#bad camera quality makes everything so eerie

[eliorosb3rg]

i took this picture of nigel mansell while watching a gp from '84 and its actually haunting me

[ghoulsghostsgoblins24]

The Babysitter

The Babysitter is a movie I never thought I would watch because I only heard bad things about it from my friends. But like many reviews I was pleasantly surprised by this film. 

One article I found disagrees with me and some of the audience. They say that the film's funny moments seem forced or dull but I honestly found them pretty up to date with today humor and culture.

Cole is this 12 year old kid who is kind of embarrassed about having a babysitter still. One night he decides to stay up past the time he is supposed to go to bed to really find out what his babysitter does when he is asleep. 

He only finds out the truth because he wants to know what his babysitter, Bee, does after he goes to bed. Before he goes to sleep she bribes him by giving him a shot. Cole here’s the doorbell rings and it is go time. He finds 6 teenagers playing soon the bottle, which ends in one of them being sacrificed. Cole is obviously scared by this because he thought she was normal. Before he runs back to his room he heard her say they need the blood of the innocent from upstairs, meaning him. 

Cole runs upstairs and calls the police but then says he needs to protect himself so he takes out his pocketknife. Everyone goes into his room one is worried that he is going to hear them. But remember that shot before he went to sleep, yup it was full of drugs but it’s a good thing he dumped it in the plant. One thing we find out about Cole in the beginning of the move is that he is terrified of needles. To get the blood from Cole instead of killing him they draw blood from him and he is forced to face his fear. As soon as Bee and friends leave his room he gets up and makes a rope from his sheets to get to the ground from his window. The camera pans back and of course Bee is standing right there watching him. But instead of him seeing her he looks at his wound from the needle and passes out. 

He wakes up and is tied to the chair with 5 of the teenagers surrounding him. The first question he asks is why is the jock of the group shirtless, this was to bring comedic relief into play. When questioning him the cops show up, of course it’s a classic that the cheerleader starts freaking out. The cops bust down the door but both of the cops end up dying. Before one of the cops died one of the shot the cheerleader and all she is worried about is her boob being shot and losing it. While everyone is paying attention to her Cole runs upstairs and they begin chasing him. One guy slips on the RC car Cole failed to pick up when his mom asked him to. Everything was perfectly placed the railings and the point glass award on the ground floor. 

Cole ends up in the garage looking for a weapon. He finds his weapon of choice, the Fat Dragon while is a firework in the shape of a rocket. He ends up trapped underneath the house with one of the girls and that is when he sets off the rocket. 

Throughout the entire movie is was very dark in almost every scene. Whenever there was a scene outside there was always a thick layer of fog on the ground. This brought the eerie feel to the move along with the chasing scenes and blood. But throughout the movie there were little jokes to liven up the darkness. 

The video clip I chose was when Cole was running from Bee one last time. During this you could see everything he was thinking about when he was being bullied, and his parents telling him sometimes things are scary. This scene shows that Cole is growing up and realizing that he can take care of himself and he is figuring out that he is stronger than the bullying and babying.

[du04]

January Wrap-up

Hi! Hopefully, you had a good start of the year… Happy belated New Year by the way! Thanks for tuning in to the first (official) post of 2024, but also of this series.

This January was a busy month for me, I have heard people complaining about January feeling like a very long month, but it was just perfect for me, actually, it could even have been a bit longer. I had many things on my list, some of which I have crossed (like this blog’s coding and writing, which took me longer than reasonable), others I haven’t got to yet.

With that said, here is what I did this month:

Films

And we’re off to a strong start, with a film very representative of my usual taste… Twilight.

In January my boyfriend visited me, and since we had previously started the series months before, it was time we watched the final two films (“Breaking Dawn”).

Watching the Twilight series started off my idea, as I had seen it as a child but had completely forgotten everything about it, and seeing a vague resurgence through memes at the time, it made me want to revisit this iconic classic.

To sum it up quickly: this series is not good, but it is So Much Fun. I find the aesthetic of the very first film to be on point, that blue tint, and the forest aesthetic are very pleasing to the eye. Sadly, they dropped it after the first instalment, so there was absolutely no redeeming quality about it from then on. The way Bella (the main character) keeps nagging and whining about wanting to be a vampire ‘sooo bad’ ALL the fecking time is hilariously the worst. Weird age gaps (not one but TWO), brain-dead main characters (literally and metaphorically), cringy dialogues that made me want to pass away, Lee Pace, and a soundtrack that pops off (Bon Iver, Muse and Radiohead): it has everything.

I have to admit, seeing the very final credits made me wanna tear up a little bit “they just don’t do stuff like this anymore”. I highly recommand watching this whole ordeal with a friend, but if you’re highly allergic to cringe, please don’t give yourself a heart attack, and watch something better

We eventually moved on to snowy disaster films, namely Everest and Touching The Void.

I put Everest on because I had heard of John Krakauer’s book, which this film is an adaption of. I thought it was solid. Entertaining and well-made, it kept me on the edge of my seat. It’s a sad story: a group of trekkers go on a hike to Mount Everest’s summit, and the event turns out deadly for many. Knowing absolutely nothing about what it takes to climb the Everest, I did learned a few things (like how there’s actually preparation treks on site, having oxygen on hand,…).

As a tribute to the people who passed away, I thought it could have been done better by being more developed on everyone’s lives. The story presented here only focuses on the hike in itself. 3.5/5

As for Touching the Void, this was a crazy (and good) film! The (real) story really blows your pants off, and the cinematography, camera work, directing, … was of a high quality that I didn’t expect. I had never watched this re-enactment style documentary with the people concerned narrating their story and really enjoyed it. I was also made aware this doc/interview style is similar to the series I Shouldn’t Be Alive, that I might give a watch.

Our final film was Talk to Me, I had heard of it being terrifying and almost chickened out of watching it, but I’m glad I did not. I think I finally learned my lesson this time: hearing a film described as ’terrifying’ actually makes me more afraid than the actual experience of watching it.

Talk to Me was a surprisingly good film. I tend to be really disappointed by horror films, as I find there’s a sort of ‘superficiality’ or sense of disconnection to them. Here this was not the case, I felt the characters were well-rounded, and the eerie supernatural aspect was well done, I was also pleased with the ending that I thought was smart! Overall, a well-executed idea. 3.5/5

Later in the month, I went back to the cinema for the first time in a while, to see Perfect Days. I had not planned at all to see this film, but that day felt like going out and this was the earliest screening. Perfect Days’ quietness and emotions really resonated with me, and its themes of loneliness and finding beauty in the everyday spoke to me on a personal level. The soundtrack is an important component of the film, and it supports the narrative well. I love The Velvet Underground, so it was easy to win me over with this. There was also a scene that made me short of burst into tears. The final scene was brilliant and I 100% saw myself in that last scene, which made me tear up and sheepishly flee the room as soon as the credits rolled! Overall, it’s a quiet, moving film, which makes a great watch for a tranquil day. 3.5/5

Series

I watched the first episode of 1670, a Polish comedy series taking place that very same year in a small village, and I wasn’t receptive to the format and humour, so I didn’t go further.

I didn’t get to continue other series :(

Books

My only completed read this January was The Ninth Hour by Alice McDermott. I like stories that have to do with nuns, so this seemed up my alley. After her husband’s suicide, a young pregnant woman in 20th Century Brooklyn is led to seek refuge in a convent. There we follow her life, the nuns’, and eventually Sally’s, from infancy to adolescence. It took me some time to become fully engaged in the story, but once the focus shifted to Sally’s journey with her calling to become a nun, I felt more involved. The writing style, is the highlight of this book, it’s poetic and elegant in its simplicity. However, even if I enjoyed the many descriptive passages, I suppose they overshadowed significant plot and character developments. While I empathized with them, I did not feel a particular connection. Overall, a strong setting and writing, but with characters that lack depth. 3.25/5

I also started reading Crime & Punishment by Dostoevsky and I’m about a quarter in the first volume.

Games

Harvest Moon: The Winds of Anthos, the latest instalment of the iconic farming sim series. I carried this over from the end of December, which I actually played a lot then, but only played maybe an hour this month? It’s far from being a Good Game, I wish I had the drive to feel like finishing it, but there’s just too many things I don’t like about it: the graphics, the farming itself, the mining and exploring. It’s all just so dull, and everything is constrained by the stamina level and loading times. Sad.

Human Fall Flat, a puzzle/platformer with goofy physics. Played with my boyfriend in co-op when he was here. We’ve previously played it with a friend, and it’s alright. I enjoy the puzzle aspect and the different worlds. I feel like there’s a lack of good co-op games, so in solo mode I wouldn’t necessarily recommend it, but in co-op mode, I say go for it.

Immortals Fenyx Rising, the highlight of this month (and maybe more)! An open-world puzzle and combat game, where you play as Fenyx, a mortal on an epic quest to help the gods save the world. I adore the setting of Ancient Greece, and the plot is ALL about Greek mythology: characters, dialogue, narration, quests, items, … everything is a reference. The game is full of humour, which I am very receptive to. Regarding the gameplay, I’m also loving it! I’m a big fan of the puzzles, and I’m also liking the fighting!! Which is unbelievable because I HATE fighting in games. This is probably due to 1. the animations that are cool 2. the rather easy mechanic, and the shift towards more advanced techniques is gradual and at one’s pace. Moreover, the game is beautiful (my Fenyx looks soo pretty 😍), and the voice acting is top-notch. I saw reviews qualifying it as a ‘Breath of the Wild clone’ but having never played any Zelda games, this does not bother me at all, on the contrary.

The Tenants: A decoration game where you also manage tenants (as the title points out). I love the decoration aspect, the mechanics are agreeable to use, the graphics are pretty, all the items are well done and there’s a lot of variety. There’s also a checklist of things to complete (which, like in House Flipper, makes me feel incredibly satisfied). The only downside is the tenant management that I’m not a fan of, even if the game mocks and makes fun of landlords, you’re still one! And it’s a bit icky (e.g: having to drive the price of rent up, sabotaging or breaking the lease of your tenants LOL…). Thankfully, it feels to me, it’s easy to focus on just the decorating missions, which I love.

Tinykin, not a new game, I’ve been playing it on and off over the past couple of months. It is a 3D platformer where you collect tiny creatures, and solve some platform puzzles. It takes place in a gigantic house (because you’re very small) with lots of details, and the NPCs’ dialogues are full of references too. This game appeals to my completionist drive as it’s rather easy to get 100% achievements, you just have to put a lot of time in it.

Articles

I have mixed feelings about way too many things, which doesn’t pair well with my black-and-white thinking (RIP me fr) . This piece articulated feelings I have, things I struggle with, and gave me ideas to keep holding on to.

- “Even purely negative feelings would be better, because the course of action would be clear: Say goodbye.” - “[…] Nothing is unnatural or wrong about having positive and negative feelings about someone you love.”

Nothing Drains You Like Mixed Emotions

Being a fan of the first season of True Detective, I gave a go to the second season for one horrible, horrible episode and stopped there. This opinion piece is giving me a bit of faith, and so I shall watch this new season.

(I have read multiple of Sophie Gillbert’s articles and damn is she good!!)

The Return of TV’s Most Soulful Show

Music

Highlight of the month: The acoustic version of Fake Plastic Trees from the Clueless soundtrack…??? How did I go through the years not knowing that the song on the Clueless album on Spotify is completely different from the regular The Bends one…? Bye. Needless to say, I am OBSESSED, and in a way I’m glad I’m only finding about it now. Edit 20/02/24: Spotify has replaced the ‘Acoustic’ track I was talking about with the ‘regular’ studio version 😥… here’s the one I was talking about: click!

Here’s my playlist for this January. The way I do my monthly playlists, they generally only feature newly discovered tracks.

For what I listened to overall, here’s my receipt :p

I would link an external playlist but as you can see it’s pretty much the same songs as the one I have included. I’m only going to link добрая песня because of the Cyrillic that you might not know how to type

Misc

Buys/Food

Okay, this is quite silly, but it’s the little things in life, innit? There’s a nut-cranberry-choccy snack mix which is a delight on days I don’t feel like eating but need to prevent myself from passing out 😫. I have also discovered instant (creamy?) coffee drink powder, full of sugar, exactly what I like first thing in the morning while solving some Murdle.

Life

I have finally become a Wikipedia editor! Made my first couple of edits, and fully translated a page too :)

I’ve been consistent with my guitar playing in the second half of the month, playing 4 hours. However, I haven’t been that way with my Russian learning, I’ve studied for two full days but not done much otherwise�� Regarding my new year’s resolution, it went pretty well, I have been laughing, letting cold air in, stretching… But still have yet to think before I speak.

January, you were good!

See you next time :)

[justinmoviereviews]

The class of 2022 cont.

Hustle - Jeremiah Zagar

So Michael Bay has a recognizable authorial style, and turns out so does the Happy Madison team. Here are some qualities of a basic Adam Sandler movie--the main character at the center is beloved, the jokes are aimed at someone else’s expense but are mostly harmless, the villain gets punished in a silly way, and the hero wins. Hustle is essentially an Adam Sandler movie, but the heat is turned down to a cool temp suitable for adults, and it largely works. Even more than the basketball, which made me want to sign up for League Pass, the best part is the man himself. In a lot of his worst movies the Sandman is playing the pinnacle of his version of cool and living in a universe in which everyone agrees. Here he’s traded that for a world weariness and a self deprecation that fits his age and stage of life. I credit this to the Safdies.

The Invitation - Jessica M. Thompson

Just easily the dumbest movie of the year, which honestly is heartwarming in an era when most movies feel like competently made assembly-line product. Naming the type of movie this is would be a spoiler, but suffice to say the twist actually makes this bad flick even worse. The dialogue is harder to sit through than any of the scary stuff. Watch it with six beers and have a great time.

The Eternal Daughter - Joanna Hogg

First off, this film looks like it was made in the 1970s. It’s not just the granular camera, its the way the soundtrack presents itself and the way its shot, with closeups and zoom ins on characters to emphasize certain moments. There are, I think, five actors in this movie, playing six characters, and two are only in it for a couple minutes. It’s very quiet and not much happens. The director lets the eerie and genuinely anachronistic tone she’s come up with linger for minutes at a time on scenes of Tilda Swinton staring at a mirror or typing on a laptop or talking on the phone or walking her dog, which is probably the main reason to cast Tilda Swinton. Nobody in Hollywood has a more interesting face or can hold the camera while doing nothing quite like her. There are ideas about memory and daughterhood sprinkled throughout, and the house-turned-hotel is at least a little bit haunted, but the main idea doesn’t come through until the end, and that’s when everything you just watched clicks into place. I’m so happy I’ve been keyed into Joanna Hogg. This is better than most movies I’ve seen lately.

Crimes of the Future - David Cronenberg

How in the hell did he get $27 million dollars to make this? I don’t know how much love Neon thinks David Cronenberg conjures, but I read it made about $4.5 million globally and that actually sounds like a win. I really like the way Cronenberg makes movies. The stakes in this are low, there’s not much by way of inciting incident or plot. He sets up a weird world and has people interact with each other in a way that feels surprisingly safe and warm, like they’re all from the same tribe, and then creates a behind-the-scenes menace that keeps the story on edge. This movie looks decrepit and colorless in a way that suggests a fallen society, and the overt body horror stuff is, I guess a high point for people who like that kind of thing. The characters know more about the world than the viewer ever does. All that said, I was slightly disappointed in this. I think the idea is that some time in the near future humans are evolving into the next stage of development in what is otherwise a static and decayed society, but I never found this particularly clear or got into it enough to roll with it. Its a great three-quarters of a genuinely new piece of world building, but, in my opinion, it never gets all the way there.

The Wonder - Sebastian Lelio

A weirdly grody, unpretty movie. It’s shot in houses that look molded out of blobby green clay and Irish countryside that looks like arid purple coral. This has to be a choice, and I think a better movie could have brought out the inner mechanics of a small Irish town decimated by famine in the 1860s and coping with it in ways that are overtly harmful and seeded in a hermetic and impenetrable culture. Instead its more of an outsider’s takedown of a small, sad community given over to Catholic beliefs the movie outright states are false superstitions. The voice of reason is a British character, which feels particularly mean given how present the Potato Famine is to the story. Oh wow, I think I just talked myself into hating this.

Blonde - Andrew Dominik

Once upon a time a director took a giant shit on the floor and then looked you in the eye and said “I bet you can’t deal with this!” The main character has no agency or personality or history, is dragged through sequence after sequence of gratuitous torture that is simpleminded beyond any plausible biography of Marylin Monroe, while the film congratulates itself for its own truth-telling like it just solved 21st century artistic mediocrity and also world hunger. It’s as factually unreliable as Elvis and a hundred times more proud of itself. This might be the worst movie I’ve ever seen.

Weird: The Al Yankovic Story - Eric Appel

A couple of jokes I really like here: Young Al Yankovic sneaking out of his parents’ house to a polka party, Dr. Demento hosting a Jack Horner-style poolside hangout where the vice of choice seems to be PG-rated jokes, the third act veering into a completely different movie just because it would be fun to do and because Walk Hard didn’t think of it. Here we have the Weird Al aesthetic converted quite naturally to film; it’s basically a Funny or Die sketch spread to movie length, but the tone--knowingly silly, not really mocking anyone, a little violent, earnestly weird in the way a child could love--is the type of Al shit you’ll recognize immediately if you grew up a fan. Another thing I thought is that I can’t even name the last time a big broad comedy like this came out. This movie is stuffed to capacity full of non-Apatow troupe comic actors--Patton Oswalt, Conan O’Brien, Jack Black, Will Forte, Rainn Wilson, Demetri Martin, I could keep going--and I realized those people have been showing up a lot less lately because no one is making movies for them anymore. 

The Cathedral - Ricky D’Ambrose

A very impressionistic, sort of fascinating movie about a family of mediocrities with a certain amount of and relationship to money. The camera and by the extension the story lingers on the most ordinary parts of life--a 40+ second scene of a guy removing painter’s tape from a wall is a representative sample shot--to make the whole business of life seem boring and mundane, like the story of a single family as told by a blurb in a history textbook. Essentially this is a movie about a failure and the son he raised, who will turn out in some way that hasn’t been written yet (presumably he goes on to make this movie). There’s a chilling inter-family feud somewhere in here, but mostly these people are regular, and small, and ultimately unlovable. It’s one of the more interesting films I’ve watched from this year, and the only reason I don’t rate it higher is because I’m not sure how much of the static impressionism was dictated by its budget, which couldn’t have been higher than mid-six figures. I can’t tell if some of the ideas are choices or limitations.

Aftersun - Charlotte Wells

Wow. What a sad, beautiful movie. A dad and his preteen daughter take a resort vacation in Turkey that neither of them want to end. Paul Mescal--unknown to me before this--is sad and soulful without ever really explaining anything about himself. I don’t have much more to say. This isn’t one I want to dig into. I just loved it.

Causeway - Lila Neugebauer

A perfectly nice movie about two people treading water above something dark and difficult under the surface who find each other and help each other, maybe forever. Brian Tyree Henry really is a good actor and sort of steals this from the one time world conquering star. More movies should take place in New Orleans, a photogenic and objectively amazing city. 

Sick - John Hyams

I choose to believe this is a movie about how the mask scolds were the biggest monsters of all.

Decision to Leave - Park Chan-wook

Headless voice recordings, images and language looping around and over each other, shots that serve as wordless exposition, visual and audio ideas that expand the story and explore its ideas. This is the best directed movie of the year. Imagine how good Bardo would be if Inarritu had Chan-wook’s facility with cinematic storytelling. Plenty of movies are competently made. Some even expertly so. But it’s a rare thing to see something so creatively inspired. Every decision he makes is not only interesting in its own right, but serves the final product. It doesn’t even really matter what the story is. I don’t know who else you could really say that about. Add another director to the canon.

The Batman - Matt Reeves

The only thing the young left hates more than grievous white men is conservative cops, so how many more reboots before they make Batman the villain? Why do we keep rebooting this movie? You had a good idea last time, man.

Happening - Audrey Diwan

I hate to compare the two most overtly feminist films of the year, but I see a lot of overlap between this and Women Talking. Both focus on dealing with the immediate issue in front of them rather than getting polemic about how shitty everything is (Blonde, easily the worst movie of 2022, prostrates on the ground to show you how much it hates the sins of men, while these two movies just solve their problems.) Happening doesn’t lose sight for one second about what its about--the main character never stops to reconsider her options, doesn’t waiver from her mission for even a single minute. It kind of diminishes the movie’s effect as a movie, but it’s a strong and effective way to make its own political point, which is, I think: The system was not built for us, let’s deal with that the way we have to.

Living - Oliver Hermanus

Bill Nighy taps into the high class you assume comes as naturally to him as charm does to Matt Damon, but he’s more reserved and sublimated here than you’d expect. The same is true of the movie, which is smaller and grimmer than its title or plot description suggests it will be. Rather than go on a quest for the meaning of happiness, a lifelong bureaucrat who’s life’s ambition was to be a part of the genteel British background takes a look at life and decides the best thing he can do with his short time left on earth is his job, because the ship has sailed on everything else. The camerawork and score are a little fussy--it is mid-century England--but its a surprisingly good looking film.

Smile - Parker Finn

This could have and should have been better, but plotwise he sticks to a script--this is basically the Ring--the thematic stuff is Horror Movie plug-in shit, and its not that scary. There’s a scene where the demon that’s haunting the lead appears in her house and physically corners her against the wall, and then the movie cuts away to the next day. What the fuck is that?! We paid to see the goods!

Stars at Noon - Clair Denis

There’s a richness here most movies don’t possess. This was an interesting one, and I’m not sure I got everything, but I have some takes. Like a lot of 2022 movies, Covid is a presence here, but the way characters take on and off their masks feels methodical. The movie has a breezy cool that reminded me of Soderbergh. The soundtrack is loose and jazzy, its naturalistic and unmannered, and it finds details and stories everywhere. A scene where a group of boaters is casually murdered and robbed by bandits is shot and then forgotten--just one of the hundreds of bizarre little things she comes across. The setting is Nicaragua’s turbulent political situation, which is responsible for the overriding sense of danger and is the locus at the center that dictates every decision the characters make. My only problem with this movie is that the love story at its center is the least interesting thing about it. The two leads never really seem to find any reason to care about each other, and while Margaret Qualley of Once Upon a Time in Hollywood fame is doing something genuinely interesting--she flits and floats around in rock bottom without any inhibition at all--their scenes together never really cohere. Except one. I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention there is one scene between them that works quite well.

Petit Maman - Celine Sciamma

Double bill this with Aftersun. Where that movie was about the impossibility of connecting with your parents at their level, this one is a fantasy about what would happen if you actually could. At a cool 73 minutes it’s so slight it threatens to blow away in the wind, but it’s sweet and tender. I was going to call it delicate, but it’s actually pretty hardy, the way most kids actually are.

Benediction - Terence Davies

The positives: the screenplay. Some of the best dialogue of the year. One thing I’m a very big fan of is directors using the tools of their medium to try to reflect the abstract brilliance of great work in other mediums. This doesn’t exactly do this--cinematically it tops out at Sassoon reciting his poems over photos of WWI battles--but its a movie about a writer trying to hunt out language’s absolute truth told using absolutely some of the sharpest and most direct dialogue you’ll find in a film. Jack Lowden is phenomenal as the lead--serious and direct and intelligent and sincere. This movie should have gotten no brainer Best Actor and Best Screenplay nominations that my mom rooted for except this type of Cradle to Grave Great Difficult Man biopic seems to be a few years past its prime in an Oscar era when the runaway favorite is the racoon in the chef’s hat movie. This is clearer and more direct than all but the very best of its kind. When the main character is curdled and vicious at the end of his life, you know exactly why, rather than it looking like the blurred strains of a movie filling in it’s subject’s final Wikipedia section, like most of these do. The negative is that the second half is slow as hell. This is a good movie, maybe a great movie, but it’s not for me at all.

Saint Omer - Alice Diop

Add my name to the ring of people who took issue with the framing device. The story here is true crime event where a detached and isolated African immigrant in France has an affair with an older white man and then murders the child they conceive. It’s a stranger than fiction tale that would warrant its own New Yorker issue, with the moral that people are weird and life is murky and huge. But I guess the powers that be didn’t think this was enough of a film, or maybe it just wasn’t the story Alice Diop wanted to tell, so the movie hangs its central plot around another story about a pregnant African journalist who’s observing the trial and scared of how much she finds herself relating to the defendant. The movie does as well as it can merging these two stories, and comes up with some pretty interesting ideas, but it never fully feels like it isn’t something tacked on--it never feels organic. Even so, I liked this a lot. Its simple to the point of feeling like docufiction, but in doing so lets the story and its characters get deep. It doesn’t judge or make statements at all, and it’s got great colors--yellows and tans and blues.

Armageddon Time - James Gray

This seems, to me, to be James Gray using facts of his biography to tell a story about how different tribes in America play the various hands they’re dealt to try to achieve whatever their version of survival or success is. If plenty of other movies have looked at the same theme, only Widows, a personal favorite, comes to mind as doing it as well. They say the more personal you make something the more universal it becomes, and while I’m not sure how specific this movie is to its creator’s life, it gets at so many sociological truths without ever feeling like more than a personal memory. The family at the center has achieved enough comfort to begin to look outside of itself, but lives, or at least thinks it lives, in a precarious peace that can be taken away at any moment, which colors every decision it makes. A scene at the end where Jeremy Strong’s tough loving father tells his son the ugly truth about what the point of it all is is one of the better scenes of the year. I was not prepared for this movie to be as good as it was. 

[zamoimagines]

There’s Your Trouble

Word Count: 3,529

Pairings: Billie Dean Howard x Reader, Sally McKenna x Reader 

Chapters: 1, 2

Summary: You and your girlfriend, Billie Dean Howard, are staying at the Cortez for the weekend but you meet a pretty ghost. 

A/N: Chapter two is finally here! Hope you guys enjoy :)

The rest of your night wasn’t what Billie had promised. You remember telling her how excited you were to spend time with her at a hotel because it meant you both could maybe have a little alone time. She was constantly working on her show, or traveling, or doing interviews, or signing autographs on the street. This was a chance for the two of you to actually spend some quality time together. 

How wrong that assumption was. The rest of the day was spent interviewing different residents who obviously didn’t want to be filmed, and some of them even looked as if they were the ghosts themselves. Billie was so focused on learning the history of the building and asking the owners about James Patrick March. She cared more about her crew than anything you had to say. Any time you would try to speak, someone would cut you off and Billie would completely ignore that you had said anything at all. You were an afterthought to say the least. It had been this way long before you’d arrived with her at the Hotel Cortez. This seemed to be a pattern that never ended. 

Night fell rather quickly. You didn’t realize that it was dark out until you glanced out one of the windows of your room. Billie was still going on about all that needed to be filmed before Devil’s Night to her worker bees. 

“Uh.. Billie?” you tried to interject. 

“I’m thinking we can get a couple shots of the front for dramatic effect? I talked to Liz as well, she said we could see the basement if we really wanted to.”

“Billie-”

“Oh! And what if we got a scene in front of that creepy empty pool?”

“Billie, can I please talk to you for a second?”

The blonde finally turned in your direction. She gave you a wild smile. 

“Yeah! Sorry, honey. What is it?”

“Are we gonna go to the bar and get some alone time? I figured tonight would be perfect since we just got here.”

“Of course!” she replied happily. The sound of that brightened your world. 

“I’ve just got to get a few shots first.” Your heart sank in your chest. 

“Oh… okay.”

“Honey, I promise we’ll go on a date when we get the footage we need.” Billie pressed a small kiss to your forehead. “Do you want to come with us? You could see all of the chilling content first hand!”

“I-I’m okay. I think I’m gonna wait here until you get back.” 

“Are you sure, baby?”

“Yeah, I gotta unpack anyway.”

“I’ll film as fast as I can. It won’t be too long, right guys?” Billie looked to her crew for reassurance, though all they did was glared coldly back at you. They barely knew you and couldn’t give less of a shit about your romantic endeavors. She stood up while grabbing her mic before leading everyone out of the room. 

“Why don’t we just go out tomorrow night?” you offered.

“It won’t be too late, Y/N, I promise-”

“I’m just tired. It’s no big deal, really.”

“Okay, then. I’ll try not to stay out too late. I’ll see you later, sweetheart!”

“Bye, Billie.”

Alone. Yet again. Your own girlfriend cared so much more about her damn TV show than about spending the evening with you. It stung quite a bit, though you wouldn’t dare to ever let her know. She worked hard to get where she was. You just wished she would care about more important things sometimes.  

Instead of wallowing, you figured you would change into something more comfortable. You changed out of your travel outfit and immediately ditched your bra before slipping on some shorts along with a big t-shirt over your head. A sigh of relief escaped you. Folding your old clothes, you began to unpack your bag and put your belongings into the drawers of the dresser. You switched on the tv just to have a little background noise as you finished putting everything away. The only thing left was your makeup bag and a small carrier full of hygienic products. Taking the last two bags, you sauntered into the bathroom to finish getting ready for bed.

As you started to brush your teeth, your mind wandered aimlessly about Billie. You only agreed to come because she told you that she had so many things planned for you. Every business trip turned out to be all about your girlfriend and she’d always happened to just forget about every promise she made to you. This one was only proving to be the exact same. How could a damn TV show be more important than your own relationship? You didn’t understand her thought process whatsoever. 

You finished up before making your way back to the bed. Though, there was something off about the room. Something felt incredibly eerie but you couldn’t quite place what it was. Perhaps it was just your mind playing tricks on you. After all, you were spending your week in a haunted hotel, so it was probably normal to feel a little creeped out by your surroundings. 

Just as you sat down on the bed, you heard a soft humming sound. Your head quickly turned in the direction of the bathroom door. Was someone in your room? 

“My, my… You’re even prettier than I remember, Princess.” a familiar voice spoke. You nearly jumped out of your spot as you let out a gasp. 

There standing in front of the doorway was the woman you’d met from earlier. The one in the elevator. You thought you’d locked the door but perhaps you actually had forgotten to and it slipped your mind. She was still as gorgeous as ever, only now she was just dressed in a simple black nightgown. Her fingers were laced around two glasses and a bottle of some brown liquor was in her other hand. You noticed large rips in her fishnets as she made her way closer to you. 

“H-How long have you been standing there?”

She shrugged as she inhaled the lit cigarette hanging out of her mouth, “Just a minute or two. The walls are paper thin here, though, so I heard your little conversation with the girlfriend.” She paused to take a longer drag. As she exhaled smoke, she raised a brow.

“Saw her leave too. She seems a little… Prissy.” Sally added in a disgusted tone. 

“Billie isn’t prissy. She’s just well-rounded!”

“Keep telling yourself that.” She plopped down next to you on the mattress with a sly grin on her face, her cigarette draping smoke all around your body as she nestled in closer.

“Just because she’s high maintenance doesn’t mean that she’s a bad person.”

Sally handed you one of the glasses before popping open the bottle. Pouring some alcohol into your cup, she chuckled in disbelief. 

“I’m not sure I believe that. The bitch is more infatuated with her camera than her own girl.” 

Those words definitely stung. You stared blankly down at your drink as you tried hard not to think about it too much as water pricked your eyes. Sally poured her own glass then glanced back up at you. 

“Look, I’m not trying to be a debbie downer or anything. I just think it’s fucked up that she’d just leave you here.” 

“She’s… She’s just very professional. She takes a lot of pride in her work.” You tried to explain, “Besides, she said we could go on a better date tomorrow.”

She raised a brow. “A bit too professional, don’t you think? How could she pass up a night with a gorgeous girl like you?”

There was a thick silence that hung in the room.Your vision grew fuzzy as more tears welled up in your eyes, though you were quick to wipe them away to appear like you had everything together. “Oh, my poor baby girl.” Sally cooed as her index finger lifted your chin. You could see that her own eyes were watering but you weren’t entirely sure what for. She offered you a soft grin that caused the skin on your cheeks to flush; it had been so long since you’d received this sort of affection from anyone. “Why don’t we have a drink, hm?”

You looked down at the glass skeptically. Was this a trap or something? 

“I’m not sure I should-”

“Oh come on, you were gonna go to the bar earlier anyway. What’s one little glass going to do?” 

She was right. It wasn’t like you had anything better to do with your night. Rather than waiting for her to pour you a glass, you simply took the bottle from her and screwed off the cap. Your lips pressed against the mouth as you quickly took a huge swig. 

“Straight to it.” Sally chuckled as she grabbed the liquor back from you, “What a good girl you are.” 

Your whole body felt warm. So warm that you couldn’t notice that damned blush on your face was becoming more apparent. It was probably just the effects of the alcohol and not the fact that her remark had been incredibly smooth. 

Nearly two hours had passed in which you both kept passing the bottle back and forth. Each swig from the bottle made you significantly more inebriated as you both talked about everything under the sun. You told Sally about your life, and in return she told you more about herself. You’d learned that she used to be a musician, that she had been dealing with a drug addiction for decades, and that she lived here at the hotel. She even made you crack a smile or two. 

There was so much alcohol in your system now that you were completely relaxed. It was as if Sally took every problem you ever had and melted it away with simple conversation. You had to admit, no one had ever made you feel this way before. Not even your own girlfriend. 

“Can I ask you a question?” You asked, your words slightly slurred. 

“Only if I can ask you one in return.” Sally replied with a sly grin. 

“That sounds like a fair trade.” “Then go right ahead, gorgeous.”

You took a deep breath as you tried to summon the right words. It might’ve been stupid, but you had a sneaking suspicion that there was something paranormal about this woman. You could’ve sworn you felt something deep in your gut telling you that it was true. The worst that could possibly happen was that she’d think you were crazy. “I’ve noticed that you’re rather unique.” You gulped, “This might sound stupid to ask, but uh, are… a-are you a-” Before you could finish your sentence, she cut you off completely. “Are you asking if I’m a ghost?” Your brows furrowed as your eyes widened slightly out of shock. It was as if she had taken the words right out of your mouth. The blonde chuckled to herself when she saw your reaction, then inhaled more smoke from her sixth cig of the night. “Yeah. I’m a ghost. Been dead for fucking years now.” She paused briefly, a fire in her eyes now. “Does that scare you?” So it was confirmed. Sally wasn’t alive… If you were honest, you weren’t sure how you felt about that. You’d seen enough of Billie’s work to know all of the signs but you didn’t figure you’d be the one that would have a run in with the dead. Shaking your head, you could feel yourself growing dizzy from this new information. You weren’t about to act like a wuss in front of her now. “Not at all.” You muttered maybe a little too quickly. Sally raised a brow at your response. “Do you believe me?” You shrugged. “I mean, you practically walked through the wall when I wasn’t looking. And you took me for a spin in the elevator earlier, which was a little eerie.” “So is that a yes?” “Yes… I believe you.” Sally looked rather pleased with you as she took back the bottle. “Good… You’re not a skeptic.” She took a swig and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “I fucking hate skeptics.”

You simply just nodded along as you listened to her. If you were honest with yourself, you were still on the fence as if you actually believed her or if it was the alcohol getting to your head. You had been overthinking the matter so much that you had barely missed the other women speaking directly to you. “Shit- Sorry. What did you say?” You asked. 

“I said it’s my turn.”

“For what?”

“To ask you a question.” A mischievous grin appeared on her pretty pale lips. 

You gulped. It was just a question, and surely what she had to say wasn’t too terrible. 

“R-Right. Go right ahead, ask away.” 

Sally paused for a moment to fully pivot her body in your direction. She leaned forward a bit before asking, 

“Why do you stay with a woman who doesn’t give you the time or day?”

A much more loaded question than you were expecting. Instead of responding, you simply took the bottle from her lap and took a very long swig to avoid saying anything whatsoever. The blonde chuckled to herself as she watched you chug the liquor down. “We had a deal, Princess.” She sang out. There had definitely been a deal, and you needed to hold up your end of the bargain. 

“Billie does care about me. I promise… She’s just really busy.” You set the bottle back down before continuing, “She’s been waiting for months to get coverage on this place. There’s a reason she’s so preoccupied.” 

“I’m sure that’s what it is.” Sally scoffed. “I don’t mind, though. I’m just very happy that you like blondes.” She gave you a wink as she ashed her cigarette into the glass bottle. 

You were at a loss for words. No matter what you said, your new acquaintance never believed a word that you said despite explaining yourself over and over again. In a way, you felt completely defeated. You were defending a cause with not a lot of evidence to back you up. Sally could tell you were getting upset, for she got even closer and let out a whine of sympathy. 

“Awe, don’t pout. Here, I’ll make a bet with you.” She began, “If this Billie chick comes in here tonight and fucks you when she sees you in this number, then I’ll keep my distance and respect your relationship. But if she goes straight to bed?” She paused for a moment to discard her cigarette completely, “You have to come by my room and let me show you how pretty you are.”

The immediate flush upon your cheeks was enough for Sally to chuckle darkly to herself. You were sure you had never blushed this hard in your life. You couldn’t remember how long it had been since someone had flirted with you like this, let alone your own girlfriend. 

“U-Uh- I’m not so sure about that-” You stammered. 

“Let me put it this way; When will you ever get to tell someone that you got to make a bet with a ghost?” 

She had a fair point. Surely the drinks weren’t helping you to make any logical decisions. Your head felt like it was spinning as the words fell out of your mouth,

 “Fine. Sure, why not.” You were sure that the blonde was just bluffing, what harm was one little bet going to do? 

But oh how you would regret ever saying a damn words. 

“Good.” The next moment, Sally’s face was only an inch away from your own and those deep brown eyes were staring directly into yours. 

“How about you let me give you a sneak peek?” She whispered. 

Your breath caught in your throat. Her stare put you into a trance, though you did your best to stay grounded. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Mm, it’s only a kiss.” Her fingers reached out and danced upon your shoulder, “Maybe two.”

Before you knew it, you were paralyzed under her touch. Your eyes shut tight as if to try and wake yourself from some sort of dream, but as you did so, something hot pressed to the side of your neck. Her soft lips brushed against your skin, your heart beginning to beat rapidly in your chest. Her hand traveled up to caress your cheek and her forehead rested upon yours as you slowly opened your eyes. There was no denying there was a heated passion building inside you. 

“Come on, Princess. Let me taste those pretty lips of yours.” Her voice was so dark and inviting. You couldn’t help but swoon into her touch. 

“Sally…” You tried to protest, but you were finding it hard to resist. Your vision grew hazy the moment she captured your mouth into a tender kiss. 

You felt as if you should’ve been beating yourself up for not stopping her, but you craved the amount of affection she was offering you. After the first, she kissed you again with much more confidence. Her tongue slid against your bottom lip as if to beg for entrance. Your mouth opened with ease as she eagerly deepened the contact between you both, slowly but full of lust. A low groan escaped her which in turn caused you to whimper against her. You could tell how bad she wanted you, but more importantly, you were starting to realize how badly you wanted Sally.

You pulled away briefly to catch your breath though you managed to stay close. The other woman let out a soft laugh before practically moaning, “I could eat you up.” She bit her lower lip as her gaze studied your mouth and back up to your eyes. 

“I can’t imagine what your pussy tastes like.”

“Sally- jesus.” You hissed.

Thankfully, she rose from where she had been sitting before picking up the bottle of liquor and the two glasses she had originally come in with. Her hip was cocked out to the side as she watched your every move. 

“You just wait,” She said as she pointed toward you, “You’re gonna lose.” 

“I will not!” You rebutted. 

“We’ll see about that.” 

You moved to protest her words, but in the blink of an eye, she had completely vanished. The room had seemed to change as well for everything seemed much darker than a moment ago. The window revealed a black sky full of stars. How much time had passed? 

The faint sound of clicking heels echoed down the corridor outside your door. Billie. 

At least she was finished filming so you could forget this night had ever happened. You made sure to freshen up your hair and get into a position that looked inviting for your girlfriend to walk into, for you were sure you wouldn’t lose your end of the bet. Billie loved you, and that was a fact. She wouldn’t deny the chance to spend a sensual evening with you. 

The door swung open. In the doorway was Billie Dean, her posture slightly slouched as she flashed a winning, yet sleepy smile to you. 

“Hey, Honey. How was your night?” She asked, her voice groggy as ever. 

“It was fine.” You replied immediately. Your head was still woozy from all of the alcohol. “I missed you, though.”

Billie plopped down on the opposite end of the bed as she kicked off her heels. She shimmied out of her skirt, then worked at the buttons of her blouse to reveal her silk slip. You did your best to appear sexy but it was proving to be difficult when she wasn’t even paying attention to you. 

“I missed you too. I’m so exhausted, we spent hours wandering this place and didn’t find a damn thing.”

“That’s too bad.” 

“Yeah. We’ll try again in the morning.” Once she was situated for bedtime, Billie got under the covers next to you. She leaned over to press a soft peck to your cheek before turning around to turn off the lamp beside her. 

“Goodnight.”

“Wait, don’t you want to spend some time together?”

“I’m sorry baby, I’m so tired. Why don’t we grab breakfast in the morning? I promise I’ll make it up to you after I’ve had plenty of sleep.” 

“But-”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

She turned completely away from you and didn’t notice a damn thing. Not what you were wearing, or what you looked like, or how she had made you feel so lonely. Instead of fighting her on the matter, you sighed sadly to yourself. 

“Goodnight, Billie.” 

You turned off your own lamp before curling up under the blankets and faced where Billie’s back had turned. Tears stung your eyes once again, though you managed to stay completely silent to try and drift to sleep. You were nearly asleep when you felt a familiar sensation upon your neck; hot breathing and a soft pair of lips. A warm kiss was placed upon you as you heard Sally’s voice faintly whisper in your ear,

“I win.”

[bywordofaphrodite]

Book Reviews 3&4: Nancy Drew and the Lilac Inn by Carolyn Keene & Trixie Belden and the Secret of the Mansion by Julie Campbell Tatham

This review’s theme is girl detective books ! Audience age range: roughly 12 and up !

Just as Enid Blyton’s books made me fall in love with magical creatures and faraway lands, detective novels became an obsession during late primary school, with classic lead female characters Nancy Drew and Trixie Belden being my absolute favourites. My school had an extremely small and limited library, and the Nancy Drew books were one of the only decent series there- even with a great chunk of the collection missing. My mother introduced me to Trixie Belden, which she insisted was better than Nancy Drew, though I refused to listen to such a declaration at the time.

Now, though? My opinions have definitely changed.

Nostalgic review

Rating: ★★★★★

From memory, Nancy Drew is a clever, beautiful and well-off girl in her late teens, living with her lawyer father Carson Drew and her housekeeper Hannah Gruen, who has looked after Nancy since her mother’s passing when she was only three. I always enjoyed the dynamic between Nancy and her father, as it was similar to mine with my father, also a lawyer- Carson doesn’t step in unless Nancy needs his help, but he does assist in legal advice when necessary. I also loved Nancy’s friendship with the cousins Bess and George, and liked that her relationship with her ‘special friend’ Ned never got in the way of solving mysteries or hanging out with her friends (‘hanging out’ was practically code for sleuthing in these novels anyway). Overall, my memories of this series amount mostly to exciting searches for missing heiresses, finding beautiful jewels and battling crocodiles in Florida.

On the opposite side of the spectrum is Trixie Belden- rough-around-the-edges thirteen year-old from a poor family living with both her parents and three brothers. Where Nancy has a housekeeper, lives in an affluent suburban neighbourhood and never wants for money, Trixie lives on the outskirts of a small town, both her parents work, and she is constantly reminded of how important it is to work for money as they do not have much of it to spare on mindless things. Nancy is a fairly solitary character, often working alone unless her friends show up, and even then she does most of the legwork; Trixie is also the main sleuth in her series, but her best friend Honey is almost always at her side. While the mysteries were great, the warm friendships in Trixie Belden novels are what I remember best.

Regardless of whatever my thoughts may be after rereading books from these two series, I’ve never ceased referencing either of them and my love of the mystery genre still holds fast even now.

Nancy Drew and the Lilac Inn Review

Post-read: ★★

Synopsis: girl detective Nancy Drew is called to solve a series of odd goings on at her newly engaged friend Emily’s inn, in what seems to be an attempt to prevent Emily and her fiancé from opening. Disaster strikes when her aunt retrieves Emily’s inheritance of diamonds- Emily’s last hope to cover the costs of fixing up the inn- and they are swiftly stolen within the hour. Nancy vows to catch the thief and the intruder and save Emily’s inn from failure.

I struggled in choosing which Nancy Drew book to reread for this review, and after reading through multiple rankings lists I decided on the Lilac Inn because it ranked highly on every list. I now wish I had just gone with Crocodile Island anyway… at least there was something snappy about it. In between the bomb, the theft, the doppelganger, the underwater fake-shark, the kidnapping, the spear-gun attack- I think I’ve made my point. There’s far too much going on, and if it was well-written I would be okay with it, really I would, but it’s all so blandly articulated that half the time I had to reread just to make sure I’d read correctly what nonsense was occurring at any given time.

Straight out the gate, I just want to say how shocking the writing was- that’s shockingly bad, by the way. If I thought Enid Blyton’s work was stunted, well, this was far, far worse. Especially since it lacks the excuse of being written for young children. It was incredibly difficult to push through in the slower parts, and I must admit I basically skim-read the lead up parts to the action sequences (which were incredibly minimal compared to the gnashing crocodile teeth I longed for, but alas). Sadly for me, Bess (my old fave), George and Ned were not present at all, and I cannot remember if they had actually been introduced that early in the series because they are not mentioned once.

I did really like the concept of the story, and the element of Nancy having a creepy doppelganger posing as Nancy to cause mischief (she has several over the series) was fun, even more so that said doppelganger was an actual actress and quite ruthless in her attempts to steal Emily’s diamonds- I love a morally-corrupt pretty female villain as much as the next person, after all. There is a romance teased between Nancy and a young man staying at the inn, a young man who continuously seems to be in the same room as the diamond thief messing with Emily’s inn, but ultimately both never amount to anything. This hardly surprised me given the book is written in the thirties, and Ned and Nancy never do anything but attend dances together the entire series, but still, come on. He could’ve at least stolen the diamonds to add some spice to his useless appearances.

It’s possible that were a very talented scriptwriter to take this book and make it into a movie it could work out a lot better than it does on paper- provided the casting was done well. The sets would be interesting, and I think the creepiness of the ‘ghost’ in the orchard and the diving scenes would translate a lot better on camera. Normally I’m not one to nominate live actions of novels for no reason, but this thought kept recurring as I struggled to get through the writing.

Characters who aged well: Nancy is smart and weirdly good at everything (they don’t explain why she knows how to do all the things she does, but diving and freeing herself from bonds seems to be easy enough for her. Given male characters are always allowed to be perfect without training, I’ll allow it). For a female character written in the 30s she has plenty of agency and does not once rely on a man’s help to do anything, which is why I always enjoyed her books. Carson Drew also aged well- not present that often, but useful without being interfering, and his trust in his daughter is refreshing. As for the other main characters in the series… they didn’t even show up in this book so I can’t really comment on this.

Characters who aged badly: plot twist- I’m adding Nancy here too. She is a little too perfect, too polished, a common criticism by modern readers, though at the time of publication was her main selling point. Additionally, earlier editions of the series featured racist comments made by Nancy, although those have since been taken out. However, the publisher and creator of the first books was not a very pleasant person, so I find myself able to separate that from Nancy’s character.

Favourite scene/quote: ‘The article went on to tell that Nancy had just completed a course in advanced skin diving in the Muskoka River, and that she had finished first in total points in the twenty student group’.

I find this quote amusing because there is really no need for Nancy to be good at every single thing, and this is a good example of the many times throughout the series that Nancy is the ‘best’ at a very random activity that is often never mentioned again.

As for my favourite scene, though nothing interesting actually ends up happening in the orchard, I did like the eerie setting of Nancy dressing up as a ghost and chilling behind a tree for a while (okay it was partially eerie, mostly just oddly comedic). The actress/impostor posing as Nancy provided a few good scenes, too, but for the main villain of the story she was hardly in as many scenes as she should’ve been in.

After doing some research, I discovered something most interesting: Nancy was written with significantly more character by the original ghost-writer of the series, a woman named Mildred Wirt Benson, who wrote Nancy ‘embodying qualities that she wished she had’- but the publisher Edward Stratemeyer did not want a bold female character, and she was rewritten with similar dialogue but now accompanied with ‘dainty’ verbs to sweeten her words. Stratemeyer was also known for his beliefs that women belonged in the kitchen, and the only reason he created Nancy in the first place was to capitalise on young female readers who wanted their own equivalent of the Hardy Boys.

With all of this in mind, it’s very possible that the Nancy from my memories is a mix of the older and new editions, which allowed Nancy more personality as the series went on, no longer needing to confirm to the sexist expectations of the 1930s. And despite these origins, Nancy Drew aged quite well as an unintended feminist icon: she solves her mysteries alone and rarely needs Ned’s help at all; in fact, most of the time, Nancy is the one doing the saving. It’s nice to think that, almost one hundred years later, Mildred Wirt Benson’s version of Nancy is the one being kept alive, both on paper and onscreen.

Trixie Belden and the Secret of the Mansion Review

Post-read: ★★★★★

Synopsis: energetic teen Trixie Belden’s boring town of Sleepyside is turned upside down when a rich new family moves onto the property opposite her own, an old miser winds up in hospital and his empty mansion is suddenly inhabited by a runaway boy, and a missing fortune is waiting to be uncovered.

Whewww.

This was a massive breath of fresh air after the Lilac Inn! After being so unimpressed by both Blyton and Keene’s writing, Tatham’s writing restored my faith in my childhood judgement. Her words flowed well and the conversation between the characters was very natural. The blank slate characters in the Lilac Inn were showed up by the animated and multiple-dimensional characters in the Secret of the Mansion, and I never once felt the need to rush myself through the chapters.

Unlike my method of choosing a Nancy Drew book, I simply decided on reading the first Trixie book for this review. While I almost went for a later book where all the main characters had been introduced, I couldn’t remember how Trixie first met Honey and Jim, which I felt was pretty important to her character. I’m very glad I did. Even in the first book, Trixie endures so much character development (contrasting very strongly with Nancy’s flawless existence). Longing for a friend, Trixie takes herself up the hill to the newly habited mansion to introduce herself and her little brother Bobby, who she is babysitting to earn money to buy herself a horse. There she meets rich girl Honey Wheeler, a sickly and sheltered but sweet girl of the same age, whose parents pay little attention to her. Things fall into place with all the expected luck of a teen heroine- Honey’s governess is a lovely woman who wants Honey to befriend Trixie and offers to look after Bobby, and of course Honey’s stables are now filled with horses and a stable hand who can teach her to ride.

But for every easy thing comes an opportunity for Trixie to grow: she comes to admire Honey’s bravery after previously being irritated by her fear of trying outdoor activities; she ignores the stable hand’s orders not to ride the stallion and falls as a result, leading to her having to work to regain his trust and also being taught the valuable lesson to recognise her own limits; finally, as much as Trixie hates looking after little Bobby, when he is bitten by a snake Trixie is resourceful and quick on her feet in helping him, keeping him well enough until a doctor and other adults arrive.

Rather like the Lilac Inn, the mystery of the story centres on the hidden will to a supposed fortune of the elderly man who lived in the old mansion not far from Honey’s new home. On a whim, Trixie nags Honey into accompanying her to snoop around the building, leading to their discovery of the old man’s nephew Jim hiding there. By the end of the book, the girls have helped Jim to find the will and safely escape his abusive step-father. Later in the series, Jim is adopted by the Wheeler family, and also becomes Trixie’s primary love interest (I love that this relationship is not at all rushed either).

The reading level for the Trixie Belden series is listed as grade 3 and above, but I had no problems being completely involved and intrigued by the storyline and characters as a twenty-three year old. I think I’ll continue to read the series on my own time, as I always enjoyed the full character line-up developed after a few books in.

Characters who aged well: Trixie! If my praise during this review didn’t make clear enough, she’s a wonderful character with great development. Honey and Jim are also solid characters, and Bobby and Trixie’s parents are well-written too- supportive and kind, but realistic concerning raising Trixie to be a responsible kid. Also going to add that Trixie’s group of best friends- self-named the Bob-Whites of the Glen and consisting of her two older brothers Brian and Mart, Honey, Jim and the later additions of Dan and Di- have a strong presence and very distinct personalities when they show up in the later novels.

Characters who aged badly: nobody! All the side characters were well done, including the villain. He wasn’t over-the-top by any means, his abuse of Jim was both emotion and physical in a realistic manner that concerned the adults around him enough to comment on it without actually taking proper action to help him, as it often goes. I appreciated the author’s ability to write a male character the vulnerable one, to recognise what was wrong about the situation, and to gladly accept help from two girls younger than him.

Favourite scene/quote: “‘serves him right,’ Trixie said, wiping her grimy hands on her rolled-up blue jeans. ‘The mean old miser. You should have left him lying in the driveway, Dad.’”

An earlier quote in the book, this sets the tone for Trixie’s character: she’s messy, no-nonsense and cheeky. For a female character written in 1948 I found this quite amusing. There’s none of the internalised misogyny that often popped up in ‘tomboy’ characters of the time: Trixie just is what she is, and she’s great.

A standout scene would be Trixie sucking the venom from her brother’s snakebite to save him, and the chapters focused on the developing friendship with Honey and Jim while the two teach Trixie how to handle horses is also enjoyable.

Overall verdict:

My mother was right, Trixie Belden is far better than Nancy Drew in every category I can think of. I wish that the series had gained the popularity that Nancy Drew did, because it would make for a fun movie or television show. There is an eighteen year gap between the publication of the first novel from both series, and both heroines saw many more books written after that. Nancy Drew is so persistent, however, that multiple movies and even a recent CW show have been made, though it is not very accurate to the books at all. Even now, modern-day setting Nancy Drew mysteries are still being released under the Carolyn Keene pseudonym, showing her unending mythical status.

I still love Nancy, bad writing and all, but in all fairness, Miss Trixie deserves a cut of the nostalgic hype surrounding the girl-detective genre. I’d also like to bask in the poetic justice of Nancy not only remaining a more iconic character than the Hardy Boys, but also becoming more feminist as time goes on. I’m sure the publisher is rolling in his grave!

[princess-of-riviaa]

Vices chapter 3: Work  Conference

Chapter 1: First Time

Chapter 2: Liar

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Reader

Chapter summary: You have a work conference that takes you out of state. Ransom makes sure you’ll miss him as much as he misses you.

Series Summary: A friendship with Ransom Drysdale is one thing; a relationship with him is another. Is your love for each other strong enough to keep you together? Or will nothing be able to keep you from ending in tragedy?

Author’s note: As much as I love/hate him, Ransom is an annoying character to write. I had completely different plans for this chapter and Ransom just took the plot into his own hands and changed everything up. Still, it turned out pretty good. Ransom seriously knows what he’s doing

Warning(s): phone sex, denied orgasms, voyeurism

Word Count: 2.5k

“Where the hell are you?” Ransom’s tone was impatient and you didn’t have to be looking at him to know he had that Drysdale Scowl on his face, his entire body tense with his frustration.

“Why?” You wondered, evading the question. Ransom didn’t need to know your whereabouts 24/7. You had a right to privacy.

“Because I need to fuck you and you aren’t at your house,” he replied bitterly.

“You went to my house? Before calling?” You tried to control your growing annoyance. Someone like Ransom, someone who’d been given everything they’d ever wanted from birth, didn’t understand boundaries. You’d learned that about him a long time ago. But it still frustrated you.

“Where the hell are you?” He repeated. His voice was controlled now, which only meant one thing--he was too pissed to show it. Ransom didn’t scare you when he was screaming or throwing punches. He only scared you once he was pushed past that point--once he took on a calm, eerie rage.

You sighed, knowing this conversation wouldn’t end well if you didn’t give him an answer. “I’m in Los Angeles.”

“What the fuck are you doing there?!” A pause and then-- “You better not be fucking some other guy.”

You laughed at his accusation. “Yes, Ransom. I flew across the entire country just to have sex with someone. Because that’s completely sane.”

“No, it’s completely insane considering that I satisfy you more than enough every night,” he reminded. “You don’t really think any man’s cock could make you feel as good mine does, fill you up as perfectly?”

A gasp fell from your mouth--half from shock at his explicit words, half in surprise as you felt your legs already begin to squeeze together. You looked around at the hotel lobby, silently hoping no one had noticed the change in your demeanor. If one of your coworkers realized the kind of conversation you were having right now... You didn’t even want to think about it.

“Ransom--” you began.

He chuckled darkly, his frustration temporarily forgotten. “Look at you, baby. I hardly said ten words and you’re already breathless for me. No other guy could possibly do that to you.”

“Ransom, I’m here on a work conference.” You enunciated the words clearly so he wouldn’t mishear you. He needed to shut up. You weren’t in a place where you could think about him, or his hands, or his cock...

“So it’s your boss?” He questioned. “That’s who you’re fucking?”

Where the hell did he get that idea? “No! What are you even--”

“You’re all mine, Y/N.” His voice dripped with jealousy. “And I don’t share what’s mine.”

You resisted the urge to close your eyes and bask in the sound of him calling you his. Your heart clenched in your chest. You wanted him here; not just so you could have sex with him, but because you wanted to feel his arms around you, hear his voice whisper in your ear and make you shiver, listen to his heartbeat against your ear as you lied on his chest. God, you had it bad.

“I can’t talk about this now,” you rushed out as you eyed your boss walking towards you and the rest of your colleagues.

“Y/N--” He began, but he didn’t finish before you hung up the call and slid your phone into your handbag.

“The conference starts in ten minutes,” your boss said. “We should go find our seats.”

...

As soon as you made it back to your hotel room that night, you dialed Ransom’s number. You’d been unable to focus on anything the entire day; your thoughts had only revolved around Ransom and that phone call. Specifically, those filthy words he’d used with you. It had left you wet and needy for the majority of the day.

“Hello?” Ransom asked over the line.

You sighed at the sound of his voice. God, you missed him. “Ransom.”

“Y/N.” You couldn’t decipher the emotion in his voice. “Done fucking your boss?”

Your momentary loneliness was eclipsed by sudden annoyance. “For the last time, I’m only here for a conference. That’s it.”

Ransom huffed, clearly not believing you.

“Besides,” you added as you put him on speaker and set the phone on the table beside the bed. You began to undress and change into your night clothes, which only consisted on a tee shirt that was three sizes too big, falling just past your butt. “You’re the only one I want fucking me, Ransom.”

The satisfaction was clear in his voice now. “I know, baby.”

That man was a roller coaster; annoyingly insecure one second, nauseatingly confident the next. But you loved him anyways. The thought hit you like a punch to the face. You loved him. You loved Ransom Drysdale. The realization was still hard to wrap your mind around.

“I wish you were here.” You took the call off speaker phone and brought it back to your ear as you crawled under the sheets.

“I know you do,” he replied.

The room around you was silent, his voice so clear against your ear, that it sounded like he was right beside you. You closed your eyes and imagined it. You pictured him lying beside you, his hands warming your skin.

“God, I would just devour you if I were with you right now,” he murmured into the phone, his tone growing darker.

You let out a sigh. “Ransom...”

“You want that, baby, I know you do. You can never get enough of me.” He laughed, almost to himself, and then asked, “What do you miss most about me? My mouth? My fingers?”

“Your cock,” you answered, the words falling from your mouth before your brain could register what you’d done. But you’d been needy for him all day long. You were too desperate to feel embarrassed now. Besides, he’d seen you naked on multiple occasions and touched every part of your body. There was no reason to be embarrassed in front of him now. Your legs clenched and squeezed together as you thought of him fucking you, sucking on your nipples, spanking you. You moaned, wishing he were here more than anything.

“God, baby, I miss hearing you moan for me.” His voice was husky, growing needier, and you knew he wanted to be here as much as you wanted it. The thought made you smile. Could he really be as desperate for you as you were for him?

“I wish you were touching me,” you confessed, your fingers trailing up your thigh in place of his.

“Fuck. FaceTime me. Now.” He ended the call before you could reply. A second later your phone lit up and began to ring. His name popped up on your skin. You answered the call and allowed the video to load. He was on his bed, resting his back against the headboard. His shirt was gone, as were his pants, and he was left in his underwear. You could feel yourself grow wetter at the sight of him and all his muscled glory. He had a faint five o’clock shadow and you imagined how blissful the burn would be to feel his facial hair rub between your thighs. His blue eyes lit up at the sight of you. “Hey, baby. You’re wearing my shirt.”

You looked down at the band shirt you were wearing. You’d been friends with Ransom long enough--spent enough drunken nights stuck at his house--that you’d collected a handful of his shirts throughout the years. You liked sleeping in his shirts. Partially because he was picky about his clothes and only bought top brands, so his shirts were always softer than anything you owned. But mainly because you loved the smell of him--a faint hint of mint mixed with his cologne. The smell of him alone was enough to make your toes curl.

“Oh, yeah.” You laughed. “I guess I am.”

“Here I was thinking you’d be a good girl and already be naked for me,” he sighed, disappointed. “Do I have to punish you, Y/N?”

A smirk tugged at your mouth. “Maybe.”

The video quality was strong enough that you could see his pupils dilate the longer he stared at you. “Take off your shirt, baby. Let me see you.”

You set down the phone and did as he asked. But when you lifted the phone again, you covered your bare breasts with your arm and fought back a giggle as he growled.

“I’d tie your hands up if I were with you right now,” he threatened. “You can’t listen otherwise.” He adjusted the camera angle so you could watch him begin to palm himself. You whimpered once you noticed the outline of his erection, your walls clenching at the absence of him inside of you. “Should I punish you and force you to watch me cum?”

You shook your head, unable to find words as he continued to touch himself over his underwear.

“Then you better be a good girl and not disobey me again,” he said.

You nodded, eager to please.

“Why so quiet, baby?” He smirked, already knowing the answer. “Cat got your tongue?”

“Ransom,” you sighed, your tone slightly pleading.

“Lower your arm and let me see you, and maybe I’ll give you what you want,” he considered.

You did as you were told and watched as he took in the sight of your breasts. His erection grew and you longed to lower his underwear and wrap your mouth around him. You wanted to know what he tasted like.

“Touch yourself, Y/N,” he ordered. “Touch yourself like it were me touching you.”

Your adjusted the phone against one of the pillows so you could use both of your hands to touch your breasts. You started off just massaging them, remembering how Ransom had done this to you last week. He loved teasing you. You watched the phone as you began to pinch your nipples, aching over the sight of him palming himself.

“Tell me how that feels,” he said. “Talk to me, baby.”

“It feels good,” you confessed, and for a second you closed your hands and just basked in the sensations pouring through your body. You were wet already, though not as wet as Ransom’s touch normally made you. Your body didn’t react to anything the same way it reacted to him. “But not as good as you.”

“Fuck, baby,” he moaned. “I wanna see how wet you are.”

You picked up the phone and fixed the angle so he could watch you run a finger between your folds. You were already dripping. You released a shaky breath as you began to touch your clit, moving your finger in the same achingly-slow circles that Ransom usually did.

Ransom snuck his hand into his underwear and began touching himself. “Shit, you’re so fucking hot.”

“I wanna see your cock,” you told him as you gained a momentary boldness.

He lowered his underwear enough for his cock to peak out, already hard and leaking pre-cum. You whined at the sight. You wanted him inside of you so badly.

You didn’t realize you’d said that last part out loud until he said, “I wanna feel you too, baby. I miss you squeezing my cock when I’m inside you.”

You moaned and your eyes shut as you pictured him above you, slowly entering you and making your pleasure peak.

“Finger yourself,” he ordered. “I want you to make yourself cum.”

As if your body were under his spell, you complied without hesitation. You inserted two fingers inside of your wet hole and curled them in quick movements. Your thighs clenched as the knot in your stomach tightened. For a minute everything was quiet, both of you listening to the sounds of your moans and gasps as you drew yourself closer to release.

“Wait!” Ransom spoke up just as you were about to cum.

Your fingers froze inside of you despite everything in your body and mind telling you to keep going, you were almost there. You let out a small whimper.

“I changed my mind,” Ransom said, his hand still moving up and down his cock. “I’m the only one who gets to make you cum.”

You huffed, knowing you weren’t going to release the tension in your body tonight. Not while Ransom was on the phone, at least.

“But you get to cum?” You asked, the bitterness clear in your voice. This man was completely unfair and he knew it. Hell, he exploited it. He basked in it. It was one of the things you loved to hate about him.

“Don’t worry, baby,” he assured you with a smirk, “I’m picturing it’s your mouth around me instead of my hand.”

You moaned and your mouth literally salivated at the thought of him face-fucking you. “God, Ransom, I wanna taste you so badly.”

He groaned and began to move his hand faster. His eyes closed, bliss written all over his face as he said, “Keep talking. I love it when you talk dirty to me.”

Your frustration at your unachieved orgasm was forgotten. All you wanted now was to watch him lose control--and you wanted your words to bring him over the edge. So you laid it on thick. “I wanna suck you off so bad. I’d start by just kissing the tip and give you little licks--nothing to satisfy you, just enough to tease you and make you need more. I’d give plenty of attention to your balls until you’re so desperate that you start fucking into my mouth. God,” you moaned, picturing it yourself, “I’d want you to grab onto my hair and use me. I want you to make me choke on your cock until I can’t fucking breathe. And then I’d want you to cum in my mouth and let me swallow it all up.”

“Fuck, Y/N!” He cried out and his mouth fell open in a silent scream as he came, his cum shooting out and landing on his hand and stomach.

You felt proud of yourself for getting him to orgasm so quickly. The sight of you turned you on even more and you found yourself even more desperate and needy for him than you’d been the entire day.

“You’re such a naughty girl,” he laughed as he caught his breath and came down from his high.

“Only for you,” you promised.

“Good.”

“This didn’t help with missing you,” you admitted. You only missed him more.

Ransom opened his eyes and looked back at you. “I know, baby. I’ll fuck you real good when you come home, don’t worry.”

“Promise?” You couldn’t hide the hopefulness in your voice.

“When it comes to fucking, I never break my promises,” he said.

You couldn’t get home soon enough.

Tag list below the cut:

@marvelismysafezone​

@what-is-your-plan-today​

[thegeekyzoologist]

My opinion on Jurassic World: Camp Cretaceous (SPOILERS)

Like many people interested in the Jurassic franchise, I binge-watched that show back in september and here are my thoughts.  First of all, I precise that I had no expectations for the series as the combo Jurassic World + kid show didn’t attracted me at all, and the trailers have done nothing but confirm my fears.

Let’s start by the positive: - Amidst the cringefest that the first episodes were, the scenes with Darius back home stand out from the rest by their quality as they are centred more on drama and character development and not on clumsy comedy like the scenes on Nublar. The idea of getting an access to Jurassic World and Camp Cretaceous as a reward for beating that virtual reality game reminded me the recruitment of Eli Wallace by the SGC at the very beginning of Stargate Universe. - Starting from the beginning of the season’s second half, the series gets better and a little more mature in its unfolding and writing, up to the point where it doesn’t seem targeted for young children but rather young teens. Some dumb scenes remain however (like the one of the geneticist Eddie, abandoned in the lab with the sole company of his birthday cake). - There is a few action and suspenseful scenes that aren’t bad in the second half with, among other things, a hide-and-seek game with the Indominus amidst the containers, a part in the tunnels that can remind some people of Telltale’s game, a monorail attack by the pteranodons which should have deserved a live-action treatment, and a climax in a storage area where the protagonists have to use their wits in order to defeat the carnotaur and escape from the underground network. On the matter of the carnotaur, one can note a nice paleontological reference with its difficulty to turn when it is chasing prey. - Of all of the characters, Roxie is the most realistic, responsible and reasonable one (and the only tolerable one in the first episodes). And let’s bring now the negative aspects: - On the matter of the original soundtrack, I don’t remember any of the original themes sadly. As I had the same problem when I viewed The Witcher though (I didn’t liked its first season but I rather well appreciated its soundtrack following a separated listening), I will wait for the release of the soundtrack before criticizing it further. - The first episodes are a total farce with a succession of all kinds of nonsenses with the bunch of stereotypical buffoons that the kids are that are involved in stupid acts by the night of their first day, acts that fall under Reversed Darwinism (the survival of the most idiotic like Grant would say in Jurassic Park 3) and that gave me the desire to give some slaps and send those Kennys to a firing squad (for the crimes of property destruction and, above all, endangering dinosaurs and employees); the infringements during the activities of hygiene and security rules that are applied in many theme parks and laboratories around the world (with the kids wandering around in the lab and touching to everything in a total dissidence; running down a zipline and brushing past brachiosaurs...); the counsellor Dave which talks to Wu like if he was an old pal of his while Wu is one of the highest corporate executive around and someone famous and respected in-universe; Wu being depicted with the subtlety of a fat beer-drunk sea lion (with his mannerisms and attitude worthy of a James Bond villain, we know right away that he is bad); cartoony action scenes (I mean bloody hell. Look at that Parasaurolophus that jumps off the jeep’s roof like he was a fookin’ kangaroo while the jeep itself wasn’t miraculously crushed under the hadrosaur’s weight); the employees and the park’s security being shitty (one enter so easily in the underground network that Biosyn could organise rave parties there right under InGen’s nose; Darius and Kenji being left with no supervision in the middle of the jungle while they are supposed to shovel shit as a punishment); the dinosaurs that passes too as incompetent for failing to kill the kids while such situations in real-life or in the first films would have unforgiving or barely forgiving but only at a certain cost. - Despite the ordeals they are going through, the kids seems to be never traumatised or at least shaken like the Murphys, Kelly Malcolm or Maisie were respectively in JP, TLW and FK since here, they seems to be in shock for a moment or two before starting again to squabble or quipping once they are away from danger. - At the end of the monorail attack scene, I thought that the writers had the balls to kill off Ben  and I would have tipped my hat to this narrative decision and give more credit to this kid show if we didn’t had the reveal at the end that he was still alive. At the end, we just got another Billy Brennan situation. - Bumby is useless in this season, aside from encouraging toy sales and being the show’s cute caution and still, it’s relative as her closeups along with Brooklynn’s rapy face in episode 2 have scared me more than the predators’ attacks in the season’s second half. And her growth rate is so fucked up as she hatch in episode 2 before reappearing in episode 5 I think which is supposed to be set two days later, where she is already the size of a bulldog. And the scene where she cries while the kids are being kicked off the lab (for understandable reasons) is so ridiculous... - Aside from in the action and suspenseful scenes mentioned above in the positive aspects, the use and depicting of dinosaurs is either anecdotal, either WTF with the Sinoceratops being almost as gentle as a lamb (try to do with a hippo or a rhino what the Kennys did with the sino, I wouldn’t mind some funny antics...). I’m not a fan of the bioluminescent Parasaurolophus and their scene either. It seems like they wanted to copy the Na’vi River Journey’s attraction from Animal Kingdom in Orlando, with semi-aquatic parasaurs worthy of some outdated depictions from the last century.   - Visually speaking, the universe and the artistic direction are poor. The jungle has the same look everywhere on the island (with trees of average height being relatively spaced from one another while the ground is covered with grass) and its scenery never seem foreboding or ominous while Isla Nublar and Isla Sorna were, in some way, entire characters in the films that sometimes aroused an eerie sense of mystery and danger, at east in the original trilogy and Fallen Kingdom. The park itself is quite empty too, even before the evacuation. There is only scene with a large amount of people and the latter seems to all share the same model and the same animation in addition of being blurred (probably as a camouflage for the lack of budget) and we don’t believe in this world as nothing grand comes out of the visited locations (aside from maybe the eponymous Camp Cretaceous) and that everything seems so bland, with even the employees being of the same corpulence, age group and behaviour except for a few exceptions. - Finally, let’s discuss about the coherence with the Jurassic World film, of which this show is supposed be a canon interquel. Even though if there is several nods to some of the latter’s events (Masrani’s helicopter is seen a couple of times; the Kennys take the ACU’s van; they walk past Zach and Gray’s destroyed gyrosphere and the killed ankylosaur’s body...)  as well as other materials of the franchise, including JP3 and Masrani Global website, like if the show wanted to tell us “Hey look! I did my homework!” in order to please the fans. It’s one thing to make references to the rest of the saga and it’s easy actually, but it’s another to use them for something else than just fan-service. Despite all this, Camp Cretaceous has its share of inconsistencies with Jurassic World. I won’t list them all since it wouldn’t be that interesting but among other things, we have the mention of fences falling apart across the entire island while nothing like this happened in JW (it seems they mixed up the JP and JW incidents) or at least not on this scale; the kids visit a lab somewhere north of the park whose existence seems a bit off as the Innovation Center’s lab can do everything that lab does, in addition of housing Wu’s secret lab; the surroundings of the mosasaur lagoon which seems empty by the end of the afternoon while chronologically speaking, the scene is supposed to happen just after the pterosaurs attack (and thus the area should be crawling with employees that are looking for eventual late visitors, or the still running security cameras could have spotted the kids) and why did those foolish Kennys didn’t thought of going to the nearby hotels right after the ordeal with the mosasaur instead of hanging around in the bleachers up until sunset, hotels where a large number of visitors are supposed to be found up until quite late in the night according to the Jurassic World film? Anyway, Camp Cretaceous might have got a kick up the backside halfway through and the quality of the episodes did increased little by little but the whole season stays nevertheless mediocre and the viewing of the series is honestly quite dispensable, especially if you were disappointed by the Jurassic World films. Some will probably tell me that I’m being too hard with a kids show but actually, the fact that it is targeted for kids is no excuse for some flaws like a lack of ambition in the artistic direction, the shitty humour or the wtf scenes. Whether a work is for adults, for all audiences, or for kids, the creative investment and the work quality should stay the same.

[my-happy-little-bean]

Patton and the Fantasy Fair (It Is The Nature of Dreams To End)

pairings: LAMP/CALM (platonic/familial) words: 3543 warnings: mild swearing, nostalgia/dwelling too hard on the past, crying, mention of blood, angst  summary: 

virgil had mentioned the fantasy fair once, in a conversation that was meant to go nowhere, and patton had said the following:

“ ‘it is the nature of dreams to end’. "

or: the one where they all remember that weird amusement park in the middle of a park; and also, patton is missing.

a/n- hello! here's another addition to everyone's favourite series, ‘let’s indulge bean in their slightly low quality, very personal fics’ — aka the series i write for when i am exclusively procrastinating on writing anything else :p

today's story is brought to you by a rather haunting return to 'fantasy fair'; a real place i used to go to as a kid (if you search of fantasy fair and woodbine, you'll probably find pictures of what i'm talking about :')) ). it gave me a crisis, so naturally i had to write about it. also this is kind of a response to one of my earliest one shots in this fandom called "a light in every patch of darkness". it just feels a bit related to it, not sure why :')

finally, this story was inspired by two songs: "julia" by reeder and a cover of "never never land" by adam melchor. both are great, i would highly recommend listening to them :")

i hope you find some enjoyment in this weird, midnight ramble of a story. it's rough in a lot of places, but hey! at least it's in this place with you :')

[read on ao3]

---

“I know a place where dreams are born and time is never planned. 

It’s not any chart, you must find it with your heart;

Never Never Land.”

-*-

“Has anyone seen Patton today?”

Roman lolled his head back against the arm rest he laid against, lowering the book he was reading and giving Virgil an upside-down smirk. 

“He’s probably in his room,” he announced, as if he was the know-it-all. Virgil raised an eyebrow and Roman huffed, flipping over onto his stomach and pressing his elbow into the arm rest. 

“Logan?” he called. He pressed his chin in his hand coyly. “Where’s Pat?”

“Well considering there are not many places where we are able to go,” Logan replied from the kitchen, “it is statistically probable that he is in his room.” 

Roman waved his hand at Virgil, as if he was using the gesture to say “told you so!”. He flipped onto his back, head once again on the arm rest, and stretched his arms to lift the book above him. Virgil sighed as Roman resumed his reading, tugging on the strings of his hoodie. 

“I dunno, it just seems unlike him to stay up there for so long.”

Logan crossed in front of him as Virgil rambled, as if his words intrigued him enough to leave whatever task he was finishing in the kitchen.  

“I’m just worried, okay?” He scratched the back of his neck absentmindedly. “Are we really just cool with brushing this off as ‘normal’? Like, usually he’s awake before all of us — this morning he wasn’t even here.”

Roman’s snide smirk dropped slightly, and he brought his book to his chest. “He wasn’t?” 

“Dude.” 

“What?” Roman sat up slowly, throwing his arms up in an exaggerated defense. Virgil fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Look, everything Patton does is laced with some sort of muscle memory. Plus, it’s not like I’m the observant one or anything.”

Virgil looked over at Logan, silently pleading. Logan crossed his arms and pushed up his glasses. 

“You are both right.” Virgil and Roman exchanged glances as Logan spoke. “Perhaps it would be of our best interests to visit him. Even if he is in there, as our suspicions assume, we can at least reaffirm our knowledge.”

“We’re going on an adventure then!” Roman sprung from the seat and immediately bounced his way to lead the group towards Patton’s room. “You should’ve just said so, Captain Books!” 

Logan rolled his eyes, but followed Roman nonetheless. Before he could leave the living room, he turned around and faced Virgil, who was awkwardly standing in the same place. Logan frowned. 

“Virgil? Is everything alright?” 

No. That was the answer, plain and simple. Virgil couldn’t help but stare past Logan and towards Roman, still marching down the hall behind him.

Virgil knew the others couldn’t see it, but Roman was prancing across inky shadows, the trail to Patton’s whereabouts clouded with something he could only describe as a bad feeling. It sent chills down Virgil’s spine as Roman’s feet pressed into each blotch of black smoke, tainting his determined path.

He slipped his hood on and dug his hands in his sweater pockets. 

“M’fine.” He spoke carefully, as to not let any echoes crack through his voice. “Let’s just get this over with.” 

---

They stepped into Patton’s room one by one; only because they were each so awestruck by Patton’s room. 

Fairy lights draped his walls as hazy curtains, woven between picture frames of varying sizes. Each happy face Thomas knew and love was illuminated by the gaze of the lights, each seemingly staring at every memory with a special kind of fondness only Patton truly understood. Stuffed animals and stacks of photo albums were scattered around every surface of his room, which glowed with the same kind of wonder that each Side was in some way familiar with.

“Ah, I am already loving this.” Roman clapped his hands together with a smile so dreamy, it made Virgil dizzy. “Padré’s room is the best.” 

“Try and stay focused, Roman,” Logan mumbled, though he was even enthralled by some notebooks sitting on the coffee table he passed through Patton’s room– enough to pick one up and absentmindedly flip through it

Virgil, however, wanted to do nothing but stay focused. He felt like a strained camera lens, trying to focus too sharply on something, anything. 

But nothing could draw his attention away from the door on the other side of the room.

It was cracked slightly open, and was seemingly the destination for the secret shadows he followed. They pooled around the floor beneath the door, as if beckoning anyone who noticed it to come inside.

Virgil had noticed the door before, but never under such a blatant spotlight — and certainly never left open. During the many sleepovers he had spent in Patton’s room, that door was merely a closet; stuffed and silent in the back of his mind and the back of the room. He always assumed it was as messy as Patton’s room already was, so it didn't really matter what kind of mess was inside it. Plus, Patton had reassured Virgil that it was nothing special; that it was just a door.

Just a door my ass, Virgil thought, taking any semblance of courage he had and pressing to his chest as he dared to march against the current of shadow against his feet. 

Virgil passed by Logan on his way, who briefly glanced up from the notebook.

“Virgil? Where are you–” 

He stopped right beside Virgil, who stood in front of the door that seemed much taller than he remembered, casting patches of darkness across the floor. Logan frowned.

“Strange,” Logan hummed. “I do not believe I have seen this door open before.” 

“Samesies…” Roman drawled, walking up to Virgil’s side as well. Logan didn’t even seem fazed by Roman’s diction. Virgil narrowed his eyes at the door.

“Not to be dramatic or anything–”

“Hey! What’s wrong with–” 

“–but if we’re looking for answers–” Virgil cleared his throat nervously– ”I think we’re going to find it in here.”

Logan and Roman looked at each other as Virgil slowly stepped forward. The shadows on the floor crawled up along the surface of the wood, chasing Virgil’s hand that slowly reached for the door handle. As soon as he made contact with the brass, the shadows squealed, making Virgil tense up as he watched them scatter off. 

“Come on, Emo,” Virgil heard Roman say from behind him. “Thought you weren’t leaning into the dramatics today?” 

Virgil gulped, and twisted the door handle, pulling the door open with a loud, eerie creak.

---

When Thomas was a kid, his parents used to take him to the Fantasy Fair; a strange, not-so-hidden park on the second floor of a shopping mall they visited every now and then. No one– not even Logan– had ever questioned why there would be a small amusement park inside a shopping mall; all that mattered was that it was there, and that it was awesome.

Every time Thomas had run under the arch leading to Fantasy Fair, Roman had twisted images in Thomas’ mind of stepping into another world. There were signs just about everywhere, pointing in every direction with that distinct carnival font – the one that reminded Thomas of the font he’d use to write essays, but with playful twists and curls at its ends. 

The aesthetics of the Fantasy Fair varied in every spot. The makeshift “streets” that weaved their way around the park were lined with mini street lamps, fake trees, and...dinosaurs, for some reason. Hung from the ceiling were large stars, strung comically from different heights; as well as large, model aircraft—one plane and one rocket ship—that made Thomas and Logan wonder how cool it’d be to fly them. The walls that hugged the whole park were painted as the fronts of colourful houses, with balconies that spilled vibrant flowers and vines from its rails. Between these walls were many small attractions; a carousel ride, small booths with carnival games, the biggest jungle gym he had ever seen– and a ferris wheel. 

The ferris wheel was Thomas’ favourite, even if he and Virgil were afraid of heights. Thomas had never understood why he was so drawn to it, but it felt like every corner he turned led to the ferris wheel; as if the world was telling him that the ferris wheel was the most important part, and that he had to follow the path it laid out for him to show him why.

It was probably his favourite because it was so bright. Each cabin of the ferris wheel was painted with bright colours, creating a makeshift rainbow as it spun around. There were lights screwed into the metal bars that made up its frame, with its cheerful music reaching every corner of the space and looping so many times, much to Thomas’ (and Roman’s) excitement. It became their favourite song. 

But the coolest part, in Thomas’ opinion, was that it not only took up the most space on this floor, but on both floors of the mall. It was as if someone had carved a hole through the floors of the mall, just wide enough for the ferris wheel to fit in — as if every exception was made for it to be there. 

Thomas loved the feeling of floating to the top in the red cabin—always the red cabin—so he could almost touch the skylight, which let light flood into the artificial lights of the indoor park. He loved the feeling of floating down just as much, going beneath the surface of the park and to the first floor, where the world’s creators had installed a small pond, surrounded by animatronic animals and a small waterfall near the front. He always marvelled at how odd it was, stuck smack-dab in the middle of the shoppers’ path, who would stop by and peer over the fence that surrounded the pond to marvel at him back. His nose would be pressed against the cabin’s windows, just trying to get a look at everything. 

Because the park, however small it truly was, seemed so big, with so many things begging to be seen and admired. Thomas filled in the gaps of this world’s story; and in return, it seemed to make every part of his brain happy. 

Especially Patton. It made Patton so happy.

---

“Holy...shit…”

Virgil didn’t even notice that Roman and Logan entered behind him, each walking up to meet his side. 

Logan rubbed his eyes from behind his glasses, staring up at disbelief. “Is this…”

“Fantasy Fair,” Virgil finished for him. The name left his tongue as a breathy sigh, an empty rush of starstruck filling his chest. “Wow.” 

Roman frowned, and Virgil noticed him discreetly grasp the hilt of his sword. 

“I dunno if it’s me or if it’s ‘cause we are technically in Patton’s closet,” Roman said slowly, “but does it seem like...a lot more different than how I remember it.” 

Virgil didn’t even have to respond to show that he agreed. Each of their memories of Fantasy Fair faded in their irises, now a smoke screen reflecting an unfamiliar space. 

Maybe it was because they haven’t because they haven’t visited Fantasy Fair since Thomas was 12, but it looked like every friendly spark of joy had abandoned the park; just as Thomas did. The faux-street lamps lining the fake streets lost their glow, and dead moths who were waiting for that light to return were now laying still around its rims. Each bright bulb of light they vaguely remembered were replaced by beams of flickering fluorescent lights, revealing the artificial aura of every attraction. The paint on the walls of fake house-fronts were peeling, and the inviting carnival font was scratched and faded, with cobwebs of now-visible shadows hanging from the bottom edge of each sign. 

It was as if nostalgia’s double edged sword slashed across the picturesque memory of Fantasy Fair; and used the blood to paint the image of a ghost over it.

“Remind me to talk to Pat about reconsidering his interior decorating choices,” Roman murmured, slowly walking past Virgil and Logan not letting go of his sword, still bound dutifully to his side. Virgil couldn’t help but pull Logan closer to him as they followed Roman further into the park. 

Logan, rather than pulling his arm back, leaned into his touch. 

“You know, I was always rather unsettled by the fact that such a fanciful place was just...in the middle of a shopping mall.”

Unsettled by a fact. Virgil winced at the tell-tale sign of danger.

As they continued down what they assumed was a familiar path, Virgil dared to look around him and wondered why Patton would hide such a grim version of the world they all loved so dearly. Surely it wasn’t hard to love this park enough that the same memory could exist; yet it was tainted in every corner, a brush of darkness sweeping across every spot. The stars Virgil marvelled at were falling at his feet, shadows chasing the spot of its descent and eating it up before he could even check for any semblance of its past glow. 

Floating in the dead air of the world they used to love, was a familiar song; now a distorted and slowed ballad through the static of the speakers:

“It might be miles beyond the moon, or right there where you stand.

Just keep an open mind, and then suddenly you'll find

Never Never Land

/

“You’ll have a treasure if you stay there,  more precious far than gold.

For once you have found your way there,  you never, never grow old.” 

To Virgil’s surprise, Roman humming along did not make it any better. 

“I do not understand,” Logan mumbled, still closely tethered to Virgil’s side. “How could all of this exist without us knowing? Better yet, how does it exist like this?”

Virgil, for a brief moment, thought about his room; how these shadows had come to be his haunted friends, whether he liked it or not. Perhaps ‘friends’ wasn’t even the right word; they were just simply there, in an existence that ran parallel to his own. He thought of the corners Patton found inviting, ones that Logan found fascinating– even the ones Roman simply just enjoyed. None of those corners would exist without darkness.

Maybe that was the case here. 

For better or for worse, they had ended up at the front of the ferris wheel. Of course. Logan cleared his throat. 

“Patton?” he called out, his voice a sharp echo in the midst of the slow, out-of-tune piano that filled the space. Virgil’s grasp on Logan’s arm tightened. 

And then, the ferris wheel came to life. 

Slowly but surely, its rusted wheel began to spin. The light bulbs lining its frame flickered, hazy remnants of a familiar glow. Virgil could hear the animatronic animals he used to find comfort in moan; a sound that seemingly came from the hole that the ferris wheel broke through, which was now filled with a pit of black. 

Lifted out of the darkness were the ferris wheel cabins; once coloured all shades of the rainbow, now darkened and saturated to an unrecognizable extent. 

And in one of these cabins was Patton,  who peered out his window

with tears of glitter and gold streaming down his cheeks.

---

Virgil had mentioned the Fantasy Fair once, in a conversation that was meant to go nowhere,

and Patton had said the following:

“ ‘It is the nature of dreams to end’. Logan told me that once, after I started having these nightmares of Fantasy Fair. I think they started after the mall security cop dressed as a clown for Halloween, and we ran into him near the carousel. Remember how much it freaked you out?”

Surprisingly, Virgil did not. 

“Ah, I guess that proves my point then,” Patton laughed sadly when he told him. “We never went back to Fantasy Fair after that, and the life that existed before we left got stuck there; all frozen in an ice cube that would never melt.” 

He averted his glance from Virgil.

“I say that the nightmares started after that clown, but I actually think they started a few months before that,” Patton admitted. “Thomas had just turned 12, and his parents offered to take him to Fantasy Fair for his birthday. You know what he said?”

Yes. Guilt clawed at Virgil’s chest.

“He said no.” Patton shook his head. “Said he was ‘too old’ for things like that.” In a more hushed voice, he added, “Whatever that means.”

He stared at the plastic stars on his ceiling. 

“We used to dream of Fantasy Fair, every night,” Patton murmured. “The lights, the song, the ferris wheel– I used to be able to build an exact replica of the park in my mind. And in this park we dreamt of, there were no lines for the ferris wheel, and the park extended far above the skylight.”

Virgil frowned at the way the words left his lips in a strangely bittersweet way. Patton, on the other hand, smiled, rolling his head to the side, away from Virgil’s sight; towards his closet door.

“I don’t think I remember it the same way now,” Patton murmured, his eyes—from Virgil’s point of view—still fixated on who knows what. “The lights aren’t as bright, and the song is not as wonderful.”

Patton sighed. “I saw a flash of the colourful life Thomas had grown in, and…”

Virgil watched as Patton rolled his head over to face him once more, his eyes now twinkling with a soft, golden shine. Patton sadly smiled.

“And then the dream ended.”

--- 

There were a lot of things Virgil could say to Patton. In fact, Patton had probably already heard a majority of those things before.

“The past is never coming back.” 

“You can only live in the present.”

“Everything is changing.”

But in this strange, abandoned park—in this strange, abandoned dream—it suddenly made sense why Patton had clung so desperately to the past, and why he refused to let go. The present was merely a skeleton for the past, which harboured the light and life within it. And without at least acknowledging it, all you really have is a dead, empty shell. 

Patton so desperately wanted to animate the skeleton by using the only thing he had: memories. Memories of when his family was so close, where every part of Thomas was loved for a specific and obvious reason. There was no darkness, and there were no greys; just bright, sunny skies. 

However, there was truth to the familiar attempts of reassurance. Everything was changing. Virgil could feel it shifting in his bones; Thomas was growing. And with growth, there was abandonment. 

The dream Patton built was a desperate attempt to cling onto the bright memories of his family. 

But with all of them so frequently divided,  the dream had ended.

Virgil met Patton’s golden stare, and then at the absence of light behind it. 

And he pushed past Roman and Logan, using all his might to leap towards Patton’s cabin and grabbing the long, metal handle of his door with both hands.

“Virgil!” Logan exclaimed, chasing after him as Virgil was lifted off the ground slowly, his heart racing as his grasp on the cabin door handle tightened. The added weight of Logan now holding onto his ankle certainly didn’t help, and he could imagine Roman would not hesitate to add to this chain. Virgil tightened his grasp even more; he couldn’t afford to be the weak link now, 

He focused his attention to Patton, with sparkling tears lining his now-widened eyes. He was silent, and afraid. 

“Please,”  Virgil pleaded, finding his voice beneath layers of the same fear. “It’s not over yet.”

Patton brought his hands to his mouth and let out a sob so loud, Virgil could hear it from behind the door. 

And then suddenly, the door swung open, Virgil nearly swinging with it. However, he managed to let go just in time for Patton to grab his hand, pulling him and Logan and Roman with an impossible amount of strength. Virgil didn’t question it, though; it made sense that Patton could carry them all. 

They all poured onto the floors of the cabin, the door now closed and the song muffled behind it. They each gasped for breath, filling in the silence in the air.

And Virgil waited. He waited for the right words to come from Logan, or the reassuring serenade that Roman would, with no hesitation, deliver. 

But when none of that came, he simply stood up,  and sat beside Patton.

Eventually, they all found a seat in the cramped ferris wheel cabin, quietly tearing up at the sight outside their window that they forgot they even shared.

And as they were lifted into the air, they grazed the surface of skylight; now letting in a small droplet of sun.

 -*-

“So come with me where dreams are born,  and time is never planned. 

Just think of lovely things and your heart will fly on wings, 

forever in Never Never land.”

---

you can read some of my other stuff here :)

[grim-faux]

20 - Shepherd’s Apostle

The world faded into a thick haze, like a memory I wanted to recall but the further I reached for it the harder it was to grasp.  The hard carpet dug into my cheek, it was soothing to lie down like this and just put everything out of thought, out of mind.  It was impossible to describe how tired I was.  But I had to press on.

I couldn’t open my eyes.  Everything had turned dark in an instant and I was alone, in silence.  But for a dull throbbing.  My heart, I decided.  I felt my steady breath, about the most of my movement that I could manage.  Okay, just for a while I’ll lay here, then I’ll be ready.  I couldn’t recall where I was headed initially, but I was standing on the ground floor watching the lobby.

There was a charge in the air.  Palpable thickness as if something was happening or was to happen, I was on edge.  People were presently on their rounds, dressed in clean uniforms, formal.  They looked like normal people. I managed to crack an eye open and gaze blearily into the musty carpet.  The House of God.  That’s what I was looking for.  The dull tingle worked its way through my marrow, it unnerved me.  I closed my eye and returned to the fresh ground floor, just as people were running.  I felt liquid trail across the bridge of my nose and soak into the carpet under my face.  Blood soaked the floors, the desks.  Organs twisted, bodies crumpled, skeletons splint from skin.  The red droplets glistened oddly under the bright lamps. One of Murkoff’s security held a small Beretta between his hands, he turned the gun wildly on the walls and floor.  The glass of the upper hall cracked but held against the bullets.  I’m sure there should be a deafening clamor, but I can only make out muffled voices, sounds you’d pick up on underwater.  He turns his weapon on a colleague as the individual is shredded from the inside out, muscle and lung drench the carpet below his skin.  The panicked man shoots the mist as it evaporates.  I open my eyes and stare at the carpet.  I want to get up, but the pain in my skull refuses to relinquish its hold.  If I lay here in this doorway for too long I will be discovered, and without a doubt, killed. When I shut my eyes, I’m in a white room with the mangled pieces of a body beneath me, wet blood spilling down the drain of a shower.  The water left running swirls the black and reds into anemic pinks. My eyes snap open and I lay for the longest time gazing at the doorframe across from me, my heart beating fast.  What the fuck did that come from?  Reports, files I had read too deep into.  Too deep.  Therapy was going to seem like a vacation. I waited for the throbbing to subside to a tolerable degree, until I felt stable enough to get up on my feet.  I couldn’t afford to lose anymore time.  The sewers, filthy and diseased, the shears Trager used to tear off my fingers.  I had contracted something and it would kill me, unless I got out.  I needed X-rays, antibiotics, I needed some real sleep! Documents flashed through my mind — MKULTRA, the Hypnotic therapy, the Walrider legend, autopsies revealing tumors of lead.  I was feeling sick all over again, but I had to push on.  Take steps.  I was so close, I could feel it! There was still no way through the blockade of furniture crammed throughout the hall.  My hand ached as I recalled the chair that had fallen on it, I learned my lesson.  It was rare when that happened, but sometimes I did.  I was defeated and I admitted it, I wasn’t sure what I was admitting to, but I was done with this bullshit.  I eyed the fracture in the wall on my right, metal sheeting had been torn out of the plaster and left on the floor.  Looked like a path the patients used, due to the blockade.  I squeezed through, first spying the patient, or disciple I should say, bent over a grungy bed and praying.  His head low and hands clasped tightly in silent confession, I couldn’t make out what he was mumbling about.  His lips might’ve been damaged or he had lost his teeth… or his tongue. A shiver trailed up my spine, and I held my face as the wave of pain it brought subsided.  How long could I go on like this? Till I die. I wouldn’t die.  I refused to.  The tangible quality of my old proclamation and what it meant, hit me with such a force that it sent me stumbling back into an empty bookcase.  I froze, fearing the commotion would set the man off.  He made no note of my presence.  I recovered, consciousness whirling.  The camera was between my palms, trained on him.  The room was simple, only the bed and a nightstand, chair, desk on one side, on the other, a lamp cracked on the floor.  What more did he need? These rooms had originally been the residences of the staff before everything turned bad.  Small but cozy, employees provided with everything they would ever need, by the ‘non-profit’ Murkoff cooperation.  Now with the former occupants slaughtered and marinating the halls, the formerly suppressed rise up to take control.  How poetic.  I realize that not all of those affiliated with Murkoff deserved what happened, there had been good souls concerned for the cooperation’s victims.  They simply didn’t want to see what was happening around them.  People were like that.  It was human. The disciples legs were scarred, as were his arms, I imagine that was the least of the damage done.  I crept from the room, shutting the door softly behind me.  I still was wary of them and what intentions they could have.  Trust no one. It looked as though I went ALL the way around, from where I initially came up the stairs, just to get to this side of the hall.  I scoffed, but nothing to do about it.  Just keep my steady pace and try not to falter.  I at least had a small break, though I couldn’t recall what I had eaten ten minutes prior.  I remained famish and the humming grew worse, as though there really was a choir in this hall behind one of the doors.  I stood beneath the bright lamp and swayed.  If I kept my heart pumping, I would be fine. The hall reserved its featureless standard, the walls extending through the shadows that both welcomed and rejected me.  To my left was another lavatory, I poked in and went through the stalls, startling flies from their nest.  As I ventured from the glaring lamps, the little buggers gave up their pursuit, further reinforcement that the light remained my greater foe. One door on my left had a starved and shirtless patient, in prayer as I’d seen the two before.  The room was simple as I’d come to expected, bed, a desk, sometimes chairs.  The room down from his was much the same, aside from rain and thunder pouring through a shattered window.  I gave each room I came upon brief audience, filming the people, before I moved on to the next.   I was shocked by the number of people absorbed in this process.  Was it a mass Hallucination driven by MKULTRA?  I couldn’t tell anymore.  It was clear they had faith in Father Martin and his preaching’s, but why?  Questions buzzed through my thoughts as I tried to piece what I did understand together, but felt I was missing some vital component to the machine.  That eerie trill.  The sound I heard, a choir or was it a hymn?  It didn’t matter, maybe they were hearing it.  I was tempted to ask what it was, but I feared one might answer.  I feared someone would notice me at last, and I would be trapped, lost and confused as they brought about my bloody conclusion.   Aside from the room full of cold rain and thunder, I could see no way out of here.  Let alone, I didn’t know what I was doing here aside from ‘witnessing’ the disciples of Father Martin lost to prayer.  I revisited the rooms, in perpetual fear that the trance would break.  But I had nothing to lose as far as I could see.  One room I stumbled into with its withered disciple, holding his head high as he spoke, had a folder placed on the desk beside the door.  It was filled with pages, most held a handwriting style I was familiar with. “I am an unworthy supplicant, who can serve our lord only by feeding our lord. Please take me, Walrider. Let my shepherd’s Apostle see it and spread it with his lies for a greater truth. Your time upon the world has come. My flesh longs for your beautiful wraith. My blood is filled with you and waiting to be set free. This is my prayer. Write your gospel in my flesh.” For some reason this absolution unsettled me.  What was it he planned to do?  I feared the truth behind these walls. With no other path available, I decided to risk the harsh rain in the window.  The patient remained absorbed in his words, and as expected did not notice me as I climbed onto the soaked bed and stepped out onto the windowsill.  A flash of light cuts the sky, I shut my eyes from the sting and saw images I didn’t want to see.  Everything I wanted to forget.  I placed my hand on the jagged glass and stared down, my footing uneasy. Three stories up.  If I fell from this height I might not die all at once, but I’ll pray for death.  The lightening flashed, brightening the courtyard and thunder clashed against the stone building.  I forced my feet to move and hold my weight as I slipped along the icy wall of the Asylum.  Shapes flashed at the edges of the broken garden, I risked tucking my camera away as a precaution.  Light stretched from the windows at my backside, but there was not enough radiance to brave the merciless storm.  My heel slipped and I stared down, water trickled over my face and damaged hands.  The sky sparked and shrieked,  and below, I thought the skeletal shape of a person was there staring up, waiting for my body to fall and hit the pavement, starved to behold my guts torn loose to wash like crème down the drain.  I squeezed my eyes shut, fighting away my dreams.  I focused on the ledge, on the dark coloration of my coat.  Water splattered my pants and shoulders, but the eaves kept the torrent from soaking me to the bone.   I trembled with something beyond cold and fear when I climbed into the next window.  A lightly decorated room with one bookshelf, a portrait on the wall, and a bed with another of Father Martin’s disciples speaking to the Walrider.  I didn’t want to think of the blessings mad men asked for.  Maybe just the simple relief from living and life, maybe to think as other men do?  Or maybe for the world to be as they are. The door of the room was open wide, encouraging me along.  I kept caution close as I checked around the frame. God hates sickness Was scrawled in blood on the wall in large letters.  Candles lit below flicker calmly, despite the draft on my backside.  The wall flashed with light as another scream of fury came from the storm.   My left was blocked by stacks of metal shelving and chairs, I wiped the water from my hands as I struggled to fix my grip on the camera.  The only relief I could find was that my right hand didn’t seem to be swelling anymore, but the index finger and middle finger were stiff and painful to test.  I considered myself fortunate, despite it all.   More messages and candles awaited on my right, competing with the artificial light of the corridor that refused to diminish.  A cross was drawn on the wall, the blood peeling down appeared fresh.  A plate on the wall read simply Chapel.  That would be a House of God.  The corner bent left and I leaned over to find, yet more candles beside the wall and the message above God hates money I spun back at the door slamming shut, and the firm click of the lock splint my head.  Curious, I returned to try the handle and found that indeed, I was locked on this side.  Away from the ground floor and the elevator.  I sighed.  My luck.  It was a good thing I was never one to buy into stocks. Voices drifted from the hall, and that sharp pain returned to the back of my head causing my vision to blur.  I massaged my brow with my palm and continued, turning the corner and resumed the path now cut cleanly for me.  The soft candle flames became an almost welcome change, compared to the harsh blaze of the NV.  It made the walls and floors look soft and bearable, in spite of everything I knew that was buried in these grounds.  I pause and looked to my left, upon familiar scratching in the plaster.  I recognized the form and some of the words “Rest in peace”  “He did not kill” Father Martin’s preaching?  The camera scolded my hesitance, but I waited it out to gain a clear image.  I was nearly beyond my limit, but I could hold out.  I was good at holding out. God Annoys… I blinked. God always provides a way I looked from the wet message and the cross, to the scarred patient standing before me, blocking my path.  Head bowed and a candle clasped between his hands, he was emaciated to the point I couldn’t believe he was standing.  And the smell.  This… was the first fucker to lunge at me from a wheelchair! “Am I ready?” I stepped away from him and looked over my shoulder, to where the voices echoed from in somber reverence.  A chapel, candles lit and burning above a pristine tile floor, an entrance chamber that led directly into the cathedral.  It didn’t appear very large, with carved beams arched under a plain white ceiling, tinged yellow from age.  It was a simple structure, but ornate and charming in its own way.  I closed one eye and pressed my hand to it, the sound I couldn’t escape.  I had to keep my senses keen.  Beside either stained glass door that opened into the main wing, stood a twin, glowering on me as I gave one a look, then the other.  I straightened myself out to the best of my ability, I couldn’t appear defective to them. “You are.  We will join the Walrider in just a moment.”  That was Father Martin.  I was staring from where I stood, and I think he was nailed to a cross. Holy crap, what was I doing here?  I debated on just leaping from that window now and accept the fate meeting me beneath the rain, then I recalled the door was locked and I was trapped here with these people.  Whatever was to come, I would fight until my heart was ripped from my chest.  Which, given circumstances, could be very likely. I took a deep breath and proceeded into the chapel, directly between the twins as they tracked my slow movement with their hostile stare.  They reserved their right to freely expose themselves, though I kept my gaze forward and my camera close to my side.  My hardcore reporter instincts told me soon I would need it.  The doors gave a firm CLUNKof finality as I approached the podium, and the disciples of Father Martin.  They were disturbed but not aggressive, they, like those I had passed to reach this wing, were wholly oblivious to my presence, or had been requested not to acknowledge it.  Their attention was set on the man nailed to the wooden cross; I don’t doubt they were upset by this revelation.  They spoke and murmured, plead and mourned.  It was all together and all at once, I couldn’t make out a handful of what they were saying.   The crucified man gave a sharp gasp at my approach, the act so sudden I recoiled.  “My job.  You alone shall escape to tell them.”  Father Martin paused to gather his breath, he must have been in a good deal of pain.  “This is your penultimate act of witness.  The promise of the prophets was always the freedom from death,” he groaned.  “And here it is.”  He pulled at his arms, as though trying to relieve the pain, despite there being no escape.  My only response was to blink. The patients clustered about him, and the collection of timber at his toes.  They pray and spoke in soft sentences, some bowed and sobbed.  For the Walrider?  Or for Father Martin’s Gospel?  The accumulated resonance caused the hair to bristle on my neck. I moved to the side into the pews and sat down, making sure the camera was fixed on Martin.  The frail patient from the hall stepped around the podium, to stand near his Prophet and gazed at him with sunken eyes.  Martin whimpered, and resumed speaking, “You will watch and record my death, my resurrection.  And together we will be free.” Martin let his head drop onto his shoulder and took another tight breath.  “You are no longer in any danger.  I’ve fixed the elevator.  It will take you to freedom.  We will all of us be free.”  I had to set my head down on my arm.  That sound….. “Now, my son.” I jerked my head up when Martin’s tormented shrieks echoed off the high ceiling and walls.  The patient that was holding the candle lit the timber beneath his feet and the Priest was on fire, twisting and howling in pain as his robs burnt like dry cotton and his flesh scorched and popped.  I gawked wide eyed trying to hold my camera steady, trying to keep myself from tearing out of that seat and racing away.  My stomach knotted at the harsh sting of burning flesh, reminding me sharply of the scorched bodies burning in the cafeteria.  I clasped my free hand over mouth, it was all I could do to keep from buckling forward.  Not here, not at a time like this. His raving sobs finally died out as he succumb to smoke inhalation, or the heat cooked his brain inside his skull.  He gave an oily groan before he went limp and the flames settled into his bubbling flesh. When I shifted to reach for my notepad, I realized with a start I had bitten into my palm.  Not deep, but the edge of my teeth had cut into my stained flesh and blood seeped from the shallow tears.  I wasn’t sure what to make of that, or the fact I hadn’t noticed before I moved. “I can’t believe Father Martin one-upped Jesus Christ himself in shitty ways to die.  And I don’t believe I’m going to miss him.  A way out.  If he’s telling the truth, now I’ve got a way out.  And a story to tell.  He wants me to spread his gospel.  I’ll tell the whole fucking world.” I sat a moment watching the patients mourn for their Prophet, and weep for his sacrifice.  I didn’t know what they would do now without their Guide in this twisted world, but I didn’t want to hang around and find out.  I gathered myself up and slid out of the pew.  I took up the key gleaming gaily on the red velvet podium.   The twins stood still behind the stained glass doors.  From a safe distance I stopped and observed them.  Would they end it now, with Father Martin gone?  Was this the time they would conclude the chase?  I checked the room over, finding no other windows or doors, aside from the ones they stood behind.  If I could lure them back into this room, I could get around both of them.  If they cornered me, that was it. I walked forward trying not to look at them, I needed to get by and find my way out before I was stabbed in the back. They pulled the double doors open simultaneously to my approach, and I dithered before continuing forward.  I doubt they needed weapons to kill me. The bald one on the right clutched his head, angry or plagued by the sounds.  I stepped between them quickly and got halfway down the hall before I remembered the door was locked.  Or was it?  I passed the final messages of Father Martin only to find the door was still locked tight.  I returned to the chapel, looking to the twins for some sort of guidance but quickly gave that up when I spied the area, beyond where the wheelchair patient had been poised.  A bookshelf, among other furniture pinned in the archway of the hall, encyclopedias and other tomes spilt from the shelves, clearing enough space I could wriggle through.  But above was a vent in the ceiling, its panel off.  I could reach it, and they couldn’t follow. I stuck the camera in its hoister and grabbed the edge and kicked at the wall until I was safe inside and felt around for my path.  The piece of fabric shifted oddly in my gash, I poked around the backside of my shirt and felt only mild dampness but no excessive bleeding.  I squeezed my eyes tightly and crawled along the weak metal.  I was getting out.  Damn Priest guy said I could go, I would not stick around. But damn, I couldn’t believe Martin was gone.  In no way did I feel safer with his suicide, on contrary, it didn’t feel like anything had changed.  What had he been trying to prove?  The only fact I could take comfort in, was that I wasn’t the one nailed to that cross.  Didn’t mean I was no longer in danger, notwithstanding what he proclaimed.  I’ve heard that song and dance before.  Probably why it felt like his death was so unreal, in truth nothing had changed.  The whole event had meant nothing to me. The notion left a sort of emptiness inside me.  I don’t know how to describe it.  The next flue I had to force with my weight, as result I nearly fell through to the floor below.  I managed to clamp my arms over the metal sides, before the rest of me tumbled out in a painful heap.  I dropped and stumbled to my ass, god damnit.  I sat letting my body settle and gave where I was a scan.  The shelves and furniture I bypassed should keep Martin’s disciples from catching up to me anytime soon.  For the moment, it was safe to bide time and plan my direction.  I needed to find that lift and get the fuck out of here.  It was in the other wing of the Asylum, outside the kitchen.  I could reach it through this side, down this hall? I stepped into a patch of light from the lamps gleaming in the hall on the right, and sat down to think.  If I was to reach the elevator, I needed to go through the kitchen, but I couldn’t, that door was locked.  I needed another way around… I could really use a map.   If my sense of direction was right— I looked up as a dark shape began from the opposite end of hall.  I couldn’t make out who it was.  A twin?  How did he find me?  But as I gawked, the figure picked up speed, upon spying me huddled in the sloping light.  I knew who that was. I lunged to my feet taking the bright hall on my right, as he gave a thunderous snarl.  I could feel his steps quake through the floorboards of the Asylum.  His chains churning with his pace, gaining three steps with every one of mine.  Needed a place to hide, needed distance!  The hall was perpetual, same as those never ending roads in your dreams that extended into eternity.  I glanced at the dried blood splattered at my left, staining the upper wall and floor, the hard copper hit me as I gasped.  Above, the lamps flashed against my skull, doors lined the walls every few steps, many nailed with plywood and planks.  He snarled and huffed gaining, his ire snapping at my neck.  I couldn’t bring myself to pause and try doors, I wanted to run forever. When would the big fucker just let up!  It was obvious he wasn’t one of Martin’s followers.  All along, had he been against the Gospel of Sand?  I couldn’t know!  That was not important!  He would kill me regardless my affiliation with the Church of Walrider! The hall came to an abrupt end, reluctantly I tried a plain door on my left expecting it to be locked.  Trapped at long last, after I had succeeded at beating their game.  I barely turned the knob before I shoved the door in, grunting against the sudden lurch in my rib.  I swung the thin barrier shut after me and checked through the nightvision, but saw no worthwhile space to hide.  The room was well lit, particularly on the left side where a flat screen sat on a table.  I could crouch behind the two love seats set to view the screen, but three steps in and Chris would have me. The door cracked in the frame, I was amazed it held when the raw rage slammed into it.  I dashed across the room as the floor and walls shook, my head spinning, bits of light flittered through the cracks in the door as it absorbed another blow.  I curled up in the darkest corner behind a thick armchair and stared through the NV as the visor buzzed.  A final shattering blow and Chris plowed through, tumbling to the floor before climbing to his feet.  I shrank down behind the couch and watched as he scanned the room over, huffing through his teeth he began pacing to the left.  It was my right, the way I was facing him— “On point.” While his back was turned, I crawled towards the gaping portal.  One long step, I set my foot outside the doorframe and slipped out.  I could hear the noise of the big fucker chains as he turned, to check the side of the room I had hidden.  He’ll make the conclusion, I needed to buckle down and think.  Where was it I needed to go?  What doors were open?  I had to rattle handles. The next door I tried was on my right, it opened into a small office with a desk, and the usual dead plant mandatory to Murkoff’s memory.  I entered and listened as the big fucker reentered the hall, grumbling about the pain of living.  I shut the door gently and sat in the dark struggling to gauge his position, as his steps grew louder and heavier.  I flipped the NV off as he continued past my door, and down the hall a ways before his steps halt.  I could hear my breathing, but Chris was as silent as death. I jerked back when the thuds of wood cracking vibrated through the hall.  I braved pulling the door open a crack and let some light in, he was not far, just across the hall.  With a final swing of his fists the pitiful door snapped apart, he kicked the pieces aside as he stepped into the small room.  His backside quivers as he pants, blood leaks from deep cuts that never healed in his broken skin. As before while he’s distracted, I took the chance and slipped out of the room.  He was going to hear me, he would detect my movement, smell me, something.  He would turn around and grab me, and that would be it.  I’ll be pulled apart, my body torn out from under my head like so many of his victims.  My last moments, watching him toss my flailing torso aside. But Chris was still examining the dark cubicle of office before him, and I made it past the doorway without a creak from the floor.  Overhead, before the intersecting hall hung the large, bold red words EXIT.  This was the way.  I was nearly there! Getting away from the patients and their mass congregation had helped to high levels.  My head still throbbed but it wasn’t the twisting pain it had been an hour before.  I wouldn’t be too run down once I returned to civilization, I might be able to get medical attention before I had to start answering questions. All right man, focus.  Pat yourself on the back later, first things first.  Find the way out.  I was still so fucking lost, it was a crime.   I ducked into a doorway on my left when I picked up on Chris’ chains slithering into the hall.  Once I was on the elevator, I was home free.  Warm heater, familiar surroundings, just all around good things.  Keep thinking good, clean, healthy thoughts Miles.  Keep positive. A lavatory, very little to hide in.  Most the stalls were shut, blood on the tile and flies lapped at the sticky mess.  Their wings hummed impossibly loud against the hard walls as I disturbed their perch, I was terrified the sound would give me away.  I ducked into the stall on the far end and climbed onto the toilet.  The lamps blazed down warming the edges of my coat and neck, I didn’t need the camera.  Neither would the big fucker if he decided to roam through. Chains dragged across the tile clinking with each step.  Images of the sewer and bloated bodies became my vision, pellets scuttling through pipes.  Shadows and shapes, faces in static.  I pressed my nose into my bloodied shoulder and tried not to breath.  Stay calm.  Stay.  Calm. “Where?…fuck.”  He sounded dubious.   If he would just leave.  You’re seeing things like the rest of us.  Go look somewhere else, this place is empty. I cringed when the first stall swung open.  Damn.  The next door creaked open, and I situated myself to crouch on the bloody toilet.  One. Two. Three— Chris pulled the door open, seeming genuinely surprised to find me there.  He made a strangled snarl through his mutilated sinuses and lashed out, as I sprang at the top stall and propelled myself over the side to the far end of the bathroom.  I hit the floor and tumbled, searing white pulsed through my eyes and my concern went immediately to the camera even as I shoved my feet under me and charged out the door. “Can’t let contamination reach local town…”  I ducked down as I passed the doorway, barely missing his arm as he tried to swat me.  His wrist struck the tile near my head, dust and brick cracked under the impact. I stumbled out the door, hands clasped over my head fearful he’d knock it off next.  The broken segregation frame swept around me as I breezed through, first turning to the vent I initially dropped down before reminding myself of how bad an idea that was.  I pivoted and dashed into the dark hall.  The big fucker emerged from the lavatory, and snarled my way as we made eye contact. I brought up the NV as I felt myself tilt, I could see light at the halls end but I was having difficulty keeping my balance.  The big fucker was somewhere behind me keeping pace. End of the hall.  End of the hall.  Door.  A door that leads to the cafeteria.  I had no idea where I would wind up.  I needed another lounge, a room with space I could maneuver or hide from Chris.  It could have just been me, but it felt like he was desperate to kill me at this point.  The idea caused my throat to dry out, I gagged as I panted.  But I felt elevated, that perhaps Father Martin had been earnest and that I was now done with this place.  That I was to be free once I stepped out of those doors. Had to reach them first. When I hit the light, I took a sharp left through the last doorway entering into a room full of tables and chairs stacked everywhere, some scattered over the floor.  The cafeteria!  But I was still skidding in the direction towards the windows, my momentum out of control.  The patient that had been here staring out the muggy glass was now absent, or dead.  The rain that once furiously struck the glass had diminished to some degree, the luminous beads of water now less and thin. The door.  There was a door on the left side of the room, across from where I just blazed through.  Something strained in my knee as I twisted, and spun about as the big fucker came charging into the room after me.  Door!  Had to get to the door!  I zipped around tables or chairs, struggling to maneuver anything between us, to slow him down.  The big fucker bellowed, and ripped the obstacles away like weeds in the garden, I heard several crash into the darkest reaches, echoing under the high ceiling.  I was only thankful he hadn’t the presence of mind to throw one my way. I had plenty of distance on him by the time I reached the door.  I twisted the handle— Locked!  Door was locked!  How was I supposed to reach the elevator?! That was to be the least of my concerns.  I cued in on the heavy breath of my pursuer as he sliced through the room, and felt his dead eyes on the back of my head.  I barely whipped aside when he swung out, grazing my back, I lost consciousness for an instant as my brain sputtered out.  The chains stunned my shoulder and I tumbled to my side, my vision blurred as sensation swung back into me at full force.  All I could make of Chris was his shape looming over me snarling, his eyes blazing.  I swore, they burned like fire in the dark. “Get up!”   Fuck you!  I crawled pitifully on my hands and knees across his boots to curl up under the nearest table.  The big fucker took it in his hands and tipped it over, sending chairs crashing across the floor.  I bit the camera strap between my teeth and ripped it off my hand, and scrambled away as fast as I could while he hurried around to intercept me.  If I kept the windows in sight I could see where the table legs barred my way. He couldn’t see where I was exactly, he could only hear my panicked breath as I shuffled in the cramped dark.  In response, the fucker gripped another table and hefted it up then slammed it down over my body.  But the locks where the legs fit in didn’t snap away completely, I lay there for a moment believing I had died and the big fucker might’ve thought the same.  He was panting hard, hissing through his exposed teeth as he wandered around the set of tables seeking to find my broken body. My mind was wracked with questions, my ears buzzed and my bones tingled with that tremendous calamity.  Out?  Where was out? I reached a trembling hand up slowly and took my camera strap from my teeth, I was nearly pinned on my stomach with just enough room to squeeze out.  But the fucker would hear it in the dead silence that consumed the room.  I coughed and tasted copper, I don’t think a lung was punctured, at least I couldn’t feel it yet.  I turned my head scanning the room where the door was locked.  Damn inconsistencies.  A light shone from a square slot in the wall above, where a vent had snapped off.  There.  That was it!  He can’t follow me. The big fucker moved to the other side of the table, ones he hadn’t tipped or slammed down, and began pulling them out and scoping the floor beneath.  I slipped free of the broken table and pulled my body out from under the line of table legs.  The big fucker must’ve seen my shape when I stood, he barked out a cry as I dashed to the fallen vending machine and clambered up.  I was a little tipsy when I stood on the slick plastic cover, but managed to snag the flues edge and haul up into the tight space.  A cold pain dug into my side, but I pushed the sensation away as I paused to gather myself.  I was in one piece, mostly.   Below, Chris snarled his contempt for my success, but I knew deep in me, this would be our last encounter.  I spared him a brief glower, the closets to pity I could express for him, before I turned and crawled along the top of the vents rigged from the ceiling.  The muffled growls faded in my ears, as the familiar tingle resumed residence.  It wouldn’t last, I assured myself. I never thought I’d be so happy to be in a kitchen before.  A revisited and empty kitchen, but it was tame territory.  I carefully climbed off a cabinet and hit the floor, wincing at the pain in my ribs.  It was okay, nothing a little rest and no movement wouldn’t help.  That’s all the doctors ever said, there wasn’t much else that could be done.  I took some slow, easy breaths to acquaint myself with the pain.  I’d feel even better when I was in my jeep with the heat cranked up, and this place far-far behind me. I found the door at the other end of the kitchen and half expected the damn thing to be locked, though it was clearly open and the dark hall visible from where I stood.  Across, at only a few steps, the lift waited, with nothing in sight, no psychotic patients, just the wavering shades that haunted my memories.  I kept shuffling the worst case scenarios to the forefront of my mind, geared for the despair that I was now accustomed to.  What could possibly go wrong now?  Nothing.  Unless the computers had a massive crash in the hours I’d spent lost in this hell of an Asylum, my challenge now would be hacking the security systems. I groaned when I realized, I’d never opened the main doors.  I hadn’t even begun, damn Martin had to drag me off…. It was all behind me now.  Get to the Security room, hack the system, and say sayonara to this fuck awful place. I dithered before entering the welcoming gleam of the lift.  I had bad experiences with elevators.  Bad memories.  Once I was inside, I’d be trapped.  But I was only riding to the ground floor.  Before I could have another thought on the matter I stepped inside, and turned to the panel.  I set the key in the lock and gave the panel a firm punch and let the metal gate shield me in.   No insane doctors to interrupt me this time.  No burning cafeterias, no deformed giants with fuck started faces, shrieking specters, or cannibalistic twins.  I was out.  Done.  Gone.  Bye bye Insane Asylum! The elevator made the short but noisy descent to the ground floor and stopped.  I put the camera in its hoister and tried to pull aside the gate.  It should open, shouldn’t it?  Of course it would.  I peered through the large gaps and saw, indeed those doors were locked.  I was hyped and ready to start this, it wouldn’t be easy, but I would get it done.  Sooner I started the better. The gate should open now.  I poked at the panel and tried turning the key, maybe it unlocked it?  Or maybe I shouldn’t have done that.  The lift shifted and began descending all over again.  I looked up alarmed as the exit, my doors to freedom vanished from sight. No.  No-No-No-NO!  What was this?  The elevator was fixed, I was supposed to get out, up there!  That was my floor!  Stop!  I tried to pull the key from the slot, but it was stuck tight.  Safety precautions and such, I was locked in!  Where the fuck was I going?!  Darkness filled the tiny space I occupied.  The basement!  I could find my way out of the basement easy.  I vaguely remembered the layout, and there would be light too. But I knew I was not going to stop at the basement.  The lift continued to descend, and the air changed. I stepped back and crouched down resting as what seemed like hours passed, but in truth it was only minutes.  I had no idea where I was now and had a feeling I would never know.  It finally ground to a halt and I glanced up as the gate slid back, allowing me to exit FINALLY.  I glared beyond the doors, into a near pristine white brick corridor, above lights flashed and pulsed, a glitch in the wiring.  I shut my eyes against their irritating glare. My lip curled back over my teeth and I pushed myself up to stand, I set a hand to my side where my ribs warned not to push it.  I was hurt, I needed to get out.  What more did this place want from me? A “penultimate act of witness” as ‘Father’ Martin put it.  His last words.  I should have been more keen to pay attention to his speech, he had told me precisely that ‘my job’ was not done with his death.  Idiot!  You walked right into this!  This is all on you Miles!  Walked into Hells Kitchen, and now you’re eating what they’ve served!  If I die—NO!  No.  No.  And NO!  I am not going there!  I will get out of here because I refuse to have endured EVERYTHING these bastards fabricated, and then die at the VERY end of it!  I was getting out!  And I would make sure the world knew what I went through, what they’ve done to all these people, and what they tried to cover up!   But I still had doubt.  I stepped through the doors and gave my new surroundings an indifferent glare.  It was brisk, the air slightly fresher than the upper floors, a lot of tubes and thick cables ran along the walls.  Probably recycled air.  But…it was there.  The old decay, the stale tang of rust and death.  I was not done, not by a long shot. I stumbled and brushed against the wall as I collapsed to my knees and sat there, staring at the two doors before me.  The strobe light overhead flickered but held its illumination. I lowered my head and exhaled a coppery sigh.  Not by a long shot.  I raised my butchered hands to my face and buried my eyes in my palms, seeing only black.  The cool, enveloping black that had been my ally throughout this entire nightmare. Would there be no more shadows for me to hide in?

[mostlymovieswithmax]

Midsommar [spoiler review]

Ari Aster has released his second feature film, Midsommar for which he writes and directs and it is a vast, expansive experience that threw me through a kaleidoscope of emotions, which amazingly is something I can’t say for a large number of horror movies coming out these days. That being said however, I’m not entirely sure that I could confidently class Midsommar as a horror. I don’t know if I’d really class it as any specific genre at all. It is certainly its own beast and for that, I would commend it highly. As something that is so dense with detail I will probably be jumping back and forth to moments in the story, giving this review a somewhat non-chronological structure. I can’t possibly touch on everything, especially as I’ve only seen it once. I believe it is something that needs multiple experiences to fully appreciate and is a movie I’d love to experience again.

The talent on display in regards to basically every technical aspect of the film is to be praised tremendously. I loved the cinematography and the look of the movie; the colours and the sets were all gorgeous. Mostly set in broad daylight, this stylistic choice is not something I’d immediately associate with a movie that was going for this type of vibe. Mixed with the set designs, the look of the movie made for a visual feast I couldn’t keep my eyes off of. What made the aesthetic qualities of the movie pop that little bit extra for me was the camera work and how it moved; I think of shots like when Dani goes into the bathroom in the first act and the camera pans over the door frame and twists to show her standing in the toilet of the plane. Or when they’re driving across Sweden and the camera flies over the car and turns to end up in an upside down position, perhaps foreshadowing what the characters are in for on this journey. It’s details like this that cracked a huge smile from me as I was watching, not to mention it separates Midsommar from so many other movies that try to depict suspense and terror. Furthermore, a feature that I found to be intensely thoughtful to accompany the fantastic visual display was the editing, or more specifically the cutting of shots. Often I see movies follow a certain formula when it comes to this facet; conversations cut together with a shot of one character and then a reverse shot to show another character; wide angles to establish locations or buildings, then cutting to the inside of the buildings themselves. There’s seldom ever much of a flare to the editing of a movie but I saw Midsommar capture that charmingly to add tension or even to highlight a joke. Accompanied by the score, a lot of these shots gave off an eerie tone that made me feel pleasantly uncomfortable. I loved the low, stretched out notes of the music that went that extra step further in order to make me feel slightly distressed. The sound design was incredible and generally it isn’t a facet I’d pick up on unless it was either done very well or very poorly. There were sections where even items like cutlery or people walking would catch my ear in a noticeably pleasing way. It shouldn’t be undervalued at all; great sound design can elevate a movie so much and I’m both glad and impressed at how well it was executed here.

Midsommar’s first act may have unfortunately contained a lot of my favourite moments. It introduced the main characters and worked to convey the relationships between Dani and Christian, as well as with Christian and his friends and how they all felt about Dani. I appreciated the time put into the dynamic between Christian and his friends and how they viewed Dani, although this was sort of thrown away once they got to Sweden; I never saw any sort of resentment from them towards Dani after that. Pelle obviously felt a lot differently about Dani, going as far as to kiss her during the latter stages of the movie. I’m not sure why it was necessary to have Pelle feel this way and I don’t understand what it added to the story besides forcing some conflict into Dani’s relationship with Christian, which was being achieved on his end regardless. Along with this, we are also shown the unfortunate and upsetting demise of Dani’s family which acts as a plot point in helping Dani to decide upon accompanying Christian and his friends to Europe. Seeing what happens to Dani’s family may have been the most affecting part of the movie for me. To top it off, her reaction was absolutely chilling; I love how Aster gets such raw and believable performances in his films. Dani’s loud, pained cries made me feel for her so much and forced a deep discomfort into me that carried through as the credits and title came on screen. Something that intrigued me quite a bit during this first act is how conversations were filmed through mirrors. We would see a couple of instances of characters talking to other characters that were reflected in a mirror. These static shots that carried on for a short while added to the tense atmosphere and the conversations or arguments that were taking place, imposing a kind of separation between those we could see outside the mirror and those we see inside the mirror. The main cast we’re introduced to in America are all good and give believable and compelling performances. Florence Pugh was fantastic as Dani; William Jackson Harper was decent; Will Poulter was great and one of the stand-outs from my experience. Vilhelm Blomgren portrayed quite an interesting character in Pelle. Christian seemed to be the only one that rubbed me the wrong way because he was such a massive dick the entire time and he was never redeemed. Not to say Jack Reynor’s acting was bad (quite the opposite in fact), I just didn’t sympathise with the character. There are aspects to the characters and the decisions they make that wound me up a bit but in terms of the acting, they were more or less solid.

The secondary characters, or mainly the Swedish locals didn’t stand out as individuals to me, possibly because they were portrayed more as a collective, which is fine but I would’ve liked to have seen some character development from at least a couple of them. Now, I say it’s unfortunate that I derived the most entertainment out of this first act because after that, Midsommar suffers quite a bit from some pacing issues. This movie is almost two and a half hours long and it didn’t feel like it needed to be, especially with a plot that only allows for so much exploration. The plot itself is quite basic, but it is displayed as something so grandiose in scope that it comes across as being eminently pretentious. Could it be the insanely short production time that went into making Midsommar that makes it feel fairly lacking in a few areas? Or is this genuinely the cut that Aster wanted? Results from a quick search of the movie told me that around half an hour of its running time was cut due to the content it presented. Consequently, this will make the home video release different to some degree than the cinema release as it may come to our TV screens as a director’s cut. If this is in fact the case (and I do intend to buy the blu-ray upon its release) then could it be that we’ve not even seen the movie that Ari Aster wanted us to see? Will a director’s cut make it better, worse, or simply just longer? I for one am assuredly excited to see what the end result is.

A big problem I had with Midsommar is how early it peaked in regards to the horror. One of the first things the main characters are presented with upon arriving at this rural community is the idea of people being separated into groups depending on their age: the concept that they didn’t consider themselves adults until a certain age; that they didn’t work until they were old enough to; that they died when they reached a specific year of their life. They’re then told that a ceremony will be held the next day and while our main characters ask what it is, we see William Jackson Harper’s character, Josh smiling in a sly “I know what it is” kind of way. His friends try to ask what he knows, to which he does not divulge anything. What follows this is a scene wherein two elderly people sacrifice themselves by falling off of a cliff in front of the other members of the community. To me, this scene was beautifully unsettling for a number of reasons. Despite expecting them to jump initially, I was still shocked at how well it was executed both in relation to the story and in a technical sense. At first, the woman jumps off of the cliff, dying instantly with a bloodcurdling crunch. Of course the characters from America and the characters we are introduced to earlier from England are understandably shocked. Even Josh reels back in surprise which I found to be a little strange considering how he acted as though he knew what was going on beforehand. What did he think was going to happen if not that? We’re never told. As the old man approaches the edge of the cliff and the English and Americans clue in to what is happening, they react as I’m sure we all would to what happens as he prepares to jump. He lands in a much more awkward fashion with a smaller sound that is no less distressing. Only this time, he doesn’t die... The scene is then racked up a notch as he screams out in pain at having his leg torn off and his body broken on impact. The rest of the Swedish onlookers scream in pain with him and it is terrifying to hear. I imagine this painted a picture to most viewers that the locals we are presented with in this rural Swedish village are all somewhat spiritually connected; are able to empathise with one another's emotions in a way that makes them able to feel the sensations of those they’re close to. Undoubtedly the torment doesn’t stop there and Aster has to quite literally hammer home what this ceremony is all about. In order to put the old man out of his misery, a group of people take it in turns to smash his head in with a large mallet, causing further stress to the main characters, but stopping all of the Swedish inhabitants from screaming in agony. That whole scene… was awesome! I loved it and it stands to be maybe my favourite sequence from the movie. The unfortunate part is that after this happens, I expected everything to amp up a bit and start showing me more uncomfortable and fucked up things but sadly this wasn’t the case. In a sense, it was as if the movie blew its load on this earlier scene and didn’t focus on too many other stand-out plot beats which was pretty disappointing.  For some reason, Will Poulter’s character ‘Mark’ had slept through this ceremony and as a result, hadn’t experienced what his friends had. Whether this was done for a specific reason I’m not picking up on or simply so that he could continue to crack jokes is beyond me. I will give credit where credit is due: this movie made me laugh when it wanted me to. The inclusion of comedy in Midsommar was expertly handled and never made it come across as a lame horror-comedy.

Prior to this and upon arriving in the green fields of rural Sweden, the protagonists all get high and lie around in the grass. While the comedy kicks in here, it is also notable for the reaction of Dani as she starts to feel the grief of losing her family once more and urgently tries to get rid of it. I liked this scene and how it played slightly with the visuals which foreshadowed the inclusion of drugs and their effects later on in the movie.  Sadly with what happens to Dani’s family in the first act, I’m not sure it was that purposeful overall, despite liking how it was depicted. Yes, this event does explain how Dani acts for sections of the film and yes I did like seeing it act as a catalyst for why she goes to Sweden in the first place, but I’m not sure it was hugely purposeful when referring to the movie as a whole. It never came back in a way that affected the narrative or the story that was being told. It was just something that happened to the protagonist that caused her a great deal of upset. Almost as if they could have died in any number of terrible circumstances and it wouldn’t have made a difference. While I really liked the characters’ first drug trip sequence, I got worried early on that Midsommar was going to take an approach that put the trips and the drugs at the forefront of the movie, akin to something like Shrooms (which was just awful) and sure, they played a big part but it did more to enhance what was actually happening rather than fabricate a story that didn’t really take place, just to have them wake up in a field exclaiming how crazy their collective trip was.

As the characters start to become more and more under the influence through the drugs that they’re given, we see the world warp around them. Trees ripple and form faces; the food would shift; flowers would pulse in accordance to Dani’s breathing; characters’ facial features would distort. Dani starts seeing grass sprouting from her hands and feet, or vines mimicking her movements to show how she’s progressively becoming part of this society. Characters like Christian however start experiencing the drugs in a negative and more aggressive way, as if they’re being attacked by senses! There is unease and terror in how Christian experiences the festival, whereas Dani’s experience is comparatively happier. The contrast of how Dani was being accepted and Christian was being rejected was thrilling to see, markedly in how Dani’s demeanour changed as she found herself integrating with everyone else. Although I must say I’m not sure why they kept drinking that drugged water that looked like muddy urine. Christian almost refuses to drink it until he’s told “it’s spring water with special properties” which was all the information he needed apparently! What properties were they? Doesn’t matter; he drank it anyway. The moronic decisions manage to manifest more throughout the movie, however. Regrettably we don’t get to see much of Mark and Josh’s experience with the hallucinogens or even much of the festival because their time is cut short in a manner I didn’t find all too entertaining. Mark is the first to go from the original team. Due to urinating on a sacred tree, he is murdered off-screen and has his face cut off. This could’ve made for a superb scene if it were done right but the way it was handled came across as hollow. Elements akin to this could have worked to convey unease and terror, but they are implied rather than shown which can work in some circumstances but I would’ve liked to have seen something more memorable and haunting instead of seeing an after-product and thinking “okay well I guess that happened”. Show him being mutilated, you cowards! You don’t even have to show it; just possibly what happens in the lead up! It would’ve made for a far more compelling story beat! All that happens is a girl comes up to him as he’s eating with everyone and asks to show him something. His response is just  “she’s gonna show me” and leaves. He doesn’t question what he’s about to be shown; he just gets up and wanders off with a girl he doesn’t know in a foreign country, going purely off of Pelle’s word that everyone there is great! What a way to force that in! Josh is next on the kill list because he took some pictures of a sacred book when he knew he wasn’t supposed to because either he’s just insensitive to other peoples’ cultures, or he thinks it’s okay as long as it’s for his thesis. After this happened I kind of dropped off. With most of my favourite characters gone and the remaining characters questioning everything less and less, not only was there not much left to ground the film in a world that would consider the things that were happening to be deeply disturbing, but also from the protagonists’ perspectives as well.

I’ll acknowledge I’ve been railing on this film a considerable amount... with good reason. But despite being heavy on the criticisms, I still consider Midsommar to be a good, even great movie! I adore films that beg me to revisit them and learn more about them with each watch. Sprinkled throughout Midsommar are a tonne of small details and I’m sure I didn’t pick up on everything; in fact I hope I didn’t. Along with strange “what the hell?” moments like putting scissors under the baby’s pillow (I think that’s what it was anyway) that I still don’t understand, there also exists things that maybe don’t need to be thought about but are still nice to see included, such as goats and cows that took the immersion into this countryside village a notch higher. Or to draw from more obvious details that add depth to the people: going back to how they would all scream in unison, for instance to empathise with another’s emotions; when Dani sees Christian cheating on her, all the girls she is with cry and scream with her, possibly to experience what she’s feeling and/or to show her that they consider her to be part of their people, which also manages to contrast with earlier in the movie wherein she’s with Christian in her apartment but she’s the only one experiencing the intense pain as Christian tries to comfort her.

Upon entering the third act I started to wonder what the actual point in Midsommar was. Could it possibly be one big metaphor for grief and how we can choose to deal with it? There didn’t seem to be that grand of a point being made, either in the relationship between Dani and Christian, the relationship between America and Europe, or just the presence or influence of cults and religion in different parts of the world; those ideas seemed somewhat surface level. So I can’t help but think it was trying to convey a more metaphorical meaning. Either that or its meaning was just “Europe’s weird, man”. In this way, the finale didn’t leave much of an impact besides leaving me feeling quite hollow and disappointed, wondering what all that had been in service to.  I can’t say Midsommar blew me away with much of what it showed me. There were a few decisions made which weren’t all that original in how they were executed and there were some dumb moments that had me questioning why they were included at all. Yet I would never say it isn’t unique in what it achieves; I can’t disregard all of the jaw-dropping technical showmanship and the interesting, creepy ideas that managed to meld horror and suspense and mystery and comedy into something I simply don’t know how to categorise. I could talk for ages about this film and still not touch on absolutely everything about it. Ari Aster is clearly a talented guy and I can’t wait to pick up the blu-ray and watch it a million more times. Along with that, I am for sure going to see whatever he puts out next. These are the kind of movies I love seeing and supporting and I honestly can’t recommend Midsommar enough because it’s something I feel will resonate with different people in different ways, evoking more than a few interpretations of it. It is so worth the watch.

★★★½ 

[dearophelia]

gonna set your flag on fire - chapter 05

Thirty years after the war, things are as close to normal as they’ll get. Garrus is the turian councilor and Olivia runs Galactic Affairs, helping the galaxy rebuild. They’ve happily settled into the life they’ve built. Their kids are grown, and out living their own lives.But something goes wrong on Nora’s latest mission. Very wrong.

chapter 05: are we the hunters, or are we the prey?

In which the team lands on Zorya and, you know, everything goes exactly according to plan. (read on AO3)

continued thanks to @nightingaleseeking and @tarysande for all their wonderful help and cheerleading of this project!

(hi folks, we’re back! sorry for the delay; a lot of nonsense happened, but it’s over now and all is well)

The Oralla wasn’t designed as a transport ship, and its guest quarters are nonexistent – the turians shoved three sets of human bunkbeds into what could charitably be called a closet. They’re all long accustomed to making do with whatever’s available and, though Nora has to climb in and out of her bed very carefully so as to not knock her head on the metal legs of the other two sets, it’s far from the worst place she’s had to sleep since joining the Alliance.

They’re due to depart in their shuttle for Zorya in eight hours, and they’re meant to be getting some sleep. But she’s too wired – always is the night before a mission, Cerberus or no – so she rolls onto her stomach, turns her omnitool’s light almost all the way down, and pulls up the Cerberus databurst Jonah intercepted this morning. The message glows bright in the dark room, but her teammates are long asleep. She could probably host a concert in the middle of the room and none of them would wake up.

Jonah passed the burst on to Alliance Intelligence, but they won’t get it for a couple of days and won’t be able to completely break it for probably a month. A very-illegal program of Alle’s managed to break through the first layer of encryption, at least giving them access to a weather report and some low-security emails.

The meteor shower started two days ago, and they’ll land in the height of it, just as they planned. And if it isn’t raining, it’ll be so humid it might as well be, just as they thought.

The six of them scoured the emails over dinner and didn’t find anything particularly interesting. Nora scrolls past the weather report, figuring a second look at even low-security correspondence can’t hurt.

She makes it through all of them in half an hour, and finally starts to feel sleep tugging her away. She closes her omnitool without learning anything new, but she wishes they’d been able to break through even another level. Maybe then they’d have an actual project name.

***

Quentus pulls her into a tight hug while the rest of her squad runs final equipment checks. “I still think you’re an idiot,” he murmurs quietly.

Nodding, Nora returns the hug. “Yeah, me too.”

“Last chance to bail,” he says.

She knows he means it as a joke, but Nora also knows him well enough to hear the truth in his subharmonics: if he had any authority to do so, he’d order her off the mission. She appreciates the sentiment. “No such luck,” she says, bumping her forehead against his.

“Not to interrupt the sibling moment,” Jonah says, “but we need to get going.”

Nora nods and steps away from her brother. “Rendezvous point, seven days,” she confirms. It’ll be a boring few days waiting for pickup, but the shuttle’s FTL drive isn’t strong enough to get them back to the Aquila system and the relay in anything less than two years.

“See you then. Good hunting,” Quentus claps her on the shoulder.

Smiling, Nora returns the gesture. “Good hunting.”

***

Olivia stops on her way to bed, seeing her daughter’s light still on. She knocks lightly and, upon hearing a quiet “yeah,” pokes her head in. “Everything okay?”

Nora looks up from her tablet and blinks. She’s three weeks into her new school, has made a few friends, and seems to be settling in well. But Olivia knows what she’s looking for now, and Nora’s hesitation at the door every morning – the pause, deep breath, and squared shoulders – is like a flashing neon sign.

“In the war,” Nora starts quietly, “how did you do it?”

Olivia raises an eyebrow and steps inside, letting the door close behind her. “What do you mean?”

She shrugs and tosses her tablet beside her on the bed. “You fought banshees and brutes and everything. How’d you not freak out every time you saw one?”

Pursing her lips, Olivia takes a moment to pull her answer together. Her mother asked the same question during the war, and her answer was an unsatisfactory “panic for five seconds while running very fast for cover, then get your ass in gear.” She has a suspicion that, as unhelpful as that was for her mother, it’s even less helpful for her daughter. She moves Nora’s backpack off her desk chair and sits down, tucking her feet up underneath her. “It helped a lot that I’d probably get myself and my squad killed if I let myself freak out,” she says honestly. She’s always been grateful for the quality of her fight-or-flight response.

Nora huffs. “That’s not going to work for school.”

“I certainly hope not,” Olivia smiles, then goes serious again. “You still having trouble?” she asks, though she knows the answer.

“A little,” Nora admits. “I’m usually okay once I’m there, but sometimes I still get a little…panicky. It’s so dumb,” she sighs, “there’s no reason for it, and I just. I’m annoyed,” she concludes.

Nodding, Olivia understands completely. Years passed before she didn’t find herself tensing up whenever she heard an electronic scream, or saw a red laser beam, or looked out a viewport the wrong way. She spent most of those years annoyed at her reaction and was never sure whether she was more upset at the reaction itself, or that she was still reacting at all. “It takes time,” she says.

Nora frowns at that. “Got any tips for making it through in the meantime? That don’t involve imminent bodily harm?”

“One thing at a time,” Olivia says gently; her father’s advice from forty years ago is just as sound now as it was then. “Focus on one thing, and one thing only. And when that’s done, move on to the next.”

“That seems too simple.”

She shrugs. “It works. And,” she smiles softly, “when all else fails, breathe. Good air in, bad air out.”

***

Nora wrinkles up her nose as soon as they step off the shuttle. Zorya is not only hot and humid and in the middle of its rainy season, it’s not only in the middle of nowhere, and not only does it have several kinds of venomous snakes and poisonous plant life – it also smells like the tropical bird exhibit at the Citadel Zoo. Her boots squelch in the mud.

“Lovely,” Carlos says, his voice tinny over comms.

Rachel’s omnitool casts an eerie glow around them. “I’m not seeing anything on their comms,” she says. “Looks like the meteor plan worked.” She closes her tool, leaving them in the silvery starlit darkness.

“Good,” Jonah says. “Move out.”

Silently, they settle their weapons in their grip and fall into formation: Alle taking point, Carlos and Rachel spread out behind her, Jonah and Micah staggered behind them, and Nora bringing up the rear.

The base is three miles away through dense jungle, and though they’re all in full helmets and on comms, they make the hike in silence except to point out hazards. Exposed roots threaten to trip them, branches catch at their arms and chests, and more than once they barely skirt the edge of a mud pit or sinkhole.

Nora brings up her combat playlist – a combination of bass-driven club tracks and fight music from various video games – and sets it to play quietly in her private channel. If she has to listen to just the silence of the jungle, which isn’t that silent at all, she’s going to go crazy before they even get to the perimeter.

One step at a time, she focuses on moving forward – left, right, left, right, step over the root, avoid the rock, left, right – and keeping her eyes on the jungle around her. Though they landed in a small clearing, the rest of the jungle isn’t so forgiving. Trees and plants are so thick even the moonlight has trouble breaking through. Flashlights are too risky in the dark, so they’re relying on nightvision.

Her eyes flick from one movement to the next, hypervigilant. A pyjak, fearlessly hopping from one branch to the next. A snake, slithering on its branch, poised to attack the pyjak. Three birds, circling through the maze of branches above the snake. A wolf-like creature, standing perfectly still behind a bush, looking up at the birds, its eyes glowing green and eerie in the nightvision camera. The wolf looks away from the birds and levels its calm, fierce stare directly at Nora. She shivers.

Abruptly, Alle holds up a fist. Nora’s HUD, designed to recognize hand signals from teammate gloves, flashes a red light in the lower left corner. She stops moving and takes cover behind a thick tree.

“Two o’clock,” Alle says. “Vakarian, check it out.”

She scopes in where Alle indicated. Nothing but trees. “I don’t see anything,” she says. But then movement catches her eye. “Wait,” she flips on her scope’s infrared sensors. “That’s…large,” she says, flatly. “It looks kind of like a bear.”

“Grizzly bear or black bear?” Carlos asks.

“It’s a bear,” Micah says, “what does it…?”

“They act differently,” Carlos says. “A grizzly would –”

“Neither,” Nora says, cutting off the incoming discussion on Earth-based bear behavior. “It’s got a long tail, for one thing.”

“Then it’s not a bear,” Carlos says.

“You have binoculars, you look at it.”

There’s a quiet shuffle as Carlos pulls out his binoculars. “That’s…Nora, what the hell, that doesn’t even look remotely like a bear.”

She glares in Carlos’ general direction. “Oh, you know what.”

Jonah coughs pointedly. “Let’s table the classification discussion and focus on whether it’s going to eat us.”

A few moments pass in silence, and then the shuffling noise repeats as Carlos puts his binoculars back. “There wasn’t anything about this in the planetary file, so it’s probably not an issue.”

“Because that’s not logic that hasn’t bitten us in the ass before,” Alle scoffs.

“I’m just saying, if the vorcha knew about the mutated pyjaks, the venomous snakes, and the extremophile bacteria that causes both, they would probably know if an eight-foot-tall predator was making its home in the jungle. They’re dumb, but they’re not that dumb.”

Nora practically hears Jonah rolling his eyes.

“Well, let’s hope that they’re dumb, but they’re not that dumb is an accurate analysis, but let’s go a little out of our way to avoid the bear anyway,” Jonah says. “Move out.”

“It’s not a bear,” Carlos starts. “Ow!” he says.

Nora flicks her safety on and zooms in on Carlos. Her grin widens. He’s rubbing the back of his head, while Rachel stands with her arms crossed, staring at him.

“I will turn this mission around,” Jonah grumbles, and Nora turns her comms off with barely enough time before she starts laughing.

“Move out,” Jonah repeats. “And radio silence until we get to Checkpoint One.”

They all fall into formation again, following Alle’s circuitous lead to give the not-bear a wide berth.

The rest of the hike is uneventful, but without the banter of her squad to distract her, Nora finds panic tugging at her edges. Up until now, even when they were on Haliat-Gemini, even when they were traveling on the Oralla, even when she said goodbye to her brother a few hours ago, even when they were landing the shuttle, this mission was just a concept, something vague and intangible. She could approach it academically, outside of herself, and not have to actually acknowledge the very real fact that she’s walking into a Cerberus base. A Cerberus base with Cerberus security, Cerberus technology, Cerberus forces, Cerberus everything.  

She thought she was worried before. She had no idea.

Good air in, bad air out, Nora repeats to herself. Good air in, bad air out. She switches her music to a soothing instrumental playlist, one she’s used since high school to center herself and calm down. Good air in, bad air out, she repeats, concentrating only on putting one foot in front of the other and keeping watch on her team’s six. Slowly, the panic retreats, and the emptiness it leaves in its wake fills with clear, laser-sharp focus.

By the time they reach the edge of the forest, her shoulders are square and loose, and the steady battlefield calm she’s trained herself to find and love has settled in.

***

“How do you do that?” Quentus asks, dusting himself off as he stands up at the end of the wave.

Nora shrugs, and grabs a new set of grenades out of the ammo box. She’d taken down the two possessed praetorians in the end, but Armax’s new AIs need a lot of work before they’re ready for public use. At least they’re getting paid for spending their leave still geared up and fighting. “It’s fake,” she reminds him.

Even though he’s in a full helmet and his visor’s dark, she can tell he’s giving her a Look. An annoyed look, a brotherly look, a yes-thank-you-I-knew-that look. “You didn’t even flinch.”

Again she shrugs, and ducks into cover beside him as the drone announces the next wave. He was taken out by a scion sync kill and he’s holding himself stiffly – he must’ve hit the arena floor at just the wrong angle. She bets he’ll be playing it safe for the rest of the match, maybe try to stay out of the middle of chaos this time. “I don’t know,” she says, lobbing a series of arc grenades into the spawn point.

Quentus pops out of cover and follows her grenades with a clip full of inferno ammo. “That’s not helpful.”

“You’re seven years older than me,” she says, triggering the auto-destruct on her supply pylon on the other side of the base. It explodes, and a notification pops up in the kill feed: Nora Vakarian – Collector Captain [Supply Pylon]. She fishes out another pylon token and activates it beside them. It immediately refills their shields and spits out two grenade tokens. She offers one to her brother to replenish his stim packs and programs the other for an inferno grenade before clicking it onto her belt. “And have ten years more combat experience. You’re telling me you need your kid sister to tell you how not to freak out in a fight?”

Another Look, this one – she’s sure – with an accompanying eyeroll. She smirks at him, then scopes in and nails a captain dead in the eye. Collectors are easy for headshots, and she has a bet going with Micah.

“I’m just curious,” he says, cloaking before he starts shooting this time. “You looked pretty calm for being the only one standing in front of two fully-loaded possessed praetorians, even if they were fake.”

“My fight-or-flight response is heavily weighted toward fight,” she says, reloading.

Quentus is about 50/50, and Nico tends to go for a third option – freeze. It’s part of why he left service as soon as he was able. “Uhm,” she says, catching sight of what’s spawning behind them, “yeah, we should move.”

Quentus looks over his shoulder. “Yep.” While they’re running down the ramp, putting a decent distance between them and the possessed abomination, he pushes the matter. “That wasn’t an answer.”

“It’s as good as I’ve got,” Nora says. She abruptly stops at the end of the ramp, turns while scoping in with her Valiant, and unloads a three-shot clip into the abomination. The nuclear explosion takes out a handful of troopers and captains, and triggers a chain reaction with two other abominations, but she and her brother are safe and out of range. “It just kind of happens, couldn’t tell you how.”

***

They hang back a hundred feet in the trees so to not draw the attention of the guards. At least their intel is correct: three troopers guarding the shield access point, a single spotlight pointed toward the forest, the base glowing faintly in the distance beyond the shield. The shield shimmers a dim orange.

Jonah nods at her, and she holsters her Valiant before starting to climb a tree close to the edge. She needs to clear the treeline before she’ll have a decent shot at all three troopers, but she’s likely to draw their attention if she climbs one at the edge. The rough bark makes for easy traction, and the branches are solid, steady in her grip and underneath her feet. She easily makes it halfway up the tree, where she pauses to survey the branches in front of her. Confirming her path twice, she starts to move out along a branch, carefully traversing two trees until she has her back pressed against the trunk of one at the very edge. She expands her gun again and checks the security of its silencer.

Carefully, she lowers herself to lie on her stomach on the thickest branch and then slowly inches herself out. She isn’t quite hanging directly over the guards – far back enough that she’s covered in shadow, she’s far enough out that her shot isn’t obstructed. She looks through her scope and gets a solid bead on all three; she cycles through her shots, making sure she knows exactly how much to move her gun for each shot.

“Ready,” she whispers in her comms, her crosshairs hovering over the head of the first guard.

“Go,” Jonah confirms.

Nora takes a slow breath in and holds it for a moment. Halfway through her exhale, she fires. The guard’s head explodes, but she doesn’t see it – she’s already onto the second, and then the third. A quick reload, and she scopes back in, confirming all three kills. “Done,” she whispers, collapsing her gun and reconnecting it with her armor seals. Without quite as much care to mask her movements this time, she scoots backward toward the tree trunk.

“Roger,” Jonah says. “Carter, you’re up. Vakarian, get down here.”

Nora grips the branch with both hands and carefully slides off it, dangling down. She finds purchase with her boots on a branch below and releases the top one, reversing her way down the tree. At the final branch, she bends over, grasps the branch between her feet and lets herself fall to the ground. She swings a little bit from the branch and then lets go, smiling when her feet hit solid ground again.

Alle runs back into the trees, stolen access cards in hand. “Fire in the hole!”

The drill grenade explodes quietly but impressively, sending dirt, body parts, and electronics flying everywhere. The floodlight blows out, and a small wedge of the shield sparks and flickers. Then everything goes dark.

Alle grins at her teammates.

Jonah gestures for her to take point again. “Let’s go.”

***

“Radio silence,” Jonah orders as Alle swipes the security card at the access panel.

The little light turns from red to green, and the door slides open with a hiss. Cool, dry, climate-controlled air rolls out, a welcome relief from the hot, muggy jungle.

“Good hunting, Hydra,” Nora says to Jonah, Carlos, and Rachel as the three group up. It’s strange not to refer to Jonah’s team as Manticore, but this isn’t his regular team.

“Good hunting, Eidolon,” Jonah returns, and then leads Carlos and Rachel down the hall and around the corner.

It’s even stranger not to hear her own team called Chimera, and perhaps strangest of all not to have Carlos with her. When the other three are out of sight, Nora takes a deep breath, systematically shutting out everything that isn’t the mission. No control chip, no anxiety, no team name, nothing. Just the mission.

One thing at a time. Good air in, bad air out.

Nora turns to Alle and Micah. If all goes well, they’ll meet up with Hydra on the opposite side of the base in a couple of hours, intel and maybe a few Cerberus people in hand, set explosive charges, and then hike back to their shuttle and fly back to the edge of the system and play cards for three days while they wait for extraction. “Carter, you’re on point,” she orders, settling her gun in her hands.

Alle nods, turns off her armor’s lights, and activates her annihilation field with a wave of her right hand. The low growl sounds almost deafening in the silent hallway, but it soon blends into the base’s background – the electrical hum, a subtle rumble of machinery, and the erratic thud as meteorites hit the shield outside. Without her lights on, Alle almost blends into the shadows, and she slinks around the first corner.

Micah follows, assault rifle primed and ready, visor glowing red with his hardsuit’s devastator mode. Nora brings up the rear, triggering her own visor to keep a reverse camera image in the bottom corner so she can see behind them.

The first fifteen minutes are silent. They didn’t expect to run into anyone this far at the edge of the base, but it makes all of them a little jumpy. The schematics Liara sent are nearly accurate – there’s a hallway where there was meant to be a wall, and a door they needed was fifty feet farther down than expected – and they easily make their way into the heart of the base.

Alle holds up a fist, deactivates her annihilation field, and gestures for them to gather up. They all duck into a nook, mindful of the equipment stacked up beside them.

“Anyone else got a weird feeling about this?” she whispers.

Nora looks hard at her. “What do you mean?” She’s long learned to trust Alle’s instincts.

“I don’t know,” she says, “something just feels off.”

Micah taps the temple of his helmet, and his visor fades to clear. He squints around the corner, down the darkened hall. “She’s right. We’re about halfway in – we should’ve run into someone by now.”

Nora frowns. Now that her teammates have mentioned it, she notices the unsettled knot in the base of her spine. She’d been so focused on forcing herself to think that nothing was wrong that she hadn’t picked up on her actual unease creeping steadily forward. She thinks for a moment, and then clicks their group comm channel in a pattern: short short long, their signal for I know we said radio silence, but I need to know if you’re still conscious.

The response comes back almost immediately. One click: potential shit ahead, hold for confirmation.

All three of them hold their breath.

Two clicks.

FUBAR, please assist.

“Well,” Nora says flatly. “We’re in it now.”

Nora has five seconds to mentally plot Hydra’s position on the other side of the base before she hears the high-pitched electronic whine of an illegal shock stick.

And then there’s a sharp pain in the base of her skull, and everything goes black.

[missing-marvel]

Home

Pairing: Vision/Reader

Tags: More angst!, implied panic attack/PTSD, comfort, pre-IW

A/N: Okay I kind of wrote this one (originally) around my own character's backstory but it's pretty vague and I've gotten rid of most of the specifics so you can sort of mentally fill in your own backstory. All you need to know is that the reader is an Avenger who was forced to fight against the team by Ultron during the events of AoU.

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

The halls of the apartment complex were silent and dark. By this time of night, everyone would be long asleep. Even the streets outside were deserted. In some ways, it was peaceful, calming even. In others, it was eerie and unsettling. To the android that silently made his way past numerous doors, it was neither. Too many other thoughts raced through his mind to think much of the building itself. The only reason he was here was because he was hoping to find someone— someone important to him— and bring them home.

When he came to the door that he believed was correct, he skipped the pleasantries altogether and simply fazed through the door silently. The person he was looking for had been missing for days now, and he didn’t even have a guarantee that they would be here. He simply had a strong feeling that they would be here. It was a surprisingly human feeling, he thought.

Once he was through the door, Vision found himself standing in a small living area. The lights were all off and the only sign that anyone had been here recently was a pair of shoes that were discarded by the door. The apartment hardly seemed lived in; the shelves that usually would have held various mementos were all but empty. A cheap-looking flip phone sat on one, most likely a burner phone. A lone picture frame sat on a shelf next to the television. Vision picked it up cautiously, careful not to make a noise. Even in the dark, he could just make out the picture. Though the figure in the photo was facing away from the camera and the photo's quality was sub-par, Vision could recognize them just by their silhouette. He knew he was in the right place.

He set the picture down and looked around some more. He hoped to find some sign that the person he had been looking for was still here. The whole team had been searching for them for weeks. Nobody had even a trace. Nobody, that is, except Vision.

Vision stopped dead in his tracks as he heard a soft thud from another room. He briefly considered fazing through the wall to hide, but was interrupted before he could make a decision. He dodged just as an object sailed past his head and crashed into the bookshelf.

“Vision?!” a voice exclaimed just as the bookshelf began to topple. With inhuman strength and reflexes, Vision stopped the shelf from falling with just one hand, and in his other he caught the picture frame before it could hit the floor and shatter. As he righted the shelf, the lights in the room were turned on.

“What are you doing here?!” Vision turned to find you shocked and disheveled in the doorway of the next room, one hand still on the light switch. You looked tired, like you hadn’t had a good nights sleep in ages, but at least you were safe. You were here, in a quiet apartment complex in a quiet neighborhood, rather than held hostage somewhere by Hydra or God-knows what else, as Vision had feared.

“Looking for you, naturally. I had hoped that would be obvious,” He glanced again at the picture frame, realizing he was still holding it, before placing it back on the shelf and walking over to you. “I believe I could ask you the same. Everyone has been looking for you.”

You sighed and ran a hand through your hair dejectedly. Dark circles were visible under your eyes and your posture made you look exhausted, weak even. “How did you even find me?” You deflected the question with one of your own. “I was incredibly careful to make sure you all couldn’t track me.” This was true. There hadn’t been any way to track you even with access to Avengers tech, but there was another way. Someone that knew you, someone close, could deduce your location from similar situations in the past. This wasn’t the first time you'd come to this apartment, though you usually gave some kind of story to cover your absence. Vision had put the clues together to find you here.

“I know this isn’t the first time you’ve been here,” Vision responded. “Don’t worry, no one else knows you’re here, or me for that matter.” You shook your head slowly, “I should’ve known I couldn’t hide for long,” you sighed. “And now you’re here to— to drag me back!” You found yourself raising your voice in frustration. You turned away from Vision, heading towards the small kitchen attached to the living room. Vision followed slowly, maintaining his distance. He did not want to agitate you more.

“Won’t you come back?” Vision pleaded. “The Avengers— the team —have been looking for you. Everyone just wants you to come home.” As he said this, you grabbed an empty glass from a cabinet overhead and all but slammed it on the countertop. Pausing, you turned back to face Vision.

You let out a pained chuckle. “The Avengers aren’t a team,“ you spat. “Not anymore. Don’t you guys get it? Especially after this fiasco with the Accords, it’s just— people don’t want the Avengers anymore, Vis. That team is tearing itself apart. And after everything that happened during...” You trailed off and walked over to the sink. You went quiet, as if ignoring the conversation would make it go away. The silence was filled by the sound of the faucet as you got water, holding up the glass but not drinking. You turned your head away then, avoiding eye contact, although Vision could see you blinking rapidly, staving off the tears that were building.

Vision reached out a hand to place on your shoulder, but the second he made contact, you jumped and quickly backed away startled. The glass in your hand fell to the floor, shattering on impact. The sound was magnified by the near-silent room. Ignoring the broken glass, you merely stared at Vision with a glassy look in your eyes. He recognized your fearful expression. Though you were awake and speaking to him only a moment ago, your mind was now somewhere else entirely. Or, more specifically, it was somewhen. Before you disappeared, you had been having terrible panic attacks after the events surrounding Ultron. Vision had not been present during the incident, during which your mind had been taken over by Ultron who forced you to fight the Avengers. Nevertheless, he’d seen the footage and heard your own recollection of the event.

This was undoubtedly another of those panic attacks. Your breathing quickened until you were gasping and you buried your face in your hands. You stepped backwards until you bumped into the wall. Your legs began to buckle and you would’ve slid down to the floor had Vision not stepped in, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close as he had done many times before. The first time he’d seen you like this, you'd fallen asleep in the lounge rather than your room and awoke after an especially bad nightmare. He’d found you sitting on the floor in front of the sofa, your knees pulled close and your breathing rapid. You had jumped up when you saw him and tried to pretend like you'd simply fallen off the sofa, but Vision had seen right through your ruse, even back then. He had had no idea what to do at the time, and your relationship had been different as well. It was newer, more unsure. But this time was different. He held onto you and you leaned into him as your breathing slowly returned to normal.

“I’m so sorry Vis,” you mumbled, not moving away although Vision had relinquished his grip. He immediately backed away just enough to look you in the eyes.

“You shouldn’t be apologizing,” he said.

You pushed away gently and wiped your tear-stained cheeks with the back of your hand. “No,” you argued, “I am apologizing. I’m sorry for leaving. I’m sorry for making everyone worry. I’m sorry I made you worry.”

You looked up at him and could see the worry in his eyes. You hated having him worry about you, especially over things neither of you could control. You gave Vision a weak smile to show you were okay but it did little to dissuade his anxieties.

You pulled away from Vision’s embrace and he reluctantly let you go. With a heavy sigh, you ran a hand through your messy hair.

“I’ll go back home with you,” you said, tiredness creeping into your voice. “But just, not tonight, okay?”

Vision’s mind clung to the way you said ‘home.’ He realized that you really didn’t have a home outside of the Avengers compound. To be fair, neither did he. The rest of the Avengers, however, all had places of their own, but the two of you did not. The Avengers headquarters was your home and he found a strange comfort in that fact.

“Whatever you want,” he replied without hesitation. “And I will be here by your side for as long as you need me, if you will have me of course.” For the first time in a long time, your lips parted in a completely genuine smile, even if only for a moment. It took all of Vision’s control not to lean down and kiss you right then.

“That’s an awfully romantic gesture,” you chuckled. “But I was just thinking we’d leave in the morning.”

“That works just as well.” Vision smiled, finally letting himself be hopeful of the future. For the time being, at least, it was looking like things were going to be okay.

A/N: As much as I don't want to glorify PTSD or any of the terrible things our heroes go through, I do like to explore that side of the characters and I do think it makes for an intriguing read. Again, this was originally written for a character of my own creation who has an entire plot line behind all this but I liked how this turned out so why not post it?

[southboundhqarchive]

MEET ERIKA,

FULL NAME › Erika Yosano AGE › twenty two GENDER › Cis female (She/Her/Hers) FROM › Honolulu, Hawaii LODGING › Copper Cactus Motel PRIOR EMPLOYMENT › Freelance Illustrator NOW PLAYING › What If I Go? By Mura Masa

BIOGRAPHY,

trigger warnings: none

i. erika is born with the sun in her soul and the sea in her heart. a loud, laughing child, she is a stark contrast to her quieter older sister and soft-spoken father. she takes after you, says her aunt as she passes eri back to her mother, and this is true in more ways than one: eri has not only her mother’s charm and pluck, but also her talent for the arts. eri can’t remember when she first started drawing, but she is told that as soon as she could grip a crayon, the wall became her canvas. scolded but not discouraged, she is given paper and crayola crayons—draw something nice for mommy—and this is where her dream begins.

ii. her childhood is shaped by a loving family with grandparents just minutes away and aunts and uncles not too far off, either. she and her older sister are shuffled through the various yosano households while her parents work long hours, and not one of them can quite handle erika with her energy and boldness. still, they dote on her all the same while trying to rein her in. only her father can manage to keep her out of too much trouble, whether that’s telling her to come back before the waves get too dangerous or to stop teasing her baby cousin too much. she spends her days at the beach or with her cousins and friends; such an outgoing, lively girl like her has never had trouble getting along with others. art and hula classes keep her busy the rest of the time, and she grows from a precocious child to a lively middle schooler who always has an excuse to why she can’t help out at her aunt’s restaurant today.

iii. everything is as it should be until it isn’t.

iv. perhaps she was too absorbed in her own life to notice the deterioration of her parents’ relationship, or perhaps she was simply ignoring it, but it doesn’t hit her until the word divorce cuts through the air. she should’ve realized it sooner—her parents are high school sweethearts no longer sweet. there are less tender moments between hideo and sumire and more tense silences. more arguments and mounting frustrations. eri is fourteen when she hears her mother say, this isn’t what i wanted!  

this isn’t what she wanted? what did she want? what could they give her that they didn’t already?

and so eri wonders if she is worth loving. she wonders why, for all her similarities to her mother, it isn’t enough to keep her here.

v. sumire leaves on a rainy day in november. she doesn’t just move out of honolulu, she moves out of state. the apartment feels gutted with empty spaces where her mother’s paintings were, and it doesn’t help her sister is away in new york for her first year of college. with her mother gone, eri’s father is picking up more hours, and eri’s far too old now to be babysat by her grandparents. when she’s not in school, she’s drawing, and when she’s not drawing, she’s hiking to waterfalls and going on road trips and drinking with her friends. anything’s better than an empty apartment where dinner is a too-quiet affair made with whatever she finds in the fridge; she and her father are almost never home at the same time now. he’s trying his best to repair the bonds frayed by resentment and anger, but it’s hard when they keep missing each other.

vi. perhaps to keep his daughter from completely slipping away like his ex-wife, hideo is nothing but supportive when it comes to her art. never mind that it supposedly doesn’t make much money and her aunt says it’s just a hobby and her grandparents are wondering if she’s going to be a doctor like her sister—as long as she’s happy, as long as she’s doing what she loves, this is enough for him. she applies to one school in hawaii just to get the rest of her family off her back, but her eyes are really set on art schools in california. after high school graduation, her dreams come true: she’s off to otis college of art and design. she takes to L.A. easily, losing herself in new friends and a new city and late nights.

her second serious relationship comes in the fall of her sophomore year when she meets a photography major at a party; he’s funny, he’s charming, he doesn’t shy away when she proves herself to be more opinionated than him. the relationship she left in hawaii was born out of familiarity, out of growing up together and knowing each other inside and out, but this is born out of something new and she relishes in it. they stay up for hours talking about anything and everything, they go out for korean bbq, he takes her to disneyland, and she thinks she’s never been happier than this.

but where there’s a high, there’s a low, and it all comes crashing down a year later when she catches him with someone else. he begs for her forgiveness, she doesn’t take him back, and she wonders, not for the first time, why she’s not worth loving.

luckily, she has good friends and a good sister. forget that cheating asshole, they tell her. you’re worth way more than that. she wonders if that’s true, but thanks them all the same. no more relationships for her—she never delves deeper than a fling. ( it’s easier to leave first before they leave you. ) she focuses on her friends and her coursework, enrolling for a spring program in japan since she’s never been. they never had the money growing up, but eri always knew she was going to see the world, and japan is the perfect place to start. her sister encourages her to apply for a summer internship at pixar, which she’s accepted to, and her last year at otis is her best one.

vii. a few months after graduation, one of her friends proposes a post-christmas road trip. they pile into a car with snacks and blankets and backpacks, multiple spotify playlists ready to go. all is well until they cross the grand canyon off their ever-changing list of landmarks and they’re back on the road, driving for what seems like hours. a sign appears in the distance as the last bit of sunlight paves way for hues of indigo. boot hill, 20 miles.

two of them want to keep driving, the other two want to stop, a copper cactus beckoning them as they near the exit. eri doesn’t get a say because she’s napping in the backseat, and by the time she wakes up, they’ve pulled into a small town complete with cute diners and a drive-in theater. as they check into their rooms at the local motel, eri think it’s not so bad—especially for the price. four stars on tripadvisor, even! it’s strange, though, how all the reviews rave about how they couldn’t help but extend their stay. we just couldn’t resist.

viii. she has never been so far from the sea.

the sand stretches for miles, but not the kind with waves rushing up to kiss it; the taste of dusty air settles on her tongue instead of salt. everything feels wrong, but she’s just passing by, she tells herself. it’s been a week, sure, but she’ll check out tomorrow. really this time. yet when she tries to, the concierge is mysteriously missing, their car’s broken down, or her friend wants to stay another night and wow, isn’t this town just so great? so peaceful?

two more days pass. dude, fuck L.A., says one of her friends, rolling a joint in the back of the bar. we should just stay here.

erika’s all for bad ideas, but that’s the worst one she’s ever heard in her life.

ix. google maps says no route found. she can never find the highway exit. her friends can’t seem to make a damn decision. every time she tries to leave, she’s stopped, and her restlessness manifests in drunken nights with whoever seems like a good time, in spray-painting abandoned buildings, in the sketchbooks and canvases littering her motel room she’s been in for the last month. uneasiness and anger coil in her spine, and it shows in her art: paintings and sketches of boot hill all have an eerie quality to them, the shots in her camera capturing not the joy of small town life, but smiles that are pulled too tight and suffocating complacency. she was never meant for abandoned highways or deserts; no, her path lies in endless horizons and lush greenery and a maze of skyscrapers.

x. i just want to go home, eri mutters into a plate of fajitas. a kindly face turns toward her. oh, dear, you’re already home.

xi. there are no waves to pull her under here, but eri still feels as if she’s drowning.

❝ half-sun, half, wine-dark. wild to be understood. ❞

CENSUS,

FACECLAIM › Nana Komatsu AUTHOR › Izzie

[pass-the-bechdel]

Homicide: Life on the Street season three full review

How many episodes pass the Bechdel test?

65% (thirteen of twenty).

What is the average percentage per episode of female characters with names and lines?

32.96%

How many episodes have a cast that is at least 40% female?

Three (episode three ‘Extreme Unction’ (40%), episode sixteen ‘Law and Disorder’ (52%), and episode eighteen ‘In Search of Crimes Past’ (43.47%)).

How many episodes have a cast that is less than 20% female?

Two (episode eleven ‘Cradle to Grave’ (18.75%), and episode seventeen ‘The Old and the Dead’ (19.04%)).

How many female characters (with names and lines) are there?

Fifty-nine. Seventeen who appeared in more than one episode, three who appeared in at least half the episodes, and ZERO who appeared in every episode.

How many male characters (with names and lines) are there?

Ninety-four. Twenty-four who appeared in more than one episode, seven who appeared in at least half the episodes, and five who appeared in every episode.

Positive Content Status:

Strong. The show maintains a powerful awareness of the society it is situated within and the varied experiences of those within it; the analysis of racial issues - systemic and individual - is particularly impressive, and though it is not the subject this blog was created to explore, it seems wrong to talk about this show at all without acknowledging the good work it is doing on that front (average rating of 3.1). 

General Season Quality:

While not quite as strangely, darkly real as the beginning of the series, it’s still good, compelling, and meaningful television, and it does make the most of itself in terms of telling new stories which enrich and expand the world of the show; it does not rest on its laurels and repeat the same narrative patterns as earlier episodes, and it is the better for it. 

MORE INFO (and potential spoilers) under the cut:

For the record, I regret the decision not to write individual episode posts for this show. Not quite enough to go back and write them after all, but enough to complain about how I’m not doing it. This is a note to my future self, in case I try to convince myself that summary-only is a good idea after all: it isn’t. It’s just a way to guarantee that you’ll end up leaving things out and being less thorough than you want to be. It’s a dumb idea. Don’t do it.

To business: the season literally opens with Bolander watching a love scene on the tv in the break room and complaining about all the gratuitous sex on tv shows these days, prompting a conversation with Lewis and Munch about how ‘the networks make them put that stuff in’. It’s essentially a written-in apology to the audience for the fact that there are romantic subplots in this season; they might as well have broken down the fourth wall completely and had the characters look straight into the camera, that’s how transparent they are about it. The network demanded sex appeal as a condition of renewing the show for a third season, and the writers were NOT happy about it; I appreciate both their convictions, and the fact that they made this slim compromise which gave us more of this wonderful show to enjoy, even if there is a bare minimum of unnecessary sex in there. It’s a worthy trade. (the sex-on-tv discussion segues into a prediction from Munch about how the future will include a trillion different channels to watch, everyone communicating online, and never having to get out of your chair for anything. Bolander then says that he wishes they’d bring back Hawaii 5-0, which of course has since happened. It’s eerie).

Anyway; the sex mostly involves Felton, whose slightly-unhinged (and, in mercifully one scene only, gratuitously undressed) wife Beth has kicked him out of the house at the beginning of the season, to which Felton has responded by promptly jumping in bed with a new woman: that is, with the new woman, Megan Russert, whose presence in the main cast brings us to a grand old two women in the regular rotation. The show gleefully ditches the Felton/Russert romance three episodes in (but not until after we’ve been subjected to Daniel Baldwin in his little nineties underwear:

cheers network, I hope that’s what you were aiming for when you demanded more sex appeal), and the whole business manages to play out with relative grace, being blatant network-service but avoiding the common pitfall of useless hetero romance wherein the female character ends up seeming like she only exists to be sexy. 

Russert’s introduction isn’t entirely smooth - and the romance angle doesn’t help there - but despite being a much more traditionally-feminine and traditionally-attractive character than Howard is, and despite having the confrontation of sexism in the workplace laid on a little thick in those introductory episodes, Russert is still successfully established as a person in her own right, and not defined by her womanhood any more than Howard is. Like Howard, Russert can’t escape the way that the department and the men within it treat her gender as a conspicuous and dominant trait, and like Howard, Russert is not interested in letting the preoccupations of other people impact the way she goes about her work; unlike Howard, Russert refuses to engage with the idea of being a good example for other women because she feels that doing so means participating in making gender an issue when it shouldn’t matter in the first place. Howard - delighted to be working with an accomplished woman who meets her personal standard of conduct, and willing to openly defend Russert’s service record against her sexist detractors - is affronted by Russert’s refusal to fight the good fight on behalf of her gender, but the show wisely does not take a side. Both women’s approaches to their womanhood have merit, and neither is perfect; rather than pitting them against one another over their differences, the show acknowledges that Howard and Russert are, each in their own way, doing the best their  with a situation that has been stacked against them and in which there are no absolute ways to ‘win’, only ways to play. 

This season is much stronger on women than those preceding it, as evident in the statistics: over 12% better in the female:male ratio, and 57% better on the Bechdel (they were doing shockingly well with that one until they went and failed in the last four episodes all in a row, but still. This is far, far better than I had expected). It takes a broader, more detailed look at the way women exist (and are forced to exist) within the structure of society, and there is evidence of clear comprehension of the imbalances, the contradictions, and the illogical expectations and judgments that come with that. The serial killer Annabella Wilgis from the opening trilogy of the season asserts that she murdered eight women because she blames women in the workplace for ‘ruining everything’ by upsetting the strictly-gendered status quo of Wilgis’ childhood; Howard catches a killer back in her home town because the guy was so much of a sexist chump he wouldn’t wash his own shirt to get away with murder (as he is arrested the guy screams at his wife for not ‘doing her job’ and washing his shirt for him, and the lack of self-reflection is as bizarre as it is believable); the fantastic ‘Every Mother’s Son’ sees two women - both unaware that they are at the police station for the same case, one’s son having been murdered by the other’s - commiserating about the state of the men in their neighbourhoods and the lack of good father figures and role models for their boys (both women are black, and as they discuss also the number of funerals they have attended for their early-teen son’s friends, the conversation serves as a double-whammy observation of both gender, and systemic racial inequality. It’s powerful and sobering); Russert intervenes in the private life of her former detective partner when she discovers that he’s been beating his wife, and takes no excuses from either party about ‘the stress of the job’ or any other such tragically familiar lines; Beth Felton’s behaviour, while erratic and hurtful, finds some sympathy from Howard and Russert as they consider the dire lack of options open to Beth as a potentially-single mother of three small children. With the exception of Wilgis the serial killer, there is altogether an underpinning thread of women understanding and supporting each other, a factor which helps to give the women’s narratives a sense of their own gravity through recognition from outside; something particularly important when set against the ignorance and even complicity which can arise even from seemingly forward-thinking men.

Network-mandated sex brings us Emma Zoole, and with her, reflections upon the attitudes of some of our male characters, some of it good, some of it bad. Lewis makes a pushy fool of himself trying to chat her up, but he’s harmless enough and once he plays out his chance and is rejected, he respects Emma’s choice and declares unequivocally that he will not pursue her further (a declaration prompted by Felton suggesting that he just needs a new strategy). That said, there is a possessive streak at work when Lewis learns that Bayliss has hooked up with Emma instead; if Lewis didn’t feel some sense  of ownership for having called first dibs on Emma, he wouldn’t have anything to feel ‘betrayed’ about. For the most part, laughs are had as Bayliss literally falls over himself and clutzes around Emma’s apartment in the least-sexy way possible - it’s funny, it’s realistic, and it’s a solid fuck-you to the network - and the fallout as the entire workplace learns of his exploits (”what is a cuffoon?”) is a great time. But, on the other side of it all, things are less bright. Lewis is smothering his sorrows by eating cous cous, and Felton delivers a diatribe about how the idea of health food and men thinking they need to watch their weight is all about ‘women trying to dominate men’ (a double-standard view if ever there was one; at least Lewis ain’t buying it). Meanwhile, it turns out Emma has a boyfriend named Andy who takes it poorly when he hears about Bayliss; Andy knocks Emma down - Bayliss is aghast when Emma tells him, and his anger does feel like it is at least mostly coming from the right place, but under the circumstances one also wonders if there’s an extent to which he goes out to give Andy what-for as a possessive pissing contest and not in genuine concern. Emma breaks up with Bayliss for interfering with her relationship with Andy, and Bayliss...goes off the deep end and robs a convenience store at gunpoint after he comes up eleven cents short trying to pay for beer and cookies. Pembleton bails Bayliss out so that he winds up not suffering any significant ramifications for his actions, and the comedic tone of the whole piece feels decisively off, as if the writers have hit a major blind spot wherein they think men lashing out dangerously when a relationship falls apart is normal and understandable on its own, and therefore not worthy of harsh scrutiny. I mean, if the guy hurts or kills his former lover, that behaviour is condemned, but if he just threatens to shoot a store clerk for voiding a sale, that’s funny, right?

The idea of that unscrutinised blind spot is reinforced throughout the rest of the series so far; while none of the other central male characters have reacted quite as wildly as Bayliss, they do form a cohesive track record for refusing to do their own emotional labour in working their way through romantic disappointments. Felton is a slightly different case since his relationship woes are also tied up with custody of his children, and as such his spiralling alcoholism is not necessarily a consequence of the end of his marriage itself so much as it is about the messy way that plays out (it is very, very messy, though, and he does lean on the other women in his life throughout rather than taking control of his situation himself). Bolander was a total bear throughout the first season after separating from his wife, and Munch I already flagged in my previous review for his attitude toward his now-ex Felicia throughout the final ups and downs of that relationship. Lewis may just drag himself off to eat some cous cous all alone, but he still wallows over a relationship that never even began; Gee does the same thing after being rejected by Russert’s friend Amanda (though there is an additional factor there in which Gee - this guy:

- feels that Amanda - this lady:

- has rejected him because he’s blacker than she is, sparking what remains the only discussion on colourism within the black community that I have ever seen on tv. It’s an illuminating subject that deserves discussion, though we never find out if it really is the reason for Amanda’s rejection or if she was just not interested in Gee for any number of other, completely legitimate reasons). As Bayliss forgoes all self control, as Felton spins his ridiculous opinions on health food, and as Bolander commiserates with Gee about how ‘the way a woman feels about a man, that’s the way he’s going to feel about himself’, there’s a consistent theme of this notion that women have a responsibility to prop men up and protect their fragile egos, and it’s a theme that the show - for all that it is mostly very self-aware - doesn’t seem to challenge at all. 

While I’m griping, there are more imperfections this season than there were last time around: Munch makes a lot of jokes about women, not necessarily in disparaging ways but definitely in an othering fashion which lends itself to a perception of women as objects of desire rather than, um, people. His nihilistic attitude about pretty much everything combined with his regular gendered commentary can make him pretty hard to enjoy as comic relief, especially when you’re viewing the show with a deliberately critical eye (he also makes a joke about prison rape at one point, and rape jokes of any kind are a surefire way to vault straight into my bad books). Pembleton gets embroiled in a political quagmire involving one Congressman Wade: a closeted homosexual, Wade has filed a false police report to try and cover up his affair with his male assistant, fearing that said assistant might expose him by filing assault charges after Wade beat him up. While everyone involved rightfully agrees that being gay should not end Wade’s political career, they all kinda ignore the fact that committing assault probably should, and I’m not ok with the way that detail gets shrugged off. And the episode ‘The Last of the Watermen’ not only uses the cliche of having a character just-happen to catch a case while on vacation, it also repeats the cliche of having a former flame of Howard’s as a suspect, something we already did in season two (less than ten episodes ago, to make it even more egregious that we’re doing it again); the show is better than that kind of contrivance. 

To wrap this on a good note though, there were also some real gems in the piece: the episode ‘Colors’ delivers a great guest star in David Morse and tells a confronting story about the insidiousness of subconscious racism; it’s very easy for shows to do stories about racism that acknowledge it in a very obvious surface-level way (i.e. this person treats that person badly because of the colour of their skin, and that’s wrong), but it’s more difficult and more important to explore the subtleties of the ways racism can manifest both individually and systemically, and that’s what this show does so well. On the topic of great guest stars, Steve Buscemi is used to magnificent effect in ‘End Game’ as a character who is so very, very wrong in such very, very obvious ways, and yet so superciliously convinced of his correctness that he’s impossible to argue with (we all know at least one person exactly like that). Buscemi’s turn comes at the culmination of the three-episode arc surrounding the shooting of three of our detectives, which is masterfully handled both in the immediate shock and the ensuing tension, as well as in the complicated miasma of emotional fallout for the rest of the squad as they struggle and rally. The fallout from that arc continues to permeate the rest of the season, in much the same way as the suicide of our beloved Steve Crosetti does at the beginning of the season: the episode ‘Crosetti’ is the highlight of the season despite fierce competition, and watching Lewis bawl his eyes out while Bolander holds him still gets me every time, but it’s nothing compared to watching Pembleton provide a one-man Honour Guard for his fallen comrade at episode’s end. The heaviness of the episode has some serious emotional staying power, and while the ditching of Crosetti was another network-mandated dick move designed to up the show’s sex appeal, the writers well and truly made lemonade by crafting the loss into a powerful narrative which emphasises and reinforces the core of the series itself: the horror and the battle to overcome the darkness of a truly thankless job, and find the good glimmer of life that lies beyond it.

[geneticmisfit]

Mister Stark, I’m sorry. Tell May that I---

          He finds himself drifting. Through memory. Through air. Through-- existence ? Sensation of his spider sense alerting of his atoms turning to ash now but a distant memory. It was Thanos, right ? Him and his MAGIC STONES. Guess they really did lose. But-- Shouldn’t he be NOTHING ? Putting whether or not he believed in an afterlife aside, didn’t the Purple Man say he wanted to make them ( him ? ) cease to exist ? How could he still exist-- If he no longer existed ? 

One would think dying would be less CONFUSING.

          His eyes flutter open, much to his surprise, to the sight of a sky. A DIFFERENT sky, at least none that he had ever seen before. Sitting up, the view is clearer; It is a dark blue sky, with a slight fluorescent shimmer that had eerie suggestions of the sea, the orange light of what seemed to be an impossibly enlarged evening sun giving it even more of an ethereal quality. 

So, Heaven had MOOD LIGHTING, somehow not the weirdest thing he’d seen today.

          No, the weirdest thing would be the DOOR that simply stood there, not affixed to any walls, just poking out of the-- sea ? So the floors had the same look as the sky. Yeah, definitely going for a mood here. 

          ‘‘ Okay...’’ The sound escapes him, ( so, he could talk in here ! ) finally rising to his feet to take a few hesitant steps towards the doorway. He quickly stops, not because the logical side of his brain kicked in to stop him from walking through the weird Heaven Doorway or anything, but to look down at himself. To see if he was himself. His hand comes up to meet his gaze, fist clenching and unclenching, each digit moving one after the other to show if anything moved funky or looked funky or was just-- funky.  He had DIED, turned to DUST-- So why was he WHOLE AGAIN ?  

          His gaze finds the door again, squinting ever so slight at the FAMILIAR-NESS of it. A vertical rectangle of deep, dark, wood, aged in some parts but still quite sturdy, with one gold-colored camera-shaped peep-hole contrasting starkly against it. It couldn’t be the door-- Could it ? ‘‘ Well, Pete, not like you’ve got anything to lose anymore--’’ His hand rises up, almost in coordination with his legs closing the distance between him and the door, pressing half-heartedly against the, feeling --again-- familiar,  wood. ‘‘ Here goes nothing--’’ A deep breath, a moment taken to brace himself, before he pushes, taking not two steps inside before the horrifyingly familiar sight stops him dead in his tracks. 

          It was HOME, with his current viewpoint from the entryway giving him glimpses of the numerous pictures and paintings that adorned the walls of verdant greens and yellows and reds, each corner a different color, each corner littered with books of all nature that didn’t fit the already packed bookcases, the smell of fresh dinner still lingered in the air as the now-familiar orange hue of the sea-like sky creeped up through the shutters. It was Home-- But also something else. 

          He now stood on the hallway, at the crux of the apartment that brought all the rooms together, his hand pressing firm against the green wall as a feeling of sudden dread came over. If he was dead, inside a Heavenly Dead Sea Place, would that mean anyone who was in the house was dead as well ? WERE there anyone else in the house ? Would she be here ? His heart sinks into a pit at the mere notion of it, the possibility of causing not one, but BOTH of his parents’ deaths. 

          ‘‘---May ? ’’ The voice that leaves him is shaky, fearful, hand scraping across the wall as he takes ever so slow steps towards the living room, TERRIFIED of what he would find, or would not find, but walking all the same. If SHE was here, if he had once again caused--

                                  ‘ Peter ? ’

          He feels his knees buckle, eyes widening in fear, emotion and RECOGNITION as the MALE sound coming from the living room hits him like a cement truck. ‘‘--Ben ?! ’’ His movements resume, quicker than before, in a hurry that comically clashed with the trepidation of not ten seconds ago, turning to corner to reveal the sight of a somewhat tall man in his late fifties to early sixties, wearing a grey shirt that was unbuttoned at the top to show the smallest hint of a white undershirt, sleeves pulled up in a casual, comfortable manner that gave off the air of a working man, glasses framing a soft, pudgy-on-the-edges face, white hair combed back but maintaining the hint of frazzleness on the sides. It was HIM, completely and truly HIM, standing there, with that small, reassuring smile that always told him everything was going to be alright, warm brown eyes still as welcoming as the last time he had seen them. 

          ‘‘ Uncle Ben ?! ’’ He exclaims, trying to stand his ground, to be CAUTIOUS, before his emotions betray him, RUSHING to his side in an instant, collapsing into the other’s arms as long buried, long moved on ( or thought to have moved on ) emotions completely overcome him. He did not know how he could be here, he wasn’t killed alongside everyone else after all, but he WAS. Maybe as a PHANTOM, maybe as a TRICK played by the Heavenly Dead Sea Apartment. In either case-- He DIDN’T CARE. He was HERE, he was HOLDING ONTO HIM ! HIM... Him. 

          ‘‘ Uncle Ben-- I--- I’m so sorry--’’ His head dips low, looking at his hands that were currently clasped onto Ben’s shirt, holding, CLINGING so hard that his knuckles are soon white. ‘‘ You told me to be RESPONSIBLE but then I-- And then you--’’ He is heaving now, to a point where talking is near-impossible, eyes welled up and tears rapidly streaming down reddened cheeks, head daring not to move, not having the GUTS to look up at those beautiful eyes that held so much LIFE. Life that he had BETRAYED. How could he ever look at him after what he had DONE ? How could he ever TALK to him-- 

                     ‘ Easy there, kiddo. ’

          He feels a hand, ever so gentle, ever so caring, rest against his back, a reassuring pat, once, twice, before it snakes around to the side of his face to nudge him to look up, a nudge he wouldn’t, couldn’t, ignore. 

                        ‘ Look at how much you have grown ! ’ There is that smile, widening, BEAMING, smiling as if he were still alive, as if it wasn’t him who had caused him to-- 

          ‘‘ I’m so sorry, Uncle Ben, I could have stopped him but I let him go and then he--’’ His head falls again, his SHAME visibly weighing him down, before he feels the hand once again on his cheek, falling down to his chin, ever so gently raising his head upwards. 

                         ‘  --You made a bad choice that had terrible consequences, yes. But look where that led you, Peter !  A hero. Inspiring and helping so many others. May and I could not be more proud--’

           ‘‘ But I killed you, Uncle Ben, it was MY fault. ’’ He must be showing his age now, so young and so frightened, looking up at the man who was more of a father to him than his father ever was. 

                         ‘ There was no way you could have known, kiddo, that’s just how life is. What matters is you owning up to your mistakes and being better than them. Becoming the man May and I knew you could be from the very beginning. ’ 

          He was completely speechless now, weeping and whimpering having given way to silent acknowledgement. Hands relax, slowly falling to Ben’s side to wrap around him, to form in a hug he had longed for for more than a year now. ‘‘ I’ve missed you, Uncle Ben. So much. Me and May both...There is so much I need to tell you--’’

                         ‘ I know, kiddo, I know. And we have plenty of time to catch up. ’’

          Ben’s smile was essentially contagious, a beaming grin breaking through the tears, shoulders shaking once again not with tears, but with slow, building laughter. He was HERE, it was HIM, completely and truly HIM, and now they had all the time in the world to catch up on all the things he had missed. 

                         ‘ Or maybe not. ’

          ‘‘--Ben ? ’’ Before he could even ask, his vision blurs. A flash of white and orange that overcame all his senses, like standing too close to an explosion that was, somehow, inside of you. ‘‘--Ben ?! ’’

                         ‘ It’s time to go, son. ’

          ‘‘ I don’t want to go Uncle Ben-- Not when I just found you again--’’

                         ‘ Don’t you worry, kiddo, I’m always with you. ’ 

          ‘‘ Ben-- No ! ’’

                         ‘ Tell May I said Hi. ’

          He finds himself drifting. Through memory. Through air. He thinks for a moment he is dying again, lost in the vastness of the void-- Before everything comes into a sharp focus. As if being forcefully ejected from the very depths of the sea, a shining light giving way to various shapes and colors. His eyes flutter open, where expects to see the dark navy blue and orange hues of the ethereal sky, he instead sees the bright, blooming blues of a sunny day. His eyes scan the era, hands clutching his chest, inhaling deeply as if breathing for the first time in what seemed like an ETERNITY. He was-- alive ? Again ? They had lost-- But they won ?

          One would think coming back to life would be less confusing. 

           He thinks someone is calling his name, but his attention is anywhere but there. His head is dipped low, gazing at the grey concrete of the road. He had died, and came back to life. Couldn’t tell you how if he even knew it. He finds himself smiling, a newfound sense of relief and ease occupying where once was self-loathing and guilt. ‘‘---Thank you, Ben, I love you. ’’ Is what he mutters to himself as his head lifts up, gazing at the bright sky, a content inhale filling his lungs, eyes falling to a close as he stands there quietly listening to the wind. 

            It’s funny, chalk it up to resurrection shock, or maybe his senses playing tricks on him, but he could swear, for the briefest of moments, in the faintest of tones, he could hear something in the wind. Something that widens his smile, something warms his heart and gives him hope, something that makes it all WORTH IT. 

                         ‘ I love you too, kiddo. ’