#and a touchstone to keep breaking free to make his own choice and not just be the good soldier | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lambourngb · 4 years ago

Note

“It was supposed to be a regular, boring morning shower”

First line tag

A million years ago, an anon sent me this ask for the first line meme. I woke up possessed and wrote “stuck in gravity, clawing for some bravery” in 10 days. This story is complete, 23,000 words. I put the first two chapters up on AO3 early in honor of the news of our show coming back. The rest goes up tomorrow.

beta thanks to the wonderful @tasyfa

Pairing: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes, Alex Manes/Forrest Long, Michael Guerin/Maria Deluca (past) Kyle Valenti/Maria Deluca (implied/mentioned)

Tags: Starts Forlex ends in Malex, Getting back together, Nebulous Season 3, Angst, Pining, Alien Soulmate Bullshit, Emotional Infidelity, Communication, Emotional Hurt/Comforot, Explicit Sexual Content, Dirty Talk , Telepathy, Handprint Sex

Summary: A year after Crashcon, Michael knows three things for certain.

1. He loves Alex and he probably definitely always will.

2. Having Alex as his best friend makes everything in his life better.

3. Knowing, thanks to his bullshit alien biology, that Alex still fantasizes about his body regularly while dating someone else for a year, well, that is a little more difficult to navigate.

It’s fine. It is all just fine.

Author Notes: This content is probably not appropriate for review by a college writing class on tumblr, just saying but you’re welcome to leave a kudo if you like it.

*****

It was supposed to be a regular, boring morning shower for Michael.

His first Sunday off in over three months deserved a little self-care, he had decided. The summer had brought an abrupt uptick in work at the garage with increased summertime driving leading to more careless accidents and stranded motorists to tow to safety. While Walt would deny it to the end, Michael couldn’t help but notice the old man had slowed down in his work. Between doing his best to keep Sanders’ in business and taking shifts at the Crashdown to fill in for the still-absent Liz so Arturo and Rosa could have their own break, taking the time for more than a perfunctory late night wash down felt luxurious to Michael.

There was a point to staying busy, with filling every hour inside an engine or on a different project around the junkyard with his trailer and that point was distraction. Distraction from the awareness that everyone was thriving. Max and his new-found ‘cousin’ Jones were reconstructing the history of their people’s language and literature together. Isobel had recently celebrated her three-month anniversary with Monica, an artist who shared the same studio space as Rosa. Maria had made exploring her alien-rooted abilities the focus of her life outside of the bar, combining her knowledge of yoga and meditation to crack the ability of moving forward in time. With that success, she had managed to bring back the answer to saving her brain from damage from the future. Her work with Kyle in developing the treatment for her and Mimi had led a new romance there. Then there was Alex, the true focus of Michael’s need for distraction, marking a one-year anniversary with Forrest.

It was fine. All Michael had ever wanted was for Alex to be happy. The distractions he had filled his life with helped soothe the edges of knowing who was at the root of Alex’s new-found peace.

In the last year, Michael had built a permanent wooden deck out in front of his Airstream, transforming his fire pit into an outdoor brick barbecue oven, before moving on to recycle discarded auto glass into window panes for a small greenhouse complete with a rainwater cistern off the rear of the trailer. The actual interior boasted its own changes, an expanded shower stall and more of a kitchen set up than a hotplate and kettle with a small split-level stove and expanded countertop. The next task was building a canopy to shield the deck from the elements. At some point, Michael had acknowledged to himself that each piece he had worked on had turned his portable, transient can-go-anywhere Airstream into a stable fixture at Sanders’.

A home with roots.

A home without Alex and he had accepted that, respecting Alex’s choice of partner. They were the right people for each other, but were always meeting at the wrong time. For a while, he had waited patiently for things to end with Forrest. He had been happy enough to work on being Alex’s friend in the meantime. Then, once they were truly friends sharing every stupid moment of their days via a text message or over a beer at his trailer, he had felt the betrayal of his selfish thoughts keenly. What kind of friend would root for a break-up? What kind of friend would wish heartbreak on the other?

The asshole kind, he had concluded.

As the hot water from the shower head poured over his head though, the acceptance he had about Alex moving on was just a little farther from his reach because Alex was currently thinking about him. They weren’t platonic friend-thoughts either.

A ghost sensation of a hand skirted down Michael’s body, lingering over his chest hair, and fuck, Alex had really loved to card his fingers through it. His mind was awash with impulses not his own, hot anticipation and the thrill of pleasure dropped down his body like the free-falling crest of a rollercoaster. Michael closed his eyes, soaking in the feelings. A gasp escaped his mouth, heard by no one in his trailer. Good God, Alex was really ready, waking with morning wood or to someone — Wrapping his own hand around his hardening cock, Michael stroked himself in time with Alex’s thoughts, pushing aside his own. It was best to just give into temptation and enjoy the moment.

It was something he had learned to embrace with varying degrees of eagerness over the last few years.

The connection with Alex had formed apparently sometime after the shed, but it had taken him over ten years and Alex moving back to Roswell to realize what was going on between them. The summer they had turned eighteen, they had barely been able to keep their hands off each other in the desert, and when Michael was alone, all he could think about back then, was Alex. His head had been a complex swirl of emotion, slingshotting him from the highs of seeing Alex to the lows of facing his own aborted future. There was the longing for Alex, the sadness that he knew their time was limited because Alex was going to go places, and he was stuck in Roswell watching over Isobel, but in the background, of what he thought was a relic from Jesse’s attack, was always a sense of sick fear, of being caught. Again.

Then over the last ten years, Michael would experience this awareness, and suddenly all he could think about was Alex. How it felt to touch him, the wickedness of his mouth, the burn and the stretch to accept Alex’s cock as he took him inside with a bitten lip- Michael thought it was just his mind, giving him a touchstone to happiness and the remembrance of being loved briefly by Alex. Nostalgia. Afterwards as he caught his breath, with his chest splattered with come, the sadness would seep in again, stealing whatever light that was made by those memories.

It wasn’t until after the drive-in, when Alex had spent almost two months avoiding him in person, that Michael had realized that those moments, late at night or early in the morning, were tied to Alex. It took falling into his bed one night, after visiting Isobel in her pod to finally piece it together. His face had hurt from crying on the drive home and the urge to sleep and never wake up again had been so incredibly strong that it took a moment for him to realize he was thinking about Alex. His cock hadn’t even been on his radar, but suddenly all he could think about was getting sucked off.

Fuck, he hadn’t wanted it then, too sad and scared about Isobel to feel much connection to his body for the purposes of pleasure, but the sensations and feelings that had overtaken Michael were too intense to fight that night. Later as he panted, open-mouthed and staring at the ceiling of his Airstream with distant thoughts of cleaning up, his phone rang once. Only the once. Then a ding of a text.

Alex -is home: Sorry pocket dialed.

The rush of self-loathing that hit Michael as he read the message had been so strong he had dropped the phone on the floor of the trailer. That’s when he knew it wasn’t his feelings in his head because in all the years of knowing Alex, of loving Alex, he had never once felt disgust toward himself for his feelings for Alex. From the moment across a borrowed guitar, Michael had accepted the tilt of his axis toward Alex Manes as a fundamental fact, like force equalling mass times acceleration.

Alex hadn’t shared that comfort, and the more Michael tuned into what was going on in Alex’s head, the more his heart broke. Two things became clear to Michael over time; the occurrences were sporadic enough for him to know that he only felt them when Alex was specifically thinking about Michael when he jerked off, and the post-orgasm feelings of disgust and self-loathing were not isolated incidents for Alex to feel afterwards.

“Sometimes things end in a whimper, Guerin-” and Michael had numbly accepted that as proof that while Alex might enjoy thinking about his body, about the ways he had pleasured Alex in the past, Alex had no desire for anything more from Michael. The sex was epic, fodder for a late night fantasy, but Michael himself? He was not someone that Alex wanted to want.

He had changed Alex’s name in his phone from “Alex -is home” to “Alex -is a bad idea” after that and then cursed himself for the trick of alien biology, doomed to be forever aware that he was an example of backsliding to Alex. When Maria had reached for him that night in Texas, he had welcomed her because she seemed at least self-aware of the fact she didn’t want to want him. There was zero chance of a misunderstanding between them that night, even as he kicked himself for still following after people who swore to him that it would never happen again.

For a long time after Caulfield, he had thought perhaps the grief of losing his mother had broken the link with Alex, setting them both free in the wreckage and dust of the prison. The dying psychic screams of his people had rolled over him, scorching his thoughts into cinders as that last connection to love and hope burned out in his mind, his mother’s life extinguishing under the thunder of Semtex and C-4. Then one night shortly after moving his trailer to the Wild Pony, it had happened again. The same overwhelming feeling of need, of longing, but this time the self-loathing afterwards had been accompanied by a crippling feeling of guilt. He had laid there in the twilight of the Wild Pony’s loft, having silently come into his palm while the sound of Maria’s breathing brushed against his ear. For the first time, he had joined Alex in that feeling of self-hatred.

It was past the time for him to flip the switch from ‘tortured lust’ to some semblance of friendship with Alex, if he could and so tentatively, he agreed to work on uncovering his mother’s past together with him. He updated his phone again with that decision in mind to “Alex -sup bro”.

After Maria had learned the truth about Rosa and sent him away with betrayed eyes, he experienced a moment of weakness for Alex after the visit they had made to the Long Farm. There had been a lightness in how Alex had moved that day, his steps had been considered but committed as they had explored the last place his mother had felt at home on earth. Inside of Michael’s heart, he had been able to feel the pieces moving together while he had stood in a place where Nora had had a family, next to a man who had always represented that promise to Michael. The openness of Alex’s smile as they had waited for Forrest Long to reappear had had Michael thinking dangerous thoughts again about a future with him.

What if. What if Alex were ready to take a step toward him without the weight of the past?

That tenuous hope had lasted until the night after Alex had given him the piece of the ship’s console. Standing in his bunker near two am, he had been examining the new piece of his ship, of his past, puzzling over why it wasn’t bonding with the rest of the console when he had felt the awareness of Alex creep into his cells, into his DNA. Eagerly he had opened his jeans with both hands and had fisted his cock, letting himself go with the pull of Alex’s desire. In the aftermath, he had found himself on the floor of the bunker, with come dripping off a fallen drawing of a ship’s engine, but near tears with the knowledge that nothing had changed for Alex. It had still been the same fear flooding his veins, still the same anchor of tortured longing and deep shame weighing his limbs down even as he had been left wrecked by how good his body had felt.

It had been madness for Michael the next few months as he had fallen in deeper with Maria, while the connection with Alex had kept tugging at his soul. There had been little rhyme or reason to when it had happened. Weeks would pass where he apparently hadn’t crossed Alex’s mind once, and then there had been a week when every night Michael had been hit with the same mix of love, lust and bottomless need. Thankfully it had matched with the week-long retreat Maria and Mimi had taken together, saving Michael the work of explaining to her why he was wearing out the washing machines at the Fluff N Fold with his dirty sheets.

The self-torment Alex had felt about him had slowly lifted, to the point when Michael had found out the truth about Walt Sanders, he had called Alex without hesitation. The contact in his phone had changed to ‘Alex- best bro’. If he had finally become a measure of comfort for Alex to remember in his most personal moments, then perhaps Alex could also become a comfort to him, without the mire of their trauma holding them frozen in place.

He had been fooling himself completely in the aftermath of Alex’s abduction that friendship would ever be enough for him. The wounds from his breakup with Maria had still been bleeding below his skin when he had stepped into the Wild Pony to hear Alex singing about him. About them. Then he had been hit with the connection, blossoming open for the first time ever in Alex’s actual presence under the spell of his song.

There had still been a ghost of darkness in Alex’s feelings for him, as he had sung about fighting battles but for the first time in a long time, Michael had felt that there was hope that Alex was finally finding peace with Jesse dead. Despite Isobel’s prodding him to stay and make a move, he had known that it wasn’t their time yet. There had been too much grief and regret swirling in his head, and not just from Alex, but he could be patient for them both for the right moment. The connection had never felt more alive between them that night on the promise of a future.

At least that was what he had thought, until time had kept passing yet here he was, standing in his shower with his hand on his dick a year later, while Alex was across town in someone else’s bed but clearly thinking about him.

Michael watched as his seed dripped down the fiberglass walls, the shower spray sending it down the drain in an eddy of his own frustrated longing. His body was calm, at least, and his mind was buzzing with happiness from Alex. He concentrated on the euphoria floating between them in particular. Alex had soaked up pleasure this morning, pursuing it with a greed that Michael couldn’t help but admire, and then he had let himself go without any hint of shame. God, it felt good to know that Alex had finally found that comfort with himself.

He breathed in and out, counting the seconds down until the connection faded. Once it was over, he gave himself five more minutes under the hot spray, letting whatever was welling in his eyes, slip unseen down his face. He cursed his stupid alien biology in the same breath that he clung to it for giving him Alex again, if only briefly.

After he was dressed for his brunch plans with everyone, he checked his phone before he left, to find a text from Alex. The contact had been updated one more time, six months after the Crashcon, from “Alex -best bro” to “Alex -bf”. Isobel had been way too excited to see that notation, until Michael had patiently explained it had stood for ‘best friend’. Maybe in another universe it was ‘boyfriend’, just not this one.

This wasn’t crumbs, he had argued to her, Alex was still a feast for him in whatever way he could have him. He read the text with his mind still working to box up the feelings that lingered for Alex, “Tell everyone we will be late- overslept”. The ‘we’ was what puzzled Michael the most about the whole situation over the last year. Why was Alex still thinking about Michael the way he did while he was with someone else?

AO3 link for more

#malex #malex fic #roswell new mexico #getting back together #season 3 #set a year after the crashcon 2x13 #not forrest long friendly #alien soulmate bullshit #publishing this ask and posting a link is self-indugent but wanted nonnie to see it #Anonymous #alien soulmate shenanigans #cosmic soulmates

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admiralty-xfd · 5 years ago

Text

the whole truth

My constant, my touchstone. We have arrived, folks.

This is the final chapter. To start at the beginning, click here.

Thanks to everyone following along with this fic, I’m sad it’s over but I’m so proud of it, it makes me happy so many of you gave it a chance. -a;)

Chapter 17: The Constant

She walks alone on a beach, feeling the sand between her toes, the breeze gentle against her face, the waves crashing onto sand. Crystal blue water. No blood. No boils. No locusts. She closes her eyes, enjoying this: the solitude.

Loneliness is a choice.

At first there is no one around, but then a man appears. Kind, familiar, he approaches and gives her a warm smile.

“Where is Mulder?” she asks the man.

Albert Hosteen doesn’t answer her question, instead only gazes at her with wrinkled, soulful eyes, imploring her to grasp the things that are beyond her understanding.

“I have a message for you,” he then says. “From someone you love.”

“What?” she asks, confused. “Who? What message?”

Please, not Mulder, she thinks. Please tell me he isn’t with you yet. Somewhere deep inside she knows Albert is either dead or close enough to talk to the dead.

“Your sister,” he then says, much to her surprise.

“You- you’ve spoken with Melissa?” she asks hesitantly. This is a dream, just a dream, she thinks.

He nods solemnly. “She told me to tell you... that great change is coming for you and your partner.”

Scully pauses, reflects. These are the same words Albert spoke to her at Melissa’s funeral, so long ago. It hadn’t meant anything then, but now…

"What kind of change? When?” Please don’t tell me he dies, please…

“You must help him,” Albert continues. “You must save him. But then... change. Change that you desire.”

Change that she desires… could he mean…?

She glances around the beach and feels it palpably: loneliness. The loneliness she’s chosen for most of her life.

She suddenly knows he must mean what she thinks he means, what she wants him to mean, because that’s how dreams work.

“How will I know?” she asks. “How will I know when things will change? How will I know when it’s right?”

She wants it to be right for them now, but it’s never right for them now.

Albert doesn’t answer but again, as he did so many years ago, responds by simply pointing a weathered brown finger directly at her heart.

***

Scully awoke on the floor of her apartment to the sound of rustling at her door. Her eyelids could barely open, so deep had her sleep been.

She got up to investigate the noise and saw that something had been slid beneath her door. It was an envelope, unmarked. Inside was a keycard for a building operated by the Department of Defense.

Her first thought was Kritschgau; that perhaps he’d been a party to what had happened to Mulder all along. Perhaps it had been him keeping Mulder captive, letting the life drain away from him as it got Kritschgau closer and closer to his revenge. Closer to his proof. And maybe he’d finally hit his limit; perhaps his conscience had finally got the better of him.

But when she found a note nestled inside the envelope she couldn’t have been more surprised at who’d sent it; at whose conscience had actually gotten the better of them.

She unfolded the note and read.

Agent Scully-

I want you to know you were right.

I should have fought harder. I’m not excusing or justifying anything I’ve done over the past several years of my life, but suffice it to say, I’ve made difficult choices; choices Fox never knew about.

I did send you that book. I thought if you understood why I did what I did, you might understand that I believed I was doing the right thing. I believed Fox would understand as well- that he would accept the work I was doing was for the good of everyone, for the world. But I was deceived, and now I have only myself to blame for my own foolishness.

I owe Fox an explanation I’ll never be able to give him. And I’ll never forgive myself for betraying him. All I ask of you is to please understand that harming him was never part of my plan. I hope you can believe that I did everything I could to save his life, and I’m sorry I couldn’t do more.

Please take care of him, Dana. I know you will.

D.F.

Scully stood in her doorway, stock still, trying to process what she was reading. At the bottom of the note was a D.O.D. address that would, ostensibly, lead her to Mulder.

She knew she had precious little time to get to him but she couldn’t move. What was she to make of this? Was it a trap? What would she find when she arrived? A dozen guards with guns? The cigarette smoking man, ready to pounce?

A dead Mulder?

She wasn’t exactly sure what she wanted to believe anymore, who she could trust, what she should do. But there was something about this note, about the other woman’s words, that struck a chord somewhere within her heart.

She suddenly remembered Albert Hosteen being here with her in her apartment, remembered them kneeling down to pray for answers, and then everything that had followed.

Had it only been a dream?

Her first instinct was to question her own sanity. Had he really been here? Or had her lack of sleep over the past few days caused her to hallucinate his presence? There were a number of external factors that could have caused the visitation.

But… no, she shook her head determinedly as she held Fowley’s apologetic confession in her trembling hands. She thought of Ahab, how he had come to her once in the night as well.

This meant something.

She was so confused, not knowing which way was up and which was down anymore, but she remembered Albert pointing a gentle finger towards her heart.

There are more worlds than the one you can hold in your hand, he’d told her before she’d fallen into a deep sleep. It was so hard for her to see that, to understand that some realms were beyond her understanding.

Some truths were not for her.

Diana Fowley had been wrong in so many ways, but there was one thing in the end she and Scully had in common: they both cared about Mulder. She was being sincere, Scully knew it in her gut, and even if it was the first time she was being so since the day they’d met, this was when it mattered most.

That thought pushed every other from her mind as she found herself moving with purpose towards her hallway, towards the street, towards her car. Towards this address, wherever it would take her. She would go wherever he was.

She felt ill-equipped at the moment to make this decision with her brain. She would have to make it with her heart.

In this moment Scully chose to do what Mulder had asked her to do for months.

She chose to trust Diana Fowley.

***

Scully...I knew you’d come.

There had never been a doubt, not really. Even while stuck in his nightmare vision he knew at some point Scully would arrive.

He’d waited, and waited. He’d seen the life he might have had if Diana had stayed, if he’d never found the X-Files. If he’d abandoned his search.

If he’d never met Scully.

I knew you’d come.

“Mulder, you’ve got to get up,” he heard her voice. “I don’t know how much time we have…”

He wanted to, but he was stuck. He tried to break free of his mind prison, of whatever was keeping him tethered to the wrong path. She was the right path.

She was the only path.

Get up, he heard her saying in his dream.

He wanted to get up, to obey, but his mind was engulfed by thoughts and dreams and memories. He felt adrift, and he searched for something to cling to, something to hold onto. His mind was screaming so loudly to get free.

“You’ve got to get up, Mulder,” her real, actual voice was saying.

He saw her face materialize like shoreline breaking through fog and all he wanted was to go to her, to go with her. To leave this place. But he couldn’t move.

He couldn’t do it alone.

I don’t want to do this alone.

“No one can do it but you,” she continued quietly. But she was wrong; she was the one he needed, she was the one who could help him. She was the only one.

I need you, Scully, he said, every part of his body paralyzed, but she couldn’t hear him.

“Mulder, help me…” she whispered.

He could feel her drawing nearer and in his mind they were in the forks of West Virginia again, clawing at the dirt, uncovering truth.

Help me, Scully.

“Please help me…”

He’d been all of the things she’d accused him of: a traitor, a deserter, a coward.

A traitor for trusting Diana over her.

A deserter for abandoning her, for leaving her behind in this nightmarish fantasy; for leaving her in the dark, something he’d sworn in that trainyard he would never do.

A coward for not telling her all the things she deserved to hear from him: that she was the only thing in his life worth living for.

But she was here for him, still, in spite of everything.

He felt wetness on his cheek, a real tear that wasn’t his own. And through that single tear he felt her desperation, her dedication.

Her love.

His eyes opened.

Help me, Scully.

“You... help... me...” he grunted, his arm finally breaking free, wrapping around her neck.

And she did, just as he knew she would.

2630 HEGAL PLACE

HALLWAY OUTSIDE APT 42

ALEXANDRIA, VA

(ONE WEEK LATER)

Mulder had survived his ordeal, which Scully had to convince herself was the most important thing. The appropriate tests had been run and his memories and brain function seemed to be back to normal.

Even with all of her medical training she had no particular expertise on the brain and was nervous he might have permanent damage. There was no way to know what exactly had been done to him in that operating room, not for sure. All the doctors could do was let him rest, and heal.

After a few days he was given a clean bill of health. She could only hope he would be okay.

She brought him home to his apartment and tended to him in his semi-conscious state. She stayed by his side, quite literally, and watched over him. After a few days he was well enough for her to go home, but not before apprising him of the things she’d discovered while in Africa, and her encounter with Albert Hosteen.

She didn’t mention Diana Fowley. She still wasn’t sure what to say, or if the woman actually deserved any kind of explanation as far as Mulder was concerned. Scully had never intended to keep Fowley’s involvement concealed from Mulder forever, but when Skinner called to inform her Agent Fowley’s body had been discovered after a neighbor reported a bad smell seeping from under the door down the hall, it changed things.

Scully still couldn’t believe that Fowley had done a damn thing to help either one of them. But she had. And now she was dead. The petty jealousy Scully had felt over the past several months felt trite and insignificant.

Mulder deserved to hear the truth, and she would give it to him.

She knocked on the door, steeled herself for this task. At first he was playful, lighthearted, and while part of her was relieved he seemed like himself again, she prepared herself to deliver the grim news.

Mulder had other plans, however.

“Scully, I, uh-- I was comin' down to work to tell you that Albert Hosteen is dead. He died last night in New Mexico. He'd been in a coma for two weeks. There was no way he could've been in your apartment.”

This news shocked Scully. “He was there. We-- we prayed together,” she insisted.

He eyed her and with a single look they were dancing once again. She could tell from his eyes what he was thinking, almost as if she had acquired his mind reading skills.

A visitation. A ghost. A spirit.

See it, Scully.

“Mulder, I don't believe that. I-- I don't believe it. It's impossible.”

“Is it any more impossible than what you saw in Africa?” he inquired. “Or what you saw in me?”

The truth was she probably did believe it, because she had no choice anymore. She knew as surely as she was standing here now that an alive and well Albert Hosteen couldn’t possibly have been in her living room when she’d thought he was. That she’d been dreaming, or hallucinating. Or maybe what she could intuit from Mulder’s look that he believed was right, and she’d seen a ghost.

“I don't know what to believe anymore,” she admitted, as tears started flowing.

She sensed Mulder nodding as he stepped closer to her, prepared for their usual dance. He’d anticipated this, surely. But she was tired, so tired of these well-trodden steps.

“Mulder, I was so determined to find a cure to save you that I could deny what it was that I saw.”

She’d seen the craft on the beach, the sea of blood. She’d seen the locusts and the shaman. She’d seen all of it. It had all led to Mulder. She would have believed anything to get to him, accepted anything to save him. And that knowledge scared her.

She could feel herself beginning to break down already, but in his eyes she saw patience and understanding.

“...And now I don't even know… I don't know what the truth is, I don't know who to listen to, I don't know who to trust.”

Her own faith in everything she knew, in science, in God, in all of it, had been so shaken during this ordeal; she truly felt a bit unhinged. She’d thought she could trust Skinner, and she couldn’t. She’d thought she couldn’t trust Diana, but in the end she had. Everything felt upside down.

She decided before this went any further she’d have to simply rip the band-aid off. It was the best way to deliver this kind of news, the way she’d been trained, the way he’d been trained. Both as a law enforcement officer and as his friend.

“Diana Fowley was found murdered this morning,” she said with no preamble.

His eyes lifted to hers in what seemed like resignation, as if he was surprised and somehow expected this all at once. She didn’t want to talk about Diana Fowley any longer than necessary but Mulder deserved the truth of how she’d helped him in the end.

“I never trusted her, but she helped save your life just as much as I did,” she revealed. “She gave me that book. It was her key that led me to you.”

Mulder looked unsure of what to say, how to react.

“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry,” Scully said, genuinely upset by the conflicting emotions rolling around in her mind. “I know she was your friend.”

She reached out to pull him into an embrace, partly for comfort, but mostly because she couldn’t bear to look him in the eyes and watch him break down over some other woman.

But he didn’t. His next words weren’t about Diana Fowley at all.

“Scully, I was like you once,” he said, wistfully, pensively. “I didn't know who to trust and I-- I chose another path, another life, another fate where I found my sister.”

He was speaking softly into her ear and she could feel each hair on her neck standing at attention. “And even though my world was unrecognizable and upside down, there was one thing that remained the same.”

She knew how he felt; unrecognizable and upside down was an understatement.

He took her face in his hands and caught her eyes in a gaze so intense she’d never seen anything like it before, and they’d shared several such gazes. His determination in this moment to get something important across was evident.

He was here, right in front of her, and in a single moment as she felt his touch, she was snapped back to reality.

She thought of Diana Fowley, and how she’d died for Mulder after everything. I know she was your friend, Scully had told him. The words echoed inside her head like absolution she hadn’t intended to give.

“You were my friend,” he clarified, almost in answer to her last words to him, “and you told me the truth.”

She remembered being in that train yard, their bond having felt so broken and battered, and how she’d fought for him. Her truest friend.

“Even when the world was falling apart, you were my constant, my touchstone,” he declared.

Her tears fell freely at this as she smiled in relief. When she looked into his eyes everything felt put back into its proper place, their trust intact.

Here they stood again in Mulder’s hallway, the do-over she’d so desperately wanted now within her grasp. But even though she was free to try again, to kiss him properly, it felt like this moment was too big; it seemed to transcend all the complicated, messy feelings of the last several months.

This wasn’t about a kiss, not right now. It was about this moment; this opportunity to tell him what he needed to hear, what she wanted him to know. The same way he had all those months ago when she’d been headed out the door.

This moment wasn’t about what they might become. This moment was about what they were; here and now, to each other.

Constants. Forever.

“And you are mine,” she responded.

It was naked, uncomplicated honesty, finally.

He smiled and nodded in return, his eyes bright in absolute understanding.

She then leaned forward to kiss his forehead, in his hallway, just as she’d done all those months before. She held his face between her hands as she remembered what Albert had told her.

There are more worlds than the one you can hold in your hand.

The meaning wasn’t lost on Scully but she had a fleeting thought that the world she was currently holding in her hands was the only world she ever wanted to be a part of.

Her thumbs slid down his face and danced softly across those beautiful lips that she still hoped to press her own against.

She would, someday. Great change was coming for them, and soon. She could feel it.

Loneliness is a choice, she remembered thinking not so long ago. It had been a time when things were confusing between her and Mulder; a time when her love for him had been clouded by doubt.

She’d always believed there was nothing in her life more constant than her own faith: in herself, her science, her rationality. But she knew the truth now more than ever before: above all else, her faith was in him. It always had been. And no matter where their lives might take them, no matter what twists and turns they would encounter, and no matter how much longer it took them to get there, she knew for certain loneliness was no longer her choice.

***

He climbs the mound of sand- his sandcastle, his spaceship- and soon he is joined by the young boy once again. They build together, laughing and smiling. After a while the boy looks up at him, taking his hand.

“I want to show you something,” the boy says. “If you’re ready to see.”

Mulder nods, smiling. He’s been waiting for this, wanting this answer for a long time. The real answer, not the one the smoking man had shown him.

And suddenly the boy is Scully. She is right here next to him. It’s been her all along.

She is with him, holding his hand, and she sees the spaceship.

She sees.

“This is ours, Mulder,” she says. “Yours and mine. And we built it together.”

He nods, knowing the truth. This has always been the truth, will always be their truth.

“Let’s keep building, then,” he replies with a smile.

They kneel down in the sand and build.

Epilogue

A tiny cry pierced the air and Mulder’s eyes flew open. He felt Scully shift in the bed next to him, and he leaned over to kiss her temple.

“Stay, I’ll get him,” he said softly.

He slid out of bed to scoop their son up out of his bassinet. William instantly quieted as Mulder held him over his shoulder, carried him to the changing table, and changed his diaper.

When he returned to Scully she was sitting up in bed, turning her bedside lamp on. She reached her arms out as he handed her the baby.

“You can leave the light off, you know,” he smiled.

“I know,” she said, as she got William to latch. “But I want to watch him.”

Mulder slid back into bed next to her and touched their son’s soft head as the newborn nestled into Scully and began to nurse. It had barely been a day since he first laid eyes on William in Democrat Springs but after a whirlwind of activity they’d finally come home from the hospital.

He knew he should probably go back to sleep and take advantage of William’s current state of silence but in this moment he could only agree with Scully. All he wanted to do was watch, so he did.

He watched Scully look at the baby, their baby, and she absolutely glowed. Everything about her as a mother felt right, and although he’d entertained the possibility in the past, seeing it in the flesh made him believe it even more fervently.

He had a fleeting moment of self-awareness as he realized what Diana had said to him in his fever-vision all those months back had been right: looking at his family now, everything else seemed unimportant. Silly.

Childish.

He knew, however, that he hadn’t been wrong. Having a child with Diana would never have been right. It could never have felt the way he felt right now. Even before, when he and Scully had only been friends, he’d been prepared to have a child with her because he knew, absolutely knew he was bound to her forever, no matter what.

These thoughts of his past with Diana were clouding his mind, and he had a strong desire to focus on the task at hand, his task, which was being present for his family. He knew he had to tell Scully what was on his mind to banish the thoughts forever.

To be free of Diana Fowley, once and for all.

He sat up in the bed to face her. “Scully, I need to tell you something.”

She looked up. “What is it?”

“I want to be with you, really… be with you.”

“Well, I just had your baby, Mulder, so I certainly hope you do,” she said playfully, cooing at William. But Mulder wasn’t in a playful mood right now. He was serious.

“I think...in order to do that, I need to be completely honest with you.”

She looked up from the tiny infant and her brow furrowed. “What is it, Mulder?”

He sighed. “I should have told you this years ago, actually,” he said uncomfortably, his hand on the back of his neck. “But it’s… been difficult, for obvious reasons. And it’s been weighing on me more heavily lately.”

“Okay.”

When he looked into her eyes, telling her the truth felt like the only thing to do, although he had no idea how she would react when he revealed it.

“I was married once. Before you and I met.” Her eyes flashed. “It was a long time ago.”

The “M” word hadn’t been uttered by either of them up to this point. Hell, they’d only just dropped the “L” word to each other for the first time a few hours ago. He may very well have gone to his grave with this secret. But as he looked at her now, holding what was essentially living proof of their unassailable bond, he knew complete and utter transparency was the only course.

“Oh,” she said. Her eyes dropped, and he could tell she was disappointed to hear this. On what level, he wasn’t sure.

He waited, and she said nothing for several seconds. As he watched her he could practically hear the gears in her head turning, piecing it together. He knew what would come next, inevitably, as if he’d activated Richie Lupone’s Rube Goldberg machine, and the noose was tightening around his neck.

“Diana Fowley?” she asked, with an air of veiled trepidation.

“I was young, and it was a mistake. But I just… wanted you to know,” he affirmed. “The whole truth.”

She nodded back, thoughtful, then turned her gaze back to the child in her arms. The child that was half his, half hers. She smiled as she gently stroked the infant’s cheek.

“Thank you for being honest with me, Mulder.”

He moved his head lower to better catch her gaze. “Are you upset?”

She looked at him tenderly. “Of course not. How could I be upset about anything right now?” She smiled, indicating William. “Nice job on the timing, by the way.”

“It wasn’t intentional, I promise,” he chuckled softly.

“How long… did it last?” she asked.

“About two years,” he admitted.

She nodded thoughtfully. “But I’ve seen your FBI profile,” she said suddenly. “It has no mention of a divorce.”

“Yeah, that’s what happens when you’ve got Langly for a buddy,” Mulder explained. “Most guys take you out for beers to cheer you up. He took me for a good scrubbing.”

She laughed softly, and reached out to hold his hand. She didn’t say anything for a while and he knew she was processing it all.

“I suppose if Langly scrubbed it, it never happened, then,” she pointed out.

“Even so,” Mulder said, “I still wanted you to know.”

She thought a moment. “It explains a lot, to be honest," she admitted. "Why haven’t you told me this before?”

He’d wondered that too, for years. The answer was obvious. “Because I didn’t want you to know, Scully,” he sighed. “I knew how you felt about her. Not to mention how I felt about you, and how it made me sick to think about revealing that to you.”

“But… later? Even after she died? Why not then?”

He thought about everything that had brought them here together. If he traced it back, oddly enough, Diana was the one who had set the ball rolling. If she hadn’t persuaded him to unearth the memories of his sister that spurred him along this journey in the first place, he and Scully might never have met.

He closed his eyes and thought of all the events that led them here; the moments that had defined both of their lives. He remembered every step that had led to he and Scully taking that ultimate one: how they’d been each other’s constants, how he’d kissed her at the New Year’s ball drop at midnight and waited for her so patiently to be ready. Months it had been, until she’d finally let him in: body, heart, soul. How the rain had pounded against his bedroom window that night as their bodies had moved together, slowly and reverently. Finally.

How love hadn’t meant what he’d thought it did before that night; not at all.

Every choice he’d made, every fork in the road had led them both to each other, right here and now. And as he looked down at their son and up to her he knew why he’d never said anything.

“I guess I’d convinced myself that telling you would somehow lessen what we have together,” he confessed.

“But that’s not true,” she said with a smile. “I didn’t know you then, Mulder. You can’t change your past. And even if you could, why should you? Everything you’ve gone through has made you the man you are today.” She reached out to lay her hand against his cheek and his eyes closed.

He covered her small hand with his larger one. They fit together so perfectly. “I know. I know that now, and that’s why I’m telling you.”

She smiled down at their son, then looked back up at him. “Is there anything else you want to tell me?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Only that I love you,” he said, meaning those words more than he ever had in his life. Maybe he’d never meant them at all before her. “Diana was in my past, and that part of my life is over. The love I feel for you, though... that love is endless, Scully.”

She closed her eyes and brought his hand to her lips to kiss it. Her eyes peered at him over his own fingers and he watched them actively changing in hue: aquamarine, cornflower, cerulean. Scully. How did they do that?

She brought his hand down and a smile spread across her face that put every truth he’d ever searched for to shame. The truth they both knew; this love they shared that they could no longer deny. That he no longer had any desire to deny.

“I’m in love with you too, Fox Mulder,” she said.

His insides fluttered in an inherently Scully-induced manner. He would never tire of hearing her say the words.

“I think I have been since I met you,” she continued. “I only wish I’d been brave enough to tell you sooner.”

He sympathized with her admission; how much heartache and shame they could have avoided if they’d both been braver.

“I wanted to tell you in Antarctica,” she revealed to his great surprise. “I was about to say it but you found that gas can and then… life intervened, I guess. I lost my nerve.” She looked him right in the eye. “I regret that.”

He shook his head. “I have so many regrets, Scully… things you know I’d change if I could.”

His list of regrets was long, especially when it came to Scully. Countless mistakes that, especially during the time Diana had been in their lives, had hampered their progress towards the inevitable; towards each other.

But there was one regret he held higher than any of them.

“That goddamn bee,” he chuckled. “How many things that would have changed if we hadn’t been so rudely interrupted. How many times I’ve wished for a do-over of that moment.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” she said softly, and he believed her.

Their smiles mirrored one another’s, understanding that now was not the time for regret. Now was the time for action.

“There aren’t any bees in here, are there, Scully?” he grinned.

“No, there aren’t,” she replied.

He took her face between his hands and leaned in, so grateful to not be afraid, to not be confused. To know with such certainty she was his and he was hers, and there were no more questions anymore.

Their lips touched and he felt it again; that feeling of absolute bliss that occurred every time he was lucky enough to kiss her. That feeling he suspected would never, ever go away.

He knew the way she kissed by heart now; the taste of it, the softness of her rosy lips, the tiny sighs of satisfaction she probably thought he couldn’t hear but he could, always. Her unoccupied hand combed through the hair at his nape, twirling softly.

Two days postpartum he knew the kiss couldn’t lead anywhere, but it didn’t have to; it was everything, all he could ever want in such a full, perfect moment.

He suddenly felt a sharp pinch at the back of his neck and he reeled backwards, eyes wide, looking for another arthropodal interloper. No fucking way.

Instead he saw only Scully, eyebrow raised, a mischievous look in her eye.

“I had you big time,” she said, barely containing her glee.

They shared a laugh as William fussed in protest. Mulder reached out to comfort him.

“I’m not used to sharing you, Scully,” he chuckled as he stroked the infant’s head.

After a moment, a slight smile appeared at the corner of her mouth. “Wow, Mulder. Marriage.” She shook her head. “I never pictured you as the marrying kind.”

“Oh?”

“It’s just so... ordinary.”

"I might be more ordinary than you think,” he laughed. He looked at her earnestly. “Is… that something you’d consider? Someday? Maybe?”

She smiled in surprise. “Someday. Maybe. Do you think you and I could dabble a bit in the ordinary?”

“I think we could,” he replied honestly, looking down at the tiny baby nestled in her arms. “I really think we might even be good at it.”

She nodded, her eyes shining, and he kissed her again softly. She reached out to turn out the light as he laid his head on her shoulder and closed his eyes, the quiet sounds of William nursing a pleasant symphony to his ears.

***

He’s on the beach again, the wind blowing through his hair, the waves crashing onto the sand; only this time there is no spaceship. There is no mission.

There’s only him, and Scully, and their child.

It’s nothing less than extraordinary.

#txf #the x files #msr #the whole truth #my constant my touchstone #my fic

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blueincandescence · 7 years ago

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wonder woman + too much steve trevor?

The question of whether there’s too much Steve Trevor in Wonder Woman (2017) is a good one. The idea is that, yeah, Chris Pine is great and all, but is he too good? Is his character, the designated love interest, having a personality, character arc, and agency unfair given how superhero love interests are perceived to be shunted to the side?

Let’s explore.

#1. Falling in Love with an Equal Makes a Protagonist Stronger

Narratives where the love interest isn’t fleshed out diminish the hero and the hero’s journey. Stardust is a great deconstruction of the pervasive trope of “dude does a hard thing for a pretty girl.” …But like why? If the protagonist’s motivation is shallow, if the reasons for the protagonist to care about the love interest are shallow, the character seems shallow. It’s bad writing, pure and simple. I don’t want my Wonder Woman movie to have bad writing just because most other movies do.

#2. Steve Trevor Isn’t Really Her Equal

Best part is, Diana doesn’t really start to actually fall in love with Steve (I think) until he joins her across No Man’s Land. He isn’t her equal in strength or heroism, but he does the impossible led by her example. She admires that. Better still, Steve recognizes that he isn’t Diana’s equal. “Or maybe not,” the look he gives after Diana tells the boys to stay there, the, “You did this” — Steve Trevor Gets It. They aren’t equals. She’s a thousand miles above him, but, damn it, he’s a pilot, and he’s gotta try to keep up.

Remember, this is the guy who sacrificed his life: “I can save today. You can save the world.” He knows she’s destined for bigger and better things than he is. And he wishes they had more time together, but he knows her place is fighting the good fight.

#3. Steve Trevor is an Example of Efficiency in Writing

There is a lot of Steve in this movie, true. And some part of the creation of Steve as a multilayered character is because this is a male character — but it’s also damned efficient writing. And because there is so much Steve, we get more Diana. Hear me out. Steve is a shortcut.

The plot calls for characters to be Diana’s: love interest (universal storytelling), McGuffin (reason for leaving the island), guide to the outside world (without falling into the Born Sexy Yesterday Trope), voice of cynicism (is Ares real? suspense!), and morality pet (it’s not about deserve). That’s five characters. Etta is Diana’s backup guide and the boys (the squad?) are her backup cynics and morality pets. But the movie would need far more time to develop these characters if it wanted us to be as emotionally invested in the deliverer of each of these messages. Do I want more Etta Candy? Hell yes! But that’s time taken away from Diana because of the extra character work needed. Steve’s audience goodwill builds on itself. (Although, like I said, I wanted more Etta, drastically more. Same for all the Amazons. And, like, random girls and women on the street. And nurses! More nurses!)

Imagine if it weren’t Steve Diana thinks Ares has corrupted. If it weren’t Steve supplicating himself and begging Diana, a goddess, for help. Imagine if it weren’t Steve sacrificing himself at the end. Do we care? Yeah, sure, a little. But chances are higher that we care more when these things happen because we have had more time with Steve, so we know he’s not all good or all bad, but he’s doing his best. Like people.

#4. Steve Trevor is a Needed Symbol in the Mortal-God Relationship

In the end, Steve’s most important narrative role is this — he’s a symbol of why humans are worth fighting for, a touchstone for Diana to come back to. Not because Steve, mortal guy she fell in love with over a week or two, is the be-all-and-end-all of her life or the only reason she doesn’t hate humans.

Let’s remember, Diana already denied Ares. He asked her to join him in ridding the planet of these meddling humans, but she “could never be a part of something like that.” That’s when Ares attacked. Sure, grief overtook her when she died, but it’s the loss of Steve and the senselessness of the violence that humans unleash on each other. She goes after the soldiers who put the bomb on that plane and made Steve make that choice. It isn’t blind rage, it’s a (demi)god’s wrath. (See this post for my take on the ending scene). Of course, she realizes she’s playing into Ares’ hand and remembers Steve’s advice. She believes him now because he made the ultimate sacrifice — and how does a mortal prove themselves to any god?.

Now he belongs to her. She carries his words and his talisman (watch) with her. Part of her, sure, wants ice-cream and breakfasts and to know what it’s like to do what people do when there are no wars to fight. But there are wars to fight. And she’ll fight them. And when she doubts, she’ll think of the one who sacrificed himself believing with all his heart that she could save the world. Love is strength, and he lends her that after death. I get that it’s hard to see past the man-woman dynamic, but the movie is giving us a mortal-god dynamic. We just need to recognize it.

#5. Love Interests Should All Be Feminist Takes

Patty wanted Steve because (a) he’s arguably one of the most consistent things across Wonder Woman’s mythology (b) women should not be denied universal storytelling. The presence of a man does not diminish a woman, amen. Loving-and-losing is a time-tested way of bringing maturity to a character. Usually, this is called “manpain” or “fridging” — the female character is killed off to motivate a male hero. Here, it’s reversed, but Steve at least gets agency in the way he dies. This is a good example for writers who want to kill off a character but can’t think of how to do it without undermining the character.

In general, Steve is a positive template for every superhero love interest going forward. He’s a feminist love interest because feminism isn’t flipping the script on misogyny. It’s throwing misogyny out the window and building something equal from scratch. I don’t want to watch a movie where it’s back-and-forth “he’s on top, now she’s on top,” spokes on a wheel. I want my movies to break the wheel (ha, sorry, had paraphrase the Mother of Dragons).

#6. Audiences Read More Into Male Characters Than Female

Ask yourself this: is Steve Trevor really that fleshed out? Or does he just have a penis? Sure he gets to do a bunch of stuff, but his character doesn’t change so much as respond to Diana’s evolving character. He’s clearly subordinate to her arc, so why all the hand-wringing?

I swear to Athena, anytime a female character has or is a love interest, suddenly people become blind to all her character nuances and arc and agency — if they even bothered to look in the first place. It’s honestly so frustrating. For all my complaints about the DCEU (and they are legion), it does not sideline female love interests. Lois Lane gets shit done, she’s treated with respect and makes her own decisions. Even Harley goddamn Quinn, the poster-girl for unhealthy relationships, makes small moves toward breaking out of that mold in Suicide Squad. And outside of that, CEO Pepper Potts doesn’t take shit from Tony Stark. The Wasp’s defining trait is that she’s more capable than Ant-Man. Jane Foster may be written out of Thor, but at least she’s getting a Nobel. Etc., etc.

Like, we actually are getting some meaty or at least accomplished female love interests — we need more and they need more screen time, for sure, but let’s stop dismissing female characters as “boring love interests” in favor of plumbing the depths of characterization for “male side character #1453.” That is honestly my biggest pet peeve of fandom. “It’s not our fault we don’t write meta and fic for more (especially POC) female characters! The creators don’t give us interesting ones!” As if most of the “interesting” parts of any of their exclusively (white) male faves aren’t 75% fanon. Half the reason I never jumped on the Pine/Kirk bandwagon was all the shit Uhura got dragged through because she had the audacity to be the love interest for Spock. I see you.

#7. We Got a Steve That Made Unimaginative People Uncomfortable

How many articles have been written about Steve being too “woke?” Like, there are people who believe the fact that Steve isn’t a sleazeball who learns some manners is a character flaw. Excuse me while I barf. We have to deal with that storyline all the damn time and it is so tired (*cough* Guardians of the Galaxy *cough*). In Wonder Woman (2009), Steve Trevor is a misogynistic bro who gets a tiny bit better by the end, but you’re still left wondering why the hell Diana would give him the time of day. Loving that version of Steve Trevor makes Diana look weak. The Wonder Woman (2017) version of Steve is selfless and charming. He doesn’t need to be taught that women should be respected because he already knows. You get why Diana cares, you care about him (usually), and caring for him doesn’t cost Diana or the audience anything in terms of dignity.

I don’t want a movie that makes me actively hate Steve Trevor just so Diana gets to spout some overwritten girl power catchphrases. If this were a movie where it’s all “Girl Power, She Sure Showed Him!” or even “Wonder Woman Had to Have a Weakling/Milquetoast Love Interest to Look Strong in Comparison,” then these unimaginative people would get their misogynistic/misandrist movie and feel good about how the world works. Well, screw them.

Instead, we got Steve Trevor, Feminist Fantasy. And, yeah, it’s obnoxious hearing so much praise heaped on Pine, and it’s agonizing imagining the writers bending over backward to bring him back somehow. But for this movie, I think we got the amount of Steve Trevor we needed to make it work.

wondertrevweek day 6: free choice (so I’m doing meta)

#beautyinsteadofashes #wondertrevweek #wondertrev #wonder woman 2017 #wonder woman #wonder woman meta #bluesaid #otp: i wish we had more time #long post

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lynchgirl90 · 7 years ago

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#TwinPeaks : David Lynch Directed His Own Disturbing Version Of Kubrick’s ‘A Clockwork Orange’

If Part 8 of "Twin Peaks" saw Lynch operating in Terrence Malick mode, then Part 10 was the director's ode to one of Kubrick's most controversial scenes.

Zack Sharf

Some of the most memorable scenes in “Twin Peaks: The Return” have found David Lynch revisiting the experimental highs of his most radical film work. Cooper’s strange trip in Episode 3 was a return to the sound and fury of “Eraserhead” and “Inland Empire,” while the sight of the camera looking down at Amanda Seyfried’s glowing Becky Burnett in Part 5 recalled the delirium of “Mulholland Drive.”

But the series’ boldest moments have occurred when Lynch has infused his own dark style with the most iconic cinema ever made. That was certainly what happened in the legendary Part 8, in which the director channeled his inner Terrence Malick to tell the wordless origin story of evil (IndieWire called the scene “the closest we’ll ever come to seeing David Lynch’s ‘Tree of Life”), and that was the case in Part 10 when the murdering Richard Horne (Eamon Farren) robbed his grandmother, Sylvia.

Lynch’s staging in this four-minute sequence made it feel like the director’s own version of Stanley Kubrick’s controversial rape scene in “A Clockwork Orange,” with a dash of Michael Haneke’s “Funny Games” thrown in for disturbing measure. The imagery alone of a wealthy, idyllic suburban home and its inhabitants being terrorized by a male sociopath recalls these movies, but it’s the way Lynch created his unnerving tone through camera shots that was most representative of Kubrick’s violent dysfunction.

If you go back and re-watch the infamous “Clockwork” scene, you’ll notice how Kubrick’s reliance on fixed camera positions and long stationary shots increases the level of uneasiness to the actions being depicted. Kubrick holds his camera and lets the violence play out in voyeuristic fashion for the viewer. This decision not only inflicts helplessness in the characters inside the frame, but also for the viewer watching in a way that is downright nauseating. Lynch utilizes and twists this method in “Twin Peaks.” He keeps the camera mostly in fixed positions, but he doesn’t force it to remain entirely still. Lynch opts for a handheld camera so that the shots feel as if he was filming on a rocking boat. The slight left-and-right bobbing creates a kind of queasy motion sickness that sets the tone for what’s taking place.

Lynch also borrows Kubrick’s masterful balance of closeups and wide shots to ratchet up feelings of horror and hopelessness, respectively. Lynch puts the camera close to Sylvia Horne (Jan D’Arcy) in all of her shots, amplifying the shock of her facial expressions and capturing the distraught nature of what’s occurring. There’s an intimacy to the way she is filmed up close that is so horrific given what’s occurring. But he takes a wider approach in filming Johnny Horne (Eric Rondell).

Johnny is tied to a chair throughout the scene after sustaining a head injury in the previous episode, so there’s already a level of hopelessness to his situation. But the wide shots force the viewer to observe all of his panicked movements to survive, from his feet running in place to his body fidgeting and trying to break free. These shots are not violent in nature, but they are full of extreme panic and terror. In taking Kubrick’s voyeuristic approach to filming Johnny, Lynch forces the viewer into a state of distressed submission.

The sound choices are also essential to how the sequence operates. Kubrick’s rape scene is without music, a purposeful choice that serves to make all the victims’ cries for help feel louder and more punishing. Lynch could have certainly taken this route, but he instead layers his character’s shrieks over a rather soothing orchestral melody. It’s a composed music choice that acts in direct counterpoint to the disorder of the events and adds to the scene’s tormenting nature. The melody is beautiful and calm, but what’s happening couldn’t be more opposite.

The second noise is the constant loop of Johnny’s stuffed animal saying, “Hello, Johnny, how are you today?” Intentional or not, appropriating a friendly childhood toy into something menacing and twisted is similar to the method used by Kubrick when he had Alex belt “Singin’ in the Rain” while he destroyed the home and his buddies carried out a rape. There’s an innocence to both the song and the stuffed animal that both filmmakers corrupt by including them in these scenes. Lynch has the toy’s catchphrase repeated as the scene carries out as a constant reminder that a loss of innocence is taking place. Like the orchestral music, its consistency juxtaposes the chaos of Richard’s actions and keeps the horror coming.

In just four minutes, Lynch managed to create his very own “A Clockwork Orange” and gave “Twin Peaks: The Return” one of its most unforgettable sequences. In moments like this scene and Part 8, watching the director take the touchstones of Malick and Kubrick and make them feel purely Lynchian has provided a sensational kick for “Twin Peaks” fans that call themselves cinephiles. As the series heads into its final episodes, here’s hoping Lynch has more twisted homages in store.

Link (TP)

#Twin Peaks #David Lynch #Stanley Kubrick #A Clockwork Orange #IndieWire

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latesthollywoodnews · 6 years ago

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Amandla Stenberg Gives FIERCE Performance in 'The Hate U Give' Trailer

Jeremy Brown - Latest News - My Hollywood News

Amandla Stenberg Gives FIERCE Performance in ‘The Hate U Give’ Trailer, New Hollywood Celebrities Coming Out.

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Hd Celebrity News 1080p, List Of 2018 Hollywood Films, Amandla Stenberg Gives FIERCE Performance in ‘The Hate U Give’ Trailer.

New Hollywood Celebrity News 2017 Best Celebrity Latest Story & Walt Hollywood Studios Motion Pictures is an American film distributor owned by The Walt Hollywood Company. Established in 1953 as Buena Vista Film Distribution Company, the company handles theatrical distribution, marketing and promotion for films produced and released by the Walt Hollywood Studios, including Walt Hollywood Pictures, Walt Hollywood Animation Studios, Pixar Animation Studios, HollywoodToon Studios, Marvel Studios, Lucasfilm, Hollywoodnature, and Touchstone Pictures. The division took on its current name in late 2007, which before that had been Buena Vista Pictures Distribution since 1987.

Who was Roy to Walt Hollywood?

Roy O. Hollywood. Roy Oliver Hollywood (June 24, 1893 – December 20, 1971) was an American businessman, becoming the partner and co-founder, along with his younger brother Walt Hollywood, of Walt Hollywood Productions, since renamed The Walt Hollywood Company.

What does Mulan’s name mean?

In the original poem, the heroine’s name is “Mulan.” According to the Chinese- English dictionary, the name means “lily magnolia.” Mulan is often given a last name, “Hua,” which means “flower.” The Chinese pinyin spelling of the name is “Hua Mu-Lan.”

Who runs Hollywood World?

Robert A. Iger is Chairman and Chief Executive Officer of The Walt Hollywood Company. As Chairman and CEO, Mr. Iger is the steward of one of the world’s largest media companies and some of the most respected and beloved brands around the globe.

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The Hate U Give, the film adaptation of Angie Thomas’ novel of the same name has us in our feelings after viewing the emotional trailer. Amandla Stenberg plays Starr Carter who lives a double life. When she’s at home in her Garden Heights neighborhood, she’s free to be herself. But she’s a different Starr when she goes to school at her predominantly white private school. So the trailer starts off just showing a teenager trying to balance her life and figure out a way to be authentically her, but then it takes a turn when she’s hanging out with her friend Khalil and things go wrong during a traffic stop. After the shooting, Starr has to make a choice to stay silent or use her voice to effect change and I got chills watching the rest of the trailer. The film has an all-star cast including my girl Issa Rae, Regina Hall, Common, Sabrina Carpenter and KJ Apa who plays her boyfriend. KJ replaced Kian Lawley after a video surfaced showing Kian using racial slurs. When Kian was released from the role, He tweeted: “Words have power and can do damage. I own mine and I am sorry. I respect Fox’s decision to recast this role for The Hate U Give as it is an important story, and it would not be appropriate for me to be involved considering the actions of my past.” The Hate U Give had already finished shooting when Kian was released, but FOX still was able to work with the situation. KJ darkened his hair and flew to Atlanta for a week to reshoot ALL of Kian’s scenes. The movie honestly looks so good and couldn’t come at a more appropriate time. Hopefully this will continue to elevate the conversation regarding the shooting of so many unarmed black men at the hands of police. The film is set to be released on October 19, 2018! But I have to know what you think about the trailer! Will you be going to see the film when it’s released? Sound off in the comment section below! I’m your host Emile Ennis Jr. You can find me on Instagram @emileennisjr! Thanks so much for watching. Please Click over here to check out another breaking news story and don’t forget to subscribe to our channels! See you next time.

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Hollywood Latest Celebrity News, Hollywood Celebrities Official Latest Story, Amandla Stenberg Gives FIERCE Performance in ‘The Hate U Give’ Trailer.

Hollywood was founded on October 16, 1923 – by brothers Walt Hollywood and Roy O. Hollywood – as the Hollywood Brothers Cartoon Studio, and established itself as a leader in the American animation industry before diversifying into live-action film production, television, and theme parks. The company also operated under the names The Walt Hollywood Studio and then Walt Hollywood Productions. Taking on its current name in 1986, it expanded its existing operations and also started divisions focused upon theater, radio, music, publishing, and online media. New Hollywood Princess Celebrities, Amandla Stenberg Gives FIERCE Performance in ‘The Hate U Give’ Trailer.

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portfoliow · 8 years ago

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Costume Design in Early Films: History, Icons, Transformation, and Magic (Part 1) by Paola C. Quintero

Costume serves several purposes: the most fundamental is development of narrative and character in film. The transformative power of costumes can create a personality, off and on- screen. Costume not only affects the actor’s career and performances, but also affects the audience through its influence in fashion.

Iconic stars such as Marlene Dietrich, Greta Garbo and the costume designer Edith Head illustrate the significance of costume design in American cinema during the first half of the 20th century. Their careers and lives represent the commitment; discipline and excellence at changing their appearance or those of others. These women’s creative contributions during Hollywood’s golden age of cinema also influenced the fashion industry up until today.

“Fashion has also been influenced by the designers of cinema costume, especially in the early part of the twentieth century. And though the influence of television has been more general, the power of its images- spacemen in bodysuits, armies in battle fatigues, hippies, and even little-known African tribes- has helped to spread or even start a trend.”[1]

The clothes that an actor wears on-screen or off-screen can serve as great publicity for a designer, and therefore enhance his or her career. Edith Head, Paramount Pictures costume designer for 44 years, believed that “the [Academy] Awards are important because they are viewed by such a large audience. For a designer, a large audience is important” (Head, 115). During the early days of cinema, as movie theaters became more a more popular, films started to exert their influence over wider audiences. Cinema costume designers influence fashion (including accessories, hairstyles, jewelry, and shoes.)

Cinema itself is a means of escaping reality to enter a world of fantasy. Costumes help one achieve that transformation and escape. Audiences seek entertainment and it is fun to play pretend. If one identifies with a particular actor, one could try to express it by acquiring their look, as when hundreds girls dressed in Madonna’s “Desperately Seeking Susan[2]” look.

If one cannot afford it, they will have it made. When the film Pretty Woman[3] was released, my cousin asked her seamstress to make her a senior prom dress exactly like the vibrant red formal gown that Julia Roberts wore in the opera scene. Wearing that design to her 1992 senior prom made her feel like a beautiful and glamorous young woman. Graduating as Valedictorian of her class, with a handsome boyfriend, and with a full-tuition scholarship to one of the States’ top engineering schools my cousin’s choice for prom night dress did seem like a fairy tale ending.

After all, for years she had worked really hard with the goal of academic success. As if using a magic wand, the red dress transformed her that night from a brainy school-uniform-wearing teenager to glamorous-academic-diva.

In her autobiography Edith Head, who was nominated 35 times and won eight academy awards for Best Costume Design explains her theory on the magic that clothes can do for a woman:

“What a woman wears, I felt, sets the pace for what she says and does...What she wears conveys who she is. Carole in a Clara Bow dress would be one thing, in a Mae West dress, someone else, and in one of her own chic, sheath like suits she would be Carole Lombard”[4].

Ms. Head witnessed how Travis Banton[5], had transformed Carole Lombard from “salesgirl to a duchess, all in modern dress”[6] and this made her realize the important role of the designer to women. Edith Head was excited by the possibility to transform the look of women with modern fashion.

After working with Ms. Lombard, Edith realized that anyone could make a “pioneer woman costume” or a “trapeze artist or a clown”, but working with the development of a character through contemporary clothes was the real challenge and the designer found that exciting. Finally Ms. Head concludes that, “There was a magic power in clothes. They could develop a personality. I decided to stick with them.”[7]

As a very flamboyant language, fashion communicates because, “Clothes reveal our priorities, our aspirations, our liberalism or conservatism. They go a long way towards satisfying simple or complex emotional needs, and they can be used consciously or unconsciously to convey subtle or overt sexual messages. Clothes contribute color and shape to our environment and give form to our feelings.”[8] In the same way that the bird[9] of paradise flaunts its fanciful plumage to seduce a mate on the island of New Guinea, a person will wear a special outfit to impress a potential partner.

In other cases, fashion and style is worn to reinforce the wearer’s identity. People are most likely to dress as their peers. A common expression during youth, across many college campuses one can identify all sorts of subcultures by just looking at what people are wearing: the punk group, the rockabilly group, the emo group, the frat boy look, the corporate-business school look, the preppie look, the hippie style, the raver style, the surfer style, the Rasta, and the artsy style, among many others. For observant designers, the “ideological uniforms” that people wear in public can represent a source of inspiration for original and creative ideas for costume or fashion design.

In real life, clothes have the power to make or break and identity just as in movies the costumes will give depth to a character. Costumes are important in film because that is the first thing we will notice about the character even before they say a word. It gives us the first impression.

Costume design can reveal a great deal of information about the way a particular type of woman lived in a particular period in time. In The Perils of Pauline[10] -a popular early film series that began in 1914- actress Pearl White plays the lead character of Pauline. Pauline is an adventurous upper class woman who puts off marriage for one year in order to lead exciting adventures. Extroverted and more independent than most women of the time, Pauline gets what she wants, but usually gets herself (and others) into a lot of trouble. She is always saved by her fiancé at the end and her guardian always fails to destroy her, as his plan to keep her inheritance dictates.

At the turn of the 20th century women’s fashion was changing at great speed, along with the political, social, economic, and historical changes taking place in the world. The new fashion styles coincided with a growing American women’s movement. “During the lifetimes of [Elizabeth] Stanton[11] and [Susan B.] Anthony[12], women’s legal and property rights were enlarged, new employment options opened, and access to higher education improved.”[13]

In fashion, women were starting to free themselves from the corset and bustles prevalent before 1900 and from the extremely formal Edwardian silhouettes which where popular until around 1910.

One of the pioneers of this new freedom in clothes was Paul Poiret, the French designer who “in 1906...was responsible for loosening the formal silhouette of fashion and achieving a more relaxed shape by extending the corset to the hips and reducing the number of underclothes”[14].

The character of Pauline wears long skirts, sans crinolines [15] or bustles,[16]and with long sleeved blouses. The designs are generally shapeless, not tailored, nor fitting, not flattering, and the fabric is loose. Was she comfortable? Perhaps, yet as a woman of 1914 she still seemed somewhat constricted in her attire, especially when wearing the long-skirted outfit to play tennis. At other times Pauline wore small delicate shoes, hats with feathers, all in a very feminine style expected of her class (and era). No handbags are visible.

In the weekly episodes the audience would have also see Pauline in various exciting costumes: racecar driver (of a masculine style), Native American Indian pants with fringe and feathers, and a sailor. Her skirts are always very long, covering all the way down to her ankles. In general, Pauline’s costumes show a lot of modesty, no cleavage or flesh, yet they embody they adventurous spirit of a wealthy woman at the beginning of the 20th century.

[1]O’Hara Callan, 7

[2]Desperately Seeking Susan. Dir Susan Seidelman. Orion Pictures Corp. 1985.

[3]Pretty Woman. Dir. Gary Marshall. Touchstone Pictures, 1990. [4]Head, 62

[5]Travis Banton was chief designer at Paramount Pictures and one of the most important costume Designers of the 1930’s. When he left Paramount, Edith Head became chief of the Costume Department.

[6]Head, 61,62

[7]Head, 62

[8]O’Hara Callan, 7

[9]Holland, Jennifer S., “Feather’s of Seduction”, National Geographic July 2007: 82-101.

[10]The Perils of Pauline. dir. Louis J. Gasnier and Douglas MacKenzie, VHS, Pathe Freres, 1914.

[11]d.1902

[12]d.1906

[13]Schneir, x

[14]O’hara Callan, 202

[15]prevalent during the 1840’s, 1850’s, and 1860’s [16]prevalent during 1860’s and 1870’s

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