#i will never truly escape my winter soldier era

[heliads]

Breaking Barriers

You are a Winter Soldier, used to being a hired gun anymore and nothing else. When Sam Wilson calls you to help with the Flag Smashers situation, you assume it’s just a job like everything else. He might convince you otherwise.

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When you first see the call pop up on your phone, you’re not sure whether you should answer at all.

You recognize the name, you know who’s calling. You know who’s waiting on the other end. You also have a sinking feeling as to why they’re calling- you know you couldn’t stay dormant forever. You were a Winter Soldier, after all, and you would never be allowed to stay away from a fight for too long. No matter how much you wished you could avoid it.

In the end, you answer. James Barnes, as you suspect, is waiting for you to reply. He’s not alone this time, joined by one Sam Wilson. The Falcon, a possible Captain America, now an ally of the very man who once tried to kill him. Then again, if you were going by people who tried to kill him, you would also be on that list. You operated under harsh mind control, you lost every fragment of your reality and ability to think for yourself. You’ve only been able to recently claw back some semblance of control, and even that has been hard-won.

You had hoped that staying away from the fight, whatever fight it may be, would do something for you. After the war against Thanos, when you had fought your hardest only to die and be reborn into another fight, you had taken advantage of the time to relax. In a way, that brief death was one of the only true moments you had to yourself. In that instant, watching your fingers give way to ash and dust, you had thought for just a second that you would finally stop being someone else’s weapon. Then you had been brought back to life, and a gun had been shoved into your hands as you had been told to fight once more.

It wasn’t their fault, of course. The Avengers needed help, you were there. However, there is something nice about being asked whether or not you wanted to join Sam and Bucky’s cause this time around. Yes, there are strings attached, as there always seem to be, but there have rarely been jobs without them. You know Sam Wilson is a good man, and Bucky tries his hardest to be one. Of all the fights to start, this might be your best one so far.

You meet them at a small airport in the outskirts of Latvia. You’ve managed to make record time on your flight, but even from your first few footsteps in the dusty tarmac, you can tell that you arrived too late. Seconds before you landed, you saw the videos trending across the world. You saw John Walker, that false Captain America, raising Steve’s shield like a barbarian and using it to slaughter a man who was begging for his life. You know what this means, and you know why you’ve been brought here.

Even without the video, you can tell that something terrible has happened. There’s a haggardness in Sam’s face, a weariness that seems to line his brow. You hadn’t spent that much time socializing with the Avengers, as even the world’s mightiest heroes tended to shy away from silent, potentially mind-controlled soldiers who tend to operate between the darker shades of gray, so you couldn’t claim to know Sam as well as his other coworkers.

This being said, you’d come to see Sam as someone who always knew what to say. You’d watched with grudging admiration as he plied the tools of his trade: soft knocks on the doors of people who needed to talk, gentle reminders that it’s okay to let one’s guard down. He’s tried them on you before, but they never really stuck. You didn’t know him well enough to fully go along with his talks, or he was still too wary of you. 

You could hardly blame him- even Bucky Barnes was known first as a kind, courageous 40s-era veteran. No one knew anything about you; no files to prove your worth, to save you or damn you as someone worth the Avengers’ time. HYDRA had essentially erased you from history, and all the world knew about you is that you were one of the Winter Soldiers tasked with mindless killings up until Sam and Bucky had pulled you out. Even Bucky had Steve to back him up, but you had nobody. That is the way of the world, you suppose, not everyone has a protector. Some people have to pave their own way through.

Despite all this, though, it still shakes you to see Sam so worried. You didn’t realize how often you’d looked to him as a source of calm and reason until you saw him concerned. This alone is enough to make you lengthen your strides, closing the distance between you and the pair of Avengers until you’re standing only a few feet apart. Sam extends his hand without hesitation, and you try to match his trust when you take it.

“It’s good to see you, Y/N. You look well.” From anyone else, this would be a nothing, a pleasantry designed to get past the first few stages of protocol. From Sam, however, you feel something different. Like he might actually mean it, or know how to look for the good and bad in you. You’re not sure you were ready for that, or that you’re entirely displeased with the fact that he’s already looking out for you.

Sam gestures towards an awaiting vehicle at the far side of the airport, and the three of you begin walking. You nod once at Bucky, he nods once at you. Winter Soldiers, always knowing when to hold your tongues. Sam raises an eyebrow at this. “So the staring thing isn’t just him?” You smile inwardly. There’s the Sam you remember. Even this brief moment of humor, however, disappears quickly to be replaced by a look of concern.

“Judging by the fact that you’ve gotten here so quickly, I’m assuming you’ve seen the videos. John Walker has to be stopped before he does more damage, and we think he’s taken the super soldier serum. We could use your help in trying to get him to stand down or in taking the shield.” Even this last saying is phrased like a question. You can’t help but compare this to the way HYDRA or even the Avengers used to talk to you. Their speeches were always full of brief, harsh sentences saying exactly what would happen. You would fight, the enemy would not get away, you would stay until the job was done. 

Sam, on the other hand, always leaves a way out, an escape route if you need it. You’ve already taken his call, already arrived in Latvia. There’s no chance you wouldn’t be willing to take on this job, yet Sam still checks to make sure you’re fully on board with the idea. This simple act of empathy is oddly heartwarming, and you find yourself trusting the man even more.

You nod at him, forcing yourself to recollect your thoughts. You’ve been a soldier for a long time, far longer than you should have. You can at least pull yourself together and not act like a starstruck teenager just because Sam’s the only one in years who’s truly looked at you as something more than a weapon. But it does strike like something different, doesn’t it? That’s why it’s so hard to push aside.

“Sounds good. Walker won’t come quietly, though. He saw those cameras and kept going, I doubt he’ll hand over the shield without a fight.” Sam tilts his head in acknowledgement. “I would be surprised if he did. That’s why we’ve got you, though.” You raise an eyebrow. “Backup?” Sam grins. “A friend in case we die.” Maybe he keeps surprising you after all.

John Walker, as it turns out, does not like the idea of turning over the shield any more than you had thought he would. It ends up in a fight, as it usually does. Sam and Bucky approach first, as you had agreed, with you waiting in the shadows in case Walker decided to come out with fists swinging. When things had looked particularly dire, you had jumped in, using your enhanced strength to begin forcing the shield away from Sam’s exposed head.

Walker had glared at you, recognizing you the same way he had Bucky. “You’re another Winter Soldier. You’d turn to criminals instead of staying on my side?” This last part is directed towards Sam, who stands up with a grunt. Something flickers in your chest at the sight of blood slicing up his face. “She’s not a criminal. She is an ally.” Sam says. You’re surprised to hear the honesty in his voice. He truly believes you to be a friend. He might be the first in a long time.

Walker turns back to you, attacking with renewed vitriol. “It doesn’t matter. I am Captain America. The shield is mine, even if I have to take down another super soldier to get it.” You shake your head. “It’s not about the super soldiers, Walker. It’s about making the right call. And I’ve fought enough super soldiers in my time to know that this is the right one.” You manage to wrest the shield away from Walker long enough for it to clatter to the ground. At the sound of ringing metal, the fighting momentarily stops as everyone- Sam, you, Walker, Bucky- turns to face it. 

The din of metal on the ground fades away as it comes to a halt, and then everyone dives to either retrieve the shield or stop it from being retrieved by someone else. In a way, it kind of reminds you of the golden apples of immortality from the Greek Myths- one thrown, groups of mortals falling after them. The shield doesn’t just represent power as it does to Walker, it’s a legacy to uphold. The immortality of a name always seems to come with a legacy.

The fight ends with Walker unconscious on the ground, the shield finally returned to Sam. You watch as Bucky strides away after nodding one last time to Sam, then stand up yourself. Sam calls after you and you turn, seeing him silhouetted in the light of the empty door. The dark of the garage seems to hang around everything but him. It somehow seems right on him.

“Do you have a place to go? Somewhere safe? After this business with Walker, you’re going to get some unexpected callers.” You nod slowly. “I’ve been able to keep HYDRA off of my back for years. Disappearing without a trace is my specialty. I’ll be gone before you know it.” Sam considers this for a second. “What if you didn’t have to do that?” You cock your head at him, confused, and he takes a step forward. The light from the door seems to follow him in, reflecting off of the sharp white lines and metal details on his suit. 

“There’s a place in Louisiana. Delacroix, near the harbor. I have family there. You can come visit, if you like.” You smile, feeling the refusal already rising to your lips. “I appreciate the offer, Sam, but if you’ve got family then I probably shouldn’t be there. I attend to attract trouble.” Sam shakes his head. “So do I. So does everyone in this line of work. It doesn’t mean you have to be on the run forever. Take a chance, Y/N. It might pay off.”

With that, he leaves, disappearing into that window of light to the outside world once more. You watch him go, thinking over what he said. There’s a small motion from Walker and you glance over sharply, relaxing when you realize he’s still unconscious. Well, he’s going to wake up eventually. You might as well take a trip and see what you find in Louisiana.

Bucky ends up having the same idea as you, and the two of you meet up for the drive in. Once in Delacroix, it turns out to be fairly easy to find Sam- just follow the train of people congregating around one particular sun-bleached boat bobbing away by the dock. Sam’s gaze lights up when he sees you, and for some reason seeing his happiness makes you feel a little better about coming. You had always been taught that this lightness in your chest, this carefree feeling, was a distraction, something that would only serve to make you worse at your job. Yet why do you feel stronger now then you have in a while?

You don’t have that much experience with boats, but everyone around you seems willing to teach you. You’re not sure whether they recognize you as a murderous Winter Soldier from the news or are just willing to overlook it, but everyone seems ready to accept you as yet another visitor. You can see how this place shaped Sam- his unwavering kindness is present in every single face you see.

You end up working almost all day, and find yourself relaxing on the dock as the golden light of dusk starts to reflect out across the horizon. You hear steps echoing down the dock, and seconds later, someone sits down beside you. “I’m glad you came.” You turn to Sam with a slight smile. “I’m glad too. There’s a new kind of feeling here, something I haven’t had in a while. It’s good to get away from everything and just take a second to breathe.”

Sam gestures towards you in agreement. “That’s the thing. We can all be excellent fighters, but you’re going to wear yourself down to nothing if you stay on the battlefield for too long. We all have to give ourselves a chance to rest.” His tone becomes softer. “That goes for you too, by the way. You are worthy of taking a break.”

You force yourself to laugh. “I didn’t realize I was going to be having this in-depth of a conversation tonight. I would have prepared myself.” Sam gives you a look. “You’re trying to avoid the topic by making jokes. You’re forgetting that I do counseling for the veterans. You can’t use any of the old tricks on me.” You raise an eyebrow. “I can try.” Sam shakes his head, but he’s smiling. “It’s too late, I already know what you’re up to. The point is, your past can only take you so far. You have a right to a good future, and you keep running from it.”

You sigh, staring out over the water. “I just- I’ve done so much. I don’t know who I’m supposed to be without it. Bucky had Steve, had an entire museum exhibition where he could go read up on who he was. I don’t know who I was before the Winter Soldier program because HYDRA wiped it all away. Without something to fall back on, how do I know who I am anymore?”

Sam reaches over, gently wrapping his hand around yours. It’s a surprisingly comforting gesture, and you end up getting so distracted by it that you forget to move your hand away at all. “I know who you are. You are Y/N L/N, the Avenger who would never give up on a fight if she thought it was good. You have a drive unlike anything I’ve seen before, and you’re the one person I called because I knew you would always have my back. I trust you, Y/N, and I know that you will be able to find a place for yourself. You found a place with me, if it’s worth anything.”

You smile at him. It’s a full smile this time, unburdened by worry or fear of the past. “It’s worth a lot, Sam Wilson. To me, it’s worth everything.” When he kisses you, you’re not surprised at all. Just happy that it would be him to finally break down your barriers, and to convince you that you are worth all of the time and energy and love that he will have for you.

marvel tag list: @mycosmicparadise​

[ihearthorror]

My Top 10 Favourite Horror Films of 2020

Every January, most people who review or talk about movies on YouTube tend to piece together a Top 10 list of their favourite movies from the year prior. In order to stand out from the crowd (and also because I was too lazy to do this sooner), I decided to wait until March, by which time most YouTubers aren’t really talking about movies from 2020 anymore.

I know what you’re thinking: sounds kinda stupid – why would anybody care about a Top 10 list of the best movies of 2020…THREE months into the new year!? Well, as you’ve likely heard, 2020 was a year like no other, and as result of the ongoing global pandemic, movie release dates from 2020 were pushed back months, sometimes multiple times. Some films that were supposed to be released last year didn’t arrive until 2021, even though they’re officially considered “2020 films,” according to their profiles on websites like IMBD and Letterboxd.

And so, some of these so-called “2020 films” were not available (at least to me) until only recently, such as Saint Maud or The Dark and the Wicked. I feel like I’ve now had a chance to see almost all of the horror films I’ve wanted to see from last year. In this video, if you care to stick around, I will share with you my Top 10 favourite horror films of 2020. So, here we go…

#10/ The Dark and the Wicked:

A sister and brother return to the family homestead where their father is slowly dying and their mother is understandably distraught but also disturbed and distant. The siblings soon realize that something evil has invaded their family home as they are terrorized by whatever is slowly killing their father. Directed by the same guy behind 2008’s The Strangers, The Dark and the Wicked is at times bleak and unsettling, and it does a good job at keeping you intrigued in this family’s unnerving conflict. However, it felt a bit rushed and undeveloped at other times, and its ending left me somewhat unsatisfied.

#9/ Relic:

Soon after Kay and her daughter Sam return to their remote family home following the disappearance of the family matriarch, the widowed Edna, they discover that something sinister has taken hold of both Edna and the house itself. Although Relic – which was co-produced by Jake Gyllenhaal and marked the feature directorial debut for Natalie Erika James – isn’t exactly offering up any enticing twists or salacious gore, or even a original concept for that matter, it relies on evoking dread and building tension to compel its audience to stay invested until the bitter end.

#8/ Amulet:

Taking its sweet time to unravel, Amulet is centered around Tomaz, an ex-soldier who is now homeless but is offered a place to stay at a decaying house in London, which is inhabited by a beautiful young woman named Magda and her dying mother. As the story moves along, we see that Tomaz is starting to develop feelings for Magda, who seems a bit…off. His feelings for her don’t wane even after Tomaz discovers that there’s something insidious going on in the attic of the house, where Magda’s mother is seemingly imprisoned. Toss in a suspicious nun and you’ve got yourself a creepy little film that seems to have fallen between the cracks.

#7/ The Beach House:

One might argue that not a lot actually happens in The Beach House and that the payoff isn’t worth the investment, but if you go into this film with an open mind and zero expectations, you should at least be satisfied. Two troubled college students head to a deserted beach getaway to spend some time together, but end up struggling to survive alongside some unexpected guests as a mysterious infection disrupts their holiday. Although it is a slow build up to the film’s climax, it is a tense and intriguing ride along the way, as a series of unsettling events give way to an apocalyptic episode that feels almost like a throwback to the sci-fi films of the 1950s. Making his feature film directorial debut, Jeffrey A. Brown elicits with The Beach House those brooding existential thoughts that lay dormant in the deep boroughs of our minds. 

#6/ The Invisible Man:

There’s always an elevated risk when making a modern film based on an old story that has already been told through cinema numerous times before. The last time H.G. Wells’ 1897 novel The Invisible Man had been adapted by Hollywood was in 2000’s Hollow Man, which was panned by critics despite making a sizeable profit. The 2020 adaptation is far superior and is perhaps the best adaptation of Wells’ classic in any medium. Elizabeth Moss gives a stellar performance that draws real emotion, so that we agonize alongside her as she is essentially haunted by a relentless ghost hellbent on controlling every aspect of her life. We live in an era when technology has advanced enough to bring this 124-year-old story to life like never before, while a polished script and an exceptional lead performance gives The Invisible Man a deeper level of emotion and terror.

#5/ Saint Maud:

For most of Saint Maud it is unclear whether certain experiences are actually happening in reality for the main character or if it’s all simply in her head, as some sort of mental breakdown caused by a work-related tragedy. Maud is a young hospice nurse and a newly-converted Roman Catholic who suddenly becomes obsessed with “saving the soul” of the woman she is currently taking care of, Amanda, a hedonistic dancer with a chronic illness. Maud’s behaviour worsens, as does her mental state, as horrific scenes and visions make us question if she’s actually losing her mind or experiencing something beyond this world. Saint Maud is an A24 feature by the way, so that should be enough to know what you’re getting here in terms of quality.

#4/ The Lodge:

Isolation is often embraced as a way to pad a horror film’s fear factor, and it works especially here in The Lodge, as a soon-to-be stepmom becomes stranded at a remote holiday home in the middle of winter with her fiance’s two children. The kids begin to untangle the dark past of their stepmom-to-be and a series of disturbing events transpire as their hope for survival fades. The Lodge is a dreary, atmospheric slow burn that leaves you somewhat unsettled. With its wintry backdrop, stylish sequences, and almost claustrophobic dread, the film doesn’t ever allow its audience to feel at ease for long, insisting that an underlying foreboding remain intact throughout. Although I found the ending somewhat disappointing, I immediately began to concoct a possible prequel that would delve into the backstory of the film’s lead character. One can hope.

#3/ Host:

It’s increasingly difficult to be innovative and original when it comes to horror films these days, especially in the particular genre of so-called “found footage.” Rob Savage’s Host, however, comes off as something different, setting itself apart from most films in this realm in various ways. It centers around six friends who hold a séance via Zoom during a COVID lockdown, guided (at first) by a medium they hired. The séance then takes a dark turn and things soon escalate into madness. Sure, there are elements in Host that are prevalent in numerous horror films, but it uses a modern and topical way to implement them, while also refusing to overstay its welcome by cueing the credits less than an hour in. Overall, this film’s popcorn-and-Saturday-night-movie fun factor is why it ranks so high on this list.

#2/ Possessor:

It’s always a treat to come across an original idea, especially when it’s within the horror realm, and Possessor is certainly unlike anything else I’ve seen in awhile. Andrea Riseborough plays an elite corporate assassin who uses brain-implant technology to take control over other people’s bodies in order to kill high profile targets, though with every mission she gets further and further away from her true self. With her latest possession, she becomes trapped in the mind of a man who threatens to obliterate her for good. It is a provocative vision by director-writer Brandon Cronenberg, who just so happens to be the son of legendary Canadian filmmaker David Cronenberg, and it serves as a disturbing piece of dystopian fiction that is even more frightening because it isn’t too far beyond belief.

And because everyone else is doing it, here are five honorable mentions that narrowly missed the list:

- The Call

- Color Out of Space

- Don’t Listen

- The Mortuary Collection

- Porno

#1/ His House:

In addition to its emotional storytelling and genuine moments of terror, His House – from first-time director Remi Weekes – sheds a light on the plight of refugees in a way that feels both respectful and empathetic. After a Sudanese couple make a harrowing escape from their war-torn homeland, they are granted asylum in England, where they struggle to adjust and fit in. They are assigned a shabby house on the outskirts of London, where the couple begin to experience terrifying and unexplainable events. His House is built around a fresh concept, two fantastic leads, and some truly haunting imagery, and I wish that more horror directors would put as much effort into quality filmmaking as Weekes did here. If this is his first venture into feature filmmaking, I am excited to see what his future has in store. 

There you have it, my Top 10 favourite horror films of 2020. What did you think and were any of these titles on your own Top 10 list? Please tell me your thoughts and recommendations in the comments below.

[prolapsarian]

Notes to Sean Bonney (1969-2019)

The great ruse of our political epoch: Cameron, Osborne and Clegg, and their crows in press, scorched a set of oppositions in the minds of the people. The whole of society encapsulated in an image of “workers versus shirkers”, “strivers versus skivers.” The great tragedy of our political epoch: the Labour movement, the left, and the social democrats took the bait of these laminated ghouls. They responded simply by saying that there were no skivers: instead there was a worthy working class, labouring away ever harder, and getting ever poorer. They said the whole thing was a myth, that the shirkers were a phantom, a chimera, a scapegoat, an image invented by evil overlords to turn the working class against itself, leaving it prone to the ideologies of reaction. The labour movement talked instead only about the working poor, or the unemployed who wanted always to get back to a good job, on a good wage, forever and ever.

Few resisted the ruse, but Sean Bonney was one of them. Perhaps it was because Sean himself was a skiver, a drunk, a scoundrel, a villain, an addict, a down-and-out, a fuck up. More likely it was because of his deep political intuition and understanding. For him, the politics of class warfare was never about worthiness; it was never about what the working class deserve at the end of a hard day’s work, but instead its crucible was the hatred of the social conditions that pummelled people, silenced them, boxed them in, boxed them up, oppressed them, made them suffer. This politics was uncompromising because it understood that any compromise was a failure: there is no weekend that redeems the week, no pension that makes good on the life wrecked by the conformity and unfreedom of work.

I like to think of Sean as the thing that terrified those Tories most, as one of those beautiful creatures who so absolutely threatened them that they had to transfigure him into a phantom. His poetry too was one with this politics in this. Every line is written in solidarity with the shirking class, a class whose underground history crawls and stretches backwards, a perpetual dance, an unending squall, as anonymous as it is enormous. If Sean was a skiver he was also always hard at work, undertaking an immense labour of compression, in order to make that history heard. And this furious labour was quick and angular, because it always came with some sense that history was, already, ending. As a singular voice that resisted the ruse, his writing is one of the most important political efforts of our time.

o scroungers, o gasoline there’s a home for you here there’s a room for your things me, I like pills / o hell.

*** Since hearing of Sean’s death I have been thinking a lot about what I learnt from him. Learning is maybe a strange way to look at it. Because Sean’s poetry was not really so complicated. He stated unambiguous truths that we all knew and understood. Just like Brecht’s dictum in praise of communism: “It’s reasonable, and everyone understands it, it’s easy […] it is the simplicity, that’s hard to achieve.” This was the plane on which we met. All of us, Sean’s friends, comrades, loves, beloveds, others we did not know who all were invited, all in this common place where we know how simple these truths are, even if none of us were able to express them with such concision as Sean – even if we were all somehow less rehearsed, less prepared, less audacious. And suddenly I know it was a common place he made, wretched and hilarious.

*** So communism is simple. But running beneath all of Sean’s work was an unassuming argument, from which I have learned so much. Although argument was not his mode – his poems were always doing something, accusing but never prosecuting – an argument is there, even if it was exposed as a thesis in its own right. It is something so simple, easy, and so obvious that it barely seems worth saying. Sean’s poems made an argument for the enduring power of French symbolism – for a power that surged through history in the spirit of that movement. No surprise for a poet who rewrote Baudelaire and Rimbaud. But constantly a surprise to a world that thought that mode already dead, a world no longer animated by the literary symbol, nor transfixed by the resurrection any such symbols could herald. His writing followed the traces of this hyperhistory that wrapped around the world and back, from the high culture of decolonial revolutionism back in to cosmopolitan centre where bourgeois savages feast greedily on expropriated wares; into the dark sociality of the prison, and out again into every antisocial moment that we call “society”; sometimes making the earth small within a frozen cosmos ringing out noise as signal to nobody and everyone; sometimes bringing the whole cosmos in crystalline shape (sometimes perfect, sometimes fractured) as the sharpest interruption within the world - every poem charting a history stretched taut between uprisings and revolts. He knew the rites of symbols, the continuing practices with which their political power could be leveraged.

Sean was one of the few untimely symbolists of our time. His poems are full of these things: bombs, mouths, wires, bones, birds, walls, suns, etc - never quite concepts, never quite images, never quite objects, but pieces of the world to be taken up and arranged, half exploded, into accusations; treasured as partial and made for us to take as our own, a heritage of our own destruction, at once ready at hand, and scattered to the peripheries on a map of the universe, persistently spiralling, in points, back to the centre, some no place.

But if Sean was a symbolist, if he was attentive to its fugitive history, a slick and secret tradition of the oppressed, then this was also a symbolism without any luxuriant illusion. It is a symbolism in which all knowingness has been supplanted with fury and its movements. Sean’s poems are spleen without ideal. They have nothing of the pointed, almost screaming, eternal sarcasm of Baudelaire when he ever again finds the body of his beautiful muse as white and lifeless cold marble, utterly indifferent to the desirous gaze. There is no such muse, no callous petrified grimace, half terrified half laughing, ancient enough to unseat Hellenism itself - although there is beauty still but it exists otherwise, amid a crowd, darkened and lively. When I think of Sean’s monumental work I imagine an enormous bas-relief of black polished marble jutting out from some monstrously disproportioned body, angled between buildings. This great slab flashing black in the white noise of the city. This great slab as populous as the world. Flashing black and seen with the upturned gaze. There is no oppression without this terrified vision that sees in ever new sharpness the oppressor.

When you go to sleep, my gloomy beauty, below a black marble monument, when from alcove and manor you are reduced to damp vault and hollow grave; when the stone—pressing on your timorous chest and sides already lulled by a charmed indifference—halts your heart from beating, from willing, your feet from their bold adventuring, when the tomb, confidant to my infinite dream (since the tomb understands the poet always), through those long nights in which slumber is banished, will say to you: "What does it profit you, imperfect courtisan, not to have known what the dead weep for?" —And the worm will gnaw at your hide like remorse.

*** I haven’t explained what I learnt. I ask the question, What does it mean to find the late nineteenth century stillborn into the twenty-first? Why should these febrile years, from 1848 to the Commune have been so important? What was Sean leveraging when he recast our world with this moment of literary and political history? And what was he leveraging it against? I have a sense that what was important to Sean was a sense of mixedness. There were those who would read these years, after the defeat of revolution, as a dreadful winter of the world. There were those who saw only society in decline. “Jeremiads are the fashion”, Blanqui would say while counselling civil war. And then there were those for whom arcades first provided an extravagant ecstacy of distraction and glitz. These were the years of monstrocity, from Maldoror to Das Kapital. These years of the great machines that chewed up humans and spat out their remains across the city, of great humans who chewed up machines and made language anew. These years in which the fury of defeat burnt hot. These years of illumination. These years where gruesome metallic grinding and factory fire met the dandy. Few eras have been so mixed, so utterly undecided. No era so perfect to carve out the truly Dickensian physiognomy of Iain Duncan Smith. This was neither the stage of tragedy nor comedy, but of frivolous wickedness and hilarious turpitude. The world made into a barb, and no-one quite knowing who is caught on it. The great progress. The great stupidity. Street life. The symbol belonging to this undecided realm.

Marx was famously dismissive of that “social scum” the Lumpenproletariat, who he described at the beginning of this period as “vagabonds, discharged soldiers, discharged jailbirds, escaped galley slaves, swindlers, mountebanks, lazzaroni, pickpockets, tricksters, gamblers, maquereaux, brothel keepers, porters, literati, organ grinders, ragpickers, knife grinders, tinkers, beggars — in short, the whole indefinite, disintegrated mass, thrown hither and thither, which the French call la bohème.” Marx saw in these figures, in their Bonapartist, reactionary form, a bourgeois consciousness ripped from its class interest and thus nourished by purest political ideology. But if he could excoriate the drunkenness of beggars, Marx failed to appreciate its complement: the intoxication of sobriety of the working classes, the stupefaction in methodism, their imagined glory in progress. Wine, as the beggars already knew, was the only salve to the social anaesthetic of worthiness and the idiotic faith in work.

If Sean were here I’d want to talk to him about this learning in relation to a fragment by Benjamin, which he wrote as he thought about the world of Baudelaire; this world of mixedness of the city constructed and exploded, and the people within it subject to the same motion:

During the Baroque, a formerly incidental component of allegory, the emblem, undergoes extravagant development. If, for the materialist historian, the medieval origin of allegory still needs elucidation, Marx himself furnishes a clue for understanding its Baroque form. He writes in Das Kapital (Hamburg, 1922), vol. 1, p. 344: "The collective machine ... becomes more and more perfect, the more the process as a whole becomes a continuous one — that is, the less the raw material is interrupted in its passage from its first phase to its last; in other words, the more its passage from one phase to another is effected not only by the hand of man but by the machinery itself. In manufacture, the isolation of each detail process is a condition imposed by the nature of division of labor, but in the fully developed factory the continuity of those processes is, on the contrary, imperative." Here may be found the key to the Baroque procedure whereby meanings are conferred on the set of fragments, on the pieces into which not so much the whole as the process of its production has disintegrated. Baroque emblems may be conceived as half finished products which, from the phases of a production process, have been converted into monuments to the process of destruction. During the Thirty Years' War, which, now at one point and now at another, immobilized production, the "interruption" that, according to Marx, characterizes each particular stage of this labor process could be protracted almost indefinitely. But the real triumph of the Baroque emblematic, the chief exhibit of which becomes the death's head, is the integration of man himself into the operation. The death's head of Baroque allegory is a half-finished product of the history of salvation, that process interrupted — so far as this is given him to realize — by Satan.

I won’t pretend to know all of what Benjamin means here but I have some idea. And those last sentences terrify me. Modernity begins with a war that is a strike, one that repeats through history. And the shape of this strike, this war, this repetition, is the shape of detritus of production interrupted. We shift perspective and the machine is revealed as other than it was once imagined: it is not some factory churning out commodities, but a world theatre of soteriology. An exchange takes place: the half-finished product for the half-destroyed body. Although what is created (albeit as a “monument to the process of destruction”) is some monstrous combination of the two. One and the same seen with two different perspectives, and the two perspectives separated by the distance between the promise that production will be interrupted, in rhythmic repetition, and the force of the machine that completes the product, kills the body into it, sealing death perfectly within the commodity, as its catastrophe. This distance, a tropic on the edge of the end of the world, is Hell.

This is a lot. But maybe it gets close to what I learnt. That all those bombs, mouths, wires, bones, birds, walls, suns, etc were for Sean the emblemata of our political times. These are the monsters, half-finished, half-human, half-machine, the bird interrupting itself with a scream a silent as the cosmos once seemed. I don’t know if they are to be taken up as weapons in the battle for salvation, or as mere co-ordinates on the map of hell. But they are certainly potent, and set here in commitment to redemption, for the work of raising the dead. Sean’s writing was always ready for this task, in constant preparation, and in constant interruption. Its angles quickly pacing between the two.

This has become theologically ornate. But perhaps something of the point is clear: that in the symbolic realm of Sean’s language are staked the great theological and materialist battles of our age. He had to deep dig into our time for that, furrow and dig so deep that he found the nineteenth century still there, crawling everywhere, right up to us. And all of this was set, furiously, against a more everyday view that production has all but disappeared from sight: society fully administered slips across screens with nothing but a sense of speed and gloss. His poetry decries, digs into, a laminated world with which we are supposed to play but in which we are never supposed to participate, never mind to get drunk, see the truth, raise the dead, even now as they slip away ever further through the mediatized glare.

*** Are we not surrounded by those who cast spells? Sorcery is the fashion, if only for the blighted, the meek, the poor, the oppressed. And it would be easy to mistake what Sean was writing for just another piece of subaltern superstition; promising mighty power for as long as it remains utterly powerless and otherworldly. But this is not right. Seans symbols are not just any old sign, or signal, or sigil. They are not arcana, but materials taken to hand out of the dereliction of the present. They are certainly magic, just as Sean was certainly a seer. But this is a materialist magic, a fury, a joy. They are not drawn from some other mystical world, but from this one. And his magic was to suspend them between this world and the next, between law made in the mouths of a class who hated him, and justice. He saw more deeply than most of us dare, and invited us along. Invited everyone along, including the dead who will rise, even if we have to dig and dig and drag them out of the ground and through the streets, to show the world what streets are really for. Here in this common place, between buildings, together. This is the place of magic, for riots, for burning cars; here a wall, there a blazing comet. Let his poetry dance on, and we will dance on too.

[altumvidetur]

MCU: Stucky Fic Recs

MCU FIc Recs Masterpost

So, I was thinking about the coronavirus pandemic and what I could do to help people out. I’m isolated because I’m at higher risk, so I can’t really offer to go out for my elderly neighbors or my family… but I thought I could try to help keep people entertained.

Because I don’t have an AO3 account right now, I’ve been compiling fic recs for my own amusement for a year or so. And I thought – maybe that’s the time to share these with everyone? So everyone will have plenty of things to read while they have to stay at home, or even to escape anxiety a little bit if you’re forced to go out.

Of course, these cater to my own tastes, so you may find stuff you don’t like around here. I never include works in progress. The Mature and Explicit works will be in italic. I ask you to READ THE WORK’S TAGS before continuing, so you won’t find anything that makes you uncomfortable.

I’m not even close to reading the whole Stucky tag in AO3, and I lost my wind a little bit with Endgame, so this is an incomplete list at best. I hope you enjoy it anyway!

Not Easily Conquered, by dropdeaddream and WhatAreFears

Summary by me: AU in which Steve wasn’t frozen and Bucky wrote letters to him during the war confessing his love. 

Induction, by windsweptfic

For a prompt at Livejournal's capkink community: 'pre-serum!Steve/Bucky, hypnosis'.

In Love and War, Don’t Seek Counsel, by sinuous_curve

Most of being Steve’s -- or Captain America’s, really -- right hand man entails busting into Hydra weapons factories and blowing them to hell with stolen Hydra weapons, making sure that Cap has room to use his superpowers to the greatest effect while no one on their side gets killed in the process. Bucky used to be afraid every single time he heard the sharp report of gunfire, but since Cap came and pulled him out of a very literal hell, there isn’t much room left in Bucky for something like fear. Dying can’t be worse than what Schmidt’s pet scientist did for kicks. And being a part of a team as special as the one he’s on now keeps him feeling like he’s varnished in heroism. It’s more brilliant explosions and less humping it through sticky mud in the rain.

The Soft Darkness, by sinuous_curve

He’s not going to tell Steve that of everything that got lost between docking in England and where they were, he never lost the packet of letters Steve wrote. He understands, now, the oddity to them that he could never place. The reason it seemed like Steve was talking around his life rather than about it is because he was. Bucky wants to ask about the chunks he neglected to mention, but won’t. Can’t. Has no reason, to, because there are things Bucky omitted in his letters back.

Beneath a Blue Umbrella Sky, by victoria_p

Steve's been to Coney Island before.

That Heart of Yours Could Crumble Kings, by CallMeBombshell

But then, Steve’s always been a better man than Bucky, always been the better of the two of them, and Bucky thinks that Steve can handle it, can handle the weight and the pressure and the responsibility of it all, because for as much as Steve carries the world, Bucky has always carried Steve.

It Wakes The Seeds, by Sharksdontsleep

They still call him a sharpshooter, even if they let Bucky bring his own rifle, not a Sharp, a nine-pound breech-loader that feels like certainty when he slings it across his back.

Bucky and Steve, becoming who they become. Civil War era AU. Thanks to figletofvenice for the lovely and thoughtful beta, and to the long-suffering marycontraire for hand-holding and head pats. See end notes for (slightly) spoilery warnings. Title from Wilfred Owen's 'Futility.'

The Spin I’m In, by victoria_p

Five times Bucky kissed Steve because of ~reasons~, and one time Steve finally believed he really meant it.

Alarm, by pollitt

Despite the vast and mind-boggling technological advances that happen in the 60 years that Steve had been frozen, there are a lot of things that make sense. Security doors, codes, things like that.

Cell phone alarm clocks, though, not so much.

A Place Called Home, by Renne

New Years Eve. Suits. Party at Stark's place. Honesty happens.

The curves of your lips rewrite history, by victoria_p

Five times Steve was distracted by Bucky's mouth.

i like my body when it is with your, by unfinishedidea

Steve is jealous of the people Bucky goes to visit at night.

space!military au, by Renne

Fics set in an alternate future universe with the queer-friendly space military. The Allies vs. Hydra. Steve is the poster boy for humanity, Bucky is a flying ace. It all unfolds as it has before, with pain and loss and a slow, difficult return. For the full rambling plot full of ridiculous angst and pain see here.

Nothing But the Rain (The Quit Your Grinning and Drop Your Linen Overdub), by victoria_p

We have to get out of these wet clothes.

Our history is just in our blood (history, like love, is never enough), by victoria_p

Steve is sure the guy working the morning rush at Starbucks is Bucky. Unfortunately, the guy doesn't seem to know that.

People and Things, by quigonejinn

Steve, Natasha, the past. The smell in the room is indescribable; the way it looks is indescribable, too.

The Finish Line., by quigonejinn

Your best friend comes back from the factory camp, walks thirty-five miles next to you, and you aren't sure what is wrong with him.

Flesh Seven Ways., by quigonejinn

Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes walk into a brothel. Seven variations.

Beast of Burden., by quigonejinn

There is a SHIELD response team all over the apartment. Steve rubs his face with both hands, asks if he can go ahead and use the kitchen. They say that he can.

Avengers, reframed.

Why Then Oh Why Can’t I? (or, 5 Times Steve Rogers Felt Awkward Talking About Sex, and One Time He Stopped Talking Altogether), by ladyblahblah

“You really never did grow up all the way, did you, Steve? Of course it changes things. But hey.” He lifts his glass, and Steve reluctantly lets go to join in the toast. “Who says change has to be bad?”

Here Where We Stand, by orphan_account

Steve helps Bucky acclimate to the modern day era.

Our Carnival Life, by victoria_p

Bucky is the best gift he's ever gotten, every time.

Kind Men, by quigonejinn

D/s-ish-verse retelling of Captain America: The First Avenger. When the time comes, Erskine doesn't throw a grenade onto the training ground.

Fortunate Son, by orphan_account

Bucky wakes up in the future to a world that needs Captain America; meanwhile, a Cold War-era supersoldier assassin emerges.

Counting Backwards, by honeypuffed

It's not exactly friends, but it's not exactly more than that either.

eye of the beholder, by attice

Bucky doesn’t like Steve’s drawings. Not the way everyone else does, at least.

Pictures of You, by Sarah K

Bucky wants a souvenir to take to war with him.

Беда́ не прихо́дит одна́ (trouble never comes alone), by postcardmystery

There’s a tracking device beneath his skin, wrapped around his carotid artery, and if he pulls it out, he’ll die in seconds. They’ve got a wolf on a leash and he’s never heard them so pleased with themselves, so sure that this is the only weapon they’re ever going to need. They did not win the first war in Chechnya, but a second time and the story is rewritten. (He knows that this is a thing they truly believe. He’s lived more history than they have. He knows better.) He rides on tanks, jumps from helicopters onto ground solid with snow. He stands, ringed by ruins, in a capital that burns. He lost his last war in Grozny. This time, he slings his rifle on his back, breathes smoke, knows what it is to watch history being made.

but hey, you’re all right, by beardsley

'This is not my fault,' Tony lies. 'It was supposed to be a joke! Christ.'

'Thanks to your joke,' says Coulson, 'we now have a code three-four-delta, with the variable being a Russian immigrant. We're checking his background right now, but it might take a while. Meanwhile, I suggest you civilian-proof the Tower. If any SHIELD intelligence is compromised, I will hurt you.'

Yes, this is the story where the Winter Soldier is a Russian mail-order bride. Everything goes about as well as you'd expect.

he likes a boy in uniform, by lazulisong

Bucky's always been better than Steve at things like this; at pulling his collar just so and making his tie sit right. Bucky always looks sharp, a real dapper dresser.

Gone Quiet, by victoria_p

Three times Steve and Bucky comforted/quieted each other.

in my fortress alone until you came, by haipollai

Steve murmurs Bucky's name. He wants to list off every time Bucky woke up feeling like he couldn't breathe because of Steve, but he knows Bucky wouldn't listen. The metal arm is between them and Steve doesn't touch more than necessary. He knows Bucky doesn't like it being touched. Doesn't like Steve touching it; he's seen Bucky and Natasha grapple enough to know that Bucky doesn't mind when others touch it.

It's just Steve.

Eisner Award for Best Writer and Artist, by orphan_account

(Summary by me: ComicWriter!AU, with actual ray of sunshine artist!Steve and grumpy, disillusioned writer!Bucky.)

with the lights out, it’s less dangerous, by victoria_p

Bucky says it's what friends do, they help each other out, and it's their little secret, right?

i’m no angel, by haipollai

His first instinct is to tease Steve for jerking off to one of his own drawings but then he sees what the drawing is.

Who it is.

You’ve Got Me In Between, by Renne

In a gross lapse of judgment, Professor Rogers takes one of his students home. Sex (and guilt) ensues.

[mysterylover123]

My Top 10 Favorite Series of All Time

Mysterylover123, to my followers.

This list, of course, could change. At some point in the future, I could always discover a new series that topples the competition - but for the moment, here they are. My top 10 favorite series of all time - mostly comics or television, but also film, and a few novel series made the honorable mentions list.

Of course, these are all just my personal favorites - that’s the key word. While I did consider objective quality when making the call, I mostly went with my gut and listed series I love for whatever reason - maybe sentimental value, pushing my personal buttons, or just characters I adored. I also made myself list the things I don’t like about the series as well, just to avoid gushing too much and remember that all but one (my #1) series out there are at least, a little, flawed, but nonetheless still lovable. With that in mind, here they are:

#10. CSI: Crime Scene Investigation (2000-2015)

Type: Live-Action TV show

Genre: Crime/Mystery; forensic drama, police procedural

Favorite character: Catherine Willows (Marg Helgenberger)

Favorite episode: “Grave Danger”, Parts 1 & 2 (Season 5 finale)

Favorite Season: 7

Favorite villain: The Miniature Killer/Natalie Davis

Bad points: Weak later seasons, forced romance subplot, copious amounts of filler

Why it’s here: CSI is nostalgic for me. I watched it during my early crime drama loving years, and found out that as much as I liked the premise, what made the show for me was the cast. That was the first time I realized how essential characters are to creating intriguing drama. CSI is still my favorite traditional crime/mystery show, since in seasons 1-8, it maintained a good balance of character drama and mystery-of-the-week. Season 7 is a high point,  balancing an ongoing story with lots of fun one-offs and an emotionally explosive payoff. Later seasons, however, wear down the show’s quality for me. Too many beloved characters left and the series becomes too reliant on filler, ending with a thud that is the series finale. But the best of CSI is still enough to land it here for me.

(Just to clarify, I mean Las Vegas)

#9. Futurama (1999-2003; 2008-2013)

Type: Animated TV Show + movies

Genre: Sci Fi Dramedy

Favorite character: Philip J Fry (Billy West)

Favorite episode: “Jurassic Bark”

Favorite season: 4

Favorite villain: Bender

Bad points: Sexism, weak later seasons, bad 2nd movie

Why it’s here: Futurama came to me during a phase of depression in my life, and the show’s combination of humor and cry-your-eyes out tragedy kept me going. I’ve seen it through five times, and it’s always a blast. To me, Futurama is better than The Simpsons. Simpsons is funnier, but only for seven years or so. Following those seven years are 21 of mediocrity, whereas Futurama thankfully cuts it short. While some of the later seasons are weaker than the early Fox years, they still have quality gems and the show’s unique flavor. The series speaks to me so much; it’s a mix of hilarious comedy, serious character drama, and high sci-fi concepts that all mesh together in a unique experience. This is a series that’s not afraid to try new things, to experiment and let the characters age and grow. My personal favorite part of the series is the friendship between the core trio, Fry, Bender and Leela. Any episode starring them is a-ok by me.

Favorite memories: Binge-watching the series during a period of unemployment.

#8. Death Note (2003-2004; 2006-2007)

Type of series: Manga/Anime

Genre: Supernatural Crime Thriller

Favorite Character: L Lawliet (Alessandro Juliani)

Favorite Episode: Episode 2, “Confrontation”

Favorite Arc: The first one

Favorite villain: Light Yagami (Brad Swaile)

Bad points: Weak second half, so-so character development

Why it’s here: Death Note is a dark, twisted, engrossing thriller, which under normal circumstances shouldn’t be re-watchable. But I keep coming back to it, regardless of how many times I’ve seen it before. It’s a digestible 37 episodes and 108 chapters, for one thing. It introduced me to two characters that endlessly fascinate and frustrate my analytical brain. The antagonists, Light and L, are two of the most brilliant characters I’ve come across in fiction, and their dynamic with each other is endlessly engaging. Well, it should have been through the whole series…if not for certain incidents. But no matter; we have what we have. Flawed, yes. Terrifying, certainly. Death Note scares me like no other story. But what frightens me in DN isn’t so much there gruesome deaths, but how effortlessly it portrays the banality of evil.

Favorite memories: Watching the show during the winter holidays while on vacation, and contemplating the series during the drive home.

#7. Spider-Man (1962-)

Type: Comic book; various mediums of adaptation

Genre: Superhero

Favorite character: Mary Jane Watson

Favorite Storyline: The Night Gwen Stacy Died, #121-122

Favorite villain: The Green Goblin

Bad points: Weak later issues, lots of filler, “One More Day”

Why it’s here: Spidey is still my favorite superhero. He was me in high school (I got into Spider-Man in high school, incidentally), the everyman, the representation of my nerdy outcast struggle and need to both escapism and greater responsibility. But what really drew me to the comic, and still does, was the vast and multifaceted supporting cast. In the great eras of Spidey (Ditko, Romita, Conway, and late 1980s), the supporting cast make the series. Whether it’s Peter’s various complex lady loves, the endless cavalcade of memorable villains, supporting dude-friends like Flash and Harry or my personal favorite, mainstay Mary Jane “you just hit the jackpot” Watson, the cast of Spidey was majorly influential with good reason. The series loses it’s skill in the 1990s, thanks to the Clone Saga and general 90s comic badness, and plummets into an irretrievable black hole in 2007, never to return. But fortunately, there’s still thirty years’ worthy of fascinating comics to draw from before that insanity begins. And those stories have in turn fed fantastic adaptations, whether it be the sentimental 90s animated show, a few of the films, or the superlative Spectacular cartoon.

Favorite memories: Reading Spider-Man comics after high school, while waiting to get picked up. Also, watching the 90s show as a little kid, even if those are kinda dim.

#6. Gravity Falls (2012-2016)

Type of series: Animated TV Show

Genre: Supernatural

Favorite character: Mabel Pines (Kirsten Schaal)

Favorite season: 2

Favorite episode: “Not What he Seems”

Favorite Villain: Bill Cipher

Bad points: A few filler episodes, some odd messages, so-so ending

Why it’s here: I love a good spooky story. Gravity Falls caught my attention around Halloween in 2016, 8 months after the series finale; I binged the whole series through in a weekend. The series remains one of the all-time best I’ve ever watched. With one or two exceptions, there are no outright bad episodes. Everything is either entertaining or incredibly entertaining. The characters feel real, the messages really hit home, and the creativity on display is astounding. Gravity Falls has something in every corner - great character development, compelling drama, laugh-out-loud comedy, and a truly engaging mystery that doesn’t disappoint. I wish the franchise ran a little longer, but I’ll give it props that unlike nearly every other show on this list, Gravity Falls doesn’t over-stay its welcome. Two seasons of brilliance, wrapping up with a strong, though not perfect, finale, before the series had a chance to go on too long or burn out the creators. It’s a welcome treat to watch again, and again, and again. It’s mostly low on this list, not because of the few weak points, but because I don’t have as much emotional attachment to the series as I do to my top 5 pics.

Favorite memories: Watching the show with my dad and brother on vacation. Both of them are very surly and nit-picky, so presenting them with a show this good meant no cause to complain.

#5. Frasier (1993-2004)

Type: Live Action TV series

Genre: Sitcom

Favorite character: Niles Crane (David Hyde-Pierce)

Favorite season: 4

Favorite episode: “Something Borrowed, Something Blue”

Bad points: Weaker later/early seasons, sometimes annoying

Why it’s here: Frasier has a record for the most Emmy awards won by a single show. And rightly so, in my opinion. This is one of those series with astonishingly top-notch writing all around. It’s a sitcom that banks it’s humor on taking down pretentious snobs and prejudiced jerks; the jokes stay funny because, like all good humor, they stay relevant. This series feels kind of timeless; despite coming out in the instantly dated 90s, the characters’ fashions, mindsets, and relationships feel like they could be written today or twenty-forty years earlier. My heart belongs to the series’ ongoing love story between uptight, snippy Niles and eccentric, lovable Daphne (Jane Leeves). I have yet to see a better executed TV romance, one that pulls out all the stops like this one does. If I were to compare Frasier to anything, it would be to a Jane Austen novel. It has the same social satire, the same sardonic humor, the same understanding of romance and human psychology. That, to me, is what makes a great comedy.

Favorite memories: Discovering Frasier out of Sideshow Bob on The Simpsons - and coming to realize which of the two is truly the better comedy. (Sorry to take another potshot at Simpsons; I do like the early seasons, I just think the show is overrated).

#4. The Marvel Cinematic Universe (2008-)

Series type: Live Action films and TV

Genre: Superhero

Favorite characters: Tie: Steve Rogers (Chris Evans) and Loki (Tom Hiddleston)

Favorite film: Captain America the Winter Soldier (2014)

Favorite phase: Phase 3 (so far)

Bad points: Occasional weak/so-so film, lack of representation

Why it’s here: I first watched only a handful of MCU films; after Avengers, I gave it up and focused on other things. I loved it the first time, but when I came back and screened every picture in the lineup till the present, that is when I fell in love with the franchise. I was missing out on some of the series’ best characters. And that’s what makes the MCU special to so many people: the characterization. The series is at it’s best when it’s giving it’s multi-layered cast focus and development. Marvel comics have always been a favorite of mine, so naturally their best known adaptation is one of my favorites in general. I’ve found something to enjoy in just about every film in the franchise. The biggest surprise hit for me was the Captain America films - a part of the franchise I never dreamed I’d love, but which won me over with the stellar writing in the 2011 film, the indelible Winter Soldier, and the stunning, heartbreaking Civil War. I’m almost afraid of what will come next, as the franchise is heading towards a finale.

Favorite memories: Watching the films over a long, bitter summer, as my only source of joy while working a thankless job and living in a place with bad internet reception.

#3. The Buffy-verse (1997-2004) Series Buffy the Vampire Slayer & Angel

Type of series: Live-Action TV shows

Genre: Supernatural

Favorite characters: Buffy, Cordelia, and Spike

Favorite season: Season 5 of Buffy, Season 2 of Angel

Favorite episodes: “Once More with Feeling” Buffy, “You’re Welcome” Angel

Bad points: Weak later seasons, Season 6, some bad filler

Why it’s here: If I was going on sentimental fandom value alone, the Buffy-verse would be number one. I still squee over this franchise years after I first discovered it; the characters have that special Joss Whedon flair that makes them stand out over the crowd, the series’ core relationships are so fascinating I’m tempted to write fanfic about them, and the philosophies and emotional moments in the series have shaped my life. I would never have known what existentialism was, for instance, if not for Whedon’s show. Angel’s line about “ all that matters is what we do” has helped motivate me ever since I heard it. But looking at the series’ quality (and diversity), I will admit that out of my top 3 favorites, it has the most problems. Both shows have one season I can cheerfully proclaim to be outright terrible, (Season 4 for Angel, Season 6 for Buffy), and very shaky first seasons that take a while to find their feet. There are some plot decisions I just can’t forgive, and some truly weak arc villains. But there is also so much that this franchise does so well, whether it be stellar standalones, bold plot moves, and of course, the character arcs.

Favorite memories: Rewatching the show on vacation in France.

#2. Avatar: The Last Airbender (2005-2008)

Type: Animated TV series

Genre: Fantasy Steampunk

Favorite characters: Zuko, Azula and Sokka

Favorite season: 2

Favorite episode: “The Guru”

Bad points: Forced romantic subplots, The Great Divide, odd conclusion

Why it’s here: You may have heard, if you’ve spent any time on the internet, what a fantastic series ATLA is. I try to avoid such phrases when attempting to sell the show to people, because describing a series that way is usually a bad move. But rest assured, it’s warranted. Avatar The Last Airbender is a stellar show in every possible way. Aside from the few bad points I mentioned above, ATLA does everything right. It has the best world building I’ve ever encountered. The animation, storytelling, emotions, messages (sometimes), plot points, philosophies, individual episodes, comedy, drama, action, epic sweep, surprise reveals…(several hours of listing things later) all of these things are pitch perfect. But as always, what makes this show is the cast. My lord, what a cast. These characters are so embedded in my mind, their arcs, personalities, development and entertainment value all stand out a cut above the rest. ATLA is a stunning masterpiece, one that no adaptation could capture, and that even it’s own creators have yet to follow up on, with either the sequel or the comics. But no matter. The original is there, it always will be, and more people discover it every day.

Favorite memories: Nothing quite compares to seeing ATLA for the first time. I saw it in 2014, one of the worst years of my life. Once again, my miserable experience was improved by a fantastic story.

Before #1: The Runners-up.

Game of Thrones: I used to adore GOT, but it started losing me after season 3; I lost respect for the show in season 5. still, those early seasons are still crucial parts of our culture and should be remembered.

Harry Potter: I grew up with these books and I still enjoy parts of them; overall, however, they strike me as being just a little less than they could have been.

Percy Jackson: I binged through the whole first book in a few hours, and loved these novels as a teen. As an adult, they don’t hold up as well, but I still appreciate the things they do right.

The Legend of Korra: The sequel to ATLA is spotty in many ways, but contains enough moments I absolutely love to make it at least a runner up.

South Park: Another series that got me through a bad time in my life and helped me deal with certain aspects of myself (especially episode 1507.) However, the early and late seasons are pretty bad, and the show doesn’t age very well.

Neon Genesis Evangelion: A bizarre little anime that nonetheless really stands out to me for how crazy it gets and how unique the story is.

Hannibal: A guilty pleasure - definitely a show that gets too far up it’s own butt in later episodes, but nonetehless appealing and interesting in the subjects it’s willing to tackle.

Parks and Recreation: My other favorite TV sitcom besides Fraser - it’s a strong runner up for the list but not quite sentimental enough.

Steven Universe: 3 great seasons, followed by a lot of recent mediocrity. Great when it’s great, bad when it’s not.

Code Geass: an immensely ambitious series, that doesn’t quite realize it’s goals but god damn if it isn’t a beautiful try.

Daria: Another show that really spoke to me in high school

Firefly: This was the biggest runner-up for the list. Firefly is 14 amazing episodes of television cut short too soon, giving us amazing characters and great world building in a short amount of time. The series has some bits that haven’t aged well, and those were enough to keep it off my top 10.

And now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for…

#1. Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood (manga: 2001-2010, anime 2009-2010)

Series type: Anime/Manga

Genre: Sci Fi (I think)

Favorite character: Edward Elric

Favorite episodes: “Flame of Vengeance”; “Backs in the Distance”

Bad points: None

Why it’s here: I’m gonna be brutally honest: FMAB is here because I can’t find anything wrong with it. It is, without question, the single most perfect piece of fiction I’ve ever come across. It almost frightened me when I first finished the series. Surely there must be some major, glaring flaw, some bad installment or weak character, that I could point to and say Look! Here’s the flaw! This was made by human hands after all! But nope. Many, many rereads through, and I still haven’t found one. FMAB stands supreme. This series has everything. The most fleshed out and real-feeling cast of characters I’ve ever come across (even minor background characters have spectacular arcs and feel like real people). The best pacing and plotting of an overall story arc. The best world building, aside from ATLA. The best exploration of social issues, the best feminism, the best use of mature storytelling. Everything comes back around. The themes, the mystery, the overall tone and story structure. I feel like an engineer gushing over the most perfectly calibrated car ever made each time I watch it. But Fullmetal is even more than just expertly made. It’s appealing. It’s popular. It’s the kind of story you can write essays on or write fanfic for. FMAB can be enjoyed in every capacity. I recommend taking the time to read the Manga first (that’s what I did), then watch Brotherhood. There really is nothing quite like FMAB. (oh, BTW, it has the best series finale of anything e ver. Period.)

Best memories: Watching Fullmetal while coping with death for the first time in my life. There is no better series when it comes to dealing with this subject.

[officialotakudome]

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Resident Evil Village Review

Resident Evil is back with a brand new entry tackling the paranormal and supernatural. Continuing the story of lead Ethan Winters; Resident Evil Village has him searching for his daughter Rose after Mia is shockingly gunned down by Chris Redfield. He soon finds himself facing Vampires, Lycans, and all sorts of insane creatures.

Resident Evil Village is a 2021 survival horror game, it is developed & published by Capcom. It is currently available on PC, console, and Google Stadia.

Editor’s Note: Medium to near complete spoilers for Resident Evil Village may be present for this review. Slight spoilers for Resident Evil 7 may be present within this review. 

Lady D is out for blood in Resident Evil Village.

Ethan Winters returns as the protagonist in the latest Resident Evil title. Following some years after the events of Resident Evil 7, Ethan has been living with his wife Mia and their daughter Rose. While Mia believes most of their troubles are over, Ethan feels things are too calm after everything that’s happened. Now being trained in military combat by the “new” Umbrella Ethan’s distrust of the organization has been building for sometime. When Chris Redfield and a group of soldiers invade his home killing Mia and taking Rose, Ethan is forced into a new world of threats.

Resident Evil moves on from zombies to the paranormal & supernatural in Resident Evil Village.

THE GOOD: Resident Evil Village opens about three years after 7 with Ethan and Mia having a family. One night, Ethan questions whether or not they’re truly safe after everything that’s happened. Suddenly Mia is gunned down by Chris Redfield and Umbrella who take his daughter Rose. Following a crash, Ethan escapes his capture by Umbrella and runs away where he’s thrust into a new world of supernatural danger. He meets a village full of lycans run by four lords including: Vampiress Lady Dimitrescu and Heisenberg who can control metal. The village leads Ethan to a castle where the aforementioned Dimitrescu is the head of and he faces off against her and her daughters.

Upon the defeat of Demises and her daughters Ethan learns the horrible truth about Rose. Her entire being has been split into parts and liquified. He must now defeat the remaining four lords and Mother Miranda to return Rose back into her human shape. And he must deal with the arrival and involvement of Chris Redfield & Blue Umbrella.

Lycans have replaced zombies as the central threat in Resident Evil Village.

So first let me say that when the game wants to be completely terrifying it completely nails it. The first handful of hours is some of the most intense gameplay I’ve experienced in quite some time. This is largely due in part to how brilliantly crafted the introduction of Lycans is to the Resident Evil world. That portion of the game in my honest opinion is a piece of horror art. And I say that as someone who has a fairly long love affair with the genre. There’s also some moments where the game knows just the right place to put Lady Dimitrescu who stalks you in Mr. X and is just as unstoppable in that scenario of the game. The gothic aesthetic of the world really compliments the world when the game is designed to genuinely make you piss yourself.

Now here’s where things get interesting with Resident Evil Village, because a lot of the promotional material focused on the horror and macabre of it all but it’s a heavily action focused game. I don’t say that to spite the game, quite the opposite in fact. I like that there’s an attempt at establishing a balance between some of Resident Evil’s greatest eras with the early titles, their respective remakes, and the Resident Evil 4. Village takes a ton of notes from 4 with it’s combat and gameplay mechanics. Including the ability to hunt animals for food that upgrades Ethan when cooked into a recipe.

Focusing on the story now, I have to say it surprised me. I thought for sure Ethan was going to be the main protagonist moving forward until at least Resident Evil 9 or 10. However, it does a solid job of closing his story arc at the ending scene. That being said, the writers do indicate that we may not be done with the Winters family just yet. Also just putting this out there if the future of Resident Evil is moving on from zombies and to a much more open ended and far more imagination freeing supernatural and paranormal world then I am 100% for this. I know there are people who aren’t quite ready to head into a zombieless Resident Evil future and I understand that.

But when you consider the sheer scope of oversaturation with the genre in not only video games but also TV & film this is a big breath of fresh air. I commend the team at Capcom for giving their developers an opportunity to explore their creative juices with a storied IP. And this openness to experiment is why Capcom has been incredibly successful the last several years with titles such as Monster Hunter: World, Rise, and Devil May Cry 5. Resident Evil getting it’s turn with 7 and Village just shows that Capcom are willing to take risks now, And in a world where too many developers & publishers are stuck in a rut with playing it safe it’s nice to know there are some in the AAA space who are taking the artistic side of video games far more seriously than years past.

The village is the co-lead in Resident Evil Village.

THE BAD: One of Resident Evil Village’s biggest issues is Ethan himself. In Resident Evil 7, Ethan was a fiery protagonist, but he also was surrounded by a roster charismatic villains to back him up. Here in Village it’s kind of just Heisenberg & Lady Dimitrescu who provide that extra energetic burst of life into the characters. And to a lesser extent Chris Redfield. Also something that may or may not upset you is the game is not as scary as it should be. The first two or so hours with the introduction of the lycans are terrifying and intense as hell. Unfortunately, that feeling is almost never really felt again throughout the rest of the game. This was due to balancing out scares with action, and yeah there are some scares just not quite to the level of the first two hours. Most of the major heart wrenching scares are retained for those two hours and some of the latter portion of the game. I just wish I felt it more while playing it.

Resident Evil Village lacks scares for action, but is well-balanced with scares and action.

OVERALL THOUGHTS: Resident Evil Village is a great game and a fantastic Resident Evil game, but the lack of scares coming from Resident Evil 7 is a bit disappointing. That said, if you’re mostly interested in seeing how they top 7’s story and gameplay then you’re in for a big treat. The new direction the series has taken in a multitude of ways will continue to ensure that Resident Evil will be a franchise welcome for a comeback for several years to come. Also with the remakes and other titles like Re:Verse being made available it’s nice seeing Capcom give fans several options for the type of Resident Evil game they want to play.

[nicketynic]

I'd be SUPER INTO a "vintage" Modern AU for Dicksa. Basically anything from the 1920s to 1970s -- whichever era strikes your fancy!

This took me a bit ofthought. Being an ancient history buff, the 1900′s is not my area of expertise,but then inspiration struck like lightning, so here we go: WWII Dicksa!

I apologize ifanything here is inaccurate. My research was quick and painless. 

RAF Flight Lieutenant Dickon Tarly scanned the room,squinting at the hazy smoke filling the space. The Americans had certainly beengenerous with the cigarettes. Food shortages were still prevalent throughoutmost of France despite the liberation, but candy bars and cigarettes were asgood a currency as any for the American soldiers mingling on furlough withtheir fellow Allies.

A pair of drunk Australians caterwauling out an off-keyrendition of ‘Beer, Beer, Beer’, a group in the corner chatting inBelgian-accented French over a card game, and a pair of Dutchmen bickering oversomething in a magazine, all filled his ears in a rich medley of camaraderieand relief. The war was not yet over, but the tides were turning, and the sparkof hope that had ignited in the midst of a miserable winter had been fannedinto a flame sweeping over the Continent.

Satisfied that the club’s loathsome proprietor wasn’tanywhere in sight, he began to surreptitiously make his way through the crowd. Still,his lip curled with distaste at the mere thought of Baelish. Disgusted as hehad been to witness the disturbing way the man leered over his ward, hisdislike for Baelish stemmed from more than his inappropriate guardianship. Unlikehis last foray into Paris, Dickon could now walk the streets without beingapprehended by the Gestapo, making it infinitely easier to do something abouthis suspicions of Baelish collaborating with the Nazis.

Pushing the matter of Baelish aside, an eager anticipationthrummed through him the closer he drew to his destination, drawing closer toAlayne with every step he took.

Alayne…

It was so good to see her again. The quiet intimacy they hadshared in those few weeks had been wonderful beyond compare, but their time hadbeen sheltered and limited, a product of him hiding in fear for his life.Tonight had been the first time he’d ever seen her on stage, and God save him,she had been ethereal. The low, sweet croon of her voice had filled every emptyspace being apart from her had left inside him, reminiscent of every time hewoke from a nightmare while in hiding and Alayne coaxed him to lay his head inher lap, running her fingers through his hair and softly singing until he foundsleep again.

Dickon Tarly had developed quite the knack for survival overthe war: first making it through the Blitz and the Battle for Britain, thenanother two years of successful flights before being shot down overNazi-occupied France. He had somehow escaped internal injury, therefore notonly still breathing but able to move of his own volition when the FrenchResistance found him. He healed up as they moved him through the network, plansslowly coming together to smuggle him and several other downed pilots out ofthe country. Soon enough, he came under the care of a chanteuse and Resistancemember by the name of Alayne Stone.

Alayne was beautiful, sweet, and kind, her courtesy hiding thesteel in her spine and cunning in her eyes from anyone so foolish as to notlook close enough (clever, strong, brave). He was enthralled by her completely,through the late nights and early mornings they spent in one another’s company.

Her dressing room in the back of the club was adjoining to asmall set of apartments her manager and guardian, Baelish, had arranged forher, and it was in the crawlspace beneath the floor that she hid him wheneverthe man came by on his twice-daily visits, once in the early hours of themorning to praise that night’s performance, another in the late afternoon toescort her to dinner before the club opened. Dickon was left to glare at the lecherthrough a knot in the floorboards whenever he leaned too close or let his handlinger too long on Alayne’s shoulder. He’d been mollified to learn she at leasthad locks on her doors.

As grateful as he was to them, he had at first been outragedon her behalf that the Resistance would leave her alone and unchaperoned with aforeign male stranger, Ally or not. Alayne had coolly pointed out that thepoint of their acquaintance was for him to never been seen, and that her beinga widowed entertainer did more for her reputation in certain circles than heever could. Dickon was left abashed and outraged all over again (though thistime at certain social mores), but he must have been appropriately sheepish asshe warmed to him again shortly after.  

They took most of their meals together, they read together,they played cards and checkers, Alayne guided him through the steps of severaldances beyond the simple waltz he knew, and she even showed him the basics ofneedlepoint and embroidery as she enhanced the plain dresses available in therestricted market to make them performance-ready.

What he liked best was the rare times when she would sing,few and far between as she needed to rest her voice for the evenings, but therarity only made the memories more precious.

The quiet, peaceful companionship made him wistful for atime before all hope of Sam being the son their father wanted was gone, whenDickon was still the youngest and the spare, not the heir apparent. Before hisfather dominated every aspect of his life, he was his mother’s babe, spoiledand coddled as the last she could safely carry. Back then, he toddled after herevery step and everything she did, from needlework to music to chores, was themost fascinating thing in the world.

That all ended when it was expected that he become solelyhis father’s son, sport and hunting and politics replacing everything that didnot fit into Randyll Tarly’s definition of manhood. Being around Alayne broughtback to life the memories he had abashedly tucked in the back of his mind. Morethan once, he indulged the fantasy of playing the grand piano in his mother’sparlor, more talented than he could truly be after his years away from theinstrument as he accompanied Alayne’s melodious song.

She made him laugh, she made him smile, she helped him findpeace of mind, was it truly any surprise that he fell as deeply as he did?

As was the fate of most good things during times of war,their time came to an end, the Resistance successfully smuggling Dickon out ofthe country. He returned to the war, but Alayne was never far from his mind.

Now, nervous excitement thrummed through him as he made hisway down the hallway in the back of the club, his heart pounding when hefinally came to her door. He knocked once, twice, waiting for a long moment andgrowing concerned when he received no answer. Deciding he would ratherapologize later than not act, he pushed the door open, stopping in his tracksalmost immediately. His heart dropped as he took in the sight of Alayne wrappedaround a dark-haired man.

He must have made some sound because Alayne’s eyes flewopen, locking onto him. Shock, confusion, and joy crossed her face as sheslowly pulled away from the other man, taking a few tentative steps toward him.“Dickon, you’re alright,” she breathed softly. “You came back…”

“Of course,” he replied, equally as sotto voce, desperatelyresisting his urge to look at the face of the stranger beside her. “I didpromise.”

“You did,” she confirmed, staring at him intensely for along moment. Her limpid eyes viscerally flashed him back to the night beforehis departure, as she was looking at him with the same potency in her gaze shehad when he stood bare before her for the first time.

A pang went through him as she reached for the other man andtugged him forward, revealing him to be a rugged-looking fellow wearing theuniform of a Royal Marine and the insignia of a Lieutenant. He frowned atDickon, resting a protective hand on the small of Alayne’s back. Alayne gavehim a fond look in response and just when Dickon thought he would have to stormout of the room before he lost his composure, Alayne turned that affectionategaze on him.

“Dickon, I want you to meet my brother, Jon. Jon, this isDickon Tarly.”

“Lieutenant.”

“A pleasure, Flight Lieutenant.” Jon’s handshake was strong andfirm, his voice brusque and Northern. He’d heard hints of the same accent fromAlayne. Her French was excellent but not flawless, but Melessa Florent was anative speaker, and Dickon had detected the difference. Still, looking from oneface to another, he saw little resemblance between them, and catching the guardedglances between them only heightened his suspicions.

“Alayne,” he said plaintively, his heart too sore to deal withany sort of deception. Alayne reached out, taking his hand, and hesitated forjust a moment before she began to speak.

++

He stared at her stupidly for a long moment, the onlycoherent thing to come from his mouth being, “My lady.”

“Viscount Tarly.”

He blinked. “You knew?”

“I suspected. Jon confirmed it. He and Samwell were friendsat university.”

It warmed his heart to know that Sam had made a friend. Helocked his lips, testing out the syllables of the new name he’d been given. “Sansa.”

“Yes,” she replied softly. “Is that alright?”

“Of course.” He shifted closer. “Alayne Stone, Sansa Stark,whoever you are, your heart is the same. I love you.” The daughter of a duke…marriagewould be so much easier now. He had been planning to fight his father everystep of the way, was ready to be disinherited if it meant that he and Alaynewould be together, but now they should get at least grudging acceptance.

A heartbeat passed, and they moved as one, coming togetherto kiss as if their lives depended on it. Clothes were quickly peeled away, thecouple falling into the bed with an urgency so unlike the slow tenderness oftheir first time (though no less satisfying).

She reached for him, their fingers entwining, as she gaspedand shuddered beneath him, back arching as she crested with a sharp cry of hisname. He wiped his mouth on the corner of his uniform shirt as she gathered herbreath, turned their joined hands to press a kiss to her palm. Sansa’s eyesfluttered open in response, lips curving into a shy, languid smile.

“Jon wants to send me home as soon as possible,” she softlyinformed him. “He said Father’s name has been cleared…that our estates havebeen restored to our brother.” She caressed his bicep. “When this is over, willyou come home to me?”

“As best I can. I would be a horrible husband if I didn’t.”

“Husband?”

“Marry me? Tonight, tomorrow, before we have to part again.Your brother can stand as witness.”

The enthusiastic kiss he received in reply was all theanswer he needed.

[outremerhq]

Player information: [Keats, 21, she/her, GMT +2/ +3, cancer] CHARACTER Full character name: Gaal “Eli” Kadesh Character age: 32 Gender identity and pronouns: Male, he/him Faceclaim: Riz Ahmed Position: Counselor Personality:

He’s quite quiet and mystical, big eyes and tilted head, like a curious bird. He is insightful and observant and his mind is always running. He sees the world as connections and aims to understand them. But he also fears the outer world, the fear manifests in forms of sensitivity, isolation, anxiety and panic attacks. There is a great inner world in him with its own vast landscape. He spends quite a lot of time in there. Just daydreaming, or escaping, when things become too much.

He has a deep hunger to connect. He has a gift for soft language and he finds it quite easy to speak to other people but often it feels shallow to him. He always wants to push for more but he knows his need is born from desperation and isolation and he fears he’ll just end pushing people away. He has learned to contain himself, make himself small and discrete only allowing those closest to him to see the vibrancy he harbors inside.

Biography:

I had no home, no prospect of education or anyone to look after me. So nothing held me back when I left my home country behind on a ship with off-white sails when I was seven. I spend almost ten years as a crew member of a British merchant ship trading in goods from the Arabian Sea. I learned under the ship’s surgeon and eventually ended up taking his post.

That era of my life ended in smoke and fire as the ship was attacked. I was in the galley when the cannonfire pierced the hull and remained trapped there until a passing crew decided to check the ship for valuables.

It wasn’t a crew of pirates I found myself among, it was a resistance crew spurred to action after being driven from their homes by the Empire. I met the captain of the ship and that’s when my life truly changed. He was a man with a soul as vast and restless as the ocean. Charisma and will like I had never seen before, El-Baz he was called, The Falcon. From that day I stayed by his side, my fascination grew to devotion and his cause became my life.

We fought side by side for year until the fateful day finally came. The sounds of gunshots still echoed around me as my will and fight faded while his blood spilled from between my fingers. I could not save him.

Night came, the sound of fighting neared and I had the flee the narrow mountain pass. I didn’t make it far when I was caught under a landslide triggered by the cavalry. I broke my left leg, the bone shattered and the flesh tore from jagged rocks. Somehow it felt fitting that the pass would be my tomb.

The sound of battle faded as morning rose and I still wasn’t dead. I managed to dig myself up from under the rocks and patch myself up as best I could before starting the long walk towards the nearest village.

The next years of my life were filled with restless prowling and wrath. I wanted to rip apart everything, swallow the whole world but nothing seemed to fix the gaping emptiness I had been left with.

Finally I was driven to the mountains and to the stone steps of a monastery. On my knees I begged for some sort of meaning for my life. I was taken in and eventually I found solace.

But it was foolish to think it would last. The Empire reaches even for the heavens. The soldiers came, and when the monks refused to open the gates and surrender, they tore the monastery down. The few who survived were bound and taken to Antiva.

My world turned gray in the dungeons under the Amber Fort. Six months it felt I lived the same day but at least I had managed to establish enough balance within me to not fall into despair.

Then one day I was summoned by the Prophet of Isfrahan. I was given an uniform, an office in the tower and a tittle. I believed I had died in the mountain pass after all and was now experiencing some bizarre version of the afterlife. The door of my room was locked at first, but after a time I was free to walk the city as I wished. And the gates of the city were open.

That’s when I felt the invisible golden chains around my wrists and understood, there was no need for locks. I had been given something I had never had before. Power. I could change things, I could make a difference, and I could not let that chance go.

HEADCANONS 

Eli is a listener and a storyteller. He has found himself on quite a many bizarre adventure and loves to share stories of his own and ones he has heard.

At first he can appear quite reserved and shy but really he is the troublemaker who always get away with it because no one believes he is the troublemaker. He is really playful and just loves to mess around from time to time.

He’s got a peculiar hatred towards shoes and forgoes wearing them whenever he can get away with it. The only shoes he begrudgingly accepts are the mule shoes, and that too because mule shoes are barely shoes. He also has a tendency to show scandalously much ankle. Winters are quite difficult for him.