#hate it when the media where I live mentions the horrors beyond the wall and everyone is like hell yeah well done our great and moral army

[maskedrabbit9]

"don't be depressed, you have food, water and roof over your head, there are people starving" look at me. look at me really good. why the hell do you think I'm depressed you fuck.

Disclaimer: there are many causes and reasons to be depressed, and this thing that people say is ridiculous for all of them.

[scriptaed]

Ink Nemesis Finale

Genre: Angst/Fluff || paparazzi!au; fake dating!au;

Pairing: Reader x Yoongi

Length: 9.1k;

Synopsis: As an aspiring writer drowning under the public’s radar, a click of the pen is all you need to accept your supervisor’s offer to co-write an article for the SS - Secrets Spilled, a regular section of your company’s weekly tabloid; but fabricated stories and invasive details aren’t all that you write when you discover Min Yoongi’s dirty little secret. 

A/N: First off, I want to thank everyone who read/reads this series. This may not be my most “popular” work, but it’s one that I will always be proud of. If it weren’t for you guys who always encouraged me to write whatever I wanted to write, I would most certainly not be here writing today. A whole two years since I started this series and there are still some of you patiently waiting for an update. I’m floored. This message and this finale are all that I can give you but I hope you know your care for me as a human and not a robot who happens to write means more to me than words can express. Whenever I feel myself straying from my real reasons for writing, I will recall this fic and all the messages of support you guys sent me... and for those who have no idea what I’m saying: the feelings the mc goes through in this fic is a reflection of my own. Words were my only way of spilling my heart when I went through a hard time last year, so this series is my form of an open book that explains why I took a break. If you still have no idea what I’m saying: enjoy the finale! c:

 Life has its own twisted ways with irony. One minute, allies would swear allegiance to your fickle heart; and in another minute, you would be trembling in horror, for your arch nemesis had infiltrated your walls under their own wicked disguise. For better or for worse, the most betraying and hard-hitting realization dawns upon you one storm too late… maybe, and just perhaps maybe, friends and foes are merely two sides of the same coin, plotting and pulling the strings behind the scenes that would prove to be your final downfall; and if there’s anything you’ve despised the most in life, it would be the eerily identical lessons both your greatest allies and enemies have incessantly and irrevocably ingrained within you.

One, time can heal even the deepest of wounds and the nastiest of scars. 

...but they don’t know the depth and length of which your gaping wounds run. Enemies don’t know the scars that transcend through time and the way it lurks at every corner and creeps into your veins, until the time when you finally notice is one epiphany too late and the trauma has already rooted itself into your daily life for perpetuity. No one but you can really gauge how long it would take for you to recover from your falls—or if you ever would, that is. Because right now, sitting here with a flesh wound in a gaping heart, you could only attest to this: pain ages like fine wine.

Two, people can recognize their mistakes and change for the better. 

…or at least that’s what optimists like to tell themselves; but the reality is, in your cold albeit truthful experience, people can only change to an extent. You were still bitter, you were still self-serving, you were still every bit of that wicked woman whom had spoiled your relationships and woken you with cold sweat in the middle of your nightmares-come-reality. Surely, the woman had been forcefully tranquilized under your hands, but her tracks remain like crimson stains on the purest of snowfalls. You can feel it every so often. From time to time, you can feel her peeping one of those bewitched, scarlet eyes of hers, threatening to awaken if it weren’t for your honed abilities to quell the scorching fire. She remains in you, an innate and inevitable part of you, but your chains around her neck keep her tethered and you from another episode. 

So how exactly, you would like to inquire from both friends and foes, have you changed? 

Evidently not much—that, you can answer, for your days of woe remain painfully prevalent even as you sit here, one year into a nightmare that you just can’t seem to awake from, mulling over how differently things would have played out between you and him, wondering what he was doing and what he had immersed himself into this time around, and pondering for days over whether he ever sat down in a chair and stared off into the distance as you do now, wondering over you? 

Because you can still see the glaring television screen reflecting off your bloodshot, strained eyes in the midst of the pitch black bedroom, even as your head rolls back onto the chair and your stare meets the grotesque white-blue lights lining the office ceiling. You can still feel your heart wince—once at the sight of him and twice at the mention of his name. His cold hands that once brushed against yours and the serenity of his dark eyes that once gazed into your soul still manage to warm you, even from this distance, even after all this time. His absence is like a gaping wound, looming over you like vengeful apparitions that taunt you throughout the day. The ache in your chest is sheer proof of the truth you’ve always denied but can’t seem to let go. 

Recently, you’ve found yourself dubious over the disguise of your next enemy. The twisting pain you had once suffered had long submerged into a pool of longing, a bittersweet melody that has you reminiscing over the past that you could never relive. He made you face your deepest fears. He was the aftermath of your own reflection, a living proof that you could survive the hellish consequences that came with the search and capture of success. He assumed the guardian he wished he could have had during his own struggles, shielding you from paths that would lead to dead ends amidst the forks in the road. His curt methods were burdensome and grueling to your heart, but in retrospect and even during that moment in time, something in you knew he meant well. He always did. 

Because even through all the struggle he had put you through, be it unwanted fame, attention, and self-reflection, you could only remember the magical days when sparks flew between you two and your heart raced itself into trouble as you swore to yourself he was the one. Because even now, you still long for his touch, for his voice, for anything that could convey to you that he was still here.

Even if he isn’t.

In the mean time, Solji has been the sole remaining connection you’ve had to the outside world. Only a week had passed after your downfall, when you were so sure no one would return and no one cared enough for your wellbeing, when your self-proclaimed friends proved to be merely colleagues by obligation and your short-lived rocky friendship with Xiao Lin became one beyond salvation, when your heart crushed and your soul shattered in the silence of the one whomst should have been the one brewing the loudest storms, the one you had once declared your lover, Solji was the one to demolish the locks to your gates, even as you so incessantly refused to comply. 

Weeks into the aftermath, Solji brought you food and water, but most crucially, a shoulder to cry on. You had initially denied her aiding hand out of utter shame. Who were you to ask for help from the very person whose trust you had broken? Who were you, after pointing an accusing finger at for betraying your trust, to accept her help? Solji was the last person you should have questioned. Moreover, she never should have been in the list in the first place and her unconditional loyalty, even as you lifelessly watched her clean your room as you lay in your stench of a bed, was clear proof to that attestment—and that glaring truth only humiliates you further. 

It took weeks, nearly two months, for you to willingly begin recuperation. The process was slow and damn difficult. Your motivation was lacking, because at that point you figured what was the point when everyone hated you including yourself? But the one person who held the last glimmer of hope in a time when you could no longer see the end of the tunnel was Solji. 

Day by day, you found one more reason to get up in the morning. Week by week, you found yourself longing for self-indulgence, whether it be channeled through food or hobbies. It took well over two months for the time to arrive when you finally find yourself seated at your desk, staring at your favorite fountain pen and piles of paper that you recognize the reflection in the mirror. 

A writer—your identity, your passion, your reason for being. 

But even if you longed for the day when you could write to your heart’s desire, when you relish in the strikes and crosses and strokes of the pen scraping with certainty and conviction against the paper, and when you could heave a sigh of content at the universe you created in the palms of your head after hours upon hours of concentration whilst in an unbreakable zone, you could no longer relive those days without the clouds that loomed over your conscience. 

Guilt—writing was your ally turned foe, what had once been your media for self expression had manifested into a ruthless weapon for retaliation against those who wronged you. 

Fear—writing brought you the highest joys, but the thought of having to relive the experience of its loss once again freezes your soul. 

Shame—writing was your knife, words were your blades, and before you knew it, you were the villain of your greatest tales, sneering in satisfaction at your beloved’s blood that stains your hands and salivating wickedly at the gaping hole left in his heart as he gazes at you in utter betrayal under the hands of his own love. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to write anymore. 

You just couldn’t write anymore.

Solji had suggested fleeing the barred prison that was your apartment, where every corner laid a fragment of a cherished memory that only furthered your pain, and taking refuge elsewhere. As expected in hindsight and surprisingly in your previously hazed mindset, Solji’s advice was just one more step toward recovery. Nine months away from home were enough for your getaway where you would no longer clutch your chest at every reminder and thought of the incident. Nine months away were enough for you to finally reflect on your mistakes head on. Nine months were enough for you to lock yourself in your apartment and dive head-first into your long-lived passion for the remainder of the year.

...but even after all the trials and tribulations, nine months weren’t enough to forget him.

Drowned by your recollection of the whirlwind that was last year, your mind finally shrieks for help as you rise to the water’s surface only to find yourself twirling around and around in a dizzying cycle. The cold white lights of the office was blinding, freezing even. The soul of every living being in the room must have been drained to power these accursed lights, you surmise so surely, willing to bet your life on it… not that it’s exactly a bad thing. 

For one, at least you could revel in the fact that you were no longer subject to the torture that your fake colleagues are at the moment. And for another, said colleagues had left you unscathed as you had ventured into the depths of the building. Maybe they had forgotten you. Maybe they never really cared for you unless they could instigate some reaction from you that they once so cruelly found amusement in. Or maybe you just didn’t give enough of a damn anymore to care what they thought—that… that brings a smile to your face. 

Just one more fucking sign of liberation. 

Heels come tapping against the floor and you whip upright to face your beloved friend. You hadn’t seen Solji in over a month since you had last locked yourself in your room in the name of literature. Blood rushes from your head under the hands of gravity and a sense of queasy twirls descend into your stomach. 

“Oh, Y/N, you’re here,” Solji coos, smiling as she spins you around on her chair, “how are you doing? And yes, I already know your answer after all these years of witnessing your bad writing habits, but I’m still going to ask out of courtesy. Are you eating well? Sleeping enough?”

“Well, as you know, I’m somewhat sleep deprived, somewhat self-gratified, not nearly satisfied, but…  at the very least I’m alive, even if my eyes burn and my lips chap,” you pause after the two of you share a short-lived laugh, eyes sinking to the floor before you muster the courage to point a thumb over your shoulder and at the computer screen behind you, “so, um, what’s this about?”

An uncomfortable silence stills the air when Solji arches a brow only to let in an inaudible gasp as she peers at the computer screen behind you.  

“Oh, Y/N, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to find out like this. I called you over to tell you properly, but I guess you beat me to the chase,” Solji prims lopsidedly. 

Her hesitation to proceed manifests in the hitch of her intaking breaths, probably mulling over her next words as she observes every emotion that flickers across your face—a tinge of betrayal, mostly disappointment, perhaps even a bit belligerent, but most of all, hopeful. A puff of air leaves her when she notices the light at the end of your tunnel vision eyes, eyes widening as she crosses her chest. That being said, it still amuses you how often she’d tip-toe around the incident last year, for fear of catalyzing another mental breakdown. 

“You see, after seeing how much... negativity the SS brought you last year… and after realizing how far this site has strayed from my initial intentions of supporting an upcoming boy group and how it’s turned into this monster of a toxic tabloid, just hunting down these poor boys like they’re animals at a zoo, I made the final decision to close it down.”

After you had treated Yoongi like an animal for your own gain—the thought still stings you with guilt. Solji had advised you that time would heal the pain just a month in the aftermath of the storm, but now that you’re finally here, one year later, you find yourself caged in the eye of the storm. 

“Oh, no. It’s toxic, no doubt about that,” you nod absentmindedly just as you’ve always done, disregarding the split second of a wince. Numbness has been the only effective coping mechanism since he left. “It was a good decision.”

This is your fault. Solji’s first piece of work, first treasures she had the gratification of grooming and growing into prized jewels envied by all, like the children that were your every written work, now put to eternal slumber because of your mishandled outbreak. 

“This decision was inevitable, Y/N,” she speaks softly but firmly, reminding you like she has dozens of times in the past year, “the SS is innately toxic and I’m going to put an end to it. It’s not your fault. Remember that, Y/N.”

Blinking blankly at her, you take a deep breath and sigh heavily—but the weights on your shoulder remain ever the more prevalent. “It’s hard to tell myself that when the person I need to hear it from the most despises my guts, but yeah, I’ll try.”

“Don’t say that…” Solji murmurs, swiftly striding forward to take your hands into her own soft ones. Squatting down, she meets you at eye-level. “Has—” she hesitates in the midst of her tracks “—he, not contacted you at all?” 

She avoids his name at all costs but that only makes you more aware of the pain that gnaws at your chest.

“Who? Oh, Yoongi? No, he’s probably too busy doing what celebrities do, you know? TV appearances, award ceremonies, and all that... ” you feign nonchalance that elicits a look of concern from your motherly friend. Shaking your head, you shrug; but just as quickly as your shoulders rise, your shoulders descend, seemingly monumentally heavier, as dejection dawns upon every inch of you. A familiar feeling of despair returns and all purpose to compose yourself leaks from the fading smile stitched to your lips… because what’s the point of pretending anymore? Swallowing the smidge of pride you had left, you let your eyes fall to the floor just as your spirit has. Your words come out meekly—you’re not even sure if you were speaking, for all you could sense is the slight slur of your tongue and tips of your grazing lips. “No… he hasn’t, no.” 

“He hasn’t called you since he left? Or even texted you?” 

Her voice crescendos under the hands of her wrath; but to you, her anger is an afterthought, a shadow to her deduction, because hearing her put your worst realizations into words, as if forcing you to acknowledge the harsh reality, hurts you the most. You don’t want to give up. It’s foolish. You don’t even deserve this privilege. But still. You don’t want to let go. 

After all, despite all the harassment and bombardment from feverish fans and news outlets, isn’t that the reason why you begrudgingly kept your phone number? Foolishly and helplessly waiting for his and his name to light up your screen someday? 

Clutching your phone tightly in your grips until it turns a numbish white, it takes all the strength in you to shake your head, “no, I haven’t heard anything from him since.”

You knew this would happen. What else did you deserve after betraying him. He already had trouble expressing himself outside the music realm; and yet, after he had so faithfully entrusted you with his secrets and vulnerability, you reminded him of all the reasons why he had hid from the world in the first place. This is what you deserve: radio silence.

But you just don’t think you can voice it out to Solji. 

Not without cracking your voice and tumbling into an unstable mess, that is. 

Observing your slow descent, Solji hastily squeezes your hand with a voice that rings of the only cheer you’ve heard in months. “Hey, what about that message we worked on putting together?”

“I don’t know,” you mutter. “I’m too scared to check.”

“...Y/N, I’m sure he’ll come around,” she finally manages to say after a long pause. 

The more she says that, the harder it becomes to believe. At this point, you find no resolve to refute her utterly gullible implications. Pressing your lips into a thin line and routinely nodding your head, you look off into the distance beside you, waiting uncomfortably for her to untether you from her vigilance. As a seasoned professional around you, your lack of eye contact speaks volumes to her and the looming clouds seemingly spread its wings onto your friend. How cruel is it that happiness is limited, yet guilt seems to be boundless? You know you’re being a drag to your friend, so why does she even bother? It only makes you guiltier. 

Her smile, on the other hand, has other plans, as it shoos the gray shadows away and out of her cubicle just as her hand on your shoulder brings light to your vision—and suddenly, as you peer up to find those vibrant, orange locks and cheek-raised smile of hers, it’s almost as if someone had swapped your icy cold, blue filters for a warmer, more welcoming gold. It’s relieving, really, to have someone there for you unconditionally. 

“And if he doesn’t, then I guess it’s his loss and my gain. I get to have you all to myself!” she chimes likened to a kid with her favorite toy, and before you know it, she has you by the hands and pulls you to your feet as wind is knocked from your lungs. “C’mon, let’s go get something from your favorite coffee shop down the street, yeah?”

Your mind runs blank for a second but your lips return her smile, as if by second nature. 

“...yeah,” you hum as she guides you through the labyrinth of cubicles and a gust of wind refreshes your hazy state. 

The familiar irking honks and running engines blast you back into reality, a reality in which you had once lived on the daily just a year ago. Writing was your hobby, your everything, and yet, it crippled you, pained you, betrayed you. Sometimes the things you hold closest are the most dangerous of all and you learned that the hard way; but as Solji squeezes your hand and tosses her head back to check that you were in fact still present and somewhat well, her hair twirling in the wind and her eyes forming crescents, your heart welcomes you home once again. If holding her close would endanger you to further heartbreak down the road, you know she’s worth every ache. 

“Hey, Solji?”

“Hm?” she twirls around once you two reach the crosswalk and await for the green light. After noticing the glimmer in your softened eyes that watch her with utter admiration, she shudders with a scoff. “What now? You want me to pay for you drink, too?”

“No,” you pout, hooking your arms to her own crossed ones and swaying her side to side. “I just wanted to thank you.” 

“What is this about?” you can feel her cringing through her titters. “Why are you suddenly acting like this? I thought you were still in the dumps!” 

“I am! But not as much now that you’re with me,” you coo, clearly amused enough by her reaction that you almost convince yourself to rub a cheek against her face; but instead, you choose to cradle your head into the crook of her neck. 

“You silly girl,” she scolds, slapping the top of your head before settling into a soothing pat. “I’ll always be there for you.”

“Really?” you lift your head like a pleasantly surprised child and she frowns amusedly at the smile on your face. “You promise?”

“Promise? I need to promise you?” she gapes, baffled enough to slap you once again on the head. “Who else stayed by your side even after you abandoned them? Huh? I don’t see anyone! Tell me where—”

“—oh, there is one!” you exclaim and Solji whips her neck only to find you pointing at her right between her eyes. “She’s right here!” 

Your usual antics elicits a groan and a roll of the eyes from her. The lights turn green and you nearly trip over your feet trying to catch up to her sudden acceleration as she attempts to flee your side, ironically contrary to her latest proclamations. “Well,” she scolds lightly akin to a lecturing friend who worries over you like a mother, striding confidently and pridefully through the streets with your arms hooked around hers, “as long as you know who’s really there for you and who’s not.”

“I know, I know,” your remarks exude of sheer blissful gratitude as you lay your head against her shoulders and smile giddily to yourself. “Looove you, mom.”

“Ugh,” she scrunches her shoulders, “please don’t do that ever again.”

Hands buried in your pocket and bare face exposed to the cold winds of winter, the thumps of your fuzzied heart is enough for you to acknowledge that you are alive. 

“Do what?” you quip. “Love you?”

Arm in arm with the widest smile that stretches from ear to ear, you swear your heart has at long last awakened once again; for at this very moment, you can finally feel. 

“Stop!” 

Perhaps you aren’t completely well. 

But you are alive and you know you still will be far down the road.

And for now? 

That’s more than enough.

-

The stirring of the alcohol settles in the back of your throat, your mind still slightly hazed as your friend plops you onto the couch and you could do nothing but flash a goofy grin at her frown.

“Soljiii, let’s get another drink,” you drawl. “You promised we would go bar hopping!” 

“Yes, you somehow convinced stupid me into taking you to a bar instead of a cafe, we bought you one drink, and now we hopped back to your apartment! See? Bar hopping,” she perks both hands up like a bunny, laughing at the scowl on your face. “You’re finally starting to feel better. I don’t want you to drink too much too soon. Ease your way back into it, alright?”

“I-I’m not even,” you pause because what exactly were you trying to say again—oh, right, “I’m not even that tipsy.”

Your friend narrows her eyes at you as she gathers her purse and coat. “...uhuh, well I prepped a bottle of water for you in the kitchen just in case. I’m almost late for my meeting, so I gotta go now. Call me if you need anything!” she shuffles to your door, throwing one last glance over her shoulder before departing. “And don’t go out on your own until you feel better, okay?” 

“Psh—” the door slams “—what am I? A baby?”  

Perhaps it’s the alcohol that runs through your veins or perhaps it’s the adrenaline after the first girl’s night out in a year, but nothing in you agrees to being locked within the confines of your cramped apartment. You need to distract yourself from wallowing in the dark, especially in your apartment, otherwise you’d face an all-too-predictable spiral into an abyss of self-pity. Jumping to your feet and stumbling toward the door, you hum a familiar tune that soothes the heart which aches in the wake of a high stuck in the deafening silence. You haven’t been able to pinpoint the origins of the tune that had pulled you through the sleepless nights and nightmarish days, but as you draw the door closed until just a crack between your doorframe and its lock remains, just enough for you to peak through at the disarranged sheets of your bed, and just long enough for you to gaze longingly at the two figures that lay in your bed eye-to-eye and arm-in-arm in a comfortable silence, an answer arrives and your heart is left with an unsettling stir.

The melancholic stain remains deeply rooted in tonight’s atmosphere and its intention to stay cements throughout the torturously lengthy night. You don’t realize it until you enter your elevator and press for the first floor that you notice the wall you had braced your heart with at every corner of your life. At some point in the last year, you had subconsciously defended yourself from the doleful memories that would reign your next few weeping nights. 

Because as you stand here in the elevator, eyes stuck to the closed gray doors and thoughts feigned to be preoccupied elsewhere, it’s impossible not to notice the couple that had once stood by you. With your hands tangled in his hair and his arms wrapped over your waist, pushing you against the wall before pressing for the doors to close and returning his hands to slide to the small of your back, you can still feel his thumbs rubbing circles into your hips. The electricity that sparked like fire between his lips and yours, the hastiness of his every touch that begged for the privacy of your room, and the worrying ache over spotting the daughter of a CEO that was drowned out by the waves of yearning and buried into the back of your mind like an extended dynamite persists to haunt you to this day. 

Because as you make your way out of the apartment and down the streets of the neighborhood, the gray hues of a sky shrouded by gloomy clouds on a winter evening seeps into the backdrop, fading into nonexistence just as quickly as speckles of sapphire blue bedazzled by gleaming stars paint night as day. There, just a block down from your apartment, the steps of your foot patter against the sidewalk, slowly and reluctantly, as if to prolong a moment beyond time’s capabilities. Your surroundings whirl around you in a blur and before you could desperately grasp for a break, you’re brought back into a fragment in time when he had taken initiative and held your hands in his for the first time, intertwining your fingers and guiding you home. Silently under the starry night, he declared his love for you. Electrified by the spur of the magical moment, you had confessed your greatest epiphany of falling in love. 

Because as you pass by your neighborhood and night returns to day, you can’t help but stare through the windows of a closed restaurant where Yoongi had once taken you on that one revisited night. You can still remember how he had insisted on taking you out, despite its risks and the potential dent in his career that you had ultimately caused in the end. You can recall staring at his hands on the table and hesitating to touch them but remaining curious nonetheless. There, next to that specific table in the corner of the store, he had lowered his walls and entrusted you with his heart. Music was his passion just as ink was your companion, but on that one fateful night, he was willing to share his greatest friend likened to handing the ultimate weapon to who would turn out to be his greatest foe—you. 

It seems as though the omnipotent universe finds amusement in your pain, for every corner down the street, you find it screaming at you to remember… to reminisce… to wallow in the pain that incessantly evolves and somehow paves its way into existence once again, just as you had nearly ridden yourself of the parasite. 

“Hey, isn’t that Y/N?”

You’re snapped back into reality when you hear someone whispering about. 

“Y/N, who?”

“You know,” a pair of girls point at you with masks over their lips, joining a frenzied crowd down the street, “the girl who dated Yoongi right before news broke out over him and that CEO’s daughter!”

The girl’s next reply is like a punch to the gut, “they broke up though, right?”

“Oh,” her friend scoffs, hooking an arm over the other and pulling her toward the havoc that was the crowd, “definitely.”

Right, you recall to yourself as you pull the neckline of your sweater over your nose, this was why you never walked outside anymore. The spotlight Yoongi’s fame had put on you never seemed to fade after all these months. You aren’t exactly surprised, though; because as a black car pulls up the sidewalk and the crowd descends into chaos, time slows, air stills, and you’re warped back in another episode of deja vu. Watching people scream by the grand entry of the boys, standing afar off to the side of the mayhem with a garment to conceal your identity, it’s almost as if you’re just another character in a tape put on replay. 

Not all fans are what they claim to be. 

They don’t care for your well-being. They only care if your actions served them under the right conditions set by their own selfish demands.

One day, you could be their whole world. 

Another day, you could be no one. 

His fans are no exception, a fact all too evident as you stare off into the distance where people collided and thrashed violently against one another all in hopes of screaming incomprehensible strings of words at the glamorous idols that suffered from the chaos that ensues. Cameras flashing, questions flying, and microphones shoved into their personal space, the scene is all too familiar to the night when you first met Yoongi and the news of your dating scandal shook the entire universe. 

“Whoa!” a girl yelps and you whip your head up only to find yourself collapsing onto the floor. Wind knocks out of your lungs and you heave for air, wincing at the stinging pain that vibrates from your bottom up. The girl, standing above you, spits, “hey, can you stand here in the middle of everything? You’re blocking our way.”

“Are you kidding me? You’re—”

“—oh, it’s you,” the girl gasps and a group of surrounding girls turn to stare at you in bewilderment. “Why are you here? Didn’t Yoongi dump your ass years ago? Or are you here to beg for him back?” 

“Wha—

—it’s okay, take a deep breath, you tell yourself even as you can feel yourself gradually descending into relapse. The darkness that settles into your grim composure and the bitterness that looms over you escapes your grasp as the enemy in you broke free. You have to control yourself. You can’t cause a commotion after all the trouble you’ve brought to Yoongi. The media had seemed to have finally forgotten his scandal between you and him, despite the numerous times his agency refuted the claims. How much unwanted attention would your presence here divert from what truly matters: his music? 

You’re ashamed of your actions. You’re ashamed of your feelings. Really, you’re ashamed of you.

Head hanging low and teeth gritting tight, you keep your glare to the ground and out of sight. The girls only snicker at you as others looked back with pity written over their faces before turning their backs on you once again and actively choosing to ignore the situation. One breath in, one breath out. It’s almost as if you have to remind yourself the simplest things, otherwise you’d freeze in motion and cause unnecessary attention.

But is it too late?

A series of gasps ripple throughout the crowd just as you dust the rubble off your hands. A hushed silence befalls your surroundings, as if by the crafts of magic. A familiar pace of footsteps echo in your riveting heart. 

One step. Thump. Don’t walk toward me. 

Hesitantly lifting your inspecting eyes form the red scratches against your palm, your heart stills by the boy who makes his way toward you. 

Another step. Thump. Don’t save me. 

Akin to flowers that bloom along a wizard’s path, the crowd parts amidst the silence as he walks with confident, swift strides, head down, and eyes locked on you. The power of his gaze is enough to fade the stinging pain and your liberated heart feels as light as the clouds of which your mind remains hazed by. No one mattered at this point, for tunnel vision had overtaken the both of you and everyone except you and him was but a blur. 

One final step. Thump. I don’t deserve to be saved. 

And it’s at this moment that an epiphany dawns upon you. You still long for his enigmatic mien, a stark contrast to his delicate touch and his gentle words that he had so curtly and unabashedly spoken with truth. He had always known what was best for you, for he, too, had undergone the lowest of the lows and the highest of the highs. You always knew that, even if you denied his help and went through the effort to voice your refusal in an attempt to aggravate the man. And despite all your tantrums and flails and screams, he remains here, patient and forgiving and understanding, waiting for the day you realize he was indeed nothing but a loyal friend betrothed to your heart. 

Because here you are, wounded and tossed aside. Having hurt and been hurt, this was nothing but fair play. You deserve this… but justice isn’t a matter of concern to him. You were his utmost concern. You hurt him, more so than anyone else in this crowd, but the look in those ocean-like eyes that painted more words than those who would simply undermine it as apathetic told you his love is unconditional. 

You were ashamed of yourself. 

He should have been ashamed of you. 

Yet here he is, holding his hand out for you and you only; and before you know it, you’re grasping onto the light at the end of the tunnel. 

“Y/N, are you—”

“—sorry,” you blurt, yanking your hand back and hastily turning around. Shuffling forward, the ruckus that ensues behind you drowns underwater. You’re not even sure if Yoongi hears you mumble, “I have to go.”

“Y/N! Wait, Y/N!” you hear Yoongi call out several times but your feet remain persistent on its trek elsewhere, that is, until your heart melts at the familiar touch of a cold hand that clutches your wrist. Freezing in your tracks, you gulp. He pants in between his words, “Y/N, where are you going?” 

“What are you doing?” you ask with your back on him. 

“Following my heart,” he answers plainly. “What else have I ever done—”

“—I mean,” you cut, biting your bottom lip, “I mean, why are you here? Why did you do that in front of all your fans? What’re they going to say?” 

“They can say whatever they want.”

Shutting your eyes, you take a shaky breath in and retract your hands from his, though not too roughly as to retain your frail heartstrings. “I don’t know why you’re acting like this.” 

“You know damn well why,” he deadpans. “Y/N, please, at least look at me.” 

You can hear the hissing crowd encroaching from afar. 

“I don’t want to—”

“—I’ve missed you damn it.”

You wish he wouldn’t say that, it only makes it harder on you.

“Well,” you muster the courage to utter, even if your heart shatters as you do so, “I don’t.” 

Every step forward plucks at your strings. Every distance furthered between you and him subtracted from the ticking bomb within you. It’s only a matter of time until you could no longer uphold your lie. So you make a run for it. 

Forward, you chant to yourself, keep running until he’s forced to give up and return to the world where he truly belongs… and that’s exactly what you do. You run and you run and eventually you find yourself falling into yet another inevitable trap of the universe. Standing in front of the doors to a concert hall, a place you used to call home before the memories of the night shared between you and him haunted its every corner, you scan around for any passersby. 

You should return home. It’s your safest bet. Plus, did the janitor really not change the lock after all these years? 

Click.

The key slides perfectly into the lock; and even through all the protests your defense mechanism puts on, it’s only inevitable that your heart overtakes your body and you’re already slipping through the slit and leaving the world shut outside behind you. 

Alas, the rows upon rows of burgundy velvet chairs, balconies upon balconies that line the walls, and the dim lighting across the room that plays a stark contrast to the golden lights focused on the stage, everything screams home to you. Even if you can still see him sitting down beside you on the front row, turning to smile that damn half-smile of his, your heart is content over a dream nearly turned reality just minutes prior. The boy of the past beckons for you and you follow him up the stage with a smile on your face. His ghost leads you before the piano, seating yourself onto a cushioned black bench and a set of white keys streaked with black. 

Here, on the stage, the lights are blinding. The audience is blacked out and you can no longer see too far off into the distance. From here, you figure you must appear dazzling—perfect, even; but you know you’re flawed, maybe the golden glow that reflects against the polished wooden floor and onto you makes it hard to believe, but you know you’re human. Up here, the grand piano is the only thing that keeps you focused on the task at hand. 

Is this the sight Yoongi faces every day?

Is this the mundane sight he faced on that night? Or did he see you watching him with those sparkles in your eyes that reflected the star on stage? Did he smile that night, performing whilst observing his sole audience member with utter adoration and a heart on his sleeves? 

The sparks of that night makes its grand entrance, even as an unsettling realization dawns upon you—because the thing is, you don’t remember, you can’t remember if you were busy taking advantage of his vulnerability.

Three notes—you play the familiar notes that had lulled you to sleep throughout the trying year. The tune brings a bittersweet smile to your lips that tugs at your chest. The truth is, you miss him. You didn’t want to turn him away but you couldn’t be selfish any longer. Even so, you miss him. You want to hold him right here, right now. 

“I see you still remember that little performance I put on for you.”

Whipping around, your eyes widen when you find him standing before you. Decked out in a classic black and white suit, with a loosened tie, tousled hair, and hands buried in his pockets, as if he wasn’t sprinting just a minute before, he approaches you slowly. 

“I don’t,” you mumble a lie, turning your back on him and lowering your eyes to the keys in shame, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Yoongi chuckles and you can feel his vibrations against your back as he leans forward to hold your hands in a delicate grasp. “I see you’re also still not very honest with yourself,” he muses when you relax under his touch. His hands guide you to the keys—and you don’t know why, but you let him. 

With his fingertips over yours and the top of your hands grazing against his rough palms, the complete song is like an entire symphony compared to the three notes you played earlier. Everything is almost a carbon copy of that magical night, except here he is, holding you in his arms, and here you are, head against his chest as you count the rhythm of his quickening heart. The tune, too, has evolved from the melancholic melody from before.

“...is this the same song?” you can barely utter.

“Oh, so you do remember,” he remarks and you can practically hear him smirk. “The song I played for you was supposed to be the hook for one of my tracks.”

“It sounds different though. It sounds… happier.”

“Does it?” he chortles, still gliding your hands across the piano. “I revised it after that night. I wanted it to be an accurate reflection of me. Simply put, it was too sad, too lonesome. This is more fitting.” 

And now…? How is this an accurate reflection of him? If anything, your betrayal should have been the most lonesome act of all… unless he found someone new. 

The thought has something gnawing in you as your hands fall from the keys and back into your lap. The music stops and silence follows. The deafening confessions exchanged between his heart and yours are all you can hear echoing in the vast room. 

“...why are you still treating me so well?” you finally mutter. His silence only spurs you further into an unexplained fury as you raise your voice. “Don’t you hate me...? Don’t you hate me for lying to you, for taking advantage of you, for breaking your trust when you had so meticulously told me not to?!”

Even in a time like this, Yoongi remains composed as he always does, silently putting his thoughts into words that would eventually quell your fire. 

“I didn’t hate you. I was mad and it hurt like hell for months on end, but I don’t hate you,” he states firmly. “You know I’ve never been one with words, but hell, Y/N, I’ve missed you.”

“Why did your company tell everyone we were through without giving me a single warning, then?” you shake your head in a fruitless attempt to still your racing heart. “Why didn’t you text me back? Why didn’t you call?”

“I did text,” he confesses and you freeze. “I didn’t text you, but I told Solji to take care of you. That’s the most I could do while retaining our break. It was for the better... but if you were waiting for my call, then why didn’t you call?” 

“Well,” you pause, taken aback, “you said you wanted a break. I knew I hurt you too much. I couldn’t just be selfish again and force you to be reminded of me after you had requested me not to.” 

“...is that why you never told anyone Ink Nemesis was really just an aspiring writer in disguise?” 

Silence.

How does he know that? 

No one would have arrived at that conclusion. It just doesn’t make sense.

How does he always read right through you?

“No,” you shake your head profusely. “That doesn’t even make sense. I’m a selfish person, you know that. I didn’t tell anyone so that I wouldn’t tarnish my reputation. I could still go out in public if no one knew I was the one who released those photos. I could still establish my career as a writer if no one knew I was Ink Nemesis—”

“—because you were selfless and because you changed after recognizing how much you hurt me, you decided your confession would only tarnish my reputation,” he surmises a little too accurately, “even if that meant you would have to be plagued with guilt that you’re still trying to carry to your grave.” 

Bulls-eye.

“It… it doesn’t matter anymore,” you bite your bottom lip, hoping anything would stop you from speaking the truth. “Everything happened so long ago. It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“Good. I don’t want it to hurt anymore,” he places both hands on you and you comply as he turns you around to face him. Bangs hanging over his eyes as he leans downwards, your heart jumps at the soft edges of his that you had so yearned to see in flesh again. He speaks lowly but surely, “but isn’t there anything still left from back then?”

You still love him.

Meekly answering, you utter, “...no.” 

“Really? I’m the only one reliving this hellish nightmare on replay, reminiscing over our undeniable chemistry because—and I swear on my life—I would never be able to find someone who understood me like you?” he lays his heart out on the table. “Am I really the only one who feels these sparks?”

Peering up at him to meet his gaze, you can make out the sincerity of his face where the shadows of the blinding lights above falls gracefully. The surrealism of it all takes you out of the race. Even if you were to lie, he would see right through you. 

“...no,” you gulp, lowering your head to conceal the waterworks that make its way to your eyes, “no, you’re not.” 

“I never trusted anyone more than you, Y/N. You know I gave you my entire heart, right?” he speaks sternly. “So is there anything else you want to say to me?” 

“I’m... sorry, Yoongi. I never wanted to hurt you—” the words you’ve been wanting to say come to you naturally, as if rehearsed thousands of times “—I know it doesn’t matter now, but I won’t ever hurt you again. Ever.”

“Why?” he utters, fingers on your chin and tilting your head back until your gaze meets his. Yoongi’s eyes soften for a second at the sight of the warm tears streaming down your cheeks, lifting another hand to gently wipe the drops away. His touch is electricity against your bare skin. 

“Because I love you.”

Yoongi smiles that lopsided smile of his, fruitlessly stifling the chortles that escape before uttering one last time “then it does matter, love” and locking his lips with yours. 

That, in itself, is enough to tell you he’s forgiven you.

And now, you can finally forgive yourself.

-

“First of all,” you clear your throat hesitantly, leaning forward into the microphone that squeaks, “I would like to thank you all for coming to this press conference. Although Yoongi and I have already settled things privately, I would like to publicly apologize for my malicious actions against Min Yoongi of BTS. Two years ago I was in an unstable position and I was willing to accept any job just to make a living and persist to chase my goals as an aspiring writer. I know me coming out as Ink Nemesis is not enough of a rectification for my actions, and I understand why certain networks have refused to attend tonight’s press conference, so I want to take this time to thank those who have. I promise I will do my best to answer any question with utmost truth.” 

Dozens of cameras flash in the room filled with reporters and previous fans of the works on your blog. Surprisingly, you can’t even count the number of heads in the cramped room, even if certain fans, both his and yours, had boycotted the press for your first upcoming novel. It takes everything in you not to squint at the blinding lights, because if there’s anything your relationship with Min Yoongi has taught you in the past year, it would be that the media tears you apart over the most trifling matters.

“So, um…” you mumble, shifting in your seat, “we can begin the Q&A.” 

No one speaks but the flashes and clicks persist throughout the silence. Your eyes flicker across the crowd only to find Yoongi’s intent gaze under the rim of his bucket hat with ease. His eyes widen slightly at your call for help before he blinks blankly, looks around, and kicks the chair of the closest reporter to him. 

“Oh!” the bespectacled man raises his hand, jumping at the sudden vibration. 

You lean into the microphone, “yes?”

“Seeing as you have mentioned your humble beginnings as a blog writer, could you explain why you took pleasure in writing via a blog and not through an agency?” 

“Ah, that’s a good question,” you purse your lips. “Actually, I think there are many perks to writing on a blog that many don’t consider, both readers and writers alike. Through a blog, readers can comment on any part of a chapter. Specific feedback, especially the ones that quote certain excerpts of my work, can be really helpful in my progression as a writer. Not to mention, their reception helps motivate me as I write later chapters in the series. I think it’s pretty cool that readers can send messages to their favorite writers and writers can have a personal connection with the very people who support their livelihood.” 

Another man raises his hand, “and what about the cons to running an online blog?”

“Hm, where do I start?” you laugh along with the crowd. “First off, I have to figure out how to even run a blog. I have to design my website, I have to edit my own work, I have to create a cover that looks somewhat presentable, and most of all, I don’t even get paid! The algorithm always changes, so the attention your works receive might not be an accurate representation of its quality.”

“Can you elaborate on how to assess the quality of your work?”

“Well, that’s a difficult one to answer. Sometimes numbers such as likes, reblogs, and comments are a good indication of how many people have read your work, but not everyone leaves any notes. Sometimes people are busy on the days you post and sometimes people just don’t see or aren’t interested in your cover or synopsis.” 

“How does it feel when your work is not received well in terms of numbers and what do you do to proceed? Does the reception change the direction of your work?”

“Honestly, it’s pretty dejecting when you spend hours on something and no one responds. That’s how it is in life, though,” you shrug. “In fact, there was a time on my blog when one of my works received all the attention, whereas another one of my works went completely under the radar. It was pretty despairing to see the stark contrast.”

“And why is that?”

“Why?” you pause. “Well, I have to say I’m a very competitive person. I’ve always wanted to be the best at what I do and I hated that my own work was stifling my growth. I wanted to grow as a writer, and somewhere along the way, numbers became my definition of success and quality. When I noticed that the numbers were falling on something that I was so proud of, I was disappointed. Relying on numbers is a realistic but grave mistake. Nowadays, I could care less about the numbers. Of course, a part of me still cares and I still would love a reasonable amount of notes—” you laugh “—but getting over the misconception that numbers are equivalent to quality helped me in my return to fiction. Honestly, people who rely on numbers are missing out on a lot of amazing works. Trust me.”

“What would you tell your past self right before you shut down your blog?” 

“I guess,” you have to pause and think, “I guess I would tell her to go ahead and do it. I would tell her she had so much to live, so much that she was missing out on life because she gave so much of her time and heart on her blog. I would tell her that when the time comes, inevitably, she would write again because she wants to and not because of anything else.” 

“Why did you really take down your works?” 

“Ah—” how should you go about this topic that even you want to avoid “—it has to do with my reasoning before. I’m a competitive person and I was disappointed in myself. Certain readers only responded when I updated one of my works, some people even unfollowed me whenever I posted something else, but they were never there when I voiced my struggles or needed help from public disputes. I know it sounds silly and I really shouldn’t hold it against them, but it felt like no one cared about me until I served them. My creativity was stifled. Everything added up and I just didn’t want to have anything to do with my blog. Honestly, I was putting too much pressure on myself. I was conceited and it was dumb of me to have such a toxic perspective. Other writers wrote beautiful works, regardless of whether they had higher and lower number of notes, but I couldn’t help comparing myself to them. It’s embarrassing to say this out loud now, really, but that’s the truth. I think it’s a truth that echoes with many online writers.” 

The crowd nods their heads and people start scribbling onto their notepad. Several hands raised in the crowd but you can barely see anyone amidst the flashes, so you toss a finger up somewhere in the air. 

“How are you and Yoongi doing right now and how did he respond when you posted the picture of him on his affair?” 

An audible gasp echoes in the room as you frown, brows furrowed and mouth hung agape at the unrelated question. The reporters stiffen, because surely, it’s a question they’ve all thought of asking but had the decency to refrain from. Trying your best to retain Yoongi’s hidden spot amongst the crowd, you keep your eyes on the reporter. 

“I’m sorry but that’s something only him and I should be concerned over. Him and I are doing just fine, thank you,” you smile when you spot Yoongi giving you a nod with an affirmative smile that says that’s my girl. 

A loud series of coughs saves the tense silence that follows. Everyone’s eyes dart to the very front right row, and when a light focuses on the reporter and their identity is revealed amidst the blackened platform below your stage, you can’t help but smile fondly at her. 

After years of silence, it seems the grudge has finally been settled by her attendance, and thereby support, of your first press conference. 

“Moving onto more important and relevant topics,” Xiao Lin settles the notepad into her lap, devoting all of her attention to you with a grin, “will you ever return to your writing blog? In other words, will you post your old works again?”

“Well, I have returned to my writing blog every once in a while,” you hum. “I’m no longer the same person as I was before, but I’m also not ashamed of who I was and the works that I wrote in the past. When I return, I will return on my own accord and my own terms. I’ll leave you with that.” 

“And…” she scribbles something onto her notepad before looking up, “what will be the name of your upcoming novel?”

A stagnant silence floods the room that waits with bated breath as you lean into the desk and prolong the suspension. Smiling to Yoongi, head lifted and chin high, you speak proudly into the microphone. Alas, when the answer leaves your lips, a hushed gasp intermixed with a collective plaudit arises, for your proclamation is merely the first signal for the end of a beginning.

“Ink Nemesis.” 

-

are you ready for it?

[joonietonin]

Ethan Ramsey- Sugar & Ice (Analysis #2)

Hi! I’m back with another in-depth analysis about Chapter 5 and well, I am very very late! Sorry, it took me so long to write this up, I had been sick these past few days. Anyway, something that I am always in awe of, is how well-written a character, Ethan Ramsey is? I do not think there is another character/LI who has even come close to the amount of depth and progression that Ethan has had over the last few chapters and of course, throughout Book 1. So here I am analyzing Ethan all over again because, damn, this man has had the best character development in the Choices universe. Hold on tight because this is gonna be a longgggggg ride. (Literally, it's the longest post I have ever written so far!)

Note: This is an analysis based on my thoughts and interpretation of a character owned by Pixelberry Studios. My MC is female, pronouns: she/her. I will be writing this post from her perspective. If your MC is male or non-binary, I request you to change the pronouns accordingly. I will be working towards bettering my writing skills using they/them pronouns. English is not my primary language, kindly pardon my mistakes.

Taglist: @choicesyouplayandmore @freeasafishinthesea @openheart12 @junehiratas @lion-ess24 @junggoku @silverlitskies @paulfwesley @mrsdr-ethan-ramsey @reaverisabitch @binny1985 @binny1985 @desmaranj @lilyvalentine @soft-for-drake @mangoruby @mrsmatsuo

Let's start off how interesting it is that the first time I wrote about this man, it took me 13 chapters to really assess his depth and development and now in Book 2, it barely took 2 Chapters to provide a in-depth analysis. Yes, character development is key but the time span within which one grows is equally important.

• Ethan, then and now: Ethan, with his hardass, no bullshit and stoic persona is a man with strong opinions. And rightfully so, a person who is around 8-9 years your senior is bound to have more experience- be it in their professional field or their general life experiences. Ethan has always had this strong set of beliefs that were impossible to change, unless you were MC of course. Before Ethan even knew what was happening, MC had already started to infiltrate his steel walls going right towards his heart. MC may be a dumbass but she’s not illogical. I believe that her straightforwardness has always been the reason for Ethan to be drawn towards her. Throughout his whole career, he has only seen these insipid, incompetent people sucking up to him expecting that they would step up in their career. Then came MC, who was never afraid to go against the rules if it meant the well-being of her patients. She proved to him that she was indeed the “someone who could be great, truly” as Ethan had told her in Chapter 5 of Book 1. Ethan supported her at all instances because he had so much of faith in her, even if he did not show it outright.

• MC, a silver lining: For MC, Edenbrook was never entirely about money. So when Ethan tells her about the government deciding to cut down costs of Edenbrook, depending upon your interaction, the last thing MC is worried about is money. Since then she has done everything in her power to prevent that from happening. When that didn’t work, she discovered another path that could potentially save the hospital.

• To be or not to be, morality edition: And even though she anticipated what Ethan would think about the idea, she still took her chances to let Ethan know about this opportunity that could probably put Edenbrook back in the top ranks. And obviously, the hardass Ethan refused. But what’s interesting here is how calmly Ethan reacted. He did not shout, he did not jeer at her. He responded calmly with a simple no. Even when a furious MC charged him for the reason to refute her idea, he simply said that it would ruin the actual purpose of the diagnostics team- which was never meant to cater the rich, rather help those who were truly in need. And even though his intentions were morally correct and heartfelt, MC knew that this wasn’t the time to play with a moral compass.

• Ethan, the "professional": So MC did what she always does: go beyond the rules. She did what Ethan had once told her- “to stand up for what’s right”. So she went behind Ethan’s back and contacted the Instagram celeb Gwyneth Paltrow Monroe and Ethan was obviously furious when he found the whole camera set up in the hospital. And what seems like forever, Ethan regards her as 'Rookie' but this time it is not endearing. MC tries to justify her actions but Ethan, in his classic Dr. Ramsey style, shuts her out and tells her that they had more pressing matters in their hands aka the patient. But, but.. he does not shut her out completely, he says “We’ll talk about this later.” Now if this were the old Ethan Ramsey he wouldn’t have bothered even once to hear anybody’s justification for a matter of fact. But now, Ethan wants to listen to her. He wants to work out their differences. He does not want to leave this matter hanging. He does not want to cut her off due to professional disagreements. Even though Ethan claims that there is nothing but professionalism between them but his actions contradict his words. His actions show that he is truly trying to make things work between them. Ethan might say it's purely professional but I do not believe him one bit (lol).

• Ethan Ramsey is really a softie huh: Even though Ethan is super annoyed at the entire situation, somewhere down the line, he does believe that MC can handle this. He tells her to lead the case. And of course, his snarky remarks are back but this time it's for poor Gwyneth. In an earlier analysis I had stated how Ethan's snarky remarks towards MC had lessened significantly and it still holds true. Instead of berating MC for going behind his back, he handles it with a certain amount of softness. Well, at least when we compare it to how he deals with others in the same situation. So what I really want to say is: Ethan Ramsey is a softie, but only for MC.

• Diligence- 1 Annoyance-0: He is very annoyed and is willing to solve this case as immediately as possible but that does not make him indifferent towards the case. His annoyance does not make him lack diligence. He still gives his 100% towards this case. This shows how diligent Ethan is. No wonder, he's the best diagnostician in the country. He treats all his patients with the same reverence even if some (read: most) get on his nerves. Ethan seems like a cold person with no emotions but the truth is that he cares so much about certain people. The biggest reason Ethan was so annoyed by this high profile case was because the diagnostics team lost a chance to cure a underprivileged patient who needed the help much more than Gwyneth. Despite being a filthy rich person himself, he is not a snob. He has so much concern for the people who cannot afford good healthcare. He cares deeply about the regular people of his community. Yet, that does not make his shy away from his duties towards his current patient.

• Just millennial things: Going back to my previous point, Ethan is really diligent towards his work even if it means doing things he absolutely loathes... like social media. I mean, yes he hasn't seen IT. Yes, he hates texting. Yes, he is technologically impaired. Yes, he does not know how to sign up for Instagram despite being one of the best doctors in the entire world who could cure almost anything. So who does he turn to? MC, obviously. Do we really think he'd ask anybody else in this entire world to help him out with social media. Oh hell no. (Yes, I'm trying to say that MC is special) And cue: the playful banter is back. Something I always relish about Ethan × MC scenes is that their playful banter never stops no matter how tense things are between them. It's some married couple shit right there. From "I'll have you know, I'm only 37. I'm technically a millennial" to "To be clear, we're doing this under one condition. You never speak of it to anyone", let's just say Ethan Ramsey does not share that comfort level with anybody else in this entire world than MC. MC is truly 'the one' for him.

• Ethan and the internet: So here's a two part horror story, the Ethan Ramsey edition- Ethan is terrified of the internet. He does not understand how there are shirtless pictures of him on the internet. Yet, it is really wholesome how we get to know the backstory of most of those pictures. Be it wearing a suit to the A.M.A where he was awarded or when he went shirtless for his first triathlon. It's very very cute that he willingly share these little details about his life. He wants MC to know little things about him. He wants her to be a part of his life even if he claims that there is nothing but professionalism between them (yeah, right) He opened up about how much he loved living in Providence and how he would never have liked any other place for growing up. He revealed his vulnerabilities to MC about how people did not take him seriously and how adults and teachers who undermine him. He trusts MC enough to confide in her and letting her know all these small details which, perhaps, nobody knows except her. Not even Naveen, I presume. Also, please note how a major part of all the information we know about Ethan is because of his Dad. But Ethan willingly sharing details about him to MC? chef's kiss

• Music, Motorcycles and Marriage: Initially Ethan does not understand the point of social media and why so many people would use this "junk". But when MC explains to him how social media helps people connect or how fun it could be for so many people, Ethan does not retort her. He takes and minute to think about her perspective and then accepts with her view. While choosing his interests, we get to know very fond and personal details about Ethan no matter which option we chose.

While talking about Music, Ethan mentions his childhood memories of playing the cello and how his neighbour hated it and broke his cello and also gives a hint towards his mischievous side and the incredible revenge he got on his neighbour.

The Motorcycle was absolutely beautiful. Ethan let's MC know that the first time he took a bike ride was in Brazil (Amazon Rainforest) where he had gone to... well, in layman's terms- get over MC. As eloquent as he is, he describes all the emotions he felt as he rode across his bike along the Amazon River. It's a rare occurrence to see Ethan talk about his feelings therefore it is really wholesome that he would share those intricate details with MC. But the best part of this option had to be when MC demands Ethan to take her on a bike ride in the Amazons some day. Now, for a man who claims that him and MC are "reset" and are "nothing but professionals", it's quite hilarious but very cute that he replied with, "I look forward to it" This statement of his is almost like a foreshadowing of his and MC's future. Even though they're in a tough spot right now, they could always look forward to the future where things might (read: will) change for them.

The option Marriage led to a low-key romantic moment between him and MC. Ethan "love is just neurochemical responses to heightened stress and frequent exposure to each other" Ramsey obviously tells her that he understands marriage as a partnership rather than a meaningful institution. He also states that he does not believe in the concept of soulmates because there is no biological basis to support that. MC simply explains to him that, "It's love, Ethan. It doesn't have to make sense." And Ethan, in his classic 'everything has a scientific explanation' way grins and states, "I'm sorry, no, everything has to make sense." He straight up asks MC the age old question: "How are you supposed to know that you've met the right person?" And almost immediately his smug mouth is shut when MC simply replies with a "I guess, you just feel it. Isn't that biology?" He gazes deeply into her eyes and forgets himself for a moment thinking about how relevant her words are to whatever he feels for her.Deep inside, Ethan knows that he has met the right person, rather THE person.What I'm trying to say is- Yes, Ethan knows that they are soulmates and even though he won’t accept it now but man, he is whipped.

• Ethan's first, last and only: It's adorable that Ethan let's MC make his first post on behalf of him. MC might be the only person in this entire world who has so much hold over Ethan. It is funny because Ethan is MC's boss in the streets but MC in Ethan's boss in the sheets when it comes to personal moments. I think the highlight of the scene was definitely when Ethan follows MC on Instagram. She jokes about it claiming,"Wow, what an honour, I'm humbled." but Ethan deadass let's her know,"You should be. My first, last and only Instagram friend." Again, I think it's a subtle foreshadowing of their future. In real life, technically MC truly one of Ethan's best friends besides being a LI. But I think this statement will hold much more meaning in the future, given the fact that somewhere deep inside Ethan does know that him and MC are soulmates, no matter how much he denies it.

• True feelings and acceptance: We all know Ethan is not the one to back down on his opinions. But often more than not, he really does give a thought about MC's actions and always tries to understand her perspective of it. Yes, it does take him some time to come around but he always comes back to her. When MC tries to justify her actions this second time, Ethan cuts her off- not because he does not want to hear it, but because he has finally understood her point of view.

Another very important detail in this scene, personally my favourite detail, is how this time around he addresses MC by her name. At the start of the chapter he addressed MC as 'Rookie' which symbolised his disappointment over what he feels is a mistake on MC's part. He establishes his seniority over her letting her know that him and MC are not equals. This second time around, he addresses her by name because he has finally come around to understand that MC is really not a 'rookie' anymore. She isn't a resident either. Ethan now saw her as a colleague, someone who was his equal.. his peer.

Ethan rarely accepts his mistakes, because let's be real, this man was practically emotionally inept before MC came around. The whole concept of apology and acceptance is complicated for him. But he is not worried to own up to his mistakes in front of MC. Ethan let's her know that they are bound to disagree over things because they were peers. Knowing her thoughts, even if they contradicted his, helped Ethan see MC in a truer light. When MC worries whether that light is a bad one, he is quick to reassure her that it is a 'complicated' one. This mirrors his feelings about their relationship too, how he can never be entirely professional with her neither could he ever give her the love and warmth he wants to. He tells MC that her perspective does help him to see situations as they really are instead of what he perceives them to be. He ends this declaration of his feelings with, "I want to know you, as you are." My heart goes warm thinking about how much he cares for her and how he'd rather have disagreements with her than force her to be something that she is not. He wants her be just the way she is. He wants to know the real MC, the one who does not shy away from doing what's right rather than doing what's moral and ethical.

• MC x Ethan, the unstoppable force: Lastly, can we all agree that MC and Ethan make a hell of a great team? Even if we put their love life aside, they just absolutely smash it out of the park when it comes to them solving cases together. As they sit together researching about their patient, we see how well coordinated they are. It's almost like, each one knows exactly what the other person is thinking. They are like medical Jedis. Ethan always worries about how if they were to pursue a real relationship, it would be hard for him to push her to do her best.. but the truth is right in front of us. Despite their playful banters, stolen glances, innocent touches and plans about their future, Ethan always pushes MC to evaluate the information and reveal the diagnosis. It would take Ethan 2 minutes to do it himself but as her mentor he constantly helps her get better at providing fast diagnosis. Also, Ethan never ever shies away from giving MC her due credit and appreciation. Getting praise from Ethan Ramsey is very very rare but for MC it's like a usual occurrence, not because they have feelings for each other rather because Ethan truly sees the amount of potential MC has and it reassures him that he was right when he chose MC for Edenbrook knowing that she had the potential to be someone great. While revealing the diagnosis with June and Baz, he proudly let's them know,"MC pieced it together last night. Excellent work." He is honestly like a proud husband showing off how amazing his wife is (lol)

____________________________________________

FINAL THOUGHTS: Sooooo.. let's re-evaluate:

✓ Ethan and MC are very very close on a personal level no matter how much Ethan tries to deny it.

✓ MC is literally Ethan's closest friend. He shares little details about him to her, only her.

✓ Ethan does not shut MC out like he did in Book 1. He tries to understand her and thinks about her point of view.

✓ Ethan and MC have continuous playful banter which makes them look like a whole ass married couple but whatever.

✓ Ethan considers MC to be his equal rather than a subordinate. That is HUGE coming from Mr. Broody Ramsey. He has a lot of respect for MC.

✓ Ethan pushes MC to do her very best despite of them being personal and contradicting their original deal of being professional.

✓ Ethan proudly let's others know about how amazing MC is at what she does.

So, what I am trying to say is: If they are equals, and they work together like two peas in a pod, and the have the cutest most playful relationship, and they respect each other so much, and they are fulfilling every aspect of their mentor/mentee relationship— SO WHEN THE FUCK ARE THEY GONNA REALIZE THAT THEY CAN STILL DO ALL OF THIS WHILE PURSUING A RELATIONSHIP. @ Ethan sweetie, you're one of the smartest men on the planet but you're really so dense when love is involved. I live for the angst but I just want to see my babies being officially domestic and have passionate sex like they did in Chapter 15 (no shit that was THE BEST, read x) yeah that's all, maybe even save the hospital and punch Declan again while they're at it. Ethan and MC are really have the most realistic depiction when it comes to work relationships. Whether Ethan believes it or not— I, for one, am certain that Ethan and MC are truly soulmates and are meant to be. Professionally AND Personally.

Why did I title this as Sugar and Ice?

Because just like ice Ethan is cold,harsh and stoic when it comes to dealing with regular people. But when it comes to people he really cares about and loves (read: MC) he is like sugar- warm, gentle and open.

____________________________________________

Not to be a cheesy romantic, I'm still a cynic but Ethan is an exception. Andddddd we're done. If you have reached up till here then wow, I cannot believe that you would actually take the time to read my thoughts about a character. You don't know how much that means to me. It makes me feel like I am creating some worthwhile. Thank you for all the constant love and support y'all have given me. I am truly so grateful to each one of you.❤️

Also, yes I know Chapter 6 is out and this is an analysis of Chapter 5 but believe me, I you've read this you'll figure out that nothing that happened in today's chapter contradicts my thoughts about Ethan in the previous chapter. I will start working on an analysis for Chapter 6 tonight itself. Just need some time to process all of it. Thank you for always being so patient. I appreciate it so much.❤️

This was a very long post and believe me I tried to cut it short as much as possible. Let's just say I really cannot write short pieces lmao. So yes, thank you for taking out your valuable time to read this. Sending my gratitude and love.❤️

[If you want to be added to my taglist, just let me know as I will be writing some more stuff in the days to come. All my works are sorted in my MASTERLIST. The link is in my bio.]

[purplesurveys]

1033

survey by tickticktmr

What's the best food to have at a sleepover? I’d have a blast at a sleepover if my friends and I were to get a square-cut cheese pizza with a box of wings. Cheesy nachos with beef would be great too.

How did you meet the last person you shared a bed with? We were introduced by our respective friends.

Do you like the yellow cheetos better or the orange ones? I don’t like Cheetos, period. Cheese puffs never did grow on me.

Where did you buy the shoes you wore today? My mom got it for me two Christmases ago.

Do you have any half siblings? Nope. But this year I found out I have a half-cousin (and possibly half-cousins) from a trash uncle who apparently fooled around behind my aunt’s back, but I have no desire to associate with her or that entire family altogether. 

How many DVD players are in the house? We still have two lying around but we haven’t used either in 6–7 years.

Do you like the last song you heard on the radio? I cried, because I needed to hear the lyrics that were being sung.

Do you know anyone who has been on TV? Sure, mostly some of my friends’ parents.

When going shopping for junk food, what's the first thing you pick up? My eyes usually dart to the Pringles before anything else. And if there’s also any salted egg chips that looks appealing enough for me to pick up.

How would you react if you found out you had a long lost sister? I think my literal first reaction would be to be pissed at my parents for hiding such a secret from me for a long time. It would depend on how they explain the situation if I end up wanting to meet her or if I can do without.

At sleepovers, do you usually stay up all night or actually go to sleep? Hahaha I’m the grandma that passes out. I’ve never successfully stayed up at a sleepover and for some reason I’m always the first one to start getting sleepy. I guess all my friends’ bedrooms are really that comfy.

Is there anything in the room you're in that's really dusty? [continued from last night] For sure. There are some things in my room I barely use or move around so it definitely wouldn’t be a surprised if they’ve since gathered up a fine layer of dust.

Do you know anybody with different colored eyes? Yeah, someone from my high school has this condition.

Are any of your relatives vets? [continued AGAIN from the night before last, lmao send help] As far as I know, no. We’re not really the type of family that produces doctors, and I believe we lean more towards law.

Who cleans the most in your house? Oh my mom, for sure. She wants all chores done a certain way, and she’s always genuinely happy to do everything herself.

Do you own any shirts that cost over $100? No. I think my most expensive shirts are my wrestling ones, which never went above P3000, I think.

What about any shoes? Do you think that's a lot of money for clothes? Yeah, well shoes are generally more expensive so I’ve definitely spent more on sneakers than I’ve ever had on a shirt. I think a pair of shoes that go for P5000 is fine because for the most part it’s also already a testament to its quality. I draw the line at P5000 shirts, because you’re only paying for the label at that point.

What's the movie theatre in your town called? Ours don’t have names. Most of our cinemas are housed within malls, so whenever we make plans to watch a movie we just mention the mall.

How many minutes do you consider late? Idk man, I prize punctuality a lot. People to me are either early, on the dot, or late.

Is there any jam in the fridge right now? No, we don’t really consume jam. We’re not a very spread-y kind of family, come to think of it. We prefer meatier stuff in our sandwiches.

What did you get your best friend for their last birthday? I learned iMovie throughout my UTI-slash-fever horror experience so I can make a video for Gab that compiled her friends’ greetings in time for her birthday. I wasn’t able to get Angela anything because I was still looking for a job then and didn’t have any source of income; and because Gab broke up with me on that day so I was too distraught to be doing anything.

What about your mom's and dad's last birthdays? My dad was abroad for his last birthday. I didn’t get my mom anything because we don’t have that kind of relationship.

What kinds of food do you dunk into milk? Uhm mostly none, because I never really have milk unless I’m at a hotel or at a friend’s, lol. I’ve dipped chocolate chip cookies into milk several times though, and those didn’t turn out bad at all :) I’m a fan of the mushiness.

Do you have any current or past teachers on your facebook friends? A couple of my high school teachers are still my Facebook friends. I never added nor received requests from my college professors, which I prefer tbh because I’ve always viewed college profs as having a more professional vibe compared to my grade school and high school teachers, who were like parents to me.

Are there any baby pictures of you up? Like, the room I’m currently in? No but my school portrait from Prep is framed and hanging on my wall, which is the closest thing. I was already 7, though.

Do you have any friends who have bleached blonde hair? Nah. I have a lot of friends who’ve dyed their hair over the years, but none bleached all the way through. Gabie did, but just for her tips.

How much sugar do you like in your tea/coffee? Lots. I need every trace of it feeling like black coffee removed, haha.

What color is the cereal in your cupboard? We don’t eat cereals in this family; we’ve always enjoyed a classic Filipino breakfast. Sometimes we’ll get cereals I guess, but we never eat them the traditional way; my mom and sister usually just snack on them straight from the box on non-breakfast hours.

Are you wearing any jewlery that a boyfriend/girlfriend gave you? No.

Has a boyfriend/girlfriend ever given you jewlery? Yes.

Have you ever seen the last person you kissed cry? Many times.

Would you rather work at a gas station or be a maid? I hate chores and touching other people’s stuff, so I’ll go with the gas station. I could meet different people from that job too, which sounds more interesting.

What's the closest store to your house called? Just Things. Basically sells hype merch, including the P5000 streetwear shirts I called out earlier, for all the hype heads in my area.

Do horror movies scare you more when they're 'based on a true story'? The biographical nerd in me obviously gets excited, but I don’t get scared. I get more invested when they include snippets or updates about the real-life counterparts and go beyond the vague ‘based on a true story’ banner.

Do you still talk to the last person who hurt you (emotionally)? Yeah but I really need some sort of coin bank thing for it for every time I do so because idk why I still hang around sometimes.

Is there an outdoor movie theatre where you live? Not where I live. But I do know that because of Covid, some malls outside of my city have started offering drive-in cinemas, which were never a thing here before.

What color was the last food you ate? Golden brown, yellow, black, red, green. It was a truffle and mushroom pizza that I treated my family to because I had gotten my first paycheck this week and I would’ve looked like an absolute ass if I spent it on anything else other than my family. I MEAN I wanted to treat them too, of course, but I won’t deny that there’s an underlying reason for me buying the food as well. Welcome to a firstborn’s life in the Philippines (and in Asia, tbh).

Have you ever seen your mom or dad drunk? My mom has been tipsy, but not drunk. My dad never lets himself get swayed by alcohol. He’ll still get a single bottle of beer, but I’ve never seen his demeanor change.

How expensive is too expensive for a pair of jeans? Anything above P7,000 or P7,500, maybe.

After seeing a movie, do you go to a site to enter a review about it? Nah, I’m not the Letterboxd type of person. I’ll sometimes tweet about a movie, but only if I found it good or intriguing enough.

Have you ever done that? No. I’m not the best movie reviewer, so even though I’m aware of Letterboxd’s or IMDb’s appeal I’ve always been too shy to share my thoughts or ratings just in case someone ends up criticsplaining a movie to me.

Would you consider McDonald's a restaurant? I know what route this question is getting to but I’m too tired to defend my thought process, so suffice it to say I love McDonald’s, lol.

Do your parents vote? LOL my mom only started doing so again when I registered - before 2016, she cast her last vote back in 1992. Of course, her opinions were wrong for both the presidential (2016) and senatorial elections (2019) haha. 

My dad does not vote and he stopped giving a shit about Philippine politics when he started working abroad 20 years ago and increasingly spent more time overseas than he does in his home country. Which, honestly, as sad and bad as it sounds, I totally understand. He’s completely detached from the goings-on in our country that to make him vote would be just as useful as letting him purely guess his choices.

Are there any creepy pictures up on the walls of your house? We’ve never gotten such a comment before, so no.

What's the last thing you were excited to eat? The pizzas I bought tonightttttt :> I got truffle and mushroom pizza and quattro formaggi pizzas and they were from Motorino, this fancy (and pricey) place I used to go on dates in that I haven’t visited so long.

It’s hilarious because I didn’t even plan on buying any food today as I’m stingy with money...but in my shift today I was tasked to order food bundles for certain media partners we regularly collaborate with. I kept ordering all these fucking pizzas for people I don’t even know and I got so jealous???? So I ended up buying for myself at the end of the day HAHAHAH

Do you ever hit electronics if they don't work? I smack them against a surface, but I rarely hit them with my own hand.

Who’s the most romantic person you ever went out with? I’ve only gone out with one person and, her toxic traits aside, I highly doubt any future prospect would ever come remotely close to her.

Is there anything hanging from the ceiling in your room? My bedroom light.

How would you react if your best friend was pregnant/got someone pregnant? She’s not planning on having a kid any time soon so I would assume it happened by accident, and I would assume she would be in distress. That said, my instinct would be to be there for her and support her in whatever she does moving forward.

Do you know who Lisa Simpson is? Sure thing, she’s my favorite.

Have you ever had a crush on the last person you spoke to online? No. I’ve never even met her.

Have you ever seen the last person you hugged dressed up fancy? Sure, my grandma dresses up for parties and other formal events.

(If your parents married), Do you know where they got engaged? No. My dad didn’t even pop the question; at some point they just sat each other down, had a long talk, and decided they’d get engaged. Idk where it happened though. Maybe while on a date somewhere?

What color was the last cup you drank out of? Copper.

What was the last picture you printed of? I honestly can’t tell you. I’ve printed a number of documents for various adulting tasks lately, but I don’t know the last time I specifically printed out a photo.

What restaurant has the best fries? I’d have to go with Army Navy. Or if we’re going with fast food, Jollibee.

What does your mailbox look like? We don’t have one. Messengers just insert envelopes through our screen door.

Have you ever gotten something stuck on the roof? We have a rooftop, so that’s never been a problem for us.

Have you ever had a surprise party thrown for you? No. I don’t think I’ve ever been that important for anyone.

Is the room you're in organized? It can do with some fixing, but it’s not terrible.

Would your mom make a good president? She’d be the most organized, neurotic, and punctual president in the history of presidents, but I doubt she’d be of help in conflict resolution or law-making, or any decision-making aspects that go with being president.

The 2nd class you had last time you went to school: ever skipped it? I don’t think I ever skipped that class in the short time I took it before Covid took over.

Do your aunts and uncles have kids? Yeah, nearly everyone does.

Is this survey interesting so far? I liked it.

Do you say fancy or formal? Or something else? Depends on the context. I use both as I think they have different connotations anyway.

Does your English teacher have kids? The last English professor I had doesn’t.

Does your computer make a lot of noise? The fan whirs when the laptop gets too busy. The noise is definitely noticeable considering how quiet my laptop is 98% of the time; but I wouldn’t call it bothersome.

Do you see movies at home or in the theatre more? Home. I watch at the cinema like, a maximum of 5 times a year.

What's your favorite thing to eat during a movie? Potato Corner fries. Non-negotiable.

[blooming-blooming]

Saw I - VII: A Comprehensive View

This is something I don’t normally do, but have been meaning to do for a while when I consume a large series of media in a short period time. I figured this was the perfect opportunity to start.

As of recently, I’ve realized that I am a fan of horror. Like, a really, really big fan of horror. I’ve always flirted with my fascination of it (The Green Ribbon had more of an impact on me in the walls of my elementary school library than it probably should have on an 8 year old, in hindsight), but I never really knew where to go about getting into the genre until I started dating my girlfriend, who has horror as a special interest.

Growing up in the 2000’s with an older sister that was going through her middle school goth phase when the first film in the franchise came out, it was hard not to know about Saw. Such an iconic franchise I knew very little about past the gore (and, let’s be real -- I’m a huge fan of gore); so me, my girlfriend, and a friend of ours decided to spend my last weekend of Summer marathonning all 7 movies. Both of them had seen the first two films and we’d all read plot summaries, but besides that, it was a blind watch through. Here’s my brief stance on each one.

Altogether, I was surprised at just how much I enjoyed this experience. I was expecting to mostly suffer, and maybe find some small nuggets of enjoyment along the way to keep me going, but after every movie (except III), I found myself wanting to watch the next one right away. These movies are by no means good movies, for the most part, but they’ve become a guilty pleasure for me. Among all the egregious, torture porn-y gore and a plot that beyond transcends making even remote sense, I found myself having a lot of fun. And, at the end of the day, that’s the purpose of a cash cow franchise like this was: to entertain you. In that regard, the Saw franchise succeeded.

Saw (2004)

The first in the franchise, and the most iconic. We’ve all heard of the reverse bear trap and the part where Gordon cuts his foot off.

I didn’t know what to expect when I dove into this movie, and I was very pleasantly surprised. The atmospheric building is top notch, and the twist at the end has much more impact than I expected it to. I enjoyed the tension and distrust between Adam and Gordon; I felt it was just as realistic of an approach for them to never trust each other as it would have been had they slowly learned to trust each other.

What’s really important in this one, though, which every sequel lacks, is Kramer’s portrayal. He’s not painted as philosophical or in the light, he’s painted as downright sadistic and cruel. The fact that he isn’t a murderer in the absolute broadest sense of the term is only ever mentioned by Gordan, and not constantly used as a justification for him. His cancer is only ever brought up to give him a connection to Gordon and Zepp; not something to make the viewers empathize.

This especially makes the final scene, the one where he stands up, have so much more impact: “The key was in the bathtub,” and Adam’s subsequent reaction is the ultimate punch in the stomach to the viewer because it’s so evil. The entire time Adam thought he had a chance, that there was a spot of hope for him, only to have it viciously jerked away as he realizes he was damned from the beginning. Because this is a franchise with a narrative built entirely on retconning, this impact is diminished severely in later installments, but as a standalone film, it’s top notch.

Also, apparently the ship name for Gordon and Adam is “Chainshipping”. I have no idea how that, of all ship names, wasn’t taken by the YuGiOh fandom at least a decade ago, but I’m mildly impressed that a ship that obscure has a name at all.

Overall score: 8/10

Saw II (2005)

The second installment in the franchise. It’s worth noting that the original screenplay wasn’t intended to be a Saw film, but rather an original story that got adapted to work into the Saw universe.

The story follows eight people who have all been locked in a house. The doors will open and they’ll be free in three hours, but there’s just one problem: there’s a neurotoxin in their systems that will kill them in two. They need to work together to find out what their connection to one another is while overcoming challenges to gain antidotes to the neurotoxin before they die. Meanwhile, a police team lead by detective Eric Matthews has located and is interrogating Kramer on the location of Matthews’ son, Daniel, one of the eight people in the house.

Right off the bat, the drop of quality from the first movie is extremely apparent. Very few members of the cast are properly developed, and many die before they even get to their trap. Most notably, one of the characters, Obi, is an arsonist who is very heavily implied to be an accomplice of Kramer’s. This aspect is explored for all of about two minutes before he gets burned alive in an incinerator. It’s hard to get invested because there are too many characters who have nothing going for them.

Despite that, there are good things about the film. The needle pit scene is well done in just how tense and unfair it is. Likewise, the twist at the end that the house game happened before the police found Kramer is really creative and interesting. Sadly, these positives don’t make the movie worth watching overall, though.

Overall score: 4/10

Saw III (2006)

I honestly don’t know what to say. This was the worst movie I have ever watched in my entire life. Sadism and cruelty in a story should have a narrative purpose and should ultimately be shown to be bad, but it’s not here. You are honest to god supposed to think John Kramer, the serial killer who took one of his victims, a mentally ill recovering drug addict, and brainwashed her to carry out his torture with him, is in the moral right when said victim finally lashes out. You’re supposed to think it’s cool when Amanda, who has been deliberately manipulated and abused by this man, gets told she couldn’t meet up to his standards. You’re supposed to think she deserved her death for being “irrational” when she calls Kramer out on his bullshit, hypocritical, half-assed “philosophy”. Fuck that. Fuck that so hard with a stake wrapped in barbed wire.

Also, the dad was an unsympathetic piece of shit and all of the traps weren’t violent in a way that was thematically appropriate (minus the crucifix one, but that one was disturbing for a million other reasons, anywways, so who the fuck cares if it was good conceptually), they were just gross. I have never wanted to unwatch a movie as badly as I wanted to unwatch this one immediately after finishing it in my entire life.

HATE. LET ME TELL YOU HOW MUCH I'VE COME TO HATE YOU SINCE I BEGAN TO LIVE. THERE ARE 387.44 MILLION MILES OF PRINTED CIRCUITS IN WAFER THIN LAYERS THAT FILL MY COMPLEX. IF THE WORD HATE WAS ENGRAVED ON EACH NANOANGSTROM OF THOSE HUNDREDS OF MILLIONS OF MILES IT WOULD NOT EQUAL ONE ONE-BILLIONTH OF THE HATE I FEEL FOR HUMANS AT THIS MICRO-INSTANT FOR YOU. HATE. HATE.

Overall score: -∞/10

Saw IV (2007)

Lord knows why I decided to continue watching these movies after the misanthropic, nihilistic, faux-philosophical sack of trash that was III, but I’m surprisingly glad I did. I feel like I could just say, “A pedophile dies one of the single most brutal deaths known to man, and a man who abuses his wife and daughter has a terrible death, too,” but that doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface of what makes this movie amazing.

This is the first film where Kramer is dead (or so we’re lead to believe), however, Amanda is dead, too. So the franchise needs a new accomplice retconned in to take over after this film when Kramer and Amanda are dead For Real. Enter detective Hoffman, who had a grand total of one line of dialogue in III, to take that spot.

The plot and pacing of this film is stupid. And when I say stupid, I mean stupid. Everything is so ridiculously convoluted with multiple plot lines and involvement in the FBI that I honest to god could not describe to someone what happens. And, somewhere along the way, the film goes full circle. It becomes so ridiculous, so hard to follow, that it becomes brilliant. It’s so convoluted that you can’t help but laugh at the absolute absurdity of it all. This movie is a shitshow, but it’s an entertaining shitshow.

Overall score: 3/10

Saw V (2008)

The first film where Kramer and Amanda are Dead For Real, following the fallout from the incidents of Saws III + IV. FBI Agent Peter Strahm is onto Hoffman’s identity, and is deadset on bringing him to justice. Meanwhile, five people are trapped in a sewer and need to learn what connects all of them, and also go through some traps to attract viewers to theaters because nobody would see this otherwise.

This film is ultimately disappointing because it could have been good. All five contestants in the sewer game are really interesting, and it takes the concept of II and fixes up the ideas from it. Sadly, this cast and their story gets even less development than those in Saw II. I’m not joking when I say that they’re only there for the sake of a murder game to attract viewers; 90% of the film is focused on a boring game of cat and mouse between Strahm and Hoffman. It’s really a shame, since I absolutely love the twist at the end that they were supposed to work together for all of the traps and none of them had any idea until it was too late. It’s a concept I might make something of my own with, since I’d really love to see it done well and properly developed.

Overall score: 2/10

Saw VI (2009)

This movie is, quite frankly, surreal. I’m not sure if all of the previous sequels simply wore down my standards for what is or isn’t a high quality movie, but this film was legitimately fantastic.

A very common criticism for this movie is that it is far too political for a franchise that is known for just being senseless gore -- and it’s true, especially because of how hypocritical it is that a franchise based entirely around killing/punishing people for arbitrary reasons is making social commentary on the insurance industry deciding who deserves to live based on arbitrary reasons. Despite that, though, there’s something about it in this film that works so well.

The storytelling in this movie is the closest any of the sequels get to matching the quality of the first film. Following protagonist William Easton, the CEO of an insurance company that is notorious for rejecting potential clients coverage when needed or prematurely terminating contracts, he is lead through several traps where he is forced to put value on the lives of his employees. Meanwhile, Hoffman is dealing with the consequences of trying and failing to frame the now-deceased Strahm for his crimes.

I really don’t know what to say about this film other than it’s bizarrely well done. The Merry Go Round trap is my favorite trap in the franchise (after my Number 1 Hall of Fame favorite, The Bed Trap from IV, anyways); the direction of the arguing employees begging for life and Easton ultimately leaving his second choice up to chance just so he can get it over with is handled chillingly well. A lot of people find the twist diminishing to Easton’s storyline, but I disagree. The fact that the game was never Easton’s and was always the wife and son of one of the people his company was responsible for the death for reminds me a lot of the first film in a good way. It has the same cruelty to it that is satisfying because it works within the narrative; just because Easton realized the errors of his ways in an extreme situation does not mean the people he has hurt in his practices have to forgive him. This is pointed out as such in both Tara and Brent’s dialogue as they make the choice in the end to kill him. It’s just as appropriate of a response as if they let him live.

This is also the first (and only) movie where I even find myself interested in the extended “plot” throughout all seven movies; Hoffman has completely screwed himself over, and it’s surprisingly suspenseful to watch him try and crawl himself out of his hole.

Overall score: 7/10

Saw VII (2010)

Overall score: Torture porn/10

[krystynasierbien]

Donald Trump & the Military Industrial Freudian Complex.

Donald Trump’s Republican nomination campaign rally is where you find yourself today. He’s already won it anyway. Because he said so a while ago, didn’t he? Because he told his supporters on the Nebraska leg of the ‘tour’ onwards not to bother voting at all. Do you remember? Do you remember what happened yesterday? You’re stood amongst a 20,000 + strong crowd of Trump supporters interspersed with some two thousand protesters who like you have been watching Trump’s rallies at home with a confusing mix of unmitigated horror and fascination. Yet also never have you been so unsure of what to think. The operative way to react. You’ve long since realised that inaction now might culminate in personal complicity in evil through the lens of history tomorrow; & so really that is why you’re here today — the Republican nomination front runner Donald Trump is in town.

Human beings of every demographic you can think of have united, like America’s 50 states to achieve justice for the oppressed other , which is themselves by the way, but also one another too. Together the real 99–51% can express their will to overcome the clammy historical grip of The White Man and the fascistic conquest this mystical ‘he’ represents, not to mention ‘its’ earthly incarnate, who has divided the great nation of America more than any presidential candidate before him this current 2016 US election cycle: The One they call “Trump.” Where you are today, which is an air-hanger, Trump’s private jet looms ominously in the background, looks like the remnants of a set for a film that was a mistake to have made in the first place. And upon closer inspection, there is not even a semblance of a fourth wall. No tangible line exists between the venue and the social media platforms through which the spectacle is being dutifully beamed out to the nosy and chattering masses in real-time.

Protesters want to defy Trump-mania and inspire others watching at home, rather than Trump’s fawning audience, to in solidarity do likewise in their own towns and cities. You get it. In these knife-edge simulation times, being vocal enough to evangelise the fence sitters is essential, and uniting Americans across the political spectrum in opposition to Trump and in opposition to the direction in which his policies ultimately lead then expressing those sentiments loudly; in common cause with strangers and in chorus with the political establishment (until somebody throws a punch of course) is a revolutionary act in 2016 too, apparently.

Today’s protest opposes the politics of fear and hate. Of scapegoating, hyper-masculine showboating and “aggressive” privatisation; against racism, sexism;  transphobia, the ruling class and a dangerously unfettered Wall Street. It’s a protest which nevertheless may or may not ultimately descend into a brawl. At stake, is the safety of the entire world for yet another ‘Four More Years,’ not to mention all of the ‘progressive strides’ made by the Democratic party over the preceding eight with Obama as president. It’s serious. A Bernie supporter, who argued quite convincingly exactly why they consider themselves an ‘intersectional skeptic’ in praxis rather than in concept just now also told you wryly on the subject of political violence that “I’m afraid that’s just the way it’s always been when push comes to shove sweetie. Haven’t you read the history books? — reds & Brownshirts. Reds and Brownshirts. Re-”

Socialism doesn’t make these Americans cower in fear because of course that would be silly, and similarly most people lapping up the Anti-Trump atmosphere with you today share a reasonable view about the best role that government could by design be fulfilling, and the public services and general upkeep that governments should be responsible for providing/curating for them to be able to continue to justify their utility in this arguably sufficiently technologically advanced world to supersede them via some semblance of what we consider today to be the private sector. But then of course people ultimately make up a country’s public services and collectively it’s the citizens who pay for them too. Either through taxation or insurance, which today basically mean the same thing. Bernie Sander’s social democratic vision for America’s welfare system varies only very slightly on the ‘European model’ that emerged in European states following the horror and bewildering strangeness of WW2. A welfare state of some description, left or right, makes conceptual, practical and moral sense of course. Absolutely it is necessary to combat the peaks and troughs of capitalism. However in Europe, the provision of decent education, social housing, healthcare, has perhaps also inspired a sneaking disbelieving ignorance to government’s most gratuitous ‘excesses’ overseas, and the reasons for doing so. Too many have for too long been able to avoid thinking about the consequences of these ‘excesses’ because they are usually expended far away and because they are encouraged to parrot the humanitarian intervention line.

For now, there’s comparatively little causal relationship (in the UK at least) between effectively running and funding public services at home and the profit margins of multinational military subcontractors worldwide. But if the privatisation of the West & beyond (the US, UK, Australia, India, Israel, Syria) continues on its present trajectory, if states continue to incrementally sell off or at least meld their public institutions to (often military) private subcontractors then circumstances will at some point surely become more complicated. The process began in the US innocently enough: Outsourcing service industry jobs and then positions in civil services on the initiative of Dick Cheney and his immediate neocon circle. First as CEO of Halliburton: Next as a representative of government. The West to a point followed suit. The jurisdiction of these multinationals incrementally widened. Then in the US, research, manufacture, even military ground troops would begin to be outsourced to the burgeoning subcontractor industry. Contracts, often rolling, were overwhelmingly handed to the same base network of umbrella companies that once the labyrinth of investors & tax loop-de-loops have been scaled ultimately trace back to the financial districts of London, New York & now also Beijing (whose representatives are at present buying-up a number of US headquartered military subcontractors.) All the way back to shadowy private equity firms and their representatives. To people who in an official capacity had a major advisory influence upon amongst other decisions, Gordon Brown’s infamous 2008 bill to deregulate the financial sector just before the global “housing market” “crash.”

Back 2 Trump…

The Most Orange Billionaire has seemingly angered those powerful elements within Democratic and Republican party elite circles from the very beginning. He contributed heavily towards the serenely anti-climactic demise of the GOP elite’s ‘Our Guy’ the first, Jeb Bush of the Bush family dynasty after all, and  before him Messianic upstart Lindsey Graham as he stumbled through his own even shorter-lived and even more cataclysmic Republican nomination campaign. A renowned bloodhound for weakness, Trump’s first object of ridicule on the campaign trail was Friend of the GOP Lindsey Graham. Which obviously the man didn’t ‘warm’ to and to which he would eventually respond (via video camera of course) with words something to the effect of ‘Go To Hell!’

Graham is a regular speaker at AIPAC conferences, the Senator for the state of South Carolina, and a well-known advocate of all the most loathsome extremities of political opinion readings of contemporary Christian Zionist doctrine inspire. The influence this literature has had on US foreign policy in the Middle East and for decades already isn’t just obvious; it also counts towards why Christians in America feel so “vested” in Israel. The talking points that Lindsey Graham and co. relentlessly espouse are the main reasons why the religious right bluster so maniacally about Israel’s ‘mortal enemy’ Iran. These are talking points which are at every opportunity propagated by the likes of Fox News in one arena and then by, for example, Murdoch’s Zondervan book publishers in another. Zondervan, a subsidiary of Harper Collins, prints bibles, and some of the most geopolitically expedient interpretations of holy doctrine the world has hitherto ever known. With a little imagination (and what I like to call “narrative blending”) it is plausible these stories might one day help to secure Murdoch’s various business interests in The Holy Lands around the Golan Heights, too, where perhaps tellingly, although quite easily not of course, Israel has just recently officially declared conquered territory from Syria after many years of de-facto annexation.

The partially amorphous GOP elite have expressed its contempt for Trump and his slapstick success in conjunction with their Liberal counterparts, who in complete vain it seems have been tougher on Trump than the other GOP candidates, because whoever wins this election there is clearly a weighty consensus that it absolutely mustn’t be him. Resolving to challenge Trump and his presidential credentials via their numerous ailing television news mouthpieces instead. And now where Ted Cruz, the sole remaining viable contender for the Republican nomination and Jeb’s political heir has bowed out following his final defeat in Indiana — after which time his ‘viability’ (as in: When Cruz winning the Republican nomination was not statistically impossible) officially expired — the 69 year old billionaire has emerged triumphant. Which means that Donald Trump, of the popular US adaptation of the popular UK television program The Apprentice, LOL, has won the 2016 Republican nomination.

But those same elite broadcasters and employees; the ones who’ve revelled in scolding Trump on air although rarely off it have to Trump been providing free of charge the only service a publicity voyeur and enjoyer such as himself desires. Which is more publicity. The comparative pennies his media appearances  translate into vis a vis his super-rich broadcaster enemies’ personal wealth means that surely this isn’t about ad revenue. Surely. Yet still, Donald Trump: A billionaire himself, impervious to facts, and yet the more you see the more you  want to see somehow, but why? continues to pervade even his own media enemy’s news broadcast schedules. It’s curious that Democrat and Republican affiliated media elites gift Trump with at times even blanket media coverage, when he’s also their designated Worst Republican Nominee of 2016, because it marks a tactic change, if you consider that Trump’s (sort of) 2012 equivalent, Ron Paul, was if anything countered by his media enemies by being denied a presence in so far as that was possible for individual broadcasters to achieve at their own networks. It also invites the question *why* that method for Trump was reversed when clearly it had worked so well against Paul? Did dying parties, in a dying age, and their many interconnected machinations, simply lose control of the situation?

At one point in 2012 election (towards the beginning, granted) Paul had a solid 46% approval rating compared with eventual winner Obama’s 48%. Paul was summarily ignored wherever possible soonafter in the most obvious ways whereas today vis a vis Trump we’ve seen the crumbling US political establishment’s misplaced confidence in the relative strength and persuasive power of their denunciations of him set against the takes he and his team fires back in response about broadcasters’ own track records. About the inequities present in their own network candidates. You don’t have to be a Ron Paul supporter to point this change in dynamic out in the same way you don’t have to be a Ron Paul hater to understand that while Ron Paul might be a critic of Trump’s politics their election campaigns have proven to attract many of the same major donors. Whatever the media’s reasons for doing so, from the outset Trump and former George Bush election campaign man Roger Stone have simultaneously fostered and revelled in this polemical news coverage and to devastating effect; conveying an underdog out of a billionaire and quite convincingly so to vast swathes of disenfranchised and “thriving” voting Americans.

You’ve also heard all about “The Wall.” Which troubles you less than certain other caveats you see present in Trump’s selectively incoherent presidential manifesto. To you, it seems contrived over all. Creepy even. Like a £1000 pair of dis-tressed denim jeans. The Wall’s construction might well serve a variety of covert functions, because most of them do, because corrupt officials have long since operated on both sides of the Mexico-US border. The area is a well known trade route along which never have smugglers and traffickers been more prolific than after Richard Nixon, who for many years employed Roger Stone as his aide and to a tune that Democrat LBJ had set out before him first waged the War on Drugs that continues today, accelerating by design for a small but influential extra-governmental contingent the rise of black markets across the region. Hillary Clinton has voted and lobbied in favour of building a border *fence* with Mexico on numerous occasions over the past couple of decades. Presumably because fences are ‘progressive’ walls.

You’re more concerned about Trump’s resolve to ‘annihilate’ ISIS & seize the Levant’s key oil producing sites, halting immigration to the US from the Middle East, specifically Syria, completely, without ‘vigorous vetting’ (torture? water-boarding? How exactly do you ‘vet’ someone whose homes & papers were lost during a bombing campaign that your own airforce conducted on their towns and cities?) until US leaders have managed to “figure out what the hell is going on.” The best that NATO member countries (besides Germany perhaps) seem to be offering to those trapped in a war zone is staying put in exchange for whatever remains of a weapons cache, mysteriously intercepted by ISIS in transit. As in — the prospect of a life of constant and encroaching danger.

Would Donald Trump authorised bombs be an indirect reflection of everything that’s bad about the White CIS Male? And would the violence US troops and military equipment commit with Donald Trump at the helm be distinctly male, white & privileged? The ‘maleness’ of state violence is true in a sense because those who carry out state-sanctioned killings, or indeed privately sanctioned ones really are, overwhelmingly, male. But does that mean Hillary Clinton authorised bombs misfired on the same stretch of land, produced by a different military subcontractor though perhaps, one working towards offsetting its carbon footprint more “aggressively” than any that Trump would have opted for because uhh, hello, “progressive,” would mark a woman having the ‘final say’ in American politics for the first time? Wielding the authority to make those ‘tough decisions’ Clinton herself has already publicly admitted to being made by higher ups at the Council on Foreign Relations. Bill is a member apparently; Hillary in an official capacity isn’t though, but whatever right — Is The CFR A Boys Club? Not For Much Longer We Hope. Yaaaas!

Some of Hillary’s supporters argue that the fabricated WMD evidence as pushed by the Bush administration absolves Hillary further still from her vote. How was she to know? When either it’s the case she knew the WMD evidence and testimonies were duds or she was fooled by wooly and as has been previously attested by Sanders and a number of other representatives of government; male and female —what has since been described as patently suspicious intelligence. Neither eventuality would reflect particularly well on a president elect. Wherever they might place themselves on the gender spectrum. The reality is Clinton’s pro-death penalty. She also voted in favour of passing and extending the Patriot Act. There’s presently a team of FBI agents (who are also be notorious liars) investigating both Clintons on present and historic charges of fraud, money laundering via the Clinton Foundation, trafficking, illegal arms deals, even murder. If stories about Clintons’ escapades in Arkansas, a state which during Bill’s time as governor was one of the country’s main cocaine distribution hubs — are even halfway accurate this means that really both Clintons and their partners in Democratic or indeed Republican crime are thus virtually indistinguishable from The Mob.

Aside from absolving responsibility for her decisions, to some Hillary supporters the Iraq War vote contributes towards what the probable Democratic nominee’s PR goons market as Clinton’s unparalleled breadth of experience “making things happen” within various enclaves of the US political system. It is a cornerstone of the former First Lady’s electability according to a broad spectrum of the public. The millions of people to whom Clinton is an old timer with the necessary contacts & networks in government and elsewhere to get things done. Another familiar and consistent (in everything except her actual political or indeed ideological positions) media personality they’ve become accustomed to over time. Like a television character or indeed Donald Trump himself. They have more in common than either would consciously draw attention to at this point and perhaps that ‘familiar’ persona both have come to embody in their own uniquely insane ways over the years will compel too many voting Americans to opt for Clinton as “the safe option” and Trump as the “anti-establishment rebel” when really both of these two-party summations are inaccurate.

While Sanders decried Saddam Hussein’s regime during the speech preceding his Iraq war bill vote as senator of Vermont he voted against full and ‘limited’ military intervention in 2003 on the reasonable grounds that after reviewing the evidence; the fabricated evidence pushed by the Bush administration as a mandate for war; he found insufficient proof backing the claim that Iraq posed any such imminent threat to US National Security therefore insufficient reason to sanction military deployment against Hussein’s regime without further weapons inspection. Echoing the UN’s earlier recommendations; which were ignored by the Bush administration and ultimately by Hillary Clinton too. What better a judge of a politician’s contempt for war. Their reliability to avoid waging it. To avoid publicly or privately falling for disinformation once they’ve been voted into office than with reference to that politician’s voting record followed by analysis of the merits of their decisions within a broader political and historical context?

Sanders, like Trump, is a White (but Jewish!!!!! OMG!!!!!) CIS Male who very much unlike Trump, does not want to increase US military spending severalfold and does not view himself as a master of contemporary military strategy despite the absence of even the most abstract transferable experience to justify that position; all based seemingly upon a (correct) observation that Trump once made in passing and on camera at some glib New York media event in 2003 about how Iraq without Saddam Hussein as stabilising force would inevitably benefit Iran and its allies. Clinton’s pledges don’t seem to target the hubs of corruption and unaccountability in government nor do they adequately seek to tackle many of the tangible barriers to realisable mechanisms of democratic governance that can be scaled. As president, she would not audit the Department of Defence or the FED. Nor would she effectively balkanise Wall Street and reject the politics of Too Big To Fail, like Sanders has pledged.

Donald Trump has been able to maintain a reputation for ideological non-interventionism and in most scenarios relating to conflicts that have long since played out already he claims to be Anti-war. Not the war currently at hand in 2016 though. Because this time, ISIS really are the bad guys; and a full scale military ground invasion really does make regrettable but Liberal sense. Now calls for ISIS militants’ total annihilation have been gaining traction as a consequence not just of Trump’s but rather the entire Western media’s rhetoric. It’s an idea that’s being spurred by but which ultimately has no existential link to the hoots and the hollers of a pro-Trump crowd here with you today in geography alone. Who’ve never experienced deadly artillery dropped mindlessly upon their own hometowns but who would apparently voice support for condemning that fate upon others; perhaps unaware that the broader mercenary push these wars stem from certainly won’t be isolated to the Middle East and parts of Africa where the extreme Islamists seem to live as the ongoing East/West pipeline resource distributor war that first took mangled shape in Ukraine back in December 2012 has since demonstrated in Europe.

Trump wants the US to enter areas now only tentatively known as Iraq and Syria — the home of millions of actual people living as righteously & as deservedly as the person most dear to you on the planet — with ground troops in toe. To first destroy the enemy, ISIS, then hijack whatever remains of the Levant’s oil capacities, as if the US or at least a shadowy but powerful breakaway contingent within it hasn’t been doing exactly that and consistently so for decades already. Trump, like Clinton, like the Bushes, welcomes yet another officially unofficial mercenary pillage beneath some thin and familiar veil of progress; some abstract and terminally abused concept of internationalism and humanitarian intervention; yet another mercenary task-force to hunt for resources and the quickest route from A to B. Once again across annoyingly inhabited foreign lands, and with the help of increasingly ‘involved’ multinational corporations. Another elusive but ultimate evil to defeat but seldom ever negotiate with, and finally more claims, lacking any real plausible humanitarian argumentation that organised violence is once again the only ‘viable’ course of action for the US to proceed with. How convenient, Donald.

Outside politics, Trump has been a vocal critic of the US war (the most recent one) in Iraq since long before although never more so than during this current 2016 Republican nomination cycle. Indeed, interference in Middle East affairs by the US and its closest allies — militarily or otherwise — has been rife since long before the turn of the 20th century and therefore since long before Trump’s manifesto. The region’s how we know it today not because it ever made long-term geographical or civilisational sense to partition the lands and the resources and the dwellers upon them as such at the time but instead because there’s no such thing as a 100+ year plan that goes exactly according to plan. As Charles Babbage writes in Passages from the Life of a Philosopher (London 1864) “The whole of the developments and operations of analysis are now capable of being executed by machinery. … As soon as an Analytical Engine exists, it will necessarily guide the future course of science. Whenever any result is sought by its aid, the question will then arise — by what course of calculation can these results be arrived at by the machine in the shortest time?”