#but also the conversations happening in the annotations are so stiff

[queer-reader-07]

one of the readings for my english class is about fanfic and how fanfic writers are able to transfer their skills to academic writing and i'm reading through the annotations from my classmates and it is so painfully obvious that most of them don't know how to be normal about fanfic

[riddlecrux]

Light seen through the windows: an analysis of windows as a literary tool in Elriel relationship

I would love to preface this meta with my favorite disclaimer that everything that I will be discussing is based on what I have gathered from SJM writing. The quotes used in this post will serve as a starting point for further analysis. Additionally, I will be using things such as symbolism, metaphors, and literary device methods to build up my reasoning and beliefs. On another note, this, as usual, is strictly pro-Elriel meta. If they are not your cup of tea and you wish to comment, please be civil and bring arguments supported by the text.

So many of us like to gaze and stare through the windows daily. Looking at the world behind the glass often is considered a form of tranquility that we feel. Windows are essentially doors that lead us to whatever lies behind them - the last border between being in one place and then in another. It isn't then surprising that windows serve as symbols and metaphors in literature. From the start, whenever I read a passage about windows in ACOWAR I was reminded of Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte. You may ask why?

Emily Bronte used windows as symbolism in her work. They are very important for her characters and their personal arcs. They are symbols of barriers, misfortunes that characters face. Windows there are metaphors of various obstacles estranging Bronte's characters from achieving their hopes - realizing that the dreams they had will be not fulfilled. As I don't want to get spoilery with Wuthering Heights, I'm going to draw conclusions in a very neat manner. Bronte used windows as a connection to nightmares that one of the main characters was suffering from - it ties to the fact that in his nightmares he sees the person he had loved, haunting him. Because of the relationship with a said woman, the imagery of windows in this particular scene symbolizes death, an obstacle that stands between both of them. Throughout the book, we also get glimpses of how windows might be used as a metaphor for social classes and the contrast between them, and how Heathcliff and Catherine have to go about it. Along with the windows, doors are also used as a symbol of trapping someone in one place, obstructing them from achieving their dream or preventing them from reaching out to their loved one. Not to mention that during a very particular scene with Catherine, she wants the windows open - a symbolism of her wanting to feel free, to connect with something she knows, she longs for. This leads to the conclusion that windows in Bronte's novel are symbols of life and death, they are the in-between - a symbolic barrier.

On the other hand, windows in literature signalize something called "art of watching", and usually it is connected to a female protagonist that observes life, events through the window. Not to mention, the most famous association to windows such as "windows to the soul" - which, of course, is more metaphorical. It allows us, the audience, to connect with the character's inner feelings, struggles, as we are presented with the emotional aspect of said person. They are the bridge between the inside and outside. Windows are also a source of light, which we humans crave. Looking through the window one can absorb the light, which can resonate as a symbol of growth and change. Metaphorically we see the light from the window when we feel a need to light up the darkness inside us. They expose us, our inner feelings, and struggles.

When I read ACOWAR I have noticed that SJM decided to use windows, quite clearly, in the indication of two particular characters. Azriel and Elain. For the first time, when we met Elain again in the third book the window is a big issue.

"The suite was filled with sunlight. Every curtain shoved back as far as it could go, to let in as much sun as possible."

We have a clear description of the sunlit room, curtains shoved to further underline the need for light.

"And seated in a small chair before the sunniest of the windows, her back to us, was Elain."

In the brightest place in the room sits Elain, in front of the window. She is exposed to the sun, to sunlight and is absorbing that light - which is highlighted during this scene (which makes it important to note).

"Her skin was so pale it looked like fresh snow in the harsh light. I realized then that the color of death, of sorrow, was white."

The sunlight exposes Elain, its harsh light makes her pale, almost translucent. Even Feyre realizes the graveness of this picture comparing this white hue to death. As you can see the chain of events in this scene played like that: sunlit room -> curtain swept away -> Elain sitting in front of the window -> sudden comparison to death.

"She had been always so full of light. Perhaps that was why she now kept all the curtains open. To fill the void that existed where all of that light had once been. And now nothing remained."

Feyre deducts that the need for light on Elain's part is a desperate call to brighten the darkness inside her - which perfectly aligns with the metaphorical usage of windows. Elain basks in light in a helpless cry for help. The very dark void that appeared within her after being Made eats her away. It sucks her immortal life away - the one which she yet didn't get used to. On the other hand, we as readers are presented with the fact that Elain is trapped. In this Fae life, in this room, in this situation in which she grieves for her past and many what-ifs.

Nothing. Not even a flicker of emotion. “Everyone keeps saying that.” Her thumb brushed the ring on her finger. “But it doesn’t fix anything, does it?”

Sitting in front of the window - a sunny one to be precise, which symbolizes life, growth, and change, Elain is presented in a contrast to her surroundings. To show that visible barrier that her person has to overcome. She realizes that her dreams are meant to be unfulfilled, that they are unreachable.

"My stiff, limping steps, at least, had eased into a smoother gait by the time I found Elain in the family library. Still staring at the window, but she was out of her room."

The next time we see Elain she is out of her room - her "cage", but even though she left the boundaries of her entrapment she still chooses to linger around the windows. As Feyre notices, Elain gazes through the window - we are obstructed from Elain's POV and it's hard to imagine what she could be thinking about. Yet the symbolic manner of using the window as some sort of mirror, a passage that happens throughout the series, allows me to think that the metaphorical usage of windows, in this case, isn't a far-fetched idea.

"Elain didn’t turn. She was wearing a pale pink gown that did little to complement her sallow skin, her brown-gold hair hanging in loose, heavy ringlets down her thin back."

SJM uses this sentence to highlight that it isn't just a quick glance out of the window - in fact, it is constant staring through it. It is important for us as readers to note that this thing, window gazing, is an occupation that lasts for long periods of time. It isn't something trivial, it is something that showcases the importance of said windows in Elain's journey.

“What are you looking at?” I asked Elain, keeping my voice soft. Casual. Her face was wan, her lips bloodless. But they moved—barely—as she said, “I can see so very far now. All the way to the sea.”

Feyre decides to ask Elain who is still gazing through the window. Her answer is very ominous and holds a great deal of importance, but also underlines the fact that she is drawn to the window. Not to mention that what she is seeing is the sea - another vastly discussed symbol. In this situation, I believe that the interpretation can lay in a more psychological aspect of the matter rather than a literary one. In the works of very well-known psychiatrist Carl Jung the sea "symbolizes the personal and the collective unconscious in dream interpretation". So from his notes there comes this annotation that caught my attention, "The sea is a favourite place for the birth of visions."

Elain is a seer who constantly gazes through a window which symbolizes the in-between, life and death. These two are connected to one another and SJM used many things to further develop Elain's character as a powerful figure.

"Elain only turned toward the sunny windows again, the light dancing in her hair."

After the whole conversation Elain doesn't move from her spot, quite the contrary she returns to her previous activity. Gazing through the window. Once again we are reminded about the sun and light - which signalizes that Elain tries to undergo through the process of rebirth, but also tries to break free from the unhappiness that came with lost dreams.

"Something in my chest cracked as Nesta’s eyes also went to the windows before Elain. To check, as I did, for whether they could be easily opened."

Here we have an instance of both sisters realizing that Elain spending so much time in front of windows can be dangerous, as in her attempting to jump from them. Once again, the symbolism of death.

"More steps—no doubt closer to where Elain stood at the window."

Elain is still beside the window when Lucien tries to talk to her. Even alone she seeks the place next to the window to stare.

"But sunlight on gold caught his eye—and Elain slowly turned from her vigil at the window."

Elain is still by the window, for the whole scene she is there not moving an inch from it. Furthermore, the word "vigil" is also an interesting choice. There are different meanings of it, but I find these ones very telling and suitable for this instance: a period of sleeplessness; insomnia, a watch kept, or the period of this and a devotional watching, or keeping awake, during the customary hours of sleep. We can speculate about what happened to Elain while she was in the Cauldron, what made her so withdrawn from life and so desperate for the light. I want to believe that we as readers will get our answers in the next book since Elain being a seer with unknown powers makes her a perfect target for Koschei with which she has already had connections.

She looked away—toward the windows. “I can hear your heart,” she said quietly.

Again, during the whole conversation, she doesn't move away from her spot next to the window. Windows for her, start to become a symbolism of change and rebirth - the things she probably wished while being confined to her room.

Elain only stared out the window, unaware—or uncaring.

We have another mention about staring - which further highlights how important windows are as a literary tool for Elain's character. She seeks light, she wants to overcome this barrier that was thrown at her the moment she was Made. She, perhaps, watched through the window to observe the life which was stripped away from her and turned her into this immortal being. Or, maybe she just desperately wanted to brighten up the darkness that gathered inside her because of that whole situation. Another important thing to note is that this scene is a first moment alone with Lucien - her mate, which should have been very painful for her. The conversation also held a lot of weight, yet she valiantly stood by the window as if somewhere behind it she could find an answer.

“So it can’t be a perfect system of matching. What if”—I jerked my chin toward the window, to my sister and the shadowsinger in the garden —“that is what she needs? Is there no free will? What if Lucien wishes the union but she doesn’t?”

Here we have an instance of "art of watching" in which Feyre observes Azriel and Elain through the window. By watching them she comes to the conclusion that both of them are better suited and actually can comfort each other in comfortable silence. The window here is used as a barrier to showcase parallels of two couples: happily mated Feysand and unhappily in love with other people Elriel.

"But I looked to Azriel, currently leaning against the wall beside the floor-to-ceiling window, shadows fluttering around him."

And here we are start with Azriel and windows (also in ACOWAR). He is another character that has an extraordinary connection to windows. He is often mentioned next to them and somehow parallels Elain's behavior - staring through windows, being near them.

"I blinked, realizing I’d been lost in the bond, but found Azriel still by the window, (...)."

As we can see Azriel lingers next to the window without moving away from it - as the scene progresses we know that the conversation lasts a good ounce of time, yet Azriel stands in his place by the window.

"Azriel didn’t so much as turn from his vigil at the window, though I could have sworn his wings tucked in a bit tighter."

The same wording, the same imagery. Both used for Elain and Azriel. Both of them keeping vigils at the windows, staring through them as if they could find an answer through them.

"The main room of the guardhouse was stuffy and cramped, more so with all of us in there, and though I offered Elain a seat by the sealed window, she remained standing—at the front of our company. Staring at the shut iron door."

This scene is when Elain is about to confront her lover - Greysen. It is underlined that she rejected her usual spot, which is by the window, and preferred to face the door. She was trapped, she knew that a very important discussion will take a place here. She chose to look at the door rather than at the window, which in this matter could symbolize hope for a change - she stared at the door which metaphorically means transition or imprisonment.

"(...) close to Elain’s side as she and my sister silently kept against the wall by the intact bay of windows."

Another instance of Elain and her being content with being next to the windows.

"I’d seen Elain staring out the window earlier—watching Graysen leave with his men without so much as a look back at her."

"Art of Watching", but also the window's symbolism of dreams that were unfulfilled. At that moment, we can assume, that Elain realized that her dreams concerning human life and her future with Greysen would only be unattainable dreams/hopes.

“What now?” Elain mused, at last answering my question from moments ago as her attention drifted to the windows facing the sunny street. That smile grew, bright enough that it lit up even Azriel’s shadows across the room. “I would like to build a garden,” she declared. “After all of this … I think the world needs more gardens.

At the end of ACOWAR, we have this powerful moment, in which Elain gazing out of the window sees sunny streets = life. A chance of rebirth, which also beautifully overlaps with the fact that she proposed building a garden! The in-between that she balanced on while gazing through the window for so many times turned from death and misfortunes into life and hopes of the future.

ACOFAS

"Elain politely refused, taking up a spot in one of the wooden chairs set in the bay of windows. Also typical."

From Rhysand's point of view, we can deduct that even they are aware of the fact that Elain and windows are something notable. It is a place where she feels comfortable and probably spends a lot of time.

"Beyond the windows, darkness had indeed fallen. The longest night of the year. I found Elain studying it, beautiful in her amethyst-colored gown. I made to move toward her, but someone beat me to it."

In previous quotes, we could gather information about how Elain craved the light and how desperate she was to lighten up her person. Here, we can see that she also started to embrace the darkness. She is again by the window, observing the darkness as if no one else was around her. And of course, the one person who goes towards her at that moment is Azriel, a personification of darkness in the books.

Azriel strode to the lone window at the end of the room and peered into the garden below. “I’ve never stayed in this room.” His midnight voice filled the space.

Azriel went straight to the window. And not an ordinary one, but the one through which you can see the garden. Life and light. I know many were theorizing if what kept Azriel so occupied by the window was Elain, but I would love to put some of my thoughts in this discourse. Yes, I do think that what caught his attention, or who caught his attention was Elain. However, Elain at that moment represents life and light - the things that are associated with windows. And if you spin it around you have Azriel=darkness, death staring at Elain=light, life. The in-between, the very initial symbolism of window in literature. Not to mention that in this scene we have Azriel watching the light and next we have Elain observing darkness.

“No,” Azriel said, not turning from the window.

Azriel remained at the window. “Will Nesta stay here if she comes?

“I’d still be surprised if they remember once the storm clears,” Azriel said, turning from the garden window at last.

We have a whole scene in which it is so heavily implied that Azriel was constantly staring through the window, not even bothering to move away from it. We also have another highlighted thing which is the fact that it was a garden window.

There was a tiny box left on the table by the window—a box that Mor lifted, squinted at the name tag, and said, “Az, this one’s for you.”

A small thing, yet a very sweet one. The fact that even his present was placed close to the window, which starts to become an Elriel thing.

ACOSF

"She’d barely slept for fear of Elain walking off this veranda, or leaning too far out of one of the countless windows, or simply throwing herself down those ten thousand stairs."

We have a reminder that during her stay at House of Wind, Elain was a symbol of death. She carried it on her while being associated with windows that were used as a source of light that helped her heal.

"Elain stood at the wall of windows, clad in a lilac gown whose close-fitting bodice showed how well her sister had filled out since those initial days in the Night Court."

Even when she visits Nesta, she takes the place by the windows. It is something that is strictly connected to her. As if the windows were part of her now.

Elain’s smile was as bright as the setting sun beyond the windows. “I thought I’d drop by to see how you were doing.”

Light, sun, life = Elain.

“You’ve got good coloring, I mean,” Elain clarified, striding from the windows to cross the room. She stopped a few feet away. As if holding herself back from the embrace she might have given.

SJM still used the passages to underline the passage of time that Elain spent standing next to the window. It is a place in which she feels good and perhaps safe.

"They’d sat in them, before this fire, so many times that it was an unspoken rule that Azriel’s was the one on the left, closer to the window, and Cassian’s the one to the right, closer to the door."

We also get the information that Azriel always was the closest to the window - which is an odd thing to add without a deeper meaning. As if to further build up that connection between him and Elain - that both of them are aware of the fact that they are also the symbolism of the allegory of windows. I believe that SJM really researched that light and darkness trope, with which she built and she is still building up Elriel. The windows are just another tiny nugget that further envelopes both of them as one. Because while Elain transformed from death to life, she still welcomed darkness and embraced it - and Azriel opened to the life and light, seeking it. As I said, windows are a literary tool, which perhaps wasn't the main idea in the SJM text, but the amount of parallels between both of them and even the same wording applied to different scenes tells me that it's yet another connection between them.

[kbmercer]

Ch.1, Pt.1/2: Long Time, No See

[Life’s A Journey]

Summary:

A lot had happened after they parted ways. Nevertheless, the threads that tie them together remained. From children to adults, a reunion that’s long overdue leads the trio to embark on another journey.

Just like old times.

Word Count: 3k+

The screeching of the rail pulls (Y/n) from their slumber. The train they sat in was slowly coming to a halt. An announcer broadcasts their location while bleary (e/c) eyes work to regain clarity. A yawn releases from the trainer’s throat as a (s/c) hand moves to massage their neck from the soreness of lying back throughout the ride. In a half-conscious state they manage to grasp their luggage, rolling it along the thin rug of the transport and lifting it pass the gap between the train car door and the station floor. The cool air-conditioned atmosphere of the station works to rouse them as they take a moment to stretching in the center of the terminal. With a hum of satisfaction, (Y/n) swiftly checks the time on their Rotom Phone before quickly exiting the building. It’s been a long time since they’d been here…A long, long time.

The dim light of the evening sun illuminates the cobblestone streets of Wedgehurst. The sounds of banter from townsfolk and the chirping of Rookidee bring back memories, some insignificant but heartwarming all the same. The sparse lighting of the overhead lamps speckled the town in white and the fluorescent glow of open businesses show just how much the place has grown. It was very interesting to see how much change Galar had been through since the time they had moved away. Though, what (Y/n) wondered most was how their friends were doing. How much had they changed? Soon enough they would know, for stopping by Wedgehurst for a surprise visit is their way of finding out. They just hoped it wasn’t too late to pop in today.

With renewed pep in their step, (Y/n) walks straight ahead until she is met with a tall structure of brown, white, and violet. The pokéball sign over the entrance indicated that it was indeed the Pokémon Lab. It hasn’t changed a bit save for the vines that grew out and over the windowsills. Giving a tentative knock on the door, the veteran trainer walks through and takes a good look. The outside may not have appeared too different, but wow! The inside had some work done. New technology was a given considering the occupation of science and research, though there was so much more greenery and literature that there was now a second floor. The place could pass for a recreational library if it really wanted to.

“Why, hello there. Is there anything I can assist you with?” (Y/n) turns their head to view a rather plain looking lady. A woman of average height with blue-black hair and glasses stands patiently for an answer.

“Hey-ya. I was looking to see if Sonia or Professor Magnolia were here?” The woman shakes her head.

“I’m sorry. They have left for the day. I stayed behind to organize my work, so I’ll be the one closing for tonight.” A small sigh leaves them in response.

“I did arrive too late, then. That’s not a problem. I’ll just visit them when they’re in tomorrow.” Giving a nod of thanks (Y/n) turns to exit, yet upon opening the door they are met with a familiar face. A teen boy with amber eyes and a head of purple hair. He had a stack of annotated papers in hand; the fluffy figure of a Dubwool stood by his side as it bleated at them in greeting. (Y/n) would have greeted the pokémon back if they and the boy weren’t having a borderline staring contest, both shocked at seeing each other once again. Apparently, the boy was at a loss for words so (Y/n) breaks the silence.

“How’s it hangin’ Hopscotch? You haven’t forgotten about me have ya?” A proud smile graces their face. He’s grown so much from the last time they saw him.

In a split second, the weight of his person clings to them in a tight hug. His shoulders shake with quiet sobs as (Y/n) reciprocates, letting tears of their own slip down their cheeks. It was one thing to talk through a phone screen but seeing each other in-person goes unmatched. It has been years.

(Y/n) was like a second sibling to Hop; a wayward soul with a sharp wit and open mind. Someone who, despite being rather blithe was also fully capable of giving their 110% percent. Both they and Lee played a part in making who he is as a person, more than they’d ever know. So, when (Y/n) had made the decision to “go on a new adventure”, he didn’t know how to feel. To be in their presence after over half a decade has him floored. When Hop pulls away to dry the remainder of his tears, (Y/n) takes their hands to playfully cup his face.

“Say it ain’t so! I swear it was just yesterday when I had to crouch to look at you.” The boy huffs swatting their hands away.

“Yeah. Time will do that to a person.”

“I swear it was just yesterday when you weren’t as cheeky either.” Hop laughs.

“What are you doing here?! Just a few days ago you said you were in Hoenn!?”

“Well I was, but I also had a flight soon after our call.”

“So what? You just weren’t going to tell anyone that you’d be in Galar.”

“Nope. I wanted to surprise you all. You should have seen the look on your face.”

“Can you blame me? It’s been so long.”

“Nah. If anything, I’m just as excited about this as you are.”

The subtle sound of the lab assistant clearing her throat pulls the two from their conversation. Having witnessed all that occurred she was happy for the two, but she needed to head home and they were blocking the doorway. With a swift apology and the scratch of a cheek, (Y/n) sidesteps as Hop walks into the facility.

             “Sorry about that. I forgot to turn in a report, so I’ll take over and lock-up.” The woman concedes the lab keys to the teen before taking her leave.

             The young researcher swiftly moves around the area. The older leaves him to it as they take a seat at the table. A hefty nudge of the leg gains their undivided attention as (e/c) hues meet the shining eyes of Dubwool. The pokémon bleats loudly and happily in recognition. (Y/n) does not hesitate to stroke his head and horns.

“So you’ve evolved, eh? Last time I saw you, you were just a small as Hopscotch.”

The sound of a drawer sliding shut is followed by the kid rounding the counter he had walked behind. (Y/n) notices the small bounce in his step as he beams at them. If there was anything that hadn’t changed about Hop it was his abundant energy. Aside from his uptick in enthusiasm at their return, the teen had always been a lively person in general.

“Oh, man. I have so many questions, but first, I really wanna see your pokémon. Can I? Please? This is the perfect place!” His exaggerated gesturing elicits a soft chuckle from them. Taking grasp of a pure black crossbody laid atop their luggage, (Y/n) opens a side compartment to reveal an entire team of six. Taking each capsule to fit between their fingers, the veteran tosses them out, summoning the creatures they held dear.

Calls of different volumes and pitches echo across the laboratory as (Y/n)’s pokémon party take in their surroundings. The team consisted of creatures of various heights and statures—two tall, two moderates, and two smalls; 4 bipedal, and 2 quadrupedal. Venusaur, Quagsire, Aggron, Lopunny, Scrafty, and Sylveon. Amber eyes widen in admiration as he identifies the team. Scrambling to retrieve his Rotom Phone and log the pokémon, he begins to feel a soft texture along the back of his non-dominant hand. Removing his eyes from the device, Hop follows the touch. Pink ribbon-like feelers languidly caress the skin skimming over his fingers, down the palm, and to the wrist before unraveling. Sylveon to whom the feelers belonged let out a noise of approval before moving to Dubwool. The teen raised an eyebrow at what had occurred.

“That was Babe. You’ve seen him nose around on video call before. He knows who you are but has never been the sort to outright trust anybody without deciding that for himself.”

Now that the violet-haired teen thought about it, he does recall reading that Sylveon use their appendages to distinguish emotion. It’s to be expected he supposed.

Following Babe to see him sit by Dubwool, the sheep was conversating with Lopunny. The rabbit pokémon appears to be very talkative and attentive, giving Hop’s partner some much-needed social interaction. Bright eyes shift to (Y/n) once more.

“Her name’s Lulu. She’s definitely the most welcoming of the bunch. Not to say the others aren’t. She’s just warms up to people quicker.” With a nod of understanding, Hop turns his head to observe Aggron and Scrafty. The former stood shyly looking to her trainer for reassurance while the latter practically burned holes into Hop with an intense leer. Giving a soft smile to the two pokémon, (Y/n) pats the boy on the shoulder. He had turned stiff from the dark-fighting type’s intimidation.

“Those two are Gina and Scout. Don’t be fooled by Gina’s stature; she’s just the sweetest. As for Scout, she’s quite tenacious but I assure you it’s just because she’s very protective of the crew.”

“If you say so…” he laughs nervously.

Last but not least, the young researcher shifts to view (Y/n)’s Venusaur and Quagsire. Both were simply relaxing, the grass-poison type comfortably lay next to the terrarium eyeing the boy with warmth and familiarity. Quagsire sat close by with an ever-so lackadaisical look on his face. The water fish pokémon makes eye contact with both trainers and waves at them. Of course they both wave back touched by such a simple gesture.

“You remember those two?”

“Never forgot. You’ve had Poppy and Briggs since the very beginning.”

“Yeah… You’d hang with them all the time back when they were just a Bulbasaur and Wooper.”

             Hop would always recollect the day Leon, Sonia, and (Y/n received their starters. He was five years old around that time. Professor Magnolia had recently returned from a meeting in Kanto and bought their regional starters to Galar. Lee, Sonia, and (Y/n) were set to begin their trainer journeys by choosing from the three. Big brother chose Charmander, Sonia took Squirtle, and (Y/n) adopted Bulbasaur. The grass starter’s personality was mellow—a stark foil to a rambunctious young (Y/n). Even so, they were a match bound by Arceus. When they weren’t busy climbing the ranks, the two would drop by Postwick and entertain his antics. Sometimes they’d even go on capers much to his mother’s worry.

It was at one point that an attempt at lake fishing almost yanked him into the water. If it weren’t for (Y/n) and Poppy’s assistance, Hop couldn’t help but to think the situation would’ve taken a turn for the worse. That encounter was when they had met Briggs, an odd little Wooper who had gotten tangled in the line. The battle that ensued and the capture that followed made an impression on his kid self. It was when the League began to get more challenging that Poppy and Briggs evolved. They had grown stronger and the conscious fear of hurting the boy wasn’t a risk (Y/n) was willing to take.

The memory was bittersweet; a nice glimpse back in time when life was simpler, but it was also a reminder of restriction—something Hop was all too happy to have less of.

“Hey, d’you know if they still like feather toys?” (Y/n) guffaws at the inquiry.

“Seriously, Hop?”

“Yeah! What of it, mate? I’m trying to relive the good times, here!”

                The sky was blackened by night and the two remained in the lab. (Y/n) had since returned their pokémon to their pokéballs and continued to talk with Hop, telling him about their time outside of Galar. Despite often speaking about their excursions on call, the teen would always want to hear more. Today was no exception.

“I’ve been traveling between Hoenn and Kalos for the past few months.”

“Sounds rough. I guess it must be important for you to go through that.”

“Yeah…” (Y/n) drawls before a hefty yawn rips from their throat. “I’ve been helping both Professor Birch and Sycamore conduct research about this phenomenon called Mega Evolution.”

The terminology appears to enliven Hop, a contrast to how weary he looked previously. He had only ever heard about Mega Evolution in passing, so any chance of learning more was a plus. Reclined in the seat across from them, curious amber eyes urge (Y/n) to continue.

“Not a lot is known about the subject aside from whatever sparse records we have. However, what we do know is that a pokémon’s bond with their trainer is very integral to their development—so much so that they are capable of evolving further than we originally thought.”

“Woah! That sounds awesome! Have you guys found out anything else?”

“Unfortunately not. We’ve explored different ruins and studied many relics, but there just doesn’t seem to be enough information to make anything concrete.” He responds with a sympathetic hum.

“That’s just by case of piecing together a substantial timeline, though. We know of almost 50 pokémon that can Mega Evolve.” They say it like it’s no big deal but Hop begs to differ.

“W-huh?! That’s great news! Who cares about the timeline??” (Y/n) couldn’t help but to chortle.

“Hey now. Give timelines a little more credit. If we knew more about the origin of this drastic change then maybe we’d know of more than 50.”

A moment of silence passes and another yawn leaves (Y/n). Perhaps yawns were contagious because Hop lets out his own seconds later. Maybe it was time to wrap up this reunion for now. Still, they had a request to make before they called it a day.

“Alright, kiddo. I think I’m gonna hit the hay, but I have a question I’ve yet to ask.”

“Hmm? What’s up?”

“How’s your brother?”

“Lee? He’s alright. Why?”

“Haven’t really heard from him in a while.”

“Really? He’s usually on top of things, but I guess he’s busy. If I’ll be honest, I haven’t seen him much lately either. Lately, he’s been going to work early and coming home late. Maybe something important is keeping him up?”

“I’d say that that’s not healthy, but who am I to say that. I can’t even take my own advice.” (Y/n) shakes their head.

“Anyway, the reason why I ask is because Charizard happens to be one of the known pokémon capable of Mega Evolving. It actually have two different forms surprisingly enough.”

“No way.”

“Yeah dude.”

(Y/n) swiftly reaches into a different compartment of their trainer bag to pull out what appeared to be a golden brooch. The prominent jewel in the center of the accessory glistened with the colors of the rainbow its luster shining brightly underneath the light. (Y/n) moves to pull out another jewel, but this one’s attached to a golden necklace. The colors are also different, taking on the colors of black and blue.

“These are a Key Stone and Charizardite X, items worn to trigger Mega Evolution.” They carefully hand the items over to Hop to which he takes in kind, as if he were scared he’d break them.

“When you see him, just hand ‘em off. If he doesn’t already know what they are then don’t tell him. And if he asks who they’re from don’t tell him that either.”

“(Y/n), you’re scaring me. What is this, some kind of back ally deal? Why can’t I tell him that they’re from you?”

“It’s too late. If Leon knew that I was here, I don’t think he’d hesitate to track me down and I want to sleep.” Hop wanted to argue but they both knew they were right.

“You don’t have to tell him today. Tell him tomorrow,” (Y/n) drowsily checks their Rotom Phone. “Or rather later in the morning. It’s past midnight.” Hop gasps.

“We’ve been here too long! I have to get home!” The teen secures the stones in his jacket before grabbing the lab door keys. (Y/n) follows him out the door as he turns off the overhead lights and fixes the door tight. He turns to the older once again.

“Where are you staying?”

“I’m gonna kick it at the pokémon center down the road. I still have yet to give Sonia and Prof. Mags a visit. I’ll likely be over at their pad bright n’ early.”

“Cool. Send me a notif and I’ll be there. Let’s make this a reunion a good one.”

“Ha. If your reaction was anything to go by, it won’t just be a good reunion. It’ll be a great one.” Giving Hop a hearty pat on the back, they nod down Route One from where they currently stood.

“You go get some shut eye. I don’t want to hear you complaining about being tired tomorrow. Tell your mom I said hi.”

“Will do. See you tomorrow then.” With a quick goodbye hug, the teen turns to leave and (Y/n) assumes their destination to the pokémon center.

                The road to Postwick from Wedgehurst is a short one, so Hop makes it home in no time at all. Entering his abode, he takes a deep breath and exhales as he removes his shoes at the door. His bright eyes look over the living room. To his relief, no one was downstairs. Though luck is not on his side when he moves to make his way upstairs, to which he is effectively blocked.

“Hop, it’s super late! Where were you?” The mix of worry and relief was evident in Leon’s voice, but the look on his face showed that he was evidently peeved.

“At the lab. I got held up, it’s not like I was going places I wasn’t supposed to.” He rolls his eyes. The younger understood why the older would worry, but he could take care of himself fine. Leon scrutinizes Hop. The answer wasn’t good enough for him, but he’d give his little bro the benefit of the doubt. He sighs.

“Hey, it’s fine. Just say something next time so you won’t give mum and I a heart attack. Alright?”

“Yeah. My bad…” Hop half-heartedly apologizes. Nevertheless, it seems enough for Leon as he moves for Hop to pass and ascend the steps.

“Oh. I almost forgot.” Hop stops before he reaches the top. He reaches in his pocket and pulls out the Key Stone and Charizardite passing them to Leon. The former champ gingerly takes them in his hands before briefly inspecting them. They looked oddy familiar, but he just couldn’t remember where he had seen them before.

“It’s a little gift for you and Charizard. Take good care of ‘em.” Turning to reach the end of the stairs, Leon gives him pause with a question.

“A gift from who?” Hop smirks, a small puff of laughter leaves his lips. Looking over his shoulder to give his sibling a knowing smile he answers.

“I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

Leon was left to guess as his eyes followed Hop retreat to his room. Just what exactly had he been up to?

[revengeoftheantichrist]

Seven Devils

Warnings: death

AO3  <<<Previous

Day 5

You woke up screaming. Looking around you didn’t immediately recognise where you were, throwing your sheets of and trying to get out of bed. One of the sisters rushed over to you to calm you down. “where… where’s Claire? Is she okay? Where am I?” you asked frantically. The sister continued to calm you down, informing you that you were in the infirmary and Claire was asleep in the dorms. You were found passed out in one of the old chapels, no one could explain how you got there. The sun had yet to rise, the sister encouraging you to go back to sleep for a few more hours. //// You woke up again, this time in the afternoon. Due to your wandering making you impossible to find, you were to be kept under watch by a sister, in case something happened. You currently sat in the library; you had gravitated towards this seat as soon as you entered the room. The book on the table in front of you had something to do with the history of the convent. You began to flip through the pages, hoping something would stand out to you. “The book isn’t written in English, do you want me to explain the history to you,” the sister watching you asked. You nodded, wanting the human contact. “Most of the convent was rebuilt because of a great fire.” “A fire? What happened? Did everyone survive?” you leaned into the conversation. “No one knows how it started. Some say a stray alter candle, some say it was intentional.” You wondered who would want to set a convent on fire. “As for the survivors,” she began to explain, “it was one of the miracles of St. Y/N. She had a dream that there was to be a fire, so she managed to get the sisters out before they were incinerated.” “What happened to the saint?” you asked. “She didn’t make it. She was found below the tree in the courtyard, the one with poisonous fruit. The story goes that she fought the devil and won, but he took her life in his anger. They say her soul rests within the tree itself and that’s why on a quiet day, you may hear a heartbeat.” You weren’t sure if you believed in God, but you were sure your belief in the devil got stronger every day. The sister continued to tell you the story, “Even the design of the convent is thanks to St. Y/N. She spent hours meticulously drawing up plans inspired by the divine. She made sure one of the sisters at the time left the burning convent with the plans. It is one of her other official miracles actually. Not a bad thing has happened in here since.” “The only fatality made such an impact,” you whispered. “Only? No there was one other death.” Your brows knitted in confusion; this was a new element to the story. “The Monseigneur at the time was also said to have perished in the fire. Apparently, he was deep in prayer. Most of his remains were incinerated however, not much of him was found.” “Michael,” you whispered. The sister gave you a confused look, “Yes, that was his name, how do you know.” You scrambled around for the answer, “Oh I think I heard someone speak about it.” You were not going to tell her that you saw the man in your dreams. ////

Your muscles had gone stiff from all that sitting down. The copious amounts of flies in the room were also bothering you. You had asked if you could walk around the courtyard and promised to return. You cracked your joints while heading out, trying to get rid of the stiffness. You closed your eyes as the cool, early evening air hit you. The sun would set soon, and you wanted to enjoy the outside while you could. This trip had to be the worst thing you had ever done, and you were going to give your parents an earful when you returned. You admired the flowers and their bright colours, swatting away the flies to get a good sniff of their sweetness. You stood and made your way to the centre of the courtyard, trying to listen for that heartbeat again. As you got closer to the tree, you thought you saw someone lying beneath it. Now was not the time to take a nap. You got closer and recognised the face, it was Claire. “Why are you taking a nap here?” you spoke to her, facing away slightly to avoid the suns glare. She didn’t reply. “Hey, I’m talking to you.” You kicked her slightly to wake her up. Instead, she fell limp to her side, an apple from the tree rolling away. It had been bitten. You quickly got down to help her up. You were met with a wide, glassy gaze. Her eyes were lifeless, their vibrant colour had faded. Flies had begun to eat at her face, starting at the remnants of the juice left by the fruit when she took a bite. It took you a while to comprehend the situation. Your mind flashed back to the first day here, the warning given to not eat the poisonous fruit. “WAKE UP Claire! Please … please wake up,” your mind processing what you didn’t want to accept. You screamed for help. Your voice cracking from the consistent screaming. the next few minutes went by in a blur. A sister checked her pulse and shook her head. You became hysterical, screaming something you could not remember, having to be pulled away by staff members. You had gone numb. You felt like you were underwater. Everything was muffled and nothing made sense. //// You had no idea how much time had passed when you were all called to stand outside for an announcement. “It is with the greatest sorrow, that I have to announce the passing of a dear friend and student.” The crowd gasped and began to murmur. “she was a wonderful student, a pillar of our community and the loss will leave a hole in our hearts.” Sister Y/N looked around as she snapped out of her daze, no longer paying attention to the mother superiors words echoing off the stone walls. Stone walls? She looked around confused. She could have sworn that they were all standing outside a minuet ago. This upset her even further. Was she really losing touch with reality now? She tried not to dwell on it too much, she had already been hysterical in front of these sisters more than once. Her puffy eyes and dry lips showed for it. She would keep her mourning private now. //// In her private grief, Sister Y/N spent more time in the run-down chapel, alone. The repairs would have to wait a while. Her days were spent in prayer or just staring at the wall, the numbness did not allow for anything else. Her daily routine was interrupted by the door creaking open. She knew who it was, the footsteps and expensive scent gave him away. She hadn’t seen him since the funeral. he walked into her line of vision, looking her up and down. “You poor thing,” he whispered “look at the state of yourself. One may think you were the corpse,” he chuckled. You didn’t find it funny. “Look at me Y/N” he gently held her face with an unwanted tenderness. Sister Y/n tried to fight the warmth from his touch. “I can take this all away. You know I can.” His thumbs gently stroked her cheekbones. “I can save you from drowning in this grief, offer you salvation of the highest kind.” He sat down next to her, face still in his hands. “All you have to do is come to me. Seek me out. Let me be the light in your darkness and I shall offer you eternal bliss.” His voice was low, barely echoing through the crumbling structure. The offer was enticing, what did she need all these negative emotions for anyway? Hadn’t she suffered enough? Maybe this was god’s way of offering her salvation. Before she could consider his offer any further, the softness of his hands began to feel sticky. The image of those very hands stuffing a body under the bed flashed through her mind. It was like a cat leaving a macabre gift for its owner. She quickly pulled his hands off her, not giving him any time to react as she ran from the room. She headed straight for her room, the one she hadn’t entered in days. Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the door. The room was now almost empty, only her bed and belongings remaining. All traces of her friend had, been erased. She sat on her bed staring at the empty void left behind. Her nose stung with the tears she tried to hold in. When she was younger, she would have turned to her mother for comfort. That was no longer possible. All she had left of her now was old letters and annotated grimoires detailing herbal practices. She opened her drawer and pulled a box out. She ran her finger over every groove in the wood, each intricate carving meant something. It was all protection spells, keeping her secret safe and only allowing her to open the box. Seeing her mother’s handwriting calmed her down, flipping through the pages and reliving some of the happier memories from her childhood. She would do anything to return to the cottage in the woods, where the summer breeze carried the scent of wildflowers and the sounds of the steam would lull her to sleep. Her mother’s humour carried on throughout her writing, leaving little notes as if she knew she wouldn’t be there when Y/N would need her. A she flicked through the book, one of her notes stood out to her: ‘Dear child, I must tell you never to trust beautiful men. Especially those with hair of spun gold and eyes of sapphire. They are almost never human. If you’re lucky he may be one of the fair folk. However, if God has forsaken you, he may well just be the devil’ The devil? Sister Y/N lay down and stared at the ceiling. The more she thought about it, the more the cogs turned. Maybe she was looking too much into it, trying to find something to blame for the terrible few months she was having. But then again, only the devil would parade around like a messiah, offering an illusion to those unhappy with the cards they were dealt in life. She got out of bed to grab her other books. Maybe this we her final test from God, to conquer the devil that had haunted these holy halls.

Next>>>

[deductionking-a]

Nightmare: Snowy dies.

me @ me let the man live gdi. 

Movement rarely progressed her steps. She moved about lightly, scarcely as if it was a chore to lift up her body. Noises did not beseech her indicating a happy mood -- whines escaped, instead, a different product of breathing was also acknowledged, slowly did her inhale and exhale with each passing moment he watched her. He didn’t know what he did wrong -- he couldn’t tell what he could do -- Snowy’s behavior was strange, worryingly perplexing. Perhaps she ate too fast -- ? Did she ingest something she was not supposed to -- ? Don’t tell him she ended up getting into his experimental chemicals -- ! The second the thought invaded his personal peace, he quickly rushed over and looked over his possessions to assure himself. ................No.            She didn’t. Everything was in place. He was sure he left them out of reach. Good. While he was there, he glimpsed over other areas to ascertain nothing she got into was messed with -- it was an ease, but not a major one off of his chest.                   She wasn’t poisoned. At least, he didn’t fully succumbed to the belief she was now that he listed out the highest chance that inflicted her condition. Was she going to be okay -- ? Sherlock hadn’t heard any concerning noises from her yesterday, not that he demands her to linger silent at night, she would either be occupied in his room or Iris’s, there was no need for her to be alone, thus why he thought of it as strange her attention span was low, her detection to notice anyone passing by her was not as quick as he perfectly recalled it being previously. There had naught been a sight nor indication she was hurt, otherwise iron laced the room -- he did not confirm such a thing existing outside of her system. He himself could find himself at a panic. She was fine yesterday -- ! She was giving him all sorts of attention, eating just fine, drinking, going outside, sleeping fine. Everything about her was good from what his extent of knowledge could tell him. She wasn’t that old either, no, quite the opposite, she was in a young age for her breed. She couldn’t be having troubles due to her age, she’d at least show some sort of warning before magically posing herself the way she did. No medical threats were told towards him once the detective received her -- could it be a possibility of a health issue degraded by breed? Her color? She was a pure white husky... where they more at a higher risk for health issues than the more common shades of fur you’d see on them -- ? He acknowledged the different forms one could have and the possibilities of it befalling one before he thought he was more than gradual to own one within his residence, unbeknownst to him her life span was going to be short in his eyes. Sherlock wished her a good, happy, long life as it would be accordingly fulfilled.  Not wishing to be left in the dark of her issue, he promptly brought up his phone and dialed his enlisted veterinarian, listing what he caught from her condition. The conversation was brief, he had to bring her to the office for a better look at her state. Quivering hands lifted his puppy up into his arms, he did not wish to stress her by placing her in a carrier, she would not be comfortable that way -- the distance was not that far, lucky him. So once he was fully prepared to leave, he set on his way.              Words were passed between the two parties whilst time passed of his visit. He could feel his chest ache the more and more he forced himself to listen -- biting his lip in tension, in nervousness as every other emotion in his possession went blank, numb, he wanted to cry, he wanted to ask why this was happening to him, lightly shaking -- listen to very annotation burned into his mind -- her status was indeed a health issue, none that could be cursed within a day, nor a week, month, years maybe but it was plausible if she lived that long to reach it -- she had infection within heart issues he had not been addressed. It was not evident to her previous owners as well, as she grown older, it worsen the more it was ignored for it did not trouble her in those times -- now it did. He felt like it was his fault -- he couldn’t see something was wrong with her, due to the lack of information, she could not reside in the world as she wanted amongst other dogs -- if he had known sooner, Sherlock would’ve had something done about it to the best of his ability. He didn’t want her to suffer like this, allow her to be continuous discomfort. Well he was given the choice to keep her alive in her remaining period this condition graced her -- or he could cut it short via euthanasia. -- a terrible choice he did not deduce he’d ever come to the conclusion of coming into the regrettable agreement of -- he hated it -- hated making hard choices, being considered one that could be rather indecisive but promptly making it up by putting alternative suggestions that were much better sounding than the last                                       --- here, it was not an possibility, it could, but it was very slim. Tears could not stop, he didn’t want to. Why -- ? Why couldn’t he have something that he held close to him before it was stripped away from him shortly? Why couldn’t she at least be with him until he perished? Why did she have to first? It wasn’t fair. The voice of his own was cracked, weak, unable to produce much noise as he more and more succumbed to the pain of sorrow, the impending factor he’d deal with grief, loss, unsure if he’d be able to see himself the way Snowy always saw him -- how she’d see him for the last time as her light ended up being snuffed out by his consent, his unwilling but needed decision. Once she was permanently stiff, limp, lifeless right before him, his sadness turned severe, he couldn’t breathe, crying turned into small sobbing, a mixture of sniffling, hiccuping, very muscle in his being given up on his -- his chest was under a weight that could not be easily pushed up, nearly thought of himself as suffocating. Awareness... the vision depicted by his current sight was being to blurry, a pitch-field of darkness. There was no noise he could gain from the scenario except for the sounds what this afflicted on him -- some.. motion digging at him, perceiving the small tone of whines separate from his own. It wasn’t coming from him, it was more closer than you’d hear from your own voice escaping your chords. His eyes shortly opened, burning from the essence tears appeared pouring down as the welcoming figure he firstly sought was...                                            -- Snowy. His puppy. She was still with him as he graced her with contact of pets, followed by jerking himself up and holding her close to him in a check what was reality and what was not, his breathe still shaky but he could do it more smoothly now. Thank God -- he exasperated softly -- it was a nightmare.

[thesinglesjukebox]

EMINEM - DARKNESS

[2.20]

We’ve come to talk about Em again...

Alfred Soto: Good lord -- an Eminem single called "Darkness," surprised yet? The Simon and Garfunkel interpolation and sound effects come off as cheap contexualizing for the sake of a bait-and-switch in which Em unmasks himself as Stephen Paddock. With critics paying renewed attention to the complexity of his flow, it's also worth stressing that ability tethered to self-pity deserves scorn. [4]

Brad Shoup: I swear to Christ I saw the title and knew he was gonna interpolate Simon and Garfunkel. But I also knew he and Royce were making their own "Six Feet Deep," and I was way off. Turns out it's a creative-writing assignment designed to keep the grader's pen dangling forever. What do you do with something detailed so painstakingly and painfully? The parallels Em draws are clever enough linguistically. (Has any song ever flattered Genius annotators more?) But the only ones that feel legit involve substance abuse. This is a megalomaniacal idea presented bashfully -- I should be grateful he isn't trying to do voice acting -- and framed thoughtlessly. The gunshots and screams are ghoulish enough without considering how the rest of his catalog uses them as cartoon gags. A fantastically bad idea that I will be thinking about for at least as long as the song's excruciating runtime. [5]

Kylo Nocom: Em forces the audience to endure his balladry, only to reveal that they were, like, empathizing with the Las Vegas shooter the entire time! The set-up is... intriguing (to call it "well-executed" feels like making another lame pun he'd squeeze in) yet it still sucks in many ways that don't even require public moral outcry: the sound effects spoil the twist way too early, his singing burps out remnants of emo rap, the beat samples fucking Simon & Garfunkel, and I still hate the sound of this guy's voice doing anything. To write any more on this feels like losing a game that Eminem will win -- a point he makes annoyingly often and remains true. But it's a shame that something meant to be poignant from the guy comes out as weak shock humor. [3]

Julian Axelrod: In theory, I'm not mad that Eminem is still trying to pivot to Social Commentary Anthems. I guess I'd rather hear him use his platform to wrestle with knotty issues than peddle stale punchlines about killing Honey Boo Boo or whatever. But what's really frustrating is Eminem's refusal to drop his gimmicks when it matters. You can't make a song about real life survivors and reference Saturday Night Fever. You can't condemn gun violence at festivals and condemn festival-goers concerned about gun violence. And regardless of the subject matter, you cannot punctuate a belabored alcohol-as-gun metaphor by muttering "Double entendre" like a sadistic, self-satisfied SparkNotes. That's the worst part: No one outside of Eminem's stanbase will be swayed by this, and very few within it will either. When will his reign of terror end? When no one cares. [0]

Isabel Cole: Oh, fuck you: for being tacky enough to open a limp-pulsing track called "Darkness" with a phrase that's been memed into meaninglessness and then marrying it to our particular American plague so that I feel irrationally bad about dismissing it with a flippant joke. But, fine, Eminem has put on his (boring, ill-fitting) big boy clothes, so let's do this. Being a grown-up, like being an artist, means being accountable for your choices, beginning with not just the choice to rap from the perspective of a mass shooter (although it's hard to imagine a level of artistic merit or political efficacy that would justify that decision), but specifically the choice of this shooter, this tragedy. It's easy to imagine why this particular incident would call to Eminem, from the infamy of the body count to the anxiety he must feel about the possibility of a similar event striking one of his own audiences. In choosing a mass murderer who remains so enigmatic, Eminem gets to dwell in the alleged mystery of violence, emphasizing its senselessness even to those who commit it. But it's more than the scale that makes that massacre unusual (although the scale also bears on the irresponsibility of his selection: come on, dude, how can you profess concern and not see yourself laying the groundwork for some other asshole to think "if I kill enough people someone famous will write a song about me?"); the perpetrator had no known history of domestic violence, but the majority of such men do. You can't talk about American violence without talking about American misogyny, and selecting a narrative that enables you to avoid the connection between the two marks you as someone with nothing to contribute to the conversation; implicitly generalizing this genderless narrative by layering news audio clips of shooting after shooting brings it from stupid to evil, emphasizing the pervasive danger of American culture now that men are dying too. This is of course particularly galling coming from goddamn Eminem, who has profited so handsomely from the commodification of violence against women. Galling partly because it retroactively dims whatever insights on the topic he may have laid claim to: rather than the inscrutable, almost mystical lost soul portrayed here, most of these men are something more like the narrator of "Love the Way You Lie" plus a couple years on the wrong parts of Reddit. He could have chosen to bridge that gap for his long-time listeners, to make the connection between hating the bitch who ruined your life and being self-centered enough to want to watch the world burn, but he didn't. Making me wonder what exactly he thought he was rapping about all those years, if he finds this form of violence so novel. [0]

Will Rivitz: I see Lin-Manuel's done away with his orchestra's string section. [2]

Andy Hutchins: The distance between "Hi, kids! Do you like violence? / Wanna see me stick nine-inch nails through each one of my eyelids?" and a three-verse double entendre that doesn't exactly strain itself to not sympathize with one of history's most nefarious mass murderers is not as far as one should probably walk in 20 years of life. A less clever rapper would not have found as many ways firearms buttress our vernacular; a cleverer one might have made this song about that instead of a five-minute trigger warning. A wiser one wouldn't have attempted this at all: Noble though the aim may be, there is no target audience here. [3]

Will Adams: Eminem stepping into the mind of a mass shooter is not surprising. Punctuating said narrative with in media res sound effects (shower curtains! pill bottles! loading clips! screams!), turning "The Sound of Silence" into a Talkboy sample, and making this shit five and a half minutes long? That takes extra chutzpah. [2]

Katherine St Asaph: I suspect the efforts to prevent copycat shootings were doomed ages ago, if not after Columbine then definitely after Rodger. Even if every mass shooter permanently closed off his chosen inspiration to all future comers, there are still enough sprees strewn throughout history -- hell, just through this millennium -- to produce years of trauma; and even if every media outlet declined to report shooters' names or manifestos, all of that would still circulate on chans and Discords (where they probably originated anyway) that any given proto-shooter is far more likely to read than the Associated Press, and infinitely more likely to trust. It's a failure of imagination: far easier to high-mindedly decline to acknowledge shootings than to reckon with them, to dissect and understand what makes them happen and more importantly what doesn't, and thus learn how to stop them. As a certain folk duo sang, silence like a cancer grows -- which brings us to Eminem's "Sound of Silence"-sampling, presumably cautionary foray into the Vegas shooter's mind. If your average caustic millennial isn't reading the mainstream news, he's definitely not listening to Eminem in 2020, and yet "Darkness" crumples under the burden of needing to not inspire anyone. The rapping is low-energy, the rhymes distractingly stiff or goofy -- trigger/convictions, booze/snooze -- the flow lumbering and often just bad. Where Disturbed heightened "The Sound of Silence" to Game of Thrones grandeur, Em and Royce -- perhaps building on a popular mashup -- desiccates it. The arrangement is the midpoint of Alex da Kid and "Teardrop": a smothering quicksand, meant to drag listeners into inertia and keep them there. (For all the gunshots-and-cussing masculinity of this, the piano loop reminds me most of Sarah Brightman's cover of "Scarborough Fair": delicately hypnotic.) Eminem conveys neither Slim Shady's glee nor "Love the Way You Lie"'s visceral anger, nor much but a morose slog, but give him this: It is mostly impossible to imagine someone hearing "Darkness" and buying a gun. Mostly. Why, if you're aiming not to inspire, would you musically accompany the killing-spree verse by finally moving past line two of "The Sound of Silence," to where the melody gratifyingly blooms upward? The vodka bottles in the video -- the lyrics' metaphorical gun, shown in appealing product-placement close-up -- are thankfully fake prop brands -- but then why do the close-ups at all? Most tellingly, Eminem chooses one of the few shooters with no manifesto to disseminate and few known motivations. Whether that's out of a desire to avoid spreading the truly hateful shit (which would be a recent development), to avoid the issue in general, or just to play the guy with the biggest body count, it means he gets away with lines like "you'll never find a motive, truth is I have no idea" instead of engaging with the specific kind of nihilism shooters are all too happy to tell you about -- a nihilism that is, in some part, his creation. When will this end? When enough people care what "this" is. Begrudging point for the part where, after Eminem says "magazines," the video cuts to actual magazines, like the glossy paper kind: the best trolling he's done in years, specifically of the sort of gunfuckers who were already halfway through a comment about him saying "clips." I suppose it's not the bleakest way he's made people laugh. [3]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: At one point Eminem had the capacity to make jokes. He's way funnier here, his faux-double entendres and sampha-soundalike Simon and Garfunkel interpolation adding up to something so maudlin and obvious that it's almost impossible to listen to as serious political rap. It's not even disgusting. [0]

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