#I wonder if this has anything to do with the gaslight district?

[readypanda]

Ok hold on I was poking around the glitch productions website after the glitchx announcement (glitchprod.com) and out of curiosity looked at their job postings

I was thinking, "oh, that's weird, aren't all their shows 3D?"

and then

HUH????

[perlelune]

no body, no crime | Coriolanus Snow | xii. {END}

Your childhood friend returns from his exile in district 12, but he's not the sweet, quiet boy you once knew anymore.

Warnings: NON-CON, Plinth!Reader, Gaslighting, Drugging, Murder, Forced Marriage, Forced Pregnancy, Loss of Virginity, Somnophilia

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

Your nerves stir as William considers you in silence. It’s all he’s done for the last few agonizing minutes, stare at you without uttering a single word. Perhaps you’ve shared too much? Overestimated how much he could take? You’ve told him everything, not skipping over any detail as he asked. How Coriolanus lured you into his web. Weaved a myriad of honeyed lies you naively fell for. Coaxed you into staying with him. Planted a seed that will soon grow into a permanent reminder of all he did to you. 

The whole, plain horrible truth.

Much as it ached to tell the story, and relive it in a way, you were thorough and concise. Your voice may have wavered a little, your eyes evaded William’s at times, but now he has the full story. 

And he’s free to do as he pleases with that knowledge.

“William?” you inquire again. 

This time he swallows a deep breath. Fearful expectancy knots your gut. He clenches his fists and bolts to his feet. 

“I’m going to kill him.”

You wedge yourself between him and the door as he takes long, determined strides toward the exit.

“Wait!” you urge, panic trembling through your voice.

William scoff, a frown marring his brow.

“What? You want to protect him? After everything he’s done to you?”

Your lips tighten. A surge of tears fights its way past your lids but you suppress them. Too much is at stake for you to crumble right now. You straighten your spine and lift your chin.

“It’s not that. Of course I don’t care what happens to him but…” You place your hands on his forearms. He seems to relax at your touch and a sliver of relief leaks inside your chest. Perhaps there is still hope for you and William. “He’s dangerous, William. Cunning, slippery. Like a snake.”

His jaw clenches. “We’ll see about that when I have my fist in his throat.”

He tries to move forward but you keep firmly blocking his path. Once again, you try to reason with him. “No, he really is…deranged.” No other word arises in your mind. You shudder as you recall the glint of madness in his blue eyes. “He has my parents under his spell. I really don’t think he’ll stop at anything to get his way.” Your mouth quivers. “He’ll hurt you.”

“Let him try,” William grumbles, clenching his fists. 

Rage oozes off him, coating the air. You feel its intensity in your very bones. When he said he wanted to kill Coriolanus, it wasn’t a metaphor. It’s how furious your fiancé is after hearing your story.

“William, no…For me. Let it go.” You grab his hands, bringing them to your face. They slowly loosen, his gaze softening as it rests on you. “Let’s just leave. I know I’m asking for a lot. Asking you to raise another man’s child-”

He cradles your face. “It doesn’t matter. It’ll be our child. They won’t even have to know his name.” 

You drape your hands over his, emotion making your voice waver.

“You really mean that?”

His thumbs sweep over your cheek.

“Of course. I made a promise to you.” He smiles. “And I never stopped loving you.”

You suck in a sharp breath. “Even after everything?”

A glimpse of sadness crosses his features.

“It hurt. Of course, it hurt. But there’s no other girl than you for me, and there never will be.” Overwhelmed, you stare at him a long time, basking in his bottomless devotion. How did you end up so lucky? Even after all the misfortune you suffered, amidst your woe, you still found William. A love as rare and pure as a pearl lost in the ocean.

You get on your tiptoes to press your lips over his. At first, it’s tentative. You’re wondering if perhaps it’s too soon, if he’s truly forgiven you. But your doubts evaporate as he eagerly returns the kiss. Your heart swells. He cups your cheeks and you melt against him, soaking his scent and the familiar taste of his skin. You could cry. You missed him so much. For the first time in weeks, air finds a home in your lungs again.

When your lips part, he leans his forehead against yours. For a while, you just revel in each other’s presence, warm breaths mingling in the cool air.

“So what’s the plan?” he asks, his knuckles skimming down your neck. “You…do have a plan, right?”

Taking a deep breath, you stand up straight.

“I’m thinking we hitch a late night train to District 2. There’s a weapons shipment tonight.” You grimace. “My dad, h-he sends them to the Peacekeepers garrisons there.” Every time you remember the part your father plays in keeping people in the Districts cowered and afraid of the Capitol’s wrath, you feel sick. This is who the man who raised you has become. Someone who turns a blind eye to his own people’s suffering. It makes you wonder if maybe he and Coriolanus are cut from the same cloth after all. Both of them opportunists. Both of them eager to step over everything and everyone to further their goals. Your father gives the Capitol the ammunition it needs to terrorize. And Coriolanus fuels them with ideas to keep that terror alive.

“We could head South, start a new life there,” William suggests.

You blink in surprise. This is a drastic decision, one you never expected to hear leave his lips.

“You mean, leave Panem?”

“Why not? There is nothing for us here. I don’t think there ever was.”

“You’d be leaving your family and friends behind William. A-Are you sure?”

He sends you a warm smile, rubbing your arms.

“You’re my family. You’re all I need.”

Your heart flutters, a fresh breeze of hope passing through you. 

“William…”

“This is my choice. I’m choosing you,” he interrupts, his inflection firmer than before. “In sickness and in health, until death do us part, right?”

You search his eyes and are shocked to realize William means this. He wants to elope with you, follow you into uncertainty and escape the Capitol’s vicious rule.

“I’m sorry…about everything.”

His tender lips graze your forehead.

“There is nothing to forgive. None of this was your fault.”

His soothing words cast a balm over your wounded heart. You spent so long blaming yourself, tortured by your own thoughts and lamenting every choice you made. It’s refreshing to hear that maybe, not all the responsibility falls upon your shoulders.

You wipe the budding tears in your eyes.

“We have to be quick,” you say, your voice more confident than before. “Coriolanus, he…we need to be long gone before he notices I left.”

William squeezes your shoulder.

“You don’t have to be scared of him anymore. I won’t let him get anywhere near you. If he wants to breathe the same air as you, he’ll have to do it over my dead body.”

He wraps his arms around you and, for the first time in several weeks, you feel safe.

You help William pack his most essential belongings before the two of you sneak into the night. Despite what he said, you don’t miss the brief way his green eyes mist as he shoves a picture of his parents and little sister into a leather bag. Guilt floods your insides. You’re the one in trouble, not him. Several times, you grapple with the urge to tell him to stay, that you can do this on your own. But there is no going back now. It’s too late. Besides, a selfish part of you doesn’t want to. It’s scary enough, leaving everything behind. The Capitol. Your childhood home. Your parents. Having William at your side is the only way you won’t fall apart out here. You don’t see yourself surviving beyond the borders without him. As much as you complained about your life here, you’re aware of how sheltered you’ve been. You always had food on the table. You were never cold. You always had a warm bed to sleep in.

Now, those things will not be guaranteed. 

You and William try to act natural around every peacekeeper you brush past, pretending you’re just two lovers meeting for a late night tryst. Still, your heart leaps each time you get a glimpse of the blue uniforms. You haven’t forgotten the time Coriolanus spent in district 12, paranoia prowling the edge of your mind. It’s not like he has any affiliation with them now, does he?

Sensing your unease, William squeezes your hand in reassurance. You smile at him.

Still, you don’t relax until the two of you have hailed a cab and are on your way to the train station on the outskirts of the city. 

Even when the two of you successfully make it onto the back of a cargo train unnoticed, you’re still on alert. Even the whistle of the train as it rumbles to life and leaves the station doesn’t grant you peace. William wraps his arm around your shoulders. The two of you are sitting on the floor behind a gigantic crate of machine guns.

He drops a kiss atop your head.

“Hey, everything will be fine. I promise. Nothing will happen to you.”

You tuck yourself against him. You wish you could let go of your fear but dread’s had you in its clutches since you left the station. Would Coriolanus’ plans for you be thwarted so easily? You find it hard to believe, remembering his unflinching desire to make you fall in line.

Still, you give a weak smile.

“You’re right. I’m being silly.”

As soon as you utter the words however, the train hisses and makes an abrupt stop on the tracks.

William frowns.

“What’s happening? I’ll go ch-”

Before your fiancé can finish his sentence, the doors of the wagon open. A gust of frosty wind whisks inside the train. William’s eyes widen but there’s no time to process his shock as he’s kicked in the gut by a peacekeeper.

Another man appears and the two of them yank him out of the train. 

“William!” you shout, jumping out of the wagon. 

Your fiancé coughs out blood as he’s dragged away by the two blue-clad men. He tries to fight them but they kick him in the jaw. He crashes into the grass. 

Your chest seizes. You begin racing towards him. However as the two men shift, revealing someone else behind them, someone whose haunting blue stare is forever engraved into your memories, you freeze. 

He scrutinizes you before shaking his head.

“You disappoint me, princess,” Coriolanus sighs, folding his arms. “I thought you were finally coming to your senses.”

The two men force William on his knees, one of them pointing his gun at his head to keep him docile. Your eyes water. Helplessness tugs at your chest. He took no time to find you. Did you ever stand a chance?

“Coriolanus, just let us go. This is…all of this is going too far,” you plead. 

He arches his brow, disdain lacing his tone as he says, “You really think I’d let my child grow up in a district?”

“You bastard,” William spits, hate flaring in his green eyes. 

Malice sways in Coriolanus’ orbs as he takes in your fiancé. His taunting voice echoes through the field.

“Oh, does it sting, knowing I’ve had her before you in every possible way?”

He tries to lunge himself at the blond. Your breath catches as you watch the peacekeepers beat him into submission. He keels over in the grass, coughing up more blood.

Coriolanus turns to you.

“I’m going to give you a choice, princess. Come back home to the Capitol with me, willingly. I’ll forgive you, set the entire matter aside and we can focus on our guest list, cake tasting and finding you the perfect dress for our wedding.” He tilts his head, his smile vanishing. “Or don’t. And I really can’t say what I’ll do next.” He chuckles darkly. “I just know you won’t like it.”

You look at him, disbelief and sadness surging through you. You wonder where your friend disappeared to, the one who dried your tears and whispered soft words of reassurance whenever your mood dipped, the one who showered you with gifts and attentions. The one who was kind. 

Who is this stranger standing before you?

Coriolanus laughs. 

“You know Sejanus looked at me the exact same way…like he expected me to be someone I’m not, someone I never was.” His eyes lock with yours. “Right to the bitter end.”

Your stomach sinks, an awful realization digging its way through your mind. You don’t know how you know. Perhaps it’s that smug smile on his lips. Perhaps that glow in his eyes. Or that subtle inflection to his words. Either way, you just know.

You know what Coriolanus did and your entire world falls apart.

Sejanus too never stood a chance, you bet.

You nod. “I’ll come with you.”

A subtle smile blooms on Coriolanus’ lips.

“What?” William stares at the interaction in shock.

Coriolanus offers you his hand as you approach.

“It’s over, William,” you mumble, too ashamed to meet his gaze. You focus on taking Coriolanus’ hand instead. His touch is deceptively soft. “Just go back home, forget about this. Forget about me.”

Your spirits sink lower and lower with every word that leaves your mouth. You are willingly walking to your grave.

William shakes his head.

“No way…”

Everything that follows happens in a blur. So quickly you barely register what’s going on. First, William throws himself at the blond. You gasp as you watch them wrestle, Coriolanus having a clear advantage. Next, one of the peacekeepers hands him a gun. 

He points it at his temple.

Ribbons of blood fly from William’s skull, painting Coriolanus’ shirt crimson.

Time stops for you as your eyes grow wide with horror.

The blond dusts himself off, shoving William’s limp frame off him as he rises.

He sighs at his stained shirt.

“This was brand new,” he laments.

You rush to William and fall to your knees near his unmoving body. It takes all your strength to even shift him a little. 

“William? William, please?” you whimper. His lifeless green eyes rise to the moon in the sky, his soft mouth parted in a scream that never will be. 

Your heart shatters into a million pieces, the shards piercing through your being and trailing scars in their wake. It will never stitch itself back together.

In the background, Coriolanus orders one of the peacekeepers.

“Get rid of the bodies. Make sure nothing is left. And I’ll put in a good word for your sister at the Citadel,” he promises.

The other peacekeeper pipes up, “The bodies? But there’s only one-”

A gunshot erupts. A few feet away, you watch one of the peacekeepers, the one who spoke up, crash into the ground. The other one shot him. Smoke still rises from his gun as Coriolanus nods at the man in approval.

“Like we agreed, I’ll also write to Commander Hoff on your behalf. You’ll start officer training next month.”

More words are exchanged between the two men but they fade amidst the buzz rising inside your head. You lie atop William’s corpse, numb as you faintly hope to find a heartbeat.

After a while, you’re hauled off your feet by a pair of strong arms. You struggle but it’s for naught. You’re taken away, William’s unmoving form dwindling in your vision.

“No, I can’t leave him…”

Coriolanus carries you bridal style to a vehicle. He places you in the passenger seat and ties your seatbelt. 

“Shh, it’s okay, princess,” he coos. “You need to calm down. This isn’t good for you and the baby.”

The baby. You have to admit that for a second, you considered trying to pry the gun out of Coriolanus’ hands and shooting it into your own head. End it all once and for all. Your life has already ended. So what difference would it make? But then you remembered. Your life isn’t just yours anymore. 

You look at the blond through tearful eyes, your hoarse voice swelling in the car. 

“Did you get my brother killed?”

Coriolanus puts on his own seatbelt and turns the key in the ignition. “What an awful assumption to make, princess.”

He grips the steering wheel as the engine roars to life. 

“However, it might be a good time to remember…that your father’s written me into his will.” Your breath stumbles. “Which means, though I prefer him alive to walk my beautiful bride down the aisle…” His blue eyes glimmer, his lips curving upward. “I also don’t need him to be.”

He shakes his head and sighs, running his fingers atop your thigh.

“Who knows how long he still has, with those heart issues of his. Anything could happen.”

“One day you will pay. For all of them,” you grit out, the sheer hate you feel for him overflowing in your tone. 

He fondles your cheek, his smile growing. 

“Perhaps… But not today.” He pauses, as if he just remembered something. He reaches inside the pocket of his coat. 

“Here,” he says as he pulls out a small velvet box.

You witness in horror as Coriolanus removes William’s ring from your finger and slips another one in its place. It’s ostentatious, the red rubies shimmering like blood in the darkness.

Once it’s on your finger, he admires it. He brings your hand to his lips, brushing a soft kiss over your knuckles. 

“Fits perfectly, just like I know it would,” he chimes. 

[shinxeysartgallery]

How we feeling now that murder drones is ending?

I think it's so unfair that glitch is cancelling murder drones cause tadc is much more profitable like damn I thought they were better than this

To be fair, we never explicitly had a Season 2 confirmed and I don't think it's fair to blame TADC over it getting cancelled. From what I can tell, it seems like GLITCH and Liam both planned on there being a Season 2 at some point, but we also don't know what's happened behind the scenes. ANYTHING could've happened.

Maybe they didn't get greenlit for a Season 2? Even if they have enough funding and support from the fans for it, they can't move forward without that green light.

There's not enough funding or other resources for them to realistically work on a Season 2 right now. They're also working on TADC and the new Gaslight District and have also just now picked up helping Lackadaisy with funding. Pretty sure at least some of the GLITCH crew works on the main SMG4 channel's stuff as well. That's a LOT to work with from such a small company! It might be a case of they bit off more than they could chew. This could also indicate that it's a temporary thing, but they don't want to get peoples' hopes up in case they can't give us the coveted Season 2.

Liam could be feeling burnout and wants to work on something else. I believe Murder Drones is his longest running series, and it's been in production for at least 4-ish years, counting the Pilot episode. He could've very well lost motivation or be suffering from burnout in that amount of time!

The main series is ending, but it's because they're planning on doing something else with Murder Drones (such as a sequel or spinoff) instead of a Season 2. Up until about when Episode 7 dropped, the Murder Drones playlist was labeled "Season 1" and Liam has said in a past AMA that he planned on there being a Season 2 at some point. He could've discussed his plans for Season 2 with GLITCH and they collectively decided that a spinoff/sequel/etc. would be a better fit for Liam's ideas!

Those are just a few scenarios that could have caused its ending; it's not necessarily a "hurr durr we wanna ditch literally everything else we're working on because TADC gives the monies" situation. Obviously, unless Liam himself or someone actually from GLITCH comes out and makes a statement about it, we don't know for sure why or what caused it. But again, I think it's incredibly unfair to blame TADC over it.

As for my feelings on its conclusion though? Bittersweet. I'm so excited to see what Liam's got planned for the finale and I know it's going to be epic; it'll be so cool getting to see everything come to an end! But at the same time, I'll be sad 'cause it's over. No more excitedly waiting and wondering what's going to happen in the next episode or wondering how the current one's cliffhanger is going to resolve. Buuuut that doesn't mean it's the end! There's still a chance we could get more official Murder Drones content, but even if we don't we've got fanworks! This fandom is one of the most passionate ones I've been in and I don't think it's going anywhere any time soon, even if we never get another official piece of content.

Personally, I'm going to keep working on my AU and keep drawing my drones. The show ending isn't going to stop me! >:D

(Also lowkey is kinda good because after this episode, I don't have to worry about the next episode completely destroying some of my lore again. lol)

[updates-from-g]

MY MESSAGE

Dear citizens, 

I am Gia Heisling from the North District. 

Three months ago, Theo and I were arrested by the Party Guards for breaking into the restricted areas. 

If you’re reading this it means that my letter has made it out of this prison. 

The conspiracy theories have been hinting that there is something beyond the Barrier, something the Party hasn’t been telling us. And we managed to discover some disturbing facts about our city. 

Although this may come as a shock for many people… The Sun exists. 

It was never intoxicating or causing the cancer incidents pre-Barrier. The Party has gaslighted us the whole time into believing that our society was in the midst of an unknown crisis, when in fact they were keeping the Sun for themselves. 

The Party has built an energy generating machine that uses a large amount of solar power from the Sun and has been creating fortune out of its profit. However, we are unsure of their motive behind building this machine and where they are hiding it. 

Furthermore, deaths post-Barrier have been caused by an odorless lethal chemical that destroys numerous immune cells in people. These chemicals have been released with calculated doses so that not everyone dies, but some do.

Theo and I have been trying to escape this place for the past months but not been able to get through the security systems. 

We ask you to cooperate in searching for anything about what the Party is hiding, ways to escape, and the reason for the ongoing cancer incidents. 

For all of you who don’t remember the last time you saw the sun, we may find our way to see it again. To feel its warmth. To smile with others on a sunny day. 

So if you are seeing this we ask you to share this message and fight for your own freedom. For everyone’s freedom. And for those who have passed away through these years.  

Gia Heisling

(Beyoncé, 2019).

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dear mother,

I am sorry if you feel betrayed for what I did. 

But I thought about it and realized that we can’t be living like this. 

You’ve shut yourself away from me since father and Albert died and I wish you would have told me. 

I heard you didn’t come look for me when I was gone, but is that true?

Is it true that you were the one who signed me up for night patrol as an exchange for getting money from the Party?

I always wondered why you were in love with the Party. 

If it weren’t for them, Father and Albert may have been alive.

Honestly, I wish you could see what I’ve seen.  

The dying nature. Starvation. Deaths. 

You said that the Party has been good to us all these years, but I think all they have given us is misery, pain, suffering. 

That’s why I’m fighting against them. 

If this message doesn’t reach you I want you to know that I’m sorry that I couldn’t make you happy and I still love you. 

Gia

(​​P!NK, 2009).

[cuntystories]

CHAP (2) 𝑂ℎ, 𝑟𝑢𝑑𝑒 𝑚𝑢𝑐ℎ?

I can barely sleep at this point, everytime i have atleast managed to fall asleep— even for a second, I've been woken up by the nightmares that keep occurring. Everything that happened has made me so anxious, the fact that nobody believes me makes me even more frustrated, I know that it happened, but all the evidence, that I don't even have, makes me seem like a liar that is just attention deprived.

Why was I so mesmerized by Him before?

I feel terrified. The feeling of eyes on me made me want to tear my skin off. I can't even do my daily chores without The Man haunting my mind.

"Sir, we have done everything we can, but we can't proceed further without any proof."

They said.

"I'm sorry, sir, we understand you, but as said before— we can't make any moves without any evidence."

They said.

What more proof do they need?

What more do they want?

The police sent me to a psychiatrist incase of hallucinations. Could it all just be in my head? No. Definitely not. They're just trying to gaslight me because they know I'm right yet they lack the skill to investigate further.

I was woken up by the sudden movement, my eyes fluttering inresponse to the dim lights. I wonder how long had I slept, I thought. Was it already evening— as there seemed to be noone around here anymore? "Mr Elvis, you can come in now,"she said with a forced smile, leaving the door open after her. She was wearing a hideous white cap, a bright red cross on it, with a dress five inches too short, a red cross on it aswell. It seemed a little too stereotypical for a nurse, isn't she supposed to be a psychiatrist too? If I didn't know any better, I'd mistake her for someone in the acting industry.

The cabinet was unexpectedly big but empty. Big windows and some modern furniture in the corner with a few decorations, the colours were quite depressing. The opposite of an atmosphere that would be expected in a therapist's office. From the ceiling was falling a bright, almost blindening chandelier, very expensive looking if I had to say. The surroundings were making me even more depressed than i was before. Pretty ironic honestly. But i guess she's attractive enough to keep me entertained for the time being.

"Please take a seat," she said while typing in her computer, likely making notes of my behaviour. "I heard you were sent here on a note by the police, as you did make a pretty big deal out of it, is that right?"

"Ah....I was, they think that I lied to them," I paused momentarily,"...It's a little stupid anyways to send me to a psychiatrist over this, just because I don't have solid evidence, when I haven't even lied to them," I tried explaining, frustrated, while trying to stay still, feeling uneasy as I could feel her gaze on me, analyzing my body language.

The district that I live in is very widely known around the world for it's violent nature. It's not uncommon to come face to face with a criminal on the streets, which also makes the place quite affordable. That's the reason I still live here. But the criminal activity has been raising significantly in the last decade, which resulted in the police being very busy and not having time to deal with my 'bullshit' as they called it. That's why they send alot of people to the psychiatrists, to hope the problem just goes away. Of course you can always decline, but as I made.. a pretty big deal out of it, I didn't really have a choice.

I looked up from my lap, lifting my gaze as my eyes met hers. "I know that this might be hard for you, but you have no evidence of anything happening," she sighed in sympathy, flicking open a notebook containing some notes, "I have received some of your files aswell. I see that you have several part-time jobs. Do you think what happened could have been a result from you overworking yourself, perhaps you experienced hallucinations?," she questioned me, waiting patiently for an answer.

Her answer made me furious. Of course I know that it was true, why else would I have made such a big deal out of it, I thought. That's why I didn't wanna come here— talking about my feelings doesn't change the fact that I still have to pass through the alleyway repeatedly, still having to experience the feelings over and over again.

The more I thought about the question, the angrier I became. Isn't a professional supposed to know better than to straight up doubt their patients? This isn't working at all. I wouldn't be suprised if she happened to land all of her jobs by sleeping with her bosses, being too uncapable of anything else. That would even explain the uniform, I scoffed. "..Is that the only possible reason," I asked as I bit my tongue, trying not to let my attitude slip. "I'm sorry...I know that it must be hard for you, but unfortunately we can't do anything else besides diagnosing you with some pills that might help with your sleep deprivation, if the hallucinations are the case," she apologized profusely while staying calm. "Oh..uhm..I suppose we could try, then...As there doesn't seem to be any other solution." I was already desperate and there didn't seem much we could do. "That's great! I'll write you the prescription. I'm glad we already managed to come this far at our first session," she claimed happily as she typed away on her computer.

Oh...how much I wanted to bash her head in the computer at that moment.

[broodyjoey]

tw // sui ideation

This house just makes me want to fucking end myself, but my therapist said that it was good when I was using my little mantra to divert the sui feelings and urges into tangible sadness instead of letting it pent up inside my mind. She said it was alright to cry but I can't even cry now, I'm constipated emotionally again...All the effort we put into making me much better at handling my emotions and defending against abuse has gone down the damn toilet during these past 2 years I haven't seen her. I feel like I can never get out of this hell hole anymore.

She used to make me feel like I was walking towards a good path, filled with progress but now that the insurance lapsed. Now that I'm no longer in therapy, I'm constantly depressed. I can't seem to get out of the house when it matters the most. Or take care of my daily personal hygiene, or eat properly. I have no appetite on most days and I can't stay afloat of my chores, I feel like I'm constantly drowning...

I need to find the time now, to crawl out of the house on time to the national clinics, with these cursed ass opening hours that nobody can make time for...I don't know how I used to be able to make it there after school, even tho my school is in a whole other district...Plus the waiting times in my town's clinic are abysmal - a whole fucking 3~5 hours mfr

That's fucking crazy, I don't even know what is the lunch hours for these cursed ass national clinics with fuck knows when opening hours...Somehow I always arrive during their break hours or when they're closing. Idk how I keep doing that but I followed the Gmap timings for it...they still kick me out early depending on the busyness of the day. I've had enough of that!! Scam opening hours, fake news...How tf do they expect people to get the necessary national clinic documents if those stupid ass national clinics won't even let me see a doctor... T.T

I need to go to the clinic soon; it'll be a whole 3 months wait for the recommendation letter to go thru and the waiting list for psych is crazy (pun not intended) long. I'm surprised anybody survives this wait. No wonder why my work friend from one of my previous jobs entered the National Mental Institute, and so did my ex, Isaac. (No real names are used online heheh :) ) My ex was having sui ideation but got thrown into the grippy sock land because he called the wrong number (I called the mental health hotline, and he called the ambulance...) Our country has the most terrible ways of handling mental health problems. You have to be raised a certain type of vigilant, to be cautious enough to skip through all these process-traps that will throw you unwillingly into the grippy sock land. I'm both vigilant and paranoid enough from my abusive childhood that I'm good at sussing out what to do to get me on the safest path to my goals. I won't say that every mentally ill person has the exact same balance of cautiousness and being able to mask so well, So well that officials gave me the green light to go for outpatient care.

Somehow I always arrive during their break hours or when they're closing; the doctor that I got was just pure luck tho. That I can't deny, but I am very good at making people think I'm fine enough to function. I don't tell my family anything vulnerable, people like me with this type of upbringing will die if someone gets a hold of my secrets. No matter how benign people with healthy childhoods think it is. I've almost been attacked by my mother for speaking well of a guy classmate and my father has accused me of dating my guy friend who is gay...wtf.

I got ratted out by my distant aunt and had to pull a gaslighting manoeuvre that I learnt from my parents, holy shit I've never hidden my meds in such an awkward position, in such a secluded place that sometimes I forget that it's there. I've also run a burn campaign against my distant aunt, just to cover up that reveal. Sorry not sorry, if you put my wellbeing in danger, you're done. Dead to me. I warned her against informing my parents but she didn't listen. I don't want someone to get away with such actions against me. I don't need such people attacking my well-being in my life, especially not when I'm from an Asian country and will have to live with my parents even when I'm married.

That shit will have me killed, not even my distant aunt, no matter that she's also mentally ill, NOBODY should treat my safety as a damn joke.

[stevensaus]

It Is Not Hypocrisy, It Is Projection.

There are two minutes of video that's been bothering me for weeks. They're two minutes in the middle of Wisecrack's video "A Philosopher Reacts To God's Not Dead." I've embedded just those two minutes below (or if you want to go to the original video at the right time, it's the two minutes starting at 5'38"). In those two minutes, Kevin Sorbo's character distributes sheets of paper to an intro to philosophy class, tells his students that they have to write an affirmation (and sign it!) that says "God is dead," and that it's worth 30% of their grade. Michael, the host of Wisecrack, reacts with incredulity, and rightly so. That simply Would Not Happen in a public university or college. So to Michael -- and myself as well -- the scene is a comedic strawman of the absurd. Except Michael -- and I -- forgot something pretty basic about bad actors. I've seen it over and over again with toxic people. They will almost always tell you what they're going to do... by accusing you of doing it. Or, in this case, had already been doing. Michael actually says it out loud at the end of those two minutes: "The goal of academic philosophy isn't to instill hardcore ideological concepts into the brains of impressionable young people." But that is exactly what Christian universities have been doing for decades right out there in the open. Many Christian colleges and universities require employees -- and students! -- to sign statements of faith, or covenants. Aside from the theological statements, these documents also tend to have some kind of clause about what you can and cannot do... and what you can and cannot say. Bethel University has on its "covenant" page a list of "character qualities and actions that should not be present in the lives of believers. For example: destructive anger, malice, rage, sexual immorality, impurity, adultery, evil desires, greed, idolatry, slander, profanity, lying, homosexual behavior, drunkenness, thievery, and dishonesty ." That's not my footnote, by the way. That's theirs, and it reads: " Colossians 3:5-8; 1 Corinthians 6:9-10. Employees will not practice, advocate, or affirm these and other biblically proscribed behaviors." (Emphasis mine.) Not "while on the clock," not "in the classroom," or anything like that. At all. Ever. Ironically, this is right before their "diversity" page. For real. This is not an idle threat. Aside from anecdata I've heard about such agreements being enforced, "Inside Higher Ed" reported a year ago about a professor at Calvin University who was getting forced out for being an ally of LGBTQIA+ rights. If you're wondering whether the courts will do anything, the answer, at least as of January 2023, is no: "Students at colleges and universities operating on religious principles concerning marriage, sexual identity and gender won’t be blocked from receiving federal aid, the U.S. District Court in Oregon ruled this week." -- The Washington Times And the bigger lesson is easily observable in the rest of the education system as well. The constant pearl-clutching about "grooming" and "indoctrination" from the GOP around LGBTQIA+ issues seems hypocritical in the face of their efforts to ensure that children only get the "correct" education by inciting vigilante book banning, legal threats to librarians, and doing everything they can to eliminate mentions of diversity, until you realize it's not hypocrisy. They are projecting onto everyone else what they are about to do, just like a narcissistic gaslighting toxic partner in a relationship. They think that everyone else is out to indoctrinate children, to "groom" them to live a particular way... because that is what they intend to do. And they've very clearly already started to do it. Right in front of your eyes. Now, I want you to think back to every time since 2016 that you've marveled at the hypocrisy of the right wing in America. Think back to every outrageous accusation they've made about the left that is absolutely ludicrous. Now look back at those times with this lens. None of those were hypocrisy. They were telling you what they would do. What they will do. What they are doing. Ignore them at your peril.

As an aside: These kinds of statements of faith or covenants have a huge effect outside of academia as well. For example, as California Health Online reported last month, "As the University of California’s health system renews contracts with hundreds of outside hospitals and clinics — many with religious affiliations -- some of its doctors and faculty want stronger language to ensure that physicians can perform the treatments they deem appropriate, including abortions for women or hysterectomies for transgender patients." In 2016, one in six hospital beds in the US was at "a facility that complies with Catholic Directives that prohibit a range of reproductive health care services even when a woman’s life or health is in jeopardy," with that percentage reaching up to 40% in some regions. Now, after dealing with COVID-19, small and rural hospitals are staggering, with more than 200 rural hospitals currently at risk of closure in 2023, reducing the ability of people to "choose" an alternative even further. Read the full article

[memoirsofabasicbitch]

The thing is, I’m not entirely sure I remember how to dream. How to write. How to imagine anything independently of a world created by someone else, in their mind.

I’ve grown so used to hanging my dreams on what other people have created for me that I don’t know if that person is still in there.

That weird little girl, who peeled acorns for squirrels, and walked in circles over and over and over again on the roots of the big oak tree. She had a big imagination. She told herself all sorts of stories.

Was it just because I couldn’t play the other games? Too slow - reflexes and running. Too weak - climbing, throwing, running, playing.

(Or was it because I wasn’t allowed to — couldn’t — play those games? I have a few dim memories of trying to play and being sent away. They’re dim though. I stopped asking.)

Or was it simply that I was filling time? Waiting until I could go back into a world I could navigate a little better than the playground?

Sometimes, though, I was waiting. Hoping, really.

More than a few times.

A lot.

I hoped, I thought, maybe - maybe if I walk in the right way, I’ll hear the trees laughing, like Anne told Diana about. Maybe they’ll talk to me. Maybe a faerie will come creeping out from a little crevice and wave, winking. Maybe a squirrel will come crawling down the wrinkled bark while I watch, and take the little heap of acorn meat I’d left for him. Maybe there’s a tiny scrap of magic somewhere in the world that I just haven’t found yet.

I haven’t had dreams for a long time. That’s what happens when your dreams have expiration dates. I’ve already missed most of mine.

Never really even came close.

I had a “schedule” that makes me want to cry to think of it. Meet someone in college or shortly after. Get married by 25, so we would have a few years together after college. Have our first child by 27, because mom always said I should start having babies by 30 if I really wanted to have more than one and space them out.

I’m 28. I’ve never had a real relationship with anyone, romantic or platonic. I’ve never had a best friend who would place me on the same importance as I would them.

I have borderline personality disorder. I have adhd. I am on the autism spectrum. I have depression and anxiety so severe they cripple me. More than one of these things may be false. The symptoms are nearly indistinguishable once you have more than 2. No one will give me a straight answer, and no two doctors can agree.

Added onto years of emotional and mental abuse - which is what it was, wasn’t it. Maybe because I’m autistic, maybe it really was that bad. Neglect, sure. Public humiliation, that happened too, I’m pretty sure. Being told flat out that I was stupid and fat and ugly and I was lucky to have any friends at all so maybe I should just shut up and sit down before I ended up with none.

I’m pretty sure that happened. I don’t really remember it though. I don’t really have any memories at all.

Supposedly that’s something that happens with “complex post traumatic stress disorder,” which generally crops up when a person is systematically ground down for a long time until there is nothing left but the stories they told themselves when they tried to explain to the fake audience in their head who they were. How they got that way.

I don’t know who I was, who I could have been if I hadn’t had the life I did. Maybe my memories are skewed.

My therapist didn’t seem to think so, but she also sometimes seemed to think I was full of shit. That’s probably me reading too much into things again. That’s what I do.

Was it really that bad? I remember a lot of screaming, and crying, and hiding, and wishing I was dead or that someone would just hit me already so I would have something to say, to tell people other than “they yell at me and make me cry and sometimes they grab my arms and shake me and sometimes they tell me they’ll throw me out onto the street to fend for myself and sometimes they tell me they love me so much they’re so sorry and then sometimes they cry”.

But how much of that was me? How much was that my perception of things? Am I really that crazy, or have I really been gaslit that much? Is it gaslighting if they didn’t even realize how much pain they caused you, which is why they say “it wasn’t that bad stop exaggerating”?

Did I imagine all of it?

If I did, if I didn’t, what was real? What had the weight I felt it carry? What should have been a minor blip in my life but instead metastasized into a catastrophe?

I don’t know. Maybe I never knew. Reality hasn’t ever been my friend.

Fantasy is so much better.

It’s painful now, though. To read some of these stories, these books I used to adore.

Stories about Mature Adult Women of 25! Whole! Years! Going on adventures and meeting their soulmates and having wonderful happy lives.

I’m spiraling. It’s late. I’m tired and a little high, wishing I was higher and maybe I wouldn’t be so bored.

Bilbo was middle aged, wasn’t he? When he went on his adventure? He had an adventure, and then he came home and had a long, rich, happy, lonely, bitter life. Hmm. Perhaps the one ring is not the best foundation for a guiding principle.

I went to law school because I’d come to the end of every plan I actually had. (You don’t really plan for a future when you’ve been suicidal since before puberty.) I figured I’d get to read and write at least reasonably interesting things, make good money, maybe even make a difference.

I’ve been a paralegal for the same law firm I worked for right out of college for two years now and I have never felt more like a shambling corpse.

When I graduated from college, I couldn’t get a job. Could I have tried harder? Sure. Is executive dysfunction a bitch? You bet.

So I worked for a family friend’s law firm. Personal injury and medical malpractice. She’s the mother of my older sister’s oldest best friend and has employed all of my mother’s three daughters.

She’s also a heinous bitch and a terrible boss. Her employees have a shelf life of about 2 years. I’ve hit my expiration date. Once you’ve audibly cried during a phone conference, you’re really near the bottom. Once she decides you suck at your job, there’s no coming back. Either you quit or you get fired. She prefers when people quit so she can blame them and not feel guilty. So she just increasingly treats people worse and worse until they quit in self defense.

I worked for her for a year. It was awful. I became an alcoholic and gained 25+ lbs.

I decided to go to law school.

I moved to New Orleans.

I made friends. I had an apartment all to myself. I had a life I actually enjoyed.

Then I graduated.

And I couldn’t get a job again.

(Of course, all of this is underpinned with my cyclical periods of intense illness, often accompanied by being hospitalized and missing long periods of school. In college and in law school, actually.)

(All the cocaine and drinking didn’t help either.)

(Ah, New Orleans. How I miss thee.)

So I ended up at the same firm again. Living with my parents. Again.

Then I passed the bar.

Now I’m doing the same work as my younger sister, for the same amount of money. (When she graduated from her masters program and was unemployed for 6 months, I convinced my boss to hire my younger sister again, and my sister to work for my boss again after a semi-disastrous summer job.)

(To be fair, while I’m technically a licensed attorney, she has a masters in education, so it’s not like there’s a massive education disparity here.)

(It doesn’t help that I’m barred in a different jurisdiction than the one my firm typically works in, so there aren’t any cases I can really work on as an attorney, and then on top of that my bosses don’t want to pay for malpractice insurance for me so I’m not allowed to practice as an attorney or put that I’m an attorney or call myself an attorney or even put in my letterhead that I’m licensed in the District of Columbia.)

Then there was a pandemic, and I decided I probably shouldn’t try to make a huge life change during a pandemic.

The pandemic is still fucking here. Nearly. Two. Years. Later.

So I guess I have to make a new plan.

Can I be a lawyer? I guess we’ll see.

I don’t really want to, though. I’m burned out and I wasn’t even practicing.

I want to move to a beach and write a novel and actually have a life I enjoy.

The problems with this plan are numerous. Not only is inertia an incredibly powerful enemy of mine, but I’ve lost all imagination.

I cannot imagine a future in which I am happy. Will I kill myself? Probably not, at least not for a long while. I’ve thought too long and hard about the long-lasting, far-reaching repercussions it would have. (Say what I will about my family, at least it’s always been clear that my death is NOT an acceptable outcome.)

I want to find my imagination again. I want to be able to imagine not only a future in which I am happy, but other futures, other worlds. I want to be able to dream, not only for me, not only for reality, but for unreality. I want to create worlds in my mind again, and allow them to take whatever shapes they wish.

I don’t know if I can. I don’t know if all those horrible teachers, all those “peer editors” in fucking elementary school were right, and my story ideas are hackneyed and overwrought.

Wouldn’t it be nice, though, if they were wrong. Wouldn’t it be nice, to start writing, and to find that my imagination didn’t go so very far.

It’s been hiding in the intertwined branches of a birch grove, slim and tall and ringing with laughter. In the space between stars. Down the path shaded with wisteria and jasmine and honeysuckle, where the scent and the heat and the humidity are so thick you can feel the heavy perfume coating your lungs. Tucked away, safe, waiting to peek out. Waiting to creep down the wrinkled bark of a huge old oak and wink at the little girl playing among its roots.

I hope it is there. I hope I can find it.

I’ll keep you posted.

This is my own personal void to yell into, after all.

[storm-leviosa-fanfics]

So instead of doing my reading for uni or writing more of Damian’s intro to the ‘lowest and vilest alleys’ series, I ended up rattling off this in about half an hour. It has no relevance to anything except maybe if people were wondering if Superman existed in this ‘verse (he does kinda ish). 

[Image description: An old style newspaper with a picture of Bruce and Selina from Gotham by Gaslight with the headline ‘From Far-off Lands to Family Man’]

For people who can’t see the picture or prefer to read just text, here you go.

From Far-off Lands to Family Man

‘Daily Planet’ reporter Clark Kent on Bruce Wayne’s transformation from prolific partier to perfect parent.

Bruce Wayne is a household name in Gotham city. By far the richest man in the city and one of the most prominent in the country, it is hard to see him as the down-to-earth kind of man that he is. As a very young man, Wayne gained a reputation for being reckless: drinking far more than appropriate and taking part in activities far too dangerous for a man of such high standing. When he left Gotham, and the US, over five years ago, it was to concern that he would never return. Now, however, Gotham’s foremost bachelor has returned, and he has quite the story to tell. In an exclusive interview with the ‘Daily Planet’, Bruce Wayne reveals his true plans for Gotham and his own life.

The Wayne fortune recently surpassed $1.5 billion, marking him as one of the richest men alive. This money is not merely languishing in a bank vault as supposed by many. The latest in a series of projects proposed by Wayne Enterprises is projected to use a sizeable chunk of the family fortune, with little expected return. In an effort to clean up a city renowned for its high crime rates, Wayne has put forth plans for a free school and boarding house for homeless children in the Burnley district of the city as well as several community kitchens in the Newtown area. When asked the reasons behind this sudden interest in charitable causes, Wayne citing dropping literacy rates and rising poverty as key reasons behind Gotham’s escalating crime statistics. The Wayne Foundation Community School is his attempt to end that by keeping children off the streets and in school. Attached to the school will be a small boarding house for children living on the streets where beds, food, and washing facilities will be provided free of charge. Child homelessness is an issue particularly close to Bruce Wayne’s heart in the wake of his shock adoption of two young boys last month. 

Richard Grayson and Jason Todd (aged 13 and 11, respectively) were found living on the streets and being coerced into a life of crime by a villainous gang leader. After a short tenure at St Cadwalla’s, a nunnery that shot into prominence after the brutal murder of Sister Leslie Thompkins, Wayne and his betrothed, the renowned performer Selina Kyle, took in the two boys. Since then, they have been living in Wayne Manor and have not ventured beyond its gates for their own safety. Even Gotham’s own reporters have not been allowed a glimpse of the boys, though it has not stopped them from publishing wildly conflicting stories. A common misprint by newspapers such as the ‘Gotham Gazette’ is that there are three young boys currently being hosted at Wayne Manor. Bruce Wayne himself has stated that there is no third child, however the son of Wayne’s closest neighbours often comes to visit the boys and they have become close friends. Wayne has said little about his time abroad to anyone, and this interview was no different. He mentions briefly some time spent in London, in Prussia, in Arabia, but nothing more. For many, this might be vexing however, with a family to care for, perhaps Bruce Wayne should be allowed a modicum of privacy.

[likesplatterpaint]

May Blog a Day: 9

9. Tell us about your parents.  In what ways are you exactly like them? In what ways are you the opposite? OOOOOOF. BUCKLE IN KIDS.

I was also raised by a stepdad, but we’re not going to get into that this round. That’s just as complicated and I just don’t...wanna.

SO

Mom- Could be both a kind saint and raze you to the ground. She had high expectations for me, academically and in terms of being an amazing person who brought light to the world. She had a beautiful singing voice and loved music. She had an infectious faith in God and brutal determination to survive. She was very sick most of the time, and complications from Cystic Fibrosis led to transplant, which led to diabetes and kidney failure and a whole host of other health issues. I grew up knowing my mom would die sooner rather than later. She wasn’t supposed to live past 21 (she lived to almost 50). She wasn’t supposed to have me. Here I am.

She loved life though.Beyond all she loved her animals, and working with them. She was a master cook. She inspired leagues of people in our community. She had a very hard life, and did the best she could with it and me Her sense of humor kept her alive along with her grit. She loved butterflies, the color yellow, and silly voices. She loved me. 

She also had BPD. At the end, she was desperately trying to keep me in her box. She loved me, but she emotionally and verbally abused the shit out of me- the kinds of insidious gaslighting, guilt-tripping, and manipulation that had pushed nearly everyone else away from her but me. She was constantly telling me I was too heavy to be loved. She could go from singing my praises in one breath, to screaming at me why I wouldn’t do more for my poor sick mother.

We had a very rocky relationship at the end of her life, but I’m proud to say I did what I could to keep the peace. Keep her comfortable. Try to make her happy. And she died knowing her daughter loved her and she was going home to Jesus. That’s what matters.

I am immensely like her in her positive traits- goofy voices, silly mannerisms, a whirlwind in the kitchen. I am driven as fuck. I am a light. I even look just like she did, at least in her younger years (and about 100lbs heavier- not saying much, considering the CF usually kept her around 98 lbs). I have her beautiful red/auburn/strawberry blond heair. My sense of humor was shaped by hers. I learned never to take myself too seriously, and that laughing about hospital grilled cheese and NG tubes. I learned you never underestimate God. You rely on him fully, and after the pain he will restore you sevenfold.

I miss her, writing this. She would have made my life here so fraught, but she would have been so excited and proud.

AND NOW ON TO LITERAL FLORIDA MAN.

Dad is a terrifying mountain of a man made of big feelings, adrenaline seeking, a desire to serve, and trauma. He and mom are bother Leos, so it’s no wonder they didn’t work out- vain, attention seeking, sometimes narcissistic on both of their ends. They met at a hopsital where she worked as a nurse, and Dad as a paramedic. He grew up with next to nothing- after his mother died unexpectedly when he was 8, his alcoholic father abandoned him. Dad lived in a barn in Kentucky on his own until his Auggie- an aunt, or uncle, not sure which, took him in. Needless to say, Dad had his own demons. Enlisted in the US Airforce at 17, served a bit in Vietnam (?????), and was supposed to be a K9 handler? Which I didn’t know until? Last year? They stuck him on a base without dogs, though. So he eventually ended up a fire medic.

By and large, my father spent most of my childhood absent when he left my mom for a worm of a woman. He was a workaholic from my perspective, and had his priorities way out of fucking wack. He worked for the SWAT team, Tampa PD, Tampa Fire (eventually becoming the chief of the district), did two tours in Iraq, and one in Desert Storm, and even more things I probably don’t know about. The man legit has a war trophy of a ceramic fish from the wall of Sadam Hussein’s pleasure palace. Uhm. 

That said, now that he’s been to therapy and put himself to work at being a real father...holy shit? I love him? So much? His enthusiasm is unparalleled (only perhaps by mine, or my mother’s). HE loves to talk feelings, trauma, psychology. He understands people on a visceral level and can make friends with anyone. He laughs just like me. We walk just like each other- head down, determined as fuck to get where we’re going. He jumps in with both feet. He never hesitates to laugh or make a joke, and I live for the sound of his laugh these days. He has a downright spiritual connection with wolves and dogs, perhaps a little self made, but still interesting nonetheless. He can be stone hard and terrifying (there is some murkiness between how he and my mother treated each other- threats of abuse and arguments I was too young to remember, emotionally abusive bullshit he and the snake would pull when I would visit younger...)- but I’m happy to know him as he is now. 

He would do anything for me. And I cannot tell you how good it feels to have a parent that I can trust, finally.

I am my father’s verbose daughter. I am made of passion, wild-eyed enthusiam, and a fuse that is long but an anger that is silent and terrifying. I am wildly creative and a leader. I am flooded with ADD just like him (i suspect he may be bipolar, as well). I am alive and I love it.

Now that I’ve written them out, my parents were terrifyingly similar, and it’s no wonder they didn’t work out. They both struggled with mental health to the point of suicide attempts (One with medication, one that had his uh. Swat buddies called on him). Neither had great relationships with their fathers. Both adored their mothers. Both were unfalteringly loyal people determined to do some good in this world. Both could be immensely selfish. Both had??? fascinations with the marine? Dad scubas. Mom water skiied. Both, at separate points in their lives, became obsessed with training dogs. Both survived some serious shit.

Both of them loved/love me with every fiber of their being and made me into the person I love being today.

And I’m glad I’ve finally gotten to a point where I can acknowledge that and love them both for who they are, and love myself.

[ernmark]

Hi I love all your penumbra metas. In the latest episode I'm still confused by what actually went wrong with the dome, was it the society or the dome that didn't work?

Is this gonna be a thing I do?

I am totally cool with this.

Again, major detailed spoilers for Promised Land under the cut.

And an anon asked:

Thanks for explaining the end of the episode! I’m a little confused about what happened with the dome in the first place. I mean, I know the free dome wasn’t real. And Erin tried to get her son(?) to get it to work and he was a giant dick trying to torture people looking for it. Did Erin set up the dome stuff prematurely? Did it ever exist? Marshall’s son felt really bad and wanted to warn everyone. Where did the hallucination gas fit in? Did Erin and company think they had it but didn’t?

One thing to keep in mind is that we’re deliberately not given the full story, so all we’re left with is bits and pieces that we can glue together to kind of get a vague impression of what happened, but the way I put them together won’t necessarily be the way you put them together. 

So let’s get to it, shall we?

Why was the Free Dome important?

Real estate on Mars is expensive, outside of super low-income neighborhoods like Oldtown, The Boiler, etc. 

This is because 90% of Mars’s surface is uninhabitable. If you want to live somewhere, you better be willing to fork over a ton of cash for a tiny place, or else you’re going to be buddying up with your immediate family/seven of your closest friends/etc. 

JUNO: Mars only has a couple cities and a few desertoutposts cuz the radiation will bake you like a potato if you stay out theremore than a few hours, and Domes can’t be built just anywhere. So if you want anew city, you’ve got to figure out how to build a place to build it. You haveto invent a better Dome.

Life cannot exist underground, because the ambient radiation is just too strong:

PILOT: A lot of space in this subway. I wonder why I neverbuilt anything down here. Some housing or something.

PIRANHA: People lose their marbles if they live under Martianground too long. Radiation burns, Brainswell…

STRONG: You know whatbeing under all this radioactive sand too long does to you? Drives you crazy.Makes you see things.

This is likely why the subway has been closed off everywhere except Oldtown– most likely it wasn’t safe for the people working there, or for the people using it for transit.

Oldtown was the only part of Hyperion City that still had a connection to the Old Subway, behind a boarded-up door in a nondescript office building. (Stolen City)

This is probably also why the only thing that lives in the sewer are giant mutant rabbits. 

Notably, though, both the subway and the sewer system are in fairly good repair because they’re both under Hyperion City and its protective dome. The same doesn’t hold true for structures built outside of that protection:

People hadbuilt things down here, signs and lights and tracks, but the radiation hadclearly done damage even this deep below the surface. Fixtures corroded. Trackslike time had taken a blowtorch to them.

Even the existing domes are fragile. We know that Hyperion City’s has some places that are protected better than others.

RITA: Well… sounds like a pretty bad sandstorm is gonna hit this afternoon. You’ll probably want to be out of Oldtown by then; the shield over there’s about as strong as used tissues. They went into lockdown three times just last month. (Day That Wouldn’t Die)

Our Man-Who-Wasn’t picked a good neighborhood to set up shop in: the Old Industrial District, a place blasted by sandstorms and cosmic rays so hard that not even the roaches would live there anymore. The shields protecting the rest of Hyperion didn’t reach this far, and so neither would most of its citizens. It was the perfect place to do bad business – so long as you didn’t mind a tumor or two. (Prince of Mars)

That’s important: You can’t build domes just anywhere, and the domes that do exist have to be heavily shielded from sandstorms and cosmic rays. 

If you can solve those two problems, then you can build a dome wherever you want, you can build as many of them as you want, and all the unclaimed land on Mars is effectively yours for the taking– and that means that you now have the power to decide who gets to live there and who doesn’t. Do you give affordable housing to anyone who wants it, like Erin Marshall D’Arc? Or do you do like Pilot wanted, and make the hyper-wealthy pay top dollar so they can have their own personal golf course? Either way, that’s an incredible amount of power.

The Family D’Arc

So we have three main characters in this story: Erin, the scientist; Marshall, her son; and his kid, Domer 3 (they’re never given a name, but that’s what the script calls them).

We started in a reception hall that didn’t lookprepared to receive anybody. There were portrait frames on the walls, but mostof them were empty, and the ones that weren’t just showed family photos. A momand her son –- the D’Arcs, probably. The kid all grown up, moody, wild-eyed.The only full portrait in the room had the face scratched out – and theydidn’t look like Erin or Marshall. 

Erin was a military scientist who thought she had a solid technology on her hands, and believed in it enough to run away with a group of other believers. Erin was an optimist who seemed to genuinely believe in her Utopian dream.

After her death, her son Marshall took over leadership of the dome.

MARSHALL: Cuz Ma might’ve had allthat crap about everyone being her neighbor or whatever, but guess what? She’sdead.

The character descriptions in the script talk about how Marshall was a believer who wanted desperately to be good enough, but neither he nor the Free Dome ever lived up to expectations, and that broke him.

But all of that is background information. From what we see in the episode itself, Marshall was… not a nice person. His tests were murderous, sadistic, and full of gaslighting and victim-blaming, and the way he addressed his prospective “neighbors” was nothing short of abusive. 

So you’reprobably wondering why I stopped you out in these irradiated badlands, with allthe oogidies and the boogidies waiting to getcha. I’ve got three answers forthat. Answer one: it’s none of your business. Two: my testing materials havegot to last a long time, forever probably, and it’ll help wear-and-tear if lessof you make it to them. Three: it’s still none of your goddamn business.

“Anyone whowishes to enter the Free Dome must be generous, and give more of themselvesthan they can afford. So sit upon this Chair of Charity and give to us… fromyour blood.”

Congratulations.You’re a very generous idiot. Here’s the Dome… and here’s your blood back,weirdo. Just do me afavor: if you feel like you’re gonna bite the big one, show yourself out,alright? We’re already behind schedule without cleaning up your carcass.Marshall out.

That’s it!Easy, right? Just hold the Dome and walk straight. No matter what. You hear me?No matter what. (AN UNDERCURRENTOF DARK, DARK ANGER) And if youknow what’s good for you, you’ll listen.

That’s way beyond unreasonable. But it wasn’t just toward the test-takers. His kid flat out tells us that this was regular behavior for him.

Dad was a good guy, too. I mean… well, no hewasn’t. 

I never met her, but Dad… Dad wasn’t good beforethe radiation either.

(Notably, this is the same kind of language that Juno uses to describe his own mother.)

We don’t know Domer 3′s name, but we know that they lived outside of the dome with Marshall long enough to know him (and his abuse) before the radiation made him worse; we also know that Erin didn’t live to meet her grandchild. 

After Marshall presumably died, Domer 3 seems to be the last person here. They recorded warning messages to keep everybody away, and encoded a kill switch into the final recording so that once it was activated, nobody could enter the Free Dome again.

There is a fourth character here, but we only know them incidentally. I don’t know whether they were Marshall’s ex-partner or his co-leader, but Marshall really did not like this person:

MARSHALL: … a test tosee how generous you are. You want in you gotta have a sense of charity. Notlike that weasel Malvin, I swear ifyou’re listening to this, Mal, I’m gonna tear your—

Alright, fine.Test of Faith. You’ve got to do whatever I say exactly, right? That’s how youprove you can be faithful. That you’re going to listen when I tell you to dosomething. That you’re not just going to run out. Malvin.

I suspect Malvin is not Domer 3, because otherwise Domer 3 would have been given a name in the script. Also because Malvin clearly left on their own terms, whereas Domer 3 was clearly the last one there.

So what went wrong?

As near as I can put it together, there were two main problems, one structural and one societal.

Structurally, the dome tech just didn’t work.

I’m sure it did in the short term– after all, the dome sample that Pilot received was powerful enough to protect them from most of the dangers of the third trial, and it was stated to be a much less powerful version of the real thing. 

I genuinely believe that Erin set up her city on the other side of those doors in the end. But what worked in a lab setting just couldn’t hold up to the brute force of sandstorms and constant cosmic radiation. As soon as the dome failed, everybody had to rush back into the relative safety of the underground areas on the other side of the door. The ruins of the city were likely warped by radiation and ground up by sandstorms until they were reduced to nothing at all.

Underground, Erin kept trying to fix the dome tech, and then brought in her son to give it a go. Both of them failed.

I wish they made it. I wish it was possible. Erin, I think she really thought, even if she couldn’t do it… maybe Dad could. She believed in him so much. And when he realized he couldn’t make it work, he just… (BIG SIGH) It was bad. He was… bad.

They were underground in the facility long enough that they started to hallucinate death millipedes, undercrows, and from the sound of it, the functioning dome itself:

I don’t know how it happened. The undergroundradiation, maybe, making them see things, or… maybe they just wanted to see it. 

What exactly happened to them isn’t elaborated upon, but the implication is that they assumed that the tech worked and walked into the desert unprotected, which killed them within a few hours.

(Just to clarify: there was never any hallucinatory gas; the hallucinations were a result of the brainswell, which was in turn a result of the underground radiation.)

But there were some societal issues at play, too.

I’m gonna step back for a second into the real world: historically, there have been a handful of experimental Utopian colonies over the years, with varying degrees of success. A common thread, though, is that a lot of them tend to fall apart when people stop dividing things evenly and start hoarding and hiding an unfair share of the goods for themselves (among other things). The test of charity suggests that this is one of the things that went down here. Once again:

MARSHALL: … a test to see how generous you are. You want in you gotta have a sense of charity. Not like that weasel Malvin, I swear if you’re listening to this, Mal, I’m gonna tear your—

But it’s not the only thing that went wrong. 

Erin’s answer to a galaxy-ending conflict wasn’t to address any of the existing problems that broke the world, but to just pack up and move somewhere else.  Which is not that great of a strategy.

Your wholething is that the world’s a train wreck, so you open up a new city and just letanybody who wants walk in? That’s not anew world. That’s not a utopia. That’s the old one all over again. Justsmaller.

Erin’s strategy was apparently to please everybody, which is also not a great leadership strategy, especially in a small place with limited resources. Marshall had a lot of things to say about that, but he wasn’t much better. Apart from being seriously abusive, Marshall wasn’t the kind of leader that could command respect, which he clearly resented. 

… what isthis, second? Uh, Test of Faith, how about that? Listen to whatever I say.Somebody’s got to. Somebody should.

Hey, you listened. Nice work. If you’re alive. Which you probably aren’t. Because you probably didn’t listen. Nobody does. Why would you? Why would anybody? 

On a societal level, the Free Dome was doomed to fail even before the brainswell started making people hallucinate and taking away their ability to think rationally.

From the sound of it, people stopped listening to the D’Arcs, they started hoarding things, and then they started leaving or dying, until the only ones left were Marshall and his kid. And then it was just Domer 3, who shut down the whole thing and walked away.

[perlelune]

no body, no crime | Coriolanus Snow | x.

Your childhood friend returns from his exile in district 12, but he's not the sweet, quiet boy you once knew anymore.

Warnings: NON-CON, Plinth!Reader, Gaslighting, Drugging, Murder, Forced Marriage, Forced Pregnancy, Loss of Virginity, Somnophilia

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

Disbelief shimmers in William’s green gaze.

“You’re joking…” He cradles your face, searching your eyes. They are steadily filling with tears. He releases you, retreating as his face distorts with shock. “You’re…not?” He runs his fingers through his brown locks. “God, I’m such an idiot.” He unleashes a humorless laugh. “It’s him, isn’t it?”

Your stomach sinks. 

“This entire time. I waited for you. I trusted you. And you just…What? A-Are you with him now?” The betrayal quivering in his tone shatters your heart to pieces. 

You lower your head and mumble, “It’s complicated…”

“No it’s not. It’s actually quite simple. Do you love him or do you love me? Do you want to marry me or do you want to marry him?”

William’s anger and frustration coat the air, his voice growing louder with every word. You tremble. Your fiancé’s never yelled at you like this before. You’ve argued, of course, like every couple does. But never like this. And never has he looked at you like that. Like you’re a stranger. You wish the earth would open up and swallow you. 

“I…”

“Answer me!”

You jolt and step back, the heel of your shoe hitting the bottom of the stairs. 

Your father appears in the corner of your vision. An exhale of surprise leaves you. He wedges himself between you and William.

“Do not dare raise your voice at my daughter, young man,” Strabo thunders. You gape at his back. It’s the first time you’ve heard your dad use such a furious tone of voice. 

William lifts his hands defensively.

“I’m sorry. I’m just trying to understand-”

“I think it’s best if you go. Now,” your father urges, pointing at the door. 

Your fiancé’s shoulders sag. He tosses you one last, heavy look, his jaw clenching.

“Yeah, maybe it’s for the best,” he belatedly grits out. 

The second William slams the door shut, you’re in your father’s arms. The fat tears rolling down your cheeks drench his shirt.

“Dad…”

“It’s okay, sweetie. It’s okay.”

He rubs soothing circles on your back as you bury your head in his chest. You sniffle as a sob spills from your throat.

You doubt anything will ever be okay. 

The rest of the day is spent in your room weeping underneath your blankets. It’s a wonder there’s any water left in your body, the ceaseless flow of tears soaking your pillows and sheets. Ma and Dad keep visiting your room, bringing you food and trying their best to lighten your spirits.

But nothing can keep you from drowning in your sorrows. William was the best thing that ever happened to you. You remember when you first met him at the University. The two of you were paired for a project and ended up hitting it off while working together. You didn’t even expect him to ask you out. It was no secret half the girls in your cohort harbored a crush on him. And with his boyish charm and outgoing personality, a contrast to your more withdrawn, lonely nature, you never imagined he’d seek your company past the project. 

But he did, constantly finding lame excuses to talk to you like asking for your notes on a class or lying about needing a pen for a quizz. One thing led to another and, after a few months of courting, he got on one knee and asked for your hand. 

Then Janus died. Your world collapsed. Colors dimmed around you. Everything stopped making sense. Still…William did. Whenever you were around him, you could pretend away your grief, laugh away your pain. 

Your heart wasn’t so broken. 

And now…you don’t think it’ll ever be put back together. 

For days on end, you don’t leave your bed. The sun rises; it sets. Yet the same pains shackle you to your bedroom. Quicksands of guilt and sorrow suffocate you.

…Until you’re swept by a sickness one day. 

It happens a little under a week after your return. You rush to your bathroom and pitch forward, dry heaving the near vacant contents of your stomach into the toilet bowl. You then huddle on the floor, hugging your stomach as pain pulses through your midriff. Your brows collide in confusion. Hardly a bite of anything has crossed past your lips these days, as you only chewed on a few glum bites of the meals Ma brought to your room. Yet you are nauseous, cramps twisting your insides.

You bolt upward, racing to the toilet bowl again as another surge of queasiness takes you. Following that, you crash into a heap on the floor. Shuddering, you wipe the back of your mouth.

You crawl onto the floor, all the way to your bed. 

Every day after this one, you awake sick and cranky, the same ache and nausea plaguing you. You also begin to experience faint headaches. It becomes dire enough for your parents to summon a doctor. However many times, he checks you out, he finds nothing amiss or wrong with you. Throughout the checkup, concern is etched on your parents’ faces. You’re forced to promise them that you’re alright and that, to prove it, you’ll show up for family dinner as you did before. Your father pats your cheek, visibly relieved, but the concern on your mother’s face doesn’t relent. She keeps scrutinizing you with a strange look on her face, one you’re not sure what to make of. 

Still, even as you hug Ma and Dad, dread creeps inside you. Something else could still be wrong with you. The kind of thing there isn’t a quick fix-it for. The kind of thing you’d have to deal with for the rest of your life. 

But you don’t let your mind wander there. Not yet. 

As you end the day with yet another bout of vomiting and stabbing cramps, your mother rushes upstairs. She sinks to her knees at your side and strokes your hair.

“Are you alright? I heard you.” She frowns as she takes in your shuddering frame. “Perhaps we should call the doctor again so he can do more tests…”

You bristle. More tests would mean exploring other possible causes for your affliction. You can’t risk that. Not with Ma and Dad involved.

“It’s nothing, Ma,” you dismiss with haste. You put a hand on her arm. “Could we go to the apothecary this evening?” Her puzzled look draws a nervous chuckle from you. Twisting your hands, you chime falsely, “I bet it’s just a nasty stomach bug.”

Her frown deepens. “A bug? But you haven’t eaten very much lately.”

You shrug.

“It can still happen.” You slip on a mask of cheerfulness. “I’m sure I’ll be right as rain again with some ginger and camomile, Ma.”

“If you say so,” she says, returning your smile.

You’re a bit unsettled as you find yourself outside. The brightness of the sun sears your eyelids. You squint at the blue sky. You wobble down the stairs as your mother holds your arm. You’ve grown so accustomed to keeping yourself cloistered inside, either by your own will or the will of…others. Strolling along the cobblestoned path while the winter breeze caresses your face has a strange tickle running through you. 

An awkward silence hangs between you and your mother once you’re in the back of a taxi.

Your fingers twiddle in your lap as you keep your eyes low. Who knows what Ma could discern in your gaze. You never managed to conceal much from her ever since you were a little girl. She was always freakishly aware of every blunder, bad grade and secret.

Her motherly instinct is infallible.

“Dad and I haven’t seen much of you these days,” she suddenly notes, causing your head to whip up. “I know you’re sad about William but…” She hesitates, gauging you before stating, “I think it’s a good thing.”

“Ma…”

“He was never right for you,” she insists, her inflection stern. “You’re a Plinth. You should aim higher.”

“Mother!” you hiss.

She shakes her head. “I’m sorry, sweetie, but it needed to be said.” She reaches out to drape her hand over yours. “You’re hurting right now but it’ll all be for the best in the end. You have a bright future ahead of you. That young man, nice as he is, was just holding you back.”

Mouth agape, you stare at your mother. While you know that she and Dad have never cradled William near their heart and weren’t too  thrilled with your decision to marry him, you never expected her to be so callous about your engagement ending. In her mouth, it nearly sounds like a business deal gone wrong. But she knew William, talked to him many times, saw you with him. She has to understand how much losing him means to you. How can she be so cold and dismissive about it? You quell the budding sobs in your throat. 

The quickness of the drive to the shop is a small mercy you bask in. After your mother spoke, the air in the car grew heavier, every lungful becoming torturous. 

You hastily climb outside the car once it comes to a stop in front of the apothecary. 

Windchimes sing above the door as you enter, your mother at your heel. 

You linger by every shelf, pretending to be lost between all the labels. 

“We could call the clerk to help…”

“No, it’s okay,” you cut her off. You giggle and shrug. “I like taking my time. Actually, you know what?” You grab a vial and shake it, pretending to study the label. You wave your hand at your mother. “I’m gonna stay behind and gather some more herbs. You should go. I’ll be fine on my own.”

Befuddlement knits her brow. “I could stay…”

“I won’t be long,” you snap, your lips curving in a wide, painful grin. You squeeze her arm, your tone softening.  “I promise. Just wait for me in the car, Ma. Then we could stop by a café and have a bite. How does that sound?”

She yields with a nod. “That sounds lovely.”

Relief fills you when she walks away. 

The second she’s out the door, you’re racing to the front desk.

“I need a pregnancy test, please,” you blurt out, your voice barely above a breath as you keep stealing wary glances behind you.

The mere utterance of the request has your insides coiling in horror. For a while, you were in staunch denial of that being a possibility. But you mulled it over, long and hard. It made you realize that, besides the sickness you’ve experienced lately, you also can’t remember the last time you had your monthly bleeding. You’ve never been late before. Not even once. And while things are a little fuzzy in your head…you’re pretty sure over two months isn’t a good sign.

The clerk blinks at you, seemingly taken aback. Still, she silently moves her head in agreement and dives through a door leading to what you assume to be the back of the shop.

The wait is agony. You count every second, praying your mother won’t show up out of the blue and start questioning what you’re up to.

When the clerk returns, you free a deep breath. 

She places a small, clear vial inside your palm. You give her an inquiring look.

“You must…relieve yourself and transfer it in this vial,” she explains. “If it turns blue, well congratulations are in order.” Her smile dies as she notices your tight expression. “Or perhaps…not?”

“Thank you very much,” you say, carefully squeezing the vial and shoving it at the very bottom of your bag. 

For good form, you ask for some medicinal herbs, some for stomach pains and others for sleeplessness. Just in case your mother inquires about your purchases. One can never be too careful.

When you’re back inside the car, your mother beams at you. 

“Did you find what you were looking for, sweetie?”

“Y-Yes, I did, mother,” you stammer, clearing your throat and letting your gaze roam outside the window. 

You’re thankful she cannot hear the cacophony of your pounding heart. 

You spend the rest of the evening with your mother, drinking tea and eating cake while she babbles about trivial topics. You try your best to listen, giving vague, half-hearted replies.

But your mind is already far away, a million thoughts bumping inside your head.

The entire evening, you’re restless, eager to go home and get answers to your questions. 

It requires every morsel of self-control within you not to make a beeline upstairs once the two of you are back home. You give a swift apology and tell your mother the day’s exhausted you and you need a quick nap. She reminds you that dinner is in less than two hours and you need to dress up. You don’t argue, all too happy to finally be on your own.

Once the door to your bedroom is closed, you slump against it, all the tension in your body draining all at once. You take a minute to breathe, leaning your head against the wood.

You retrieve the vial inside your bag. Your hands quake. Your heart drums.

Hesitation slithers through you. What if you just tossed it out the window, forgot about all this?

No. This isn’t something you can cower or hide from. You have to face this.

Your entire life could change in an instant. And it might be about more than just your life.

Shaking from head to toe, you proceed inside the bathroom. You pee in a glass and pour a small amount in the vial.

Insides painfully tight, you chew on your lip as you wait.

Stay clear, stay clear, you pray in silence, as if the water could hear your plea and change the course of your fate by some fantastical twist.

After a few minutes, blue starts bleeding inside the water. It doesn’t stop until all of it has morphed into the horrifying color, bubbles rising to the surface.

The air in your lungs falters. The vial crashes to the floor, scattering into tiny shards as you collapse on the floor of your bathroom.

You gape at the blue puddle on the floor. Maybe it’s a mistake. Tests aren’t always foolproof. They’re wrong sometimes. Perhaps yours was defective.

For a while, you loiter in your denial, conjuring a plethora of reasons why this isn’t happening.

Then you slowly blink. You realize the puddle hasn’t moved. The shards are still on the floor. The blue isn’t gone.

An audible exhale bursts from your chest.

Despite your desire to pretend otherwise, you can’t escape the truth. The ghastly, awful truth. There are no more ifs and buts, no ‘perhaps’, no ‘maybe’…Just the reality that will make itself known to all much sooner than you’d like.

You’re going to be a mother. You’re carrying Coriolanus Snow’s child. The urge to puke, cry and scream all at once surges through you.

“Sweetie, dinner’s ready.”

Your mother’s abrupt call from downstairs has your heart miss a beat.

“I’m not hungry, mom,” you reply automatically, tamping down the quiver in your voice.

“You promised,” she yells.

Right. You did. Perhaps it was foolish of you. How can you carry on with dinner and smile at your parents as if everything’s normal? As if your whole life didn’t take a gigantic turn…the biggest one there could ever be.

You collect yourself. You rub your sweaty palms on your skirt and pick a random dress from your wardrobe. You’re a little shocked to find the closet half-empty, gut wrenching as you remember a good chunk of your clothes are still at the Snows’ apartment.

Emptying your thoughts, you get dressed, your fingers slipping as you fumble with the buttons of your dress.

Get it together.

You slap your cheeks and will yourself to act normal. You’ll figure out the next steps later. Right now, you need to make it through dinner.

The facsimile of a smile nudges your lips upward as you drag your feet downstairs.

However all shallow semblance of happiness evaporates from your face when you take in who’s standing at the bottom of the stairs by your parents.

His smooth lilt ripples through the room.

“Hey, princess.”

Your stomach drops to your feet. Victory sways in his cobalt orbs as he savors your reaction.

He looks the exact same as the last time you saw him, simply more put together in his crisp red suit and white shirt, his blonde locks slicked back from his face.

Every cell in your body is screeching at you to run from him. As far as you can. For as long as you can. And never look back. 

Your fingers clutch the stairs’ handrail.

Your appalled gaze turns to your parents. They are entirely too calm for your liking. In fact, they appear more wary of you than him.

“What’s going on? W-Why is he here?”

Your father takes careful steps towards you.

“Sweetheart, maybe we should sit, have a discussion as a family…”

You scoff, shying away from his outstretched hand.

“But he’s not…He’s not part of our family. Or did you forget, Dad?”

Your father’s shoulders fall, a great weariness settling upon his features. In that moment, he looks every bit of his years, all the built-up grief and exhaustion displayed on his face.

“Yes, but, in the current circumstances-”

“What circumstances?” you interrupt.

“Stop it,” Ma snaps. She sighs, approaching you. You stiffen. “We’re not stupid.” She lifts her hand to cup your cheek, her voice mellowing. “You’re pregnant, aren’t you, sweetie?”

Your eyes bulge, shock striking you mute.

Coriolanus uses that moment to join your mother’s side. He places a soothing hand on her shoulder.

Your heart threatens to leap outside your chest when his eyes lock with yours.

“Your father’s right, princess. How about you come down so we can talk about this…” He flashes you a wicked smile. “As a family.”

[michelles-garden-of-evil]

Episode 13 Review: A Camouflage for the Devil

{ YouTube: 1 | 2 }

{ Synopses: Debby Graham | Bryan Gruszka }

{ Screencaps }

The first half of this episode consists mainly of character interaction scenes that have little bearing on the plot. I would call them filler, but the term “filler” implies that a scene is unimportant, and I think that these ones are important in that they reveal more about Elizabeth’s personality. In the last episode, Jacques brought her to Maljardin; here, we see her first morning on Maljardin. Since the first half of this episode doesn’t really have a plot, I will just post my favorite quotes and screencaps:

Surprisingly, the subtitles for this one were otherwise mostly OK.

If you haven’t figured it out already from the facial expressions and the EEEEEEVILLLLL color scheme of his clothing, Jacques is still controlling Jean Paul’s body. As the Devil (or so Raxl claims), he favors the colors black and red. Colin Fox was born to wear black and red; that color combination looks particularly stunning on him.)

Elizabeth: "Mr. Desmond, you are so gallant you should be that cavalier in the portrait." Jacques: "You know, sometimes, I think I am?" *snickers*

Elizabeth: "Someday, when I ring…" (Most obvious hint at her scheming to marry Jean Paul for money so far.)

Raxl: "Mademoiselle Holly will be with you shortly, madame." Elizabeth: "Thank you, Raxl. I think I would like some toast with my coffee."   Raxl: "And your daughter?"   Elizabeth: "I haven't the slightest idea what her tastes are, nor any respect for them." (Ouch!)

Elizabeth: "Will Mrs. Desmond be down soon?"   Raxl: "There is no Madame Desmond." Elizabeth: "There was one. Has there been a separation or divorce?"   Raxl: "No divorce and they never will be separated." (The dramatic irony!)

Holly doesn’t seem to regard money as a responsibility, likely because she grew up wealthy.

More dramatic irony. (This is still Jacques. He is still wearing the same white shirt and red ascot from earlier.)

Jacques, where were you when I had to do that stupid "Words of Wisdom" assignment for high school English? If I could turn back time, I would take a bunch of your quotes and use them alongside the less appealing required ones. I don’t know how well Jacques’ philosophy would have gone over in the school district I went to--which let teachers get away with making all kinds of inappropriate comments while hypocritically punishing students who said the same things--but it sure would have made for an interesting Words of Wisdom booklet.

Suspiciously specific denial.

Because they learn early on to spot gold diggers from a mile away?

That explanation makes sense, too.

So cute! <3

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<3

Actually, there are a couple minor details in this episode that are important. First, we learn that Holly sold a clasp worth $3,500 with diamonds and emeralds on it at a pawn shop for $200. As part of her father’s estate, she considered it rightfully hers, but her mother accused her of stealing it. (Might that have been a pretext for having her locked up in Westley House?) Also, I realized that I was wrong when I said back in my review of Episode 4 that no one ever comments on Jacques’ ring appearing on Jean Paul’s hand. Elizabeth does while she, Jacques, and Holly are eating breakfast. This means the ring is diegetic: the characters see it appear, even if they rarely mention it, making it more than just a visual cue for the audience.

Like I said, the subtitles in this one were *mostly* OK.

There is also this bit from a short scene between Raxl and Quito in the servants’ quarters, which implies that Vangie’s father, the mysterious Conjure Man, hurt Quito in the past:

When she adds, “he will help us,” he shakes his head. Then when she tells him he has to find him, he drops onto the bed and starts crying. Was it the Conjure Man who turned Quito into a zombie on the show? (Another unexplored plot point.)

In addition, we meet one of the cutest minor characters. In this episode, we see Quito’s pet cockatiel for the first time, and he is adorable. According to Bryan Gruszka of Strangeparadise.net, his name is Chalcko. You may recognize him, as he is the bird in my avatar:

Quito and Chalcko.

He also has a gerbil, but I like the bird better.

In the second half, the focus shifts to the subplot about the portrait of Holly, which Boring Artist Tim has just started working on and is planning to pass off as a portrait of the late Erica Desmond. I have a number of problems with this subplot, but I shall discuss them in detail in another post since this one is already quite long and some more problems crop up later. Ian Martin trolls the audience via Jacques in the second half just before a commercial break; Paflad wrote a hilarious description of this part that I don’t feel I can compete with, so I shall quote his review:

Painter Dude points out that he's limited in what he can do with Holly as a model. After all, she looks nothing like Cryo-Wife, so all he can get from her is a basic shape and an idea of lighting; anything more and he's going purely from memory and one old sketch he did weeks ago. 'Oh no', says Jacques. 'That won't be necessary. I can arrange to refresh your memory.' He grins like a lunatic, the music swells, the camera zooms in for shocked close ups of all the other characters, and we fade to an ad break... HE'S GONNA WHEEL OUT CRYO-WIFE! No. He's gonna show Painter Dude some photo's [sic]. F---ing shameful.

It would be so much more diabolical for Jacques to pull Erica out of the cryocapsule, letting her thaw out and risking damage to her corpse, so that she could pose for Tim while Jean Paul "stands motionless in time” (spoilers through Episode 60), unaware of what’s happening. But he does owe Jean Paul a favor and he has other things in mind to do with Erica that we will learn about later.

Anyway, Holly and Tim leave, so Jacques and Elizabeth resume flirting. I know that this entry is hardly a review since I mostly just included screencaps and quotes, but I love so many quotes from this episode that I can’t help it.

Elizabeth: "Wouldn't it be wonderful to be twenty again and have nothing more to worry about except the prospect of becoming twenty-five?” Jacques: "Even though I'm much older, I still feel young." Elizabeth: "You don't look a day over two hundred." Jacques: "You're close, you know? You nearly guessed my true age. Would it be presumptuous of me to say that you bring out the devil in me?”

Jacques kissing her hand again.

Yum!

There’s another one for the Words of Wisdom booklet from twelve years ago. (Or, rather, it would have been a good one had high school not been too painfully grim to cherish.)

It’s time for BISSITS!

And now another kiss on the hand. So romantic... *sigh*

Right at the end of the episode, Jacques de-possesses Jean Paul, who monologues again. He also magically becomes less attractive upon de-possession, and the irony that he was not distressed about not giving Erica a Christian burial until after Alison complained about it is completely lost on him:

Erica, what is he doing to me? What am I doing when he enters my soul and possesses it, Jacques Eloi Des Mondes! Oh God, my darling, I pray that you know when he is in my being. And that it is he not I that poisons the air! Did I say, “pray?” I, that denied God by denying you a Christian burial? Oh Erica, I can't bear to hurt you, but more and more of the time, I am not my own life, but a camouflage for the Devil!

He was so much more attractive when he was possessed.

I find it funny how this show sends such mixed messages, portraying the rejection of Christian funeral practices as bad but making the alleged Devil the most fun and therefore the most likeable character. It doesn’t help that, save for killing Dr. Menkin in Episode 5 and Huaco and Rahua in his backstory, trapping people on his island, and engaging in lots of gaslighting, they’ve barely had Jacques do anything evil so far. Sometimes I think that he’s just the ghost of an ordinary man who dabbled in the occult and he only pretends to be the Devil to humor Raxl.

Coming up next: Alison makes an important decision that will affect the love square between her, Jacques, Jean Paul, and gloomy old Dan.

{ <-- Previous: Episode 12   ||    Next: Episode 14 --> }