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queermediastudies · 4 years ago

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The queer pleasures of spectatorship Regarding theatrical success, a film is only as good as the impression it leaves on the audience. Let’s imagine for a moment that you’ve just watched the best film you’ve ever seen. It was a masterpiece. Yet, the film was totally unremarkable in the ways it failed to leave an impression on you. Thus, are you likely to hold this film in high regard and tell your friends about it? Re-watch it? The movie Avatar comes to mind. One of the highest grossing films of all time and yet I would argue that no one in any of your immediate circles could identify with or relate to a single aspect about the movie, if any of them could recall anything about the movie at all. You watched the film but didn’t experience the film. In many ways, no other film ever made takes the task of audience experience as seriously and as successfully as The Rocky Horror Picture Show does.

The film, Rocky Horror for short, is successful in many ways regarding audience but one of the clearest ways is how they utilize film experience as a means of community building. Rocky Horror is a cult classic by today’s standards and has thrived for nearly 50 years by connecting people of all backgrounds to universal human desires and experiences. “It also provides spaces in which to nourish more diffuse experiences of affinity, belonging, and intimacy, where spectatorship provokes the formation of unexpected collisions and coalitions” (Schoonover, 2016, p. 20). A traditional Rocky Horror Picture Show viewing involves the entire audience adlibbing, holding newspapers, toilet paper, playing cards, rice, a party hat, dancing, singing, the letter V on your forehead drawn with red lipstick, and more. This is a queer form of audience interaction in film and thus implies that the film itself, beyond what is shown on screen is queer as well. As the Schoonover text tells us, “To understand queerness in the world, then, Circumstance tells us that we have to think not just about the representations on-screen but about the cinematic apparatus itself” (2016, p. 4). As such, no viewing of Rocky Horror Picture Show is ever the same which lends itself to continual community forming across the globe. Despite this being largely popular with LGBTQ+ audiences, and shown non-mainstream methods, Rocky Horror is an experience meant to be understood, albeit queerly, by all audiences, including perhaps conservative, heterosexual, traditional parents like mine, who are in their late 60s and mid 80s respectively.

Why though? Also, HOW? How does it make sense that a 1970s horror, sci-fi, musical, involving overt displays of queer sexuality and desire is so popular that it has globalized and is currently the longest running theatrical showing ever? In my opinion, the best told stories are the ones that when you strip everything away, the foundation of the story is so simple that literally anyone could relate to it. Strip away the disaster of Titanic and you get unrelenting love in the face of adversity. Strip away the musical and revolutionary French dialogue of Les Misérables and you get fighting for what you believe in in the face of systemic and tyrannical obstacles. Strip away the sweet Transvestite of Rocky Horror Picture Show and you get a desire for freedom of expression and acceptance.

“Part of what makes popular cinema popular is the queer pleasures of spectatorship. The ease with which audiences identify and desire across expected lines of gender is what gives classical Hollywood, for example, its seductive and transgressive appeal. (Schoonover, 2016, p. 6) No character better symbolizes the freedom of expression and “giving yourself over to absolute pleasure” than Frank N. Furter. Frank is a self-described transvestite from Transylvania. Frank is not male or masculine exactly, but is also not female or feminine exactly. Frank is the embodiment of queer as a sea of possibility. As such, there is something about them that you can’t help but relate to. The feminine appearance and energy breaking through your expected masculine presentation? Or is it the more masculine, dominating persona singing about removing inhibition and giving yourself over to pleasure? Killer dance moves? Literally creating their physically ideal partner from their own desires? Who knows! What we do know is that it works.

Even though this movie is very, and I do mean very queer, it’s not overtly sexual. Sure, there persists themes of sexuality and a boundary-less site for expression, but that doesn’t mean sex per se. In this way the film succeeds in allowing for the globality of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. The film has shown in over 30 countries around the world including Thailand, Japan, S. Korea, Russia, Australia, Vietnam, New Zealand, South Africa, Germany, and more.

The Rocky Horror Picture Show is an experience that has no sign of slowing down and continues to reach new audiences every day. Through thematic portrayals of universal human desires, the film succeeds at forming a world amongst people who perhaps don’t fit the traditional mold of film audience, or on a larger scale, who they are told to be by the society in which they live. The film brings these people in and shows them the endless possibilities of pleasure and how magical expression can be. So don’t dream it, be it. Works Cited:

Schoonover, K., & Galt, R. (2016). Queer Cinema in the world. Duke University Press.

Daniel, Netzel. (2019, Nov. 6). "The Rocky Horror Picture Show" is the Most Important Cult Film Ever Made. [Video]. Youtube. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M_k8xXC-xB4&list=WL&index=3&t=670s

Images used:

https://www.pinterest.com/pin/107242034852349338/

https://rockyhorror.fandom.com/wiki/Audience_participation

https://www.pinterest.com/pin/834080793481406706/?d=t&mt=login

https://www.japantimes.co.jp/multimedia/2015/10/28/culture-3/dammit-janet-japans-rocky-horror-picture-show-shadowcast-thrills-early-halloween-revelers/

#Youtube #rocky horror show #queer film

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emilyontap-blog · 8 years ago

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Emily Picks The Oscars 2017

This time last year I was getting ready to go to the Academy Awards. This year I’m in bed sipping coffee still dreaming of the day I will meet Leo...

If you’re wondering if I will find a way to work Titanic into *every* Oscars blog the answer is YES because DUH and also it’s been 20 years and a more iconic film has yet to be made.

While 2017 still did not give us a more iconic film (though La La Land came VERY close) it was another great, if otherwise depressing, year in the movies. As of this morning, I have seen every film nominated. Yes, even the shorts. YES, even the ANIMATED shorts.

Below are my picks for tonight’s winners, ft. a few upsets for you gamblers plus my unsolicited and entirely unreliable industry commentary.

CHEERS!

ACTRESS IN A SUPPORTING ROLE

Emily’s Pick: Viola Davis, Fences

Will Win: see above

Upset pick: Do not even dare.

ACTOR IN A SUPPORTING ROLE

Emily’s Pick: Jeff Bridges, Hell or High Water

Will Win: Mahershala Ali, Moonlight

Unsolicited industry commentary: Moonlight is a very important and relevant movie, and Mahershala Ali’s performance as Juan was lovely. However, for me, his 5 minutes of screen time was not enough to justify all the buzz, and I was left with a feeling of “That’s it?” Meanwhile, Jeff Bridges quietly dominating role in Hell or High Water has been largely overlooked, in a movie that I think will one day be a classic. Feelings aside, I’m not dumb, and anyone can see Mahershala will nab this one. So what I’m saying is ignore me and don’t go picking anyone else on your ballot.

Sidebar: Sunny Pawar should have been nominated for Lion and not Dev Patel.

ACTRESS IN A LEADING ROLE

Emily’s Pick: Emma Stone, La La Land

Could Win: Isabelle Huppert, Elle / Natalie Portman, Jackie

Unsolicited industry commentary: I was very torn about this category, as these three performances were all incredible, but so wide-ranging they are difficult to compare against each other. In the end, I gave the edge to Emma, who gave the performance I believe we’ll all remember in 10, 20, 50 years even though “she can’t sing” “she can’t dance” that’s NOT EVEN THE POINT PEOPLE! DON’T LET THE HATERS FOOL YOU!! NOBODY WILL FORGET LA LA LAND!!! *end rant*

Sidebar: OK rant *not over* Meryl Streep?? Are you f*cking kidding me with Meryl Streep??!?! Sure, we all worship at the altar of Queen Streep, but Florence Foster Jenkins was a terrible film by ALL STANDARDS, much less Meryl Streep standards. And at the expense of performances like Annette Bening in 20th Century Women and Amy Adams in Arrival?!?!?! FOR SHAME.

ACTOR IN A LEADING ROLE

Emily’s Pick: Viggo Mortensen, Captain Fantastic

Should Win: Denzel Washington, Fences

Probably Will Win*: Casey Affleck, Manchester By The Sea

Unsolicited industry commentary: Captain Fantastic was hands down my favorite movie this year (yes, even more than La La Land) and also one of the best I’ve *ever* seen. If you haven’t seen it, stop reading this and go watch it!!! Viggo Mortensen is extraordinary, and I was so glad to see him earn this nomination. It slightly makes up for the fact that Captain Fantastic didn’t get the Best Picture nomination it deserved. However, even though Viggo gave my *favorite* performance by an actor this year, Denzel gave the performance of a lifetime in Fences and should win this award. Casey Affleck was also phenomenal in Manchester, just not Denzel-level phenomenal. But people out here think Denzel doesn’t deserve it because he already got the Tony for the same role in the play, but also people out here are very upset about Casey’s assault problems* (which doesn’t really make him a better/worse actor but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯) and maybe those will cancel each other out and so *throws hands up in air and pencils in Ryan Gosling to win*

DIRECTING

Emily’s Pick: Damien Chazelle, La La Land

Could Win: Barry Jenkins, Moonlight

Unsolicited industry commentary: I had the pleasure of attending a Q&A with Damien Chazelle, Justin Hurwitz and Ryan Gosling after an early screening of La La Land (brb going to go look at myself in the mirror for several hours and wonder how I became an insufferable Los Angeles cliché...) Hearing them talk about how everything came together in a college dorm, and the years they spent jumping through hoops to actually get it made, and the inspirations and visuals that Damien brought to life so successfully, it’s hard to imagine anyone else deserving this more. Again, Moonlight was groundbreaking in its themes, and a beautiful film, and I’m so glad Barry Jenkins gave us that story. But La La Land is an instant classic, and Damien's ambition will be rewarded.

BEST PICTURE

I mean, have you been paying attention?

Emily’s Pick: La La Land

Could Win: Moonlight

WRITING (ADAPTED SCREENPLAY)

Emily’s Pick: Moonlight

Unsolicited industry commentary: This will be a consolation prize for no Best Picture/Best Director. Also, it’s simply beautifully constructed.

WRITING (ORIGINAL SCREENPLAY)

Emily’s Pick: Manchester by the Sea

Unsolicited industry commentary: While I’d love to see 20th Century Women get at least one award, and while The Lobster truly embodied the term “original” here, Kenneth Lonergan is a masterful storyteller and he’ll get this because he deserves it, but also as a consolation prize for no Best Picture/Best Director.

ANIMATED FEATURE FILM

Emily’s Pick: Zootopia

Could Win: Kubo & The Two Strings (which I actually liked more, but longshot)

FOREIGN LANGUAGE FILM

Emily’s Pick: The Salesman

DOCUMENTARY (FEATURE)

Emily’s Pick: 13th

Could Win: O.J.: Made in America

DOCUMENTARY (SHORT FORM)

Emily’s Pick: 4.1 Miles

Likely Win: Joe’s Violin

Could Win: The White Helmets

CINEMATOGRAPHY

Emily’s Pick: La La Land, Linus Sandgren

Upset: Y’all La La Land was filmed in Cinemascope technicolor. Don’t be getting any crazy ideas.

COSTUME DESIGN

Emily’s Pick: Jackie

Could Win: La La Land

Cinderella pick: Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them

Unsolicited industry commentary: The reproduction of Jackie’s iconic wardrobe - particularly the infamous pink Chanel suit - was extraordinary. But the completely original wardrobe choices for La La Land that straddled somehow both modern and classic Hollywood looks is also impressive. Likewise, to create costumes for the 1920s is one thing. But to create 1920s costumes for a fictional, magical world - like those for Fantastic Beasts - has no precedent.

FILM EDITING

Emily’s Pick: Hell or High Water

Will Win: La La Land

Could Win: Arrival

Unsolicited industry commentary: If Hell or High Water is gonna get one award tonight it will probably be for editing. The way the two sides of the story in the movie run parallel and converge at the end was, in my opinion, brilliant. The editing of Arrival was also critical to the unfolding of the film’s narrative. However, La La Land seems to be the frontrunner for...all of the awards. So.

MAKEUP & HAIRSTYLING

Emily’s Pick: Suicide Squad

Probably Will Win: Star Trek Beyond

Unsolicited industry commentary: Seriously, there was no more iconic look in 2016 than Harley Quinn and IMO that deserves an award. But I’m sure it will go to Star Trek because aliens -_-

PRODUCTION DESIGN

Emily’s Pick: La La Land

Upset: Do you have eyes tho?

MUSIC (ORIGINAL SCORE)

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Emily’s Pick: La La Land

Upset: Do you have ears tho?

MUSIC (ORIGINAL SONG)

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Emily’s Pick: “City of Stars” La La Land

Unsolicited industry commentary: As much as I want Lin-Manuel Miranda to get one step closer to that EGOT, and as much as I actually preferred the “Audition” song from La La Land, for logical reasons everyone has latched onto “City of Stars” and tbh I support anything ft. Ryan Gosling being wistful and romantic.

SOUND EDITING & SOUND MIXING

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Emily’s Pick: Hacksaw Ridge

Unsolicited industry commentary: I learned recently what these categories actually mean — and no, just because La La Land is a musical doesn’t mean it will win them. Here is a great explainer in case you’re confused. I selected Hacksaw Ridge because its soundscape of war and battle and trying to be quiet in holes overnight in a trench surrounded by the enemy filled me with a sense of complete and utter nauseating visceral horror and I’m still not okay.

VISUAL EFFECTS

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Emily’s Pick: The Jungle Book

Unsolicited industry commentary: You guys, literally nothing in this movie was real except that kid. NOTHING. I watched this video and I still don’t get how this happened. Unreal.

SHORT FILM (ANIMATED)

Emily’s Pick: Piper

Could Win: Pearl

SHORT FILM (LIVE ACTION)

Emily’s Pick: Silent Nights

Likely Win: Ennemis Intérieurs

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

Best of luck everybody!! And ICYMI, Jimmy Kimmel has his work cut out for him tonight because Mulaney and Kroll gave the best opening monologue OF ALL TIME at the Spirit Awards yesterday. Legal Disclaimer: your laughter at this video will awake sleeping roommates and disturb neighbors.

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#oscars #oscars 2017 #la la land #movies #awards #jimmy kimmel #titanic

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secretforthxmad · 8 years ago

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So take my hand and home we’ll go

a clexa au that doesn’t make sense

Lexa has increasingly concerning nightmares. She will wake up in the middle of the night confused and afraid, squinting through the darkness infinitely certain that something is about to jump out at her. Beside her Clarke will be sleepy and confused and will attempt to pull her in closer. The room will be dark and blue and everything and nothing. And Lexa will feel horribly alone.

And she doesn’t understand why she’s afraid.

The dreams don’t bother lingering - dissipating the moment she opens her eyes, leaving the breathless fear. It happens often. Too often, that Clarke has taken to leaving a candle flickering in the corner of their bedroom, fire hazard be damned. In the mornings she will have forgotten about how she waited, patient, excited, for a creaking door. Or how she stared out of their bedroom window expecting for someone to stare back.

Clarke gives her space, on days when all Lexa does is hear noises that aren’t there. Clarke doesn’t bring anything up, doesn’t push her. But Lexa thinks it’s beginning to feel like she’s keeping a secret.

—-

“Let’s go out for dinner tonight?”

Clarke hums in agreement, tongue peeking out from between her teeth as she attempts to spread the jam evenly onto her toast. And Lexa feels terrible for being distant and confused, for messing up their routine and muddling the way they intertwine. When Clarke successfully creates her perfect sandwich, she beams, twinkly and bright, and Lexa falls a little harder, watching her pack their lunch so tenderly. The city is vibrant, a blur of colours in the streets below as cars whizz by. Their apartment is cozy and sweet. She is happy. But why is something wrong.

“You know,” Clarke says, her voice much nearer than expected. Fingers brush against the back of her neck, jolting her, and she feels Clarke gently playing with the strands of baby hair, an apology. “We could go to the park after, the one you love so much.”

“Not as much as I love you.”

The beauty of Clarke’s chuckle gets covered, muffled, when Lexa sees a face, an extra face, in the reflection of their kitchen window. She can feel the throaty giggle from where she’s seated, shoulder pressed against the side of Clarke’s waist. But her ears seem to have started ringing, her eyes locked onto a moving figure in the reflection.

“Flatterer.”

She blinks. And the gaunt, pale face in the window is gone.

Her heart clenches. She misses it.

Why does she miss it.

—-

Dinner is an overwhelming success.

Clarke has a delicate bun, curled and pretty, and the way the light in the restaurant shimmers across the angles of her face makes Lexa feel as if she’s with an angel.

They chat and talk and Lexa blatantly ignores the figure crouched at the corner of her eye. It’s grey and dripping and all Lexa wants to do is to focus on her girlfriend for the entirety of their date.

Clarke fights to pay for the bill, and they have a playful tussle over who gets to take out their wallets. It’s light, airy, happy.

The waiter compliments their relationship.

“Relationship goals, the both of you,” he exclaims. Lexa agrees.

But. The park. It’s secluded and empty and dark. They walk between the trees, silent, soothing. Except for the ringing in Lexa’s ears.

There’s something she needs to remember. Some rule. A rule? Maybe? There isn’t any wind but the trees seem to be swaying, beckoning, leaves rustling. It’s too loud.

“Do not talk to the trees,” she blurts. They know. They listen. She knows that. How does she know that.

Clarke tilts her head, confused. Neither of them were talking. By the time Lexa’s blush dissipates, she’s already forgotten why they can’t speak to trees. Clarke doesn’t bring it up, she never does. She instead links their arms together to rest her head on Lexa’s shoulder. It’s peaceful.

But Lexa can’t help but feel something staring.

She tries to peek, to the corner, where the lights are hazy and the park seems to blend into the night, but there’s nothing there. Curious. Lexa swore there was something in the trees. Somethings. Up in the branches and watching them. With a final glance at the darkness, she tugs Clarke in closer, soothed by her warmth. She tries to ignore the painful itch between her ribs at the sight of the darkness in the trees.

It’s probably just stress.

—-

Lexa thinks she is beginning to remember more. She stops actively avoiding the darkness in their storage room, or blinking rapidly at the windows, or downing energy drinks instead of sleeping.

And once she’s accepted the fact that maybe she isn’t going insane, the clench in her heart eases. But instead the itch spreads. Although, she probably should not call it an itch, not when it’s something she can’t satiate. It’s gnawing, fluctuating, in her chest, as though it’s trying to pull her in a certain direction. Lexa doesn’t know what to do with the itch, neither does she know what to do with the pair of eyes that follows her everywhere.

She writes her experiences down in a little moleskin journal she’d found in the bottom drawer of her office desk, even attempting to sketch out the things she sees in her dreams. Maybe if she’s brave enough, Lexa thinks she will give the journal to Clarke as a form of explanation. Her written words are easier to digest than if she had to run it through her voice.

—-

Horror is just a genre in movies. Horror isn’t her childhood.

The new world has an abundance of horror movies, ranging from documentary style films with enormous budgets, to amateur, shaky-cameras filming an empty street at night. What they all have in common is the jumpscare tactics. The people in the city do not believe in ghosts. It’s not tactile, not scientific, and is only used as a means for money.

She and Clarke have taken to weekly movie nights. It happens every Friday evening. After a week’s worth of work and grating obligations, they settle together in the lumpy couch that Clarke adores and have a movie date, pressed against the other, soft and warm and comfortable.

Lately, all they’ve been watching are horror movies. She wants to scoff at the shrill screams of the protagonists when they encounter any form of supernatural because of their dumb actions.

“Stupid,” Clarke will say, tucked into her side, fidgety in anticipation, “just leave.” Lexa agrees.

Oftentimes Lexa wants to grab the characters by their shoulders and tell them to stop. If you don’t bother them they won’t bother you. And the protagonists are often grating and rude and disrespectful - Lexa doesn’t blame the spirits for coming after them.

“Just leave,” Clarke repeats. “Leave and never look back.”

But that’s what Lexa did. When she was young. And now she is paying for it. She squints into the bleak darkness of their kitchen from her position on the couch. It’s lit only by the brightness of the television, and she sees someone. Not a someone. Something. Floating above their counter and spinning and spinning and spinning.

The back of her neck prickles. For some strange reason she awaits cold hands. Expects wet cold fingers to press into her back and push her. She doesn’t get that. She gets Clarke’s warm breath puffing against her skin as another ghost pops up on screen. She swallows the odd disappointment to bask in the affection, closes her eyes and leans into Clarke, comforted and loved.

The movie ends and Clarke floods the apartment with light. Even their balcony is lit, twinkling and homely from the fairy lights. The lights are harsh and Lexa has to blink slowly to stop her eyes from hurting. But the light is also soothing. The spinning silhouette is gone. In place is Clarke twirling and dancing in the kitchen as she whips up supper.

Lexa chuckles and joins right in.

—-

She remembers so much more now. She remembers exactly how the houses would wobble and lean when the storms hit. She remembers that there were exactly five ways to get to her home from the sea shore, and seven ways from the edge of the forest. But that’s just bits and pieces of something so large. She can’t remember where she lived other than how to get to her home from that forest in the middle of nowhere.

Lexa lived beyond the sea and beyond the forest. It floats in her memories, foggy and unclear, hazy from the years gone by. She misses it sometimes, when there’s a small moment of silence for her to actually remember. Now she lives in an apartment with her girlfriend. An apartment that looks over the city’s skyline, that has windows, that lets in the morning sun in the perfect angle, that has wooden floors perfect for Clarke to dance on in her socks. She loves it all. But Lexa misses the eternal fog and the black waters and how there’s always something in the corner.

There were planks, she thinks. If you are brave enough to wade through the choking smog and black water. Thin strips of wood barely able to hold the weight of a human. They stretch out far and away from humanity. Nobody’s actually ever found their little community. No one will. Not if you weren’t born there in the first place. If you walk long enough in the forest, you’ll find yourself standing on the black sea. That’s where she lived. In a tiny village built with stilts and planks and so much love.

Lexa remembers running and giggling above the water, looking back at the disembodied head. Costia. Sweet and kind and so silent. She remembers the matted hair and blood. She also remembers her smile.

But Lexa doesn’t remember how to get there from the city. The forest could be anywhere. Even the black waters. That could just be something she’s conjured in her mind.

Even so, Lexa thinks to bring Clarke there one day, if she ever manages to broach the subject. She’s certain that Clarke will think her insane.

Sometimes, in between writing proposals and work, she tries to imagine how they’ll get there. Navigate the forest, perhaps. It’s safer, maybe. With enough water and food in case the forest decides to be mischievous and makes them walk for days. She thinks Clarke won’t believe her if she ever told her about her childhood. But she wants to bring Clarke anyway. She misses her family, misses Anya’s rickety little home on stilts filled with knives and daggers and bones, misses the ever present fog and all the dark figures standing just beyond her periphery.

—-

She slips her journal into Clarke’s bag one day. Her free day, when Clarke leaves to her studio and she spends the day reading. She likes those days - they’re peaceful and quiet and neither of them have to worry about work.

Lexa spends the entire day reading the same paragraph. Her mind races and back-pedals. It conjures up a galore of possible outcomes, each of them getting from bad to worse. In the end she gives up trying to predict the future and tries to hold on to happier memories.

The ache and itch gives her a respite, but the ever elusive figure remains firmly in the corner of her eye.

Clarke’s childhood is pretty, and clinical. Like everything in this new world she lives in. Two parents, Abby and Jake, a suburban house with bicycle rides and top grades and internships. Nobody believes in anything in this new world. She thinks Clarke may believe her though. Hopefully.

She loves Clarke.

But even their first meeting felt scripted - Clarke tripping and crashing into her at a sidewalk. Three streets past her old apartment. She remembers everything about that day.

“You’re the one who couldn’t even look up from her phone to walk,” she had said, sopping wet from the drink Clarke had spilled all over her. And Clarke? Clarke was laughing.

“And you’re the one who- oh my god you look like a raccoon.” The face Clarke had was torn between beyond amused and apologetic. And it was that moment that Lexa knew her life would change

Sometimes she wonders how she would have phrased it if she could go back in time to change it. She was shy and awkward and everything came out harsh. Maybe she would have apologised and stuttered. But maybe Clarke wouldn’t have offered her a coffee as an apology. And maybe they would have gone their separate ways, never to meet again. She likes to think that their souls are too connected to let that happen.

But everything else about Clarke isn’t scripted. Not the way she rasps and talks and laughs. Not the way her nose scrunches up when she gets annoyed. And definitely not the selflessness ingrained in her soul. She hopes Clarke won’t leave.

Clarke returns that afternoon, paint sticking to her fingers and staining her shirt, holding a bag of take-out. She kisses soft and gentle and Lexa expected everything but that.

They talk well into the morning. Clarke’s face is heartbreaking when Lexa talks about her nightmares and the missing blocks in her childhood. There’s a determination in the furrow of her eyebrows and the way she holds Lexa that night.

—-

Lexa knows her birthday is coming up, and she knows Clarke is planning a surprise. There’s a palpable tension in the air, with her dreams and stress getting to her, and Clarke running around getting things in order while trying to hide that she’s doing just that.

Clarke’s side of the bed will be long cold by the time Lexa wakes - and it’s unnerving because she often wakes up before the sun has a chance to rise. There’ll be a muffin on the table, along with some tea, and a little handwritten card with a reason.

The reasons get more incredulous as the week goes by.

–

“Babe, there’s a patient who is in urgent care, his hand is stuck in a teapot. Will be back early tonight. Love you.” Beside the message there was an adorably drawn flower with the words “Have a good day” written along its stem.

“Raven managed to set fire to her hair. Gotta save her, love ya <3” With a background drawing of a cartoon fire enveloping cartoon Raven, all drawn with highlighters.

“Our neighbour found a pot of gold, Im going to steal some. See you later! I love you.” And a leprechaun, a blonde leprechaun that looks very similar to Clarke’s cartoon persona, grins back at her from her spot on the post-it.

She folds all of them neatly and adds them to her growing collection - filled with other doodles from Clarke, on napkins and scrap paper and newspaper clippings.

–

Lexa wakes up on the day of her birthday disoriented. She wakes with a start, heart palpitating, into darkness. A quick check of her phone certifies that she has officially turned twenty-three. Clarke shuffles, disturbed by the movement, and tries to pull Lexa in closer.

“Babe?” Her voice is thick and drowsy. “What time is it?”

She tries to reply, but there’s a lodge in her throat and she’s still trying to grasp onto the tail of her dream. Instead she passes her phone to Clarke, who barely opens her eyes to squint at the screen before slamming them shut and burying her face into her pillow with a groan, the phone forgotten.

“Happy birthday baby,” she greets, muffled, “now let’s sleep.”

Lexa turns, presses a kiss on the side of Clarke’s head, breathes in the soothing scent of her soap, and stares straight at the hazy figure squatting beside their bed.

It stares back, what seems to be its eyes glowing at her.

She blinks.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

And it’s still there. Silent and motionless and just, there.

The gnawing between her ribs splutters and stops. The more she stares at it the quieter her head feels. But it’s disappearing, slowly, edges fraying and willowy, just like her dream. At some point she falls back to sleep, and the next time she wakes up Clarke starts off the birthday schedule with birthday sex, and everything is forgotten.

Almost.

There’s always something watching them. And for some reason she’s more comforted by that than afraid.

—-

“Do you.” Clarke swallows. They’re both nervous, and emotional. And the guilt Lexa feels triples. “Do you want to try getting home?”

The emotions playing on her face must be evident, because Clarke draws in closer, soft and careful, as though she is dealing with an injured animal - and flashes of two-headed baby deers appear in her mind before fleeing. The blue of Clarke’s eyes floats back into focus.

“I’ve heard stories, from when I was young, about what’s beyond the city,” Clarke says. She takes a slow breath, an uncertain smile on her face. “If nothing else, it’ll be a fun camping trip. Just you and me, and the romance of the great wide unknown. How about it? Let’s try to find your home.”

The prickle in her eyes begin to morph into a sting. But for that moment the itch in her chest ceases. She tries to stop her voice from wavering, tries to clear the lump in her throat.

“You are my home, Clarke.” It’s true. Clarke, even with her splotchy red cheeks and messy, tangled hair, is her home. She never needs anything more than Clarke.

But Clarke is offering her more. To find her childhood, find answers. To find Anya and Lincoln and Gustus.

—-

Her birthday is quiet and peaceful, just the both of them, in their little apartment filled with light and love. The entire day is emotionally charged, and they spend majority of their time close to the other.

She gets a painting for her birthday, it’s murky and grey and the majority of the piece seems to have been covered by a fog. But it’s everything to her. There’s an accuracy in the way the painting seem to move, courtesy of Clarke’s talent. She cries a lot and kisses Clarke with tears streaming, salty and sticky and snot-filled.

The painting gets hung up above their headboard. And for the first time in a long while, Lexa doesn’t get her dreams. The looming presence seems to have pulled back, and all Lexa can see and feel is Clarke. She’s going home, with her safe haven.

#ahahahaha i wrote it and idk what it is how funnnnnnnnnn #maybe itll make more sense if i actually thought it through but who cares im tired and hungry #dream au #clexa aus #my stuff #my writings #moodboard #long post #fanfic #idk when I'm gonna update this I don't even know how I managed to write this sorry lel

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alovelyspark-blog · 8 years ago

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MARCELO JIMENEZ’S TAPES

IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER --- (found in the assignment & the consequence)

ENTRY #16

After months of secrets, subterfuge, and indoctrination, they brought me into their fold. This place is... elaborate to say the least. Despite the modernistic visage, the research they have been doing here seems to date back to over a century ago. This place has history and from what I can grasp, this facility is only one branch of many. Institutions, powerful families; their reach seems grand, and therefore the possibilities for me seem equally as rich. Clearly my own unique methods at Beacon have piqued their interest, and I am most grateful for the opportunity.

Most of what the researchers have been working on, however, seems archaic by today’s stands.

They told me budget is of no concern; results are the only thing that matter. Juggling duties here and at the hospital seems manageable, but Ruben... Comparatively insignificant, but even at his young age his studies are remarkable. Perhaps one day he will even assist me with my work here.

ENTRY #31

After surviving the fire incident and subsequent abuse from his parents, it’s a miracle Ruben can function at all.

His work comes from a place that isn’t motivated by fear or money or social standing... his motives are more... pure. I would say that he is obsessed with the chance to re-live and re-mold reality so he can be with her again.

His scarring is heavy, both physically and emotionally, but he longs for his lost sister.

His love for her borders almost on an incestuous level, but as long as it provides motivation, so be it.

ENTRY #120

His demeanor has turned far too aggressive and his techniques even more perverse. Da Vinci would dissect corpses to further his anatomical studies, but what Ruben has done goes beyond... Demanding his subjects be “aware” as he dissects them to truly see how the mind reacts. He’s more of a butcher than an artist.

But we must remain scientists above all. I had taught him from a young age that the end shall justify the mean, but I could not have predicted things to be this extreme.

Mobius has learned of his involvement, due to my carelessness. I’ve asked they bring him on board to assist in development. Perhaps offering him better facilities and support will refocus him and stave off his gruesome proclivities.

ENTRY #133

Ruben’s experimentation has demanded more and more subjects and, sad to say, they’re suffering as much as - if not more than - his previous patients. Fortunately, Beacon and this city offer no shortage of expendable subjects. I should feel guiltier than I do, but my Hippocratic Oath was abandoned long ago. The scientific and medical potential of the work is too great to be denied.

Mobius has also offered me a respectable amount of... compensation. Promoting me to director at Beacon is not something to be taken lightly. First, however, they want me to have a reputation, publishing studies in various journals. Repurposing some of Ruben’s research towards patient evaluation seems viable. I doubt he will even notice.

ENTRY #154

Despite our powerful benefactors, with this much collateral damage, it’s only a matter of time before people start to take notice.

KCPD has been dropping by. A female officer, I don’t remember her name... Regardless, the police are not something I should be involved with. Mobius says they will take cake of it and make an effort to ensure KCPD leave us alone.

Then there is the report from the Krimson Post, Ivan... something-or-other... He has become a personal annoyance. He barely qualifies as a tabloid journalist, writing cover stories about tales of church sacrifices and other nonsense, but now he’s being persistent about the missing patients claim. I’ll be damned if he is the man who bring Beacon down...

It seems that Ruben could be useful for other forms of problem solving. Perhaps I can interest this reporter in an “exclusive interview.”

ENTRY #188

They grow impatient with our progress and demand briefings on the development process. At first stressing the results, but now they work off of a timeline based on their needs - typical bureaucrats.

I’ve been pushing Ruben, but he’s retreated further, doing his research at home and refusing to come to the lab unless it’s directly working on our STEM prototype. I am feeling uneasy and no doubt Mobius is looking on us with question.

ENTRY #201

Ruben has no idea what he’s done. It’s not surprising that he doesn’t care, either. He was never motivated by fear of Mobius...

The STEM prototype works, but only when connected to Ruben. I’ve checked the details and he customized the whole system to only operate with his own brain-wave pattern. I left him alone with the device for far too long, trusted him too much and despite all my knowledge in the field it’s past the point of fixing. I can’t just flip a switch.

And that’s not the worst of it. They know, as well. I’m not going to take the blame for this. I will drag him here and make him fix it. I can’t imagine what they will do to him if he doesn’t...

ENTRY #209

I saw what they have done to him, and I am appalled. To think the young boy I mentored is now this... a mass of grey matter in a glorified test tube. Could they have been planning this all along?

And what have I become in all of this?

They’ve managed to keep his mind alive by simulating an artificial body. His consciousness is being confined to a mental straight jacket, a gear in their infernal machine. They have even stricken his name and humanity, referring to him by an anagram, “RUVIK.” A crude joke, as if spitting on his grave.

I almost felt the urge to smash the case and end it right there... but my anger was quickly replaced by scientific curiosity. Ruben’s legacy will live on; I will spearhead the next step. I will create something of my own out of this tragedy.

ENTRY #215

They’ve refocused the efforts of the other programs to support our research. STEM priority has seemingly overridden other departments’ individual research. Chemical and botanical studies are focused now on tempering, priming subjects for their inevitable connection.

Now that the prototype is up and running, experiments continue. Upon their return from STEM integration, patients are interviewed extensively. While their particular pathologies inform their experiences, there are commonalities. They all experience the same setting, the same occurrences. The “world” they inhabit becomes larger with every new visitor. This suggests that shard of each user’s consciousness are left behind inside the STEM, creating a community. It’s as if, internally, a new world is being built.

ENTRY #229

Patients emerging from the STEM are becoming more erratic. Their pathologies seem to be amplified by the experience now. Even worse, patients now seem to experience each other’s psychological trauma. It’s as if the user’s deepest fears linger within the encephalon of the system, even after the session is over.

The most concerning thing are their most recent statements. Every single patient claims to see a hooded figure slowly approaching them. Could it be him? His consciousness existing as a ghost in the system?

My curiosity has never been piqued like this. I want to know. I want to see what they see. But it’s too risky... for now.

ENTRY #231

I’m afraid that the fragile mental states of the subjects are limiting our studies. Mobius wants us to move past Beacon patients and on to more “stable” people. They want to get STEM closer to its intended use.

Would they see the world in the same way? Would a “sane” mind weather the psychically draining experience?

I had that dream again. I entered the STEM myself...

ENTRY #232

I revisited the Victoriano Estate yesterday; it’s a vestige, a mere husk of what was bound to be such a home of promise. Mobius reaped nearly everything of value when we took on the research ourselves, but Ruben’s notes indicate he was involved in something else.

There were plans for another STEM prototype... data about using receptors to transmit the brain function wirelessly to unaware users. It’s borderline parapsychology, but these schematics, and the scientific backup provided, seem sound...

What was he planning to do with such a thing?

There’s only one way to find out for certain, but I must continue these experiments in private, away from their prying eyes. I will not let them know... lest they take this from me as well.

ENTRY #239

Something else is even more harrowing... our subjects are... dying. They come out from STEM abruptly passing with looks of horror in their eyes. The one that do survive are catatonic; babbling incoherent masses that we can’t properly interview.

We’ve done nothing to the process to cause this change. It must be the ever-growing collective consciousness of the STEM system. These patients seem unable to take the strain of exposure. We need more “sane” subjects, perhaps to cleanse the system. At its current state, the system is unsustainable, something Mobius will not approve of. This time, only I am to blame for this.

Our new prototype in Beacon is almost ready. When it is, I will start its conversion to the wireless system. Even if the original STEM experiments go awry. I will show my worth to Mobius with its next generation.

ENTRY #246

Today was something truly surprising. He was one of the last groups of test subjects... Just another patient I expected to babble and maybe even die. Patient 105: Leslie Withers.

Ruben had singled him out as a useless subject... but he must have known. He knew I would read his notes. What else was Ruben lying to me about?

But this Leslie... he emerged cognant, calm, and able to report fully what he’d experienced inside. His unique pathology allowed him to successfully navigate his STEM experience with little repercussion.

They know nothing of his existence, but no doubt he is the key. If we all share the consciousness, then with him I too should be able to experience the STEM, potentially even suppress the more unsavory aspects of it.

With him I can be the master of the very technology I helped create. Mobius will see my worth and let me rise even higher in their ranks.

ENTRY #264

They’re coming for me. I don’t know how, but they know everything. They even know about Leslie. There’s no use hiding this anymore.

I’ll enter the system and my return will be proof that all of this was worth it. I can of course convince them that it wasn’t for me, it was for their goals!

There are just the final tweaks left. Once I finish, I will put Leslie in the STEM with myself and activate it. The wireless signal should ring out in the near distance. I can’t speak for those unfortunate to be around, but like I always said, the ends will justify the means.

Finally Mobius will see that I am one of their chosen ones. Ruben is but a ghost. I am their savior. Their plan is nothing without me.

#the evil within #CANON.#SAVE.

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ecotone99 · 6 years ago

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[SF] Matilda and the Golden Fleece

Matilda and Mama Bear exited the mind of a woman broken by her own lack of maternal instincts. They fell downward as the slipped passed the door, and landed in heap: facedown upon a wooden floor. They had fell into the consciousness of Desdemona and became entrapped in her grief: for she had lost her husband known as the famed Doctor Lyon. Matilda burst down door as she used limp legs as a battering ram, and the pair found the Goddess weeping in empty room once more. Matilda asked the child to leave them be, as she informed her sister that she had ordered the capture and concealment of the Lyon before giving her chance to come to her aid. Matilda wept and agreed that she didn’t deserve to be called her sister: for she had abandoned the young woman with Hera to destroy.

Matilda informed her sister that she had cursed the Lyon until infinity: to be slain if their niece Mama Bear ever fell at the hand of Athena. The Goddess abruptly stopped her tears unexpectedly and began to laugh in a scary way Matilda had never heard. She began to crawl away from her sister, as she realized she were the most evil incarnate of the memory Matilda had created. She informed the imposter that she knew that she were wicked, as she had lied and attempted to trick Matilda into believing she would exist without her beloved Lyon. This lie had once belonged to Matilda, as she had once declared that she couldn’t exist without the Viking and or Kness. She knew she were wicked only for need to want these men, and that her evil was the female independence that “caused” sexual assault. Matilda chose to love men and their bodies out of conscience, as she feared caring for anyone other than herself would cause her to commit suicide.

She did not blame her love for absurdity on anyone but herself, and so Matilda had finally learned humility. Matilda continued to inform her towering adversary: that she had found and killed the original Lyon hidden in her sisters memories. The woman began to stomp and scream as she mourned what she now felt to be true: Matilda had used hologram to trick the woman of his presence. Matilda now sat up and looked in the direction of the woman as she held herself to a wall crying to herself. Matilda had only hoped she’d never have to activate such curse, but the woman and her prejudice and selfish ignorance had only worsened her nieces sadness. Matilda knew this sadness too well, as her sisters used to naked meanhearted jokes in regard to her different melanin compositions. Even when Matilda told her sister that such jokes hurt beyond that of Athena’s fist: the woman proved her loyalty was only spent towards spreading apathy. The woman would continue to call her sister a cartoon character or a burden until Matilda finally gained the courage to finally commit suicide.

Matilda needn’t ruin the imagination of her readers with the details of that day, and so she carried on with her battlefield speech. She informed her sister that she had wrote manuscript to unburden her heart, and to continue to fight battles: even though nobody had asked. Matilda knew her sister were wicked in her inability to care about anything but herself, and so Matilda had been forced to prove that her actions held fatal consequences. She yelled at her sister as she wept: Your sister beat me endlessly and the scariest part was seeing your face as I lost consciousness, and accepting I was probably going to never wake up. You make mean jokes and act as though I’m not allowed to defend myself: the way Athena would sucker punch her...without chance. Matilda informed her that she were no longer her sister: as she refused to admit she had finally successfully committed suicide.

Matilda explained how she had hid the loved ones of her enemies on another plane, and only her presence would gather the spirits lost. The Goddess would be jealous of anything that held pulse, and so she began to slice at the throat of her sister as she hysterically yelled for her to shut up. Matilda now had a ribbon to guard her open lacerations, and so the beastly woman became more enraged. Matilda took weapon of silver and gold to weave her epic tale, as she no longer had a recognizable voice. She set forth in the still of the night: working alongside the woman she had just widowed. Matilda needn’t slay the monster: for she was not hers to destroy.

Matilda would sit and ease her dreams as she acclimated to the false world that held them prison. She bowed at her feet as she stirred her jealousy: for her sister required “extra” attention as a cripple. Matilda would combat her need to spread other-ism by simply being herself,and watched as the woman grew vitriol with her need to make others agree that Matilda were not a person: arguing that she didn’t deserve love or anything to call her own. Their Papa had once informed Matilda: watch your sister. An odd request since Matilda were often teased for being a sissy and petite. She now understood it had only been because they had been trapped in their memories, as the famed Doctor Lyons seemed to have forgotten her husband. Matilda had sought her out specifically: for her ability to process advanced mathematics, and ended up inception-ed, as her sister let a Boar loose in her boredom. Matilda had instructed her niece to shoot a Lyon, but didn’t specify which one...since the two were not married in the non-zero. The poor girl had covered her own eyes with the static, as she now apologized endlessly for having followed command of her Captain. Matilda would take full accountability for the slaughter: for she had set out with the intention to resume her bloodthirsty ways, reminded by the anger of inaction: forced to destroy.

Matilda knew her sister wouldn’t ever care if she claimed to have been a murder, as it would mean: calling her youngest sibling...a person. She sat and waited with her sister, as their cat Chandler used her Ancient magic; to resurrect the Lyon that had been prematurely forced to its death: his only sin...being complicit. Matilda finally grew tired of her own self-wallowing and began to introduce herself to her long-lost sister: realizing the woman had cursed her single the more she spoke. Desdemona would boast of her invisible husband and become annoyed that Matilda needn’t to brag endlessly aboot her Kness. She fell jealous that the woman were strong in spirit, and content in only knowing of her Kness: happy that she had found him at all. Matilda had once wished that she were sixty-two: if only to prove that her love would always find her: no matter the age, and so cursed herself. Matilda began staring at doors: waiting for him to knock and declare his love once more. It were evident that if he ever appeared: it’d mean he had found out her secret and felt some sort of guilt: that she had attempted suicide.

Matilda could never find the words in the moment, and so she used her dreams to make enough moments. She had written a story after nightmares unending, and watching in horror as they had come to be true: the woman forever haunted by the things she allowed to transpire. Matilda told her sister of her blind love for Kness with a pure and honest heart, but knew her dreams were always attempting to tell her something. She informed her sister she had dreamt of Marrying the Indigenous Warrior, and they blushed by how tall he appeared to both of them. Matilda knew she could never marry him: for she had nightmares of their toxic love. She would be walking along marble in stride to her love, as their togas whipped dangerously behind them and they’d always begin to argue over things unknown. The man had finally broke her heart, as he humiliated his wife publicly: asking her not to touch him...finally breaking his facade, as he turned his back to her and called her a freak. To this memory she remembered asking for council upon Mount Olympus: begging to start up machine...with the hopes that it would erase her memories or better. Matilda had started her new life by ending one... thousands of years ago: to suicide.

Such awful dreams haunted Matilda: whenever she lay next to her love, and so she had forced herself to let him go. Her inability to tell him of her physical pain shadowed... by her need to prove she had been right. Matilda cared not... that her sister ridiculed her for being single: only that she refused to call her a person worthy of love. She watched as her sister wasted her day away and laughed about her ability to avoid accountability. Their Papa had called her the Queen of doing nothing for good reason. Matilda had been dubbed the Queen of nothing: for she held her nose high and wore rags fit for boys. Pious with toxic masculinity and lacking accountability. Athena had been the Queen of War: for her love of fighting outweighed accountability. Matilda now accepted her fate: watching as the pieces fell together in a poem. Their evil were unchecked: for this...Matilda had cursed the steel chariots they drove, as they honked endlessly to announce the arrival of wicked words and intentions. Such silly tactics were used as replacement for violence, as the men and women in her life fell ill in depression: their honking a nuisance that misconstrued their self-image over time. Matilda would find remedy to this. Eventually. In the meantime...she worked only on herself, as she had finally decided to live: no longer looking to hurt those she loved by committing suicide.

submitted by /u/Artemis-VI_VI_VI [link] [comments] via Blogger http://bit.ly/2WBGf81

#Blogger #Story

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endorsereviews · 8 years ago

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3-Month Access To The Warrior Trading Real Time Simulator (Real World Value:$249.00) We’ve developed a cutting-edge simulator to make understanding the concepts of trading simple. Inside the simulator, you’ll get to practice chart analysis and trade just as if you were in a real brokerage platform.

We’ll even give you $100,000 in virtual currency to start. That is the best way to get the real world experience and lessons of trading without blowing up your account.

Real-Time Level 2 – We have worked directly with NYSE and NASDAQ to give students direct access Level 2 Quotes and immediate order execution.

Replicate Reality – Our simulator performs EXACTLY like a real brokerage account except that all trades are simulated. That means you can train in real-time conditions.

Like many of our students, you’ll undoubtedly find that our Swing Trading course gives you the confidence and knowledge you need to minimize losses by cutting them quickly and maximize gains by letting profitable stocks run longer!

By the way, I’ve barely scratched the surface here. You’re also getting a treasure trove of other tools and courses, including…

Warriortrading.com – Day Trading Course Warrior Pro posted first on premiumwarezstore.blogspot.com

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sublimedeal · 8 years ago