#the guy who wont leave my brain metaphorically

[zephyreon4-art]

"The fatefields would not allow it"

[Lancer oc]

[cadaverousdecay]

*buzzing with excitement* okay so

hedwig and the angry inch is a musical that follows the rockstar hedwig as she tells the story of her life. it is one of my top pieces of media ever and you should definitely check it out, there is a really good movie version and various bootlegs of the stage version on youtube.

i wont go into the entire plot or all the themes, but i really want to touch on the idea hedwig has of soulmates. hedwig mythologizes everything, that’s how she sees the world, and it helps when she’s writing her music. there’s a specific myth she latches onto, which her mother told her as a bedtime story as a young boy. the origin of love, plato’s idea of soulmates. (adding the song here in case you want to listen)

basically, humans used to have two heads, four arms, four legs, and were eventually separated by the gods and split into two. everyone has a half they were separated from and now have to get back to. hedwig is obsessed with the idea of finder her other half, the half that was lost, the half she’s missing.

in her efforts to find this second half, she meets luther, an american army guy who promises to get her out of communist east berlin, as long as she marries him and gets a sex change operation (which gets botched, resulting in her ‘angry inch’). “to be truly free one must give up a little part of oneself” as hedwigs mother puts it. but one year later she’s in america, “divorced, penniless, a woman.” she realizes luther was never her missing half, even tho she went so far as cutting off a piece of herself to try and make herself fit into him.

eventually she turns her sights on tommy speck (tommy gnosis as she christens him). and their souls seem to be made of the same material “same blue of my eyes”. he also sees the world through myth tho it’s more americanized and christian. he asks hedwig to give him the apple of the tree of knowledge. so hedwig sculpts tommy into a rockstar and they write songs together, up until tommy leaves her.

she also finds yitzhak, a drag queen who begs hedwig to take him with her. hedwig marries him and makes him part of the band on the condition that a wig never touches his head again. “to be free one must give up a little part of oneself” (the cycle of abuse is also a major theme in this musical, but that’s for another time). hedwig keeps yitzhak around and tries to fit together with him, even tho they aren’t a perfect match. because she is desperate to be whole.

anyway. to try and keep this all short. at the end she hears tommy gnosis, now a famous musician, sing to her an apology song, wicked little town reprise. “and maybe there’s nothing up in the sky but air, and there’s no mystical design, no cosmic lover preassigned, there’s nothing you can find that cannot be found.” (also the song is sung by hedwig as tommy. they have become each other)

she realizes that all her efforts of finding her other half have been futile and have hurt herself and others. she’s done so much, given up so much, all for nothing. but at the same time, she can only move forward with this new knowledge.

the last song plays, midnight radio, and she gives yitzhak her wig to wear and lets him become whole again and sets him free. “from your heart to your brain / knows that you’re whole” she finally understands that she is whole. even after everything, even with what she’s lost from herself (in a physical and metaphorical sense) she is whole. she doesn’t need another half to see that. she doesn’t need her wigs or costumes or anything. she walks off the stage, the barest we have seen her. and she is whole.

freud was wrong but if i wildly misinterpret everything he says in such a way that fits my personal aesthetics and theories about the world; he was close !

[bloodycassian]

Rhys x reader - reader is a winter court runaway who the bat boys find almost freezing to death. longer! - I'm also interested in writing for the crescent city universe if that's something you guys would like. absolutely no Ruhn x Bryce though. It made me uncomfy reading it!! what did yall think about the weird (IMO) tension between Ruhn and Bryce?

Cold seeping into your bones, the dark figures looming above didnt comfort you into the sweet embrace of sleep that you wanted. Sleep or otherwise would be welcome at this point. You could no longer feel your body, besides the painful shuddering your core would occasionally give.  "No-" You heard a deep voice snarl. Then there was ripping, and rustling among the dead leaves on the ground. The sickly sweet smell of their decay made you grimace further.  "We have no time Rhys. We need to go now." A gravelly voice said calmly.  "I cant-" There was gasping and suddenly you were being lifted, warmth caressing under your knees and around your back. You sighed into the relief the welcome heat brought.  Rhysand's legs quivered as he watched his brother pick you up. His eyes brimmed with shock and tears. His mate. How could the cauldron be so brutal? To make a Winter Court noble his mate. To make such a politically powerful family's heiress his. His partner. His everything. A threat to Kallis' throne was his person. His tether that now speared him to the spot Cassian held him in. His heart yearned, wide and open and firey with rage. He had no doubt Kallis himself had a part in this. Azriel's shadows were warm against your skin.It contradicted every rumor you'd ever heard about the spymaster killing in a cold beautiful way. Your lips chattered as you tried to form words. "Who-" You attempted, but were shushed by the male carrying you.  The last thing you remembered before passing out was the bite of wind and a sound of branches breaking under someone's heavy footfall.  + Rhysand wallowed. He didnt care if he looked like a simpering love sick teenager.. But his brothers were concerned. He hadn't eaten or seen you since he had felt that bond snap into place. His chest constricted at the very thought of you. He flew, in the dead of night. Once he had made sure you were alive and stable he just left, flying and flying without a purpose or a place in mind. He didnt doubt that Azriel knew about it.  The one time he landed, on a high peak overlooking the cool city of Winter Court...he did not get up again. He let the cold winds beat him, until he could no longer feel his toes, his feet. He sat until the overcast skies began darkening. Contemplating if he could kill Kallis himself or wait for you to decide what to do with him. His teeth yearned to tear out his throat himself.  Kallis was the only foreseeable reason Rhys could think of that would have explained why his mate had almost died at the hands of this merciless barren land. There was no way the noble family had just let you run off and... Rhysand shuddered - the thought of the family even being alive hitting home. Azriel hadn't found anything but a bloody trail that night.  His heart raced. A sudden feeling of anxiety loomed over him. He shot into the sky as fast as his stiff body and cold wings let him. Your hand was still wrapped in bandages, and you were sure your hair was a mess as the two wraiths doted on you. They had said nothing, even when you had pleaded with them. They had merely stopped and gotten the healer. She was insisting on using her magic on your neck and head when darkness shaded the room, and there were hurried footsteps up the stairs. The healer shook her head and opened the door, where night and shadows itself stood, staring at you with wide violet eyes filled with stars. Your heart hummed in your chest, and your head spun at his beauty. You knew him without ever meeting him, like a switch you were suddenly - secure. More at home than you'd ever felt in your cold homeland. The breath was stolen from you. His lips parted and he stepped into the room, "May I stay?" He asked, voice raw and charming.  The healer scoffed, returning to your side, placing her hands on your blanketed legs. You nodded at him. "Only if you tell me what is going on." he nodded back, glancing suspiciously towards the healer. "Where is Madja? I sent for her yesterday." He seemed irritated, his jaw clenching. "Madja is still working on your brother after what you did to him." She said in a clipped tone. Rhys' face went a shade red at that. Regret bloomed in his stomach. He sighed, sitting on the floor at the end of the bed burying his head in his hands, exhausted. Your head spun. "There are no stories of you having a brother." You said. His figure moved with a slight chuckle. "Brother in a metaphorical sense. Though they may as well be." He let out a long breath, unhiding his face and pulling a hand through his hair.  "He tried getting me to see reason while I was being...well.. unreasonable."  There was a small tug on your chest towards him, as if he was calling you to be on the floor with him. You wanted to. You wanted to tell him that you wanted to join him too. But you were bound to the bed by exhaustion and the bandages covering you. The healer placed her hand on your knee, a coolness thrumming down your leg into your foot. She tisked in disapproval. "Now you being unreasonable has this one refusing to let me heal her head. Do something about this your highness, I dont believe theres anything wrong but we must be abso-" Rhysand cut her off by holding a single finger up.  She scoffed and left the room, closing the door a bit too hard for normal. You smiled slightly at that, glad to be rid of a healer even for a few minutes.  He blew out a  long breath, avoiding eye contact with you. "What do you remember?" He asked you, eyebrows knitting together. He stared at his feet, like he was trying to piece together a puzzle.  You knew what he meant. You cringed away from the few memories. "It was cold.." You started, shying away from the tingling in your foot at the memory. "Why wont you let the healer try to help?" He asked, not judgemental but more curious than anything. He got up with a tired grunt, and pulled a leather armchair beside you.  Your heart raced at the closeness he presented. You didnt want to imagine what you looked like. Even with Fae healing you knew the tips of your ears may have still been blue from the cold of the wilderness of winter court. "I dont need it. I dont... want the help. I dont see a point to it." You tried your best at a shrug, your arms protesting.  "Your family..." He began. Your heart fluttered, cheeks heating. A headache bloomed in your temples as your brain grasped for memories of the night. Rhysand waited patiently, studying your face. They had screamed and threatened to cut you out of the family dynasty if you refused the marriage. Broken glass and running. No shoes, pain in your lungs from the cold air.  "My sorry excuse for a family left me to die." You growled once you felt steady enough to say.  Head pounding, you took a drink of water from the night stand. "I was meant to marry Kallis' oldest, but when I refused they took issue with it."   "And they tried to kill you.. so you ran?" He asked, his voice strained.  "Not exactly... I cant...." You rubbed your aching head. It felt like you were sick, like you needed a cold bath. Your stomach roiled with the pain.  Concern took over Rhys' features. "I can help." He offered, his hands fisting in the blankets, like he wished he could rip the pain away from you.  "Do whatever" You groaned, sinking back into the pillows. "I dont care anymore." You wanted so badly to just let your body give out in those woods. Let some snow bear find you and be a snack for its cubs. You had no family, no home.. and no status any longer. Your mind seemed to be coated in a dark blanket, relief flowed through you. For the first time his eyes were locked with yours when you looked up. The magnificent depth of them was astounding. His dark brows pulled together, studying your features. There was that tug towards him again. You picked up that thread and tugged back, lazily.  He blinked, taking a sharp breath. Confusion rolled through you, then his voice ripped through your mind like an echo. "I've been waiting for you."

[ayo-cowbelly]

ok so i rewatched AOTC last night and this wont leave my brain im sorry

imagine if dooku didn’t use weird metaphors in attack of the clones when talking about how palpatines in charge

like maybe him and palps were fighting that day and he was done with his shit (dooku was probably like, look man, i can’t kill the senator, set up the clone army, talk shit with the geonosians and please all the separatist leaders in only three days, CHILL FOR A SEC)

and dooku is like, fuck it, i like obi wans mullet, ill just solve this problem for him. maybe then he’ll feel grateful enough to join my team (he just wants old raisin palpabean out of the picture). so instead of being all “ooohohoho what if the republic was under the control of the dark lord of the sith” hes just like “hey. you know that old dude who makes weird eyes at senator amidala and keeps putting his hand on your apprentice’s shoulder and says creepy things about how you dont believe in him? that guy? he’s actually a Super Sith Lord. also those clones were created to destroy you all, after overextending the jedi in a giant war that Mr. Wrinkles is gonna try to orchestrate. anyways bye bitch tell yoda to stop ignoring my calls.”

and obi wan is just sitting there like “what in the cinnamon toast fuck did you just say-”

[greenninjagal-blog]

Even If it Kills Us (but it wont hopefully) pt8

hey, Hey, HEy, HEY! Sanders Sides mafia au! That erased itself four times and made me cry twice. :) Sorry for the long wait, I rage quit for a few weeks.

Part Seven is here for those who need a refresher (aka me) and Part One is here for anyone new around! Summary: Virgil is a normal college student, who is also the heir to a mafia he didn’t know existed, and he’s currently being arrested for it. At least he knows to wear a seat belt.

TW: knives, tasers, poisons, 

Quick Taglist: @a-she-monster @average--human @calvindientesblancos @crysthefangirl4ever @deathshadowrules @dierotenixe @drmephistofaust  @emo-nithtmare @enderperson43 @fandomobsessed-nerd @fireflysinmystomach @ilovemygaydad @iolanomsgranola @itsrandompostime @jadeace115  @just-another-rainbowblog  @kindly-falling  @laragazzadellluna @lefaystrent @levy-the-b00kw0rm @logicality-vs-prinxiety @meep-by-boredom @mirror2thespirit @my-analogical-romance @ninja-wizard101 @oodlemydoodle @pattons-cookies @punsterterry  @reeama-the-slytherin @sanders-sides-rebloger @seaspider10 @skittlesun  @skullfire2004 @spookilyfingergunsoutofexistence @superwholocked-for-life @sylveon-lover-crazyfangirl1415 @that-ghost-in-the-corner @the-anti-virgil @the-parentheticals  @theradicalrainbow @chelsvans @felicianoromano @jemthebookworm @holliberries @stricken-with-clairvoyancy @treasureofpriam

(lmk if you want to be added!)

“I am Logan Ackroyd, Undercover FBI,” Logan says, one hand-- his non shot hand-- casually fixing his tie, “And I’ll be taking these two into custody.”

Virgil thinks of all the times he’s previously been arrested.

There are none.

Instead he’s stuck with all his limbs unresponsive like a computer that’s been disconnected, his head worrying with a faint buzzing from where he’d head hit the ground after Logan shoved him away (hand on Virgil’s bare collarbone, cold and heavy slipped past his shirt collar and his jacket), and his mouth overwhelmingly tasting like burnt popcorn.

Virgil’s knowledge of police procedures come completely from the stolen few minutes of Criminal Minds he caught on TV occasionally as a child 

(before his mother caught him, before she yelled and tore at his hair and told him never to let the police get near him)

And really, what more had he needed to know? 

Don’t do illegal things! That was easy enough!

Virgil thinks, as his rights are read to him, and his hands are cuffed behind his back, and he’s loaded into the back of a police car in front of a crowd of bypassers coming to the diner for a midday brunch, he failed, majorly.

He doesn’t even know what crime he was being arrested for.

Was it the suspicious activity of people shooting at him in the movie theater? Was it the reckless speeding through town that he had been a passenger in? Was it the murder of two assumed police officers in the diner five minutes ago?

All three?

None?

“Wow, the real deal!” A local police officer says from somewhere Virgil can’t see

(which is pretty much everywhere, considering the only thing he can see is a black ant scuttling through the grass inches from his nose and getting closer)

“Hey, Wally, check these guys out! They’re real FBI!” The officer says again.

“Wouldja look at that! A real FBI badge!”

Virgil wonders if they knew the difference between a real one and a fake one. He has his doubts concerning the two officers who tried to apprehend them inside the dinner.

“Yes,” Logan’s voice says coolly, coldly, icily, “I am a real FBI agent with real paperwork to complete and this mess to take care of.” 

Virgil is really not a fan of how he says “mess”. 

Like Virgil is month old take out that started to reproduce, like the sticky mess of spilled energy drinks that Virgil carelessly left across his desk which ended up gluing the entire back cover of his Western Civ textbook to the wooden surface, like the aftermath of an execution and the blood had spilled into the grout.

“Remus,” Logan’s voice calls out, “Time to go.”

Then someone picks up Virgil by his shoulder and another by his feet and all Virgil can think is people touching him, hands on his body, and he cant move. 

He wants to scream, but the effects of the taser are long lasting (apparently) and he can’t even get his tongue to unstick from the top of his mouth, much less open his jaw at all. 

The idea of forcing air out of his already uncomfortably compressed lungs?

forget it.

He’s vaguely aware that on other side of him, Dee was carefully loaded in, completely useless, completely unconscious.

Virgil gets the feeling he’s just a passenger in his own body. Part of him wants to feel humiliated by the way the he’d been manhandled into a police car in front of a dozen families and two news crews.

Part of him wants to revoke Dee’s kneecap privileges for being so fucking dense that he hadn’t even noticed anything was weird about the dinning experience.

Part of him wants to lunge forward and wrap his arms around Logan’s throat, and strangle him between the links of his handcuffs and the headrest. (not that Virgil would act on that one; there’s clearly a metal mesh between the backseat and where Logan has slipped into the driver’s seat to prevent that exact scenario from occurring)

Because really, he was FBI?! He was undercover?! He had been playing each of them in oh so many ways-- How long had he been fooling Roman? What had he done to Roman and Patton when Virgil had left? What was his actual goal here?

And did it involve Virgil being alive at the end of it?

(Virgil wants to think so. Logan wouldn’t have gone to all this trouble to keep him alive just to kill him--)

Logan’s partner slaps a hand on the window, inches from where Virgil’s head had fallen, and grins at him as he opens his own door and slips into the seat in front of Virgil.

The look Virgil gets is brief.

And also terrifying.

Virgil knows that face.

Knows that face as well as he can, the partial of it seared into his brain as the moment Virgil’s life ended and this twisted nightmare began.

Its the face of the gunman that had tried to shoot him in the face at the movies, the gunman who Logan had tackled to first save his life, the gunman who Virgil hadn’t spared a second thought about because since his appearance, it had been run and duck and please don’t let me die. 

“Oh! He’s pretty cute back there!” The partner says, “I love when they’re all tied up like cute little piggies!”

Logan’s head shakes in a way that suggests he’s rolling his eyes.

The car hums to life, and Logan breezes by the crowd the second the police line widens enough for them to escape. Once they leave the public eye, Logan’s partner’s seatbelt comes off and his feet go up on the dashboard with something dancing between his fingers causally.

“FBI!” The partner laughs, “I can’t believe they really bought those fake badges of yours!”

“Remus, seatbelt.” Logan says without looking away from the road. “And they are real.”

Remus laughs. He makes no move to reattach the belt.

Virgil’s eyes flick to the side mirror in front of them, just in time to catch sight of the butterfly knife the man is expertly twisting around his index and middle finger. Remus catches his gaze in the mirror and blows him a kiss with a wink.

Virgil wishes he was in control of his body, enough to shudder, enough to snarl, enough to throw himself from the car and the oncoming traffic hits him just right--

“What a kid,” Remus sighs, perhaps dreamily, “Do you think I can keep his head for my mantle?”

“You don’t have a mantle.” Logan says, “You don’t have a house.”

“Yeah,” Remus agrees. “But also he’s a kid.”

Logan uses turn signals, Virgil notices, faintly. He feels very faint.

Like a balloon that’s floating away.  And one day he’ll reach the upper atmospheres where the decreasing air pressure will cause his insides to expand until he explodes into a 

“mess” 

that Logan will have to clean up.

The air in the car is tense. Virgil can’t breathe

It might also have to do with the fact he can’t move and there’s a murderer in front of him talking about killing him and-- and--

“Interesting,” Logan says, using one of his turn signals to switch lanes, “I wasn’t aware you got metaphoric cold feet over assassinations.”

The knife flips in the air. Virgil squeezes his eyes closed, forcing his chest to move. 

“You’re telling me you don’t have any qualms about killing a college brat? Any at all, Mr. Undercover FBI?”

“I’m not paid to have morals, Remus.”

Logan sounds cold, colder than ice. The vibrations of his tone wash over Virgil like a ocean, and suddenly he’s drowning.

He’s drowning on dry land and Remus is laughing.

“Surely if you want to-- how they say, “flake out”, you’re welcome to open your door and take a walk.” 

Virgil’s pretty sure Logan speeds up as he talks; the white line on the edge of the road blurs, Virgil’s head’s rumbles against the window until he’s sure he’ll never be able to see straight again.

“Aw Specs!” Remus laughs. Logan’s head twitches at the nickname, the same nickname that Roman had called him oh-so-long ago. “No way I’m gonna let you handle all the juicy stuff yourself! You already got all the credit for Roman Prince’s!”

All the energy in the car turns to white noise.

Virgil’s chest,

halts,

in the middle of a breath.

and he can’t think

because that’s not right

can’t be right.

Roman-- Roman trusted Logan.

Logan had taken a bullet for him.

why did--

how did--

Logan fixes his rear view mirror with his non shot hand. Perfectly fluid.

Virgil can see it in his mind’s eye suddenly: the memory of Logan throwing himself into Roman and taking that bullet and bleeding and getting close to Roman, being right next to Roman, demanding that Roman equip him with another gun despite his dominant hand being out of commission. 

He can see it suddenly: the second that Virgil had stormed out, Logan had put two in Roman’s distracted gut. While Virgil had been racing the in the purple car, Roman had been bleeding out on his own kitchen floor, and Patton must have joined him. While Virgil was arguing with Dee, Logan was getting paid for the murder of two people who trusted him.

Logan was ambidextrous.

Virgil doesn’t know where the strength comes from.

All he knows is he threw himself forward battering against the metal mesh with an angry ferocity that made Logan’s injured hand lose hold of the steering wheel. The whole car shakes as Logan swaps hands and curses.

“Why?”

It’s barely a breathe between his tense jaw and his thick tongue and numb lips. The word itself feels like a dagger in his own chest just to say.

“Interesting,” Logan says again, this time with his eyes in the rear view, and they stare directly at Virgil. A scientist’s gaze. “The box jellyfish poison should have shut down most bodily functions but it appears that it is wearing off faster than I anticipated.”

(Hand on Virgil’s bare collarbone, cold and heavy, slipped past his shirt collar, and leaving the skin numbed. The poison sinking into Virgil’s skin while the taser had him immobile)

“It’s a good question!” Remus!! Says!! excitedly!! He turns in his seat, flipping the knife close with one hand and wiggling his fingers through the mesh with the other, like a taunt. 

“Pardon?”

“Why did the straight and narrow, hard working FBI agent Logan Ackroyd, decided to throw it all away so suddenly?” Remus sings. Virgil can see something left in his mustache, a something red like jam.

Logan switches lanes again.

“If you must know,” He says his fingers curling on the top of the steering wheel. “The pay is more suitable to my tastes.” 

Which is a fancy way of saying Logan had managed to put a price tag on people.

That Logan looked at Roman and actively thought, “I could kill this annoying man for X amount of dollars in cash”

That Logan looked at Virgil and saw dollar signs rather than the terrified kid he was.

“Oh, you nerdy little dork!” Remus hums, “You’re speaking my language now!”

“Of course I am. English is both our first--”

“Dork means whale penis. Basically, I called you a whale penis!”

Virgil wonders if Logan was being paid enough for this; by the way the car speeds up, he doubts it.

Virgil clings to the anger in his chest. He squeezes his eyes closed, thinking of the past twenty four hours, of Roman in his house, of Roman talking about his cars, of Roman speeding down the street and laughing, with those stupid sunglasses in his glossy mused hair. He thinks of the feel the gravel under his knees, of the sound of his best friends voice, of Patton’s elbow on his hooked and swinging and even if it was all a lie and Virgil was just an assignment Patton had completed--

Virgil thinks of the boy he was closest too, and thinks of how the feel of his broken glasses under Virgil’s knuckles and the look of shock on his freckled face. 

And of the hollowed hours since where Virgil swore to himself he didn’t want Patton by his side.

Where Virgil lied because he wants Patton here very badly even if hes mad even if they’re fighting even if he can’t ever forgive Patton.

Where Virgil was busy being angry and upset and his best friend was being killed by the cold hearted, side switching, asshole in the seat in front of him without a seconds hesitation.

 Virgil clings to that, clings to the anger that explodes in his chest, and the thudding of his heart that breaks his own ear drums. He reaches out of his limbs--

Because he was not going to just sit here and let that bastard take kill him for money, kill his friends for paper and coins and get away with it.

For once, Virgil breathes a thanks to his mother for telling him all the ways to kill a person, a bedtime story that Virgil felt for the first time he was willing to actually implement. 

And if he can get angry enough, his limbs will move, because that’s what always happens in those movies.

He thinks his heavy numb fingers manage to twitch when Remus speaks again.

“I don’t know if I’m alright with the split we agreed on.”

Logan’s head tilts ever-so-much. The car pulls on to a single lane road. The trees come next, covering them in the flickers of shadow and sun.

“Elaborate.”

“I want seventy percent.”

Logan scoffs.

“It just seems that I deserve more than you!” Remus says, “In fact, I think I’ll take it all.”

Virgil blinks and the butterfly knife is at Logan’s throat.

“Let’s talk math, kid genius.”

the car swerves as Logan’s eyes leave the road for a second to look at the death at his throat. Virgil feels as his foot comes off the pedal, slowing down in the middle of a forest that looks like private property.

“Keep driving.” Remus hisses delightedly.

Logan presses down the gas pedal and the trees begin to blur by. Virgil has a hard time watching.

It has nothing to do with the stirring that suddenly comes to his attention next to him.

“Isn’t this fun?” Remus asks, “You’re going to drive to the clearing and park the car. I’m going to kill you, and the little emo in the backseat--”

“You said we were going to talk.” Logan says indifferently, “I’m afraid I have some bad news in regards to that course of action.” 

“Remus?” A voice speaks up groggily. 

“Oh hey, Dee!” 

“Wha--” Virgil thinks its a weird to see the other heir so disorientated, and he’s only known the other heir for a maximum of three hours.”What are you doing--?”

“Me and Logan were having a chat about how we’re going to divide the reward for the death of Virgil Sanders!”

“Yes, and unfortunately, Roman Prince informs me I’m a terrible conversationalist.” Logan says, and then slams on the breaks of the car and sends seat-beltless Remus straight through the front windshield.

Part Nine

[fart-gate]

SG1

Season 4 episode 2

"THE OTHER SIDE"

Notes by me

- Jack in a leather jacket ❤

- "didnt I order you to get a life?"

- good to know sam and Daniel are so obsessed with their work that they would stay all night. I wish I could find a job I love like that

- "someone trying to contact US , how often does that happen?" Point Daniel

- "the stargate is a portal to our ancestors" you right! Second planet to guess that correctly

- OOF they didnt know they were nice and kept the iris closed and now they have to scrape 3 people off the back with a spatula

- when they finally get in contact with them and they have to apologize for killing 3 of their people like bugs on a windshield

- how is he able to send visual?

- "the first time the descendents pf earth actually called home"

- daniel: I have prepared a 35 minute bullet point presentation explaining why you should give us permission to help them

Hammond: permission granted

Daniel: POINT NUMBER ONE- wait what

- wonder what kind of food they always give ppl whenever they trade with planets. My best guess? Pop tarts

- if I was on an sg team to give ppl food I would give them gummy worms bc I like gummy worms

- OF COURSE they are always looking for new weapons. Who cares about helping ppl! Do they have guns. Typical government

- this Dr lady legit just pushed a make up brush into his neck and hes fine

- Jack and Sam side eyeing each other about the make up brush. Clearly advanced technology they can trade for

- everyone always surprised to see tealc is with them and nice. These are the things that make me think he is the very first jaffa to leave the goauld and fight back

- "hes part of our team"

"....is he?"

- when he flips thru the pics of the people in stasis and its just the same 2 white guys at different angles

- love when Jack doesnt understand science talk he just asks Sam to translate . Sam is the human science for dummies book

- reaaaaallly hoping that aircraft that Jack shot down was unmanned and they werent lying

- brief exposure to the mind things wont hurt Jack at all! Unlike our friend here who has permanent brain damage bc of long exposure. Small comforts

- these mind controlled drones are damaging these people and they dont care at all I'm scared mom come pick me up

- lady: our food is chemicals and yeast

Daniel: I'm eating WHAT

- heavy water! What do they have against light water

- Jack and Daniel having a fight at the dinner table using only casual tones and their eyebrows

- the kid who came in the tell them the enemy breached their defences can breach MY defences hot damn

- "to seek new allies and procur technologies to aid in the defence against the goauld" FINALLY something to describe what their job is. But this is to describe now. What about the first 2 seasons

- Daniel is suspicious and I feel like we should listen to him

- "I was speaking metaphorically"

"Well DONT......its not fair to tealc"

- Jack vs Daniel

- daniels hair looks good in this ep for me specifically

- daniels moral compass is so chaotic

- hes got a point tho??? Hear me out. What if an alien race came to help hitler and they helped him bc they didnt know what the other side was fighting for? That would be horrible. Daniels right. These ppl could be hitler

- hold up Jack and tealc in those mind drone things is a bad idea okay we already established the brain damage thing right??? Hello???

- I WAS RIGHT they lied about them being unmanned!!! U aint getting heavy water now bitch eat me!!!

- oh theyre bad news bears. Who saw that coming raise ur hand 🖐🖐🖐

- now their being super shifty about everything. "He is remembered" WHOS he??? A goauld????

- Daniel asking 1000000 questions and Jack having to close his eyes and ask the stargate gods for patience

- "Daniel......shut up"

- JACK DID NOT JUST SAY THAT MY BOY. HE DID NOT JUST BE MEAN TO HIS ARCHEOLOGIST. IM BOUTA THROW HANDS

- thats it everybody leave the room I want to talk to Jack alone

- omg they dont want tealc around. Racist mother fuckers. Or xenophobic I cant tell which

- Jack grabbing daniels hand to stop him from dialing and daniels eyes shift in every direction like hes watching pin ball

- jack, sobbing: you were right Daniel they are assholes and we cant trust them

Daniel: what made you see sense

Jack: they dont like tealc

- sam almost laying down on the battle plan table like what is she doing???

- jack: what do u thing of alar

Tealc: hes hiding something

Jack: like what

Tealc: fuck if I know???? Do you know what the definition of Hiding is???

- oh are they clones??? Is THAT why they are all generic white people??

- "they come in all shapes and sizes??....and colors???"

RACIST MOTHER FUCKERS OH MY GOD

- alar: black and brown people were all over the face of our world so naturally we had to poison our planet :)

- bc thats the logical conclusion when your a racist fuckin idiot

- sam high kicking people in the face is my sexuality

- tealc crushing alars hand with a smile

- hahaha just fucking blow them up!! Lmfaooo

- this is so funny they are legit just blow them up and leave. No less than what racists deserve 👍

- they closed the iris and that dude tried to follow and we just hear a dull thud. Splattered

- RDAs acting i- its just amazing. Hes like shocked that they just killed thousands of people but also those people deserved it so like???? His emotions are fighting each otherrrrr

- was he looking at tealc when the camera faded out. I would like to think so

[thegirlintheredchair]

Turtles All The Way Down-Review

Rating: ⭐⭐

I finally finished this book and I AM in distress! i just hate reviewing books that fall in the 2-3 star category. I don’t know what to rate this book. I mean I love John Green books because I love his metaphors but this book just wasn’t doing it. Maybe I'm too old for YA books. Maybe I've grown out of them. Or maybe my reading of this book was very intermittent. Whatever the case, this has been the lowest rating I have ever given a john green book… (Who am I?) And I feel weirdly guilty for it cause I don’t know, it's not bad, it's not good either it's just meh fine.

Lately, topics of self-discovery, self-love, mental health or just what The Self TM is have been on the rise (is this a BTS effect or what, I mean their latest album is on the MAP OF YOUR SOUL!) I have nothing against philosophical writing, I actually enjoy reading it, but I don’t know, maybe my brain is done discussing “nature of thy self”. Let's just hop in:

Disliked:

The blurb makes it sound like it's going to be a detective story, which it is not, which makes you question why this subplot even existed? I thought there would be more to it, but I guess the main reason it existed was to make a point? : “money doesn’t necessarily make you happy or is a means to happiness” or something like that...

Also, the book is a bore at the beginning, it is slow, “turtle” pace slow (see what I did there). But even when it picks up, it doesn’t pick up, it’s a little disjointed and it took me a while to get to care about the characters or what was happening to them.

I did not particularly like Aza and daisy’s friendship, Daisy was a little mean in my opinion but I guess she was mostly ignorant and treated “Holmesy” as most people do when they're friends with someone who isn’t mentally healthy like, we’re bestowing this great honor on you mentally unhealthy human by being your friend... which i guess is kind the point John Green was trying to make, like you can best friends with someone and they still wont know how your mental health affects you...

Likes:

Aza’s anxiety and OCD were captured and explained very honestly. It was raw, and you kind of experience it with her. As an over-thinker, I can relate to how the inner voice doesn’t let up until you give in or placate it or question yourself.  It doesn’t let up and as a reader and empath, my heart went out for her. That part in the hospital was very raw and very very true.

When the title made sense, I actually LOL-ed. It was funny and very typical John Green. (It’s a Metaphor in case you don’t get it because that’s what John Green is all about)

Davis was a cute guy, a really good big brother and their short-lived romance was adorable. He deserved better though…but he was also kind of unnecessary.

Basically, this book was like kind of a motivational boost for teenagers who have a mental illness; it’s a giant pat on the back that things will work out and that life goes on. Aza’s ending narrative was bittersweet and made me slightly emotional but it was also a silver lining.

Don't not give this book a chance because it didn’t amaze me, I’m not exactly sure why I didn’t like this book as much, but it was just a dull read. I had high hopes since this was his “long-awaited return” but it didn’t work for me, people have called this book life-changing and I'm glad that it is for some… it's discussing a very tough subject and doing it beautifully.  Maybe I've grown out of YA contemporary or I've been a tween so long I've forgotten what it felt like to be a teenager. So I’ll just leave this book at “fine”…   

[moonchild93liner]

Luna - Hybrid AU - Chapter 02

Summary: Y/n is a cat hybrid that had some troubles in her past but after spending a long time in a shelter she decides to try something new in a house with seven men.

Pairing: Hybrid!Reader x ? Warning! None. Word Count: 1.941 Genre: Mostly fluff with some tiny bit of angst Here’s chapter 2 and I’m still very thankful for your feedback, you rock my socks off! Chapter 01 Chapter 02 Chapter 03 Chapter 04 Chapter 05 Chapter 06 Chapter 07 Chapter 08 Chapter 09 Chapter 10

We got home, well, what they called home. This is all weird to me and I don't feel exactly good about this yet but my heart says this is the right thing, I've been following my brain for so many time the moment I saw that corridor for the last time I decided to follow my heart at least once.

The apartment was big and everything was in place. The living room had some suitcases on the side with some big brown puffs on the floor, some sofas and a nice TV.

It was a brand new environment and I was about to write a whole new story with a whole another family. What if this is a trap? What if they want to use me just like...

"I'm sorry, I need to go to the bathroom, where can I put my backpack?" I started to feel anxious and if didn't do anything I might explode.

"Hi, I'm Seokjin, you can call me Jin, you can give me your stuff and I will show you the bathroom, let's go" He was the other tall guy, jet black hair, most of them had black hair. I struggled to give him my backpack because I felt like once I did this there was no coming back like while I had my things with me if I backed up I could just run away through the door so I shook my head and simply gave it to him. I tried my best to smile.

I entered the bathroom and sat on the toilet with the top down, put my hands on my face and took some deep breaths. They all seemed very polite men, Namjoon asked if I wanted to do this and I said yes but what if I changed my mind on the course? What will they do? I put my hand on my pocket and got Mrs. Kim's card, I spent a couple of minutes staring at it and finally decided to tear it and throw it away. I'm a grown woman, I can take care of myself, if anything happens I'll do something.

I stood up, washed my face and looked in the mirror. Gosh I could use some makeup, all these years on the shelter I forgot what it was like to get dressed and put on some makeup to look good for myself.

I came back and they were all sitting on a nice table with what it looked like a whole feast, at the shelter we were used to eat very little food, enough to keep us standing 'cause, like I said, the shelter was falling apart and food was not exactly something they could be wasting money with.

"Y/n! Please, have a seat, we will have dinner and later we will watch some movies, what do you think about that?" Namjoon said as I approached the table slowly putting a strand of hair behind my ear, an old habit of mine when I'm shy.

"Wow..." That's all I could say. Very good Y/n, now you sounded like an animal that has been caged for so many time it forgot what food looks like, so stupid.

I sat beside him and Seokjin who was at one end of the table. They introduced themselves and they were all very happy to be gathered eating. I wasn't even hungry so I put some food on my plate and started to eat. As soon as my tongue could taste Jin's food my eyes snapped, the food was so good! It's a shame I wasn't hungry but I could enjoy the food anyways.

I helped them with the dishes even when Namjoon insisted that I shouldn't do it. After that we went back to the living room and I couldn't see my backpack, weird, where did they put it?

"So, the rules are: if you sleep no one's gonna wake you unless you ask us to do it and if you want to go to the bathroom we will pause the movie, right? Take a seat and get comfortable" Namjoon said and where I was going to seat?

I ended up sitting by Jin’s side and we watched the movie without many events. The movie ended and they started to go to their bedrooms. I still didn't know where I was going to sleep.

"Aren't you going to organize your things in your bedroom?" Hoseok asked me with a smile but I was confused.

"Bedroom?"

"Yes! You didn't think you were going to sleep on the couch, didn't you? Don't you think we thought about a room for our new companion? Here, let me show you!" He waved calling me to follow him and I did.

"It's nothing much but it's the best we could do to greet you, please make yourself comfortable, your backpack is beside your bed and if you need anything don't you ever think twice about knocking on our door, mine is the second one, I sleep with Taehyung and he is a heavy sleeper, don't worry."

"Wow! That's so pretty, thanks Hoseok!" It was even better than the bedroom my previous family had for me. I entered the room and went for my backpack.

"Call me Hobi! Goodnight Y/n" He closed the door slowly.

One thing I liked it was that the bed was leaning against the wall... When I was younger I used to sleep being held by one of the kids and when I couldn't sleep with them anymore I got a teddy bear and started to sleep with it but the fact that the bed was close to the wall made me feel more secure even though I still have my teddy bear, speaking of it, it took half the space of my backpack. I emptied it and organized my stuff but I suddenly felt so tired that I laid down to sleep without taking a bath.

I tried to sleep for 50 minutes but instead I simulated a piece of beef frying... Turning from one side to another. I looked at the clock and it was like 2:40 in the morning so I got up, took a warm (scalding hot) bath and went to the kitchen looking for water.

There I found what it could be Yoongi, they are all very similar from the back but I imagined it could be him because he's not tall like the others. I walked backwards in attempt to leave unnoticed but even from a distance I saw his ears moving just a tiny bit, something some humans could do.

He turned around and seemed a little scared to see me.

"Sorry, I was just... nevermind" I panicked, now tell me something new.

"No, please, is everything ok?" He asked already coming closer but suddenly stopped, I thanked him mentally because I was starting to feel uncomfortable with the short distance between us.

"Yes, I was just thinking about getting some water..."

"Here, let me get it for you, couldn't sleep huh?" He went back and handed me a cup half empty with water.

"I think it's just the process of fitting in, I just need some time, that's it..." I got the cup and drank the water while listening to him, his voice was low and calm.

"Take all the time you need... If you're not comfortable with something let us know, it's important for us that you keep us notified about everything or at least everything you want to tell us, if you come to the point where you don't want to be with us anymore don't worry, we wont take you back to the shelter if you don't want to, we will always talk about what is better for you, ok?" And I simply nodded, to be honest a huge weight was taken off of my shoulders now.

"You don't look like you were sleeping, do you want to talk?" He also didn't look exactly like someone who was even sleepy at all. He went to the living room and I followed him.

"Why are you up?" We sat on the couch and the only light on was the kitchen's, I felt comfortable for the first time, it must be my feline instincts with the low light.

"Me? I'm a night wolf..." He said and then realized the metaphor he used but I didn't mind, in fact I laughed.

"Then this is not the most safe place for me, a cat hybrid, to be" He smiled and we started to talk about the city and what he and the other guys used to do when they were younger, Yoongi also told me a little about his childhood but my eyes started to weight and he seemed to notice it.

"Y/n, I think it's time for us to go to bed, you need to rest, thank you for talking to me I feel much better now, I think I'm sleepy too." He touched my feet that was close to him from where we were sitting and my reaction was to pull it back, I saw that he frowned but then I jokingly patted his leg with my feet.

"Don't worry, it's okay, I'm fine." Funny, he thanked me for talking to him and said he was feeling better. What was he feeling? He has six friends living with him but the way he said it, it seemed like no one talks to him.

"C'mon, let's go. Don't worry about waking up early to help us ok?" He got up from the couch and offered me his hand, I looked at it and slowly took his hand. He pulled me softly like he was scared of scaring me and deep inside I thanked him for that, physical contact is still too much for me.

I went to my bedroom... Wow, my bedroom, with more than a bed and a tiny cabinet... I had a bathroom and a whole wardrobe, I had a desk! Anyways, I laid down and the next thing I remember I was opening my eye and checking the hour, it was 13:00 in the afternoon.

I got up and left my bedroom looking for the guys, I heard them talking on the kitchen so I went there.

"Good afternoon, sleepy girl! Please come closer, we got our first present for you." Jimin said as I was listening from the door. I came closer and they opened space for me.

"Mrs. Kim told us that cellphones were not allowed on the shelter so we decided that now it's time for you to have your own, I can teach you some hacks, you're gonna love it!" Jungkook said very excited while I was opening the box.

I don't even know how much was it, I don't have any kind of idea. It was like I was living in another century.

"Now go take a bath, we will have lunch and then I'm going to take you to the mall!" Jimin touched my shoulder and even though my eyes widened with his touch I didn't do anything, I was improving.

I put my hair behind my ear, thanked them for the gift and was coming back to my bedroom.

"Hey, how was the night? Did you rest well?" Yoongi, who was a little behind asked me in a whisper. I looked at him and smiled.

"Yes, thank you, I'm felling a little better now, the bed is very comfortable." Why did I told him this? Stupid hybrid.

I took a (now not so hot) bath and put some jeans to run away from the sweatpants. We had lunch and Jimin took me to the mall.

To be continued...

Thanks for reading, now that I have already two chapters I will write the whole story! :) I will start to write chapter 3 on the weekend!

Again, the images are not mine!

[howtohero]

How many times have you see this? You and your squad have gone storming fists first into a haunted castle or a rogue government laboratory. The place is big and most of the world’s heroest are off-world fighting *checks notes* three million jelly fish? Really? In space? So your team is small, so small that it will take you forever to find what you’re looking for and uch who has the time for that. So you split up. Your watches are synchronized, your communicators are charged, Mega Mouth, the loudest man to have ever lived, is there, if he calls out you can all converge. What’s the worst that can happen? The mission ends in success, you’ve recovered the nuclear flapjack or the souls of the seven warlocks of the east or you’ve brought down the criminal empire of The Mobster. In fact things went better than any of you could have ever expected. It almost seems like... No, it couldn’t be. Could it have been too easy? Have you perhaps misjudged what the bad guy’s ultimate goal here was? Are they actually closer than ever to achieving world domination? Yes, yes and maybe, depending on how competent they are. (A villain’s competence can generally be assessed by counting the number of underlings they’ve employed who are clearly waiting for a chance to stab them in the back. If the number is higher than zero they are incompetent.) You see you or one of your friends may very well have fallen victim to one of the oldest tricks in the supervillain playbook. Please join us as we embark on our 150th post where we will discuss:

Mind Control

“Mind control, because hiring willing employees is complicated!” “Mind control, because you shouldn’t have to tell them twice!” “Mind control, because free will is such an unpredictable thing!” “Mind control, because can we really trust people to have thoughts that we didn’t give them!” These are just a few of the many slogans that the mind control industry has used in an attempt to sell people on the idea of having thoughts sold to them. Supervillains have been using mind control ever since the first brains were invented, to get unwitting pawns to do their dirty work. There are many different forms mind control can take, let’s take a look at a few of them and how they’ve been used, and how we as a superhero community can fight back against them.

Brain Washing This is one of the oldest, and bluntest, forms of mind control. Brain washing is not when a brain is literally removed from a head and placed in a bathtub or dishwasher or something. Rather it refers to a metaphorical scrubbing, an erasure of everything that is contained within a brain, including memories, personalities and even emotions and feelings. The brainwashing process usually leaves a supervillain with a blank slate. The poor sap they’ve kidnapped can then be molded into whatever kind of person the villain needs them to be. A fighter, a chaufer, a professional heckler, whatever they need to fulfill their maniacal machinations. The reeducation process might include pro-crime propaganda (you know motivational posters that say things like “stabbing is cool” or “push your neighbor down a flight of stairs”) or specific anti-superhero lessons (things like “Did you know that Ultiman loves double-dipping?” or “Have you heard literally anything about Professor Paleontologist?”). In no time at all our brain-bathing baddies will have a brand new henchman all of their own. Supervillains sometimes make use of this method because- (hey, this is exactly why we hired a supervillain correspondent) We did not do that. (You’re telling me you can explain why a supervillain might brainwash somebody better than a supervillain who lives in our basement and is literally named Dr. Brainwave?) All right I see your point... <Excellent! I knew you’d come around. Ahem, brainwashed henchmen are far more reliable than those free-thinking goons we’ve discussed before. They follow orders to a tee. They have no regard for their own safety. They can’t be reasoned with or manipulated or bribed by those devious, super fools that are always trying to put a halt to your plans. But at the same time, brainwashing is only good if you have the means to build a person from the ground up. The victim will need to relearn everything. How to walk, how to talk, how to go to the bathroom on their own. They’ll be like an infant, smelly and useless. Sure, once a you’ve brainwashed a few pitiful maggots you can pretty much just have them teach and watch after each other but the first go around you’re going to have to spend a lot of time crafting the person you want. Which is why I almost never do it anymore. But you know who does? Which insignificant mad scientist wannabe is still utilizing these antiquated claptrap methods? That hack, Professor Brain-Scrambler. You’ve never met any man as pathetic as he. That absolute fo-> Yeah so that was a mistake. 

Brainwashing can also be very difficult to undo. Generally when a brain is wiped clean it’s wiped clean, that’s it. Occasionally, the bad guys who are preforming the procedure might keep the “data” they pull from the brain for safe keeping (usually in the form of a glowing sphere) in which case all you need to do is retrieve the personality sphere and reunite it with the body. Sometimes a supervillain won’t do as thorough of a job as they’d thought <ha, certainly sounds like that buffoon Brain-Scrambler to me> and the victim’s former personality and memories can resurface, usually when they’re exposed to objects or people from their past. Other times though, the most that you can do for these people is to just rescue them from the employ of the supervillains and return them to non-supervillain society. Other times a skilled enough psychic can restore a brainwashed victim’s personality with enough time. (talk about the fish!) NO! <Did you know he isn’t even a real professor? He’s been rejected from the Villain’s College 17 times! I should know, I penned the rejection letters myself after intercepting his applications and feeding them to my mutant alligators.>

Hypnosis Similar to brainwashing, hypnosis allows a villain to imprint something new onto a victim. While brainwashing is often permanent though, hypnotism is always temporary. Hypnosis is useful when a villain needs a quick, disposable henchperson or if they want to ruin somebody’s reputation or frame them for a crime, especially a superhero’s. Hypnotized people will often have no memory of their actions while they were under the spell of the hypnotist and thus a villain can cause a person a lot of grief by using this method. They can force a person to do something unsavory, wait for the hypnosis to fade, and then wait for them to realize, or be informed about, what they’ve done and watch them collapse as they’re forced to live with the guilt of what they did for the rest of their lives. 

Hypnotized people will often behave more like zombies than actual living people and so they are easy to spot and stop (and tops) before they get into any real trouble. Just make sure you don’t confuse them for an actual zombie and shoot them in the head or set them on fire or something. That would be bad. What this means though, is that breaking a hypnotist’s hold is about as easy as waking somebody up. Loud noises, vigorous shaking, true love’s kiss. Take your pick. (I recommend the vigorous shaking, especially if you’re using our new, state-of-the-art Unhypnotizeinator, which consists of what amounts to a tilt-a-whirl that we got for a steal after the amusement park it was in was shut down for having a “criminally unsafe” tilt-a-whirl.) Sometimes though, even after a hypnotized person is awakened from their trance they can lapse back into it if certain stimuli are in place. The most common one is falling into actual sleep. In cases like these the person who has been hypnotized will fall asleep, as people are wont to do, and then immediately wake up under the control of Pocket Watch or the Hypster or whomever. If someone you know has been hypnotized make sure that you always have loud music playing and just live out the rest of your days making sure that they never have a moment of sleep ever again. Or you can best the evil hypnotist in combat. That’ll usually break the spell. Either that or you’ll have to destroy the enchanted watch or pendulum that they’re using to hypnotize people.

Sleeper Agents Like hypnosis, sleeper agents can be switched back and forth between being fully-in-control and fully-under-control. But unlike sleeper agents, the victims won’t actually be asleep or in a sleep-like state. Even though the word “sleep” is right there in the name. What a broken language this is. Sleeper agents (sleepers agent?) can be activated through a series of codewords or images and once activated they become basically brainwashed victims. Except they come fully-loaded with all those nifty things humans can do. No matter potty-training dangerous assassins, these guys can go all on their own! Sleeper agents might have entire secret lives that even they themselves aren’t aware of. They could even have an entirely different skillset that is accessed only when they are activated by their handler. Right now you (yes you) could have the ability to breakdance or bake wonderful soufflés or shoot a moving target at 300 meters and you’d never know it! (Atlantis cable news rhubarb kerfuffle. Try now.) 

Sleeper agents are some of the most dangerous enemies a superhero could have. Anybody could be one. Your best friend, the guy who runs the best coffee cart in New York City, the librarian, any of them could be sleeper agents who just need to hear the right sequence of colors and Major League Baseball teams to try to rip your throat out. It is extremely difficult to remove a sleeper agent program from a person’s mind. The process requires what amounts to a lobotomy, carving away at the parts of the brain, or hopefully, the implants in the brain, that cause the neighborhood mailman to turn into a hyper-competent ninja. 

The Power of Suggestion This kind of mind control is usually superpower based. Instead of rewriting a person’s entire personality or taking control of them indefinitely, villains with this power will simply issue a command to some poor sap and use their powers to force them to carry it out. People who under this kind of mind control will usually be fully aware of what’s happening, but they are completely unable to stop it. Usually this type of control will fade either after a set amount of time or after the victim has carried out the command. 

Generally, the only way to prevent a victim of this kind of mind control from carrying out their dastardly directives is to physically prevent them from doing so until the time-limit has passed. This could mean you have to physically restrain the person or simply knock them unconscious. (By throwing a brick at their head.) Be careful though, usually villains with these powers will be crafty sons of mothers. They’ll often have a couple of people under their control at the same time. These people will sometimes be redundancies, meaning if you stop one of them there will be another to carry out the same task. Other times they’ll be used to appeal to your sense of preserving-innocent-livesism and the sly suggestive supervillain will have ordered them to cause themselves or others bodily harm should the one who you’re trying to stop be stopped. With villains like these you need to outsmart them, or somehow find a way of disabling their powers. Otherwise, every moment they can speak is a moment they can place another person under their control. Remember, their powers are speech related so if they can’t speak they can’t use them. Try taking them out for a raging night of karaoke and screaming at pigeons, their voice will definitely be gone by the next morning and you can lock them up in a power neutralizing cell or like a deserted island where they can’t speak to anybody.

Mind control is one of the most dangerous techniques supervillains use in their never ending quest to take over some body of land. Which makes sense, not only are they evil but they have a strong enough will to get out of bed every morning and clomp around town in a ridiculous psychedelic battle suit, they’re not going to be very interested in allowing other people to keep their substantially weaker wills are they? Fortunately mind control can be combatted, not only with all of the ways we just mentioned, but also with a regular old sheet of tinfoil. That’s right! None of these mind controlling methods can get through regular, off-the-shelf, aluminum foil. So unwrap that sandwich you’ve been saving and make yourself a gosh darn hat out of tinfoil. If you need help making said hat, Hatman actually runs hat-making seminars every Friday night. (So hey, I guess everybody’s free to do crime in Hatsburg on Friday nights.) <Good to know!> Wait, no!

Thanks to all of my fans and supporters (that’s you guys!) and death by a thousand bolts of lightning to all my enemies (that might be you guys too!) [Wait,what?] {Oh you still work here?} [Of course I still work here!] Here’s to another 150 posts, stay tuned for a master post and a few small announcements later today! 

[someonetotaketheedgeoff-blog]

15.09.2018 - Journal

(Some of this was written when I travelled with my family in America in the last 2 months)

4.07.2018

I picked a good time to quit comedy… just moments before Nanette. Maybe I’ll actually do something good if I make music instead of making jokes about fucking myself with an ex-girlfriend’s dildo.

I wont stay up late waiting to go on. Or be brutalised by Open Mic magazine on Facebook. Anything not to upset my fragile sense of self-esteem. There’s not much that's funny to me anymore… oh well… who gives a fuck anyway…

… So Liam goes into his little room and quietly dreams up his last open mic set…. hahaha… comedy can get you pretty fucked up! ... who gives a fuck anyway…

9.07.2018

Whenever I’m in a big city all I hear is it whispering (or perhaps screaming) to me - ‘can I just have some fucking money?!’  

I wonder how much I’m a product of my own fear. And also how much of what I make is a response to that fear.

It’s mostly been about death for me for the last 3 - 5 years. All I’ve done is use death to explain everything. I’ve used it to draw a line under certain things within myself and the exterior world. Seems lazy to me now.

Is laziness the fear of pain? Is a lack of motivation due to fear? A fear of failing?

It seems fear’s only a good motivator when you’re aware of what you’re afraid of and why.

23.07.2018

Travelling in America/being in America’s like being in GTA but you’re not any of the main characters.

24.07.2018

Not doing anything or not trying IS FAILING!

25.07.2018

Saw a guy stop in the subway, put his bag on the ground and re-adjust himself to get out a camera so he could take a photo of some graffiti on the wall that said ‘I love porno’.

Being in an all black neighbourhood I feel as if the black people are annoyed at me or my presence.

I keep think about the word ‘nigger’ and I keep thinking about the word ‘cracker’.

The current most popular, agreed upon philosophy on slur usage is do not say any word that has negative history associated with it and do not say ‘nigger’ if you’re not black.

Recently ‘retarded’ has been considered more offensive than it used to be and if you happen to use it you’re now accused of being an immoral person and presumably you think people that suffer mental deficiencies are bags of shit and you want to set them all on fire.

I have no problem with discussing words and I’m not even so much of a Doug Stanhope/iDubbbzTV nerd that I think the best world is a world where you say everything all the time in every context.

What I have a massive problem with is the presumption of hate and the pompousness of people downright attacking people that slip out ‘x’ word when a word is still in the process of being fazed out. It’s bloody political correctness gone quickly without open discussion and kindness!

Words are simply the end point of a vortex of shit and ideas and slang and culture. They are the bookend to a concept and when people get really caught up with words it kinda scares me.

The problem with these kinda bullshit discussions (especially on the internet) is that when you argue or discuss this shit the assumed reason for your questioning is that I want to be able to say ‘nigga’ with my friends for some unknown reason. But I don’t and I don’t understand why anyone would want to other than the fact that they’ve been told they can’t or they’re at a Klan meeting.

What I’m confused about is if words hold so much apparent power and evil due to their history then isn’t simply being white the most offensive and on the nose thing you can do? Probably, kinda, yeah.

Yet black people don’t fucking loose their shit when you walk into a room being all white and whiting the whole place up by being white. They simply get on with their lives. I believe the same shit could be applied to words. At least in a reactionary sense… it doesn’t make sense to berate a stranger with venom for saying that the fact that none of the self serve screens in Macca’s were working was retarded. I don’t know if this metaphor works. I’m just slightly confused as too why I get all my information on how to best treat minorities forced onto me from young well off white people in beer gardens. I just sit there and listen for a bit and then I stare into the reflective glare coming off their nose ring.

1.08.2018

Saw a full American fat guy in a servo. He was so fat I had to focus on not double-taking at him by staring intently at the fridge at the Dr. Pepper selection.

He looked beyond human.

13.08.2018

For some reason I am smoking again. It’s a never ending battle. Oh well. Strangely I don’t mind.

I smoked a cigarette I crafted from all the butts I could find in my parent’s house. Something I’ve done probably over 100 times in my life.

I find that I clench my jaw all the time. I’ve only noticed it recently. Through meditating and not doing drugs. I’ve noticed it. I thought I had neck cancer but the strange feeling of ache comes from my constantly clenching my jaw.

I worry that maybe I’ve done drugs and drank for so long now and started at a young age that the tracks within my brain are a little fucked. Or maybe I just have too high hopes for a sober life to be a more peaceful, and mentally stable one. Maybe the only thing I’ll gain is a healthier body.

I’m just afraid of all the horrible shit that’s inside my head. I’m afraid of being unlovable because of my desires and my personality. I don’t want to face in fear of losing Tash and revealing to her that I’m evil.

This seems to be the crux of all relationships. All of them. In the whole world. You know that you need to face the truth to get to the next stage. But it seems it will be so lonely, so terrifying and so cold… we don’t want to see the monsters that might lurk within us.

The thing is it’s almost impossible to have an honest relationship and never have turbulence. You can have a dishonest relationship with turbulence but the turbulence will be about bullshit like - ‘you said you were going to clean the extractor fan in the kitchen weeks ago…’ or ‘stop leaving your guitar on the couch…’ and such things might blow into massive arguments.

Relationships are designed to be a nightmare. Not by anyone in particular but by our hope for them and isolation and alienation we all experience internally in this society.

A relationship is a small life within your life.

Dependant on the extremity of a relationship (and obviously that is a relative thing but for sake of argument we’ll say a relationship where you truly considered that you would commit yourself to this other person until you or they or both had died) it could possibly be an interesting simulation of life after death (at least in an abstracted way).

When a relationship of said extremity begins to fall apart (for whatever reason) it’s interesting to note that you feel as if you’re dying and that there’s in fact no perceivable life to lead after the break up or if their is one it will be hellish and a subhuman existence not worth living.

When you survived a relationship that you’d committed everything to how did you feel?

I assume it was horrendous. But assuming you’re still alive and reading this… you must’ve started to feel somewhat normal once again.

Like awaking from a vivid dream it fades away rapidly. You played a different character, you lead a different life. You feel a horribleness deep inside. Not about the person but about the situation. Is this how it has to be? That the people you commit so intensely to, that you fuck and spend countless hours with then have to perish abstractly and then repressed as they fade into the background sometimes never to be spoken about or spoken to again…

I have a girlfriend now. And it terrifies my to think that the pattern may repeat.

***

We believe the internet is everlasting. Whether we research it or not, whether we know it consciously or not.

As much as we might make comments about Facebook and say things like- ‘be careful uploading those photos of your arsehole… you know that stuff will be up there forever’ I believe we’re secretly subconsciously screeching with joy at the fact that these photo’s will be up forever. As much as people have a disdain about Facebook and social media we adore it’s implied permanence. We believe that Facebook will be around after we’re dead. I say ‘believe’ because do you know how the fucking internet works? Do you know how a website is created? I fucking don’t. I don’t know if the internet would still exist if all the power plugs in the world were pulled out of there sockets. I’m a fucking idiot! A fucking idiot that has faith in the permanence of the internet… I mean… obviously… I write a blog mostly about death and existential dread and it put on… the internet.

The internet is now our saviour. It is the modern sleek titanium, bomb proof, indestructible, deathless park bench where you can scratch ‘L.D. was here’ and have a more solidified faith that it’ll be around for a while. And the longer it hangs around the more eye balls will see it, eye balls connected to a concious brain that’ll have no choice but to think ‘hey that guy was there’… and even if it’s just for one second your existence has been stretched just a tiny bit longer.

(People that love us are what we all orbit around all of our lives. If they happen to reject you at some point or disappear we then break away from that orbit and hurtle through abstract nothingness).

17.08.2018

Going to the pub was a bad idea. I went there thinking - ‘well… I kinda want to have just one drink’. The legs were aching and my poor sense of personal entitlement to some kind of ‘treat’ was raging within me. A very problematic thing for anyone that isn’t fulfilled in the work that that do (i.e. most people). I felt as I for some reason I deserved a beer. Also it was freezing cold. My feet were soaking wet and frozen due to my old decrepit shoes. I continued walking up the street. I noticed I had all these thoughts swirling in my mind. They all flew past me whispering - ‘it’s OK to have a beer’.

I watched them all swirl around in my head. I crossed my metaphorical arms and tutted. As I tutted I looked at the swirling thoughts and said - ‘fuck off… are you serious? You know this’s absolute bullshit. We don’t ‘deserve’ a drink… we don’t even probably technically want one… why are we actually going to do this?’

‘Yeah but we’ll only have one! Not even a pint mind you and then we’ll write a new to-do list and then maybe we see someone maybe we don’t and then we head off home and get down to work for a couple of solid hours before we go to bed’ said one of the thoughts.

‘Well OK… when you put it like that… that sounds nearly OK… but don’t you think there’s a chance that we might throw all that shit out the window and because we actually weren’t planning or trying to get drunk…. you’re going to use reverse psychology on me and then we actually will get drunk and most likely indulge in more heavily than if I’d actually planned to indulge…’ I replied.

‘Look don’t read into it just get into that pub… get a beer… have a cigarette in the beer garden, get out you’re little notebook and it’ll be just a quick little pop in, no worries, blah blah, etc, tomato tomato’ ’

‘Well alright then you’ve swung me round, but surely just like a small drink, like a ten ounce… you know we’re trying to focus on money and we’re only starting to face the fact of how much money we piss away on alcohol and other similar shit…’

‘Yea, yea, yea don’t worry just a ten ounce… don’t you worry about that’.

I walked up to the bar.

‘Yes what can I get you?’

‘Ah… could get a ten ounce of Little Creatures?’

‘Ah it’s actually $5 a pint right now and $10 dollars for a jug?’ she grinned slightly.

‘Ah…’.

I turned to the floating thoughts. I gave them a warning look. They all looked back at me like a pack of hyenas.

I began drowning internally - ‘Ah fuck! Na, na, na, I knew some bullshit like this was going to happen… action stations… we gotta think of some other shit… what else do they have on tap… maybe a stubby? Fuck!’

‘Hey this is great news! What a bargain! Don’t worry about it we’ll just drink that one pint and leave… no worries’ cackled the hyenas.

I ended up drinking maybe 5 pints. A bunch of my friends turned up and I talked a bunch of shit for a long, long time. It was as if ‘the plan’ had been completely erased from my mind like the bar lady had men in blacked me with the shine of her bar blade and I was back in the drinking business and also the business of not following my dreams and the business of having no self control.

The arguments in the pub got very heated. I have a few friends that can get heated during argument, (I mean who doesn’t) but I have to say it stresses me out a bit but even more so it confuses me. Every time an argument gets to that stage I don’t really trust anything that’s happening anymore. Your/my emotions are taking over and also everyone’s pissed. I think it’s interesting to me to watch people’s attention spans disintegrate at the pub. The more everyone drinks the quicker a group conversation subject topic can change hands. It’s not hard to do, barely anyone notices it and you can do it in a matter of seconds. You could be having a super intense discussion about anything and if you just interrupt everyone enough and interject a barrage of some current novelty bullshit topic that’s circling you can derail shit very quickly.

21.08.2018

Last week at the pub a friend told me that he basically waits for inspiration. He felt he should never force himself to create anything. Recently I’ve been getting back into the Stephen Pressfield way of thinking that he explains in the book The War Of Art. A book that basically shows you how to be a professional whatever, artist, musician, sports player, whatever. It’s a book that gives tools to fight the part of you that doesn't want to sit down and do the work. In other words it fights the notion of ‘waiting for inspiration’.

Very, very few times in my life have I been struck with overwhelming flaming inspiration to do anything. It happened more when I was a child. When I’d wake up early on a weekend I’d have the inspiration akin to fucking Michelangelo to go and make Lego spaceship car things out of all the see- through green pieces of Lego.

But when you get to around 7, 8, 9, 10 and beyond I think (I’m not a psychologist) you begin to second guess all that shit. You begin to be your own worst critic. Because fascinatingly nearly every kid up until that age will be happy to do a bit of drawing or play various characters in a fictional story they create on the spot. And then it all stops and this horrible awareness kicks in.

I define it as the point where you used to play with toys as a kid in your room. Each character having a crazy back story and way of speaking. You’d play, alone and be completely immersed. Your mum or dad would pop there head into the room to ask if you wanted cornflakes or some shit and you’d be like a focused director waving off an intern - ‘yea yea, sure, just have it on my desk, I’m working right now’. But then something changes around that age and when one of your parents pops their head into the room you freeze and quite your voice. You suddenly feel cripplingly self aware, maybe even stupid. You tell them to go away maybe or wait for them to leave before you get back into to the action.

Then one day you go to the studio (aka your bedroom with a mat on the floor resembling a city that we all had) and the juice is gone, the mojo is gone, you pick up the toys and you try to croak out their particular voice and you just feel stupid, looking quickly back at your bedroom door, making sure no one heard.

All of this stuff reminds me of a Picasso quote [R.I.P. 25.10.1881 - 19.06.2018*] - ‘Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once we grow up’.

I’ve always found it interesting. I think encapsulates what I’m saying. Most people have some kind of creativity or at least blissful ignorance of expression at an age and then their brains get bigger or something and they become pimply teenagers that struggle to even walk down the street without worrying about everything detail about themselves and then they learn to just manage that shit as they enter adult life.

*I’ve chose Picasso’s death date to be the release date of Nanette. I can’t really be bothered explaining why that is right now so I guess if you really want to know you’ll have to watch Nanette.

30.08.2018

I’m often confused as to why everyone has an opinion and why you seemingly have to have an opinion.

’I am the wisest man alive, for I know one thing, and that is that I know nothing’ - Socrates

In my college years I used to be a bit of an air headed stoner art wanker and I still am but the difference is now I have opinions on things. Back then I didn’t really have opinions. And I did it on purpose because I knew that I didn’t know anything. However it didn’t really help me socially and it didn’t help in my relationships and it didn’t really help with my self-esteem. Not initially but eventually I started to feel like I was just drifting away into an abstract world of nothingness. People don’t really take you seriously when you don’t have any solid opinions. It’s probably not a ‘masculine’ trait.

Reminds of a Dylan Moran bit:

‘Men; strong opinions with no information’

[inenaffable]

*hungry tummy noises*

they read it and they ask me "what the fuck is wrong with you" and i just can cry and laugh a little bit cause its funny, you know? its funny when no one else exists besides you and you still cant do anything. youre so stupid, you know that, you know that? you cant do anything because youre caged inside yourself so you create fantasies to pretend your life is interesting and youre not a hollow of a person, a carbon copy of whoever is the closest, unable to survive without a partner, a disgusting parasyte. god, youre not even good enough to ruin people, to mark them in any way possible. you just bore them, then your thrashed to the side. its not even dramatic enough to be written about, its just logical. youre so bad at being anything, its pathetic. you cant be good, great, you cant be filthy, despairful, youre nothing, notghin nothign nothing notghin nogthing nothing nothgin!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! no one can hate you if no one gives a fuck about you and you know that you know that the only one who hates yourself is you and you are the only fucking reason to all your problems because theyre all in your head and theyre fake, fucking fake, fake fake fake fake fake because you cant entertain yourself on your fucking life because everyone leaves you when they realize you are just a shell a copy a parasyte that sucks and sucks and sucks and doesnt give a fuck and is locked inside their own head and blames people for the crazy things your dumb fucking brain created fuck fuck fuck fuck

no one asks you what the fuck is wrong with you because no one cares, and everyone knows those things are only in your head, because you tell them, and you know, you fucking know, and thats the worst part of it

i dont know how to be a human being , even when imbeing the most disgusting one that exists - but im not, because its all in your head and youve never done anything

im perfect, its incredible, its amazing, really, you should look at me,look at me

i do bad things and dont feel guilty for them, i guilty myself  for things that arent bad, and then i blame people for my own judgement, but i dontknow how to live outside of this

its scary, scary, scary, scary, scary, scary,scary,scary so so scary outside of here, dont let me go, dont let me go, youre gona go back all over again

except you cant go back to something that never even existed

what am i going to tell my therapist tomorrow? lies, lies, unconscious lies that im very aware of, all over again, excuses after excuses

why dont you just fuck me, tell me, why? i dont have to think, i dont want to think,  im spending so much time alone and yet im doing absolutely nothign, im disgusting

but im perfect, so perfect, how can anyone ever hate me? everyone loves me, right? you love me, right? hey, are you reading this? hey, hey, wont you just fuck me? wont you make me forget i have a mind of my own? 

im so disgusting, how can you love me? you like it, dont you? how im so very fake, how i cant take no’s, how im just barely nothing but annoyment when striped down. what, what? you want to see me strip? silly, silly, if i do that, then youd want to go away. its just too bad i cant control myself, right? i just want to be seen oh so badly. 

theres no liquor in this house and i hate it, i hate it how i could just ask for it, but i wont, and ill still hate that theres none. thats me, thats me for you. dont you like it, love it? dont you just want to fuck me now?

i dont need to pretend in front of you, if you dont like it, just leave, im tired of you. i can say fuck and i can act like everything i do is coated with so much honey  its nauseating, annoying, because thats who i am. lousy, annoying, nasty, spoiled, a horrible liar and so much more. but im nothing you guys like, im nothing i like, so ill wear baggy clothing even though i want to show my tits to everyone. my room is just too hot. i must not forget, nobody cares about me, nobody remembers me, no one will come back for me, so i can tear it up. i can say fuck and i can lick every single inch of my mirror and i can be whatever i want to be, because, because-

she said i love myself, i said i loved myself, and thats why. but maybe that was a lie. see, how havent you seen through that? i actually hate myself. oh, i do, so very much. its funny. dont you find it funny? tell me, tell me you laughed, tell me you could tell from the start, and that its okay, that ill learn to love myself at somepoint. i want to have sex with so many people because i hate myself and i dont want to think

hey, look at me, arent i ugly? arent i destroying myself? say, dont you think no one will never apreciate me again?

i dont know if what im preteding is to believe or to doubt. do i love it, do i hate it? its so tangled, its funny. i cant remember what came first. does it really even matters?

im so very hungry. i want to drink and let people touch me and touch them back, i want to feel whole. dont you just want to fuck me? im perfect, see? i promise, i promise, you wont regret it! come, come, just fuck me already.

imagine it,, imagine me, miserably sitting down in my bed, sweating, hungry, and writing all this jumbled mess on my dumb little notebook, typing on this double keyboard, listening to dumb little rain sounds on my dumb little one-sided earphone cause im too scared of the silence but cant listen to music cause my brain is just dumb dumb dumb and cant concentrate on more than one dumb little thing at a time

im so hungry, and its not even a metaphor anymore

im not doing it on purpose, i promise, i could eat so so much but theres just nothing  to eat and most of the things are just icky

i could eat a whole hamburger if i could go out

dad, please, buy me a hamburger, please, please, im so hungry, wont you just buy me one

hey, dont you want to buy me things too? that would be nice, so very nice of you. say, give me your money, wont you? i could buy so much with it! i need it, i need you

fuck, fuck, tell me, how am i supposed to sleep now?

i sometimes wonder if i should take pills for it, but that would probably be a bad idea

i dont need any of it, and starting it would probably get me into something worse

think, wouldnt it be cool if i could stay up till 4am?

but i cant, and i need to sleep

wont you kiss me goodnight?

pretty, pretty please?

ah! thank you! thank you so much! i love you, i love you, i love you!

[ebaeschnbliah]

DUNGEON  ON  THE  MIND-STAGE ?

________________________________________________________________

Musings on the 'Serbian-Scene' in TEH and playing with it on a metaphorical level

Sherlock chained to the walls of this dungeon, beaten with a metal bar by a brute and Mycroft sitting by ... watching calmly .... it never felt right to me. And a lot of other things contradict themselves in this scene as well.

More under the cut ....

Why has Mycroft to visit that prison himself ... 'smuggling his way into their ranks'. Does he not have a lot of experts at his command, trained exactly for this sort of action? Also .... this must have taken a lot of time. Who replaced the 'british government' in London while Mycroft was away, doing the much despised 'legwork'?

Maybe Mycroft wanted to go himself because it was about Sherlock, his little brother, whom he always worries about so much? Then why doesn't he show his concern in any way?

Maybe Mycroft couldn't use words because there was the risk of being overheard? Sure, the first few sentences are wispered but the last words - and very revealing words by the way ('Back to Baker Street, Sherlock Homes') - aren't wispered at all.

Besides, there isn't the slightest hint that someone is watching this interrogation somewhere from the outside - unlike the one of Jim Moriarty at the end of THOB. There is no quick shot of a little camera lens in a dark corner, nor a tiny red laser light to clarify the possibility of being watched or overheard. No one is monitoring that scene from a different room. On the contrary, it is explicitly shown that the soldier outside the door wears earplugs and listens to music ... he's not interested at all in what happens behind him in that dungeon.

Maybe Mycroft can't express his worry and concern with words because ... he simply doesn't do things that way? Very plausible .... but ... There is no concern or worry or empathy in his eyes either. Nothing! Just sarcasm, scorn and cynicism. And I wont even start about the hair pulling or comparing torture to 'holidays'.

In fact, Mycroft seems much more concerned to get Sherlock back to London in time to ward off a possible terror attack, then he is about his bleeding and tortured little brother. Which reminds me a lot of Eurus in Sherrinford and her special 'utility':

'There is, in this facility, a prisoner whose intellectual abilities are of occasional use to the British government.'

Mycroft seems to have a certain tendency to free his siblings from prisons when he needs their extraordinary talents for his own purposes. 

So, my friend. Now it’s just you and me. You have no idea the trouble it took to find you. Now listen to me. There’s an underground terrorist network active in London and a massive attack is imminent. Sorry, but the holiday is over, brother dear. Back to Baker Street, Sherlock Holmes.

"I got you out."  .......  "No – I got me out."

There is clearly something in Sherlock's hand and it looks a lot like a key.

Question is ... how was Sherlock able to get hold of a key? Had it been already in his hands before he got chained up in that room? Then why didn't the torturer notice it? I heavily doubt anyone - even Sherlock Holmes - is able to pinch something while chained from wall to wall with outstreched arms. The next thing I also heavily doubt is that Sherlock would be able to use that key to free himself. The hinge of the shackle is clearly on the underside ... therefore the keyhole must be on the back of the hand. Seems very, very impossible for Sherlock to 'get himself out'.

Well .... and that's the next thing which reminds me of Eurus in Sherrinford ... behind Elephant Glass.

Two prisoners - under normal circumstances - unable to free themselves by their own power - and yet ... neither a high tech security prison, equipped with elephant glass ... nor shackles and heavy chains forged of iron, can keep them inside.

Eurus apparently is able to walk through elephant glass every time she wants to break free.

Sherlock holds the key to his bonds in his own hands, ready to get himself out when he wants to.

By the way ... apparently Jim and Ajay can't be held in captivity as well. They too walk away from torture and prison under dubious circumstances. Not sure about Alex, but it's always suspicious when a charachter dies off stage. And Gabriel ... except for the name there's not the slightest bit of information about that guy. So, who knows ....

Taken as a 'real life scene' Sherlock's captivity and torture in this prison in Serbia ... ordered by a man who is called 'Baron Maupertius' ...  appears to be at least a bit dubious. (I know Baron Maupertius is canon but still .... a Baron in the 21st century in Serbia???) Could it be that this whole scene has the distinct flair of someone who loves to be .... dramatic? Anyway, I dare to doubt ... and therefore:

A metaphorical reading of the dungeon scene in Serbia

Based on the assumption that Sherlock is already investigating and deducing on his Mind-Stage at the beginning of 'The Empty Hearse' ... with

Mycroft representing the BRAIN 

Sherlock the SOUL

London equating Sherlock's BODY

Terrorists .... being synonymous with EMOTIONS

... what would that scene look like?

So, my friend. Now it’s just you and me. You have no idea the trouble it took to find you. Now listen to me. There’s an underground terrorist network active in London and a massive attack is imminent. Sorry, but the holiday is over, brother dear. Back to Baker Street, Sherlock Holmes.

BRAIN:  "Ok, SOUL ... I watched you torture yourself long enough. Stop this nonsense and put yourself together! You are severly needed by your BODY. Return at once because very soon EMOTIONS will rise and attack again. Get ready for it. Find and defuse all the 'danger points' (explosives) ... unless of course, you want to become a prisoner of your own meat! ... You had enouth time to catch your breath! Get up! The game is on again!"

Torture yourself? .... let's take a closer look at the torturer then

TORTURER: He said that I used to work in the navy, where I had an unhappy love affair ... that the electricity isn’t working in my bathroom; and that my wife is sleeping with our next door neighbour! The coffin maker! ... If I go home now, I’ll catch them at it! I knew it! I knew there was something going on!

The torturer worked in the navy .... a sailor then? Interesting. Serbia is a country without access to the sea. But then, the man (who speaks Serbian) could have been a mercenary in some other army. Who knows? A mercenary in the navy .... maybe he even was a .... PIRATE?

Unhappy love affair ..... the sailor/pirate once loved someone, but it went wrong. And then he gave up his profession as a 'pirate'? Because of a broken heart? Well, well ....

Electricity not working.... if it's not working then there is no light ... then it is rather DARK. Which impairs the sight considerably. A bit like 'shortsightedness'?

In the bathroom .... the bathroom is definitely the one room in a house/flat which has the strongest connection to ... WATER. A lot of water in a bathroom. A lot of 'dark water' ...... if the electricitiy isn't working .....

The wife is cheating with a coffin maker .... someones life partner is cheating with a person who creates sort of 'closets/cupboards for dead people' .... who puts dead people into narrow boxes .....

If the torturer goes home at once, he will chatch them cheating .... hm, maybe if the 'former pirate' returns to London immediately, he will arrive just in time to be present for ... an engagement?

There is even a little bit of additional information hiding in plain sight regarding this 'torturer'. He wears a Tattoo. Nothing unusual for a former sailor or a mercenary one might say. In combination though this tattoo becomes very interesting because it is Mary who also wears a 'secret tattoo'. Sharing more than 30 similarities makes her a major mirror for Sherlock. Therefore I wouldn't be much surprised if somewhere on Sherlock's body waits a tattoo to be discovered as well.  :)))))

It really looks like - on a metaphorical level -  this torturer is no one else than Sherlock who is torturing himself in the solitude of his mind.

Conclusion

Something happens in S2 TRF and Sherlock ... panicks. My humble guess: Jim happens. Oozing sexuality and darkness like never before, threatening Sherlock to break into every corner of his being, to occupy even the most secure and heavily locked places ... 'the man with the key is king and honey you should see me in a crown' ... no place of power, no prison is secure enough to keep him out ... not even the crown jewels are safe anymore. : )))

Sherlock tries to get rid of Jim, then fakes his own death (just to be safe) and goes on a mental hiatus to find his former equilibrium again. Only ... it doesn't work. It turns out that being away from BODY and HEART doesn't change anything. On the contrary ... the distance becomes torture, unbearable suffering. At last Sherock's own BRAIN - logic and reason - tells him to stop that misery and go back to where he belongs. Sherlock has to find either a way to defeat/delete his emotions entirely or .... lose the war and surrender to that powerful 'underground network'.  And we know already how this battle ends .......  :)))

Bonus-Pics ________________________________________

Obviously the torturer doesn't use a tyre lever to beat Sherlck. It's propably some piece of a water pipe ... but .... well .... the look of it ....

I mean, they could have easily chosen a club or some straight piece of metal ....?

Sherlock holding the key to his chains in his own hand?

How does a rainbow get into a dungeon .....

I leave you to your own deductions. Thanks @callie-ariane for the scripts.

August, 2017

@gosherlocked @loveismyrevolution @monikakrasnorada @sagestreet @sherlockshadow @sarahthecoat @darlingtonsubstitution @kateis-cakeis @tjlcisthenewsexy @221bloodnun

[avegetariancannibal]

“Friendly Dreams”

Happy birthday, @granpappy-winchester ! I wrote you a small fluffy thing. (Set before Sorbet.)

Will Graham showed up on his doorstep just as he was about to leave for lunch. Hannibal thought about teasing him for it, as he was wont to do, but the look of utter desperation on Will's face made him decide against it.

"I"m so sorry for showing up unannounced," Will said, "but I can't take this anymore."

Hannibal motioned for him to take a seat. "Why don't you tell me what's troubling you?"

Will sat, only to pop right back up again to start pacing. He scrubbed his hands over his face and through his hair. He was rumpled in a way that Hannibal knew he should have found off-putting, but in fact he had the opposite reaction. He found it charming.

"I'm just going to come out with it," Will said. "I... I've been having erotic dreams about someone I definitely shouldn't be dreaming about."

"Dreams are harmless enough," Hannibal said, "unless they interfere with our waking lives."

"I can't hardly look at this person anymore," Will said.

Hannibal noted that Will was not looking at him, and had not looked at him since he walked through the door. He also noted the lack of a gender-specific pronoun.

Hannibal tried not to get ahead of himself. "Is it someone you work with, perhaps?"

"Yes," Will said, still not looking at him.

"Is it someone you consider a friend?" Hannibal asked. "You needn't tell me any more than you wish to divulge, but it may help me get to the root of your dreaming."

"Can I just tell you what the dreams are about?" Will asked, coming to a stop at the window.

"Please do."

"Sometimes we're, um, fishing, and all we have on are wading boots," Will said. "Sometimes we...oh God...sometimes we do it on the riverbank while a trout flops around beside us, dying."

"The act of copulation is a powerful metaphor for life and death," Hannibal said, making it up out of thin air. "Perhaps you've faced life or death experiences with this...person. And it's made you attracted to... them."

Will made a small retching sound. Hannibal tried not to feel offended. After all, he wasn't even certain Will was referring to him.

"Sometimes this person says pretentious things about music," Will said, "and it just gives me a raging boner."

Hannibal preened slightly.

"Not in real life," Will hurried to add. "Just in the dreams."

Hannibal stopped preening.

"Is it possible the dreams are meaningless?" Will asked, desperation in his voice. "I'm just so...revolted...I can hardly stand it."

Hannibal was starting to wish he'd never opened the door.

"I mean Brian Zeller of all people," Will said, practically wailing now. "That guy annoys the shit out of me every day!"

"Brian Zeller," Hannibal repeated.

"Oh shit," Will said under his breath. "I didn't actually mean to reveal who it was. I'm just so damned pissed off at myself. He's such a cocky little twerp!"

"Hm," was all Hannibal could think to say.

"At least if it were you in my dreams I'd understand," Will said.

Hannibal suddenly thought of something else to say. "Oh?"

Only now did Will turn around to look at him, bashful as he was. "I mean, well, yeah. At least I get along with you. At least I'd understand why my brain would take that to mean I had romantic feelings."

Hannibal had to cross his legs to keep from leaping out of his chair. He reminded himself Will hadn't actually admitted to sexually desiring him. He was speaking only in theoretics.

"I hazard to say your dreams don't indicate you're attracted to Mr. Zeller," Hannibal said. "Your daily annoyance at him could be misinterpreted by your sleeping brain as other strong emotions."

Will sighed and seemed to relax. He let out a soft, throaty laugh.

"I'm relieved to hear that. You don't even know!"

Hannibal smiled and showed him to the door. "I'm glad I could help you," he said. "Please keep me in mind if you dream again."

Will quirked an eyebrow at him.

"That is, keep me in mind to tell me about your dreams," Hannibal said quickly.

Will returned his smile, bright as anything he'd ever seen. "Thanks, Dr. Lecter. You're a good friend."

As Hannibal watched Will disappear down the stairs, Hannibal thought perhaps when Franklyn next came for his appointment, he would ask him about dealing with sexual feelings for one's friend. Just to get another perspective and not because he himself was inexperienced with romance, of course.

[impatient14]

EMP Theory is Alive and Thriving

I want to preface this post with this: I am in no way trying to offend or upset the people who do not believe in EMP. This show can be read in so many ways, even by the people who agree on most things. I respect everyone’s opinion. This is just mine! 

So, with that said, I want to go through some things I noticed in The Six Thatchers that (to me) are Extended Mind Palace smoking guns. Let it be said that I have only watched the episode twice so there is definitely going to be more to add to this list. 

1.) The story about death in Sumara. It was mentioned multiple times, by multiple characters. Almost like they were all given the same script. And you may be like, well, yeah, they are actors in a show, but writers do not give actors the same brain. But it is like Sherlock, Mycroft, and Norbury all share a brain. They all bring up the story without any of the characters speaking to each other about the story first. Sherlock’s dialogue is a voice over, which is not time stamped. It is possible that Mycroft and Norbury brought up the story and then Sherlock used it in his monologue to the audience, but why did Mycroft and Norbury both think of the story? Because they share a brain. Sherlock’s brain.

2.)  As @tjlcisthenewsexy pointed out, the sharks, CAM, water, and the death story are also very telling. This post/thread sums it up far better than I could.

3.) Intuition, Premonition- these words were used to describe Sherlock’s feelings about The Six Thatchers case. Premonition is defined as a strong feeling that something is about to happen, especially something unpleasant. Sherlock is anticipating his death, and his intuition is telling him that Mary is involved. Its almost as if she is responsible for his murder in the first place…

4.) The odd transitions and reality breaks. The water imagery over Sherock’s face and in the background of certain scenes, Mycroft and his office busting just as the MT busts were doing throughout the episode, the overlay of a cracked bust on the side of Sherlock’s face. There is an argument for production style here, but its all so very over the top. Much more so than ususal for BBC’s Sherlock. Its almost like they want you to question what you are seeing…

5.) The Damn Skull. In case you can’t tell. Its glowing, almost like an x-ray. Like, an x-ray of someone who is currently laying in a hospital bed. Its fucking glowing guys. Adding onto the fact that it was blue in HLV, something is seriously wrong here.

6.) Mary and John sleeping on opposite sides of the bed from where they slept at the beginning of HLV.

7.) AJ doesn’t care about killing people enough to slit the throat of one of the Thatcher bust owners (unless it was really Mary who killed her), but doesnt shoot Sherlock when Sherlock tells him he is Mary’s friend and he will protect her. Um. Okay.

8.) Sherlock Holmes. His first and last name was said multiple times, by multiple people. Almost as if the entire world is centered around him. We hear his full name multiple times in his confrontation with AJ at the pool. “Who are you? Sherlock Holmes. Who is Sherlock Holmes? Not a policeman.” (This is a reference to ACD or canon Sherlock Holmes who is always described as “Not a policeman or vigilante, just a logical man with an eye for detective work.”) AJ’s “Goodbye Sherlock Holmes” is haunting me too, and not just because of the cheesy line. Where else have we heard someone say, “Goodbye Mr. Holmes”? (Honest question, I know its significant…help! EDIT TO ADD: A couple people have pointed out that this is what Irene texts Sherlock in ASiB. I do remember this, but it isn’t what I had in mind. I feel like I can hear someone say it…like in a threatening way the way AJ does…any takers?)

9.) “Sherlock the dragon slayer.” Mary says this to Sherlock after she gives him what looks like a wickedly smug smile. First of all, how the hell does Mary know Sherlock sees himself this way. When he and Mycroft had this conversation, she was in the middle of passing out in John’s arms. Unless she knows Sherlock sees himself this way because the conversation with Mycroft took place in Sherlock’s mind, just as this ones does. 

10.)”My Darling.” Mary begins her letter to John in the most old fashioned, cheesy way. Its not the way Mary Morstan talks…but it is the Mrs. John Watson talks- from TAB. “I don’t mind you going, my darling, I mind you leaving me behind.”

11.) Mary’s disguise on the plane was a joy to watch, but it reminded me of someone else. Sherlock. Sherlock loves disguises and theatrics. The vicar from ASiB and the french waiter from TEH spring to mind. 

12.) The number 6. Six months of bristly kisses. 6 months until SHerlock was to die in exile. 6 years that AJ was held in captivity. 6 Thatcher busts. A metaphorical 666 carved into the baby’s head. Highlighted 6 before giving us this:

The number 6 is important to Sherlock, but why?

13.) John’s blog. There should be multiple blog posts for us to read and yet, there aren’t. Its not that Joe is no longer available, bc they’ve told us he has a project for this series…why stop updating the blog? Because there have been no more cases and John is too busy sleeping by Sherlock’s hospital bed. oH, and The six Thatchers? Already a case Sherlock solved. Years ago.

14.) Scene in Georgia. The ambassador says, “I’ve got something they’d love if I could just get out of here” (Paraphrasing). The man asks what and the ambassador replies, “Amo.” She has love. Just like Sherlock has love and has figured it out and if he could just get the hell out of that coma, out of the damn hospital bed, he could give it to John- and John would love him in return.

15.) The two lengthy rapid deductions Sherlock makes are about Mary.

16.) The white papers of doom. There are three of them. Mary to Sherlock (drugged), Exx to John (temptation), and Molly to Sherlock from John (emotional distress). There was a white note of doom in TAB too. Miss me?

17.) John’s cheating story line. It fits in with TAB (see below), but I think its more complicated than just that. We get him texting someone Hey and them replying with the same.Then we get the night time text messages. They seem to be written between people who are at the beginning stages of their relationship, but are still intimate in some way. The Its been too long and Miss you implies they’ve spent time together, but the Night Owl? implies they don’t know each other very well. So, taken alone, this could definitely be from the bus woman. John then breaks it off with his This isn’t a good idea. I’m not free. Things wont end well. It was fun getting to know you a little. I’m sorry. Then the bus stop girl is waiting for him at the bus stop and he smiles at her and then looks guilty- the same look he had when he decided to keep the paper instead of throwing it away. This is what we see. HOWEVER there is more there. First, when John opens the paper to text Exx for the first time he does so horizontally, however, the image they show us has the number broken vertically, as if the paper were folded vertically and Exx isn’t broken up.

Then we’ve got Sherlock saying he deletes all messages from John that begin with the word “Hi”, then we see John text someone (E xx) with the word “Hey.” .The paper that the woman (E) gave John was already in her hand when she was sitting on the bus, she was fiddling with it when they made flirty eye-contact. She then wrote something on it before giving it to him, but the presence of the paper beforehand is suspicious. Almost as if she was planning to hand that exact paper to John anyway, before they even flirted. We’ve also got Sherlock telling John and Lestrade, very specifically, to take the bus home from the crime scene. Sherlock set John up. Why? Because that is the part he needs him to play. He needs John to feel guilty while Mary piles on the manipulative hero-worship and then dies in his arms. All of the text messages themselves are off. Almost like they are in code or written to different people. As if it is Sherlock writing for LiR, while channeling himself as well. 

18.) TAB. Basically the existence of TAB is the biggest smoking gun of all. Within that episode, Mofftiss established multiple things. 1.) Sherlock sometimes goes through lengthy mind palace scenarios (with the aid of drugs) to work out a case and we, as the viewer, could be subject to watching them. 2.) A bride fakes her own death with a big splat of blood and drama, then returns to kill her husband- who was cheating on her. 3.)Sherlock made a promise to someone about keeping their spouse safe, and that promise was broken. Lady Carmichael- “You promised! You promised you’d keep him safe!” John- “You made a vow!” Let it be said that Lady C was playing Sherlock there and that she wanted her husband dead all al- OH WAIT. Actually, we never get confirmation that it was Lady C that set up the whole thing. Sherlock makes that deduction, but then Moriarty shows up and ruins the reveal. Either way, its the same story line. Sherlock makes a promise to keep someone safe and fails. 4.) we have the text messages that Sherlock sends John and Mary at the end. Mary’s reads: The Curtain Rises.The Last Act.Its Not Over. John’s is just literal directions as to where to go. He didn’t tell Mary where to meet him. There could be an argument that this would imply that Mary was already in on some sort of plan to fake her death, but the exact same phrasing was used in TAB. 

19.) Mary’s video. A posthumous message that parallels Moriarty’s in many, many ways, which includes the phrase, Save John Watson. Where have we seen the phrase Save John Watson before? It was the answer to part of the skip code in TEH. John or James, indeed.

20.) “You’ve been having a reoccurring dream.” I feel like this might be an actual scene, just placed out of order. This scene might be from after Sherlock wakes up. He explains to her what he went through in his MP and she (as any therapist would do) interprets it as a dream. A reoccurring dream. That’s exactly what TAB and TST is. Its the same dream told differently. He goes to Ella after he has awoken and recovered and asks for her help in figuring out what to do with the emotions he has decided to acknowledge. (EDIT: This may actually be EMP too…read this.)

I think 20 is a good number to stop at. Im sure there will be more in the future. Please feel free to add on at your leisure. 

The most important thing to realize here is that Mary is the villain and Sherlock is figuring out how to best her, protect John, and stay alive at the same time AkA- The Final Problem. 

Tags:

@monikakrasnorada @isitandwonder @tjlcisthenewsexy @ebaeschnbliah @yan-yae @gosherlocked @the-7-percent-solution @longsnowsmoon5 @tendergingergirl @may-shepard @loveismyrevolution