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iamcinema · 4 years

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IAC Reviews #18: The Basement (1989)

Well, here we are again.

I mentioned this with a previous review on Captives, but this year, in spite of all the awfulness that has gone on, it’s been surprisingly kind to me as far as getting lucky with uncovering stuff that has slid through the cracks. With Captives, I’ve waiting roughly ten or so years to finally get the chance to see it in all it’s mediocre, obscure glory. I wasn’t too sure when I’d ever get the chance to see Tim O’Rawe’s super 8 anthology, The Basement either given it’s own obscure and odd history. That day is finally here, and needless to say I couldn’t be more excited. ________________________________________

The Basement is a 1989 super 8 horror anthology directed by Timothy O’Rawe, whose only other major, notable credit is Ghoul School the following year. Our story centers on that of four strangers who find themselves a mysterious basement where they’re met by an entity only known as The Sentinel who shows them their inevitable fates and what awaits them in the great beyond.

The film’s history is a bit spotty from what I could find, but the short version is that it was in production for just a bit over three weeks before O’Rawe abandoned it, leading to him eventually work on Ghoul School. It presumably sat in storage forgotten for roughly 20 years until Camp Motion Pictures edited it in 2010 and distributed it in 2011 as The Basement: Super 80s Retro Collection; which also included Cannibal Campout, Captives, Video Violence, and Video Violence 2. Now, as to how it was rediscovered, I’m not sure. I don’t know if it’s a case like Metal Noir where it was found on accident or O’Rawe found it in his collection again before handing it off to CMP. Now, with that said, I feel like we have a bit of a situation on our hands because I don’t know how fair this review might turn out given what we know for the time being.

The Basement in One Gif:

Oh, oh you guys. I think I found the perfect film and it might outshine Las Vegas Bloodbath here with just the finest, most outstanding acting and line delivery I’ve ever seen. I knew from the first three minutes that I was in for something special and seeing it all over again is just. Wow. ________________________________________

So, before I dive in I think I should say that I’m not sure how fair this is going to be given that the film was abandoned and was more than likely unfinished. I can’t make heads or tails of it all with the plot holes going on or the clumsy acting and dialogue, like if it’s a timing and budget problem or what. It’s truly fucking bizarre. It also doesn’t help that without a vague plot summary online, you probably won’t have much of an idea as to what’s going on, and this is going to cause a ton of problems from the jump.

With the opening, we’re already off to a bad start. We see our main four wandering around a dingy basement, wondering how they’re going to get out. There’s no rhyme or reason for it. They’re just sort of there and we aren’t told how they ended up there. Now, I don’t know if this is a problem with the writing and it was never considered or it was probably with the timing and the scene was never shot before O’Rawe abandoned the film. It would have been nice to have say, a Cube or Saw scenario where they all just woke up there.

From what I found, it says they were summoned there, presumably by The Sentinel or the evil energy from the house that they supposedly released, but that still raises the question of why they didn’t go back the way they came. If the house trapped them inside, then it surely wasn’t conveyed or alluded to. It’s not like an underground mine or cave where it’s easy to get lost. There’s also the question of why the Sentinel is choosing to specifically punish them, given that he shows them visions of their futures that will ultimately condemn them with no chance of redemption. So, we’re going into predestination territory?

Next to this, the more obvious problem is the acting and line delivery. It’s pretty damn bad, full of overreacting and what I can only guess is just bad dubbing. Once again, I can’t tell if the dubbing came about at the hands of CMP or it was already like that when O’Rawe was working on it. It’s likely going to be the best-worst thing about this, so I hope you’re in the mood for bad cheese. ________________________________________

Our first story, The Swimming Pool, centers on Victoria who, for some reason, really has it out for her husband and we’re never told why. She just hates him because “plot device” I guess. The bad line delivery and dubbing shines here and it’s boarding on being horrible and comedic, which isn’t the best way to kick us off into things.

We find that after her husband goes for a swim that there’s some sort of water entity in the pool and she sort of just has a odd reaction to it all, where one moment she’s reacting to it and the next she’s sitting by the water. I can’t tell if this is supposed to take place the same day, which it looks like, or they didn’t to a good job to show some sort of transition to another point in time. Also, she has names of her enemies and other doodles scribbled in a book like an eighth grader for some reason. It’s so corny and cheesy.

There’s no sort of lore or explanation for where the pool demon thing came from, let alone why Victoria feels compelled to do this. The ending also makes no sense either when we see what becomes of her either. It’s should be noted that this chapter is just around the ten minute mark, making it the shortest of the lot. Now, I can’t tell if it’s like this intentionally or there were more shots planned, but didn’t get filmed due to the film being abandoned. I’m not too sure, but it’s probably the worst of the four.

We get our next chapter in the form of Trick-or-Treat, a sort of Christmas Carol style story centering on a widowed high school teacher who is visited by various monsters who demand he changes his ways for hating kids and disrespecting the spirit of Halloween. We get an interesting fantasy sequence where he unleashes his pent up anger our on his students before veering off a bit towards this story’s sort of second act where the spirit of his wife visits him, warning him to change his ways before he faces a similar fate she has. You’d think that would lead to a sort of revelation for him to do something, but it doesn’t. Like, man, you can’t even just fake it for a day or anything? It’s not like they implied they were going to keep tabs on you every Halloween or anything, so why make a big deal about it?

If I had to find some sort of positive about this one, it’s that it probably has the most decent special effects and makeup work of the four. But, of course I’m not sure how much of a positive that is and what it says about what we can expect from the other two stories. It may or may not also be the most rounded of them too, again, not sure if that’s a major positive given when we have to work with and it works fairly decently as just a stand alone short film on its own.

The third chapter brings us to Zombie Movie, centering on a film crew working on a low budget zombie flick with their asshole director, Adelman, and things slowly go to shit when their picture becomes a reality. Hmm, low budget 80s zombie flick...bad director...I think I’ve heard of this before! It’s also neat to see a small easter egg here in the form of the production assistant, played by JR Bookwalter, wearing a Dead Next Door shirt, as O’Rawe got a special thanks notice in the credits of that film as well. The dubbing here is particularly awful, but at least he wasn’t wrong when he said the zombies look like assholes!

As for why any of this is happening, we don’t get an answer. Why? Who cares! Maybe it just hearkens back to the last story where it’s happening due to the director disrespecting the art of zombie films. Your guess is as good as mine. It’s a shame too that the acting here absolutely sucks for the most part because this could have been the best one of the bunch...maybe. There’s a bit of an issue towards the end where the director immediately jumps to there being zombies on the loose and not a bunch of jackass trespassers causing trouble, but maybe there’s a deleted or unrecorded scene where the actresses tell him what the PA was freaking out over and he got paranoid? I’m not too sure. Either way, it feels like a sloppy way to bring things to a close.

The final chapter brings us to Home Sweet Home, the simple story about a guy named Scott who purchases a house in the countryside with a gruesome history and begins to question his sanity in the process when it seems like the rumors about it might be true after all. It’s arguably the most generic of the four and here I would say that’s a compliment to play it as safe as possible.

Almost right away, I noticed something off, and I don’t mean with the dubbing because that’s weird on it’s own. There’s a weird point in the conversation he has with the realtor about the house where she mentions that part of the legend with the house is that the owner committed suicide after going on a killing spree and it ties into why they haven’t found him. I can’t tell if it was a clumsy way to explain things, but wouldn’t it make sense for the police to have found him if that was the case? Again, your guess is as good as mine. With that being said, I hope you enjoy night shots because we’re going to get a ton of them!

Things begin to pick up a bit after Scott arrives to the new place and starts to get settled in with the help of a friend who shows up after talking to the realtor. I’m not sure how he thought he would get lucky that way, but alright. The conversations afterward with his girlfriend are also what you can expect as far as acting goes too, which isn’t anything too special. From here on out, I anticipated a ton of squinting because it’s hard to tell what’s going on at any point if there isn’t even a little bit of candlelight. It’s like watching Nekro, but somehow worse, yet better than Blood Lake, which sucks because if some of these shots weren’t so damn dark, the special effects would look pretty damn cool. It’s also kind of a downer in a way to know what comes next given how this guy wasn’t an asshole who had it coming like the other three did too.

The film ends with the Sentinel showing them what awaits them now that they’ve been judged for their actions, and it goes the way I’m sure you can already picture it going before we close to the credits with some mediocre 80s tunes. Estus Pirkle approved perhaps?

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So, that was The Basement. It was a weird ride from start to finish and I’m still not entirely sure how I feel about it. It’s one giant anomaly and I feel like now I have more questions than answers.

I mentioned it before, but it’s worth saying again that I want to know how much of the problems here are just a result of the project being abandoned, the film naturally being this flimsy, or CMP had something to do with it because I feel like I had this issue too when it came to Captives and I can’t tell if they how much of the film was really saved and how much of it was butchered by Majestic Home Video. It could be a bit of everything here, though I don’t want to believe that CMP would try to sabotage this given how long it had been out of the public eye for.

That being said, there’s so much going on here and trying to wrap my head around it hurts. I can’t tell if the acting is naturally this trashy or it’s only enhanced by the dubbing. It also feels like more stuff was supposed to be going on, but it just didn’t for one reason or another and I’m not sure if that robs something from it or was for the best.

As I mentioned with the whole Swimming Pool chapter, it feels like something else was originally planned to happen at some point and things just fell through. It would have been nice to have a sort of story line like with the Are You Afraid of the Dark episode, “The Tale of the Dark Music” where Victoria makes some sort of deal with the entity in exchange for something in return. It would explain more of her logic and reasoning behind her method of madness instead of it all seeming random.

With Trick-or-Treat, having more padding or explanation to justify his hatred of kids and Halloween would have been great too and not slow down the pace of the story. Hell, give me a brief one-off bit like with Night of the Demons where they’re being a bunch of dicks to the old guy. There, problem solved. It’s a lot easier than a single, brief shot of some kids who poorly try to egg his house. Again, nothing would have been lost here if they went that direction, unless the whole point was to make him the old geezer type who just hates the season and that’s it.

Zombie Movie probably could have had the most potential to be the best of the four if it wasn’t for the painfully bad dubbing and acting. If that was a non-issue, I could buy into the premise more without much of a problem. Plus, it feels like a cameo on part of Bookwalter with how flimsy the execution was, or even Carl Burrows who played one of the B actors and has the most prolific career of the cast; being in other stuff like Ghoul School, Psycho Sisters, Toxic Avenger III, Crybaby Lane, Mysteries at the Museum, The Sadist, and Psycho Street to name a few.

Home Sweet Home still feels like the more normal and grounded one of the bunch and I’m not sure if playing it safe helped in the end either. It probably could have been saved if it was stretched out a bit more and we got to see more into Scott’s psyche and go on the journey with him about whether or not his dreams and hallucinations are real. It also doesn’t help either that some of the night shots make it hard to tell what’s going on because what you can make out with some of the gore scenes are pretty cool and it feels like we got robbed here. I’m still not sure why Scott is being thrown under the bus with Victoria, Charles, or Mr. Adelman considering his only “crime” seems to be not taking a superstitious rumor seriously. Talk about harsh.

Beyond this, there’s not a ton to talk about either. The music is fairly average and not all that interesting, being what one could expect from something on a low budget for the time and when your sound producer and editor is one of your guys providing additional voice work, you can only expect so much and even then it’s probably too much. This is such an oddity and I’m still kind of surprised that it was found again after all these years. It’s funny how things like this just slip through the cracks of time and it’s good to know this more than likely won’t go missing again, though I’m in no rush to take this out of the vault to revisit any time soon.

Rating: 3/10

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9uk · 5 years

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Where Are You?

⌲ summary : Kim Taehyung. That is the name of a nobody in school constantly carrying a camera around with him. Also, the name belonging to the guy who carried your last words

⌲ pairing : thirdeye!taehyung x reader

⌲ word count : 10k

⌲ genre: pinch of fluff, heavy angst

⌲ warnings : themes of depression, suicide, self-harm and paranormal activities. character death. taehyung can see ghosts that is.

⌲ a/n: this is quite different from what i usually write but i just needed to get the plot that has been bothering my head for months out of me. nonetheless, enjoy & feedback is always welcomed.

The way life works is a true wonder.

Expect the unexpected, predict the unpredictable. It's all bound to happen one day, at a certain point of time in our very lives. You just have to catch that split moment, the millisecond on the dot—where a mini twist in your words or actions can bring about a very drastic change. It can be a tiny alteration that causes the downfall or rise of a situation. The choices we make for ourselves or others, is very much alike to a heavy dew sliding off a leaf and carelessly falling into stagnant water. The mini waves of the impact send the lily pads nearby dancing, a floating hibiscus petal to drift further into the unknown and push a sleeping fish a centimetre away from entering the opening of a heron's beak. It's the butterfly effect, minuscule yet major. Be it a coincidence or some cruel twisted joke god decided to play on you—you solemnly swear you heard a voice of another being in this house. A house you were supposedly alone in. It could be the cannibal. There is more than a fair share of emphasis placed on 'supposedly' because at this very moment, you are certain as heck that you are not the only one in here. Here being the old crooked house that sits alone by the edge of the second highest hill in town, standing obstinate to the ground despite the occasional flooding showers and hurricanes your region suffered. The old folks claim that the house belongs to a war veteran whose entire family starved while waiting for their sole bread-winner to come home. The man never made it back to his doorstep where his three children and spouse awaits, hope draining with every growl of their stomachs and in complete oblivion to the impending fall to the grave. Every so often, the family of five could be sighted behind the murky windows. However, there are also mediums who concluded from ridiculous superstitions and calculations of the house's location that a possible dead body could still be inside, and its vengeful spirit is bent on seeking retribution for the plain injustice of their murder. Depressed souls would see it as the way to the end, Blank minds and torn hearts enter the house with nothing but one wish—death. The number of suicides that occurred in the house is a little over a hundred—one hundred and three spirits to be exact, nothing more, nothing less—loitering within its four walls. There were instances of teenagers stepping foot into the forbidden site with hopeful hearts for a thrill and a video camera in hand, seeking for juicy content to gain views and be the first to break the belief — the bunch of kids were reported missing on the news a few hours after. The statistics are somewhat the building blocks to the infamous reputation it holds today. When the police went inside to search for the families' missing loved ones, it did not work out at all. In fact, the number rebelliously increased, the police force losing yet another one of their colleagues.

That's when they decided that everyone is prohibited to enter, unless they carried a death wish. It is almost like the Suicide Forest in Japan, tarnishing those who visit with a conflicted soul. Even the authorities chose to not touch the house, claiming it was still on a long-term lease. And under whose name?

They would never reveal.

The house became something everyone refuses to lay finger on, or even talk about. The ominousness it contained drove humans miles away, like a sleeping dragon not wanting to be bothered the slightest bit. It's almost like a door to a parallel universe or something. You did your homework regarding the possessed piece of property. The internet's local ghostbuster website shares more about the rumours circulating the house.

You can't escape once you make it through the two front doors. This is as clear as day already, the number of missing bodies serving as solid evidence. Questions however, still bugged at your mind.

Why exactly is that? Were all the window sills locked? Or is the door just created to be one-way? Sometimes people are so caught up with their fantasies that they forget to look at things more logically.

A cannibal was living inside. This is just a mere speculation, but it was not impossible. It seemed like the most rational explanation one could provide to the disappearance of people. Leftover bones can be easily cremated, destroying all traces of the deceased. But you had rather resort to jumping off a cliff or simply overdosing to kill yourself—than to ferociously be feasted on by your own kind.

It was some kind of portal to another world. Although these kind of things were not scientifically proven, it was still a valid suspicion because nothing ever made sense about that creepy house. Maybe people went in and get sucked into another dimension or flung into hell. Maybe the books were right. As well as the shows and movies on television. Everybody was afraid, of what the gaunt and creaky relic held between its paint-flaked walls and dirt-smeared window panes, why people went in and never got out, why citizens were constantly missing—but the discovery couldn't be anything more valuable than a life. But you clearly cared a whole lot about yours, because you are not even batting a lash when you tell your friends that you were going to check the cursed place out. All you receive is the dropping of jaws and the heavy pleas for you to not go, because apparently ten years ago a man as bold as you executed the similar plan you had and- "Guess what Y/N," Woo-gi leaned across the table, the bowl of mashed potatoes shifting forward a little. "He died. Unnatural cause of death. His body was never found and the saddest thing is that the family couldn't even give him a proper burial or send him away in peace." Her attempted blazing eyes fixes on yours, and her fingers creep to the knife resting on the surface of the table cloth.

Woo-gi is making the best efforts to get you to empathise with the family of the deceased man, knowing that trick works perfect on your soft putty heart. Lifting the cutlery up, she brings it down and mercilessly stabs into the piece of char-grilled pork chop for effect. There is a shredding sound of the piece of meat being torn apart by your dear pal. The vegetables at the side jump up in shock. "Gone. Just like that."

Her voice is a cold, menacing one which intended effect worked perfectly on your rather timid self, the bumps on your skin appearing unwillingly.

Her gaze finally drifts to the dish plate and leaves yours, allowing you to ponder over her words. In her final attempt to scare you out of the hasty decision, you only chew on your corn salad nonchalantly. She was right, it was a deadly risk but you wished you treasured your life as much as a normal person would. You didn't have any care in the world, dead or alive. So why not make the reason of your death be 'died exploring a haunted house', how cool and mysterious would that be on the headlines? "Sounds like a dream come true for me," You sweep the coleslaw you have no interest in to one side, isolated from the rest of the dish. Gone forever, just like that? You have been spending the past few years of your life sinking into the mattress and hoping the blankets would swallow you whole and cease your existence—what made her think that you would be afraid of something like that? Then you realise that your friends have no clue about your disorder. In fact, no one did. In their eyes, you were this outgoing girl who cracked plenty of jokes and lived with a happy family. At times, you would go overboard with your imagination but that's something people who felt constrained and suffocated often possess. Their stale life is the cause of their fantasies and aspirations running too wild.

But nobody would understand. She shakes her head and sighs, exasperated. It was like there were no words in the dictionary that can come together to bandage the open wound in your heart, or get rid of the black sticky substance bugging your insides since day one—even as a close friend, the most she can do is to pray for the best for you. No one can really help you out of this sunken pit, the route is yours to take.

"I'm telling you one last time," Woo-gi lunges forward to grab both of your hands, eyes glistening with worry, trying yet again, her utmost best to stop you in your dangerous expedition. For the last time. "Don't go."

Life works in mysterious ways, and you're the kind of person who would stubbornly step on a freshly mopped floor and try walk across it despite having a bright yellow caution sign shoved in your face. Maybe this would be the turning point in your life. A life which encompasses of...well, nothing much. The world's too tiring of a place to live in. And that is also why, you are in said haunted house, face to face with an unexpected human being. "Hey," Every drop of blood in your body freezes. It's the first thing you hear before a piercing scream leaves your chest, rattling the window panes. The sudden call startles the shit out of the shivering mess you were, your body jumping backwards out of reflex. You shun away from the piercing light being aimed straight into your eyes, arms coming up to block the sudden encounter. Cannibal? Cannibal! You shrieked and jumped back further upon realisation, making a beeline for the doors. Both feet took you there as fast as they could, the wooden planks beneath your heavy stomps threatening to snap. Except when you reach for the handle, the first rumour is proven to be true. The doors wouldn't budge. You shake them with all your might, only left with creaks and a stubborn obstruction to your fleeing. Your heart pounds wildly against your chest, with the knowledge that the monster is a few feet away from your panic-stricken form. "Just give up." The low voice appears behind you, the hairs on your back shooting up and your hands frozen. Why were you even so afraid? You wanted to die anyways. Nothing is able to coherently come out of your parched throat, only able to quiver in fear. "Do I really look that ugly?" The tone is derisive, so human-like and you think you may have overreacted. Whipping around, you are only met with bright white as a beam of light is pointed directly to your face. You may have been mistaken. But that doesn't stop you from feeling threatened. "Put that away." You commanded and once the shining path of white is directed to the ground, your hands slowly descend from shielding your face. "Kim Taehyung?" "Y/F/N?" The both of you speak out in unison upon the recognition, despite the low lighting playing as an obstacle. It was dark, but you can almost make out the look of shock on his face as he takes a moment to register your existence right in front of him. As for you, relief overwhelmed the surprise you felt and for once, you were thankful to see Kim Taehyung. A fair bit of questions were going through your mind now, and your heart was close to jumping out of your mouth any time soon. But somehow you managed to stay relatively calm.

As long as Taehyung was standing there, looking at you with a face of confusion, you wanted to end your life faster to escape the interaction with this guy. Or to explain what in the world you were doing in a horrid place like here. God wouldn't let you die in peace, he had to let you bump into Taehyung minutes or hours—nobody knows—before your anticipated death. The only thing going through your mind is how you have to explain why you were inside the most forbidden house in town. Then, another thought flickers in your mind. What was he doing here then? It couldn't be... For some reason, he stands there, still astounded by your presence. Wait no, it had nothing to do with your presence. It was you. Just like how having a guest in here came off as no surprise to him, but the fact that it was you... You feel like you rendered him speechless, disbelief widening his eyes and parting his lips. He was acting strange. Just a few moments ago, he was telling you so confidently about the fate of the doors and now there was a 180 degree change in his vibe. He kept staring at you, the moonlight flaunting a light shimmer to his black orbs and you felt queasy under his relentless gaze—like he held some sort of power over your empty soul. You couldn't decipher just what is it in his eyes, your head hurt as you tried to think.

It was never the same case in school though. While you exuded an aura of confidence wherever you walked, leaving a trail of your floral scented shampoo and fruity perfume, Taehyung would keep his head low and try to blend in with the shadows. He didn't smell like anything, nor did he frequently speak.

To his pals, at the very least. The moment you hear the name Kim Taehyung, the first word that comes to mind is eccentric. You weren't exactly someone to judge people in this manner, but you know him barely—only to the extent where you can only think of an adjective like that to describe him. You've seen him more than a couple of times around in school—always carrying a vintage camera around—but have never spoken a word to him. For an obvious reason, he was located in the best class—the one where the top students are—while you are in just another average class.

He was just another schoolmate to you. The both of you have never interacted during your whole journey in high school, except for that one time. However, you have only heard things about him. Unpleasant things that make your blood boil a little, because you feel like everyone should be treated equally no matter the circumstance.

One would say, "Kim Taehyung? You mean the guy who sits in the garden for an hour after school, waiting for a butterfly to land on his pinky finger? I mean, who even does that?"

Another would comment, "He's constantly talking to himself and his polaroid films, if that is even possible. Other than that, he either talks to flowers or trees. Sometimes, he eats by himself and then he raises his spoonful of rice to feed the person sitting opposite him—only that there isn't anyone there. Some girls screamed and ran away, even their boyfriends were scared of such a person. That is mainly why they didn't do anything bad to him.”

You didn’t have much thoughts about the guy, but you admired how he could be himself without the fear of being excluded from the norms of this society. He could find the comfort in being alone, and that was the type of peace you wish you possessed.

That one day, things blew out of proportion. It was a normal Tuesday, nothing extraordinary but school and sleep. You were seated with your usual group of friends during lunch, when suddenly a yell breaks through the canteen, followed by several laughters induced with pure evil. Almost the entire cohort turns to the infamous corner—just a small turn into the back kitchen where the trash is taken out by the vendors—the place where many students are dragged in there and come out with a blue black to the eye and nasty purple patches all over their limbs.

The whole cafeteria slowly fills with hushed whispers and serious gossiping, heads turning to one another unable to drop the topic for now. Yoongi walks out from the corner, followed by a few of his friends of a milksop. Wussies, you silently remark on their terribly feigned outer strength and masks of bravery. Nothing but imbeciles, you curse them in your head. Yoongi and weaklings plop right next to you, the eyes from the surrounding tables discreetly catching up on the interaction between the both of you. "Y/N! You look gorgeous today." He tries to place his hand onto your waist but you quickly shun away from him. The small action itself caused the whole canteen to blanketed with silence, every pair of eyes now focusing on the drama that was about to unfold between the notorious gangster and his proclaimed girl. "Don't fucking touch me you disgusting piece of shit." You have had enough. The menacing words seem to pierce through every wall in the school, every person at the scene being informed of your opinion towards Yoongi all this while. You stand up, pointing a finger of accusation directly at his face—to which he flinches at, caught off-guard by your swift movement. If you had the opportunity to get away with it, you would have dug your nails into his eyeballs and gouge them out of his eye sockets, then feed one each to the weaklings by his side. Instead, you take a deep breath. Small gasps leave everyone's lips and he panics—ego bruised by your harsh rejection. Yoongi was your boyfriend. You've been tolerating him for quite some time now, all for the sake of your parents. Without this relationship, your dad would have never been able to clinch the business deal with his father. All it took was a couple of sweet phrases and fake smiles, you couldn't be bothered with the rest of him other than the profit he could bring to your company. Yoongi on the other hand, seems to interpret the relationship in a very different way. He seems to have grown fond of you and naively believed that love between the two of you is real. You never put a single thought or effort into the relationship with Yoongi, not wanting to mislead him any further but some guys just can't seem to get the message, despite the many obvious hints you've dropped. You never ask him out.

Or when he does, you would only politely decline. In school, most of the time you stick like glue to your friends and try to avoid him and his rambunctious clique at all costs. Your dear friends took empathy in you and helped you out of certain situations concerning Yoongi at times. Somehow your boyfriend's pleasant way of proving his worth was to step on the backs of people who seemed inferior to him to climb his own ladder of pride.

It was like after each time he nailed someone to the ground and kicked their guts out, Yoongi feels like he reached another level of achievement. It's sickening to the thought and you want to have nothing got to do with that narcissistic asshole. This behaviour of his begin not too long ago, a few days prior when he marked his first victim. You were puzzled, but you didn't probe. He bullies physically and mentally, using their screams and pleas to feed his ego and push himself higher up the ladder. He started torturing anyone who ticks him off or come in his way to no end, and you think you may just be next albeit being his supposed girlfriend.

The conduct only made you despise him even more. Come to the thought of it, the things you do for your parents include self-depreciation and the loss of any shame left in your skin. You can feel the anger slowly twisting in his veins, radiating off his now clenched fists. Contrary to his untamed anger building within him, his friends are slowly retreating from his side, trembling in fear at your spit of acid. You chuckled, almost despicably—both at the cowering of his tough underlings and the way he almost peed his pants at the mere fling of your index finger. He realises that you are mocking his fragility and there are a couple of muffled giggles ignited in the crowd—his temper starts to get the better of his mind as the emasculation finally dawns over him. Before he can lay a finger on you, you are already a step ahead of him—grabbing the cup of hot tea off the table and splashing the boiling liquid onto his uniform, scalding his body. You thought you had might as well went all out in punishing a rascal like him. Your friends reach for your arm, trying to hold you back from going any further in dealing with the jerk and you throw the cup onto the ground, causing it to shatter into fragments—the sound of the porcelain splitting and cracking into pieces haphazardly rings through their ears. You'd like to refer it as a clear warning to everybody witnessing the event—to simply not mess with you.

You wished to be left alone.

While he screams in agony at the possible second-degree burn, you waltz away from the commotion nonchalantly. You think that that scumbag ought to have a taste of his own medicine someday, and if no one else dare stuff it down his throat, you would more than gladly do so. You find yourself striding off—to the hidden corner behind the stalls. And there, you discovered the bloodied body of Taehyung. With a broken camera by his side. A boy like him deserved more than this, no human should ever be hurt as badly as this—especially for no reason at all but one's inability to control their emotions, and the poor decision to vent it out on others can make horrible things happen. You kneel down by his side, checking the wounds inflicted on him. Fishing out a packet of tissues you always keep in your pocket for emergencies, you wipe the blood stains off his abused skin. He's in too much pain to express his surprise at your assistance, grunting as you pressed the tissue against the wound. When the bleeding on a certain cut has stopped, you offer him the support of your arm to let him sit up straight. Taehyung holds onto your forearm and pulls himself up from the ground. He groans as he does so, his back clad with bruises and soreness.

You noticed that he was stunned into a daze, probably at the grasp of realisation that someone was actually helping him. But you ignored his feelings, just shifted your attention fully onto the fixing of his injury. You recall having a plaster tucked away in your purse and you quickly take it out as well, secretly laughing at its design—hot pink with Hello Kitty.

Taehyung doesn't miss the sound of light escaping your lips, and he himself bites down on his lip to hold back a chortle at the girlish visual of the bandaid—temporarily pushing the questions behind your intentions away. You actually felt glad you could bring a smile to his face with something like the childish print of a bandaid. Nonetheless, you peel it off and gently place it over the deep cut on his forearm as he tries to control his wincing. "Hey, it's alright. You can cry out for all you want," You smoothed the plaster flat and tight on his skin. When you lightly slap the face of the Hello Kitty to tease him, he lets out a yelp—something that sounds puzzlingly adorable coming from him. "Here, have this." You fish out a piece of candy from the other side of pocket, handing it over you the victim. The amount of surprise he shows never ceases. You let out a short laugh, "I know you're not a kid, but still..." You smile up at him. "Just take it as a form of apology for what I caused you to go through." Taehyung doesn't move a muscle, just sillily blinking at your actions. You take his hand and shove the sweet into his palm, closing his fingers around it.

For a brief moment, both your eyes meet.

There is an unexplainable exchange of thoughts running through each other's minds and it was close to feeling like the two of you shared something in common. Taehyung was ostracised in school and probably the life he had out there judging by his abstruse personality and unfathomable behaviour. He was a prisoner out here in the real world.

Freedom, but yet he can't truly express himself without being placed behind bars in the eyes of others.

You are guilty of doing so in the past, when he was nothing but a lingering, mystifying shadow that held no importance in your life. That's exactly what you did to him—judge and rule him out of the ordinary. All you feel for him is sympathy, and that isn't anywhere better than the culprits themselves if you weren't about to step out and lend him a helping hand. Regret washes over your system as his dark pupils venture into your soul.

You were not as innocent as others perceive you to be. Bystanders were the invisible strokes of support to the metal bars that locked him up. His hand, although held by you, was trying to cling onto your grasp and not wanting you to leave. You would consider yourself a lucky chap indeed, having born into this world with food and shelter, kin and kith. In fact, rather luckier than the rest to be able to own what you like and not solely what you need. Above all of the materials your parents could afford, you were trapped in incongruity of being a prisoner of your own. You didn't know what you were passionate about in life, and to live without passion is akin to being dead. You just did well in your studies because the society deems that degree certificate as a strong foundation in your job. But you truly did not know if you really enjoyed burning the midnight oil to continuously mug or if the elation of attaining a perfect score on your assessment is pure, or just for the sake of your insatiable parents. Education is key. Well definitely, to a certain extent and you have witnessed how far your own set of parents are willing to go as long as you achieved soaring colours of distinction.

Sleepless nights, wandering mind and a stagnant heart. Sometimes the urge to pretend to be ill to escape the torment of school. Sometimes the subconscious act of bringing the kitchen scissors to your wrist and slit... You want to collapse to the ground and never be able to wake up again. You wished a drunk driver would accidentally run you over and end everything for you. Then nobody would know about how tired you were of this pointless life. You were a prisoner of yourself too. With no doubt, you and Taehyung are definitely similar in many ways the world can't see. "See you...soon, I guess." A soft chuckle emits from you like that happening would be a miracle, but the expression does not reach your eyes. Your eyes that were blocked by a wall of defence to your vulnerability of an emptiness. She is broken. A whisper goes by his ear. She needs help. The raspy voice travelled to his other ear, making him shiver slightly but unnoticeably. Taehyung could feel it too but he was in no place to ask about your wellbeing. He could only stare and wonder. The eye contact was broken off, before your hand recedes from his, carefully. He catches the way a faint smile ghost on your features as quickly as it appeared. A bittersweet kind of happiness. But he doesn't say a word, even after your figure grows smaller with every step you take back to class. What you missed, is the shutter of the camera lens, floating in the air. "Hey, don't touch that!" He snatches the device back and winces at the stretch he feels in his back muscle.

"Y/N." The wooden planks beneath him cursed out loud, warning sirens of his voice turning stern. Besides his low voice and creaks of weak wood and nails, there is only a dripping sound from some leaking pipe. "What are you doing here?!" It is the second time he has raised the question to you, but you only keep silent, eyes searching the room for answers.

Why hadn't you disappeared or get eaten by some ferocious beast yet? Taehyung was only complicating your attempt of suicide. You tried to keep your head clear when you first pushed the rusty front door open, disallowing the memories to flow into your mind.

It was a blockage to all forms of happiness in your life, to prevent your pathetic self from backing out. But Taehyung, an actual human being, catching you in the act of wanting to kill yourself just shot a dose of reality into your numbing heart and racing thoughts.

"Uh..." You wet your lips.

"What about you? What are you doing here?" You turn the cameras back to him. It would not be shocking if he came here to take his life as well. Taehyung purses his lips in serious contemplation before candidly answering. "I can see ghosts," He looks down like it was something to be ashamed about.

That wasn't the case for you. You were completely taken aback by his confession but you found it extremely intriguing. "Oh—Wait what?" One thing about the revelation was that it for sure explained a lot about the way Taehyung acts. You trust his words, but you don't know how to link it to the fact that he was standing right in front of you in the living room of this damned house. Raising a brow at him, you wish for him to elaborate further. "I uh, heard r-rumours circulating around in school, that uh," He pinches his brows.

"You were going to come in here. So I kind of decided to see if it was true." You were amazed by his candidness.

"And it is." You mused.

It was heartwarming to see that someone actually bothered to risk their life to come look for you. Then again, Taehyung is a guy filled with secrets. God knows, but maybe he is the owner of this house. When his eyes capture yours for one more time, it drowned you into the whirlpool of emotions he was feeling.

Something like denial, frustration and lastly, regret. The eye contact is never broken. Like Taehyung was staring so hard at you to try and figure the different parts of you out, to evaluate every inch of you and you squirmed uncomfortably under his gaze. "Why are you looking at me like that?" You croaked out, beginning to feel very creeped out despite the tinge of softness laced in his eyes. "You—Urm, you—! Argh!" He only hesitates even more, turning into a stuttering mess. You jump back in surprise at his reaction. Lost and confused as to how to provide you with a suitable reply, he yells and pulls at his locks of hair. It was when he proceeds to fall to the ground on his knees and seemingly begin whimpering into his palms, all surprise turned into worry for the guy. You kneeled down and called out to him. "Shit—Taehyung!"

"What do you seek, young man?" "Your whole point here is to know and advice me." Taehyung bites back. "Very well. An unsolved mystery, something concerning a girl and regarding the old house just down the street." He shuffles his cards and keep them away neatly. It seemed like those tools will not be of any use to Taehyung, and he clearly understood why the man's face have fallen drastically—it isn't a simple case a few cards can crack. You were not only beautiful, you were inculcated with kindness, you held a type of pureness lost by many as they grow up, you spoke in a manner that is highly respectable and the crowfeet that form at the side of your eyes whenever you laughed too hard couldn't get any more adorable. He shifts uncomfortably on the hard wooden seat, and gulps anxiously. "Was her body found?" Taehyung doesn't know.

He doesn't know where the hell you went or what the fuck you were doing, he only knows that when his eyes flew open, he felt the cold of the night stinging on his skin and an empty space next to him. You were no longer in his arms and the next moment he is springing up from the worn out couch and beginning his search for you. He looked every nook and cranny of the house for you but to no avail. The only resort left got him sitting across a renown psychic. But even the expertise in this region seems to find this case uncrackable. "No." He tilts his head, bringing out a rock of some sort. Taehyung sees it as a mere rock but not to him apparently. "This is the Magic Stone." His fingers fidget around with the purple coloured object. He does this continuously, causing Taehyung to perk an eyebrow up at his claim. The psychic burrows into deep concentration, a conclusion forming in his head. Then, all movement ceases. "Her soul has to bring you there herself."

The medium's advice sounded strained, like it was the hardest thing to come to a conclusion like that. It's a clear excuse when he says the reason of those teardrops rolling down his cheeks are caused by the wind.

You want to reach out and pat him on the back in hopes of alleviating his pain but you quickly retract it back as the muffled sobs through his fingers grow even louder. All you could wonder at that point in time was whether something bad was happening to Taehyung. Maybe the demons in this house were taking him away first.

Maybe he is really going to die. Then, with every drop of care drained from your exhausted body, you placed your hand on his clothed back with a strong determination to do your best and ease him (into the underworld most likely) without any pain. "Are you okay?" Only for his cries to stop abruptly when he feels your hand smoothing over his back. Hastily, Taehyung removes his hands from his face and turns around to look at you. His eyes were red and swollen from all the desperate weeping, saliva of sorrow pooled in his mouth as he watches you with a kind of anguish and concern. It mirrored the look you gave him when you saw him lying on the ground, beaten up. This is where the two of you are similar.

Prisoners, but of two entirely different reasons. You drifted your gaze to his elbow and notice the striking dash of pink. The band aid still being there was what solidified the certainty that this was all real. This wasn't some kind of twisted dream. And that would only mean one thing. Because your hand did not manage to rub his back, for the paleness casting over it only sank into his body, deep into his spine—only for his body to be in one piece as you fast to recede it like you had just touched a strong flame—unable to feel anything touching your palm even when you made that physical contact with him. "Taehyung... why..." You inspect your hands carefully. Your skin was never this white. All the hairs on your forearm had disappeared as well, your whole body lacking any hint of life. It felt surreal. Like something that would only occur in dreams.

"Why can't I touch you?" Maybe if you try pinching yourself, you would wake up. Maybe this was just one of your daily nightmares from stress. It was when you started aggressively pinching the pale skin on your arms, thighs, waist—you realised you could still feel yourself. The only difference being that it was so, so cold. It was similar to touching an ice pack, frosty and nothing much else.

Cold. That's how you feel and the perplexity that hit you all at once began transforming into larges beams of anger, sadness and helplessness. You wanted to cry as loud as you could for help. "Why do I feel so cold?!" You refused to believe anything your senses were telling you. Everything your naked eyes were showing you.

Lunging forward, you run your hands all over Taehyung again and hope to actually feel something tangible.

To your dismay, your fist only goes through his heart like he was made of air—no, like you were made of air.

You were the dead one here.

"The police have searched the whole compound of the town and spread the news of the missing school girl country wide. In the past two weeks of finding the teenage girl, Y/F/N is still unable to be located. If you have come across—Zap." Taehyung clicks the button on the remote control and flings it to the other end of the couch in frustration. He ruffles through his hair, hoping for hints of you to magically pop up in his head. The thing is, the both of you had barely spoken to one another. Plus, he had a tough time speaking to the people at his-and your-school. One week. One whole week since the disappearance of your body. The police are proven to be fucking useless and incompetently unreliable, he mentally notes. He figured that the fastest method to locate you, would require him to act out on his own. The list of things that can happen to your body goes down a long scroll that even Taehyung himself is unwilling to imagine. He wants you to at least, still be in one piece when he finds you. He uses the term body, because your soul is for sure loitering somewhere in town. It can't go too far from your body, a rule he remembers by heart. So, it wouldn't be entirely impossible to detect where your corpse would be. Think, think, think! He repeats like a mantra in his bursting head. Where would you go if you were this free, lingering spirit? And then he recalls.

"You're up here again."

He pushes himself up onto his usual spot—a high wall surrounding the perimeter of the rooftop, granting anyone up here a perfect view of the school field and vast blue sky. The job of the wall is to prevent any students from falling over and have their bodies crush to pulp when they plop to the ground floor. But Taehyung doesn't play by the rules. Where is the fun in that? He often questions anything that has to do with system and order. As a person who lives by pure intuition, Taehyung brings himself to the top floor for the second time after just doing so the day before. It could be the voices whispering encouragements for him to pay upstairs a visit, or maybe it had to do with a very strong gut feeling tugging at his chest. Nonetheless, he was here.

The boy from yesterday is situated at the exact place as before. His skin was terrifyingly pale—but not translucent—and the cracking of his bones could still be heard whenever he swinged his legs. He must have just died a few days ago, Taehyung concludes. The boy doesn't acknowledge Taehyung, nor does he reply.

"What are you doing here?" Taehyung cranes his neck a little to face the boy properly—who in turn was staring at his feet with a strange amount of attention. Then upon following his line of sight, Taehyung realises how small and young the boy was—his own legs were almost twice as long as the kid's.

"My brother," He finally speaks, but only softly.

Taehyung digests his answer for a moment, before cautiously popping the second question. He knew better than to ask why the boy had died, it would probably even send the kid into a fury and then to hell, which was the last thing Taehyung wanted to happen to him. "If you don't mind me asking," He nervously grips the edge of wall.

The boy tipped his chin up slightly, intrigued by his words. His big round eyes came into view, leaving a heavy load to weigh at Taehyung's heart. His eyes, still freshly glistening and vibrant with blackness illustrated the bright and long road that awaited him in his life, only to be torn apart by whatever fatally tragic accident he was met with. It's a pity. It's a pity how some promising futures can be so easily robbed of in a blink of the eye. It is not a frequent occasion where tears pricked at Taehyung's eyes. He closes them for a second, before getting the question out. "Who is your brother?" The boy now turns to fully face him, legs still swinging regardless. His eyes looked way bigger and innocent than Taehyung had thought they would be. And it doubled the pain beneath his ribs.

It's suffering to bump into an innocent soul. He had rather someone who acted the way they deserved their death. The boy switches his stare on Taehyung now, silent while his orbs grow shinier. "I'm sorry in advance," The child looks like he was about to burst into tears. Taehyung felt the same. What was a sweet boy like him even apologetic for? "Min Yoongi." Taehyung blinks in surprise. The boy was gone. A series of giggles echoed in the stairway and without another thought, Taehyung hops down to hide himself from whoever was there. He does not recall any platform being built after the wall. He simply knows that if he falls over from such a risky position, he would die. He heaves a deep sigh of relief when the platform does not crumble into pieces under his full weight. He thinks it must be the doing of the boy. His smile is cut off when the footsteps and voices grow louder, noticeably two female students just hanging out. Unlike being rash as himself, they only prop their elbows on the wall, admiring the scene as that. Which he was grateful for, otherwise he would definitely get caught for loitering around carelessly. "Finally. Something great about this shit hole." Taehyung sticks onto the wall like a lizard, trying his best to be away from the edge. "Honestly, the perfect spot to take fresh breather," the other voice makes an appearance. "No one ever comes up here unless you want to be making a serious offence." A flock of birds crosses the sky and Taehyung secretly hopes they don't share the tiny space with him. "For peace and quiet, I'd give anything." The first voice replies. He silently nods in strong agreement. And he recognises it as yours, because of that one time you were called up to present a book review in Literature class. Your voice was distinct yet soft, you spoke with a sense of urgency to bring your point across and yet still manage to maintain your composure in your tone. He must say he’s never been this impressed by a presenter before.

And here he is, hearing the same voice again. This time, much quieter and lower compared to in class, but it leaves him beyond intrigued of the next content spilling out of your mouth. "Then, where are you going to get your dear peace and quiet after this semester?" The second girl with the higher pitched voice asks. "Hm, great question." The first girl ponders and probably stares into the horizon.

Then she replies, after the earth spins a full round. "Somewhere with sand and salt maybe." She answers seriously, after much consideration. "Can't you just say the beach? You idiot." "Whatever. Just checking if that peanut brain of yours is working." A gasp can be heard. "You better run before I catch you!" Their shoes leave heavy footsteps on the concrete and their voices gradually fade away.

Taehyung feels bad for eavesdropping onto their conversation, but it was something he couldn’t help even if he did not want to.

Speaking of which, Taehyung hasn’t thought about what he’d like to do during spring break. Maybe he’d bring some flowers and offerings for Yoongi’s brother and the others always by his side. Without being seen, that goes without saying.

They’d be over the moon to receive flowers because no one is really there for them. Or have simply forgotten about them. Taehyung wonders if anyone would bring him flowers when he passes on.

Still, Taehyung felt a seed of envy being planted inside of him, wishing that he could go to the beach or park during the season of blossoms with friends and genuinely have a good time. He has never gotten the opportunity to hang out with any normal human ever since birth. He told a friend he trusted about his ability of seeing things normal people couldn’t and the boy went about telling everybody about his confession which led to the beginning of his ostracisation

Weirdo. Freak. Those were the names he eventually got accustomed to being called as.

The seed of envy grows. The both of you are lucky enough to be discussing about where to head to for vacation, something he couldn’t do.

Lucky enough to be going on a vacation. Not everyone has that blessing.

He wish he could be like everyone else. Lead a normal life, have friends, and be wealthier. This way, he wouldn’t have to struggle so much.

For a moment, he wishes that he could replace the position and live the life of anyone else.

Like the girl who can play the violin.

Like the boy always sleeping in class.

Like the school’s janitor.

Like Yoongi.

Like you.

"Hey you! What are you doing up there?!" Someone like a security personnel yells at him from downstairs. Now, how the hell was he supposed to get back up there?

You must not be far. His feet dents the soaked sand beneath, leaving prints that queued in line to be washed up by the incoming waves. With the ends of his pants rolled up, he spins around aimlessly to search for you. It was fortunately a weekday, which allowed the beach to be emptier. And that would make the task of spotting you much easier. He strolls along the coast, patiently kindling his instincts to take him wherever you were to be. It feels almost surreal—the texture of the grainy sand rubbing against the sole of his feet, the gentle whispers of the arriving waves, the wind slicing through his thick hair, ruffling it like feathers—how peculiar it felt to realise that he is alive, being hyper aware of all five (or six) senses.

The tangibility of things would signal that he is actually a living human, but something intangible is missing in him and it makes the whole experience of being alive feel so...detached. Every part of his body felt like it didn't belong to him—it was his toes coming in contact with the sand and not him, it was his hair dancing with the wind and not him, it was his legs moving on their own accord and not Taehyung. This is what happens when you interact with supernatural beings for the whole of your life, he thinks.

"Hey watch your step!" A shout intrudes his thoughts. Taehyung pauses, retracting his feet back. The small kid carries on building her sandcastle with her companion. Watching their busy hands, Taehyung tries to figure out who exactly was the one who warned him. Regardless, he whips out his camera to take a shot of the girl building sandcastles. "Yay! It's done!" The girl pats the top of the castle and runs towards the benches shrieking in contentment, failing to withhold the excitement of breaking the news of the small achievement to her mother. The other girl however, only smiles at Taehyung and vanishes. He runs his eyes across the ground. Just below his toes, there laid a tiny baby turtle. It scurries, towards nowhere, seemingly unable to acquire the skill of waddling on the fine sand like all his other pals. A meter ahead, his friends totter in clusters towards the entrance of the sea. The poor buddy struggles hard to walk properly, let alone find the correct direction home. He suddenly grows conscious of the couple of seagulls chilling by the water. But he was too preoccupied with the aim to find you to bother about the weak creature. As he was just about to dismissively stroll away, something tells him to make a turn and save that baby animal. He should make a difference when he can. He definitely should. He could actually salvage a situation. A life that is. He jogs back faster than the predator birds could, quickly finding the turtle again and gently picked it up. The shell looked too big for its body and its two big ebony eyes popping out of its sockets gazing at Taehyung—are filled with gratitude. Or so he assumes. The creature makes some kind of fuzzy noise—of happiness—when it is put down onto the sea line to join its siblings. The rambunctious clique waddles their way into the ocean, gliding across and surging into the water, one by one, delightfully. The seagulls trots away, lunch stolen. He continues his trail. Slowly, a pier approaches. And similar to Yoongi's brother, a girl sits at the end of the wooden platform all by herself.

She radiates frozen, cold heat and as he gets closer, the temperature dives. He carefully crafts his steps towards the lone spirit, begging the planks to not creak too loudly in fears of scaring her away. With every inch he gets closer to the girl, the clouds present in the sky turns darker, accompanied with the flush of even more greyness which eventually overlays the initial coat of cyan. The familiarity of the uniform boosts the confidence in him to call out your name. "Y/N?" She stands up—indeed the girl reported missing—and Taehyung was glad it was you. The troubles fogging his mind seem to have cleared at the plain sight of you. He was relieved that he had at least found your soul. It was another thing to find your body though, and that is the main objective here. Connecting your body with your soul would be the final resort in sending you off in peace. He had a day left. Twenty four hours before you wouldn't be able to leave in peace. Before your pure soul would dissipate into a fiery pit of wrath, abandoned in the darkest abyss until you transform into a vengeful spirit. All the hatred, pain and misery would be instilled in your afterlife that is deadly inescapable. These overwhelming amount of negative emotions trapped in your soul would then leave you in this state, forever. The sight was inexplicably depressing. Just a few days ago, you were real to the touch. He could feel your fingers smoothing over the plaster on his arm. He could see the satisfaction radiating off the smile you flashed at him before, leaving. He could smell the light cherry blossom from your shampoo flowing in the air. He could hear the base of your sneakers hitting the floor as you paced your way to class. Yet now, the wood underneath wouldn't make a sound as you got up.

Your lips were chapped and your crusting skin was faded. Compare to a few days ago at the house, you looked much worse and haggard.

The corners of your mouth quivered, itching to bring forth expression but unable to do so. You couldn’t even smile. You couldn’t even cry if you wanted to.

Now you were toeing the line that crossed the real world and heaven apart.

Somehow he feels like it is partly his fault. Maybe if he had tugged onto your wrist and asked you to stay back a little longer. Maybe if he was quick enough to catch you after school. Maybe then, you wouldn't have had the chance to end your life. Caged by your fingers, was a head of pink.

"I heard that pink carnations stand for the remembrance of the dead,"

His brows furrows at your words. How is it that you were able to comfort him so easily, while he is here having a difficult time to even form words to express his grief. But he was sure that like him, you didn't crave for sympathy at all.

Maybe if he had clung onto the empty look in your eyes, thinking more than he should, stepping out of his comfort zone to care for you. Then perhaps, this situation would never take place. Then with a heaving chest, he clenches his teeth to embrace the fact that you are no longer existent in this real world. It was pointless to think about all the possibilities that could have dodged this situation.

"I hope someone remembers me."

Uncontrollably, a bead of tear seeps out and rolls down his cheek. His nostrils flare up as the sadness and realisation overtakes every cell in him that was fighting against the tide of sorrow. His heart feels like someone plunged their fist into his bare chest and ripped it out. Thrown onto the ground and stomped into pieces.

Lips quivering, Taehyung fights back the devastation and gathers the last scrapes of sensibility in his mind, using all the energy his rationality could afford—brings the camera looped around his neck up to his eyes, and snaps.

Through the lens, a pink carnation levitates above the pier, the ocean a transverse blue spread across the rectangular panel, accentuating the vibrant colour of the dainty flower.

The camera lowers, along with his head.

He was sobbing by now, all the while you gently hold the flower and stare at him with the same hollow eyes. “Why?!” He grits out between cries.

"Why..." The later one comes out in broken, incoherent snippets.

You are really not here anymore. With him.

"I'm weaker than you think," You breathed out with a faint smile following the confession. His heart clenches and twists into a tight knot, pulling at his conscience.

"And don't you worry, I will return to my body."

The fact that you were still trying your best to maintain cheery for him despite being dead twists his heart viciously. The world is too cruel to you, and to him. An angel like you deserves to seek your happiness in a better place like the skies above. The visage of you is becoming transparent, signalling your departure. Taehyung musters all that is left in him to take a step forward and press his palm softly to your face. He could not feel anything but his hand was just there, for support and consolation.

"I will remember you."

His words of affirmation sets your heart at ease. You finally understand how they would all say, that the true pain does not lie within the process of dying, but in truth lies within the witnessing of those who love and care for you, break down. After climbing out of your state of denial at your own death, you have come to terms with that fact and wish for nothing more than to end the whole suffering. It lurches at your heart seeing a guy like Taehyung who you were not even that close to, crying like he had just lost a precious belonging. Like the world had just lost a precious belonging. You hoped that people remember you. For all your hard work in this world, for all the full marks you attained, for all the certifications you achieved, for all the smiles you have bring and the band aids you have placed on others. You hope that when people think of you, it is nothing but filled with goodness. There were, no regrets to say the least.

Your body may not be in its best condition, but the accident pulled your death off pretty well. It left you with no second thoughts, no last words, just a brutal blow to your side and head. It killed you with perfection, leaving no hesitation and last words—just met with the end in a solid second. You're suddenly worried Taehyung gets into trouble again.

"If anything, I'll protect you alright?"

Taehyung chuckles unbelievably through sniffs.

"We'll meet again.”

Your final words splinters apart, the bottom half of your body already beginning to dissipate. You gradually dissolve into the thin air—the cold mist and you becoming one— and the skies clear up in no rush. The carnation drops to the wooden floor with a thud.

I will remember you.

It was a chilly night, an expected downpour to attack in about an hour. His curtains danced to the rhythm of the wind, flowing about violently. "The body of the missing school girl has been recovered after a hiker going for his morning exercise smells rotten flesh in the woods. The police suspect that the girl may have jumped off a cliff from above as an attempt of suicide." Taehyung shifts his attention back to the mac and cheese turning cold on his lap. At one point, the winds were so rough that the vase sitting on the top of his dresser wobbles in jeopardy before another ferocious blow arrives through his window and topples the glass over, onto the ground. Shattered into fragments. Water spills out and the pink carnation flows along on the liquid like a dead body in a river. He internally groans at the mess he has to clean up afterwards, but it is only for a short moment before his attention is snatched by the voice of news anchor on television once again. "However, the forensics department has confirmed with the backing of further detailed analysis of the crime scene, that there were skid marks indicated on the road at the edge of the cliff accompanied by scraps of car paint evident on the victim's clothes." The carnation on the ground blackens, curls up into a crushed stalk of wither.

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phantomphangphucker · 5 years

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One Lonely Star

⚠️warning: analysis of the human condition, angst, depression, violence, mass global death, murder, major character death, suicide, torture, cannibalism, body horror, dissection, animal death⚠️

When all the stars fell down,

there was nothing I could do.

For all my power and heroism,

there was nothing I could do.

-a phantom of the past-

Chap. 1 - Star Fall Down

I don’t know how long it’s been since I last saw the light of day, I walk pushing and shoving rubble out of my way. I’m not sure what they belong to anymore. I used to be able to tell which brick belonged to which building, which siding was from the school or what piece of neon lighting was from the nasty burger. Now it’s all just a blend of grays and browns, there’s the occasional splash of something else but it’s fleeting and eventually becomes muddied too. The odd living or sentient thing I see, is best avoided I’ve found. Societal collapse relieves most folks of their inhibitions and it gives them newfound urgency. Urgency which always trumps whatever morals and mental high roads they have or once had. It’s different for me, I knew this urgency before the fall; had my morals tested before everything crashed.

So I guess I was a step ahead, I’m still unsure if that’s for the best or not. Sure it made it easier to adjust to all of this but others noticed my ease; and people, humans especially, are easily paranoid. It doesn’t help that the young, quick to fight, and those seeking to take advantage of things were the first to succumb to this harsh reality. Those were the ones who trusted me and believed in me most. I mean sure my parents are still around but they never really knew me, trusted me or even really liked me. Well, at least that’s how they were about half of me, though if I’m honest they didn’t know either half of me. Before everything fell I had suspected they were starting to realize how far from them I had become but that doesn’t matter now. Survival and trying to protect what’s left is what matters now. At least my parents can agree with me on that. Though if at any point they had begun to trust or like all of me, that time had since past. My ease with suffering, destruction and sudden mass disaster made them blame me. Because of course, since I was used to everything going to hell then I must be the cause! I guess if I hadn’t reacted with jokes or may be shown a facial expression other then resignation, they may have viewed me differently.

I visibly sigh, giving my current surroundings another once over; just in case. I need more, always more. Yet there’s never really enough. There isn’t enough for anyone and there are not enough people to need things either. Sure there’s an abundance of many things, picking up a discarded poker chip, but those things aren’t good for much. Flicking the chip across the floor it manages to break off some glass from one of the few somewhat intact windows. Chuckling, it’s not like windows do any good down here anymore. Deciding that there’s nothing here worth the effort I elect to head back to my overpass, not that it really counts as an “overpass” anymore. Looking back I’d honestly rather just jump out one of the real windows. One that can actually see the outside air and sky. But I know that’s a fools game today, a gamble not worth much thought. Even if I did find a way out to the above from that building, who knows how far a drop the ground is; and it’s not like I can fly. Chuckling dryly, it’s been longer than I’d like. Turning back, using both memory and the glow of my eyes to guide me “home”.

“Home” is a funny word now, it really doesn’t mean what it used to mean. All it means now is that I can rest, stop, breathe; for a while. When I’m out I never breathe, I just hold abated breath. Can’t risk anything or one hearing. Before I could breathe, I did breathe, all the time actually. That seems dangerous and absurd now. Back then dangers came and went, they were boisterous, flashy and wanted to be noticed. Now danger is a constant, it never leaves, and it doesn’t care about making itself known. Before I could fight back, I could spar, I could joke; I can’t do that now. Not with this danger.

Humans can be ruthless things, sure ghosts have naturally equipped weapons but they seldom have a true drive to just end you. Ghost can be content with returning to the same game of hunt and chase, over and over again. Humans want finality and when they really truly want it, they never take breaks. Maybe that’s why I’m still here, why I still keep doing this again and again. I’m not content to succumb to accepting the finality of this situation but I’m also not willing to just try again later. I won’t accept finality and I won’t take breaks. So that’s why I went looking today and why I’ll go again tomorrow. Till I have what I need, what they need.

Ghosts gave up on this place years ago, I don’t think I’ve even sensed a single one in months. I guess humans are no fun to scare when they’ve gotten past all their senses. And I guess cities aren’t so fun when nothing works. Sadder thing yet, it’s not just here; it’s everywhere. They’re everywhere.

I used to love the stars, there were my everything when I had nothing else. They were a safe haven I could have fled to if everything went to hell. Well, guess what? Everything did go to hell, but the stars were the hell. Yet I can’t bring myself to ever hate the stars, even if they’re on earth now rather than the sky. Everything’s better in the sky, including me; I would know. That’s the great irony of this all, my one love stole my other love. The two things in the world that gave me mental safe haven, apparently unable to coexist. On top of that, I’m basically the definition of two things that technically can’t coexist, coexisting. That’s another reason why really, because dammit, if I can make life and death coexist then I damn well will do the same to the sky and stars. Though that’s not something that’s really a desire of mine much anymore, these stars, our stars, need to be destroyed.

As I sit here, legs crossed, tinkering away on what little I’ve managed to find over time; I can’t help but look back. That’s always how it is, get in the zone of simply making something, anything, and the mind goes to pleasanter times. Before all of this mess I was a pretty happy kid, all things considered. I can’t really say if I’m still happy. I think I am, but it’s not the same kind of happy. Maybe it’s closer to hope than happiness. I remember the day with odd clarity but I’m sure much has gotten muddled in the years since. I can’t really say how long it’s actually been, times a funny thing like that.

Just a day with ordinary classes, ordinary teachers and extraordinary friends.

At first, I thought it was nothing more than another ghost attack, we all did; how could we not? We all lived in Amity Park after all.

One look outside changed everyone’s mood though, the sky was alight with a great many blazes.

As if someone had set every single cloud on fire, turns out that was pretty close to the truth.

Emergency broadcasts erupted over every phone and every speaker.

Screaming to stay indoors, away from the windows and to not under any circumstances look at the sky.

Being kids, we did what kids do, we looked to the skies.

Light danced across the sky in massive arches, I knew it immediately as lighting.

Far more massive than anything I’d ever seen and very much not right.

I foolishly assumed it must be that weather ghost again and looked for a way to leave; to change. I wish I had been right.

The teachers had herded us all up, packed and watched closely. There was nowhere I could run and no one who could hide me. So I waited, just like everyone else.

Not knowing was the worst part, I’ve learned over the years before this time and since this time that the worst thing I can do, is to do nothing. Both for my own sake and others. If I didn’t believe that before the day the stars fell I would have after.

In movies, people like to say the crash came without a warning but that’s not true. We had a warning, the buzzing, the popping, the air becoming brutal just to breathe in.

Instinctively I just stopped breathing, I had known no one would notice. That was something I had been right about.

Everyone had gone to the ground, I had gone into a fighting stance originally but I got pulled down by the chaos of the others.

The roof shook for only a second before it all came down, massive flashes of blinding electricity shooting everywhere and at everything.

It hadn’t taken me long to notice that it wasn’t just things it had struck and was still striking, but rather beings.

They say this is when fight or flight kicks in, when you see a person's true colours. That saying is true and I had long since lost my flight response. Fighting was all I knew, had been all I’d known for so long. But this, this was something I couldn’t fight. I hadn't even known where to start.

So I did what I knew, I protected. I wore my colours, my true colours. Secrets be damned, secrets don’t matter in the face of death. In the face of people dying while you’re just, there.

Turns out I needn’t worry about my secret, there wasn’t anyone left to tell.

That day I learned something, something about intangibility. Something I wish I hadn’t.

There’s a big difference between a regular human being made intangible and me becoming intangible. Raw electricity will go through me, it won’t go through them. But that wasn’t for a lack of me trying, anyone who was there wouldn’t dare disagree; if they had lived.

I screamed, I cried, I wailed, I begged. All while struggling to hold onto, grab onto, and cover as many as I could. They flocked to me too, understanding that I always had and would play protector. But it didn’t matter, the electricity went through each one, most I didn’t even get to see die.

They were gone too fast and eventually I was left to cradle the last one. I’ve seen so many others go like this since, had so many others go because my protection just wasn’t good enough; that I can’t say who I was cradling that day. Things blur, it’s all a matter of time.

Stepping out of the destroyed school I had been soaked in blood, none of it my own, and tears, all of it my own. And I looked to the skies.

And everything was coming down, crash and burn. Every building, every plane, every person unable to hide. This was on such a level that for seconds all I could do was stare, eventually I made some unremembered joke. I’m sure it was either really stupid or unbridled genius.

Then I got to work, I did the one other thing I knew. I tried to exchange witty banter and a few blows. Turns out that doesn’t work on a gigantic ball of electricity and exploding gas. And that was when I knew, I remember looking up and seeing the empty night sky. Not a single star. Then staring around me, massive balls destroying everything.

I had no time then to think about, really think about it, now I do. Back then I had simply fallen into trying to get people inside shelters, away from the nightmare from the skies. Others did the same too, even my parents. But they as always didn’t recognise me as their son and I guess I was acting to calm, too collected. In short, I had gotten too good at lying and playing a facade.

They shouted and yelled at me, assumed it must be my fault. Some plan to make myself look like a hero. My mom has always been good at fear-mongering and being a ghost expert everyone assumed she was right about me, who to them was just a ghost. And like that, they turned on me, now that they had something to blame, something that had a consciousness. I quickly learned that my human allies were all dead or gone.

I hid, I had to, if not for my own safety then for theirs. Humans, in their chance to seek revenge on those they deem responsible, will put themselves in harm's way. I couldn’t have that. And if they managed to destroy me, in their fear, then I wouldn’t be here to protect them. I couldn’t have that either. So I ran.

And that’s how I discovered that flying was bad, very bad. The stars electricity was drawn to movement and the higher up the movement was the more attractive it was, and I move both fast and high. This caused the electricity to target me, and this show caused the humans to be even more sure that I was somehow controlling or responsible for this. While my intangibility could protect me, I could only hold it for so long and the blinding light really was blinding.

Eventually, everything caught up with me, emotional and physical exhaustion, I just stopped. Stopped all of it, the flying, the intangibility and my colours. In some way, I wanted the pain of electricity, felt I deserved it. Why wouldn’t I? I had failed to save everyone. My ghost healing is all that saved me then.

The only other like me was not so lucky, it turned out. Shortly after this catastrophe started he, being the frootloop he was, tried to bend the arm of the world. Tried to offer his “protection” for a price. He didn’t know what I had already learned and I’m not sure he would have listened if I had been able to get a hold of him. Intangibility wouldn’t work. He tried his plan and it killed him. I know it did, I’d heard it over the radio.

Eventually, I think I’m done with my tinkering; this one might actually do something. What exactly? I don’t know but anything is better than what currently is. I’ve given up on testing things, on making sure it’s just right; I guess I realised I don’t have time for that anymore. I don’t have time for much at all anymore. But that’s ok, my time was never really mine was it? No, it always belonged to everyone else. To their safety, their future, their survival. It always was and always will be. And that’s ok. It really is.

Look I know you can’t always save everyone, but that’s always been my plan. At the very least I’ll save some of them, a part, something that can exist on. I’ve had to come to terms with the fact that I have been, and will continue to be, saving more parts than wholes. A leg here, an eye there, even a patch of hair will just have to do. I can’t afford to be choosy with anything, not a single scrap. And every single scrap has seen me bleed and cry, that’s what doesn’t get easier. Mourning still happens even if I don’t have the time, even if no one does. I know a lot of people walking around are permanently mourning, unable to just carry on. They’re the ones waiting to just be taken out. I wish they wouldn’t do that, they’ll become another person I can only save part of. And everyone, every single one, is worth being save in the whole. I don’t care what hardships they’ve seen or who they lost, dammit! They have inherent worth! They deserve the right to survive! I always want to shout at them when I do spot one of the wanderers. If you can’t bare to survive for your own sake then find someone or thing else to survive for! Someone or something needs you! Wants you! I promise! But I know shouting does no good, I’ve tried; oh how I’ve tried. They’ll either learn it on their own or well.............or they just won’t. But I’ll be there to pick up the pieces, always. Put back together what I can and hope the rest forgives me for not rescuing it too. I like to think they all do but I know some don’t, they’ve told me so.

Picking up my new trinket I begin the walk to the surface, breathing stalled and eyes always scanning. Looking for stars or looking for people, I no longer know which I’d really prefer. The first time a saw some eat another person was when I knew this really was hell. As I pass one of the many haphazardly built concrete caves, I do wind up spotting a person; and they spot me.

I never take off my colours now, I can’t afford to. I need to be able to fly, fight, fire, or become intangible at a moments notice. I must not die. Sometimes that’s a problem and right now is one of those times. This person is clearly one that blames me, I know that immediately, as the fling anything they can get their hands on. A second runs out and attempts to fire what is a now empty ecto gun, old habits die hard. I shake my head and sigh at them, my parents. They look worse for the ware, with them being so close to where I’ve been resting and tinkering; they must be tracking me. This knowledge just makes me sigh deeper and longer, I know talking to them is no use. They’ve lost everything, believing both their kids dead and gone. And they blame me, a parents desire to kill who they believe is their children’s killer is unmatched. It can’t be faltered or bent. I know that and I know that to tell them now would break them to dust. They need something to blame and if they knew they’d eventually blame themselves, that’s yet another thing I just can’t have happening. So let them blame me, I’ll gladly take the fall. It’s what I do.

It doesn’t take much to get away from them, they’re weakened and without usable weapons. Though they’d rip me to shreds with their bare hands if they could, and I know they’d think they were doing it for their kids; for me. Which is touching and I choose to hold on to the warm feeling that brings. Warm feelings don’t come often, so they have to be cherished.

The time comes when I get to where and when I need to be. This star is the biggest I’ve spotted, so it’s always the one I pick to try and destroy. Take out the biggest, baddest foe and the rest will fall like flies, that’s how it works right? Well, I sure hope so.

I stick my fists inside and charge up the blasters with my own ghostly energy. They look something like giant balls attached to tubes encasing my arms. Balls to defeat balls, I find some humour in that really. Once they’re all charged I ram them inside the star with an angry growl.

It doesn’t work.

I know I can’t go back to the same place as before, I know my parents will be waiting for me. I’m used to this though, just move on. Keep going. You’ll get it. Eventually.

to be continued.....

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head-and-heart · 6 years

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The 100 Highlights - “Acceptable Losses” (5x07)

Hey guys!

I’m back to do my highlight recap of episode 5x07, “Acceptable Losses”, written by Jeff Vlaming. I am really happy to say that I enjoyed this episode a significant amount more than I did the previous one, and I’m really excited to dig into it with this post.

If you would like to view my other highlight posts you can do so here.

“She was shot, Marcus. Octavia Blake killed her - not me.”

^ Okay so I want to start of this post by talking about this line from Abby because I honestly think its really important. The fact that Kane was sort of implying that Abby was responsible for that girls death was really rubbing me the wrong way because, like, yes: maybe, if Abby was well, she would have been able to save the girl. But you can’t get a drug addict to fix themselves just by asking them to. And you can’t expect them to be able to fix other people too. As much as Abby may want to stop, that’s not how it works. I don’t think anyone should be blaming Abby for the death of that girl. It shouldn’t have even been Abby’s responsibility to treat her, to be honest. Jackson is a doctor, too. And he’s in a way better condition to handle that kind of situation at the moment. Obviously they wanted Abby because they can use drugs to get her to do what they want, but it doesn’t seem right for Kane to put that guilt on Abby’s shoulders.

It just reminded me so much of Abby saying to Raven in 4x03 that the radiation wasn’t killing that child - she was. It’s not true. Raven didn’t kill that girl, and Abby didn’t kill this one. It was Octavia.

Also I know everyone’s having fun hating on Kabby this season but I must have missed the memo cause I don’t really know why y’all hate it so much

Anywayyyyy

Harper SPOKE

“Funny, that’s the same thing we said about getting back down to the ground. And then we found you.”

LISTEN. I don’t know why y’all were hating on Bellamy for “shooting Octavia down” in this scene. The way she was talking to him in this scene absolutely SCREAMED manipulation to me. I was so happy when he said this to her - like, we’ve been waiting for seasons for him to stand up to Octavia, and finally he is. It’s a lot better than him just sitting there in silence, taking whatever she was probably about to throw at him once she had his sympathy and compliance.

Also, WHAT A DRAG. This writer has all the one-liners, damn. There was so much sass in this episode - I really enjoyed that aspect of it.

Okay, I REALLY love that they brought back Jasper’s suicide letter again in this episode. It was just SO important. So easily they forget about characters who have died on this show and what they meant to the people who are still alive, and I’m happy that that doesn’t seem to be the case with Jasper and Monty. Jasper’s presence in this episode felt like the callback this season needed - it helped me feel a lot more connected to the show, and to the characters. It was a well-needed reminder of the heart of this show and what it’s about.

Also, it is absolutely necessary to give ALL the kudos to Tree Adams for the work he has done this season (and especially in this episode). It’s crazy how much that man has managed to emote with his music. His presence on the crew of this show has served to elevate it in every single way. When I heard “The Awakening” being played over the scenes revolving Jasper ... it was A Lot fam. I think it is the most tragic and beautiful song that they have done on The 100 and it is also very deeply linked to Jasper as a character and everything that he went through. I love that, even though that song is from Season 3, they have continued to bring it back for both Season 4 and 5. It shows that they remember where they came from, and the journey that has brought us to this moment.

It Just Means A Lot.

Actually, everything to do with Monty and Clarke in this episode was INCREDIBLE. Man, I really felt their dynamic. They connected so well and it just made me really emotional. They used to be such a team ... Before. It’s nice to see that they can click back into that place so quickly again. Them teaming up ... it almost felt like old times.

“Monty, you can’t pick a lock with pruning sheers.” “Ye hath little faith.”

Thanks to this post here I am now aware that this is exactly what Monty said to Jasper in 2x07 when they were trying to unlock another door and Now I’m Sad (and yet also really happy that they put so much care and detail into this episode?).

Monty was just amazing this episode - like damn he’s so smart. He’s such an undercover badass. We don’t appreciate him enough.

I have to hand it to the writers with this one cause I really did NOT see that worm thing coming lmao. I was SO sure that we were about to get a cannibalism reveal and I’m pretty sure the writers are well-aware of that. They were having fun with us.

But on another note, I’m actually really happy that they brought the worms into the story. Otherwise, 5x05 would have pretty much just been a filler episode with no real significance. But, in doing this, they’ve made it so that episode is even more relevant than we thought. AND WOW WHAT A FUCKING TERRIFYING WAY TO DO SO.

BELLAMY AND MONTY AND CLARKE HAVING A CHAT JUST LIKE OLD TIMES WOW I’M EMO

We can’t forget they were the OG murder trio of 2x16 i love three pals bonded through the blood of their enemies

“Be diplomatic.” “Get out.” “Real diplomatic.” I LOVE TWO (2) COMEDIANS WOW BELLARKE REALLY HAS ME SHOVED STRAIGHT UP THEIR ASS HUH

“Clarke, he was there when Pike shot her and killed 300 of her people.” I know everyone is really mad about this line but on rewatch I noticed that they changed this line from the script so that it puts the blame for the massacre on Pike’s shoulders rather than Bellamy’s and while I do think it was a bit of an awkward placement, I appreciate that they changed the line so it didn’t feel like such a punch in the face.

Also, Clarke’s pause and then “I’ll go with him”? Peak comedy. I love a woman.

“When I was a kid, after the battle of San Francisco, I watched the evacuation on TV. Thousands of refugees being packed into aircraft carriers. I remember seeing soldiers pushing helicopters overboard just to make more room, and Diyoza was there. She was the one giving the orders. The machines were expendable, but the people weren’t. But up in space, when we reported that the miners were getting sick, Eligius saw it differently. Order Eleven came down: ‘Bring home the Hythylodium, leave the prisoners.’ Like they were garbage. Captain Stevens agreed and I didn’t.”

There’s something so compelling about the way Jordan Bolger delivers his lines. It reminds me of him talking to Clarke in 5x03 - I could listen to him talk about his backstory for hours. When he speaks he just has a way of captivating the audience. And also CHARMAINE DIYOZA WAS A MFING WAR HERO AND I WON’T HEAR ANYTHING ELSE. Damn, she continues to be the absolute best.

“So you see, Diyoza’s not as bad as you think and I’m not as good as you hoped.” WHAT A FUCKING LINE.

I am living for Zeke’s character and his relationship with Raven is so intriguing. Jordan and Lindsey have such great chemistry.

“An honest spy is either incompetent or working an angle. Which are you?” CHARMAINE TRULY CAME FOR HER LIFE GOD SHE’S SO SAVAGE I LOVE A WOMAN

“Karina died because her doctor was too high to operate.” “Really? And here I thought it was the bullet.” THANK. YOU.

The way Charmaine calls Kane out in this scene really just made me want to like, pump a fist or something, lmao. When he’s like “maybe it would be a good way to get rid of some of these ...” and she says, “What, Kane? Undesirables?” I. FELT. THAT.

“Kind of like sending 100 juvenile delinquents to die on the ground. Or abandoning 300 prisoners on an asteroid?” You know, I really didn’t expect Charmaine - of all people - to bring back this old argument from Season 1 but I WAS SO HAPPY THAT SHE DID. Say what you will about Diyoza but she’s nothing if not loyal. She’s not here to abandon her troops and she’s not willing to discard any of them - just like she wasn’t willing to abandon any of those refugees. The fact that she’s so open to allowing defectors into the camp at all, that she is feeding them, giving them shelter, actually sitting down to have chats with them is just so ... uncharacteristic of a “villain”? And I love it.

“Trust her? She’s a drug addict. ... Too soon?”

Literally me, every time Diyoza opens her mouth:

Got to take a short second to say again how interested I am to see how this whole Gaia/Madi plotline is going to play out, now that we know that she is actually here to keep her safe. It’s such an interesting dynamic, with her being so close to Octavia.

I know a lot of people are annoyed that the flame is still part of the show but honestly, I think it makes a lot of sense (considering Madi’s position as a nightblood) and plays a lot more interesting of a role now that the time of the Commander’s is supposedly over and their faith has been destroyed ... almost. In any case, I’m pretty sure that the flame will be gone for good by the end of this season because I think that whatever happens with Madi and Octavia’s reign and Wonkru is going to lead to its destruction, but in the meantime I really don’t mind it being part of the story.

I have to talk about the scene where Gaia shows her the flame because I LOVE how it was filmed. The music was so eery and fit the mood perfectly, and the fucking whispers??? We’ve never actually seen how a real, living nightblood reacts to the flame and I think it’s actually super cool that Madi can feel a bond to it - it was literally beckoning to her. It was giving me major Lord of the Rings vibes.

And wow, Lola really killed that scene. You can clearly see the way her emotions are creating inner turmoil for her. She’s been hiding from the flame since birth and yet she also cannot deny the draw that she feels towards it (again, like Frodo with the ring). Lola has such a potential as a little actress - I’m really excited to see where she goes.

Side note but ... who’s going to tell these writers no one actually refers to their sibling as “big brother” just casually?

“There are times in war where you have to do the wrong things for the right reasons.” And I’m sure this is exactly how Echo justified every single thing she did pre-Praimfaya too. I have to admit that I actually liked what they did with Echo this episode just because it shows that she still has areas that require growth. Her priorities and loyalties changed up on the Ark but she has yet to be truly tested. This is her test, to see how much those six years really changed her. If this episode is an indication, her instinct is still to fall back into old habits during times of war. I’m optimistic that what this means is we are going to get to see Echo have real development, on-screen, this season.

Monty reading Jasper’s letter ... I Am Not Okay.

Again, loved all the callbacks to Jasper in this episode. It’s really interesting that his character arc has carried over from Season 3/4 and seems to have reinvented itself in Monty now. I’m hopeful that Monty isn’t going to go down the self-destructive path that Jasper went down, but that he might actually use Jasper’s memory to pave the path towards real change. We rarely get characters who want to end the fighting rather than continue it - I’m interested to see where Monty’s character arc goes as the season progresses.

“Jasper was smarter than all of us [...] If the war is the only way to have the last survivable land on Earth, then maybe we don’t deserve it.” He’s not wrong ...

Octavia throwing a skull at her mirror in rage ... I just have to laugh

“If we lose, [you helping Kane escape] will be why. How does that make you feel?” “Awful, and I’d do it again.”

LISTEN INDRA THIS SEASON IS EVERYTHING. She’s one of the few characters who is not afraid to call out Octavia on the way that she is leading. She can see so clearly through Blodreina’s bullshit and yet she loves Octavia despite it. That’s Strength.

“I miss him, too.” Lemme just go roll into my corner and CRY MY FUCKING EYES OUT because Bellamy and Jasper was one of my all time favourite dynamics and I miss it so much

“Make algae, not war. That’s cute.” IT IS FUCKING CUTE BELLAMY ALL RIGHT

“If the early batches don’t kill them like they nearly did us.” “That’s before I got the recipe right, and you know it.” I STAN

Seriously, though ... Monty is just SO (so) underrated.

BELLAMY BLAKE HAS A FUCKING DIMPLE ON HIS RIGHT CHEEK AND I WAS NOT EVEN FUCKING AWARE OF THIS FACT BECAUSE IN ALL THE FOUR AND HALF SEASONS THAT CAME BEFORE THIS THE CAMERA HAS NEVER FOCUSED ON HIS SMILE LIKE THAT BEFORE SO YEAH I AM SALTY BECAUSE WE HAVE BEEN ROBBED OF THIS CUTENESS GOOD NIGHT

“75% of your people are dying.” “Well, that’s good . . . For Octavia.” The casual way she delivers this line askqiakdksansks i stan a comedian

LISTEN. The reveal of Diyoza being pregnant LITERALLY made me gasp. Out loud. I literally jumped off of my couch and cheered. I am SO excited about this reveal. I didn’t think they were going to actually use the fact that that Ivana was pregnant during filming in the show because they had her taking tequila shots in 5x05 (*sigh*) but I’m really happy that they decided to. It just adds a whole extra layer to Charmaine. She’s not just a leader - she’s a mother. And I do wonder at how that might affect Abby’s and Charmaine’s dynamic, because that’s one thing they both have in common.

Another reason I really liked that reveal was because I think Charmaine being pregnant gives her a higher chance of surviving this season. She still may die, but it’s a lot darker to kill off a character when they are carrying a baby inside of them than when they are not, and I know the CW has regulations on that kind of thing.

That being said, Karina was heavily implied to have been pregnant and she still died ... Although they did cut out the lines that explicitly stated she was pregnant from the script so maybe her death was why?

Anyway, I’m really excited about this plotline.

Raven looking at a beaten up Shaw with tears in her eyes ... this is the angst I live for. Man, I could get invested in this relationship. Not to mention, Zeke becoming one of the prisoners is SUPER intriguing. His role within Eligius is what kept him conflicted before, but if Eligius has rejected him too now, who will he become? What will he do to help Raven and the others? Right now, I’m sure he wants nothing to do with her but I know that won’t last forever and I’m really excited to see what they do with his character.

I know that Madi beating Ethan in that fight was a TERRIBLE idea but I’m really excited about it. Madi has surprised me as a character (in a good way) because she has so much of her own agency outside of Clarke. I think the story of her struggling with her hero-worship and glorification of Octavia versus her love and loyalty to Clarke is super interesting. She may be fucking everything up but she’s doing it on her own terms, and that’s exciting, because Madi easily could have been written in as a plot device to cause conflict between Clarke and her friends as well as within the Grounder system. Instead, the writers have given her flaws and strengths in her own right. She is way more fleshed out as a character than I was expecting going into Season 5 and I think this story with her and Octavia will be really interesting.

Also, I 100% predicted that Madi would be Octavia’s second in my spec masterpost months ago. In fact, a lot of my spec about Madi and Octavia has been taking shape pretty nicely so I’m really interested to see if the rest of my spec regarding that relationship follows through too ...

Clarke taking the radio and calling Diyoza just like she called Emerson in 2x16 ... damn. DAMN. Nice to see the return of “you may be the Chancellor, but I’m in charge”. She’s So Powerful.

BELLAMY AND CLARKE STARING DIRECTLY INTO EACH OTHER’S EYES DURING THE ENTIRE RADIO SCENE UNTIL BELLAMY COULDN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE AND TURNED AWAY AM I SENSING SOME TENSION HERE

But seriously, he knew exactly what she was going to see even before she said “That’s why we’re going to take her out.” Even after six years Bellamy can read her so well

I’ve been waiting all season for the turbulence I was promised and OH BOY AM I READY FOR THE ANGST

HAKELDAMA 2.0 HERE I COME

BOOM. Out.

That was a KILLER episode. It took me forever to get through this recap because there were so many aspects of the episode that I really, really enjoyed. It hit all the right emotional beats, the music was on point, and the plot was super intriguing. It really feels like the story is picking up and I am SO excited to watch 5x08.

It’s going to be harder for me to keep on top of these recaps for the rest of the season as I’m going to be very busy (and I’m not even sure if I’ll be able to watch most of the episodes live) but I’ll do my best to get them all done. I can’t promise that they will all be completed in a timely fashion (before the next episode airs), as I have been doing them thus far, but I’ll try to get them done when I can!

Thanks for reading!

#the 100 #the 100 highlights series #monty green #clarke griffin #posts by moi #jasper jordan: more than a drunken idiot #monty green: not your average cinnamon roll

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sunflowersupremes · 6 years

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The Mutiny: Chapter 4

Anger over the exile and lack of payment for Peter caused Yondu’s crew to consider mutiny. By the time Peter was ten, tensions were at a boiling point, finally spilling over just like the soup pot the mutineers planned to stick him in.

Yondu hadn’t felt so helpless in years, not since before his rescue. But with his arrow out of commission and his implant overheating there was little he could do to prevent his former crew from selling him back to the Kree.

Stakar was conflicted. On the one hand, it served Yondu right to have his crew turn on him after he had turned his back on the code. On the other, it was a little too ironic that the man whose action had saved him from slavery was going to condemn him to return through inaction.

An AU in which the mutiny happens much, much earlier and help comes from the most unlikely of places.

Characters: Peter Quill, Yondu Udonta, Stakar Ogord, Taserface (Marvel), Gef (Marvel), Martinex T'Naga, Aleta Ogord

Additional Tags: Cannibalism, Child Abuse, Death, Suicidal Ideation

Read Chapter on AO3

Read Entire Story on AO3

Peter was good at moving quickly through air vents, the biggest obstacle that he had faced so far in his trek through the Starhawk was that it was nowhere near as noisy as the Elector. The ship he was used to calling home creaked and groaned constantly, meaning that every small noise was either blamed on the ship itself or the Orloni infestation. It didn’t help that he had started coughing, no doubt a side effect of the broken ribs Taserface had given him.

Unfortunately, the Starhawk seemed to be kept in near perfect condition. A-holes, Peter thought bitterly as he was forced to pause and wait, totally still, for a group of Ravagers to pass underneath him.

Either they hadn’t noticed his absence yet (unlikely), or they hadn’t sent out a ship wide message to inform everyone that there was a missing kid on board. If Stakar’s men were anything like Yondu’s, Peter supposed the later was a better guess since anything else would likely get him killed by a hungry crew.

It would be a helluva lot easier if aliens just probed you and stuck you back where they found you like in the movies, he decided. Of course, there were times that he wasn’t sure he would have been any better off on Earth - even if you were stuck with a bunch of a-holes, space was fun - but he kept that to himself.

As another Ravager passed under him, Peter blinked in alarm realizing that he was carrying a body. Kraglin! He pushed his face up against the narrow slits that allowed air to exit the vents and gaped as the man carried the Elector’s first mate below him. Kraglin was completely motionless, and Peter couldn’t tell if his chest was rising and falling or not, seeing as how the man was being carried over the stranger’s shoulder. Panic welled up in his throat, wondering who had attacked first, Kraglin or whoever had put him in that shape. Peter started coughing, hiding the noises in his coat. At first, he didn’t notice the stain of blood on the red of his jacket, but when he wiped his mouth with his hand, he couldn’t fail to miss it. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. He needed to get to help and soon.

Please be alive, he thought desperately, squinting down the hall after Kraglin and his captor (who had thankfully been too busy dealing with Kraglin’s gangly form to notice Peter’s coughing). He wasn’t overly fond of Kraglin, but if the first mate truly was dead, then even he had to admit Yondu was several times more likely to do something stupid. Once the two passed under him, Peter hurried the rest of the way over the hall and into the wall. Traveling through the vents in the walls was easiest, as they tended to be better insulated and therefore you could risk a bit more noise. For a moment, he considered going after Kraglin but thought better of it. Even if the man was alive, it wasn’t like Peter could do anything to help him. Instead, he set off on again on his search for Yondu, deciding that Kraglin could be his problem.

Unfortunately, the Starhawk was not set up exactly like the Elector, and Peter was surprised to find himself in the crew quarters instead of the medical bay. Grumbling angrily he dropped into the next empty room he found, immediately hunting through the desk, praying for a map.

If the Stakar’s hierarchy was anything like that of Yondu’s men, only the top ranking crew had their own room, leaving Peter to assume he’d stumbled into someone important’s space. All the more reason for something useful to be here. He would just have to hurry, although, hopefully, they wouldn’t have expected him to go to the crew quarters (he wouldn’t have planned on it, anyway).

After finding nothing useful on the top of the desk, he dropped to his knees, disappointed to see that the desk had a lock, but delighted a moment later to realize that it was broken. Grinning, he pried it open. The first thing he did - a trick Yondu had taught him - was to check for any secret compartments. Bingo.

The bottom of one of the drawers popped out, and a small tablet fell into his hands. He flicked it on, praying for a ship diagram, instead, he was rewarded with what appeared to be a child’s toy, complete with language learning software. Peter recognized it as the same one Yondu had made him use to improve his reading skills. Weird, he thought, turning the tablet over to see if it had any identifying marks. Something clattered in the hall and Peter shoved the drawer back into the desk, forgetting to put the tablet back first. He grabbed it as he ran, fleeing into the closet.

Oh hell, he thought, recognizing the strange outfits that were hung above his head, the same ones he’d seen Stakar wearing.

“He’s not in the medical bay.” Stakar bit back a sigh of frustration at the crewmember’s words, resisting the urge to kick at the nearest wall.

“No,” he said after a moment. “I’m guessing he wouldn’t be. Keep an eye out for him though, and comm me if anything changes.”

“Yes Sir,” the medic replied. She was quiet for a moment, waiting until just before she cut the call to add, “Yondu is stable.”

Stakar nodded to himself, tapping his foot as he stared at the map of the ship he’d pulled up on his wrist monitor. He brought his comm back to his lips and typed in a familiar code. “Martinex, are you back onboard the Starhawk?”

“Not yet.”

“Remind me again, the Elector, it’s a mirror image of the Starhawk, isn’t it?”

Martinex had spent more time on the other ship when he’d been rounding up the last troublesome members of Yondu’s mutinous crew, so his memory of the ship would be better. “Not exactly, but close.”

“So if someone thought they were going to the medical bay of the Elector, where would he end up aboard the Starhawk?”

“Can this hypothetical person read signs?”

Stakar snorted dryly. “Very funny. Let’s say this hypothetical person is in the vents.”

“Hmm. Let me see.” Stakar could easily picture Martinex pulling a map identical to the one he was currently surveying of the Starhawk, but if he knew his first mate, the man would have gotten the schematics of the Elector as soon as he’d stepped on board. He thought of things like that, it was part of why Stakar was loathe to give him his own command and loose his valuable insight.

“Crew Quarters,” Martinex supplied after a moment. “Coming in from the hanger, which is where I’m assuming your hypothetical potential stowaway - who fits in the vents and is decidedly not the Terran that Obfonteri was asking about that I saw you leave with - is coming from, they’d come up on our rooms first. It would depend on which vents they were hypothetically using.”

Sometimes, Martinex was too smart for his own good.

Stakar set off down the hall, making his way as quickly as possible to his rooms, hoping his hunch was correct. “So if you were this hypothetical not-Terran stowaway, what would you do upon realizing you didn’t end up where you planned?”

“Find a map.”

“Quarters would be a good place to look,” Stakar agreed, shoving past the Ravagers in the halls with barely an apologetic nod.

“Hypothetically, I would look for the higher ranking crew’s rooms.” Martinex paused, then added, “hypothetically we’ve overlooked a large flaw in our security systems. I’ll make a note to have the vents into crew quarters sealed.”

“Hypothetically of course,” Stakar teased, turning sharply around the corner and using his wrist comm to buzz himself into the private area of the ship occupied by the officers. Having the hallway coded made little sense if there were huge vents perfect for sneaking around, he thought dejectedly.

“Hypothetically, you’re a pain,” Martinex said and cut the communication before Stakar could retort. He took a moment to send a short text of ‘oughta have you briged’ then refocused on finding Peter.

Martinex’ reply pinged through almost instantly, ‘you’d space Ruul in two days without me.’ He probably wasn’t wrong. Stakar didn’t dislike his second mate, but the Kree was nowhere near as useful as Martinex. Then again, few people were.

He decided on checking his own rooms first, if the kid was in their rooms - and if he wasn’t, Stakar was truly at a loss for where to look for him - he could potentially do the most damage in the captain’s quarters.

Stepping inside, he flicked on the light. Nothing was obviously out of place, but that didn’t mean that Peter wasn’t in there. Should have told Ruul to scan the ship, he thought bitterly. Even though having his Second Mate scan for Peter’s life sign was less reliable than Stakar would have liked, it would have been a good back up if this plan failed. He typed the Kree a quick message, instructing him to locate any abnormal signatures and report them, then resumed the search of his quarters.

“Look, kid, if you’re in here, why don’t you come out and talk.” He was met with silence. If he’s not in here, I look stupid. Stakar tried a different approach, “I had my first mate scan the ship, I know you’re here. Why don’t you just give up?”

Something clattered in his closet, as though the kid was startled. Gotcha. Stakar pulled out his desk chair and sat down, propping up his feet. “Arket said you’re scared.” His voice dropped, more gentle than before, “I’m not gonna grab you.”

He was met with silence and hoped fervently that he hadn’t imagined the noises. Hopefully, Ruul would finish up his scan of the ship soon, that way, even if Stakar was just talking to an empty room, he’d know sooner rather than later. But Stakar's gut feeling told him this was right where the kid was.

“You looked pretty beat up the last time I saw you. I’m sure you could benefit from a doctor.” Stakar just hoped it had been Taserface and his mutineers who had left Peter in such bad shape, if it had been Yondu he wouldn’t have a choice but to deal with him. Abusing kids was something Stakar firmly didn’t tolerate.

His wristwatch pinged and he looked down to see a message displayed from Ruul. ‘Something’s in your room. Ain’t normal.’

‘Terran?’ Stakar typed back.

‘No.’

Flark. Martinex had said that Obfonteri had claimed Peter was Terran, but if there was something else in his room, he probably should be worried. Stakar stood, praying that it was just the kid and the scanners were acting up again. Maybe we hit a solar storm and messed up the scanners, he thought. “Come on, kid, let me help you.”

Something coughed in his closet. Not wanting to scare the kid, he didn’t take the chance to rip the door open and grab him. But as the coughing continued and seemed to grow worse, Stakar moved closer, kneeling just outside the door. “I’m gonna open the door now,” he said softly.

When he opened the door, he was rewarded with the sight of Peter curled in the back corner, face buried in the crook of his elbow as he coughed. He stared at Stakar with wide eyes, clearly frightened.

“Do you need water?” Stakar still didn’t move closer, crouching further to make himself appear smaller and less threatening, a trick he’d picked up dealing with Yondu. “I want to help.”

“Can’t breathe.” The boy finally lowered his arm, revealing that his lips were stained with red liquid. Blood.

Stakar winced sympathetically, holding out his hand. “You need to lie flat, come on, let me help.” Peter hesitantly took his hand, and he gently pulled him from the closet, looping an arm under his legs so he could lift him. When the boy stiffened and started to protest he explained, “I’m gonna put you on the bed.”

Peter nodded and allowed himself to be laid out, Stakar rested his hand on the boy’s shoulder as he keyed in another message to Ruul. ‘Medical team to captain’s quarters. Kid hurt.’

“Can you breathe better?”

Peter nodded, gasping and spitting up more blood. Stakar grabbed an old shirt out of his closet and pressed it to his mouth, wiping off the blood. “Help’s on the way.”

“Taserface hit me,” he whispered, still struggling to breathe.

Stakar shifted his hand to Peter’s chest, pushing up his shirt to look for any wounds. “No one’s allowed to hit you anymore, you got that?” He suspected that he felt at least one broken rib, which would explain why Peter was spitting blood. “Slow your breathing and try not to panic. You’re going to be fine.”

He took ahold of one of Peter’s hands with his spare hand, squeezing gently. Peter squeezed back. “Who are you?” he rasped.

“I knew Yondu, back before he broke the code. Name's Stakar.”

Peter nodded, his breathing speeding up again. “Calm down, shhh. Deep breaths.”

“Can’t. Help.” He looked terrified, his huge eyes staring pleadingly at Stakar, his small body shaking with each breath.

“Let’s try sitting you up.” Stakar crawled onto the bed to sit beside him and pulled Peter so that he was half in his lap. “Help’s almost here.”

‘Tell them to hurry,’ he messaged Ruul. Then he pinged a new message to Martinex, ’Find the Elector’s doctor and get me the boy’s medical history.’

Martinex called instead of texting, and before Stakar could say anything - or warn him that there was a frightened ten-year-old present - he reported, “I already found your man. Well, I found his head. I’m not sure where the rest of him is. Possibly the kitchen.”

Peter whimpered, “Whose head?” He craned his head to look at Stakar, fear flashing in his eyes.

Recalling that the mutineers had been planning on eating Peter, Stakar patted his hand reassuringly. "No one's gonna eat you."

Martinex must have heard him, remarking, “Oh? You found the hypothetical not-Terran stowaway?”

“Not now Marty,” Stakar said, slightly harsher than he’d intended. “I need you to find the kid’s medical records.” The more they knew about what had been used to treat him in the past, the easier it would be on them to treat him now.

“Of course.” Martinex paused for a moment, then added, in a completely serious voice, “Peter, don’t die, Obfonteri threatened to do some rather creative things to the Captain’s anatomy if I didn’t return you to him.”

“Y-yes sir,” Peter gasped.

“He’s not dying, it’s just a punctured lung,” Stakar interrupted, trying to keep Peter from realizing how serious his injuries were.

Sounding genuinely confused, the first mate asked, “I thought that was serious in fleshy species.” Leave it to Martinex to decide this was a good time for Stakar to give him an anatomy lesson.

“He’s going to be fine,” Stakar replied sharply. “Just get me his medical records.” Then he hung up, shifting to look down at Peter. “Don’t listen to Marty, he doesn’t understand anyone who isn’t made of rock.”

Peter nodded, as though speaking was too much. “Deep breaths,” Stakar soothed. “Help’s almost here.”

Author’s Note:

Ruul is an OC of sorts. He’s the blue guy behind Stakar during his confrontation with Yondu. I’ve got some headcanons (and photos) about him and a fic I wrote.

#yondu #peter quill #stakar ogord #aleta ogord #guardians of the galaxy #marvel #fanfic #fan fic #martinex #charlie 27 #mainframe #kraglin #my writing #series: the mutiny

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stargleeksil-blog · 7 years

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Criminal Minds s01e11 Blood Hungry review

Episode 11 – Blood Hungry

Okaaaaaay, so the title is once again horrifying. I have an overactive imagination, so I immediately think about cannibalism. I just hope I’m wrong.

Let’s see what this one brings.

Aww, Tennessee!!! I’ve never actually been there, going on my bucket list, dudes.

Oh my god, that voice is angelic! And a boy is singing? Oh my goodness! I want him in my pocket as a ringtone, holy shit, that is amazing.

Wally, you do you! I love you!

You can’t resist that face, I know you can’t, Charlie. You’ll have to be late for pool with your buddy, though lord knows why a young kid plays pool. Lol.

Ew. A creep is coming up to the house. Not attractive at all.

Hey! What the fuck are you killing that lady for? What she do to you, you freak?

Yikes! That old guy was so stabbed to death!

Why is Gideon on crutches? You poor thing. Skydiving? Oh honey. You poor thing. That’s why you don’t do extreme sports, like me J

Come on! Would it kill you to put Kirsten as a regular?

How do you know Wally saw the guy? Oh you’re good, Elle. I love you.

Oh my god, Penelope finding Gideon just taking over her office is just the cutest thing ever. Someone needs to put those two more together in scenes. Oh lord, Mandy just staring at people is like beyond funny and creepy at the same time. I love him so much. And someone needs to get Penelope a present for being so understanding.

A guy named Domino? Oh honey. Oh god, he’s totally nuts! What the fuck? I mean, you come at him running, and you’re shocked he’s trying to run away from you? Come on, the guy is in his underwear and fleeing you. Come on.

“I didn’t do nothing.” – sweetie, that’s a double negative.

“I never stoled it?” oh god, someone needs to teach him English.

Oh Domino, you little puppy. You robbed a butchered lady? I get it, it ain’t right. But you need to get a grip on yourself babycakes.

He did not just smudge the blueprints! Oh god he’s just driving her insane. What the fuck? I know you found out something, Gideon, but leave Penelope out of this, please.

He’s harvesting organs for food. Ew.

I knew this episode was going to be nasty, I just knew it from the name. ugh.

Took too much LSD. Cute.

Larsony and attempted suicide.

Sever manic depressions and violent mood swings. Bit the heads off chickens. Ew.

What the fuck?

That lady already looks suspicious to me because she wears furs. Come on.

Why are they after the butcher’s son? Poor kid. Come on. Just go with them and prove you haven’t done anything. Come on, Olly.

Olly, you is one strong puppy. I love you.

Aww the good old days when grannies still have VCRs, I love you, Wally’s granny.

Hey! What the fuck did his granny do to you??????

Oh great, he probably kidnapped Wally. Lovely.

Ugh. All this blood is making me nauseous. Gross. Gross. Gross. He took the heart, lovely.

Gideon, rest you damn fool! Leave Penelope alone! You’re just hurting yourself, babycakes. Oh my god his face when the chair went over his foot was amazing.

Ew. So he’s both a vampire and a cannibal? Ugh ugh ugh.

They sent her a human stomach in a bucket? Blah.

Fifteen churches in a town of 5000? Well, it makes sense, but come on. Try and tone it down cuz people can go nuts over that sort of crap.

Elle knows her cars. Nice.

Hey, whoa, hold it babycakes! Just try and relax. Oh crap, he had a container of blood. So gross.

Would you stop screaming? Oh my god, he’s just bananas all over.

Oh snap. He’s the son of the fur-lady! Dang!

Talk about overprotective! Calling him three times a day, his mom broke it off with his girlfriend cuz she didn’t like it? Ugh. And studying comparative religion and partying like an 80’s disco clubber is not the best thing ever.

“You can have him (Gideon) whenever you like” – oh cupcake, I love you Penelope Garcia.

“Dude!” don’t scare Elle like that. Hahahaha oh god I love this show.

Ooh they scrubbed the place with bleach. Babies you are geniuses.

Oh snap. They forgot to bleach under the fridge. You busted!

That doctor is beyond annoying. Does she not realize that a boy has been kidnapped? Chill your ass down, lady.

So he’s answering well, but he’s spastic as hell. Something is definitely wrong with him. Oh god. I mean, I sympathize, but you gotta admit that is freaky as hell.

So he is psychotic and believed he’s possessed? Oh boy.

What the fuck? Come on, Eddie, don’t kill yourself, baby. It’s gonna be ok.

Or not.

Oh crap. They can track her GPS? Damn. “These things cause more divorces than internet porn,” Derek, I don’t wanna know how you know that.

Oh crap, Hotch is interrogating Mrs. Mays. Damn, boy.

Please find Wally. Please.

Oh thank goodness. He’s fine. Thank god.

Harriet Breecher Stowe: “The bitterest tears shed over graves are for words left unsaid and deeds left undone.” Oh that is deep! I love that!

“Great, now I can go back to the fifteen folders on my desk.” “Fifteen? I have twenty-four!” “That’s cuz I slipped you four of mine on Friday.” Elle, you little shit. God I love this team.

“Hey, sweetheart.” “Do not sweetheart me. I may not be a supervisory special agent, but that does not make me a maid!” oh god, what has Gideon made her do? I’m gonna love this bit. Oh my goodness, I love this show so much.

“You’ve managed to get on Garcia’s nerves pretty thoroughly.” “Who’s Garcia?” you did not just say that, Gideon! Oh my god. I’m loving this. Yeah, she’s great, but that doesn’t mean you get to dump all of your crap in her office.

Who is he talking about? Ohh god I’m intrigued now! Come on! Who doesn’t want to hear from you? Please tell me! I’m a curious bunny!

Aw Gideon has a son????? Oh god, I can’t believe it! He’s so cute!

So aside from the total grossness of the case, this was the cutest episode ever. And finally they had Garcia and Gideon interact alone. And that was just beyond precious.

Can’t wait for the next one, but that’ll have to wait a bit.

#criminal minds #s01e11 #blood hungry #mandy patinkin #thomas gibson #shemar moore #aj cook #lola glaudini #matthew gray gubler #kirsten vangsness

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katieskarlette · 7 years

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Gork the Teenage Dragon - a review

I just finished reading the book “Gork the Teenage Dragon” by Gabe Hudson. It was okay. Not great, not horrible. Just okay.

I just submitted the following review to Amazon:

This review contains some spoilers, although I tried to be vague.

There are a lot of fun ideas going on in this book, but the execution leaves something to be desired. I picked it up because I love dragon stories, and all the characters in this are indeed dragons, but they live in a world of robots, teleportation pads, sentient space ships and other sci-fi elements. I was expecting more of a fairy-tale setting. I tried to go along with the flow, and some of the sci-fi elements worked (a mated pair of dragons fly to a new planet and breed themselves an army to conquer said planet, which is an interesting concept) while others didn't make much sense (a machine somehow "swaps" the minds of a worm and a lion, so the worm can now run at lion speeds and kill large prey...with the limbs and teeth it still doesn't actually have?)

There was potential for poignant character development with Gork and the grandfather who raised him, bonafide supervillain Dr. Terrible. I'm always fascinated by the psychology of villain characters, and I hoped for some kind of exploration of what makes Dr. Terrible tick, whether it's possible to be a planet-conquering mad scientist and still genuinely care for your family, etc. Gork certainly does have mixed feelings about him, with a few good memories of bonding mixed with horrible, abusive memories, but nothing really comes of it. Their final confrontation should have felt way more personal than it did.

The ending felt rushed, and not just because chapter lengths decreased dramatically in the last section. The characters went from Plan A to Plan B very quickly, and although their decisions were in-character the reader had to fill in the blanks about how decisions were made and how the characters reacted to those changes. The old advice of "show, don't tell" would have helped the last few chapters quite a bit. Throwing in the names and brief descriptions of a handful of brand-new characters (presumably as seeds for a potential sequel) at the very end didn't help the pacing, either. For a book narrated in first person, I would have expected more introspection at the end, where the hero looks back on how his experiences shaped him. There were only a few sentences in that vein, and it lacked any real weight.

There was also a touch of deus ex machina in the final battle, some kind of magic at work that wasn't explained. After an entire book of science fiction themes, having random magic turn up was jarring. (Well, there was a brief foray into the Underworld, but that wasn't related to what happened later.)

Probably my biggest complaint about the book was the repetitiveness of the vocabulary. We KNOW the dragons are green and scaly. You don't need to describe them that way on practically every page. This started bugging me so badly that by the third chapter I started keeping track of how many times those words were used. The grand tally, after all 377 pages, was as follows: "scaly" appeared 110 times, "green" 100 times, "green scaly" twice, and "scaly green" a whopping 169 times--three of those times on the same page! It was laughable and distracting. (I didn't count "green" when it referred to something other than a dragon, by the way.) I didn't write down the number of times their "black beaks" were mentioned, but that was also very repetitive. Are all these dragons the exact same shade of green? Are none of them "emerald" or "mossy" or even "yellow-green"? Either think of different ways to describe things, or trust the readers to remember descriptions for longer than a paragraph.

Despite these criticisms, I wouldn't call it a bad book. It had some genuinely exciting moments and a few chuckles along the way. Gork himself is pretty likable as an insecure loser with too much heart for his own good, and I definitely liked Fribby, Gork's part-robot, part-dragon best friend.

If the thought of awkward teenage dragons hanging out with robots and talking space ships (and occasionally causing great bodily harm to each other) appeals to you, check it out. If you're looking for more traditional dragon tales with epic literary scope, give it a pass.

Be advised that there is a fair amount of violence, some graphic, in the book, as well as cannibalism, capital punishment (of minors, no less), mentions of suicide, and sexual themes/references. I would say the book is appropriate mainly for adults, and perhaps older teens.

#dragon book #book review #gork the teenage dragon

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phantomphangphucker · 5 years

Text

One Lonely Star

Chapter 1 - Star Fall Down

Chapter 2 - Just A Little Lost

I've got to keep working, just keep working, tinkering, fiddling. There isn’t anything else. Figure out what went wrong, fix it, try again. And again. And again. I’ve become frustrated in my work, which earns me a quiet zap. But that doesn’t bother me, it means something is doing something. And that’s progress. But for now, I’ll leave things be. Find more parts, new parts, better parts. I’m certain that things will work, they have to. I have to.

Heading out I opt for a different direction, this time I’ll go farther. Floating lightly above the piles of rubble inside the subway, I find it odd that there’s so much here. But spotting something glowing I decide I do not care.

It works! Something works!

It’s just a piece, just a part but it has a charge. A charge I didn’t give it. I know why as I continue on. Because ectoplasm drips down the walls here, there’s a pool of it on the floor. Radioactive green with hints of a strange unnatural purple. It’s still sentient at least, though I’m unsure if that’s what’s best for it or not. There’s a collar floating in it, with absolute certainty that is a piece of it that needs to be saved. Touching the ectoplasm I can sense that it knows me and I know it. I can not help but cry, though I must make no sound. Through everything, he was a good boy and I’m certain that through this he was good till the bitter end. But I came to late, again too late, always too late. Why were you here! How were you here! You shouldn’t be here! I refuse to speak, who knows who or what could hear. I can’t get caught, get destroyed because I grieved with sound. He wouldn’t want that and they can’t afford that. I will take what I can, every part and set him to sail to the happiness he deserves. Somehow this hits harder than every human I’ve failed, dead humans become ghosts; they come back. But ghosts? They don’t. It’s sad, humans are the ones who seek finality but ghosts are the ones who have to face it.

As I walk along further I realize the metal ghost’s here, he’s never been friendly. That part, the one that worked, was his for sure. I can’t say I’m glad to see him but my displeasure turns to concern, he used to look ok and happy. He doesn’t now. He’s angry, unstable, corrupted somehow. He moves in jerks, green and purple ectoplasm drips from the holes and cracks in his suits. He would never let his suit get into this state, and he would never pass up an opportunity to show me a new weapon. And yet he just did, I think I know what happened to my dog. Ghosts I can deal with, ghosts are easy. This wasn’t a ghost, not anymore, this was a hollow shell of a ghost. Words are written all over his suit, but I have no chance to read them.

He fires and burns me, it’s been too long. I forget this game and dance but some things never die. Swerving, sweeping and spinning in the air, we go at each other like a wild dance. One rehearsed so many times but never grew old, for either of us. I manage to fend him off but this corruption, whatever’s eating him, is killing him. The more I fight him the more I can tell, the more I fight him the more he dies. I just can’t. I can’t do that. I exist so others may survive, regardless of who. So you better live damn it, I let him fling me with the whip of a taser out across tree lines; back the way I came.

I regain consciousness to shouts and jeers, they’re above me. I know they are. Who or what I don’t really know, I can’t take the time to find out. Move. Now.

I shoot straight through the roof, flying up. I don’t look down. Thankfully I had long since gotten used to keeping everything I couldn't leave behind, physically tied to my body somehow. Most of the ropes have been there so long they’ve dug deep enough into my skin that skin has formed over top. I’ll have to cut it out when this is all over, if it’s ever over. Which I’m sure it will be, in time. All things in time. They throw things at me as I go, which means I know who they are. Humans, likely my parents have gathered some others up to hunt me, to hurt me, to make me pay. I’d be fine with paying their payments if it didn’t mean my death. That’s the only payment they’ll accept.

I fly through hallways sweeping and turning, I try to avoid using my intangibility as much as possible, might mess up my trinkets. Can’t have that, one might actually work now or in the future; I don’t know. As I whip by I spot some human, clearly barely 20. I don’t hesitate, I just keep moving. Moving is better, for both of us. I don’t know if the humans would kill another human just for being friendly to the “enemy”, they might. I can feel his eyes watching me go, they don’t feel hateful. That’s the first time in years I have felt a regular humans stare being non-hateful. It’s jarring actually, you get really used to the way people treat you, look at you, speak to you; over time. Whether it’s filled with hate or love; for the longest time it’s been nothing but hate. That’s ok though, I’m sure it’s ok, completely ok. The jarring sensation has the negative side effect of causing me to smack my head into a wall. But I have to ignore the minor pain, I’ve had far worse. This is just a blimp on the pain rollercoaster of life. The person watching laughs or snickers, whether that’s at my pain or out of genuine humour; I do not know. It’s probably best if I give it no thought anyways.

If they start liking me again, if they start asking for my help again; I won’t say no. I won’t turn away, if anything will be the death of me it’s that. So I don’t think about even one possibly beginning to like me. No, never. I’d go back.

I’m going back.

Why did the boy have to look at me? Why did one, just one, have to be nice? I was right before, human morals fall to the wayside in times like this. They saw me of course, they had traps of course, and I didn’t fight back of course. But I don’t just sit and take it, no, if there’s anything I’ve become an expert at it’s coming out ok when I’m completely and utterly screwed and beaten in every single imaginable way. I sigh bitterly as I busy myself with my work, needle in a steady hand slowly doing the delicate work of reattaching my leg. I lost it for a bit. Just a little bit, no big deal. Though I didn’t find my toes, but things grow back. I don’t have time to look for them, I have other things to look for. I haven’t found the mans left hand yet.

It was nice, a warm feeling, that boy standing up for me. Guess he saw what others didn’t. Maybe I should be clumsy in front of people more often. I didn’t get to savour the warm feeling this time, though. The minute he stood up for me, didn’t blame me, didn’t hurt me; he became an "other" to them. Like wolves, they turned and fumed. Churning him up in their refusal of him. It took me too long to get out of the bear traps to stop them. So I’ll save his parts and I’ll both thank and curse him for his small kindness. I like to think I don’t need reminders why I am theirs, why my very existence will always be theirs. But I do. It’s not to remember that truth but rather to feel contentment with that truth. Whether I hate it or love it I am theirs, I’d rather be content about it. Though I miss when I loved every second of it.

With this in mind, I head back to the subway. Filled with nothing but mental begging and pleading that I am met by an attack and not silence. Don’t let it be silence.

It’s silence.

I find his suit, smears of ectoplasm everywhere and not a movement to be found. I remove the head, radioactive green tainted purple drips out and I know. I don’t want to know, but I know. So I reattach the head and sit, allow the grief. If only for now. Eventually, I lift my head, I have to examine his suit and the writing. It may be important and no one can afford me to miss anything, ever. I’ve missed too many things already, I don’t know how I could be forgiven for everything I’ve missed. But I swear I won’t miss this. And I don’t. It takes time and I have to wipe away all the ectoplasmic mess, which pains me to do. But I can read it, all of it; and it’s not pretty.

Dear Hero, We know you will find this, hunters do what hunters do. He will find you, eventually. The fall is destroying the earth, and us along with it. There is nothing we can do but stave off pollution in solitude. We can not help you. But you are different, you, a halfa, are immune. Like humans. You will survive. Survive and fix this, fix us. This suit is loaded with everything any of us could think of, use it. Be the hero.

The suit is signed by nearly every name I know, and I have a sinking feeling that those who didn’t sign. Didn’t sign, not because they didn’t want to but because the could not. They did not lie though, the suit is packed with so much. I find myself unsure of where to begin but I don’t have time.

There’s so much more now, I knew, I always knew, that I was fighting and continuing on for everyone else. For humans and ghosts. But having that confirmed so explicitly and to know that there are casualties I didn’t even know could be casualties to this. Is horrid, to say the least, and the ghosts I can’t save any part of them. I can’t go there, if I do, I won’t get back. I know that I’ll either be destroyed by polluted ghosts or I won’t be able to make myself stop trying to help them there. The only way I can help them is to stay away, just like with humans; just stay away. I’ll just have to be satiated with the plan of going there when this is all over, save whatever and whoever I can then. Not now, but then. Looking down at the metal corpse I carry, I can’t bring myself to feel hope through the loss.

Once I’ve gotten where I’m going. I realize that in my thoughts, weighted mind with grief and gravity, I went somewhere with little underground cover. Not the smartest idea but what’s done is done. I make sure to fly low and slow, doing my best to not let a single thing hit, dent or mark the metal suit. I settle on the floor of the second story of a building. Quickly getting to my work, I’m sure that something they gave me must be able to make this ball thing able to work in some way. I still don’t know what this will even do, I still don’t care. Just do something, anything. And in my tinkering, I can't help but reread "Be the hero". I will, I promise I will, I always do, I don’t know anything else.

The first thing I make is a shoulder piece, it doesn’t serve much purpose but having those words so close to my face. Means that if my memory ever goes I won’t forget that one thing. I’ll read it every day and I’ll continue to work. Always.

Sound catches my ear. One of the humans deserted the group, which is how I found out they’re still tracking me. Lead, of course, by mother dearest. Sighing, they must have a ghost tracker of some kind. That’s fine though, if they follow me around then I can shove them out of the way of danger more easily. I’ll take the hit, no worries. Whatever it is. Staring down at the human deserter, I’m honestly not quite sure what they’re doing. Only one floor down you’d think it would be obvious but no. It doesn’t take them long to spot me, honestly though it took longer than I would have liked. You need to pay more attention to your surroundings girl! I don’t bother saying it though. Would be a wasted breath, always is.

She considers me for a moment, I get it, she’s like the boy. Young, easier to adapt, more used to the fall than the time before. Maybe 25 at most I suppose. She offers me what’s she’s holding, thinking a little I understand it’s an apple. A fresh apple. How? This knowledge alone means my hope must be true. Somewhere someone has grown food. Somewhere someone has chosen to thrive, this fallen world be damned. Though that understanding brings with it a realization, one I don’t welcome, the girl was eating. And I hadn’t known what that was.

She pulls me from my thoughts by standing and offering it more closely. Without question I take it. I must know where this came from, how it was grown, who grew it, why they grew it? This silly apple is hope in the palm of my hands, her hands. She looks confused now and is simply pointing at the apple then my mouth. So I eat it, immediately I regret my lack of food. It’s like an explosion to a mouth that hasn’t had anything for years. But I only smile, wherever this girl’s from I hope she goes back. It’s worth being there, for her, not me. I’ve still got work to do. Always more work, till there’s no more work to be done. Till there’s no one left to save. Then I’ll allow someone to save me. Only then.

To be continued...

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