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biggest-gaudiest-patronuses · 2 months ago

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main take aways from Halloween (1978) rewatch:

michael myers is canonically 21??? this bitch should be at the club

*sees tiddies* ***MURDEROUS RAMPAGE NOISES***

that's it that's the movie

outside of the fact that everyone who has sex is murdered by the narrative, this is a surprisingly chill portrayal of female sexuality? these teen girls are horny and actively enjoying Getting It On with their boytoys. no pushy boyfriends sneaking in through their bedroom windows--these ladies are taking the initiative to sneak out and GET SOME. one of them gets laid and then immediately orders her boyfriend to get her a beer. (yes she gets Slashered soon afterward, but so does the boyfriend so honestly, gender equality.) yes the Final Girl is the only one not having sex, but she's not bullied for that, nor are her friends slut shamed except possibly by being murdered by the narrative

actually the only character who is shown being morally condemned on-screen is michael myers. specifically FOR his violent overreaction to other people's sex lives. (people he is spying on). metaphorically, the villain is American Puritanism sticking its judgy nose into other people's business.

aka Michael Myers Is A Republican

but actually the real villain is the doctor. guy's a judgemental, shaming, pathologizing asshole. and he's been in charge of michael's care since he was SIX YEARS OLD? kid never had a chance. i'd go on a killing spree too

also the parents. where are the parents? it's halloween night and all the teenage girls are home babysitting their younger siblings? come to think of it, michael's first victim was his own older sister, whom he killed while she was babysitting him. teen girls are really shouldering a labour burden here. maybe parentification is the true villain

side note: mike commits his first murder wearing a clown costume...which is never referenced again? his 'iconic' costume is a generic mask and wig and jumpsuit, when we coulda had a Killer Clown Michael Myers??? travesty

i like how the Final Girl and her friend casually smoke weed in her car. yeah she's an honor student and her friend is the sheriff's daughter. yeah they smoke weed. so what it's 1978

(to reiterate, mike is 21 and should be at the club. im not saying he shouldn't be rampaging, im saying it's sad that he broke out, tasted freedom for the first time in his life, and immediately snuck back into his childhood home to go rampaging. let's have a remake where he goes to a nightclub and has a few beers. maybe some slutty dancing. then rampage)

oh no he's hot

#HALLOWEEN #halloween the movie #michael myers #do you think he's a mike? mikey? to his friends? if slashers had friends?#i'll be honest i was expecting this movie to be way more of a bitch to its female characters #i mean yeah they died but so did some dudes #there's just a lack of cattiness compared to the way most later movies portrayed teenage girls idk #yeah the Final Girl is a Virgin and a Bookworm. but there's no bullying or any strong sense that's she's morally superior to everyone else #mostly she AND the other girls feel a bit sorry for her lack of a social life. one even tries to set her up with a date to the school dance #solidarity! trying to get your nerd friend laid!#overall it's just teenagers being teenagers and then a slasher comes in and ruins everything with his Lack Of Chill #like yeah dude sometimes teenagers have sex. get over it #also something to be said about how while the girl who survives is the one who isn't sexually active and dresses conservatively...#ultimately those things aren't ENOUGH to prevent her from being targeted #you could say that the other girls 'provoked' the villain (the same way women irl are so often accused of provoking their attackers)#but ultimately that doesn't keep the Final Girl safe. it just delays the inevitable.#because violent men never need excuses. no matter how eager society is to provide them.#ultimately she is at the mercy of the same violent whims because it was never her behavior that invited the violence.#gendered violence doesn't need an invitation.#also she doesn't save herself the doctor saves her #it's not her actions or choices that put her in danger OR save her from it--once again it is the whim of a man #no this wasn't intended to be a feminist movie it's just fun how you could argue it that way

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phonydiaries · 14 days ago

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See How Deep the Bullet Lies - Chainshipping - I, II, III

continuation of my Jigsaw apprentice Adam AU; can be read as a standalone but makes the most sense in context, links up top!

Summary/Preview: “You know what’s funny?” Adam asked, his brows furrowed in mock-puzzlement. Gordon had a feeling he didn’t want to know. Adam dragged his finger across several torn-out articles, cross-referencing. “Not a single one of these articles mention the fact that I have you to thank for this weird little hole in my chest.”

The office was meticulously clean, organized. Little warm lights were placed with the intention of creating a relaxed and peaceful environment. Everything here was designed to encourage healing, which had the ironic side-effect of coming off as aggressively clinical. Lawrence should’ve felt right at home. Instead, he staved off a migraine, head in his hands, pinching the bridge of his nose as he struggled to explain himself.

Be open. Be emotionally Available. Ali chided him in the back of his mind. She was right of course, but he was too stubborn to listen. Just one of the reasons she’d spent more and more time visiting her family out of state since the Jigsaw incident.

“It’s not that I see him, per se.” Lawrence said hesitantly. Although, sometimes he did, out of the corner of his eye. “It’s just that sometimes when I come home, or I’m out for a walk.”

“Oh good, you’ve been walking.” The therapist cut in, scratching down a note in the margin of her clipboard. At least Lawrence’s PT would be happy about that.

“But go on.” She urged him. By that time he already felt silly for saying it out loud. His recollection lost steam.

“It just sort of feels like he’s there. Like if I turned around I’d see him.” Lawrence let out a long sigh. “I’m losing it aren’t I?” He muttered, the sound of his voice slightly muffled through his hands. His therapist, a sweet thirty-something year old woman, hummed thoughtfully. She was nice enough, even if Lawrence hadn’t picked her himself. He’d tried to rush headfirst back into his work almost as soon as the hospital cleared him for outpatient care. The hospital administrator, rightfully wary, let him back only on the strict condition that he see one of their resident psychotherapists once a week.

“I don’t think you’re losing it, Larry.” She said, distractedly making another note. “What you’re describing sounds like bereavement hallucinations.” Lawrence looked up at her quizzically.

“Is that common?” He asked. The therapist put on a practiced sympathetic expression and nodded.

“More than you’d think, though it’s most common in people who have lost a spouse.” She’d tacked that on so casually.

“What?”

Realizing her mistake, a look of painfully earnest regret flashed across the poor woman’s face. She hurried to explain,

“But, I mean, given the extreme circumstances you met under, it makes perfect sense that-”

Lawrence didn’t want to talk about this anymore. Based on what he’d told the authorities, the FBI had Adam presumed legally dead only weeks after the Jigsaw incident came to light. There was enough of a pattern established with the previous traps that they felt confident declaring him another victim that didn’t make it.

Lawrence didn’t want to get into all the times he’d not seen, but felt Adam still looking over his shoulder or staring at him from across the street. The hallucinations weren’t quite visual, but he’d been plagued with the sense that the young man was always with him, just a few feet away, and always just out of reach.

Lawrence knew before walking through the door that Ali (and by extension, Diana) wouldn’t be waiting for him inside. He hadn’t quite made up his mind yet on whether things were better or worse on days she spent away. He’d tried, really tried to be a better husband, a better father. He just couldn’t seem to give her what she needed and he didn’t blame her for getting air. Maybe space was what they needed- still, it hurt.

He flipped the lightswitch in the foyer and rubbed his eyes as they adjusted. Exhaustion showed on his face and never seemed to leave him these days. Semi-dazed he passed the kitchen, not as obsessively clean as he used to keep it, and let himself linger on the family photos on the fridge. How depressingly prophetic that he was always the one holding the camera, just a few feet away and well out of the picture.

“Oh, good. You’re home.”

Lawrence froze, immediately plunged back into reality. He’d never thought about how terrifying it would be to hear the sardonic whip-sharp voice of the man he’d shot casually greeting him in his kitchen. He felt himself slowly turning around to face him, against his will. Christ, nothing could’ve prepared him for looking back into those unerring eyes; relearning the uncanny feeling that there was nothing they didn’t see. Great waves of emotion crashed over Lawrence in rapid succession. Grief, shock, relief, sadness, fear.

Adam couldn’t have looked more aloof. The young man sat at the kitchen table, his chair teetering on its back legs, a half eaten bowl of cheerios in front of him. Methodically, he sized up Lawrence, his gaze diligently working its way from head to prosthetic foot.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Oh, ha ha.

“Sorry.” Adam said, putting his hands up apologetically. “I know it’s rude to show up unannounced, but since we’re such good old friends I figured you wouldn’t mind.” Each word that left his mouth was coated in sugary sarcasm. Lawrence couldn’t even fathom where to start with him. He had a thousand questions to ask and a slew of accusations and apologies to rattle off. They all died behind his lips. All he could do was stare. Adam cleared his throat.

“You’re wondering how I got in.” That hadn’t even cleared the top 15 questions.

“How did you get out?” Lawrence hated the way that came out of his mouth. Demanding. Adam’s face darkened.

“You tell me. You left to get help.” His voice was laced with bitterness. Lawrence grit his teeth and sucked in a measured breath.

“Cut the bullshit.” He snapped. Adam, like the juvenile he was, rolled his eyes.

“Does it matter? I’m here.” He said, throwing his hands up. He couldn’t resist tacking on an accusatory glare. “Despite your best efforts.”

He was exactly as hotheaded and infuriating as Lawrence remembered. Still, he couldn’t stop the building guilt in the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t know how long Adam had stayed in that awful room with two decaying corpses, waiting for help that would never arrive. However Adam made it out, however he’d gotten here, he was looking for an explanation. Lawrence owed him that much. He tried to still the shaking in his voice.

“Look even before I-” Lawrence began, then stopped himself abruptly. He was already making excuses. He tried to walk it back. “I wasn’t in my right mind.” He said plainly, shaking his head. “All I could see once I’d… done it was Ali and Diana and then with the blood loss…” He trailed off. The fuzziness was genuine. The memories always went blurry here. As much as he’d tried to wring any detail from them, he always came up blank. Even after months of searching and questioning, the FBI was no closer to discovering the precise location of Lawrence and Adam’s trap.

“Most days I can barely remember how I made it out. Things start melting together.” Lawrence finished quietly. It wasn’t quite an apology, or even an admission of guilt. Adam clearly thought as much, offering Lawrence an unimpressed slow blink. He sighed loudly, as if deeply disappointed, and pulled a crossbody bag out from under the kitchen table.

“Well, that would explain all the interviews.” He said, rummaging around in the bag. Lawrence’s eyes narrowed.

“What?”

Adam pulled out a thick stack of newspaper clippings and sifted through them briefly.

“Ah, there we go.” He said brightly, slapping a handful of scraps onto the table with a sharp smack. He generously allowed Lawrence a moment to take in the breadth of what he was looking at. Spread out in front of him was every mention of the bathroom trap that had ever made the news, every headline, every picture of Lawrence, every statement he’d ever given to the press. How typical of Adam to be such a diligent archivist. He’d never stopped watching Gordon after all this time. Suddenly Lawrence felt like a fool, questioning all his recent supposed hallucinations.

“You know what’s funny?” Adam asked, his brows furrowed in mock-puzzlement. Gordon had a feeling he didn’t want to know. Adam dragged his finger across several torn-out articles, cross-referencing. “Not a single one of these articles mention the fact that I have you to thank for this weird little hole in my chest.” He said casually, gesturing to his right shoulder.

“I thought the editors must’ve made a mistake, y’know because you’re such a stand-up guy. You wouldn’t lie to them.” He turned an expectant gaze on Lawrence and smirked when the doctor remained silent. It would’ve been kinder to stab him in the chest. Like those words hadn’t haunted him every night for months.

“But then I checked the police reports.” Adam said, reaching for a paper hidden beneath all those surrounding it. He skimmed it thoughtfully before reading aloud. “And wouldn’t you know it; Dr. Gordon reports witnessing Shepherd “Zepp” Hindle, a former orderly at his place of work, fire a single round into Mr. Faulkner-Stanheight’s chest. Gordon says Faulkner-Stanheight was left unmoving on the ground showing no signs of life.” As Adam finished, he held up the little clipping and whistled in disbelief.

Blackmail? Was that Adam’s game here? Lawrence stepped up to Adam, making a cheap grab for the police report. Whether he was moved by guilt or rage he couldn’t say. As if expecting it, Adam closed his hand around Lawrence’s arm and shoved him away. Lawrence sucked in a sharp breath as the back of his head collided with the wall. Adam planted his hand square in the middle of Lawrence’s chest, warning him to stay put.

“What do you want from me? Money?” Lawrence hissed, holding his hands up. Now it was Adam’s turn to look surprised, his face twisting with genuine bafflement. He cocked his head to the side, looking up at Lawrence.

“You think I want your money?” He asked, incredulous.

“What the fuck else?” Lawrence snapped. He couldn’t parse the look in Adam’s eyes, severe and hungry and demanding. Adam’s free hand disappeared behind his back. When it returned Lawrence felt a steel muzzle press against the front of his shirt. His face went slack. Adam didn’t look away once, his searing gaze boring two holes into Gordon’s skull.

“I want you to know what it felt like,” He breathed, “To be left for dead.”

This isn’t happening. All the mess that would inevitably be left in Lawrence’s wake ran through his mind. His patients, his staff, Alison, Diana- she couldn’t grow up without her father, even if things were rocky with Alison he couldn’t leave her a widow. He felt his chest tighten, felt his head begin to swim. Is this really what it was like? Adam was younger. He had so much life ahead of him. Not for the first time, Lawrence wondered how much he would’ve robbed Adam of if the shot had really been fatal, how many years of love and life lost? Maybe he deserved it, but his family couldn’t suffer for his sins.

“Adam-” He murmured.

“Shut up.” The cylinder trembled against his chest. Adam’s hand was shaking. Lawrence wondered if the injury had left him with a tremor.

“Please. My family, they can’t- my daughter-” He couldn’t collect himself enough to form full sentences. How quickly he was reduced to begging. Adam shook his head gravely. His brows furrowed and a look of earnest regret seemed to float in his eyes. It just wasn’t enough to stop what he’d already put in motion. In a moment of terrible deja vu Gordon placed his hand over Adam’s bad shoulder.

It was the first time Adam looked shocked, closing his eyes following what Lawrence assumed was a sharp pain. The wound wasn’t fresh, but the nerve damage from an infected gunshot could take a lifetime to heal. He suppressed a gasp and Lawrence wondered if for a moment he saw it too; the cool fluorescent lights and the filthy tile floor. Adam blinked something away. He closed in, leaning into the pain, challenging. Only the fabric of his shirt kept Lawrence’s hand from touching the wound he’d inflicted himself. He heard the revolver click and squeezed his eyes shut.

“You should’ve finished the fucking job, Doc.” Adam’s voice barely broke a whisper, his breath hot and heavy. Blindly, Lawrence felt the weight of Adam’s forehead against his, hair brushing against his face. They’d been this close before. Only once. He felt Adam take a breath. Hold it. Let out a long sigh.

“Fuck.” Adam muttered under his breath. A second click. Lawrence could hear the smile in his voice and it made his fucking blood run cold.

“I’m just not like you, Larry.” And he almost sounded relieved. Lawrence felt him back away as cold sweat seeped in to take his place. He opened his eyes.

Adam was already packing up his table scraps, haphazardly showing papers back into his bag. The revolver was tucked away back into the waist of his jeans. Lawrence felt drunk, his head spinning with the aftermath of the hurricane that had just ripped through his kitchen. Calling anyone was thoroughly off the table- who was going to believe him? Adam rummaged around in his pocket for a moment and threw Lawrence his house keys. They hit him in the chest and clattered to the floor. Well. There was that mystery solved. He slung the crossbody bag over his shoulder and shot Lawrence an utterly incomprehensible look. Fondness attempted to bury itself in layers of resentment. He had a feeling this wasn’t the last they’d see of each other.

“Don’t get too comfortable, Larry.” He warned, lingering like a specter in the doorway. “I’m good at hiding.”

#more charged than any sex they could've had I hope #finally I get to reveal my give-adam-a-gun agenda #chainshipping #saw #saw 2004 #adam stanheight #lawrence gordon #my writing #lyd posting

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