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[bratshaws]

through the hourglass 363. brb x oc

a/n: so sorry for not posting yesterday i was very tired uwu (comments and reblogs are super welcome and encouraged!)

pairing: plus size!oc x rooster

warnings: none uwu

goodness gracious (pls read this one to know more what this fic is about!!)

chapter

1/

/316/317/318/319/320/321/322/323/324/325/326/327/328/329/330/331/332/333/334/335/336/337/338/339/340/341/342/343/344/345/346/347/348/349/350/351/352/353/354/355/356/357/358/359/360/361/362

(pls let me know if you want to be added to the taglist! )

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-

Of everything Beatrice expected when she entered the café, the last thing was what Evelyn just said. In fact, she was still staring at her friend with her mouth agape, in pure raw shock, “What??”

Evelyn didn’t look less worried, “I know.”

“What??”

“I know,I know.” she whispers, “I know, I wanted to talk to you before…before Rooster knew.”

Beatrice frowned, “I’m…confused, why did—okay,hold on, back up.” she rubs her eyes, “This…guy, he said he’s Rooster’s uncle?”

Evelyn nodded solemnly, her expression grave. "Yes, that's what he claimed," she confirmed, her voice hushed. " He said his name was John, and he claimed to be Rooster's uncle."

Beatrice's mind reeled at Evelyn's words, her thoughts swirling with confusion and disbelief. "But that doesn't make any sense," she exclaimed, her voice tinged with frustration. "Rooster's family is small, and he's never mentioned an uncle named John before."

"I know," Evelyn replied, her brow furrowing with concern. "That's why I wanted to talk to you before saying anything to Rooster. I didn't want to cause unnecessary drama if it turned out to be a misunderstanding."

"Did he say why he was looking for Rooster?"

Evelyn's expression darkened at the memory. "He claimed to have some urgent family matter to discuss with him," she explained, her voice tinged with skepticism. "But something about his demeanor seemed off. He was...pushy, almost aggressive."

“...Rooster’s dad was an only child.” Bea mutters, “And…Carole’s siblings were named…uhhh…Rachel and Ted? Maybe? Who the hell is this John? And he contacted your dad? How the hell did he manage to contact a vice-admiral???”

"I don't know," Evelyn admitted, her voice tinged with worry. "But my dad seemed concerned when he received the call. He said he would look into it and get back to me."

Beatrice nodded, her mind racing with questions and concerns. "I…don't like this," she murmured, her voice filled with apprehension. "It feels...so off."

"I agree," she said softly, her gaze filled with sympathy. "But we'll figure it out together, okay? We won't let anything happen to Rooster."

“Nothing will happen to Rooster.” Beatrice narrowed her eyes, “...what did he look like? Did he even look like…Rooster?”

Evelyn paused, her brow furrowing in concentration as she recalled the encounter. "He...kind of resembled Rooster, I guess," she replied slowly, "But there was something...off about him. He had the same build and facial features, but his eyes...they were different. "

Beatrice's heart sank at Evelyn's description, "That's unsettling," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't like the sound of this at all."

"I know," Evelyn agreed, her expression grim. "That's why I wanted to tell you right away. I didn't want to keep it from you, especially since Rooster’s promotion is coming up and all…”

"Thank you for telling me," she said softly, her voice filled with gratitude. "I appreciate it more than you know."

Evelyn reached out, squeezing Beatrice's hand "Of course, Bea," she replied, her voice gentle. "So…what do you want to do?”

Beatrice sighed, her mind racing with worry. She knew she couldn't ignore the situation, but she also didn't want to jump to conclusions without knowing all the facts. "We need to find out who this John really is," Beatrice said firmly, "And we need to do it discreetly. I don't want to alarm Rooster unnecessarily until we have all the information."

Evelyn nodded in agreement, her eyes shining with determination. "I'll talk to my dad and see if he can look into it further," she offered, her voice filled with resolve. "He has connections that could help us get to the bottom of this."

"Thank you, Ev," Beatrice replied gratefully, squeezing Evelyn's hand in appreciation. "Let me know as soon as you find out anything."

"Will do," Evelyn promised, giving Beatrice a reassuring smile. "And in the meantime, we'll keep an eye out for anything suspicious."

"I'm going to check on Rooster," Beatrice said, "I need to make sure he's okay. He’s at home with the kids and Mav but–"

Evelyn nodded in understanding, her expression filled with empathy. "I'll let you know if I hear anything from my dad," she promised, her voice gentle. "And Bea? Don't worry too much. We'll get to the bottom of this."

"Thanks, Ev," Beatrice replied softly, offering her friend a grateful smile. "I appreciate you being here for me."

With a final hug, Beatrice and Evelyn parted ways, and Beatrice didn’t know what to do…she had to figure this out in…three days. Which wasn't a lot of time at all but that was the time until Rooster’s promotion ceremony.

She walks to her jeep and groans, hitting her forehead gently against the door in frustration, “We get no breaks, no breaks at all.” it was like the universe wanted to see how far they’d go for each other.

She’d go beyond for Rooster and their family but they really needed a break.

As Beatrice drove home she couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled in the pit of her stomach, gnawing at her with each passing moment. Despite her efforts to remain calm, the situation with this mysterious John weighed heavily on her mind.

When she finally arrived home, Beatrice found Rooster in the living room, surrounded by their children and Mav. He was engaged in an animated conversation with Mav and Beatrice's heart swelled with warmth at the sight of her husband and their family together. 

"Hey, gorgeous," Rooster greeted her with a bright smile as she entered the room, his eyes lighting up with affection. "How was the meeting with Ev, everything okay?"

Beatrice forced a smile, doing her best to push aside her worries for the time being. "It was…fine," she replied vaguely, her voice tinged with uncertainty. "How about you? How was …uh…here?"

Rooster's smile faltered slightly at the change in Beatrice's demeanor, his brow furrowing with concern. "It was good," he replied cautiously, his gaze searching hers for any sign of what was bothering her. "Did something happen?"

Beatrice hesitated for a moment, unsure of how much she should reveal to Rooster. She didn't want to worry him unnecessarily, but she also knew that keeping secrets from him wasn't the right approach either.

"Actually, there's something I need to talk to you about," she began slowly, her voice trembling slightly. "But maybe we should wait until the kids are in bed for naptime…?"

Rooster's expression softened and he nodded in agreement. "Sure, whatever you need, gorgeous," he said gently, reaching out to squeeze her hand in reassurance. "We can talk after we put the kids to bed."

“Mav–Mav should stay…too.” she whispers, “It’s important that he stays.”

Beatrice's request caught Rooster by surprise, but he nodded in agreement nonetheless, "Of course," he replied, his voice steady despite the uncertainty gnawing at him. "Mav can stay. Whatever you need, Bea."

Mav, who had been listening quietly, nodded. "I'll be here," he affirmed, his tone serious. "Whatever it is, I can help kiddo"

With the decision made, Beatrice focused on putting the kids down for their nap, her mind already racing with thoughts of how to approach the situation with Rooster and Mav. She couldn't shake the feeling of unease that lingered in the air.

Hey honey,so you got an uncle you don’t know about??

How does…this work???

Once the children were settled, Beatrice, Rooster, and Mav gathered in the living room,and Beatrice took a deep breath, steeling herself for the conversation ahead. "Okay," she began slowly, her voice steady despite the turmoil raging inside her. "I need to tell you both about something that happened today."

Rooster and Mav exchanged a glance, their expressions mirroring Beatrice's seriousness. "What is it, Bea?" Rooster asked gently, “You…look so worried,gorgeous.”

Beatrice swallowed hard, her throat feeling dry as she struggled to find the right words to convey the gravity of the situation. "W-Well, Ev told me that um…Ev told me that there's a man named John who's been asking about you" Beatrice finally managed to say, her voice trembling with apprehension. "He's been asking questions about you, Roos.”

Rooster's brows furrowed in concern as he absorbed Beatrice's words."Who?

“You don’t know any Johns?”

Rooster blinked, then scratched the back of his head, “I mean…” he frowns, “No? I had friends named Johns, but I don’t have any relatives named Johns.” he turns to Mav, “Is he a relative of dad? You’d know.”

Mav furrowed his brow, his expression thoughtful as he racked his brain for any information about a potential relative named John. After a moment of deep contemplation, he shook his head slowly. "No, Roos. I don't recall anyone by that name in his family," he replied, his tone serious. "But I can look into it if you want."

Rooster nodded, a troubled furrow marring his brow. "Yeah, please do," he said firmly, his voice tinged with concern. "I want to know who this guy is and why he's asking about me."

“He managed to talk to Evelyn’s dad.”

“He talked to Cyclone?” Mav asked, “How?”

She shrugs, “I dunno, I don’t know…how it’s possible??”

"If he's managed to speak to Cyclone, then he must have some connections."

Rooster's jaw clenched with frustration, "I don't like this," he admitted, his voice tight with tension. "I don't want some random guy asking questions about me and my family."

Mav rose from his seat, his expression grim. "I'll start looking into this John guy right away," he said firmly, his voice decisive. "If he's connected to Cyclone, we need to tread carefully." he pauses, “...what does this John looks like?”

The brunette blinked, “According to Ev he did look like Roos a bit…but not 100%...is it possible that Goose had anyone he hadn’t told you?” she asks the captain, “Or…well…I don’t know?”

Mav's expression grew even more serious at Beatrice's question. He furrowed his brows in deep thought, opened his mouth, then closed, then opened it again. "It's possible," he mused, "But Goose would never hide anything from me. Maybe he’s related to Carole?”

Rooster,maybe a mix of his own protectiveness and uncertainty, immediately brought Beatrice to sit on his lap so he could hug her, “...my mom only has two siblings.” he says, “I haven’t talked to them in years and my uncle’s name isn’t John.”

Beatrice sank into Rooster's embrace, feeling a rush of comfort wash over her as she nestled against him. She traced soothing circles on his back,"I don't like this, Roos," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "What if this John guy is dangerous?"

Rooster's arms tightened around Beatrice, "Hey, hey, don't worry, gorgeous," he said softly, his voice laced with determination. "We'll figure this out together. And if this guy poses a threat, I'll make sure he doesn't come anywhere near you or the kids."

“...I’ll call Cyclone.” Mav said, “Figure more stuff but, don’t worry, the two of you, you’ll have to worry about the promotion ceremony not this.”

The tension in the room eased slightly at Mav's words, and Beatrice offered him a grateful smile. "Thank you, Mav," she said softly, her voice filled with appreciation. "We really appreciate your help."

Mav nodded, a determined glint in his eyes. "Of course, Bea," he replied, his tone serious. "I'll do whatever it takes to keep you and the kids safe. Now…is there anything else that Evelyn said besides that?”

Beatrice took a deep breath, her mind racing as she tried to recall everything Evelyn had told her about the encounter with John. "Um, well," she began slowly, "Ev said that John seemed...persistent. He kept asking questions about Rooster, even when she tried to brush him off."

Rooster's jaw tightened at, his protective instincts kicking into overdrive. "That's not good.”

Mav nodded in agreement, his expression grave. "Agreed," he said firmly, hands on his hips "I'll make some calls and see what I can find out about him. In the meantime, you two relax. I’m sure this can be easily resolved.”

"Okay," she replied softly, “Thank you Mav.”

With a nod of acknowledgment, Mav turned to leave the room, his footsteps echoing softly against the hardwood floor as he made his way to have some privacy on the phone call.

Once Mav was out of sight, Beatrice let out a heavy sigh, the weight of the situation settling heavily upon her shoulders. She turned to Rooster, her eyes searching his face for any sign of reassurance.

Rooster met her gaze with a soft expression, his arms still wrapped protectively around her. "You okay?”

“Hrrmmmm…” she groans, “When are we going to have a break from this,Roos?”

Rooster brushed a gentle hand over Beatrice's hair, a tender smile gracing his lips. "I wish I could give you a break from all of this, gorgeous," he murmured, "But you know as well as I do that life doesn't always give us breaks when we need them most."

Beatrice nodded, leaning into Rooster's touch for comfort. "I know," she sighed, "It just feels like one thing after another lately, you know?"

Rooster's heart ached at the weariness in Beatrice's voice. He tightened his embrace around her, offering her the warmth and support she needed in that moment. "I know, baby," he whispered, his voice gentle. "I know.”

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

Oooh, I'll bite! 👀 How about—

playful kisses, such as, ‘‘i’m not going to kiss you.’‘ ‘‘why?’‘ ‘‘because if i do, i don’t think we’re getting out of bed today’‘

or

reunion kisses, ''i thought you were dead''

for Charlie/Percy?

hello my favourite human! thank you for sending this in. you know i love and adore jackendorf (i have no idea if that's ther ship name but that's what my brain went with) anyway i went with the second one and i really hope you enjoy!! also happy love month <333

a second too late

reunion kisses, ''i thought you were dead''// jackendorf// 862 words

[all images have alt text]

CW: canon typical violence

Percy stands at the bow of the Andromeda, wind careless against his face, in his curls. He is careless back. Not once has he feared the deep dark of the ocean or the things that make it churn and he will not start now.

In seconds fast approaching he and Charles, a friend — something more if they have a life after this war — will carry through a plan that will hopefully dissipate travesty before it can blink into a future. Into their future.

A low whistle sounds, barely perceptible over the crash of water against ship but he hears it all the same. Monsters slump and shuffle and scuttle across the lacquered decks, deep unsettling laughter and general chaos spewing throughout.

“Good fucking riddance,” He salutes.

Before he can dive he sees a figure waving from the helm. It is frantic and uncoordinated, trying to garter attention rather than suppress it. The figure is obscured by shadow and silhouette with the early morning sun rising quietly behind them. He squints. They turn slightly. Everything inside Percy Jackson detonates.

“CHARLIE!” He screams, already pulling the ocean towards the helm, trying to catch his friend, trying to shelter him with everything he can.

The Andromeda erupts.

Percy hits the ocean with a dull thud and somewhere far away to o f a r for him to reach, Charles Beckendorf sinks to the sandy floor.

Percy barely gives himself time to adjust to the pressure of the sea, to the way his lungs work differently here. He’s hitting water and then he’s swimming. Green eyes starting to glow to account for the darkness of the water.

“CHARLIE!” He’s yelling and he knows it’s no use but if he doesn’t use every part of him to find the demigod, he will believe he has failed if he never sees him again. That is not an option.

“Please,” He’s choking on tears, as if he needed to add more salty drops to this great expanse. “Please please gods.”

He’s pleading to beings who don’t care, he’s pleading like maybe if he cares enough it would somehow work. About this, he will plead until he's raw to the bone. About Charlie he will care so much he will recreate the fate of Orpheus.

“Charles!” He can’t stop the tears or the fear, both engulfing him, strangling him. It is not underwater that takes his breath away but his own body. Drowning from the inside.

His shoulders give another shudder, strong enough to create rippling waves above him.

And then a small school of fish are swimming beside him and the ones in front are saying something. And he can’t hear them, concentrate on them, over the rushing in his head. It takes effort, effort that gives him a headache, that makes his hands tingle and his legs weak.

“What is wrong Lord?” He will never get used to them speaking as one. An all encompassing voice.

“My friend,” He manages to gasp out, “Have you seen him?”

They talk amongst themselves not speaking in any real way but communicating all the same. The one nearest to him swims closer still. “Let us show you my Lord.”

And then they’re swimming and he’s racing after them and his heart is beating faster than hummingbird’s wings and his legs are moving despite the little feeling he has in them and he will get there. There is no other option.

“Here Lord,” The school stops, spreading apart to reveal a body curled on the ocean floor.

With a choked sob Percy kicks towards it, hands already reaching, heart already syncing into rhythm it remembers, rhythm it knows.

“Oh gods Charlie,” He cries out, fear sharp and twisted in his voice, “I thought —“ He doesn’t even want to say it out loud.

With a gentle hand he threads his fingers behind the demigod’s neck, brushes a thumb across a sturdy jaw. Charles is breathing, the thin veil of air that Percy had somehow managed to wrap around him before disaster turned from foe to friend, is shaky and unstable but still in place.

With some exhausted concentration he stabilises the contraption, watches as his friend’s eyes flutter, breathing gets deeper, more even.

“Percy?” A croak from below as he is thanking the fish.

“Charlie?” He tries not to move too quickly but he can’t help the fingers that rush to smooth over deep brown skin, fire-warmed and full of life once more.

Without thought Percy kisses his cheeks, and then looks into sparkling gentle eyes, leans forward and places a soft kiss on Charlie’s lips.

“I’m so glad you’re alive.”

The demigod doesn’t respond with words, doesn’t even attempt. Charles Beckendorf smiles up at him in that beautiful soft way, and returns the kiss. Deeper and fuller and aching with relief.

When they break apart their inability to breathe is not the fault of being underwater but of stealing their own breath.

“I’m glad I’m alive too.”

There was no other option.

[babbushka]

I’m curious to hear your answers to B and F! Happy Valentine’s Day dear! 😊

B: Any of your stories inspired by personal experience?

Some of them are, but not directly. I use fanfiction (and my screenwriting) as a way to process a lot of things that otherwise I don’t really know how I’d deal with, I have a lot of trauma in my life and I deal with a lot of very unsettling and complex mental health shenanigans, so much if not all of the fics are directly a result of me trying to give myself some sort of happy ending, in a way. 

Like for example, Blue Moon and Two Doves were both directly born from the grief I had after the death of my beloved grandmother. They’re two very different fics but they’re both about grief and mourning and hope in some way that I desperately needed -- that excuse to allow myself to feel raw and wounded the way the characters did. It was 100% me projecting my own like desperate wish for peace. 

And then other fics are super shallow in its inspiration, once I got harassed on the street and I wrote a fic about Clyde harassing reader in a bar and he beats the shit out of her and throws her out. I don’t get along with one of my family members, so Mob!Kylo is always antagonistic and tries to kill his family members lmao. Sometimes it’s very deep, most of the time it’s not, and sometimes I write the things I wish I had (aka my entire Flip catalouge).

This is actually something I’m hoping to discuss in way greater insight in a podcast episode if anyone would be interested in that!! 

F: Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

Oh this is so hard i LOVE writing dialogue!!! I genuinely don’t think I can choose lmao I’m so proud of all of them.

Happy valentines day!

[heyyy-hey-babyyy]

Creep 2, dir. by Patrick Brice (Blumhouse Productions, 2017)

Academic film review below-- May contain spoilers 

Access the trailer here 

Since the prequels’ beginnings in 2014, audiences have long awaited the return of Mark Duplass as Joseph (or Aaron as he is referred to in this film), the unstable protagonist of the Creep franchise. Filmed in the recognizable “found-footage” style, made famous by films such as The Blair Witch Project (1992), Creep 2provides enough tension to rival the prequel. The slasher style of Creep 2is not new, as horror audiences recognize the long stare and sinister smile Duplass perfects. What sets the sequel apart, however, is its important commentary on mental health, with its protagonist recognizing the severity of his situation, and converting a seemingly stable individual to his dangerous lifestyle.

Creep 2 follows Sara (Desiree Akhavan), a video artist with a focus on unusual Craigslist requests, and those who are behind the screen making the request. The movie begins with her answering an online advertisement from Aaron (Mark Duplass) who requests for her to come out to his remote house to video him for the day. Fans of the original film recognize this request, and go along for the ride without question.

Within the first seconds of the film audiences are witness to a similar plot from the prequel: a character appears on the screen, opening a cardboard box which contains the camera (as audiences are looking up as the character is looking down into the box), and a disk which the words “Watch Me” written on it. As the character watches he witnesses something distressing that the audience is not privy too, as all they hear is whistling. There’s a knock at the door and the character leaves to let in Duplass’ character Aaron. As the two talk, Dave, as the audience now knows him as, tells Aaron about the random packages he has received and the video of his house. Dave then leaves the room, which allows Aaron to smirk at the camera and blow it an air kiss, the audiences’ first instance of the plot line of the film. The tension continues to mount as Dave returns and Aaron admits to filming his friend saying, “You are a beautiful person and you deserve that… but I don’t know if I can do this anymore”, before graphically killing Dave. Aaron is silent for awhile before whispering, “what’s happening to me?”. After the credit roll we are introduced to Sara, star, writer, and director of the show Encountersthat she describes as “the show where I look behind the strange world of personal ads to try to uncover the humanity within”. She is frustrated with the amount of views she received on her latest video and the movie continues with her searching the Internet for the perfect personal ad. We happen upon Sara during her closing episode of Encounters, where she hopes to bring out the best in some “weridos”, when she finds an ad “looking for a videographer” in which the advertiser is looking for someone to “…go deep. Together”. She follows up with the ad poster, and agrees to meet and drives to his remote location.  

Upon meeting Sara, after a very real interaction where the two hug and enjoy a smoothie, Aaron casually confesses to her that he is in fact a serial killer with a strong killing streak—however, he further confesses to losing the taste for it recently. If Sarah films him as he truly is, he promises to not harm her, but make her witness to his lifestyle. Sara is thrilled, as she has truly found her unstable requester that will give her show the online following that she desires. While interviewing Aaron, he states that he considers himself to be a “murderer” as he does not like the nomenclatural of “serial killer”, but the numbers classify him as such. Aaron’s insouciant approach to being a murderer is reminiscent of the discussion surrounding mental health, in that he identifies much like someone would identify as depressed or having anxiety. In this way, audiences are alienated from what is happening before them. Bertolt Brecht theorized the idea of Verfremdungseffekt, which is“…the technique of defamiliarizing a word, an idea, a gesture so as to enable the spectator to see or hear it afresh”. [1]This distancing effect forces the audience to become a critical viewer of whatever text is being preformed before them. Verfremdungseffektcan also be seen as having a purpose of which, “…to denaturalize and defamiliarize what ideology makes seem normal, acceptable, inescapable” (79). Audiences are made to be un-familiar by what is happening on the screen, text, and stage before them in order to question the ideology of what makes this seem obscure or confusing, as Brecht theorizes. In this way Creep 2 makes a powerful decision, allowing audiences to recognize the moves Aaron is making, but also further questioning why it isn’t normal for him to be talking about murder so carefree.

As the film continues, Sara begins to see Aaron as unstable when his plans for the documentary begin to fall apart, but also develops a connection to him, perhaps in response to Aaron freely opening up to her. This connection comes to a head, in a pivotal scene, where Sara finds Aaron in a hot tub, after he has shut himself downstairs out of frustration. She begins to push him to speak to her, and Aaron tells an unsettling story about his first murder. They have an intimate moment after, where Sara massages Aaron, and after, he tells the audience (through the camera) that he is having “feelings” for her that he never thought he would feel again, while the camera focuses on a large kitchen knife. Aaron then follows Sara to the shower where she is hiding in the corner to successfully scare him. They commence an interesting game of hide and seek and Aaron confesses to Sara that he would like to kill her, but they are having too much fun together, so he feels as if he can share his work with her.

Eventually, Aaron admits to Sara that he recognizes what she is doing; buttering him up to get what she wants (as he has seen her show). Sara admits she does not think he is a serial killer and Aaron tells her that the movie he wants to make is actually a “murder film”, where Sara murders him. Sara is hesitant, but does not say no, either from a want to make a unique film, or her sanity is slipping in the presence of Aaron. The film continues with a few odd scenes where Aaron, “plots” his murder, leading to the finale of Aaron confessing he likes Sara and admits to being “not a murderer”, though the audience knows that to not be true.  The movie concludes with Aaron and Sara heading into the woods, where he presents Sara with a locket, as his symbol of love for her. He spins Sara around to face a grave; he presents a knife, and stabs himself, telling Sara they could die like Romeo and Juliet. Instead, Sara turns and runs leaving Aaron. The two take off running and Aaron eventually catches Sara, stabs her and drags her in the grave—The movie concludes with Sara hitting Aaron over the head with a shovel. There is a cut scene that then shows Sara walking through a crowd with the locket still attached to her neck, and someone with a camera following her.

A major strength of Creep 2 is the focus on mental illness. Throughout the film you feel for Aaron, even as you see the horrors of his actions from the previous film. Sara begins to develop feelings for Aaron and audiences witness intimate scenes between the two that waver between honest and raw, and uncomfortable. Another underlying strength is the real-ness audiences’ witness. Opposite of the original, we as the audience see the real “Aaron”. There is no tension surrounding what he is or is not; we know him to be a serial killer. But perhaps more important, his realness allows Sara to engage in some sort of relationship with him which changes her, in an intense commentary on the human experience. Are we able to be manipulated by someone being too real?

As Alex Mclevy aptly states in a review for AVClub[2],“Given a performer who can match him in talent, Duplass has transformed his twisted killer into a flawed and charismatic soul, radiating a quiet desperation that’s far more magnetic this time around. He’s made a monster more intriguing…Not many film series can make that claim” (Mclevy). Creep 2 has done what rare other films have accomplished; made the audience relate to a serial killer. Upon completion of the film, audiences are made more aware of the fragile line between stable and unstable; mentally capable and mentally ill. How then can the horror genre further open our eyes to the truth within society? Creep 2 begins the important conversation that horror critics alike seek the answers to. As Maria H. Loh in her article, “Introduction: Early Modern Horror”, states, “…representations of horror steel us for the experience of horror in real life”[3]. Through Creep 2 we are able to recognize the unstable nature of mental health. And that recognition could be the key to discussing mental health in its entirety. Creep 2 appeals to many audiences in giving them an inside look at the potential for the instability of seemingly “normal” individuals, and provides Creep fans with familiar signposts, including the return of Peach Fuzz the terrifying wolf mask. I applaud the writer and director of Creep 2 for giving audiences a realistic look at mental health, through the eyes of Aaron, the serial killer the audience has empathy for.

[1]Diamond, Elin. “Brechtian Theory/Feminist Theory: Towards a Gestic Feminist Criticism”. Performance Analysis An Introductory Coursebook, edited by Colin Counsell and Laurie Wolf, Routeledge, 2001, 77-85.

[2]Mclevy, Alex. “Creep 2 is Smarter, Funnier, and More Engaging Than the Original”, AV Club, <https://www.avclub.com/creep-2-is-smarter-funnier-and-more-engaging-than-the-1819815646> [accessed 27 March 2018].

[3]Loh, Maria H. “Introduction: Early Modern Horror”, Oxford Art Journal, 2011, vol. 34, no. 3, pp. 321-333.

[shg11]

A superb new biography of the seer of Walden Pond reconsiders his reputation as tax-refuser, recluse, environmentalist and writer

In March 1845, Henry David Thoreau borrowed an axe and set off for Walden Pond, near his home in Concord, Massachusetts. He was going to build a hut, and he knew exactly where: on a spot near the water, backed by a pine grove and fronted by smaller pines and a chestnut tree. Before stopping for his first lunch break, Thoreau had cut and trimmed enough of these pines to make the houses main timbers.

Then he paid $4.28 to buy a shanty from a railroad worker who was moving on the line had just been built past Walden Pond. Thoreau dismantled it and dried its planks in the sun to become the huts roof and sides. He laid a chimney foundation using cobblestones from the pond. When he finished the house that autumn, it had weatherproof shingles on the outside, neat plastering inside and a few carefully counted possessions: three chairs, a desk, one cup, two forks. He planted rows of potatoes, corn and peas and miles of white beans making the earth say beans instead of grass, as he put it. The project had begun: Thoreau would live there, dedicating himself to the principle of simplicity. He would observe nature and write.

The idea had come from his friend and neighbour, Ralph Waldo Emerson, who said a writer must have a hideaway. Walden was an obvious choice: Thoreau knew it well, and had spent lazy days in his youth drifting in boats on the pond, playing his flute. Now, he had a more serious purpose. He lived for two years in the hut, then spent a further seven working up his notes for publication. When he produced Walden, he made the earth say a lot more than beans. This cranky, observant, mystical, polemical, exhilarating masterpiece became a classic of 19th-century Americana, studied by schoolchildren and stuffed into pockets for journeys on the road with generations of young idealists. Through this and his essay Civil Disobedience, which urged non-violent political resistance and the principled withholding of taxes, Thoreau called on Americans to tune in, drop out and seize control.

Walden had a rousing effect on me when I first read it. It still does, but I now find it disquieting, too. Besides nature lovers, Thoreau speaks to a spirit of refusal that runs through the modern US (and elsewhere). This spirit rejects political institutions, large-scale civic structures and tax-paying, in favour of holing up in a woodland fastness following only ones raw sense of personal rightness. It unnerves me to read the famous line in Civil Disobedience, That government is best which governs not at all. It sounded good once; now it evokes the kind of thinking that considers public healthcare an evil.

Others have raised milder doubts. After Walden came out, Thoreaus friends and critics alike voiced surprise at the books portrayal of a proud recluse, when they knew that Thoreau had gone on doing regular handyman work around Concord during those years, as well as popping home once a week for dinner prepared by the family cook. Friends visited him all the time, despite his lack of a full set of forks. He was a frequent visitor to other households so much so that Emersons young son Edward was surprised to learn that Thoreau had been officially resident at the pond during a time when he thought the writer was living with them.

Dedicated to simplicity a replica of Thoreaus house on Walden Pond. Photograph: Alamy

In her superb new biography, Laura Dassow Walls defuses such cavils with a wry, understated humour. No other male American writer, she says, has been so discredited for enjoying a meal with loved ones or for not doing his own laundry. That quiet male is characteristic; like Thoreau, Walls lets her sharpest observations slip through to the readers consciousness without touching the sides. The observations and interpretations are not hammered home, yet they are persuasive. She gives us a Thoreau who is more interesting, more intellectually curious and more subtle than I (for one) had given him credit for despite his unsettling side, or perhaps because of it. Exploring his environmentalism and radicalism, she shows us why he might be worth reading differently in the 21st century.

The standard biographical way-stations are all covered. Walls explores Thoreaus childhood in Concord, his far from glittering years at Harvard, where he felt out of place (though he did master five languages and would spend his Walden evenings reading Homer in Greek), and his early attempts at schoolmastering. She then focuses on his writing life. Walls inspires us to read not just Walden, but his lectures, his essays and especially his journal.

This downright weird journal forms a backbone to his life and in Wallss biography is a theme in itself. He began it while under Emersons spell, opening it by quoting a question asked by his mentor: What are you doing now? Do you keep a journal? Later, his journal-keeping picked up tempo by adapting a modest volume of Nature Notes kept by his brother, John, who had died horribly from tetanus following a slight skin cut. Where John simply noted what he saw, Thoreau took it into a different dimension. Walls describes the uncanny feeling she had looking at this notebook, where Henrys raw and angular handwriting spills down the page, ripping open a vortex in Johns tidy checklist.

Later, Thoreau repurposed the journal as a professional naturalists log, but combined this with an attempt to capture every moment of each days experience, writing pencil notes almost continuously and transcribing them the next morning. (He used Thoreau family pencils, incidentally: their fortune had started from a graphite find, and he continued to work out ways of refining the pencils hardness.) By delicately juxtaposing her stories, Walls implies an intriguing possibility as to why this shift of style may have occurred. At around the same time, his friend Margaret Fuller had died in a shipwreck with her family, leaving Thoreau in grief. He wrote to himself: If you can drive a nail, and have any nails to drive, drive them ... Be native to the universe. Perhaps, faced as well with the loss of his brother, Thoreau was attempting the impossible with his journal: to capture and preserve every scrap of experienced existence before it vanished.

Walls biography allows Thoreau to breathe his own air on her pages, while turning her critical gaze on each of the public roles he played as political activist, mystic, tax refuser and environmentalist. In the end, they all come together in Thoreau the writer the person who said: A man writing is the scribe of all nature he is the corn and the grass and the atmosphere writing.

Writing, for Thoreau, meant living with full attention and awareness living deliberately at every moment, in the sense of applying proper deliberation to his life. It meant, Walls says, living so as to perceive and weigh the moral consequences of our choices. If this isnt a reason to see Thoreau as a man with something to say to our times, I dont know what is.

Henry David Thoreau: A Life by Laura Dassow Walls (Chicago, 26.50). To order a copy, go to bookshop.theguardian.com or call 0330 333 6846. Free UK p&p over 10, online orders only. Phone orders min. p&p of 1.99.

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