. While he did enjoy learning everything Thomas learned in school, he struggled to ensure Thomas kept the dang knowledge in his long term memory. He was also in a losing battle with him to make sure he ate healthy and went to sleep at a reasonable hour, though Patton would take the blame on that one since he just wants Thomas to have as much fun as he can and eat all the yummy treats he can too.

And then Anxiety fully made himself known. Sure he was always around, but now he practically took over the driver's seat and is steering the poor boy down an angsty path. Sure, this is the time where Thomas is supposed to discover who he is, but it doesn’t have to be like this! Thank goodness Patton knows how to steer Thomas onto a ‘better’ path, even if for a little while.

Patton isn’t even gonna think about what Deceit will be capable of later on in Thomas’s life. Although he does wonder if that snake is the reason Anxiety is the way he is… And then starts to wonder if Deceit’s influence over Anxiety is the reason his friend started changing for the worst.

The King of Creativity, or Mars, was noticeably getting more and more disturbing, to say the least. While he of course continued to create the loveable fantasy ideas that he was supposed to be known for, he had started to make very crude jokes and began to delve into dark humor. And to top it all off, he started to go a bit insane and took an interest to more ‘physical humor,’ to put it lightly. Patton gags every time he thinks about the last ‘joke’ Mars showed him.

Patton had asked Logan if he noticed these changes in their friend, and while Logan did notice, he only said that this is just a normal phase that will pass. When asked how long it would take to pass, Logan couldn’t give Patton a straight answer since it could be a few years at best, if that.

That, however, was not the answer Patton wanted to hear.

It’s been roughly a year since Mars started falling down the rabbit hole of ‘impureness,’ and Patton have had enough. Instead of improving, Mars got worse, and Patton was going to put an end to this once and for all.

He stood in front of his best friends door, starting to question his if his decision was a good one or not. He let out a stuttered breath as he reached for the doorknob, only to hesitantly pull away.

...No, he had to do this. He had to go through with this. For the good of Thomas, this was something that needed to be done.

Patton is Morality; he knows what’s best for Thomas.

Besides, if he doesn’t do this, then no one would accept Thomas. He wouldn’t ever grow and would devolve into something horrible and would thus be shunned by everyone around him.

Taking a deep breath, Morality finally entered Mars’s room. It was a mess; filled with many journals containing ideas for different things that Thomas could create, good, angsty, and disgusting, and a lot of art equipment. Though Morality would prefer to ignore some of the unfinished paintings that’s in his peripheral vision.

Mars’s room is significantly bigger than everyone else's due to him wanting to wanting to feel like he’s actually in a castle, so it takes Morality a few minutes before he actually finds Mars.

When he finds him, he has his back turned to the other Side and is aggressively painting a new picture with both hands, not at all noticing that Morality stepped into the room. Using this opportunity to his advantage, Morality quickly looked around for Mars’s favorite sword. It was always in the same room as him, so it had to be around here somewhere. To his delight(?), he left it against the wall, almost as if he just left it there while in a rush to paint whatever new thing he thought of. Morality made sure to take it without making a noise, then hid it behind his back.

He has reached the point of no return.

Clearing his throat and putting his happy persona on, Patton tapped on Mars’s shoulder.

“Hey there, kiddo!”

“wHO GOES THERE-” Mars wildly spun around to face the other man, almost hitting him in the face with a paint brush, and didn’t realize that Patton was trying to hide something behind his back. “Oh! It’s just you, Pa! Erm, I’m afraid I cannot show you my next masterpiece because it’s not yet PERFECT! And therefore not actually a MASTERpiece yet. And you know how I HATE showing things that aren’t a perfect masterpiece!”

Patton chuckled nervously, “It’s fine. I, uh… I actually wanted to talk to you about something, if you have the time.”

Mars gasped, offended at the thought he wouldn’t have the time to listen to his best friend. “Have the time?! Patton, you know I always have time for you, my friend! So, what can I do for you?” He asked, throwing the paintbrushes he was holding to his sides.

“Well… I wanted to talk to you about your… recent behavior.” Patton gulped.

Mars tilted his head curiously at him. He honestly had no idea what Patton was talking about. For all he knew, he was acting normal and adapting to whatever Thomas seemingly had an interest to.

“You’ve been, how do I put this? Erratic and really disturbing. The crude jokes and the ‘physical humor’ just isn’t right!” Patton continued with the feeling of dread starting to wash over him.

Mars was quick to defend himself. “What do you mean? I’m just adapting to what Thomas is growing interested in, or at least what he takes in from his environment! It’s fine!”

“No! It’s not fine!” Patton’s breathing started to stutter. “I… I don’t want to do this, but… If that’s what you think, and you’re sticking to it, then you give me no choice.”

Slowly, Patton revealed the sword and held it in both hands. Mars’s eyes immediately widened as he took a step back and Patton lifted the sword so it was above his head.

“W-Wait… Pa… Dad… What are you doing!? Y-You don’t have to do this! Please, think this through!” Mars began to plead, holding his arms up in a defensive position.

“I’m sorry…” Patton whispered as he closed his tear-filled eyes.

“...Long live the king.”

With a quick slice of the sword, Mars, King of Creativity, was sliced in two.

As the two halves slid apart and hit the floor, the Mindscape shook violently. Everything in the room, and probably everywhere else, fell off the walls and onto the floor.

The reality of what Morality did hit him quickly. He dropped the sword and looked at the scene in front of him, dropped to his knees, then looked down to his hands. He did this. This was his doing. But… it was for the best, right?

He didn’t have time to really fully process what happened before he heard the sound of footsteps running towards him and stop at the doorway.

“...Patton… What have you done?” A shocked Logan asked.

Morality didn’t answer right away as he was still staring into his hands in horror. Logan is only able to take a step forward before Morality looks over at him, tears streaming down his face.

“L-Logan… I… I… I had to do it… I couldn’t take it anymore so I… I cut him in half… I-It was the only way… O-Otherwise poor Thomas would have been rejected by others...”

Logan, unsure of how to comfort him, just stood there in the doorway. Why in the world Patton would go this far to stop those intrusive thoughts Mars produced was beyond him, but what's done is done. All he can do now is watch as the two halves regenerate to form their own whole body, and watch as Patton continues to break down in the middle of the room.

What intrigued Logan was that as the halves regenerated, so did their clothes. One half had his clothes turn white, his sash remain red, and had a small bit of gold on his clothes. He looked the most like the former king.

The other half, however, was almost dramatically different. He kept the primarily black outfit, but had a green sash, a silver quiff in his hair, his eyes looked like they were both bruised, and his outfit human teeth and eyeballs.

It was obvious which half had which traits.

While Logan was still observing the halves, Patton managed to get up and stumble to him, falling into him grabbing his shirt before he fell to the floor.

“Y-You need to help me… They can’t remember this. They can’t remember what I did to them!” He pleaded, looking the other man right in the eyes. “A-And we need to figure out what to do with… him…” He then glanced at the more disturbing looking half.

Logan felt bad, which was new, but Patton was right. If they remembered what Patton did, it wouldn’t end well. Also, something did have to be done with the two new sides anyway.

He gently nudged Patton off and carefully helped him sit onto the floor so he wouldn’t fall down. Then he goes over to the now fully formed sides and crouches next to them.

“...They’re gonna need names you know…” He said. There was silence between the two before Logan finally spoke up again. “...I think Romulus and Remus are adequate names for them. Romulus shall be the one in white while Remus is the… more disturbing one…”

Patton had to think about it for a moment, all while still trying to calm himself down, and nodded at the name suggestions.

“I think those are good names… But, Romulus is a bit much, don’t you think? How about just Roman?”

“Well, Romulus named his city Rome, so I suppose Roman shall suffice.” Logan agreed. “Now, Patton, I would suggest you go to your room to calm down. I’ll… figure out what to do from here. You’ve done enough today.”

“...No. Let me at least finish what I started.” Logan looked back at him and raised an eyebrow. “I know what to do with Remus. Just… figure out how to wipe their memories and I’ll handle the rest.”

Normally Logan wouldn’t want Patton to handle anything by himself, especially after this mess, but something told him this was an argument he wouldn’t win, so he allowed it.

Nothing would be the same ever again.

The king was gone forever.

All that was left was the Prince and the Duke.

...Interestingly enough, the painting Mars was working on depicted an army of red exiting a castle to face an army of green, coming from a tower.

#Sanders Sides #Patton Sanders #Logan Sanders #Roman Sanders #Remus Sanders #Thomas Sanders #TS Fanfic

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vfdbaudelairefile13 · 5 years

Text

Chapter Thirty-Nine:

The One Where Lemony Makes a Vastly Formidable Decision While Violet Makes A Very Frightening Discovery

There was an awkward silence in the taxi as both men realized what Lemony had just said out loud.

“Lemony...you’re not serious?” Larry asked in an uncomfortable tone.

“I get that it’s wrong...but...what choice do I have?” Lemony asked the waiter, his voice cracking.

“Several,” Larry replied. “Besides, you were just complaining that you thought you had too much blood on your hands. Now you want to add some real blood?”

“It’s just Olaf. He doesn't deserve to live,” Lemony said. “Especially not anymore.”

“But he’s not worth the time you’d spend incarcerated.”

Lemony laughed. “I’ve been both dead and on the run for nearly fifteen years. I’m an expert at not getting caught.”

Larry laughed. “Well, you do what you feel you need to do. I won’t stop you and I won’t look at you any differently, friend. I’ll continue to help you in any way to help these kids.”

Lemony sighed. “Thank you. Do you need a ride back into town?”

“Actually, yes I could use one. I’ve been asked to help your brother investigate a recent fire.”

“Jacques is researching the Baudelaire fire?” Lemony asked worriedly.

“No...the more recent fire?”

“There’s been another fire?”

“Yeah...you didn’t hear?” Larry asked. “We’ve lost two more members in the fire. One of their children died in the fire, as well.”

“What? How old?”

“Just thirteen years old. The other two children are being sent to a boarding school that you and I are familiar with.”

“Prufrock?”

“Yep.”

“Fucking lovely,” Lemony commented. “Wait, do you think Poe will take the Baudelaires there next. Since he took those kids…”

“Uhm...Mr. Poe isn’t in charge of their affairs.” Larry interrupted.

“Then who is?”

“The city’s sixth most important financial adviser,”

“Wait...isn't that…” Lemony asked as Larry nodded. “How did thathappen?”

“I’m unsure. But we’ve been told she hasn’t had any affiliation with VFD since that night. She quit it all together. Now spends her days solely focusing on fashion and her own wealth.” Larry explained.

“Well...that’s good at least. Maybe, unlike Olaf, she’s put everything behind her.”

“Well, why wouldn’t she? It’s just a sugar bowl.”

Lemony laughed. “It was more than just a sugar bowl to her...but maybe you’re right. She moved on. She’s more mature than Olaf. Not fixating on revenge over some petty little object.”

Lemony laughed as he started up the taxi. He and Larry continued their conversation all the way back to the city. Lemony couldn’t help but wonder what was in store for the Baudelaires and what was in store for him. Was he really willing to kill Olaf to end this miserable cycle that he has found himself in? Lemony continued on in conversation but his mind was currently wandering aimlessly. He was feeling distraught, he couldn’t fathom how the idiotic mistakes that he made in his early twenties could fuck up everything this badly.

The world was filling up with smoke and fire, and it was all his fault. Beatrice and her husband, Bertrand burned to death in their home that they once happily raised their children. Jacques and Kit have not seen their younger brother in nearly two decades and who knows if they’ve stayed close after losing Lemony. Gustav was murdered by a poison dart and drowned in a swamp. Monty had his passion used against him in a cruel murder. Josephine had her fears used against her in a gruesome murder. Two children had lost their parents and have been stalked and pursued by a homicidal psycho who was bent on revenge against Lemony and their own parents. And now, another VFD family has lost their home and their lives. A thirteen-year-old died because of him. Finally, Violet, his own daughter, had been robbed of a true childhood. She was robbed of having a mother. She was robbed of having siblings. She was robbed of having any family unit other than her father. And it was all. His. fault.

It didn’t matter what Jacquelyn or Larry said. Lemony knew that this was all his fault. He blindly followed VFD’s orders and the dominoes fell. They’ve been falling for nearly fifteen years now and Lemony desperately wondered just how this story was going to end. Unfortunately, I know how this story ends and it is not a pleasant ending for anyone involved. Even if some people find peace or a ‘happy ending’, they will still have their trauma, their nightmares, their worry that just around the corner more unfortunate events will be there. But in the case of Lemony Snicket, I am sad to say that the conclusion to his story is much, much worse. You can hardly imagine, so I implore you to run and never look back because the further you go into this story, the further down the rabbit hole you go and sooner or later, you’ll be trapped with no way out and you will be forced to endure the Baudelaires’ and Snickets’ tragic stories. My associate and I have already tormented ourselves learning each gruesome detail. Finding useful documents and finding scraps of photographs that help detail and piece together each and everything that has happened in these cases. If you think this is bad or that the story cannot get any worse...I hate to inform you but you are entirely wrong. This story can and will get much, much worse. The secrets of VFD will begin to unravel all around the children but that doesn’t mean their story will get any better. You might think that three children should lead pleasant lives...but that’s not how the story goes.

He sighed, trying to do his best to keep up the conversation with Larry as he drove them back to the city. He was fighting tears, he was fighting exhaustion. It was weird, Lemony didn’t feel physically exhausted, although he knew that he was, the nightmares made sure of that. Ruining any chance of sleep that Lemony could get. But he did feel both emotionally and mentally exhausted. It was hard keeping up the lies that he told his daughter, it was even harder keeping her a secret to anyone involved in VFD. It was hard to remember what he named his disguise this time and it was nerve-wracking hoping that he wouldn’t be recognized by Olaf.

If Lemony lived in a simpler world, he would be a man who was never indicted into a secret organization, never convinced to do that heinous action that changed everything. Even if Beatrice and Bertrand had died when their children were young, Lemony would be able to just adopt the Baudelaires and protect them. Then Violet would have siblings. Violet would have a normal life as well.

Was kidnapping the Baudelaires really out of the question? He asked himself as Larry rambled on and on, not noticing that Lemony was barely paying any attention. Honestly, Lemony wasn’t sure how he was even driving, he was barely focusing on the desolate roads either. Kidnapping the Baudelaires did sound like the best option, he didn’t have to necessarily indict them into VFD, he could take them and Violet and simply disappear. But would the kids go for that? Would Olaf still find them?

Lemony was unsure exactly how Olaf was getting the location of the Baudelaire orphans. Lemony got his information from Jacquelyn, who works under the incompetent Mr. Poe. But how did Olaf get this information...and before Lemony? That part hasn’t made much sense to Lemony since day one. He knew he couldn’t put a stop to Olaf learning the children’s location if he didn’t know where he was getting it. So if Lemony kidnapped Klaus and Sunny...Olaf would find him, discovering Violet. Which he refused to let happen. The vivid nightmares were a constant reminder of what Olaf would do if he knew of Violet’s mere existence. So kidnapping them was entirely out of the question. At the end of the day no matter how much he cared about the Baudelaires, Violet was his main priority.

Lemony shook his head slightly. Killing Olaf might be the only option. Wouldn’t be the first time that Lemony murdered someone. At this point, Lemony didn’t care what his reasons were. He didn’t care if there were seemingly other options. The only way to end a nightmare is by making sure it no longer exists, and how do you make sure that a human being no longer exists? You kill them.

Lemony hated that his mind was going to this dark place. But deep down, he knew killing Olaf would be the best option. He will never stop. He will continue trying to hurt the Baudelaires until his last dying breath. So why not make his last dying breath come sooner?

“Lemony?” Larry asked bringing Lemony back to reality.

“Huh? What?”

“You’re crying,”

Lemony quickly wiped tears from his face. “Sorry, I was listening...what were you saying?”

“Who’s Violet?” Larry asked.

Lemony’s eyes went wide as he pushed his foot on the brake. The taxi halted to a harsh stop, causing both men to sway in their seats. He turned to Larry. “Who’s Violet?” he asked.

“That’s what I’m asking you,”

“I-I don’t know a Violet…you must have misheard me.”

“No. I’m sure I heard you correctly. You said ‘I’ll never let him hurt Violet’,”

Lemony shook head fiercely. “I don’t recall saying that.”

“That’s probably because you were disassociating,”

“You can’t disassociate while driving,”

“You’d be surprised,” Larry replied. “So who’s Violet?”

Lemony frowned, sighing deeply. “Look, I don’t know what you heard or what you think I said. I’m exhausted. I am on the edge of losing the last bit of sanity that I have left. So can we please just drop it and never say the name ‘Violet’ again.”

Larry frowned but nodded his head. “Understood. You are under incredible stress. Do you want me to drive? Maybe you can nap.”

Lemony weighed the pros and cons of Larry’s suggestion. On one hand, he could get sleep, something that he so desperately needed. But on the other hand, he could have another nightmare or another lucid dream where he will say too much. His eyes threatened to close. He simply nodded as he unbuckled his seatbelt and switched seats with Larry.

The rest of the car, he looked remorsefully out the window as Larry did his best to maintain a friendly, enjoyable conversation with Lemony. Eventually, Lemony stopped replying and began snoring. Larry looked worriedly over at his sleeping pal, he knew this was taking a toll on Lemony but he wasn’t exactly sure why. What was Lemony’s connection to the Baudelaire children? He understood that they were Beatrice’s children and he fully understood Lemony’s connection and feelings toward Beatrice but it seemed to Larry that there was something in this connection that was missing. Something that Lemony was hiding. But he let it go. He allowed Lemony to sleep the rest of the way to the city.

_____________________________________________________________________

Violet paced around impatiently. She wondered where her father was. Usually, she allowed her father the freedom to come and go as he pleased. Knowing that his job called for it but after Jacquelyn had explained to her that he has enemies, she wanted him home as much as possible. She was sickeningly worried about him. She made herself a cup of coffee, glancing at the door every few seconds waiting anxiously for her father to burst through the door.

It took her a few hours before deciding to use her time productively into finding her mother. She glanced around the apartment for possible hiding spots that her father might put something that he didn’t want to see all the time, in fear that it would break his heart each time he looked at it. She had two different spots for such an item. The first place was the same place that she had stored her failed grandfather toaster, which was under her bed. So she didn’t have to look at it anymore. She ran to her father’s room and threw herself on the floor and frowned when she saw that there was nothing under his bed except pairs of shoes. She sighed but looked towards her second guess, which of course was the closet.

Most people have skeletons in their closet, of course, Lemony Snicket didn’t have actual skeletons in his closet, but he did have metaphorical skeletons in his closet just like a vast majority of people and to Violet’s frustration, he had his skeletons locked away in a briefcase that was locked with a combination. The phrase ‘skeletons in one’s closet’ simply means they have pieces of their past that they would prefer not leave lying around. Because they are painful or incriminating or would create unnecessary clutter. Whether it was because it was beneficial to his personal health if it were hidden away or that he didn’t want anyone else knowing of his dirty little secrets. In the case of Lemony Snicket, both reasons applied. He didn’t want to be constantly reminded about the heart-break that this skeleton delivered to him and he also was trying to hide this depressing truth from his daughter.

She pulled out the briefcase glancing at it at every angle. She could tell that a mere lockpick wasn’t going to do. She was going to have to crack the combination. She stared at the briefcase with pure determination written across her face. She knew that combinations are usually three numbers. She looked at the lock on the briefcase. When she flipped the briefcase over, she saw a similar insignia. This shocked her to where she dropped the briefcase on the floor and pulled out the spyglass from her pocket, studying the front of it. How have I never noticed this before? She pondered as she stared at both the briefcase and the spyglass. What else had VFD’s signature?

Her eyes got wide as she grabbed her locket and looked it over. Searching desperately for the familiar insignia. She smiled when she realized that her locket was not branded in any way to the cult that both of her parents had found themselves in. But she did wonder how her father was able to hide this briefcase from her, especially considering the many times that the two of them have moved. She sighed as she took a quick glance towards the front door. Still nothing. She was both relieved and worried, but there was nothing she could do. The only thing she can do is just sit around and wait for him to get home. She debated whether or not to call Jacquelyn and ask her for any updates pertaining to her father. But she didn’t know if Jacquelyn would even give her any updates seeing that her father was being super secretive about this whole thing.

She glared at the lock on the briefcase, surprised to see that it was not a simple lock. She played with the three dials realizing that this might be a bit harder than she thought. Seeing that, unlike usual briefcase combinations lock each dial would have the digits zero to nine on each, but the one her father possessed was obviously custom-made either for him or for his cult as a whole because each dial had double digits. She turned the dials to see how far numerically it would go and each dial stopped at the number twenty-six. Violet eyed curiously at the dials, if Violet wasn’t an intelligent young woman, she would have only simply recognized that twenty-six was a very odd, but yet very specific number to stop at. But Violet was a very intelligent young woman and although she was right to think that twenty-six was an odd number to stop at, she understood why VFD would give their members briefcases that stopped at that specific numbers.

Going back to her research about how VFD uses codes, she knew that sometimes when coding you can substitute letters for numbers and vice versa. She smiled as she twisted the dials of the briefcase. The first being twenty-two, the second being the sixth letter in the alphabet and finally the fourth. She tried to open up the briefcase but when she tried to pull it open, it made a sharp noise indicating that it was still locked. She sighed. Well, I guess VFD isn’t as narcissistic as I had hoped. She turned all three dials until they were each on random numbers. Can briefcases permanently lock you out if you try too many combinations? She was sure that it couldn’t, but this wasn’t a normal briefcase that she was dealing with. This was some custom-made cryptic briefcase most likely manufactured by a cult in hopes of keeping their dark and terrifying secrets.

Maybe VFD isn’t as full of themselves as I thought...but maybe my Dad is. She thought to herself as she turned the first dial to twelve for the letter ‘L’, she counted on her fingers to figure out what number the letter ‘P’ would represent on the numerical alphabet, she started from ‘L’ and counted four fingers making the ‘P’ the sixteenth letter in the alphabet and then she twisted the last dial to nineteen for the letter ‘S’. Once again, the briefcase made a harsh noise when she tried to open it. She glared at the briefcase. Okay, so Dad isn’t as predictable as I hoped.

She then looked down at her locket. Violet, you fucking idiot. She thought to herself laughing a bit as she began to put the numerical equivalent for her mother’s initials. She had to remember what her middle name was. Her father had told her a few times but it wasn’t information she thought she’d desperately need. She knew that it was the same as her middle initial, ‘M’. She believed her name was Beatrice Morena Baudelaire. She wasn’t entirely sure, but she did know that the way she remembered the first letter of her birth mother’s middle name was simply because she and Beatrice shared that. Another thing that Violet realized that both she and her mother’s middle name’s started with the letter that had her father’s favorite number as it’s numerical equivalent, which was thirteen. Her father had always told her that sometimes even the unluckiest of things can have a silver lining somewhere you just have to look for it. And for that reason, he had always declared that thirteen was his favorite number. To many, it was considered unlucky and cursed but to Lemony it was a number with a bad reputation. As she stole a glance towards the door noting that no one was coming in, she quickly twisted the dials to the second number of the alphabet, the thirteenth, and the second. Again, the briefcase indicated to her that she was entirely wrong with the combination.

She was getting super frustrated. She was so close to grabbing a kitchen knife and cutting the leather of the briefcase just so she can read the secrets that she hoped it contained. She took a deep breath, slowly calming herself down. She knew if she cut through the leather, she would have to explain to her father what she did. She wouldn’t be able to obtain another briefcase like this one. Well, maybe she could. She wasn’t sure if Jacquelyn had a spare but maybe she could gift Violet a spare but the only problem with that she wouldn’t know what combination her father used so she’d still get caught.

Besides Violet wanted to be the one to catch her father in his web of lies, not have him catch her in her own web of deceit. She wanted him to learn of her discoveries on her terms, not his. So she knew she couldn’t vandalize the briefcase, no matter how much she wanted to. She didn’t know how often her father revisited the skeletons in his closet and she wasn’t taking any chances.

She stared intensely at the briefcase trying to think of any other three number combinations her father would potentially use. She’s tried V.F.D. She tried his own initials, L.P.S. She even tried her mother’s initials, B.M.B. In a flash of realization, her frustrated expression turned into one of disbelief. She facepalmed and rolled her eyes at her own silly self. She gave a small laugh as the most obvious combination came to mind. She quickly turned the first dial to the twenty-second letter of the alphabet. Violet. She turned the second dial to the thirteenth letter. Malina. She turned the last dial to the nineteenth letter of the alphabet. Snicket. Immediately, the briefcase popped open. She smiled. Sometimes the most obvious answer is right in your face. She told herself realizing that her father was predictable, just to the level of predictability that you severely doubt. She didn’t think her dad was that predictable but here she was after putting the numerical equivalent of her initials on the dials of the briefcase’s lock with the briefcase completely opened and more of her father’s secrets in front of her eager eyes.

Violet looked down at the contents of the briefcase and stared at the one thing she wanted to find but she doubted she would. Violet was fortunately correct in her assumption that within this briefcase, her father had locked away the two hundred page book written by the woman he loved, her birth mother, that explained at great length and in specific detail the reason she could not marry him. Violet understood her father’s desire to hide something like this, if it were out in the open, he would find himself reading it over and over again as if his darling Beatrice was bringing him bad news every day and every night of his life.

She frowned as she pulled out the pages and she gently swiped her fingers across the top of the book. Her mother’s handwriting was so beautiful. The way she wrote ‘My Darling Dearest’ in the header amazed Violet. She glanced at the letter noticing that the first page was torn stained and there was no doubt in her mind that the rest of the pages were tear-stained as well. Violet smiled as she grazed the red ribbon that her mother used to tie her letter together with her fingers. She smiled. She got her ribbon obsession from her mother. She glanced down at the purple ribbon that she had tied to her wrist.

She decided to tie up her hair before she began to read the letter. She tried her best to be prepared for whatever it was she was about to discover. Her curiosity was taking full control over her as she began to read. She turned page after page, hungry for more answers. The entire time she was admiring not only her mother’s handwriting but her writing skills. She realized right away that her mother was a lot like her father in one aspect when she wanted to be cryptic, she was vague and very confusing. There were parts of the letter where certain details were omitted entirely or things pertaining to VFD were vaguely mentioned. As her mother had explained in the letter, this was due to the fact that she wasn’t sure if the carrier crows who had the task of delivering this letter would be able to find her father. Which that part didn’t make much sense to Violet. Her father was on the run after her birth...wasn’t he? That’s how he ended up with Violet. Everything was alright until after her birth. But that timeline wasn’t making sense in correlation to the one provided by her mother in this letter. From what it sounded like, it sounded like Beatrice was still pregnant with Violet. She even mentions that she is nervous because this is her first pregnancy. Violet didn’t have any siblings, older or younger so she had a feeling this was talking about her mother’s pregnancy with her. Which made Violet think about the telegram. At first, Violet had thought that maybe that was a different pregnancy, but if there was a completely different timeline than maybe she was the baby being discussed in that. It would make sense. Because if her father and mother had any other children, wouldn’t they be with her and her father? A sad thought came to the forefront of Violet’s mind unless she didn’t want me but wanted the other baby. She frowned. She shook her head, trying to convince herself that that wasn’t the case at all. Her mother seemed super excited about her pregnancy, so why wouldn’t she keep Violet?

All of a sudden a dark thought took hold of her mind. She wondered why her father wouldn’t tell her the correct timeline. Each time he spoke of the tragic events that led to Violet being in his custody, he always mentioned that it happened after Violet was born. That he and her mother parted ways after her birth. But in this letter, her mother is telling a different story. She didn’t know much about Beatrice’s character, so she didn’t know if she could believe everything out of her mouth, but unfortunately, she did know Lemony and she recently learned that her father was a chronic liar. But the question on Violet’s mind was why would he lie about the timeline of events? What was he hiding from her? There was only one reason that Violet could think of for her father lying about something like the timeline of events and she didn’t like the thought at all. She hated this thought. But can you blame her for thinking such a thing? When you don’t have much to go and you have to fit pieces into a puzzle, sometimes you end up with pieces in the incorrect spaces because you jump to conclusions or you force the piece into the spot. Violet wondered if her father kidnapped her after all. She knew that she was biologically related to Lemony, there was no doubt about that. But during separations, there are custody battles and sometimes when one parent does not like the outcome of the custody battle, they do something drastic like take the child and run. Even if the parent is related to the child, the authorities still consider this kidnapping. So could this be one of those cases right now? Her father was on the run and even presumed dead so maybe he couldn’t fight a custody battle or maybe he did but he lost because of his background. So in desperation, he kidnapped Violet taking her far from her mother. Sadly, it was in the realms of possibility. VFD does kidnap children. So they had probably trained both her parents on how to successfully kidnap a child without getting caught.

Her heart sank. Or did he kidnap me to recruit me into VFD? She shook her head at that nonsense. If he wanted to recruit you, he wouldn’t be hiding all of this from you. She told herself. Unless he realized that recruiting her might reveal his deep dark secret...or he had a change of heart. Jacquelyn did mention that I should be a year into my apprenticeship. Violet shook her head fiercely. You’re driving yourself insane, Vi. Get a grip. He’s your father, he didn’t kidnap you. He has his reasons for being secretive and it’s not that...it can’t be that...can it? Violet was not entirely sure what to think anymore. Everything relating to her father and VFD was dark and cryptic. She couldn’t tell if she was completely on track or so far off that it’s laughable.

The timeline that played out in the letter was driving her insane. She didn’t know what was true or not, because she didn’t know Beatrice personally. But as she continued to read on, she was slowly starting to dismiss the ugly custody battle theory because, throughout the letter, her mother is sweet and compassionate. If an ugly custody battle had ensued than wouldn’t she be bitter, spiteful, and petty?

Violet also realized that there were several parts of the letter that seemed to be in codes. Different kinds of codes, it looked like. But these passages were scattered all around the letter. She only thought this because there were a few passages that her mother had underlined ‘ring’ even if it was in a larger word like ‘daring’ or ‘tampering’. She remembered that at the movies, she’d hear a faint ring and her father would lift the spyglass to his face until she heard another faint ring. Could this be the same code just written down? Were there different variations of this code and many others. She rubbed her temples in frustration. How confusing was this fucking cult? Is that how they got people to stay? Confuse the fuck out of them and pique their curiosity with questions that they desperately wanted answers to? That way they’d sink so far into the rabbit hole that they couldn’t escape because their thirst for understanding would just grow throughout the years because they refused to leave without every answer since they didn’t want to admit they wasted all that time, energy and resources on nothing. Maybe there was no way to find all the answers. Maybe some questions had no answer at all. Again, to keep their members around until they figured everything out. Honestly, Violet wouldn’t put it passed them. It was starting to feel just like that. Every single time she answered a question, five new questions formed and this was the case with this letter.

She had taken a break from reading to glance at the door to make sure her father wasn’t on his way in. No way she was going to let him catch her now. She found the jackpot. She took the time to go retrieve her commonplace book. In case she needed to write down further questions and answers.

When she returned to the letter she began reading a passage about her mother spending some time developing a botanical hybrid. She wasn’t entirely sure what that meant but she knew she couldn’t ask her father to define those words. He’d ask too many questions. Questions she couldn’t answer because she wasn’t a skillful liar like him. There was a strange mention of an island, that she and the new man had stayed at. Violet assumed that the way that this was all worded that it was either a part of some code or maybe her mother was being vague about her vacation to keep her location a secret from anyone who intercepted this letter.

She was happy to see that she was able to find the questions that her father had answered in his letter. But she didn’t pay much attention to those because of what her eyes had caught. Her mother was vaguely explaining what happened one night when they both made a decision that changed their lives forever. She assumed that this would be more important than knowing if she was correct with her assumptions of the questions that her mother had asked her father.

As she read her mother’s vague explanation, her heart dropped. She didn’t know the full implications but it seemed to her that her mother was expressing guilt about a ‘mission’ that VFD had ordered her parents and two other members to do. She sees her mother explaining that ‘ she knows that Jacques had advised them both to stop coming into contact with them because it will be dangerous for both of them…’ she tried to remember who Jacques was. She believed that was the name of her uncle. But she wasn’t sure, she had unfortunately never met any of her family outside of her father. She continued to read on rolling her eyes at her mother’s vagueness when writing. She understood her mother’s possible reasoning behind this, this letter was meant for one set of eyes and those were her father’s. No one should be reading this letter, so her mother can be as cryptic and vague as she wants as long as she made sure that Lemony fully understood her. She sighed. If her mother had sent this in a more normalized way and not carrier crows than maybe she wouldn’t have been super paranoid about it getting into the wrong hands.

As she read on, she could see that her mother expressed great guilt about her involvement in VFD’s crooked plot and how she knew that Lemony had felt equally guilty if not more since he was the one who convinced the other three that they should go along with it. Violet’s curiosity was intensified, she desperately wanted to know what VFD had her parents do. Her mother described it as heinous and morally ambiguous. She even quoted Lemony saying that he once described it as ‘a wicked deed being done for a noble cause’ and that he had even asked himself ‘what choice do we have?’ Beatrice went into detail how she believed that if they had stayed together, she believed they would’ve worked out but feared that they would be a constant reminder of this mistake they both made. Beatrice also went into detail (although in Violet’s opinion, her mother was beginning to be too vague again), that she didn’t want her father to take the blame at all. She was willing to confess to her part of the crime.

Violet shuddered at the word ‘crime’. What did they do that was so horrible? She asked. Did they kidnap some children? She wondered, again, going back to the fact that she had recently learned that the cult that her parents had fallen victim to, kidnaps children and forces them to ‘volunteer’. Then her eyes caught on to one single word that sent Violet’s mind and heart spiraling down for different reasons. Her mother had written the word ‘ murder’ . Violet closed her eyes as she allowed this to sink in.

Now as I’m sure you know, there are two very popular definitions for the word ‘murder’. One definition is used less often than the other for obvious reasons. But I will tell you both anyway. ‘Murder’ a phrase which here means both a group of crows and the act of killing another human being. Obviously, when Beatrice Baudelaire had written the word ‘murder’, she was not talking about a group of crows. She was talking about the act of killing another human being. So as Violet read the vaguely worded sentence that contained that specific word over and over again, her mind went into a frenzy.

Her father had always been on the run since she was young. Although, if the letter’s timeline was the correct timeline, he was on the run a little before she was born. But either way, he had been on the run for as long as she could remember. He had always explained to her that it was because of false accusations that The Daily Punctilio had written about him. She believed this because anyone with half a brain cell could tell you that The Daily Punctilio was the most unreliable newspaper you’ll ever find. I mean, do you see who is the editor and chief? Elenora Poe, Mr. Poe’s wife. It would make sense that incompetence was attracted to incompetence. But Violet was seeing a written confession from her mother, although it was vaguely worded, it implicated that the so-called lies printed about her father in the newspaper were actually true (well not entirely, he did take all the blame for this and he did have three accomplices). Violet thought she was going to be sick. She didn’t want to believe that her parents were murderers but here it was in her mother’s shaky handwriting. She rubbed her temples and sighed angrily. She wanted to understand more about this...about this particular piece of her parents' history.

She wanted to see if her father was correct in his assumption that they had done a ‘wicked thing for a noble reason’. She wanted to understand what exactly transpired to cause this chain of events that ended up with her mother retracting her proposal acceptance. She wanted to understand the actual timeline of events because she had two different timelines that were both equally as confusing. She wanted to understand just how far her parents were in VFD’s mindset to see how brainwashed they were. She didn’t want to see either of her parents in such a dark light. She wanted to find a logical explanation for all of this. But unfortunately for her, as she finished reading her mother’s letter, taking notes here and there. Gaining more questions than answers, as per usual. She was left with her curiosity eating away at her brain. She was left with every dark and twisty thought that she had when she was reading the letter. She felt like she was almost ready to question her father. She wanted to wait just a little longer and see what she can find.

She realized that the sun was setting and her father wasn’t home yet but she didn’t want to risk it. She wiped her tears from her eyes as she placed her the letter back into her father’s briefcase. Closing it up and making sure it was locked. She now knew the combination so being able to reaccess it would be simple.

She decided to wait for her father to arrive home, hoping that he was safe. Even if she found out some scary secret about him and her mother today, it didn’t change how she looked at them. Well, not entirely. She still wanted to meet her birth mother and she knew the man her father was. She knew murder was wrong, but she hoped that they had a good reason. It wouldn’t change what they’d done but it’d be easier for her to simply ignore their faults and continue on the way she always had.

As she sat quietly watching the door, she did decide one thing. If VFD had ordered her brainwashed parents to murder someone than that was an ‘organization’ she wanted absolutely nothing to do with. Who knows what they’d force her to do and what happens when you refuse? Violet didn’t want to ponder that. Although, if VFD had threatened to kill her parents, she could understand why they chose to carry out those orders. Unfortunately, she may have to ask her father about that because nowhere in her mother’s letter was that even implied or maybe it was but it was in some secret code. But either way, Violet wasn’t going to get the answer to that specific question until she was ready to confront her father and who knows by that time, she may have more revelations to ask about. All Violet knew is that her head was spinning and she was sliding down further and further into the rabbit hole...but what choice did she have?

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