#i like off the wall in its entirety than i do thriller in it's entirety

[mjj-nostalgia]

y'all I forgot what a good album Off The Wall is!!!

[kaizokuou-ni-naru]

The Voyage So Far: Alabasta (Part Two)

east blue (1 | 2) || alabasta (1 | 2) || skypiea || water 7 || enies lobby || thriller bark || paramount war (1 | 2) || fishman island || punk hazard || dressrosa (1 | 2) || whole cake island || wano (1 | 2)

crocodile is one of my favorite villains in one piece for a number of reasons, and one of them is because he’s such a threat, the first real one faced in the grand line and one of the toughest in all of paradise. the villains from the arcs before this, like wapol or the agents from little garden, could barely even land a hit on luffy in actual combat. so crocodile is introduced here as an absolute force of nature, a complete contrast to recent villains and a very tangible threat. 

it’s an impression he very much lives up to later in the arc by crushing luffy not once but twice, which only makes luffy’s ultimate hard-won triumph feel all the better. luffy closes a huge gap over the course of alabasta in order to be able to beat crocodile, and giving us a sense of just how strong he is from the very start gives luffy clawing his way up to that level a lot more weight. 

the successive reveals of luffy’s family never fail to absolutely delight me, because in any other series they would almost certainly feel contrived, but knowing luffy, it is absolutely unsurprising he just never happened to mention his relatives. nobody asked! luffy’s unique brand of honesty is one of my favorite character quirks, because he’s very straightforward and in fact can’t lie for shit, but his priorities are so completely off the wall that he winds up omitting highly relevant information completely by accident. 

ace’s scene in alabasta really does impress me. oda’s said in an sbs that he knew ace’s fate from his introduction, which i find absolutely unsurprising given the intricacy of his story planning. that means he needed ace’s introduction to make him both likable and memorable enough in the space of just a couple chapters that the audience would be engaged when he became the focus of the story a couple hundred chapters on despite barely appearing at all in the intervening time, and he really succeeded. 

kohza is one of my favorite minor characters in the whole series, and i think he’s a big part of why alabasta’s civil war plotline works so well and feels so real. nobody on either side of the war actually wants to fight, but everyone has been driven to such desperation that they feel they have no other choice in order to save their country; and kohza exemplifies that. he's a good person who loves his country a lot, and who genuinely likes and cares about the royal family and vivi especially, and the only option he can see to save alabasta is terrible, but there’s nothing else he can do. 

it’s just fun for me to think about the fact that if crocodile was literally anything other than a very skilled logia, vivi would have ended the whole entire arc right here. 

i really like civil war storylines when they’re well-done, and i think alabasta is one of the best ones i’ve seen in media. most of it is down to what i mentioned earlier, about how nobody on either side actually wants to fight but feels like they have no choice but to. nobody here is actually in the wrong except for crocodile, and so until crocodile is defeated, nothing can be fixed- which is what luffy, of all people, is the one to realize. 

sanji’s mr. prince gambit is probably my single favorite part of alabasta, and i think one of the reasons i like it so much is because he basically beats crocodile at his own game. crocodile is terrifying in battle, but before anything else he’s a manipulator. he’s always working from the shadows, always deceiving people doing what he wants, and sanji manages to turn the tables on him and do the exact same back to him, twice. 

also sanji looks great in glasses

smoker and tashigi both get kind of unfortunately sidelined after this saga, but they’re both really great characters in alabasta. (tashigi especially; i’ll get to her later.) much like the rebel army, they’re good people trying to do the right thing in the tangled mess of tension and politics and resentment that is alabasta- and when that means working with pirates, they’ll buckle down and do it, despite how much it might contradict their worldviews. 

i love when events align in one piece so that people who don’t particularly like the strawhats wind up working with them for some common goal (as seen most prominently in impel down), and smoker and tashigi in alabasta are the first and still one of the best examples of that. 

the entirety of luffy versus crocodile round one is so well done. we’re a hundred and fifty chapters in, and although luffy has struggled in fights before now and then, we get the sense he hasn’t ever really been pushed to the brink, and he’s certainly never lost.

and then he does, completely and absolutely, without ever even landing a hit on his opponent, and it hits like a punch. 

oda seems to be a fan of characters just barely missing each other- the similar panel of robin and olvia running past each other from robin’s flashback comes to mind.

i’ve always liked that of all the strawhats, it’s usopp who gets the first “luffy is going to be king of the pirates” moment. they’ve all said it by the current chapters in wano (with the sole exception of robin, i believe), but usopp said it first, and that feels significant to me. he’s always been the one who feels the least secure in his place on the crew, but even so, he has so much faith in luffy. 

nami’s fight with miss doublefinger is pretty silly in places and i think it gets frequently (understandably, it must be said) overshadowed by zoro’s fight with mr. 1 directly afterwards, but i really like it nonetheless. it’s nami’s first real solo fight in the whole series, and once she finds her feet she kicks ass, and i really like that. it feels like a very satisfying development for her, to stand up and risk her life in direct combat for vivi’s sake. 

we’re now almost a thousand chapters in and its my firm belief that zoro versus mr. 1 is still one of the best fights in the entire series. i definitely think it’s probably zoro’s best fight- only his match with kaku compares. the narrative build over the course of the fight, from zoro struggling just to match mr. 1 (and getting shredded to pieces in the process) to cutting him down in one final stroke, is incredibly cool and satisfying to watch. it feels like a very tangible step forward for zoro in terms of ability, like a massive obstacle has been surmounted and, as he himself says, he’s now stronger for it. 

its also very cool that this is, i believe, the first appearance of what is probably observation haki, though it isn’t named or recognized as such. i’m always endlessly impressed by all the little moments of internal consistency that oda manages to sprinkle into his story. 

there’s barely any dialogue on these entire two pages, from crocodile dropping vivi to luffy and pell swooping in- the story is briefly told entirely through visuals- and i love that. it gives the impression of a single tense, frozen moment as vivi falls, which is then broken in spectacular fashion when luffy catches her. 

i really, really like the progression that runs through all three of luffy’s fights with crocodile. the gap between them goes from being impossible, with luffy unable to even land a hit and crocodile basically toying with him; to surmountable but still huge, with luffy able to land some hits but still outclassed; to finally putting them on basically even ground. and every inch of that growth on luffy’s part is hard-fought and hard-won and well-deserved. 

crocodile’s confidence in his abilities isn’t misplaced- he genuinely is that powerful. but if there’s anything we know about luffy by now, it’s that he doesn’t ever give up. it’s very fun to watch crocodile’s dismissiveness turn into disbelief turn into rage and frustration when luffy just won’t die. 

luffy is, additionally, pretty clearly a better brawler than crocodile (which makes sense, crocodile is clearly used to devastating long-range attacks with his powers while luffy grew up fighting giant wildlife with his bare hands), which means that by the time of their last fight, where they’re just whaling on each other in the catacombs and crocodile is starting to get sloppy and desperate and lose control, if anything it’s luffy who has the upper hand. 

zoro and sanji’s dynamic is always a favorite of mine, and one of the things i like best about them is how perfectly in sync they always manage to be when it comes to things that actually matter, despite fighting like cats and dogs pretty much every other time. i’ll never understand people who think they genuinely aren’t friends. 

tashigi is really good in alabasta, okay. she essentially has her own entire character growth arc. she goes from her stance in loguetown, where she isn’t even tolerant of (fully legal!) bounty hunters, to here, where she’s forced to confront that the world isn’t nearly as black and white as she’s always believed it to be, that sometimes pirates are good and allies of the government are bad, and ultimately makes the right choice to help the strawhats even though it clearly pains and frustrates her that she can’t do anything more herself. 

i’ll be forever mad that her only really significant appearance after this in punk hazard didn’t really live up to what her character deserved. 

i really like how the countdown sequence is done. the tension is ratcheting up and up and up as the clock ticks down in the final seconds, panels cutting all over the city to show all the different characters, everyone who’s caught up in this conflict and everyone who’ll die if the cannon fires-

and then the clock hits zero, and we get this panel that’s just... quiet, after all the madness, as we see how vivi stopped the detonation. i think oda is very good at setting up his pages so they have a flow to them, so no matter how quickly you actually read sometimes things feel like they’re going very fast and all happening at once and then it slows down and gives the reader a chance to breathe, if only to speed up again later. i think oda is really good at pacing in general, really, both on a micro level like this and on a larger scale. 

luffy’s greatest strength isn’t really his strength. he’s strong, absolutely, but that’s not really why he wins the fights he shouldn’t win. he wins because he just doesn’t fucking stay down. his fight with katakuri is probably the best example of this, because katakuri has him beat in pretty much every category except sheer endurance, and there as here, it’s that endurance that winds up getting luffy the win in the end. 

i do love that it’s the rain that ends the war. not the explosion and pell’s sacrifice, not vivi’s pleading, not even luffy kicking crocodile into the stratosphere, but the rain, the thing alabasta’s been missing for too long, the thing crocodile stole, the only thing all these people are fighting over. 

it’s crocodile’s symbolic defeat- at the same moment his power is broken by luffy, the stranglehold of dehydration he’s been using to foment war and rebellion is all at once gone, and he’s left with nothing at all, and alabasta can finally find peace and start to heal again. 

i always love the little moments that show, usually without words, just how much the strawhats love each other, and all of them unanimously waiting until vivi is out of sight to collapse so that she won’t worry, won’t see how ragged they ran themselves for their sake, is definitely one of them. 

i adore vivi’s sendoff, because while its sad she has to go, the certainty that someday they’ll meet again and that even if not they’ll always be crew manages to make this scene endlessly hopeful instead (which, i think, is also a good summary of one piece’s tone as a whole, at least in its more serious moments). luffy never says goodbye, after all, and nobody ever really leaves the strawhat pirates. 

i’m really looking forward to vivi’s re-entry to the story. i really, really want to see her reunion with the strawhats. 

hey look, it’s the panel my profile picture is from! 

the mystery surrounding robin and her past is built up in little ways long before enies lobby, from her harsh reaction when confronted with by tashigi to her aversion to being called by her given name to this flashback, of her talking to cobra about her dream. of them, the latter is my favorite, because i think it’s probably the most sincere she is until enies lobby- which makes sense, given she thinks she’s about to die. 

like many things about robin in alabasta, this gets cast in a new light by her backstory. if she dies here, so too does the entire legacy of ohara- but she’s so beaten down and hopeless that she really doesn’t see any light ahead to strive for. there’s no hope left, for her, and the whole world against her. 

and then there’s luffy, who creates hope everywhere he goes, who makes her live anyways. 

this is a hell of a spread to hook us very effectively right into the sky island saga. it’s a perfect reminder of just how much we still don’t know about all the endless mysteries of the grand line, and just how many adventures are still yet to be had.

[shhhlikeme]

“Losty Aone” / “Losty Mountain Man🏔” Series:

Outtake Collection #18.5:

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A/N: I know y’all wanna know what happens here sooo I’ll meet you down at the end with more of my authors notes!

TABLE OF CONTENTS

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EARLIER THAT NIGHT - 10:36 PM - ISSA MESS AT THE MOVIES - PART 2 😭🤡

“Hey. You sure you don’t want us to go with you? I can cancel with my parents and—“

You interrupted your friend, waving her off nonchalantly as you jumped out of the back her car. “No, no, Kusa. Thank you for driving me. You guys didn’t need to! But I really appreciate it. I need this time by myself to just…. You know…. Breathe.” 

Kusa frowned at you, still look unsure as to whether she should leave you alone at the theatre or not. Going to the movies alone is a little weird in her opinion, and she knows that you have still been so heartbroken from your breakup, so the fact that Aone had been asked out by one of the girls on the Date Teko cheer team that you considered a friend really hit you hard. 

Despite it all, she and Katana have agreed to let you deal with this the way you see fit, because forcing their desires on you wasn’t the right way to go, and the last time they tried that you cut them off for a week. They had to tread very carefully, as friends. 

“Okay, babe. Call us when you want to get picked up, Okay? We don’t mind.”

You nodded, wrapping your favourite jacket around you a bit more tightly. The sweater-jacket that actually belonged to the man you were in love with. “Thank you.” 

Shutting the door, you stepped back so that Kusa could drive away. 

Katana, who was sitting in the passengers seat, pressed the button to roll up her window and You gave them one last wave, ready to see them off, but just before you could Katana—quiet and deep in thought, pressed the same button to roll the window back down. The car didn’t budge.

“Y/N.” The pretty cheer captain said in a small voice, staring at her lap. You had to lean in to hear her.  

“Hm?”

Big brown eyes looked into yours as your bestie stared at you. It was silent for a moment and the intensity in the air was palpable. Finally, the brunette spoke. 

“I’m worried about you.” She finished, looking more serious than you’ve ever seen her. 

Earlier this Saturday night, you found yourself crying in the shower after you heard that an ex teammate of yours, Sutairu, is interested and has decided to pursue Aone. 

This girl was gorgeous, sweet, and has noticed your Mountain Man from day one, unlike you. There is not one bad thing you can say about her, and you were sure that eventually—especially with Futakuchi’s help—Aone would some day let his walls down for her. One day you would see the most perfect man in the world with another girl because you let him. 

And even though it’s what he deserves: a girl that is better than you, the thought alone shatters you every time it crosses your mind. 

Aone was on this girls instagram story,—a photo of him in another hoodie standing in front of the students he teaches with a caption saying: MCM🤫💋❄️

What did that mean? Could they be dating now? 

Enough was enough. After crying in your shower, You decided you needed a change in scenery, so you got dressed, only putting on concealer and keeping the natural state of your hair when it’s wet. You threw on a huge cardigan, a tank top and some jeans and told the girls what you had planned. Kusa wouldn’t take no for answer, so they insisted on dropping to you at the theatre to see this action-thriller you found on the website. 

So here you are, heart dragging behind you on the floor. You needed to be alone and you needed a change of scenery, that’s all you knew. So now hearing your besties and seeing the absolute fear for your well-being evident on their faces, made your stomach turn even more. Mainly because you couldn’t help them help you. No one can. So that’s why all you answered was, 

“I’m worried too.” Staring into the eyes of the two beautiful females you call your best friends. You then Added, “But I need this hour, okay?. I’ll see you guys later. I have my phone.” Without waiting for a response, you spun away from the car to walk into the large building downtown, straight to the bathroom so you could cry in the stalls prior to the movie.

After you spent a good 10 minutes using toilet paper to wipe under your eyes, then reapplying some conveniently packed concealer there in the mirror, you stuffed the Fenty Beauty case in your purse and walked out of the bathroom so that you can purchase your ticket at the self-serve automated machine. You had grabbed your ticket when it slid out the slot and were began walking to your designated theatre when you heard a familiar voice call out to you. 

“Hey! Y/N?”

Turning toward the voice, you looked over to see a group of 4 boys, all of which you’ve seen before, but in volleyball practice gear. While they were all staring over at you, naturally—your eyes settled on the one in the middle that you recognized the most. And the one who called your name. 

“Takeru,” You breathed, honestly relieved that it wasnt someone from school that you had to pretend you wanted to speak to. Takeru is someone you genuinely liked, that you actually got close to at the Volleyball/Cheer Camp last summer. 

“One sec!” He called, and you stood there waiting as Nakashima handed his card to his friends that were waiting at the ticket kiosk. One of them must have said something annoying to him, because Takeru blushed and told him to shut the fuck up. Feeling scrutinized by his friends, you wrapped your arms around your torso as he stealthily limbo-ed under the rope that divided the line from from the rest of the theatre. 

***

“Ouuu dudes, look. That’s Takanobu’s super hot girlfriend that you fell in love with last summer! This is your second chance bro, don’t fuck it up!” Takeru’s friend nudged him with his elbow and teased him from where he was standing in line. The other boys chuckled when he said that. 

Takeru went red—mostly because he knew it was true. “Shut the fuck up, I’m over her!” He defended himself. He resisted the urge to hit his friend for saying that out loud. Getting out the line because he couldn’t risk his dumb friends exposing his past crush like they almost did multiple times last summer, Nakashima escaped the line to approach you, finding himself jogging over, instead of walking. 

🤨

SLOW DOWN, Takeru told himself. ARE YOU REALLY THAT EXCITED TO SEE HER?

“Hi, Y/N!” The ex-high school volleyball player greeted you with a warm smile that neither of you had any idea was reserved for only you. “It’s been a while.” 

You forced a smile back, but you could see by the way that his own smile faltered that Takeru noticed your smile didn’t reach your eyes. “You okay?” He asked, concerned. 

Lying, you nodded, looking down at your boots and Nakashima resisted the urge to reach forward and tilt your head up. To touch your beautiful skin like he’s wanted to do since the first day you approached him for help, he really thought those emotions had fled… but being around you again made him realize that obvioulsy they hadn’t. 

She’s taken, idiot. The athlete reminded himself. 

“Is Takanobu here?” Nakashima thought to ask, distinctly remembering how much just mentioning his name would bring a big smile to your face back at camp, lighting it up in its entirety. 

So imagine Takeru shock, however, when you winced at the sound of his name instead of beamed. Still staring at your boots, you shook your head. “No, I’m here alone.” 

Alone?

Ask. He told himself. ASK!

“Um-ummm—“ is all he could stutter out.

S m o o t h, idiot. he chastised himself for being so lame. 

“Please, Takeru-san,” you lifted your head to look up at the man you considered to be a pretty good friend. “Don’t.” 

Even though his mind was buzzing with a million questions, Being the smart volleyball player he is, Takeru shut his mouth because the tears welling up in your eyes was enough of an answer than any. His heart sunk seeing you look so unbelievably broken. Without missing a beat, He switched gears. “—What movie are you seeing?” He asked instead. 

You grinned weakly but gratefully at his change in topic, a smile that actually did reach your eyes. “Uh, I don’t even know,” you chuckled pathetically. “I just picked any random movie, um, because, yeah.” 

She’s so cute, thought Nakashima. “Well it’s written on your ticket. Shall we see?” 

“Oh, uh, right.” Feeling dumb, you lifted the ticket in your hand and read the movie title aloud,

 “Jet Down 2.” 

A large amused smile graced Takeru’s face. “Really—that is probably the biggest ‘guy’ movie ever made,”

You nodded, not wanting to mention that hearing the title made you remember that your ex loved the original of this movie. Your nod introduced Takeru and yourself to an awkward silence. You weren’t about to tell him that you picked a movie that you’d be the least interested in so that you can cry in peace because the sounds of shit blowing up will drown out your sobs, no ma’am. If this was any other time, you would have been so happy to see and catch up with this boy. Asking a million questions and telling him how happy you were to see him. But unfortunately, all you could think about was the “MCM” Snapchat you saw earlier. You were devastated, and Takeru caught on to it.... seeing you about to shatter, yet again. He offered his help. 

“Want some company? Uh—“

You immediately shook your head. “No, Takeru-san! You came here with your friends. Enjoy that. Don’t mind me, I....“

Nakashima stared down at you like you were a work of art. When you stopped your pathetic babbling, he nodded slowly, recognizing the same expressions he’s seen his sister’s wear when they were on the verge of crying over a boy. Right before they yelled him to leave their room, leave them alone, and shut the door. The same rule probably applied here. Like an expert, Nakashima backed off. “Okay,” he continued nodding. “I guess I’ll go then. It was really nice seeing you.” He opened his arms and you leaned in for a chaste hug, immediately wishing the male arms around you belonged to a certain white haired volleyball player instead. 

Takeru, on the other hand, didn’t realize how much he missed the feel of you in his arms again. He didn’t want to let go. He wished that the feelings you had for Aone-san were for him. Stupid.

Uncharacteristically, Nakashima turned his head to whisper something in your ear before you let go. Before he never saw you again. “But, tonight, if you need a shoulder to cry on, I’m just one theatre over… Okay? I have a pretty comfortable shoulder, so just text me.” 

Holding back tears, you nodded, removing yourself to make your way to the bathroom again. 

***

Better late than never, you thought to yourself as you sadly sat in your seat in the theatre solo, unsure of how much time has even passed. You didn’t realize this stupid movie would be so packed, but you were thankful for assigned seating (since you specifically chose an aisle seat in case you needed to make another fast-cry escape). You just sat in your seat, curling into a ball and trying to hold it together the best you can.

You couldn’t.

Another 10-minutes later, you found yourself ugly crying in your three-quarter eaten popcorn, completely drenching the salty snack and making it soggy. 

A MESS, you called yourself. This movie was about guns and cars and shit blowing up—but all it took was one tiny little subplot romance scene to break you. LIKE I SAID: A MESS. 

One little stupid ‘be safe’ scene and you were thinking about the time you went to the movies with your ex boyfriend and current love of your life. That time, you had insisted on watching this scary movie but you were getting so unbelievably scared, refusing to leave when your boyfriend offered because you are strong af, so when you resorted to hiding yourself behind his bicep and whimpering instead. Takanobu had enough when he heard you make those sad noises, so he scooped you up from your seat so that you were sitting in his lap. That way, you felt his strong arms around you on boy sides and you were easily able to bury your face in his chest or finish the movie. You finished the movie.🥰

 You would like to say that that was one of the sweetest things that has ever happened to you, but what with being in a relationship with Aone Takanobu for the past year—that absolutely tooth rottenly sweet gesture wouldn’t even crack the Top 10. 

Your tears poured down your cheeks, and you imperceptibly wiped your tears on the sweater of his that you were wearing. Then you realized whose sweater it was and cried even harder! Your heart hurt so much. 

And to make matters worse, you ran out of tissues. 

Knowing that with your luck you’d run into someone you knew if you left now with a completely drenched face. A/N: or turned around :/desperate and sad, you decided to text your friend Takeru about your dilemma. All you asked him for were some tissues because he sort of knew what you were going through even though you didn’t spell it out for him. You hoped he could help for now and then later tonight you’d send him back the money he spent on his movie or something. You kept erasing the message but decided to send it when others in your row were possibly on to the fact that you were sniffling so much for more serious reasons. 

You sent it. Received a response within seconds saying he was on his way. 

Nakashima stumbled in to your the theatre not long after. You waved to him where you were seated in the dark, and he came over like a good friend, giving you a brand new popcorn and a set of tissues. You smiled weakly at the kind gesture and remembered that Aone is the entire reason why this boy Takeru is even here right now. Your tears re-established themselves as your date on this your solo movie night as you leaned your head on Nakashima’s shoulder, who told you that if Aone broke up with you he was an idiot. 

“I’m the idiot,” You whispered to him, because even if it was just a fleeting thought—Aone didn’t deserve any blame. Ever. He is undoubtedly the best person on this planet. “It’s me,” You whispered again, glad that your whiney voice was no match for the volume of the explosions on screen. You blew your nose in a tissue and resumed your position on Takeru’s shoulder. The gesture was platonic enough, but you realized then and there that there was only one shoulder you felt comfortable leaning on, whether it was friendly or not. You sat back up in your seat and met the gaze of a concerned volleyball player.  

“Takeru, I’m so sorry. Can you bring me home—“ the request died on your tongue as you witnessed, or at least you think you did— a dark blur of a a large body with…silver? No, white hair racing down the stairs as if he’d been pushed down them. The figure turned on its heels and fled the theatre in a faster speed than should be possible for a body so large. 

The oddness stopped you in your tracks for a second.

Why did that person-?

You were confused, until a waft of fresh mountainous breeze hit your nostrils, making you gasp. It was The best scent in the world. The scent that was vaguely imbedded in the sweater you were wearing. The scent that belonged to—oh God. You choked on your tears.

“Was that…..?” Your tear stained face scrunched together, trying to piece two-and-two together as your losty brain overworked itself. 

“What were you going to say? You want a drive home?” You could faintly hear Nakashima’s question even though he was right beside you. You were too busy thinking about how that couldn’t have been Aone who stormed out of here, would he choose this movie—oh my—

Lightbulb turning on, you whipped your entire upper body around and searched the seats for someone recognizable. While your scanning stopped momentarily on a few students from school, they ultimately swam to the person or persons you were looking for: There! Kenji-san and Koganagewa-san, two males who were looking at you and Takeru as if you two were the villains in the movie that just popped out of the screen. 

So that WAS Aone!

Why didn’t he come say hi?! 

Your heart started racing. Because you loved him. 

But if that was Aone..... 

Then why did he leave in such a hurry like that…?

And why were his friends looking at you and Nakashima like we…..?

Hold on. 

Your eyes take a mind of their own, whipping from Futakuchi, to Kanji, to Takeru, to Takeru’s shoulder that you ere just laying on, back to the vacant seat where Aone must have been sitting in the between his two friends, and then you looked down at your sweater—his sweater. You thought back to Aone’s shattered expression when you broke up with him by the Ferris wheel and then you saw your own brisk walk from that night redone in his body in the way he just left this theatre blur.

Oh no, You thought. Did this look like a…? With Takeru…?!

OH GOD NO. 

Your heart dropped like one of those rides at the amusement park: 

“Y/N. Are you okay? You look like you’re going to be sick! I can bring you home if you— Y/N? Y/N WAIT LET ME GET MY KEYS—!“ 

You were already gone, leaving your purse, wallet, phone and everything behind—not having to jump over anyones legs to run down the stairs and out of the theatre. You weren’t as fast as Aone, not by a long shot—but you’d be surprised how fast a girl can move when she’s running to the love of her life. 

Running around the empty theatre because everyone was watching a movie, you quickly checked the boys bathroom (not caring that you shouldn’t be in there) before realizing it was empty and then sprinting outside in to the cold night. 

Please don’t be gone. Please don’t be gone. Please don’t be gone. Please don’t be gone. Please don’t be gone. Please don’t be gone. Please don’t be gone. Please don’t be gone. Please don’t be gone. Please don’t be gone. Please don’t be gone. Please don’t be gone. Please don’t be gone. Please don’t be gone. Please don’t be gone. Please don’t be gone. Please don’t be gone. Please don’t be gone. Please don’t be gone. Please don’t be gone, you chanted. 

Your head snapped left and right, eyes scanning the parking lot for Aone’s car, and when you spotted it signalling and waiting to make a right out of the theatre, you dangerously raced toward it! Heart pumping, you jumped in front of the vehicle with both hands extended in front of you as if you had the strength to stop the car from moving if you could. 

The horn of the car honked dramatically, followed by a head that was not your Mountain Man’s sticking out the window to shout profanities at you to get the fuck out of the way. 

Stepping back shakily, you automatically went back to scanning the lot again for the same 4 wheeler, because locating that car was ALL that mattered right now. 

Finding HIM was all that mattered.

You had to be more cautious now in your search. More purposeful. 

Far back, hundreds of meters from where you were standing you could make out a car that you somehow knew was his. Something, just something, told you it was, and your heart started racing even faster. The lights had turned on like the driver was about to leave, and then it shut off again as if the driver changed their mind about leaving. Without thinking about it, only listening to the pull in your heart that said your man was over there, you used your years of cheerleading experience to catapult you toward the parked vehicle.

When you got closer, your heart squeezed on its own accord as if someone was making pizza dough with it. Slowing down, you took in the sight that was your ex boyfriend sitting in the driver’s seat of his car, white hair visible only because his head was down, forehead kissing the steering wheel, his shoulders vibrating slightly because he is crying. It’s him.

Position:

Not stopping to think anymore, acting on pure love and instinct, you sped over to the driver’s side and tugged the door open. Thank God it was unlocked.

This giant mountain man didn’t move from his position crying on the steering wheel. Only muttering a broken, “Kenji-san, please leave me—“

“Not Justin Bieber look-alike!” You croaked loudly, heart pounding when this gorgeous man’s head lifted as soon as you uttered your first syllable. He looked you up and down and your breath caught in your throat. You’ve NEVER seen such a beautiful man cry before, and although it tugged at what was left of your heart—you thought he looked breathtaking. 

“Y/N…..? D-did Kenji-san send you out-t-t he-here? I apolo-pologize—“

You shook your head, unable to stop yourself from pouring your heart out. 

“Hey. Remember the other day after you helped me film my cheerleading tryout, you said that you were happy we were fr-friends?” You asked sharply, ignoring his apology for now, and forever grateful for the fact that you had major cojones when you wanted to. They came in handy at times like this. 

With red puffy eyes, Aone wiped his face and then nodded, making you melt. 

“Well,” You took a shaky breath, sliding your own tears to the side before you left your heart out on the table for this man. 

“Well, I’m not your friend, Aone.” 

Aone visibly swallowed, his eyes welling up with tears again. He hated himself so much for crying like this. 

“I-I know, not y-yet, bu-but I was hoping one day you’d-d—“ Mountain man didn’t even know what he wanted to say, he was dead.

“No. I’m not your friend.” You repeated yourself, watching a shiver run through Takanobu due to the chill in your voice and the intensity your eyes held.

You could sense that he wasnt getting where you were going with this play on words, so you cut to the chase. Hopefully he would get it after hearing what he had to say next, just like you did when he said these same words to you once in a bowling alley. 

“The reason I can’t be your friend is because I like you so much more than a friend, Aone. You have no idea how much more.” 

Aone shivered again, his beautiful lips separating because his jaw dropped slightly. He recognized his words on your lips now, you could tell. He was understanding how you felt now, so you continued anxiously:

“Everything about you drives me absolutely insane, Takanobu. Your spirit, your love, the way you are the only man I will ever love……even the way you can’t notice that your ex is still madly in love with you, and that she only came here tonight to cry over you alone but ran into someone, and even though she was dumb enough to break up with you.”

Aone’s jaw had just dropped wider as you spoke, his mind reeling. 

You stepped in closer to where he was sitting in his car, closing the distance because you just couldn’t stand being any further from him anymore. You also wanted to whisper this next part. You wanted him to know that his confession to you was etched in your brain so much so that you could recite it in a moments notice, even if that said moment was full of pure emotional madness like right now. 

“I’m not your friend, Aone.” You repeated once again. “I don’t want to be. I want to be everything else for you. Everything more. Takanobu, I have a confession to make.” You used both of your cold hands to cup his cheeks, his beautiful, red, stubble filled, wet cheeks.

“I love you. I love you, my Mountain Man. I love you more than I did yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that. I loved you on the Ferris wheel, and I loved you when you filmed my tryouts. I love you Right now, and I will forever. I will explain everything, I promise. But there has never been, nor will there ever be anyone else for me other than you, Aone-san.” 

You giggled through your tears because Takanobu looked so confused but happy. It was an odd expression, but very cute. You continued, 

“I know we get called Losties a lot which used to bother me, but you know what: maybe we are, but that’s besides the point—because all I know is that I used to hate being called that…. Until I met you.” You leaned in so that your foreheads were touching. “When I met you, Aone-san....... I stopped caring about being lost….... none of it mattered to me.......insofar as we were lost together. Together with you is the only way I want to go through life, Aone, so I’m sorry for hurting you. I’m sorry for letting my insecurities drive me and I’m sorry for possibly confessing to you when you have someone else. I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m—“

Mountain Man imitated your gesture of cupping your cheeks in his large hands, wiping away your tears like you did to him. 

And then, without saying another word like he was good at—

He slid you into his lap sitting in the front seat, back in the same position he pulled you in the last time you two were at this theatre—

and then he kissed you. 

It was a kiss so passionate that you gasped into it, needing him, needing him like a hiker needed their mountain. A kiss so passionate it l lasted for the remaining duration of the movie (no word of a lie) because you refused to let each other go—but most importantly: it was a kiss that made you realize that you and Mountain Man weren’t just two losties lost together like you mentioned a bit ago—no. Absolutely not. Actually, this kiss was so passionate it made you realize that you were really two losties that were lost in every aspect in life—minus one:

Because you two could never be lost when it came to your feelings for one another. Finding true love happened to be the only aspect of life that most people on this planet remained lost in, which happened to be the exact aspect of life where you and Aone have both been….

Found. 

🐢

🐢

🐢

———————————

A/N: That’s it! I am secretly here to let y’all know that there will be one more collection post next time I write, and that post will be the end of this losty series. I will cry when that time comes lmao but for now tysm for reading this marathon - I would loooove to hear your thoughts! I literally die when you guys comment or send me private messages reacting. It makes my whole day istg. Anyways, Wishing you all the best as always. See you next time. Xoxo

Taglist: @galagcica @chaichai-the-weeb @nairobiisqueen @bisasterrr @juminly @simply-not-the-same @marvelousbakugou @qyuanon

[asexualzoro]

list of reasons i find Brook ridiculous

for brook’s birthday, ive decided to follow up my other two posts of this genre by dragging yet another idiot swordsman. i have everybrook open on my phone next to me. here we go

- first and foremost his most ridiculous crime is existing. as he’s already so ridiculous as a character, im going to talk only about things hes done

- i want to know, did Brook make a conscious effort to change his laugh to sound like his favorite song? how long did it take? what was the in between period like? what did his crew have to say about this? the rumbar pirates were big on playful teasing, did they let Brook live this down? 

- ALTERNATIVELY: was brook’s laugh already like that? is that why bink’s sake is his favorite song? is that why it was York’s favorite-- oh we only made it two bullet points before i made myself sad

- relatedly i cannot make fun of anything Brook did in his backstory it will make me too sad. hes spared for now

- i DO want to say from a writing standpoint its so fucking ridiculous to me that he mentions twice being a convoy captain in the past and it never comes up again. oda?? why even bother to include something that cool if you weren't even going to do anything with it?? you could have said hes just always been a pirate but no. oda?? oda

- there was that bit where a bunch of people thought Brook was satan and addressed him as such (i think Satan-sama in the original, and the translation i read was like... Lord Satan or Lord Demon or something). not only did Brook never correct them, but he also ran with it and later used this case of mistaken identity as a reason to threaten to eat a man’s heart 

- also both men and women were showing him their underwear in that bit. bi rights

- those satanists let Brook get kidnapped while saying they would try to summon him back. do you think they're still at it

- Brook is older than... basically every old man in the series. Garp, Whitebeard, Rayleigh... all of them. something about that is so weird to me and i cannot place why

- Brook has seen and can prove the existence of an afterlife in One Piece canon and its then never addressed again

- Brook missed so many huge events while being dead. im looking at a timeline rn and these include the obvious, like, roger’s execution and subsequent effect on in-world culture and society and whatever. but also things like the destruction of ohara (which was in his home sea), the founding of the world power known as the revolutionary army (which was about 20yrs ago), and the births of every other member of his crew. wack

- he seems to know about stuff related to the pirate king post time skip, and i wonder if thats because someone told him or he’s just playing along now. maybe he just thinks Luffy made up the term pirate king cuz it sounds cool and he wants to support his captain’s interests

- if he DID ask though, like, who did he ask? his managers? did he pull aside some fan asking for an autograph at a concert like “hey, you look like a knowledgable young lad, mind helping me out?”

- i would love to be there when someone takes the time to explain roger, the pirate king, raffle, the One Piece.... and Brook asks them “what is the One Piece?”.... and someone has to look him in the eye (...or not) and tell him “i don't know” 

- Brook has technically died of fright (his soul left his body), like... at least once? it was luffy’s fault

- Brook was an urban legend on the florian triangle and i doubt he even knows that about himself

- when they're heading to fishmen island Brook gets all scared when they encounter a possible ghost ship and Usopp slaps him

- when captured by big mom he sleeps so godamn soundly and securely that he is harder to wake up than she is and this fact nearly gets a bunch of his crew killed

- Brook is the only character i can think of who has ever broken the fourth wall. he only did it once. maybe seeing the afterlife means he now knows hes in a manga. or maybe being isolated for 50 years just made his head be not screwed on right

- speaking of, there’s a bit in WCI at the wedding where Brook is decapitated. i don't know how it goes in the anime, but in the manga like... no one is shown to have decapitated him. his head just pops off. maybe he was just having fun

- also the bit where he rips the fake face off in wci. when someone calls him gross he cries

- there’s a bit in fishmen island where Brook is trying to ask Nami if he can see her panties (disgusting bastard) and he inadvertently protects her from being dehydrated by some guy they were fighting. except the panel setup reminds me a lot of / mimics ace protecting Luffy from Akainu, and it haunts me

- speaking of bits from fishmen island that haunt me, there's a page where it’s strongly implied Brook fucked a mermaid (maybe two). i will of course include the page here

- yeah. sorry. 

- when Brook first meets the strawhats he invites himself inside because “it’s cold out!” but he later admits in punk hazard that he cant feel cold. he was just lying

- no one introduces himself to Brook except Luffy for the entirety of thriller bark

- half related, Franky cradles Brook in his arms / carries Brook around for like a full scene in thriller bark 

- there's a link two second bit in film gold where the crew is just relaxing while they're planning for how they're going to get Zoro back and they're all shown eating burgers from pirate mcdonalds or whatever. and Brook is eating a burger and hes so messy that hes got burger on his forehead, and Franky is next to him just looking at him

- Brook also wears fake skin in that movie

- Brook has a running gag where he gets upset when things refuse to eat him and i was going to make a joke about it but im wondering if maybe hes just afraid of being left behind........ made myself sad again

- he cries when a dragon won't eat him tho

- Brook admits to reading monster hentai when talking to Sanji and Kin’emon and if i have to be burdened with knowing that so do you

- when hes trying to figure out the weakness of the zombies on thriller bark he overhears one ate a salted fish and lost its shadow and immediately assumes “oh, must have been the fish!” idiot man

- where does his sword cane go when hes not using it. it just appears. where does he store it

- there's a bit where the strawhats all use a combo attack at thriller bark and the first step is firing an electrically charged Brook in a slingshot through oars/oz. he ends up in a wall and no one ever pulls him out. i don't even think the manga shows how he got down

- enemies post time skip regularly assume Brook is dead when they manage to knock the crew out and it makes me wonder how popular of a rock star Brook actually was

- Brook goes on a mini rant to no one while they're descending to fisherman island where he wonders aloud how he sees without eyes and it makes me lose it

- this isn't Brook technically but Nekomamushi is based on a song Brook’s voice actor wrote about his cat.

- Brook literally doesn't have a brain. like i know we all know that but its so fucking funny. we make jokes about other strawhats only having one braincell or whatever but Brook straight up 100% just has a seashell where his brain is supposed to be 

-  why does he have rubber glove looking hands when hes haunting the castle at wano i fucking hate them

- relatedly, there’s a bit where Brook mentions he’s been, at kinemon’s interaction, sitting in a well for like... possibly days? is he okay

- honestly i love everything about Brook’s actions as a ghost in wano bc its so fucking funny but my FAVORITE fact is that Brook is in the wikipedia article about starving skeletons

im leaving you with that. appreciate ur local skeleton today

[grigori77]

Movies of 2021 - My Pre-Summer Favourites (Part 2)

The Top Ten:

10.  ZACK SNYDER’S JUSTICE LEAGUE – one of the undisputable highlights of the Winter-Spring period has to be the long-awaited, much vaunted redressing of a balance that’s been a particular thorn in the side of DC cinematic fans for over three years now – the completion and restoration of the true, unadulterated original director’s cut of the painfully abortive DCEU team-up movie that was absolutely butchered when Joss Whedon took over from original director Zack Snyder and then heavily rewrote and largely reshot the whole thing.  It was a somewhat painful experience to view in cinemas back in 2017 – sure, there were bits that worked, but most of it didn’t and it wasn’t like the underrated Batman Vs Superman: Dawn of Justice, which improves immensely on subsequent viewings (especially in the three hour-long director’s cut).  No, Whedon’s film was a MESS.  Needless to say fans were up in arms, and once word got out that the finished film was not at all what Snyder originally intended, a vocal, forceful online campaign began to restore what quickly became known as the Snyder Cut.  Thank the gods that Warner Bros listened to them, ultimately taking advantage of the intriguing alternative possibilities provided by their streaming service HBO Max to allow Snyder to present his fully reinstated creation in its entirety.  The only remaining question, of course, is simply … is it actually any good? Well it’s certainly much more like BVS:DOG than Whedon’s film ever was, and there’s no denying that, much like the rest of Snyder’s oeuvre, this is a proper marmite movie – there are gonna people who hate it no matter what, but the faithful, the fans, or simply those who are willing to open their minds are going to find much to enjoy here. The damage has been thoroughly patched, most of the elements that didn’t work in the theatrical release having been swapped out or reworked so that now they pay off BEAUTIFULLY.  This time the quest of Bruce Wayne/Batman (Ben Affleck) and Diana Prince/Wonder Woman (Gal Gadot) to bring the first iteration of the Justice League together – half-Atlantean superhuman Arthur Curry/the Aquaman (Jason Momoa), lightning-powered speedster Barry Allan/the Flash (Fantastic Beasts’ Ezra Miller) and cybernetically-rebuilt genius Victor Stone/Cyborg (relative newcomer Ray Fisher) – not only feels organic, but NECESSARY, as does their desperate scheme to use one of the three alien Mother Boxes (no longer just shiny McGuffins but now genuinely well-realised technological forces that threaten cataclysm as much as they provide opportunity for miracles) to bring Clark Kent/Superman (Henry Cavill) back from the dead, especially given the far more compelling threat of this version’s collection of villains.  Ciaran Hinds’ mocapped monstrosity Steppenwolf is a far more palpable and interesting big bad this time round, given a more intricate backstory that also ties in a far greater ultimate mega-villain that would have become the DCEU’s Thanos had Snyder had his way to begin with – Darkseid (Ray Porter), tyrannical ruler of Apokolips and one of the most powerful and hated beings in the Universe, who could have ushered the DCEU’s now aborted New Gods storyline to the big screen.  The newer members of the League receive far more screen-time and vastly improved backstory too, Miller’s Flash getting a far more pro-active role in the storyline AND the action which also thankfully cuts away a lot of the clumsiness the character had in the Whedon version without sacrificing any of the nerdy sass that nonetheless made him such a joy, while the connective tissue that ties Momoa’s Aquaman into his own subsequent standalone movie feels much stronger here, and his connection with his fellow League members feels less perfunctory too, but it’s Fisher’s Cyborg who TRULY reaps the benefits here, regaining a whole new key subplot and storyline that ties into a genuinely powerful tragic origin story, as well as a far more complicated and ultimately rewarding relationship with his scientist father, Silas Stone (the great Joe Morton).  It’s also really nice to see Superman handled with the kind of skill we’d expect from the same director who did such a great job (fight me if you disagree) of bringing the character to life in two previous big screen instalments, as well as erasing the memory of that godawful digital moustache removal … similarly, it’s nice to see the new and returning supporting cast get more to do this time, from Morton and the ever-excellent J.K. Simmonds as fan favourite Gotham PD Commissioner Jim Gordon to Connie Nielsen as Diana’s mother, Queen Hippolyta of Themyscira and another unapologetic scene-stealing turn from Jeremy Irons as Batman’s faithful butler Alfred Pennyworth. Sure, it’s not a perfect movie – the unusual visual ratio takes some getting used to, while there’s A LOT of story to unpack here, and at a gargantuan FOUR HOURS there are times when the pacing somewhat lags, not to mention an overabundance of drawn-out endings (including a flash-forward to a potential apocalyptic future that, while evocative, smacks somewhat of overeager fan-service) that would put Lord of the Rings’ The Return of the King to shame, but original writer Chris Terrio’s reconstituted script is rich enough that there’s plenty to reward the more committed viewer, and the storytelling and character development is a powerful thing, while the action sequences are robust and thrilling (even if Snyder does keep falling back on his over-reliance on slow motion that seems to alienate some viewers), and the new score from Tom Holkenborg (who co-composed on BVS:DOJ) feels a far more natural successor than Danny Elfman’s theatrical compositions.  The end result is no more likely to win fresh converts than Man of Steel or Batman Vs Superman, but it certainly stands up far better to a critical eye this time round, and feels like a far more natural progression for the saga too.  Ultimately it’s more of an interesting tangential adventure given that Warner Bros seem to be stubbornly sticking to their original plans for the ongoing DCEU, but I can’t help hoping that they might have a change of heart in the future given just how much better the final product is than any of us had any right to expect …

9.  SYNCHRONIC – writer-director duo Justin Benson and Aaron Moorhead are something of a creative phenomenon in the science-fiction and fantasy indie cinema scene, crafting films that ensnare the senses and engage the brain like few others.  Subtly insidious conspiracy horror debut Resolution is a sneaky little chiller, while deeply original body horror Spring (the film that first got me into them) is weird, unsettling and surprisingly touching, but it was breakthrough sleeper hit The Endless, a nightmarish time-looping cosmic horror that thoroughly screws with your head, that really put them on the map.  Needless to say it’s led them to greater opportunities heading into the future, and this is their first film to really reap the benefits, particularly by snaring a couple of genuine stars for its lead roles.  Steve (Anthony Mackie) and Dennis (Jamie Dornan) are paramedics working the night shift in New Orleans, which puts them on the frontlines when a new drug hits the streets, a dangerous concoction known as Synchronic that causes its users to experience weird localised fractures in time that frequently lead to some pretty outlandish deaths in adults, while teenage users often disappear entirely.  As the situation worsens, the pair’s professional and personal relationships become increasingly strained, compounded by the fact that Steve is concealing his recent diagnosis of terminal cancer, before things come to a head when Dennis’ teenage daughter Brianna (Into the Badlands’ Ally Ioannides) vanishes under suspicious circumstances, and it becomes clear to Steve that she’s become unstuck in time … this is as mind-bendingly off-the-wall and spectacularly inventive as we’ve come to expect from Benson and Moorhead, another fantastically original slice of weirdness that benefits enormously from their exquisitely obsessive attention to detail and characteristically unsettling atmosphere of building dread, while their character development is second to none, benefitting their top-notch cast no end.  Mackie is typically excellent, bringing compelling vulnerability to the role that makes it easy to root for him as he gets further out of his depth in this twisted temporal labyrinth, while Dornan invests Dennis with a painfully human fallibility, and Ioannides does a lot with very little real screen time in her key role as ill-fated Brianna.  The time-bending sequences are suitably disorienting and disturbing, utilising pleasingly subtle use of visual effects to further mess with your head, and the overall mechanics of the drug and its effects are fiendishly crafted, while the directors tighten the screw of slowburn tension throughout, building to a suitably offbeat ending that’s as devastating as anything we’ve seen from them so far.  Altogether this is another winning slice of genre-busting weirdness from a filmmaking duo who deserve continued success in the future, and I for one will be watching eagerly.

8.  WITHOUT REMORSE – I’m a big fan of Tom Clancy, to me he was one of the ultimate escapist thriller writers, and whenever a new adaptation of one of his novels comes along I’m always front of the line to check it out.  The Hunt For Red October is one of my favourite screen thrillers OF ALL TIME, while my very favourite Clancy adaptation EVER, the Jack Ryan TV series, is, in my opinion, one of the very best Original shows that Amazon have ever done.  But up until now my VERY FAVOURITE Clancy creation, John Clark, has always remained in the background or simply absent entirely, putting in an appearance as a supporting character in only two of the movies, tantalising me with his presence but never more than a teaser.  Well that’s all over now – after languishing in development hell since the mid-90s, the long-awaited adaptation of my favourite Clancy novel, the origin story of the top CIA black ops operative, has finally arrived, as well as a direct spin-off from distributor Amazon’s own Jack Ryan series.  Michael B. Jordan plays John Kelly (basically Clark before he gained his more famous cover identity), a lethally efficient, highly decorated Navy SEAL whose life is turned upside down when a highly classified operation experiences deadly blowback as half of his team is assassinated in retaliation, while Kelly barely survives an attack in which his heavily pregnant wife is killed.  With the higher-ups unwilling the muddy the waters while scrambling to control the damage, Kelly, driven by rage and grief, takes matters into his own hands, embarking on a violent personal crusade against the Russian operatives responsible, but as he digs deeper with the help of his former commanding officer, Lt. Commander Karen Greer (Queen & Slim’s Jodie Turner-Smith), and mid-level CIA hotshot Robert Ritter (Jamie Bell), it becomes clear that there’s a far more insidious conspiracy at work here … in the past the Clancy adaptations we’ve seen tend to be pretty tightly reined-in affairs, going for a PG-13 polish that maintains the intellectual fireworks but still tries to keep the violence clean and relatively family-friendly, but this was never going to be the case here – Clark has always been Jack Ryan’s dark shadow, Clancy’s righteous man without the moral restraint, and a PG-13 take never would have worked, so going for an unfettered R-rating is the right choice.  Jordan’s Kelly/Clark is a blood-soaked force of nature, a feral dog let off the leash, bringing a brutal ferocity to the action that does the literary source proud, tempered by a wounded vulnerability that helps us to sympathise with the broken but still very human man behind the killer; Turner-Smith, meanwhile, regularly matches him in the physical stakes, jumping into the action with enthusiasm and looking damn fine doing it, but she also brings tight control and an air of pragmatic military professionalism that makes it easy to believe in her not only as an accomplished leader of fighting men but also as the daughter of Admiral Jim Greer, while Bell is arrogant and abrasive but ultimately still a good man as Ritter; Guy Pearce, meanwhile, brings his usual gravitas and quietly measured charisma to proceedings as US Secretary of Defence Thomas Clay, and Lauren London makes a suitably strong impression during her brief screen time to make her absence keenly felt as Kelly’s wife Pam. The action is intense, explosive and spectacularly executed, culminating in a particularly impressive drawn-out battle through a Russian apartment complex, while the labyrinthine plot is intricately crafted and unfolds with taut precision, but then the screenplay was co-written by Taylor Sheridan, who here reteams with Sicario 2 director Stefano Sollida, who’s also already proven to be a seasoned hand at this kind of thing, and the result is a tense, knuckle-whitening suspense thriller that pays magnificent tribute to the most compelling creation of one of the best authors in the genre.  Amazon have signed up for more with already greenlit sequel Rainbow Six, and with this directly tied in with the Jack Ryan TV series too I can’t help holding out hope we just might get to see Jordan’s Clark backing John Krasinski’s Ryan up in the future …

7.  RAYA & THE LAST DRAGON – with UK cinemas still closed I’ve had to live with seeing ALL the big stuff on my frustratingly small screen at home, but at least there’s been plenty of choice with so many of the big studios electing to either sell some of their languishing big projects to online vendors or simply release on their own streaming services.  Thank the gods, then, for the House of Mouse following Warner Bros’ example and releasing their big stuff on Disney+ at the same time in those theatres that have reopened – this was one movie I was PARTICULARLY looking forward to, and if I’d had to wait and hope for the scheduled UK reopening to occur in mid-May I might have gone a little crazy watching everyone else lose it over something I still hadn’t seen.  That said, it WOULD HAVE been worth the wait – coming across sort-of a bit like Disney’s long overdue response to Dreamworks’ AWESOME Kung Fu Panda franchise, this is a spellbinding adventure in a beautifully thought-out fantasy world heavily inspired by Southeast Asia and its rich, diverse cultures, bursting with red hot martial arts action and exotic Eastern mysticism and brought to life by a uniformly strong voice cast dominated by actors of Asian descent.  It’s got a cracking premise, too – 500 years ago, the land of Kumandra was torn apart when a terrible supernatural force known as the Druun very nearly wiped out all life, only stopped by the sacrifice of the last dragons, who poured all their power and lifeforce into a mystical gem.  But when the gem is broken and the pieces divided between the warring nations of Fang, Heart, Spine, Tail and Talon, the Druun return, prompting Raya (Star Wars’ Kelly Marie Tran), the fugitive princess of Heart, to embark on a quest to reunite the gem pieces and revive the legendary dragon Sisu in a desperate bid to vanquish the Druun once and for all.  Moana director Don Hall teams up with Blindspotting helmer Carlos Lopez Estrada (making his debut in the big chair for Disney after helping develop Frozen), bringing to life a thoroughly inspired screenplay co-written by Crazy Rich Asians’ Adele Kim which is full to bursting with magnificent world-building, beautifully crafted characters and thrilling action, as well as the Disney prerequisites of playful humour and tons of heart and soul.  Tran makes Raya an feisty and engaging heroine, tough, stubborn and a seriously kickass fighter, but with true warmth and compassion too, while Gemma Chan is icy cool but deep down ultimately kind of sweet as her bitter rival, Fang princess Namaari, and there’s strong support from Benedict Wong and Good Boys’ Izaac Wang as hard-but-soft Spine warrior Tong and youthful but charismatic Tail shrimp-boat captain Boun, two of the warm-hearted found family that Raya gathers on her travels.  The true scene-stealer, however, is the always entertaining Awkwafina, bringing Sisu to life in wholly unexpected but thoroughly charming and utterly adorable fashion, a goofy, sassy and sweet-natured bundle of fun who grabs all the best laughs but also unswervingly champions the film’s core messages of peace, unity and acceptance in all things, something which Raya needs a lot of convincing to take to heart.  Visually stunning, endlessly inventive, consistently thrilling and frequently laugh-out-loud funny, this is another solid gold winner once again proving that Disney can do this kind of stuff in their sleep, but it’s always most interesting when they really make the effort to create something truly special, and that’s just what they’ve done here.  As far as I’m concerned, this is one of the studio’s finest animated features in a good long while, and thoroughly deserving of your praise and attention …

6.  THE MITCHELLS VS THE MACHINES – so what piece of animation, you might be asking, could POSSIBLY have won over Raya as my animated feature of the year so far? After all, it would have to be something TRULY special … but then, remember Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse?  Back in 2018, that blew me away SO MUCH that it very nearly became my top animated feature of THE PAST DECADE (only JUST losing out, ultimately, to Dreamworks’ unstoppable How to Train Your Dragon trilogy).  When I heard its creators, the irrepressible double act of Phil Lord and Christopher Miller (The Lego Movie, Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs), were going to be following that up with this anarchic screwball comedy adventure, I was VERY EXCITED INDEED, a fervour which was barely blunted when its release was, inevitably, indefinitely delayed thanks to the global pandemic, so when it finally released at the tail end of the Winter-Spring season I POUNCED. Thankfully my faith was thoroughly rewarded – this is an absolute riot from start to finish, a genuine cinematic gem I look forward to going back to for repeated viewings in the near future, just to soak up the awesomeness – it’s hilarious to a precision-crafted degree, brilliantly thought-out and SPECTACULARLY well-written by acclaimed Gravity Falls writer-director Mike Rianda (who also helms here), injecting the whole film with a gleefully unpredictable, irrepressibly irreverent streak of pure chaotic genius that makes it a affectionately endearing and utterly irresistible joyride from bonkers start to adorable finish.  The central premise is pretty much as simple as the title suggests, the utterly dysfunctional family in question – father Rick (Danny McBride), born outdoorsman and utter technophobe, mother Linda (Maya Rudolph), much put-upon but unflappable even in the face of Armageddon, daughter Katie (Broad City co-creator Abbi Jacobson), tech-obsessed and growing increasingly estranged from her dad, and son Aaron (Rianda himself), a thoroughly ODD dinosaur nerd – become the world’s only hope after naïve tech mogul Mark Bowman (Eric Andre), founder of PAL Labs, inadvertently sets off a robot uprising.  Cue a wild ride comedy of errors of EPIC proportions … this is just about the most fun I’ve had with a movie so far this year, an absolute riot throughout, but there’s far more to it than just a pile of big belly laughs, with the Mitchells all proving to be a lovable bunch of misfits who inspire just as much deep, heartfelt affection as they learn from their mistakes and finally overcome their differences, becoming a better, more loving family in the process, McBride and Jacobson particularly shining as they make our hearts swell and put a big lump in our throat even while they make us titter and guffaw, while the film has a fantastic larger than (virtual) life villain in PAL (Olivia Colman), the virtual assistant turned megalomaniacal machine intelligence spearheading this technological revolution.  Much like its Spider-Man-shaped predecessor, this is also an absolutely STUNNING film, visually arresting and spectacularly inventive and bursting with neat ideas and some truly beautiful stylistic flair, frequently becoming a genuine work of cinematic art that’s as much a feast for the eyes as it is the intellect and, of course, the soul.  Altogether then, this is definitely the year’s most downright GORGEOUS film so far, as well as UNDENIABLY its most FUN.  Lord and Miller really have done it again.

5.  P.G. PSYCHO GOREMAN – the year’s current undeniable top guilty pleasure has to be this fantastic weird, thoroughly over-the-top and completely OUT THERE black comedy cosmic horror that doesn’t so much riff on the works of HP Lovecraft as throw them in a blender, douse them with maple syrup and cayenne pepper and then hurl the sloppy results to the four winds.  On paper it sounds like a family-friendly cutesy comedy take on Call of Cthulu et al, but trust me, this sure ain’t one for the kids – the latest indie horror offering from Steven Kostanski, co-creator of the likes of Manborg, Father’s Day and The Void, this is one of the weirdest movies I’ve seen in years, but it’s also one of the most gleefully funny, playing itself entirely for yucks (frequently LITERALLY).  Mimi (Nita Josee-Hanna) and Luke (Owen Myre) are a two small-town Canadian kids who dig a big hole of their backyard, accidentally releasing the Arch-Duke of Nightmares (Matthew Ninaber and the voice of Steven Vlahos), an ancient, god-tier alien killing machine who’s been imprisoned for aeons in order to protect the universe from his brutal crusade of death and destruction.  To their parents’ dismay, Mimi decides to keep him, renaming him Psycho Goreman (or “P.G.” for short) and attempting to curb his superpowered murderous impulses so she can have a new playmate. But the monster’s original captors, the Templars of the Planetary Alliance, have learned of his escape, sending their most powerful warrior, Pandora (Kristen McCulloch), to destroy him once and for all.  Yup, this movie is just as loony tunes as it sounds – Kostanski injects the film with copious amounts of his own outlandish, OTT splatterpunk extremity, bringing us a riotous cavalcade of bizarrely twisted creatures and mutations (brought to life through some deliciously disgusting prosthetic effects work) and a series of wonderfully off-kilter (not to mention frequently off-COLOUR) darkly comic skits and escapades, while the sense of humour is pretty bonkers but also generously littered with nuggets of genuine sharply observed genius.  The cast, although made up almost entirely of unknowns, is thoroughly game, and the kids particularly impress, especially Josee-Hanna, who plays Mimi like a flamboyant, mercurial miniature psychopath whose zinger-delivery is clipped, precise and downright hilarious throughout.  There are messages of love conquering all and the power of family, both born and made, buried somewhere in there too, but ultimately this is just 90 minutes of wonderful weirdness that’s sure to melt your brain but still leave you with a big dumb green when it’s all over.  Which is all we really want from a movie like this, right?

4.  SPACE SWEEPERS – all throughout the pandemic and the interminable lockdowns, Netflix have been a consistent blessing to those of us who’ve been craving the kind of big budget blockbusters we have (largely) been unable to get at the cinema.  Some of my top movies of 2020 were Netflix Originals, and they’ve continued the trend into 2021, having dropped some choice cuts on us over the past four months, with some REALLY impressive offerings still to come as we head into the summer season (roll on, Zack Snyder’s Army of the Dead!).  In the meantime, my current Netflix favourite of the year so far is this phenomenal milestone of Korean cinema, lauded as the country’s first space blockbuster, which certainly went big instead of going home. Writer-director Jo Sung-hee (A Werewolf Boy, Phantom Detective) delivers big budget thrills and spills with a bombastic science-fiction adventure cast in the classic Star Wars mould, where action, emotion and fun characters count for more than an admittedly simplistic but still admirably archetypical and evocative plot – it’s 2092, and the Earth has become a toxic wasteland ruined by overpopulation and pollution, leading the wealthy to move into palatial orbital habitats in preparation for the impending colonisation of Mars, while the poor and downtrodden are packed into rotting ghetto satellites facing an uncertain future left behind to fend for themselves, and the UTS Corporation jealously guard the borders between rich and poor, presided over by seemingly benevolent but ultimately cruel sociopathic genius CEO James Sullivan (Richard Armitage).  Eking out a living in-between are the space sweepers, freelance spaceship crews who risk life and limb by cleaning up dangerous space debris to prevent it from damaging satellites and orbital structures.  The film focuses on the crew of sweeper vessel Victory, a ragtag quartet clearly inspired by the “heroes” of Cowboy Bebop – Captain Jang (The Handmaiden’s Kim Tae-ri), a hard-drinking ex-pirate with a mean streak and a dark past, ace pilot Kim Tae-ho (The Battleship Island’s Song Joong-ki), a former child-soldier with a particularly tragic backstory, mechanic Tiger Park (The Outlaws’ Jin Seon-Kyu), a gangster from Earth living in exile in orbit, and Bubs (a genuinely flawless mocapped performance from A Taxi Driver’s Yoo Hae-jin), a surplus military robot slumming it as a harpooner so she can earn enough for gender confirmation.  They’re a fascinating bunch, a mercenary band who never think past their next paycheque, but there’s enough good in them that when redemption comes knocking – in the form of Kang Kot-nim (newcomer Park Ye-rin), a revolutionary prototype android in the form of a little girl who may hold the key to bio-technological ecological salvation – they find themselves answering the call in spite of their misgivings.  The four leads are exceptional (as is their young charge), while Armitage makes for a cracking villain, delivering subtle, restrained menace by the bucketload every time he’s onscreen, and there’s excellent support from a fascinating multinational cast who perform in a refreshingly broad variety of languages. Jo delivers spectacularly on the action front, wrangling a blistering series of adrenaline-fuelled and explosive set-pieces that rival anything George Lucas or JJ Abrams have sprung on us this century, while the visual effects are nothing short of astounding, bringing this colourful, eclectic and dangerous universe to vibrant, terrifying life; indeed, the world-building here is exceptional, creating an environment you’ll feel sorely tempted to live in despite the pitfalls.  Best of all, though, there’s tons of heart and soul, the fantastic found family dynamic at the story’s heart winning us over at every turn. Ultimately, while you might come for the thrills and spectacle, you’ll stay for these wonderful, adorable characters and their compelling tale.  An undeniable triumph.

3.  JUDAS & THE BLACK MESSIAH – I’m a little fascinated by the Black Panther Party, I find them to be one of the most intriguing elements of Black History in America, but outside of documentaries I’ve never really seen a feature film that’s truly done the movement justice, at least until now.  It’s become a major talking point of the Awards Season, and it’s easy to see why – director Shaka King is a protégé of Spike Lee, and together with up-and-coming co-screenwriter Wil Berson he’s captured the fire and fervour of the Party and their firebrand struggle for racial liberation through force of arms, as well as a compelling portrait of one of their most important figures, Fred Hampton, the Chairman of the Illinois Chapter of the BPP and a powerful political activist who could have become the next Martin Luther King or Malcolm X.  Get Out’s Daniel Kaluuya is magnificent in the role, effortlessly holding your attention in every scene with his laconic ease and deceptively friendly manner, barely hinting at the zealous fire blazing beneath the surface, but the film’s true focus is the man who brought him down, William O’Neal, a fellow Panther and FBI informant placed in the Chapter to infiltrate the movement and find a way for the US Government to bring down what they believed to be one of the country’s greatest internal threats.  Lakeith Stanfield (Sorry to Bother You, Knives Out) delivers a suitably complex performance as O’Neal, perfectly embodying a very clever but also very desperate man walking a constant tightrope to maintain his cover in some decidedly wary company, but there’s never any real sense that he’s playing the villain, Stanfield largely garnering sympathy from the viewer as we’re shamelessly made to root for him, especially once he starts falling for the very ideals he’s trying to subvert – it’s a true star-making performance, and he even holds his own playing opposite Kaluuya himself.  The rest of the cast are equally impressive, Dominique Fishback (Project Power, The Deuce) particularly holding our attention as Hampton’s fiancée and fellow Panther Akua Njeri, as does Jesse Plemmons as O’Neal’s idealistic but sympathetic FBI handler Roy Mitchell, while Martin Sheen is the film’s nominal villain in a chillingly potent turn as J. Edgar Hoover.  This is an intense and thrilling film, powered by a tense atmosphere of pregnant urgency and righteous fury, but while there are a few grittily realistic set pieces, the majority of the fireworks on display are performance based, the cast giving their all and King wrestling a potent and emotionally resonant, inescapably timely history lesson that informs without ever slipping into preachy exposition, leaving an unshakable impression long after the credits have rolled.  This doesn’t just earn all the award-winning kudos it gained, it deserved A LOT MORE recognition that it got, and if this were a purely critical rundown list I’d have to put it in the top spot.  As it is I’m monumentally enamoured of this film, and I can’t sing its praises enough …

2.  RUN, HIDE, FIGHT – the biggest surprise hit for me so far this year was this wicked little indie suspense thriller from writer-director Kyle Rankin (Night of the Living Deb), which snuck in under the radar but is garnering an impressive reputation as a future cult sleeper hit.  Critics have been less kind, but the subject matter is a pretty thorny issue, and if handled the wrong way it could have been in very poor taste indeed.  Thankfully Rankin has crafted a corker here, initially taking time to set the scene and welcome the players before throwing us headfirst into an unbelievably tense but also unsettlingly believable situation – a small town American high school becomes the setting for a fraught siege when a quartet of disturbed students take several of their classmates hostage at gunpoint, creating a social media storm in the process as they encourage the capture of the crisis on phone cameras. While the local police gather outside, the shooters discover another threat from within the school throwing spanners in the works – Zoe Hull (Alexa & Katie’s Isabel May), a seemingly nondescript girl who happens to be the daughter of former marine scout sniper Todd (Thomas Jane).  She’s wound pretty tight after the harrowing death of her mother to cancer, fuelled by grief and conditioned by her father’s training, so she’s determined to get her friends and classmates out of this nightmare, no matter what.  Okay, so the premise reads like Die Hard in a school, but this is a very different beast, played for gritty realism and shot with unshowy cinema-verité simplicity, Rankin cranking up the tension beautifully but refusing to play to his audience any more than strictly necessary, drip-feeding the thrills to maximum effect but delivering some harrowing action nonetheless.  The cast are top-notch too, Jane delivering a typically subtle, nuanced turn while Treat Williams is likeably stoic as world-weary but dependable local Sherriff Tarsey, Rhada Mitchell intrigues as the matter-of-fact phantom of Zoe’s mum, Jennifer, that she’s concocted to help her through her mourning, Olly Sholotan is sweetly geeky as her best friend Lewis, and Eli Brown raises genuine goosebumps as an all-too-real teen psychopath in the role of terrorist ringleader Tristan Voy.  The real beating heart and driving force of the film, though, is May, intense, barely restrained and all but vibrating with wounded fury, perfectly believable as the diminutive high school John McClane who defies expectations to become a genuine force to be reckoned with, as far as I’m concerned one of this year’s TOP female protagonists.  Altogether this is a cracking little thriller, a precision-crafted little action gem that nonetheless raises some troubling questions and treats its subject matter with utmost care and respect, a film that’s destined for major cult classic status, and I can’t recommend it enough.

1.  NOBODY – do you love the John Wick movies but you just wish they took themselves a bit less seriously?  Well fear not, because Derek Kolstad has delivered fantastically on that score, the JW screenwriter mashing his original idea up with the basic premise of the Taken movies (former government spook/assassin turned unassuming family man is forced out of retirement and shit gets seriously trashed as a result) and injecting a big dollop of gallows humour.  This time he’s teamed up with Ilya Naishuller, the stone-cold lunatic who directed the deliriously insane but also thoroughly brilliant Hardcore Henry, and the results are absolutely unbeatable, a pitch perfect jet black action comedy bursting with neat ideas, wonderfully offbeat characters and ingenious plot twists.  Better Call Saul’s Bob Odenkirk is perfect casting as Hutch Mansell, the aforementioned ex-“Auditor”, a CIA hitman who grew weary of the lifestyle and quit to find some semblance of normality with his wife Becca (Connie Nielsen), with whom he’s had two kids.  Ultimately, he seems to have “overcompensated”, and his life has stagnated, Hutch following a autopiloted day-to-day routine that’s left him increasingly unfulfilled … then fate intervenes and a series of impulsive choices see him falling back on his old ways while defending a young woman from drunken thugs on a late night bus ride.  Problem is, said lowlifes work for the Russian Mob, specifically Yulian Kuznetsov (Leviathan’s Aleksei Serebryakov), a Bratva boss charged with guarding the Obshak, who must exact brutal vengeance in order to save face. Cue much bloody violence and entertaining chaos … Kolstad can do this sort of thing in his sleep, but his writing married with Naishuller’s singularly BONKERS vision means that the anarchy is dialled right up to eleven, while the gleefully dark sense of humour shot through makes the occasional surreality and bitingly satirical observation on offer all the more exquisite.  Odenkirk is a low-key joy throughout, initially emasculated and pathetic but becoming more comfortable in his skin as he reconnects with his old self, while Serebryakov hams things up spectacularly, chewing the scenery with aplomb; Nielsen, meanwhile, brings her characteristic restrained classiness to proceedings, Christopher Lloyd and the RZA are clearly having the time of their lives as, respectively, Hutch’s retired FBI agent father David and fellow ex-spook half-brother Harry, and there’s a wonderfully game cameo from the incomparable Colin Salmon as Hutch’s former handler, the Barber.  Altogether then, this is the perfect marriage of two fantastic worlds – an action-packed thrill ride as explosively impressive as John Wick, but also a wickedly subversive laugh riot every bit as blissfully inventive as Hardcore Henry, and undeniably THE BEST MOVIE I’ve seen so far this year.  Sure, there’s some pretty heavyweight stuff set to (FINALLY) come out later this year, but this really will take some beating …

[cosmcther]

     I’ve been wanted to make a post on the Domes of the Comet Observatory. There are a few things that I have different than the source material in my head, so writing them down sounds like a good idea. Big long post under the cut.

     General stuff. There are six in total: The Terrace, the Fountain, the Kitchen, the Bedroom, the Engine Room, and the Garden. The Domes themselves are bigger on the inside, think the Tar.dis from Do.ct.or W.ho. Just about all of them are little pocket universes that Rosalina expanded on once her powers developed further. Prior to that, they were regular rooms that the Lumas and she built. Once she gained the power to do so, pocket universes were placed inside the rooms to give them more space. That’s why the Beacon is needed to open the doors up. Each entrance is the so-called portals to the private dimension.

     The Terrace: This Dome is used as a typical observatory room that you would find in the real world. The walls are lined with star maps, celestial clocks are scattered about, and orreries are hung up near them, many on shelves and on tables near the corners. They show the motions of countless planets and the relationship they share, making sure that if any planet out there goes off-course, a reference can be made as to how it should look. The ceiling is made of glass, and the room seems to always be at night, moonlight and shimmering stars shining through the skylight. Near the center, a high-powered telescope can be used to view stars. The sound of this room is also quite pleasant, what with the constant quiet ticking and shifting of the orreries.

     The Fountain: Meditation is the main use of this Dome. Sometimes, Rosalina can get overwhelmed and will need a moment to reconnect herself with the world around her. It’s a problem she faces rather often, a session of meditation will be what she needs to recenter. The room’s water is cool to the touch, trickling noises from the slow-moving water filling the walls. Other peaceful nature sounds can be heard, like unseen birds or crickets. It helps Rosalina to swish a foot through the water and feel the slight chill of it, or perhaps listening to the sounds around her processing what noises are being made by what creature.

     The Kitchen: This one is more simple, as the name is pretty self-explanatory. It’s the kitchen for the Comet Observatory. It’s where Star Bits are kept and other food items are stored. Your general cooking appliances are inside, just... pardon the high countertops, please. They’re suited for Rosalina in specific and she is far from a regular height.

     The Bedroom: Another simple one. Rosalina’s bedroom isn’t anything farfetched or out of the ordinary. Just regal, much as the majority of things associated with her. It’s a four-post bed with a canopy and curtains, velvet sheets, comfortable pillows. A standard bedroom, as stated before. 

     The Engine Room: At first glance, the engine room doesn’t seem like anything even close to its namesake. It’s a simple circular room with a metal grating framing the hard steel center. For it’s under the hood that the true engine room earns its name. Truthfully, this is the only dome that lacks the magical pocket dimension effect the rest own. This dome is build into the Comet Observatory’s center spire, allowing it downward access into the entirety of the Comet Observatory. 

The floor inside this dome serves as an elevator that can take you to several levels of machinery that keeps the Observatory running. Inside is an admittedly quite hot and stuffy collection of gears, pipes, metal, and other mechanical guts as far as the eye can see. One would need a map the size of Pluto to maneuver through here. That’s why it’s mainly Rosalina, Polari, and a select number of adult Lumas that go down there for maintenance purposes.

     The Garden: The final dome, and certainly the largest in presentation. Inside this dome is a large and lively garden furnished with tranquil ponds and streams, rock gardens with bushes smattered with berries of all sorts. Most of which aren’t from Earth. Yes, this is an interstellar garden, of course. Bugs and fish that reside in here are from all across the cosmos. 

Oftentime strays that accidentally wandered onto the Observatory in the critters’ collective sense, only realizing that they were on-board after take-off. As for the fish, many were born if not specifically bought for the garden. It’s quite the menagerie indeed!

And while it is not a proper dome,      The Library: A comfortable and low-lit area for quiet conversations or general relaxation. Pillows are scattered about the room for sitting or resting, along with a collection of blankets tucked away in the corner. There exists rolling ladders and stepping stools for book-grabbing, as well. Low-down tables best used with floor seats or cushions should you desire a sit-down with a good book. 

Speaking of which, literature from all across the cosmos exists on those endless walls of books. Many of them are written in languages unknown to the general populous of Earth, but Rosalina would be more than happy to give a translation. Storybooks, history books, fiction and non-fiction. Thrillers, pop-ups, mysteries... why, if there’s a genre you’ve an itch for, it’s more than likely that there’s a book in here for you.

Extras-

The Comet Observatory is modeled off of interstellar beacons, explaining its rather pointed design. For the knowledgeable that make frequent space travel, it’s clear as day that Rosalina’s Observatory is made to represent a safe haven. A floating location of repose for any weary traveler in need of a pitstop and lucky enough to stumble across her ship within the depths of space. Even during its aimless drifting, Rosalina comes across plenty of random visitors.

At the very entrance of the Comet Observatory, the large circular and glass platform operates as a lift onto the ship proper whenever it’s landed. The Observatory itself remains in a constant levitation, never truly touching down. So it’s this circular glass platform that shifts from its position and lowers onto solid ground, allowing others to step upon it and raise up into the Comet Observatory.

If you’re the type without easy access to flight, it’s still plenty easy to get around the Comet Observatory’s tiered design. Handy dandy warp pads and their individual light lines are scattered across the ship’s floors, landlocked visitors needing but to step into one of the glowing green switches to have yourself transported somewhere else in mere moments! It’s a little discombobulating, but it’s been said it’s better than a Launch Star.

The Comet Observatory can technically travel through time. It’s not a playground that Rosalina frequents, but with full power, speeds can reach points fast enough to jump through space and time. In a similar vein, it can also traverse alternate realities. Such is the technicality for the Luigi playthrough unlocked through 100% completion in the original Galaxy game. Again, while not a skillset Rosalina flexes often, the ability is there.

The Gate to the in-game named Gateway Galaxy acts as the outer-reaches of the Comet Observatory’s breathable atmosphere. Anything past that and the cold depths of space can and will have its way with you.

Underneath the floorboards of Rosalina’s bedroom resides a collection of music boxes. They’re her favorite ‘instrument’ so to speak, an instant reminder to childhood, when life was simple. 

[cinnaminsvga]

Zemblanity | Jimin (M)

→ summary: 

“I’ll write a song for you, Park Jimin,” you say, unaware of the weight of your promises slowly finding its way around your neck.

”Pinky swear?”

The noose tightens. “I swear on my life.”

→ genre: fan!jimin, idol!reader, horror/thriller, angst, smut || part of this collab!! → warnings: major character death, non-graphic descriptions of rape and sexual harassment, psychological + physical torture, physical violence, and obsessive behavior → words: 11.8K → a/n: this physically hurt to write, mostly because i was drunk 99% of the time. also a lot of triggering material in this, so be warned. and i’m sorry jimin for always making you the bad guy... some day, i’ll write a soft fic for you. (special thanks to @seokkbuns for supporting me the whole way... love you)

Sometimes you wished the universe would congratulate you for being a decent human being. Sure, that would defeat the purpose of giving awards in the first place, but can you really help that you wanted to be recognized for your mediocrity, occasionally? Maybe a little ribbon for opening the door for a stranger, or perhaps a coupon from Mcdonalds for not parking in the handicap spot. You weren’t asking for a lot.

Hell, where the fuck was your Nobel Peace Prize for not absolutely decimating your annoying, hoity-toity, bitchass, toe-sucking CEO? If you could somehow convert the anger slowly seeping its way through your veins into renewable energy, you could probably power the entirety city of Seoul at this point.

“Y/N. How difficult can it be to produce one fucking album?” President Kim Namjoon groans, gesticulating at the air madly like the buffoon that he is. All he needs is a banana and unicycle, and his Harambe cosplay would be complete.The ridiculous mental image hardly calms you down, dumbfounded by the absolute audacity of his question.

“Are you seriously asking me that question, or are you just pretending to be an idiot to make me angry?” You seethe, teeth gnashing in a way that would probably make your dentist cringe. Namjoon is not fazed by your reaction. Instead, he reaches into his desk drawers and pulls out a thin stack of papers. You can’t see any of the text, but you have a good idea as to what it was about.

“This is a compilation of news reports written about you and Serendipity over the past year,” he emphasizes, slamming a page filled with graphs and jargon whose meaning escape you. He jabs a finger at one of the angry red graphs, and you can see that he was pointing at what appears to be a significant drop. “As you can see, there haven’t been many reports, if at all.”

“So? That’s what happens when an idol group is waiting for their next comeback.” You shrug your shoulders, kicking a leg up onto his table just to piss him off. Namjoon is quick to stab your ankle with a pencil in retaliation, causing you to pull back with a yelp. “Yo, what the fuck! That hurt!” You exclaim, rubbing the reddening spot sullenly.

“It’s like you’re purposefully being difficult, Y/N.”

“So you’ve noticed?”

Namjoon heaves a sigh, and you speculate that it might have been his thirtieth one within the past hour. A tense silence befalls the two of you, and you watch as the older man rubs his temples in frustration. You can’t help but notice the age lines beginning to form on his forehead, and do your eyes deceive you? Were those wrinkles under his eyes?

“You’re getting old, chief,” you comment, grabbing one of Namjoon’s numerous pencils to poke the lines away. He swats at you tiredly, but it is clear that he knows it is useless scolding you. If getting mad at you would produce results, you would’ve bended to his will ages ago. As it is, the man looks ready to drop dead in his seat. He slumps over his desk, eyes closing in meditation.

“No thanks to you, I assure you,” he mumbles back, voice muffled from his table. “Why can’t you just be like Hoseok? He writes music like it’s his only drug.”

“That’s because that kid is literally always on drugs, chief.” You snort, crossing your arms. “And at least the drugs help him with inspiration. Me? I’ve been stuck in a ditch since January. You know this, Joon.”

“I know. It doesn’t make it any less frustrating. What happened, Y/N? I’ve given you almost everything you could ask for.” Namjoon says, lifting his head up to stare back at you. He appears as dejected as you feel. “Why isn’t that big head of yours making music like it used to?”

“You haven’t given me everything I could ask for.”

“What else do you need? You have the studio, the resources, the funding…”

“Time. You haven’t given me enough time.”

Namjoon sighs his thirty-first sigh. “That’s simply a request that even I cannot grant, Y/N. You and I both know that this industry… it moves quicker than any of us would like. Soon enough, people will forget your name. Your members will be left in the dust. Do you want that, Y/N? Are you willing to succumb to your writer’s block in exchange for your members’ livelihoods?”

The two of you already knew the answer to that. You could only glare back at him, irritated that he had used the only weakness you had, the only people you were willing to risk a limb for.

He smiles sadly back at you. “Three months, Y/N. We need an album by December, or else your group is gone. I don’t want you to fail, believe me.”

Oh, I believe you, you think bitterly to yourself, slamming the door to his office with more force than necessary. Of course the bastard doesn’t want you to fail. Other than Hoseok’s group, Serendipity was the only other money-making group in the company. Rookie group after rookie group have debuted in the past, but none of them have stuck out to the public. They were all waiting for you to come back, whenever that may be.

“Maybe I should just go solo,” you whisper wistfully to yourself, but the image of your three other members staring at you in betrayal is the only thing holding you back.

It would have been easy, too. As the main vocalist in the group, you could potentially survive if your group were to disband. With numerous songwriting and producing credits under your belt, you could definitely stay afloat for another year or so.

These thoughts have been burdening your mind for months now, but you have tried your best to hide this from your members. Perhaps the stress of speaking with Namjoon is what allowed your walls to crumble, making your internal conflict clear as day on your face. Contrary to how you had acted in front of your superior, you actually did feel the strain of your hiatus. Your members were itching to return to the limelight, especially since all of them lived and breathed performance. You hated going home everyday, their eyes sparkling with hope for news of a comeback, only for it to fizzle out as quickly as it had come.

With all this mind, you suppose you shouldn’t have been all that surprised when you arrive back in your dorm that afternoon, your three sisters are sitting forlornly in the living room, waiting for you to arrive.

“What’s with the impromptu meeting? Did Sooyoung clog the toilet again?” You try to joke, but there is no sign of mirth in the eldest’s eyes. Sooyoung clearly means business if she can’t even bother cracking a smile; the kind leader has never looked so dark.

“Y/N. We need to talk,” Sooyoung says. The two younger girls nod in tandem, their head bobbing like pendulums on a taut string. You feel sweat beginning to form on your palms.

“I know what you guys are want to say and I get it. We all want a comeback. Do you think I don’t want to return to the stage? To perform in front of thousands of fans?” You can’t help yourself for immediately going into defensive mode. It feels like you were being cornered by a pack of hyenas, as you were certain they had gathered here to gang up on you. Your worst fears are getting realized, and the thought of going solo passes your mind for the second time that day.

“You sure aren’t acting like it,” Hana murmurs, but the maknae stomps on her feet to silence her. Hana yelps in shock, pouting sulkily.

“Shut up, Hana,” Gowon warns, her normally bright face marred with a deep frown. She turns to you, smiling apologetically. “Sorry, Y/N… She didn’t mean it.”

You snort. “Yeah? If she didn’t mean it, then why the hell are you all sitting here just waiting to attack me?”

“We’re not here to attack you, Y/N. Stop overreacting,” Hana says, rolling her eyes. She yelps again, rubbing her arm petulantly where she had been slapped, but Gowon’s face is an indomitable fortress. For once, you wonder what your maknae would do if she were truly pissed off.

“Y/N, we just wanted to ask if you needed any… help?” Sooyoung tries, brows furrowed in concentration. It is obvious that she is choosing her words slowly, as if she is afraid to startle you off like a deer. “Like, I know none of us are even half as good at producing like you, but if you need someone to take the wheel instead…”

“No, that won’t be necessary,” you say, voice edged with ice. You had not meant to say that as coldly as you did, but you couldn’t help that the stress was talking for you. Hana’s face goes dark in an instant.

“Oh? Does little miss producer have her shit together? Because at the very least, you’d think you would have some work to show for it,” she mocks, irises dancing with flames. Gowon tries to get her to shut up, but the elder seems to have a lot more to say.

“You think we don’t know what you do in that studio of yours? Sooyoung-unnie looked through your hard drive and found hundreds of unfinished samples. Hundreds! If you’re so good at your damn job, then I don’t see why you can’t finish even one of your stupid––”

Before you realize it, your palm is stinging with heat as the two other girls stare in shock at Hana’s reddening cheek. Hana stares at you too, mouth opening in shock rather than in pain. You raise your hands up in surrender, appalled by your own actions. The silence is a blanket, suffocating the air out of your lungs as the two of you are locked in a heavy stalemate. Then, she scoffs.

“Oh, is that all you got? Not even an excuse? If you can’t even defend yourself, I don’t even know why I’m bothering to listen,” she says, standing up to leave. Gowon tries to tug her back down, but she swats the younger’s hand away. “Sorry Gowonnie. I know you care a lot for Y/N, but I can’t care for someone who doesn’t even care for us,” she hisses. The slam of her bedroom door reverberates across the dorm, rattling your bones.

With Hana gone, Sooyoung sighs deeply, rubbing her temples not unlike the way Namjoon had done earlier that day. You hate yourself for not noticing the deeper lines forming across her forehead, too.

“Y/N. We know that you are very proud of your work, and that you’re trying your best. We really do. But it wouldn’t hurt if you could at least… be transparent with us.”

You snort, disbelief coloring your face at Sooyoung’s audacity. “I can’t believe you can say that with a straight face after you looked through my stuff without permission.”

Sooyoung has the decency to look guilty. “I’m sorry, Y/N. You left your studio door open once and well… I was just curious, you know? You never talk about your music process with us, and the girls and I were wondering if you actually… still cared.”

The sadness in her voice quickly dispels any dredges of anger still left in your body. Sighing in defeat, you haphazardly throw your tired body where Hana had been sitting. With the cool leather of the couch enveloping you in a hug, it is only then that you notice how incredibly weary you felt.

“I know. I’m sorry, I really am,” you murmur, closing your eyes so you don’t have to see their disappointed faces. You can feel Sooyoung’s soft hands carding themselves through your hair. “I just… I’m trying so hard to make an album for you guys but it’s just so difficult because I have to think about charting on Billboard and adjusting beats to the choreographies…”

“We understand, unnie.” Gowon says softly, patting your knee. “And believe me, it’s all thanks to you that we were able to win seven times during our last comeback. We don’t always have to beat our last record, you know? I’m sure the fans will love anything you put out.”

“I know,” you sniffle, allowing a few tears to escape. The same gentle hands leave your hair to wipe them away. “But I still don’t wanna disappoint you all…”

“You won’t, Y/N. We’re all very proud of you,” Sooyoung says, wrapping her arms around you. Gowon joins soon after, and you feel guilty for allowing yourself to believe them. You don’t deserve their patience––not after all the grief you had inadvertently put them through.

“I doubt Hana feels the same way,” you laugh, but it comes out sounding more like a creaky door more than anything.

Gowon pinches your cheek lightly. “Ah, she’ll get around. You know how she gets when things don’t go her way. I’d say we were all itching to slap her once or twice in our life.”

The three of you laugh, only feeling slightly bad for bad-mouthing the poor girl. As grumpy as the younger girl might be, all of you still love her despite her faults.

“Y/N-unnie? I have a suggestion, actually.” Gowon says, once the laughter had died down. You hum, raising your eyebrow at her.

“Yeah? Do you want to help me write some songs?”

Gowon shakes her head, waving her hands in embarrassment. “No! Well, I do, but that’s not what I wanted to suggest,” she says, rubbing her neck nervously. You squint at her, curious as to what has gotten the younger feeling too anxious to say.

“Do you think that maybe… a vacation might do you well?” she says, almost too quietly. You think you must have misheard her, and judging by the way she pouts back at you, the confusion must have been visible on your face.

“I said, you need a vacation, unnie. A real one, and not one that will get filmed for a reality show or something,” she repeats, firmer this time. From the corner of your eye, you can see Sooyoung nodding in agreement.

“That’s a great idea, Gowon. Y/N, I think you need a little break from all the stress. Perhaps you can get inspiration during your time away from work,” Sooyoung adds. You turn to face the eldest, eyebrows reaching your hairline at the fact that she was even agreeing to such a terrible idea.

“It’s not a terrible idea, for your information,” Gowon huffs, seemingly having read your mind. “Out of all of us, I think you deserve to relax and learn how to have fun.”

You splutter indignantly, somewhat offended at Gowon’s frank admission. “I know how to have fun! I bought a rice cooker last week with a coupon from the newspaper. I saved $20!”

“Oh my God,” Sooyoung laughs, shoulders shaking with mirth. “How the fuck are you younger than me, ahjumma?”

“This is what I’m saying,” Gowon deadpans, flicking your forehead. You yelp, rubbing the area with a pout. What is it with this girl and doing bodily harm on her members? “When I mean fun, I meant regular, young adult stuff. Shit like…”

“Going to karaoke! Watching movies! Travelling! Spa treatments! Reading books!” Sooyoung lists, bouncing up and down in her seat. If you hadn’t known better, it is as if Sooyoung was planning her own vacation instead.

“Maybe sex?” Gowon adds, and that earns a strangled cough from you.

“Gowon!” You yell, slapping the giggling maknae in the back. “Who told you about the s word?”

“Learned from the best,” she says coyly, earning another slap from you. “Ouch! Okay, I’m joking. But I have to admit, Sooyoung-unnie has some good ideas. Maybe you should travel or go back home?”

“If the company will even let me,” you say, rolling your eyes. “Do you really think Namjoon-ssi will let me leave when he basically gave me only three months to produce an album? I don’t think so.”

“I’ll make him agree,” Gowon says ominously.

“You’ll make him agree,” you repeat.

“Yup,” she says, a mysterious smile on her lips. “So, since you’re agreeing to my proposal––”

“Who says I’m going?” you interject, but Sooyoung slaps a hand over your mouth, silencing you.

“Hush! I have an idea. You see, one of my old high school classmates owns a spa resort up in the mountains near Busan. It’s super remote, so you don’t even have to worry about being recognized by anyone.” She prattles on, already whipping out her phone to text who knows what. Her fingers are flying at the speed of light, and you try your best to snatch it out of her hands.

When you try to grab it, Gowon holds your arms behind your back, effectively imprisoning you. She points a shit-eating grin at you. “Nu-uh, Y/N. You’re going to relax, even if it fucking kills you. So let Sooyoung and I handle everything, okay? We’ll get Namjoon’s approval tomorrow, and you’ll be off to Busan by the weekend. Sound good?”

No, it did not sound good at all. You have been an idol for five years now, plus your three years working as a trainee. You hardly remember what it felt like to not work, and you can only imagine how bored you’ll be once you get there.

Before you know it, Sooyoung finishes speaking with her classmate, booking a room for three nights. Gowon claps excitedly, already planning to pack for you to lessen your burden. You smile wryly at the two of them because you can’t help but be endeared by their pure enthusiasm.

You go to your room that night, wanting to believe Gowon’s words. Maybe she’s right; all you need is a vacation. When your eyes finally close and your breathing has steadied, you go to sleep believing that everything might turn out okay.

––♡♡♡––

It does not turn out okay, unsurprisingly.

Like Sooyoung had mentioned, the spa is remote, far away from any semblance of city life. It sits halfway up the mountain, where it is said to have the nicest hot spring baths in the country. There is a small town at the bottom of the mountain, which is where the taxi had dropped you off. When you ask him why he can’t drive you all the way to the resort, he shakes his head apologetically.

“Sorry, miss. The roads up to Blue Springs Resort are pretty narrow and I can’t risk going up there at this time of night. You could probably ask one of the locals here to drive you up. Good luck!” He bids you goodbye cheerily, snatching your payment out of your hands and driving off without another word. You stand at the edge of the road, mouth agape at his brazen desertion.

“Fuck me, I guess,” you groan, taking your phone out to try and dial for help. Of course, the reception is horrendous, and you suppress your screams at this terrible turn of events.

“This is all Sooyoung’s fault,” you mutter darkly, dragging your suitcase into the dark town to look for help. It is only 7pm, but it seems like the townsfolk have decided to hit the hay for the night. The shop windows and houses that you pass are all dark, and your dying phone can barely light the way as you try to find any sign of human life that might help you find a place to stay.

After thirty minutes of searching, you are two seconds away from just breaking and entering into some poor bastard’s house when a young man exits his house. He stares at you, with your sweat matted hair and scuffed luggage, and you have half the mind to wonder if there were any traces of ketchup on your lips, leftover from the hotdog you had eaten on the way there.

“Hi,” you greet. You raise your hand hesitantly.

He raises his own, incredibly confused. “Uh. Hi?”

“Sorry, I know I look really weird and all, but I was wondering if you could help me find a way to Blue Springs Resort? The taxi I took pretty much left me on the side of the road, and I don’t have anywhere else to stay,” you finish, teeth chattering from the cold. The man’s eyes soften, and he approaches you.

“Oh, that happens sometimes. The resort usually has a shuttle come through here, but I guess it’s too late to call them now,” he explains, “I could drive you there, if you want? I was going to head to the city, so I could drop you off first before heading out.”

You can hardly believe your ears, unsure whether you could trust this man’s goodness or not. “Are you sure? I’m not bothering you, am I? Also, not to look a gift horse in the mouth, but I don’t really feel safe going inside a stranger’s car.”

The man laughs, shaking his head. “Nah, I get you. If it makes you feel any better, I actually work at this town’s local police station. I can show you my badge in my car, if you want,” he says, rubbing his neck shyly. “My name is Jungkook, by the way. Officer Jungkook, usually, but I’m off duty so feel free to drop the title.”

You grin, charmed by his little awkward mannerisms. “Nice to meet you, Jungkook. I’m Y/N.”

To your relief, his expression doesn’t change at the sound of your name, but you had already figured that he didn’t recognized you from the moment you met. It isn’t like you expected everyone in South Korea to know who you or your band was, but it never hurt to be cautious. You loved your fans, but you never knew what type of things they could do to you.

The two of you jump into his car after he kindly pops his trunk open and takes your luggage from you. He lets you take control of the radio, and the soft sound of some American ballad fills the car as the two of you ride into the night. The drive is silent, save for the music and your occasional humming. True to his word, a police radio and badge are sitting idly on his console, and you half expect it to come to life with news of some incident or whatnot.

Jungkook notices your curious gaze, and he grins at you. “Don’t worry, Y/N. I’m off duty, so I doubt I’ll be getting any calls. Besides, hardly anything happens in this sleepy town, so I’d be surprised if that radio would light up, even when I’m on patrol.”

“Not to be offensive, but doesn’t it get boring around these parts? With nothing happening?” you ask, lightly fingering the radio and badge in fascination.

Jungkook shrugs his shoulders. “Boring is safe, I suppose. That’s what my chief always says. Besides, it isn’t entirely quiet. There are always reports of crashes around the mountains because the roads are so difficult to maneuver. Speaking of…” he trails off, his driving growing increasingly slow as the path begins to grow narrow. “Gotta be careful. The mayor has been working to get railways around these roads, but funding it pretty tight. It’s particularly dangerous at night.”

You watch, tense as his grip grows tighter on the wheel. You are starting to get worried that Jungkook might accelerate off the cliff, but he manages to offer you a shaky smile in assurance. “Don’t worry, miss. I’m a good driver, and I’m used to these parts. Just gotta make it past this one particularly nasty turn and––”

He goes silent, brow furrowed in concentration as you arrive at the aforementioned turn. He slows the car to a crawl, inching his way around the sharp edge when the radio suddenly switches the song from a love ballad to an energetic pop song. The sudden noise startles Jungkook, and he jams his foot straight down on the pedal.

You scream, clutching your seatbelt as the car revs forward and for a brief moment––you are flying. Your stomach flies to your throat as you feel nothing but weightlessness, and you think you can hear Jungkook cursing obscenities as he tries to pull the break but––nothing.

The car drops, crashing like a tin can against a large tree. Pain blooms all across your body, and you want nothing more than to scream, but no sound would come out. In the edges of your consciousness, you can still hear the radio playing, the sound of your own sweet melodious voice being the last thing you remember before your world fades to black.

––♡♡♡––

Everything hurts. Scratch that––it feels like there were broken shards of glass that had a physical vendetta against your vital organs inside of you. You swear that there are weights attached to your eyelids, and it feels like hours until you can finally get them to open.

The first thing you notice is that it’s bright. The room (“A bedroom,” you murmur, noticing the bedside table and closet near the door. There is an electronic keyboard gathering dust in the corner too.) is filled with sunlight, the small window on your right devoid of any curtains. The sheets smell like lavender, and there are at least two pillows underneath your head. When you try to move, your body screams in protest as a sharp pain throbs somewhere on your torso.

Craning your neck, you gingerly peel the blanket off your body, and even then the effort is too much. When you successfully pull everything off, you are bombarded with the sight of bandages everywhere. You look like those discount mummy costumes, the ones that no one bought and are always sold for a third of its original price. You must have jostled one of your wounds while you were shifting, and you watch with morbid fascination as red starts to bloom across your stomach.

You think you are going to be sick.

Panic surges through your bones and you feel the desperate urge to get out of bed––for what reason, you do not know. It isn’t like you could go anywhere in your condition, but you just needed to do something. You don’t know where you are, or what happened, or even what day it is. You need to get out of here––

Suddenly, the door opens, and a man with blonde hair and droopy eyes enters with a cup of tea in hand. He yelps in surprise when he sees you, one leg already off the bed as you were still in the middle of your panic-induced escape. He rushes towards you, and gently pushes you back onto the bed.

“Hey, hey… Relax. You’re going to hurt yourself if you move too much,” he says, his tone soft and calming. Your heartbeat refuses to relax, and you must have looked crazed to the young man. He places the cup of tea by the table, and firmly tucks the blanket back over your body.

“Oh damn. I think your stitches might have opened… I’ll have to clean that up later,” he murmurs. He reaches behind you to fluff up your pillows, and you catch a whiff of his lavender body soap. He sits by your side, a worried look marring his soft features. He places a hand on your head and asks, “Y/N, does your head hurt? I’m not all that good with head injuries, so I’m not sure if I bandaged it correctly… I tried researching techniques, but I’m worried I didn’t do it right…”

His words feel like cotton in your ears, but you manage to catch the first part of his sentence. “Wait, how do you know my name?” You ask, voice sounding hoarse after hours (days?) of misuse. The man notices, and offers you his cup of tea. You try to wrap your hands around it, but even your fingers are wrapped in bandages. You notice there is a splint on your index finger, and you let out a sob at the sight. How would you be able to play the piano now?

Pitying you, Jimin brings the cup to your lips and lets you drink. The tea scalds your tongue, but your sandpaper throat accepts it with open arms. He places the empty cup by the table before answering your question. “My name is Jimin. I’m the owner of Blue Spring Resorts. I was a friend of Sooyoung back in high school.”

At the mention of Sooyoung and the resort, memories of the previous night floods your mind. You remember how the car had driven off the side of the road, the feeling of weightlessness and dread filling you like poison. You remember the sound of music playing as you slipped in and out of consciousness. You remember––

“Jungkook,” you say, gripping the man’s arm with frightening strength. He holds your hand, alarmed. “Jungkook,” you repeat, tears welling in your eyes. “Where?”

“Jungkook? Who’s Jungkook?” Jimin asks, patting your hand in an attempt to calm you. You push his hand away, and shake his arm more urgently.

“He––he was in the car, with me. He was the one driving me to this resort when he accidentally drove off the cliff. He––where is he?” You stutter, words flying out of your mouth quicker than you can process. Luckily, Jimin seems to understand the gist of your babbling.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. When I found you on the side of the cliff, I only saw your body under the mangled car. I didn’t bother checking further, because I was more concerned with getting you back to safety,” he explains, tears springing in his eyes from guilt. Your heart drops. “I’m so sorry. I just wanted to get you out of there.”

Tears flow freely down your cheeks as you sob, a loud wail escaping you as you think about the sweet police officer who was probably dead on the side of the road. Jimin wraps an arm around you, rubbing your shoulder as you choked on your sins.

“I––I can go check again later. I was meaning to head back to town to shuttle some more customers to the resort until I saw your car…” he says, lips pursing. “I can also go back to salvage whatever I can…” he offers, and you nod sadly, already weary despite having just woken up.

He gazes at you sadly, unfurling your fingers off of his arm and putting them back onto your lap. He does not berate you for the small nail marks you had left against his honey skin. “Go to sleep, Y/N. I'll be back by nightfall. Get some rest."

Soon after he had made sure your blankets and pillows are at their optimal position, you fall into a fitful sleep, your heart feeling heavier than it did before.

––♡♡♡––

Just as he had promised, he returns later that night. You had awakened when you heard the faint sound of a door slamming shut, the anxiety starting to build until Jimin's fluffy blonde head peaks out from behind the bedroom door.

He smiles apologetically, clicking the door shut as he enters the room quietly. "Sorry, did my arrival awaken you?" he says, sitting beside your form. He notices your breathing relax at his proximity, and the grin spreads like wildfire on his face.

"It's fine. I was going to wake up soon, anyway," you say, voice still warbled with grogginess. He smiles, patting your knee before standing up once more.

"I'm gonna get you some water and food," he says when he notices your curious gaze. "Also, I passed by the wreckage again, and..." he trails off, sounding worried for your reaction. You steel yourself, and you try your best to look like you weren't about to burst into tears at any moment.

"There wasn't anyone there," he says, finally. You freeze, confused by his admission.

"What?"

"It's true," he says, shrugging his shoulders. "I tried looking everywhere, even around the vicinity of the crash. All I found was the car and your things."

You deflate at the news, but you can't help the remaining dredges of hope beginning to resurrect in your heart. Maybe he had escaped and had run off to get help, or at least you wished.

"Did you try contacting the police? Jungkook mentioned that he was part of the police force."

An odd look flashes across his face, but it leaves before you can decipher it. He coughs awkwardly, rubbing his nose. "Uh, yes. I contacted the police about the crash a few days ago, and they said they would be focusing on looking for that Jungkook fella. For now, I'll take care of you until you can safely return to town."

If his reasoning sounds odd, you don't question it. You are too busy grieving Jungkook that you can barely think for yourself. Jimin rubs your shoulder, before turning to leave and fetch your belongings.

When he returns, he brings the remains of what was once your black suitcase. He places them by your side, riffling through the things he salvaged from the wreckage. "I tried taking some of your clothes and toiletries, but I'm afraid your laptop was crushed completely," he says, placing your folded clothes beside you. When he takes out the ruined laptop in question, and you gaze at it with empty acceptance.

It isn't the end of the world, you suppose. You saved most of your photos and music online and in your work computer, so all is not lost. To your surprise, however, Jimin pulls out another small black object from his bag and hands it to you.

"My hard drive survived?" You stare at it in wonder, turning it over in your hands delicately. You ignored the pain in your fingers as you clutch the small object to your chest, tear ducts starting to burn. You give Jimin a grateful look. "Thank you for everything," you whisper.

Jimin's cheeks turn a brilliant shade of pink, eyes downturned in sudden embarrassment. "I-it's no big deal," he stammers, twiddling his thumbs. You chuckle, pinching his cheeks endearingly.

"No, really. You did so much for me when I've done nothing to deserve it. You even bandaged me up, which I have no idea how you managed, by the way."

Somehow, Jimin's cheeks darken even further. The color spreads like wildfire, inking the delicate skin of his neck and ears. "I, um... About that..." He coughs awkwardly, looking anywhere but at you. You raise your eyebrows in question.

"Yeah? You didn't do anything weird right? I'm not gonna get out of here with an extra foot, am I?" You joke, and it seems to have made Jimin loosen up slightly.

He shakes his head, a small grin on his lips. "No, of course not. But I did have to undress you, and uh..." He trails off once more, unable to finish his sentence. You feel blood start to rush to your face as well, but you try your best to seem unfazed by his confession. Clearing your throat, you pat his shoulder as nonchalantly as you can.

"I would hope so. Bandages wouldn't exactly work if I had clothes underneath them, wouldn't you say?" You quip, and your ears are blessed with the pleasant sound of his tinkling laughter. You feel your breathing stop, and you wonder if it would be weird if you could ask him to do it again.

"Cute," you eventually say, which probably isn't any less embarrassing than your previous intrusive thought. The blood vessels around Jimin's face must be working on overtime right now, but you can't find it in yourself to feel bad when he looked so damn cute.

"Me? You must be mistaken... You're the cute one here," he squeaks. He must have only belatedly realize what he had said because he slaps a hand over his mouth in shock, screaming slightly muffled by his hands. "Oh my Gooood I did not just say that!"

You let out a loud laugh, the action agitating your dry throat but you can't help but do it anyway. He takes a peek at you from behind his hands, eyes wide in awe.

"Your laugh is even prettier in person," he says absentmindedly, before slapping his hand over his mouth again. "Fuck! I mean––"

"In person?" You question, peering at him inquisitively.

Jimin shrugs his shoulders, sheepish. "I'm, uh... a bit of a fan of yours, I guess? When I found out that Sooyoung had joined a girl group all those years ago, I couldn't help myself from researching you guys and I supposed you've caught me in your spell ever since," he confesses, the redness in his cheeks never fading. "You could say that you're my..."

"I'm your favorite?" You finish, smiling cheekily. He nods back, his mortification palpable. Taking pity on him, you choose not to tease him and instead ask, "Speaking of Sooyoung, do you mind lending me your phone? I want to call her to tell her I'm alright."

"Oh, there's no signal out here, unfortunately," Jimin explains, frowning. "However, I do have a landline you could use, but it's too far away... I could call her for you, if you'd like?"

"That would be great, thanks." You say, grabbing his hand gratefully. Jimin stills, allowing your bandaged fingers to caress the calluses on his palms. "I mean it when I say that, you know? I owe you my life."

Jimin swallows, hands shaking as he laces his fingers through yours. Poor kid must be nervous being with his idol, you think to yourself, impossibly endeared by this lovely boy.

His smile is as sweet as his voice. "Anything for you, Y/N."

––♡♡♡––

After that, Jimin brings you some dinner. He bashfully admits that he isn't the best cook around, and he'd normally ask one of the chefs at the resort to cook something up but they were all incredibly busy due to the influx of customers. When he spoon-feeds you some of the kimchi stew, your eyes light up from the explosion of flavor on your tongue.

"This is wonderful, Jimin!' You exclaim, mouth already opening for the next spoonful. Jimin chuckles at your enthusiasm, beaming proudly as his favorite idol sings praises over his cooking.

The two of you spend the remainder of the night getting to know each other. You ask him a myriad of questions, mostly about his job and the resort. You find out that he had inherited this place after his father had passed away, despite his initial dreams of becoming a singer. You apologize for prying, but he shakes your concern away.

"Nah, it happened years ago. It's fine," he says, his eyes crinkling from the intensity of his smile. You can't help your face from mirroring his own, despite noticing the slight sadness tinging his tone. "Besides, I love my job. I get to meet lots of interesting people like you."

"You're just saying that because you're my fan. I'm not interesting," you say, cheeks dusted with pink. Jimin shakes his head, and you're almost worried that he might dislodge his head from how violently he moves.

"No! You're amazing! All your fans and members know that you're amazingly talented. The songs you write are so incredibly deep and meaningful, and you've helped a lot of them go through some tough times––me included," he admits. You gaze sadly at him, knowing that he isn't the first one to share this with you.

"I know... But I haven't been all that good at writing these days. In fact, the only reason I came out to this resort was to get some inspiration..."

Jimin stares at you, a look of concern in his irises and something... else. When you look closer, all you see are his shiny brown eyes gazing back at you. "I'm sure you'll be fine. You're the amazing Y/N. I'm sure anything you write will be fantastic."

You doubt it, but you nod your head anyway to appease him.

"Since you said you wanted to be a singer, maybe I'll write a song for you in the future," you say, laughing lightly when he stares at you incredulously. He points at himself, as if uncertain that you were talking about the same person.

You roll your eyes. "Yes, I was talking about you, silly."

He shakes his head, disbelief coloring his face but you don't miss the way a slight blush has invaded his honey skin. "For me? But I'm a nobody. You don't even know if I can sing well."

"I think you'd be a great singer, Jimin. You've got a nice, soothing voice," you say, shameless.

"Stop teasing me," he says, pouting in such an adorable way that you can't help but continue teasing him.

"I'll write a song for you, Park Jimin," you say, unaware of the weight of your promise slowly finding its way around your neck. “I swear on my life.”

Even if you had no intention of fulfilling that promise or not, it is definitely worth seeing the way a soft smile blossoms across Jimin's cherubic features.

"By the way Y/N, I had been meaning to ask... You don't have to answer by the way, but..." he starts, hesitant to continue. Judging from his sudden shift in demeanor, you have a feeling you already know what he's going to ask, anyway.

"You're going to ask about the comeback, right?"

Jimin's face lights up immediately. "Yeah! So, it's happening soon, right? We've all been waiting since November of last year, so I was wondering..."

You shrug your shoulders noncommittally. "I guess... But like I said, I haven't been writing as well as I'd like, so I don't know how soon it'll happen but... Yeah, it's in the works."

Jimin sighs as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. "Thank God... I've been arguing with people on Twitter who had been making weird rumors that you guys were going to disband... I knew you guys would never do that, right?" he says, eyes sparkling with pure adoration.

You swallow down your guilt, unable to bear looking at his hopeful face. You croak, "Yeah. We would never."

Two nights pass quickly as you lay in Jimin's cabin to recover. You had learned that he had placed you in his room because it was comfier than the guest rooms, and when you had insisted to be moved, he quickly shut you down, assuring you that he was perfectly fine with letting you stay as long as you needed. You acquiesce, pouting as the young man practically babied you and attended to your every beck and call.

You know he means well, and it isn't like you were averse to the attention being showered upon you by this handsome boy. So you allow yourself to be pampered just this once; after all, you were supposed to be at a spa resort.

"Speaking of," Jimin says after he finishes feeding you your lunch. "I wanted to offer you something, if you don't mind." You hum, eyelids closing from the blissful feeling of being well-fed.

"What do you think about having a massage?"

That wakes you right back up.

"What?" You ask, gaping slightly at the young man. Jimin, who had been previously emboldened by your satiated state, is sweating bullets, astonished by his own brazenness.

He tries to backtrack. "Uh, you can say no, of course. I was just, well, since we're at a spa and such, and it just so happens that I happen to be a licensed masseur, and uh––"

"I'd love one, if you don't mind."

"And just, I mean––wait? You want one?" He splutters, plump cheeks turning pink. You tap them gently, giggling when they redden under your attention. God, you wanted so badly to kiss them and see if they were as soft under your lips as they were under your hands.

"Yeah. I mean, my company did pay for this trip, and I'm supposed to be here to relax, so I might as well take advantage of the situation," you say plainly.

Jimin nods dumbly, semi-disbelieving that you had agreed so easily. He assures you that he'll be careful, the both of you still worried about your injuries. He says that he'll pay more attention to your shoulders and  upper legs, since those seem to be the only areas where you aren't severely wounded.

He turns you over gently, a continuous stream of apologies leaving his mouth every time you let out even the slightest hiss of pain. With your back fully exposed to him, he carefully peels your the night shirt off of you, and you can only imagine the way his cheeks must be reddening all the while. Thankfully, he leaves your shorts on as he goes about to preparing the materials for the massage.

"Tell me if I'm being too rough, okay?" he says, and you can hear him opening the cap of massage oil. After a few moments, you feel his steady hands start kneading soft circles into your shoulders, and a sigh escapes you before you can stop it.

Jimin chuckles lightly. "Good?"

"Wonderful," you sigh, feeling the tense knots from months of stress starting to unravel under his skilled fingers. A particularly hard press of his fingers elicits a loud moan from you, and you whimper when his fingers freeze abruptly.

"Why'd you stop?" You whined, nudging his thigh with your foot. You can't see Jimin's face, so you are unsure as to why he had stopped so suddenly.

"N-nothing," he stammers, and he continues on as if nothing had happened.

Under his care, you release a litany of moans and whimpers, unable to stop yourself from enjoying the smooth glide of his hands. In the edges of your pleasure-addled brain, you wonder what would have happened if your body hadn't been seriously injured. You can imagine how his hands would descend lower down your back and onto your hips, pressing dangerously close to your center but never quite reaching it. You squeeze your legs, hoping that Jimin doesn't notice that your moans might have started sounding a little bit more erotic than before.

As if reading your mind, Jimin pauses to clear his throat. "Uh, would you mind if I moved on to your thighs? If you don't want me to touch you there, then..."

You don't know what comes over you. His fingers have you locked under some sort of spell, so you can only whimper pathetically back in response. He takes that as a sign of approval, and the next thing you know, you feel him grabbing fistfuls of your thighs.

"Oh fuck," you moan out, your voice loud in the silence of the room. Jimin's ministrations quicken, almost as if he was trying to milk the sounds out of you. Somewhere along the way, you moan something that sounds suspiciously like "Jimin," a fact that the man greatly appreciates.

"Fuck, you're so hot," Jimin groans, his thumbs snagging onto the edges of your shorts. He tugs them down slightly, and you feel your lower regions light up like wildfire. You lift your hips imperceptibly, but it's enough for Jimin to wrench your flimsy shorts out of the way, leaving you bare for him and his hands.

Breathing heavier than before, Jimin takes a moment to calm himself. He rubs himself against the edge of the bed, biting his lip as he tries to keep his own moans at bay.

"Touch me," you whine, snaking your hand around your back and grabbing his wrist in impatience. You direct him directly to your center, the both of you gasping at the wetness already there. Jimin experimentally swipes a finger up your slit, gazing in awe as your slick mixes with the oil already on his digits.

Ever the gentleman, he asks, "Can I really...?"

You think you might be going insane from his indomitable patience. "Yes! Just fucking finger me already, Jimin," you gasp, feeling his fingers rubbing small circles around your clit. He teases you like this for a few moments, and you're about to sneak your hand down there to take care of it yourself when you hear the sound of a phone ringing from downstairs.

Jimin pauses, removing his hands from your core and leaving you feeling cold and wanting. You manage to turn your head to the side, and you see Jimin looking torn as he stares at you and the door.

"I have to..." His voices tapers off, a war waging in his warm brown eyes. "Customers, and..."

Even though you would love nothing more than for him to finish you off, you of all people understand the importance of work. "Go," you say, offering him what you hope is a comforting smile.

He gives you one last rueful look before he leaves, the sound of the door closing echoing in your skull.

"Fucking hell," you groan, your treacherous hands trailing down your body after his departure. When you reach your climax to the image of blonde hair and plump cheeks, you trick yourself into thinking your fingers were not your own.

––♡♡♡––

"I don't think I can keep staying here anymore, Jimin."

The weather has turned colder overnight, and Jimin has to reinstall the curtains back onto his bedroom window. You had been stuck in this room for a week already, with only Jimin as your only source of comfort.

You would always be grateful for the kind man's hospitality, but sitting in a room for days on end was starting to get to your head. You didn't really see yourself as the type to get cabin fever, since you were used to being cooped up in the studio for even longer periods of time. But you suppose there is a difference, since you couldn't even properly make music here with Jimin always staring down your neck at every opportunity. At the very least, your days spent here have done wonders on your stress, as it has given you the time to ponder and contemplate some of pressing your life choices.

"Oh? But you're not fully healed though," he comments dismissively, collecting the plates and utensils you had used for dinner that night. You thank him quietly, but he doesn't respond to it like he normally would. He places them by your bedside before tucking you under your blanket until only your head can be seen.

"Yeah, I know but I think I should be well enough to head back home, don't you think?"

"Maybe in a few more days," he says, refusing to look you in the eyes. When you grab his shoulder to force him to pay attention to you, his gaze is still averted to the ground.

"Jimin."

"Y/N."

"Why won't you look at me?"

Jimin finally does, and you are surprised by the amount of sadness that you find. "I'm sorry. I guess I'm just... worried? I don't want to risk taking you down this mountain and having you get injured again..."

"I won't though, right? You're used to driving down the mountain. I trust you," you say, honeying your words to try and get him to agree. It must have worked, judging from the way his shoulders droop in defeat.

"Yeah, I guess. But maybe after the weekend? It's a bit busy at the resort this week, so you'll have to wait until Monday."

Squealing at the prospect of going home, you envelop the man in a bone-crushing hug, ignoring the way your stomach protests at the sudden movement. "Thank you so much, Jimin. You don't understand how hard it's been being away from home, but I'm glad it was you who I got to spend this time with," you say.

Jimin smiles, patting your back. "Of course. Anything for you––"

"What's more, my time here has allowed me to really think about my life, you know?" You interject, prattling on as if he hadn't spoken. He furrows his brow, looking at you curiously.

"What do you mean about your life?"

"Oh, you know. I know that I said that I came here to write songs for Serendipity's comeback, but I actually came here to think about my own solo career," you say, shrugging your shoulders. You miss the way Jimin's entire body freezes as you continue on speaking. "I've been thinking about the pros and cons of what would happen if I actually did leave the band, and suffice to say I think it really would be for the best if I left the group. I was never the favorite member anyway, so I think it would be best if––"

"No."

"––I left the company and––excuse me?" You pause, finally noticing the rigid way Jimin was sitting. You stare at him, confused by his sudden change in demeanor. "What do you mean by 'no?'"

"I mean, you can't fucking just leave the band, Y/N," he snarls, standing up and beginning to pace around the room. You sit up on the bed, feeling on edge at this sudden appearance of a Jimin you had never met before.

"Of course I can. My contract is about to end in a year anyway, so it's not like the company can force me to stay––"

"What about your fucking promise then, huh? Was all of that bullshit?" Jimin roars, the volume of his voice startling you immensely.

"What promise?" You squeak when he slams a fist into the bed frame, rattling your entire mattress from the force.

He raises his hands in the air, unperturbed by the purple bruise already forming across his fist. "Of course you don't remember! It's because you were lying. You were lying to all of us."

"What the actual fuck are you talking about?"

"On your first win, don't you remember? You made a promise that Serendipity would never disband, not even when you turned 50," he says, breathing turning ragged with rage. He stalks his way towards you, and you try your best to burrow yourself under the covers.

"Well, things change okay? The Y/N from 5 years ago probably didn't know she would be neck deep in stress to the point where she thinks she's going to die, okay? I thought you, as my fan, would understand that my well-being should come first," you say, your voice growing louder as you realized the ridiculousness of this situation. Who the hell did Jimin think he was? Who gave him the right to be angry when you were only doing what was best for you? "Hell, you wanted to be singer, didn't you? You should understand better than anyone how difficult it is to always be under public scrutiny!"

The sneer on Jimin's face is feral-looking, almost murderous. "No, I don't. I don't understand."

Before you can react, he goes to slam the door shut, the sound of the lock clicking in place. The final nail on your coffin. No matter how hard you twist the knob or bang your hands against the door, no one would come. No one could hear you.

––♡♡♡––

Jimin doesn't visit your room once in over three days. That means he has stopped giving you food and water, purposefully starving you until you bend to his will. He had only slipped a small note under the door frame, detailing the conditions for nourishment.

"If you want to live, then you'll write me a song. Prove to me that you don't break your promises."

Easier said than done. Even during a life and death situation, that specific part of your brain refuses to cooperate, and you can hardly write a verse without breaking down and crying.

How pathetic. What type of producer were you, if you couldn't even safe your life by doing the only thing you were supposedly good at?

On the third day, your vision has started to grow hazy from dehydration. You have yet to resort to drinking your own urine, but you were hoping to attempt to satiate Jimin before that. With the lyrics and notes hastily scribbled on a piece of paper, you slide it under the door, waiting for your captor to judge your draft. Never has a song frightened you as much as this, and you laugh mirthlessly at how you had been worried about charting just a week prior.

You hear his footsteps approaching, and you wait with bated breath as the rustle of paper signals that he has begun to read your song. You hold your breath, the seconds feeling like decades as you wait for him to pass his judgment.

The lock clicks. The door opens.

Jimin, with his blonde hair and plump cheeks, crumples the paper in his hands without a word. He rips the paper in shreds, and you watch in horror as he grinds his foot into the sorry remains of your draft.

"Nice try, but I know this song. I listened to the songs on your hard drive all those nights ago, and I know this is a draft for a solo song," he says, grinning sadistically at the sight of your face crumpling in despair. While you are still in the midst of mourning your one chance of escape, he walks past your kneeling form, grabbing something from the bedside table.

When you look, you see the small black hard drive in his hands. He waves it at you, almost mockingly, before slamming it onto the ground––hard. He stomps on it, grinding his foot onto it just like he had done to your draft just minutes ago. You scream, jumping to save your precious hard drive from further harm––but alas. It is too late.

Bits of wire and shards of plastic are all that's left of your entire library of secret solo songs. These are the files you hadn't saved to your studio computer in fear of it being discovered by the wrong people. Years of blood, sweat, and tears––gone.

In an instant, your vision grows red, red, red.

"I'll fucking kill you!" You scream, hurtling your weak body at him with all the power you could muster. Despite his small frame, he is able to wrestle you down quickly, barely breaking a sweat as you squirmed and screamed murder at him. Tear blurred your visions as you tried your best to hurt Jimin in any way you can, but he takes it like it's nothing. Growing tired of your noise, he slams your head against the floor, knocking you unconscious.

––♡♡♡––

When you awaken a day later, you find cuts all over your legs and arms, as well as a strange ache between your legs. You don't even have the energy to let out a sob as you curl back into yourself.

A note by your bedside table:

"Since I took something away from you, I thought it was only fair that I gave you something back in return. Something you will always remember me by."

––♡♡♡––

You keep trying to write songs to please Jimin. As it turns out, anything you churn out will earn you his seal of approval, so long as it is none of the drafts from your old hard drive. Every song you write garners you a meal and cup of water. You don't know what he does with the songs you write, and you honestly don't care. None of the songs have any meaning to you; they are all just strings of words and notes hastily sewn together for the sake of having something to present to Jimin.

Five days since he had broken your hard drive, and you have written almost twenty songs in that time frame. "Enough songs for an album," you mutter darkly to yourself, staring forlornly out the window. Some time during your confinement, Jimin had installed metal bars across the window, leaving you no means of escape––or death.

You were his own personal music box.

In the distance, a police siren blares. Your ears perk up, straining your eyes to find any signs of an approaching car. To your incredible joy, you can see the telltale signs of a blue and red light growing closer to the cabin. You start hammering on the windows, hoping for them to notice you, but your cries are unfortunately unheard from the third floor. You watch, hopeless as two police officers jump out of the car and towards the front door. From your perch, you cannot see their faces, but you think you can see one of them dragging their foot with a light limp.

Pressing your ear against the floor, you try your hardest to listen to their conversation, but Jimin has always talked in very hushed tones. You catch the sound of a deeper voice, loud enough to hear but not enough to decipher his words. There is another voice, but this one is slightly familiar. You pound your fists against the floorboards, but neither of the police officers seem to have noticed.

You try your best to scream for help, but your voice is too hoarse from hours of crying yourself to sleep. You punch the floor in misery, despair wracking your body as another chance to escape slips through your fingers for the second time.

Your gaze catches on the keyboard in the corner of you room. You had forgotten about its presence, largely unable to use it due to some of your fingers still being broken. You plug the thing in, raising the volume to its highest setting and testing it out to find that it was much louder than you had anticipated.

Despite the insistent throbbing of your fingers, you begin to play.

––♡♡♡––

"What's that sound?" Officer Yoongi says, turning back just as Jimin was about to usher him out the door. Jimin huffs in annoyance, but his face melts back into its usual sunshine-y way when the officer stares at him expectantly.

"Oh, probably my guest. She likes playing the piano during this time of day," he replies smoothly. Officer Jungkook limps back into the house, peering at his chief curiously.

"Chief? What are you waiting for? We still have other houses to search," he says.

"I recognize this song," Officer Yoongi replies, humming slightly as the piano's haunting melody echoes throughout the house. "I used to play piano back in the day. I think this is Schubert."

"Shoe who?" Officer Jungkook laughs, the mirth dying in his eyes when he sees the concentrated look on his chief's face. "Yoongi-hyung?" He questions once more.

"Nothing," he finally says, his gaze still turned upward in thought. He waves absentmindedly at Jimin. "Sorry for intruding. Like Jungkook said, we still have other houses to search. Let us know if you hear news about Y/N."

"No problem," Jimin says sweetly, shutting the door firmly on their way out.

When the car reaches the bottom of the mountain, it is only then when Yoongi remembers. "Erlkönig. That's the song," he says.

Something stirs uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach.

––♡♡♡––

Days have passed and it takes longer for you to produce enough songs to feed yourself. Malnourished and severely weak, you pass out almost consistently, unable to keep awake long enough to even leave the bed to write. After the fourteenth day, you suppose Jimin must have taken pity on you, because suddenly you find yourself submerged in a warm bath with his gentle hands rubbing soap all over your body.

You might have tried resisting, or you might have not. It’s hard to remember the details, even while it is happening You are too weak to even speak, allowing this wretched man to wash you without struggle. He rubs at your breasts and thighs, his fingers grazing your core teasingly, but you feel nothing. You are a living corpse, waiting for your captor to let you rot in peace.

"This must feel good, huh? After weeks of leaving you in your own filth... See? I can be forgiving too," he murmurs, fingers rubbing circles over your slit.

Your tired eyes can barely keep themselves open, but as luck might have it, you manage to see the toilet's porcelain cover is slightly ajar. Perhaps Jimin had been busy repairing the toilet earlier that day––it did not matter. All that matters is that you had one final chance to escape right under your fingertips, and you'd be damned if you wouldn't try one last time before completely submitting yourself to your fate.

I will not die. I will not die. I will not die.

You chant these words incessantly into your head until it is all you can hear, see, feel. Jimin turns his head for a moment to get more soap, and in that moment, you are filled with enough energy to grab the porcelain slab and slam it against his head. Jimin crumbles against the impact, his body folding in agony as he cradles his head in pain.

You swing it again and again, aiming for his head every time until he moved no longer.

"And stay fucking dead," you finish, dropping the chipped slab onto his unmoving carcass.

Adrenaline continues to pump through your veins as you slump back into the tub, the gravity of what you had done still keeping your mind on overdrive. After a few more minutes of heavy breathing, you manage to pull yourself out of the tub. You shrug on your shirt and pants, limping haphazardly out of the door.

When you go to lock the bathroom door, you scream in surprise when Jimin jams his foot in the doorway. Awake and alive, he struggles to go into a sitting position, his eyes blazing with unrestrained fury. You slam the door repeatedly over his foot, but he manages to hold the door open enough to pull himself up.

"You bitch," he growls, blood dripping from his broken skull. You scream louder, desperately pushing his foot out of the way in order to close the door. Despite Jimin's unexpected reanimation, it appears that he is still weak from your brutal battering to his head, so you are able to push his foot out of the doorway and lock the door. To your horror, you can hear his nails scratch against the wood, his cries of anguish sounding warbled and inhuman. You step back, waiting for the door to burst open and for your inevitable death––and it never comes. The scratches stop, the wailing ends, and the house is still.

Finally free of your captor, you run out the front door and take your first breath of fresh air in weeks. With a smile on your face and blood on your hands, you promptly pass out in the middle of the lawn.

––♡♡♡––

You wake up in the back of Jungkook's police car.

"Wha––?" You jolt awake, fear starting to pump through you as you whipped around to survey your surroundings. A large hand pushes you back into your seat, and your eyes focus on the face of a dead man standing.

Well, sitting.

"Y/N, relax! You're safe with us," he whispers, urging you to take deep breaths. You inhale and exhale, eyes still wide in shock at the sight of the man you had thought to be dead.

"I––Jungkook, I thought you were de––"

"I'm so sorry Y/N," Jungkook says instead, enveloping you into a tight hug. You release a sob, partly in confusion but mostly in relief for having a friend around you. The two of you cry in tandem, apologies coming out of your both your mouths as you tried to make sense of what was going on.

"Wait, why are you sorry? I was the one who crashed the car and led you to being kidnapped," Jungkook says, tears staining his handsome face.

You shake your head. "No. This is all my fault. If I hadn't asked you to drive me all the way to this stupid resort at night, we wouldn't have crashed and just––"

"Hey," Jungkook whispers, shushing with a finger. "Let's stop blaming ourselves, okay? We're taking you to the hospital downtown so you can get your injuries checked. Yoongi-hyung sent the other officers to clean up Park's resort while we––"

"No!" You scream, shaking Jungkook off of you in a panic. You shake the driver, begging him to turn around. "Jimin is still alive! He's going to kill them––"

"Aish. Jungkook-ah, restrain Miss Y/N, will you? I don't want the three of us getting killed by an avoidable car crash, okay?" The driver growls. Jungkook carefully hugs you to his chest, effectively imprisoning you in his gentle but firm hold.

"Yes sir, Officer Yoongi," he says before turning his attention to you. "Don't worry, Y/N. Jimin's dead. We found his body outside his garden. He jumped out of the bathroom window, probably in an attempt to escape the authorities," he explains. You shiver at the news, knowing full well that Jimin had probably been on the way to murder you. 

“How did you find me? I thought I was going to die in front of that house,” you ask, hands trembling despite the warmth of the car. Jungkook cups your bloodied fingers in his larger ones, being careful not to jostle your wounds too much. You want to tell him that it’s fine––most of it was Jimin’s blood, anyway.

“After the crash, I had woken up alone with my legs broken. I called dispatch to try and look for you, but it seems that we had been missing for two days already,” he explains, voice soft and smooth. It’s almost odd hearing him speak, after being so used to listening only to the sound of Jimin’s voice and your own sobs. 

“We had visited Jimin’s cabin a few days ago, trying to find you. Yoongi-hyung already had a bad feeling about him, since his mannerisms seemed too practiced and controlled––trademark signs of someone who is very good at hiding his secrets. Then, we heard the sound of your piano,” he says, gazing at you in awe. “It was brilliant of you.”

“Erlkönig,” Yoongi comments from the front, nodding grimly. “I thought it was an odd choice to play. It’s a song laced with death. I’m glad I trusted my gut instinct and returned to the cabin after we received a search warrant.” He shifts his head slightly to look at you, his gaze piercing but kind. Different from the sickly saccharine gaze that Jimin always used to have. “Music really did save your life.”

You don’t want to think about music right now. You don’t want to think about anything at all. "I just want to go home," you whisper, body slumping from exhaustion. Jungkook cards his hands through your hair, murmuring words of comfort as you slowly dropped off into dreamland.

"It's going to be all right... You're safe now... Nothing can ever hurt you again..."

––♡♡♡––

5 years later.

You enter the concert venue's VIP booth without a sound. Most of the other attendees hardly bat their eyes as you slink your way to your seat. You hold a picket fan with Gowon's smiling face on it, a banner with Sooyoung's name, and a wristband with Hana's grumpy face emblazoned on the side. You make it just in time for them to open the concert with their opening song.

The deep bass of Zemblanity filters its way through the overhead speakers, and the sound of thousands of screaming fans almost drown out the song entirely. You grin at the sight of young men and women screaming the fanchants in tandem, even laughing loudly when you'd catch the faint sound of "Y/N" mixed in at the end. You join the chants for most of the songs––all except the first song.

A boy with pink and yellow hair notices your silence, and points a boxy-grin back at you.

"Not a fan of Zemblanity? Even though it topped the Billboard charts twice in a row?"

The boy looks nothing like him. His cheeks are too thin, and his eyes are too dark. And yet, there's something about him that brings a chill up your spine. You make a mental note to make an appointment with your therapist first thing in the morning.

"Nah. Not a big fan. Heard the producer is an asshat," you say, shrugging your shoulders. The boy laughs, loud and pretty.

[noramoya]

“DON’T STOP TIL YOU’VE HAD ENOUGH : AN ARTICLE ON THE QUINCE JONES MJ TRIBUTE DEBACLE.” – SYL MORTILLA, @WordPress .

“You know how sometimes people get offended on behalf of others? Well, right now, I am seething. Positively livid. Absolutely outraged, and do you know the worst part? I am not even directly affected by what has happened here. It’s not my money involved, but I am truly appalled for you and I guess it could happen to any of us so we should not stand for it. Let me explain.

I was in London recently, deep in the underground rabbit warren, climbing up an escalator the size of Everest. As I ascended the cold metal steps, I noticed out of the corner of my eye, one of many promotional posters for forthcoming shows. Despite keeping my ear to the ground, my finger on the pulse and some say, my head in the clouds, I hadn’t heard of this one.

In fact, I was temporarily bamboozled by it. I had heard some time ago that Quincy Jones would be playing a show at the O2 Arena, but this bore no resemblance to that event.

It was still Quincy, but it contradicted my recollection that it was to be a celebration of the work of the late Michael Jackson.

Originally, this “world exclusive concert” had promised not only “three iconic albums played back to back” but went on to nail its colours to the mast by actually naming them: Off The Wall, Thriller and Bad.

I remember at the time thinking that this would be quite the spectacle, but the ticket prices were utterly exorbitant – well in excess of a hundred pounds a pop.

The new poster was so different that I questioned whether it was even the same event or if I had already missed that one and now this was the follow up show.

I felt like I was in Animal Farm, staring in disbelief at the board previously displaying the motto “four legs good, two legs bad,” adjusted to read “four legs good, two legs better,” leaving me questioning my own memory of the original.

I have since read something that confirms that I hadn’t been imagining things after all and rather than being a feverish cheese dream, the content of the concert HAS been altered to remove all remaining traces of Jackson.

Now, everyone is entitled to their opinion as to whether or not this was the right thing to do in the light of recent allegations (arising from a “documentary”) and I am not here to have that debate.

What I take issue with though is that when you substantially deviate from the original advertised line up that people have paid handsomely to see, they should be entitled to receive a full refund.

What wound me up most was the arrogant stance taken by the promoters. Disgruntled fans have received a response from them explaining: “the show’s content has not changed. Songs from the three Michael Jackson albums will be played, alongside tracks which celebrate era-defining music. Therefore, we are unable to offer refunds.”

Now, let’s just think about this for a second. They’re claiming that it’s the same show as before. I mean, I guess they have got a point – after all, it is still Quincy Jones and seats are every bit as expensive as they were before, but the actual music? Well, that could not be more different.

The show appears to have shrunk in the wash and its colours have run. Now, in its place we have “Soundtrack of The 80s” featuring “iconic songs and defining albums.” I’m genuinely surprised that Sara Cox isn’t billed to host it.

Get your magnifying glass out though and look carefully at the small print at the very bottom of the poster and any fears you may have previously had will be swept aside.

See – it IS EXACTLY the same concert as before. O yea of little faith. Look, there’s all of Jackson’s biggest hits… Rock With You… Man In The Mirror… er, Yah Mo Be There…

I appreciate that there are bigger injustices in the world right now, but the principle of this stinks and the precedent it sets is utterly unacceptable.

This is like professional gaslighting. Maybe the organisers of the event are in a state of traumatised denial after this significant transformation to their show.

The last time a promoter was this cheeky was back when people who had bought seats to see Michael Jackson at his O2 residency for his ill-fated This Is It farewell tour were offered hologrammatic “souvenir” tickets instead of their money back.

When people buy tickets for Glastonbury, they do so without knowing what the line up will be in advance. People know that they are getting on board before the bands are announced and if they aren’t satisfied when the poster is unveiled, they are free to cancel.

Line ups are subject to change all the time, but usually, when someone drops out, the promoters arrange for someone equally impressive to stand in. Sometimes, the replacement is actually better than the act originally scheduled, so it works in the fans’ favour.

Occasionally, issues arise where, for whatever reason, artists are unable to fulfil their original obligation due to their personal situation or circumstances beyond their control.

I was crushed one Summer when Irish girl group B*witched were due to headline a Nineties nostalgia concert, but were sadly unable to make it in time due to problems with their flight. To be fair to them, they offered a full explanation and regular updates throughout the course of the evening by virtue of regular Skype updates. These things happen. C’est la vie.

There is sometimes a disclaimer attached to shows warning in advance of possible alterations. It covers the promoter’s back, acknowledges the reality of the industry and manages fans’ expectations.

I have studied the Quincy poster quite closely under my musical microscope and I don’t see anything anywhere that states: “please note: the advertised content is subject to change at any minute – in fact, it might have already changed beyond recognition by the time you buy tickets. Those who wish to take a complete leap of faith do so entirely at their own risk as even if we move the goal posts so far apart that they end up being in completely different countries, we reserve the right at all times to not only refuse entry but also refunds.”

I am no mathematician, but I am genuinely curious as to how much of the original advertised content of a concert you have to depart from before it can be considered a “change.”

Let’s say, for the sake of argument, that you bought tickets to see The Manic Street Preachers on their current tour, encouraged by the promise that they are going to be playing your favourite album of theirs: This Is My Truth, Tell Me Yours in its entirety. Imagine turning up, feather boa warming your your neck, looking forward to hearing songs from that album, only to be told that instead you are going to be treated to two hours of singer James Dean Bradfield’s side project.

Furious, you rush to the box office for a refund. “Ah,” says the woman behind the counter, “but this is the same concert.” “HOW is it?” you wail. “James will still be playing songs from This Is My Truth,” she says, “alongside era-defining music.”

Faced with no alternative, you return to the show to hear James playing George Benson’s Give Me The Night. “But this isn’t even one of theirs!” you scream, throwing back your head in terror, at which point you see a sign on the ceiling above you that says “NO REFUNDS.”

The addition of extra songs doesn’t make things better, it makes them considerably worse, as it has the effect of diluting the overall quality. It makes it considerably less likely that you will get to hear the songs from those albums that you paid good (Bad?) money to hear.

Maybe before the show, you could go into the O2 branch of Nando’s and order a plate of peri peri chicken, before tucking into it and immediately realising that something is wrong. Rather than your spice of choice, it has an altogether milder, tamer flavour, like someone has seasoned it with lemon and herb. It doesn’t even look or taste like chicken. Closer inspection reveals it to be pigeon!

Incensed, you storm up to the counter and demand your money back. “I’m sorry, Sir,” says the Manager, “but there are no refunds because that is the same meal as the one you ordered.” Then they chuck out a corn on the cob and throw some spicy rice in your face in an effort to placate you with era-defining side dishes.

Where exactly will this madness end? If you go to a tailor and after getting measured up and paying for a brand new suit, he then proceeds to lop the legs off the trousers and stitch a floral pattern into the lapel, can he still expect you to be happy with that?

We live in a time where people are expected to pay for the privilege of printing off their own tickets at home, and don’t even get me started on the fulfilment fees – exactly who or what are these fulfilling other than corporate pockets?!

Fans increasingly find themselves forfeiting booking fees, administration charges and the like when concerts are cancelled by the promoter. These would appear to be regarded by them as little more than curiosity taxes.

It’s all very caveat emptor – buyer beware – if you have gone to the trouble and expense of organising transport and arranging accommodation to see a show which is then pulled, well, then, that’s your problem.

By all means, go ahead and adjust the content of a concert – you’re the promoter, it’s your show, you can do whatever you like, but if you do, don’t hoodwink ticket holders into thinking that nothing has changed. Don’t flummox your customers. If they aren’t happy with the alterations you’ve made, they should be entitled to receive a full refund as the show they bought tickets to see is no longer the one that will be staged.

Believe it or not, this piece originally started out as an advertisement for the forthcoming Quincy Jones concert in which I heaped praise on the promoters for their courageous actions and argued that the concert remains fundamentally unchanged. They cannot take issue with any aspect of the final version because this is exactly the same article as before…alongside era-defining sarcasm. “

-Written by Andrew Timms .

[fadekookie]

The Closet Game: I

Author: @fadekookie

Genre: Urban Legen!AU, thriller, romance, psychological, existentialism, horror, interdimensional? spooky?

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Baekhyun x Reader

Warnings: imitable behavior, horror themes

Word Count: 2990

Summary: The Closet Game was something you’d only heard of once in your life. You’d only pondered, until the point a pair of red eyes gleamed with a ferocity only possibly matched by yours. And so up to this point, you’d only pondered, but now you knew this couldn’t possibly be real. Until you dared the inferno in the eyes, until you challenged the ruby glare, until you bore a stare so wild and enraged you tore your way through this inversion, to him.

A/N: CHAPTER ONE IS UP HSDJHCVSJVC YAY !!!! I CANNOT EXPRESS HOW HAPPY I AM ABOUT THIS I’VE FINALLY DEVOTED MYSELF TO SERIES AND I AM SO DETERMINED TO FINISH IT!!! If you’re reading this without reading the prologue, you may be confused. The prologue is important to the entirety of the story!! ENJOY !!!! this chapter is dedicated to @shuasent

P | I |  II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX | X 

Reality is not real. It has never been proven nor tested. Only believed to be because, well, what else would you believe?

Reality is unclear and distant, like a memory. Every moment of your life being ironically vapid. Though you felt things, it was all null and conveniently explained. Not in the scientific sense, but in the sense that things happen for a reason and you feel a particular way for a reason. The problem posed though, you will always feel something.

However, it never felt that way. It felt muted and programmed. It was a routine. Just as the one sitting in your planner or calendar. Routine work, routine play, routine love. And it was all, mute.

Colors lived in you, yes, but each moment in time was distant, fading too fast. You’d always hated how the sun set so fast. You saw colors— you felt them, heard them, smelled them, tasted them. Though, you were bereft of a sixth sense.

You spent all your life dreaming of this sixth maybe even seventh sense, but you could feel nothing louder nor brighter than now.

Now was red.

It tasted red, felt red, looked red, smelled red, and sounded red.

Red was no longer a color to you.  It was a vortex. A wormhole.

Red wasn’t blood. Red did not mean stop. Red was not sensual.

Instead red was a pair of eyes, and that’s all it ever would be. A pair of eyes so rampant you were no spiral down them. A pair of eyes so hot with fire you felt the tangible melt around you until it was only this red.

Until red devoured you and set your skin ablaze as embers licked at your curves. Until red burnt to black and only eyes among a pitch black realm remained.

Eyes polarized by the dark seemed to glow brighter as time slipped by.

Your own stare frantic you searched the black for anything of contrast. You looked down to see that your limbs were not there, perhaps having been swallowed by flame or suffocated with night. You heard nothing; no muffled hum of the air conditioning or distant sliding of heavy balcony doors by your neighbors. Sounds that lived in your home like family dissolved like sugar into the space. Only your eyes and the one’s in front of you were spared by the inferno.

You thought this a dream, an unreal reality just as you did the world before. Maybe some sick form of sleep paralysis that you were bound to wake up from...

....but then you felt it.

The millions of suns gnawing at you, at your mind and soul. Incinerations penetrating your soul in a pain unknown to you and you fathomed to man himself.

Trapped in your mind, you yelled. You yelled because that’s all you could do. Screams echoing against the constraints of your conscience. The sound wasn’t there.

The ballroom was flushed with wealth. Chandeliers hung from the high ceiling with crystals dripping from them just as prodigality dripped from every person in the space.  Business is all it was with august marble floors and ridiculously expensive Hors d’oeuvre.  The finger foods seemed to float around you like feathers in air as staff in tailcoats made rounds about the grand marble tiles.

The sounds of Shostakovich stretched to the corners of the space as businessmen endlessly found their way to you. Events like these weren’t rare in your new life. Being among the top 30 under 30 has those perks. Though lavish living lost much of its meaning when each step you take as a competitor on the market is one that is unambiguously monitored. One scandal, one look in the wrong direction, one breath at the wrong time and empires crumble.

You recognized the figure approaching you: Zhang Yixing, founder of LaySoft. His company had started at around the same time as yours, growing and competing at the same pace. He was the competition and you calculated every movement around people like him.

“Mr. Zhang,” you smiled, champagne in hand as he came to a stop before you. His hair was slicked back to exaggerate the contours of his face. Round, silver glasses rested on his pointed nose further complementing the dimensions of his cheeks. The suit fit him well, you thought. You assumed it was part of the new Ermenegildo Zegna collection. Of course, you saw this exact three-piece on a runway in Milan only a week ago.

“Y/N, please, call me by my first name. You’re making me feel old.” He smirked revealing perfect teeth. He took a step closer, “We’re not too far apart, you know?”

“I’m well aware, Mr. Zhang,” you continued throwing him a playful wink, all part of the procedure. “I must always be on my toes around you.” Your lips stretched into a more sensuous shape. Routine, it was all routine with him and those like him. Though he did nothing wrong, he was fully capable of it. You played your cards right.

He was frustrated but amused nonetheless. Yes, of course, you played them right. People were always easy to read to you.

“All I ask, Miss (y/l/n) is that you keep me young as well.” He played the game too. “It’s not fair you’re the only one having fun.”

No use being coy anymore, next card.

“Yixing,” you succumbed, “care for a dance.” You said this with conviction as you placed the flute of bubbly on a glass table beside you.

“Would I?” he returned taking your hand in his and leading you to the dance floor. Your dress was a flowing red, flattering your youth among the entrepreneurial gods. “I must say, you’re absolutely ravishing in that color.”

“You sound old,” you completed simply as he placed a large hand on your waist beginning to waltz. The dance floor was more a battlefield than a leisure spot in situations as such.

He sighed in relieve, as if being quenched, “This is exactly what I needed.”

You only smirked continuing to sway to the waltz tempo. Card. This game continued in a flirtatious method. Him complimenting you. You retorting smoothly. He fed off this and you waited until you felt he was fed nearly to the brim to begin your full-fledged attack. It was now Carmen Suite bouncing around the ambiance as you danced.

“I heard LaySoft is closing with Angola soon,”

Your brow lowered, no longer a light and playful set, “Didn’t think you were interested in oil.”

He chuckled, “I always have to think 10 steps ahead, y/n. Though, please enlighten me on your expansion in the Middle East during the past year.”

You only smiled and met his gaze, “What can I say, I’m just that popular. They asked for me.”

“Why do I not believe that?”

“Smelt it dealt it, I assume.”

With this, he burst out in laughter. Head tipping lightly back to allow humor to pour from him in waves.

Card.

That’s the problem with you Yixing, you thought, you and I really are not too far apart.

“Alright alright, I’ll admit, oil is a fun challenge, wouldn’t you agree.” At this point, you’d stopped dancing and made your way to an oncoming busboy. Plucking a stem from the silver tray he was carrying, you offered, “The more the merrier.”

You raised your glass, flashing your signature smile.

Card. You win.

You were intoxicated when you arrived at your home. The contemporary nuances of glass walls made their way to your line of sight as the Roll’s Royce pulled into your driveway.

The house was new as was the little to offer privacy. You’d made the purchase in March, moved in late April, and now it was July.

Stepping out of the car, you took a breath of the thick summer air, enhanced by the grandeur of your house. The doors shut behind you with a conspicuous click, you thought this was lucky if anybody ever tried breaking into your house. You’d never miss it, these doors were loud. As was anything really amongst this almost comically large furnishing. You could tell the position of anyone anywhere in your home because of how sharp each sound was as it bounced off in echoes from high ceilings.

Every step you took against hard marble floors to your bedroom distilled a click until they reached the broad expanse of dark wood. The muted sound of stilettos on wood reminded you strangely of eery memories from middle school. Strange as it may seem for your brain to store and associate a memory from over a decade ago with this particular sound, its all you could process at this point. The same sound of you walking, emitting creaking here and there to top off the stripped sound of steps, had been played out for you at a seventh-grade sleepover.

You would never forget, of course, how could you? One of the most embarrassing nights of your life played out in technicolor in your head. It was a slumber party with your then group of friends when the six of you decided to experiment with urban legends. You had never debated the extent of this abstract, just simply avoided any chance interaction with the seemingly supernatural on some occasions. However, with a group of friends, it’s safe to say all six of you get invincible to the forces of the underworld, where they there.

You had tested all tricks and spooks in the book from Bloody Mary to the Candyman with no outcome. This late into the night as the group grew increasingly confident, the infamous Closet Game was last on the list. This one required the extra effort. Required the reading of a curse, lighting of a match. You followed through of course, though, didn’t expect anything. Nor did your friends. While skeptic, as can be the exhaustion, took a toll on your brain, allowing any minor sound or movement, easily explained in broad daylight, sound like a swan song,  a final call before your pathetic death to an urban legend.

So, it was your turn to play the game, and you said the curse, lit the match and stood in the closet waiting for demons to enrapture you and swallow you whole, carrying you away into a dimension unknown. Sweat prickled at your skin and you could feel your heart beating in your fingers and toes, but you could never let your friends know. Straining to hear a whisper and a pull from a ‘demon’ as the instructions said, you felt your head becoming light. You began to feel a velvety rub against your skin, comparable to the softness of a thin stream of water from the faucet on your fingers. You hadn’t done anything yet, hadn’t moved in spite of the clear sign you should bow out the match and leave the closet. You strained for whispers.

To this day you doubt you actually heard it. The voice. It was all part of the mind tricks factoring in darkness, social pressure, and general stress. Makes sense you imagined the whisper and the touch in retrospect. Though at the moment you could not doubt how extremely and terrifyingly real this voice was.

“I found you.”

Three words broke you.

Failing to extinguish the match you broke from the hold behind closet doors to see your friends staring at you with wild eyes. Soon they beckoned you with concern. Inquiring about the demon, asking if you really felt it. You blew out your match and simply brushed it off, pride quivering as you claimed it all a game of your subconscious.

Sleeping that night you could not brush the thought of the ‘demons.’ How they touched you and talked to you. Your pubescent mind racing with hormones, stress, and fear. The sound of your heels on wood now impeccably resembled the sound you heard that night from your place on the couch.

Step, step, step, step.

You couldn’t move, but your eyes were open and you saw everything. Saw what horror your mind conjured that night. Later you’d know this feeling to be nothing more than a psychological wager of sleep paralysis. Nonetheless, you remember how the black figure, faceless, shapeless, but resembling a human simply rose from the white wall carrying a white, electric aura with it.

By means of common sense, nothing should be alarming about a dark figure with no distinguishing features. It had no gun, no knife, no scary face, but it was terrifying despite no obvious means of harm.

Shaking and not moving a muscle, screaming with no sound coming out, crying but no tears escaped. Trapped inside your mind as this figure approached you before simply fading out as if dissolving into the natural background. That’s when you woke up; when your sharp inhale caused your friend next to you on the couch to stir.

All you could do is shut your eyes and throw the now uncomfortably hot covers over you as you continued to sweat, forcing yourself to sleep. Needless to say, you woke up to uncomfortable wetness in your shorts and you knew. Your friends knew. Things like this happened. 

Reminiscing now you laughed to yourself about how foolish it was to be so self-degradingly critical around your friends, around yourself and the walls in your own room.

You continued to think of that game and its grand influence on your subconscious that night, minding how crazy the human brain was. At this point in your life and in your evening, you expected nothing else to come and tempt you nor press you. Your dealings at the ball were over and your face of business and poise was officially eligible to retire until tomorrow. So, fuck it, you thought. At this point, you understood the nooks of your brain and everybody else’s brain. Knowing exactly how to approach a person and a problem through meticulous psychoanalysis. At this point, just like then, you felt invincible.

Strolling over to your walk-in closet and pulling a lighter as well as your phone from the new Prada which hung elegantly from your shoulder. Briefly looking up the curse on your phone you shut the sliding door to your closet. Flicking the steel cap of the lighter forward, a gentle flame grew from a traceless spark. You read the words, smirk plastered on your face.

“Dinanzi a me non fuor cose create

se non etterne, e io etterno duro.

Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate’.”

You chanted the infamous words three times, becoming bored the third time around.

Silence.

Stillness.

Nothing happened. No velvety touch, no paralyzing whisper. You chuckled before snapping the lighter shut and sliding the door open. You clapped for the lights in your room to turn on. As they swelled into brightness you slipped out of your dress and placed your shoes to the side.

The shower you took wasn’t long but it felt eternal as you ran through the synopsis of your day and… your life. Existence and the sorts, the usual for showers at this time of night.

Stepping out you further scrutinized each thing you felt, each thing you did and the reason for it. Not the artificial reason as to the typical cost-benefit system, but the actual reason. Your reason for compliance with the universe in general.

You left the bathroom in search of pajamas after slipping into underwear and a black silk robe reaching down to a bit above your knees.

You expected to see nothing but clothes and an island of jewelry when you slid the door open. Rows of designer sweaters hanging in the middle above four of your favorite Hermes purses. A shoe shelf to the far left and a purse shelf to the right. Sections of various articles of clothing placed by category around the perimeter of the room.

You didn’t see this though. Rather you did, but you didn’t see the clothes, nor shoes, nor purses, nor jewelry. Everything was still there but it was no longer the spectacle of importance.

You saw eyes.

Red eyes.

Red like nothing you had seen before.

Red as only ruby orbs among a darkness which darkened to become opaque over the shoes, purses, and diamonds in your closet.

Red glowing like fire against what had no become a pitch black void.

Red like an inferno which now gnawed at the corners of your own vision. Blazes feasting on the darkness cooked explicitly for these eyes and yours.

A conflagration swallowing your line of vision and your senses.

Burning and burning and burning and burning.

You felt nothing, just watched, reactionless, or you thought you were stoic.

For all you know, you could have died, suddenly.

Or hallucinated.

Developed schizophrenia.

All the possible outcomes rushed to your head at the same time as your senses returned.

Pain blurred your line of vision with more red, as you felt the absolute fire eating you whole.

More and more red.

Red and red and red, but you still saw a sole pair of eyes.

While everything became red, the eyes remained.

Eyes remained as a remarkably different red than any other shade of blood and fire charring your sight.

They stayed there even as the fire quelled, as you continued to yell with no sound and cried tears which did not put out flames. It was blackness again, aside from eyes. They moved closer to you as you realized you were no longer in your lavish room nor lavish home. You questioned if you were still on the face of the Earth.

The eyes moved closer as a figure formed around them. As if stepping into light, features became more defined and human. The eyes became a possession and not just a color. Lips, nose, ears, hair. Torso, arms, legs, neck. A body undoubtedly human stepped into sight.

Though, he could not have been human.

Masterlist

[iamjacsmusings]

MCU Challenge musings

18 weeks. 18 films. The MCU Challenge. In collaboration with Team #Geekstalkers. Collated musings below, all leading to Infinity War.

#1 - Iron Man

Robert Downey Jnr IS Tony Stark, Tony Stark IS Iron Man, Iron Man IS the first MCU Avenger. Without this we wouldn’t have the MCU as we know and love it. Despite that, coming soon after Batman’s triumphant return as it does, I can’t help but feel the identikit Iron Man Begins falls a little flat. The weak MCU villain problem is present and incorrect right from Mk 1 too.

#2 - The Incredible Hulk

Tonally misjudged and (latterly) at odds with the hulk as we know and love him in the shared MCU. Watching now, 15 entries later, it feels non-canon. As a standalone, inspired by the 70s show, it’s fine.

#3 - Iron Man 2

Probably [one of] the weakest #mcuchallenge entries for me as it aims for “cool” moments rather than developing character or overarching story. On the flipside, it introduces us to ScarJo’s Black Widow

#4 - Thor

In no particular order: the direction of Branagh, the realisation of the Rainbow bridge, the triple H acting of Hemsworth, Hiddleston and Hopkins, the hilarious humour, the majesty of Mjolnir, the Shakespearean plot machinations; all are Thor-some!

#5 - Captain America: The First Avenger

I (too) was predisposed to preferring this origin above all Avengers due to my predilection for Captain America as a character, so the bar was set high. Johnson, the perfectly chosen director, exceeded it by making a boys own adventure replete with echoes of his Lucasfilm roots. It’s underrated in my opinion and should be considered as the Raiders of Phase One. Joe Johnson just *got* 1940s Adventure-era Cap. As too does Evans who only continues to get better with each subsequent appearance. I could watch Cap movies all day…

#6 - Avengers Assemble

Still top 5 MCU of all-time. The Avengers characterisations are spot on in this initial assemblage; no mean feat considering the wealth of source material, the origins of Phase One and the balancing act of at least seven key roles. Come the epic Chitauri invasion finale and from the Avengers arc shot onwards there’s too many fist-pumping, geekgasm moments to mention; spine tingling each and every one of them.

#7 - Iron Man 3

As a fanboy of @BonafideBlack’s buddy banter and noir stylings, I’m on board with his Iron Man entry (noir is an anagram of Iron after all) He write characters therefore it came as no surprise that his take delves beneath the suit to the mechanic that wears it. I’m aware I’m in the minority, but the first two don’t do much for me therefore this is like a shot of extremis to Shellhead’s previously floundering solo entries. It still looks to be Stark’s swansong and, if so, it’s a fine way to finish IMO. Kiss Kiss Iron Man, if you will. The “barrel of monkeys” scene is one of the stand out scenes from the entire MCU too.

#8 - Thor: The Dark World

The tone, palette and plot of this inferior sequel is arguably more aligned with the much maligned DC(E)U rather than the rightly-lauded MCU; make of that what you will. I’d gladly watch an anthology prequel about the Lord of the Aether battle glimpsed in the prologue though…

#9 - Captain America: The Winter Soldier

An espionage thriller every bit as good as the best Bourne or Bond has to offer, Captain America: The Winter Soldier just happens to have a few present and future Avengers at its centre. The undisputed leader of the Avengers as the 18-strong MCU currently stands, the more I revisit Captain America Super Soldier, the closer the film creeps towards my current cream of the big screen comic book crop, The Dark Knight.

#10 - Guardians of the Galaxy

Guardians of the Galaxy is better than any film about a half-Terran cross between Han Solo and Indiana Jones, a walking thesaurus, a talking tree, a green-skinned warrior woman and a bad-tempered raccoon has any right to be. I’ve lost count the number of times I’ve seen GotG already. There’s so much to admire, so much Galaxy to explore. it bears repeat viewing. Every joke still lands. Every emotional beat pulls a heart string. Every character is worthy of fronting their own galactic adventure. We. Are. Groot.

#11 - Avengers: Age of Ultron

There’s much to admire in this movie as Whedon ably juggles the ever-growing ensemble cast; each one gets their moment so, no matter who your favourite is, you should feel satisfied come the conclusion. The action scenes pay off with key moments that remain in the memory: the team line-up, “Go to sleep, go to sleep”, Black Widow on the bike, Hawkeye motivating Scarlet Witch and the arc shot around the Avengers as they end the threat of too many Ultrons. Quiet moments pay off too: the party is perfect (especially Thor’s face as Cap moves Mjolnir), the interlude at ranch Barton is a top idea and the lull in the final fight manages to move; I even welled up a little as Cap and Widow debate their fate this watch. In short, it’s endlessly rewatchable, as my SuperSon has put to the test.

#12 - Ant-Man

Easily the most underrated entry in the entirety of the MCU to date, Ant-Man is also, upon reflection, my favourite solo character origin story. Giant-sized words, I know!

#13 - Captain America: Civil War

War! What is it good for? Captain America movies!

I love Civil War. It’s edgy. It;s important. It’s epic! It truly feels like a “superhero comic book movie” ripped from the panelled page. And, Thor damn, the Russo’s sure can shoot the shit (Sorry, Cap) out of an action scene. Speaking of scenes, there’s one in Fight Club when the Narrator and Tyler mock a Gucci advertisement, asking if it’s what a real man look like. It’s not, no. What a real man looks like is Captain America holding a helicopter with one arm and a building with the other. Swoon.

I could watch this on repeat all day. 

#14 - Doctor Strange

Let’s face it, Cumberbatch was the only choice for Strange, as suited to the hyper-intelligent, egotistical, socially-awkward auteur as Downey Jr was to Stark’s genius, billionaire, playboy philanthropist. By this point in the MCU, Marvel can do origin with ease as this return to formula proves. Whilst Doctor Strange does remind you of movies from before (Iron Man, Batman Begins, Inception, Matrix), it patches them together into a kaleidoscopic Frankenstein of its own making.

Oh, one more thing: it goes without saying how awesome Doctor Strange’s enchanted Cloak of Levitation is – I’d argue it’s the single best cinema companion since Gromit!

#15 - Guardians of the Galaxy: Vol Two

GotG amped up to 11, Vol. 2 is less a case of difficult second volume, more Gunn locked and loaded. GotG2 is deeper, richer and cleverer than it’s predecessor, if not as instantly iconic nor anarchic in its punk rock aesthetics or impact. Ego, we’ve all got to grow up sometime. Following the near perfection of the first Volume was always going to be a tricky proposition, but this sophomore space saga soars true enough and will surely, in time, serve as a solid central entry in a worthy Guardians of the Galaxy stand-alone trilogy.

#16 - Spider-Man: Homecoming

Did I need another resuited Spider-Man movie so soon after the last aborted attempt? I didn’t think so until I saw this coming-of-age comedy that referenced Ferris Bueller, BttF: Part II and The Breakfast Club (among others)

Did I need another iteration of Spider-Man and his teen geek alter-ego Peter Parker? I didn’t think so until I saw Tom Holland’s infectiously enthusiastic and ultimately incomparable portrayal of everyone’s favourite neighbourhood webslinging wannabe Avenger.

Did I need another potentially disappointing take on a classic Spider-Man villain? I didn’t think so until Michael Keaton’s birdman soared above almost any other adapted antagonist from the entirety of comic canon – not since Loki have I feared and cheered in equal measure.

Did I need another big screen Spider-Man blockbuster? I didn’t think so until I understood what this wall-crawlers direction was under the genius creative control of chief Watcher Feige within the winning MCU. Now I need more, for thwips sake…

#17 - Thor Ragnarok

Space fantasy as its Flash(“ahh ah”)iest, Ragnarok is: Thorsome, Hela good, Full of gloriously glib Loki asides, a Hulk load of fun, great Valkyrie for money! Third time’s the charm for the God of Thunder. I can’t TaikaWaititi to see the Revengers return in Infinity War!

#18 - Black Panther

Stunning Wakanda world building. Convincing and charismatic cast performances. Strong character motivations. Serious and meaningful underlying themes. Too much CGI. MCU continuity issues. Nowhere near enough Michael B Jordan. Good not great. Middling MCU Challenge entry for me.

[yumiwords]

best of times / worst of times

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way – in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.

I’ve never read A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens, and although I’d like to think that one day I’ll get around to it, Charles and I both know this probably isn’t going to happen.

When I was about thirteen I did a drama class after school on Wednesdays, the humble beginnings of my (very, very) short-lived acting career. Each term, I, alongside a scraggly bunch of stereotypical theatre kids – think jazz hands and randomly bursting into song – would learn and rehearse and then finally perform a play, usually based on some random piece of literature that was so ancient it would guarantee no one could be sued for copyright. This particular term we were given a dumbed-down theatrical copy of A Tale of Two Cities, each of us cast as either a character from the original story or as a completely made up character that probably had no place being in a Dickens universe. I could not tell you which character I played nor what the story is vaguely about (a revolution perhaps ?), but I could to this day almost certainly stand on a stage and scream at you the first lines of Dickens’ story.

IT WAS THE BEST OF TIMES IT WAS THE WORST OF TIMES

I’ve thought about these lines a lot lately. This idea of remembering something as the best or the worst. I think we tend to look back on things in this way. Through the nature of good storytelling and the distance between recounting events and actually living through them, the pointy bits of history always seem to stick out a bit sharper. The most good bits and the most bad bits are easy ways of remembering the course of events, of remembering when we felt at our worst, dealt with our most lost, suffered the most trauma. These pointy bits are the easiest to grab onto, are the ones we love hearing most about. They’re the pandemics and the bushfires and the protests and the deaths; I don’t think I’m alone in feeling that maybe right now is the worst of times.

But much of our lives belong to neither end of the spectrum of good and bad. We tend to do most of our living in between. Having an ok nights sleep and going for an uneventful walk down the street and eating a very average toasted sandwich are things we normally leave out of our storytelling. In the scheme of things, these things won’t matter when we look back from the future. I’m definitely not going to be thinking back on this year as the year of the rona and that below average psychological thriller I watched on Netflix last night. A global pandemic kind of assumes centre stage to the everything else hanging about. The movies and the dinners and the car trips and the grocery shoppings all take a bit of a back seat in their authority to call shotgun to our importance. These things are just things and they’re neither the best nor the worst, but that doesn’t mean they don’t matter.

These are pretty strange times we’re living in (you could almost say - unprecedented - but I’ll spare you). Now it’s beginning to seem like the strangeness has accompanied us long enough for things not to be strange anymore. Are we becoming used to the strangeness? Is absurdity something we’ve accepted as normality? But even so, we’re still just being. Within the strangeness and the absurdity and the utter peculiarity, we still are just being. Since the day the rona was declared a pandemic by WHO, I still have fed my dog and listened to podcasts and brushed my teeth before bed. I still have done all the normal life things that would never have crossed my mind as an option of not doing, no matter how strange things got. Even as social isolation hit pretty hard, and sometimes I’d only breathe within the walls of my bedroom for consecutive days, living still had to be done. No matter how bad the times are, we are simultaneously living a normality. We still breathe and eat and sleep and shit and swear and laugh and cut our toenails.

The curiosity with how we will regard these times in hindsight has seeped into reflections of everything I do. Will I look back on this day as the day I decided to attempt a zine… in a pandemic? Will every time someone mentions Amanda Bynes I’ll think of how I watched What A Girl Wants for the first time… in a pandemic? Will Harry Potter forever be tainted in my mind because of how I’ve devoured the audio books… in a pandemic? These are things I may or may not have done whether the rona decided to pay us a visit or not. These are things that have no relevance to a virus infecting the world, they’re simply just things that are relevant to my existing in this time.

It's only halfway through this shit show of a year but I, like a lot of people, am well keen to get to the finale. I’m pretty happy with labelling twenty-twenty as The Worst Of Times. But just because this is officially the winter of despair, doesn’t mean we’re not allowed to feel anything but. It’s a weird dance in trying to understand that the category of right now is Officially Shit, but the nuances and single steps and the filler to the cracks of the entirety are all pretty beautiful in their own rights. We can live in the best and the worst of times at the same time. Sometimes one does feel a bit bigger than the other, but surviving the worst doesn’t have to mean discounting all of the small goods.

This is probably an incredibly obvious point to make, but it took me a long time to get here. I found it pretty easy to feel complacent in accepting that this year just isn’t my year and there’s nothing I can do to change that. Because that might true. Maybe as soon as I get to the first second of 2021 I’ll write off the past twelve months and pretend none of this ever happened. But I think that in accepting that things are bad, and that we feel bad, and that things might take a little while to feel good, is ok. And it’s ok to feel good when things are bad. It’s ok to have the small wins and triumphs and laughs and joys, whilst still functioning in the worst of times.

All of these things, these small existences and livings and goings ons that fill the space between the bestest and the worstest, will probably all be well and truly forgotten when I’m old and grey and trying to remember what living through this year was like. I probably won’t be forgetting the rona and the way it’s stunned the world. I might remember the cloud of smoke from the bush that blanketed our city. I hope I don’t forget walking in solidarity with our black and Aboriginal Australians. I’ll definitely forget the threat of the Murder Hornets that never came to fruition.

I think what I’m trying to say is that these things, and the ones in between, are the things that make up the space that we’re living in right now. Even in the worst of times, and the best, we’re still just trying to figure out how to be, how to kill time. If we forget the specifics of the little things, I hope we remember that they were still there.

[emmaswanchoosesyou]

Part of the Narrative

Emma Swan just wants to write the follow-up to her bestselling debut novel, that’s all. But when she gets off to a rough start with her new editor, Killian Jones, she knows it’s not going according to plan. Then, an unexpected figure from Emma’s past reappears and life begins to mirror the crime thriller she’s penning. Suspicion and secrets abound–but love might too. A writer/editor AU with a thriller twist.

Rated E. Includes sexual content, kidnapping, some gore, and minor character death–not to mention salty language! On Ao3 here.

This first chapter includes swearing and bad attitudes. 

Finally, a huge thank you to @sambethe, who edited this in its entirety and made it so much better. And @shady-swan-jones for the banner and @bleebug for the chapter art! (Also to @icapturedkindness and @gray-autumn-sky, for encouraging me to do this and reading over the initial chapters.) Of course, a shout-out to everyone @captainswanbigbang who helped, encouraged, and made this possible.

Chapter 1

Emma is on her way to meet her new editor, Killian Jones. It goes off the rails quickly, but they still have to find a way to work together.

Emma

Emma was not excited. Well, she was excited to begin working on her second novel. Her first had been a breakaway hit, surprising her and her publishing house. Apparently people ate up her gritty tale of life as a bail bondsperson and were eager to see a second book from the new darling of thrillers.

What was less thrilling, however, was having to go to her publisher’s office so she could meet her new editor. Mills & Booth had done right by her the first time around with Graham Humbert. He was smart and witty, knew just when to push her and when to back off. They had hit it off right away, and not just professionally. Between the usual editing sessions, there had been a few too many late dinners and movie nights, long walks where they laughed and talked about everything under the sun. They may not have indulged the attraction between them, but both had recognized it was there.

And then Graham died. Suddenly, cruelly, he was just gone.

They found out later it was a brain aneurysm. Nothing anyone could have expected, and nothing that could have come with a warning.

Emma was still mourning the loss of her friend and editor. She had no interest in meeting his replacement, even if everyone kept assuring her he was one of the best.

It just wouldn’t be the same, she reflected as she walked down the sidewalk, crunching through the autumn leaves, the sound echoing with each step. The new editor probably was all they said and more, but still, he wouldn’t be Graham. Would he get her in the same way? Would they have that same connection and rapport?

She sighed, looking up at the formidable height and cold steel of the building that housed her publishing house. She knew she had to meet this guy, but she didn’t have to look forward to it.

&&&

The lobby of Mills & Booth was as tasteful and well-appointed as ever, the familiar sight of the warm colors, plush chairs, and literary quotes on the walls soothing her nerves a little.

“Oh hi, Ms. Swan!” Ariel greeted her with a wide smile from behind the reception desk, and Emma couldn’t help but smile back.

“Hi, Ariel. How’s it going?”

Ariel was a good sort, bubbly and friendly. Her chipper tone and natural ease had a way of winning over even the most cantankerous clients, all while making sure the office ran smoothly.

“Oh, you know, the usual,” she said with a wave of her hand. “Except for, well, your new editor.”

“What’s he like?”

“Mr. Jones? He’s…nice? I haven’t talked to him much.” Leaning forward, she lowered her voice and motioned Emma closer. “But what I can tell you is that he’s really, really hot,” she said frankly.

Emma laughed. “Well, hopefully he’s as good at his job as he is at being pretty.”

Ariel pointed her in the direction of his office, and Emma gave a sigh of relief when she realized they hadn’t set him up in Graham’s old one. It at least made it feel like they weren’t replacing him so completely.

The door was cracked open, and she knocked to let him know she was there. “Hi? Mr. Jones?”

She heard the sound of rustling, and the door opened. Then she saw the man who had opened it.

And Jesus. Ariel hadn’t been kidding about the attractiveness thing. Dark, artfully mussed hair, a sculpted jawline with a dusting of scruff. Chest hair peeked out of the button-up he wore under a nice tweed suit jacket. And he had the bluest eyes she’d ever seen.

Down, girl, she told herself.

Sticking out her hand to shake his, she smiled politely. “I’m Emma Swan. Your new author?”

She was gratified to see that he too looked a little awestruck. Speechless, even. He’d met her eyes confidently, but as soon as he’d a chance to take her in, he had frozen in place. She knew she wasn’t exactly off-putting, but still, it was nice.

Recovering, he took her hand in his, bringing it to his lips to brush a kiss across her knuckles. Her insides quivered, but she couldn’t tell whether it was from attraction or annoyance. “I’m Killian Jones. A pleasure to meet you, Emma. You don’t mind if I call you that, do you?”

God, a British accent. She was doomed.

She shook her head. “That’s fine. And you prefer…”

“Killian, if you please.”

She certainly did please. But okay, really not the point. And not the kind of thoughts she should be having about her editor a minute after meeting him. She needed to cool it if she was going to work with this guy. Giving him an assessing look, she let him lead her to the chair in front of the desk, his hand hovering at the small of her back the whole way. Even through the layers of her clothing, her skin tingled at the light touch.

“Okay, then. So…where do we start?”

“I don’t know how things worked with Mr. Humbert, but I thought we could go over impressions and expectations. Begin as we mean to go on, as it were.”

“That works for me,” she said. “But honestly, I don’t know much about you, other than that Cleo told me I’d be working with you and you’re supposedly one of the best. Graham and I used to talk about goals and then he edited any drafts I sent him.”

He retreated behind his desk and sat, nodding thoughtfully. “Well, truthfully, things will probably be different, with this being your second book. And I do things differently than your former editor.”

“How differently?” Emma was sure it couldn’t be all that changed. Read it, edit it, give it back. Boom. He smirked at her and she stiffened, uncertainty creeping in.

“For starters, lass, I like to work more…collaboratively,” he said, winking salaciously at her.

Killian leaned forward across his desk, and Emma pulled back, feeling the need to put a little more space between them. She rolled her eyes, and crossed her arms over her chest. “So, what? You want to see more drafts?” she asked, trying not to sound too defensive.

“No, darling, I plan to be involved from the prospectus on.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. He might think himself to be charming, and his looks might win him points with some people, but Emma prided herself on being above that. ”First, don’t call me darling. And second, you seriously want to be involved in the prospectus? I’ve done this before, you know. I don’t need my hand held.”

He smiled and smoothed his hands across a few of the papers on his desk. “Pity, I wouldn’t mind holding your hand. But look, Swan, your work is good. It’s really quite promising. But it’s rough, and it could stand some refinement.”

“Rough?! I wrote a fucking bestseller!” She pulled herself to her feet, staring him down angrily.

“I didn’t say you were talentless, only that there’s room for improvement. Or are you content to peak with your very first work?” He was clearly trying to placate her, holding up his hands. Well, at least one hand. Even through her ire, Emma noticed that one appeared to be a prosthetic. A good one, but not flesh and blood.

She glared at him, jaw tightening painfully. “Peaking? Rough? And all of this from…who? Where’s your bestseller, buddy?”

It was his turn to roll his eyes, and he bristled as he said, “I may not have a bestseller, darling, but my thesis in nonfiction writing won several awards, and I’ve helped some of the best craft their own masterpieces.”

“You probably couldn’t craft a paper airplane,” she spat at him.

“An admittedly difficult task when working with this, Swan,” he snapped, lifting his prosthetic hand.

She flushed crimson but was unwilling to back down. Ignoring the stab of guilt, she said, “Look, I’m sorry about your hand, but I really don’t think this is going to work out.”

She turned abruptly and walked out of his office, slamming the door behind her for good measure.

&&&

Cleo stared sharply at her across the expanse of her desk. “I mean it, Emma. You need to get your shit together and find a way to work with Jones. He’s one of the best in the industry, and he’ll make sure your story is the best it can it be.”

“But, Cleo, he has no respect for my process. And he was…rude.”

She snorted. “He was rude? I could hear you all the way down here.”

Emma glared back at her.

Cleo huffed out a sigh. “I need you to give this another shot. This isn’t your debut novel, the stakes and expectations are higher this time around. I know this project means a lot to you, and it has the potential to do a lot of good. That’s why I want it to be the best version of itself it can possibly be.”

“And you think Jones can help me do that?” She crossed her arms in frustration. She tried really hard to stay away from that diva writer stereotype, but Killian Jones had tested her patience.

“I really do. He might be a pretty-boy, but he’s also brilliant.” Cleo was calm and collected, only the edge in her voice showing a hint of her stress and annoyance.

“He’s still an asshole.”

“And so are you.”

“Geez, thanks.”

“Look, I’m here to publish you and pay you. I don’t owe you pretty words, Emma. Jones doesn’t either. I’m giving you a week to figure something out.”

“Or what?”

Cleo shrugged. “Or I’ll sue you for breach of contract.”

“Oh.” Dimly, Emma had been aware this was an option, but she was gobsmacked at the threat, never really expecting to have to deal with it herself. She took a deep breath, letting all her conflicting emotions settle. “Okay, then.”

“That’s what I thought.” At that, Cleo stood and brusquely gestured to the door.

&&&

With the threat of a lawsuit hanging over her head and her ears ringing from Cleo’s rebuke, Emma stomped most of the way back to her apartment. She nodded at the doorman as she went past, running up the stairs and all but slamming the door in her haste to get home.

What a day.

What a fucking mess of a shit-hell day.

She’d been prepared to not hit it off with her new editor, but to already revile and loathe him entirely? And for him to think so little of her writing–and probably her, if his attempts at flirtation and then his insults were any indication–was beyond the pale.

Honestly, she was aware she probably wasn’t a Shakespeare or an Agatha Christie, but she knew she could write good, entertaining stories that a lot of people liked to read. It might not be the kind of thing that endured for decades or centuries, but it was fun and made a living for her. A living she enjoyed.

She flopped down onto the leather club chair in her living room, one of the few nods to personalization in her entire apartment. She had seen it in a little shop a few blocks from her last apartment and had to have it. It just reminded her so much of what a writer’s haven should look like, and it was so cozy and elegant. She’d bought it with her first royalties check for a mildly ridiculous sum, but she had no regrets.

Mostly, though, her loft apartment in Back Bay was pretty sparse. She had sprung for a nice, spacious place to live, but she didn’t exactly have the personal effects to fill it, which was okay with her. It was just one of those inevitable things that happened when you grew up in the foster system, moving from place to place, never staying long enough in any one of them to accumulate a lot of things.

Emma got up and went to the kitchen, debating between fixing herself some hot cocoa or pouring herself a glass of scotch.

Fuck it, she was going to do both. She was an adult, she could double-fist if she wanted to.

She could almost hear Granny saying, “Cocoa for what ails you and liquor so you don’t bring the ailing to anyone else.” She smiled to herself, remembering the kind, older woman who had taken her in after…after everything had gone to hell.

Emma had been in and out of foster care since she was a baby. Some of the homes she’d been in had been great, others less so. She’d nearly been adopted twice, but it had fallen through both times. And those had been some of the good ones.

And she had no intention of talking to anyone, not even that court-appointed psychologist, about the worst of the homes. That, well…even she didn’t like to think about that.

By the time she aged out of the system, she’d been adept at petty crime. It hadn’t taken long for her to fall in–in more ways than one–with another small-time criminal, Neal. He’d been her first love, her first lot of things.

But he’d also landed her in jail. Framing her for one of his past crimes had gotten him a fresh start and her a felony charge, but luckily–if she could call it luck–she’d been young enough that she had been able to get those records sealed.

After nearly a year in minimum security she’d found herself back in Boston, waiting tables at Granny’s. She was eighteen and a mess, but Mrs. Lucas had seen some spark of potential and had encouraged her first to get her GED and then to put herself through college. She’d even kept a room for her in that old house, had made a place for her in her home.

It was how she’d met her best friend, Ruby, who was still here for her a decade later, even with Granny gone these last four. Emma was glad Granny got to see the pair of them graduate from college, to see Ruby take over the diner. She even got to witness Emma meeting some success as a bail bondsperson.

She smiled into the last of her scotch, remembering Granny’s encouragement and enthusiasm as Emma put together the first draft of her novel. The plates of free grilled cheese (“But I’m going to have to make you pay for the onion rings with as many as you eat, girlie.”), the disapproving looks when she was caught dicking around on Pinterest, and above all, the love and compassion she gave when Emmad had a rough day with a skip or with writing.

Emma wished Granny had lived to see the success of Bonds the Past. Even more, she wished she was here for this second book. It didn’t have a title yet, but she knew Granny would be proud of her.

She sighed, walking over to the bookcase, the one with her little journal full of her notes for this project. This was going to be hard–it would have been difficult even with a supportive editor like Graham. It was going to be doubly so now with someone like Killian Jones.

She knew this book would be good, better than her debut novel. And not just in terms of sales…for her. She was going to write what she knew, was going to strip away that veil of privacy and reserve that she had held onto for so long.

And maybe, just maybe, she could bring some positive attention to the system and what foster kids went through there. Use her newfound fame for good and all that.

Emma ran her hand over her face, daunted at the task ahead.

It was time to give Ruby a call and hole up at the diner and write.

[rate-out-of-10]

ATOMIC BLONDE REVIEW

As the craze over graphic novel to film adaptations continues to grow, we begin to get more “off the wall” comics joining the scene. Based off the comic The Coldest City by Antony Johnston, Atomic Blonde sets itself in the late eighties, just before the Berlin Wall is taken down. Director David Leitch (co-director on John Wick) brings his unique action style to the film yet again. Leitch’s background is mostly stuntwork, so he knows how to choreograph some impressive fights, plus mixed in with an interesting 80s pop/rock soundtrack, Atomic Blonde has a fulfilling personality.

WARNING SPOILERS AHEAD

CHARACTERS/PERFORMANCES

Charlize Theron takes up the mantle of the Atomic Blonde herself, an MI6 spy named Lorraine Broughton. Much of who Lorraine is is hidden away from the screen. However, Charlize does a wonderful job encompassing the role with little scenes to herself. Getting to know the character almost comes exclusively from seeing her interact with others, as well as watching what she drinks: a Stoli’s vodka on the rocks. At first she only seems to be a very surface level character, who comes off like she’s cooler than she is, but as the film progresses that dividing line fades away and she convinces you that she deserves your full attention. Charlize, again, does a great job in this physically demanding role and absolutely owns the character. She commands the screen in every scene. And what is very relieving about the character is that she isn’t sexualized at all. There is a bit of nudity involved with this role, as well as a sex scene, however they never compromise what you see in Lorraine. She doesn’t grab your attention by the way she looks, that’s secondary, she’s written and played extremely well; you know she’s in charge by who she is.

James McAvoy plays a lone-wolf type agent, David Percival, who has “gone native” in the streets of Berlin. James is erratic, driven, and a little unpredictable, and it’s really fun to watch play out. He’s not the charmer I’m used to seeing him as, but he has a lot of charisma in this role. Even if David is a morally grey character, you tend to enjoy his presence throughout. Sofia Boutella plays an alluring secondary role as a French spy named Delphine Lasalle. While her character seems to have been implemented to throw a wrench in Lorraine’s life and her job, she’s a welcome addition. Sofia is gorgeous in this role and I wanted to see a little more of her, but her well-done romance with Lorraine served both characters well. It was also very refreshing to see a convincing homo-romance that didn’t feel politically pushed or anything. It was a wholesome addition and breaks the mold. The rest of the supporting cast does great jobs as well. John Goodman and Toby Jones play their interrogative roles well; same to Roland Moller as the KGB head.

The film does have a lot of expendables, as is normal for action films. But the thing is, those feelings of expendable-ness seems to cross over into the main cast at times. Throughout the film, it’s made apparent that characters need to do things, and it’s only relied on duty alone for the audience to believe their motives. However, as the plot thickens throughout the film, character motives become somewhat irrelevant, or just ignored. McAvoy’s character, specifically, is shadier than he lets on, and by the end, you just have to take for granted that “oh he’s a double agent” and move on. But characters are meant to be understood and reasoned with. But here, even with Lorraine, we get some base motivation that is supposed to carry us through the entirety of the film, but it isn’t really enough.

WRITING/DIRECTION

David Leitch relies heavily on his eye-candy of action sequences to carry you through the movie, and it works for the most part. Much like John Wick, the fight sequences are expertly choreographed, and are brutal and believable. The first act of the film’s pace is all over the place, though. It’s simultaneously trying to sell you on the 80s rock style meshing in with the dark Berlin atmosphere, while also trying to set up a typical spy plot-line. It feels too messy to begin with and for a good portion of the first bit of the film, I wasn’t particularly sold on the idea it was putting forth. The film is set up as a (tried and true) flashback story, where Lorraine recounts the events of the last week (or so) to her superiors. It’s a concept we’ve all seen a hundred times, and I think it just spoils parts of the story. We’ll never feel Lorraine is in real danger because we already know she makes it out. It’s a creative choice that I think needs reworking by writers all over. “The List” is a secret list that has top secret info that if the Soviet KGB gets it, it spells trouble for England and America, it’s a bit typical if you ask me. It’s not the worst thing in the world, sure, but it’s definitely pulling the film down a tad where it could be considered one of the best spy-action movies ever.

On a side note, the comparisons to Jason Bourne and James Bond, I think, are useless endeavors. Why compare Lorraine to male spies who came first in the movie world? Why does it matter? Lorraine is a bad ass, Charlize does remarkable work; why do we feel the need to ask “is she the female James Bond?” Because she isn’t. She’s Lorraine Broughton, the Atomic Blonde, and she’s enough, in every way. Instead of trying to bring up female characters by comparing them to past male equivalent characters, we should keep them independent. I know it’s fun to compare these sorts of things, but a lot of the time, these comparisons hurt the character more than it helps. Lorraine is a bad ass, regardless of who you compare her to.

FINAL RATING: 8/10

Atomic Blonde is eye candy for the action film fan, and enough for the spy/thriller fan. Charlize commands the screen in her role, and it’s a definitely worth commending the lack of sexualization of Lorraine’s character, and even incorporating the casual idea that Lorraine is bisexual, I think, is very important for future films such as these. Especially those with a female lead. The movie does a great job portraying its atmosphere, as well as its stylistic personality, but it tends to feel a bit flat in the departments of character motivation as well as the overarching plotline. But all in all, Atomic Blonde is really fun, and you can’t help but feel a bit of an adrenaline rush in a few parts, especially that ~8~ minute fluid one-shot brutal action sequence. It was one of the best pieces of filmmaking I’ve seen all year.

[nightmareonfilmstreet]

[Recap] STRANGER THINGS 2, Episodes 6-9: A Stunning Finish

New Post has been published on https://nofspodcast.com/recap-stranger-things-2-episodes-6-9-stunning-finish/

[Recap] STRANGER THINGS 2, Episodes 6-9: A Stunning Finish

I’m back with recaps of the final four episodes of season two of Netflix sensation Stranger Things. If you haven’t looked over the recaps for the first half, you can find them here. Alright, let’s dig in!

Episode 6 – “The Spy”

If things start to come together in episodes four and five, six is where Stranger Things season two really begins to deliver on its potential. Following Will (Noah Schnapp)’s seizures, Joyce (Winona Ryder), Hopper (David Harbour), and Mike (Finn Wolfhard) wind up at Hawkins Lab where Dr. Owens (Paul Reiser) and his team struggle to properly diagnose him. What is clear is that Will‘s memory is being affected by the otherworldly presence and, as the episode progresses, his amnesia is symptomatic of the fact that he can no longer be trusted.

It’s unfortunate that the titles of Stranger Things are so prominently displayed at the start of each episode, because the reveal that Will has broken bad is blatantly telegraphed. Despite this, I still found myself swept up in the action, especially when Steve (Joe Keery), Dustin (Gaten Matarazzo), Lucas (Caleb McLaughlin) and Max (Sadie Sink) wind up trapped at the abandoned car junkyard thanks to the appearance of multiple demi-dogs. Collectively the cliffhanger at the lab and Steve‘s near-death helps to ratchet up the momentum as the series heads into its final few episodes.

Odds and Ends:

The relationship building between Steve and Dustin is easily one of the episode highlights. Plus: the scene of the group walking along the train tracks is heavily evocative of Stephen King’s Stand By Me.

I’m no big fan of Nancy (Natalia Dyer) and Jonathan (Charlie Heaton)’s sojourn into conspiracy theory-ville with Murray (Brett Gelman), though his ability to diagnose their unrequited love affair is mildly amusing.

The fatal climax, in which Will‘s deliberately leads the soldiers into a trap, is a clear homage to James Cameron’s Aliens, right down to the images appearing on the radar screen. Love it.

This is the first episode of the series that doesn’t feature Eleven (Millie Bobby Brown).

Eleven’s standalone episode 2×07 “The Lost Sister” is a singular mistake

Episode 7 – “The Lost Sister”

UGH. I wanted to give this episode the benefit of a doubt, but five minutes in I began checking my watch. Then I did some laundry. Then I began surfing YouTube for funny cat videos.

Yes, folks, this is undoubtedly THE WORST episode of Stranger Things that the series has ever produced. Yes, it pays off Eleven‘s “family” arc by reuniting her with her titular “lost sister”, Kali (Linnea Berthelsen). Outside of teaching Eleven how to hone her powers and helping her to realize that Mike and the others are her real family, however, this is 55 minutes of duds-ville.

It got so bad that I began making jokey memes about its awfulness on Twitter to pass the time. Seriously, this is one to tell friends to avoid – as Alan Sepinwall of HitFix suggests, it plays more like a bizarre backdoor pilot for a spin-off series that no one asked for.

Odds and Ends:

This is the first episode of the series that doesn’t feature any of the rest of the regular cast.

When Kali and her friends give Eleven an 80s punk look, I couldn’t help but think of the iconic ditty from Clone High about makeovers. MAKEOVER!

This is your first Matthew Modine-cameo alert for S2.

Seriously, I’d like to know who thought this episode (and its timing in the season) was a good idea? The only element that I enjoyed was that weird moment where the episode turned into a home-invasion thriller in the vein of The Purge & The Strangers.

The harrowing escape from Hawkins Laboratory is a focal point of 2×08 “The Mind Flayer”

Episode 8 – “The Mind Flayer”

With the worst creative decision that Stranger Things has ever made firmly in the rearview mirror, “The Mind Flayer” picks up right after the cliffhanger from 2×06. The escape from the Hawkins Lab is superb, particularly the cross-cutting between Bob (Sean Astin)’s solo mission to reset the power and Dr. Owens‘ guidance on the surveillance cameras (shades of Jurassic Park). And while horror fans undoubtedly knew that the writing was on the wall for Bob the moment he was told his exit path was “home free,” his death – and Joyce‘s reaction to it – are well-done.

With the season’s big death crossed off, the time comes to reconvene the disparate groups at the Byers house and prepare for the big battle. This is the calm before the storm as everyone catches up and they strategically plot their options. I’ll confess that while I appreciate the effort made to gently address the lunacy of Dustin‘s Mind Flayer/hive mind connection plan, it’s pretty unbelievable that everyone basically just goes along with it.

Once again the focus returns to Will and, in a well-executed montage, the infected boy is awoken and treated to trips down memory lane that double as opportunities to communicate how to shut down the otherworldly threat (using Morse Code, naturally). With a plan in hand and time running out, the group is seemingly beseiged by demi-dogs when Eleven returns from Duffer Brothers purgatory to finally rejoin the main group. Thank goodness – let’s get this climax on the road!

Odds and Ends:

In an episode filled with highs, the extended scene of Billy (Dacre Montgomery)’s dad beating him up for losing track of Max just feels so unnecessary. It’s still unclear why this storyline needed to exist.

Eleven and Hopper’s reunion is one of the finale’s strongest emotional beats

Episode 9 – “The Gate”

Here we go – the big finale. If there’s anything surprising about this episode, it is how quickly the threat is dispensed with: we’re barely half through the episode when Eleven manages to close the gate. This winds up being a smart decision because it avoids a long, drawn out battle in favour of narrative and emotional closure for nearly all of the characters, while once again teasing another season of Stranger Things.

After coming together briefly last episode, our protagonists split into three groups: 1) Hopper and Eleven head for the gate, 2) Joyce, Jonathan, and Nancy create a home sauna to steam the demon out of Will and 3) the D-Listers (eventually) head back into the tunnels to draw attention away from the gate and clear a path for Eleven and Hopper. And barring the occasional hurdle, including – UGH – Billy, as well as one last encounter with D’Art, things more or less go to plan.

Of course I’m doing the finale a complete disservice by being so nonchalant. In all honestly “The Gate” is easily one of the most satisfying hours that the series has ever produced, hitting all of the right action AND emotional beats.

Let’s talk about each of those individually:

1) The action when Eleven goes up against the gate (and begins levitating!) is a stunning achievement. Visually (those special effects!) and aurally (that score!), the scene delivers a more bombastic finish than some big budget Hollywood tentpoles. Throw in Millie Bobby Brown’s absolutely commanding screen presence, masterfully conveying the entirety of Eleven‘s two season journey in a nearly silent performance and you have an absolutely killer sequence.

2) As significant an achievement as the action is, however, it would be nothing without the quieter moments. I was particular awestruck by Eleven and Hopper‘s extended conversation in the truck. There’s a reason why the Duffer Brothers paired these two together and while I complained about how repetitive their storyline was in the first few episodes, it really pays off here.

Ditto the moments when Mike attacks Hopper for lying to him and when Eleven and Mike lock eyes at the dance. These scenes only work because of our investment in these characters, so kudos on making us give a damn about these people in between all of the action and special effects.

Odds and Ends:

I mentioned last episode that I didn’t understand the point of Billy‘s storyline and aside from adding an additional obstacle to the team’s success, my opinions have not changed. I have nothing against Montgomery as an actor, but this was one addition too many in S2. Seeing Max finally stand up to her step-brother’s abuse (when he’s already drugged) just didn’t work for me.

Now that the Hawkins Lab has been shut down and Barb got her damn funeral, is this a wrap on #JusticeForBarb? PLEASE?

Nancy‘s pity dance with Dustin at the Snow Ball gave off some pretty heavy John Hughes vibes. If Stranger Things had been made in the 80s, I could easily see Molly Ringwald in the Nancy role.

So Joyce and Hopper are totally going to hook up now, right?

Finally, what do we think of the final teaser/twist? Personally I found it underwhelming (the Upside Down still exists? Colour me unsurprised!) but I appreciate that this is a way to hint that there’s more to come without undoing the narrative closure covered by the second half of this episode.

So that’s it for season two. What are your thoughts now that it’s all said and done? What do you expect to see in season three? Hit the comments below and sound off with your reactions and predictions.

[errikwongphotography]

NY/LON

“Time to wake up dear, we’re just a stop away from Kings Cross station.” I said as the carriage pulled away from Holborn station. I turned my head to see the characteristic graphics from the British Museum which decorated the platform walls. It had been eight years since I first encountered those walls when I alighted on my first day at university; those eight years seemed almost a lifetime away. Kelly yawned and straightened up as I got up to prepare our luggage which lay on the carriage floor next to the doors. Instinctively, and without looking up, I faced the right hand side of the train as it pulled into Kings Cross St Pancras underground station. Alighting onto the platform, I could not help but realise that I was simply going through the motions; indeed, I was still so used to the London Underground, it felt as if the two years since September 3rd, 2015 had never happened in the first place. Planning this holiday to New York started back in March 2017, and I had asked Kelly if we could plan in a stopover in London for about three days. The layover was meant to break up the daunting number of flight hours, and it was the perfect excuse for me to organise a modest gathering of friends and ex-colleagues, and to catch up over a long-overdue pint. I was also curious to see how London had changed, if at all. From the first moments getting onto the tube, that curiosity somehow managed to turn into relief; I felt like I had come home at long last, even if London could no longer be the home I had once adopted as my own. Our Airbnb place was located just at the top of St Augustine’s Road in Camden, a mere stone’s throw from Camelot House, a council building where I had stayed during the final year of my degree programme. That neighbourhood and its surrounding area was so familiar to Kelly and I (she had stayed a little further down Camden Road, closer to the Camden Sainsbury’s for a year) we did not even need to consult the bus or tube apps to get around. Everything was just as we had remembered it to be, and for those 3 days it seemed as if London was going to be part of our lives again. We took the time to reacquaint ourselves: a walk along Regents Canal and Little Venice, had coffee and cakes in a small quaint cafe along Portobello Road, rifled through old records and collectibles at Greenwich Clock Tower market, and even headed up Stoke Newington road where my friends Yvonne and Christian have their store. Besides the welcome nostalgia, I knew I had to consciously tell myself that this holiday was more than just the trip down memory lane. After all, there was something bigger and better to come, and it came in the shape and form of New York City. I had never been to America, yet through the countless years of exposure to its pop culture via TV, movies, YouTube and current affairs media, the USA felt like a close relative, albeit always kept tantalisingly at arm’s length. America, in my mind, is the land of Steven Spielberg’s action thrillers; and where a significant number of my musical heroes like The Eagles, John Coltrane and John Mayer came from. It was also the land of excessive consumption, freedom of speech, the second amendment and guns, Walmart and police brutality via the NYPD. It was exciting and intimidating all at the same time, but that was all in my mind where the negative connotations were concerned. Even though geographically London is closer, and having spent many years living in the UK, I was always a little too broke to take that trip across the Atlantic, whether through circumstance or personal priorities. How I wished to make up for the lost opportunity. As we rushed through the gates at Heathrow Terminal 5, I was in a daze of adrenaline simultaneously due to the run from airport security, as well as the realisation I was finally on a plane to America. To say the least, I was immensely excited about the prospect of finally getting to see the Manhattan skyline, walk the streets amongst the skyscrapers, hear the people speak in that characteristic loud, brash and confident manner. I was not disappointed: taking the sky train from JFK airport to the subway station, there were two ladies having a spirited conversation about their “man, and what a disappointment he is.” I could not help but grin at Kelly, as it was the perfect primer for my nine days of immersion in the craziness and wonder that is NYC. Our Brooklyn Airbnb was located in the Vinegar Hill section of DUMBO, just a 5 minute walk from the massive arches of the Manhattan Bridge. Exiting at York Street, the clatter from the subway train overhead greeted us, along with the crisp evening air. I could not wait to drop our stuff and go exploring, but the plane ride and subsequent queue at JFK customs had worn us out. We settled for a walk down to Juliana’s for dinner instead, and ordered a pizza so massive we had it for breakfast the next day! Our trip plans afforded us to take in parts of Manhattan on foot, and managed to fit in Sleep No More, an immersive theatre experience located near Chelsea, as well as  the off-Broadway Classic, Avenue Q. We took the subway into Manhattan and got acquainted with how the subway entrances and exits would indicate the train’s direction of travel. It took me a while to get used to the concept of how New York named its streets and avenues, as well as how people would describe the location of a particular building; Streets then Avenues was the key. Like typical tourists, we had a great time on the Liberty Island cruise, had a look at the World Trade Center memorial, took photos at Times Square and took in many other landmarks like the Empire State Building, Grand Central Station and many more along 5th, 6th and 7th Avenue. While just being there, taking in the sights, smells, and sounds was all part of the plan, I’m not a former art student and design buff for no small reason; museums like the Whitney, Guggenheim, MoMA and Met and their stores were scoured for famous works and treasured souvenirs alike. Walks on the Manhattan bridge as well as the Brooklyn bridge on a broad sunny day were simply glorious experiences that could not be expressed in words. Other NYC treasures were not overlooked: the Chelsea and Brooklyn fleas were a treat for the vinyl collector in me, we rented a boat in Central Park, took the Roosevelt Island Tramway at sunset, and visited Smorgasburg in Williamsburg to see what it was all about. Taking the ferry from DUMBO to Pier 11 in Manhattan was such a joy even on a cloudy day, as well as walking along The Highline that stretched from The Whitney to Hudson Yards. At Kelly’s request, we also spent a day shopping at Woodsbury, which was upstate and required us to rent a car. The drive back into Manhattan at sunset was the cherry on top of the cake as breathtaking views along the Hudson were mixed with the golden light reflecting off the glass facades of the high-rise buildings, all the while taking in the tunes off a special Spotify playlist I had prepared in advance for our road trip. As we nursed our sore feet and shoulders at the end of each day, we also took time to relax and recuperate; Kelly had caught a cold, and I had some work to catch up on. On the weekend, we had later starts, but being a morning person I got up anyway, took the time to read and prepared breakfast as well. I had actually done up a massive spreadsheet, detailing all of the things that we could and should do. We had toted up approximately 35-40km of walking distance over the entirety of our holiday, and some things simply had to wait or be visited at the end, when we had the last day specifically set apart to fit in anything that had been missed out. Night fell on Thursday evening in NYC, and we packed up our belongings ready for the 4:45am taxi to JFK. I put my Nikon F3 back inside my luggage and stashed away the 9 rolls of Kodak Portra 400 that had been shot over 14 memorable days, forming the first major vacation I had had in a year. Kelly was understandably upset how we now had a very short gap between that moment, and the reality of going back to our normal lives. As I comforted her, I suppressed the sadness that welled up inside over how time truly flew by, then said a little prayer in hopes that the images captured on film would adequately reflect the mood and feel of our wonderful, yet short-lived trip. New York and London, we shall see each other once again.

[nightmareonfilmstreet]

[Recap] STRANGER THINGS 2, Episodes 6-9: A Stunning Finish

New Post has been published on https://nofspodcast.com/recap-stranger-things-2-episodes-6-9-stunning-finish/

[Recap] STRANGER THINGS 2, Episodes 6-9: A Stunning Finish

I’m back with recaps of the final four episodes of season two of Netflix sensation Stranger Things. If you haven’t looked over the recaps for the first half, you can find them here. Alright, let’s dig in!

Episode 6 – “The Spy”

If things start to come together in episodes four and five, six is where Stranger Things season two really begins to deliver on its potential. Following Will (Noah Schnapp)’s seizures, Joyce (Winona Ryder), Hopper (David Harbour), and Mike (Finn Wolfhard) wind up at Hawkins Lab where Dr. Owens (Paul Reiser) and his team struggle to properly diagnose him. What is clear is that Will‘s memory is being affected by the otherworldly presence and, as the episode progresses, his amnesia is symptomatic of the fact that he can no longer be trusted.

It’s unfortunate that the titles of Stranger Things are so prominently displayed at the start of each episode, because the reveal that Will has broken bad is blatantly telegraphed. Despite this, I still found myself swept up in the action, especially when Steve (Joe Keery), Dustin (Gaten Matarazzo), Lucas (Caleb McLaughlin) and Max (Sadie Sink) wind up trapped at the abandoned car junkyard thanks to the appearance of multiple demi-dogs. Collectively the cliffhanger at the lab and Steve‘s near-death helps to ratchet up the momentum as the series heads into its final few episodes.

Odds and Ends:

The relationship building between Steve and Dustin is easily one of the episode highlights. Plus: the scene of the group walking along the train tracks is heavily evocative of Stephen King’s Stand By Me.

I’m no big fan of Nancy (Natalia Dyer) and Jonathan (Charlie Heaton)’s sojourn into conspiracy theory-ville with Murray (Brett Gelman), though his ability to diagnose their unrequited love affair is mildly amusing.

The fatal climax, in which Will‘s deliberately leads the soldiers into a trap, is a clear homage to James Cameron’s Aliens, right down to the images appearing on the radar screen. Love it.

This is the first episode of the series that doesn’t feature Eleven (Millie Bobby Brown).

Eleven’s standalone episode 2×07 “The Lost Sister” is a singular mistake

Episode 7 – “The Lost Sister”

UGH. I wanted to give this episode the benefit of a doubt, but five minutes in I began checking my watch. Then I did some laundry. Then I began surfing YouTube for funny cat videos.

Yes, folks, this is undoubtedly THE WORST episode of Stranger Things that the series has ever produced. Yes, it pays off Eleven‘s “family” arc by reuniting her with her titular “lost sister”, Kali (Linnea Berthelsen). Outside of teaching Eleven how to hone her powers and helping her to realize that Mike and the others are her real family, however, this is 55 minutes of duds-ville.

It got so bad that I began making jokey memes about its awfulness on Twitter to pass the time. Seriously, this is one to tell friends to avoid – as Alan Sepinwall of HitFix suggests, it plays more like a bizarre backdoor pilot for a spin-off series that no one asked for.

Odds and Ends:

This is the first episode of the series that doesn’t feature any of the rest of the regular cast.

When Kali and her friends give Eleven an 80s punk look, I couldn’t help but think of the iconic ditty from Clone High about makeovers. MAKEOVER!

This is your first Matthew Modine-cameo alert for S2.

Seriously, I’d like to know who thought this episode (and its timing in the season) was a good idea? The only element that I enjoyed was that weird moment where the episode turned into a home-invasion thriller in the vein of The Purge & The Strangers.

The harrowing escape from Hawkins Laboratory is a focal point of 2×08 “The Mind Flayer”

Episode 8 – “The Mind Flayer”

With the worst creative decision that Stranger Things has ever made firmly in the rearview mirror, “The Mind Flayer” picks up right after the cliffhanger from 2×06. The escape from the Hawkins Lab is superb, particularly the cross-cutting between Bob (Sean Astin)’s solo mission to reset the power and Dr. Owens‘ guidance on the surveillance cameras (shades of Jurassic Park). And while horror fans undoubtedly knew that the writing was on the wall for Bob the moment he was told his exit path was “home free,” his death – and Joyce‘s reaction to it – are well-done.

With the season’s big death crossed off, the time comes to reconvene the disparate groups at the Byers house and prepare for the big battle. This is the calm before the storm as everyone catches up and they strategically plot their options. I’ll confess that while I appreciate the effort made to gently address the lunacy of Dustin‘s Mind Flayer/hive mind connection plan, it’s pretty unbelievable that everyone basically just goes along with it.

Once again the focus returns to Will and, in a well-executed montage, the infected boy is awoken and treated to trips down memory lane that double as opportunities to communicate how to shut down the otherworldly threat (using Morse Code, naturally). With a plan in hand and time running out, the group is seemingly beseiged by demi-dogs when Eleven returns from Duffer Brothers purgatory to finally rejoin the main group. Thank goodness – let’s get this climax on the road!

Odds and Ends:

In an episode filled with highs, the extended scene of Billy (Dacre Montgomery)’s dad beating him up for losing track of Max just feels so unnecessary. It’s still unclear why this storyline needed to exist.

Eleven and Hopper’s reunion is one of the finale’s strongest emotional beats

Episode 9 – “The Gate”

Here we go – the big finale. If there’s anything surprising about this episode, it is how quickly the threat is dispensed with: we’re barely half through the episode when Eleven manages to close the gate. This winds up being a smart decision because it avoids a long, drawn out battle in favour of narrative and emotional closure for nearly all of the characters, while once again teasing another season of Stranger Things.

After coming together briefly last episode, our protagonists split into three groups: 1) Hopper and Eleven head for the gate, 2) Joyce, Jonathan, and Nancy create a home sauna to steam the demon out of Will and 3) the D-Listers (eventually) head back into the tunnels to draw attention away from the gate and clear a path for Eleven and Hopper. And barring the occasional hurdle, including – UGH – Billy, as well as one last encounter with D’Art, things more or less go to plan.

Of course I’m doing the finale a complete disservice by being so nonchalant. In all honestly “The Gate” is easily one of the most satisfying hours that the series has ever produced, hitting all of the right action AND emotional beats.

Let’s talk about each of those individually:

1) The action when Eleven goes up against the gate (and begins levitating!) is a stunning achievement. Visually (those special effects!) and aurally (that score!), the scene delivers a more bombastic finish than some big budget Hollywood tentpoles. Throw in Millie Bobby Brown’s absolutely commanding screen presence, masterfully conveying the entirety of Eleven‘s two season journey in a nearly silent performance and you have an absolutely killer sequence.

2) As significant an achievement as the action is, however, it would be nothing without the quieter moments. I was particular awestruck by Eleven and Hopper‘s extended conversation in the truck. There’s a reason why the Duffer Brothers paired these two together and while I complained about how repetitive their storyline was in the first few episodes, it really pays off here.

Ditto the moments when Mike attacks Hopper for lying to him and when Eleven and Mike lock eyes at the dance. These scenes only work because of our investment in these characters, so kudos on making us give a damn about these people in between all of the action and special effects.

Odds and Ends:

I mentioned last episode that I didn’t understand the point of Billy‘s storyline and aside from adding an additional obstacle to the team’s success, my opinions have not changed. I have nothing against Montgomery as an actor, but this was one addition too many in S2. Seeing Max finally stand up to her step-brother’s abuse (when he’s already drugged) just didn’t work for me.

Now that the Hawkins Lab has been shut down and Barb got her damn funeral, is this a wrap on #JusticeForBarb? PLEASE?

Nancy‘s pity dance with Dustin at the Snow Ball gave off some pretty heavy John Hughes vibes. If Stranger Things had been made in the 80s, I could easily see Molly Ringwald in the Nancy role.

So Joyce and Hopper are totally going to hook up now, right?

Finally, what do we think of the final teaser/twist? Personally I found it underwhelming (the Upside Down still exists? Colour me unsurprised!) but I appreciate that this is a way to hint that there’s more to come without undoing the narrative closure covered by the second half of this episode.

So that’s it for season two. What are your thoughts now that it’s all said and done? What do you expect to see in season three? Hit the comments below and sound off with your reactions and predictions.