#Film Penance

[filmpenance]

The Big Short (2015)

Adam McKay 2h 10m [Day 10, 2024 - "The" Saturday]

"I have a feeling in a few years people are going to be doing what they always do when the economy tanks. They will be blaming immigrants and poor people." - Mark Baum

Adam McKay's style reminds me of the Tarantino maxim that if you need to feed detailed information to the audience, call it out in a splashy way. That technique is used to maximum effect in The Big Short, a comedic take on the 2008 mortgage crisis.

Amongst the "weirdos and outsiders" who saw the crash coming, we spend most of our time with Michael Burry (Christian Bale), Mark Baum (Steve Carrell) and Jared Vennett (Ryan Gosling).

Burry is a numbers obsessive and goes completely against all known strategies to call out the inevitable demise of mortgage backed securities. Baum learns about it through Vennett and each man bets against the market, in the sick hope of the corrupt bond system disintegrating.

Corrupt bond grading system you say? What the hell is that? Using flashy cut away scenes laced with humour we learn about the levers used in financial and political systems that lead to predatory practices in mortgage backed securities.

The film is funny and the performances are solid. The ensemble cast is note perfect and the pacing is great. Recommended...

AND YET...

Let us remember, that these wealthy white men, were not saints. It is a strange story where these captains of capital with enough access to create a financial instrument to bet on a crash can be seen as real "weirdos and outsiders". Let me tell you something that people in finance are unequivocally interested in: making lots of money. If you make them money, there is nothing off-putting about you at all. Even the suggestion of making millions from people being put on the street. What is an outsider after all in this context but a rugged individualist?

They become the centre of the story.

Pair with: The Other Guys, Magic Mike (on my future list is 99 Homes)

TRAILER:

[scumgristle]

[elliot-amy]

posters for the August Underground trilogy

[noxhel]

[friendrat]

The fact that Abel believes humans and vampires are all God's children is such an interesting detail. Like Abel has enough guilt already, but the fact that he doesn't see vampires as soulless beings just seems like it would add additional layers of guilt to him.

[brokehorrorfan]

August Underground's Penance will be released on Blu-ray + DVD on December 12 via Unearthed Films. The 2007 sequel follows 2001’s August Underground and 2003's August Underground’s Mordum, both of which recently hit Blu-ray.

August Underground creator Fred Vogel directs from a script he co-wrote with Cristie Whiles. The pair also star in the found footage exploitation film.

Special features are listed below.

Special features:

Audio commentary with Jerami Cruise, Shelby Vogel, Fred Vogel, and Ultra Violent Magazine's Art Ettinger (new)

Audio commentary by director Fred Vogel

Audio Commentary by Toetag Pictures

Interview with Fred Vogel (new)

Interview with Fred Vogel and Dave Parker (new)

Interview with Jerami Cruise (new)

Interview with Fred Vogel and Zoë Rose Smith (new)

Disemboweled: Behind the Bile Documentary

Disemboweled audio commentary

Deleted & extended scenes

"The Locust" music video by Rue

"The Murderer Is Back" music video by Poppa Pill

Still gallery (new)

Trailers

Penance shows the dark decline of the two nameless killers from the previous August Underground films as they continue to videotape their madness on their path to destruction.

Pre-order August Underground’s Penance.

[flowerandblood]

The Knight & The Judge

[ modern Frollo • Aemond x Esmeralda • female ]

[ warnings: dubcon, sex content, smut, angst, domination and humiliation kink, description of physical and mental disabilities, prejudices against disabled people, aggressive behavior, violence, swearing, trauma, mention of an accident with fatalities ]

[ description: After a car accident, his brother has to deal with the consequences of what happened, and he, as his protector, does not know how to help him. His sister comes up with the idea of hiring someone as his carer who will be able to cheer him up and occupy his mind. It turns out, however, that the girl he hired charmed not only his younger brother. Obsession, self-destructive behavior, verbal and physical aggression, sexual tension, dark, malicious Aemond. ]

Author's note: This story is a request, but I decided to freely use what I liked in the book and Disney film to create a new, disturbing story taking place in modern times. It is intended to be uncomfortable and will contain scenes that are at least morally questionable, in my version "Esmeralda" is not Romanian. This story will also include motifs from Jane Eyre, which was a separate request. My story will also touch on the problems of people with disabilities, so if these are sensitive topics for you, I advise against reading further. You have been warned.

Part 2 − The Sin & The Penance Part 3 − The Doubt & The Delight Epilogue

Main Characters Moodboard Aemond NSFW Alphabet

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

On that day it seemed to him that the whole world had turned against him. His coffee machine had broken down, there was more traffic than usual on the roads, he was sure he would be late for work, and his brother had woken up in a mood worse than always and cried all the way to the centre.

"I don't want to go there. I-I'm scared of some of those kids." He muttered under his breath, swallowing loudly, whooping with tears. He looked at him in the mirror, feeling a squeeze in his throat every morning when he left him there, but saw no other alternative.

He still hadn't recovered mentally after what had happened five years ago and, according to his psychiatrist, he wasn't ready to attend a normal school until he gained more confidence.

He did not want to force him to listen to unpleasant comments, however, he felt uncomfortable himself.

The centre was huge, classes were taught in different groups of matched children, however, there were times when Daeron encountered kids with a spectrum of disabilities other than physical and was simply afraid of them.

He tried to explain it to him, but how was a child supposed to understand these complicated, sometimes even uncontrollable behaviours and screams?

He swallowed hard, leaning the back of his head against the backrest, turning on the right indicator with his hand, driving into the car park of the building where he would leave him for the time he spent at work, during which he studied and had various extra classes with children with problems similar to his.

However, was he to surround himself all his life only with children who had mobility problems, who had no arms or legs, who suffered from paresis or lack of feeling in their limbs?

Every time he thought about it he wanted to cry.

He turned off the engine, staring dully ahead, hearing his mother's screams again in the background of his mind as his father fainted behind the wheel and drove off the road into the other lane – he felt once again that hard crash with the big truck coming from the opposite direction that crushed them.

They were only alive because they were in the back seats at the time, Daeron, however, was not as lucky as he was.

Compared to what happened to his younger brother, the glass that smashed into the left side of his face was nothing.

"Mrs Thomson said you can't spend all day at home doing one-to-one tuition. You have to see other children." He calmly repeated the formula he said whenever such a situation arose, opening his door, heading for the boot of his big black SUV – the car dealership had told him it was the safest and biggest model they had.

He took out the small wheelchair that had been put together and unfolded it, driving it closer, to the back seat where his brother sat, opening it – he looked away, unable to watch his brother's weeping face.

"I'm already late for work. Please. I promise we'll play FIFA' 23 together when we get back. Hm?" He muttered, and Daeron nodded, pale, breathing loudly, using his hands to move slowly towards the wheelchair onto which he shifted the weight of his body, hissing loudly as he lifted his legs onto the special supports.

The bones of his little legs had been simply crushed then – he continued to grow, the rehabilitation was hard and caused him great pain.

He would have preferred it to be him who suffered like this and not an innocent child, but God, who he wasn't sure he still believed in despite the deep faith his mother had always instilled in him, decided otherwise.

He closed the car and moved with him to the main entrance, pushing his wheelchair forward. When they got inside they were greeted by a lady they knew very well, several of his friends waved to Daeron, one of them was paralysed from the waist down, the other was missing one arm.

He swallowed loudly, thinking that his brother had to watch someone else's misfortune every day, himself for sure feeling like a cripple, like someone defective, someone who was a burden, even though he loved him the most in the world.

The cruelty of the situation left him with a clenched throat, so he would usually only throw him a few words to say goodbye, stroke his head and leave, only by the car tightening his fingers on the base of his nose, his healthy eye burning from the moisture that gathered under his eyelids.

As he always did in moments of breakdown, he started the engine, selected the number of his sister phone on the display under his dashboard and, turning on loudspeaker mode, started backing his car as he tried to drive out of the car park and drove ahead towards the national prosecutor's office.

"Hello? Aemond, did something happen?"

He heard Helaena's soft, sleepy voice. He knew she was still doing overtime as a doctor, overworking herself as much as he was and thought that he had woken her up after the night shift.

He felt remorse for not being able to handle it himself, although she always reassured him that she would always help him as best she could.

She got Daeron the best possible physiotherapist so that he was even able to take a few steps in the last month while holding on to his supports, however it still caused him great pain, the doctors said his bones would continue to hurt as long as he grew.

Perpetual undeserved suffering.

"I don't know what to do anymore. He says he is afraid of some of the children, those with intellectual disabilities. I know it's cruel, but fuck, I'd be scared of some of them too. Do they have to see each other in the same building, pass each other in the corridor? Shouldn't they be separated somehow?"

"God, Aemond, they're not animals. After all, they're children too." She said with sadness and resentment – he clenched his eye, sighing impatiently, trying to focus on the road again, tense.

"I know. I know. I really feel for them, but it's bad for his psyche. He recently asked me if he was normal, if he too would start shouting and babbling like them. That sometimes they are aggressive and the carers have to drag them away from him and his friends."

"It's horrible. Maybe he really should go there less often?" She asked sighing quietly, he heard her rise up on the bed with a quiet creak of the mattress.

"And what, he's going to sit at home with some boring old teacher? How will I know that no harm comes to him in my absence?" He asked resignedly, hearing silence on the other side for some time.

"Maybe find someone who won't be very distant in age. Someone who won't just teach him, but play with him and spend time with him. Someone old enough to be responsible for him and at the same time young enough not to feel so distant. Someone joyful." She replied, and he rolled his eyes as he drove into the underground car park of his office building.

"Joyful? I am supposed to pay someone to be joyful?" He sneered, shaking his head, his sister sighed again.

"He needs it, Aemond. We're all tired, and he's a child."

He hung up after a few minutes of further discussion, telling her he had to go, grabbed the case folders he'd just brought in and headed for the underground lift. He pressed the button showing the floor he wanted to move to when a woman's hand stopped the sliding doors, which opened a moment later.

Alys smiled broadly at him as she stepped inside with a confident stride – her high black heels emphasised how slender and long her legs were, her fitted, waist high pencil trousers and black blazer with a beautiful white shirt underneath highlighted both her confidence and her attractiveness.

He remembered the last few times the thrusts of his hips had pushed her into her desk, bent over and helpless, with firm, wide buttocks on which he tightened his fingers as he panted heavily, watching what he was doing to her, rooting into her again and again, thinking with mockery and amusement how easy it was to make a mere whore out of such a proud woman.

"Good morning, Mr Prosecutor." She said softly, contentment and calmness on her face, several of their intense close-ups had clearly left an intense mark in her, not just physical.

She liked the violent and determined ones, he knew that – she hid her age well and apparently decided that this was the last moment in her life when she could reach for what she wanted.

"Good morning, Miss Rivers." He replied calmly, uninterested in her ambiguous look, apparently suggesting that she wouldn't mind if what happened between them was repeated a few more times.

He was all about the sex. He was frustrated in this aspect – his artificial eye, although perfectly colour-matched to the other and the still clearly visible scar from where the glass pierced in, were a source of his complexes and shame.

He knew that no matter how perfect a professional he was, it was his appearance that made the first impression.

In the courtroom he still struggled to be taken seriously so much so that his cold, calculating, ruthless nature began to frighten some – his judgement and questioning was harsh and lacking in compassion.

He knew exactly what he wanted and strove to get it.

He preferred them to fear him rather than pity him.

His superiors quickly appreciated how skilful a lawyer he was and his ability to bring cases to an end and push whoever he needed to, hence he quickly moved to the National Prosecutor's Office, where more responsibilities and more money awaited him, which he could spend on Daeron's rehabilitation.

As he sat over the files he thought hard about what his sister had told him and decided that he would install CCTV in the house and then hire someone on a trial basis to see if it made sense.

He put up an anonymous job ad not wanting anyone to recognise him, described briefly his broad expectations and his rate per hour.

It turned out that dozens of people responded to his ad, just as he suspected attracted by the sum he had quoted, but he didn't know how he was supposed to sort them to choose the ones that seemed best to him. He began to read their answers, figuring that already from them he could deduce what types of personalities they were.

I am interested. My phone number is below.

Reject, he thought, clicking the red button informing the message sender that his offer was not accepted, and began to scroll further.

I am a carer with 10 years of experience. I have already cared for 14-year-old Mike with cerebral palsy, Adam with….

Reject, he clicked again.

He had no intention of making his home a second centre for the disabled.

He felt frustration and rage when he found that most of the messages were similar and just as empty in their tone, nothing convinced him about these people.

He knew Daeron wouldn't want to stay with them, and neither would he.

He stopped at one of the messages that looked completely different and blinked.

Good morning! I saw your ad and thought I would speak up. I'm a student, I'm studying costume design at the Faculty of Fine Arts. I'm looking for a casual job and I really enjoy working with children, I teach dressmaking as part of the teaching section of my university classes. I think that helping your brother with his studies at primary school level would be no problem for me at all, and I would also be happy to come up with different extra-curricular activities with him. Even if you decide not to hire me, I would like to sew your brother a costume of his favourite super hero, without any payment of course. You would just have to give me his measurements. I don't think anything makes kids his age happier!!! My warmest regards and I am sending my email below.

He looked at her message not too sure how he felt, at the same time being impressed, on the other hand feeling the seed of uncertainty and extreme caution characteristic of him when it came to his approach to newly met people.

What if this was a psychological tactic to make him believe her to be innocent and unselfish? To make him subconsciously choose her because she was the only one offering him something for free? If it was just her free promotion?

He chose two people reluctantly, but kept coming back to her message, trying to imagine her, seeing some crazy painting student looking like a hippie.

Maybe this was just what he needed? He thought with regret and sighed heavily, opening a new window in his inbox, writing her a short, brief email to appear at their house in a few days' time.

He was going to interrogate her.

The young man before her immediately made him uneasy – he had the impression that he smelled weed from him even though he had taken a shower, so he must have been smoking like crazy, and he had no intention of letting anyone who might encourage him to use any stimulants look after his brother.

The other girl was very frightened – his questions clearly startled her and made her uncomfortable, it frustrated him that she was barely able to make a sound. He thought she had something to hide, that people who have a clear conscience don't behave this way.

He thought with resignation that all he had left was a mad artist.

He sighed heavily as he heard the bell ring suggesting that someone was standing outside the gate. He walked over to the intercom and opened it, seeing in the small monitor a petite girl with dark, slightly wavy hair tied up in a ponytail.

He thought in disbelief that she was dressed for a job interview in a white turtleneck, dungarees and trainers, a fabric floral back on her back.

What the fuck, he thought, opening her door with a cold, indifferent expression on his face.

"Good afternoon." She said softly, a wide smile on her face. Before she walked in she wiped her shoes on the doormat, which pleased him. When she came inside she wanted to take off her trainers – he looked at her surprised, thinking she must be crazy.

"No, you don't have to. You can stay in your shoes." He said lowly, pointing towards the armchair, indicating to her with his hand the seat on the couch next to him.

She sat down in the seat he showed her, looking boldly straight into his eyes, her cheeks rosy with emotion.

She was clearly a tad nervous after all, he thought, musing for a moment that she had incredibly long, dark eyelashes.

"Do you have experience in working with children?" He asked immediately; she blinked and corrected herself in her seat, as if prepared for the question.

"Only in terms of working with them in sewing workshops." She answered simply, without any further explanation, which pleased him.

She was letting him draw his own conclusions, rather than imposing them on him so as to present herself in the most favourable light.

"My brother has mobility problems. How do you imagine helping him, for example, if he needs to go to the bathroom?"

"I think he's old enough that he can tell me himself what he'll need help with and what he won't, and what he'll feel comfortable for me to help him with and when he'll want me to leave." She said without thinking, shrugging her shoulders as if it was obvious. He squinted, intrigued that she was allowing herself to say unthoughtful things in front of him, as if she wasn't afraid of the consequences they might bring.

"And your studies? How will you have so much time to come here?"

"From what I understand, I would be expected to turn up on Tuesdays and Thursdays from eight in the morning until sixteen. I have practice classes then, the costumes I'm sewing I can bring with me and finish them while he's eating or watching something, maybe he'll even like it and want to practice with me?"

"What will you do if I don't hire you?" He asked dryly and she looked at him surprised, a light smile on her face indicating that his words didn't worry her.

"Then I will continue to work in the café. But my words about the superhero costume stand. Even if I can't work for you, sir, I would like to meet him and give him something. Children can be so brave." She said softly with sincere, bright joy and some kind of pride, as if Daeron was her brother and not his, something in her innocence, something in her attitude endeared him.

He could smell a lie a mile away, she wouldn't be able to pretend so well even if she were an actress.

These reactions were natural, she was saying exactly what she was thinking about.

"I will contact you once I have made my decision." He said indifferently, getting up from his seat and pointing with his hand towards the exit, suggesting that their conversation was over.

She stood up and smiled, undaunted by his behaviour or the length of their conversation. Both of them flinched when Daeron appeared in the living room, pushing the wheels of his wheelchair with a light flick of his hand.

"Good afternoon. Who is this lady?" His younger brother asked him, obvious curiosity on his face. He swallowed loudly and glanced at her – she answered nothing but waved at him vigorously, Daeron smiled shyly and waved her back, embarrassed.

"No one. I needed to talk to her." He replied, opening the door for her. She said a polite goodbye to him and his brother, waving at him once more, Daeron waved her back again, looking at him with questioning eyes as he closed it.

"I like her. She seems fun."

With no other choice, he decided he would give her a chance.

The first day she was to be left alone with Daeron he was all nerves despite the fact that his little brother hadn't seemed this excited to him in many years. He told him about his toys and the cartoons he was going to show her.

"First the lessons. Then two hours to play and free time." He replied dryly, tense, glancing at his watch, thinking with rage that she only had fifteen minutes left, that she was sure to be late or not come and leave him in the lurch when he had already cancelled his presence at the centre's classes.

They both flinched when they heard the bell ring; Daeron said, moving briskly forward in his wheelchair that he wanted to open for her and indeed, after a moment the girl he had hired appeared on the doorstep of their house, smiling and content – her cheeks flushed again, her dark hair loose, pleasantly framing her bright face, on her body only a black top and tracksuit shorts as it was a sunny, warm spring morning.

"Good morning, Daeron, nice to meet you!" She said with fondness and satisfaction in her voice, extending her hand in front of her, which his brother shook confidently. Daeron moved ahead of her, glancing over his shoulder at her.

"Come, I'll show you my room. I'll explain everything to you." He said, rolling his wheelchair up to the door, which was located on the ground floor of their house so that he could move around easily. The girl nodded, pulling her trainers off her feet, saying that she will come to him in a minute.

He took the opportunity to walk up to her, towering over her, and she threw him a quick surprised look.

He thought her eyes seemed even bigger than before, he wasn't sure if they were blue or green, both colours blending into one.

"You are to take care of him. I want you to go through all the material that was prepared for today. Only two hours of free time, no more. Behave responsibly and only call if it's really urgent or if something happens to him." He said matter-of-factly, and she swallowed quietly, nodding quickly, clearly horrified by how close he stood and how cold his voice was.

Good, he thought.

He wanted her to be afraid of the consequences of her actions.

He sat in the office all day terrified, stressed and unsure, trying to focus on the file in front of him, while involuntarily still glancing at his phone, checking to see if she might have called him.

Was everything okay? What if something had happened but she was afraid to call him? Maybe he should go home and test her, see what was going on?

He thought he would go mad if he didn't, so he left work an hour early – Alys threw something at him as he walked past her, probably something about a meeting or an evening out together, but he didn't answer her, heading for the stairs and the underground car park.

He drove forward, trying to calm himself down, thinking about how oversensitive he was, that surely everything was fine.

He pulled up in front of their house hearing music in the distance, wondering if any of the neighbours were having a party outside at this hour.

However, as he pressed the key to the gate and it slowly swung open he saw in disbelief the girl he had hired riding with lightness and grace on roller skates in his driveway to the tune of the Scissor Sisters song Don't Feel Like Dancin. Daeron laughed out loud, spinning beside her in his wheelchair, both of them wearing elbow and knee pads, in addition to his little brother wearing a bike helmet on his head.

What the fuck was that supposed to be?

He got out of the car, furiously slamming the door, his brother wheeled up to him briskly, his companion spinning slowly around them on roller skates – she raised her eyebrows with a smile, seeing the look on his face and waved at him.

"Look how well I dance, brother!" Exclaimed Daeron, spinning the wheels of his wheelchair around his own axis again.

He, however, instead of looking at him grabbed aggressively the arm of his carer who was doing another spin – she nearly fell over because of his tug and caught him abruptly by his jacket in an attempt to catch her balance.

"Ah!"

"What the fuck are you doing? Is this what I pay you for?" He growled and shook her hard. She stared at him with wide-open eyes, her lips slightly parted in accelerated breathing from fear, her face red from exertion, strands of her hair stuck to her cheeks.

"Let me go, sir. I will not speak to you like this." She said warningly, her brow furrowed. He pressed his lips together noticing that something had changed in her gaze, suddenly confident and angry, ready to fight if necessary.

He felt that look in his trousers, he'd never had the urge to slap a woman's ass as hard as hers before.

He glanced at his brother, who was looking at him in horror, only realising after a moment that the song had long since ended and there was a tense, awkward silence around them.

He let go of her arm, seeing with satisfaction that he had left a bruise on her skin in the shape of his fingers – she massaged at the spot, furrowing her brow.

"You're fired. You're irresponsible. Good thing I came back earlier." He said with mockery and fury, walking over to his brother, unbuckling the helmet he wore on his head. Daeron burst into a loud, uncontrollable sob.

"I don't want to. I don't want to, I don't want to go back there, I want to stay with her. It's my fault, I told her I wanted to dance, please, please, please, I want her to stay, I don't want to go back there." He babbled, running his hands over his shoulders in some helpless, childish pleading gesture from which he felt a squeeze in his throat. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, her gaze fixed on his little brother, sad and resigned – she was leaning over, untying the laces of the roller skates that had once belonged to his sister.

"Something could have happened to you. You could have fallen over and hit your head on the ground." He replied coldly, kneeling in front of him, unbuckling his knee pads.

"But I had a helmet on my head. After all, normal boys fall off bikes and stairs and they're fine! Nothing would have happened if I'd bruised myself a bit, I'm not made of glass!" He burst out suddenly with a fury he had never seen in him before, burying his little face in his hands, all red from tears and despair.

"I won't go back there, I won't go there tomorrow, if she doesn't stay, never, never again, I'd rather kill myself!" He whined out loud, falling into another attack of hysteria in recent months – he had trouble catching his breath, his lungs were wheezing all over. He took his face in his hands, but he closed his eyes, not wanting to look at him.

God, why?

"Remember what I told you?" She asked walking up to his brother in just her socks, kneeling beside him, grasping his hand. Daeron immediately fell silent, looking at her with wide eyes.

"That boy who calls you Quasimodo is just mean. You are my Phoebus, you have his beautiful hair, humour and valour. I'll sew us costumes and we'll go to the carnival ball together. His jaw will drop when he sees that you came with your Esmeralda. What do you say?" She asked softly, and he looked at her in disbelief, wondering if that was the reason his little brother didn't want to go there.

That boy who calls you Quasimodo.

He felt a twitch in his throat and swallowed loudly, his brother nodding quickly, drawing in air loudly, his eyes full of hope.

"Promise?" He asked in a trembling voice, and she smiled broadly, sincerely, squeezing his small hand.

"Promise."

They entered their house as his brother calmed down; he told Daeron to go to his room and leave them alone, which his brother eventually did with great reluctance, crying for a while longer, not wanting to say goodbye to her.

As soon as he heard the door close behind him at the end of the corridor he slipped his wallet out of the back pocket of his trousers, took out a few banknotes and threw them on the table in front of her in a careless gesture.

"Get the fuck out of my house." He said coldly, looking her straight in the eye. He saw her lower lip twitch, the pain of humiliation in her gaze, her eyebrows arched in disbelief that such words had left his mouth.

He wasn't paying her to make a circus of herself dancing like some fucking Esmeralda, exposing his brother to danger and injury.

He pressed his lips into a thin line and trembled with rage as she took the money and tossed it in his direction, the banknotes flying scattered around his feet.

"You could dress up as Frollo for the carnival ball, sir. It would suit you." She said drily, turning away tensely – he moved behind her, feeling anger buzzing strongly in his veins at her words.

He grabbed her by the neck with an aggressive flick of his hand and slammed her back against the wall, her voice stuck in her throat in horror, her big, bright eyes open wide in disbelief.

He took a step closer to her, feeling her warm body quiver all over in his grasp, digging his fingertips deeper into her skin, finding with delight that she was obscenely soft.

"Do you have anything else to say?" He asked in a low whisper filled with threat – she shook her head quickly clearly feeling the situation was out of her control, obviously fearing if he was really going to do something to her.

"No, are you sure? I'm listening to you. Tell me something else interesting about me." He said softly, encouragingly, moving even closer to her, the tips of their noses almost touching.

He could finally get a good look at her and he found curiously that he still couldn't tell what colour her eyes were, now slightly reddened from tears of fear.

She shook her head quickly, not making a sound; all he could hear was their quickened, raspy breaths, her hand touched his wrist as if she wanted to make sure he didn't strangle her.

He was somehow delighted by how delicate, long and slender her fingers were, feeling a pleasant pulsing in his trousers at the thought.

"Look at you. So silly. Because you're a silly little girl, aren't you? You would benefit from someone teaching you a lesson. No? Then apologise and I'll let you go and pretend I never met you." He said calmly, her whole body quivering with terror.

"Never." She said quietly, and he felt involuntarily that his lips curved in a dangerous, satisfied grin, his fingers clenching tighter around her neck.

"You're asking for trouble, Esmeralda." He muttered lowly, her nostrils twitching in accelerated breath.

"I will report what you are doing to the police." She said dryly and he smiled even wider, feeling her tremble all over as he leaned over her ear, his nose sinking into her soft, flower-scented hair – he closed his eyes and savoured the experience for a moment before whispering something she froze from.

"I am a prosecutor −"

Her hand clenched tighter on his wrist, a moan of despair escaping her lips, as if what he had said had really shocked her, as if she was only now realising what she had gotten herself into.

"− and I've never lost a case yet." He whispered in her ear, sliding his face lower, to her jaw and then to her neck, pressing his full lips to her skin, leaving wet, hot marks on it. He heard her draw in a loud breath.

"− w-what are you doing, sir? − no −" She whimpered, he felt her lift her arms up in a defensive gesture, trying to pull away from him, but he pressed her against the wall with his body, letting go of her neck, his erection throbbing hard in his trousers, pressing again and again against her stomach.

She felt it, a terrified cry escaped her lips as his lips pressed tightly against her neck – he began to suck painfully hard on her skin, wanting to leave her a crimson reminder of himself.

"− how did you put it? − who do I remind you of? −" He asked tauntingly, running his rough tongue over her red skin, feeling the veins pulsing rapidly under her soft, warm skin.

"− I'm sorry − I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry − please, please let me go −" She mumbled out in despair on the verge of crying, her voice trembling all over in terror, her breathing raspy and uneven, her small hands clenched on the material of his black turtleneck that he wore under his jacket.

He gasped at her words, sliding his mouth lower, repeating the same process, rubbing against her with his hips – his cock was all swollen and hard, pulsing with pleasure, his hands roaming down her back, sliding at last to her buttocks where they clenched.

"− look at you − so you can be polite after all, hm? −" He asked softly, lowering the material of her tracksuit shorts a little, his large hand grasping her plump, firm buttocks and slapping it hard – she clamped her lips together, trying to hold back the whimper that squeezed its way down her throat.

"− that's what I thought − turn around and let's get this over with −" He murmured, soothingly massaging the place that was now pulsing from his slap, grinning as she did so wordlessly, tears of helplessness and fear on her cheeks.

"− please −" She muttered and he sighed softly, sliding the material of her shorts and underwear down, revealing what was underneath – she shuddered and wept quietly as the tips of his fingers ran over her swollen folds, focusing their pressure on her sweet spot hidden between them, digging into her fleshy skin in circular, calm motions.

"− shhh − this way it will be easier for both of us −" He explained in a soft tone of voice, as if he was telling her something obvious, as if it would benefit her in the future and teach her something.

He heard her shy moan full of fear, then another, a tad louder as his fingers sank more firmly into her skin. He licked his lips at the sight of the wetness that began to leak slowly from inside her and slapped his hand with a short, rough movement into the space between her thighs.

"− quiet −" He ordered, and she pressed her lips together, stifling whatever wanted to come out of them. Daeron was far away, locked in his room, but he still preferred him not to hear anything, and he didn't have the time or desire to take her upstairs to his bedroom.

This situation, her bent figure and her lovely buttocks pushed up towards him, suited him completely.

"− good girl − see? − it's not that hard −" He murmured pleased with how obedient she was despite the fear and terror from which her whole body was twitching. The confident movements of his fingers were accompanied by the louder and louder click of her moisture, her cheek pressed against the cold wall where her hands were helplessly trying to find support in this position, her eyes closed as if she just wanted to wait it out.

She opened them when she heard the sound of his zipper being opened – her lips pressed together with difficulty as he guided the fat, swollen head of his throbbing cock against her opening, leaning with his free hand against the wall just above her head, trying to force it between her tight folds with the motion of his hips.

"− wider − that's it, there you go −" He exhaled as she opened her thighs a little more and he spread her wide on his cock, feeling her muscles gave him a wonderful squeeze – he sighed loudly, surprised at how pleasurable the sensation was.

"− fuck −" He hissed out, clamping his hands on her buttocks, spreading them like a ripe fruit; she squirmed in discomfort as he forced her to take him deeper inside her, filling her so much that he felt like he was going to rip her skin apart.

"− barely fits −" He scoffed, moving his hips back and forth with a splat of her moisture dripping down her thighs – he heard her begin to pant along with him as he deliberately rubbed against her lower wall just above her very entrance, teasing the spot inside her from which her whole body was quivering.

"− here? − do you want me to fuck you here, little one? −" He gasped as he stretched her skin enough to fit all of him inside her, rooting into her again and again with increasingly brutal thrusts of his hips, digging his fingertips into her buttocks, looking at the spot where their bodies joined, at her muscles clenching against him greedily in panic, sucking him inside.

"− please −" She cried out, squeezing her eyes shut, her lips parted in disbelief at how pleasurable and terrifying the experience was. He sank his hand into her soft, dark hair and tilted her head back, burying his nose in the hot skin of her cheek, speeding up, stretching her weeping folds with a loud, lewd slaps of his thighs against her buttocks.

"− use full sentences −" He commanded, his other hand from her hip slid down between her thighs – she squirmed helplessly as his fingers sank again into her fleshy skin, sticky from her moisture, teasing her clit with circular, slow motions.

"− here − fuck me here, sir −" She mumbled with difficulty in a voice trembling with exertion, her cheeks all red, the beautiful curls of her dark hair clinging to her sweaty face – he felt with satisfaction that her hips began to respond to his eager thrusts.

"− good girl − that's my good girl −" He breathed out with a quiet groan of pleasure, seeing and feeling her walls squeeze his fat cock at his praise – he licked his lips thinking that Alys had never responded to him the way she did, so frightened and aroused at the same time, relying only on his mercy, his goodwill.

"− you understand that this is necessary, don't you? − that you need to be taught a lesson −" He muttered, feeling that he was losing his temper, thrusting into her so fast that he was barely slipping out of her, slamming into her again and again, his cock throbbing with desire, signalling to him that his peak was coming, her wonderful scent filling his lungs.

"− y-yes − yes, I'm sorry −" She mumbled out –he wasn't sure if she was saying what he wanted to hear or if she really believed it herself for a second, but she clamped her eyelids shut and spread her mouth wide, helpless, girlish, sweet moan of relief burst from her throat as she came, sucking and squeezing his cock, soaking it in her moisture. He sighed in relief when, after a few desperate, deep slaps he spilled inside her, feeling the wave of hot pleasure shake his body.

"− fuck − oh, God, little one −" He muttered, their bodies involuntarily moving for a moment longer, wanting to prolong this surprisingly shocking experience, both of them panting embarrassingly loudly, her body trembling all over – if his arm hadn't been holding her around the waist she would have fallen for sure, her legs completely numb.

He looked down at their joined bodies, his half-hard, throbbing manhood sinking into her again and again, all sticky from his semen and her wetness.

He swallowed loudly, sliding out of her slowly, realising now what he had actually done to her – he heard her quiet hiss of discomfort and sigh of relief, her face flushed from exertion and tears.

"− are you all right? −" He asked in a trembling voice, quickly zipping up his trousers, her shaking hands slipping her underwear and shorts back onto her buttocks.

"− y-yes −" She mumbled in embarrassment, horror and disbelief, not looking at him, in some automatic gesture reaching for her trainers, putting them quickly on her feet.

"Come back on Thursday as we agreed before." He muttered, feeling the rapid pounding of his heart and the panic rising inside him, a complete void in his mind.

What had he done?

"I can assure you that you will never see me again." She whispered in a trembling, broken voice, quickly put her backpack on her back and walked out, slamming the door, leaving him with complete silence, remorse and horror.

He pressed his forehead against the wall, hiding his face in his hands, and burst into tears like a small child.

How could he treat a strange, innocent girl like this?

What if she didn't take her pills, what if she got pregnant?

How could he have been so irresponsible?

What if she really does report it to the police?

I'll destroy her, he thought with a bitter certainty that, after a moment, turned again into terror, regret and shame.

He grabbed his phone quickly and dialled her number, wanting to beg her forgiveness, but she didn't answer. He sat down on the couch and drew in the air loudly, devastated, not recognising himself, realising what kind of man he was.

He laughed desperately, shaking his head, thinking with painful amusement how well she had judged him.

He didn't even have to pretend.

He was like Frollo.

_____

Author's note: Many of you may believe that Quasimodo is the best and most worthy of imitation character, not Phoebus, and this is true when it comes to the book, but I assume that if anything, Daeron at this age has only seen a Disney fairy tale, in which Phoebus is a handsome man with a noble heart. The whole idea of this scene, in which the heroine says that he will be her Phoebus and she will be his Esmeralda, is that Daeron wants to see himself not only as a person with a disability, but as someone handsome, a warrior that a woman could love one day. It's easy to understand how children's minds work and why his works this way, and his "Esmeralda" only wants to help him become the person he wants to be and encourages him not to give up on these dreams and this self-image.

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

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[lurkingshan]

Random QL Grievances: 2024 Edition

For every superlative there must be an equal and opposite grievance. It's just science, the universe demands balance! So let's get into the Festivus spirit and begin the airing of grievances.

Most Infuriating Implosion of a Good Show: Last Twilight

When I think about how much I loved this show for the first 3/4 and how I felt as Mhok and Day watched the sunset on the cliff at the end of episode 9... we really coulda had it all. Justice for Mhok!

Worst Failure to Set Off the Chekhov’s Gun: Dead Friend Forever

Not only did they show me a dropped axe in the penultimate episode that never got picked up and used in the finale, they also didn't let me see Non's biggest betrayers die a bloody death. I had to watch Phee kill New and then get an ambiguously happy ending. Unforgivable!

Most Egregious Blue Balling of the Audience: The On1y One

How dare they build such a beautiful, careful relationship narrative and then just... not finish it. Not only did we not get an end to the story, we didn't even get to see Tian and Wang express their feelings. I will never forgive the creators of this show for playing these games.

Side Pair that Deserved Better: Arun and Tattoo, Jack & Joker

Where is their actual romance, show? WHERE IS IT?! You have a chance to make it right in the coming special and I pray you take it.

Messiest Show Built Around a Great Character: 23.5

The show was an unholy mess, but Ongsa (as performed by Milk) was the nerdy cringefail lesbian of our dreams. She deserved better!

The WHY?! Award for Blowing a Great Show on the Dismount: Unknown

I make this exact face when I think about how close this show came to perfection, and how needless the ending stumbles were when the book version was right there as a guide. What was the reason?!

The Everyone Involved Needs a Timeout Award: Jazz for Two

How did this show get made? I need a detailed explanation of exactly what they thought they were doing with this horrific depiction of a series of abusive relationships framed as romantic.

Worst Letdown for Me Personally: Wandee Goodday 

Will anyone ever make the fuck buddies to lovers BL of my dreams? It definitely hasn't happened yet. I am Plakao just making frustrated faces at everyone throughout this show.

Worst End of an Era: My Strawberry Film

What was the point of this show? What was it trying to say? I watched every single minute and I still have no clue. It gets bonus hate for ending the Drama Shower project on such a bum note.

Silliest Use of Lore: Sunset x Vibes

They teased us with past life dreams and gorgeous seascapes and Naga fantasies and all we got in the end was some ugly ass jewelry.

Noble Idiocy Hall of Shame: Blue Canvas of Youthful Days

I loved this show a lot, so you can imagine my dismay when they did a double noble idiocy + time skip ending. I am still so disappointed.

Petition to Free Ohm Pawat: Kidnap

To go from roles like Pat in Bad Buddy and Phukao in 10 Years Ticket to this... oh how the mighty hath fallen. I know my guy had some scandals but surely this was enough penance to set him free from terrible script purgatory. Right??

[tinycozycomfort]

flowering

pairing: jackson era!joel miller x f!reader

day four of @pascalisbaby and i's joeltober: degradation -> read her day four here

summary: Always itching to be blamed for something, just so he can try and redeem himself; some kind of penance has sunk its teeth into the soft belly of his desire, staking its hold.

warnings/tags: degradation/humiliation kink, sub!joel, name calling (whore) + pet names (sweetheart, honey), misuse of underwear (i know), c*ck grinding, finger sucking, edging

word count: 1.4k

rating: explicit! 18+ only, mdni

a/n: yes this is late. yes i will beg for forgiveness.

main masterlist

“I didn’t even talk to her.”

“That’s exactly right—you did nothing. Just stood there with that stupid look on your face while she tried to touch you. And you let her.”

Joel is panting under the arch of your legs so hard that you have to readjust your body, rocking your hips back to allow his chest more space to swell. His cock catches on the downturn, the wet film of your still-attached underwear enveloping his head. 

You stifle a laugh at the hiss that leaks through his teeth, leaning forward to compensate for the new position—a small mercy—thighs bracketing the knobs of his waistline, seam of your cunt aligned with the underside of his length, hot and slick and what has to be painful for him at this point. 

The lip of cotton around your waist curls with resistance, tugging at where it’s wedged between his stomach and the mash of your joint movements, trapping him inside. 

“I didn’t mean any of it, you know that.” 

“I don’t care if you didn’t mean it, Joel. If you want to act like a whore, I’m going to treat you like one,” you tsk at him, stale, like you can’t believe you have to spell it out for him, “Falling over at the attention of any woman willing to look at you, even when I’m in the same room. You earned this—remember that.”

You careen yourself into a start again, little jostling thrusts that make the material holding you together peel and reattach with a wet slap on each pass. Your clit rubs against the ridge that separates his tip and you moan, light and sweet and selfish, your head thrown over your shoulder. You can hear the sheet stretch to accommodate his fist under you, the uptick of his whining; you beam.

“N-No, fuck, please–” He tries desperately to keep himself still, knowing better than to extend his punishment. He’s been at the edge of something he doesn’t deserve more than a few times over the last hour, the glide of your heat over him and cruel delivery of your words enough to have him on the verge of absent, dizzy with pleasure. 

You almost feel a twinge of guilt until you peer down to find he’s squeezed his eyes shut to remain focused, to keep his release at bay; he likes this, asks for it, he’d much rather be good than come. 

You hold a moment to just take him in—the soft haze of sweat that mists his face, the curl his hair takes in the presence of it, the twinkling sheen around his mouth of everything he couldn’t clean up with his tongue after he'd eaten you through two orgasms. He has the sweetest flush flowering across the flat of his cheeks, every bit as pretty as he insists he’s not, even more so when he finally allows himself to unfurl.   

Joel knows you’re looking, rolls his neck like he can hide—always dipping into a place of embarrassment over your attention. His eyes blink open and beyond his squirming you can see a shimmering glaze—that need that demands a cruel hand. Always itching to be blamed for something, just so he can try and redeem himself; some kind of penance has sunk its teeth into the soft belly of his desire, staking its hold. They fall in tandem now, hand in hand—one can’t exist without the other.

Joel loses his words, mouth floundering open and shut, so you wrap a hand around the line of his jaw to center him, fingers dimpling the skin over his teeth until you can make out the shape of each hard lump.

“No what, honey? Try it again.” 

���I’m sorry. I don’t want to be a whore. Let me make it up to you, please.” A fold of bone in his finger twitches at his side, the dragging motion rippling the bed near your ankle; his tell, he’s close. You are, too, the spool of liquid fire in your core unwinding, sloshing until it licks at your spine. You love to see him like this, so eager to do right by you after an offense he hadn’t even committed.

“So earlier when you said you didn’t do anything wrong, were you lying? Or are you lying now?”

“I was lying before. I was a whore, but I don’t want to be. I want to be good,” he breathes, and that’s what you’ve been waiting for, there’s that declaration—of better, of changing, of promise.

“Of course you do, sweetheart. It was a horrible thing you did, so I can’t just let you fuck me. What good would that do?” You pause the swing of your hips, bending at the waist so you can rub the crest of your nose against his neck, his jaw still gathered in your clutch. 

Trained to answer, he doesn’t hesitate, “Nothing.” 

“Right again,” you tap your longer fingers against his cheek and he preens, taking any reward he can get, “What should we do about this, then?” It’s as much a check-in as it is a threat, trying to gauge just how much more of this almost-there he can take—though you assume he’d toe this line until his body gave out, relishing in the feeling of being afforded repentance. 

“Let me make you come again. Wanna taste you.” Joel’s voice is broken, hoarse, and as much as you want to allow him his atonement, the thick shape of his cock isn’t lost on you, the pulse from within it thrumming devastatingly hard on your clit. You want to feel him, want to be able to have him undo you once he’s accepted his scolding, just as desperate for his prize as he is. 

For him, you see it through, keeping the routine intact—wrong-doing, judgment, penalty, reassurance, compromise, forgiveness, “I can’t just give you what you want, either. ‘M gonna have to make it a long night for you, baby. Think you can take it?” 

He’s nodding before you even finish and you’re grinning again, so enamored with the pile of man beneath you, fierce and hard and soft and delicate, everything he told you he wasn’t sure he could be again. 

“So polite. Come for me, then. This is just the start; gonna wear you out so good you couldn’t whore around even if you wanted to.” 

“I don’t w—”

You shush him, little tuts of your teeth that tell him no, as you maneuver your hand to be able to slide two fingers between his lips, pressing down firmly on his tongue. He moans, curling the smooth muscle between them, face going slack.

Joel sets off immediately, canting his hips up into yours, heaving when he ruts into the strip of fabric encasing you both, the strung-up spots having run cold—no skin to steal warmth from during your lull. 

You can feel yourself bridging the gap to completion but you refrain, wanting to see him apologize for finishing before you—he’ll thank you for it later. 

He thrusts shallow enough to continuously notch against your opening—tight, purposeful dips that bring him right to the cusp.

“Come on, honey. Shouldn’t be that hard for you. You drool for all the other girls, what about me?” 

That’s the last straw, apparently, hard intakes of air popping in his throat like gnarled cries, pieces of voice that sound like thank you, I’m sorry, I love you breaking the gulps between them. He spills everywhere, most of it getting caught in the halo of material still somehow propped on your waist, squelching when it drips back between you. 

You coo at him to guide him through it, an inversion of everything you’ve accused him of, freeing yourself from his mouth to press kisses to the corner of his lips. 

When he comes to, he looks small—sweet—the swath of color in his face running red. “Again,” he whispers, the bend of his mouth letting you know he’s giddy—unwound, “Please, again.”

[celestesinsight]

Kalki 2898AD Release Trailer - Bhairava Character Analysis!

There are many theories circulating about Bhairava's character and its importance in the movie. Here's my two cents regarding this. And to be honest, it isn't entirely my views too. It's what we came up when discussing in the Varadeva Discord Server.

First of all, there's a huge chance that Deepika's baby is red herring and Bhairava is the real Kalki. Ashwathama will realise this at the end of the movie and change his stance.

But my favourite theory is Bhairava being Lord Shiva. When Bhairava called himself the 'living legend in Kashi' in the Bujji & Bhairava series, it kind of stuck with me. Who's more legendary than Lord Shiva in Kashi? And the story goes that Shiva gave Kalki the divine weapon, the all-knowing talking parrot and the white horse. Bhairava have all the three; we saw the weapon in the first promo and Bujji's brain and body are the talking parrot and white horse equivalent. if Bhairava is Shiva, he's actually protecting the baby while pretending to hunt him for the Complex as well as testing Ashwathama's determination for redemption. In Mahabharata, Ashwathama was born after Dronacharya performed several years of severe penance to please Shiva as he wanted a son who possessed the strength and bravery of Shiva. So, it would make sense that Shiva aids him in his journey of redemption.

What if Bhairava is neither Kalki nor Shiva? Then what is his character doing in the movie?

"Despite the endless opportunities spanning over the generations, man fails to redeem himself and he never will."

I think this quote by Kamal Haasan's character, Kali is the key to Bhairava's significance in the movie, if he is not the titular character 'Kalki'.

There are many worlds in Hinduism, but our Puranas predominantly talk about the Swarga (abode of Devas), Prithvi (abode of humans) and Patal (abode of demons). There are also three worlds in the film: Complex, Shambala and Kashi. Unlike Puranas, where there were three races inhabiting the three worlds, in the film, the three worlds are inhabited by the humans only.

The Complex is the place where God is banned. They treat Supreme Yaskin as the God. They have conquered the world and taken all the resources for themselves. In appearance, the Complex gives the illusion of Swarga, but it actually embodies the demonic qualities of Patal.

Shambala is the place where they still believe in God and hope for his return to save them. They fight the Complex and their unjust actions. They are safe haven for anyone who wants to escape the hold of the Complex. In appearance, they are an underground society (Patal), but they are actually the forces of righteousness in the desolate world, fighting on the side of God and thus symbolises Devas of Swarga.

Then there is Kashi, the last surviving city. They are neutral. They are neither the evil conqueror nor the righteous warriors. They are humans who are trying to survive in an unfair world. They are not on anyone's side, but their own side. They represent the humans of Prithvi.

"In this world, there's only one side to be on. Your own side."

Bhairava and the bounty hunters of Kashi are the representation of the man in Kali's quote. They embody the qualities of selfishness, greed, and going to any extent to accomplish their goals, without caring about the consequences of their actions.

To be fair, Bhairava isn't doing anything wrong. He's trying to survive in a world which has lost all hopes. But he's so caught up in this mode of survival that he can't recognise this new hope for a better tomorrow, that Ashwathama and the people of Shambala are seeing in Sumati and her baby. All he sees the 5-star bounty that is his one shot at entering the Complex. He's not realising that he's fighting for the wrong side, that he's fighting to keep the old hierarchies intact that had made this world a hopeless place for him and others like him in the first place. He's helping the people who are the cause of all his problems under the illusion of becoming one of them.

Bhairava represents the man who is given numerous chances by the God, but he's so trapped in the Maya (worldly illusion) that he fails to recognise him and hence, is forever doomed to be trapped in the cycle of suffering.

Will Bhairava recognise the truth before it's too late? Or he will handover Sumati over to the Complex?

Bhairava's action would decide if the world is worth saving or not. If God should keep his promise and take birth to save all the humans? Or he should just let the humans rot in the hell, they have turned the Earth into.

The movie is not just about Ashwathama's redemption, but also the redemption of the mankind, represented by Bhairava.

As Kali said, humans have given numerous opportunities by the God to redeem themselves, but they have failed each time. Like Duryodhana failed when he refused to give even five villages to Pandavas, when Krishna asked, leading to his defeat in the Mahabharata war. Maybe that's why Ashwathama is having flashbacks of Mahabharata when fighting with Bhairava. He is seeing his past self in him. When he went against the Lord himself, blinded by his ambition and loyalty for Duryodhana.

Humanity is given another chance. Kali is sure we will fail this time too. It's up to Bhairava now, if humans fail again or they finally succeed in redeeming themselves this time.

[liquidorcard]

When Lily said to "name 50 villians" who are "sympathetic," that was too easy. But now that we've graduated to Lily's bullshit moving of the goal post . . . Well, being annoying is one of my special interests, so.

Naming 50 villians who, "have a point, successfully navigate still being a villian, and are well written."

(Extra challenge: trying not to repeat any of the ones Crim and Ant have already named. Sorry if I repeat one by accident.)

1. Frank, The Wasp Factory by Ian Banks

2. Brandy Alexander, Invisible Monsters by Chunk Palahniuk

3. AM, I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream by Halan Ellison

4. Willy Loman, Death of a Salesman

5. Shylock, The Merchant of Venace

6. Beloved, Beloved by Toni Morrison

7. The Cenobites, The Hell Bound Heart, Hellraiser (1987), Hellraiser 2, Hellraiser (2022)

8. Starro, The Suicide Squad

9. Can't name this character without spoilers for Invincible, but the character who ends up with their brain in a jar at the end, Invincible (comic)

10. Goff, Peacemaker

11. Rorschach, Watchman (comic)

12. Ozymandias, Watchman (comic)

13. The Comedian, Watchman (comic)

14. Can't name this character again because spoilers, but the last person Hughie fights, The Boys (comic)

15. Mr. Freeze, Batman (comic and animated series)

16. Christiane, Eyes Without a Face

17. Ryu, Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance

18. Dong-jin, Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance

19. Lee Woo-jin, Old Boy (2003)

20. Lee Geum-ja, Lady Vengance

21. Curtis Everett, Snowpiercer (film)

22. The Assassin, Mad God

23. "Su-yeon/Eun-joo", A Tale of Two Sisters

24. "Pyramid Head", Silent Hill 2

25. Alessa, Silent Hill 1

26. Claudia Wolf, Silent Hill 3

27. Lady Hideko, The Handmaiden

28. Jennifer, Jennifer's Body

29. Robert Neville, I Am Legend by Richard Matherson

30. The Machines, The Inevitable Conflict by Isaac Asimov

31. Master, Reason by Isaac Asimov

32. Hanna, Baby Teeth by Zoje Stage

33. The Artist, Mermaid in a Manhole

34. Red Death, The Masque of the Red Death by Edgar Allen Poe

35. Father Paul, Midnight Mass

36. Death, Fall of the House of Usher

37. Death, The Seventh Seal

38. Hell, No Exit

39. Winslow Leach, Phantom of the Paradise

40. May, May

41. Jean Jacket, Nope

42. Hayley, Hard Candy

43. Red, Us

44. Violet Hubbard, Penance by Eliza Clark

45. Charles Kinbote, Pale Fire by Vladimir Nobokov

46. You, House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski

47. Tess Clark, Haunted by Chunk Palahniuk

48. "Oba Yozo", No Longer Human by Osamu Dazai

49. Asami, Audition (Novel and film)

50. Arsriel, His Dark Material by Philip Pullman.

A few of these are malicious compliance-- but Lily made the rules, not me. I made sure to scatter them in the list, so, good luck to her picking them out considering she only watches cartoons, lol.

[filmpenance]

High Spirits (1988)

Neil Jordan 1h 39m [Trashy Tuesdays – Day 6, 2024]

"Madam, for you I missed my wedding for the first time in years, that's how much I want you. Sure, I know I'm a ghost and a murderer but forget about all that." - Martin

Good heavens! High Spirits is not what I would call a good movie. Yet, what it lacks in refinement is more than made up for by campy stupidity.

The plot is something like Beetlejuice meets A Midsummer Night’s Dream; different groups of characters with their own drives and interests set in a “magical” locale.

Peter (Peter O’Toole) and his mum run a hotel out of a dilapidated castle in Ireland. Business is not great - they need a new “hook” to get tourists interested. Cheekily they hit upon the idea of marketing the place as haunted and convince the staff to rig all manner of tricks to frighten the next crop of guests.

The Americans arrive as a series of types:  Jack (Steve Guttenberg) and Sharon (Beverly D’Angelo) are the bickering couple; paranormal investigator Malcolm has brought his family along while he investigates the hotel; Miranda (Jennifer Tilly) is just a single, lonely girl on vacation, and Brother Tony is a just single lonely priest (Peter Gallagher).

Unbeknownst to them all, Castle Plunkett really is haunted by Mary Plunkett (Daryl Hannah) and her betrothed Martin (Liam Neeson), repeating their ghastly wedding night over and over – the night that Martin killed her.

One evening Jack stumbles upon this murder loop and interrupts it, hijinks ensue!   

The production design of the film is lovely. Of note, the castle lobby set is used very successfully to stage many scenes and gives you a real sense of the looming quality of the place without being scary. Bubbly but gray. The costume design is also expertly used to distinguish between the main groups: the locals, the tourists and ghosts[1].

It’s not the kind of film I associate with Neil Jordan who had just done Mona Lisa before this and would go on to release The Crying Game a few years later. At the time of High Spirits release, Siskel & Ebert panned it – no one liked it really.

I thought it was a silly bit of fun.

TRAILER: https://youtu.be/2RIHuK89xEw?si=o0Eu-3L2R-qm2_k_

[1] Daryl Hannah wears a lilac peau-de-soie cape that I am still thinking about.

[summercreolefanfictioner]

the scent wafts in, her name making him beg on his knees chap 2.3

pairing: dabi / todoroki touya x fem!oc / reader (MODERN AU)

chapter summary: the moment Touya delves into trouble, and it involved a certain woman and watching a romance movie with his new friends

themes: non-explicit nsfw, violence, alcoholism, cigarette smoking, toxic relationships, mental health, co-dependency and other related themes (YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED)

notes: wrting a bit about cheating and the lore of toxic relationships on this chap was a pain; and yes, no Himiko Toga's were harmed in this fic

"How did you know about this, Dabi-kun?" Himiko marveled at the sight from the backseat, curious eyes taking note of the parking lot that plays free romance movies every Saturday at 9 PM. One might think it was all cheesy and serving, but Touya knew it was a ploy for couples who wanted to get it on while the movie plays in the background. Basically, a place where you can legally have car sex, and no one would bat an eye.

"I just knew," Touya muttered, reaching behind the back to get some of the snacks they had bought earlier. Twice was somewhere far from the vehicles taking a cig, something about accidentally setting the place on fire if he took a smoke near engines.

Himiko blustered, "You took one of your exes here, I bet." There was a disgusted sound at the end as she rolled her eyes and folded her arms in her chest.

"If you knew the answer, then why bother asking?" Touya pointed out (it wasn't true; as if he would), arranging his rearview mirror to secretly check on the woman. So far, she was taking everything well. She wasn't looking at her phone like the expected paranoid girlfriend who still dates the same guy who cheats on her 24/7.

Himiko turned to the woman. "Hey, I'm Toga Himiko," she introduced, taking her hand in hers and rubbing her cheeks on it. "You're so pretty, do you know that? Does your boyfriend always tell you that?"

"I... Nice to meet you, T-Toga-chan," she meekly responded. "I'm..." she says her name, "Thank you."

Himiko was delighted at the sound of her name, a gasp following after. "You really are sooooo pretty, Sahara-chan!"

"It's..." Touya corrected, pronouncing her name per syllable. "Her name's not the famous desert, you brat."

Himiko only stuck out her tongue at him, ignoring his mocking tone as she focused again on the woman beside her. "Do you also like romance, Sahara-chan?" Himiko asked and said woman could hear Touya snorting at the foolish nickname. "I like romance. I like them, a lot, lot, LOT!"

"I... well... er—"

Before he could hear more of their girl talk, Touya already stepped out of the car and joined Twice to smoke. The movie was already playing out, the plot was something about a woman who fell in love with a married man and took solace in a place where she would do her penance for being his side piece. After smoking, they both returned to the car and saw both women engrossed in the movie.

"Ohmygoshohmygoshohmygosh," Himiko muttered excitedly, munching on her snacks as the woman watched quietly beside her. "What would happen to Prof. Kitano? Will he still be with Sawa? Oh no!"

Touya glanced at her briefly, noting how she was so focused on the film, especially on the Noriko character. In the film, Noriko is the professor's wife, and she can't fathom the fact that she is being pointed as the bad guy when her husband and his side piece are seeing each other again. She must've felt the scene so familiar to her like it was taken from a real-life experience. There was hurt in her eyes; fleeting, flying, leaving her all at once before she realized the reality she was in, finding Touya staring at her before quickly looking away.

When the credits rolled, Himiko was crying tears due to the bittersweet ending while the other was just comforting her. Twice and Touya realized two things: the movie was literally about the consequences of infidelity, and the fact that she has never once taken her phone out; not even to check if her boyfriend has called her or what.

"I can't believe you saved up to let that bitch watch a film about cheating," Touya commented.

"But Toga-chan wanted it!" Twice argued.

"Check movie ratings first before saving up, dumbass!"

Touya drove them back to the bar, with Twice and Himiko getting out before saluting Touya with the latter's signature middle finger. She was also about to open the door when he said, "I'll drive you home. Just tell me where it is."

"There's no need for that, umm?"

"Dabi."

"Yes, Dabi-kun. There's no need for that. My boyfriend is still inside. Maybe we could—"

Touya was running out of patience, slamming the door open and getting out of the car, slightly scaring her as he opened the door on her side and dragged her out by force, pulling her arm harshly and trapping her against the wall. It was the same position he saw her boyfriend in, thrusting his dick in and out of the cocktail server as he wrapped her legs around his waist. He was making her feel for herself that same disgust he saw.

He didn't know why she was the best target of his mockery tonight. There was just something about her, and he still couldn't figure it out.

"You knew what he was doing out there." He leaned close, almost whispering in her ear as she looked away, her hands in her chest like she was crossing her heart, and hoped this would not end as bad as it gets. "You knew who he laid his eyes on. Don't tell me he might still be there, you useless woman."

Touya expected her to cry, to hear her sniff and swallow her pride as he made a fool out of her. Women like her like to live in the delusion that their man who cheats so constantly will change their mind; that they will see the light and change their ways. They won't, unfortunately. It's what they get for believing sappy romance shits. It's the price they pay for an illusion that will never be.

But she didn't react the way someone like her would. She didn't budge. She didn't do what he wanted. She was just looking down, contemplating her next move as Touya was not taking his eyes off of hers.

"I know that very well. I... I am just glad you went out of your way to get me out there and tell me that you saw him, Dabi-kun," she mumbled, her heart still on her chest. "I really... really enjoyed today."

The fuck?

She sighed, finally looking up at him shyly as if reminiscing something. "Today was actually the day when we would celebrate my promotion, and I am happy that I went to the movies with you three instead."

Touya huffed, finally letting go of her and stepping away. So does that mean she's so used to it? Or maybe she allows him to play with other women? Wait. No. Nevermind. I shouldn't know the answer.

"My apartment's not far from here," she notified, finally sighing in relief. "I can walk from here. Thank you again, Dabi-kun. Please send my regards to Twice-san and Toga-chan."

She was about to walk away when Touya grabbed her arm. He should pull away slowly, should let her run to where she lives, and never return here.

You idiot.

"I'll still drive you," he murmured, feeling a bit guilty about his earlier behavior. He shouldn't meddle. He shouldn't be involved. He dragged her out there because he was bored, and nothing else. Her love problems are her own. They would never see each other again after this. This was just boredom, and he was hungry for entertainment. Yes, that was it. Nothing else.

"I want to."

Fuck boredom.

"Oh." She smiled softly at his offer. "Okay."

------

She really was just a few minutes walking distance from the bar, walking out of his car and almost bowing respectfully before he followed her and told her he'd walk her to her door. What a gentleman, he was, far from the Dabi who did not give a shit if the woman went home safe or not. He guessed he was weak for women like her. But like what exactly? What was so different about her?

Sure, she was really pretty, wearing his jacket over her tight dress as she tried to walk properly in her stilettos. But was it all it took for him to be like this? He didn't think so. Well, he'll find out anyway.

"Well, this is my unit," she announced then bowed to him. "Thank you again, Dabi-kun. Have a great night!"

And when he went in his car, her scent lingered there. The scent of fresh laundry and morning spring. She might be near the area, but there was no way, she would appear in the bar again.

Until he saw her cardholder in the backseat of his car and realized she was still holding onto his favorite jacket.

ps. Himiko and the woman were watching Hirugao the movie (not safe for minors in Japan ya know)

next chapter

masterlist

[ankh-morporkianpostalworker]

The Use of Robert Moses as a Foil in The Unsleeping City

For those of you who don’t remember 10th grade English and don’t have a degree in Literature from a state school, a foil is a character who exists to contrast another character in order to highlight the characteristics of both characters. There are many great examples of this not only in literature (Hamlet and Laertes, Tybalt and Benvolio, Adam Trask and Cathy Ames) but also in film (Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader, Batman and the Joker), comics (see: Batman and the Joker) and a host of other mediums. With all that said, and those examples given, I posit that Robert Moses is a foil for the Heroes of New York in Dimension 20: The Unsleeping City. 

First and most obviously, he is a reflection of Kingston Brown if Kingston Brown wasn’t a strict adherent to Uncle Ben’s axiom. Moses took every bit of power he could for his own use and, in real life, screwed over the city of New York where Brown uses everything he’s given to make the city better (in a flashback, we find out that the first thing Brown asks the Dragon of Bleeker Street after becoming the Vox Populi is how he can use his power to help other people). 

Second, he’s a version of Kugrash that never learned the importance of caring for others. Throughout season one, Kugrash acts as a protector for the homeless and dispossessed of New York, feeding and clothing and protecting them from harm, a lesson he learned after he was cursed by a powerful spellcaster. The people he protects are those who Robert Moses’s realm would destroy, the people Robert Moses cares nothing for. This service comes not purely from penance, but also from a heartfelt desire to help others to the point that he sacrifices his body to save New York. Finally, and perhaps most importantly, is his reaction to the final words of Robert Moses’s phylactery after his (Kugrash’s) sacrifice - greed is good. To quote the man himself -  “ Greed is good, for rat motherfuckers like Robert Moses, but not in our town, not in our fuckin' city!”

Third, Robert Moses is a reflection of Pete if Pete had given in to corruption and temptation and hatred and greed, which he almost does multiple times in the series, the final time being in Showdown at the Stock Exchange, the penultimate fight of season one. This final choice is offered as two options on the Wild Magic Table - embrace the darkness to match Robert Moses in power, or resist temptation and rise above, Pete choosing the later. For this rejection of evil, Pete is killed (I choose to read the game of Eenie Miney Minie Mo as being a theatrically show that Robert Moses put on just to prove how evil he is). 

Fourth, both he and Misty/Rowan feed on the power of the city for their own ends, Robert to control it and Misty to maintain her youth and beauty. The difference lies in the fact that, as Nod points out, Misty/Rowan gives back to the people more than she takes, giving them hope and joy (and using her magic to protect the people), while Robert Moses gives nothing in return. She also cares for the immaterial things in life, like beauty and art and entertainment, while he does not.

Fifth, Ricky’s self-sacrificing nature is in stark contrast to Robert Moses’s. Throughout the series, Ricky puts himself on the line to protect others, a good portion of his magic being used to protect others from harm and the rest (notably his smites) used in defense of the innocent. In the final battle of season one, against Robert Moses’s nightmarish American Dream, he uses an ability that he knows will almost certainly kill him. His words to Kingston Brown moments before the sacrifice - “You got me if you got me” - show that while he would like to come back and knows his friend will do what he can to make that happen, he also knows that there’s a chance that this is the end for him, and he does it anyway, a sacrifice Robert Moses would never accept. 

Finally, there’s Sofia. Sofia was the hardest of these to write about, but eventually I realize that the contrast comes in relation to wealth - Sof rejects her family’s ill-gotten wealth, choosing to live (temporarily) as a monk with little more than the contents of a backpack to her name, while Robert Moses craves wealth so much that his whole plan revolves around creating a new realm in New York city specifically for his own gain. It’s not a lot, but it’s something. 

There’s also the fact that the heroes all love New York while Robert Moses sees it as a tool for his own gain, but that mostly goes without saying. 

I’m about 90% sure that this is the longest post I’ve made on this site but I really enjoyed writing it. I definitely plan on making more like it, analyzing D&D series through a serious literary lens and discussing the uses of literary and narrative techniques, although these won’t be as frequent as my shorter observations. 

If you got all the way through this, thank you and you’re awesome. 

[noxhel]

[monsterblogging]

How Pacific Rim 2013 is about killing the gods, and why we need to accept this

After years of researching the development of Pacific Rim, and learning more about its creators, I've reached a conclusion.

You cannot truly understand the narrative of Pacific Rim until you can wrap your head around the idea the kaiju are divine beings, their creators are functionally gods, and (at least sometimes), gods need to be killed.

This sentiment can be traced all the way back to Travis Beacham's draft script, where the Precursors were explicitly revealed as the creators of our universe, who made it so they could move here from their own dying universe. The script very deliberately codes them as gods, as evidenced in these quotes:

RALEIGH There’s things you just can’t fight. Acts of God or whatever. Like you see a hurricane coming, you just have to get out of the way, you know? But when you’re in a Jaeger, suddenly you can draw a line in the sand. You can fight the hurricane -- and you can win.

CZERNY Because I had to be quarantined. I looked into the abyss. I’d been infected with the truth -- that this is the end of us. We are the vermin of the gods. There’s no point in putting up a fight...

TAKADA I don't have it... We all know it's a siege. What can I say they don't already know? We call the enemy the Precursors... I may as well tellthe world the gods want us dead.

NEWT (CONT’D) I don't care if they are the creators of the universe. I like the universe. She leans her head on the seat and watches him with a pining look in her eyes. He turns to add with a chuckle -- NEWT (CONT’D) And I'm not a creationist.

The draft script is not fucking around. The Precursors are gods, and they must be slain.

The final movie retains the "acts of God" line, but the Precursors are never explicitly called "gods" like this. However - the subtext is still there. For example, Hannibal Chau tells us what the kaiju cultists believe:

HANNIBAL CHAU Look at 'em. They believe the Kaiju are sent from heaven. That the gods are expressing their displeasure with our behavior. The silly bastards.

The film also shows us kaiju sisters, who are very clearly meant to evoke Catholic sisters with their cornettes. And of course, we can't forget the kaiju church building.

And then there's the Precursors themselves, whom we only get a brief, blurry glance at. But their design had intention behind it, as we learn in Pacific Rim: Man, Machines, & Monsters (emphasis mine):

"When I was a kid," says del Toro, "we used to catch these bugs in the pool. They had a translucent, hard shell and you could see their organs. I wanted the design to evoke that. Wayne Barlowe and Keith Thompson worked the final design. We gave the Precursors elements of ecclesiastical royalty, dividing them into cardinals and bishops."

For anyone who doesn't know, del Toro is an ex-Catholic whose grandmother tried to exorcise him over his interest in monsters, and made him wear bottlecaps in the bottoms of his shoes as penance for his perceived sins. And Guillermo del Toro isn't shy about expressing anti-authoritarian sentiments. (Pan's Labyrinth and Pinocchio are very strongly anti-authoritarian films.)

Pacific Rim is using the godkilling trope the exact same way a lot of Japanese media does it: personifying corrupting ideologies and corrupt institutions as malefic gods that humanity must rise up against and destroy. (If you want to learn more about this, Moon Channel's video Why Do You Always Kill Gods In JRPGs? goes into this in detail.)

Where other western media that involves killing gods often aims to avoid controversy by reassuring its audiences that the god or gods being killed are false gods, or by targeting gods largely considered discredited (such as actual pagan gods, or fictional gods modeled on them), Pacific Rim refuses to pander to western Christian sensibilities in this way.

Had Guillermo del Toro had his way, this would have gone on to resemble the Japanese usage of this trope even more, where said divinities often are former humans, or are the product of human activity. He'd planned to reveal that the Precursors were humanity from the future:

And then we found out that the precursors are us thousands of years in the future. They’re trying to terraform, trying to re-harvest the earth to survive. (Source.)

Unfortunately, this didn't happen. The sequel to Pacific Rim was handed off to another director, and the Precursors were re-coded as demonic. All of the socio-political criticism embedded in the first movie were gutted - and I don't think it's any coincidence that the uberconservative weirdos I've been seeing in this fandom focus on it more than the first movie. (And if they aren't focused on Uprising, they're focused on The Black, which is even worse. I will suffice it here to say that The Black was practically tailor-made to attract young chuds. And while not everyone I've met who actually likes it was a chud, every one of them had extremely low media literacy.)

You see, when you remove Beacham and del Toro's careful symbolism and coding, the Precursors become nothing more than a vague enemy that you can project anyone onto. Hyperconservatives are free to compare the Precursors to whatever boogyman they've decided threatens Christianity and/or Western civilization, and engage in fantasies of using militaristic force to destroy them.

Failing to recognize or choosing to ignore how Pacific Rim uses the godkilling trope to criticize authoritarian religious institutions and late-stage capitalism is how a film directed by two anti-fascist creators gets twisted into a fascism-affirming narrative. And that, I think most of us can agree, is a problem.