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jess-rewatches-prodigalson · 3 years

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Alma Mater (S2, E3)

My time-stamped thoughts for this episode. As always I reference Malcolm’s mental health. A lot. So if that’s going to be a trigger for you, don’t keep reading.

SPOILERS AHEAD:

0:20 - There’s no way Martin is actually going to escape Claremont until AT LEAST the season finale.

0:55 - Anyone else annoyed that Ainsley isn’t in Martin’s fantasy? I mean - it’s completely in character but it still pisses me off.

1:49 - I’m sorry - what? How will pouring Malcolm a drink help this fictional situation?

2:00 - Malcolm ruining Martin’s fantasy dream is honestly such a mood.

2:10 - “That little kill joy.” haha

2:21 - Malcolm has a stationary bike. Of course he does. But why does he listen to the personal trainer lady (who I assume was a recording programmed on the bike)? Malcolm doesn’t seem like he needs praise or motivation to exercise. He probably does it the way I do - mindlessly as a habit. A habit built from the knowledge that if I skip a morning workout I will feel more unsettled and anxious than usual before lunch....and don’t even get me started on how quickly my depressive thoughts escalate.

2:24 - ....I’m still convinced/hoping that this is a false memory Martin has planted in Malcolm. I’m all for Malcolm whump and Malcolm trauma...but the thought of Gil, the team, and Jessica finding out that Malcolm committed a crime terrifies me. I don’t want him to go to jail. I don’t want Gil and the team to turn their back on him. I don’t want Jessica to blame herself (more than usual).

2:39 - I love that the “Malcolm pretty much only feeds himself liquorice and lollipops” is still canon this season.

2:42 - OMG. That is not a helpful affirmation. Like maybe for anyone? If you’re traumatized/depressed/anxious “consider the past and you shall know the future” is not comforting or inspiring. It’s the opposite.

2:48 - I’m loving how confidently Malcolm has been shutting down Martin’s manipulation. #soproud

2:52 - Anyone else super upset that Martin is the person with whom Malcolm discusses his mental health the most honestly?

3:12 - Check out the way Mr. David looks at Martin here. Does Mr. David already know about Endicott? Or is he just like, “Bitch, spit it out so I don’t have to keep guessing your current family drama.”?

3:17 - “Let’s have another session today.” .....Does Martin really think he’s Malcolm’s new therapist? DOES MALCOLM THINK THAT? IS THAT WHY HE ISN’T SEEING GABRIELLE? HAS MARTIN MANIPULATED HIM INTO THINKING THAT HE DOESN’T NEED GABRIELLE?!?

3:22 - hahahaha OMG. Mr.David is so done with Martin’s theatrics.

3:32 - Ok so two things:

Martin’s insight on Malcolm’s mental health/coping mechanisms is disturbingly on point. Almost like he’s an attentive, caring, father (which he isn’t).

How long was Gil outside Malcolm’s door before he knocked? Do you think he overheard Malcolm’s side of the conversation? I kind of hope he did. But only if it means I get to see Gil asking Malcolm about it.

3:50 - “Put me on speaker.” I’m torn. Part of me is so proud of Malcolm for denying Martin’s need for attention....but part of me is living for a Martin/Gil showdown where they fight over Malcolm in front of Malcolm.

3:54 - Ok. So Gil was a jerk last episode but I forgive him. Gil just showed up at Malcolm’s apartment to tell him about a case instead of calling Malcolm. Gil knew Malcolm would be upset. Gil knew that Malcolm needed to hear this in person. <3 My heart is full. <3

4:12 - Concerned!Gil is everything. Look at how much he cares about Malcolm and what this case will inevitably bring up for Malcolm. You can almost see how badly Gil doesn’t want Malcolm on this case.

4:13 - “What if I said I need you?” Damn. Gil knows. He knows that Malcolm desperately doesn’t want to ever disappoint Gil. Gil is Malcolm’s hero and, when Malcolm is thinking straight, he’d do anything for Gil.

4:17 - <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 Gil looks so sad when he notices Malcolm’s hand shaking. Can a heart simultaneously break and heal?

4:23 - Oh yeah. Gil definitely wanted Brumback dead for what he did to Malcolm. He doesn’t even try giving Malcolm the “you’re being insensitive” look.

4:42 - Wow. That school is nicer than my university.

4:47 - Do you think Gil’s been to the school before? To visit and/or pick up Malcolm? ....I really want to believe he did. Gil looks like he’s leading Malcolm through campus. Gil looks like he’s familiar with the campus. Surely that means he visited Malcolm there. Right?

5:17 - So...was the “office under water” thing officially a prank? It’s brutal. Forget the murder, Brumback would’ve expelled kids for that prank.

5:27 - I love how Dani looks at Gil for clarification here. She’s like, “Malcolm is upset, ranting, and making no sense. I’m not going to set him off further by asking more questions. But I need to know what the hell he’s going on about.”

5:40 - Soooo is JT texting Dani? Or is Tally? I really hope it’s Tally. I hope Dani’s texts are all reading something along the lines of “He won’t stop pacing and panicking. If he doesn’t calm down I’m going to slap him.”

5:43 - I love the look of disbelief that Gil shoots Dani when her phone goes off. haha

5:52 - hahaha Gil so heard Edrisa the first time. He was just giving her a chance to conform to professional social standards.

6:03 - hahahaha OMG. Edrisa is a treasure.

6:56 - awww Malcolm, baby. :( This boy has so much trauma. I love it.

7:07 - I’m assuming Malcolm’s ‘high school’ was grades 10-12 (not 8-12 which is common in the area of Canada where I grew up) so that means Tom Payne is currently being passed off as a 15-16 year old. It kinda works. But ngl - I spent most of this scene thinking “could they not hire a kid because of COVID?”

7:12 - I’m not actually mad that Tom Payne was allowed to play high school Malcolm though. His performance in this scene is really moving. “Be someone new.” :( <3

7:45 - Sooooo Malcolm changed his name before he was legally an adult. If it’s his legal last name (we see “Bright” on pill bottles in S1 so it’s his legal name now at least) Jessica had to have signed the paperwork. Damn. I wish I was there to see that process regardless of when it became his legal last name.

7:49 - Baby Malcolm looks so comforted by Martin’s acceptance of his new name and new school. It breaks my heart.

8:00 - Wait. There was a teacher who liked Malcolm at this school? The son a serial killer? AND the teacher recognizes Malcolm 15 years later?!? Nah. I don’t buy it. I love Malcolm but I feel like the teachers would’ve avoided developing any sort of relationship with Malcolm even if they didn’t have a problem with him.

8:05 - Hold up. This school is so fancy. Are you telling me they don’t have outdoor security cameras? Surely those would’ve told you who the suspects for the desk thing were at least.

8:15 - awwww poor Malcolm looks shattered here. :(

8:31 - “Easy. Let’s keep an open mind.” That is pure Dad!Gil energy and I’m here for it.

8:39 - Of course. Of course Jessica is involved in the rich school.

8:51 - I’m on Gil and Malcolm’s side here. Jessica is putting her reputation over Malcolm’s mental health. Shame on her. No no. I will not stand for this - and neither will Gil. Damn. Look at how pissed he is on Malcolm’s behalf. <3 So sweet.

9:06 - “Pop-pop’s aquatic center”!?!? Soooo is Pop-pop Jessica’s grandfather or Malcolm’s? Either way give me more information about the extended family. Are they dead? Did they disown them after the Surgeon business? I WANT ANSWERS FEDAK.

9:15 - I swear. Malcolm is the best son/brother ever. The sacrifices he makes for his Mom/sister are unreal. Also - how much do you want to bet that Malcolm was thinking about the Endicott murder coming out when Jessica said, “how soon until they connect that back to me?”. Malcolm looks so sad here.

9:23 - Nah. I don’t like Delaney. Even on the first watch I was put off by him. Something about him just creeps me out. He’s showing a weird amount of affection for Malcolm 15 years after Malcolm finished school. IDK maybe I was just upset that someone was trying to mimic Gil’s relationship with Malcolm?

9:27 - oooooooohhhhh Mom and Dad are fighting. hahaha Malcolm looks so uncomfortable. Gil looks livid. Is Gil pissed because Jessica dumped him or because she totally just neglected Malcolm’s well-being for her own? Probably both. Either way, it’s endlessly entertaining.

9:53 - I’m on Gil’s side here. She dumped him (like a f**ing moron) because she “doesn’t want to hurt him” and because she’s “broken” and “cursed”. Yet - she manipulates her way into cases. Making her business Gil’s. Gil should be pissed - she broke his heart. Again. Like he’s literally been choosing to hang out with Malcolm, Jessica’s (let’s face it) broken son, for more than 20 years. Jessica’s crazy if she thinks that she’s going to get Gil killed or hurt just because she’s a Whitly. Malcolm’s technically a Whitly - Gil hasn’t died yet.

10:15 - “Not usually.” Dang. That was icy.

10:50 - Yo this is one messed up bible study. Take it from someone who has attended many young adult/teenage bible studies. This is crazy. Usually it’s: read the bible for 5-10 minutes as a group, discuss how you interpreted it for 15-20 mins, pray as a group for 5 mins, then like an hour of tea/coffee, cookies, board games, and general chatting about normal stuff like romance, school, and personal drama.

11:44 - “Poor Tally.” hahaha I’m willing to bet that Tally is texting Dani - not JT. I just can’t imagine a panicking, first-time father, texting his little sister with accurate medical details about his wife’s pre-labour experience. He’s probably way too panicked to remember the medical jargon that is “foley ballon”.

12:00 - I’ve watched this scene about 30 times. I’m in love with it. Tom Payne’s performance is haunting and I’m a sucker for emotional whump. I love how Dani is concerned about Malcolm but respectful enough to pry until he shuts down. I love Malcolm’s little speech about the hand tremor (even though it doesn’t make sense because baby Malcolm’s hand was shaking when Shannon interrogated him - but that’s a whole different can of worms I’m not going to rant about).

12:39 - Does anyone else think it’s weird that there’s a bolt on the closet door? Why isn’t there a lock in the door handle like every other interior school door? I mean, I guess it’s because they can be unlocked from the inside and Nicky would’ve needed a key....but still. The things I forgive for the sake of plot.

13:25 - Damn. Brumback was a real jerk. “I know what you really are.” Do you know how painful that would be for Malcolm to hear? Regardless of what he almost did to Nicky? Everywhere Malcolm goes people accuse him of being just like his father. Is it surprising that in a moment of weakness, with teenage hormones, Malcolm snapped and said, “Eff it. They think I’m a murderer anyways.”

13:26 - OMG. How bad were the kids at this school?!?! Brumback expelled so many kids. Holy hell. Also - Brumback is wearing a wedding ring. Did he get divorced before he died? Did his wife pass away before him? Why was his family not part of this investigation at all?

13:31 - Brumback writing “Malcolm Whitly” instead of Malcolm Bright is....ouch. I just. My heart breaks for Malcolm.

13:37 - OMG. Traumatized people going through PTSD flashbacks should not be unattended next to a pool of water. Honestly - I thought our boy was going to drown. Which the whumper in me would’ve loved but also I don’t think it was right for the plot on this one.

14:38 - Martin is such a liar. He definitely thinks he’s God’s gift to the Earth.

15:02 - Martin knows a lot about the security zones. Something tells me this isn’t the first time he’s contemplated escaping.

15:04 - Oh shit. Daryl has an imaginary cell mate. I know that’s a serious mental illness and I shouldn’t laugh but OMG. The moment Martin realizes that Daryl is delusional is priceless. hahahaha

15:25 - How much to do want to bet Mr. David has a red key card? Martin’s grin confirms it.

15:40 - Wow. The classrooms in this high school are really big. I would’ve thought this fancy private school would have smaller class sizes.

15:49 - YES. OMG. Malcolm walking into that classroom soaking wet is golden. *chef’s kiss* Look at Gil’s face - it’s a mixture of concern and disbelief. He’s soooo worried about Malcolm right now. <3

16:07 - It’s a good thing Malcolm’s rich because that phone is never going to be useful again.

16:20 - ahhahahaha OMG. WTF. Gil’s little twinkle-finger wave is hilarious.

16:38 - This whole scene Gil is just staring at Malcolm with so much concern. It warms my cold, dead heart. <3

16:46 - Do you think Malcolm looked for his name in the book? Is it the same book? Do you think Brumback expelled enough kids that this is a new black book?

17:08 - Ok. So I immediately don’t like Louisa. That level of confidence and self-absorption is very unattractive.

17:25 - Louisa volunteers in the library. That’s how she got access to the poison.

17:35 - “Dude. You’re dripping.” “Yeah. Water does that.” Can Malcolm be this sassy every episode?!? I’m living for it.

17:57 - “Boys right? Oof” haha I love Malcolm talking to teenagers. I want it in every episode. ALSO - the jock’s story about the two girls - I’m sorry, but I just don’t see how that an expulsion level offence unless the kid is leaving something out of the story.

18:31 - Of course they talked about this before they came there. DELANEY WARNED THEM. But mostly to keep his little cheating ring hush hush.

18:55 - And just like that we’ve been blessed with Malcolm in casual clothes. Wish I could’ve seen Gil question Malcolm’s swim though.

19:26 - OMG. Edrisa is such a cute little nerd. <3 Protect her at all costs.

20:00 - Gil and Jessica arguing is amazing. I’m loving it and hating it. Because I want them to live happily ever after in a fairytale world but I do enjoy the drama.

20:06 - hahaha look at how Jessica just pushes Gil to the side and plows on to Malcolm. This woman is fierce.

20:11 - Yes. Yes Malcolm. Tell Mom she has unrealistic and insensitive expectations of you.

20:18 - What kind of school is this?!? The board of trustee members are buddy buddy with the students?!?

20:22 - “They’re all from impeccable families.” “So was I” Mic drop. Watch Malcolm drop the truth bombs. This is maybe the best line in this episode.

20:30 - “And just like you - none of them is capable of murder.” .....well this sentence is going to come back and bite Jessica in the butt later this season.

20:44 - The fact that these kids think Edrisa is a freshman is actually hilarious to me.

20:50 - OMG. “Welcome to boarding school. Bitch.” I was ready for Louisa to die right here. She just punched Edrisa and then called her a bitch. No no no. Edrisa is a quirky treasure and we must protect her.

21:00 - Damn. I wish we got to see the team’s reaction when they found out one of their teenage suspects assaulted their favourite M.E.

21:10 - Why is it soooo attractive when Malcolm wears casual shirts under a suit jacket?

21:53 - “My vote is for Louisa. The girl’s got a heavy fist.” hahaha I love Edrisa. SO SO much.

22:05 - Soooo is Jessica some sort of consultant now? They used her to interview cult extractors and now rich, teenage murder suspect. Is she the “rich person investigator” now?

22:11 - Does Louisa know that Malcolm is Jessica’s son?

23:04 - Louisa is a bad liar.

24:15 - Delaney should be ashamed. He told Nicky who Malcolm’s dad was. He is the reason that Malcolm got locked in a closet for 3 days. He is the reason Malcolm is claustrophobic. This man should have his teaching license seized and be charged with child abuse. What he did was absolutely despicable.

24:35 - “My mom’s sending a car.” It’s nice that Malcolm doesn’t always refer to Jessica as “mother”

25:00 - This is heartbreaking. I hope Nicky got expelled. If he didn’t - Malcolm experience a bigger injustice than we were lead to believe. Look at Nicky walking away from Malcolm. That kid has no remorse. I don’t blame Malcolm for seeking revenge. Malcolm keeps getting burned by people. Something had to give eventually.

25:30 - The biggest crime this episode committed is that we only saw Malcolm getting comfort from DELANEY. Honestly. Where was my papa Gil moment?!? Or a Dani+Malcolm moment?!?

25:51 - I doubt Delaney tried to stand up for Malcolm. He probably encouraged the expulsion.

26:05 - “Please.” Yikes. This has been torturing Malcolm for years. Who sold him out? Who ruined his last chance at a happy childhood? Who allowed him to be traumatized further? Who gave him the hand tremor (assuming we’re ignoring the S1 canon).

26:38 - What. A. Getaway. This school is full of crazy rich kids.

26:55 - “This time”?!? Doesn’t Martin always root for the killer?

27:05 - I love everything about this interaction between Martin and Malcolm. I love how upset Malcolm is. I love how Malcolm calls out Martin for being a bad dad. I love that Martin just sits there and takes it. Martin even looks a little sad. It makes me wonder - did Martin know about Delaney’s cheating ring? Did Martin manipulate Delaney into thinking Malcolm was a threat and convince him to get Malcolm expelled? I can see Martin doing it. If for no other reason than to tarnish the “Milton legacy” at Remington.

28:04 - UGH. I want to see how Malcolm got out of that closet SO BAD. Who found him? How close to death was he? PLEASE TELL ME IT WAS GIL. Why didn’t Jessica investigate when Malcolm didn’t show up at the Hamptons as planned?

28:13 - “How you wish that were true.” Ouch. Martin is a real asshole. He knows just how to destabilize Malcolm’s confidence.

28:56 - Even now, Martin is trying to manipulate Malcolm. Their relationship is so dysfunctional, beautiful, heartbreaking, and complex. I could watch them interact forever.

29:31 - Look at that little head shake from Mr. David. Martin’s cell is not soundproof. Mr. David heard everything. Mr. David always hears everything. Mr. David knows about Endicott. Istg.

30:12 - Delaney is a scumbag. He might not be a serial killer but he’s another male, adult asshole who gained Malcolm’s trust and then stabbed him in the back.

30:37 - OK. So I know, I’ve been hypothesizing that Mr. David is an ally to Martin’s crazy schemes, or that he worked for Endicott, or that Martin is going to try to kill Mr. David. BUT YO. IF MR. DAVID DIES I WILL THROW HANDS. HE’S SUCH A GREAT CHARACTER.

31:40 - This is a weirdly fancy room for video games. Also I miss JT. He should be here. I wish he was here. He would’ve been so good in this episode. Can you imagine his facial expressions and comments when he finds out little tidbits about Malcolm’s teenage past?! It would’ve been comedic GOLD. Couldn’t Tally give birth during a less interesting episode?!?!

32:15 - I’m convinced that Malcolm isn’t actually upset that Delaney’s crime is running the cheating ring. I think Malcolm’s upset because he just realized the only positive male role model (aside from Gil) that he had as a teenager was a manipulative liar who betrayed him. Malcolm just realized that this dude never cared about him and he’s crushed.

32:27 - Wait. Does Delaney make the kids pay him for the answers? Because that actually makes sense.

33:08 - This whole scene where Molly runs out of the back room and Dani says, “who are you running from?” is really cringey to me.

33:19 - Oh great. Now the guy who betrayed Malcolm is touching the back of Malcolm’s neck. JUST LIKE GIL DOES. Well....something tells me that’s going to taint how comforting Malcolm find’s that gesture coming from Gil for a while. Malcolm just isn’t allowed to be happy. Even for a moment. It’s a shame. I also love it.

33:40 - Awww...poor Malcolm is claustrophobic and he gets locked in the vault with a dying man. Look how desperate he is to get out of there - to save Delaney and to save himself more mental distress.

33:53 - Look at Malcolm panicking here. He tries to hide his panic as concern for Delaney but he’s clearly freaking out about being trapped in a smallish space.

34:25 - Yep. Malcolm didn’t think he could trust Daryl because Daryl is delusional. SO Martin threatens to murder Daryl and then metaphorically stabs the dude in the back. This is perfectly in character.

35:25 - Damn. Louisa is seriously mentally ill. She has zero empathy.

35:57 - Malcolm projecting his mental issues on the killer du jour is always simultaneously cringey and amazing to me.

36:26 - I’m not going to lie. Daryl screaming “He’s a Judas” as he was dragged away was hilarious.

37:04 - Holy shit. This took a turn. I’ll be honest - I don’t blame Malcolm for almost killing Nicky. But it does scare me.

38:35 - That story must have been haunting Malcolm for 15 years. I bet you he’s never told anyone not even Gabrielle. He’s had nightmares about it. Because he knows he’s capable of murder. Just like Martin. That terrifies Malcolm more than anything in the world.

39:12 - sooooo Delaney just heard that whole confession. Delaney lives. Something tells me this is going to be a problem for Malcolm when Endicott’s murder is investigated later in the season.

39:35 - “Are you insane?” “Maybe.” That’s it. That’s the show.

40:00 - Two questions: 1) Where is Dani? 2) Why does Gil not know where Malcolm is right now?

40:22 - Look Fedak screwed us over. We didn’t get to see Gil find Malcolm half-dead on the floor of that library vault. BUT this scene almost makes up for it.

40:24 - Malcolm wrapped in a blanket is so so cute. I just want to hug him. I want Gil to hug him. Ugh. <3

40:28 - I love that you can tell that Malcolm and Gil have had this sort of discussion about Malcolm’s sense of self-preservation numerous times in the past. Gil looks sooooo pissed. And concerned.

40:35 - Malcolm’s imitation of Gil makes me so so so so happy. I just. Ugh. It’s adorable. Look at how exasperated it makes Gil. Look at Dani’s reaction to it. This might be the greatest “found family”. scenes this show has given us to date.

40:55 - “All in a day’s work.” Oh yeah. Gil is super concerned about Malcolm’s mental state. Gil is Worried. I want to see more of it.

40:57 - I love that Dani just can’t wait anymore. She’s so precious. Look at how excited she is about JT’s baby. <3 I’m in love. She’s so soft here - it’s beautiful and rare for this show to let the audience see this side of Dani.

41:00 - GIL’S REACTION. <3 OMG. I LOVE HIM. HE LOOKS SO HAPPY. I HOPE JT AND TALLY DUB HIM THE BABY’S UNOFFICIAL GRANDFATHER.

41:02 - MALCOLM’S FACE. <3 <3 <3 IS THIS THE FIRST TIME HE’S EVER SEEN A BABY? HE’S SO ENAMORED WITH THIS CHILD ALREADY. LOOK AT HOW MUCH MALCOLM ALREADY LOVES JT’S KID. <3 <3 IT’S SO SOFT. I LOVE IT SO SO SO SO MUCH.

41:22 - I can’t decide about this scene. On one hand - I think it’s really mature of Malcolm to apologize to Martin. It’s a courtesy that Martin doesn’t deserve. ON THE OTHER HAND - I wonder if Malcolm is only apologizing to throw Martin off balance. I wonder if this is Malcolm’s attempt to manipulate Martin for once. Either way - I love it.

42:25 - Martin always gets the last word. He always worms his way into Malcolm’s brain and screws with Malcolm’s sense of self. I hate it. But I also find it so captivating.

43:05 - Sooooo is Martin committing the murder next episode? Or is he just manipulating someone else to commit a murder? Either way - I’m excited.

If you read this far - I’m flattered. I also think you’re a little crazy. But thanks for hanging out.

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downwiththeficness · 4 years

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A Need So Great-Chapter 6

Summary: Eva Moore is assigned to work the last year of her contract with the DEA in Colombia. She just wants to get to the end of her tenure, but she keeps getting drawn further into a string of murders in the city. It isn’t long before she’s forced to face the ghosts of her past.

Word Count: ~2,900

Warnings: None

A/N: For the purposes of this story, Carrillo isn’t married--or, if you like, divorced. A/B/O dynamics are prevalent, and they come with their own warning. The overall rating for this story is Explicit, although not every chapter will contain adult themes.

Taglist: @dirtynerdy98 @1zashreena1 @heresathreebee @deliciouslyclassytrash

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 7, 8, 8.5, 9, 10, 10.5, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21

True to his word, Carrillo had called her the next day, asked how she was doing. Eva was barely coherent, but she’d told him that she was okay and he’d let her get back to sleep. To her surprise, he’d called again on Sunday evening, asking if she felt better and if she had eaten. She had, but only a little.

Why don’t you take a hot bath, he’d prompted gently. You’ll feel better.

She did. And, she had felt better. By Monday morning, she was able to pull herself out of bed and head into the office. Although still sleepy, she felt more rested than she had in possibly years. Thinking back, Eva could not remember the last time a nesting period had been so fulfilling, or helpful. Though she was on the upswing, Eva had left the pillows and blankets in place. She could snuggle in them a little longer that night, before the need left her completely.

As her desk, she gathered a new stack of files, flipping through the one on top. It was the death of the informant she’d taken a look at. Eva paused, wondering if she should even read the file. She decided it would look worse if she didn’t. With a sigh, she began reading the first page. And then, the next page. And then she was moving back and forth between reports.

There was a page missing. She thumbed through it, looking to see if it had been collated incorrectly. It hadn’t. Javier had told her about a tattoo on the victim—it wasn’t included on the pages in front of her. Humming, she stood and went to the records room to see if it had slipped out in transit. It was there that Steve found her.

“Good, you’re here.”

Eva lifted her brows in question, refiling the folder in her hand.

“Javier asked me to find you and send you to help him at the church.”

She laughed, “I’m not religious.”

He put his hands on his hips, “Good, you’ll be objective.”

“Objective about what?”

“The case,” he answered, “Now, come on. I’ll take you there.”

Before she could argue, he was guiding her out of the building to the parking lot and they were on their way. It took until she was walking up the steps for her to pause and actually think about what she was doing.

“I can’t,” she nearly yelled, both hands coming up in front of her.

Steve rolled his eyes, “You can, let’s go. Javi’s waiting.”

“No,” Eva countered, lowering her voice, “I can’t do field work. I’m not allowed.”

He sucked a breath through his teeth in frustration, “You’re not. You’re going to mass. Now, in.”

Dragging her feet, Eva followed him in, folding her hands in front of her. It was a really nice church. Lots of stained glass, lots of wood. A confessional off to one side. Big cross with a Jesus on it. She walked up the aisle for what would be the second time in her life. Eva felt out of place the first time, too.

God, she’d been fourteen and so stupid, so trusting of her parents and of—of Joshua. He was smart and handsome and a fucking doctor. So stupid. So trusting. Eva could still remember that she was excited to be a wife, that she had thanked God for making happen so fast for her. She’d prayed that she would be a good partner for him, that she would learn fast. Eva had stopped believing in God the day after she got married.

Javi was standing with a priest at the back—or was it the front—of the church. They were talking animatedly, smiles all around. Eva followed Steve, waiting to be introduced.

“Eva, this is Father Martin.”

She gave a little half wave, “Hello.”

“He’s got a youth baseball league running this summer, they just got new uniforms.”

“That’s great,” she said, wondering where this was going.

“They even bought all the players new cleats. Isn’t that great?”

His expression told her that what he was saying was meaningful, and Eva was a little embarrassed that it took her a few moments to catch on. She cleared her throat and smiled congenially at the group.

“Um, could I use your restroom?”

Father Martin gestured to a hall tucked behind the confessional, “Yes, of course.”

Eva thanked him and tried not to walk too fast. She located the bathroom pretty quickly and ran the faucet while she peeked further down the hall. Couple of rooms, nothing out of the ordinary. Still, she could get a little lost. Turning off the faucet, she slipped out of the bathroom and made her way to the first room—broom closet. Crossing the hall, she opened the next door. This was where they taught whatever the Catholic equivalent was of Sunday School.

Eva had grown up like any other good Louisiana girl, a Southern Baptist. Where they gathered, there was food and Southern judgment. Her marriage had broken her of most of the things she’d once believed, but it hadn’t broken her of the good memories she had.

Reverently, she traced one of the little desks, smiling at the hand made art on the walls, little names scrawled in shaky writing. At the front was a chalk board, a bible verse carefully written in one corner, a psalm. Eva leaned on the desk and stared at it a moment, thinking that she probably could have done with a little more memorization at vacation Bible school.

Next to the chalkboard, Eva noticed that the wall was cracked. Odd. The rest of the church was in immaculate condition. Rising, she went over and touched the cracked, gasping when it cracked more. Spinning around, she looked towards the door, as if God would stroll in and strike her down for damaging His house.

Using both hands, she tried to set it straight, which only made things worse. It cracked all the way up to nearly the ceiling. With a deep sigh, she looked at it, using a nail to scratch along the edge. It lifted away easily, and she discovered the it was...on a hinge.

“What the fu—hell. Hell? Is hell better?”

Knowing she was already in it, Eva opened the makeshift door and found the back of the confessional. Brows together, she leaned in. It looked pretty normal, not that she’d ever been inside one. Well, there was a first time for everything. Primly, she turned and sat on the cushion, wiggling a bit. It wiggled with her.

Standing, Eva reached beneath the seat and lifted it. She smiled, set the cushion down and closed the door. Quickly, she scuttled out into the hall and back into the sanctuary.

The boys were still talking with the priest, thought Steve was taking the occasional photo. She gave Javier a wink, thanked the priest for the use of his facilities, and headed back outside. Javier followed her.

“What’d you find?”

“You know, I’m not supposed to be doing this. I’m supposed to be at a desk.”

“I know-”

“Then, you also know that by asking me to crime scenes you are risking my freedom.”

He looked at her for a bit, chewing on his lip, “Listen, you’re good at this. I know that, and you’re only here to visit a potential church, recommended by me.”

“You can’t just make up stories to suit your needs.”

“Why not?” he shot back, “DEA does it all the time.”

Eva looked away, “I can’t go back to prison, Javi.”

He took her by the shoulders, “You won’t. Steve and me, we’ll make sure of it.”

She nodded, crossing her arms.

“Now, what’d you find?”

“The church,” she answered, “Is hiding drugs under the seat of the confessional, probably in other places, too.”

He snapped his tongue over the back of his teeth, “You saw it.”

“I saw it.”

Dropping his hands, Javier pursed his lips, “I’m gonna call Carrillo. You sit tight out here in case it gets ugly.”

Eva shrugged, “You get the bad guys, I’m gonna go get a popscicle.”

And that’s what she did. Eva crossed the street to a tiny one stop shop and bought a cherry popscicle. Then, she found a bench where she had a good view of the front of the church and sat. As she pulled the paper apart, a couple Jeeps drove up to the church stairs and about ten or so policemen hauled ass inside, each of them wearing kevlar. Javier must have had them on stand by. Clearly, he thought he was working off good information. Perhaps, he’d snagged a nun as informant.

Separating the two pieces, Eva took the top off one and held it in her mouth, letting the sugary syrup melt over her tongue. She hadn’t had one of these in a long time, couldn’t remember the last one. Carefully, she tipped it over, slurping up one side.

Even from across the street, she could hear raised voices. They’d told the priest what she’d found, no doubt.

Eva sat there watching the police bring out load after load of cocaine, an astonishing amount, really. When she’d finished the popscicle, she got up and threw the wrapper and wooden sticks in the trash. On her way back, she saw Carrillo crossing the street towards her. Like his men, he was also kitted up. Eva was surprised that they’d found a bulletproof vest that could fit his broad shoulders. In any case, it was good look for him.

She sat, leaving enough room for him, a wordless invitation that he took.

“Having fun storming the castle?”

He huffed a short laugh, “I don’t know that ‘fun’ is how I would describe it.”

Eva hummed, knowing what he meant, then, “Guess its better than sitting at a desk.”

“On that, we agree. Javi tells me that you were the one who found the drugs.”

She shrugged, “Stumbled upon them, really.”

Carrillo looked at her, sidelong, “You have good eyes for this. I should put you on my payroll.”

Pleased by the complement, she allowed herself to feel a little bit of pride despite the fact that she really had simply stumbled upon the drugs.

Leaning back, Eva let her voice come out in a slow drawl, “I don’t know that you want to do that.”

He assessed her expression, asking, “Why?”

“Because,” she explained, matter of fact, “I don’t kiss the men who sign my paychecks.”

One side of his mouth lifted, a kind of playful light in his eyes, “I can get someone else to sign the paycheck.”

Feeling a blush rise to her cheeks, Eva looked away, saw that the priest was being cuffed in the doorway.

“What will happen to him?”

Carrillo’s face hardened a bit, “We’ll book him and he will make bail. He’ll be back before Sunday services.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

Is that how it worked in this country? She supposed that was how it worked everywhere—plenty of Josh’s boys got off without charges, plenty made bail, plenty went right back to what they were doing.

“What a load of bullshit.”

Carrillo laughed outright, “That is how it is.”

She opened her mouth and closed it, looking at her hands.

He lifted one hand and tapped the outside of her thigh once, “Inside thought?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Tell me—is it insulting?” He looked intrigued.

She shook her head, “More sad, I think.”

“Tell me.”

Sighing deeply, she simply said, “I was just thinking that whoever leaked the information to Javier is going to be crucified. I was also thinking that saying this out loud would be in poor taste.”

Carrillo made a sound of agreement, and then there was a few minutes where they both watched the priest being walked from the church to one of the Jeeps.

“How are you feeling?”

Eva was a little startled by the question, but she recovered quickly, “I’m better. Thank you for your help last week. It...made a difference.”

He acknowledged her thanks with a bob if his head, “You are welcome, and I am glad. When was the last time you nested?”

Her shock must have shown on her face because he went on, “When we met, the first thing I noticed was that you looked like you needed to take some time to nest.”

“The first thing?” Her? Sarcastic? No...

He gave a little shrug, abashed, “Okay, the second thing.”

God, but she wanted to needle him just a little bit, to volley back the unbalanced feeling he so often stirred in her. It took half a second to agree with herself that she should—just a little.

Eva turned, resting her elbow on the back of the bench and laying her head on her hand, “What was the first?”

She could tell he was regretting saying it, but Eva was curious, and she had a hard time not being curious about things. She did, however, keep the satisfied look off her face when his cheeks tinged with pink.

“Tell me,” she urged, echoing his tone from not a few minutes before.

Carrillo’s shoulders pulled down and she got the feeling that he was trying to make himself less threatening, an unconscious movement that told her he’d always been a little too large among his peers. She could see in that small movement that he’d learned early on that he was intimidating. She could also see that he probably knew when to use that to his advantage and when to pull back.

“You know the answer to that question, Eva,” he said eventually.

She held up a finger, “I might know.”

After a deep inhale followed by a controlled exhale, he said, “I cannot believe I am saying this...Your scent. You know that it was your scent. I couldn’t fucking breathe in that conference room. I thought my blood was going to boil in my veins.”

The words tumbled out quickly, but his tone was so reticent that there were little unusual pauses in his sentences. He definitely did not want to be saying it, but he clearly couldn’t help it, and it looked like that frustrated him. Eva bit her lip, touched by how ridiculously honest he was being with her at that moment. She should reward him for that honesty.

“Do you want to know a secret?”

He looked at her and nodded sharply, just once.

Eva moved a little closer and pitched her voice low, “I knew what you smelled like a month before we were introduced. I even saw you first, like a few weeks before. It was the only way I got through that meeting with any dignity.”

There. She’d given him a fair trade. Eva did not need to add that she’d masturbated to that scent over and over for the month prior (and since). She didn’t think she would ever really have the courage to tell him that much. Just the thought made heat rise in her chest and cheeks.

He shifted to face her, “How?”

She tilted her head to the side in a low arc, “You would come in to talk with one of the agents, we’d just miss each other and I could scent you a few times.”

His eyes narrowed and she could see the wheels turning in his head, “You said you saw me.”

“Yes, I did. Not for long, and from across the room. But, I knew.”

Strong fingers brushed down the forearm holding her head aloft, “How did you stand it? After—I think I lasted less than twenty four hours before I was coming up with ways to see you again.”

Eva smiled, “I was just happy that I could feel that intensely. I think I wanted to savor it.”

He cocked his head to the side, eyes running over her face and downwards, catching on the way her skirt had hitched up a bit, “You never…”

She shook her head, “Josh was a beta. After we got married, I was on a tight leash. And after, there wasn’t much opportunity.”

There went that jagged fury that billowed through his scent when she mentioned her marriage. She made a mental note to steer away from the subject, if she could. His mouth opened and closed, and her mouth widened in a smile.

“You just had an inside thought.”

He laughed, “I did.”

“Well, out with it.”

Carrillo, still smiling, said, “I think I’ve revealed enough for one day.”

Eva looked down, “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

He touched underneath her chin, “Don’t apologize for wanting to know my thoughts, hmm? I want to know yours constantly.”

“I pretty much say whatever I’m thinking, Big Guy.”

His name sounded from across the street and he straightened, listening.

“I need to go,” he said after a moment. “We’ll talk later.”

Eva watched him go, a warm feeling coming over her. She liked him a little too much, she knew that. She also knew that she was going to do absolutely nothing about it.

#narcos #horacio carrillo #carrillo #A Need So Great

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chiseler · 3 years

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Harry Stephen Keeler: The Paper Blackener of Bagdad on the Lakes

Marry a moustachioed alcoholic and erstwhile magician to a Welsh-American beauty shortly before the World’s Columbian Exposition. When their son is born, widow the mother. Widow her again—twice. Put her in charge of a boarding house for vaudevillians. Make her son a prankster and give him a degree in electrical engineering. Bake him in the Kankakee mental asylum for a year. The result: the one and only Harry Stephen Keeler.

Keeler (1890-1967) was, in his own words, one of the most obsessive “paper-blackeners” ever to inhabit Chicago—“London of the West, Bagdad on the Lakes.” In this regard he is not wholly unlike Henry Darger, the janitor and outsider artist who spent his life a few blocks away creating the 15,000-page chronicle of the Vivian Girls. One difference is that Keeler got published.

When he was out of the asylum and working as a steel mill electrician, Keeler started frenetically punching away at his L. C. Smith, turning out surprise-twist short stories and, soon, complicated serial mysteries in a whimsical vein. He also landed a job as editor of 10 Story Book, a pulp featuring humorous tales and half-naked girls. With Find the Clock (Dutton, 1927), he achieved U.S. hardback publication. Keeler was to publish 37 volumes with Dutton until he exhausted his publishers’ patience in 1942. He published 48 books with the British publisher Ward Lock (1929-53), nine with the fourth-rate Phoenix Press (1943-48), and a dozen or so further novels written directly for Spanish or Portuguese translation at $50 a pop, in addition to several manuscripts that never saw the light of day.

That’s a story of decline—and even at the early peak of his mild popularity, Keeler struggled to sell more than a few thousand copies of his novels. The Great Depression was part of the problem, but so was Keeler’s prose. Over the course of the ’30s, Keeler transmuted his early style—convoluted “webwork” plots and somewhat Victorian diction—into screwball concoctions where the narrator and characters sink into morasses of dialect and ludicrous phraseology, as the reader is challenged to sift through layers of implausible interpretation to uncove an even more implausible solution. Ignoring the pleas of his editors, HSK churned out huge, multivolume creations that tried his readers’ brains and now seem boldly postmodern, as if they had been dreamed up by Pynchon or Oulipo. To mention a few:

The Box from Japan (1932) is set in 1942 and runs to over 700,000 words, with extensive digressions on intercontinental 3-D television, a Nicaraguan canal, and the Japanese emperor’s love of Virginia ham.

The Marceau Case and X. Jones of Scotland Yard (1936) are “documented novels” that consist of newspaper stories, telegrams, photos (including one of a topless woman and one of Keeler himself), astronomical charts, cartoons, a Bible verse, two ten-page long footnotes, and much more. The premise is a twist on “locked room” mysteries: a man was strangled on an open croquet lawn, with only a few small footprints in his immediate vicinity. Was he garroted by a Lilliputian in an autogyro? The case is given a three-dimensional solution by an American in the first volume, and a four-dimensional solution by an Englishman in the second.

The Mysterious Mr. I and The Chameleon (1938-39) trace the Chicago peregrinations of a narrator who keeps us and everyone around him guessing as he switches identities no fewer than fifty times (once posing as a professor of philosophy who provides yet another solution to the Marceau case).

The Man with the Magic Eardrums (1939) is an all-night dialogue between two mysterious characters who discuss interracial marriage, telephone technology, and a laundry list of other Keelerian obsessions. It was followed by three sequels.

The exhausting, quasilunatic plots of HSK’s novels are larded with gems of Keelerian writing: awkward, preposterous, and hilarious. The laughter is always uncertain, though, because you are never sure just how much of the effect is intentional. (I have come to believe that most of it is.) Contemporary Keelerite Edward Bolman has recently started tweeting some of these gems (twitter.com/harryskeeler). Here’s a small selection.

“I—I thank you, Governor,” he said with dignity, “on behalf of the Great Science of Mathematics and Joe the Duck.”

For all’s not gold that glitters; and everything that makes an inky black aqueous solution isn’t the pure oxyrhodomate salt of platinum.

“I—I don’t want any women,” Joe managed to ejaculate.

Real estate law oozed out from all over him.

“I’d like to be Hong’s gold watch in his pocket—but able to listen, like as if it were my own ear—yeah, a gold ear-shaped listening watch.”

“Nuts!” exploded Monk Onderko. “Bull,” came from Pox in the rear.

His conscience was invariably an amoeba hypertrophied to the size of behemoth and capering about, centipedal with a hundred elephant legs!

Unlikely as it may seem, Keeler got a small taste of Hollywood in 1934, when Monogram Studios put out two films based on his Sing Sing Nights. In the movie of that name, three murder suspects are tested by a lie detector. (In the novel, the three men shot their victim nearly but not quite simultaneously—so two of them are guilty of no more than pumping a bullet into a corpse. One shooter espouses the theory that racism will eventually be overcome thanks to interbreeding, plastic surgery, and international air travel. None of this makes it into the film.) In The Mysterious Mr. Wong, a film based on a story told by one of the characters in Keeler’s Sing Sing Nights, Bela Lugosi plays Wong, a tepidly creepy Oriental who is stalked by a feebly wisecracking reporter. These movies have some interest as period pieces, but retain little of the distinctive Keeler touch. Extensive research has not supported Keeler’s claim that Sing Sing Nights inspired yet a third film, titled The Gorilla’s Brain.

Nearly forgotten by the end of his life, Keeler has experienced a small posthumous revival thanks to the Internet (which he would have adored). The Harry Stephen Keeler Society, founded in 1997, publishes a newsletter. All of Keeler’s books can be printed on demand by Ramble House. In 2005, McSweeney’s republished the 1934 novel The Riddle of the Traveling Skull. Keeler’s confessed fans include Neil Gaiman and Roger Ebert. Now we await a truly Keelerian film—a movie that somehow captures the erudite, juvenile, loquacious, gleefully unrealistic world of a Harry Stephen Keeler novel.

by Richard Polt

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a-mythical-lady · 3 years

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Books and me.

14 years ago

(Age: 7)

It was bedtime and maa had just made my bed when I heard the front door open. Papa was home from work and I could hear bhai running to see papa and tell him random stuff. I bet papa listened to everything, despite being tired. After that, he came to my room, "Look what I got you" he said, and extended a book to me. I was confused as he had never brought me a book before. It was a book called Panchatantra. A story of an old rishi who gives life lessons to his five shishyas at the gurukul through stories about nature and animals. I was excited about getting my first book and begrudgingly, maa let me stay up later than usual. That night, sprawled on my bed, I was entranced and fascinated by all the different stories and scenes and talking animals. The next morning, I woke up by myself and finished the entire book by noon.

The next thing I know, I'm collecting comics and storybooks and getting addicted to them. Piling up tinkle comics, Archie's and Amar Chitra Katha was my only goal. Every train journey to my native place involved dragging papa to the railway station bookstore and getting myself a comic book for the train ride. I begged my parents to subscribe to storybooks along with the daily morning newspaper, and they relented after a lot of coaxing. Then, every Monday morning I'd wait eagerly for the newspaper boy to deliver my weekly dose of happiness with books of chacha Choudary, chandamama, and champak. Soon, this became an obsession that even my parents started noticing. Maa began hiding my copies of storybooks during the exams and giving them back only after all my exams were done. I began pestering papa to get me more and more books every day. Sometimes he would get me a double digest edition of tinkle and I'd be ecstatic and over the moon. It's amazing how something so small and silly used to make me so happy. I'd re-read the same books once I'd gone through my entire stash of new books. Out of desperation, I'd read anything I could lay my hands on. In school, we used to get all our term textbooks a month before the reopening of a new academic year and my English textbooks fell prey to this obsession of mine. I'd know all the lessons and stories by heart before the school year started. I think that was one of the reasons for the nerd label I got in school. I even started reading stories from the Bible, borrowing storybooks from another girl in my neighborhood. Little did I know that this was only the beginning.

10 years ago

(Age: 11)

One fine summer afternoon, bhai was busy watching tv in the living room and maa and papa were at work. We had free rein on the tv as it was the summer holidays and I had free rein on my books. I was lazing around in my room and started searching the entire house for something new to read. And finally, I found a book among bhai's things. It was probably a gift. It wasn't a comic book or a usual storybook. This one was an actual book. A novel. And it had no pictures. I was skeptical but boredom got the best of me and I decided to read a few pages to pass the time. It was a hardy boys book, written by Franklin W Dixon. After reading a few pages, my 11-year-old brain almost exploded with fascination. The style of writing, the mystery, the suspense of the entire book drew me in completely and I knew then, this was a turning point in my life where books are concerned. I felt almost grown-up. And so I read the 200 page novel with wide eyes and a bursting heart in 3 hours, without even getting up to pee. I went and told bhai about the new book I read. He laughed it off. I told maa and papa when they came back from work. "That's good beta", they said. I was disappointed that they didn't feel the same exhilaration that I did. Papa still got my books whenever I asked him. For the second time, I found myself collecting and piling up books. All of the hardy boys and Nancy drew collections. Once again, I was entranced, trapped yet alive like never before in a whole new world.

After that, a multitude of options lay before me. I dived headfirst into reading mystery and moved onto classics written by Charles Dickens, The Bronté sisters, Mary Shelly, and even a dash of Shakespeare. I fell in love with David Copperfield, Oliver twist, treasure island, Jane Eyre and Frankenstein.

But eventually, buying books so often became a chore and at the pace I was reading, with one book hardly lasting a day, we couldn't afford to buy as many books. So, then one day, maa and I set out on a goose chase all over the city looking for libraries where I could borrow books from. At last, we found an old government library inside an even older building that looked almost haunted. And as we bravely stepped into the barely holding up building, we only found old uncles reading newspapers and gossiping. Thankfully, there was a rack of English fiction. Just one single rack. Although mildly disappointed, I was determined to make do with that. I got myself a membership plan and my reading palette had its first taste of Indian authors. That one rack had a fair collection of young adult books, standalone contemporary novels which sated my hunger for quite some time. While other people gushed over my habit of reading books, my parents were a little concerned. But as I started writing my own speeches in school, improved in my speaking skills, I'm sure they were convinced and over time, I think they accepted this obsession of mine. Or at the very least, were forced to.

6 years ago.

(Age: 15)

My love for reading only grew and now I had a book beside me during breakfast, lunch, and dinner which my parents barely tolerated. I even started planting a book in every corner of my house for easy access, under the coffee table, by my bed, on my study table. While kids my age sneaked mobile phones under their pillows, I sneaked in books to read.

After a few years, I finally met a kindred spirit with a shared love for reading. He was older than me and introduced me to books by Dan Brown. I listened with rapt attention to the plot of the book and I immediately knew that my days of reading hardy boys and young adult books were over. It's crazy how transitioning between genres and different types of books made me feel older and mature over the years. Few pages into the Da Vinci code and I fell, hook, line, and sinker. I finished the entire 500-page book in a day. Back then, I was pretty adamant about having my own copies of books and collecting them, which I guess stemmed from my childhood obsession with collecting comics. Soon, I'd exhausted the books at the old library and had no other option but to trade in my precious books for second-hand books at a wholesale book store very far away from home. Because they were at a secondhand rate, I could now afford more books and although the pages were worn out and yellowed, I was happy. The already folded pages, notes in the corners of some pages jotted down by the previous owner made me feel oddly connected and attached.

Present-day

(Age: 21)

As I grew up and left my teenage years behind, life and boards got in my way and there were gaps when I couldn't read no matter how hard I tried. But once I found my way back to books. I knew what I was missing and knew that I would never stop reading again. I still read books by Dan Brown, Sydney Sheldon, and Nora Roberts. I found quite a few talented Indian authors. Books by Durjoy Dutta and Ravinder Singh made me fall in love with contemporary romance and light humor. I've moved on to reading books on my phone now. I miss turning pages of an actual book, but on the bright side, I get to read countless books anytime and anywhere I want. I've explored many genres over the years, murder and crime thrillers, romance, contemporary, dark fiction, and comedy, and read them accordingly when the mood strikes.

If there's one thing that has been a constant through my childhood, it has been books. Reading is a huge part of my life and very close to my heart. Words and writing mean so much to me. Books have been my solace, my safe place, my companions as I grew up, my fantasy land, and my hiding place all rolled into one. I've cried, loved, smiled, and laughed with books and I can't describe how utterly grateful I am to maa and papa for getting me my first book when I was just 7 and letting me explore my love for reading.

Although, there's one thing I'd like to admit. There's this one genre that I've never read - non-fiction and strangely, I'm still very skeptical about it. But you never know, over time I might come to like that as well!

MAJ

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drsilverfish · 5 years

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Game of the Gods - 15x08 Our Father Who Aren’t in Heaven

Hey fellow-travellers,

Well done to everyone who speculated Rowena would be the new Queen of Hell!

I’ve just watched the ep. I’m late catching up (and as usual, haven’t jumped into your posts yet, to avoid spoilers) because, here in the UK, we had a very bad, not good, general election result this morning and I’ve been completely sucker punched by it all day.

Anyhoo, Bucklemming did OK with this one. I mean, it doesn’t, perhaps, have quite all the intricate layers of some of our better writers, but hey, it’s got all the moving parts, including the return of Jungian Self and Shadow-Self metaphor in spades (and a healthy, hopeful integrated version at that, as Adam and Michael!Adam get along and share control of consciousness and the vessel). It also contains plenty of pregnant subtext between Dean and Cas, including <drumroll> a mooted return to Purgatory together where, remember, “It felt pure” (in subtext - between them) and Dean prayed to Cas every night.

But, leaving those elements to one side for now, I thought I’d talk first about this shot of Cas, praying to Michael with a chessboard prominently in shot:

Which, in the context of the story, reminded me of this:

“In their dwellings at peace they played at tables

Of gold no lack did the gods then know”

That’s a quote is from the Poetic Edda, a medieval manuscript containing Old Norse poems, which tells something of pagan Norse mythology.

The quote is about a golden age of the Gods, which comes into being after Ragnarok, the terrible end of the world battle between the Gods and the Giants. In this “end times” battle (as you know) many Gods die and the world is destroyed. However, a new world is born out of the old one, and the surviving Gods are at peace, playing an old Germanic board game, a bit like chess, in Heaven in a new Golden Age.

This cyclical narrative, where apocalypse leads to renewal, is also present in the Bible in the famous passage in Revelations 21:

“And I saw a new heaven and a new earth: for the first heaven and the first earth were passed away; and there was no more sea.

And I John saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down from God out of heaven, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband.

And I heard a great voice out of heaven saying, Behold, the tabernacle of God is with men, and he will dwell with them, and they shall be his people, and God himself shall be with them, and be their God.

And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away” (King James Bible)

Chuck has declared, in 14x20 Moriah, “Welcome to the End!” (aka he has declared Ragnarok) and we see him with a chess board in 14x04 Atomic Monsters:

He is, of course, trying to manipulate his “favourite story”, Sam and Dean Winchester, like chess pieces on a board. However, Cas, as we’ve all observed, seems to be outside Chuck’s favoured misery dude-bro plot - a murder-suicide, in which one Winchester kills the other and then themselves. So, the image of Cas with the chessboard in 15x08 tells us that Cas, too (like Chuck) has power over the “chess board”, aka the Game of the Gods.

Indeed, if my Edda quote proves fruitful, the narrative is telling us that, after this great battle with God (in which some of our heroes may die, at least temporarily) there will be a renewal. Perhaps this is the “Paradise” Jack promised Cas from the womb.

I mentioned that there was a reference in 15x06 Golden Time to Vonnegut’s novel Breakfast of Champions (Dean, grief-eating cereal as a result of his break-up with Cas, refers to it as “breakfast of champions” at the start of the episode) in this post here:

https://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/189338866109/me-every-relevant-point-now-forever-onwards-for

Dean and Chuck, of course, we know are both Vonnegut fans, thanks to their exchange about Vonnegut in 4x18 The Monster at the End of this Book - very meta, as Chuck, like Vonnegut, likes to insert a character version of himself (Chuck Shurley) into his stories.

Breakfast of Champions provides a guide for the possible renewal-after-Ragnarok ending of SPN, because in that novel, the writer is persuaded to let go of the control of his characters - to grant them freedom aka true free will.

Vonnegut also wrote a short story, called “All the King’s Horses” (1951) about a deadly game of chess between a captured US Army Colonel and his guerilla-fighter leader captor (set during the Cold War).

The captor, Pi Ying, orders that whenever the Colonel, Kelly, loses a chess piece, one of the men captured with him will be executed. That sounds a lot like Chuck, right? Playing a deadly game of chess with his Winchester Gospels’ protagonists and killing those they love for sport in the game, just as he threatens the lives of Jodie, Donna and Eileen in 15x08 (NB: notice he’s trying to erase the feminine from the narrative again!!!).

Eventually, the Colonel, in Vonnegut’s story, realises he can only win the chess game if he sacrifices one of his knights on the board, but these are being “played” by his sons (also captured with him). Just before Pi Ying kills Kelly’s kid, he is himself murdered by his guerilla-fighter girlfriend, who has been watching the cruel chess game along with him (she then kills herself). One of Pi Ying’s men takes over the game, but Kelly wins and so the remaining hostages are freed.

A deadly chess game, the (almost) sacrifice of a son... sounds like Castiel;s son Jack’s sacrifice by Chuck in 14x20 Moriah, right? And presages Jack’s re-entry into the “game”.

We have seen Cas pictured with chess boards before, notably in 8x08 Hunter Heroici:

And, given the numerical symmetry - 15x08/ 8x08 (which season 14 established as a definite “thing” - calling back previous episodes numerically, Ouroboros style) I think this call-back is deliberate.

In Hunter Heroici, the psychokinetic resident of retirement home Sunset Fields, Fred Jones, is being manipulated, in his vulnerable state, by one of the doctors to use his powers to alter reality so the doc and his accomplice can pull off a series of thefts (e.g. creating cartoon holes for escape purposes).

Someone powerful enough to alter reality? That becomes a metaphor for Chuck, in this call-back (which, also reminds us of Chip Harrington in 14x15 Peace of Mind).

Cas eventually brings peace to Fred Jones, by mind-stripping him of his powers so he can’t hurt anyone else (at his request) and then staying with him to play music in his mind for a while in the retirement home.

This episode, 8x08, is also right in the middle of the narrative in which Castiel himself is being manipulated by Naomi, and the Winchesters (at this point) don’t know it yet. More manipulation of reality by dubious powers of Heaven parallels!

All this ties in quite nicely with Donatello’s attempt to find a clue in the Demon Tablet to being able to lock up Chuck, and which AU!Michael, apparently, gives Team Free Will a spell for at the end of 15x08.

Castiel, master-tactician that he is (never forget the chess game he played with the angels using Biggersons restaurants in quantum super-position in 8x21 The Great Escapist) has a significant part to play in this final chess game with God himself. He’s a powerful player on the board, and a tactician with influence over the board, precisely because Chuck continually discounts him.

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mtvswatches · 4 years

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Jane the Virgin 3x03 Chapter Forty-Seven

Click here for previous recaps!

Stray thoughts

1) I really hope this is not another bait...

There’s so much buildup that I wonder if this is going to be disappointing. Or if it will even happen at all…

Well, we’re back to where they got the go-ahead from the doctor, but...

2) People keep interrupting them, and I just wonder why Jane won’t just be open about it and tell her mom, dad, and grandma that they want some privacy to finally get laid!

3) “If you weren’t a singer, what would you be?”

It’s an interesting question indeed, considering she’s not really a singer and she hasn’t done much with her life so far. It’s a weird question to be asking yourself when you’re pushing forty, right? But I guess Xiomara always followed her impulse and that’s how she led her life, there wasn’t really much time to think about what she wanted to do. I’m kind of curious to see where they go with this.

4) New character, I guess?

So, this is Cecilia, Alba’s sister and the one responsible for telling everyone Alba wasn’t a virgin on her wedding day.

5) Oh, thank god!

I found the whole “You and I finishing at the same time” comment… odd? And tbh, Jane doesn’t look very satisfied. But at least she got it over with! Of course, he fell asleep right after, and it doesn’t feel as magical as she’d expected, I guess. But I mean, why should it? Expectations about the first time having sex should be very low, but culturally women are raised to make this huge deal of their “first time” and “losing their virginity”, and it’s very difficult to shed those expectations, right?

6) OMG she’s sending a sex tape of her first time with her husband to her advisor!

But… the most important question is, is she going to watch that video? Will Michael and Jane watch it? Will they do a play-by-play analysis? Will he notice that she didn’t really come?

7) “It was actually my first time” “Oh, that explains things…”

Well, the advisor (I’m sorry, can’t remember her name!) made it out to look like she was talking about her writing – which she might well have been – and how it was lacking something. I think I’ve actually mentioned this before, but It’s kind of odd for Jane to be a romance writer and to be writing sex scenes without actually having experienced sex herself. The advisor makes a good point – romance without sex is just fantasy. And I’m not saying that you can’t have romance if you’re asexual. But that’s not the type of stories Jane is writing or the audience she’s writing for. Anyway, I think the advisor was actually talking about her performance in the tape and not her writing. Or maybe both.

8) I knew it.

And of course, her friend tells her NOT TO TELL MICHAEL, and I’m like, huh? I just wish this would stop being a storyline? Both the faking and the not-talking to your partner about your feelings regarding the sexual experiences you share with them. Not having an orgasm is just part of the sexual experience and there’s nothing wrong with it, and sex can still be enjoyable even when you don’t have an orgasm. So let’s see where they take this storyline. I’m guessing Michael is going to be super supportive, and will try to make it up to her.

9) Why is this still a thing in this show? We get it, Luisa is a fucking moron, and she makes terrible decisions. I wish there was more to her character than that.

10) And I know that we crave representation for LGBTQ+, but… Rose is a fucking psycho? And this is almost a textbook abusive relationship? She’s literally kidnapped Luisa, isolated her, and keeps telling her how she’s alone and Rose is the only one there for her. (and I’m not even touching on the whole murderer/drug lord thing because that’s just part of the zaniness of this show.)

11) Okay, Xiomara is considering moving on from singing, but move on to what?

12) I genuinely laughed at this.

13) Okay, I liked this joke.

JANE: What’s the CW? Like a streaming thing? ROGELIO: No, no! It’s a huge network! Look it up! Amazing shows! Fabulous line-ups!

Anyway, Jane is very intent on manipulating her mom into finding her passion for singing again, and I don’t know how I feel about this. Yes, Xiomara loves singing, but what is wrong with giving up? She hasn’t really made it, and there are other things she might be passionate about that she hasn’t figured out yet because she’s been pursuing her “singing career.” I know Jane is trying to be supportive, but if she truly were, she would just try to help her mom to find what other avenues she can pursue instead of tormenting her with her unfulfilled dreams. It just feels like another thing Jane does because it’s what she wants rather than being selfless and thinking of others.

14) See? This is why you should be honest with your partner about your orgasms or lack thereof…

At least it led to an honest conversation. Which led to this…

15) I’m loving this Cecilia character. I kind of wish she was the leading lady, actually. She’s so fun, even if she’s a figment of Jane’s imagination!

16) Rogelio is selling his show to the CW, but Rob Lowe will be the leading man, not him. I see how this could easily lead to an existential crisis for Rogelio, but I have so much faith in him, he’ll probably take it in stride and turn into a bigshot Hollywood producer.

17) Hm. Day two and Jane is already trying to spice up their sex life? This doesn’t bode well. And Michael is telling her not to discuss their glitch with anyone to protect his fragile ego? Because he tells her she can say they had sex, but that she shouldn’t mention how it wasn’t good? Double hm. And now Jane is with Xiomara, someone who could actually help her get out of her head and understand what she’s going through, but she keeps her mouth shut because Michael’s ego is more important.

18) And then she finds this…

I hope this sets her straight.

19) So… instead of getting on board with Xiomara wanting to move on after finding the list, Jane and Rogelio continue to plot to get her “back on track.” But why?

20) For a second, I thought Rafael had truly sent a caring, loving email to his sister, but it seems to be a ploy to get her to reply and reveal her location. Considering she’s a moron, she’ll probably fall for it, but it’s kind of sad? When she was reading the email, I was hoping it would be her wake-up call (if the fact that she literally jumped and gasped when Rose walked into her room wasn’t already a warning sign…) and that she would try and leave this toxic relationship. But if she’s being lured by false declarations of brotherly love… I don’t know, it feels wrong. Yes, she’s a fucking moron, but what makes her a moron is that she’s constantly looking for love and affection. That’s always her downfall.

21) Now, that is a cameo…

Loved the fan bit!

22) So… Rogelio got freaking Gloria Estefan to help Xiomara, but it never occurred to him that it might have the opposite effect. Because Xiomara has seen Gloria and Emilio casually sitting there and watching her show and she’s freaking out.

You bow to royalty.

23) So… Lina Has just offered to help Michael and Jane and demanded a play by play, and Michael remembered the sex tape. He’s not going to show it to Lina, though, right? He’s just going to watch it and figure out what went wrong.

24) Oh, no she didn’t!

Why is she so intent on convincing Xiomara to continue pursuing a career that hasn’t really worked out for her? She hasn’t made it, and it doesn’t look like she will anytime soon, and that’s OKAY! What’s wrong with wanting to try other things? What if she’s really talented at something else and she’s missing the opportunity to shine because she’s stubbornly fixated on being a singer? And why does it matter so much to Jane? Why does she need to control everything and everyone’s lives?

25) So… this whole obsession with Xiomara’s career is because… Jane gave up her virginity? Huh? That doesn’t make sense? How is Xiomara’s singing career a metaphor for Jane’s virginity? I’m just confused! The show is usually very good at pulling off this type of parallelism and metaphors, but this time it just didn’t work for me.

26) See? Xiomara had the right answer all along:

“With sex, it can take time to find your groove and figure out what you like, what you need. You’re just starting out. You’ll get there.”

27) So… they end up watching their own sex tape, and finally have satisfying intercourse, I guess. I kind of wish this storyline hadn’t been resolved in an episode, though, it doesn’t feel realistic.

28) So, that was the reason for the riff between Alba and her sister Cecilia…

29) Why am I always so much more invested in Rogelio’s storylines?

He apologized for the way he broke-up with her, and then they decided to embrace their artistic connection. And now he has six months to become famous in America so that he can be the lead of his own show in the CW hahaha! I feel this storyline will be lots of fun.

30) Look what the cat dragged in…

…a moron thirsty for love.

31) So… I guess Rose lied about the whole “I’m not a criminal anymore” thing. Shocker.

Rafael’s mom was on her kill list, before she even killed her. And Muter died holding a bible and clamoring for her son. I guess this will be Rafael’s storyline, then.

32) To be honest, I wasn’t a fan of this episode. Usually, the plot A and plot B are connected in a way that makes sense, and this week, it felt a bit far-fetched to have Jane obsess over Xiomara’s singing career because she had let go of her virginity. I don’t know, what are your thoughts? Let me know in the comments!

33) Hope you enjoyed my recap, and, as usual, if you’ve got this far, thank you for reading! If you enjoy my recaps and my blog, please consider supporting it on ko-fi. Thanks!

#Jane the Virgin #Gina Rodriguez #Jane Villanueva #Rogelio De La Vega #JTV #JTV recap #JTV 3x03 #mine #recap

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tessatechaitea · 4 years

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Cerebus #15 (1980)

If the story so far had revealed that Cerebus has a vagina, I could make a hentai joke here.

The first time I encountered hentai was at an anime convention at a Red Lion Inn in San Jose in 1994 or 1995. I went to the convention by myself because I had recently fallen in love with the cartoon Sailor Moon and wanted to get some Sailor Moon LaserDiscs unless it was actually Sailor Moon dolls I wanted. It was so long ago, how am I supposed to remember?! They had a room where they were showing movies and one of the movies I watched was Sailor Moon R: The Movie. It was subtitled which was great because then I had the story memorized for all the times I watched my non-subtitled LaserDisc. But that wasn't the pornographic anime I saw! I don't even remember what that was but I watched some tentacle fucking movie late at night in a dark room with a bunch of other sweaty nerds. I didn't know that was what was going to happen though so I didn't have my dick in my hands like the other guys probably did. I was as shocked as anybody when they first find out that cartoons where women get fucked by tentacles exist! I mean, how many penises does an alien need?! I grew up thinking the little gray aliens had zero! That Red Lion Inn was the same one where I played in a couple of Magic the Gathering tournaments. Being in a dark room with a bunch of horny anime fans was less awkward and uncomfortable than playing Magic the Gathering against Magic the Gathering fans. Most of them probably couldn't believe they were actually playing against such a cool and handsome dude. It really threw them off their game when I would say things like, "Yeah, I've touched a couple of boobs. I attack with my Serra Angel." I know what you're thinking: "Anime, comic books, and Magic the Gathering?! This awesome dude must have owned every single Stars Wars figure too!" Aw, you're too kind! I'm blushing! But obviously I never owned Yak Face. "A Note from the Publisher" is still being published so I guess Dave and Deni are still married. In his Swords of Cerebus essay, Dave Sim discusses "Why Groucho?" It seems to mostly come down to this: Dave Sim enjoyed the characters of Groucho Marx as a teenager and memorized a lot of their lines. He also mentions Kim Thompson's review of Cerebus in The Comic Journal (the first major review of the series) in which Kim praised Sim's ability to make his parody characters transcend the parody to become unique creations of their own. This review gave Sim the confidence to put Groucho in the role of Lord Julius. Which worked out so well that Sim later adds Oscar Wilde, Ernest Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Margeret Thatcher, Mick Jagger, Keith Richards, Woody Allen, Dave Sim, and the Three Stooges into the story. I'm sure I'm missing some but I can't remember every aspect of this 6000 page story. Was The Judge also a parody of somebody? Was the Regency Elf based on Wendy Pini? I don't know! I'm sure I'm missing a lot of references in Cerebus simply because I haven't experienced all the same knowledge sources as Dave Sim. Just like I'm missing a super duper lot of references in Gravity's Rainbow because nobody in the history of ever has experienced all the same knowledge sources as Thomas Pynchon. I've been reading Gravity's Rainbow (for the first time but also the third time because I'm basically reading it three times at the same time. You'll understand when you read it) and I'm surprised by how funny it is. I don't think anybody ever described it as funny or else I'm sure I would never have stopped reading it multiple times prior to this time when I'm actually going to finish it. Although I suppose when I read Catch-22, I had done so on my own so nobody ever told me how funny that book was either. But for some reason, Catch-22 lets you know it's going to be a funny book pretty quickly. Gravity's Rainbow is all, "Here is a description of an evacuation of London which is just stage setting because, you know, the bombs have already blown up, but it makes people feel safe. And after that, how about a scene where this guy makes a bunch of banana recipes for breakfast. Is that funny enough for you?" Oh, sure, there are some funny moments like when that one guy pretends a banana is his cock and then some other guys tackle him and beat him with his own pretend cock. But there's a gravity to the scene that doesn't lend itself to the reader thinking, "Oh, this is a funny book!" But if you make it far enough, you start realizing, "Hey! I'm not understanding this!" So then you reread the section and you start realizing, "Hey! I'm laughing at this stuff! This is pretty funny!" Plus there are a lot of descriptions of sexy things that I'm assuming are really accurate because Pynchon is obsessed with details.

Anyway, I was supposed to be talking about Cerebus, wasn't I?

A Living Priest of Tarim crashes Lord Julius' bath to scold him about a party Julius is giving in a fortnight (which is the amount of time your kid has lost to a video game). I don't know why the priest has to declare he's a living priest. You can tell that by the way he's shouting and foaming at the mouth. Although this is a Swords & Sorcery book so I suppose there are many dead creatures that also shout and foam at the mouth. Sometimes I forget I'm reading a fictional book and wind up ranting and raving about stuff that I'm supposed to just assume is fine. Like when I read The Flash and nothing in it makes any sense at all because The Flash should never have any trouble stopping crime or saving people from natural disasters. The comic book should be over in two pages. Even the writers, at some point, realized how ridiculous Flash stories were and decided the only way to make them believable was to have The Flash battle other super fast people. But that just meant Flash stories basically became bar-room brawls. Two people with super speed fighting is the same as reading a story about two people without super speed fighting. Boring! Some writers even decided that maybe a telepathic monkey would make things more interesting and I suppose telepathic monkeys make everything more interesting so kudos to them. I was going to go on a long rant about telepathic monkeys but then I realized how much I love the idea of telepathic monkeys so why should I create an argument against them? More telepathic monkeys, please.

This made me laugh out loud. Not as much as the chapter in Gravity's Rainbow where the old woman forces Slothrop to eat a bunch of terrible candies. But then it isn't a competition, is it? I mean, I guess it's a competition for my time which is why I haven't written a comic book review in a week or more. Blame Thomas Pynchon for being so entertaining (and also Apex).

Baskin, the Minister for Executive Planning, has come to let Lord Julius know what the revolutionaries have revealed while being tortured. The only bit of useful information was one prisoner's last words: "Revolution...the pits." Cerebus immediately assumes "the Pits" is a location and not a summation of the prisoner's feelings about revolution which led to torture which led to his death. Cerebus, being the Kitchen Staff Supervisor, begins an investigation into The Pits. His first step: threatening the Priest of the Living Tarim. Which makes me realize I transposed the word "living" in the previous encounter with the priest and went on a digression that makes no sense to anybody who has read and somehow remembers that particular panel. I'm sure they were scoffing and snorting and exclaiming to their pet rat, "What a stupid fool loser this Grunion Guy is! Living Priest of Tarim! HA! Ridiculous! What a moronic mistake! He has made a gigantic fool of himself!" I don't know that the almost certainly imaginary people who called me on my mistake as they read this have a pet rat but I do know there almost certainly isn't another imaginary sentient being in the room with them. Cerebus learns that The Pits are Old Palnu that lies under current Palnu. It was destroyed in a massive earthquake long ago and the new city built over the top of it. It's like a Dungeons & Dragons module but with a lot less treasure.

This scene reminded me that I need to finish rereading The Boomer Bible: A Testament for Our Times (which is what it was called in the 90s but is just as accurate for today).

Cerebus and Lord Julius engage in another typical misunderstanding (it's not hard when only half of the people in the conversation care about making sense) which ends up with Lord Julius deciding that the location for the Festival of Petunias will be The Pits. This complicates Cerebus' job of not allowing Lord Julius to be assassinated because the assassins are most likely housed in The Pits (along with their giant snakes (*see cover)). Lord Julius, Baskin, and Cerebus descend into The Pits to find a suitable location for the Festival of Petunias. In doing so, they wind up in a trap and confronted by a masked revolutionary of the "Eye of the Pyramid." Which is odd because you usually have to murder at least a dozen kobolds and several goblins before you reach the room with the boss in it.

Typical unbalanced beginning level module. A giant snake as the first encounter!

Cerebus manages to defeat the giant snake by crashing it headfirst into a wall. The wall winds up being a key support structure and the roof collapses. Everybody makes it out alive but the masked revolutionary evades capture. He will be back next issue to ruin the Festival of Petunias. Aardvark Comment is still just a mostly standard comic book letters page. I'll probably stop discussing it until people start criticizing Dave. Right now it's just "This comic book is great!" and "Keep writing, Dave, and I'll never think ill of anything idea you espouse!" while Dave replies, "I owe my fans everything! I can't wait until I can stop feeling that way and start jerking off onto my art boards and selling those as pages of Cerebus!" Cerebus #15 Rating: A. Good story, good Lord Julius dialogue, good Living Priest of the Living Tarim scenes. I wholeheartedly endorse this comic book and Dave Sim. No way a guy with a sense of humor like this is going to go off the rails, right?!

#Dave Sim #Cerebus

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docholligay · 4 years

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St. Raphael 3: With All Your Strength

THE CATHOLIC BOARDING SCHOOL AU. This is actually up to part 8 on the Patreon, part 9 hopefully coming tomorrow, but I wanted to give y’all a couple that were only ever on the Patreon, so there’ll be a couple parts released today! All posted parts listed here

Physical pain, Haruka liked. Well, perhaps liked was the wrong word, but it was easy to understand, familiar, and it felt like something she deserved. Mortification of the flesh, that old prayer when words of forgiveness were not enough.The aching with every breath gave voice to her bruised heart, and she languished in it, even refusing the medication. It wasn’t bad, it didn’t really hurt, she said, lying, which was another sin to add to the tally, but then the punishment could do double the work. They took it as a positive sign that the injury had been frightening but not altogether dangerous, and she was released to her room, though given a few days’ freedom from school.

But it was an avoidant pain, and soon the Lord took that from her as well, and the much deeper and more bloody emotional pain of a hope began to fill the space. Michiru sat in front of her still, and Haruka could not have even told you what country they were studying, her mind only studying each time and date that Michiru spoke to her, only concerned about the social ramifications of each word from her lips. There were so few now. A polite notation that she was pleased Haruka was well. Condolences for her fall.

Not only did Michiru not love her--it had been vain and stupid to consider she might--but, it seemed, did not even like her.

The ache behind her breastbone could no longer be mistaken for a corporeal injury, and it festered and stewed deep within her.

And so, it was only seven days from that dance at Saint Sebastian's that Haruka hit a wall Mina might have seen coming on her calendar, if she had cared to look.

“I’m not going.” Haruka sat on her bed, cross legged and cross armed as if it prove just how cross she was, and frowned deeply.

Mako’s face was hard as the stone on the building, and just as unimpressed. “I’ve spent weeks making this dress. You’re going.”

“I’m gonna look stupid!” Haruka protested.

“You’re going.” It seemed like once again the very things that had exploded between them years ago--namely Haruka’s dramatics and Mako’s immovability--were about to explode once more, over a carefully sewn pink dress. She stepped toward Haruka, clutching a spare piece of fabric, briefly considering exactly how many Hail Marys murder got you.

And she HAD labored. Not just on Haruka’s, but all the dresses. She had been designing since the summer, collecting oversized dresses at thrift stores, seeing how she could make the gaudy rhinestones into a delicate accent, how she could use an outdated sateen to offset the cream fabric taken from an old wedding dress. She had scoured sales and remnants. She had sat up late, sketching and re sketching, looking at pictures of her friends, and now, two days before the dance, Haruka was throwing one of her fits.

She was going, if Mako had to put her in that dress herself.

Mina, for a very rare moment in her life the voice of reason, stepped in, touching Mako’s arm and drawing her back. “Hey, hey, hey. Mako, just...she’s going.”

“NO I’M NOT!” Haruka turned over on her side, flopping dramatically.

Mina nodded at Mako. “Just let me.”

Mako took a deep breath and huffed it out, her fists balled, but gave a sharp nod in return and headed back over to her side of the room.

Mina sat on the edge of Haruka’s bed, considering for a moment what she might say. She was clever and silver-tongued--enough people had said so, and it hadn’t always been a compliment--but sometimes, with Haruka, there seemed nothing to say. Haruka more complex than people gave her credit for, and it wasn’t that she didn’t have all the fine onionskin layers of her own bible, it was simply that so many of the pages had been colored by her own struggle with herself, and sometimes they simply stuck together in a single oppressive ball.

“Ruka, what’s the deal?” She leaned over her. “I know you don’t like dresses that much, but c’mon, you wear a skirt every damn day. Mako put a nice collar and stuff on this one, it’s not the girliest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“Not that.” She mumbled angrily into her pillow. “Just don’t want to go.”

“You just don’t want to go, in the most dramatic way possible, a week before the dance?” Mina rolled her eyes. “Give me some credit.”

Haruka turned over, her eyes mournful, half whispering. “I don’t want to look stupid in front of her.”

“Sister Mary Clare?” Her eyebrows twisted in confusion. “Pretty sure she’s used to seeing you look awkward in a dress, Ruka, she’s known us since we were eight.”

Haruka gave a brief glare. “Michiru.”

Mina sighed. In some ways, it was hard to understand where this had come from--Haruka had had a crush on Michiru since she was 13, and all of a sudden it was becoming a source of great and terrible pain. Was it the chocolate and comics? It had to be. Often, Mina reflected, hope only deepened the pain of failure, cutting open the dull ache with fresh vigor.

She touched Haruka’s shoulder. “Buddy, she’s seen you in a dress before. Nothing’s changed” Even saying it, she knew it was a lie, at least for Haruka.

Haruka closed her eyes and fell back on the pillow.

The human capacity to act an utter fool is capacious as the sea, and so, Michiru and Haruka passed by each other, gliding like ships, silently and darkly past each other, never imagining what might lie in the heart of the other. No flag were flown in signal, no smoke came over the bow, there was only a quiet bobbing in the water, and an inability to articulate that feeling which God had given them but man had put asunder.

Unfortunately, the only people they had managed to buffalo entirely was themselves, and the school began to notice that the girl who had always been a princess in tower now drifted into the clouds themselves, and the girl whose temper soothed a tender hurt became more apt to break and boil, and though no one could have guessed at the reason, the world saw the tense brokenness in them both, a window cracked with the glass holding in only by its own support.

But someone is always watching, even, and knowing, even in our darkest hours, and it is in these moments that a Saint may find occasion to step in.

Michiru had been quieter than usual, a turn of events Rei was not certain could have been possible, if you had asked her earlier in the year. She had always been a taciturn person, but lately her quietness had not seemed as some guardian angel, content to watch and to know, but it had taken on a pale grey flavor, that took Rei time to identify, until, turning over in bed one night, it came to her.

As unbelievable as it was, Michiru was sad.

This mystic knowledge whispered into her ear by God himself (Herself, Rei would correct), Rei set out to discover the cause of her sadness. Michiru had few family visits, but that was not terribly uncommon here, and it occurred to Rei that Michiru seemed unhappier when she was returning home anyhow. She didn’t seem ill. She was doing well in school. She was, as ever, remarkable at her violin, and her paintings were praised.

It was mystery she could not fathom, no matter how many charts she drew, bent over her desk late at night. And then, considering Michiru, sitting quietly at the lunch table that day, she doodled on her paper, hoping that in the tangles & knots of her pen, and picture would begin to reveal itself. And then she remembered. Just the smallest twitch of Michiru’s eye, and it was looking at--

She ran out the door of her room, and down the hallway, to the room at the end of the hall where Michiru slept. SHe banged on the door as if it were a foot thick, her knuckles aching with the pleasure of having solved the puzzle of Michiru Kaioh.

The door swung open, and Michiru stood, her silk robe wrapped around her, looking at Rei in disbelief.

Rei leaned inside the door, hand on the doorframe. “You like Haruka.”

Michiru’s lip curled slightly, but she shook it off. “Come inside.” She shut the door behind Rei and turned on her officially banned but unofficially well-known hot water kettle, and began to spoon tea into a tea ball. “Yes, she’s a very sweet girl, I think most people do.” But her cheeks pinked, just slightly, just enough that someone who had known her most of her life could notice.

“No,” Rei’s relentlessness stirred, her desire to know, her desire to be right, “you,” she could not quite form the words, as Mary stared down at them, “you...you know,” Michiru’s face puzzled, and Rei could not tell if it was because she was unaccustomed to Rei being at a loss for words, or Michiru herself being caught out, “you like her, in that way.” Rei was not sure how Michiru would take the accusation (for it was difficult to imagine anything coming from Rei as anything else,) and, if she balked, if it would be for ethical reasons or the very idea that should feel romantically at all. Michiru always was terribly practical.

But, to Rei’s great surprise, there was no denial at all.

Michiru looked down to the floor. “What we feel is endlessly less relevant than what we do.”

Rei’s eyes widened in the splendor of her correctness. “No! Really?!”She caught herself--to look like she was unfamiliar with the concept would look unworldly, and out of all the things she hoped not to be, a peasant in Michiru’s eyes was one of them. “I mean, I obviously this is completely fine, I just, you don’t look like...seem like.”

Michiru gave her a stern look, and Rei realized had failed in her attempt to look cosmopolitan.

She cleared her throat. “Haruka must like you. I’m sure of it.”

“Oh?” Michiru poured tea for the both of them. “And why are you so very certain?”

Because you’re both lesbians and I just assumed you’d get together, she immediately realized was wrong. “Ah, I mean, you’re basically the princess of this school.” Good recovery, Rei.

Michiru gave a huffing chuckle and handed Rei her tea. “It has been my experience that to be so far above others is to miss out on their company entirely.”

It sounded sad, and vulnerable, in a way that Rei had never heard Michiru sound, and looked over at her as she settled into her velvet chair, looking terribly soft in the moonlight. People, often even Rei, seemed not to think of Michiru as a person, but a figurehead, an aspirational painting of a human being, an idea. Seeing her, heartbroken over a girl, somehow made Rei love her all the more.

And with Rei, love meant help, whether requested or not.

Rei, as always, had a plan. People needed a leader, sometimes, and sometimes it was Rei’s job to be so. It was more comfortable for people to sit, unmoving, in the world the way they always had, but Rei had a certain pride in her ability to move people. And Michiru’s silent pining over haruka, however much she denied, could not sit any longer-- a ship in harbor may well be safe, but the bottom will also get rusted out and it’ll get moldy from lack of use. Michiru was her friend, and it was Rei’s job as Michiru’s friend to set this in motion.

It was a bit selfish, too, Rei would admit only to herself. The matter involved intrigue and secret knowledge and forbidden love, and it was all very exciting to a girl who had spent most of her life contained within the same grey walls of the school.

She slipped a note into a locker, covering her face casually with her cardigan as she did it, and lay in wait, for a response.

It was only half an hour later, in the domestic arts section, as requested, that she got her opportunity.

Rei spoke through the the bookshelves, a hissing whisper that caught Mina in its grasp. “I have information you may find interesting.”

“Rei?” She moved a book and peeked through the shelves. “What the hell are you doing?” She looked down at the piece of paper, pressed on the edges with a stamp. “I should have known this was you. Can you lesbians not do anything in the most dramatic way possible at least once?”

“I’m NOT a lesbian, Mina.” Mina could see her ever-expressive eyebrows through the tomes on ribbon embroidery.

“Well, this incredibly ridiculous gesture seems to suggest otherwise. Trust me, I would know all about it.”

There was a pause. “Then you are--”

“No, I freelance, but, anyway what the fuck, are we here to swap coming out stories?” She pulled out a needlework book and put her eye up to the gap.

Rei pulled back, her shoulder blade just touching a book on breadmaking. “I told you, I’m not--”

Mina hissed her words through the books. “God, don’t act so scandalized, it’s an all girl’s Catholic school, what else are we supposed to do?”

Rei pinked, though she could not explain why, and shook her head. “It seems that I have to be the one to pass on the forbidden knowledge here.” Rei smiled smugly.

“Hino, everyone knows you wear lace panties, what do you got for me?”

Rei’s pink turned a brilliant red. “Will you stop and just listen to me for even one minute, you are INFURIATING, and--”

“Anyway, this super secret intel.” Mina stared at Rei. “Well?”

Rei held her chin up proudly, recovering. She looked down again, eyeing Mina for any sign that might give her away. “Michiru has taken an interest in Haruka.” She leaned in and her whisper became low and harsh. “Romantically.”

“Gasp.” Mina’s affect was flat. “So why are you telling me?”

Rei put her hands on her hips. “So you can tell Haruka.”

“Why doesn’t Michiru tell Haruka?”

“Michiru is not going to tell Haruka, Mina.” There was an edge of obvious irritation at Mina’s insistence that such a thing was even possible.

“Of course not, because we’re dealing with fucking lesbi--HI THERE SISTER.” Mina sprung back from the books in jump, bringing a book on Amish quilting with her. “Hello!” She brandished the book at the sister. “Let me tell you what, I am just...fascinated by these...star...quilt..things. I’ve been meaning to take up more domestic arts, I mean--”

“Move it along, Mina.” The sister shooed her out of the dark corner of the library, quilting book still in her hand, as Rei looked very interested in Julia Child’s Art of French Cooking, as if she’d ever even correctly salted a piece of meat.

Mina walked out of the library, staring at the star on the book’s cover, and noticing how all the small pieces of fabric became one solid picture.

“She was sick, or at least that’s what Rei tells me.”

Haruka shook her head. “Are you sure?”

“Hino’s a lot of things,” She passed Haruka another cigarette as they sat out on their rooftop perch, “but I don’t think she’s a liar. What would her motivation be?”

Haruka thought for a moment. “I don’t know. I think Rei thinks I’m stupid.”

“You think,” she took a puff, “literally everyone thinks you’re stupid. The only person who thinks you’re stupid is you. Why do you think Father Joe has you sign up for shop every year, because you just look,” her voice became high and she batted her eyelashes, “soooo dreamy in that plaid skirt and sweater vest?” she passed over the cookies. “No, it’s because you’re really good at that. Build Michiru a bookshelf or some shit, I don’t know how lesbians court.”

Haruka smiled as she considered such a wild and fanciful idea. What if she made it with some inlay? White birch against dark rosewood, it would be beautiful and elegant and how Michiru would smile every time she looked at it with the knowledge of how Haruka had labored and cut over every detail, how much talent it had taken to make such a thing, how she would delicately put her finger to her lips and say that Haruka had made it when her friends asked.

It was a silly dream, but it was hers.

She looked over at Mina. “So she’s definitely going?”

“I didn’t ask.”

“Why not?” Haruka scowled, taking a cookie from the tin.

“Because I’m not your fucking carrier pigeon, Ruka, Jesus Christ.” She blew the smoke into high curls on the air. “You ask her.” She grinned. “No reason to be nervous, now that we know she likes you.”

Haruka bit her lip happily as she grinned up at the sky. “It doesn’t feel real. I mean...I know it’s hard but, we only have like two years of school left, less than two really, and then she can go to college and we’ll get a little apartment together. I’ve always wanted a cat. I think I’m gonna try and go to technical school, I like carpentry and mechanical stuff. You can do pretty good with that, and I know her family’s rich and all, but I could get a nice ring, I think, and I’ll work--”

“Buddy,” Mina clasped her hand tightly. “You’re gonna have to ask her out before you marry her.”

Asking out, was, of course, an impossibility. Where would they go? The chapel? And, even with the knowledge given her by Mina, through Rei, it all seemed too terribly frightening, out alone on a cold plain, praying for salvation.

Her St. Joan medal hit against her chest as she tapped Michiru’s shoulder in history class. Michiru turned to her, and she was nearly overwhelmed by the scent of Jasmine wafting from her hair.

Focus.

“So the dance is this weekend.” She fiddled with her pen.

Michiru had not yet recovered from the feel of Haruka's fingertips on her shoulder. “Ah yes, that bi-annual organization of awkwardness. I never really much enjoy the Saint Sebastian’s dances. It’s terribly awkward to be asked to dance by a boy you scarcely have heard of, palms sweating, cologned heavily, tripping over my toes, much less to have it happen over and over again in a gymnasium that smells of teenage boys’ socks.”

“But you’re going to go?” Michiru looked up at her, and saw what she thought might be hope in Haruka’s eyes, and though she immediately cursed herself for it, her heart fluttered in her chest, a hummingbird above Haruka’s tempting flower.

“I suppose. My parents purchased me a dress, and it would seem odd if I didn’t.” The words did not seem to come from herself, but from something deep within, as if the Holy Spirit spoke through her, simply a vessel.

“I...I’m glad.” Haruka scratched the back of her neck awkwardly as the Sister announced the end of class, and books began to shuffle and move.

Michiru stood up, and daringly stepped onto the precipice between her heart and Haruka’s. “Yes well, I hope I find someone handsome to dance with.”

The words flowed out of Haruka’s mouth before she could stop them. “Oh, I hope you do too, I’m sure you will, you’re beautiful--or,” she blushed heavily, catching yourself, “I mean that’s what the Saint Stephen’s guys say.”

Michiru smiled with more true delight than she had felt since she was a girl. “Well, I thank you for you confidence.” She walked to the door of the classroom, practically gliding across the tile.

“Michiru!” Haruka called after her.

Michiru turned expectantly. “Yes?”

“I hope I see you there.” Her heart swelled. “Maybe we could…” Haruka’s mind reeled, looking for something possible. “Talk. I don’t dance much.”

“I would like that very much.”

The threads of the tapestry gathered and knotted, another detail set into place as Michiru’s shoes tapped along the floor, Matching every beat of Haruka’s heart.

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theexistentiallyqueer · 5 years

Text

"but he murdered people”

This is a post about Goro Akechi, murder, its aftermath, trauma, and two things that are in real short fucking supply around here: critical thinking and empathy.

Listen, I’m a veteran of the Dragon Age fandom. If you want to talk about toxic fandoms, they’re your Bible. As far as your Judas Iscariots and Nebuchadnezzars go, I was one of them. I’ve seen it, I’ve done it, and I’m done with it. It’s exhausting to carry that much rage inside of you, to live it actively every second of every day, and to inflict it on other people and laugh about it. So I’ve been disengaged, largely, for a few years.

And now I’m in the Persona 5 fandom and find myself enthusiastically appreciating Goro Akechi, because who doesn’t love complex, morally flawed, ambiguously gay-coded characters? Shit, maybe you’re not on board, but I’ll sign right up. I’m a relative newcomer, despite being a longtime Persona fan and playing P5 around when it came out, because I didn’t engage with the fandom then. I jumped back in with the Royal announcement and absolutely saturated myself in this vibrant fan space. Invested in the idea of Akechi being explored as a fully fleshed-out character, I find myself following Goroboys. Which is great! Because so far, they’re all great! Nicest bunch of people you could ever hope to meet!

Except there’s Discourse. There’s always been Discourse, I find, but this is my first exposure to it in this fandom. This weekend was my first week of seeing Goro antis active, seeing people I follow, people I like and appreciate and some I considering genuine friends, actively attacked and harassed because they like a fictional teenage character who killed some other fictional people in a fictional world where you, playing as the main character, have the ability to perform a metaphysical lobotomy on people who literally can’t consent. Here I thought the only people who hated Akechi were white cishet men who saw his rage against a parent and said, “Nah, too bitchy for me,” because they’re too afraid to look in a mirror and see Masayoshi Shido’s fascist, misogynistic mug staring back.

Are you awake yet? Have I woken you up to the fact that Persona 5′s premise is a wish-fulfillment fantasy of “what if I could make the person who took advantage of me when I was a teenager apologize in front of the entire world by using an alternate fantasy dimension to completely violate their brain”?

I see my friends saying, “Wow, it’s amazing how people who hate Akechi can’t leave people who like Akechi alone,” and within an hour they have replies saying MURDER IS MURDER as if they know what murder actually is.

We’re about to get real personal up in here because maybe, only then, will some of you people take the hint that your behavior borders on actively bullying other people on the internet over a fictional character.

Ready? Here goes.

Murder is your mom picking you up from summer camp three weeks after your ninth birthday, driving you to your grandparents’ house, and telling you that when daddy was at work today, someone tried to steal the money, and they had a gun. Daddy was brave and Daddy died.

Murder is blacking out when you’re nine years old and coming to to yourself two houses away on a neighbor’s swing set with crickets chirping in your ears and the crushing reality of never seeing your father again turning your brain into static.

Murder is asking your mother if she asked for the death penalty, and your mother telling you, in a pleading voice, that she didn’t because he was mentally ill and it didn’t feel right. Murder is feeling angry afterwards because you feel like something was taken away from you, and something should be exchanged for that. Because that’s how fairness works, right? If you steal candy from the store, you have to give up your allowance for the next five months.

Murder is realizing you’re an atheist at fourteen and driving past the cemetery where your father’s remains are interred, and having the gut-punching, soul-suffocating realization of what never ever ever actually means. Murder is building an internal cosmology where forever means my atoms and yours, creating new life in perpetuity as the comfort you drag out of the west’s cold, uncaring atheism that never found its own poetry.

Murder is your first two years in college, when you discover social justice and realize the world is bigger than your own life experiences, and that violence at the bottom is a reactionary symptom against violence at the top. Murder is understanding the fact that the man who killed your father was himself a victim of a racist, ableist, capitalist society with a morally bankrupt healthcare system, and that every single one of those things is in and of itself is more hateful than the act of your father bleeding out in the parking lot, in the ambulance, on the operating table.

Murder is your mother confessing to you in college that your father was physically abusive of her and that she had threatened him, only weeks before he was killed, that she would leave and take her daughters with her if he didn’t change. Murder is knowing that your father ran after an armed robber because he was raised by a Sicilian father in a household overflowing with toxic masculinity, and what killed your father wasn’t a man with a gun: what killed your father was the patriarchy whispering in his ear, This theft emasculates you.

Murder is looking your own mother in the eye and telling her that one day you want to visit the man who killed your father and open your heart to him, because all you can think is, He didn’t plan this. He can’t have wanted this. What must it feel like to kill someone without intending to and then have to live with that for the rest of your life with no one to help you? Murder is the sound of betrayal in your mother’s voice when she responds, disbelieving.

Murder is spending years wanting to at least write to him, and then forgetting, and then going back, because you are a fluid, impermanent, imperfect person with your own flaws and failures and mental issues that hold you back from being the paragon you want to be. Murder is throwing yourself into the left and embracing prison abolition so hard it hurts, because you know that if the state can lock up someone who doesn’t “matter,” the state can lock up anyone.

Murder is throwing away or selling every childhood thing you ever possessed because you are not by nature a sentimental person, but never giving up that doll you were gifted, the doll you coveted and wanted more than anything else, three weeks before your father was shot and killed. You have no pictures, no mementos, no nothing, but she sits at the top of your bookshelf to this day, a weighty child goddess, the symbol of your torn and labyrinthine childhood.

Murder is having to see a bunch of petty-ass people using actual trauma that real life people have experienced and continue to experience to directly and repeatedly harass your friends online (and yourself, indirectly, by tagging their hateful shit) because you and your friends like a fictional fucking character who, by nature of being fictional, did not actually murder any real existing people.

Murder is building your entire identity around how you sympathize, deeply, with the person who killed your own father, because that takes hard work and deep empathy and the ability to see past a lot of bullshit just to get to that point, and having some fuck-ass anons act like none of that matters because there is (apparently, I must assume) some omnipotent god of justice saying “Fuck you and everything you’ve been through” that apparently only these bullies can hear.

Murder is seeing fandom moralizers talk about murder like they understand it. Like they’ve read this, plus the last ten-plus paragraphs, and decided they know best anyway because mommy and daddy always told them Criminals Are Bad and walked wide-eyed and innocent into a social network overrun with TERFs, exclusionists, and a rotten segment of the political left that acts like some extras straight out of The Crucible.

I have never once been triggered by anything relating to my father’s murder. I cried at the Resurrection Stone scene in The Deathly Hallows, I cried when I completed when I completed the DA2 DLC Legacy after the end of act 2. When I see a parent die, I have an emotional reaction, because it’s familiar.

But the Akechi antis who all say “but he killed people!”, The Akechi antis who say “murder is still murder”?

The murder of my father is still murder. The man who killed him, his murderer, is still regardless a human being, the man who killed him deserves sympathy and compassion and understanding and respect and, above all, a chance.

I am a living example of what’s left behind when someone is murdered. You can walk into the mausoleum where my father is interred, face his headstone, and let the earth open up beneath you and drop you into hell.

So most sincerely, from someone who lost their father to gun violence, to armed robbery, to murder: Stop fucking using our lived experiences as your justification to harass and bully people online for committing the Grave Moral Sin of just liking a video game character.

Between the fact that the American government is keeping real people in concentration camps and a bunch of strangers on the internet liking a twiggy teenage anime boy who used a fantasy world to kill people who don’t exist, which one is actually important to deserve your moral outrage?

You’ll die eventually; fascism won’t kill itself.

#persona #persona 5 #p5 #goro akechi #if you tell me you're sorry for my loss i'll literally hunt you down and eat you #this one goes out to the goroboys #pour one out kids #real tired of having a bunch of dungeon dwellers insinuate that i #a person who has experienced firsthand the trauma of losing a loved one to murder #am apparently delusional for liking a character who murdered people #you people probably all think tony stark is the best avenger #you probably watched the game of thrones finale and thought dany going mad queen was good writing #you probably think ''split'' is a good horror movie #you probably thought lala land should have won the oscar #you probably like ed sheeran #this is rebloggable fyi

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chiiquititamoved · 4 years

Text

dracula ep 2 - observations

ahhh! the scene is set and i cannot wait for more agatha

so we open up onto dracula’s castle? i think

dracula and my beloved aggie are in a room together

wait so are they buddies now? drac’s not trying to eat her or anything, which i find suspicious

there’s a chess game going on with some symbolism i am too tired to grasp

drac starts telling agatha about the voyage he made to england

scene changes to a ship and the captain having a nightmare about a dismembered hand? idk

now we meet a passenger, dr sharma who’s looking at a body or something

it’s the “grave the children complained about” ??? i’m getting lucy vibes

the coffin/body is 70 yrs old but there’s fresh scratches on the lid! i wonder where this is going

ew a very gross body rises out of the coffin

scene change! we meet a dead guy, piotr

his mum/sister/relative is saying he was going to be a sailor but he died before he could, and there’s this very suspicious guy sweeping in a doorway and listening to the conversation

but then a nun closes the door and locks him in his room

and then the lady relative is told by the priest to stab w/ a stake piotr and she does. wise move, ma’am

this is all taking place close to a shipyard/dock

oooh suspicious guy is going to the ship and impersonating piotr! interesting

so it’s established that the one-handed guy from the nightmare the captain had is coming back on the ship. apparently it was the captain’s fault he lost his hand, but the nice one-handed guy is making a joke out of it and it’s all very friendly, but it still haunts our cap i guess

lord and lady ruthven are coming aboard the ship. they just got married, and it’s all very exciting

the lord jokes about “making it a long voyage” (wink wink) to cap (comedic genius right here) and then this guy who introduced him is like “oh, it will be” we’ve got so many suspicious characters already, i feel so blessed!!

okay - i’ll call the guy who’s pretending to be piotr fake piotr to avoid confusion and i’ll call the other suspicious guy (i think he’s lord and lady ruthven’s servant/secretary? he’s got pretty nice clothes, idk) bob

there’s an old guy who approaches fake piotr like “are you as inexperienced as you look? are you scared?” and he’s like well yeah and the other guy goes “me too.” ???? that’s reassuring!!

ah the doctor (i forget his name) and his daughter are boarding

dracula boards openly as himself because THAT’S a good idea

agatha, of course, echoes my thoughts and drac’s like “what do you think i would’ve done, lie around in a box for 4 weeks?” uh, yeah, you’re a fucking vamipre

anyway, back to the ship. fake piotr is about to enter a room (no. 9) but this crewmember comes up to him and goes nah you can’t go in there these passengers are sick (he sounds like he’s lying) and fake piotr is like okay thanks i won’t do that then

there’s fucking flies EVERYWHERE on this ship jesus

like i get they’re undead and it’s symbolic and suspenseful or whatever but it’s also fucking GROSS

anyway drac comes up to the crewmember, who for some reason is listening at the door of no. 9, and says some creepy stuff to him (turns out he’s from bavaria. this may be relevant later?)

so fake piotr is from romania and he’s boring the handless guy with his “story” - the handless guy points out that it sounds SUPER fucking fake. anyway time for dinner!

so now they show the fancy dining room and lord whatever is there w/ bob (his name’s adisa, actually) and adisa’s like ooh this wine isn’t good i don’t like it and then they argue whatever and the doctor interjects

OH MY GOD! adisa and the lord are together! the lord’s like you know this marriage is a necessary evil and adisa’s like yeah but it hurts. :,( i feel him man

drac introduces himself to the old lady, bla bla, and then he drinks this crewman’s blood and like absorbs his mannerisms (and his german)

god this is boring i want more of my tragic gay love story

turns out drac and the old lady (who is a duchess) danced together on her 18th birthday? okay? i don’t care where’s adisa

and that’s the night the duchess’s mother disappeared. great.

now drac drinks the old lady’s blood

there’s a fog around the ship... it seems to be following them... how mysterious...

okay now drac is creeping out fake pietro by telling him a gross story because he was looking in a barrel? I DON’T CARE WHERE IS ADISA

ahh finally adisa’s back. so dorabella (the gay lord’s wife) is tired (and everyone else is like OOHhoo i wonder why) but drac seems to be on to them. uh oh

honestly other than agatha adisa and the lord are the only characters i actually want to have a happy ending

okay everyone’s asleep but doc, and he’s having flashbacks or whatever to that body from before

he gives his sleeping daughter (who’s mute + deaf, btw, forgot to mention that) a touching little monologue abt how there’s monsters in this world and he’ll protect her (that sounds sarcastic but it actually is sweet)

lady whatever (gay’s wife) goes out on deck in the night, for a walk, but meets dracula out there

he’s kinda flirting/talking w/ her outside but she’s obviously in love with her husband, unfortunately

m’lady reveals she’s going to america

dracula shows her the water in a barrel or something? but refers to it as a mirror? he shows her a pic of her and her husband in the reflection and goes “i thought i’d show you a picture of what might have been,” or something dramatic like that

the doctor’s daughter starts bleeding from her face in her bed, and she wakes up

turns out the blood is from the lady and is dripping through the ship’s deck!

doc’s daughter goes up to investigate and sees drac drinking the lady’s blood

:( i really don’t want the doc’s daughter to die

well of course now drac is threatening her >:(

like i feel bad for dorabella but i want adisa to be happy. i’m very conflicted

they’re going to search for the murderer now

DRACULA IS SO OBVIOUSLY THE CULPRIT OH MY GOD. he keeps saying the most suspicious things and nobody cares

okay now drac is saying that they should search cabin no. 9? which only the captain has access to, for some reason, and he’s super anxious to not let anyone else in?

there’s a bunch of flies in cabin no. 9. great, more death

it’s established that there is actually another person in cabin 9, the mates hear breathing or something

drac: “ah, but you’re a scientist.” doctor: “yes, i was, at the university of calcutta. are you a scientist yourself?” “no, but i have an appetite for it.”

this guy gets injured because of the fog or something

dracula is like addicted to blood, and he can’t stand the sight of it or something

NO THE LORD RUTWHATEVER IS WITH DRACULA

IF HE’S GOING TO CHEAT ON ADISA I WILL RIOT

oh no thank god everyone else is in the room with him

The gay lord’s friend who told him to take this ship is called balaur? oh my god balaur is the dude that the rich old lady said was paying for her trip to england in the beginning! i feel like we’re onto something my dudes

i was right! balaur is also the doctor’s sponsor

So the injured guy (the crewmember) gets woken up by the gay lord’s wife and she’s like ooh it’s okay but then it turns out it’s dracula pretending to be her and he drinks the guy’s blood

Ooooh shit most of the crew left on a lifeboat!!! Shit

NOW WE’RE FINALLY GOING TO SEE WHO’S IN CABIN NINE!

Okay so we cut back to drac, who spouts some cryptic bullshit as usual

Ahhhh we’re finally getting an explanation for why he and agatha are here! She gets up ans she’s like “how did i get here? We were at the convent!” and dracula let mina go? But he didn’t let agatha go

Agatha’s like “the people you feed on, you make them dream!”

NO, HE DRANK AGATHA’S BLOOD????!!

OH MY GOD AGATHA’S IN CABIN NUMBER NINE

Drac goes into the cabin and he’s like agatha is the murderer!

And they’re about to hang her!!!!!! No but she’s the love of my life!!!!

okay the captain and the doctor are like she couldn’t possibly have done it! she’s too weak

now, my darling agatha, who of course has her wits about her, says that she’s a vampire so they can’t hang her! and they’re like uh okay i kinda believe her

but then drac starts to kick the barrel from under her! and aggie BITES HER LIP AND THE BLOOD FALLS

dracula goes a little batshit (! get it???) and they see it! and then the doctor’s daughter (who you will recall i ALWAYS had faith in) comes in and makes the sign of the cross and drac’s repulsed

IS THE DAY SAVED? no, there’s 30 minutes left in the episode

DRACULA RUNS AWAY WHILE THEY’RE SAVING AGATHA

AND MY HERO (AGATHA, OBVIOUSLY) JUST SITS UP AND GOES “i am sister agatha van helsing of the st mary’s convent, budapest. captain sokolov, you are relieved of command.” JUST LIKE THAT! MY HERO!

okay so the doctor has a little potion for if he’s undead? I guess it kills an undead person

the remaining crew members threw all of the boxes of earth but one off of the ship (drac needs to sleep on transylvanian earth for some reason?)

gay lord just called dracula seductive >:( where’s adisa?? I miss him

WhAT the FUCK? gay lord LIKES dracula?

NO ARE GAY LORD AND DRACULA GOING TO FUCK

GAY LORD IS ON DRACULA’S SIDE

DOCTOR AND HIS DAUGHTER JUST PULLED SOME CROSSES BECAUSE DUH AND GAY LORD IS THREATENING TO SHOOT THEM

NO NOW THE DOCTOR AND HIS DAUGHTER ARE DEAD

AND DRACULA JUST STARTS TO DRINK THE LORD’S BLOOD

Fake piotr then walks into the cabin and is like “wtf,” obviously, and then runs up to the deck and tells people, who are nailing pages of the bible to the deck

Oh no adisa’s sad! He’s crying no :,(

They’re all in the bible circle tho

Oookay so they were suspicious of piotr because last time drac took over harker’s body

So now they’re all telling fake piotr to step out of the circle and back in

Fake piotr does it and succeeds but then ofc fucking dracula appears. *eye roll*

So adisa was like hey what the fuck why is religion the only thing stopping dracula? This is bullshit

and adisa’s like drac you took the love of my life :((( no adisa he’s not worth it!!!

dracula’s taunting adisa to step out of the circle!!! Nooooo

NO HE STEPS OUT OF THE CIRCLE

ADISA SHOOTS DRACULA NO

NO DRACULA BITES ADISA!!!:((((

Fake piotr lunges at dracula but he throws him down and a barrel pops open

The captain comes at him too

they’re all fighting him!!!

They set him on fire! About fucking time

He jumps into the water

Okay this is making me nervous where did he go

Scene change! It’s morning and the sun is shining

“Where’s olgaren?” “cooking.” “just when you think you’re out of danger.”

Fake piotr sees a white bird with its head severed on deck :|

We’re in the hold now, and aggie is keeping watch on the crate of dirt. The cap comes down and talks to her

Oooh agatha’s saying that this ship must never reach england. we’ve got one lifeboat left, apparently, so i guess that works

She wants to blow a hole in the hull

NO AGATHA WANTS TO SINK WITH THE SHIP

NO I LOVE HER

SHE SAYS SHE’S GOING TO DIE ANYWAY BECAUSE THE VAMPIRE’S CURSE LIVES INSIDE OF HER

Awwwwwwwww cap’s giving her a hug :,(

I’m HEARTBROKEN!!!!! AGATHA IS THE LOVE OF MY LIFE

I kinda have a feeling she won’t die tho

Ew there’s a fly buzzing on a doll’s face. hm - totally unrelated, by the way i wonder what dracula is inhabiting

Okay the guys are all leaving the ship

Aggie’s praying down below but then she hears a noise and comes up to the cabins

oh fucking hell dracula’s coming

great. just fucking great

oh no it’s the cap! Cap stayed with her on the ship!

fuck is it dracula inhabitng his body?

Agatha just found that dracula put a ton of dirt under a bed and he just slept on that one :/

okay the cap went on deck and agatha followed him but drac killed him before she could do anything

drac’s like follow me, and walks off

Agatha looks at cap’s body and cap’s alive!!! And he goes keep him talking!

So agatha goes on deck with drac

Drac says how he got back on the ship, etc.

Cap’s climbing towards them! Go! I’m rooting for you!

Ookay they’re doing some menacing small talk, dracula’s lying, whatever

Yes!! Cap set the ship on fire!!

Drac’s about to drink agatha’s blood - agatha: “yes, go ahead. The last thing your eyes will ever see is the contempt in mine!”

He throws her down onto the deck + runs away to the hold

THE SHIP IS EXPLODING!

Agatha’s in the water! She’s drowning noooo

Convo between fake pietro + one handed guy: “They’re dead, then.” “yes.” “what now?” “we honour them.” “how?” “by telling their story.” :,(

huh - so marius (hmHMHM) is fake piotr’s real name

Okay no dracula swims to england (it’s not that far away)

HUH

WHAT THE FUCK

WHAT THE FUCK?

NOW DRACULA’S IN ENGLAND AND A HELICOPTER ARRIVES??? AND A BUNCH OF MODERN CARS??? AND AGATHA VAN HELSING BUT SHE’S WEARING MODERN CLOTHES??

TO BE CONTINUED

WELL. that’s done i guess.

oh my god the wc on this thing is once again 2000. i don’t mean for this to happen i promise

IN CONCLUSION: the next episode had better be fucking good. I mean it, Gatiss. The ending was insane (i had to rewatch it to make sure i wasn’t hallucinating) and honestly? This REEKS of season 4 sherlock (or whichever season it was when everything went to shit). If they make this some kind of ridiculous future au i WILL die. Thanks for coming to my ted talk.

(P.S. I will try to watch the next episode this weekend! so watch out for (more) deranged ranting.)

#bbc #bbc dracula #dracula #agatha van helsing #dr sharma #adisa #lord ruthven #captain sokolov #i think i am going to die #mine

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beneaththetangles · 4 years

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BtT Light Novel Club Chapter 21: Infinite Dendrogram, Vol. 4

Welcome back to the Light Novel Club!

Before we begin, I would like to mention the official Beneath the Tangles Discord. We have a Light Novel Club channel there, where you can discuss light novels to your heart’s content! And for future Light Novel Club discussions, we might even ask some of our questions in that channel, where your answers may get featured in our discussion posts! So if you enjoy light novels, I definitely encourage you to join our Discord and participate in the Light Novel Club channel!

With that said, let’s jump into our discussion of vol. 4 of the VRMMO light novel Infinite Dendrogram! We’ve already covered three volumes of this series, but things are heating up with the beginning of Franklin’s Game, so Jeskai Angel, Gaheret, and I are here to get a piece of the action.

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1. What are your overall impressions of this volume?

Gaheret: Overall, I still feel the author should be able to tell what he wants us to know in a way that feels more organic to the story, and I think that he tells too much. What I find to be the best parts (worldlers vs. ludos, the perspective of tians, religions and cults, the psychology of the players, consequences of the interactions of the two worlds, BNHA-like fights of different powers with different logics, mysteries) took a step back in this volume for the most part while videogame fights which, this being a super-realistic videogame, were kind of disturbing images (I´m thinking of Marie shooting an old man point blank, of the leader of the traitors unadvertely slicing his captive priestess friend, or of Rook cutting Marie´s arm off, or the casual comment that Yuri/Hugo should’ve crushed Rook’s head at the first chance). As a fight among experienced gamers who were clearly playing, I found Marie v. Veldorbell to be the most entertaining.

stardf29: So this volume was definitely an action-packed one, more focused on the fights than on other sorts of development. It’s fun for what it is, and it’s interesting to see how these various characters outside of Ray, whom we’ve gotten to know all this time, actually fight in battle. At the same time, it definitely feels like this is just the middle chapter of the story arc that started in the last volume, so while I might have felt that some sort of extra development might be nice, I think there’s room for that in the next volume.

Jeskai Angel: I enjoyed this volume, though it wasn’t quite as good as I remembered. A big part of that is difference between reading one vol. more or less on its own, versus reading a bunch of vols. together. I fell in love after reading Dendro vol. 1 and proceeded to devour all the other volumes released up to that point (six or seven, IIRC) in the space of a few weeks. That made the story a far more cohesive experience, and allowed me to go through the entire Franklin’s Game arc in a short time, rather than leaving the finale until whenever the LNC might come back and read vol. 5.

I appreciate the author’s / translator’s efforts to give different voices to each narrator. Ray doesn’t sound the same as Marie, who doesn’t sound the same as Hugo, who doesn’t sound the same as Rook, who doesn’t sound the same as Franklin…

This vol. was also more violent than I remembered, which raises one of the interesting aspects of the story. What one thinks of this book depends heavily on one’s response to the question at the heart of Infinite Dendrogram: just how “real” is it? Or, to use Franklin’s word, how “earnest” about it are we? Characters within the story already face this question, but I think vol. 4 challenges readers to a greater degree than the earlier books. Thus far, Ray’s enemies have mostly been monsters or tians, but now he faces other Masters. This casts the violence in a different light. It might be one thing to dismember one’s enemies in PvE…but does it mean something different to do so during PvP? Moreso than previous vols., this one confronts readers with how horrific such a realistic “game” might actually be. Is this a game in which people do things we may find distasteful but which aren’t all that meaningful? Or is it something more? And if it is, what does that mean about the characters’ actions? Or even our consumption of the story as readers?

Even without full-dive VR, we still have books, video games, & anime. Dendro invites us to ponder how we experience such things. Does it really matter how we feel about a novel’s story, or whether we steal from that shopkeeper in a game? (For the record, it does matter because everyone will call you THIEF the rest of the game and the shopkeeper is a Sith lord who will kill you with blasts of lightning.) When using our imaginations, how much is just acting or role-playing, and how much are we ourselves truly involved? Based on the Bible, there are clearly sins of the imagination (e.g., lust). I wonder if there could be, for lack of a better term, virtues or good works of the imagination.

stardf29: The “how realistic is the violence” question is interesting because at the start of the game, you’re able to choose whether to view the world as “realistic”, “CG”, or “anime-style” (with the ability to change it later with an item). Ray chooses to go with “realistic”, but it does make me wonder if those who chose CG or anime might feel less bothered by the violence.

Also, the whole idea of fighting Masters makes things interesting because of the knowledge that “killing” Masters only logs them out for a time, and that by default there are no pain settings, which might make some people less reserved about violence. I think this leads to the following moral question: is our moral revulsion to violence based on the actual act of violence itself, or on the consequences thereof? (And this can be applied to other similar moral dilemmas when experiencing fiction.)

2. What do you think of Professor Franklin?

Gaheret: Professor Franklin, apart from the Benjamin Franklin reference, seems like an “Island of Doctor Death” archetype, with an special ability called “Playing God”, “my boy” gentlemanly talk and evil laugh included. He is the main villain of this volume, and while I like to have a more intelectual villain, focused on strategy and manipulation of the rules (and I like Dr. Death-esque types), it seemed to me that in this case the interpretation was too over-the-top. The writer wandered between the awe and horror of unexplained creations and the “this is how he does it” kind of explanation, and wasn´t satisfying in those fields. Dr. Franklin seemed to me more like someone hacking the game than a player.

As a player, things were more interesting. I liked the “gamer with a grudge” archetype, as it is a very recognizable problem. I would have supported a full hacker twist (the rules of Infinite Deondogram basically allowing themselves to be cheated, not so much). As he does not think of the tians as people, it surprised me a lot that he was willing to talk with Elizabeth like he did (on the other hand, you simply cannot be a mad genius without explaining your plan beforehand to a captive, it is one of the conventions of fiction). I did like that he was aiding Hugo, and that his plan was in fact a clever alternative to a more costly and bloody invasion by the General of his Empire.

The reason behind the grudge against Ray wasn´t very convincing, but maybe Franklin was childish enough for that sort of thing. I like how this was introduced in an unrelated context, as part of the background, then happens to be important. I think it would have been better if we didn´t know the special instructions he gave concerning Ray, so that he being the only who can pass may have seemed like a coincidence at first, and then Franklin would have revealed that he had chosen him to embody the kingdom´s defeat.

So: I like this sort of villain, both in the gamer and in the mad scientific archetypes, yet I’m not full on board with how he was played out. Too much explanation of the hows, and the dialogue could have been much more vivid and funny.

stardf29: A few things about Franklin. First of all, his personality is absolutely the worst. He’s the type of person who absolutely cannot handle losing, and must go out of his way to one-up anyone that gets the better of him, even if it is a “newbie” like Ray. He’s very immature in that way, which just makes it even scarier that he actually has the capabilities to act on his whims, torturing those who go up against him with personalized monsters. And on top of that, he wants to send an entire country into despair so they don’t dare oppose Dryfe… yeah, he’s nasty. Which makes him work as a villain, if you ask me.

However, there are a few things curious about him. First of all, at one point which is from his perspective, he says that Ray is one of only a few people who are extremely earnest about Infinite Dendrogram… a group that also includes himself. So in some way, he considers Ray as similar to him. This seems to go against his seemingly villainous ways and how he doesn’t care about tian lives… so that’s a curious point.

Also, Hugo at one point mentions that he has some personal attachment to Franklin. Also, he refers to Franklin as “he”, in quotation marks… I think at this point, the gears in my head were beginning to turn with thoughts on who “Franklin” actually is in the real world…

Jeskai Angel: Franklin is a troll. He exemplifies the worst kind of trolling behaviors associated with the internet. His genuine cunning empowers his spite in obnoxious ways. However, if Dendro is just a game, then in the end Franklin is a munchkin roleplaying as a villain. But if Dendro is more than a game, then it’s arguable that the professor is, in a moral if not legal sense, a mass-murdering terrorist. This brings us back to that question of what we think of Dendro. How “earnest” we are changes whether Franklin is evil or just a jerk. I would also note that his Embryo being Pandemonium brings to mind hell as depicted in Milton’s Paradise Lost. It’s no coincidence that Franklin and Hugo have embryos that literally reference hell (Hugo of course deriving from Dante’s version of hell). Finally, I’m really curious to learn more about why Franklin groups himself with Hugo, Ray, and this King of Tartarus person, as people who truly take Dendro seriously. If that’s true, and in-game Franklin is still a murderous maniac…he has the potential to be really disturbing.

3. What do you think of the fight against King of Orchestras, Veldorbell?

Gaheret: Veldorbell was my favorite character of this volume. I think his reason to be a villain of the Empire was understandable, the music aspect was interesting and his real life was both intriguing and credible. I only miss there were even more musical references, it could have been a feast. That he was clearly an old man also added an interesting twist (I imagine most players to be teens or twenty-somethings, though this may be just ignorance on my part). His four musical powers were explained beforehand and were a good fit for him, and his project about making the rising of a hero into an opera reminded me of Christopher Lee´s Charlemagne. Marie Adler was also very interesting to watch, on the other hand, both because of her powers had been explained just before and her personal connection with Elizabeth S. Altar established in the previous volume. Also, while the tians being rational beings means that they should be treated as humans, I find characters with more of a gamer mentality to be more interesting than those with a real world mentality, even if the author sides with the second more than the first. The power to create characters painted on the bullets seems a bit of a strecht, but the power to disappear from the game, on the other hand, is both credible and very useful. This fight was the high point of the novel for me.

The aesthetics of the Musics of Bremen analogues were frightening enough, too. And “a melody worth to die for” is a very suggestive name.

stardf29: So this battle was mainly to show Marie off in battle. There’s not that much in the way of character development, and the opponent is one we only first see here, with a pretty basic motivation very similar to Marie’s. So all things considered, it’s a battle that is pretty much here just for our entertainment. Not that there is anything wrong with that; it’s a fun fight that shows just what kind of fighter Marie is.

Jeskai Angel: The battles are generally highlights of Dendro, and Marie vs. Veldorbell is no exception. The story pits Incredibly powerful fighters with thematically linked abilities that have logical limitations against each other. All the characters feel legitimately powerful and use their abilities cleverly, and yet none of them feel invincible. However strong they are, others just need to figure out the right trick, the right matchup, the right combo, the right opportunity, to defeat them. I really think Dendro has some of the most well-written, tactically deep fight scenes I’ve encountered.

So, I agree that Veldorbell came across like an underdeveloped composer version of Marie, I still thoroughly enjoyed their battle. Marie was cool in the the previous vol., but here she shines even brighter by going up against such strong enemies as Franklin and Veldorbell.

Music make you lose control.

4. What do you think of the fight between Rook and Hugo?

Gaheret: Rook and Hugo, on the other hand, had backgrounds which felt unrealistic to the extreme. Rook was English, called Holmes, and the orphan son of a wealthy Sherlock Holmes bloodline of detectives and a Irene Adler/Carmen Santiago bloodline of thieves (who didn´t keep what they had stolen). He is a wealthy teen who has literally an explosive trap in his mother´s office, who he had to deactivate to find her dying gift. I find the whole thing crazy: that sort of background can fit in a comedy, or in a superhero story, but I´d say the whole point of an ID kind of story is that the outside world is realistic, and a gamer cannot turn into a real-world Batman (and thus, he does it in the game). In a way, Rook´s story undermines the essential function of the two worlds.

We find in this game that “Hugo” is in fact the idealized portrait of a shining knight, used as an avatar by a French girl of a bourgeois family with a convoluted family life, and whose sister and mother both left the family house (Oscar François de Jarjeyes, anyone?). This was more interesting, but as it happened with Rook, the story of the lady in question was a little bit just too French for me. Her father was even an amateur painter. Rook seems frustrated with her because he can see she is a “wordler” with a similar personality to our protagonist, yet she participated in Franklin´s plan due to a misdirected sense of loyalty and to consequentialist reasoning.

As for the fight itself, the Divine Comedy power -as much as I like a reference to the Divine Comedy- made things unnecesarily complicated, with numbers and percentages everywhere, and the deductive ability that Rook displayed in two seconds was a bit hard to believe. I disliked the fight. That said, I did like the scenery: the frozen warriors, the giant robot, the fact that some could pass and some could not gave a very unique feeling to the setting.

So, not so much a fan of this one. I liked that the two characters interacted, though, and that two friends of Ray were in direct opposition as rivals. Rook´s tactics seem a little hideous to me, but then, this is a game. Both seem the kind of people that have unresolved issues in the real world they should address, though I like her better.

stardf29: So the big thing here is that we get to see what kind of backstories Rook and Hugo have. I do agree that Rook’s backstory is a bit ridiculous, but then again, we got some hints in vol. 2 that Shu (Ray’s brother) in real life is also quite ridiculous. So I didn’t feel it was quite that out-of-place. At any rate, his crazy skills aside, his backstory is pretty simplistic: enough to make you sympathize for him and understand what he’s trying to do in this world, but nothing too huge.

Hugo, or rather Yuri… It’s definitely interesting to learn her backstory, and that she is a girl in real life, so she’s doing some crossplaying here, but for her it’s more than just role-playing and she’s basically assumed Hugo as part of her identity. In that sense, her involvement in Franklin’s plan poses an interesting moral dilemma, especially with Ray involved. And on the flip side, we see how Rook sees her dilemma and rather dislikes her for it.

At any rate, this all was very interesting to learn about the two of them, and was probably the highlight of the volume for me. The battle was pretty fun, too, as we see their powers in action. (Though I can’t help but feel like Hugo’s power can be a bit too OP since it gives him an edge against practically any Master, but maybe there’s additional limitations on it?)

Jeskai Angel: Rook and Hugo’s fight was much more character-focused than the action-centric Marie-Veldorbell fight. The IRL identities of Rook and Hugo had a major effect on their duel. I found both of them interesting characters, so the duel worked for me. Now, regarding the family backgrounds of these two…

Infinite Dendrogram is steeped in historical, mythological, literary, and pop culture references. So we’ve got Hugo referencing Dante and Franklin referencing Milton. Marie is literally the protagonist of a shounen manga. Figaro is a nod to opera. Nemesis’s “Vengeance Is Mine” ability is a Christian reference (as are, I presume, the paladins’ Grand Cross ability and the presence of a seductive female character named Babylon). Meanwhile, Rook’s creatures all bear names of famous actresses (Marilyn Monroe, Audrey Hepburn, Elizabeth Taylor). The mithril in “Mithril Arms Slime” of course comes from Tolkien. The control AIs derive their names from Lewis Carroll. Ray’s mount shares its name with a famous TV horse. Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.

In this context, I can’t help but wonder if the presence of a “marshmallow-like balloon giant,” isn’t meant to call to mind a certain comedy film from the ‘80s. Similarly, it seems perfectly appropriate that at least some of the characters’ IRL identities would take inspiration from history or fiction. Considering how loaded with references this story is, it doesn’t bother me at all if Rook and Hugo have backgrounds straight out of novels. That’s just the kind of story the author is telling.

On a related note, is the “certain someone” Rook references a few times himself? Or some other person we don’t know about yet?

5. What do you think of Ray’s battle against the RSK?

Gaheret: Concerning the RSK, what I liked the most was the tians perspective of the story at the end, full of epic and memorable descriptions, listing all the meaningful moments. The fight itself felt too technical for me, though I appreciated the effort to keep things interesting and offer an opponent that was able to negate all the abilities which had been used so far. Having Professor Franklin there but not doing much was somewhat puzzling, too. That the princess was at stake and the Knights of the Guard were fighting gave everything an epic feeling, on the other hand. “I will have to punch you” or “I´m just mad” feels inadequate when the stakes are so high, and it seemed to me that Ray wasn´t as pressed as he would be given that actual lives (or so he believes) are at stake, including lives of innocent children and loved ones.

Jeskai Angel: Power creep is common in stories without a definite final boss. So, for example, in the old-school isekai The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, the White Witch is the final boss, so there can be a progression to enemy encounters and character development that build toward her ultimate defeat. There’s no need for another stronger enemy to come along, the story finishes. But in stories without an ultimate villain, you find enemies of increasingly absurd and arbitrary strength, of whom you’ve never heard before, endlessly coming out of the woodwork to pester Goku or Superman or whoever.

In light of all that, I love how the Ray vs. RSK fight dodged a lot of these power creep issues. The story has repeatedly emphasized that winning often hinges on understanding the abilities of one’s opponent. As Ray himself observes, the RSK isn’t just arbitrarily strong — it’s custom-designed to counteract abilities Franklin knows Ray has. Ray’s struggle to defeat the RSK is a battle of wits as much as a physical confrontation. The RSK is a challenge to Ray for logical reasons, and he defeats it for logical reasons (as opposed to randomly getting stronger because the plot demands it *cough*why would you think I’m talking about the Dragonball franchise? *cough*)

stardf29: Your comment on “power creep” makes me think of how many of my favorite RPG bosses are ones that aren’t just “like the last boss but stronger”, but who actually change up the gameplay in ways that force you to think carefully about how to beat them. For example, in Pokemon, normally your gym leader battles are one-on-one matches, but there have been a few times the battles are two-vs.-two matches instead, forcing you to consider a completely different set of strategies. Bosses that make you fight smarter, not harder, are great in RPGs, and in that sense the RSK makes for a great “boss fight”. I guess I have to give Franklin some credit; he might be terrible as a human being, but at least he provides for a great battle.

On that note, the way the RSK gets beaten is also amusingly very “video-game-esque”: the RSK is like a video game boss that is designed to be immune to all of your earlier abilities, making you have to make use of your most recently-learned abilities to beat it. In video games, this is a part of helping players learn how to use new abilities; you start with some simple applications of those abilities in a safe environment, then start increasing the challenge as they get to use the abilities for real, then throw in some twists that make them think of more creative ways to use those abilities, and finally present a final challenge as a last test of sorts, like a boss battle. Ray’s own process of learning new abilities is a bit different, but overall this RSK battle is a great showcase of both his new abilities and how in general Ray overcomes challenges with some ingenuity.

6. How did the anime adaptation of this arc compare with the book?

stardf29: Overall, because this volume was so focused on battles, the anime did an okay job of adapting it. (This is in complete contrast to vol. 3, which the anime cut a lot out of, particularly with Marie and Elizabeth.) The overall low production values do still hold it back, but at least the backstories are all there and the battles are reasonably adapted.

7. Final comments

Jeskai Angel: I think this volume showcases some of this series’s strengths while largely neglecting others. We get an abundance of exciting combat won through information and cleverness. We get more humor, more fun literary allusions, and more thought-provoking questions about reality, morality, and how we experience fiction / imagination. The story also continues to blend a hyper-realistic setting with video game elements in a surprisingly elegant way, like the video game-y manner in which Ray defeats the RSK that you mentioned. (Some series, Reincarnated as a Sword for example, are so heavy handed about having a world based on RPG mechanics that they inflict blunt-force trauma on the reader, and Dendro avoids that.) On the other hand, character / relationship development takes somewhat of a back seat in Dendro vol. 4. Likewise, this volume doesn’t provide much new worldbuilding, either.

Gaheret: For my part, I definitively liked some parts more than others. This was for the most part a long, video-game like fight with character development via flashbacks. There were evocative, powerful images, some interesting characters, fantasy politics, video game mechanics and the interesting moral and vital issues related to the ludos and wordlers were also there, though not at the spot for most of the time. I think that, given that in the last volume we came to know, throught Elizabeth S. Altar, that in this novel the tians are basically real people able to think and love, a fight exclusively among Masters seems like a relief. They are, after all, players protected from pain and death. The backgrounds of many of the most important characters have come to the light, so it seems that an exploration of their respective issues will make for interesting future volumes.

stardf29: I suppose I’ll just say here that over the course of these four volumes, there’s been lots of foreshadowing for some reveals that are likely to happen in the next volume. Some of those reveals are already known to the readers, namely how Marie is the Superior Killer, but Ray doesn’t know of it, and it’s very likely he’ll find out soon enough. At any rate, it’ll be interesting to see how those reveals play out as next volume reaches the climax of this arc.

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And that’s it for our discussion of Infinite Dendrogram, Vol. 4! If you read along with us, let us know of your thoughts in the comments!

We will be announcing our next Light Novel Club titles on June 30th! Here are some hints on what those titles are:

“Dragon Rage had no effect!”

Anime adaptation incoming!

#Light Novels #Infinite Dendrogram #BtT Light Novel Club #Articles #Author: stardf29 #Author: JeskaiAngel #Author: Gaheret

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artificialqueens · 5 years

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Under Her Eye - Chapter 2: The Handmaid (Branjie) - Gab

a/n: The next chapter is here! Many many thanks to @artificialmeggie for beta-ing. Her words of encouragement are everything ❤️ This chapter is a little more violent, so be ready. I’ll always do my best to include as many tw as I can in the tags but do inform me if I miss anything! Needless to say, this is not a pg fic. My writing sideblog is @gabby-writes if you want to drop an ask or get an update. In the meantime, enjoy!

Vanessa isn’t normally quiet, but when the tide changes it seems she has no choice.

Chapter 2: The Handmaid

Word Count: 2964

Vanessa was never quiet.

She was loud and manic and angry.

She was electric, and every injustice she saw sparked her into action. When the law changed—replacing constitution with religious canon, banning performance art, and stripping women of every right they’d ever bled for—she rioted right out on the streets, screaming for her life. Screaming for the lives of everyone she knew.

Vanessa was a performer by trade. She thrived under a spotlight, pouring her heart out every night yet still having enough left for an encore. When the arts center shut down, the rallies against the new government became her stage. She was no public speaker, and definitely no writer, but she had a fire in her eyes that set crowds alight. She was told to stop, threatened to stop, but the people loved her. They needed her.

It was five months into her protests, organizing rallies and mobilizing a small group—this time outside the White House—when it happened. As the president gave his address on the rising pressures the US was facing, a shot rang out, amplified across every speaker and every TV screen in America.

For a moment everything was silent, the guards stationed around the area looking far too calm as the president’s body lay behind the podium. Vanessa watched from her place behind a set of barricades, only one thought in her head.

It could be over.

She waited, prayed that the next person to take the stage would be an ally. Praying that the next words she would hear would be that this hell was finally over. She had yet to know hell.

Her hopes were crushed in an instant as a man approached the podium. He stood wearing a military uniform, with a cross fixed firmly onto his vest and a gun strapped to his back. The crowd, as if just registering the murder that took place, grew tense—screaming and wailing out as he spoke from the Bible in his hands.

The great dragon was hurled down - that ancient serpent called the devil, or satan,

Vanessa—suddenly desperate to get away—grabbed the nearest protester, forcing them to start walking as she saw more men in uniform dispersed into the crowd.

who leads the whole world astray.

She was screaming for them to head for the street when she saw one of the soldiers pull out his gun. She saw him take aim into the crowd.

He was hurled to the earth, and his angels with him.

The sounds of the screaming nearly rivalled the bullets that came from every direction.

Vanessa ran, pulling everyone she could from her group into the street, then into the buildings. They forced their way into a small store, ducking into the back room until they could no longer hear chaos outside. Until the sounds of shooting silenced.

The group made it out after a few hours, dodging the military men in the street, finding passage out of the city. What Vanessa found back at home was not any less unsettling. Her street was quiet, deserted. She made her way into her apartment, frantically trying to call for her mom, her friends, anyone—but there was no use. Her lines were cut, every radio signal jammed. The only thing playing on the TV screen was the same scene she had just escaped. The man in uniform speaking to a dying crowd.

God will wipe every tear from their eyes.

There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain,

for the old order of things has passed away.

—

It had been two weeks since the assassination. Two weeks since the borders were ordered shut, and Gilead was declared open. The people in her neighborhood had already left, or perhaps they were taken? Killed? Vanessa didn’t know. It was only a matter of time before they took her. She still fought until the bitter end.

The secret police, the Eyes, came to her with chains and bindings one morning. When the black van had stopped in her street she knew what was coming. She screamed about her rights, though they meant nothing now. She kicked and flailed as they grabbed her arms. It was no use. They bound her hands behind her back and gagged her, forcing her mouth shut. She nearly blacked out as she was shoved into the van.

She was taken to a hospital first. The number of tests and needles and samples they took from her left her dizzy. Next, she was brought to a courthouse, before a tribunal of commanders—who she was told were her new leaders. They accused her of being a lesbian, a gender traitor, violating the laws of nature. They accused her of treason against the state for her riots. She spit each charge back at their faces, earning her a strike across her own. It was harsh and wet, and she couldn’t see anything but flashes of light behind her eyes. This is it, she thought, she almost hoped. At the end of her trial, when she was sure that she would be sentenced to death, there was a final, deafening accusation.

She is fertile.

The tribunal silenced at this, looked towards Vanessa’s bloody face and wide eyes. No. No no no NO—. She wanted to stop them, to beg for death. She had heard the rumours, she knew enough history to know what this could mean to their twisted, perverse minds, but she couldn’t speak. She couldn’t fathom anything so cruel. She didn’t register the dismissal of the court until guardians were dragging her away.

—

She found herself in another van—god, they loved their black vans—being driven for hours and hours. She was sure that she wasn’t in her own state, much less her own city anymore. When they finally stopped, she was led into a building that could have once been—a school? It had the same long halls, except without the lockers and bulletin boards. The classrooms had crosses over each doorway and posters with biblical figures plastered on every wall and window. She was still bound and gagged, sitting in what could’ve been a counselor’s office, as the Eyes left her with a warning to stay put. She wanted to laugh; where else could she go? She waited for a long while. Was it minutes? Hours? She didn’t know, there was no clock for her to read. In fact, the place was devoid of anything you could read.

“So you’re the feisty one.”

An older woman strode into the room. She was dressed in what could only be described as an old-fashioned nurse’s garb. Or maybe she was a nun? Or something in between. Vanessa looked at her wearily, not knowing if she wanted to slump over or charge her. She heard shuffling at the door and turned her head to see some other women standing just outside the room, heads down.

“Blessed be the fruit dear, you have been given a chance at redemption,” she said reaching for Vanessa’s gag, removing it.

“I—what the fuck.” Vanessa was vibrating with anger yet she had nothing more to say. She couldn’t even begin to speak to the woman in front of her, looking at her with such cruel amusement. She barely even got the words out before she was slapped clear across the face.

“No no, we can’t have that language anymore.” She tutted, forcing the smaller woman to stand up and join the line of girls outside.

“You see, you’re all sinners, impure stains on God’s earth. But He forgives, and He has given you all new life.” She turned to all the girls, unclipping a two-pronged rod from her hip. Some girls flinched as she pulled it out. “You will only speak words of praise from now on. Is that clear?”

Vanessa grit her teeth at the tone. She could not stand this woman, could not stand how she was smiling at her as if she wouldn’t strike her again.

“Go fuck yourself.”

A sharp, searing pain hit her ribs as she was knocked to the ground, the girls around her gasping in shock. Electricity crackled at the tip of the device in the older woman’s hand, still positioned right at Vanessa’s side as she grabbed her hair, tilting her head to face hers.

“No. We say ‘Yes, Aunt Maria.’ Can you do that for me dear?”

Silence. Vanessa could barely hear with the stinging at her side. Another jab had her doubling over in pain.

“‘Yes, Aunt Maria.’ That’s easy enough isn’t it?”

“Yes, Aunt Maria.”

—

There were things that the girls were allowed to know.

They were allowed to know that there was fighting. Of course there was no fighting in the country, not in Gilead, but resistance groups in some of the states that managed to escape were fighting. Pushing back. They were allowed to know that they were far from the borders, whatever those borders may be. Far from any freedom.

They were allowed to know that they were to be called handmaids, and were to be gifted to the commanders to bear children. They were allowed to know that they were property, branded with a metal tag pierced into their ear. They were allowed to know that they were nothing. No name, no history, no connection to anyone. They were allowed to know that, if after six months, they were not pregnant, they would leave their commander’s home and move on to the next. They were allowed to know that if they could not become pregnant after some time, they were sent to the colonies.

They were not allowed to know that it wouldn’t matter. They were not allowed to know that they were already dead.

Vanessa liked to say she believed in God, but there was no amount of prayers, no amount of holy symbols you could surround her with to convince her that God was watching over her now. In the center, she couldn’t speak much. Each word that wasn’t uttered in prayer earned her another slap across the face or a shock to the side.

There were some openings, small pockets of time where the aunts weren’t listening, where she could turn her head to the side and speak to the girl beside her. She learned that her name was A’keria. That she was a sex worker. That she had a son. That she was afraid for him. That she missed him. Vanessa shared as much. About how she missed the stage. About how she missed her mom.

Each of those moments would come and go so quickly, but Vanessa clung to them, collected them, and carefully stored them in the back of her mind where she hoped no one would ever look for them. She held on to any chance to hear her name again. Held on to any chance to feel like a person again.

—

“What is this?”

Vanessa couldn’t help but flash a smile as Aunt Maria stepped towards her waving a white cap—her white cap—stained with soup, at her face.

“My dirty bonnet, Aunt Maria.”

“And what is on the bonnet?”

A crude outline, clearly printed in orange broth, earned stifled giggles and gasps of shock from the other girls. Vanessa’s smile grew wider.

“Never seen a pair of tits before, Aunt Maria?”

She knew the strike was coming, first at her legs, forcing her to crumple to the floor, the pain nearly blinding her. She could feel her arms being dragged up from her side as a strike to her hands brought them down again. She didn’t know if she wanted to laugh, or cry, or perhaps taunt death a little longer. A little harder.

Vanessa cried out as Aunt Maria pulled her up by the arm and dragged her to her bed. She was stripped and stinging antiseptics were applied to her wounds as she lay there, told to pray and beg God for forgiveness. The cycle would repeat as the young Latina refused to sit silent, and Aunt Maria grew more cruel.

Vanessa hated her.

One reason was the abuse. The other was her name. Perhaps one of the top two ironies of her life is that she was delivered to a woman that bore the same name as the holy lady of Guadalupe herself. A name that she had always found comfort in, now striking her face and burning her hands. She didn’t believe God played tricks as cruel as this, but it was getting harder to think otherwise.

More than that, the aunt was observant. Maybe it was because Vanessa couldn’t help but wear her heart on her sleeve. The older woman saw how her hands shook and her body tensed when the other handmaids were punished. She saw how the young handmaid would so tenderly reach out to the other girls when she believed no one was watching her, so she used it to her advantage.

When Vanessa had another outburst, this time kicking the other aunts away as they positioned her to practice for the ritual, Aunt Maria was ready. She dragged A’keria to the floor by her hair, watching Vanessa’s eyes grow wide and fearful. She kicked the poor girl until the sounds of her boot hitting her back echoed in the room.

Vanessa had sat there watching, defeated, and for the first time, quiet.

—

She did well enough since that day. Spent far more time at the center than any of the others, but she did well enough. Ever since the incident with A’keria, they stopped talking, instead settling for sympathetic glances and gentle touches in the night. It was comforting, almost normal, but it did nothing to ease the static under Vanessa’s skin. It did nothing but remind her of the horror out there in this new world.

As the other girls left for their assignments, with their new names and new lives, Vanessa tried desperately to forget. She tried to forget her old life, her old family, her old name. She was jealous of those who could. Even A’keria—who was now Ofdavid—talked so beautifully about bringing a child into this world. As if she forgot how it would happen. As if she forgot about the one that was taken from her.

It had been a little more than two years since she was taken when Vanessa was set aside by Aunt Maria. She was given a small file—unlabeled of course, after all, handmaids must not read—with a single photograph of a man inside.

“This is Commander Hytes, a truly great man of God,” the older woman said reverently. “You will be given the honor to be handmaid to him and his wife. You who is now named Ofgeorge.”

She felt sick looking at the man who was to violate her, possess her. She wanted to rip the picture apart. She wanted to channel all the rage she’s been filled with for months on end. Instead she handed it back, stood up, and smoothed out her dress. “Praise be, Aunt Maria.”

The turnover was quick. She was led out of the center with a small case of clothes and a rosary and driven to the new house at dusk. She wasn’t told about the old Ofgeorge, nor was she given any indication of what the family was like. Maybe they would be kind and leave her alone most days, only touching her when necessary. Maybe they would be cruel, and she would be beaten to death, and her blood would stain the perfect white walls of the pristine city. Maybe she would escape one day. The lurch of the vehicle as it stopped in front of the house was what brought Vanessa back to present. She did not expect to walk out into a beautiful front garden, surrounded by trees. She did not expect to see a woman—a martha she recalled—with kind eyes and a smile of joy, taking her bag and guiding her in by the small of her back.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you dear. My name is Nina. We’ll just have you meet the mistress before settling in, hmm?” She was warm, and definitely did not seem like the type to carry an electric stick. Nina led her into the home, into the living and dining area. It was perfect—neat, clean, luxurious in comparison to the stiff cushions and austere living area of the center.

“Is Commander Hytes not here?” Vanessa tried, her hands beginning to shake at the thought of meeting the man.

“No dear, but he’ll be back in a few days,” Nina replied. She seemed sad, like maybe she didn’t want that either. Or maybe Vanessa was projecting. “In the meantime, you’ll meet Mrs. Hytes. You know your responses well, my dear?”

“My—“ Of course. Responses, verses, etiquettes that control everything. That control everyone. “Yes, of course.” Nina gave a small nod before leading Vanessa to a hallway. She tapped twice on one of the doors before pushing her way in.

There wasn’t much in the sitting room she found herself in. Bare shelves that must’ve contained books once. A simple rug, a simple sofa and chair set. A barren desk with only knitting needles and a ball of yarn that looked practically untouched. A woman.

Vanessa locked eyes with her. She looked younger than Vanessa had expected. Weren’t these women supposed to be too old to have children? She was doll-like, with her pale, barely flushed skin, and perfect creaseless dress. Her blonde hair was neat and styled away from her face. Her eyes were piercing green, looking straight at her.

She had said something, Vanessa responded appropriately, and that was that. Before the handmaid had a chance to say anything else, she was led out by Nina, into her upstairs bedroom, quiet once more.

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #branjie #angst #hurt/comfort #lesbian au #the handmaid's tale au #under her eye #gab #tw rape #tw physical violence #tw abuse #tw religion #tw mentions of suicide #tw homophobia #tw gun violence #concrit welcome

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ruminativerabbi · 5 years

Text

Virginia Beach

Those poor people in Virginia Beach! They weren’t children. They weren’t soldiers. They weren’t young people dancing the night away in a cool nightspot. They weren’t worshipers in synagogue or people gathered in church for Bible study. Nor were they high school kids rushing from home room to their first classes of the day. In other words, they were just people—regular, grown-up, working people busily attending to their non-flashy jobs in a non-flashy office compound in a city known mostly for having a pretty beach. And now they appear actually to have met posthumous the fate that I feared—but also half-expected—would end up being theirs: front page news for a day or two, then the subject of a follow-up story buried somewhere in the back of the first section a few days later, then, depending on the newspaper and the politics of its editorial board, either forgotten entirely or followed up a couple of days after that with a human interest piece describing of some of the victim’s funerals and then allowed to sink into gun-violence oblivion.

Mass shootings are resembling more and more hurricanes in this violent land of ours: named in the first place to make it possible to keep them all straight in your mind, but mostly forgotten anyway as soon as the skies clear…other than by the people whose homes they ruined or whose livelihoods. Yes, everybody remembers Sandy…but mostly because it inflicted something like 70 billion dollars’ worth of damage. But what about Beryl, Chris, Florence, Helene, Isaac, Leslie, Michael, and Oscar—to name only Atlantic hurricanes that hit the United States in the last year? My guess is not so much. Unless you had to deal with the destruction these storms left in their wake personally, probably not so much at all!

People think about things in the abstract entirely differently than when they are asked their opinion about the very same issues not as pristine philosophical concepts but rather as nuts-and-bolts issues set into the real-life world of actual people. The most famous example, known to most from Philosophy 101 in college, is the famous “trolley-car problem.” It has a thousand different versions, but the basic concept is always that the same people who speak loftily and movingly about the inestimable value of human life—and who claim wholeheartedly to accept the corollary of that idea, namely that it is impossible (i.e., not only morally reprehensible but actually not doable) to place a specific dollar value on a specific human life—those same people when presented with the dilemma of a trolley-car driver having to choose between plowing his run-away vehicle into a crowd of thirty healthy kindergarten children or veering off to the side even though it will mean hitting a terminally ill centenarian who has just a few days left to live invariably say they would aim at the old man rather than take the lives of thirty little children. So much for the inestimable, thus uncalculatable, value of human life!

There are lots of variations. You may have heard the version featuring an individual standing next to a hugely fat man on a bridge and watching a train (not a trolley in this version for some reason) hurtling towards the thirty children. The only way to stop the train is to shove the fat man off the bridge onto the tracks below, which act will almost certainly save the children’s lives at the expense of the fat man’s. It’s basically the same situation as the one with the trolley-car conductor, yet whereas a clear majority almost always say that they would be okay about flipping the switch to save the children at the expense of the elderly sick guy, a majority almost always also say that they would not go so far as actually to shove the fat man off the bridge to accomplish exactly the same goal. (For a fascinating examination of these issues from a Jewish point of view by Tsuriel Rashi, a professor at Bar Ilan University in Israel, click here. You won’t be disappointed!)

To translate this into modern American terms is simple: we all say that we think that the loss of even a single life is tragic, but we have become so inured to gun violence in our country that we only respond viscerally when there is something particularly horrific about the incident: merely being shot to death by a maniac with a gun is nowhere near enough in today’s America to sustain the interest of the nation over more than a day or two. (Oh yeah? I heard that! Columbine is near Denver and Parkland is near Miami…but where exactly is Highlands Ranch again?)

The question, as always, is how we should respond to yet another of these incidents. I have to admit that I have trouble keeping them all straight in my head—and I’m guessing that that’s how we all feel. To militate for stricter controls on gun purchases, to insist that the government find a way to make guns useless other than in the hands of their legitimate owners (which wouldn’t have worked in Virginia Beach, since the shooter owned his guns legally), to push for more intensive background checks before people are permitted to acquire firearms—all these seem like reasonable steps forward, none of which would infringe on any non-criminal, mentally-stable citizen’s right to bear arms. But there’s also an attitudinal change we need to work towards and, at that, not one specifically related to the NRA or to the Second Amendment but rather to the way we think of the victims of these shootings.

They appear briefly on the front page of the nation’s newspapers for a day or two. If there is something particularly gruesome about the incident that took their lives, then their hold on our national imagination is stronger—and, indeed, the victims at Columbine, Orlando, Parkland, Pittsburgh, and Charleston actually have become part of our national narrative. But what of the rest?

I took note the other day of the two-hundredth birthday of the most original of all American poets and Long Island’s greatest son, Walt Whitman. I’ve been a fan for a long time—the boy in my story “Under the Wheel” who walks around high school with a copy of Whitman’s Leaves of Grass in his knapsack was my adolescent self—and my admiration for the man has only grown over the years. I mention the anniversary of his birth on May 31, 1819, in Huntington, New York, however, not merely to take note of his bicentenary, but because he, of all people, suggests to me how to respond to the endless spate of gun murders in our nation.

If there was one thing Whitman stood for, and in every conceivable way, it was the sacrosanct autonomy of the individual. Over and over in Leaves of Grass the poet returns to that specific idea, but also to the one he presents as its corollary: the paradoxical notion that the justification for democracy itself rests in the core concept that the individual possesses an inviolate right to live free of the constraints of others and the restraints of society…and that the perfect nation (in his unabashed conception, our own) is one in which citizens band together to promote a society that promotes the inalienable autonomy of the individual.

In other words, the core concept that permeates all of Whitman’s work is that, unlike in the world of insects where the swarm is the thing and the individual bugs that make it up are basically indistinguishable from each other even in their own eyes, in the world of human beings the individual is not merely the building block of society but an entire universe unto him or herself, one that has no more need of the permission of others to rotate on its own axis and at its own speed than the Milky Way needs the permission of other galaxies to travel endlessly through the cosmos on its own and in its own way.

My proposal is that we honor Whitman’s memory by rededicating ourselves to the notion that each man, woman, or child killed in an act of senseless gun violence is best to be taken not a mere individual, but as the nation itself, and that the incident that took that person’s life is thus correctly to be understood as an act of aggression not against that one man or woman but against the American people itself. That core concept—that the individual is the nation and the nation is each of its citizens—is Whitman’s personal gift to the question of how to respond to gun violence in America.

A young man of eighteen, Kendrick Ray Castillo, gave his life on May 7 in the STEM School Highlands Ranch shooting in Douglas County, Colorado, while trying to disarm one of the two shooters who had entered the school building. (Two others joined him in the effort, both of who survived.) Kendrick was lionized in the national press briefly, particularly since the Highlands Ranch shooting occurred just a week after the shooting at the University of North Carolina Charlotte campus in which a different young man, Riley Howell, also lost his life while selflessly and bravely trying to tackle the gunman and thus to give his classmates time to escape. Both men were heroes and deserve to be remembered as such, but as the days pass and the stories of these two particularly school shootings—just two among eight shootings in American schools this year so far and surely not the last—join non-school incidents (148 this year so far and counting) in becoming impossible for any of us to keep straight in our heads, we need to resolve to consider each loss separately and to feel personally aggressed against whenever an innocent life is taken by some angry person with a gun. E pluribus unum does not mean that when we come together as a people we abandon our identities as individuals, but just the opposite: that, as Whitman wrote over and over, the republic exists as a monument to the supreme value of the individual and so, from membership among the many comes the strength of the one to endure….and to flourish unimpeded by the violent machinations of others. The attacks that took the lives of 6,027 Americans (not a typo: click here) in acts of gun-related violence so far this year alone are attacks against the republic itself because each American individual is the nation. That was Whitman’s greatest lesson and it the one I suggest we all take to heart as we attempt not to file Virginia Beach away as just one more tragedy to take stock of and then to move on from.

#Virginia Beach #Walt Whitman #Gun Violence #Kendrick Ray Castillo #Riley Howell

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igoturbackkid · 6 years

Text

When You Were Young (Michael Langdon x reader one shot)

“You sit there in your heartache

Waiting on some beautiful boy to

To save you from your old ways”

Note: Warnings: drug use, mental illness (depression), death, season 1 and 8 spoilers, fluff, and smut. I’ve also never done drugs so Idk how accurate parts of this are but it’s fiction so just go with it! lol Also I stole the title from a song again but it fits so perfectly and it’s one of my favorite songs of all time. And I’m still new to writing so any constructive criticism is welcome! Enjoy!

*** = time jump

The first time you met Michael was when his grandma killed herself. You were one of the many spirits doomed to wander the Murder House for eternity. You were only 16 when you died. You didn’t have many friends growing up, being the introverted weirdo that people made fun of daily, so when you got to high school, you immediately found a group to call yours. They were the stoners. Constantly getting high, drinking, and trying anything that was passed around at parties. Your parents didn’t understand what was wrong with you. They loved you, god help them, but they didn’t know how to control you. You still remember the first time you tried drugs was when you realized you had depression. You barely went to school, you were never happy, not even sad, you didn’t feel anything at all. Your room was your sanctuary, but all you did was wallow in your own depression, away from anyone and everyone.

One day while your parents were at work, you skipped school again and were feeling utterly restless. You wandered into your parent’s bedroom and started going through their things. You stumbled into their bathroom and found a bunch of bottles of medicine. It had your typical ibuprofen, allergy medicine, etc. But what really interested you were the bottle of prescription pain killers. You knew that people got addicted to them, but you also knew that you could get high off of them. Maybe that’s what you needed. A shock to the system to set you back to normal. You popped a couple of the pills into your mouth and wondered back to your room, waiting for the effects to kick in. It wasn’t quite what you were expecting, you felt almost more numb, but in a good way. You felt like you were in such a different state that mental illness couldn’t even touch you. That’s where your addiction began.

It was Halloween night and you and your friends were pretty wasted. Those of you who weren’t completely passed out decided to embark on a spooky adventure. You knew all about the Murder House growing up in LA. Everyone did, the house was infamous for the vile acts committed inside the premises. Sure, you’d seen the building from the outside but this time you were gonna get a first-hand tour. One of your friends had been arrested for breaking and entering before and he was the one who initiated the plan of break in, find some ghosts, and get high. You and your friends explored the whole house, mostly in the dark without finding anything. Your friend told you that if the spirits didn’t wanna be seen, then they wouldn’t show themselves. You all tried to get them to come out, trying to make them mad, even using a Ouija board you found in the basement. Still nothing.

That’s when you all decided to just get high instead. The oldest in the group, a senior at the school, brought cocaine. You’d never tried anything that intense before. But that didn’t scare you. What’s the worst that can happen? You get super paranoid and pass out? Your friends went one by one until it was your turn. You did exactly as they did. It didn’t take long to kick in but once it did you were flying. You felt so high you never wanted to come down. So while your friends were all minding their own business, checking out the house, you decided to partake again. That’s where you went wrong. Your second hit was bigger than the first, and you were already so high. You started to feel sick to your stomach, you actually vomited in your mouth. You managed to swallow it but started to feel hot, like you had a fever. That’s when you blacked out.

After a few minutes you stood back up, feeling much better. You felt fine actually. You looked around to try to find your friends but you didn’t see them. Did they ditch you? Assholes. You continued to wander the basement, until you saw the oddest thing. It was you. You were lying on the ground, motionless, eyes rolled to the back of your head. Oh god. You couldn’t stop the immediate sobs that wracked your body. You were dead. You were dead and you’d never grow up, you’d never see your family again, you’d never graduate, you’d never get married and have babies. You were dead.

It took an adjustment to get used to being just a ghost of the person you were before. Once the spirits of the house realized what happened to you, they made themselves known. The first one to introduce herself was Moira. She was an older, red-headed lady who felt pity for you. She told you about the other spirits, warned you against them, and offered her condolences. She wasn’t prepared to die either when she did but she didn’t have a choice since she was shot and killed.

After a few years of wandering the home, you finally weren’t completely somber on the inside. You still weren’t happy in this afterlife but at least you weren’t in hell. You didn’t think you’d be able to take the burning, the torture, whatever actually went on down there. If hell was real, then Satan was real, and that meant your bible-thumping parents were right. They thought Satan would bring about the apocalypse. Crazy, right?

It was another normal day while you were wandering the house. You were upstairs, looking out one of the windows. While you were watching you saw an older lady walk into the house. You thought nothing of it, you’d seen her around before. Sometimes she would talk to Tate, sometimes to her other son, Beau. You heard some shuffling downstairs, some music playing, not quite sure what Constance was up to. You continued daydreaming out of the window when you saw a young boy approach the house. You couldn’t tell much about him, but he looked about your age with short, blonde hair. You made your way downstairs to see what he was doing here.

“Grandma!” you heard the boy call out. “Grandma!!”

“Grandma?” you heard him say in a distressed tone.

When you finally made your way downstairs, the scene before you was so tragic, you started to tear up. Constance was on the couch, lying dead, as the boy cried and tried his hardest to get her to wake up.

“Grandma, hey, hey wake up.” he tried pulling at her lifeless body, trying anything to get his Grandma to come back to him. Wait, his grandma? Who was this boy? You thought you knew all of Constance’s family, even if her Adelaide’s spirit wasn’t trapped in the house as well.

“That’s my son.” you heard a man’s voice say behind you.

Ben Harmon was stood behind you now, also watching the scene unfold.

“Your son? I thought your son died?” you questioned Ben. Violet had told you her mother was raped, gave birth but that the baby was a still born.

“When my family lived here, my wife was raped. By Tate. She was pregnant with mine and Tate’s child. One of them was a still born, the other survived. Constance, took him in.” he explained to you.

You couldn’t even think of a response to what he told you. Vivian was raped by Tate Langdon? Why would he do that. But Ben said that was his son, was this Tate’s son, since Constance took him in? He did just call her his Grandma...

You turned away from Ben, back unto the scene of the crying boy in front of you. You watched him clutch Constance’s lifeless body and cry out, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry! It’s all my fault!”

Right then you felt your heart break for this poor boy, too young to lose his only family. If Tate/Ben is his father and Vivian is his mother, then the rest of his family is dead. You really felt for the guy. You decided to show yourself to the young boy, with so much grief in his eyes, to help him.

“I’m so sorry for your loss.” you told him as you appeared.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“A spirit who also died in this house, who just wants to show you some kindness.” you told him simply.

“A spirit? Does that mean my Grandma is a ghost now too?” he questioned.

“Yes, she is. But I don’t think she wants to be seen.” you told him as you watched Constance’s spirit walk out of the room, unseen to the living.

“She doesn’t wanna see me?” he cried.

“No, I’m sorry.” you apologized.

“Who are you? What do you want?” he accused you.

“Someone who wants to be seen, someone who wants to help.” you replied. He slowly shook his head, unbelieving of what you said.

“I want to help you, let me help you.” you said.

“I’m a monster! Why would you wanna help me?” he asked you.

“Because I died in this house and I’ve never felt more alone, being trapped in this house. But you’re alive, free to do whatever, go wherever, but you have no one. Which means you also have never felt more alone.” you told him.

He only kept looking at you, tears in his eyes, still clinging to Constance’s body for dear life. You slowly approached him, holding your hand out for him to take.

“My name’s Y/n. What’s yours?” you introduced yourself to him.

“Michael. Michael Langdon.” he said while slowly grabbing your hand as you pulled him up.

“Well Michael, let’s go try and forget about this awful day, together, if that’s alright?” you hesitantly questioned him, not wanting to come on too strong.

“Ok.” he replied in such a small voice, tear stains down his beautiful face.

***

Ever since that day, you and Michael began a friendship. You were two of the loneliest people who made a true friendship, when you came together. Michael was an interesting person. Depending on who you asked about him, he was either a monster, or to you, just another lonely and lost soul. Constance took notice of you hanging around with her grandchild, she even tried to warn you to stay away from him, that he was evil incarnate. You blew her off with a “Fuck you, you don’t know the real him, you don’t know him like I do!”. All she replied with was a “Just don’t come crying to me when you see how evil that boy really is.”

You and Michael were close so you decided to tell him about your encounter with his Grandmother. He said she was probably right, that there was something wrong with him. He liked to skin animals, hammer them to the walls, and leave them for her. He saw them as gifts but she thought it was an abomination. Because of this new discovery, you started to understand Michael a lot more than you did before. He was the creation of a spirit that fornicated with the living, that had to have an effect on him. The darkness of the other side, of death, must have had some kind of influence on him. He’s not a normal kid in that sense, so he wouldn’t do normal things. It doesn’t mean what he’s doing isn’t wrong, it just means he doesn’t know that it’s wrong.

The more time you spent with Michael, the more you saw the good in him. And he wanted to be good, desperately. Always looking for your approval, to know what he did was right and good. This house was always shrouded in a darkness that tainted your heart with grief and despair. Michael was your light in the darkness. And you loved him for it. Michael and you started to spend a lot of time cuddled up together. Either watching a scary movie as he held you, taking walks through the house and holding his hand. A romance slowly started to blossom between you two. At first you were conflicted. You were dead, you’d always be dead, so Michael should leave and find someone alive to be happy with. But the other part of you craved him more than any drug you ever had. It was selfish to love him, wrong even, but you didn’t wanna be right.

The first time you kissed was after an encounter he had with his father, Tate. Michael was going through his things and Tate caught him in the act. Michael innocently told him, “I just wanna be like you, Dad.” and Tate exploded at the boy. He told him, “Not even I could create something as monstrous, as evil as you!”

Michael’s response was to throw himself back onto the bed and cry. You were furious. You wanted to kick Tate’s ass for being such an ass. But your Michael needed you, and that was more important. Tate would get an earful later.

You sat down on the bed next to a crying Michael. At first you just rubbed his back, telling him words of encouragement, trying to get him to stop crying because it was killing you inside. Michael was your weakness, seeing him cry made you cry. You brought yourself closer to him, rubbing his back and whispering in his ear. Telling him how great you thought he was, how special he was, what a great friend he was to you, and how much you loved and needed him.

When he heard that, Michael lifted his head. He sat up to rest his head on your shoulder as you put your arm around him to comfort him. As he finally calmed down, he wiped the final tears off his face and turned to face you.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you. Don’t leave me, please, don’t ever leave.” he pleaded with you.

This poor boy had no one in the world. No one but a girl who died and whose spirit befriended him out of pity.

“You don’t ever have to worry about that, Michael. Anyway, I’m stuck here remember?” you joked.

Michael laughed quietly and bumped your shoulder with his. You both just sat there smiling, happy to be in each other’s company. It was quiet for a minute while you both just stared ahead at the room. When you turned your head to look at him, he was already staring at you. The intensity of his eyes made you blush. His eyes suddenly flickered down to your lips before his closed his eyes and he started to lean in. If you had a beating heart you’re sure it would have jumped out of your chest. You brought your hands up to hold either side of his face, closed your eyes, and leaned in. When your lips met, you felt a spark. Like a lighter being flicked on. The sudden heat rushed through your body, you almost felt alive again at the sensation. The kiss started out innocent but once you opened your mouth to him, it became way more intense. Michael got the clue and opened his lips to taste you. When your tongues met it was like two puzzle pieces finally put together. It felt right to be with Michael in this way. To be completely open with him, it was like he could see your soul. As you continued to kiss, your hands wondered onto his chest, then onto his back, holding him to you. He brought his hands to hold your face in his and he cradled it like it was the most precious thing he’s ever held. Like he didn’t wanna break you but also like he never wanted to let go. Once you both started to run out of air you both leaned back to catch your breath.

His hands still held your face as you both just smiled at each other. Content in each other’s silence. Knowing that nothing needed to be said because you both were just blissfully ignorant to anything that wasn’t this moment. The world could be ending and neither of you would care because you’re here in his arms, feeling alive for the first time.

***

“So how’d you die?” your Michael asked you one day while lounging on his bed together. His head was in your lap and you were running your fingers through his beautiful hair.

“I overdosed.” you told him.

“Were you trying to kill yourself?” he asked innocently.

“No, I just liked the high, got greedy, and paid the price.” you explained to him.

“I don’t want this to come out wrong, but in a way, I’m glad you died. It brought me to you.” he confessed.

“Honestly, I feel exactly the same.” you confided to him.

He gave you that adorable smile you loved so much that just made you wanna hug him and never let go.

“Y/n...” he started.

“Yeah?” you asked.

“Why did you do drugs?” he questioned.

“Because I couldn’t feel anything. I couldn’t get happy or sad. I just felt nothing, and I wanted to feel something.” you felt like you were in a therapy session.

“What about now, are you happy?” he asked you with those puppy dog eyes.

“Yeah, yeah Michael, thanks to you I am.” you told him.

Michael sat up then and grabbed your face to start kissing you. He kissed you all over your face and it made you giggle. You were already laughing as he also decided to tickle you. You yelled for him to stop, breathless, and laughing. He kept going when suddenly you both heard the front door open. He told you to wait while he checked it out. You agreed. You realized he was taking quite a while and decided to see what was taking him so long. When you made it downstairs there were boxes everywhere. Someone moved in? You heard a scream and followed it into the home office. A man stood in a black rubber suit, he had just stabbed the two new homeowners to death.

“No!” you screamed at the figure, trying to stop the tragedy happening before you. The man waved his hand and you found yourself unable to move. Unable to help the poor couple lying lifeless on the floor. The man suddenly unzipped the mask he was wearing and revealed his identity to you. Michael stood in front of you, staring you down.

“What’s wrong?” he asked innocently.

“Seriously?!” you yelled. “You just killed two people, Michael! Why the fuck did you do that?” you raised your voice at him.

“They don’t belong here.” he simply stated.

“Because of what you did they’ll be here forever.” you countered.

The couple just brutally murdered discovered their bodies, and rightly so, started to freak out.

“You didn’t have to kill them. I know you, Michael, this isn’t who you are.” you pleaded with him.

Suddenly, as if by magic, Michael started motioning with his hands and the spirits of the couple before you burnt up before completely disappearing. Suddenly you found you could move again.

You didn’t know what to do. On one hand what Michael did was so awful you shouldn’t wanna ever see him again. And on the other hand, this was the man you loved, who was deeply fucked up, but still needed help. You simply decided, to just make yourself unseen. Before you turned to disappear, you saw tears in his eyes. He knew you were disappointed. You didn’t wanna fuck him up even further by yelling at him, so you decided to punish him by giving him the silent treatment.

The entire time you avoided Michael physically, you were still with him every second, spiritually. He couldn’t see you but you were by his side every night. He was still your Michael, you couldn’t be without him. The day you decided to be seen again was the day three strange people visited the house. They wore black capes and claimed to be satanists. They invited Michael to partake in a ritual with them. One that involved the death of an innocent girl. When the ritual was over, and Michael became more powerful, you decided to show yourself. Michael cried, and begged for your forgiveness. You forgave but you never forgot. He cried so much he wore himself out so you put him to bed and watched him from the corner. It was in the middle of the night when another spirit entered his room. It was his mother, Vivian. She held a knife in her hand as she approached Michael. You completely froze, not knowing if you should stop her to save your love, or let him kill the evil that was inside of him. Suddenly his eyes opened and Vivian started to burn like the couple he killed. You were still frozen with fear when suddenly Tate jumped out and saved Vivian. You were glad he was there, because you were literally petrified.

You realized Michael was becoming a completely different person to the sweet, innocent boy you once met. It took some time before you and Michael went back to normal, after the things you witnessed, you decided there was nothing you could do now so you should just enjoy your time with him. One day you realized Michael wasn’t home and went to look for him. You couldn’t find him anywhere. You waited and waited for him to come home but he never did. You finally found a letter in the office, where you first met him, with your name written on it.

Y/n,

I’m sorry for everything I’ve done but I have to leave. It’s my destiny. I know you think there’s something wrong with me, even if you try to ignore it. So I’m leaving to become who I was meant to be, and so you don’t have to feel bad pretending to like me anymore. I still love you, I promise one day I’ll come back.

-Michael

You dropped to your knees with the realization Michael was gone. Your heart ached and tears streamed down your face. He was gone. Your Michael, your light was gone. It didn’t matter anymore, the evil things he did, because he was gone and he wasn’t coming back. He promised in his letter he’d return but he probably only wrote that for your benefit. They say it’s better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all. What a load of bullshit.

***

Years had passed since Michael left you and you were doing fine. Over the time you came to be thankful for his departure almost. The spirits here were right, he was evil, and you should stay away from him. You were sitting in the library, staring at the unlit fireplace when you suddenly heard a voice behind you.

“Even I could think of a few better ways to spend eternity in here other than staring at a boring fireplace.” he sarcastically remarked.

You immediately whipped your head around to meet the eyes of a man your heart ached for. Michael stood in the doorway, wearing all black. His hair was slightly longer, and he was even slightly taller but it was him. His beautiful blue eyes staring into your soul. You leapt up from your seat and ran to him. He welcomed you with open arms as you hung onto him for dear life.

“You came back.” you barely got out as you sobbed into his shoulder.

“I promised you, didn’t I?” he retorted.

You couldn’t think of anything else to say so you lifted your head and kissed him so fiercely it took the wind out of both of you. Neither of you let go for several minutes, basking in each other’s presence. Happy to be reunited.

“Where have you been? Why did you come back?” you questioned him.

“Well, darling, I already told you the answer to one of those questions. As for ‘where have I been?’. Well that’s a long story, love.” he responded.

“Well then... just one more question...what now? You left, you grew up. I’m still dead and stuck in this house for eternity. Why come back for something you can never fully have? You should have just stayed away.” you confessed. As much as it hurt to say, it was true. Michael could have a life, away from you, away from this demonic house. It’s what he should have done, but Michael wasn’t very good at doing what he was told.

“I came to fetch you, love. So we can be together, the way we were meant to. If you’ll have me?” he said.

“How?” you simply responded.

“While I was away, my powers became stronger. I’m pretty much the most powerful warlock to ever exist, darling. Aren’t you proud of me?” he asked with a cheeky grin on his angelic face.

“If that’s true, if you’re right. Then get me out of here, so we can be together.” you told him.

“Happily, Y/n.”

“So how are you going to do this?” you didn’t know what his plan was. How was he going to get you out of a place you’d tried to escape so many times but never could.

“Easy, I’m going to pay a visit to Hell and bring you back to life.” he said like he wasn’t just about to go Hell and resurrect you like jesus fucking christ.

“Umm...” was all you could say.

“Relax, I’ve got this. Go ahead, take a seat, it’ll take me a moment, dear.” you took a seat on the couch in the room. Michael laid down on the floor in front of you, closing his eyes. He started saying something that you couldn’t make out. It sounded like Latin. Suddenly you weren’t in the library anymore, you were in Michael’s old room. You looked around, confused as to how you could’ve switched rooms, having not moved. When you looked towards the door, there stood Michael, except it was him when he was younger. His hair was shorter again, he looked more child-like, more innocent.

“I’m leaving you.” he said, “I’m leaving and I’m never coming back, Y/n. I never even loved you.” he spat.

You were suddenly so overwhelmed with sadness. Michael just ripped out your heart and stomped on it. You were heart broken. You started to sob and call out for him. You grabbed him and tried to stop him from leaving. He simply shook you off as if you never meant anything to him, and slammed the door in your face. You fell to the floor, and cried your heart out.

“This is your hell?” you heard a voice ask, “This is so sad, Y/n.”

As you looked up the door was open and there stood Michael again. Except he was older, his hair was a little longer, and a little bit taller. How had he aged so quickly after breaking your heart so brutally?

“I’m not him, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m here to get you out, Y/n.” he said as he leaned over to you, holding out his hand. Wiping tears off your face you grabbed his hand and stood up. He took you and walked out of the room. As you walked through the door you saw a bright, white light. The next thing you knew you were sitting up, gasping for air.

“It’s alright, love, I’m here. I’m here.” you heard a calming voice come from beside you. You turned your head and it was your Michael again. The all grown up one. You were out, you made it out of Hell. You were suddenly overcome with so many emotions, having died, gone to Hell, and come back to life. You started to cry and quickly started hyperventilating. Then you felt his hands grab your face. He turned you to look directly into his eyes.

“Breathe, Y/n.” he commanded. It was like a switch. His command made your heartbeat immediately ease back to normal. Your breathing slowed and your tears dried up on your cheeks.

“You’re alright, you’re ok. You’re with me now, and I’m not leaving you. We’re getting out of here, there’s just one more thing I have to do.”

“What?” was all you managed to say.

“Well, darling, you died a 16 year old. And I’m not as young as I once was, so what do you say we help your aging process a little, seeing as you had a little hiccup in the road.” he brought you back from the dead, so aging didn’t seem as extreme of an experience to you, after what you just went through. Michael seemed to simply wave his hand before you, magically aging you a decade in only seconds. You didn’t feel anything particularly painful or weird. All you could think about was the night you died, remembering it so vividly. The drugs, your “friends” abandoning you, finding your own corpse. It flashed in your head like it happened yesterday, that moment haunting your every memory. When you finally realized Michael had finished, you quickly found a mirror in the room. Looking at yourself, you didn’t notice any huge changes. You looked like yourself, just more wrinkles and, that wasn’t a grey hair was it? You were too young for grey hair!

“What do you think?” Michael came up behind you, placing his hands on your waist, kissing you on the side of your head.

“I think we finally make sense as a couple.” you joked.

“I thought the Anti Christ dating a ghost made a lot of sense to me.” he laughed.

“Yeah, a little fucked up, but makes sense. But now we’re almost normal, like we can go on a date!” you squealed.

“A date? What’s that? It sounds absolutely disgusting.” he retorted.

“Oh come on Michael, they’re not that bad! Remember when we used to cuddle and have a horror movie marathon?”

“Yes.” he said.

“Well that’s a date! We can do more of that, maybe even go to an actual movie.” you explained.

“Honestly, as long as I’m with you, my love, I’ll do anything.” he professed.

You felt your heart start rapidly beating in your own chest, unfamiliar to the feeling of having a beating heart in your chest, having been a ghost for so many years.

“You know what we could do right now though?” you asked innocently, batting your eyes up at him, holding him close.

“And what’s that, dear?”

“This.” you said as you grabbed his face again, kissing him with so much passion and love you thought you’d explode trying to show him just how much you loved him. Michael responded eagerly, grabbing onto your waist, even dipping lower to grope your ass as you ran your fingers through his hair. As you made out, your tongues met and you swore you felt a spark so strong it made a shiver run down your spine, his hands following the path of the shiver, adding to the intensity. You were already dripping between the legs, ready to get to the main event. You didn’t wanna waste anymore time so in order for Michael to get the hint you caressed the front of his pants, feeling him harden under your touch. You started nipping at his neck and he finally had enough and threw you against the wall. He quickly rid you of your pants and underwear, as eager as you were to be one already. Once he had you half undressed he let you unzip his pants to pull his member out, giving it a few tugs. Michael suddenly grabbed your thighs and hoisted you up to hold you against the wall. As he held you, you guided his length inside of you and were finally connected. You crossed your legs behind his back, holding onto him for dear life. He thrust into you against the wall, careful not to bang your head on the wall. He started to pick up the pace and you were close so you started to kiss and suck at his neck again, pulling his hair. You heard him growl, which turned you on even more, accelerating you to your finish. With a couple more thrusts, he had you cumming, moaning into the quiet library. Michael quickly finished after you, moaning into your neck, and cursing your name, “Fuck, Y/n.”

Michael kept his head on your shoulder, getting control of his breathing as you did the same. When you both finally came down, he set you back on the ground, tucking himself back into his pants. He helped you get back into your clothes as well. Once again, you couldn’t help yourself and you kissed him with such a sweet, gentleness it made a tear fall out of Michael’s eye. When you lifted your head, he was smiling at you as you wiped his tear away, and kissed his forehead.

“Let’s go, Y/n. Let’s get out of here and take over the whole damn world together.” he started to pull you towards the front door.

As he pulled you to the door, you took a second, turning around and looking at the home you’d been trapped in for years. It was your own hell, but now it reflected your happiness. You died here, yes, but you were resurrected here, because of one man. And that man was pulling you out of the house, into the light. The same way he pulled you out of Hell. The only difference was this time, you were free. Michael may be the “Anti Christ” but he was your savior, and you never wanted to look back.

#michael langdon #michael langdon x reader #ahs #American horror story #american horror story apocalypse #ahs apocalypse #cody fern #cody fern x reader

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