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anika-ann · 1 year ago

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Cracks in Foundation (S.R.)

Type: one-shot, standalone or part of Love on the Brain series

Pairining: Steve Rogers x reader Word count: 6000

Summary: Dating Steve Rogers is a curse and a gift. Even as it was always a privilege, right now, it feels like the former. You really want to smack some sense into him so this never happens again, but you know it will – after all, that’s half the reason you love him.

In other words, Steve is stupidly brave on a mission and it has consequences neither of you could foresee. But maybe you should have; because now you’re here alone to pick up the pieces.

Warnings!!: Steve being an absolute dumbass, mentions and images of death, hypothermia, PTSD, flashbacks, probably not an ideal treatment of a flashback, canon typical violence, language

A/N: reader is called “Agent Jones”, works for the Avengers Initiative; you do not need knowledge of Criminal Minds or Love on the Brains series to read this, but it will, of course, make more sense. I imagine this taking place much later - in about a year after the events of Love on the Brain; divider by firefly-graphics

In my body I fight fire With the snow, my hell is cold (SYML – Body)

This shouldn’t have happened. This nevershouldn’t have happened but it had – of course it had. You should have seen it coming, both the action and the reaction. All of you should have known better, but you in particular.

Unfortunately, sometimes, despite your ability to profile people, you still failed.

Sometimes, despite your best knowledge of Steven Grant Rogers, you still managed to underestimate him. His literally unhuman body. His profoundly good heart. His incredible strength in both muscles and psyche. His ability to have you burn for him with a single touch. His ability to touch your heart in ways no one ever could.

His extraordinary dumbassery.

You really should have known so much better.

If you had, you wouldn’t have him here, face ashen, lips turning blue, eyes wide and unfocused; he looked like death itself.

You swallowed your tears and tried to battle the ever-rising panic crawling up your throat, closing your eyes for a moment as if it could erase the terrifying sight.

“Steve? Stevie? You’re going to be okay… I’m here. You’re going to be okay…”

You repeated the mantra so many times you weren’t sure anymore whether you were saying it to him or to yourself.

The craziest thing was, it wasn’t even the worst sight of the day you were offered by your exceptional dumbass of a boyfriend; no, that had been what your own mind had shown you. Now that image was going to haunt you forever and despite knowing yelling solved nothing and it couldn’t change the past, you were going to scream your lungs out when you’d get the chance. Later. Right now, you had more pressing matters to attend to.

Like making sure Steve Rogers, your GG, would come back to you.

You needed to get to work.

It was a routine mission really, if such things as routine existed within the Avengers Initiative. It was rather routine in terms of involvement of the actual Avengers; Steve and Natasha joined missions like these – sweep a base, gather intel, make some arrests if lucky enough – on a regular basis. Tony Stark coming with? Less so. Still, one could call it routine enough, even when located in the death of tundra in Russia around 100 miles from the border with Finland.

Besides the cold and Tony, there was nothing extraordinary. Just another mission.

And it had been; until the agents scattered and you heard several voices in the comms reporting they were in pursuit of the enemies. Until you found out they were chasing them through the tunnels and suddenly found themselves outside of the base. Until you learned that outside meant the landscape of the very frozen lake Natasha had purposely avoided landing the quinjet on for the fear of the heavy aircraft destabilizing the already risky environment.

Until you heard agent Smith was down. And by down, they meant under the ice, because a thinner layer of it cracked and broke under his feet. Until Steve fucking Rogers, two hundred and forty pounds of muscle and zero brain power at the moment had the wonderful idea to rush to Smith’s aid.

You had made it out of the base just in time to see his navy-blue suit disappear and your sleep for the following nights probably with it. You had stood there holding your breath as if you were the one in the icy water, as if subconsciously testing how much oxygen – as if that was the only concern – you had left before you’d have to make it to the surface for another breath.

It was long. It was too long. You had taken at least two breaths in the meantime and you weren’t sure the panic rising in your chest with every frantic beat of your heart, with every second they did not appear above the surface, was to blame.

Your hand flew to your comms and you cursed yourself for not having done it moments ago.

“Tony-“

“I’m onto those idiots, Squirt, don’t worry,” his voice sounded in your ear, not quite easing your worry in fact.

Steve was still under. Still in the water. Even though you were aware that he survived much worse than a few seconds of icy cold water – try decades – you’d rather he was still conscious when Tony would get his stupid ass out. And the second Steve would be able to hear you, were going to yell, very loudly and probably more than a little hysterical, because what the hell had he been doing beside tempting fate to give him another involuntary icy nap. You were going to chew the hell out of him, your fists curling in your thick microfibre gloves, because you felt like punshing him too, anything, just so you could stop holding your breath.

But you needed him to get out first.

“And get to the jet, your bae will need some warming up,” Tony added, causing you to grit your teeth, even as you were grateful; not a second later, the whoosh of Iron Man’s suit flying above your head blew the few stands of hair that escaped your hat in your face.

Completely ignoring Tony’s inappropriate comment and his sound advice, you remained right where you stood, gaze transfixed where you had last seen Steve, slipping under the surface. Your pulse thundered in your temples as you watched the red and gold of Tony’s suit fly like a flare above the flood of white surrounding you all, nearing the break in the ice, no doubt searching the heat signatures you assumed were fading with each passing moment.

And then the Iron Man himself performed an obnoxious superhero-like landing, complete with fist on the ground and your anger, gathering since you saw Steve dive into a fucking ice soup without a second thought, exploded, your vision turning bloody red for a split second. What the fuck was Stark doing that for?! Did he really just feed his ego while on a rescue mission?! You were going to-

And then the fist landed again. And again and again and then it hit you. You didn’t have the capacity to scold yourself for assuming and assuming completely wrong; the realization stunned you, blood freezing in your veins having nothing to do with the snow and harsh wind hitting your face.

The ice had frozen over. Steve jumped in and before he could emerge, the ice had frozen over his head. The image of a him under water, holding Smith, the fucking moron, to his chest and fighting to punch his way through the solid surface, swinging his arm heavily through the icy water stinging every inch of his skin, losing oxygen by the minute, that was an image that would haunt you forever, even as you had never set your eyes on it.

Then again, the arm of Tony’s suit diving into water and pulling out two men as easily as if they were helpless kittens was etched into your brain just as effectively, arriving with overwhelming relief. With a wordless prayer on your lips, you squinted against the snow blowing in your face to search for a lump of beloved and hated navy blue suit contrasting against the endless white of the plain surrounding the incident.

You’d swear you could hear him coughing, hungrily drinking in air in between when he doubled over as soon as Tony dropped him off in a safe distance from the crack. In the back of your mind, you were aware of the red and gold figure carrying the motionless body of Agent Smith, flying it to the quinjet, the medical team having prepared on the ramp with a stroller and equipment, but your eyes were transfixed on the dark mass of a supersoldier good hundred feet away still. You were almost certain, even from the distance, that he also managed to empty his stomach to make him feel even more miserable. Not that you blamed him; it had to be, apart from really fucking cold, extremely terrifying. It definitely was for you. Just the memory made your feel throat as if squeezed in a vice.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry, pick-up number two happening right away,” Tony assured you face-to face, uncharacteristically humourless now that he had set eyes on the momentarily lifeless body of Agent Smith.

You thought you uttered a thank you, but he couldn’t hear it as he was already off to carry your exceptionally idiotic boyfriend along. And so you ran to the jet, boots heavy with snow falling in and biting coldly into your calf and shins, legs stiff from the shock of the experience still.

When Tony finally brought Steve after what felt like a lifetime, you certainly didn’t speak a word of complaint when he also hauled him further into the quinjet into one of the medical cubicles sans a team. You followed, painfully aware of every single muscle in Steve’s body trembling, the tips of his fingers having turned white.

“You can yell at him first,” Tony told you graciously, shooting Steve an ugly look before glancing at you entering just behind them.

“Gee thanks,” you snarked back automatically, tone softening when you met his genuinely worried eyes. “Thank you, Tony, really.”

“Whatever,” he scoffed, but a small smile passed over his lips. “Jarvis, heat up this room for our Capsicle, will you?”

You rolled your eyes at the nickname. Steve wasn’t going to live that down any time soon, probably ever, not after attempting to became an icicle for the second time.

“Certainly, sir. Gradually heating up to 25 degrees Celsius, as recommended in the medical manual,” the AI chimed helpfully, the wave of heat washing over you instantly. The air felt almost tropical after the arctic wind outside, but you were grateful. Steve would need that.

“Thanks, J,” you said, throwing off your gloves, hat and parka as quick as you managed with your fingers freezing, not bothering with more as to help Steve strip his soaking garments as soon a possible.

The silence that settled after rang a sudden alarm bells; it dawned to you at last that during the whole exchange, Steve remained quiet. Way too quiet.

You’d expect the sounds of zippers and Velcro as he was tearing off his uniform, the fabric dripping icy cold water despite the best engineers and designers having worked on the material. You’d expect his teeth to clatter in doing so, colourful curses on his blueish lips, especially when in company of only you and Tony. He had been coughing out water, quite violently, barely just having been dropped in the jet, so you’d think his air-ways would still fight spasm and the biting intrusion of ice, the raspy wet cough not ceasing.

But Steve was doing neither of that, tripling your worry for him in the process.

You moved to round him to get a look at him with an urgent whisper of his name, stomach flipping in fear when he didn’t answer.

The lack of any action or sound was incredibly disconcerting, because it could mean two things: either, he was absolutely stunned, the weight of what could have happened finally falling on him, or he had been already struck by hypothermia severe enough to be acutely in danger despite being a far cry from what Smith had looked like when Tony dropped him off.

When you finally laid your eyes on Steve’s face, your heart nearly stopped. His skin was scarily pale, his lips turning alarming blue, but that, while worrying, wasn’t surprising at all. What shocked you was his eyes; his pupils were blown wide, unfocused, misted over to the point that had he been lying on the ground, you’d swear he was--

Do not even think it. You can’t. He was going to be fine, he was alright, he just needed to warm up, he was not—He was very much alive, you were sure of it, he had to be. But the fact was, Steve couldn’t see you. He wasn’t seeing anything.

With horror, your gaze fell to his chest and in a split second, you realized that his whole body was still. Way too still. He wasn’t moving at all; he wasn’t even breathing. And yet, he was standing upright, almost as if his feet simply froze to the ground and that was the only reason why he hadn’t collapsed yet- But you knew, you knew that wasn’t possible, and despite the panic clawing at your throat, you were hundred percent certain that he wouldn’t be standing upright had his heart stopped, so how was he still standing?

It would be baffling if it wasn’t absolutely terrifying. Why was he so still? It literally looked as if he was frozen, as if-

He was frozen.

When it finally clicked, a choked noise erupted from lips, your heart shattering into thousand pieces; but your mind snapped into action, already working on solutions.

“Tony, get us as many of towels, blankets and those small heat packs, as you can manage and give me full access to J. Make sure we have complete privacy. No one needs to see this.” Your throat was too tight for you to be able to speak on normal volume, but that was the least of your concerns, truly. You were sure Tony heard you just fine.

At least someone did.

“Kinky-?” Tony uttered, confused by your sudden escalated panic and the look you shot him – if looks could kill, he’d already be lying in a pool of his blood.

“Tony, get your ass fucking moving or I’ll swear to god I’ll strangle you in a way that will make Sam McDowell look like an amateur.”

Whether he knew the name of the prolific serial strangler or simply understood the urgency in your tone, he had enough wit to take his leave without further protest and with relative hurry, leaving you focus fully on Steve. Oh Steve. The absent brilliant blue of his irises had your stomach make another unpleasant somersault, your eyes filling with tears, nose tingling in anticipation of a full sobfest.

You so couldn’t afford that now. You couldn’t afford screaming either, but good god, did you want to – you wanted to stand in front of a mirror and scream your lungs out because how could it have not punched you straight in the face right away? How could you have not seen it coming?! You only had years of experience in profiling, with dealing individuals struggling with PTSD among other things. You only known Steve for years, knew what he had endured. You only learned about the sacrifice of Captain America in high school, several years ago.

God, the icy water. Could there be any more obvious and deadly trigger?

Of course Steve’s gaze was absent, his whole mind was. He wasn’t here with you, not in time and not in space; he was in the water. In a water so icy it was turning solid, trapping him for decades to come. People couldn’t breathe under water. People couldn’t breathe when frozen in a mass of ice.

Now you understood the reason for the absolute stillness of his whole body including his chest. Steve’s mind was locked so firmly into the memory that it either shut his body – because logically, he wouldn’t be able to breathe, let alone move in the prison he found himself in – or it latched onto his survival instinct, screaming at him not to breathe to prevent the water flooding into his lungs.

You fought your instinct to gag when the iron fist that realization hit you square in the stomach and sent bile up your throat.

So not the time. You needed him to snap out of it. And you needed it fast before you’d lose any more precious seconds.

“Steve?” you called out lowly, giving zero shit about the crack in your voice. “Stevie? You’re going to be okay, but I need you to breathe. Can you do that for me?” you pleaded.

Grimacing, you released an involuntarily whimper when you got zero reaction. You pushed through the lump in your throat, forcing yourself to repeat the words in normal volume. The only response you got was the ever-present unnatural stillness; and Steve’s lips gradually turning bluer.

Your thoughts whirled in your head, mind desperately trying to latch onto any knowledge and experience you had with dealing with PTSD. You had never encountered someone with similar problem, never dealt with a flashback of this magnitude; Gideon had once taken the lead with a soldier trapped in his mind, murdering civilians for he believed them to be enemy soldiers, but that was Gideon. Jason Gideon, with his mind of steel and twenty-five years of experience. Jason Gideon, one of the founding fathers of the Behaviour Analysis Unit himself.

On your own, you were at loss with someone so far gone; but what you knew had to be enough. What you knew was that the only way of breaking Steve out of the prison his mind had created was to anchor him in reality, to appeal to all his senses.

The problem was that the majority of stimuli Steve was receiving from his senses matched the very environment of his flashback. The reality you would try to ground him in was his clothes soaking wet in freezing water and him being on a planewith a voice of a woman in his ears, trying to sooth his suffering. In other words, the reality was how he ended up buried in the ice in the first place.

Aware that you were shaking like a leaf yourself, jaw set so tight it was beginning to hurt, you were also painfully aware you couldn’t just stand there doing nothing with cheeks wet with tears and stare at the strongest person you had ever knew involuntarily depriving himself of oxygen. You had to do something.

Touching him was, frankly, a terrible idea; touching anyone with a flashback would be, because you’d be risking triggering a fight or flight response instead. Touching Steve and triggering the fight part in a supersoldier however, get him run on pure instinct? Now that could result in your broken neck or crushed windpipe really quickly. That idea truly didn’t sound appealing to you; and Steve would never forgive himself. You’d rather avoid that.

You took a deep breath, releasing the air shakily as your mind raced. Alright. Time. If you couldn’t ground him in space, you needed to ground him in time.

“Steve, GG, look at me. I’m Agent Jones – I’m Sparkles,” you said urgently, taking care to voice every syllable, daring to step an inch closer to him, hoping to fill his field of vision completely. “And I’m right here with you. There’s no water. Nothing’s stopping me or you from breathing.” You exaggerated an inhale and exhale, the warm air washing over his face, but without any effect. “There’s plenty of air, GG, for both you and me. Please.”

You dug your nails into your palms when nothing happened but your love staring back blankly, unnaturally stiff.

Steve could hold his breath for a long time – much more than an average human, his lung capacity unmatched – but he had also been drowning, so you really couldn’t count on that. You were running out of time. He was going to pass out. Sure, his breathing would kick in then and hell, maybe losing consciousness would be a blessing compared to this, but that sleep would not be peaceful and there was no telling what the wake-up call would look like other than really fucking unpleasant. The idea of him escaping one nightmare only to be find himself in another and then another until he woke up to the reality just as harsh, as if freshly having lost the whole world he knew all over again, chased fresh tears into your eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Tony’s voice snapped you from your focus, your heart nearly bursting through your chest.

Jesus, how long had he been standing there?

Not important; and you didn’t have time to explain. Without thinking, you spilled the truth in as few words as possible, in the very same breath you tried to appeal to Steve again, your gaze never shifting from his pale face.

“He’s having a flashback, please leave, thank you for the blankets-- GG, please. Breathe with me, there’s nothing to be afraid of, I promise. I’m right here. Trust me. I can breathe just fine…”

You could not. You felt as if someone smashed your ribs with a crowbar for laughs and hit and hit until you couldn’t breathe in without blinding pain, but you knew, you knew it had to be nothing compared to what Steve was facing and you needed to get a grip, you couldn’t wallow in it and you couldn’t let the biting fear consume you. Not with Steve like this.

You were out of other options. Gulping, you oh so slowly lifted your trembling hand, settling it against Steve’s ashen cold cheek. You only got as far as your skin brushing his when a vice-like grip on your wrist stopped you, tearing your touch away and completely immobilizing your hand in the process.

He didn’t look at you as you hissed in pain; he was still far, far away, not moving an inch more than strictly necessary to stop you. But the jolt of pain into your wrist was accompanied by a loud gasp for air, his ribcage expanding right in front of your eyes.

A wet laugh escaped you. “Oh thank god.”

His fingers might as well be made of ice, just as freezing and just as rigid, clutching at you with all the might his body was probably capable off and it hurt. But at least it wasn’t your throat in his grip; you could both breathe. That was a tremendous win.

You still needed to anchor him further and actually bring him back, but the door to his mind were unlocked at least. Now you needed to appeal to all his senses, talk him through it, so he could open the door himself.

“Agent Jones? Do you require assistance?” Jarvis asked warily, no doubt reacting to your physical distress.

Rightfully so, because it was growing – if it was possible, Steve’s fingers dug further into your flesh, already making for a bruise, you were sure. Your fingertips begun to tingle, strange numbness spreading through your hand, but you were far too gone to give up now. You could handle this. You’d get Steve release you on his own.

“Not for now, J, thank you. We’re good—actually, Jarvis?” you called out lowly, the artificial intelligence instantly letting you know he listened. “Can you play me a song? I need to get Steve in the modern times.”

“Certainly. What would you like me to play, Agent Jones? Something contemporary?”

“Yeah. Contemporary and irritatingly ear-worming,” you muttered, mind racing.

A song Steve would hundred percent know, one his mind would without a single doubt identify as something modern. It was the biggest assholery of your mind to push the melody of Let It Go into the forefront of your overstressed brain before anything else, but a hysterical chuckle escaped you anyway, forcing you to lick off tears from your lips. It was the stupidest thing and the worst irony ever – because yeah, the cold really fucking bothered you now and it sure bothered Steve.

“Something way too overplayed on a radio, preferably without the words cold, snow, ice and such in it, J.”

It was only half a second later, when Taylor Swift’s Shake It Off came out the speakers.

Despite yourself, you snorted, fresh tears springing out. This time, you appreciated the irony. That was what Steve needed, right? He just needed to shake it off. He’d be fine.

Taking a deep breath, smiling through your tears and the growing pains in your wrist, you got to work.

You told him what he was hearing. The engines, the song, the heating running, your voice. You told him what he could see, your hair, the colour of your eyes, the Avengers logo etched onto your uniform and not an SSR one, the high-tech equipment you knew he could have never seen in his original time. You told him about the heat washing over his face and hair, your hand in his.

The owlish, painfully slow blink you elicited was a victory, bringing a smile to your face, drying your tears, bringing a softer and softer tone to your voice as you continued speaking.

“Steve? GG? I know it’s cold and I want to help you,” you said gently, trying to meet his gaze as it began to slowly roam to room; still absent, but not misted over anymore. “I could help you by taking off that wet suit, taking away the cold. But for that, I need you to let go of my hand so I can-“

You gritted your teeth and squeezed your eyes shut when the response you got was the exact opposite, as if he was mad at you for even suggesting it; you stifled the whimper at the prickling his grip sent through your arm. It was hard to tell whose hand was paler now; he definitely cut off your circulation and it was not a pretty sight. But you only had yourself to blame and you promised yourself you’d never do otherwise.

It was only when the numbness replaced the pain that it dawned to you where the problem might be.

“GG, please? I promise I won’t leave. I’ll stay right here with you. But I need you to release my hand so I can take that cold away. Only the cold, I swear.”

You nearly cried when the pressure on your wrist gradually eased, a shaky exhale sounding a lot like a whine escaping you. That was most definitely more than a bruise; you allowed yourself a few seconds of deep breaths, fighting off the dark edge in your vision.

Then, you grabbed after one of the small heating pads, snapping the thin metal plate inside to initiate a chemical reaction; in an instant, the thick liquid began to solidify and warm up. You placed in into Steve’s still open palm, hanging loosely by his side, enclosing his icy fingers around it despite the gloves getting in the way. You winced at the sharp pain shooting through your arm. Definitely more than a bruise. You repeated the process to warm up his other hand, finally going for the Velcros and zippers on the front of his suit.

Thankfully, the temperature Jarvis had set melted the microcrystals of ice around the metal, allowing you to undo it relatively easy. You felt Steve’s eyes on your now, his body slowly, oh so slowly getting on with the programme, fists unclenching when you needed to pull the sleeves over his hands without dropping the pads.

“You’re doing so good, Stevie, so good,” you praised him softly, loud enough to speak over the second playing of the song in the background. You were going to hear it for days, you were certain. And you’d hate it forever, too. “You’re a great help, GG, thank you.”

When he dropped the pads, you made a quick work of undoing his gloves too, before pushing new pads into his hands. His thick pants followed; the boots though, those were trickier.

Fuck this. You swiftly searched the transparent cabinets for scalpel, slicing the material through as carefully as you could with your still trembling hands. The water was still brutally cold against your fingers; and your wrist was beginning to throb. Almost there, you soothed yourself, wondering whether you’d manage to make Steve sit down so you could take off those boots and the pants… and underpants. You’d rather have him keep his dignity, but his boxer shorts were soaked through as well and way too close to his core… maybe if you placed enough heating pads around…

The truth was that despite your instincts screaming at you, you knew you didn’t have to worry that much about the physical effects of the low temperature on him. As awful as it sounded, you knew he could take the icy cold – that was part of the problem. It was the numbing memory constructing the perfect trap for his mind, the dissociation, that took precedence, as unusual as it was. And if you weighted the pros and cons…

Well. It wasn’t like his dick was going to freeze right off.

You stood to your full height, licking your lips as you faced Steve again. He was watching you now with surprising intent; you tried to give him a reassuring smile, raising your unharmed hand slowly enough for him to register and placed it on his ribs, almost under the armpit, ready to support him in case his muscles didn’t quite respond to his command as expected when you’d ask him to sit down.

What you didn’t expect was for him to crumble under your touch.

Over two hundred pounds of muscle was too much for your body to carry. When he leaned onto you without a single warning, his knees giving way, dropping his whole weight on your shoulders, you tumbled to the ground as you were without a real chance to slow down the fall. Your hands instinctively attempted too, but you knew you could add bruised backbone and your other wrist to the list on your injuries.

And while pain briefly shot through you very bones, you soon didn’t give a damn.

Not when Steve buried his face in the crook of your neck, arms gripping onto your body like as if it was a lifeline, harsh breaths and heartbreaking sobs escaping his lips, shaking his usually strong frame; but maybe that was just shivers from the cold. His skin was still almost icy to touch, his nose like an icicle as he pressed to your collarbone over your thermals, wet hair tickling your chin; his pants at his ankles, his boots, barely keeping together, still as his feet. You let them be as they were. Instead of stripping him further, you managed to reach for at least one of the pads and throw it into his lap, the blankets and towels too far away.

You enclosed Steve in a hug, achy hand carefully resting in his hair, the other running soothing circles on his back in a poor attempt to console him. His tears seeped into your shoulder and you never cared less for anything in your life; yours in return disappeared into his hair. Sweet nonsenses were spilling from your lips, drowned in his ragged sobs; you whispered his name over and over, his name and all endearments that came to mind and even remotely fit him. I’ve got you, love. Sweetheart, I’m here, sweet, I’m here… oh GG, my gentle giant, giant heart, I’ve got you, this will pass, I’ll help, I’ll help, I’ll help you stand up again. You’re doing so well. I’m so proud of you, baby, so proud…

The song, thank god, stopped playing as soon as Steve broke.

You could feel his body weighting a ton, every muscle weary, strung and feeble at once, and yet, it was his mind making for most of the weight he couldn’t bear. Feelings he normally hid behind a wall as tall as Tower of Babel so he could lead others into battle with a brave face now oozed off him and soaked your skin and mind. You could only imagine the onslaught of emotions and memories, reminders of all he lost, the ghost of having woken up in the new millennium for the first time looming over him.

The way his fingers dug into your forearm, clutched at the flesh of your waist, it would hurt later; but at the moment, those long agonizing minutes that felt like an eternity, you barely felt it, instead consumed by overwhelming grief for the kindest and strongest soul you had ever met. The best man, breaking in front of your eyes and in your arms.

It took long minutes before you dared to move, just enough to reach for the blanket and strip him off the pants and shoes at least. You never went too far. The volume of your voice decreased along with Steve’s, along with the tremble of his exhausted body. He melted into your frame, falling asleep right there, held in your considerably weaker arms and you were grateful.

In a low voice, you asked Jarvis to notify Steve’s therapist – and yours, even if with less urgency. The worst of it was over, but you weren’t naïve as to think that just because the storm was over, there would be no damage and no need for restoration.

For now, you held Steve and tried to keep him warm, not blind to the fact his body combined with Jarvis’ service was already drying off the last piece of clothing he wore. You ran the fingers of your unharmed hand through the golden damp strands of his hair, pressing a kiss to his forehead every now and then, hoping his sleep was dreamless.

Minutes or hours later, Natasha was the one to find you still curled one into other, gently telling you that everyone had already left the jet and that she’d send medics over in a few. You gave her a brave smile even as you were feeling everything but, your adrenalin wearing off and leaving you on the brink of breaking yourself.

When two medics rolled Steve away and you followed, refusing to move an inch farther from Steve than necessary just in case he’d unexpectedly wake up, a third one forced you to take an x-ray as your hand was already swelling.

As it turned out, there was a crack in both your ulna and radius, the mass, however strong, having been unable to withstand Steve’s strength. The swelling was bothering your nerves and your veins, hence the painful tingles and numbness; but in the end, they were just cracks. They’d heal.

Cracks actually usually hurt more than complete breaks, Doctor Jackson told you. You thought it was quite fitting. What Steve had experienced was not a break, for he was never broken; you weren’t certain he could be. It was but a crack; the foundation of who he was had so far been strong enough to withstand horrors unimaginable. And even though the cracks hurt like a bitch, you’d be there for him to help him through the pain.

The cracks in your bones could be solved by a few pills and rest; his would be a little more complicated.

But you’d help build him up again. You’d help him stand tall. Not for the sake of Captain America, the shining beacon of hope, the façade that could be speedpaint with shines of red, blue and white with ease. No, you’d help repair the real cracks for Steve, the gentlest of giants you knew, even if it would take more time and effort than an icon.

He was worth the trouble; even as you suspected that once he’d wake, he might have a thing or two to say about that. You’d convince him otherwise; you wouldn’t be alone.

And neither would he.

With a splint all over your forearm and wrist and a promise you would do a session in Doctor Cho’s cradle to speed the healing, you settled on the bed by Steve’s bedside, the surprisingly serene expression on his face and the gentle beeps of the heart monitor making for a warm hum of satisfaction in your chest.

You’d heal together. Of that, you were sure.

I was hearing words in black and white Twisted up inside my broken mind Outstretched dirty hands just like a child Hungry little fool, but you were mine (SYML – Body)

Steve Rogers masterlist // Love on The Brain masterlist

Notes (because the first aid trainer in me screams and severe hypothermia is a bitch): normally, first concern would most definitely be the cold, hypothermia and the impending arrhythmia (can be caused by the cold), but a) it was established Steve’s body can take it (proved the hard way) and b) his suit probably kept the absolutely worst away… PSA over.

ANYWAY. I hope you – well – liked it ("enjoyed" feels like a little too strong of a word for Steve’s suffering) 🥰 Thank you for reading! Feedback is life.

P.S. – this will likely be followed by a second part called Restoration, but I make no promises.

P.P.S. - if you wish to read a fluff about "Steve fell through frozen lake" situation, I recommend Frozen by @tilltheendwilliwrite 🥰

P.P.P.S. - if you are a CM fan, know that the title is a loose reference to Emily's issues in the second half of season seven when she tries to re-settle down with the team and at Quantico.

#steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fic #captain america imagine #captain america x you #captain america x reader #captain america #steve rogers #captain america fanfiction #love on the brain vibes #love on the brain #cracks in foundation #anika ann

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the-hidden-writer · 9 months ago

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Lost in Translation

An Alan Wake 2 oneshot. Spoilers for Alan Wake 2!

Summary: After the events of the game, Saga casually asks Casey if he can he can speak Finnish. His response leaves her unsettled.

Words: 1,913 AO3 Link: [Here!]

Lost in Translation

They’d been working in their shared office for nearly four hours. Sorting files, sending emails, tying up loose ends on various older cases, etc. The admin part of the job that nobody tells you about.

Personally, Saga didn’t mind it at all. She actually found it quite therapeutic, as she did similar activities mentally all the time. It felt nice to get to handle physical papers and get to type visual notes. She felt as if she was in her element.

Her partner, on the other hand, was very vocal in his opinion that it was dull as hell.

Saga would often crack jokes or ask random questions to help lighten the mood. Many times they would lead into much longer conversations in which she’d end up learning a weird and wonderful fact about her partner.

This time, she waited until he’d finished typing away at his computer and had stood up to go and refill his coffee (just to ensure she wasn’t disturbing him) before blurting out the first thing that came into her head.

“Casey, do you speak Finnish?”

A simple, innocent question- or at least, she’d intended it to be. But with the way Casey’s demeanor changed in an instant, freezing mid-step and a near-miss of dropping his beloved coffee mug, it was as if she'd caught a deer in headlights. A deer that would not normally turn his head slowly to stare at her with wide, haunted eyes.

There were a few tense seconds with only Casey’s heavy breathing filling her ears. She didn’t need to go to her Mind Place to instantly know that something was wrong.

“No… I don’t.” Casey’s reply was terse and strained, like he was having to force the words out of his mouth. There was also an element of uncertainty to his voice, as if he didn’t have total conviction in his answer. His hardened gaze shifted to look directly into her eyes, filling her with concern. “Why’d you ask?”

Why did she ask?

It was actually a question that had been simmering in the back of her mind ever since Bright Falls. She’d been enveloped in the whirlwind of the horror story at the time, tunnel vision to save Logan and Casey dictating her every move and helping her through the madness. There was so much going on around her but so much of it was quickly forgotten in an attempt to keep pushing forward. Her family came first, magic lakes and Wake’s inner demons be damned.

Yet there was one sight, spotted briefly in the basement of the nursing home, that she just couldn’t shake from her psyche. Gory images of her partner (whether it was actually him didn’t matter, he looked like him enough to chill Saga to her core) terrified and in tremendous pain while being dragged and stabbed by cultists, bathed in light as red as the blood spewing from his lips.

And the film was Finnish.

But she’d been alone in witnessing that. Casey wasn’t there, Casey couldn’t have seen what she had. A part of her had been satisfied with the assumption that it was just weird Dark Place trickery or something Wake had written in. Either way, it wasn’t real. She’d just been curious about the language.

Based on Casey’s reaction though, it clearly must mean something to him. Or maybe he had some other strange connection to Finland that he’d never told her about and it was all a coincidence.

…Yeah, Saga couldn’t convince herself that could even be a possibility.

Just in case, she put on a smile and tried to backpedal. “I don’t know, I just thought of it now.”

Still frozen in place, Casey threw her a pointed look and she could hear the unspoken dry words delivered through it. Don’t bullshit me, Anderson. We both know we’re way past that.

A small sigh of defeat escaped her lips. It had been worth a shot.

“I was thinking about Bright Falls,” she admitted reluctantly, the way Casey’s head dropped not lost on her. “With all the Nordic stuff going on there, I just wondered…”

She couldn't bring herself to tell him the whole truth. Not yet, at least.

“Yeah… I figured it’d be something to do with that.” He seemed to accept that answer at least and he finally finished crossing the room to refill his mug.

Saga offered an apologetic smile. “Sorry to bring it up.”

Waiting by the machine, he turned back to her and gave her one of his rare, small smiles in return. A soft little expression that Saga always treasured. “Nah, you're good. Just… caught me off-guard, that's all.”

That should have been it. She should have dropped it, should have accepted his convincing attempt at brushing it off for what it was. But she knew her partner better than anyone. She knew Casey, which is why she knew that such smiles were reserved for when something meant a lot to him, either positive or negative.

And judging by the way her skin prickled at his words, she had a feeling it was probably negative in this case. She felt the urge to enter her Mind Place and deduce what was troubling him. There was clearly more to this than meets the eye.

It sometimes slipped her mind that Casey could read her just as well as she could read him. Some of her concern must have shown on her face, because he started to elaborate unprompted. Saga had an inkling that it was in the hope that she wouldn't profile him if he offered the information himself.

“Look, it's uh… I don't really get it myself, so I don’t know what to tell you.” He gently set down his coffee mug on the table.

“Bright Falls?” Saga prompted. The easy answer to any horror or confusion.

To her surprise, Casey shook his head. “I’m not sure? It’s weird, but I don’t think it’s anything serious. It’s not even worth talking about.”

He was dancing around the point, opening up without opening up. Now Saga desperately wanted to profile him in her Mind Place, but knew that it would be painfully obvious to her partner if she did it mid-conversation. She continued to suppress the urge.

“I won’t push if you don’t want to talk about it,” she said, “but just know that your Christmas invitation will be officially revoked if I find out you’re bottling things up again.”

He let out a sound that was half a scoff and half a chuckle, and Saga herself relaxed a little upon hearing it. A small victory in diffusing the situation.

“Didn’t think you’d stoop so low, Anderson.” Casey said dryly.

She doubled down with a hint of a grin. “Yeah, well then you’d better be honest with me because I am not bluffing.”

Another huff. “Fine.”

He walked toward her and settled down on the opposite site of the desk. He then took a long sip of coffee before making an even longer sigh.

“You’re gonna laugh.”

“Try me.”

His gaze shifted to stare into his mug. Saga watched intently as his brows furrowed, lost in his own thoughts. “I, uh… think I’ve had dreams… in Finnish or something.”

That was not what she was expecting. A smile tugged at her lips at being so taken aback.

“Saga.” Casey said with utmost seriousness, his tone causing her to actually crack up.

“Sorry! I’m sorry-” she quickly composed herself- “I just didn’t expect to hear that.”

That prompted an eyebrow raise from Casey. “What were you expecting to hear?”

“Not that.” Saga replied casually, hoping he wouldn’t pry further. Having strange dreams seemed much tamer than some of the possibilities she’d been imagining after seeing that movie. “What sort of dreams?”

He cast her a suspicious look but luckily accepted her attempt to brush it off. He shrugged. “Don’t really remember.”

The obvious lie lingered heavily in the space between them.

Casey then cleared his throat and stretched his fingers before beginning to use the computer again. “Well there you go, now you know.”

Oh, Saga could see what he was doing. He’d mimicked her casual tone of voice. He hadn’t pried when she clearly had more to say and now expected her to do the same.

She desperately wanted more information, but he seemed to be pretty adamant on leaving it at that. If only because she didn’t want to risk revealing something about that movie if he didn’t know about it already, she decided to leave it be.

(In the conversation, at least.)

Once she was certain that Casey was engrossed in his work again, she entered the Mind Place.

Even though it was mostly behind them now, Saga had still kept various files open from the Bright Falls incident. The whole thing didn’t sit well with her and didn’t feel as though it had concluded in a way she was satisfied with. She half expected Alan Wake to knock at the door at any moment.

Moving over to the desk with profiles, she noticed Casey’s was already there waiting for her. She picked it up and studied it carefully.

What have you been seeing, Casey?

Instantly, a chill shook her body as it was spiked with a sudden anxiety. Casey’s voice echoed in her head. Saga shuddered where she sat. Not because of the fear that didn’t belong to her, but because the visions of her partner became more bloodied with each insight.

Not me. Not in those books. Not in my sleep. Just a nightmare. Not Wake, not Koskela. They aren’t sadists. My heart won’t stop pounding in my chest. Feels good. That feels bad. I try to speak and foreign words come out. I can’t understand it, but I know the words are mine. A bright light. A dark room. A friendly janitor. Those damn cultists. The fuck have you done to me, Wake? I’m trapped. I’m trapped. I’m trapped. I’m trapped. I’m trapped. I’m

Saga snapped out of her Mind Place, horrified. She quickly glanced over at her partner. Casey was still busy typing, none the wiser. Releasing a shaking breath, she leaned back in her chair.

So Casey had seen that movie. Or had dreamt about it. Had he dreamt about the movie or dreamt about the events? It wasn’t a memory or a vision, was it?

So much for it just being a part of her imagination.

“Casey?” she blurted out.

He peered out from behind the monitor. “Hmm?”

He seemed fine, either unaware or simply unbothered by the subconscious thoughts Saga had seen. She suddenly thought against bringing it up. How would she go about telling him what she’d seen if he wasn’t outwardly showing his troubles? Tell him that she’d peered into his private thoughts?

Frustrated that he was bottling things up after all, she sighed. “Nevermind. It’s nothing.”

“If you’re sure.”

She wasn’t sure, but couldn’t do anything about it. It would remain as a note under his file in her brain for the foreseeable future, only to be reopened during their Christmas get-together later that year.

After a big lunch and a lot of laughs, Casey had fallen asleep on their couch. She’d been placing a blanket over him when he began to mumble something. She paused, before realizing he was still asleep. That’s when it felt as if her own heart stopped in her chest.

The words were distinctly foreign.

The words were distinctly Finnish.

Thanks for reading!

#alan wake 2 #alan wake #fic #fanfic #saga anderson #alex casey #aleksi kesä #yöton yö #lost in translation

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stargazing-sapphire2 · 2 months ago

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Full Name: Gunnar Akseli Pääkkönen

Date of Birth: June 16th, 1905. Lapland, Finland

Date of Death: February 1st, 1947.

Nationality: Finnish

Occupation: Finnish Defense Forces

Rank(s): Captain

Age: 42 years old (at time of death)

Family / Relatives:

-Unnamed father (Deceased)

-Unnamed mother (Deceased)

-Svetlana Attila - Wife (Deceased)

-Lars Pääkkönen - Son (Alive)

-Aleksi and Sveta Pääkkönen - Grandchildren (Alive)

Appearance:

Hair color: Brown

Eye color: Brown

Height: 6'5 / 195 cm

Scars/ Beauty marks / blemishes: A scar across the bridge of his nose; his nose is somewhat crooked due to it having been broken when he was 15 and it never healed properly.

Faceclaim: Clive Standen

Personality:

To all those that know him, Gunnar is a closed book, metaphorically speaking. He is not one to be open with his emotions and wishing to keep them under wrap, nor is he someone you would seek comfort for. Due to his trauma from childhood, he has difficulty trusting people and opening up to them, but give him a good reason to trust you, and he will watch your back until the very end.

Background:

Gunnar was born on June 16th, 1905 in Lapland, Finland. By the time of his birth, Finland had still been under the control of Imperial Russia. His father was a soldier in the imperial Navy, while his mother was a sex worker whom his father had laid with for one night, and never saw the other again, the man being unaware of his son's existence. By the time the first World War engulfed Europe, his father would later die in combat, while his mother passed on due to illness, leaving him orphaned. He would later be brought into an orphanage with other children, of which various forms of abuse by the caretakers would take place. At age 14, Gunnar eventually ran away in the dead of night to start a new life for himself, although he would forever be left with the scars and painful memories of that place.

At age 18, Gunnar joined the Finnish Army.

In 1929, Gunnar married his wife Svetlana Attilan, a farmer's daughter who had been sweet on in their late teens. They had a happy marriage, and in 1935, they had a son, whom Gunnar would name Lars, his father's pride and joy.

In 1939, the Soviets invaded Finland, kick-starting what would be known as the Winter War, with Gunnar bidding his family goodbye to answer the call to defend his country. Into the conflict, Gunnar was captured during an ambush and sent to a POW camp in Russia, where he underwent physical and psychological torture. When the League of Nations had expelled Russian forces from the country, Gunnar was released alongside several other of his comrades, however, he would never be the same, following the Lapland War and watching many of his friends die in battle.

By the time Gunnar returned home, he was but a shell of his former self, broken and scarred from war. This dark cloud would overshadow the joy of his family, and would subsequently effect them negatively.

To cope with the grief and pain, Gunnar turned to alcohol, as a way to drown his sorrows and escape the nightmares, only for it to fuel the pain. There were times that Gunnar would become so drunk that he wouldn't recognize Svetlana's face, much less Lars'. There were times that he would also turn violent, and while Svetlana did her best to shield her son from it, Lars would still catch glimpses of it all, of his mother's tears, of his father's rage and pain. Something that would haunt him for years to come.

On February 1st, 1947, Gunnar's body would eventually be found in an old chapel a few miles away from his home, having been found by a passing hunter. The cause of his death is undetermined to this day, whether he drank himself to death, froze on the steps in the frigid air, or took his own life, but Lars speculates that his father had simply allowed himself to die, either out of guilt for what he had done or to finally rid himself of the torment.

Years after his passing, Lars looks back on his last years of his father's life, and only hopes that whatever afterlife there is, that Gunnar found peace after a lifetime of suffering.

#cod oc: gunnar pääkkönen #sapphire's oc #oc bio #call of duty oc

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scarlettlillies · 1 year ago

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Hetalia- Selfoss

What's this? Lilly posting a new fic so soon after the last one? It's more likely than you think.

This was an old Nordipalooza submission from 2020 that I ended up discarding during the event. The prompt from this was 'Sweden, Iceland - Folklore'. Back when I was researching for this prompt, I ended up on a tourism website that talked about how a town called Selfoss was supposedly haunted by ghosts so I knew immediately that's where I wanted to set the story. I was having a hard time getting started though and after two incomplete drafts, I tossed them and picked a different prompt. This weekend I finally decided to finish them off.

Sweden and Iceland sadly don't have a lot of interaction but I get the feeling that Ice is most comfortable with Sweden just on the sole fact that he doesn't treat him like a child. Therefore he gets to be a bit more relaxed and not always cool and reserved like he is with the rest of the Nordics. I hope Hima expands on their relationship in a future strip.

Also, I hope I'm not the only person who headcanons both Ice and Nor as photographers! They've got some of the best places for a hobby like that. :D

If you'd prefer to read this fic on Ao3 instead, you can check it out here.

Hope you all enjoy it! Summary: During a trip to see the northern lights near the Icelandic town of Selfoss, Sweden couldn’t shake off the feeling that he was being watched.

----

No matter how much he tried, Sweden couldn’t shake off the feeling that he was being watched.

He questioned if it was all in his head. Hundreds of people, mainly avid photographers, were gathered here by the river near the town of Selfoss to catch a glimpse of the northern lights. Iceland stood across from him and didn’t seem to have a care in the world. He was too focused on setting up his equipment and running a few test shots with his camera pointed toward the skies. The boy had a good head on his shoulders. If anyone could sense if something was off, it would be him.

Yes, it was definitely all in his head. The ghost museum they had visited in Stokkseyri must have let his imagination get ahead of itself.

The show of lights slowly began and Sweden tried to keep his mind occupied by splitting his attention between the skies and his fellow Nordic. Sitting on a reddish-brown fleece blanket, Sweden felt over-dressed with his heavy navy blue peacoat and black leather gloves. After leaving the museum earlier in the day, he was struck with a chill that he couldn’t shake off. Meanwhile, Iceland was dressed lightly in a brown spring jacket with no gloves at all. Almost everyone else wore similar clothing.

“Aren’t ya cold?”

“Not at all. I’m surprised you are though. Don’t tell me you can’t handle a little cold in your old age Sví!”

Sweden rolled his eyes but the comment got the both of them chuckling. With just the two of them together, Iceland seemed more laid-back and less hesitant to hide his playful side. He’s sure Iceland doesn’t mean to, but Sweden noticed over the years that Iceland would quickly become uncomfortable and reclusive whenever Denmark and Norway (and to some degree Finland too) became overbearing with their ‘big brother’ personalities. He just wanted to be treated like an adult alongside the rest of them.

He understands that well. After all, Denmark did it to him when they were small children—despite the three of them frequently arguing over who was the oldest. Those arguments died the moment Iceland entered their lives.

So Sweden does just that. He still dotes on him—albeit more subtly than the others do. But in return, he is rewarded to hear more in-depth things about Iceland’s life. Just on this trip alone, he has heard of the late-night calls with Indonesia, the camping trip in Hiiumaa with the Baltics, and the coffee dates with Liechtenstein in Vaduz. He felt grateful that Iceland could trust him like that.

Snap. Snap. Snap.

The colours quickly grew more intense. Shades of green, blue, and purple danced across the sky and their colours reflected against the river below. Loud gasps of delight erupted from the crowd on the ground. Iceland was mesmerized by the sight. Even though he had seen this millions of times, it never failed to put his mind at ease. Any worries he had about his life would immediately wash away. With a hand placed on his left shoulder, Sweden surprised Iceland by coming up close at his side. The average person would never be able to tell, but he could see that tiny grin form on Sweden’s face. He was just as ecstatic to see the lights as he was.

“Gettin’ some good shots?”

“Yeah,” he nodded before he returned his focus to the camera. “The multicoloured lights always make the best shots.”

Sweden tucked his hands into his coat pockets. He watched him work and noted how meticulous Iceland was with each shot. Seeing him like this reminded him so much of Norway, right down to the focused but elated expressions. Norway was also a photographer who loved to shoot landscapes just like him. But Sweden would never dare say that out loud. Iceland would quickly get annoyed whenever comparisons arose between him and his brother, even as a joke.

We’re nothing alike. Don’t say dumb things like that.

He kept his comments to himself and continued staring up at the skies. He didn’t need to ruin the perfect day they’d had together.

The lights had lasted for around twenty minutes when dark clouds began rolling through. Everyone in the crowd knew it was their sign to call it a night. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect. The camera Iceland had been using throughout their trip had begun flashing a warning that the battery was running low. Sweden helped him pack his equipment and get the bags into Iceland’s trunk. The blanket Sweden used earlier remained unfolded and got tossed into the backseat. With everything packed, they were ready for the hour’s drive back to Reykjavík.

But there it was again. That feeling that someone was watching. Sweden was so certain about it.

“What’s wrong?” Iceland asked. Sweden was leaning against the open passenger door as he searched around the pitch-black landscape. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, just that it was something.

“We’re bein’ watched…”

“Huh? From what?”

“Dunno but—”

Laughter.

A child’s laughter.

It was such a high-pitched noise that rang inside his ears. He hated that he couldn’t see where it was coming from. There were no streetlights in this part of the country. The only light visible came from the inside of Iceland’s car and the headlights of others as many began driving away from the scene and onto the main road.

Sweden’s frustrations hit a boiling point. He reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a black flashlight. He slowly made his way toward the river. Iceland tried to call him back however Sweden ignored his pleas. A frustrated sigh fell from his lips, “I'm never taking you to that ghost museum ever again,” He had no choice but to follow behind him.

Sweden hadn’t noticed earlier that the water was much lower than he had anticipated. Boulders of various shapes and sizes poked through the water, especially along the shoreline. He swung his flashlight around and didn't see anything out of the ordinary. The mysterious sounds of laughter from before had also disappeared. Was it his mind playing tricks on him again?

“Did ya happen to hear a child laughin’ earlier?”

“A child?” Iceland pondered, “The crowd was mostly full of photographers but I’m sure I saw a few families with small kids there. Maybe it was that you were hearing?”

Sweden made a disgruntled grunt as he appeared furious with himself. He hated how out of character this was for him. He could never recall a moment in time when he acted this paranoid before.

But on the furthest rock to his left, his flashlight picked up something stuck against one of the boulders. The two men investigated and discovered it was a small grey blanket. They had wondered if it was forgotten by one of the families from earlier. Upon closer inspection though, they noticed it was covered in mud, the material looked faded, and the bottom tip of the blanket had been submerged into the water. It was clear it had been here for some time.

“Sví, we should go. There’s no one here,” Iceland said as he tugged on Sweden’s arm. “We have a long drive ahead of us.”

It looked as if Sweden had finally come to his senses and the two men walked back to the car. But Iceland took one more look over his shoulder. Near the river, a small child stood there in a white gown. A short blond boy, possibly no older than three, hugged the dirty grey blanket that Sweden discovered earlier. Iceland put a finger to his lips and shook his head. The little boy’s smile turned to an angry frown and disappeared towards the water.

Iceland was open to sharing many things about his life with Sweden. But the stories of the spirits that inhabited this part of his home were not one of them. No one needed to know he could see things that mortals could not. He was determined to keep it that way.

#APH Iceland #APH Sweden #HWS Sweden #HWS Iceland #hetalia #Lilly's Writings #So happy to finally get another fic off my WIP list

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theflyingfeeling · 1 year ago

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#(today i was distracted by this way too elaborate olli/allu + olli/tommi + allu/joonas murder mysteryAU set in the early 50s i came up with#(which you are welcome to ask more about btw)

oh????? 👀👀 please do tell some details about it if you want to? i'm very interested 👀👀👀👀👀👀

have an amazing day 💖💕

Yes yes yesssss!! 😌 But before I proceed, a couple of disclaimers: 1) the summary below is gonna contain referenced murder and sexual assault (NOT by any of the main characters though and nothing is described too graphically/explicitly), 2) it's rather vague in parts and I'm yet to figure out some of the details, and 3) I'm not planning on ever writing any of this, in fact I think it'd work better as maybe a TV series? I don't know. I for one don't have the skills (or patience) to actually write this (...plus I'm actually terrified by this whole thing myself ngl 😅). I hope you enjoy it though! As much as one can enjoy a murder mystery... 😥

First I'm gonna have to explain what inspired this. I learned today that last week it was the 70th anniversary of one of Finland's most famous cases of unsolved homicide, the murder of Kyllikki Saari. The link will take you to the Wikipedia page of the case (in English), but to summarize it (skip the rest of this bullet point if you don't want to hear about stuff like this!!), a 17-year-old girl was murdered on his way home from a religious gathering and 5 months later her remains were found buried in a bog. To this day, no-one knows who's behind the murder; there have been a couple key suspects, but no clear evidence to prove anything for sure. There's also nothing that would directly prove it was a sexual crime, although it can't be ruled out, since the victim was not wearing any clothes on the bottom half of her body and her other breast was out of her blouse when they found her. Now PLEASE don't take me for some weirdo and think I'm somehow fascinated by the case or think it's cool: I'm creeped out as fuck about this tbh, but ever since I first heard about the case, it's been haunting me a bit. Not daily obviously, but every now and then something reminds me of it. In the late 50s - early 60s there were also two other equally famous, unsolved murder cases in Finland: the double murder of Tulilahti (two young women killed on their bicycle/camping trip, also buried in a bog + a number of other similarities with the case described above) and the Lake Bodom murders (three campers killed inside their tent, one camper in the group survived but suffered injuries that caused memory loss; the link will lead you to Wikipedia). This idea of mine is probably most inspired by the Tulilahti case, but only vaguely.

- So based off the cases I described briefly above, I'm basing this story in rural/countryside Finland in the 1950s or the 1960s (sorry for any possible historical inaccuracies that may occur 😅) - The story begins with Olli and Aleksi, two friends who want to... explore each other, themselves, and their sexualities, if you get what I mean 😏 They're not boyfriends per se, but they do enjoy each other's company maybe a little more than is appropriate for friends of the same sex (in the context of the 1950s/60s). Of course, this all has to happen in secrecy, and so they seek out secluded places for this purpose - One day they decide to go for a swim in a pond they had found deep in the forest. I know this story is full of plotholes lol but let's imagine it used to be a popular swimming place for kids and that an old, wooden changing room has remained there from those times. I don't know if such things existed in the 50s already, but please humour me a little and imagine a simple wooden hut with two rooms in which to change into your swimwear, yeah? (one for boys, one for girls) - So they go for a swim and have all sorts of fun in the water, and as the sun's about to set (as much as the sun ever sets in Finland in the summer), they head back to the hut. They should be changing back into their normal clothes, as soon it's gonna be too dark for them to easily find their way out of the forest, but they get a bit carried away... 💞 - In the middle of their fooling around, they hear noises from somewhere by the pond. Two people talking in the distance, footsteps, etc. They can't recognize either of the voices from that far. - (plotholes plotholes plotholessssss) - After a while of listening to the noises in terrified silence (afraid of getting caught by whoever's out there), they hear screaming. - There are noises of fighting/struggling. The screams start coming closer to the hut. - The person (a woman, they can tell) is still screaming in terror when she's pushed to the other booth (the one next to Olli and Aleksi) - Then the screams are first muffled, then weakened, until they stop altogether. - Sounds of something being dragged. A man grunting. Steps around the (windowless) hut. Olli and Aleksi are paralyzed with terror and don't dare to even breathe. They stay the night at the hut, awake and trembling until the morning, not daring to sneak out until they're finally sure no one's around anymore and return home. - They find an item on the path from the lake. A watch maybe, I haven't decided yet. They can't remember seeing it before, but of course that doesn't mean it wasn't there already when they arrived. In any case, one of them picks it up and takes it with them. Just in case.

- I'm not sure what either of them do for a living in this AU, but I'm imagining Olli working at some kinda office (at the town hall maybe? I don't knooooooow) and Aleksi maybe as a farmhand with Joonas as his roommate (both details crucial to the plot) - They swear to each other to not talk about what they had heard in the forest to any other living soul, but when Olli returns to his office job the next day and hears that one of his co-workers (a woman around his age, more an acquaintance and a co-worker than a friend) has not showed up for her workshift, Olli gets a bad feeling. - Olli mentions this to Aleksi and says that they should go talk to the police about what happened, but Aleksi forbids him, as he's afraid they might get in trouble, not necessarily because they might be key witnesses to an alleged murder, but because of what they were up to at the time. - "What are you gonna tell them when they ask you what we were doing there, huh?!" - They have a proper quarrel about it and depart on bad terms :( - Obviously the case is bothering them both; even though Aleksi tells Olli to forget about the whole thing and act as if nothing has happened (between them nor in the forest), he has nightmares about the incident. He hears the screams of terror in his dreams and wakes up with a gasp (only to find out the screams had been just a seagull screaming outside at sunrise), which rouses Joonas' curiosity - Cue a side-plot of Aleksi and Joonas lending each other a helping hand/mouth to let off some steam before/after their farmwork (maybe Aleksi tells him he's just stressed about idk??, while Joonas has trouble coping with surpressing his sexuality, which obviously reflects on their thing). I'm not yet sure what's the purpose of this side plot, other than to give Aleksi (and Joonas) something to do during his fall-out with Olli

- Speaking of which, meanwhile Olli remembers that his old schoolmate / childhood friend Tommi works as a police officer in town these days. Olli can't handle keeping the secret to himself anymore, and without Aleksi around to stop him, he decides he can trust Tommi with it, without fearing what he might think if/when Olli needs to spill the truth about why he had been in the forest - Indeed, Tommi is curious to hear why (you know, for the purposes of the investigation), and Olli doesn't explicitly tell him, but rather... implies it. Not saying the words, but it doesn't take a genius to understand what he means - Tommi understands. He undertands perfectly well, in fact - Olli refuses to tell who the other key witness is, but agrees to help Tommi with the investigation as much as he can, if Tommi in turn promises to keep his little secret - Tommi is so into the case that he uses his free time on it as well, and he invites Olli to help him out at his house one evening (he still lives at his parent's farmhouse). - ...which means they have to be extra quiet when making passionate love to each other in Tommi's room 🥺💕 - Usually Olli manages to sneak out at night, but one time he accidentally falls asleep and doesn't wake up until there's a knock on the door - Tommi gestures Olli to stay in the bed and be quiet while he goes to get the door. - There's a man, asking if Tommi borrowed his watch again (he hasn't). Olli recognizes the voice. - When the man's gone, Olli asks Tommi who it was. Tommi's brother. (much older than Tommi and lives out of town, so Olli never knew him - Olli can't wait to get out of the house 💀 - He practically runs to Aleksi to tell him about his discovery, and accidentally spills the whole thing to Joonas too (he didn't notice Joonas was in the room as well (nor does he pay attention to the fact he's half-naked on Aleksi's bed)

Aaaaaaand that's what I have so far 😬 I'm not sure if the plot makes any sense (for example, I have no idea what Joonas' actual role in this is), nor have I given much thought to the motive of the murder (secret lovers who got in a quarrel that was taken too far? a random lunatic losing his temper with a girl who rejected him? I don't knoooooow) or any details as to how the victim and the offender ended up at Olli and Aleksi's hideout (without noticing they weren't the only ones there at the time). I also have no idea how this all will be resolved. Will Aleksi eventually be ready to give his witness's report as well? Will Olli be able to tell Tommi who he thinks is the murderer and show him the watch they had found? What will happen to Aleksi and Olli if they have to publicly confirm they had heard the murder because they had been doing something illegal themselves in the next room? Will the body of the victim be found? I don't know 🤷‍♀️

Also, I'm sorry Joel and Niko are not in this, I just couldn't imagine them with in the 50s/60s setting with their long hair 😂

#long text alert woops #please don't think i'm a creep 😭#also maybe don't read this late at night if you get scared easily 😅💀#i had to keep the tv on while writing this as to not become too scared myself 😭#next i'm gonna go to bed to think about my cute and fluffy olli/allu beach fic as to not have nightmares tonight 🥲#blind channel rpf

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r0semultiverse · 1 year ago

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Favorite CreepyPasta, haunted location, etc

Favorite creepypasta is about to sound so basic, but I got into creepypasta because of Slenderman initially. Back when I was younger and it was harder to tell what was & wasn’t fake on the internet. Jeff the killer stories, the rake. All of these could be real to my young impressionable mind. Slenderman definitely gave me the most paranoia of being watched at night though! Guess he’s my favorite! Very formative memory of thinking those artsy photo edits were real for a solid few hours and at least one night. 🖤

Ooooh that’s a tricky one..! Going to haunted places can be expensive and I’m cheap so I don’t get out much, but I got a sort of guardian spirit that follows me wherever I go so when I go to Finland I would certainly like to visit some allegedly haunted locations. The only threats in a haunted house I’m afraid of are potential human lurkers wanting to attack though, but I do currently live in America; so, that’s basically a constant fear. Guess I don’t have a favorite yet, I just kinda low key wouldn’t mind fighting off some occult messed up shit like I’m in an anime though I must admit. I fantasize about it at times. I could actually cryptid hunt so long as it’s a not fully material entity. If we get fully corporeal then I’m not sure how much of a shot at survival I have, but my sweet guardian Violet can bolster my body up pretty good and pack some heat. 💜

#I don’t know how much my body could withstand as far as physical encounters go but spiritual??? I’m packing hard #creepypasta #Slenderman #haunted locations #stick-zac #asks #ask #mine #OP

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hitodama89 · 2 years ago

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Eurovision 2023

Hoo boy what a contest we had this year! Germany perfectly predicted the mood with their song title "Blood & Glitter"; first it was the latter and after the announcement of the winner it has been the former. Sweden won with a very professional and totally bland performance with a landslide of jury votes that were basically impossible to beat with audience votes... Which was suspiciously convenient considering 2024 will be an ABBA anniversary year. Watchers have been quite upset, and the most upset of them all have been Finnish people, because for the first time since Lordi our performance was hugely loved all around the world! What did we send to the contest then? Well...

Käärijä - Cha Cha Cha | Finland

We sent a green gremlin who was pretty much the exact opposite of everything Sweden represented. Käärijä was pretty much an unknown artist before this, he sang in his native language, his show was absolutely bonkers and the song was very non-traditional for Eurovision. And he very much won over audience's hearts despite placing second in the actual contest! I personally have a bit of a love-hate relationship with the song, but boy would've I still preferred it to win over that world's most calculated entry Sweden sent to compete.

Sudden Lights - Aij�� | Latvia

Moving on to the entries I myself liked the best. I had a pretty good year as only one of my faves, Latvia, was dropped out in the semi-finals. Their song was a really nice mix of slower and more energetic parts, but maybe what costed them their place in the finals was the beginning, which was in my opinion the weakest part of the song.

Alessandra - Queen of Kings | Norway

Norway's song was generally well liked in Finland and I was pretty fond of it, too. The viking-like sea shanty vibes were just amazing!

Teya & Salena - Who The Hell Is Edgar? | Austria

This year there were several wacky songs and shows and many of them even hid an important message into their music. I liked pretty much all of them, but my favorite was Austria's criticism of the measly sums of money creative people often get from their work.

Alika - Bridges | Estonia

Melancholic songs are a difficult genre in Eurovision, as it's really hard to grasp the audience's attention with them when many other shows are full of pyrotechnics and lights and flashy colors. But despite all that I really adored Estonia's wistful song and their self-playing piano!

Voyager - Promise | Australia

There were also a few rock entries in the contest and it was pretty difficult to choose which one I liked better, Germany or Australia, but in the end I chose the latter. It's a real shame (and in my opinion weird, too) that neither of them got much points in the finals.

Pasha Parfeni - Soarele şi Luna | Moldova

While rock music is pretty common in the contest by this point, what I never expected was that "weird forest rave" was also going to be a genre that we are going to return several times to! I am not complaining though, as I absolutely loved Moldova's contribution to the collection. It was definitely one of my favorites from this year.

Luke Black - Samo Mi Se Spava | Serbia

My number on fave this time around came from Serbia. To me it had it all: song that sounded haunting and original, really interesting game-like show elements and extremely relatable lyrics. The song was basically about "the world is burning and I just wish I could sleep forever" and like yeah, me too Serbia, me too.

#eurovision #eurovision 2023 #euroviisut #eurovision evaluation #long post #rambling

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anyways-wonderwall · 1 year ago

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Eurovision Special!

It's my favorite time of year, Eurovision time! Every year I make a post talking about my five favorite songs from the year and generally talk about what I thought of the whole competition.

Uhh here's the thing though, this year SUCKED. Like I have been following Eurovision for six years and there has never been a more mid year in my experience. There were literally only 5 songs I liked, which while it made writing this really easy, is terrible given I usually playlist around 10 songs each year. I don't know what was happening but the countries dropped the ball on picking entries and the jury decided that only boring songs were allowed to do well. I cannot express how disappointed I was this year. (I just realized in my last post I wrote "Eurovision is getting too good, and what comes up must come down sometime" and unfortunately I was right)

Anyways, if you haven't read my last two Eurovision posts (which you can find here and here) I give each song a score from 1-10 in four categories: singer, song, catchiness, and performance. While technically a perfect score is a 40, there are available bonus points based on whether it isn't in English, it makes me laugh really hard, embodies Eurovision, etc. Each song also gets a fun little note so I can remember what it sounded like. Listen it's really hard to keep track of 37 songs.

Without further ado, here are the only good songs in Eurovision 2023:

5. Lithuania - Stay by Monika Linkytė

Score: 28/40

Notes: chutoh aahh tootoh

Final Ranking: 11th

I was really on the fence about including this one since it didn't really grab me at first, and in all honesty its not that great or unique and I kind of wrote it off as your standard Eurovision song.

But then as the days went on, I found the chorus - ‘Čiūto Tūto’ haunting me. I have never had more fun than dancing along with the chorus and there has not been a day I haven't sung this song. I'm re-listening to it now and honestly, I'm fine never listening to it again, but it has changed my life.

4. Austria - Who the Hell is Edgar? by Teya & Salena

Score: 30/40

Notes: Poe Poe Poe Poe Poe

Final Ranking: 15th

Now this is why I listen to Eurovision. I come here for camp nonsense and this year Austria delivered. A feminist song about being possessed by Edgar Allan Poe?? Perfection. The song itself is really catchy, the singers are incredibly fun and charismatic, and the music video is just such a great time. I am really sad this song didn't place higher, especially since a lot of people were praising it. You deserved more girls!

(although edgar allan poe was actually very pro-slavery so they should be canceled /j)

3. Malta - Dance (Our Own Party) by The Busker

Score: 30/40

Notes: Perfect sax part

Final Ranking: didn't make it to the grand finale >:(

As the comment suggests, the strength of this song is the killer sax riffs (riffs multiple!! they just kept delivering!). The song as a whole is a super fun time, with a fun message and a goofy music video, once again things that I look for when I listen to Eurovision songs. Plus they're from Malta! A micronation represented by people actually from there! I feel like that alone deserves bonus points (I mean Malta only has half a million people, less than Wyoming).

2. Portugal - Ai Coração by Mimicat

Score: 38/40

Notes: Cabaret flamenco

Final Ranking: 23rd

This song reminds me a lot of Fanfare Ciocarlia in the best way. Its quick, full of brass, and makes me want to dance. It's also all in Portuguese and the live performance was absolutely mesmerizing. I don't know exactly what this genre is called, but I'm such a fan. Give me fast-paced music and some brass and I'm in love.

Finland - Cha Cha Cha by Käärijä

Score: 39/40

Notes: Why did the bridge keep going

Final Ranking: 2nd

C'mon, did you really think that I would put any other song at number one? This song hooks you from the beginning, has an aggressively European synth riff, nonsense Finnish lyrics, an inexplicable heavy metal chorus, this song is absolutely wonderful and one of the best to come from Eurovision. This song clearly stands out from all the others, and is the only one that I know of that made its way into international Tiktok. I mean if my roommate knows a Eurovision song without my involvement that means that it has some cultural power.

Unfortunately, I don't think this song is perfect. The bridge kind of ruins the momentum of the song by steering it into generic pop and for some reason they keep that overtone for the rest of the song. They were so close to committing to the bit, then they weirdly tried to make it sound normal. That aside, this is clearly the best song of this year and I am convinced that they rigged it.

I think the only songs I actually liked enough to keep listening to in my daily life are the last two, which is pretty bad for a Eurovision year. I just hope they do something good next year in stupid Sweden.

(and my least favorites this year were Georgia and Greece, really bringing down the letter "G." Luckily Germany brought a great song to make up for those two.)

#eurovision #eurovision 2023 #music review #music recommendation

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ladyvialana · 2 years ago

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So, that’s Eurovision done for the year (though I feel like I’ll be hearing about the final winner decision for a while). I thoroughly enjoyed it all and will definitely be back next year, even if Australia isn’t :(

For anyone interested, below are my top ten:

1. Finland - no notes, absolute banger. Will love forever. Deserved the win.

2. Austria - robbed!!! i demand justice! I fucking loved this. should have been in the top ten, if not top three!

3. Australia - my dudes, you did so well and your stagecraft was perfection.

4. Germany - absolutely did not deserve last place! fucking amazing song, brilliant live performance, and gorgeous costumes. you don’t deserve this precious metal band in your lives if this is how you treat them.

5. Portugal - she was so overlooked by everyone and this was such a fun song. she’s an amazing singer and her performance was great. definitely deserved more points.

6. Croatia - I get why this didn’t score very high, but good on the public for shoving the juries’ biases right back into their face with the massive jump in points. fun and ridiculous yet so very biting. perfect eurovision song.

7. Czechia - I’ll admit, I wasn’t the biggest fan of this song at first,but it grew on me and each live performance improved upon the last. amazing message and the group harmonies were legit haunting.

8. Norway - not gonna lie, this is the kind of fast paced power vocal pop song I do enjoy. this one will be in my playlist for a while.

9. Moldova - I genuinely love authentically folk-inspired songs, like the performance was amazing yes (flute solo!), but the song itself grips me.

10. Serbia - a weird one for me to round out on given how upbeat and fast-tempo most of this list is, but I am not immune to the lure of minor keys, whispery vocals and cyberpunk/goth fusion visuals. I wanna see his back catalogue. I wanna dive deep into whatever his sound is, cause it is intriguing.

#eurovision #esc23

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tilbageidanmark · 2 years ago

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Movies I watched this Week #115 (Year 3/Week 11):

(I went a bit crazy this week...)

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“...You’re interested in fashion, Harmonica?...”

It took 3 accomplished writers to compose the epic saga Once Upon a Time in the West: Sergio Leone, Bernardo Bertolucci and Dario Argento. But without Ennio Morricone’s haunting film score this Spaghetti Western will not be half as iconic. Now I only have about 500 movies that he wrote music for left on my watch-list. 7/10.

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2 by acclaimed Israeli director / actress Ronit Elkabetz:

🍿 Gett: The Trial of Viviane Amsalem is a harrowing nightmare of religious bigotry. Ronit and Shlomi Elkabetz (the only brother-sister director-duo I know of) directed 3 semi-autobiographical films about their long-suffering mother. This is the last of that trilogy.

Like other fanatically-patriarchal societies, Israel does not recognize the civil rights of married women to getting a divorce. So Viviane Amsalem, after 20 years of cruel & loveless marriage, must appeal to an orthodox Rabbinical court to receive a ��Gett’. But the three old, misogynistic men with unchecked power over her, will not give her a fair shake. Her tortured 5-years travails in this medieval legal system is very hard to watch.

This whole claustrophobic drama takes place in one small, shabby room, and is composed of just a few figures arguing bitterly with each other. It’s extremely depressive, but is superbly staged and played.

8/10 and no more, and only because I can’t stomach horror movies of the Taliban kind.

🍿 The girl on the train, my 2nd meandering French drama by André Téchiné, again with Catherine Deneuve. Émilie Dequenne, (who played Rémi's mother in the terrific Belgian ‘Close’), is younger and less grounded here. She plays a mixed up rollerblader who fabricates being a victim of an anti-Jewish hate crime. A light thriller that goes in many direction but has no exact center. Ronit Elkabetz plays an ex-wife of somebody with no real connection to the main story. 3/10.

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My stuff, a small, interesting, year-long documentary from Finland. A young filmmaker conducts an experiment on himself by getting rid of all his material possessions. Starting butt-naked in his completely empty apartment, he retrieves only one item per day from the storage unit where all his ‘stuff’ is packed, in order to see what he really needs to survive, and thrive. So on the first night, he runs naked through Helsinki’s snow-covered streets to the storage place, and picks a winter coat. The second day, shoes, the third one a blanket, then, a pair of pants, Etc. The first month feels like a thriller. After about 4 months, he picks up his cell phone, and slowly fills up his place, and life, with some of what he owned before.

It’s a well-told story about consumerism. After 50 or 60 'things’, he stops going to the storage place daily, simply because he doesn’t need urgent things any more. With 100 items to his name, he feels that he functions ‘nearly’ at capacity, and with 200 items, he’s comfortable. (Photo Above).

This film was ‘relevant to my interests’. In 2019 I left my 4,500 sq.ft. house in Southern California, after also getting rid of everything that I ever owned, and moved to the other side of the world with an iPad and 2 suitcases of clothes. Since then, I continued to live a minimalist, monk-like existence in a closet-size room, with a bed, a desk, a chair, and a lamp. And in many ways, I feel better now than most other periods of my life. 8/10.

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2 more from unique Swedish-Egyptian director Tarik Saleh:

🍿 Saleh’s strange ‘Metropia’ was one of the most original dystopias I’ve ever seen. His latest political nail-biter, Boy from heaven (AKA Cairo Conspiracy) is as different and still as masterful as his debut film. An Egyptian intrigue story, spoken only in Arabic with zero European/Western influences, except of the immaculate film style and conventions. A son of a humble fisherman receives an offer to study at the prestigious Al-Azhar university. Naive and devout, he finds himself in the weeds of a deadly power struggle between the omniscient Secret Security forces and the entrenched medieval Imams. It’s an all-male, religious environment not often seen on film. 9/10.

🍿 Tommy is his most accessible (= traditional) movie: A tight crime thriller about the steadfast wife of a feared mobster. She returns to Stockholm from Sri Lanka to collect the 40M loot from his last major robbery - without letting his colleagues know that he had been killed while in hiding. Dark, ominous and unexpected.

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I’m certain that Turn Every Page: The Adventures of Robert Caro and Robert Gottlieb will probably stay as one my favorite films of the year, when I do a recap of 2023. This is an extraordinary documentary about two remarkable men: The biographer and his lifelong editor.

Caro spent his whole life writing about two complex, larger-than-life power brokers; Robert Moses, who had shaped New York City more than any mayor or governor, and Lyndon Johnson, who established the American modern welfare system. Gottlieb helped him pare his first book down to 1750 (!) pages, and his Johnson saga to 4 (plus a fifth one still being written) hefty tomes. The fascinating documentary by Lizzie Gottlieb, Editor Bob’s daughter, shows these two literary titans as absolutely worthy subjects themselves. Wonderful in every imaginable way. 10/10.

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Sundown, my first by Mexican director Michel Franco. In the spirit of ‘Aftersun’, and ‘Bergman Island’, and ‘A bigger splash’, and ‘The lost daughter’, it seems that Tim Roth has been recently taking more rolls that allows him to combine move-making with existentialist vacations to beaches in exotic lands.

Here he’s a taciturn, detached man on a lovely vacation in Acapulco who doesn’t want to return home to London. Unassuming and unsettling, it’s hard to figure out the painful reasons that makes him take the steps he does. Absolutely mesmerizing! 9/10

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“... Here’s to sugar on our strawberries”...

First watch, The swimmer: Very hunky Burt Lancaster, very blue-eyed and clad in blue swimming trunks only, tries to swim home across all the pools in his upper class Connecticut suburb. With the same voice as Dr. Archibald "Moonlight" Graham, he sounds commending and self-assured, but something doesn’t get quiet right. What had caused this successful ex-adman to be so shunned and out of touch? With Marvin Hamlisch’s first terrific film score. 8/10.

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Me and My Gal, a 1932, pre-code romantic comedy with Spencer Tracy and Joan Bennett. Directed by Raoul Walsh. A waterfront cop and a wise-cracking cafe waitress, as well as her sister who gets married but still loves a sleazy mobster.

🍿

“Today I learnt” about Alice Guy-Blaché, a French pioneer filmmaker who was probably the first and only female filmmaker in the world between 1896 to 1906. She later was also the first woman to build a movie studio, The Solax Company in Flushing, NY, which was the largest pre-Hollywood studio in America. From 1896 to 1920, she directed over 1,000 films, some 150 of which survived, and 22 of which are feature-length.

🍿 Her 1896 The Fairy of the Cabbages is considered the world’s first narrative film ever, and the first to be directed by a woman. The original version is lost, and the remaining clip is from a 1900 version.

🍿 Pierrette's Escapades (1900), a 2-minute hand-tinted ballet film, with possible lesbian tones.

🍿 The Consequences of Feminism (1906) is a fascinating alternate history short with gender role reversal: Men cook, iron and tend to the children, and woman chase them while hanging out in cafes, smoking and drinking.

🍿 A Fool and His Money (1912), the first Narrative film with an all black cast. A comedy about a dishwasher who finds a wallet full of cash.

🍿 Falling Leaves (1912), a wonderful drama about a cute little girl who tries to save her sister suffering from consumption with the help of a “bacteriologist” who had discovered a new serum. The girl behaves like Jackie Coogan in Chaplin’s ‘The Kid’.

More of her silent films are on YouTube. This is from a good ‘Metafilter’ post.

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2 More by Hal Roach with Harold Lloyd (and real-life wife) from 1920:

🍿 An Eastern Westerner, a spoiled rich son from the East Coast is being sent westward, and falls in love with the first girl he meets. Mildred Davis was a silent-era actress who starred in 15 of Lloyd’s films, married him, stopped acting, but then stayed with him until old age (unlike most Hollywood’s love affairs).

🍿 High and Dizzy, another short about a drunk doctor who tries to heal a female sleepwalker. Not too funny, but it includes a scene where both are teetering on a ledge of a high building, just like that famous routine from ‘Safety first’.

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3 more by Charlie Chaplin:

🍿 Making a living, Chaplin’s very first film, where he plays a seedy swindler with a top hat and a drooping mustache. A Keystone comedy from 1914, completed in 3 days.

🍿 First watch: Behind the screen, a 1916 slapstick 2-reeler, with regular co-players Edna Purviance and Eric Campbell. Great fun, especially the final pie-throwing sequence.

🍿 The Gold Rush, the classic comedy which includes the many scenes of ‘Eating the shoe’, ‘The bread rolls dance’, ‘Dangling cabin’, ‘Hallucinatory chicken’ and more.

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La ciénaga (The Swamp, 2001) by Lucrecia Martel is another masterful debut film from a young female director. It is considered today as the "Greatest film of Argentine cinema, by a wide margin”. It bristles with uncomfortable restlessness and nightmarish ennui, reminiscent of a Sartre play. A chaotic, atmospheric, noisy no-story about a large middle class family who gathers in a decaying summer house near the border, getting bogged down by screaming kids, running dogs, disconnected sights of the Virgin Mary and one unfortunate mishap after another.

I was planning on paring it with Martel’s recent film ‘Zama’, but this confusing film exhausted me so much, I’ll anxiously keep ‘Zama’ for another time.

🍿

William Friedkin-adjacent X 3:

🍿 The laudatory Italian documentary Friedkin Uncut (2018) starts with the statement: “To me the two most interesting characters in the history of the world are Hitler and Jesus”. It's a traditional reflection of one old man’s successful career. But it got me to search for a few of his many top-ten.

(Also, his first wife, out of 4, was Jeanne Moreau).

🍿 “... If I have to be a corpse - I’ll be a presentable corpse!...”

The Wages of Fear, my 3rd film by Henri-Georges Clouzot (after ‘Les diaboliques’ and ‘Le mystère Picasso’). I have no idea how I could go so long without seeing it before. But this vicious, bleak thriller was too nerve-racking for me: I was planning to watch it together with Friedkin’s ‘Sorcerer’ which was an adaptation of the same source material, but I had to give it up; It was just too incredibly tense for me. 10/10.

🍿 In 1974, after the success of ‘The French connection’, William Friedkin was able to fan-interview Fritz Lang at his home. The 90 minutes raw footage is available on YouTube.

I was not aware that Lang is the person who actually invented the rocket-launching convention of ‘The Countdown’ (in his ‘Woman in the moon’). Also, I really need to see Lang’s films that I missed so far, ‘The big heat’, ‘Dr. Mabuse’, Etc.

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As much as I love to see other films from Italian cities of the early ‘60′s, and as much as it inspired Coppola in describing The Corleone familial dynamics, Visconti’s homoerotic epic Rocco and His Brothers didn’t speak to me. The performances of Annie Girardot's as Nadia the Putana and gorgeous Alain Delon as Rocky were tragic, and Nino Rota’s score was superb, though.

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My first 2 wordless shorts by Melvin van Peebles:

🍿 Three Pickup Men for Herrick (1957) was his very first film. 5 day laborers wait on a street corner to be picked up for some work, but only 3 are needed.

🍿 Cinq cent balles (1963): A Parisian boy attempts to retrieve a 500 franc note from a storm drain. 7/10.

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I watched Cocaine Bear only because Sammy said it’s like a Carl Hiaasen b-movie, knowing full well it’s not my kind of thing. But it did start with a citation from Wikipedia, and is Ray Liotta’s last film. 3/10.

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Goodbye, Dragon Inn is my first by celebrated Taiwanese director Tsai Ming-liang. Like ‘Cinema Paradiso’ transported to Taipei, it’s the last night of a movie theater that went out of business, and it follows the few people who remained for the last show.

I love me some ‘Slow Cinema’ as much as the next guy, and I’m glad I stuck around until the last rainy shot full of pathos and nostalgia. But this was WAY too slow even for me. 2/10.

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I love Isabelle Huppert and I tried to watch all her movies. But After her recent creepshow Greta, I think I’ll ease up with this fanboy obsession. A freaky ‘Fatal Attraction’ updated for no reason, with irritating young actresses instead of Michael Douglas. 1/10.

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I only picked up the British historical film Pride, because it promised Thatcher Hate, and who wouldn’t relish hating again that despicable hag. London Gay & lesbian activists raising money for Welsh coal strikers in 1984? Check. Bill Nighy, Paddy Considine, Faye Marsay, Imelda Staunton, Dominic West, Andrew Scott playing? Check. But historical dramas about old bigotry are dramatically cheap, because the sanitized outcomes can’t be surprising, so there’s zero suspense left in the story. 3/10.

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The Fantastic Flying Books of Mr. Morris Lessmore, an animated short from Louisiana, that won the 2012 Oscar, over for Pixar’s ‘Luna’. Simple computer animation about the “love of books”. 3/10.

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Throw-back to the "Art project”:

Pride Cookie Adora.

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(My complete movie list is here)

#movies

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