#sorry i love dantes divine comedies but i Do Not appreciate what he did to modern depictions of the angels and hell . he should be killed-

[butchdykekondraki]

i have normal thoughts on religion trust me girl dont look at my posts look at me

[doodlelolly0910]

Close Encounters of the Spiritual Kind

Summary: Emma Nolan spent a lot of time alone, and that was fine by her. Because one is never truly alone. She should know. She can talk to dead people. What she didn’t expect was one of these spiritual encounters to hang around, taking her down a rabbit hole of missing women, revenge, and, least expected, love. Can she save the day and Killian Jones? Is there even another choice?

Read it from the beginning on AO3 and FFN!

A/N:  New chapter! It's pretty much pedal to the metal from here on out, and I really hope you guys all like it! Sorry about the late update, I know the day is almost gone. I've been having internet issues lately and it's also the reason I haven't been able to respond to your lovely comments! I read them all, though, and I appreciate every one of you! Thank you as always to my fabulous beta @kmomof4 who did (and continues to do!) an amazing job with the @cssns and also find the time to beta this little project of mine :D and another HUGE thank you to @courtorderedcake who created the beautiful artwork for this fic. And thank you as well to everyone who reads this. It means so much to me that you guys are liking this so much! On with the show!

Chapter 11

"What's with the stupid warning on the door? Going for the ominous pirate vibe?" Emma said as he led her back into the office area. Milah’s presence had been near constant in the hours since she came face to face with Hook, but she had been mostly quiet, to Emma’s elation. The scent of jasmine had far surpassed bothersome at this point. She was exhausted and she could feel blood matting her hair at the back of her head where Hook had knocked her out. Everything ached. She just wanted a hot shower and to sleep for a year. But she had a job to do. Hook chuckled. "It's actually Dante, love. Divine Comedy?" he told her and Emma colored in embarrassment. Of course he was intelligent, charming, and sex on legs. He swept his hooked arm before him in a bow, beckoning her into the room, his good arm clutching her bag (now refilled with her things) and the binder, clipboard, and weapons he'd laid out on the desk before. "It's what he wrote as inscribed on the gates of hell." "And what are you? The devil?" She snorted as she walked past him into the familiar room. A rueful expression crossed his face for a brief moment as he shut the door behind them with his hip, but he recovered himself quickly. Emma studied him pensively over the brief glimpse of emotion he'd just displayed. Did he really think that lowly of himself? "I prefer dashing rapscallion," he replied with a cheeky grin and a salaciously raised eyebrow. She gave him a withering look and his grin dissolved into a flirty pout."Scoundrel?" he suggested instead. They entered the office, her face painted with a full on scowl now.

“Are you gonna tell me what I'm supposed to do for you or am I supposed to guess? ‘Cause I'm running out of time here.” She leaned up against the wall opposite where the shelves with the pictures were, putting herself as close as possible to the door. He smirked and laid out the objects he'd brought with them from the Fun Room (as Emma had snarkily dubbed it).

“You are the one who changed the subject, darling,” he reminded her before sitting in the chair behind the desk and reclining back in it slightly, a single brow quirked on his forehead. Emma rolled her eyes.

“Whatever, that’s not important. What’s important is if you need me to stay on Gold’s good side, I have,” she looked at the clock shaped like a ship’s wheel on the wall, “six hours and forty seven minutes to get whatever that thing is to him.” She pointed to the object that had very quickly become the bane of her existence sitting near his left elbow. He didn’t look at it, only continued to watch her directly. His gaze was unsettling, like he could see her very thoughts. Strange for someone who refused to believe what was actually going on inside her head.

Give him a chance, Milah’s voice murmured suddenly. Emma set her mouth in a line. She was not going to indulge the spirit in Killian’s presence anymore.

“You can have it,” Hook said with a simple shrug. There was a slight shake to Emma’s head as she looked at him in utter disbelief. She wouldn’t have been more confused if he would have said it in Chinese.

“Are you shitting me?” she nearly screeched, pushing off of the wall. “You- you- you knock me out, split my head open, actually, tie me up, threaten my life, all over me coming to get this thing and now you’re just going to hand it over? No questions asked?”

He stroked a thumb over his jawline and rubbed it over the thoughtful pout on his lips. “Sorry?” he offered, not because he actually was, but because he knew it was what Emma wanted to hear. Or maybe because he knew it would further enrage her. “If you'd rather I keep it…” he moved his good hand to the device and began to slide it towards the drawers Emma had initially found it in. Her anger quickly dissolved into panic.

“No, no, no, let's not be so hasty…” she said, taking the bait and reaching out to still his hand without thinking. His blue eyes shot to hers at the contact and she couldn't look away, her breath stilling in her chest.

“Well, if you insist,” he murmured, withdrawing his hand from underneath hers, drawing the knuckle of his forefinger down the middle of her palm and to the tip of her middle finger sending an electric spark up her arm. She pulled away, her muddled mind even more confused. One minute this guy was threatening her very existence, the next he was… well, whatever that just was.

He pulled the binder closer to him and propped it on his prosthetic arm, the hook of the device curving over the top edge of the plastic. He thumbed through a few pages and stopped on what he was looking for and turned it so Emma could see with a hard look on his face once more.

A photograph stared up at her, a smiling Killian Jones and a beautiful brunette, wrapped up in each other's arms, eyes bright, faces carefree. The swell of jasmine scented perfume around her only confirmed it as she studied the picture intently. This was Milah. She had seen this face before, she remembered, and her eyes drifted to the shelves to the side of the desk. The charcoal sketch of the same face was in the exact spot she recalled it to be. She smiled softly and looked back to Hook, his face a mask of calm despite the pain raging in his heartbroken blue eyes.

He tapped the photo with his hook, drawing her attention to the hand that was cupping Killian's jaw in the picture. There was a ring on that hand, nothing fancy, a simple silver band that twisted into a heart made of a Celtic knot.

“Since you know who Milah is, and her connection to me, I shouldn't have to explain much. She was wearing this ring when she-” he cut himself off with a firm set to his jaw before redirecting his words. “She always wore it. The bastard kept it, and I would like it back. He will keep it somewhere he has access to. He likes to use it as a tool of sorts. I tried meself to get it back once. It… did not go well,” he explained with a dark chuckle and his rap sheet immediately flitted through her mind. “You will get me this ring.” His eyes snapped up to hers. Emma studied the picture a moment longer.

She shouldn't do this. She should just take the device when he let her go and give it to Gold and work on taking him down from the inside. She could do it so easily.  If Hook would have turned out to be literally anyone else, she probably would have. But, despite her resistance to it and their less than stellar first meeting, Emma had found herself invested in Killian Jones. What was more, it made her actually contemplate doing this. More than contemplate.

She wished now more than ever that Graham hadn't gotten hurt. Would any of this be happening if he'd been by her side? Would it have gone worse? A chill ran through her as she thought of Graham and herself lying side by side on a concrete floor somewhere, eyes open and unblinking. In a way, she was glad she'd gotten tangled in this by herself.

Moving towards the shelf, Hook's eyes followed her as she studied the portrait of the woman whose presence she had come to accept as part of her every day. It was odd to think that someone she had developed such a strange relationship with was someone she'd never seen until now. Both she and Liam had been so adamant that Killian Jones was a good person, and she could see from her vantage point that all of his actions seemed to be fuelled by grief. Revenge was a powerful motivator, Emma knew. She raged and lashed out against everything and everyone when her parents died, and then again with Neal. If things had gone fractionally different in her life, she could be sitting where Jones was now. That thought alone, that she could bring him just a fragment of peace, made her want to at least try.

“So this ring,” she said, her eyes moving to the wood and glass case containing the flag next to Milah's picture. The dog tags laying over the top faced away from her, but she knew who they belonged to.

His mother's ring, Milah's voice whispered in her head and Emma frowned. She was not going to react. Subconsciously, she touched the line on her neck left behind by Hook's blade from the last time she'd brought it up.

“Let's pretend there's a snowball's chance in hell that I can even get close to it, what next? You just forget about all of this?” she continued, distracting herself from the lingering presence in the room with them.

It must have been the exhaustion setting in, or maybe side effects of the head wound she'd sustained. Because there was no other explanation for why she would do what she'd done next. Emma actively avoided touching anything that belonged to the dead, knowing what kind of trigger it was for her, and yet, inexplicably, she found herself reaching out to turn the dog tags over so she could read the inscription.

The encounter slammed into her like a lightning bolt as soon as her finger grazed the first piece of metal, hurtling her through time and space inside her head. She felt like her ear drums were about to burst with the amount of ringing echoing through her skull until voices and images started filtering through.

“We did everything we could, it was just her time. But she went peacefully,” a doctor told a stoic Liam (who couldn't have been more than 20 here) as he cradled his sobbing preteen brother in his arms. A woman with a bald head lay in what looked like tranquil slumber in a hospital bed nearby, except she was too still.

A flash of light.

“I'm so proud of you, little brother.” Liam was older now, uniform clad and clapping his similarly dressed brother on the shoulder, eyes brimming with affection.

Another flash.

“Liam, I realize that it’s a whole sodding mess, but I'm in love with her! How can I not get her away from that? She's in danger!” The passion in Killian's voice had Liam moving towards him and laying a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Flash.

“Come on, Killian, she wouldn't have wanted this for you. I don't want this for you, and I'm still breathing. You have to stop this.” Liam hoisted a very drunk Killian up and slung his little brother's arm over his shoulders. Killian nodded on a sob and allowed his brother to lead him away.

Flash.

Red lights flashed all around, a klaxon blaring in the background. Men in uniform were running, shouting amongst the deafening sounds of explosions in the background.

“Somebody get a medic! God, no, Li, you're going to be okay, it's okay,” Killian reassured his brother as he attempted to drag his larger frame somewhere. Killian tripped over something and fell, taking the whole of his brother's weight into his lap. He quickly checked a spot on Liam's stomach that was saturated with blood and blanched, looking back up to Liam's own too pale face. Liam gave a feeble smile and shook his head.

“It's alright, little brother. You're going to be just fine,” Liam said weakly. Killian shook his head roughly, tears beginning to escape his eyes.

“Younger brother,” he joked and Liam laughed, which soon turned into a sputtering cough. He looked up at Killian, his face earnest and serious.

“I'm going, Killian,” he said softly.

“No!” the younger Jones protested on a choked sob. Liam smiled sadly at him.

“I'm so proud of you, brother. I love you very much.” Liam’s breath and words were labored now.

“SOMEBODY HELP US!” Killian screamed one last desperate time, but when he looked back down to his brother, it was too late. Liam's eyes were still open, now unseeing, the spark behind the blue orbs already extinguished. Killian let out a low bellowing moan more anguished than Emma could ever remember hearing from another person.

The scene melted into blackness this time and a familiar voice filled her head.

“It's not too late. A man unwilling to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets.”

Emma was wrenched from the encounter by a vice like hand on her wrist. Killian's face swam into focus as the room settled back around her and she let out a shuddering breath. He looked thunderous.

“Do not touch anything in here,” he said, a dangerous undercurrent to his tone.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered and he peeled his hand off of her wrist, his face still clouded with simmering ire.

“If you’re going to be sick, there’s a trash can in the corner over there,” he said gruffly, making his way to a small cabinet behind the desk. It was Emma’s turn to watch him move around the room as he pulled it open and removed a first aid kit. He turned around to find her standing in the same spot he left her in. Without waiting for her to make the move herself, he grasped her wrist again, the kit safely hanging from his hook by the handle, and sat her down in the chair on the other side of the desk from where he sat. He lay the plastic box he’d been carrying on the desk behind them and leaned against the surface.

Emma’s eyes widened as he reached out and skimmed his fingers along her cheek, not knowing what to expect. His fingers were warm, calloused from hard work, but not unpleasant against her skin as they curled around the nape of her neck and pulled her head forward. She held her breath as he moved the hair on the back of her head around, then blew it out sharply when he reached her wound just to the left of the crown of her head.

“What are you doing?” she asked as he reached back, still holding her hair aside with his hook, and rummaged through the kit for something. He didn’t answer, but she got one soon enough when a stream of cold liquid poured onto the wound, burning the site immediately. An expletive burst from her lips at the contact and she tensed, but didn’t pull away. “What is that?” she exclaimed, the pain fading to a dull throb as he dabbed a cloth over it.

“Isopropyl alcohol. Just cleaning the wound. Making sure you don’t need stitches. You don’t, by the way,” he said, running his fingers through her locks one last time before gently pushing her upright on her shoulder. She felt dizzy, and she wasn’t quite sure if it was from the heady perfume still lingering around her, the encounter with Liam, the head wound, or the proximity of the man sitting before her.

“Oh, so now you’re going to be a gentleman?” she scoffed, fighting the urge to touch the wound. She gathered her hair over her shoulder instead, letting her blood streaked curls rest on her chest, liquid soaking into her sweater from where it had run down her neck.

“It would be bad form to leave a lady in such a state, especially if it was my fault. And I’m always a gentleman,” he said with a wink. He put the supplies back where they belonged and came around to sit near her again. Emma fiddled with the chipped nail on her thumb, peeling it away from itself and flicking it mindlessly on the floor. There was a war going on inside her head, wondering whether or not to tell him that his brother made contact. Maybe she could better reach him with Liam than Milah.

Tell him, Milah urged. Emma nodded slightly and cleared her throat, meeting Killian’s eyes. He cocked an eyebrow expectantly.

“There's something I think you should know,” she began slowly, choosing her words carefully. Hook said nothing, only continuing to watch her impassively. She took his silence as permission to continue. “Those tags there, I knew who they belonged to before I touched them.” She saw him stiffen and she took a deep breath, holding his rapidly heating gaze. She was already this far in, so she continued. “I've seen Liam before as well. He and Milah both care about you very much and they've, uh, they kinda asked me to help you. Which is weird, given how we crossed paths, right? Well, I guess no weirder than telling you I talk to your brother and girlfriend, I guess.” She let a nervous huff of a laugh escape her lips, darting her eyes to her lap, and spoke again despite his continued silence. “When I touched the tags, I had sort of an encounter with him. He, uh, Liam, he told me something that I think I'm supposed to tell you. I'm not really sure how this stuff goes so I'm just gonna say it,” she said and straightened her shoulders, bringing her eyes back up to meet his blazing blue. “He said that it's not too late. And that a man unwilling to fight for what he wants-"

“-deserves what he gets,” Hook finished for her, the words a low mutter. Emma’s heart felt like it was going to beat out of her chest. Did he believe her? His eyes cleared for a moment, grief shining like the blade of a knife within them, yes, but a sliver of hope leaving them slightly wider as well. If he didn't believe her, he certainly wanted to. “Just who the bloody hell are you, Swan?” he murmured in wonderment. Emma didn't quite know how to answer that.

It didn't matter, though, because as quickly as the moment came, it was gone, his eyes lighting back up with pain fueled anger, and he stood abruptly, making Emma press herself back into the chair. She pushed too far; she shouldn't have said anything. He grabbed her bag between the pincers of his prosthetic, flipping it open and rifling through it with his good hand. He gave a sharp nod once he'd confirmed whatever he was looking for. He snatched the infinitely mysterious device from the desktop and shoved it roughly inside the satchel. Turning his fierce gaze back to her, he thrust the bag forward into her chest, her arms coming up to grasp it automatically.

“Get out,” he growled and Emma's mouth dropped open. “Take the tracker to Gold. It's been deactivated. Permanently.”

Emma’s head swam with questions. He was throwing her out, and that was confusing in and of itself, though not really with the exchange they had just had. Violence she had been prepared for. Rejection, she hadn't been.

“You're just going to push me out the front door? And what do you mean ‘deactivated’?” she asked and stood, still trying to process being steamrolled by Killian Jones’ rage as he marched back around the desk.

“I owe you nothing more. You should be grateful for the opportunity to leave intact,” he said with a glower. “It's a shame I won't get to see the look on his face, though, when he realizes his love is gone in an instant,” he mused, nearly reveling in the knowledge that Gold would soon receive this news. Emma felt like she was going to be sick. Again.

“Are you seriously sending me back to Gold with a useless device? He's going to fucking kill me!” Emma said, fear mixing with her own rage now. “Why would you even hang on to this thing? How am I supposed to get your ring back now?” she asked, a last desperate attempt to appeal to what he wanted.

“Forget the ring,” he seethed through gritted teeth. “I should have never asked. The time for making deals is done. Just as I am done… with you.” He brushed past her and opened the door, sweeping his good arm out and gesturing for her to leave. She gaped at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish. “Leave now, while you still can,” he ground out and Emma's mouth snapped shut. She stalked past him, out the door and down the hall she'd first entered, avoiding eye contact with the door to the room she'd been tied up in.

She would figure this out, she had to. She wasn't giving up on Gold, maybe Jefferson could fix this tracker thing or something, but she found a strange resistance building up in the pit of her stomach at the thought of giving up on Killian Jones as well.

“Oh, and Swan?” His voice stopped her in her tracks and she turned. He pushed himself away from the door that he'd been holding open with his body weight, his hooked arm scraping down it to keep it in position.

“When you give that crocodile the device, tell him that Hook sends his regards.”

[dangcommaannie]

My fucking tags were too long, so I’m sorry, but I just need to rant about this some more. XP

#BRUV#DON'T GET ME STARTED!#DON'T GET ME FUCKING STARTED!#like#fucking dante#THE dante#like divine comedy dante#yeah#his love for beatrice?#he literally met her like twice in his life#and decided that he was in love with her#he first met her when he was like 9 and she was 8#what the hell?#joke not intended there#fucking dante saw beatrice for once and decided to write the fucking divine comedy and have her be the central chracter#that's a no in my book#like you don't know me!!#sidney's astrophil and stella#is about the woman that he was betrothed to as a child#leaving him for another man in their later years#dude#your marriage was prearranged#she didn't love you#and he justifies his reasons by talking about how unhappy she was in her marriage#no#gross#fuck off#dante gabriel rossetti certainly lives up to the dante legacy too#he obsessively painted pictures of his wife for like years#YEARS! 

Anyway! Dante Gabriel Rossetti was also a dick who cheated on his wife, like all of the time. We’re not 100% certain, but we do know that his wife died of an opium overdose and we think it was because of her depression over BEING CHEATED ON ALL THE FUCKING TIME! Dante’s sister, Christina Rossetti, was not happy about this. We don’t know if she actually gave it to him because it wasn’t published until after her death I believe (But I like to think she did), but Christina totally wrote a poem, calling him out on his creepy painting bullshit because he also totally wrote poems about how it was like his job to paint and immortalize her beauty or some shit like that and that we should appreciate his work. Like no. Don’t. Gross. (Btw, his wife’s name was Lizzie Siddal and Christina’s most famous work is probably “The Goblin Market” and the main character who saves her sister is named Lizzie. Coincidence?? I think not!) (Also, Dante totally titled one his creepy wife paintings Beatrice and if that’s not a sign, well.)

not that anyone asked but you know what i hate? when people discredit poems written by teenage girls about their hearts being broken as if it isn’t as legitimate as an old white man not getting his sexual desires fulfilled. poems written by 16 year old girls about the guy in math class who won’t text her back are just as poetically powerful as andrew marvell begging a woman to sleep with him in ‘to his coy mistress’ and nobody can tell me otherwise.

[docmurph12]

Alright so the last review was a lot of fun, so I kind of want to do another one. I dont know who is even reading these but it's a blast watching these with a critical mind rather than a fanboy one and writing a semi professional review. I think I'm going to make a hobby of this. Anyways.

So this one I was actually a lot more hopeful for than I was for Aladdin. Maybe as a result I was....let down more than I was watching Aladdin. I am actually writing this after about the first 20 minutes of the film. I'm not going to post until I'm finished with it, but I dont see a lot changing here, and you will know why in a moment, so don't hold your breath for a rollercoaster review, because it's going to be about as flat as the film was.

So going in, I knew what I signed up for at least. Sarah was a little bitter, having to rewatch the first 15 minutes again. I'm going to say this is almost a SHOT for SHOT remake. I mean FRAME FOR FRIGGING FRAME, LINE FOR LINE. Even the timing is ALMOST EXACTLY THE SAME. Honestly I might be just as much to blame for this as the next guy. I wear nostalgia glasses loudly and proudly. Just take a look at my living room. But the further I got into this thing the more I found myself asking "Is this truly what I wanted?" A few points before I finish this thought, because I am definitely going to lose my train of thought between the baby and the continuing movie.

-This feels like Disney wanted to go shot for shot, and only partially committed. Shots were almost copied verbatim, could have been traced in some cases, but because they were going live action.....I dont know how else to explain it but if there were an uncanny valley for animated animals it undoubtedly lives here, in the "Pridelands".

-Unfortunately the voice casting suffers a bit here too. It certainly isnt helped by the...lifeless animation (yes I know live action animals dont generally emote, but for christ's sake all things considered it's the goddamned Lion King. Come on now), but the performances are largely flat and dull. Standouts in disappointment especially pointed at the death of Mufasa, large parts of James Earl Jones' performance (mostly just because you can hear the age in his voice, where in 1994 he sounds about where he should have been age wise. There is a youthfulness in his wisdom that literally is bringing tears to my eyes thinking of the strength of that performance, compared to this one), NOT Jeremy Irons, oh sorry, Chiwetel Ejifor, and the shameless insertion of Beyonce (sorry folks, she is the Kristen Stewart of voice acting, and clearly in it just for the money as opposed to actually adding anything to the craft).

-There should not have been so much freedom allowed with the musical performances. With a couple small exceptions, The vocal performances were stale. It kind of felt like the performances were a meal and SO much was eaten up by the original performers that there just wasn't much left for the usurpers, or that they just didnt know what the hell to do with it.

-All hate aside, this film is visually stunning. I sort of hated the animal performances, or lack thereof anyways, but it is still a beautifully realized film. My favorite scene visually is 1000% where Simba is speaking with the spirit of his father, and the lightning is rolling through the clouds, outlining parts that look like a lion's head, instead of outright just being fully visible. Fucking beautiful. (By the way, we just got through the final fight between Scar and Simba. I didnt know it was possible to trace a cartoon with a computer but they did it. W......T......F......of course it has to happen as I'm complimenting it.....)

-Seth Rogan and Billy Eichner were pretty charming. The only outstanding performances in the movie from top to bottom. That said, Donald Glover was pretty good too. Speaking of exceptional performances in the face of an overall poorly performed film, my OTHER favorite part of the film was the three of them singing The Lion Sleeps and running through the oasis. Holy shit that was charming.

-Sad and kind of disappointing was the fact that the VERY little original writing, or improv, or whatever the hell it was was really good. I loved the quipping between Timon and Pumbaa, and it was REALLY good when it went a little meta. The fart joke and the piece about "Be our guest" was immediately recognized as both reverent reference and irreverent ribbing and was appreciated by both me and Sarah. Sort of shines a disappointing eye on Jon Favreau. I loved what he was able to accomplish with The Jungle Book. I realize he probably didnt do a lot of the screenwriting on either film, but with producer credits comes criticism for laziness where high quality is expected. Cmon man, I love what you do. SO DO IT ALREADY.

-I largely think this film could have been helped on a few fronts with one improvement. OR possibly changing a way the movie was put together, that is, if what I THINK happened was what actually happened. Animated films originally gave you a at minimum believable performance by capturing the physical performance of the voice actor performing ADR, and giving a rough animation estimate of that performance, since movement and expression largely impact what comes out vocally. I am not 100% sure that isn't what happened, but it FEELS like it didnt happen. If animating aspects of physical performances isnt the route, I genuinely think that having a sort of facial motion capture coupled with ACTUAL emoting could have drastically improved performances. It's interesting to see what happens when you put primarily voice actors in front of a camera, or primarily screen/stage actors in front of an ADR microphone. You can truly see the depth (or sometimes lack of) of their abilities as actors. One of my absolute favorite voice actors is Bryan Cranston, for that very reason. Unbelievable performer, in every arena. One of my least favorites is FUCKING BEYONCE. Goddamn is she a one trick pony, if that trick was simply existing. Truly a MASTER OF THAT CRAFT. That said, its 2019 (at that point), if we can give Andy Serkis EVERY tool to be successful, Disney should be able to put out a LITTLE Disney money to allow their actors to, you know, act.

Long (looooooooooooooooong) story made super short is The Lion King (2019) is more of the same, and symptomatic of a problem we created for ourselves: Shameless money grabs at nostalgia. Disney miscued like crazy at remaking a thing I didn't realize until only now how precious it was to me as a kid. Couple that with the fact that they have done SIGNIFICANTLY better doing the same thing but doing a different take, with a different, more modern and possibly more poignant message (I'm looking DIRECTLY at you, Maleficent). Honestly, as much as it KILLS the kid in me to say it, leave the sacred cows alone. Sometimes a good thing just needs to be left to be admired. Nobody ever thought they needed to improve on, say, Miles Davis' Kind of Blue, Dante Alighieri's Divine Comedy, or Ridley Scott's Blade Runner with a sequel or a remake. Wait. Shit. I mean Lewis Carroll's Alice in WonderlandGODDAMNIT. I QUIT.

Verdict--4/10. Seriously please make it stop at Mulan. I really want to see that one, see it not suck, and see it STOP. And for the love of god PLEASE DONT CAST BEYONCE IN IT.