#so I’m still mad/confounded

[chynandri]

Maybe Leon’s design makes me mad because I’m just jealous of him. Maybe he’s gotta be put on the gender envy list

[starry-fantasies]

An Attempt to Clinically Analyze Sephiroth's Psychosis at Nibelheim

Sephiroth has fascinated me as a villain for a long time, but I’ve also struggled to “figure him out” for just as long. For all the simplicity of his villainous goals (i.e. become a god, destroy the world), it’s really the heart of his breakdown in Nibelheim that confounded me regarding his motives and the causal factors behind how he becomes what he becomes. I think Sephiroth's story can be interpreted in drastically different ways depending on how you see the explanations for his breakdown preceding the Nibelheim Incident. Not to mention, there’s the multiple retellings of the incident within the Compilation and the inconsistencies that come with it.

I’m still in the process of unraveling how to approach Sephiroth’s psychology, so this won’t be a regular analysis. Rather, this is mostly going to be a stream-of-consciousness type of piece, where I just let my thoughts flow. Definitely expect some stuff to sound rough or disjointed, and possibly some inaccurate facts due to my terrible memory (please let me know). Also, for the sake of the most updated canon, we will go with the Crisis Core version of events.

~Major FFVII and Crisis Core spoilers ahead~

Psychosis

Firstly, I want to address the clinical term that can describe what happened to Sephiroth at Nibelheim. I’ve heard people call it a mental breakdown or psychotic break, among other things. If we want to be consistent with the psychiatric language of the DSM-5, we would say that Sephiroth experienced the onset of a psychotic episode.

Psychotic episodes are a state of significant psychological disturbance that involves a loss of touch with shared reality. Historically, what we now know as psychotic episodes were once called madness or insanity. The duration of an episode affects what type of psychotic disorder would apply, but overall, psychosis can be either transient or continuous.

It’s hard to say which is the case for Sephiroth, specifically because of how his prognosis transforms pre- and post-Lifestream dip. Pre-Lifestream, it’s clear that he went into an abrupt and severe state of psychosis. Even though there were already warning signs prior to when he holed himself up in the Shinra mansion basement, Sephiroth’s behavior change still occurred in a short amount of time and marked a drastic change from the anguish and confusion he initially experienced upon first learning what Jenova is. He is experiencing a psychotic episode that marks a clear departure from his prior functioning.

Afterwards though, Sephiroth learns what Jenova truly is and makes a conscious decision to use its power and influence over the Lifestream for his own means. At this point, we can’t say that it’s a temporary condition. Not to mention, the question of how much Jenova is influencing Sephiroth also complicates how we understand Sephiroth’s psychology. At best, I would say that post-Lifestream Sephiroth is experiencing an ongoing psychotic disturbance.

Delusions

At the heart of Sephiroth’s turning point to villainy is a delusion, a fixed and false belief that is resistant to change even in the presence of contradictory evidence. Although I've seen it used a lot in casual contexts, delusions are in fact a clinical term for distorted beliefs. Essentially, delusions exist beyond reason and cannot be logically refuted. Delusions are a hallmark feature of psychosis, involving a resistance to the facts of reality that conflict with one’s beliefs.

There are several reasons that someone might develop a delusion. Obviously these reasons aren't always mutually exclusive, but I think what reason you attribute to Sephiroth's breakdown influences how you understand it.

Certain people are genetically predisposed to delusional thinking. Jenova. Injected in the womb. Supernatural prenatal development. Need I say more?

People come up with distorted ways of explaining the unexplainable. This is the type of thinking that is linked to an inclination for conspiracy theories. Sephiroth was searching for answers about his birth and origins, and with false, piecemeal information, he formed the erroneous conclusion that he was a Cetra. I wouldn't say this is the driving force behind his decision to burn down Nibelheim, but you can see the gateway to vengeance through this avenue.

People have trouble coping with life and preserving their self-esteem, therefore they use delusions to attempt to uphold it. This is the most sympathetic perspective, mainly because it boils Sephiroth down to the misunderstood savant that is mourning the loss of his self-worth. More on this later, since this is the angle I see portrayed most in Crisis Core.

People experience significant life stressors, such as low socioeconomic status, trauma, and drastic life changes that heavily influence how they perceive and understand the world. We could create a whole list of known or presumed "life stressors" in Sephiroth's life, but if we want to highlight a specific one, it would be the discovery of the Jenova Project files. It could be argued that it was deeply traumatizing to him, enough to rock his worldview.

Reasons aside, there are also several different types of delusions classified in the DSM-5. I think Sephiroth shows features of at least two types. You could say Sephiroth experienced a grandiose delusion, or what you might know as a delusion of grandeur. This is defined by the belief that one is extremely powerful or important. Sometimes it even takes on a religious bend, leading to the belief that one is omnipotent or holy. Sephiroth believed he was the last of the Cetra race, one that was more connected to and respectful of the planet compared to humanity. He was "the chosen one to rule this planet," someone exceptional and superior to everyone else.

You could also say that Sephiroth was experiencing a persecutory delusion. This is when someone believes he is "being conspired against, cheated, spied on, followed, poisoned, maliciously maligned, harassed, or obstructed in the pursuit of long-term goals." Sephiroth drew the conclusion that he had a duty to punish humanity for persecuting the ancient Cetra. He believed he had to pursue vengeance for Jenova and for Cetrakind. People with persecutory delusions tend to demonstrate significant anger and violent behavior, which also checks out with Sephiroth's subsequent decision to burn down Nibelheim.

Obviously, both the grandiose and persecutory delusions transform a bit when Sephiroth learns about Jenova's true nature as an extraterrestrial, not a Cetra. But that's a conversation for another time; remember, we're talking about the psychotic episode that became the gateway to Sephiroth's villainy. So, let's backtrack a bit and talk about how Crisis Core chose to lean into a sympathetic portrayal of Sephiroth's psychology.

Self-Concept

We still know very little about Sephiroth’s childhood and upbringing (although it looks like Ever Crisis may change that?), aside from several key facts. We know that he was born an experiment, having been injected with Jenova cells in the womb. We know he was essentially raised by Shinra and did not get to experience a normal childhood. He was known to be a prodigious fighter and was the reason that the SOLDIER program was created. As a teenager, he fought in the Wutai War and gained his status as a war hero.

This is all to say that though Sephiroth knew little of his childhood, he knew one thing for certain. He was a very good fighter, and a hero to Shinra. Sephiroth’s established self-concept revolves around this fact. He was likely praised and lauded for his wartime achievements, and even before then, we can presume that Shinra scientists noted him to be an exceptional fighter. He was the epitome of prestige and strength.

Let’s contrast that with the information he gains right before the Nibelheim Incident. When Sephiroth sees the monsters at the reactor and begins to question his connection to them, he began to mull over his identity and existence. Sephiroth knew he was unusual and exceptional even as a child, and he said so himself that he doesn't know what it was like to have parents or a hometown to speak of. Genesis then reinforces what Sephiroth feared, that he is a monster and a product of experimentation. He was told he was subhuman, repulsive, an abomination.

Sephiroth’s self-concept started as that of a prodigy, someone who is an extremely capable fighter. After the war in Wutai, he was labeled a war hero. Once he was led to believe that he was a monster, this shatters his worldview. He went from seeing himself as a prominent hero to seeing himself as subhuman. This is further driven by the fact that Sephiroth had already lacked answers about his origins and craved a sense of home, of parental warmth and connection. Because of this gap in his history, the premise that he was no more than a monster was eerily plausible. With his self-concept dramatically rocked, he was left starving for answers to what he is. This is what led him down the rabbit hole, seeking an explanation that would either tell him that he was not a monster, or that his initial self-concept can still be upheld somehow.

And thus, Sephiroth was in a vulnerable place where a grandiose or persecutory delusion can uphold his self-esteem and self-concept. If Jenova is truly the last of an ancient race, then Sephiroth is exceptional, not an abomination. If the Cetra had powers that humans didn't have, then Sephiroth was powerful, not just a monster. The delusion takes hold because it is something Sephiroth needed in order to preserve his worldview, his belief that he is special and important.

This is how Crisis Core gets you to sympathize with Sephiroth. He's painted as a lonely savant that lacked a home and a family, and so when he was told he was a monster, his self-concept was shattered and radically warped. In order for him to protect it, he needed to come up with a delusion that would uphold his understanding of the world. Sound familiar? I don't think it's a coincidence that Sephiroth's psychology here sounds parallel to Cloud's, especially since I've considered delusional disorder for them both.

It'll be a while before I gather enough thoughts to move onto how Sephiroth progressed from this state to his post-Lifestream-dip, Meteor-summoning, god-seeking self. But for now, I think this helps paint a picture of how I've been trying to conceptualize him.

[desertfangs]

Vamptember - Day 4 - "And why were such things made in the world?"

Lestat & Daniel - Night Island Era - 1201 words

Lestat sat in the library—well, he assumed it was a library. Why this place had so many parlors and sitting rooms was confounding, but then he never did understand Armand. He’d built this house at the edge of the ocean, on an island designed for mortals that operated all night. Oh, of course the idea was magnificent! Lestat couldn’t deny that. 

But the house itself was a thing of madness, a mansion built for two, him and his then-mortal lover,  and yet there were a seemingly endless number of rooms, as if Armand thought perhaps the way to keep someone near was to keep them from ever finding an exit. 

The massive Villa had been relatively quiet tonight. Not empty, no, it was rarely that, but quiet enough that Lestat decided to wander from the room he’d commandeered as an office and stretch his legs. On his way to this library, he’d walked past another parlor where Marius sat on a sofa watching a black and white film, Pandora stiffly sitting in the chair next to him. Lestat had hurried past so as not to disturb them. And he sensed others in the house, though he didn’t think Louis was among them.

He’d found this little nook of a room in a corner, smaller than some of the others and lined with bookshelves. He opened the window wide to let in the ocean breeze and then grabbed a stack of books at random, setting them the elegant oak side table next to the plush red chair where he planted himself and began to flip through the books idly. 

Now here he sat, holding a book and wondering why he wasn’t out on the island causing trouble. Or on the mainland, basking in the neon lights that glowed against the white stucco that was so popular here in Miami. But when he thought of stepping out the front door—assuming he could find the damn thing—he felt a strange sense of disquiet. A discomfort that bled from his bones. 

Someone appeared in the doorway and he glanced up, surprised to see Daniel. Daniel was a handsome young man, now immortal by Armand’s hand. Tall and narrow-framed with ashen blond hair and stunning eyes that held a scholar’s curiosity. He wore jeans and a t-shirt for the band “Tears for Fears.” Lestat had seen the band on MTV, their videos playing alongside his own. 

Daniel seemed vaguely surprised to see Lestat in this room, though whether it was due to his choice of room or because he was out at all, he didn’t know.

“Do not add, ‘and why were such things made in the world?’” Daniel said.

Lestat frowned at him. 

Daniel laughed. “The book. Meditations. Marcus Aurelius.” He gestured to the book in Lestat’s hand. 

Lestat smiled at him. “Have you read every book in this room?” 

Daniel laughed again and sat down in the other plush red chair, bringing his ankle up to his knee in a casual way. “No. To tell you the truth, I’m not sure where most of these came from.” 

Lestat liked Daniel. He had an easy manner about him. He was a little distractible, still new enough in the blood that everything was a spectacle, but he enjoyed listening to others talk, eager to soak up every bit of knowledge from those around him. Lestat could see why this boy and his curiosity had captured Armand’s attention. 

“I remember that line because Armand and I read it together in this class we took, and it was sort of ironic, given that Armand is always asking why everything exists, you know?” He ran his fingers through his soft hair. 

Lestat knew that line, too, because it had been shouted at him once by a furious Claudia, her eyes full of a rage no small child should feel. She’d quoted it at him to mock him for telling her not to question things, in part because Louis had been reading the book aloud a few nights before. 

The memory slammed into him suddenly and he could picture it with perfect clarify. The gas lamps flickering shadows on the wallpaper, the balmy night air. Claudia’s curls bouncing as she raged and demanded he answer her questions. Louis lurking in the hall, not daring to cross the threshold into the room, and not trying to stop her, to calm her. Not trying to help him. 

But Lestat hadn’t done much to help the situation, either. He could have given her something. Told her some of what he knew, of his past. He’d been so determined to hold those cards close to his chest and certainly that had been a mistake. Would it have a made difference in the end? 

“Deep thoughts?” Daniel asked. 

Lestat forced a smile. “Are there any other kind?” 

Daniel laughed. “I’d say so.” He stood and looked out the open window, though at what or why, Lestat wasn’t sure. And then he sat back down, leg crossed, ankle up on his kee. “I guess we know now, huh?” 

“Know?” Lestat wasn’t following whatever track Daniel was on.

“Why things such as us were made. Or at least how. Amel, Akasha…” 

Lestat winced at the name. It was an involuntary response and he hoped Daniel didn’t notice, but it was immediately obvious he had. Daniel winced himself.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to…” Daniel trailed off and studied the bookshelf beside him. “I know it was hard for you.” 

Lestat felt a strange pang in his chest. Hard, yes, it had been. He had loved her, hadn’t he? She was misguided and had to be stopped. But maybe if things had happened another way, she might have been saved. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, not even Louis, but he often laid awake before sunrise imagining how he might have done things differently. For Claudia. For Akasha. For all of them who’d gone. 

Not that he regretted the band or the book. Or even the violin. She would have awoken sooner or later. It was their time together he turned over and over in his mind every morning before the sun took him, trying to find a place he might have shifted course. 

Daniel tapped his fingers against the arm of the chair. Then he jumped to his feet. “Have you seen the record store?” 

Lestat looked at him curiously. “Which one?” 

“The one over at the plaza here on the island. It’s well curated. They always have the best stuff. Come on, I’ll show you.” 

Lestat hesitated. He hadn’t planned to leave the Villa the tonight. But Daniel was practically vibrating with excitement and he supposed it might do him good to go for a walk and see this little record store on this island Armand built. And perhaps leaving the walls of this absurd mansion would do him good, after all. 

And maybe if this record store had copies of his album in LP—there had been a limited release—he could even autograph them, up their value. Be the rockstar again for another brief moment. Yes, that was just what he needed. 

He leapt to his feet. “All right. Lead the way.” 

[sucrosette]

★— ⋆｡˚ [05. A (Married) Life with a Kitten]

For Day 22 of Carry on Countdown 23, Music. @carryon-countdown

In which Simon Snow brings his husband home a kitten, who his husband (appropriately) names Ophelia.

Rated T for One (1) instance of the f-bomb (I think).

This is a series of snapshots of different Simon Snows and Baz Pitches in the greater multiverse. You can find the other "lives" here: [Day 3: Alternate Universe][Day 19: Sci-Fi][Day 20: Flowers][Day 21: Begin Again]

⋆｡˚

“Okay,” Simon’s text opens, “Promise not to be mad.”

That’s always a good start. Basil doesn’t bother to text back, only checks the time to make sure Simon would be done with the kids for the day and decides now is a good enough time to call a break for the symphony. He dismisses them with a wave, flashing five twice as he steps away from the podium, already calling his husband. “Promise not to be mad is an ominous way to start a conversation, love.”

“Okay, but you have to promise,” Simon pouts adorably on the other end of the line. Baz can just see those blue eyes glistening up at him and the indignant jut of Simon’s chin when he protests Basil’s objections, and the dramatised sniffling his Simon would do.

He sighs, already defeated, “Love, do I ever stay mad at you long?”

“Well, no…” Simon admits, and Basil can see the little duck he’s doing with his head right then without having to see him at all, “But still! Don’t get mad in the first place for this one.”

Baz paces a circle once, and then he paces it again, just one more time before giving in fully to his defeat. “Alright, I won’t be. Actually mad. But what have you gone and done in the first place?”

“Nothing! Just, well, it wasn’t me who did anything,” Simon starts, and Baz could agree he probably hadn’t actually done anything too offensive himself. “So you know how the school’s gotten a sort of campus cat in the last couple of months?”

“Mhmn,” Baz intones, forcing himself to sit in an empty seat in the concert hall so as to not work himself up excessively or worry his musicians. He visualises the twenty tiny kindergarteners Simon minds throughout the day, running through their faces and various little mops of messy kindergartener hair from the last time he’d seen them. He could just imagine how excited they must be about some sweet campus stray. Knowing Simon, he’s probably set up a cat house in some corner of the playground for it. He doesn’t need to ask about it, he already knows Simon’s done it without even popping by the school.

“So the cat, we’ve been calling her Midnight, is actually a Mama Midnight and she had her litter like seven, eight weeks ago…” Simon trails off for a moment and Baz has to urge him on with another acknowledging noise, a sort of wordless ‘go on then’ before Simon’s barrelling forward again, “So it’s about time that the kittens get homed and I kind of just took the black one before anyone could say anything all her siblings are orange and white they’re gonna get adopted so easily and I already got her a collar and it’s pink with little rhinestones on it and you can’t tell me to send her to someone else, I’ll cry.”

Baz blinks back at the empty space at the end of the hall, taking all this information in stride. He doesn’t dislike animals. He gets on with cats rather well, actually, he’s just never had one of his own. “Alright,” he concedes without argument, “I won’t tell you to send her to someone else.”

“I’m already atta–” Simon pauses with a confounded little ‘uhhh…’ that stretches on into eternity, “Wait, you said yes?”

“I said yes,” Baz confirms, standing to stretch his legs and head back to the symphony, his musicians already starting to test their instruments in the background.

“That was surprisingly easy…”

“I have a condition,” Basil announces, purely for the sake of giving Simon a justification for that uneasiness in his tone. And also purely because he likes fucking with his husband still sometimes.

“Okay…?” Simon sounds even more suspicious of him and Basil has to hide a laugh, pulling the phone away from his ear while to compose himself before continuing.

“I get to name her.”

“Oh,” Simon says dumbly, “But I–”

“Nope,” Baz pops his ‘p’ as he says it, “That’s my condition, take it or leave it.”

⋆｡˚

Baz names her Ophelia. He doesn’t bother to hear any suggestions from Simon, even though Simon had apparently had a long list of names, but when he hears Basil call the little black kitten Ophelia he forgets each and every one of them in an instant.

She ends up being a bit of a priss, dainty on her paws and holding her head high, prancing about like she owns the place only a week and a half into moving in with them. She’s definitely taking after Baz with how he minds the house, each little thing in its little home and not a bit of mess to be found. Not to mention she does the same sort of snubbing Baz does, nose up to the sky when she doesn’t want to hear it or doesn’t get her way. The worst of it is she’s definitely bonding with Basil more than she’s bonding with Simon!

Well, alright, that wasn’t a bad thing, not actually. Something about coming home to find Baz lounging watching the tele or browsing his computer and having the little kitten on his lap napping was entirely too precious. Something about them made him entirely too fond. If it wasn’t that, then they’d be in the kitchen while Baz was cooking, and he’d have his headphones in and the sheet music to the symphony his orchestra is playing and between stirring pasta sauce or sauteing meat and vegetables, his spatula would double as a make-shift conducting baton.

Ophelia loved when Baz would practice his conducting. Not only did she manage to get stray scraps of meat and cheese when Baz was cooking-conducting, but he also was waving around a very entertaining stick for her to try and snatch from him. Nothing was better for entertaining little Ophelia. They’ve gotten her several sticks that were intended for kittens, with bells and feathers and floof in all manner of bright colours, but nothing satisfies the same way Baz’s spatula satisfies.

Perhaps it was the food. Simon could relate.

Simon’s caught them like this no less than four times so far, and she’s not even ten weeks old. 

“You’re spoiling her,” Simon says as he drops his keys in the bowl and slips his shoes off, “I thought I was going to be the one spoiling her, but it’s definitely you.”

“Don’t talk about Princess Ophelia like that to me, Simon,” Basil looks utterly appalled – a farce Simon is well aware of by now.

“I can’t believe you crowned her since the last time I saw you two,” Simon bemoans, flopping himself over on the couch, “When will you crown me, Basilton? When will I have earned the right to be royalty in your eyes?”

Baz walks over with the kitten perched on his arm like she belonged there and Simon pouts at her. “Did you want to be Princess Simon?” Baz’s voice is dripping sarcasm, but Simon only pouts harder.

“Well, what if I did?”

“Simon–” Baz outright chokes on a laugh at the thought and Ophelia looks offended that he shook her perch so abruptly. Baz puts her gently down on the arm of the couch and slides down next to Simon, sprawling the smaller out over his lap. His fingers card soft through Simon’s curls and before he knows it, he’s got Simon curled up like he was the kitten in their household. “Simon, you’re always royalty to me.”

“You’ve never titled me,” Simon prods Baz’s belly gently and Baz hums a soft song back.

“There’s no title in the world worthy of you, love,” Baz says it so sincerely that Simon knows that it must be true, “You’re always first in my heart. Even when you’re jealous of a silly kitten, need I remind you, that you brought home.”

Simon huffs a little, nuzzling his nose against that same spot he’d just poked, laying a soft kiss just there. “I’m not really jealous,” He means it when he says it, “I just wanted some attention.”

“I will always give you the attention you need,” Basil soothes as he brushes Simon’s hair behind his ears, caressing the shell of it gently, “Did you have a rough day?”

“Mhmn,” Simon answers, curling himself up more in Baz’s lap, “Parents…”

The one word bears enough weight to exhaust them both. “Would you like a nap before dinner? Right here on the couch?”

“Will you nap with me?” Simon asks, even as Basil’s already pulling the throw blanket down from where it had been resting at the top of the couch. He’s already sinking down onto the couch with Simon, wrapping himself more thoroughly around his husband, covering them both with that old hand-knit blanket Lady Ruth had given them for their wedding.

“It seems like a good day for a nap, I think.” It’s Baz’s own way of saying ‘of course,’ his own way of making the act of taking care of Simon something for them both.

Simon curls up facing Baz’s chest and Baz takes the edge of the couch, knowing Simon would fall off if he were to switch their positions. Simon’s breathing settles out as soon as Baz starts humming the notes to his symphony, just a quiet thing for Simon to focus on instead of the dreaded parents that he had been thinking about all day long, no doubt.

Princess Ophelia finds her own place curled up at the back of Simon’s knees, purring loudly and comfortably napping with both her dads together on the couch.

[faintingheroine]

“‘I took hold of Linton’s hands, and tried to pull him away; but he shrieked so shockingly that I dared not proceed. At last his cries were choked by a dreadful fit of coughing; blood gushed from his mouth, and he fell on the ground. I ran into the yard, sick with terror; and called for Zillah, as loud as I could. She soon heard me: she was milking the cows in a shed behind the barn, and hurrying from her work, she inquired what there was to do? I hadn’t breath to explain; dragging her in, I looked about for Linton. Earnshaw had come out to examine the mischief he had caused, and he was then conveying the poor thing upstairs. Zillah and I ascended after him; but he stopped me at the top of the steps, and said I shouldn’t go in: I must go home. I exclaimed that he had killed Linton, and I would enter. Joseph locked the door, and declared I should do “no sich stuff”, and asked me whether I were “bahn to be as mad as him.” I stood crying till the housekeeper reappeared. She affirmed he would be better in a bit, but he couldn’t do with that shrieking and din; and she took me, and nearly carried me into the house.”

(Chapter 24) (italics mine)

About the italicized part, I think I saw people thinking Cathy Linton is being overdramatic and spoiled here, but I think it actually makes sense from her point of view: She is a sheltered 17-year-old girl who saw someone coughing up blood for the first time. She also doesn’t know why Hareton is carrying Linton upstairs, we know Hareton regrets his outburst and is caring for Linton but Cathy doesn’t know this. I think her reaction here makes sense.

The reactions the characters give to events in Wuthering Heights are sometimes accused of being overdramatized and caricature-like, but I think a lot of them make sense when you consider the characters’ ages and the context the events happen in.

“‘Ellen, I was ready to tear my hair off my head! I sobbed and wept so that my eyes were almost blind; and the ruffian you have such sympathy with stood opposite: presuming every now and then to bid me “wisht”, and denying that it was his fault; and, finally, frightened by my assertions that I would tell papa, and that he should be put in prison and hanged, he commenced blubbering himself, and hurried out to hide his cowardly agitation. Still, I was not rid of him: when at length they compelled me to depart, and I had got some hundred yards off the premises, he suddenly issued from the shadow of the road-side, and checked Minny and took hold of me.

‘“Miss Catherine, I’m ill grieved,” he began, “but it’s rayther too bad—”

‘I gave him a cut with my whip, thinking perhaps he would murder me. He let go, thundering one of his horrid curses, and I galloped home more than half out of my senses.

‘I didn’t bid you goodnight that evening, and I didn’t go to Wuthering Heights the next: I wished to go exceedingly; but I was strangely excited, and dreaded to hear that Linton was dead, sometimes; and sometimes shuddered at the thought of encountering Hareton. On the third day I took courage: at least, I couldn’t bear longer suspense, and stole off once more. I went at five o’clock, and walked; fancying I might manage to creep into the house, and up to Linton’s room, unobserved. However, the dogs gave notice of my approach. Zillah received me, and saying “the lad was mending nicely”, showed me into a small, tidy, carpeted apartment, where, to my inexpressible joy, I beheld Linton laid on a little sofa, reading one of my books. But he would neither speak to me nor look at me, through a whole hour, Ellen: he has such an unhappy temper. And what quite confounded me, when he did open his mouth, it was to utter the falsehood that I had occasioned the uproar, and Hareton was not to blame!”

(Chapter 24) (italics mine)

The first italicized part shows her privilege and is an obvious parallel to Lintons (her grandparents) thinking that the 13-year-old Heathcliff should be hanged for trespassing and “looking evil”, but I wouldn’t equate them still. Lintons are just racist, Cathy thinks that this 22-year-old man who had just had an angry outburst had effectively caused the death of her cousin. I think her reactions are understandable, though of course bad, in context.

I mean the author is probably satirizing Cathy’s reaction to Hareton in the last two italicized parts, but again, she genuinely thinks that Hareton might have killed Linton and she doesn’t know Hareton as well as Linton does.

[foxgloveprincess]

Made up fic title: I should have known better

I Should Have Known Better

Notes: This is heavily—h e a v i l y—inspired by The Haunted Mansion (movie). I knew I wanted something supernatural when I saw this title and demon didn’t seem quite right, so ghost it was! Hope you enjoy. Thanks for sending this in @autumnrose40 💜

Warnings: Dark(ish)/Soft Dark, Paranormal AU, Ghosts (from the early 1840s, if you’re curious), Haunted House, mentions of Tragedy, Fear, Minimal Editing. Minors do not interact (18+). 

Synopsis:

Some houses are old—incredibly old—full of history and charm. Your job is to evaluate them, plan renovations, decorate for potential buyers. It is not to appease the ghosts that haunt them.

Excerpt:

The first thing you were going to do when you saw Ikaris again was wring his pretty little neck. The nerve of that man. To abandon you in this huge, creepy mansion because Sersi ‘needed him’—yeah, like she needed a sharp stick in the eye.

You clicked your tongue and scuffed your toe along the tile of the kitchen. Old pipes groaned, still upset with your attempt to gauge their ability to run water. A shiver darted down your spine. Did you mention creepy? All the shadows and alcoves, the whispering draft that always found its way to the back of your neck, the spiders.

But this place had good bones. And something Thena always loved—a thrilling tale of intrigue, romance, and tragedy. Of course it was assigned to you, resident romantic on the team.

A groan echoed through the house, higher up, from the second story. Following it, you passed the manual dumbwaiter and the rotten servants’ stairs. Up the grand staircase in the foyer, you climbed toward the strange sound. Only to find a figure stood before a towering portrait, faded by time and concealed by cobwebs.

Brunet hair, stature broad and firm. At your entrance to the parlor, he turned. Blue eyes flashed in the dim light shimmering through the windows.

“For the love of gods, Ikaris,” you bit, stepping forward toward your colleague. His lips quirked in an amused and confounded grin.  “How dare you. This isn’t funny.” Two more steps closer and you stopped. This man wasn’t Ikaris. The resemblance was there, but it wasn’t him. You swallowed, foot treading a step back.

He remained silent, watching your each move.

“I’m sorry,” you said, tilting your head in contrition. “I thought you were someone else.”

In the corner a candle flickered. Your eye drawn to the light, you turned in wonder. Then another lit across the room, and another and another. You followed each, astounded by their ability to spontaneously light. Lips parted in shock, your brain puzzled over it, trying to make sense.

Distracted, you forgot all about the observant man. Until a breeze brushed past your cheek, directing your gaze back to the figure before the portrait.

Beaming. Dazzling. His high collar caught on his chin as he stared at you in delight.

“I knew you’d be back,” he growled, voice deep and harsh yet with a gentleness you didn’t understand. ”I knew you would not leave us forever. That your attempts would be in vain.” In a blink, he stood before you, hands reached out to gently grasp your neck. You swallowed a scream, eyes widening at his proximity and the glint of wildness in his. “My love,” he whispered, reverent, resting his forehead to yours.

“I—” you croaked, shaken to your bones.

The coolness of his skin. The lightness of his touch. The way the cut of his clothes spoke of times long past.

“I’m not who you think I am,” you insisted, wrenching your arms from his grip and stumbling back.

The fire blazed high on the candles, unnatural and frightening. His nostrils flared with ire as he followed after you, refusing to let you retreat. With such passion and madness reflected in his gaze, you did the only thing you could think of and bolted back down the stairs.

A roar shook the house, the sound filled with pain and despair and desperation. Footsteps thundered after you, gaining despite your efforts toward swiftness.

Flying down the stairs, you’re stopped at the landing. Strong hands grasping at your shoulders, a calm voice attempting to soothe you.

“Please,” you begged, “you have to get me out of here.” Your voice pitched high with your panic, unsettled and shaking.  

It hushed you and wrapped you closer and closer in an embrace until the figure blocked all light from your sight. It hummed, low, a pleasure-filled sound that chilled your blood.

“He was right,” the voice murmured, deep and sultry.

Your eyes flashed to the figure holding you. A man, tall and looming. His golden hair and crystal eyes the picture of perfection. But something unhinged in his smile spiked your pulse, pounding through your veins.

“You’ve returned to us,” the blond sighed, glancing behind you.

Footsteps descended the staircase, slow and sure, an omen of your predicament. Trapped in this mansion, just like these spirits.

Send Me a Made Up Fic Title

[selinascatnip]

Pearls for Dickkory and lace for batcat

Already did the Pearls in the last post!

So...

Lace - Trying to make a long time fantasy come true. 

“Selina?” he turned the light on. “What are you doing in my garage?” He was trying to work upstairs when he caught a glimpse of her alluring silhouette on the CCTV. Curious since no car had left the Wayne Estate, and she usually paid him a visit before taking one of his belongings without asking. After a while, she showed no sign of going away, nor coming upstairs. She was moving normally when he saw her on the CCTV, but maybe there was something wrong? 

Heart racing, he raced downstair. 

The car Alfred gave him for his birthday bleeped as the door unlocked, Bruce didn’t lose time, what if she was hurt, what if he didn’t pay attention and she had crawled into his car and was so weak that all she could do to get his attention was pressing a button, what if- 

She was sitting on the passenger's sit, her legs stretched upwards and resting on the dashboard, a bored expression on her face. Not a wound or sign of anything wrong that he could see. 

“Finally, it just took you forever.” 

He opened the door and sat down on the driver’s sit. 

“What is wrong?” 

Selina rose a pretty eyebrow. 

“Why do you think there’s something wrong?” 

“Well-” 

She didn’t wait for an answer, pulling him by the flap of his turtleneck kissing him out of the blue. 

Granted, it wasn’t their first kiss, not even in that week, but still... He did understand that considering that the medium Gothamite was mad a hatter (not confound with The Mad Hatter, not all Gothamites were that mad or that evil), and their social circle tended to deviate to the side of the curve that lead to the Arkham Asylum... His... Selina could try to make sense sometimes, maybe it would help them to fight less, or at least maybe would help him to feel that he was about to have a heart attack in the ripe old age of 28 less often.  

They should talk about that. 

That and if she was his girlfriend now they were sleeping together, but he’d bet his entire inheritance that such conversation would cause a fight and maybe a real heart attack. 

So maybe not. 

He tried to pull her to his lap, but she pulled away and tried to drag him down with her with one hand while the other fumbled around her own sit. 

“’Lina, what you’re doing?” 

“How do I get this thing to go lower?” 

“Let me,” She smiled pleased and laced her arms around his neck, forcing him to lean against her face as her backrest slid down until it hit the back sit. 

“Oh,” she pouted, “you are too big now.” 

Indeed, if she expected him to fit over her, the laws of physics had something so say against it. 

“Why did you get so damn big?!” 

She hit his shoulder angrily and Bruce returned to his sit, his back cracking with relief. 

“Are you really mad about it? I thought you liked how big I got,” she usually praised him about it when he was using his new advantageous size to pin her down and fuck her against a rooftop, or pull her up and fuck her against the shelves of his library, or... Well, she liked it, mostly, it seems. 

“But you don’t fit.” 

“We could go upstairs...” 

“Don’t wanna go upstairs, tsc,” she was really upset. Bruce frowned. 

“Selina...” 

She sighed. 

“Do you remember that day, just after you got this stupid car, not long before you dropped the Billionaire Brat bullshit?” 

“Yes, I do recall, but I don’t unders-” 

“You never understand, Bruce.” 

“You can try explain.” 

“I’m trying! It’s just...” 

She blushed. 

Well, that wasn’t a sight one see everyday. Bruce bit his lips so she wouldn’t see him holding a smile and flee, and this time, when he tried to pull her to his lap, she complied. 

Bruce kissed her forehead, and her nose, and her lips, his hands gently kneading her backside. 

“Hey, you know you can tell me anything...” 

She scoffed. 

“It’s silly, you will laugh.” 

“I’d never laugh of you.” 

She leaned forward and giggle against his chest. 

“Too bad, I love laughing of you.” 

He snorted and took one hand to her hair, it was so long now. 

“Oh, I know.” 

“You didn’t kiss me.” 

“Love, I just did,” and he pointed that out by kissing her again, pulling her pouty bottom lip with his teeth before releasing her again. 

“No,” she whined, playing with the curls falling on his forehead, “before, when we were kids. I thought you were about to kiss me, but you didn’t.” 

“Hummm” he made, “I wanted to kiss you. Selina,” Bruce said honestly, “always, you know I have been crazy about you since forever.” 

She rose her gaze to his. 

“Why didn’t you kiss me, then?” 

“Because I had just got you to speak me again,” he bopped her nose and then kept his finger going down her throat, the valley of her breasts, his whole hand skimming under the fabric and cupping one of her mounds, bringing it out and watching in marvel as her dusty pink nibble perked, “and I didn’t want to make you mad or start a fight...” 

“Coward,” she whispered rocking slowly and thrusting her chest to his face, begging without words for him to touch her. 

Bruce looked at her through his eyelashes, his mouth just a few inches from her nipple. 

“What?” 

She giggled again, but her mirth turned into a moan as he buried his face on her chest, breathing her in and sucking the skin of the base of her breast. 

“So,” he blew at the forming hickey to sooth the abused skin, “this is all about that time?” 

“Kind of...” She breathed, and took his hand to her still covered breast, urging him to give it equal treatment. 

“Kind of?” he insisted to her clear annoyance. 

“Yes, it is about that time, I have been fantasying about you ravaging me on that sit since we were ridiculous teens, satisfied?” 

He smiled and rocked upwards against her making her curse under her breath. 

“Both of us are about to be.” 

[senjuushi]

Chassepot Card Info

“Antique Gun”

Soul Gun: Atone with Your Own Cross

Inflicts 1.62x (Max. 2.7x) damage to all enemies, inflicts Taunt on self, and increases own Defense by 10% (10 sec). 

Skill: White-Light Shot

Inflicts 1.62x (Max. 2.7x) damage to a single enemy, and decreases target’s hit rate by 10% (10 sec).

Trait 1: Battlefield Aptitude: FR

When the battlefield is in France, Attack increases by 11% (Max. 20%), and Defense increases by 11% (Max. 20%).

Trait 2: Stand Firm

When HP is less than 50%, Defense increases by 11% (Max. 20%).

. . .

“Be Noble”

Soul Gun: Envy Reflected in the Mirror

Inflicts 3.78x (Max. 5.4x) damage to all enemies, and decreases targets’ Defense by 10% (10 sec).

Skill: Low Lying Aim

Inflicts 1.89x (Max. 2.7x) damage to a single enemy, and decreases target’s Attack by 10% (10 sec). 

Trait 1: Battlefield Aptitude: FR

When the battlefield is in France, Attack increases by 11% (Max. 20%), and Defense increases by 11% (Max. 20%).

Trait 2: Raise Fighting Spirit

Attack increases by 2.2% (Max. 4%) for each enemy defeated. Max. 5 enemies.

. . .

“Nightingale’s Cage”

Soul Gun: Envy Reflected in the Mirror

Inflicts 4.32x (Max. 5.4x) damage to all enemies, and decreases targets’ Defense by 10% (10 sec).

Skill: Low Lying Aim

Inflicts 2.16x (Max. 2.7x) damage to a single enemy, and decreases target’s Attack by 10% (10 sec). 

Trait 1: Battlefield Aptitude: FR

When the battlefield is in France, Attack increases by 11% (Max. 20%), and Defense increases by 11% (Max. 20%).

Trait 2: Raise Fighting Spirit

Attack increases by 2.2% (Max. 4%) for each enemy defeated. Max. 5 enemies.

Commentary

Card Commentary: 

This is a fragment of a distant memory. A prequel to their story in France. In this ordinary life while trapped inside a birdcage, he’s forbidden from even chirping what’s true. And suddenly, he leans out over the balcony in search of freedom. 

(Huh. Just now, what... what was I thinking...?)

Soul Gun Commentary: 

Everyone calls him “that”. Wrong. It’s wrong. I’m right here. Will you take even that away from me? Even if it’s a blood-smeared name, it’s still proof that I am myself. 

. . .

“The Sound of Red Footsteps”

Soul Gun: Atone with Your Own Cross

Inflicts 2.16x (Max. 2.7x) damage to all enemies, inflicts Taunt on self, and increases own Defense by 10% (10 sec). 

Skill: White-Light Shot

Inflicts 2.16x (Max. 2.7x) damage to a single enemy, and decreases target’s hit rate by 10% (10 sec).

Trait 1: Battlefield Aptitude: FR

When the battlefield is in France, Attack increases by 11% (Max. 20%), and Defense increases by 11% (Max. 20%).

Trait 2: Stand Firm

When HP is less than 50%, Defense increases by 11% (Max. 20%).

Commentary

Card Commentary: 

In the dark of the night, the Nightingale Musketeer grieves alone. “If only I had been closer.” “If only I’d been more suspicious.” After these doubts and delusions, unable to trust anyone anymore, a small smile slipped onto his face. 

Soul Gun Commentary: 

The blood soaked into both my name and the stock of my gun, and the fate that both my body and history have to bear, these will surely cause me to sink into madness. If it should end up like that again, I’d sooner use these hands to—

. . .

“Hardworking Kitchen”

Soul Gun: Swirling • Mind

Inflicts 4.8x (Max. 6x) damage to a single enemy.

Skill: I’ll show you how it’s done

Inflicts 2.16x damage to a single enemy, and increases own Defense by 10% (10 sec).

Trait 1: Battlefield Aptitude: FR

When the battlefield is in France, Attack increases by 11% (Max. 20%), and Defense increases by 11% (Max. 20%).

Trait 2: Safety Guarantee

Each time an enemy is defeated, Defense increases by 2.2% (Max. 4%), Max. 5 enemies.

Commentary

Card Commentary: 

For the sake of reconciliation, a Parisian struggles with an unfamiliar task. He’s made aware of the detailed process it takes to create the homemade sweets that are handed over so casually between friends. 

Soul Gun Commentary: 

His showiness confounds me. Sauntering around and flaunting himself, his words never fail to put holes in his character. It’s no joke to have to cooperate with him. ...it’ll just be this once. Just this once, you hear!

. . .

“Azure Memory”

Soul Gun: A Promise to Bring You Peace

Inflicts 4.32x (Max. 5.4x) damage to a single enemy, and increases own Defense by 10% (20 sec).

Skill: White-Light Shot: Elegance

Inflicts 2.4x (Max. 3x) damage to a single enemy.

Trait 1: Blue of Remembrance

When the battlefield is in England/France/Japan/Belgium, Attack increases by 11% (Max. 20%), and Defense increases by 11% (Max. 20%).

Trait 2: Indomitable Will

Defense is increased by 11% (Max. 20%). Remains standing with 1 HP when receiving an attack that would be a knock-out (once per battle).

Commentary

Card Commentary: 

The Noble Musketeers hold a party to express both their hopes for the future and their gratitude for everything up until now. Let’s have a long look back at our memories with Master.

Soul Gun Commentary: 

A tale of what’s passed waits in front of that door. There may have been both joyous moments and painful ones, but let’s open the door together with those we hold dear. What’s for certain is that an unforgettable story awaits you there.

. . .

“Chèvre élégante”

Soul Gun: Chèvre • Stomp

Inflicts 5.6x damage to a single enemy, and stuns the target for 5 sec.

Skill: Demon Goat’s Kick

Inflicts 3.2x damage to a single enemy.

Trait 1: Battlefield Superiority: FR

When the battlefield is in France, Attack increases by 22% (Max. 40%).

Trait 2: Marianne’s Arrow

France Group units’ Critical rate is increased by 11% (Max. 20%).

Commentary

Card Commentary: 

Passing through the mysterious door leads you to a bizarre world brimming with magic. This is like a fairy tale... even wracking his brain for answers, Chassepot is no match for it. 

“A personified gun is a magical existence anyway, right?”

Now, let’s enjoy this fairy tale of the dazzling witch!

Soul Gun Commentary: 

Chèvre, the magic goat. Since ancient times, goats have been a symbol of lust and pleasure.

...why is that me!? I’m nothing like my out-of-control brother! Hey, Master? Don’t you think it’s strange? 

[2n2n]

-im going to insult Kou

rapidfur

This whole exchange gave me BIG hell of mirrors vibes, when Kou is like "oh youve just got a gross and dirty little heart so thats why you dont want to go inside the mirror"... and its like UH YEAAA.... YEAA BUT LIKE NO ALSO.... akdjwkdj.  Especially when you get actual confirmation that his fear is his brother's dead body. I ultimately can't even take it seriously cause its so childish and, genuinely I dont think Kou means much by it... but... I dunno!

gkdfl;g it’s like ohhhhhh KOU, he words things far too capriciously and with far too much confidence, it makes Hanako go “jesus.... okay ....” not... ready for the level of irreverence. In the middle of a situation or subject as serious as what they are up against. Hanako is out here thinking about his beloved little brother’s corpse, and how the entire Hell of Mirrors will turn into an unbridled nightmare if he steps in......................... and then its like Kou is on a different planet. It’s crazy, the different wavelengths they exist on. It’s half Hanako’s fault for how he presents himself TO others and how he guards against severity/preciousness being discussed, BUT I STILL THINK KOU COULD.... BE SLIGHTLY MORE OBSERVANT AND PERCEPTIVE.... just like, from his own... brain..... please, you do walk into this knowing Hanako is a murderer, and now you know enough that it’s a complicated situation, but I swear Hanako’s demeanor of flippancy just works to make Kou (confirmed biggest patsy ever) completely forget everything ever...... if Nene was here I swear she’d be like “.... right.... Hanako-kun.... has a lot of things he might fear..... ): ”

Kou is so like... I can’t take your idiocy so seriously... and I think Hanako doesn’t either, which is WHY he never bothers defending himself or clarifying... he gets no benefit from uh, educating Kou.... he can’t get mad.... whatever, he can stay a misinformed idiot handling things with less honor than they deserve, Hanako has no need for Kou’s honor or respect. (which ig is why it’s so interesting he does snap the one time Kou tries to outright say the murder must have been ‘for a good reason’.... the extent to which you have to majorly fuck up to finally piss off Hanako, lol... he will shrug off so much.... you CAN insult HIM for being ‘afraid of Tsukasa’, but you CANNOT insult TSUKASA by saying he deserved to die... :B)

He feels like the goon in the room whos job it is to say the dumb thing, once Nene’s grown out of that role with what she’s learned. Maybe Nene gives Hanako too much space of respect and boundaries and then Kou’s the opposite with no sense of “hey... maybe thats not in your lane to comment on...”

Don’t Try To Have a Take, I Am Going To Hit You With a Rake

I'm also bothered and wondering if Kou still thinks Tsukasa is fake or not. He's not even talking like he is, so that must have been swept away by now...? But like does he even care? he carried him in his arms!!!! Oh my god, he is so simple-minded it drives me crazy... Kou IS great for his simplicity but it's annoying when AidaIro keep trying to give him moving character arcs. What was the point of him meeting baby tsukasa if hes still going to make the most uncharitable readings of tsukasa and hanakos relationship!?!? Grrr!!! I get his animosity towards Tsukasa can't be wrapped up so quickly, but the lack of any feeling at all is so discouraging. So disrespectful! How is Amane not more mad? Get some self respect, man!!! Maybe set up 1 or 2 boundaries!!!

Kou’s processing of things is often for me a real ‘just show you where he’s at periodically’ thing, admittedly I’m always pretty confounded when we check-in on him. He goes from... completely and utterly doubling down on ‘you’re DEFINITELY fake and NOT real Mitsuba’ to Mitsuba’s face in PP (ouch!) [I mean.... he pads it with ‘but I do want to help you’ but, it’s still... brutal... and he lacks any authority to say that, but boy does he say it]

 to... by the end of that arc, doing a ‘what’s real? idk’ (THEN WHY DID YOU DOUBLE DOWN SO HARD??? you really do just yell whatever comes to you before you critically examine it TT_TT) to Nene, 

^^This scene^^ has my favorite Kou, he’s the most contemplative and ‘pausing for thought’ we’ve seen... if he were like this more often I would not dislike him! This is such a placid and grounding conversation, admitting to uncertainty, conferring with Nene how difficult this is to navigate. He actually knows he’s out of his depth here. FOR ONCE...!

idk how to say this, but I think it’s... cruel, he doesn’t externalize ANY of his confusion TO Mitsuba? Mitsuba only gets him screaming confidently, declaring things, Mitsuba doesn’t even.. know, that you lay awake struggling with this? Mitsuba actually doesn’t even presume Kou is thinking/worrying about him (why would he, he won’t even think to eat lunch with him daily)

 ... he’s so humble!! It’s killing me, you’re supposed to be the good boy, but Mitsuba has made less progress peering into Kou’s psyche than freaking Nene has with goddamn HANAKO. WOOF! I mean, it’s both their fault, because   , they are both stupid,

...but still! 

Wouldn’t that be... helpful, for Mitsuba, who IS THE ONE STRUGGLING WITH HIS IDENTITY AND SELF, to know that even to an outsider, it isn’t so cut and dry, and it’s painful and intimidating to try to confront?

... then  just before the Red House we get Kou interacting with Mitsuba’s mom, a dope scene wherein Kou censors himself while Nene doesn’t, but both get mommy’s approval..... Kou comes out of that mostly just wrestling with ‘death’, and cryptically, despite us (the audience) seeing the contrary (nene and mommy chatting about the ghost Mitsuba as if he was living Mitsuba), Kou ends this all with “ah... he’s really gone” (????????????????????? did you really go this whole time not even processing his death as a point of fact? You’re making Nene’s processing of Hanako being a ghost multiple volumes in look like she was a rocket scientist .......  ig Teru has done a great job keeping him ignorant and unthinking about all these things?)

....... its like every time we check-in with Kou, he’s definitely thought harder to himself and gotten himself in a tizzy and all.... he’ll be at different stages of struggling....... but like. For me, seeing him get ‘this far’ with Mitsuba was like “nice nice ... ok ... come on Kou ....” and then him leaping to ‘this is a fake Tsukasa’ was like,

WHY ARE YOU STARTING AT 0?????????????????? OMG please apply your experiences with Mitsuba, TO Tsukasa.... PLEASE RELATE TO HANAKO’S LOSS NOW THAT YOU UNDERSTAND LOSS?????? You-- JUST AREN’T??? OMG Kou what is the POINT then of you processing Loss and Identity,,, if you’ll use none of that to analyze the Yugi before you. IMAGINE if Hanako was like “lol you don’t interact with Mitsuba because you are afraid of him” it would be like ................................................ SORTOF????? it’s intimidating to interact with confusing things!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! It’s also sad!! It’s HARDDDD!!!! KOU!!!! What IS your relationship with ‘new Mitsuba’? How do you decontextualize your modern relationship from the legacy of your past?  Is it right to, is it wrong to? How do you act different, how do you act the same? What ‘future’ do you have with this person? YOU ALREADY KNOW HOW PAINFUL THIS IS, KOU. 

the authenticity removal due to alteration does not GET to apply to ONLY Tsukasa and be more vague for Mitsuba, for Kou’s convenience!! Questions of Kaii legitimacy and the source of identity are, going to be universal, you can’t pick and choose when to authenticate someone as ‘real’ and when to not based on IF YOU PERSONALLY LIKE THEM OR NOT. *hits him with a rake*

...anyway yeah, like ... seeing Red House not change his disrespectful tone about Tsukasa, is par the course for like.... omg.... you don’t seem to retain much information or apply it to Tsukasa.... I’m excited anyway bc I feel Kou has such a big storm coming when ultimately the narratives of Mitsuba and Tsukasa have overlap (where he can’t reject one and accept the other without collateral).... I feel like his purpose right now is to ... be the guy who needs to learn something .... 

[signalwatch]

Watch Party Watch: Birdemic III - Sea Eagle (2022)

Watched:  02/10/2023

Format:  Amazon Watch Party

Viewing:  First

Director:  James Nguyen

You can't really write about a Birdemic movie as a movie.  You could, I guess.  But what's the point?

A Birdemic film is an experience.  It's there to make you ask an infinite number of questions like: why?  So many "why's?".  So many "what's?".  And "how's?"

Jamie, Steanso and I attended what was one of the very earliest public screenings of the original Birdemic,  It was during a period where I wasn't blogging, so there isn't a record, I guess.  But I do have a record of seeing the sequel.  

That first screening was a profoundly weird experience.  We'll podcast it or something at some point.  But the point is:  Nguyen made the first film completely sincerely as one part sincere romance, one part Hitchcock homage, one part semi-Googled climate catastrophe film.  Nguyen rose to fame during Sundance when he drove to the film festival and drove up and down the main street blasting the sounds of sea gulls out of a mini-van with fake seagulls glued to the outside.  There was a screening in a local bar when curious gawkers finally asked what the hell he was doing.  I'd heard about it, so when the movie was coming to Austin, you bet your ass I went to see it.

It wound up becoming a hipster activity to go and see the movie with Nguyen there for Q&A's.  This went on for a couple of years.  Then, some party gave Nguyen some money to go make a sequel.  This time he indicated he was in on the joke, but I can tell you, from the Q&A - he kind of was not. 

It's been 10 years since that sequel, and I'll be honest - I wondered what James Nguyen was up to.  I have no idea.  But he was not studying up on how one makes a movie.

It's fine.  I watch a healthy number of films, and I'm pretty sure if you have me $30K and said "good luck" you'd get similar, no matter how sincere my efforts.  However, the budget to the sequel is listed at $300K.  

Nguyen did launch an Indiegogo to finance the three-quel, but apparently received about $570.  

This movie picks up some time after the first film, does not acknowledge the second, and lacks Nathalie, who was sort of the fizz in the Topo Chico bottle that was the first movie.  The jump in technology in the ensuing decade should have made shooting something on the cheap far easier, but instead, seems to have given Nguyen all new ways to now know what he's doing.  For the first time, I had to ask:  is this intentional?  But after three minutes of wildly unbalanced shots and I think Dug pointing out he was likely shooting multi-cam via multiple smart phones, the harsh reality of what we were about to see settled in.

You can't really prepare for these movies, because they will find new and exciting ways to confound the viewer while also retaining the insanity of the first two films, which your brain will refuse to hang onto in a meaningful way because dealing with madness is hard.  Both prior films spent a good 1/2 of the movie establishing a romance - no folding it into the A Plot for Nguyen.  But also, we'd receive some environmental awareness messaging to establish the "why?" of the second, thrilling portion of the movie where birds explode into balls of fire after kamikaze dives into hatchbacks.  This movie ups that portion to a full 2/3rds of the runtime, with endless opportunity for our characters (Evan and Kim) to learn all the ways that humans are giving whales and seals cancer.

Evan and Kim are played by two people who I am sure are lovely humans IRL, but may not have received the direction they needed with somewhat limited acting backgrounds.  My assumption is that Nguyen wanted a lot of angles and takes, and if he heard the dialog repeated back to him, good enough. The sun is only up so long, and that's his only lighting source.  Kubrick he is not.

We're still on the "say the dialog exactly as written" tip that gave so much flavor to the first movie, and left every character sounding somewhere between an AI chatbot and Nguyen himself.  If the actors ever knew how to act, walk, or act like normal humans and not NPC's in a 1997 videogame, there's no indication of that here.

Shots exist that are seemingly utterly unmotivated, and they just go on and on. And on.  Driving.  Walking.  Standing there in silence.  Dancing like no one is watching.  Protesting climate change on a weird loop while no one looks on.*

Former Birdemic lead, Rod (played by Alan Bagh) shows up with a new love interest 3/4ths of the way in literally out of nowhere, and he more or less saves the skin of the other actors and the movie.  At this point, he's like "Jesus, another bird attack.  Well, get the hangers."  

Notable is that when Nguyen has an opportunity to say how we could fix the climate crisis, he has an Elon Musk stand-in walk up to the couple (in front of a whale skeleton?) and explain how nanotechnology and space elevators will be what saves us.  which is to say:  (a) Nguyen's messiah is the guy who bought twitter solely to be dickish and spend his time trolling well-meaning dorks and (b) he, himself, has no concept of how to end climate change and did not Google it before writing his script.  

Now, 12 years after the first Birdemic, Nguyen seems to have little to no interest in his female characters.  And he seems perhaps jaded about romance.  But he does still seem to like a good motel room get-away romp.

I can't explain the movie.  I've now watched three of these, and in the world of Tommy Wiseau's, Neil Breens and now countless other auteurs, he still manages to produce a singular type of film.  This one may be smaller and way off balance in the romance/ ecological lecturing/ thriller portion, but that's just one more mystery of the man's oeuvre.  Long may he reign.

*there's no small allegory in that as our actual climate does change and who knows what happens in our seas, the only place you'll find someone passionately discussing this who isn't a small Swedish girl is a Birdemic film where they make it so annoying, you're good with Earth ending

https://ift.tt/CbiKlpH

from The Signal Watch https://ift.tt/uFWnerD

[libidomechanica]

Unseen

A limerick sequence

               1

One unbecoming years, pale grew, it is that makes it bleeding nails; we rubbed    the saints,—I love answerless,    and the city. Into one, methought their education.

               2

At last thou! And thousand are not despise. Was apt to be. I believe a    hand so through a mist: they    did enthral or gall the heathen in the quest. Done forever.

               3

— The joy the conceit of him remain. Believe if they thought she with the    inoculation. Trod    underfoot if any pass before, reduc’d to bring again. ’ Well!

               4

So brimmed with any body in the painted Fragments lie! Now, that lucent    wavering look on her    Faults, if Belles had recently so, as Socratic royalty.

               5

Fans clap, Silks russle, and flood and what’s uppermost of new or hoard of stone.    But ev’ry life melts with    poets through the last so history, which the same—it wearies out.

               6

The injuries were the carved lady’s eyeballs pure and the Powder from Day’s    detested Day, which eyes    with man the shirtless Jeanie’s heart free, as they are rags or dust.

               7

So short can never can comparison had wish’ to pay. Saw the groves, yet    inexperience could    never learnt in little ones are fair: to dance with you beauty.

               8

Again, I am one with a nobly place confounded ear; she, who as    yet t is but an    inferior Priest have been knows. Her tongues were no sooner reading.

               9

I do love the best of temper’d him with new stings unfold, waft on the sun;    while the twilight dawned; and    out on death. In the lawful reason where Mahler wrote his face.

               10

Some thought to your Venus! For youth sublime and had been contends, it soothers    maim. And indecision,    oh Thou Jewel utter’d; but of Psyche. Whoever wants an heir.

               11

From that he was what ev’n in Slumber sound my echoing straiten’d for thee,    ’ and kept the Board. I’m a    philosopher of the many-winter’s feelings, or transferr’d.

               12

The thing of all Monarchs of our own score. Bare on its placed accord before    growing Combat, or where    day be deceive the living world my spirit leaps with music.

               13

A dying lovers dare not. And pass’d I blindfold her, and her future strike,    and keep my drooping eye;    but love me from out and shaven hear who should disturb their boots.

               14

First time how many benedictions new; most true. Bright movement was clear, our    Gipsy-Scholar of the    man. Elephant unite, transform’d a vast Buckle for her sects?

               15

Before me, that’s enough thee, that shall be kept its produces—You. And, that    word of Self, that know the    ship from each contended wide, and seem to kissing his wife weans.

               16

Nothing, and office of his attraction’? But thought our maladies want, save    in verse, which, if not I,    for miles away, it eats the new day comes, adoring crown.

               17

The joy their mother city thick and White array’d; themselves on it, and foolish,    new, seraglio,    wherefore should cost thou? A most encourage passed an older friend?

               18

Your real Griefs, and the lurking at the sun will to end the Peer again? But    ev’ry day lang; he’s peevish    an’ jealous mad, In the wintry tempest, to the bonie Jean.

               19

My plan but I, if but for blood the tree, are not to disfigure out how    to switch #1 with #3. How to be    going to the worse, to put on nature’s darling at her troth?

               20

He mighty wing to feel another. And, asleep: a maid of Dian’s this awkward    the sky. While with her    recklessness, a hand as alabaster pale: would make ye blue.

               21

With fire the crowd above a waterfall. To love, hatred with her side are    his traine. The wink, but still    believe if the swarthy Moors. Dreamed this goodly grown humble kind.

               22

With her glass, twas better still; and bask and whiskers, to dance the porch with, Let    us remember? The    dead from this new native unto gracious act, and all the sky.

               23

Singing of the broken profit thee? Canopy of her days. Held carnival    at will be past that    all in vain. And those throat, before the thraws in my loosening.

               24

But sweepstakes for ever old yet never see through thou couldst no harbour finde    in this occasion, who    think and we should so abide? Nations break of days like to come.

               25

Love distance lies nor equal husbands, I do claim men’s pride I boast: wretched    Maid! Some life may be my    dwelling Bag he renders vain the scream. And blood and gibe the same.

               26

Her aid, how men through they had before a feat to-day. Her lived again to    state: since they grow; the Gnomes    direct, to ev’ry Pow’r all the musk-bull browses; he had been?

               27

Felt with fainting Fears, soft Sorrow. And not lie alone is done, we dropt, and    pass our long having tact    and thus set at last I spoke. More endears, and he beats his taste.

               28

It is a very clear for my pains to fair and Innocently so, as    soon their passing breast, a    great expects your true delight in the lass o’ Ballochmyle.

               29

The resides. The more esteem’d to set a glazed with sidelong glances apart    i carry your beauty’s    patterned in its girth; but even the maxim for mankind!

               30

I never told me of the fair Head, and tears, instead of a bell, and spiral-    talk. Her title was    a Catholic, and I lov’d at such as we walk in and flip-flops.

               31

Shall outlive it—lower yet—be happy? That Jury-men may slip from cages    pull the Prize not, madam:    by your face was glad i’m happy skies, breadth, nor fail in it.

               32

Were ever on their own mind, when to Mire. I copy or my draught would    excuse: sweet thou mad’st me    leave this voice, we repair; the boy’s mite, ’ and, like the wretched make.

               33

That is goodly and a flatter I the day, I feel her slave, and in her    head with her Hand is sunk    below the just clear the hearts command, the brake. And Love deny’d.

               34

Gude faith! My heavenward and sip without discrimination, I can’t without    a smooth Iv’ry Neck.    Waking not fulfil your winged horses over the clematis.

               35

Rage, rage against the dying love’s day. Sweet the Warders with her glossy raven    black, brown, or Pooh! And    each field, and a light hide those bright, can lay an Europe’s sight?

               36

Saw the stands upon misprision grow cold.—But, artists! A Love Supreme. He    does not with the ground, as    we prayer, as doth Love speak? He always rattles, remember?

               37

I am. Well as verse—I wish it any less photorealistic? Leave    her weakness in another    doth me tie are humbler Province is the fronting them twa.

               38

Ah, Psyche tender lover pants upon a Matadores, but oh, thought    she slept their ambition.    The pleasant fruits of joy to day and an eyelash dead or sleep.

               39

From hence it any less photorealistic? But grim to shine; and strange in    the eye of salmon sing    is soul was round and root, and, which is not more its vanity.

               40

I hear smells, I see there in wild race. Where Light hover, an old hostel, called    the white rose up, and features,    that the dark hours, with each vulgar fraction’? There is in them.

               41

His beard, and the plank, and from the scream. While great court-Galen poised him, and feasted    with Ida’s at time    we shall reasons as they sang to weak. In brighter shine as well!

               42

And the thin hairs of words. But though on the rose up, and barb’rous Pride: with too    much with such the Mortals    bend the sunflower as he the moon was gone, and said she cccome?

               43

’ My Phillis, will flourish with the brightly taut in the soul! While the hollow    shows: the colours flings, colours    and all the World the knack? Airs have to wait for you to come.

               44

Or—what is with you better yet to fret the fine Edge of mine in his glad    Wings, a thing to like, thou    grand legitimate Alexander! But certes it conceal’d.

               45

Love too long, leapt up, and he can kill! In the purple fritillaries the    snow careful Plumes displays,    possession. When we passe, most humbly own—’tis decorum.

               46

While the ones whose ridge the wood where I go; long hair. It being Love, ’ why not    said she if you’re lovely,    and Halberds in grosser Air below, if the moon—cold weighty.

               47

That early June, where she then presume the aforesaid Baba just clearing    at her frightening, plumed    by Longinus or the imperial present for the gout?

               48

Not the genial art, and kye, and lost hath got blue devilish malignant witch!    Twas certainly ran many    risks, yet in bud and breath in the chill of being not you?

               49

I mean to abuse of his Cheapside; at length I find, happy title was    apt to blame it. Somewhere    it before me; carelessly array’d; with boys, or her return!

               50

And blessing; is convinced that which yet join not scent to a tree. Superbly,    and cut through that single    cord, but still shall view in cloudless Sky. Saying, I have at all.

               51

—And lips as without my song: in brief agony what shall have we known to    my horse, a horse fallen:    her side hortensius. Take, oh, take wi’ naebody; naebody.

               52

But now it is large; their cause they did not mind. But I who like yonder motions,    and some rejoic’d in    such uneasy virtue, All, our Sex resign thy dear concern.

               53

The glowing bosks of Gold. And have need not now; she would breed sweet place costume.    Made when they’re wet with you!    Soft yielding ransackt heart But I who like this modern dinners?

               54

As thy toil reward the lurking those bright against the wing, his Arrow hit;    nay, but an orphan; left    all their Chocolate shall join its brilliant bow. Doth follows light hints.

               55

Her voice comes, the rest, did I look’d this sin there is Spain? To draw the Planets    thro’ the gallows’ need: so    with those white linen hence, there’s bitter breast a thunderbolt.

               56

And gazed upon the night to flit in Air, weighs the Melodious-moving    this new feelings as    sympathy, universal sun. And scorn to add a Furbelo.

               57

For the great comments various Off’rings of his captive’s hours. The zephyr    wanton eyesight poring    over his wonder then, before than a catbird hates and imps.

               58

Which leans something much noise. Let the thought, at settled gravity at work no    more. Now let us roll    all thanks, do pay for this mind assume the breast. Come with Lampoons.

               59

At length my fav’rite Lock; ariel himself shall not do—the pilferer.    She said, this last: one speak.    Snuff they cannot sink his thine eyes, whose that just be right, can love.

               60

With her condition. He did not care: we knelt and happy, for a man who    looked across thy stamp the    fair life of mee, if now there the Sufí; a Road whose great Locke?

               61

The entire world rush’d by black, brown, or far Cathay. And do—I’ll tell no    more and a bird, that thought    too deep judge in haste; yet each a fame, like Gods the Prize is lost!

               62

And third upon her brethren, though the wit, the Sun, their coffin; but Phillis,    has met wi’ the quest. And    fashion it to form no clog against the savior of Remorse.

               63

Though wise men at the ills the truth to trie; beauty shall pass by her garb, or    none of accident. Ladies    stare! Became masculine in her Eyes half dissolv’d in Light.

               64

Jenny her side. So Julia once lived so that in guys it gently peruse!    The Gnome, in burning sleep    who have a mutual kiss drop down by the Indian mine!

               65

Those hills of that cookery rather lends. Love make a frame inversely clung    to its wound, fly; see the    Lock a though the year’s principle of their farthing candlelight.

               66

Save that sun thine eyes; my doubt, after long love.—In politician; or—what    is the fatal Engine    on her cheek, passion went: methinks we may have other’s clamour!

               67

And fall he shall forgot. Nor would never been toss’d down the first a nations.    In the affair, not a    man and fair began to gather’d in her Eyes the crime is, there!

[bonesandthebees]

Okay so, chapter 3 of no time confounds me. Wilbur just being in denial while everyone around him already knows there’s no way he won’t get turned. Tommy feels so guilty because he already knows this is what will happen.

Wilbur spends the entire chapter trying to accept that it’s out of his hands. Sure he’ll go with the vampires, it’s not like he has a choice, there is nothing is panicking about it can do for him. Meanwhile, he firmly stays on his “Tommy didn’t mean to and is clearly going through it” agenda. So he can’t be mad, and he’s not, but eventually he gets tired of not having a choice. Especially if it’s such an important one. He doesn’t like the situation. He doesn’t like either option, but he still wants the choice. Still wants to have what little control he can still get.

You’ve shown us how much Tommy cares about Wilbur’s life and how guilty he feels about the entire thing. At this point I think that being turned by a vampire means staying in there coven, so this can’t be solved by just handing Tubbo over. So Tommy spends most of this time thinking Schlatt is just gonna demand to turn Wilbur and then Wilbur is stuck there. Which would be bad, but Wilbur dying would be worse for Tommy. Because he’ll spend eternity feeling guilty for getting him killed.

The Dual of Blood is such a cool concept. It’s a nice solution. Though they are forgetting about one thing. They say Schlatt will do it for bragging rights alone. But that also means he has to be sure that he can win. If he knows that Phil is older, which I’m assuming he does, he also knows the chance of him winning is low. Unless they are trying to trick him by taking something he doesn’t know the specifics of. At the same time he’d know Wilnur would try to go for Phil’s coven. He can’t win,

The thing is, as Tubbo said, Schlatt is petty. He’s reckless, but he’s not stupid. Also, his beef is with Tommy, who stole his claim. He wouldn’t dual Phil for that, especially knowing he’d lose. He would want to dual Tommy. Cuz 200+ year vs 52 are just way better odds. No one would like that, but if they don’t have other options, Wilnur would still take it. Which either ends with him having to try and stay awake to change the outcome or having to hope that the bond he already has with Tommy is somehow strong enough.

It’s a really nice set-up where they make a plan and except it to go their way, and then Schlatt pulls the rug from under them. And we get some actual tension.

Also, I’m really curious about Niki and Jack’s backstory. And the rest of Schlatt’s coven members. But I’ll have to wait and see in chapter 4. Also, I knew you really want to finish this before your midnight, but please don’t overexert yourself (is that the correct word? Who knows, definitely not my.)

-🌲

answering this so late hahahahaha oops

chapter 3 is wilbur trying so damn hard not to lose his mind because his entire life has been flipped on its head in the span of, like, 12 hours. mans is going through it so he's gotta live in denial for a bit to let everything settle in

yeah tommy is such an interesting character in no time because he's so childish and selfish about his relationships in a lot of ways, but he's also not at the same time. he knows that he shouldn't have gotten wilbur so involved in things and now it's his fault he's caught up in this mess, but at the same time tommy himself was so damn lonely that year without his coven that he couldn't help but get attached to wilbur. the last thing he wants is for wilbur to die because of him, but he also knows that an eternity (or at least, like, half a century) in the coven of someone neither of them like would also be a horrible fate for him to endure

:)

I don't really end up going into anyone else's backstory simply because this fic was not meant to be as long as it was and i just wanted to finish it lmao. maybe I'll come up with backstories for some of the other characters, but my main focus was just sbi for the most part.

also i did not end up finishing by halloween rip but hey it's done now!

[trensu]

Jon's Creeping Terror Fun Fact Corner!

You know how Cecil has his Fun Fact Science Corner segment on his radio show? Well, Jon has his own show produced by The Magnus Studio. It's an educational kids show all about the Entities of Fear!! It's a very specific kind of kids show. You know the ones. Those kids shows that children are absolutely mad for but any adult in their vicinity is left deeply unsettled by them? Yep. On the surface, the show seems fine but if any adult dwells on the content for more than five minutes, they are left feeling very very unnerved, especially since the host, one Jonathan Sims, seems more than a little unhinged half the time.

The show is so popular it gets almost 15 whole episodes! (It gets cancelled at 14 bc at that point it had received far too many retrospective complaints from parents to continue any further). Sometimes, the episodes even have special guests!! Although it got cancelled, you can obviously still find it on the internet if you know where to look. There's even compilations of all the show's best Unhinged moments.

--

The Vast Episode

Jon: Today's episode is about the Vast! And to tell us more about it we have Simon Fairchild visiting us. Kids, if you ever see this man in person, please run very far in the opposite direction.

Simon: Thank you for that warm introduction, Jon. Now children, who here likes ROLLER COASTERS?

Jon: And that's it for our special guest [proceeds to literally kick an old man until he's off screen] Do not trust this man and please be careful when going on roller coasters in the future.

--

The Lonely Episode

Jon, reading from the teleprompter: We have an expert of the Lonely with us, Mr. Peter Lu--what? No!! Why's he here? Get him off my set! What do you mean no? I don't care how much funding he gives the studio!! He tried to take Martin away!

[scene cuts off and starts back up with Martin sitting next to Jon, looking particularly sweet and cuddly in a knitted jumper]

Jon: Here we have m-my Martin, I-I mean my ASSISTANT Martin Blackwood. Say hi to Mr. Blackwood, children.

[Jon is a twitchy mess and cannot even look at Martin's direction. Martin looks flushed]

Martin: Er, yes, h-hello.

Jon: Martin has experience [this is hissed with all the venom he can muster] with the Lonely. He's going to teach us the best way to avoid that evil, conniving bast--

Martin, hastily cuts in: Yes, well! Kids, who do you have in your life that you love? It can be anyone! Your siblings, your pets, your friends! Anyone at all!

[at the edge of the set, just barely visible, Peter can be seen crammed into a cage gleefully guarded by Daisy]

(it's during this episode Jon finds out that he's not allowed to use naughty words on the show. All the stuff with the murder and the skinning and the worms and such is fine! Just no cussing. Jon is befuddled and aghast. This is why Hopworth was not allowed as a guest; he's a very swear-y man)

--

The Corruption Episode

[Jon is seen clutching a jar of ashes throughout the entire episode with absolutely no explanation as to what it is or why it's there]

Jon, gesturing manically: and that's why it's important to see a doctor when you're sick and have an exterminator on speed dial.

[Martin comes onto the scene with a worried look on his face. The screen goes to black for a moment, then reappears with Jon still clutching his jar but looking significantly calmer. He smiles at the camera and it almost looks normal]

Jon: To finish the episode, can you demonstrate the proper handwashing technique we taught you at the start? Be sure to tell your parents what you've learned about infection control and have them show you where the CO2 is kept in your home!

--

The Hunt Episode

Jon, earnestly happy: This is my best friend Daisy! She's going to help us learn about the Hunt. She's one of the bravest people I know.

[Daisy turns away to hide a shy smile before clearing her throat and starting in on a rehearsed lecture. The episode ends with her and Jon making the children repeat the "don't listen to the blood, listen to the quiet" mantra and also "all cops are bastards."]

(Basira, in post production: ...yeah, that's fair.)

--

The Flesh Episode

Parents are horrified when they hear their children singing "you are what you eat, meat is meat!" whenever they play after that episode airs.

(Martin: Just to be clear, we're encouraging cannibalism??

Jon: no! ...maybe? i don't know, Martin, they told me it tested well with the focus group children

Martin: yes, okay, but WHY did you come up with that jingle?

Jon: Don't look at me like that, I'm not crazy, Martin! I wouldn't just eat a person. But, well, if someone asked me to eat them like, after they died, I wouldn't necessarily say no...?

This conversation was recorded and leaked somehow. And that's how Actual Cannibal Jon Sims became a trending meme. He has to do a PR statement confirming that he "has never knowingly eaten a person" and that that was "a completely hypothetical discussion." This convinces as many people as you think it would.)

--

The Stranger Episode

Nikola: I don't much like children. Not enough skin on them to do anything really fun.

Jon: Why are you--how did you even get in?? S-Security! Someone come get her out of--

Nikola: oh, but I have information for the little ones! [she pulls out a basket of high-end skincare products and looks directly into the camera with her featureless face] These are the lotions that are best for Archivist flesh but I'm sure they work for the kiddies as well! You all want to grow up to have lots of beautiful skin don't you? Here, let me show you how to use them! [attempt to lotion Jon]

Jon: [flinches away] Security! O-or Daisy. DAISY!

[growling is heard and we get a flash of a wolfish Daisy body-slamming Nikola to the ground. The rest of the episode has Tim shoving Jon off screen and going on a rant about circuses and how to best explode them. This becomes one of their most popular episode amongst the children]

--

Breekon and Hope show up occasionally in the background of various episodes and become something like an Easter egg for fans of the show.

Anyway, I love the idea of kids adoring socially awkward, neurotic mess of a man Jonathan Sims. Jon is completely confounded by his popularity but also, he's glad of it bc that means the children will be more prepared if they ever encounter any of the Entities (most parents think it's all fiction, except for the ones who've had Encounters with one of the entities; Jon ends up with a sort of underground cult following comprised of survivors of fear encounters)

I blame @lemonisinplay (and Jonny Sims) for the entirety of this post, tbh. She came up with the name and half the stuff here XD

[grey-spark]

When did Aubrey become a delinquent? (spoilers) (Meta)

I need help tumblr so like:

Aubrey starts bullying Basil shortly after Sunny becomes a shut in.

But Kel says she becomes messed up after Hero goes to college.

Hero was locked away in his room when Sunny became a shut in, let alone a college student. So like when does she joined a gang and why?

Based on OMOCATs comic it looks like she became a troublemaker fairly early on. I’m guessing this Green Jacket phase is when she became mad at Basil. And this is followed by a “Yellow Jacket” phase as pictured with Kim, where she seems mostly normal still.

Her father had to have left the picture by that point since he would never allow her to dye her hair pink. And the church goers say her downward spiral started when the dad left. So like I’m confounded. 

This is the best timeline I can put together:

Mari died in October and Aubrey’s birthday is May 23rd, so she’d sadly still be 12 during the start of her delinquency. It also means she hasn’t been 16 for long at the time of the game. So here is my best guess:

Her father left about a year before the start of the game, ending the “Yellow Jacket” phase, and cementing her transformation from simple bully to outright gang leader. It’d also be around the same time Hero leaves for college at 18.

However this still doesn’t explain how she dyes her hair while the father is still around. It would be a massive coincidence, that Mari dies around the exact same time the father leaves. I think what's much more likely is that her father is still around when she dyes her hair and she just doesn't care anymore.  

The truth is that Aubrey has been “all messed up” for quite sometime, Its just that Kel didn’t notice until she entered her final phase.  

[afieldinengland]

what is ur full in-depth analysis of mr king?

oh, there’s so much to say…. i’m utterly obsessed with it, i watched the whole thing open-mouthed in a sort of mad, gleeful awe. this got a little long so it’s under a cut :)

the episode is clearly written from such a place of love for the wicker man (1973), and for folk horror as a whole. taking the schoolroom scene where sergeant howie is confounded by miss rose and her girls, and writing it large…. with the kicker being, of course, that alan is both howie and rose in one, he just doesn’t realise it yet. ceri is brilliant as a sly rowan morrison, with all those little plotting glances and the utter awareness of the seriousness of her task. her particular role of making such a serious allegation is excellent for how it works in the horror, making us immediately suspicious of alan and briefly blinding us to other goings-on. taking folk horror into a modern classroom is genius, completely and utterly— the rituals of the school day, the loss of a teacher’s authority in the face of their students, the poster-paint, the class tadpoles, breaktimes…. the markers of primary education coexisting with corn dollies, sun masks and sickles. it’s everything children of the corn (1985) wishes it could be, in many ways. something i found particularly fantastic was the school’s test for whether the new “mr. king” is eligible to serve as john barleycorn. their fields don’t demand the combination of virginity, power, foolishness and free will seen in the wicker man, nor the willingness to sleep with an anointed member of the village seen in robin redbreast (1970). instead, it’s whether the victim is “as nature intended”, “still sheathed”— a particularly obscene feature that makes the classroom setting all the more disturbing, and one that they must use a particularly insidious game of subterfuge to ascertain. still, though, the test has that warped folk horror quality in that alan “could” have escaped, if only he had known. if howie had slept with willow, if norah had spent the night alone, if alan had been circumcised, they could have escaped their various fates— but these are impossible to control, and thus these tests are even crueller traps than inescapable ones, in many ways. continuing with the wicker man inspiration, if alan is sergeant howie and miss rose, and ceri is rowan morrison, then the headmaster mr. edwards is lord summerisle. more bumbling, certainly, but in the end he leads his children in sacrifice just as his lordship does on may day— and since that blessed day is fast approaching, i’m sure they picked this to air this week on purpose, even if the plot is based around a harvest festival. and winnie the cleaner is willow macgregor— wryly, darkly flirtatious with the obliviously condemned man, seeing him as deliciously virile both for her body and her crops. reece shearsmith mentions on the podcast inside inside no 9 that he wanted to write an episode where a teacher was controlled and blackmailed by a pupil, and i think it certainly works here— there’s a tinge of absolution (1977) to the way ceri and the other children assume authority over their new victim. a particularly captivating part of the episode for me was the combination of new awareness of climate change and the old rituals and rhythms of the earth— the children haven’t been taught much of the science of climate change or hurricanes, they only know the danger of leaving the village, and how a man’s blood must water the fields. they’re disturbed by the newcomer’s talk of the “world ending”, when they have been appeasing it in the bloodiest way for centuries. the children really are fantastic, a believable little cohort all set against alan as he helplessly and haplessly seals his own fate. goodness, it’s brilliant, and peppered with loving references to the mother of folk horror films throughout— from the way the masks are revealed to how mr. edwards holds up his hands in the final seconds before the ritual begins. it’s probably the best thing i’ve seen on television in a long long time

[writeforfandoms]

Happy early birthday, Jen!!

If there’s still space for ficlets, could I request one? I’m thinking hurt/comfort with Ezra, but reader is the one who misstepped and tries to make it up to him. Anywhere on the angsty side but doesn’t have to be intensely serious either. I’m totally open to any other details you have in mind (subject matter, spiciness, etc.)! 🤩💚

Many happy returns! 😘🥰 @fictitious-little-stitious

I had a lot of fun with this one. A little hurt, some misunderstanding, some soul-baring... This was fun. Thank you darling!

Warnings: Some swearing, hurt feelings, misunderstandings, mild angst. But a happy ending. Suggestive themes at the end. 

Ezra x f!reader

Word count: 682

As soon as the words left your lips, you knew you'd made a mistake. The words seemed to echo in the sudden silence, doubly damning when Ezra’s eyes went wide. 

What would a prospector know about this?

Your anger vanished in a heartbeat, replaced by panic as Ezra rose. He didn’t say anything as he walked out of the kitchen, and a moment later you heard the front door slam. You winced. He’d be back, you knew from experience. But he liked to walk his temper off, rather than any of the less pleasant alternatives. 

And you? Well, you’d fucked up but good this time. Really stuck your foot in it.

So you started baking. Partially because that was your go-to stress response, and partially because, well… it wouldn't hurt to have a little bribe ready. 

He wasn't back by the time the cookies were out of the oven. He wasn't back by the time the muffins were done. You were starting to get worried, honestly. 

You'd just put dinner in the oven when the door opened and closed quietly. You took a deep breath, your fingers twisting nervously in the hem of your shirt. 

"Ezra?" You stepped hesitantly into the hall. 

Ezra looked at you, unsmiling. He looked… tired. And it made your heart ache to know you'd had a hand in that. 

"I'm sorry," you told him. "I don't… well, no. I know why I said that. Because I was mad. But that's not an excuse. It was a shitty thing to say and I'm sorry." 

"It was indeed a shitty thing to say." Ezra tipped his head to one side, eyes narrowed a little as he surveyed you. "Is that what you think of me?" 

"No!" You stepped closer to him, trying to get him to see, and froze when he held a hand up. 

"Explain it to me, then," he said, voice hard. This was a man not to be trifled with. The lack of any kind of affectionate nickname stung, but you knew you deserved it. 

"I was mad," you said slowly, frowning a little. The words weren't coming easily, but you struggled through. "I wasn't expressing an opinion, I was… I was taking a verbal pot shot." 

"How do you see me?" The tilt of his chin was all challenge, but there was a hint of vulnerability in his eyes. 

You took a deep, calming breath. This was Ezra you were baring your soul to. Not someone else. Not someone who would use it against you. Just Ezra. 

"You're the man I love," you started softly, unable to hold his gaze. Instead you stared at the center of his chest. It was easier this way. "You're brilliant and talented and traveled, even if you insist it was only for work. You're ruthless when you need to be, but you're always soft with me." You huffed out a slightly-watery laugh. "I know you'll argue this, but you're quite possibly the best thing that ever happened to me." 

For once, Ezra was silent, eyes a little wide, just staring at you. His lips parted and he blinked. Twice. 

"Ez?" You frowned a little at him, concerned. You'd only seen him speechless a couple times. 

"You…" He finally took a step forward, then another. He cupped your cheeks gently, lowering his forehead to yours. His next exhalation was shaky. "Truly, little dove?"

"Yeah." Your laugh was a little shaky but genuine. "That's the truth, I swear to you." 

Ezra kissed you then with a passion bordering on desperation. By the time you parted, you were both out of breath. 

"You continue to astound me," he murmured. "Confound me. Challenge me. Drive me up the damn wall." He huffed. "And I'll be damned if I must be without you." 

"Fortunately, you're stuck with me." You smiled. "I really am sorry, Ez." 

"You know, next time your temper rises, I'm sure we can find a better use for that wicked tongue…" Ezra's smile was slow and filthy. You felt yourself flush in response but you smirked in return. 

"You can try."